A thought like this seemed to be too massive for an Acolyte, but I could not allow myself to think anything else, or I would be frozen in place like before and butchered in my tent.
I did not perform my usual morning routine of cleaning and grooming and careful preparation, though some part of me noted that the robe still needed straightening and the ashwood still needed the knots at the grip checked.
I went to my staff and picked it up and held it and felt the three charms settle.
My sister, Mel. My mother, Rosa. My father, Janus.
Admiring past victories is one way to slowly lose sight of the future.
The thought hit me in the head, right, good, I could not stand here deliberating about the past.
What did I know?
I knew the first demon’s weakness, if it could even be called a weakness.
The pale sensory structures along its jaw. Spark, which caused an electrical discharge, caused full-body paralysis when it connected cleanly.
I remembered it got me two full seconds when I clearly hit them, but the lattice seal bought four seconds but cost too much.
Net result: clean Spark hits would buy me more time than trying to seal the demon.
Spark had grown to 12. Higher than it had ever been, when it was 9, and it meant that the paralysis may be longer as the skill grew, but I knew there would not be many drastic changes, not while the skill was still so weak at the Initiate level.
Still, I expected that Spark should hold the demon for longer, and more Spark casts meant longer pauses, which meant more time.
More time meant more casts.
More casts meant a higher skill growth.
Higher skill rank meant longer pauses as the demon was frozen in place.
The logic was circular, and it was also the only logic available to me, so I was going to follow it until it stopped working or until something changed.
Perhaps I should invest more in Threadworking or casting Surge, but that would simply wipe out all my Anima Depth after a single cast, and for now, it was useless to me.
The longer I survive, the more I can learn and grow.
I picked up the small notebook I used for Cartography measurements and found a clean page and wrote three things:
Objective one: land at least ten clean Spark hits on the jaw structure.
Objective two: determine how many hits bring it down, then cast a Surge Spell with everything I have.
Objective three: survive long enough to see what comes after.
This was a grim list, but it was the only one I had.
I closed the notebook and tucked it inside my robe.
®
I went through my morning routine with the mechanical efficiency of someone who had things to do and could not afford to let feelings slow them down.
The robe straightened, the staff checked, the three charms confirmed, each one briefly held and released.
It took less time than usual because I was not being careful; I was being fast, and fast was what the hour required.
When I pushed open the tent flap and stepped out, the camp was already well into its morning.
I had lost time to the meditation and the thinking and the sitting with my status screen, and the cost of that was immediately visible. Even though it was better than the second time I died, I still spent more time than I did during my first loop.
The cook fire had been burning long enough that the smoke had thinned and the embers were working rather than the flame, and around it, the three other Acolytes were already seated with their bowls, and Aldis had apparently done his best and retreated, leaving the porridge to fend for itself.
Bari saw me, and he raised his spoon in greeting without interrupting the elaborate complaint he was in the middle of delivering to no one in particular about the texture of the porridge, which he described as reminiscent of wet sand that had made poor decisions.
Dara looked up from her bowl, then at the position of the light, then back at me with the particular expression she reserved for things that did not quite add up.
"You slept late," she said.
"I had a dream," I said.
Rex did not look up from his bowl, and it still amazed me that this noble brat could eat the same slop as the rest of us; perhaps I underestimate him. "The porridge is worse than yesterday," he said to the fire.
I sat down and accepted the bowl Bari held out to me; he had apparently taken the liberty of serving everyone, including a portion set aside with a flat piece of bark over the top to keep it warm, which was either considerate or an indication that he had known I would be late, which with Bari was sometimes the same thing.
I tasted it, and Rex was right, it was worse than yesterday.
I picked up the ladle, found the thyme where I had seen it the morning before, tucked behind the left supply crate, no label, and set about fixing what could be fixed.
"You don’t have to do that," Dara said.
"I know," I said.
[Cooking 13 → 15 (Initiate)]
Two ranks from thyme and intention.
I looked at the notification and felt the same thing I had felt looking at the demon’s surprised expression after the third Spark hit, the small, specific satisfaction of a thing noticed and acted on and improved, however slightly, in a morning that was going to get significantly worse before it ended... most likely in my death.
I served myself from the improved pot and sat back down and ate, and let the sounds of the camp settle around me. Bari was still complaining, now about the hole in his sock, which had apparently grown.
Dara was watching the pyramid with the focused quiet of someone working through a problem. Rex had finished his porridge and was looking at Scholar Orath at the eastern face, the old man already at the pyramid’s surface with his private instrument pressed flat against the black stone, white head bowed.
Everything exactly as it had been... Everything exactly as it was going to stop being in less than an hour.