The morning slips into afternoon, and the pattern of pain before peace repeats a hundred times. My soul energy flicks up, an injury blazes, and then is repaired. One inch of me at a time. Eventually, Zara returns, and I take a stab at conversation.

  “So, while we’re, well, trapped here, why don’t we tell some stories?”

  “Stories?” Burl says, sitting up and yawning with what looks like a thousand teeth. “Like what, softskin?”

  “I don’t know, maybe about our homes? Our past? Something funny, to pass the time?”

  “I do not wish to speak of my past,” Zara whispers, her limbs twitching.

  “Yeah, no thanks, Boss,” Burl says, flopping back onto the earth.

  “Methinks stories of the Tree would not bear the burden of interest, twig,” Threenut says apologetically. “Ye lack the knowledge to see as the People do.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say quickly, groaning through a toe burning itself back to health. “How about stories of this place? Anything crazy happen to you guys early?”

  “Aside from a twiggy human preserving me roots?” Threenut’s giant eyes twinkle. “Nay, lass.”

  “I got one,” Burl says, sitting up straight. “When I finished the Provings, I got Boons, same as everybody else. From what I could tell, mine were pretty good. Metalworking and stuff, things that were rarer than most of the other Cobalds I talked to. But you know what’s strange?”

  “That you didn’t start a Corp yourself instead of working for someone else?” I mutter.

  “Well that’s the thing, boss. My old head man, Mr. Grent, he got…” Burl leans in close. “Two Rare Boons. Even proved it in the open. So we had to make him boss, yeah?”

  “Two?” Zara whispers, her eyes swiveling to lock onto Burl. “What did he do to earn such bounty?”

  “No telling, but…”

  Their words fade beyond a roaring in my ears.

  Kora…

  “I told you your situation was beyond uncommon. Though it could be leverage, if we have cause to doubt the scaly creature in the future.”

  Kora. He’s in our party. Mutual trust, and all that.

  “The point stands.”

  “I, too, have an oddity concerning my inception,” Zara says eventually.

  Shocked, I try to sit up, but the pain of my still-broken ribs sends me back to the earth, hissing between clenched teeth. Zara? Sharing?

  “When I entered the white space, before the first Proving, I got a notification. An achievement.” Her eyes scan the space before her where I imagine blue letters are appearing in the air. “‘The early bird…’ it says. A reference to which I am unfamiliar.”

  “The early bird gets the worm,” I say, quietly surprised. Why is the Seventh using a human metaphor in other species’ achievements? “It means the person who rises and begins earliest has the best chance of success.”

  “Yes. Well, I was apparently the first to gain a level in the entire Tournament.”

  “Before the first Proving?” I ask, frowning. “How does that make any sense?”

  “I am not sure it does,” Zara answers softly.

  “The first?” Burl looks at her askance. “Why are you so low now, then? With that head start and all?”

  Zara stares back at him wordlessly before standing and resuming her hypnotic dance.

  As the light deepens towards violet twilight, the consequences of Threenut’s mistake, finally, set in. It starts with light scratching and grumbling, but soon, splotches cover his deep brown skin like moss. The little man starts rolling on the earth, his fingers madly ripping at his skin, spitting a stream of curses. When he can’t control his shouts any longer, Zara crouches low over him, drawing a dozen symbols of healing in the air. Each comes with a flash of pastel green that briefly brightens the glade. She works for several long minutes before he finally stops scratching and lies still. Panting, his little body rests in a small trench his thrashing carved in the dirt.

  And he’s glaring at… me?

  “What?” I ask, finally healed enough to be able to sit up.

  “Yer… yer world… it has more evil such as this?” he says, gesturing weakly towards the innocent-looking plant still standing a few paces away.

  “What do you mean, evil?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Not that will cut your growth short,” he says, heaving himself to his feet unsteadily. “But… annoying. Irritating. Deceptive.”

  “I mean, yeah,” I say, shrugging. “There’s plants like this, you know, poison ivy, poison oak, sumac, and the like. There’s some that, if you eat them, they’ll make you sick, and some that touching is enough, and some that look edible but really aren’t, since they evolved to mimic the edible stuff, and a bunch have thorns that they hide…”

  “This is common?” Zara cuts in, her body tilting again. “Your plant growth is mildly irritating?”

  “Sure. Most things are, I guess. There’s insects that make them seem positively peaceful. Hornets, yellow jackets, wasps, mosquitoes… hell, I even hate house flies and gnats, and they don’t even do anything to you.”

  There is a tense pause as they watch me silently.

  “Glad I am me roots did not take in your world,” Threenut says eventually. “It sounds fit to be a… a… desert.”

  The way he says it, and the shudder he gives off, implies that desert might equate to hell in his language. Them being plant people and all, it makes sense.

  “It isn’t all that bad,” I say defensively.

  “Are there forms of life on your world that are not annoying?” Zara asks.

