Time (1)

“Good job, Daisuke-chan.”

Aunt Sumire puts her hand on my head.

“But we drew,” I say. “Coach Nakamoto said we had to win this game.”

She strokes my hair. “It’s alright, my dear. You tried your best. You scored the equalising goal when everyone else gave up. Keeping your head up in times of difficulty—that’s a quality that’s more important than winning.”

“...Did Mom watch?”

“She was busy working. But I’m sure she’ll be proud when you tell her.”

“Oh… I see.”

“I love you. Here, drink up.”

I take the water bottle from my Aunt. It has Totoro on it. I love Totoro, almost as much as my Aunt, even if they are both old. But of course, Mom is the best. I would do anything for my Mom.

“Not good enough. You were supposed to win.”

“But—”

“Your grades are average, and you can’t even get extracurricular credit now. Do you know how much it cost for me to put you in that soccer academy? Do you know how hard I work? Stop being weak. I want to send you to prep school, not some low-class place anybody can go. You are going to be 13 soon. A young man, not a boy. Do you want to be useless when you grow up?”

“Mom, I—”

“Shut up.”

Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I know how much money you spend on me. I know that you gave up everything to marry Dad for my sake. One day, you’ll be proud of me… and when that happens, I hope you’ll finally be happy—I will live my entire life for the day that comes when you acknowledge me. No one else could replace you, not even Aunt Sumire.

I love you.

***

The next day, something was definitely different about the way my companions were treating me.

Soren’s differences were subtle—or at least, subtle enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if someone told me I had imagined it. In general, he just acknowledged me more, listened to my thoughts attentively, and conversed more openly whilst slipping in insights about magic here and there—to be honest, thinking about it a little bit, these differences could very well just have been my attitude towards Soren changing rather than anything he was doing.

Yeah, no—I was simply not afraid of Soren now. I trusted him. In fact, I looked up to him as my teacher—even if he had torn apart my delusions regarding this world multiple times now, there weren’t any weak thoughts of inadequacy plaguing my mind. Instead of avoidance, I was ready. I was ready to deconstruct my ideas and transform myself.

Soren was simply returning that respect. He treated me as he would anyone else—with kindness and decency—now all the more apparent because I was doing that too. Nothing had changed. He was still the same Saint.

Annabelle, on the other hand, was unquestionably different. She seemed to actively run away from my presence and my gaze. Where she would usually wake me up with a, “Goooood morning, Primot!” and bless me with the sight of a childhood friend-esque girl with pink hair asking me if I had a good sleep, today, I simply found myself assaulted by the tough feathers and muddy embrace of a tiny turkey. Obviously, I recoiled in shock, and nearly killed it by sending the bird flying towards the walls of the tent. It’d turned even smaller today. Later on, as Annabelle was conjuring up breakfast, I’d cornered her with my usual method of asking her if she needed any help (this time being completely genuine), but instead of responding with an um and a random menial task she simply looked away and dropped what she was doing until I left.

That was the mood I’d abruptly been saddled with for a few hours at dawn before everyone sort of dispersed to do their own thing. The princess furthered her investigation on the cultist and the attack, Anna took down her structures and then worked on preparing lunch, whilst Soren took down the anti-monster runes and checked on the bandits. All very productive things. For myself, I spent most of the morning staring at my arm and reminiscing about the night before.

The night I casted for the first time.

The moment I woke up, I jerked my arm up and out of the duvet like some sort of flying fish. I half-expected nothing to be there, and was fully ready for it to be some combination of charred, or disfigured, or dysfunctional, or just plain missing—but there was no evidence to indicate anything of that sort. It was just my arm, plain and simple, and I kept tracing the textures of the bedroll with my fingers over and over as if to confirm this fact. My nerves were fully intact, and it hurt like how it should’ve when I pinched myself. It made me anxious that I had somehow just dreamt everything, but as I stared more and more at my arm, I noticed undeniable proof that something did occur.

A marking on the back of my hand.

A marking, not a Mark. Marks looked like tribal tattoos, and they had the exact same patterns as in the game that were immediately recognisable at a glance. A drop of water. A pair of wings. A sun. This “symbol” was slightly pale, very golden, and completely abstract. I couldn’t tell you what it was meant to represent. It was also small, covering a far smaller area than Soren’s—although I guess this could have just been a sample size issue, since I had only seen his before.

Old me would have worried I was sounding homoerotic. I simply attempted casting a spell again.

Form Rations.

Tofu would be nice.

Food Token: Oriental Variant 3, illustrated by muzuINU. An SSR skin with a 0.0024% pull rate.

