Leo hadn't known what to say after his last meeting with Sarah. It had escalated from stalker-level dangerous, witnessing her give a Wiley White Rabbit a coronary, to a candlelit dinner at Màusse, which she agreed to after beating the crap out of thin air for a few hours. Thin air.

  He still chuckled at that. She was strange. He was strange for being so captivated by her strangeness. It was like watching a particularly violent, yet oddly graceful, interpretive dance performed by someone who'd never seen a stage.

  The guard captain sighed, a puff of air that ruffled his pristine white mane. Leo was a lion, after all. A white lion. His fur attracted attention like a honey pot in a bee sanctuary. Yet, the quirky woman barely registered his presence. She treated him like a talking encyclopedia, only concerned with what he knew, not who he was.

  Like a newborn cub, she was utterly clueless about the world's hows and wheres, only interested in the whats and whys, but seemingly having no little luck with either. It was simultaneously hilarious and endearing and only made worse by the fact she was dying.

  It had been over 24 hours since he’d last seen Sarah, and he was experiencing a level of anxiety usually reserved for rogue learherheads stampeding through the marketplace. A level 57 lion from the Mazoni tribe, feeling anxious over a woman? His ancestors were probably spinning in their graves, or wherever lion ancestors went when they weren't haunting ancestral lands.

  Leo didn't care. Whether it was in the lush green of the grower fields, or the far-away, snow-capped peaks of Mazoor, he would profess his feelings anywhere if he thought they had a chance of being accepted. His very strong feelings. With how thoroughly Sarah had rebuffed him during their first encounter, though, he was fairly certain she didn't reciprocate his… affections.

  The image of several sheep spontaneously combusting as she unwittingly came too close to them played on his mind. She was certainly…Peculiar. Almost alien in the way she spoke and acted. Her vast knowledge clashed hilariously with her utter lack of common sense.

  As he made his way towards Guard House 3, he chanced upon Sarah. Naturally. Her gaze was intense as she stared at a pile of vegetables. It wasn't even the strangest thing he'd seen that morning (a gnome riding a squirrel came close). The sight elicited a small, hopeful beat from his waning heart.

  He tried to be charming. Again. Failed spectacularly. Again. Who compares a lady's eyes to the sky after a storm? He mentally face-palmed. Yet, it was ok. Sarah didn't seem phased. She was on a mission, as always. After helping her out and leading her to a bookstore, Leo continued on to work.

  The encounter played on his mind all day. He did paperwork and thought of Sarah. He drilled the recruits while wondering what she was doing. On his break, he wondered if she'd eaten yet and briefly, and very subtly, tried to look for her. When his shift finished, Leo took a slow, leisurely walk home, hoping, yet again, to “chance” upon her. He didn't.

  Should I pop round and say hello? The thought was so stupid, so childish, he almost tripped over his own paws. Was he a cub? No. He was a fully grown, majestic lion! Anyone would be lucky to have him! (He added mentally, "Especially with my impressive mane and muscles.")

  Leo spent the rest of the evening thinking about Sarah. He had other concerns, of course. The “Ale for All” guild being number one, and the various unsavory characters inhabiting the cells inside Guard House 3 being a close second. But he wasn't on duty. And it was rare that he allowed himself the luxury of fantasizing.

  It was… Nice. Therapeutic, even.

  Leo decided he would have to do this more often. This… Sarah-induced daydreaming. It was far less dangerous than facing down a rampaging lava man after exiting the lavatory mid-push, the closest weapon at hand a mere plunger. And considerably more pleasant. He could almost feel the warmth of her smile, the way her laughter crinkled the corners of her eyes… Much more pleasant than the searing heat radiating off molten rock. He’d have to find a way to thank her. Maybe…

  Another reason to stop by?

  ???????????

  Sarah emerged from the bookstore, a peculiar mix of exhilaration and financial regret churning in her stomach. It was a feeling akin to buying a truly magnificent, albeit slightly overpriced, cake – pure joy tinged with the dawning realization that you'd probably eat the whole thing in one sitting and then feel vaguely ill.

  Her ring, once plump and promising, now resembled a deflated whoopee cushion. She'd practically funded the bookstore owner's early retirement, and for what? A stack of flammable rectangles. Still, she consoled herself, I could probably build a small fort out of what I have remaining. If I convert it to bronze.

  Dozens of paperbacks, the literary equivalent of fast food, were destined for the common room. Trashy romances with Fabio-esque heroes on the covers, crime thrillers with titles like "The Maltese Carbuncle," and several self-help books promising enlightenment in just twelve easy steps (or, in Sarah's case, twelve easy payments). She did snag a few titles that piqued her interest, though. One was called "50 Ways to Kill a Burglar," which, while potentially useful, raised some serious ethical questions.

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  But the real treasures, the paperback equivalent of finding a twenty in your old jeans, were the three tomes tucked securely under her arm. These were the books that had made her wallet weep silently in the corner.

  First, "Runes and Their Uses." A slim volume, it had cost her a whole silver coin, which, considering it only told her what runes were used for and not how to use them, felt a bit like buying a cookbook that only listed ingredients. Still, it was the cheapest of her acquisitions, and she reasoned that knowing what a rune might do was better than knowing absolutely nothing. It was like being told there was a magical cake, but not being given the recipe. Infuriating, but intriguing.

