Chapter 2265

Chapter 2265

Charlotte Wick tried to buy some time by raising a furred hand to wipe across her mouth. At the last second, she paused before contact could begin; her hands was crusted with dirt from her morning appointment. Her lip twitched. And although it shouldn’t matter to her, her newfound discovery of life’s complexities meant she was also in tune with the thousands of small bacteria that skittered through the mud, their amoeba feelers waving.

With a grimace, she lowered her hand. Opposite her, the Homid Matron tilted her head to the side. “Well? The family should be shifting their furniture and heirlooms later in the afternoon. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, but my brother’s wife’s aunt Reneke is a hoarder. Heirlooms! In the slums! She’d rather her poor husband break his back than stop dragging her ratty old vanity around. Right now, we barely have enough room for ourselves! Totally unnecessary. I’m really sorry for coming so suddenly, but I didn’t know who else to call. If you cannot finish the task by then, god, I’ll almost thank you. We could snap that old vanity into driftwood-”

“No, it will be done,” Charlotte Wick nodded her head quite quickly, hoping to be soon free of Homid gossip.

The woman gave Charlotte a prim nod in response, pressed one of her toes to her lips in one final urging of secrecy, and pushed her way outside the layer of hanging fronds that marked the edge of Charlotte’s dwelling. She pulled in a wide reed basket and left it on the floor. Without another word, she turned and left, leaving Charlotte Wick standing alone with her ‘payment’.

Charlotte pressed her eyes closed. She felt vaguely ill and overstrained; after her image had refined itself, it was difficult to look at anything and not see the thousands of bacteria, viruses, mites, fungi, and other drifting single-cell organisms that lived an entirely separate existence from the bodies they inhabited.

Her skin tingled with the infinite populations as they lived out their small lives. Charlotte believed she could turn all this understanding into power, but right now it felt like she had opened her eyes in the middle of a nightmare and found her subconscious had actually been trying to cushion the blow of reality.

How did I get here? She wondered. She forced herself to sit down on the low-cushioned beds she had received as one of her payments for services. The bedding was well-worn but cozy, reminding her of her favorite cave nook growing up, but she pressed those thoughts to the side. She did her best to ignore the warzone that erupted on the spots where her skin touched the new surface. Waves of bacteria from both sides slammed up against one another. She focused her thoughts away.

Element One of Charlotte’s New Existence: After she had been freed from Homewell’s prison during the Nether attack, she had made her freedom permanent by assisting with the defense. Homewell had issued her an official pardon (no small portion of that was related to Nether King Hungry Eye’s own intervention int he city’s defense.) Meanwhile, Randidly very clearly broadcast how busy he was, so she had been left to her own devices with this freedom. So she had kept training, kept refining her understanding of the world.Fôll0w current novÊls on n/o/(v)/3l/b((in).(co/m)

For now, the Lifeseal was the primary source of her inspiration, so she took up lodging right beyond the edge of the city.

Element Two, in which Charlotte Sabotages herself: In addition to her own training regarding the Lifeseal, she had been deeply fascinated by the root system in the Western Slums. The interactions between the Lifeseal and the bacteria of the roots were almost like an elaborate tango between two longtime dance partners, although as far as Charlotte could tell the two collectives, one energy and one bacteria, should be on entirely separate planes of existence. They shouldn’t be able to interact.

In her attempts to understand the relationship better, she had dug underneath the root system to meditate in the location where the two forces midst. She had wanted to sit amongst the interactions and try and intuit the connections.

Element Three, when Serendipity Haymakers Charlotte from a Blind Spot: A Lizakh father, covered in dirt, dried blood, and holding in his arms all the remaining belongings he possesses, saw Charlotte digging beneath the vines. Now homeless due to the plants, he decided this was a genius idea and completely misinterpreted the reason for her excavation.