Except this card’s text stated it needed to convert a Plant or Animal to work. I stared at Cockie sympathetically.

…

Nothing happens.

There was no magical circle, no nothing. The marking on my hand didn’t react. No feeling of static. Maybe it was because I had no gauntlet. Where had the gauntlet even disappeared to, anyway? Did Soren take it in my sleep?

No matter. Just to make sure it didn’t have anything to do with Cockie being a summon, or the fact that this was levels more complicated than “I want to prove everyone wrong and become strong”, I tried a bunch of other things. The classic [Fireblast]. [Wind Shear]. [Deadly Poison]. Maybe it had to do with Gravity, perhaps I was only capable of casting that. I thought of the simplest and least abstract 1-cost Gravity spell, [Telekinesis]. Levitate Cockie into the air. No reaction.

I pet the bird, who was now falling asleep in Annabelle’s bedroll, then walked out of the camp searching for Soren. After briefly informing me that he’d taken back the gauntlet for “repairs”, I showed him the marking on my arm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is. My lady will have more answers.”

“Can we do some training?”

“Not right now. Later, when I’m finished with my tasks.”

I resisted the urge to point out that the gauntlet he supposedly took back for repairs was sitting right there on his arm, then thanked him and looked for the princess. She was in the midst of cremating the corpse, her hands maintaining a stream of flame through a red magical circle.

“What is that? Hmm… That looks like a Mark. But it’s not—at least, not in my understanding of magic. There should only be twelve elements. Definitely not quanta burn either. Unless… there’s a thirteenth? But it doesn’t even follow the same patterns as the other twelve, although I have to admit, I am basing some parts of this entirely off historical knowledge. Huh. I deeply apologise, Mister Primot. I will look into this. In the meantime, you can look for Soren. He’s a savant at magic, so maybe he will have some theories on what this could possibly be. Or perhaps it’s related to your status as an otherworlder…”

She rambled for about two more minutes. I resisted the urge to ask her what the yellow glow to her eyes was, and thanked her for her time. Then I looked for Annabelle.

She left the moment she saw me approach.

I was beginning to get worried.

Did I do something wrong?

Clearly, I’d upset her somehow, but it felt like we were making good progress towards becoming… closer. I thought about the conversation we had last night, and the fact I accomplished something that was supposed to make the both of us happy.

I didn’t understand what was going on.

The thought that I might’ve alienated her made me feel disgusted with myself, like tears were forming in the fabric of something irreplaceable.

Did I move too fast?

…Maybe I’d just give her space for now. Or maybe I ruined everything.

No, stop that.

Thoughts are bad. Art requires feeling, not reason.

Think less. Do more.

I tried channeling in every possible way I could imagine. First I approached the issue mechanically and did a once-over through every element again. When that didn’t work, I decided to get more abstract and play with Soren’s analogy: I thought about psychological phenomena. Feelings, goals, motivations. The desire to become strong. The desire to protect. The desire to live for someone else. My arm didn’t react. Went through every sort of vice I had, every regret, even played with the idea of the legendary myth regarding the Quantum Mage and channeled my delusions of grandeur revolving accordingly. I mean, in the first place, my casting happened in some part precisely because I genuinely pictured myself being Gojo Satoru firing off Hollow Purple. I tried getting angry. I tried feeling sad. For sure, all of those emotions came through in waves, some more successfully than others, but even at the peak of my frustrations nothing happened. Maybe magic was completely unrelated to one’s emotional state. I went to take a bath, and the marking still didn’t react or glow, but the water was undeniably warm and the bath was humming.

Last night was a fluke.

I was ready to conclude that, but I had a feeling I was being unfair to myself. For starters, I had no gauntlet, and maybe if I had a Codex or some spell to reference, my power would surely come back in waves.

These were things I couldn’t change, so I quickly let go of the idea of needing to practice or investigate. I had a lot of time here—the rest of my life, in fact. I didn’t need to lose myself into a spiral because I wanted results now.

…Who am I kidding?

One step forward, two steps back. At this rate I’ll never amount to anything. If not now, when?

Maybe if I think about impressing Annabelle again, I’ll—

“Mister Primot. A moment of your time, please?”

Rather conveniently, a certain someone found me as I was absorbed in thought near the dining table. She was still wearing the same raggedy cloak—though I’d heard a certain someone else describe it as “beautiful”—and she regarded me with her normal self: a hand on her chin, and an all too mature expression for a teenager.

Amber eyes, defiant gaze.

Her golden glow etches the line of your fate.