  “Well…” Hmm. I take a second to think about the question, trying to list species in my head. Most plantlife does seem to have some kind of annoying defense mechanism, be it thorns or oils or stickers or whatever. Insects? Never where you want them, a lot of them bite or sting or web. Animals? Cats, nope. Dogs? Close, but they slobber and you have to care for them like fricken children or they’ll destroy everything… and don’t get me started on humans. “Well… shit. No?”

  “I agree with Tiny,” Burl says, shaking his head. “Your world sounds like it sucks.”

  “But everything from your worlds has tried to kill me!” I shout, throwing up my hands. “I’d rather be annoyed than dead!”

  “Eh,” Threenut says, the single syllable carrying with it an entire worldview.

  “Indeed,” Zara agrees. “I am with the Otachai.”

  “Rather die,” Burl says, nodding.

  I look between each of them, waiting for one of them to laugh, to break their stony facade. But no. They’re looking at me seriously, and with… is that sympathy?

  “You guys are weird,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

  Now they laugh. Even Zara, the sound like gravel rattling through a giant hourglass, her carapace rattling like a rainstorm. Assholes.

  But I can’t keep the smile off my face.

  “So what did I get?” I ask, thinking suddenly of the shimmering chest growing closer and closer in my vision as I fell. “For completing the Challenge?”

  Threenut looks like he’s wearing new boots, and Burl has a shining square of metal attached to his hip. Zara looks the same, though she seems to have some way of hiding things on her person, either in her carapace or through magic. I stare at their new items for long enough for Identification to activate, but only their personal descriptions pop up. Interesting. I can’t get information on what people are holding or wielding. Maybe if I evolve the Skill to mythic?

  “Twig…”

  Threenut looks abashed, his large eyes darting down and away. Burl sheepishly scratches the side of his snout.

  “We could not open your chest,” Zara rasps flatly. “And you were unable to.”

  “‘Unable to.’ Yeah. Understatement of the year,” I say, shrugging away the disappointment. “Doesn’t really matter, in the end. At least I’m alive, right?”

  “Forgive us, twig,” Threenut says. “I’d offer ye the cover given for me roots, but their size is meant for me and mine.” He gestures at his new shoes with a sad, slow flourish.

  “All good, little man,” I say, smiling.

  “But I do have something for you,” Zara says, pulling gray cloth out of… somewhere. Was that her… yeah, better not to think about it.

  It’s a dress. An A-line dress of gray fabric that holds its shape as she offers it on a pair of extended arms. If I was wearing it, the dress wouldn’t go much past my knees, and much of my collarbone and arms would still be exposed. Basically a cocktail dress, almost in a style like Katie used to like when she went out. Still, there’s something off about it, something alien and distinctly Zara. It doesn’t register what I’m really looking at until I notice the yellow line accenting the hem. Is that the dead guy’s jumpsuit?

  Identification: Repurposed Aethid Techsuit (Unique Artifact, Equipment)

  A unique work of the Craftsman Zaratiumynya of the Laranya Weavers. Despite the dubious wisdom inherent in wearing a dress to battle, this garment retains the defensive properties the Sect of Steel imbued into its fabric. Thanks to the abilities of the Craftsman, that protection extends beyond the visible limits of its shape. Offers moderate protection from explosions, shrapnel, electricity, and fire.

  “Whoa, really?” I say, feeling acutely the skin showing over my chest. And stomach. And hip. And legs. And back. “Will it… fit?” Zara freezes as if struck. Shit. I said something wrong. I hurriedly step forward and snag the dress before she can take it back. “Nevermind, I’m sure it will!”

  My stupid brain briefly wants to tell the boys to look away, but the fact that I’m basically naked in the remnants of my dress already and that they’re, I don’t know, aliens reasserts itself pretty quickly. Stripping off the rags that made up my graduation dress is easier than holding them on, and I slide Zara’s dress over my head. The fabric is softer than it appears, and a perfect fit: tight in all the right places, supportive while leaving my legs and arms free. For the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t feel the air on my vulnerable bits, and God does that do wonders for my confidence.

  “Wow, Zara, it’s perfect! If I didn’t know this was some dead asshole’s jumpsuit, I’d think you wove it just for me! Thank you!”

  That Zara allows me to throw my arms around her is maybe as surprising as anything else that’s happened today. Hugging Zara is like hugging a giant pinecone, so I quickly step back, grinning to hide my wince.

  “It is nothing,” she says woodenly, though her eyes glitter. “I need better materials if I am to craft anything worthy.”

  “Well, if this is what you can do with crappy fabric, I think we need to get you some of the really good shit!” I twirl, and the skirt sways but maintains its shape. I stand tall, hands on my hips, and throw out what little chest I’ve got. “How does it look? Heroic? Sexy?”

  “Eh,” Threenut says, and the others echo the sound.

  So much for that whole confidence thing.

  “Alright, friends!” I say, refusing to let myself fully deflate. “What’s the plan?”