There are no garden-grown enchanters.

  – Alvar Twice, thirdborn of the first Twice tyrant, Book of Twice

  Chapter 3 – Lost in Loss

  Toki glanced at the list of system law firms but was distracted by approaching sounds. Toki heard Golgheim Vast before she saw him.

  "By the gods," Golgheim muttered under his breath. His words carried in the silence while his boots met stone with soft echoes.

  Toki realized that he must have slipped through yet another veiled entrance.

  She lay leaning against the dead Dutch Eternal watching him approach with an empty stare, her white hair a stark contrast against the midnight black scales. His eyes locked onto the lifeless form of the dragon. The sight arrested him. Toki could see his breath catch as he approached.

  “Tokyo, what… what have you done? This… This… What…?”

  He rubbed his temples. “Tokyo, you’ve… you’ve doomed us all!” Golgheim turned to leave when a sigil formed beneath his feet, locking him in place. “Damnation, Elara. You old hag! You’ve planned this, haven’t you.” He paused as if checking something, then turned back around causing the sigil to disappear and approached Toki once more, “gods damn it, the fine text. Always the damned fine text.”

  Toki watched as he approached, wiping away her tears. That's a contract sigil. What has grandmother done? Had…

  "Tokyo, we must guard this secret for as long as we can. No one can know." The old man was standing less than a meter away. He was old and wrinkled with a long silver beard.

  Toki looked up, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that belied her youth. Golgheim wore a dated and loose green Daoist robe, but Toki knew that his wardrobe choices hid a muscled interior. This man was the strongest man in Alabaster Ring.

  Elara Twice had a hidden pair of matching green Daoist robes - they had loved each other once. Toki could remember training in her youth alongside Obie under Golgheim. He would beat combat instincts into them at the very edge of life, ingraining into them the way of the hammer. Obie would… Gods damn. Obie’s gone.

  Toki pushed away the system notification, “how could you do this to them!? How could you let this happen!?” She got to her feet and charged. It was a foolish and angry charge. For a man of over a century, Golghiem Vast took her first punch quite gracefully. The first she had ever landed on his face.

  “Wai— ,” Golgheim took the second punch much less gracefully and fell to the ground by the dragon’s head.

  Toki stood above him, now with hammer in hand. “You better have something to say… You! You better!” She clenched her teeth so hard that she thought they would break.

  She watched as Golgheim reached for his own hammer on his back, but a sigil formed and restricted his movement. “You old hag! I swear, when I die, I’ll haunt your gho–”

  Toki smashed him in the ribs with the hammer. Not a full force blow, but it knocked the wind from his lungs. He held up his hand to stop her, entreating her for peace. Tokyo allowed him a moment to catch his breath and stand.

  He responded, “Tokyo. *huff,* there’s a whole sector worth of politics and power behind this. We don’t have the time now. You’ll have to help me push this body.”

  Toki motioned to smash her hammer again, but instead she dropped it in fury. She pounded on his chest with her bare fists, letting her emotions out through violence. “Why! WHY!... why?” Her fury turned to whimpers. Elara was a mean, deceptive, and crafty bitch, but she had still raised her—had still given her a home.

  Despite his urgency, Golgheim smothered the small fists with a bear hug and rambled on about contractual obligations with the Falkori and something about a Dynasty, but Tokyo’s ears were as glazed as her eyes. In a brief fatalistic daze, she turned inwards to a system timer alert and the next two system attorneys on the list.

  “Tokyo! Tokyo!” Golgheim had shaken her out of her spiral. “Help me. Before the others come." Toki’s eyes remained fixed on Golgheim's, seeking the truth in his aged face.

  What others? Do others know of this? This gruesome… thing. Anger swelled once more.

  "Murder leads to chaos, Toki. Power vacuums, war. Dragonslaying, that leads to genocide." Toki could see his fears seeping into his words from his facial expression. Golgheim continued, "Dutch Eternal's death will shatter this fragile peace we’ve built. We must maintain the illusion of her presence until we can secure stability. Now. Help. Me."

  Toki absorbed his words and clenched her fists. She finally said, “They’re dead… they’re all dead." Toki turned to the dragon in a daze and helped Golgheim slowly push the carcass, she could feel weight descending upon her shoulders—shoulders already burdened by the loss of her grandmother and brother.

  Cry later. Cry when you can’t be punished for it. Toki remembered Elara’s training well, though it was mostly unorthodox. The [Strategist] profession itself was not easy to learn or acquire. Her case studies would range from stealing manamelons from the kitchen to getting caught stealing manamelons from the kitchen. You can’t get out of the crime if you’re crying about getting caught.