“I just wanted to say… good work with the corpse. I’ve been meaning to tell you that, but we haven’t had the time to talk. And regarding your arm… Sorry, did I come at a bad time?”

“Huh? Not at all,” I said, gesturing for her to sit down. “Please have a seat, Your Grace.”

She pulled out a stool by the table with a concerned look on her face. “You seem fairly upset about something.”

I looked away from her.

“And also… did you really just call me that?”

“What? You mean ‘Your Grace’?”

“I actually preferred it when you called me Maelle. Can you keep it that way?”

“Uh… okay.”

I was definitely not going to call her that. I didn’t know what possessed me the night before, but being rude to a princess with a godlike bodyguard was not on my bingo card. In fact, in terms of hierarchy, if Soren was now my sensei and the princess was his retainer, then this was the boss of my manager. The CEO to my regional director. Annabelle would be like… the private chef?

Why am I thinking about her so much? She clearly doesn’t care about me.

“Anyway, if you’re just resting, I’ll leave you to it. But if you’re not… mind doing me a favour?”

“...Sure?”

She abruptly ditched the stool and put her face to my ear. In normal circumstances, I would’ve had to bend over at an ungodly angle for this situation to even be possible, but since I was sitting down our normal one-and-a-half-head discrepancy was reduced to a convenient nothingness.

“Are you in love with Annabelle of Friesland?” she whispered.

I recoiled.

“Uh, no?? What the fuck kind of question is that? Is this your idea of a favour?!”

“Watch your language, Mister Primot. Vulgarities are crude.”

“Maybe you should work on not being annoying instead,” I said. “Stop making false allegations. They can ruin lives.”

And it was true. Annabelle was a companion to me; a cherished one, but a companion nonetheless. Somebody who’d done nothing but help me so far. Somebody I wanted to keep the end of my bargain with. If that was considered love… it wasn’t even worth entertaining that thought. In that case you could say I loved most of my teachers, my soccer coaches, my club teammates and probably even Soren and Maelle at this point. To say I was in love? I spit on shippers. All shippers should get vasectomies or their ovaries surgically crushed.

“Hmm. Then I wonder why I was being shown that..?”

She pulled down her hood—the white satin of her gloves glinting in the sunlight as she moved—then lifted a part of her braids that were covering the side of her neck. On her skin was an infinity symbol, inked in the unmistakable style of a tribal tattoo. Its outline was vaguely visible under numerous articles of jewelry.

A Time Mark.

“Sometimes, I get premonitions.”

“Okay…? Why the hell are you telling me this?”

“Managing your emotions since you seem so offended by an innocent question,” she said. I felt blood rush to my cheeks. “If you’d be so kind as to be a little more mature and let others explain before deciding to verbally abuse them, it would be nice. I do things for a reason, Quantum.”

Fucking bitch.

“...Fine. Sorry.”

“Basically—I can see the future.”

Wait. Takeback.

“But this works in roundabout ways. Sometimes it’s as clear as a vision of an event with people I already know. Sometimes, it’s a gigantic battle with multiple unknown faces, and I’m an adult in those dreams. Sometimes I don’t even get a vision—it’s just a compulsive desire to board a specific stagecoach. The bottom line is, I can’t really tell what this particular vision is supposed to be about, so I decided to ask you for clarification… seeing as, well, you were its centerpiece. It’s the first time I’ve had a vision that didn’t center around myself. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“...So what was this vision about?” I asked.

“Suddenly curious, huh?” she giggled. To be honest, this girl needed a slap—but hearing what she just said, I decided she would get a free pass on this one. “But know if I describe it in any specific manner to you, the timeline will begin to diverge from the event. Are you sure?”

“Can you at least tell me if it’s good or bad?”

“Nope. Trust me—at that point I might as well tell you all of it. And then it’ll never happen.”

“…”

A vision centering around me that got a genius princess so confused she had to ask me if I was in love with my companion. Maybe… I do actually want that scenario to happen?

“Nevermind then,” I quickly said. I wanted to ask her what the full story behind Annabelle’s sobbing last night was, but something more urgent crossed my mind, and I wanted to give her space anyway. A reasonable excuse, methinks. “I believe you, but… I swear I saw you channel red earlier. Am I insane? Can you multi-cast too, like Soren?”

“Oh, wow,” she said. “So it’s true. You do see quanta in colours.”

“...Don’t change the subject.”

“Hee hee. Sorry, sorry.” She seemed giddy. Annoying. “Wasn’t my intention at all. So, regarding your question—it’d probably be easier if I just showed you directly.”

