Chapter 012 - Of Knowledge, Not of Charity

  The silence left in the wake of the Oracles was a void of ringing emptiness. For a long moment, the three of them stood frozen in the quiet reading room, the only sound the soft hiss of the red sand settling back into an inert pile on the central table. The magic had faded.

  Mark felt a weariness that went bone-deep, mental exhaustion that made his physical injuries feel like a second thought. The sheer volume of information, the dying universe, a world-ship, losing a thousand years somewhere, and a vague quest like carrot on a stick to a sealed city, this was all far too much and his mind rebelled. He had seen them, heard them, but how much was real, truly real...

  He looked over at the two healers, maybe almost as friends, but wasn’t really sure. They seemed just as drained as he felt, their faces pale and their movements slow. Their exhaustion was different, it was the heavy burden of having received direct, cryptic guidance from the divine beings they venerated, their futures now saddled with impossible questions.

  Without a further word, they turned as a group and walked through the tapestry-covered doorway, back into the grand, sunlit main hall of the library. The quiet, ordinary peace of the space felt welcoming after the cosmic intensity of the reading room.

  They were halfway to the main circulation desk when Mark broke the silence, his voice raspy. He had to ask, to find some kind of baseline for this new, insane reality.

  “So,” he began, glancing between the two dazed women. “It’s a normal thing around here? Meeting gods?” He quickly corrected himself. “Sorry, Oracles.”

  Valerie shook her head slowly, her gaze still distant. "No, it’s…" she said, her voice quiet and heavy with the magnitude of what they had just experienced. "Not even close to normal."

  She stopped walking, the others pausing with her. "The chosen, the carriers of their mark, the high priests at the grand temples, champions on the eve of a great quest, they might be granted an audience. For the rest of us... it's a once in a lifetime event, if you're one of the lucky. Something you might tell your grandchildren about." She looked from Mark to Tori, her eyes wide with a dawning realization of the significance of the event. "And I have never, ever heard of two appearing at once. I didn't even know they would do that."

  The weight of Valerie’s words settled over him. A once in a lifetime event. He tried to file that away, another piece of impossible data for a world that refused to follow the rules he had grown to accept and understand. The three of them resumed their slow, dazed walk toward the main circulation desk, each lost in their own thoughts. Mark was so wrapped up in the scale of it all that he didn’t notice Jenny wasn’t alone at the desk until they were there.

  She was leaning on the polished wooden counter, speaking in a low, conversational tone to another person. It was a person who, Mark realized with a jolt like whiplash, had just seen vanish in the reading room.

  Wisdom.

  She stood there, dressed in simple grey robes, looking as calm and unassuming as a regular patron discussing an overdue book. Mark stopped dead in his tracks, a dry, humorless laugh bubbling in his chest. Once in a lifetime, huh? He glanced at Valerie. Her face had gone completely pale, her expression a perfect match for Tori’s own mask of disbelief.

  Jenny, however, acted as if this were the most normal occurrence in the world. She simply smiled brightly as they approached. “Ah, there you are,” she said, as if they were right on schedule.

  Wisdom turned from her conversation with the librarian to face them, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. With a gesture so casual it was almost dismissive, she waved a hand over the countertop. A neat stack of official looking documents and a soft leather bag appeared on the wood with a quiet thump.

  “As promised,” Wisdom said, her voice a gentle murmur. She gave a final, warm nod to Jenny before turning to leave. Her path took her directly past the three of them, still frozen in place. She paused for a moment beside Tori, her smile widening into a huge, teasing grin.

  “And you, child,” Wisdom whispered, her voice low but carrying clearly in the library’s silence. “A word of advice. Curb your curiosity.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Avoid those questions about togas. You are most certainly not ready for that knowledge.”

  With that final, baffling piece of advice delivered, Wisdom continued her unhurried walk toward the library's main entrance. She didn't get far. Just as before, her form seemed to lose its substance, dissolving between the beams of sunlight until nothing remained but a faint, cold void where her presence had been.

  The healers remained frozen, staring at the empty space with a mixture of terror and awe. Mark, however, was already beyond his capacity for shock for the day. He was tired, sore, and had just had his history reduced to a historical footnote. Seeing the Oracle for a second time barely registered on his scale of the bizarre. Because of this, he apparently was the only one who seemed capable of continuing in the moment.

  Taking a steadying breath, he turned back to the one person in the room who seemed to occupy a similar reality he did, however strange. "Jenny," he began, his voice surprisingly even. He gestured to the book about Istos he had picked out earlier. "Would it be alright if I borrowed this one? I’m feeling this is at least the minimum I need to read."

