I glanced over at the bartender, who’d stopped wiping mugs to watch me approach the door. She shrugged apathetically and went back to her work.

  Fair play. My fumble, my fix.

  I knocked lightly on the door and waited for a response; when none came, I knocked again. This was met with some shuffling, and then a call from the other side.

  “I mean it, go away. You’re free to host your party, and you can keep the room you paid for… you can take your coin back for the stools, too, just please leave me alone.”

  I thought briefly about letting it go, stepping away from the door and moving on with the night, but leaving the misunderstanding unresolved would leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

  So I pushed my luck, or rather, I pushed the luck I didn’t have.

  “I apologise if I’ve made you uncomfortable; that was not my intention at all. I think what you did was incredibly interesting, and I was simply curious how it was done. Who you are, or what you are, does not bother me in the slightest, and I do not want you to think that I would dislike you.”

  Idiot, stop making it sound like you’re flirting with them. Stay focused.

  “I thought you were quite pleasant to speak with and never once found your service to be lacking. Were we not just laughing and smiling moments ago? I would very much like that to be how we both remember our interaction. I’m sorry for not leaving you alone, but I needed to say my piece or else I know I would regret it later.”

  I paused, injecting some hesitation into the end of what I had to say. I wanted to give the impression that there was more I wanted to say, but changed my mind at the last second. It was incredibly difficult to have regular conversations as my mind had already laid out everything far before speaking.

  I needed to add mannerisms to my speech retroactively that would otherwise have been lacking. Breaths, stutters, ‘umm’s’ and ‘uhhh’s’, things most people rely on when searching for words mid-sentence.

  “Thank you for hearing me out.”

  I waited a beat to see if there would be any response, but there was only silence. Not really knowing what else to do, I made my way back to my table, cursing my horrendous awkwardness the entire way. The bartender made her way over and asked if there was anything I would like, so I asked what they had for a selection of drinks.

  They seemed to have softened their attitude slightly—given my show at the door. Sympathy for an idiot? Tenderness for an earnest apology? I’d take the pity if that’s what she was offering me.

  I didn’t really know what to expect for drinks, but there were some hefty-looking kegs on the sill behind the bar which I assumed either contained mead or wine. She explained they had mead, wine, ale, and a fruit spirit I didn’t recognize.

  Apparently they’d picked it up off a merchant travelling north from the deep forests of the mid-continent. I asked her if she’d tried it, and she simply responded that she didn’t like the taste of alcohol. It seemed strange that a bartender wouldn’t have sampled their goods, but to each their own.

  I ordered some of the fruit spirit, which was called mallow-liquor. The bartender brought the mug over to me, and as she dropped it off, I finally asked her name.

  “You can call me Trekka.”

  The atmosphere had cooled to a stiff, formal politeness, and it stung more than I’d thought it would. It was better than outright disdain, but not by much.

  The uncomfortable nature of our transaction had me feeling a bit sorry for myself, and following the episode I’d had earlier outside the inn, I suspected something was influencing my moods. I hadn’t ever been prone to fits of melancholy, so my sour disposition was out of place.

  It had to be a combination of everything that had taken place in the last four days and my homesickness. I wasn’t properly giving myself time to process all the emotions I was experiencing.

  Speaking with Armela had helped ease the pressure, but she wasn’t a therapist, and she didn’t deserve the emotional bombardment of my problems either. She had her own traumas to work through.

  I thanked the bartender for her name, remarking that I actually quite liked it. A hint of rosiness returned to her cheeks as she bowed slightly at the waist and returned to the bar. Looking down at the mug, I found it was filled with a crimson liquid that reminded me of cherry cough syrup; the smell wasn’t dissimilar either.

  I swirled it softly in my hand. I’d anticipated people to be hot on my heels into the dining room, but I supposed overcoming the fear of ostracization by their peers may persuade most to turn the other way. If people took more than an hour to show up, then I’d give up and head back to the camp with my proverbial tail between my legs.