She lifted a gloved hand out of her cloak, revealing nothing but white satin.

Then she took it off, and I saw the symbol of a flame.

Two Marks.

“Soren is a Saint. Someone like me is unheard of,” she said matter-of-factly. “Originally, I only had this Fire mark—then when I turned ten, the other symbol inexplicably appeared on my neck. And that’s the story behind why everyone wants me dead. Including my father. They say I’m the premonition of a disaster… those religious freaks.”

Exile.

Genocide of celestials.

Maiden of Revolution.

“But you know, since you’re here, maybe they’re right.”

Return of the Quantum Mage.

I blinked. Things were lining up, and yet they weren’t. I didn’t know what to say. In some warped sense, I was happy that I was being distracted from my personal struggles through being fed more intrigue. But this was far too excessive when I was barely able to stand on my own two feet myself.

I was starting to think maybe asking about Annabelle was the right call after all—maybe not talking to this princess in general till I was in a better headspace was the rightest call of them all.

“...I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, rather stupidly. It was all I could muster.

“I’ll manage,” Maelle said. I had my doubts. “Anyway, I shan’t bother you for much longer. All I wanted was to ask you that question about Anna. But seeing your response… I’m even more confused now, but that’s not unheard of. Answers sometimes beget more questions. Most likely, the meaning of my vision will come in time—like when I was told to meet you on that carriage.”

“...Uh, yeah. Thanks for reaching out.”

I paused for a moment.

“Let me know if you figure out why Annabelle’s upset with me, by the way.”

She blinked.

“She’s... upset with you? But that’s…”

When I didn’t respond, she simply continued, “Er, right. Of course. Not my place to say. I’ll make sure to do that. By the way, before I forget, take this.”

Producing a gauntlet from her cloak—metallic, achromatic—undoubtedly the one I had used last night—Maelle extended it towards me, as if returning something to its rightful owner.

I could feel it.

Every nerve in my body started firing with reckless abandon as soon as I saw the outline of grey.

Raise the hair on your neck. Tune into the fantasy.

It was screaming again.

Notice me.

“I repaired this for you. The thaumaturgical circuits were broken—quanta overload. I spent a lot of time fixing it. Apparently, Soren had a really difficult time getting it off you, because the mechanisms were completely fused together.”

It took everything I had to maintain my composure as I grabbed it.

“He told me that you casted Advanced magic for the first time last night? If so, congratulations. But I would suggest not casting such a powerful spell again for the foreseeable future. Cast three Intermediates in a day before trying that again, please. I only found the parts for the circuitry by salvaging the cultist’s Codex, and that was disgusting, so I’d rather not do something like that ever again.”

Stop listening to her. Notice me instead.

“You make these? That’s very impressive,” I said.

“I dabble in it, I suppose,” she replied, twirling her hair.

Don’t resist. I’m here for you. I’m the everything you’ve been looking for.

I stood up and put the gauntlet on. It molded to my form in clicks and whirs. “So you’re an engineer.”

“Engi… neer? I have never heard of that term. Is it magical in origin?”

Once it snapped on, I pointed it away from Maelle and the camp. “Like, your occupation. A person who makes and fixes things like these.”

“Ah, I suppose. That would be a thaumaturgist, Mister Primot. It’s also highly illegal,” she giggled.

“I see.”

I imagined that I would snipe that small tree in the distance. It was an eyesore.

I thought about Annabelle.

Notice me.

Thornbolt (1): Deal 1 damage to a target. Echo.

…

“...I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing?”

“...”

“Mister Primot?”

Nothing happened. Not even with the gauntlet on. The gem was completely dead—not a sound was to be heard.

“Uh… just testing out the equipment.”

The princess smiled. “Good. It must be comfortable if you’re doing such a dramatic pose.”

“Haha.”

I let my arm fall limply to my side.

The energy was still there, somewhere deep within. I could sense it. It was still screaming at me. But what was I missing?

“It’s a type of Codex suitable for melee fighters,” she continued. “I didn’t peg you as one, to be honest, but Soren insisted that this was right for you. He’ll show you how it works later—he’s wearing the prototype version now, because he wanted to give you the new one, but it works basically the same way.”

“...I see.”

I didn’t care.

This again? But I thought…

“Don’t look so glum. You must be worried about Anna, aren’t you? I’ll get to the bottom of it. Don’t worry.”

“...”

“In the meantime, go find Soren. He should be somewhere around the medical area. I’ll find Anna and bring her back to camp—it’s time for a strategy meeting.”