  Jenny’s warm smile returned instantly, her composure utterly unruffled. "Of course, dear," she said, as if they were merely continuing a conversation that had been briefly interrupted. "And don't worry about Wisdom, she was just helping me sort out a small archival issue. Nothing to trouble yourself with."

  As Jenny began processing the book, Mark overheard Valerie quizzing a still-pale Tori in a low, intense whisper. "Tori, what in the name of the Founder is a toga?"

  "I have no idea," Tori whispered back, her voice tight with confusion. "I've never heard the word before in my life."

  The confirmation sent a fresh chill through Mark, colder than the void Wisdom had left behind. He really did not like his thoughts being used for the amusement of others.

  "Now, for these," Jenny said, her cheerful voice pulling his attention back to the desk. She pushed the stack of papers and the small leather bag toward him. "Mistress Knowledge felt your transition into our society should be as smooth as possible. This is the gift she mentioned. An investment in the future."

  She tapped the neat pile of documents. "These papers are, for all intents and purposes, you. Knowledge has taken the liberty of creating your official registration with the Titan Collective, complete with new medical records, work permits, a civic identity number... everything you'll need to exist here without issue."

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  She then carefully picked one particular card from the stack, a sturdy piece of pressed parchment laminated. "She also included this," Jenny said, her eyes widening with genuine admiration. "A full, unrestricted license for Class 4 Steam Transport." She looked up at him, truly impressed. "That's exceedingly uncommon. Guildmaster Brandt herself only has a Class 3 license, and I hear that is with much complaining."

  Mark stared at the license, a document that apparently certified him to operate some kind of heavy, magically-infused machinery. He, a man whose most complex driving experience involved navigating Manchester's city-center ring road, was now registered for something a guildmaster couldn't have?

  Jenny, misinterpreting his stunned silence for humble acceptance, added cheerfully, “Mistress Knowledge mentioned that where you’re from, it’s a common skill for a man of your standing. Remarkable!”

  He didn't have the energy to question the statement, or even ask what it actually allowed him to do. Instead, he pointed a finger at the small leather bag that had appeared with the papers. "And... the bag?"

  As he spoke, Valerie and Tori drew closer, their own shock giving way to a shared, intense curiosity. Jenny’s expression softened, losing its cheerful edge and taking on a more somber, historical weight.

  “A long time ago, another found their way here, a displaced person like yourself, lost and without means,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “They arrived at the Collective and asked for its help, and... were turned away.” She paused, letting the gravity of the admission settle in the quiet library. “Mistress Knowledge has long feared what was lost to us all that day, and what may be lost again should such a mistake be allowed repeat. She wishes to ensure you have a foundation, after that, you can make your own way.”

  She gently pushed the bag toward him. Mark untied the leather drawstring and tipped the contents onto the polished counter.

  A small, heavy pouch landed with a satisfying clink of coins. Next came a neatly folded set of clothes, a set of tunics and trousers made of a much finer, softer dark blue cloth than the rough leather he was currently wearing. Alongside it was another, smaller pouch that smelled of dried herbs and contained strange, sharp minerals. Finally, a single key slid out, landing with a soft metallic ring. It was made of a lustrous bronze, its head crafted in an intricate, unfamiliar pattern that resembled a stylized tree.

  Tori gasped, her eyes locking onto the key. Her earlier awe was momentarily replaced by sheer disbelief. "Wait!... I know that design," she gasped, pointing. "Did the Oracle truly just give you a house on the Silver-Vein Terrace?"

  Before Mark could even process the question, Jenny interjected with a knowing smile, her dry wit returning in full force.

  “A temporary lease,” she clarified, her tone precise. “For several months at most.”

  She paused, looking each of them in the eye before delivering the final, perfect assessment of her mistress.

  “She is the Oracle of Knowledge, not of charity.”

  Mark's mind was still reeling from the impossible revelation of the steam transport license. He pushed the strange document aside and picked up the last item from the counter: the small pouch that smelled of herbs. "And this one?" he asked, looking to Jenny.

  "Reagents," Jenny replied simply. "Outside of a personal offering, those are the basic components needed to prepare a circle for the Formation ritual."

  He must have looked as confused as he felt, because a familiar, condescending tone cut through his thoughts.

  "It's how you get a Heart," Tori jumped in, seizing the opportunity to be the expert again. "You'll need one if you want to use any real magic."

  "It's how one begins the path of Heart Magic," Jenny corrected her gently, a subtle emphasis on the distinction. "Not all magic requires a tattoo, of course, but it certainly makes life easier for most."

