Turns out, humans are remarkably willing to work together. For some reason, they didn’t ask us for any favours in exchange for this. Which seems bizarre to me, but they were probably trying to buy goodwill.

  Not that there’s any issue with that. I guess I mind the implied favour a little more than simply paying an upfront, concrete price. It’s annoying in the same way that haggling is. The back and forth is bothersome, and I would rather just have a thing to do that I can do.

  But whatever. They’ll get their one favour when it comes to it, and if I never repay them, I’m not losing any sleep over it. I take a deep breath, feeling how just a few hours with them drained my social batteries. “No one speak with me,” I say, laying down on the wooden floor, and putting on my headphones.

  They don’t work, but the comfort is the same, as [Suppression] tunes out the world. I pull up a new blank sheet of metal and start scratching runes into it, thinking about what we learnt.

  My very first thought is drawn to the big stuff. The fifth floor.

  Often, that step from fourth to fifth is called the ascension. It’s not impossible to do - in fact, almost anyone who puts their mind to it absolutely can, but the tower changes afterwards. The floors, fundamentally, change.

  First, there are monoliths. Smaller towers with multiple smaller floors that can be cleared in a few days or weeks, promising rewards. Second, it’s where descension mechanics start to kick in.

  Ascending the Tower is a test of power. Of strength and willingness to climb. Descending is the opposite - and anyone who wishes to descend must go through tests of control and depth. It’s not about being able to prove you’re strong enough, it’s about limiting yourself to a suitable amount.

  There are sanctions for excessive use of powers on the lower floors. It’s why I survived my brush with the Flametouched. The thought makes my skull ache, but I brush it aside. The descenders have to place limits on themselves, reducing their stats, reducing their supremacy, and waiting for their levels to stabilize, lest they crack and break themselves.

  In short, the thing that the tower needs you to prove is your ability to adapt.

  Any floor you have not been on before requires a full scale trial. Any floor you have been on can be transpired normally, but you will still be subject to rules of that floor. Meaning that one must cross the thresholds to ascend, and must put on limiters to descend.

  But why?

  That’s what I really want to know. Why are these rules in place? Did anyone in particular decide on them? Who would wanna descend, and for what purpose?

  It makes me think a little of transhumanism. If there are humans who wish to become, say, robots or monsters, are there perhaps robots or monsters who simply wish to become humans? In so many stories, dragons walk along the mortals, because, apparently, we are interesting to them.

  Is that arrogance? I thread my mana through the enchantment, and pull out another plate, working as I think. What does it mean to be human? Does it mean to love humanity? Does it mean to live kindly? Does it mean to strive for betterment?

  The thought of humanity bothers me. It’s so narrow. For every species, there are creatures who deserve respect, and ones who don’t. Humans aren’t special. They tell each other that they are, but they’re not at all. I don’t like it at all. No matter someone’s species, I think anyone has the potential to be a person. Personhood. I like that word better than ‘humanity’.

  I breathe, the world quieting even more as I double down on [Suppression]. It’s funny that in the end, it was always a skill meant to be used on myself. Not, however, for how I’m using it now.

  The skill was granted based on who I am, who I had been for a lifetime, after all. And I know exactly what it’s meant to be used for. Gently, I smile, and simply push down the noise of the world.

  I know what it’s meant for. But I’m not using it for that.

  Is that what it means to be a person?

  - - -

  More time passes. A few days after my last bit of enchantment work, I finally see the other healer for the first time.

  He’s a kid.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  For the first time since the integration, I wonder about the lowest boundary for age. When do skills manifest? When do they appear? How old is he?

  He is short, quite a bit shorter than me, probably in the middle of a growth spurt. His hair is short and a light blonde, and he’s wearing a dark blue suit jacket that looks a little too small for him. He’s hunched over another human, someone curled up in pain but with no visible wounds, staring at them with bright blue eyes.

  Those eyes are cold.

  I look at him, probably for a bit too long, and he turns to face me, the pale blue of his healing skill fizzling out. He tilts his head a little, then turns to one of his group, pointing at me. He just stares at the other man, whose lips move as if to explain something.

  Then, still wearing that same, curious expression, he waves. I raise my hand and wave, too. He waves harder.

  Hopping up from my perch on the wagon, I walk towards him. There’s a soft popping, and Opal appears at my side, arms crossed behind their head. “Yoyo. What’re we up to?”

  I nod towards the kid. “The other healer.”