  "Good, yes. Yes," Golgheim replied, his expression softening. "Be strong, Toki.” Despite his words, he was doing most of the pushing. Tokyo never understood how he had this strength, but she assisted him, nonetheless.

  “The dragon ate them… Golgheim. They’re gone.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  As Dutch Eternal slipped over the edge, Toki watched the dragon carcass descend into the abyss. She did not know where the dragon would fall, but after five seconds of waiting, she heard the shattering of glass from below followed by a deep booming noise.

  “The others will be here soon. Come find me tomorrow, I will tell you what you wish to know." With those words, he pointed in the direction he had come from. “Now go….” His voice drifted off, “perhaps a drink will do you good.” Toki wavered, but grabbed her hammer once more and walked off, dazed.

  Toki trusted Golgheim enough to listen.

  Glancing back at the old man, she saw he too had a lost look to him. He seated himself on the cliff edge and pulled out his bottle of bloodworm sake. Toki remembered this bottle. She had asked for a sip on many occasions but was always rebuffed. He was saving this bottle.

  As Toki moved towards the exit she noticed a green glint on the coarse stone floor. Her slender fingers reaching out almost of their own volition. The poison chalice lay overturned, its once proud form humbled in the dust. She wrapped her hand around it. Her skin prickled with the cold kiss of metal—and then recoiled at the unexpected touch of another's flesh. Her breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping as she discovered not the chalice alone, but also a hand, pale and lifeless latched on.

  Dread coiled tight in her gut. Was it Susie's hand, so often curled around a hammer, forging rival wonders? Or was it the gnarled hand of her grandmother, who had taught her the ways of power, deception, and influence? In this dim light and with the decay of poison, Toki couldn't tell.

  With trembling hands, she released the hand’s grip and righted the chalice. She did not know why she took it, but she pressed it into her own satchel. Rising from the ground, Toki squared her shoulders and turned her back on the chamber. In the distance she could hear the bass-heavy voice of Golgheim. It was a ‘smithing dirge.

  ? Farewell, old soul, you fought this fight,

  Your forge rests lonely, still, this night,

  His voice isn’t sad – it feels weary.

  We’ll cool the flames as you depart,

  Your hammer’s beat still strikes our heart.

  We’ve drunk your mead, and raised your steel,

  May Aether claim your will to seal. ?

  It made Toki feel heavy and a little lost. She could only hear the chorus before she exited the mountain from a side passage. She walked towards the city limits of Alabaster Ring, lost in her thoughts.

  It was not a long walk, but Toki walked slowly. She saw the air-galleons above hanging in the sky, glowing like lanterns. A funeral procession in the night sky. Her mind raced, replaying the events, searching for answers. For meaning. For anything. But the shock was jarring and all she could see were those hungry eyes.

  Passing by the forge, it was eerily quiet. She could feel the missing rhythm of hammer on anvil right in her heart. It hurt. Toki tried to pull her mind away by forcing herself to read the system list of attorneys. She scrolled through the remainder and tried to find something between genocide and handholding. There were surprisingly few options in between.

  Gradually, the sounds in the distance grew warm and familiar. Ahead, Hammaltin’s inn loomed, its windows aglow with festivities, inviting her into its boisterous embrace. The inn itself was cozily embedded into the trees of the forest, unperturbed by the madness occurring nearby. Its architecture was a fusion of old Elvish design and the rugged ‘smithing culture of Alabaster Ring mixing elegant curves with sheets of metal and blocks of alabaster.

  To Toki, the people here were her family. The manasmiths of Allie Ring stuck together. But despite the welcome sight, Toki felt alone now. Her mind worked furiously, replaying Golgheim's words, the gravity of the deaths sinking ever deeper into the marrow of her bones.

  How can I mimic the heartbeat of a forger when my own feels so erratic? They should know what is being done to them. This competition is the real illusion.

  Well, I don’t want a public lawyer. Toki narrowed her eyes to the one she had decided to pick.

  Toki let out a sigh. Syslaws were assholes. Public syslaws were underpaid public assholes. That's what everyone says, at least.

  The clamor of Hammaltin’s Inn spilled out onto the cobblestone street. A tide of merriment crashed against the questions Toki had wrapped around herself. The iron doors swung wide with the comings and goings of her fellow ‘smiths, their figures backlit by the warm, golden glow from within. Their laughter—a crude mix of jovial spirits—reached for her, tugging at the edges of her solemn mood. The smell of mead and the mix of emotions was what she needed. She would enter the inn’s doors, her face composed into the familiar mask of camaraderie, while her own spirit waged silent wars within.

  As she stepped forward, the inside greeted her. She saw the forest canopy above with its hanging tables. She saw the massive, hollow oak filled with just about every ale you could find in Alabaster Ring. Around the edges she saw the anvils and alabaster mockups of booze inspired forgeworks. No bar in Alabaster Ring would be complete without them, but Hammaltin’s certainly had the most.

