The guard's blood was dry now, and I could feel it cracking whenever I spoke. I let out a heavy sigh, the weight of today's efforts catching up with me again as I crossed the room to the small bathroom that Henrietta had near the back room.
It was cramped, but I closed the door and settled in front of the old mirror that took up most of the wall above the sink. That face stared back at me, eyes held up by dark bags, and bloody streaks covered my cheeks where the blood had been dragged downward by my sweat.
I turned on the water, letting it grow warm, and then shoved my hands into it. The red immediately began to bleed into the sink, and I scrubbed at my skin with my other hand, trying to wash away as much as possible. It was a mostly futile effort. Without soap, the chances of getting blood completely off my hands might take hours. I didn't have that kind of time, nor did I care to waste it.
The System updated as I worked, the messages appearing in the side of my vision. I focused on them and the golden words grew larger.
Quest Completed: Don't Spill the Beans. You returned to Henrietta with the Indorian Singing Beans.
Reward: 1750XP
Hidden Objective Completed: Kill the general and escape.
Bonus XP Rewarded: 560XP
Congratulations. You have reached Level 8.
+3 Attributes
New Skill: Dragon's Palm – Tap into your dragon heart and summon a powerful, fiery attack that can be hurled directly at enemies. Costs 10 Mana.
New Skill: Dragon's Flame – Can be used in conjunction with weapons to apply a fiery buff that causes burning damage over time. Caution, direct contact with user's clothing may cause it to burst into flames. Costs 15 Mana. Lasts until dismissed or user runs out of Mana.
New Passive Skill: Dragon Skin – User is immune to damage from fire.
A wave of relief and excitement rushed over me as I accepted and dismissed the messages, the knowledge of those skills flowing into me like honey into a bear's maw. I felt more complete, in a way, than I had since waking up in this body.
I paused from my washing and focused on my hand, willing the flames to appear as I used [Dragon's Palm] for the first time. The flames started small; the power seeping out of my skin like smoke before it coalesced into a boiling ball of fire. I smiled at it, basking in their warmth. A deep-seated sadness stretched through me as? I extinguished the flames. I wanted nothing more than to sit there, watching them flicker for hours.
I peered into myself, toward my heart, where dragons carry all of their power. The barrier surrounding it was weaker now. I could feel pieces of who I had once been reaching out, fleeting memories trying to take hold. I reached back. But it was still too far away. Locked up too tightly.
I withdrew, that sadness growing deeper as I did.
Level 8. I'd come so far in such a short time and yet Level 35 still felt so far away. And even using basic skills that I might have relied upon as a dragon would cost me far more than they ever had before. Being reborn had been both a blessing and a curse.
I tried not to lose myself in the thoughts as I turned my attention back to cleaning up, taking the warm water to my face, letting it run over my skin and down my neck. Before long, the front of my shirt was soaked, but I ignored it, continuing to scrub at the cracked blood along my cheek and lips.
When I looked up in the mirror again, I'd managed to wash away most of it—though a soft, red tint remained in some places. I inspected my face, those emerald eyes staring back at me. Haunting in a way. Like someone else was looking back at me from the other side of the mirror.
I stepped out of the bathroom to find Henrietta downstairs in the back room, pulling some of the beans out of a jar that she'd placed them in.
"You did good," she said, not even looking over her shoulder at me.
I watched as she removed three beans from the jar and dropped them into a mortar and pestle. She closed the jar and then began to work it against the stone, grinding the beans down.
"Is she improving at all?"
"You know why they call them singing beans? It's because of the sound they make when they're hanging in the wind. That's how they dry them after they harvest them. It's an interesting process. I saw it myself once, many years ago."
Was she really schooling me on beans at a time like this? I started to open my mouth to say something, but she cut me off.
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"She isn't improving, no. Not by enough for it to matter, at least. But the beans will help." She continued crushing them, the sound a dull aching noise that set me on edge. "You have questions. You should ask them."
I stepped further into the room, so that I was standing beside her now, watching her as she crushed the beans into a crumbly powder. I did have questions; she wasn't wrong. But I wasn't even sure where to start.
"Perhaps I can help lead you," Henrietta said, her voice taking on a tone that reminded me of the tutors I'd had as a fledgling. "When you used [Inspect] on me—"
"[Inspect]? I used [Insight], I corrected."
"Ah. So it has a different name for you." Her face shifted to a thoughtful look as she continued working the pestle. "[Insight], then. When you used it on me, what did you see? Blurred words? Runes?"
"Runes," I answered, leaning against the table. "Runic letters that reminded me of ancient dragon script."