  I’d need to check in on Armela and her… guests before inspecting the progress of my digbots. I took a sip of the drink and was pleasantly surprised by the sweet, heady flavour; it had a syrupy quality that wanted to coat the inside of my mouth. It reminded me of a spiced blend of cherry, blackberry, apple, and smoky dark rum.

  The liquid would be broken down into its constituent molecules and then either stored for later use, or amalgamated into the function of my cells, so I didn’t need to worry about becoming intoxicated. Though I supposed if I truly wished for such an effect, my body would almost certainly respond to it.

  I wondered how Armela would handle her alcohol; if her recent behaviour was anything to go by, she would likely be a happy-go-lucky hot mess after enough of the liquid courage. I took a second sip, and as it rolled over my tongue, the flavour profile shifted.

  Pears, cranberries, and… pineapple? I wondered if perhaps I’d gotten some dregs from the barrel to alter the taste so heavily. It was thoroughly interesting, and I was about to go back for a third sip when there was a soft ‘thunk’ from behind the bar. The door through which the innkeeper had run popped open enough to reveal their face.

  They stared at me for a moment before glancing at the bartender, who seemed to be entirely absorbed in her duties. The innkeeper quickly gestured for me to go upstairs before quietly closing the door again.

  Looking around the empty dining room, I shrugged my shoulders. I informed the bartender I’d be returning to my room briefly and if anyone came in looking for me, to get them anything they liked and let them know I’d return shortly. She nodded and picked up the next mug from the bar top.

  I passed through the entrance to the diner and into the small lobby of the inn; the desk with its keys sat unmonitored and in open view of the street directly across from it.

  The door had been propped open in the warm night air to allow the comforting, soft, yellow lights of the lobby to flood out onto the street, showing anyone who might pass that the inn was open for patronage.

  It reminded me of how the petals of flowers were coloured and patterned in such a way as to guide pollinating insects to the stamens.

  I hit the stairs leading up and ascended to my room’s floor. Glancing down the hall, I could see that the door to my room was already ajar. There must have been access to the floor from another stairway I hadn’t seen yet. Or perhaps some other means of egress for more… discreet travel?

  The development with the innkeeper had been interesting, and while I was fairly confident they posed no threat to me, this strange behaviour had raised my concern slightly.

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  I cautiously made my way to the door and peeked around the corner; the innkeeper stood at the window overlooking the building to the north, their hands resting on the sill.

  Stepping fully into the doorway, I announced my presence.

  “I’m… sorry for earlier.”

  They turned their head towards me slightly but didn’t fully turn around. Their hands tightened into fists against the sill before they replied.

  “You… meant what you said… right?”

  I didn’t allow for any hesitation in my words or timing; letting doubt seep into the conversation would hinder my sincerity.

  “Of course, I’ve no reason to lie to you. And even if I did have a reason to lie to you, I wouldn’t do it over something I have no problem with.”

  They whirled from the window to face me.

  “How can you say that?! After seeing what…. what I am. How can you stand there and say you don’t have a problem with it? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me?”

  Their anger softened immediately after saying it, realising that they’d over-spoken.

  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. It’s just… I’ve spent years hiding what I am from everyone around me. And for you to come in here and just…”

  They looked like they were getting frustrated with their struggle to say what they needed.

  We needed to reset.

  Raising my hands in a pleading gesture, I interrupted before they could stumble on.

  “Slow down. I’m going to start us over from the beginning, and we’re going to try this one more time. Fair?”

  Their brow wrinkled, but they nodded. Obviously more interested in seeing where I went with this than continuing to flounder on their words.

  “My name is Vita, First of the Reforged and Ingot of the great mechanical God, Mechanriel. I have come here to carry out the will of my God in this world. There is much about me that is unlike the things you are used to. And though it might surprise you, I, too, can change how I look.”

  I took that opportunity to shift my hand into the shape of a mug from the bar. Then sent a ripple up my arm to my face, which I changed to soften my complexion, shifting the structure to make me more feminine, allowing my hair to extend and my mass to redistribute until, from all outward appearances, I was a woman.

