Thatch stops in the middle of the field, making little Richard bump into him. She frowns, and as retaliation, starts nibbling at his thighs with her mandibles, harmlessly. She doesn’t even make it through the fabric. “City ahead,” he says.

  At that, everyone snaps to attention. Bay drops a screwdriver, Jess’ icy visage lightens up, and Sylves almost falls out of the air. “Food,” Norman whispers. “Please, normal, pleasant, food!” I can practically see him drooling, the ungrateful bastard. Then again, I would probably kill for a bag of rice just about now. Maybe I shouldn’t judge. At least hunting the fae has let us all level a bit.

  “Do we run?” Inu asks.

  “Yes,” Opal replies. Then, a moment later, they blink forward. Instantly, Dar dashes off in a blur of movement, manipulating their inertia. Richard opens her mouth and eats… space, apparently.

  Sylves flies, Thatch channels red hot anger into his feet, Bay pulls out a hoverboard, and Norman uses some kind of dashing skill, too. Which leaves Inu and me to walk, without skills, like the peasants we are. “I can’t believe I have as many movement skills as our tank,” I sigh.

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Well, I’m sure you will figure out teleportation soon enough, mage.”

  Smiling, I look to the sky. “Can you cast [Reservoir] a few more times?” I ask.

  Rolling her eyes, she nods. “Fine, Snow. Yes, I can.”

  As we walk, she casts, and I break it apart. Over and over and over again. That’s what friends are for, after all.

  - - -

  When we get to the city, we find it’s about what one would expect of a nation eternally moving away from a storm. It’s tents, wagons, tamed beasts of burden, constantly moving. In fact, Inu and I eventually have to run to catch up with it. It’s easier, with higher heart and power stats, even though my friend is still wearing her full armor.

  But we do catch up. Jess is already cooking. Thatch traded in a minor request for a wagon for a few days. We’ll need to figure out other ways to pay soon, but we’ll make ourselves useful, for sure. We did, however, receive an allocation of food.

  Apparently, seeds had been brought down from the third floor before, and this mobile city had multiple greenhouse wagons. Nothing actually grew on the floor itself, but a few people with classes in a ranger-slash-druid direction - making me curious to see their skills in action - did manage to maintain a few decent plots of soil entirely separated from the grassy hills that blanketed all of the second floor.

  With that, there was a meal. A large pot of stew, made from water from a few of our magic items - ones I haven’t broken… yet - and some of the vegetables we were allocated. Meat is scarce here, since no one sane fights the fae more than needed, or eats them, for that matter, and no one wants to sacrifice beasts that could be put to better use as companions or carriers.

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  The leader of the convoy, an old zoof man with fluffy, charcoal-black fur, greets me and Inu too. “New climbers, hear hear!” he says, with a gruff voice. “I’m Malcolm. Make yourselves at home. Put your skills to use, don’t cause any trouble. Benefit of the doubt usually goes to whoever was here first, so don’t start things. If you’re treated unfairly, tell people.”

  He pats Inu on the shoulder, with a long, thin, gray limb, and tries to do the same thing with me, but I step back. He eyes me suspiciously.

  “Snow’s particular about personal space,” Thatch fills in for me. “Means nothing by it.”

  “Hmmm, ain’t ever met a do-gooder who minds a pat on the back,” captain Malcolm says. “ I’ll have my eyes on ye. Don’t stir up anything.”

  With that, he’s off.

  I look around at all the other climbers. There are a handful of humans around them. The noise of it all is already enough to get on my nerves and I really, really want my headphones back. I turn to Bay, staring. She looks up at me, mouth full of stew. “Wha?” she asks.

  “Have you managed to charge anything yet?” I ask.

  She shakes her head, then swallows. “Sorry, no,” she says. “Getting closer. Got a phone to just about two percent before it fried and blew up.”

  At that, I nod. She’ll figure it out. She has to. Maybe I should be paying more attention to this project? Ah, but then again… my magic is already helpful.

  With a quick twist of mana, I [Suppress] my own hearing, and the world becomes dull and quiet. I put on my headphones, too. They’re not on, out of battery, but I tweak my skill until it feels almost the same. Then, I close my eyes, feeling slightly at peace.

  “Hey Bay? You’ve got some kind of storage skill, right? Can you cast it for me to take apart?” I ask, not hearing my own voice.

  The world is so quiet, I don’t hear Bay’s reply, but a few seconds later, the spell weaves itself into being, and I [Deconstruct] it. Again. And again. And again. In blissful silence. I love my headphones.

  - - -

  When evening comes around, we are all fed, housed, and even as we catch the slightest edge of the storm, we bear with it without complaint. It’s a drizzle on the tarp, quite calming, really. Jess creates little fires that don’t spread and cause no smoke, fuelled entirely by mana. I take one apart, and she looks at me, summoning it again.

  This time, when I try to deconstruct it, there’s resistance. Some kind of cohesive force holding the little flame in place. It’s like I’m trying to blow out a fire, and it sparks back to life from the embers, feeding off the residual air. Is this flame feeding from my mana?

  Jess smiles at me.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen the frozen expression on her face move in a little while. She’s genuinely amused by the fact that she gets to poke back at me a bit. I pour some more mana into [Deconstruction], and properly reach into the toolbox.

  My skill is full of little tricks to pick at the mana of a construct. If Jess is adjusting her skill to be more resistant to it, I’ll just find a new weakness.

  And I do.

  [Observation 3 > 4]

  When I cut through a few threads of mana, the flame sputters out, and the remaining fragments of the skill fuel my own mana, falling into Abiding Apathy. I smile, and Jess returns it, brightly. She summons a new flame, adjusting the pattern again. Somehow, it’s almost like a game.

  The evening passes peacefully. Rain falls on the tarp. Opal sleeps on top of Dar. Thatch is bundled up in blankets. Inu leans against the wall, her eyes closed serenely. Richard has a full belly and seems satisfied at the food.

  I breathe the wet air of the storm infested highlands, and the fog slowly seeps into the world, becoming denser as the night comes. And then, when everyone is asleep, I go outside, to help with the defense of the caravan. Sylves follows me, calming the air to silence our steps. And we head out to fight, to do our part in earning our keep.