Hence, with three elements, Charlotte Wick rapidly became the first and most in-demand digging specialist in the Homewell slums. An expert, recommended via word of mouth most enthusiastically by every customer.

Growling to herself, Charlotte reached over to the basket and removed the burlap covering. The warmth and sweetness of several berry scones wafted up to her. She quickly deactivated all of her images, so she couldn’t witness these delights’ invisible bacteria passengers. And she felt oddly underappreciated, considering she might be the most powerful individual in the slums right now.

Paid to muck around with a basket full of scones.

No scones were that delicious.

Yet Charlotte had also developed quite the taste for the matured fruit of Randidly’s vines. So although she grumbled, she plucked up the basket, grabbed her shovel to sling across her back, and left her private meditation area.

Or more complex than Charlotte knew how to express.

So instead, Charlotte hefted the basket, pulling off the covering and showing the still fragrant baked goods. “Because you can stop and have as many snacks as you want. As long as you don’t mind a little dirt.”

Dattylan’s face opened as she beamed her total and complete support for such a prospect. “Mom complains about how dirty I am all the time. She says its my most marketable skill.”

*****

The Patron of the Deep floated back and forth, considering the prospect. His massive, inflatable-looking body drifted in strange directions as he moved, as parts of him forgot where they were headed and began to meander in an entirely different direction.

Elhume felt a vein in his temple throbbing as he waited. He hated the waiting, hated the stillness. Because the current him was all momentum. Emptiness crackled in his heart, empowering his image but making him wonder why he went to such lengths. Why he continued to fixate on this.

Obviously, he still cared about Pine: his feelings for his son were left untouched by his methods, to steel himself for the harder decisions that protecting Pine involved. Yet he couldn’t help but sense, despite how careful he had been, every time he chose emptiness over his other emotions, he lost something.

Without those drops of life running through his veins, even his care for his son began to wither.

“I need this,” Elhume’s jaw clenched as his patience began to run thin. “Pine is being ripped apart by Fates; I need to create a population that can feed him stories and images without trying to take them back.

“For that... I want to create a special race. One designed to imagine, one creative and chaotic. And I know that, of all the Origin Beasts I have met, none possess your particular... flair for creation.”

“Obviously, you need not wonder about whether I would participate in such an ambitious project, Elhume. Truly, I have been sculpted by the gods for such a purpose.” The Patron of the Deep waved a hand dismissively. The flare of anger at the disrespect was of the exact size of his relief at the agreement, making the result moot. Yet the Patron of the Deep continued to drift back and forth. “No, my role will be excellently fulfilled. It is just... With your vision and my vivid illumination, it is not enough. We require structure. A third, to oversee and corral the excess of enthusiasm that will gush forth from the two of us.”

Elhume felt a strange out-of-body moment. He felt himself opening his mouth and suggesting Mae Myrna. The woman he trusted more than anyone else. The woman he-

Emptiness crackled in his veins. He felt exhausted and furious. Any other emotions he felt for her had been lent out, indefinitely.

“We can manage without,” Elhume barely managed to force the words out through his clenched teeth.

The Patron of the Deep shot him a disappointed look. “The creation of a race is not a simple matter! There is pomp and circumstance, not just for the heady joys of celebration, but because the spirit matters just as much as the substance! And without proper shaping, the spirit and the substance shall run amongst one another, poisonous and degenerate. No, we simply must have someone present to guide the proceedings. But based on your reaction... ahem, well, truth be told my social skills are not only the delightful crown of any dinner party, but-”

“Stay focused,” Elhume growled.

The Patron of the Deep rolled his eyes. “So be it, brevity. Your tragic addiction, squeezing all nuance from life and fitting it into convenient boxes. I know an Engraver of some renowned who would be perfect. I actually met him due to his association with-”

“He will work. I want this done soon, three days,” Elhume hissed. His eyes flashed, all emptiness and withering care. “If you Engraver doesn’t show up in time... well, I’ll just have to go drag him here myself.”