Chapter 8: Pace of Amatoria

Sitting before someone he felt comfortable around, he was strangely nervous. Used to making fake friendships for his cover, he couldn’t figure out at what pace to go for a real one.

A little pang of hurt shot through Craft’s brain. He bowed and grasped his head.

“Oh, are you okay? Is the post-summons headache kicking in?”

Enty, fix your summoning system. Please. He labored to look at her. “Well, my head’s spinning, I might throw up” —

The trick-or-treating woman took a step back. “Can you keep it in? Thanks.”

— “but I’m glad I can hope for some answers.” He showed a smile before looking back down and closing his eyes. It didn’t take too long for the pain to subside. He might need to rest a little longer, but staying frozen in one position couldn’t be good for him. “Can we sit down somewhere?”

“Ah, yeah!” The woman drew back and looked around. “R-right, I moved all the furniture out last month,” she said with a disappointed voice. She turned back towards him. “How about let’s sit on the platform stairs? I keep it sparkling clean, don’t worry.”

She offered a hand for him to stand. Wasn’t such a gesture too soon? He waved his hand and stood up — slowly — on his own. He thought he saw a momentary frown from her, but he wasn’t looking directly. Maybe he was just seeing things, still dwelling on what happened between him and Enty.

The two sat together on the stairs. She wasn’t kidding; the steps were so glossy, Craft could see his own reflection in it.

The woman took off her hat. Her hair fell down, black as night, and there were a few long braids that fell down to her shoulder. Most striking was a circular tattoo under her left eye.

“Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself,” she chuckled with a wry smile. “I’m Nightshade, full-time assistant manager at this temple. What’s your name?”

He raised an eyebrow at the fact that she felt the need to say ‘full-time.’ Well, whatever. “Craft Bowen. Just call me Craft.”

They shook hands. Her grip was light, but somehow, it had a spark of power, like she could kill him with her thumb. To be fair, anyone could kill anyone with their thumb; Nightshade just seemed like she could do it without even touching him.

“Are you really newly summoned?” she asked, letting go if his hand. Her face sparkled with that same curiosity as he’d seen a while ago.

“Well, it’s definitely my first day in this world.” He looked around. The chamber was barren, but pristine. It didn’t have that smell of old dust he’d expect a place like this to have. Rather, a mild flowery scent suffused through the chamber. All things considered, he hadn’t had a bad welcome.

“I can’t believe this happened on my watch…” Nightshade muttered.

“That kinda hurt,” Craft said.

She gasped and looked at him. “Sorry! I mean, you’re not bad news! It’s just, newly summoned people aren’t exactly common.”

He chuckled. “No offense taken. I figured it was like that.”

“Anyway, don’t worry!” she said, waving her hands. “As the assistant manager, one of my duties is to help new summons like you get on their feet!”

She got on her feet. He had hoped for some more small talk, but being teacher-student for now might be for the best.

She rolled up her sleeves. Oh, she’s getting into the role. Train someone enough and they could wear different masks for different occasions — he knew that very well. That besides… “Is what you do an official job?” he asked.

“Yep! And we’re in one of Enthusia’s temples. They’ve all got managers.”

It was just about what he’d expected. To have a world organized to take care of day-zero summons was a pretty good point in favor of Enthusia’s intent to help people out. If she did all the helping out herself, it would’ve been a case of an overworked boss — not that he knew whether gods could be overworked.

She raised a finger. “Anyway! Important! Before we even leave this room, there are a few things you need to know — and there’s one rule you need to absolutely follow: you should never get in the way of someone’s Hobby, and that’s Rule Number One!”

He leaned forward, squinting his eyes. “A hobby?” he parroted. It sounded strange, but he’d had to follow weirder laws. Besides… “Somehow, I feel like that ‘hobby’ is actually capitalized.”

“That’s because it is. Hobbies are” — she paused, putting a finger to her cheek and staring at him for a second. “I’m assuming a lot of things about where you come from right now, so if something confuses you, just say so, alright?”

Oh? That surprised him. That part didn’t feeling like it came from her training. Being considerate of other people was one thing, but for Nightshade to be transparent about her own assumptions, he felt a lot more at ease and confident about approaching her.