Henrietta nodded her head. "It's different for everyone, the way that the System jumbles things up. You see runes from your world, I see symbols from mine. It's curious how it determines what each of us should see, and even how it should operate. Even the way the changeling boy experiences things is different. Voices, I believe. He gets a far off look sometimes, but not like yours or mine. His is more like the look of a listener."
I nodded. If she already knew, then there was no secret to keep. "Yes, he hears voices, he told me. Says they don't tell him much, though."
"Yes, interesting," Henrietta said, pulling the pestle away and looking down at the powder the beans had left behind. "Mm. I think that will do."
She set the pestle down and then crossed the room to the fireplace. Using a ladle, she dipped a boiling liquid from a pot that was situated over the coals and poured it into the mortar. She grabbed a nearby spoon and began to mix the powder into the water as she walked.
"The System is an intriguing thing," she noted as she reached up onto one of the shelves that littered the walls. She looked through a few book spines before settling on one. Pulling it down, she set it aside and then reached her hand up through the gap it had left behind. She pulled out a small vial of leaves.
I followed her as she moved, bringing the vial and the mortar back to the table.
"The reason you cannot see who I am is because I wear a mask of sorts. My System calls it a Veil, though yours may call it something different. It's a way to hide information from others with System access. It was common where I come from."
I gaped at her. "Where you came from?" I'd had an inkling that she wasn't from here, but I hadn't confirmed it. Hearing her so openly admit it was still unsettling. That same feeling I'd had each time I'd met someone new with System access burrowed up inside me again.
She didn't respond for a moment, instead focusing her attention on the vial of leaves. She pulled two small pieces from it and crumbled them up over the mortar, then grabbed the pestle again and began mashing them into the liquid and powder mix. It slowly began to form into a thick, viscous liquid, more akin to molasses than water.
"The place that I come from is very different than this. Much… newer, but also older." She explained. "There are automated carriages that run off engines like the furnaces that power the heaters in the city. There are even machines that let men fly through the clouds the same way you used to fly through them." Her eyes caught mine, a hint of jealousy visible in them.
"How can machines fly?"
Henrietta shook her head. "That isn't the correct question you should be asking right now."
I stifled a groan. She was right. It ultimately didn't matter how men had made machines fly. Sure, it was interesting, but what really mattered was the implications she was setting up here. The topic that had even started this conversation. "How do I use it? The Veil?"
The corner of her mouth ticked into a smile. "Now you are asking the right questions, my dear Ariandre. The first step to veiling oneself is to imagine that you are a closed book."
A closed book? That shouldn't be difficult. I already liked to keep my secrets close. My treasures closer. I imagined it. That I was a book, the covers closed.
"Now imagine that someone is trying to open that book. That they are using all of their might to force it open."
I did, and instead of the book remaining closed, the covers ripped open with a gust of wind; the pages fluttering as they turned in the breeze. I let out a soft grumble.
“It is not an easy skill to pick up. If you have failed, simply try again.” Henrietta said, once more putting the pestle down and then grabbing another vial from one of her shelves.
Imaging myself as a book once more, I tried to hold the pages closed as shadowy hands ripped at them. Once again, it was to no avail, the covers slammed open and the pages flipped effortlessly.
“I can’t do it,” I said, bitterness coating my words like poison.
"You can. You just need to change how you see yourself. Now I want to imagine that you are that book, but instead of being simply closed, you are locked in a box. Cut off from anyone that might want to access you."
Closing my eyes, I once more imagined the book. However, this time I imagined that a box grew up around it, the four walls surrounding the book, a top on the box that was locked tight with a shining lock.
"Now," her voice said, still carrying that tone of a teacher. "Imagine someone wants to break into that box."
I did. And this time instead of flying open, the book remained closed, the shadowy figure in my thoughts bashing against the outside of the box instead. It rattled and even cracked at one point, but it held.
"Very good," Henrietta's voice said.
The image faded as I opened my eyes, a gleaming System message flashed in the corner of my vision.
New Skill: Shroud – Masks the users information, cutting off access to status details
She was looking at me with a far-off look in her eyes. As if she was not actually looking at me, but at something beyond me. It was a look I'd seen many times in lower ranking members of the imperial army who had been afraid to make eye contact with the leader of their army.
"You did it." She said, her eyes returning to normal. "Well done. It has been a long time since I've seen someone pick that skill up so quickly."
In the time it had taken me to complete the sequence, she'd already filled a vial with the mixture. She turned toward the door, a look of expectation on her face, and I got this feeling, something that rippled through the very core of my dragon heart, that I was looking at someone even more ancient than dragons. I stifled a shiver and followed her up the stairs without a word.