  Opal grins and nods, seemingly pleased with my explanation. We get to about 20 metres away from the kid, before someone steps in front of us. It’s a woman, tall and muscular, with an axe strapped to her back. She’s got short, dark hair, silvery streaks of age woven into it. Her face is twisted into a frown.

  “What do you want?” she asks.

  Twisting a bit to see the boy, his hands already on the injured human again, I nod towards him. “Wanna talk to the healer.”

  “Jean doesn’t talk,” she says.

  I look at the kid. “Because you don’t let anyone see him?”

  She grins. “Oh, in part. The other bit is that he doesn’t want to.”

  “Doesn’t want to?” I ask, already seeing the kid flinching slightly in the back. “That seems like a callous way to say that.”

  At that, her grin fades, and she eyes me up and down. “What would you know?”

  “I was nonspeaking for about three years,” I reply.

  “What’s that mean?” she asks, oblivious to the second curious look the kid’s shooting me.

  Opal bristles at the lady. “It means that my friend is good with the quiet sorta people,” they say. “It means that you’re sounding like, and pardon my french here, a bit of a bitch.”

  A small smirk darts across my lips. I close my eyes, not letting the old lady’s look of indignation ruin it for me. “What’s your name?” I ask, maybe about a half second before she wants to start yelling. “I’m Snow.”

  “Isabelle,” she replies, grumpily. So many people in this caravan seem to be like that. All grouchy. I wait for her to say more, but there’s nothing except the soft hum of healing magics, until that, too, tapers off. “I’ll ask you to leave now.”

  I tilt my head, softly. “I was hoping to exchange pointers with Jean.” His eyes seem to light up at the idea.

  “Your healing skills are different,” she waves me off. “Leave my grandson alone.”

  Ah, so that’s how it is. With some hesitation, I give a small nod. “Alright, then,” I say. “Thank you for your time.” Then, I turn around. With my remaining arm, I pull a thin piece of wood from a nearby wagon, and use my mana to scratch words into it. Then, I pass it to Opal, and it vanishes with the soft pop of a [Blink].

  Now, we’ll wait and see.

  - - -

  I keep working on my memory-skill. Bit by bit, I’m improving it. There’s also a much larger sample size, now that we’re in the caravan. Whenever someone activates a skill within the range of my [Deconstruction], I fight just a bit.

  Not enough to be noticeable - at most, it costs them a tiny bit more mana, but enough for me to slowly piece the abilities together. Piece by piece, like puzzles, I assemble them in my mind, then try to keep them available for as long as possible.

  It’s a difficult exercise with my only slightly superhuman memory, but I do manage to a good degree. I work on deconstructing a lot of my party members’ skills, too. Inu’s [Reservoir], Bay’s [Part Storage], Thatch’s [Channelling], Opal’s [Echo], Richard’s [Stomach]. They’re all helpful for forming ideas about what I want.

  The nights have become quiet, so I usually work deep into those. Nothing comes from the fog. I do still see the fae, crawling along the edges, watching and waiting. Stalking us. It feels colder still, these days. Sleet and rain comes in the night; not from the storm itself, but just from the edges.

  I weave my mana, testing and trying different shapes, and watch them all fall apart and crumble. After a few requests from my party, these tests are done outside of my body, to prevent myself from taking any kind of internal damage.

  Sighing softly, I wrap the enchanted blankets tighter around myself, and focus some more, moving my mana outside of my vessel yet again, relieving the pulsating pressure against my chest just a bit, and making it easier to breathe the chilly air of the second floor. The cart trudges on beneath me.

  Eventually, there’s another knock. Frostbite, again, someone from the gardening team requires healing. The old man with amber wings stands by and watches me heal. With some help from Jess, we’re able to thaw the gardener back up, and then heal any of the damage that was done. Some rather nasty tissue death. No amputation needed, luckily.

  Though growing back some smaller digits might be good practice for my shoulder. I roll the stump I still have, massaging it to help the blood flow through it a bit more. It gets cold really easily, which is why I’m wrapped in even more blankets than the others, with one almost permanently wrapped around that side of my body.

  Another day passes. Another person comes by with frostbite. This time, I smile, and get the message. “Come in,” I say. With a nod, the small and frail figure hops onto the cart behind me, wrapped in blankets. Opal quickly takes to standing guard outside.

  Once we’re indoors, Jean takes off some of the blankets. His big eyes are focused on me. He pulls out a block of paper from Earth, and a ballpoint pen. “So,” he writes in a soft, curly font, “let’s talk.”