  Laughter and clinking glasses promised a brief respite. Inside the inn, she would blend with the crowd and bury this secret with distraction.

  "Oi, Toki! Over here!" a familiar voice called, slicing through the din. It was Edgar, from an offshoot family of the more pretentious, tuxedo-wearing, avians. Edgar was a psittaden – his plumage was as colorful as his personality. Other than his proclivity to grab things with his talon feet and the feathers folded away under his arms, he was quite human.

  She turned, her slender frame casting a slight shadow as a group of her peers beckoned her over. DUTCH ETERNAL EATS PEOPLE! She ate my brother, she ate my grandmother, she ate fucking Suzie Q, and I just pushed her dead body off a cliff! Toki screamed it in her head.

  "Thought you'd miss out on the fun tonight," chided Edgar, his cheeks flushed with ale and good cheer and his hair ruffled from who knew what shenanigans. “Yorg is going for broke tonight, he’s gonna try to pull the Hangover Hammer for inspiration.”

  "And miss this fun? No way," Toki replied, her tone light, though her heart felt hollow in her chest. Reluctance edged her movements, but she masked it well, slipping into the circle of bodies with a practiced ease that belied her inner disquiet.

  “Yorg’s a lightweight. He’ll pass out within the hour.” Partridge replied, a chiseled manasmith about twice the size of Edgar.

  Partridge, you’re also a lightweight. Susie is too. Was… shards be damned.

  Partridge continued, “if I had the cash, I’d try to pull the hammer every night! I don’t know who made its enchantment, but they’re a master. That’s for sure.”

  “I bet that’s how Suzie Q beat our little Toki here,” Edgar chimed in. “I’d have loved to see the manascript on the cup. No way it beat your dragonfly. That’s elfshit.”

  Toki felt conflicted at the mention of Suzie Q. They were friends once, the very best. Though the growing secrets and rivalry between them had chilled their relationship over the last years causing them to drift further and further apart in the name of forging. She saved me, though.

  “How did Hammaltin even make it?” Another manasmith chimed in, walking into their circle. “You have to basically be blackout drunk for it to work, but then it gives you inspiration? Who thought that up… and imagine the story. Gods.”

  As she stood among them, the clinking of glasses and the rich timbre of hearty laughter enveloped her. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and spiced ale. It was pumpkin season. Toki could hear the stories unfold around her, tales of ‘misshapen swords’ and other oddities during ‘crafting.’ The manasmiths around her spoke of metal and flame as if they were lovers… they also spoke of lovers… but Toki's mind was not in the conversation. She just nodded along.

  "Here, have a drink!" urged a petite redhead ‘smith, thrusting a tankard into her hands. She winked before continuing, “the great second place Toki Twice can’t be without drink tonight! Did you pick up your reward? Adamant, right?”

  "Thanks," she murmured, the cool metal grounding her as she took a small sip, allowing the bitter tang to pull her back from the precipice of her thoughts. Reward. Heh. “Not ye—"

  "Oi, ware’s ‘dat prissy Susie Q?” Yorg grumbled, and found his way into the circle, “they’s noway she pulled dat hamma.” He was a chatty and cranky drunk. Big and intrusive as well.

  “Get off Yorg, ya piss drunk.” Edgar pushed Yorg’s massive arm off his small avian shoulders.

  “Ya see her toestin’ earlya? I thot myself—ware’s all ‘dat aeso gotta be?" He paused and gestured to build anticipation. No one around cared for it. “She must’ve yoinked it up ‘dat pretty little—“

  Toki’s fist came crashing into Yorg’s face. OHKO. He was a big guy, but Toki’s strength attribute could compete with almost anyone in Alabaster Ring.

  "Susie Q was a brilliant forger," she declared, her voice slicing into his crude dialogue. "She deserves respect.” After saying it she realized that Yorg was already knocked out. She drank another gulp from her unspilt spiced ale.

  The inn quieted.

  The smiths around her exchanged glances, their postures betraying a hint of uncertainty. Toki met their stares head-on, unyielding. She could see Edgar’s concerned stare, his plumage ruffled. The din of the inn tapered into a strained hush, all eyes affixed on Toki as she stood over Yorg’s unconscious body.

  Somone from the crowd cheered, "To fuckin’ Toki! Finally shut that codger up!”

  “Wooo”, “Eyyy”, “Drink her under the table”, “Cheers”, “Tokeeee”, “Give her a drink.”

  A wild roar bellowed from Hammaltin’s, and with it, a parade of drinks was sent to Toki.

  I'll be posting a chapter a day for the next few days around this time (~10pm EST), so stay tuned!

  Roko