  The innkeeper stood utterly gobsmacked. Stunned into both silence and immobility. I pitched my voice into a much more feminine tone and continued.

  “I suspect this may be something you’re familiar with, though perhaps to a lesser degree. I do not find it strange, or upsetting, or even unpleasant. There’s no way I could, since I’m just as capable of such things.”

  Tears welled up in their eyes, but the awestruck look never faded. Tentatively, they reached a hand out to grasp my face. I didn’t flinch away; letting them grope and peruse my skin and ‘bones’ as they desired.

  “H-how…? Such a transformation… it’s as though you were always like this; I see no remnants of manhood. E-even your voice…”

  They stepped back quickly, as though only just realising what they’d done. A furious blush reddened their cheeks as they looked down and away.

  “Oh Gods! I’m so sorry! Again! I’m sorry!”

  I shook my head and huffed.

  “We will not get very far if you continue to apologise with every other breath. Have a seat and let’s try to talk this out.”

  They sat heavily on the bed and clasped their hands between their legs, staring down intently at their knees. It was a long moment before they spoke.

  “My name is Rumi. I’ve no family name… it was stripped from me when I was cast out of my home as a child. I… I was born like this, you know?”

  Rumi glanced up at me and offered a strained, shy smile.

  “I was ‘cursed at birth’, they said; an ‘abomination’, they called me. Kind enough to keep me fed and locked up in the wine cellar until they finally threw me out the door with nothing but the clothes on my back. So I wandered… from the south, to the east, to across the mountains and back.”

  Their leg bounced softly as they spoke, the memories causing them fresh anxiety.

  “I’ve been most everywhere there is to go. But no matter where I try to set down roots, it always ends up the same way. I either let the mask slip when I shouldn’t, or people grow uncomfortable with how I look and run me out of town because I unsettle them. Already here, people have caused a stir anytime they come to the inn.”

  Rumi winced as they mentioned that, obviously hating both themself and the fact they knew what was coming down the line for them.

  “It starts as murmurs under their breath when they think they’re out of earshot, then it’s open speculation amongst friends when they know I can hear them. Then… it always comes down to the confrontation. What am I, where did I come from, what am I planning to rob, or what am I planning to do to the children? Without fail, I’m accused of being some criminal.”

  They breathed out heavily. Closing their eyes before continuing.

  “No one has ever taken the time to ask me, you know? Who I am or where I come from. They’re either too scared or too confused to do more than engage in formal transactions.”

  They shook their head, as if that wasn’t what they really wanted to say before starting again.

  “I started working as a fence for illicit goods near the south border of Siltera. I kept my cowl up and my mask on anytime I dealt with people directly; spent a few years drifting through the border cities bartering goods and hawking wares in back alleys and shady taverns.”

  They recalled it nostalgically, as though it were a point in time they wished to return to. But there was pain in their words as well. Regrets.

  “Eventually, I convinced a prominent crime lord in Gotland to let me open my own shop. Made enough coin in a year to pay back what I owed and take flight once more. Anyway… I did that for a while, never finding a home, always dealing with city scum and tourists who’d come and go from my life faster than the items I sold.”

  The hurt was collecting in the back of Rumi’s throat, forming a lump they struggled to speak around.

  “Maybe my time in the cities warped my perception of people… I thought if I came to a small, backwater town like Hilst I would finally have a chance to really make an earnest effort at finding a home… a proper home.”

  Their fists were trembling between their knees now.

  “I thought… you know? That it wouldn’t matter here. That people would raise an eyebrow, but give me a chance. I’m such a fool… and now that you’ve seen me, now that Trekka knows… I guess I’ll have to look for a way out again.”

  They shrugged their shoulders as their life crumbled around them. Rumi’s admission to me seemed to result from a long-standing belief they held from before I’d arrived.

  “I’d hoped this inn would last a while, you know? Giving people who didn’t have a place to stay… somewhere to call home… at least for a night. I thought maybe I could be the person I’d spent my life looking for until now…”

  The tears from earlier had returned, and their bottom lip quivered as they spoke. I needed to keep some kind of tally of every person who cried around me. I didn’t know if it was just something about me—or the way I spoke—that made them feel like venting their troubles was okay, but I just couldn’t stop it from happening.

