Let’s Not [Obliterate]

The fire was crackling as the clouds in the sky darkened. Dema was sitting on a rock with her cup of stone tea in her hand, looking at it fondly as if it was the prettiest flower she had ever received.

“I can’t believe this,” she mumbled. “Shale tea. Shale tea!”

She shook her head slowly, a smug smile on her face. “If this ain’t the coolest thing ever. I’ve got, like the best travelling companion in the world.”

Meanwhile, Theora sat on the other side of the campfire, trying her very best to withstand the praise. At this point, she’d almost prefer being teased. She tried to tune it out, and instead wondered if she should use that wonky skill of hers now.

Dema had already given up on finding what she was looking for here. Even if, by sheer coincidence, the event chosen by the Skill would make what she was trying to do ‘almost possible’, would that even help?

Maybe Theora should try to convince her to keep going. In any case, having seen Dema so disappointed just moments ago, Theora couldn’t help but try. Try and see. What could go wrong?

[im//possibility].

A few seconds went by, and nothing really happened. Dema was drinking her tea, insect hums echoed in from the trees, the occasional bird sang a soft melody.

Still, Theora could feel it, like through some additional new sense. In the fabric of reality around her, something had changed. The Skill had worked.

Something impossible had become almost possible. Or, maybe, something possible had become almost impossible. She had no way to tell what it was.

At least, initially. It didn’t take very long for Dema to start issuing unhappy noises. At first, small, slightly annoyed hums that eventually grew into impassive groans.

“Gah, what the hell is happening!” she eventually cried, as she was brushing through her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know! Why, this is— Gah!”

Dema had placed the mug next to her on the stone and proceeded to now stroke over her face with both hands. “I can’t get this damn strand of hair out of my forehead! It’s tickling like hell, but—” She tried to grasp it, but as if by sheer coincidence, the strand wiggled in the wind and eluded her grasp. Her face distorted into a helpless grimace. “Little rabbit! Help, I’m dying!”

[im//possibility] advanced to Level 2!

Theora stared at her notification. What a truly and utterly, unspeakably useless Skill. She wanted to [Obliterate] it right then and there. Touch Dema again and I will, she thought at the Skill, aware that it couldn’t hear her, but she would do it, so it better listen anyway.

Seeing Dema still struggling, Theora got up, walked around the campfire, and came to a halt right in front of her. Again, as she had to do so often, it was time to fix up the mess she had made.

The next moment, Dema summoned a blotch of blood from under her fingernails, solidifying it into a pair of scissors. She took it up and tried to cut the hair away, but again, it simply dodged. Theora stretched out her hand, slowly approaching, until Dema noticed and stopped wailing. The scissors just liquified and dropped onto her knee, but she didn’t look down. Instead, Dema looked up with wide eyes as Theora gently brushed the strand from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear.

Almost impossible?

That would not stop Theora.

“Damn,” Dema intoned, the glow in her eyes unsteady. “Got some big heart flutters there, not gonna lie.”

When they left the mountains the next day, Theora had decided that she wouldn’t use [im//possibility] again around people, especially not Dema. At least for now, until she had a stronger understanding of how it functioned. After all, she had some experience intuiting the inner workings of Skills, since [Obliterate] was rather similar in that its description didn’t do any kind of justice to the sheer amount of complications that arose from its use. 

So, [im//possibility] was a Skill she’d reserve training for when she was alone. Which didn’t happen a lot, but Dema liked to spend time talking to people in towns and settlements, so in those, they’d often spent some time apart. Maybe she could experiment a bit more with it once they got there.

That left two more skills to try out, then. [Firmamental Injection] would apparently make her swallow a sun, so that may not be a good thing to attempt without dire need. Theora had no idea about what dire a need would have to arise for such a specific Skill to help out, so she just etched its existence into her memory. Perhaps one day, it would serve her. But that may still be quite a long time in the future.

Lastly, there was [Head in the Clouds]. It was the easiest Skill to use and probably level up, but there was a slight issue on that front.

Whenever she was about to use it, she remembered the rule. 

No more thinking for Theora.

And [Head in the Clouds] sounded like the perfect thing to throw her into a brooding fit somehow. As such, she hadn’t touched it yet. But she would, once she got Dema to loosen the rule a little. Of course, regardless of the rule, Theora was still thinking and brooding all the time, because she couldn’t help herself, but using a Skill to provoke it? She wouldn’t go that far.

No, Dema was precious, and so were her rules, especially because it felt like the rule was just meant to help Theora, in some abstract way she couldn’t understand, no matter how hard she tried. And she felt really bad for trying because it was in direct violation of said rule.

And thus, they set out on their journey to the west, with Theora spending most of her time wondering what kind of upgrade to [Immortality] Dema could have possibly received.

As they moved onward, autumn swept over the region, colouring the leaves in the prettiest shades of yellow, orange, and red. They’d asked for directions in a small settlement and found out that indeed, Hallmark still existed, as merchants from that place made their way through Callarand frequently. Nobody in the smaller settlement had heard of Fragments of Time.

The saddest part about autumn for Theora was that there would now be fewer and fewer flowers to find and give Dema. After her disaster back then, she hadn’t stopped giving them to her, just been a lot more careful about what kind of messages she’d weave into those bouquets. Things like “Good Morning,” or “Thank you for your help,” or “Let’s go see the sunset together” all seemed like very safe options, although Dema sometimes still acted squeamish for reasons Theora didn’t understand.

Meanwhile, Dema was busy turning every stone she could find, and whenever they came by some mountains, no matter how small they were, she’d start begging Theora for a detour — begging that was completely unnecessary, because Theora would still always accept Dema’s suggestions of that kind the moment they were made. 

And every time Theora saw that sad frown on Dema’s face when she hadn’t found anything after combing through the rock, she desperately wanted to use [im//possibility] again.

Soon, they’d be in town, and she’d have some time to herself in the room of an inn or on some outskirts around the settlement, and then she’d get to try it out.