  Next, the behemoth, "Magical Artifacts and How They Affect the World." Three silver and two bronze coins vanished for this doorstop of a book, a hefty tome detailing everything from wands that could turn teacups into badgers (a surprisingly common problem, apparently) to entire Sorcerer's Towers. The latter was the real reason Sarah had lugged this thing home. She hoped to glean some insights into the baffling inner workings of her own tower, which currently seemed to operate on the principle of "souls do inexplicable shit."

  Finally, the crown jewel, the book that had whispered sweet promises of arcane knowledge: "Runic Language I." A beginner's guide, yes, but it was the guide. A roadmap to understanding the cryptic symbols that had fascinated her ever since she'd discovered the magically preserved food shelves (which, upon closer inspection, seemed to be the same rune on every shelf).

  This book held the potential to unlock secrets, to decipher ancient mysteries, to finally understand why the a door cost a single soul, but also why the entire top floor cost the same.

  It was worth every last copper, every tear shed by her poor, depleted purse. As she walked back, laden with her literary loot, Sarah felt a surge of excitement. She might be slightly poorer, but she was definitely richer in knowledge.

  Refrigeration runes. Intricate symbols etched onto a surface, somehow manipulating the very fabric of reality to produce cold and preserve meat. It felt like a cruel joke, a fantastical illusion, yet she’d seen it with her own eyes. The tangible chill radiating from the crudely drawn circles, the way the air shimmered and distorted around them – it was undeniable. The idea that a simple drawing, a collection of squiggles and lines, could act as a conduit for magic, a source of power, was utterly, mind-bendingly insane.

  But then again, wasn't her entire existence at this point a testament to the absurd? Wasn't becoming an unholy Necromancer, a being that blurred the lines between life and death, professed to the dark arts but dressed like a saint, equally, if not more, insane?

  There were layers to the crazy that surrounded Sarah now, concentric circles of the unbelievable, each one more outlandish than the last. And somehow, she was adapting. She was acclimatizing to the impossible, learning to navigate the labyrinth of bizarre that had become her life.

  Clutching the three weighty tomes, Sarah felt a pang of longing. The smooth, leather-bound covers seemed to pulse with untold knowledge, whispering promises of understanding. She yearned to lock herself away in the quiet solitude of her room, to lose herself in the intricate diagrams and arcane explanations, to unravel the language behind the runes and, by extension, the very nature of magic itself. The temptation was almost unbearable.

  But duty called. Resisting the siren song of forbidden knowledge, Sarah sighed and stored the books in her ring, where they joined a growing collection of texts. Priorities, she reminded herself. There would be time for study later, after she had completed the task at hand.

  Leaving Grower through the heavy, iron-bound east gate, she stepped out into the sprawling meadow. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the swaying grasses, painting the landscape in hues of gold and amber. A gentle breeze whispered through the fields, carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth.

  It was a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in Sarah's mind. The normalcy of the meadow felt almost surreal, a thin veneer masking the chaotic reality of her existence hidden beneath. She took a deep breath, the fresh air filling her lungs, and set off, her footsteps muffled by her outfit and the thick grass alike. The weight of her ring felt heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the knowledge that awaited her, the mysteries she was so eager to explore.

  Sarah banished idle thoughts, determined to make the most of her time. A scattering of rabbits provided some experience, though frustratingly few survived her attempts at hunting. It wasn't that she could gauge her skill against them; they seemed to succumb to heart attacks regardless of her approach.

  Goblins, she reasoned, would be a better gauge of her progress than nothing. The trouble was, even before the world’s stats and levels manifested, she could handle a creature the size of a large child. So, while hunting goblins offered a useful way to understand how her body responded to her will, it wasn't a true test of her strength.

  Sure, she'd exploded the first goblin's head with a single punch – a messy, visceral affair. Perhaps they were as fragile as children, for all she knew. But she needed a sterner challenge, something that would force her to hold back. That control, she suspected, was where true mastery lay.

  There weren't many options this close to Grower, however. Just the usual farm-attracted monsters and the weak that preyed on the even weaker. Sarah wouldn't let that stop her, though. The first goblin she found went down much like the first. Except without the rain of blood. Its head was still caved in, a sickening dent in its already grotesque features, even after she'd consciously tried to pull her punch. Clearly, she had a ways to go.

  The second was similar, only less impactful. A dull thud, the goblin collapsing in a heap. Progress, perhaps? The third, however, was a marked improvement. She felt the shift in her focus, the subtle modulation of force. Instead of a gruesome crater, she only fractured its skull. The goblin twitched, gurgled, and then went still. It showed promise. She was learning.

  By the end of the evening, as the sun began to paint the sky in hues of orange and violet, Sarah had made significant strides in controlling her strength against weaker opponents. It was a delicate dance.

  The manipulation of raw power, a constant push and pull between instinct and intention. She was feeling rather proud. Although, she still couldn't approach a Wiley White Rabbit – the fluffy menaces – without the beast keeling over from sheer terror. Perhaps one day, she'd manage to tame one, or at least offer a gentle pat.

  There's no way they're monsters. System be damned.

  She had gained a level in (Necrotic Body) as well as (Identify). No level for her class, but she hadn't leveled yesterday from fighting either. She'd leveled up from something – either tower, or Overseer-related, but she still wasn't sure. She'd just accepted the boon and moved on.

  Speaking of, Sarah still hadn't spent the points from her last few levels. A quick mental check showed she had 15 burning a hole in her… Well, wherever stat points resided. She debated which stat to invest in as she returned to her tower, the setting sun casting long shadows over the city. Marking the end of her sixth day of Ciria.