  Their head lifted, and they looked at me with a complicated expression. Pain? Resentment? Admiration? It was hard to tell.

  “A-and then in you march! Like some kind of dream, or an angel. Making me feel… things and then telling me that how I looked didn’t matter?! AFTER you’d seen my change? But… I understand now. Looking at you, as you are. I can see why—to you—this wouldn’t seem like anything so strange.”

  They smiled at me with tear-stained cheeks.

  “But I don’t know what I am, Vita. I’ve never known. I don’t know how I do what I do, or why I was cursed like this. So I don’t know what to tell you. There are days when I feel like a man. I look upon myself and I see a handsome, virile, powerful man. But… there are days when I know I am a woman.”

  I’d never heard someone sound so confused while speaking so confidently. They knew exactly how they felt, yet they had absolutely no idea why. Poor Rumi.

  “Where, before, I saw a handsome face, there now rests a beautiful, feminine guise. And these… feelings… they impact my body. Or… maybe my body is impacting the feelings? I’ve never cared to think about it. Because it’s caused me nothing but trouble for as long as I’ve been alive.”

  I heard some distant commotion as the first few patrons entered the inn a floor below us.

  “But… you can do something different. You get to choose what you look like, don’t you? Tell me, how is that possible? How do you have such a skill? Tell me, Vita. I need it. What you can do, I need it too. To never have to worry about what I look like again, to just be whatever I feel like being and not this… mix of both… if you could give it to me… I would pay any price you asked of me. Any price within my power to give.”

  They amended their wording to avoid overcommitment, but unfortunately for them; the price was very much in their power to give. The level of desperation in their voice was both heartbreaking and bewildering. We were strangers not 5 minutes prior and now I knew more about Rumi than just about anyone else.

  Something was happening. This level of divulgence was abnormal, even considering the circumstances. I had to be doing something, or behaving in a certain way for this to be the result. Why did I seem to extract such intimacy with people I hardly knew?

  More people entered the door downstairs, a group of 10 people coming together. Perhaps the people had held a small meeting to determine what they should do prior to coming? I supposed it would explain the delay.

  I could grant Rumi’s wish if I wanted. But was that the right course to take? Even just offering them the hope of what they desperately wished would be a power over them they did not realise. Or perhaps they did… and simply didn’t care what level of control I would have over them.

  Armela was one thing, but could I offer such a fate to Rumi?

  “Rumi, my heart breaks for your story. And I am both humbled and honoured that you would choose to share it with me, for as newly acquainted as we are. It means more to me than you know. Unfortunately, we both have business to attend to at the moment; however,”

  I raised a finger to emphasise my point.

  “I want you to meet me back here once the last patron has gone. There is something that we must discuss regarding my power, and how it may be something I can lend you in order to achieve your desires. Do not let this get your hopes up.”

  I’d be lying if I said the thought of another Technolyte so soon after my arrival on the planet wasn’t extremely enticing. But Rumi wasn’t just another pawn to be positioned. They were a person. Granting their whims simply because I could would lead me down a ruinous path in the future. I could feel it.

  “I have not yet decided what our future will hold. Just be prepared to be let down if that is how this unfolds. Understood?”

  Rumi nodded eagerly.

  “Yes! I understand, yes, yes, absolutely. I will meet you here after they’ve all gone. Yes… a-alright… umm of course, meet you. Here. In your room. Later tonight. I… understand! I will come… ‘prepared’ as best I can. Of course.”

  Their flustered response wasn’t lining up with what I’d said to them. And I couldn’t help but feel like they may have been interpreting what I’d said incorrectly. Though I had to admit it was fun to see them struggling as they were. Teasing them a little wouldn’t be too irresponsible… would it?

  Rumi rose from the bed and scuttled out of the room in a flustered flurry. I chuckled and quickly changed myself back to my standard appearance before heading down the stairs to the reception desk where a group of people had congregated.