He nodded, prompting her to continue.

“Great. The most basic of basics here in the midRealm is that you need Anima to live, and you get Anima by doing your Hobbies. To be clear, you don’t need to eat to live, okay? You need Anima.”

She paused, letting the fact seep into Craft’s understanding. The rules of survival in Amatoria were completely different to his former world’s, and it didn’t take much for him to imagine that it meant profoundly different dynamics in how people interacted with each other, from love to war and everything in between — assuming war was even still a thing around here.

He scratched his chin, looking down at the ground in contemplation. “You weren’t kidding. It’s the right thing to do to tell that to new arrivals first thing,” he said with a low voice. He looked back up at her. “So everything revolves around this Anima thing? No, Hobbies?”

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It wasn’t so much the fuel, but the source of the fuel that was important.

“What are they anyway?” he continued. “I think I saw something like that on the way here.”

Nightshade nodded slowly. “That’s right. For the people born here, Amatoria’s System will auto-magically assign them a Hobby at some point, usually when they find something they like to do. For people like you and me, the System does the assignment while we’re being transported here.”

“Huh?” he blurted out with wide eyes. They suddenly had something in common. “You’re also — what do you call it — summoned?”

She nodded, looking away and fixing her hair. “Yeah, well, it’s been a long time though. Honestly, I almost forgot that was the case.”

He chuckled. “How can you forget?”

She shrugged. “It’s been — huh, a thousand years? I dunno, I’ve stopped keeping track. I can check my calendar, though, if you’re that curious.”

He stared at her. There he thought being stuck in limbo for a couple of centuries was a long time. It still doesn’t even feel like it.

“Oh, one last thing,” Nightshade continued. “If you happen to die out there, some of your Anima will be consumed, and you’ll be respawned at the closest temple like this one.”

“Die? So something out there can kill me?” He was under the impression that this was a peaceful world, but maybe that wasn’t the case after all. Well, even if it wasn’t, this life would always be his second chance. With or without danger, he’d take it to its conclusion.

He’d expected a straightforward answer, but Nightshade furrowed her brows. “How to say…” she muttered and faced him. “Amatoria’s generally a safe place, and the people here don’t try to kill you without consent, but otherwise, nothing’s really stopping you from doing something stupid and getting into an accident.”

Craft nod…ded? “So if they get my consent…” He locked eyes with her, and she nodded to confirm his suspicions. “I… I see…”

He sighed, and so did Nightshade. “It’s…a weird place,” she said.

Yeah. He’d met a weird person too before coming here. It all seemed to be in theme, though, so maybe he was the weird one? That should be the case, but something Enthusia said was still stuck in his mind:

“…It’s a world I made so people like you can find the things you need…”

That meant everyone here shared something in common. In thinking about his own tragedies, he wondered if Nightshade had her own fair share of troubles, too. It made him curious — gave him a sense of kinship with her, even — but it wasn’t his place to pry. In the best case, she’d overcome them already, anyway, and prodding her would just bring back bad memories. Though, if she actually hadn’t gotten over them after even a thousand years… Well, it wasn’t his place to ask.

He continued to look at her with such thoughts.

She looked at him quizzically. “Is there something in my eye?”

Oh shit, he did not mean to stare at her like that. In the midst of panic, he looked for anything that he could use to — aha!

“Sorry, this has been bothering me since a while ago, but what’s that under your eye?” he asked, pointing at the mark under her eye with his pinky finger.

“Huh, this?” She put a finger under her tattoo. “That’s my witch mark. It shows how much magic I have.”

Magic, huh? Back in Craft’s world, it wasn’t an unknown concept. Rather, people feared it. He imagined if Nightshade were to live in his world, its people would surely come to fear her and her strength; throw some magic into the mix, and they’ll have to choose whether to worship her or take their chances and hunt her down.

“Right now, it’s just a baby potato,” she continued.

Hm? He perked up and squinted at her.

“I’m sure one day, it’ll flourish into a flowering potato.” She clutched her fist, declaring her resolve to the stained glass image of Enthusia in the ceiling window. “Potatoes are the superior root crop! They have pretty flowers, too! The Tower will rue the day they took potatoes off the cafeteria menu!” She pulled her fist close to her chest, whispering a silent prayer. “Enty witness me.”

