My physical trait started forming on my second day of the brutal training regime that passes as “the bare minimum to stay fit” for Pheyis. She wasn’t there to set the pace, which didn’t seem to bother the people as they went through the same routine, albeit with clearly less discipline than the previous day.

  Still sore and without Pheyis hounding me, I can’t say I was any better. Still, the system acknowledged my efforts.

  Nobody asked if I wanted to participate in the confrontation exercises, and I didn’t go towards them either. I’ve noticed that most Gilfeiths don’t seem very comfortable when they are close to me. Well, not that I’m extremely comfortable close to them but I have no choice.

  Anyway, after that good start in the morning, I collected my meal from the smokehouse, smoked crow thing for one.

  I spent some time with Datari and asked some questions for Bob so that he might start on the next step while I’m still stuck. Apparently, once I feel the mana well enough, it’s possible to start trying to simply will the specks inside of me to move, but it’s better to focus on feeling farther and farther away first. Truth be told, her advice feels completely useless to me since I still can’t feel mana at all, but the process is supposed to be rather natural.

  Anyway, I thanked her and didn’t intrude very long. My food stock was dwindling quickly so I went to Zaimeia and asked for some work, preferably with a chance to improve my siacnar, the tongue of the gilfeiths.

  That’s how I spent the afternoon chopping wood with a rather dull iron axe, an heavy thing almost entirely made of a single piece of metal except for some thin rope around the handle to dull the vibrations, and an incredibly chatty woodsman who didn’t seem to care that much I didn’t get most of whatever he was saying. The guy is called Guervac, is thirty five years old, has a wife and a kid, and taught me a bunch of random words that I immediately forgot.

  Seriously. I don’t need to know that one bush that I can’t really differentiate from other bushes is called a sissac. Apparently it has tasty fruits and he probably did tell me how to recognize it, but I obviously didn’t understand him.

  We brought back a lot of wood to a warehouse that was already half full of it, which was good enough to get me about two meals worth of food. Guervac got way more but not only has he got a family to feed, he also got much more done than me. If anything, the share was unfair in my favor.

  The guy really knows how to handle an axe.

  On the evening I finished clearing up my house, restoring the ground to a flat surface of soft earth.

  And finally, I took some time to really look at the stars through the broken roof of my home. I was too tired yesterday to take the time to appreciate it, and I fell asleep without looking up. But today...

  Today I’m able to stay awake, just watching for the last twenty minutes while lying down in the warm embrace of my rough blanket.

  I’ve read countless stories of people being amazed at the sight. My dad often told me that he fondly remembered the purer night-skies from his childhood.

  But that doesn’t do it justice.

  Perhaps it’s just a part of being on this world, but there are so many stars. The sheer depth of the universe endlessly going in all directions, plainly visible in all its glory, from this world where there is no light coming from the ground to hide the dusty shine of the weaker stars…

  And there’s so many of them. Blue, red and yellow pinheads shining in front of the background shine of a great galaxy, one that is probably not the milky way yet feels just as majestic: an almost cloudy streak stretching in the sky.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  And all those stars move ever so slowly as the land I’m on spins, and their infinite race through the universe goes on.

  Suddenly, a shooting star tears the sky for a split second. The swan song of an asteroid.

  Shouldn’t we make a wish?

  I already know what my wish is and I don’t want it to rely on the luck of a fickle star. Shooting stars are pretty and poetic. But they are merely the death of an asteroid in the atmosphere.

  …

  Alright, done.

  I’m a bit surprised I don’t get to know what he wished for, but if he wants to keep it to himself I won’t pry.

  Soon enough, I’m asleep and dreaming of faraway stars.

  - - -

  I absentmindedly start my routine of stretching and breaking out of the discomfort of my sore body. I didn’t get any dweller progress yesterday, but I did get them today, perhaps the fact of being in the safety of the village reduces their rate of improvement. Bob is still keeping up the steady progress of mana sense.

  I bring up my status. Since the last time I checked, additionally from my various trait gains, I regained some health, going from 93 to 96.

  For the first time, I see something shifting on my status that isn't the time, as a brand new trait is added to the list.

  Oh. Well that's a great start to my third day in Wathamber.

  Now just got to do it a hundred times again.

  https://discord.gg/dYRBkk4

  flexible body (1%), 1 Dex