  Tori, annoyed at being corrected, shifted her focus. Her eyes swept over Mark, a critical, appraising look that made his skin crawl. "It doesn't matter yet, anyway," she said, her voice sharp with dismissal. "You'll need to get in proper shape first. Starting out fat will just cause complications down the line."

  The word hit Mark with the force of a physical slap. Fat. He’d always known he had a bit of a soft middle, a comfortable layer from too many nights of takeaway and too few hours in the gym. He was a project manager, not an athlete. But he'd never thought of himself as fat. The insult, so blunt and casual, stung more than he wanted to admit.

  Valerie quickly stepped in, her voice a calm, clinical wave that washed over the sudden tension. "A high degree of personal fitness is a prerequisite for the ritual to have the best results," she stated, her professional tone a clear rebuke to Tori's lack of tact.

  She then looked at Mark, her expression not one of judgment, but of stark, factual assessment. "Tori's delivery was poor, but the point is valid. At a guess you are physically below what is expected for those starting the ritual."

  She held up one of her hands, a simple, steady gesture. "To give you some perspective, Mark, I'm a medic, not a warrior. Before I started I was probably a lot stronger and faster than you. But because I possess a Garnet-tier Heart now, my physical strength is, at a minimum, four to five times greater than yours."

  She let the statement hang in the air, letting its impossible weight settle on him.

  "That's how magic works."

  Four to five times stronger. He looked at Valerie, a calm, professional medic, and tried to reconcile her appearance with the fact that she could likely tear a phone book in half, if they had phone books here, if they had phones. He then looked at Tori, whose temper he was already intimately familiar with, and felt a fresh wave of unease.

  A dry, weary thought surfaced, and before he could stop it, it slipped out as a quiet mutter. “Right. Amazons. I’ll add that to the list.”

  The comment was met with two identical, utterly baffled stares. The word clearly meant nothing to them. Seeing their confusion, and realizing he’d only made himself seem stranger, Mark quickly tried to backpedal.

  “Uh, you know what?” he said, forcing a weak smile. “Probably best we leave that with the togas before I get myself into any more trouble.”

  Jenny finished stamping his borrowed book, when another, more fundamental question that had been nagging at him since he’d arrived finally pushed its way to the surface. It felt like the stupidest, most obvious question in the world, but he had to know.

  “I know this is probably a stupid question,” he began, addressing all three of them. “Why is everything in English? The signs in the library, the books…” He gestured between them. “You’re all speaking it. Different accents, but perfect English.”

  The puzzled looks returned in full force. All three women exchanged confused glances before Tori answered, her tone conveying that she thought he might actually be an idiot, that made him question if he was the idiot.

  “English?” she asked, pronouncing the word with careful, clinical precision. “I don’t know that word. Everything is written in Ark Standard. We’re speaking Standard. What else would we be speaking?”

  Mark stared at her, the simple, uncomprehending answer hitting him with the force of a final nail in the coffin of his old reality. Of course they didn't call it English. Why would they? To them, it was apparently just... Standard.

  Before he could spiral further down that particular rabbit hole, Jenny’s expression shifted. Her eyes went distant for a brief moment, her head tilting slightly as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Mark recognized the look, she was listening to the silent voice of her mistress.

  Her focus snapped back to him, her kind smile returning. She answered the question he had asked, a question Tori hadn't even understood.

  “It’s a piece of history that has been forgotten by nearly everyone, Mark,” she explained, her voice soft but clear. “The language you call ‘English’ and we call ‘Ark Standard’ is neither, not truly. It is a convenience. Istos himself placed a powerful and permanent language ritual over the entirety of The Ark when the first pioneers arrived.”

  She then glanced at the two healers, who were now listening with rapt attention. “If I were to expend the immense effort required to locally dispel that ritual, even for a few seconds,” Jenny continued, a hint of academic amusement in her tone, “To others, you two would suddenly be speaking a rather old dialect of something called German, much like your ancestors who founded the Titan Collective.”

  Tori and Valerie both looked stunned by the revelation. Mark could see the questions forming in their eyes, the sudden curiosity about a fundamental part of their heritage they never knew existed, to himself it sounded impossible, but at the same time he found himself agreeing with Jenny that it was a convenience. The ultimate cheat to ensure some grand project functions without someone being unable to articulate themselves correctly.

  But before either of them could speak, Jenny gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand, a gesture of gentle but absolute finality.

  “A fascinating piece of history, I’m sure,” she said, her tone indicating the conversation was over. “But I doubt it will be of use to you today.”