Craft could only offer a wry smile. Reclassified to Class-A weirdo, and he meant that with a polite amount of affection. He still wasn’t sure how he’d situate himself around her, but if she was this weird, there was scarcely anything he could do to mess this up.

Still… ‘Enty,’ huh? Nightshade had used her nickname so casually. Thinking back to that incorrigible curveball Enty threw him, was it actually a big deal after all? “Is that really okay?” he asked.

Nightshade eyed him curiously. “What is?”

“Calling her En” —

Nightshade jumped at him and covered his mouth. “Don’t use it if you don’t have Nickname Rights!” She took her hand away, but Craft made no sound, just staring at her.

H-had she broken him? “A-are you okay?” —

Craft made the most incredible sound: “Ah-wu-gheh?” This was, indeed, not a sound he had made before. Seeing Nightshade, his face flushed red, and she broke into laughter.

He covered his mouth and looked away. “Say nothing.”

“You’re amazing.” She wiped her eyes. “But really, be careful about it.”

He looked at her. “What was that all about anyway?”

Nightshade breathed deeply — in and out — expelling the last of the laughing gas. “Alright, alright. If you use her nickname and you don’t have Nickname Rights, there’s a bunch of penalties. On the first offense, you’ll get wind magically blown into your ear. On the second offense, an angel will find you and give you a light forehead flick. On the third offense, the forehead flick will knock you out” —

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa” — he shot up to his feet, and he looked like a crab as he started waving his hands and shaking his head with bent knees. “Explain this to me — one more time — but nickname rights are ‘Nickname Rights’” — he quoted the words with his fingers, just to be sure — “and you get K.O.’d for using her nickname if you don’t have…Nickname Rights?”

Could Enthusia have made up such a rule? That goddess on the level of a petty dictator? No way. That made no sense!

“Weird, right?” Nightshade snickered. “I’m about 99% sure it’s the angels who came up with the rule.”

Craft calmed down. He straightened up and sat down. “Alright. I can see that,” he said. He hadn’t met any angels besides Amacus, but if they were proper angels, they’d definitely be zealous enough to take things to the extremes.

At least it was just on this level. He remembered a peculiar case where a truly benevolent dictator was subverted by his subordinates, so he ended up looking like a stock dictator from the outside-looking-in. What a waste of a good man, that one.

Nightshade chuckled as she shook her head with her hand on her forehead. “They love her too much.”

“How’d you get Nickname Rights, though?” Craft asked. Following the conversation just now, he knew he had Nickname Rights, but he didn’t feel sure about revealing it yet — not until he knew the ins and outs of this weird law. For all he knew, he went through a weird route to getting them, and he didn’t want to stand out too much just because of it.

“Oh!” Nightshade clapped. “Funny story! I didn’t know it at the time, but I met her in an alley sometime in the last century. There was this old lady looking for anyone reselling a ticket to the UpRealm, and she introduced herself as Enty.”

He found her hand gestures amazingly expressive, always pointing around and making rolling gestures. That besides — ‘UpRealm’? The question showed on his face.

“Oh, it’s this nice farming place. Basically, Amatoria has three realms, and to get from here, the midRealm, to the UpRealm, you need portal tickets.” She shook her head and waved her hands around as if swatting a fly. “I’ll fill you in on the geography later!

“Anyway! She told me she was finally going to reunite with her long lost family after two worlds and five hundred years, but she’d lost her ticket. I only had the one ticket at the time, but I figured I was just going there on vacation, while here she was on a noble quest.” She shrugged. “I gave it to her.” She blew air through her nose and grabbed her own hair. “Then she turned into a beautiful woman and ascended and angels poured in from everywhere and one of them gave me a certificate!”

Enthusia… What the hell are you doing?…

Nightshade froze for a moment, stuck in a daze recalling those events, no doubt. Craft was sort of out of it after hearing about it, too. Just what was going on in this world? Even if he was having a minor worldview crisis, it was looking like Enthusia’s words were ringing true. Going by Nightshade’s words, this world wasn’t in a hurry. It meant he didn’t have to be, either.