After a good day’s dreamless sleep, I awaken to the grim and dreary evening shimmer feeling refreshed. Well, mostly refreshed. I swear that every time I rest I somehow feel worse than the time before. Is that normal?

  There’s usually a very, very small amount of light down here leaking in from all the rat holes above. Once the sun falls, the sewers are nearly pitch black. However, something growing on the walls pathetically fights the dark by emitting the faintest shine. Probably nowhere near enough for a big one to navigate down here, but it’s perfect for me!

  If a big one does come down, they’ll need to bring their own light source. Like the torches I’ve seen them carry at night. That’s something easily noticed far before they arrive at my hideout. If that time comes to pass, then there’s many different rat holes here as easy escape options. Maybe digging out a place to hide is possible too? That’s an interesting alternative. Is there a song for that? Nothing that I’ve read about.

  Continuing to pop a coin in and out of existence in my hand, I absentmindedly fascinate over it while deep in thought elsewhere. Unwrapping the pocket has become as easy as creating it. Rather than waiting for it to pop, I find myself constantly spinning space around the coin, waiting a brief moment for it to set, and then immediately unwinding it back out again. The routine has become so natural, I barely have to focus on it.

  Oh, oh! Creating another pocket around the coin, I let go of it completely and scamper backwards to put distance between us. Getting down on my stomach to hide behind a large brick, I wait and watch. The minute mark passes, my typical limit, and the pocket’s still sealed. Five minutes later. Finally, I stand and merrily dance in a circle around the pocket after half an hour. It’s really permanent!

  Experimentally, I race from treasure to treasure attempting to create pockets big enough to hold them. It works for the daggers, small pouches, and even single books now. However, cramming in more than one item is tough. Multiple, separate items are easily agitated, as if violently spinning around and slamming into each other within the tight, enclosed pocket. Some even come back damaged. After lots more practice, I realize that I can avoid this by keeping them completely still before the wrapping and sealing. For example, I can stack three books on a stable surface like a stone shelf and then wrap them while not touching them at all.

  Immediately, I hide my entire precious library on the makeshift shelves of the sewer walls. No big ones will steal these back! Following a similar formula and doing the same for the rest of my treasures, I stare proudly at my work. However, with all the visual cues gone, I have no idea what’s sitting on the rocky shelves anymore. Only little wisps of smokey light hovering up against the wall leave any record of my riches.

  Frustration demanding action, I furiously unwrap every pocket and reorganize them into more obvious themes. There’s a dried herb shelf. An excess dagger and other metals shelf. A books shelf. A leather materials shelf for mixing and repairing. This way, if I forget where something is exactly, then I can at least search through fewer pockets to find what I need.

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  After rewrapping one of the last few items, my stance falters and my hand catches the wall to hold steady. My head’s cloudy and my thoughts are slow. Even my muscles have all weakened, as if running out of fuel. A few moments later and control over my body is returning, but it’s agonizingly slow.

  Falling down into a sitting position, I close my eyes, sit up straight, and focus on my breath. Just hold on and wait patiently. It’s getting better. It’s coming back. Whatever the problem, I caught it early. It’s not as bad as it could have been. I’ll be ok.

  Suddenly an image of my inner body springs into view behind my tightly closed eyelids. It very, very faintly glows exactly as the walls of the tunnels. However, it’s ever so slowly growing brighter and brighter with time.

  Have I always had these energies within myself? Is that where the potential song pulls them from? I must have depleted them completely during my excitement. Or close to completely? I’m not sure what would’ve happened if I used it all. Annoyingly, this is probably another topic a teacher is expected to explain since no books have mentioned it. At least now there’s a way to take measure of how much I have left if I focus on it.

  After waiting for the inner light to become reasonably bright, I stand back up and test my body. It doesn’t feel as weak anymore, and my mind is mostly clear. It’s strange that I didn’t notice anything at all until it got too low. Hopefully doing that didn’t cause a persistent problem that I’ll need to wait and recover from? I refuse to stop playing with my arcane songs. I’ll just need to learn where this danger zone is and avoid ever breaking into it again.

  “Ugh,” I enormously sigh, expelling a random spray of spit and scum out onto the walls.

  I want to keep making pockets, but waiting until I’m whole again is probably safest. In the meantime, I continue arranging what’s left into categories. Coin pouches on their own. Any remaining dried meats or extra water skins. Oh, and my pot.

  Should I leave that out? I managed to get the pot into a pocket during my first excited attempt at organizing. However, that stretch may have heavily contributed to straining my resources more than I should have given its size. Holding it in my hands, I idly inspect it while considering other options.

  The outside of the pot is mostly clear of the sewer’s gifts, but the inside is absolutely covered in weird, jiggling slime. Did I accidentally use the slime to clean it last instead of the sludge? I don’t remember. Regardless, this won’t do. As a matter of discipline, I should maintain its cleanliness for the next time I mix potions.

  Scooping it up in a hand, I try to scrape the slime clear from the pot. However, it stays in one goopy piece and resists being plucked out. A distant memory speaking to me, I appraise the sticky ooze.

  I forgot about these things. Oh, wait. You fiend! Is that why my packs keep getting so many holes?!