—— ? ——

  Simon strode through the early morning rays, his breath frosting in the air as he walked down the cobbled streets of Varnholt.

  "Goddamn, it's cold," he muttered, pulling his rough-spun clothing tighter. "Colder than yesterday."

  He studied the insane architecture around him. Varnholt looked like someone had taken a massive pie cutter and separated the city into building-sized chunks, then pressed it all through a machine, spreading it out with perfect, straight lines cutting between the original structures. Those perfect slices through the stone gave it a synthetic fakeness that was hard to shake.

  In complete contrast were the shops, and various structures Varnholters had built. Every crafter in Varnholt seemed to have constructed their workshops using whatever materials they could scavenge. Tying it all together was the uniform color of the mountain stone. It gave a modern-day Russia aesthetic. Cement-block walls stacked up high with windows and doorways punched through. The openings added to the weirdness with an odd melted look. As if someone had put a torch to them and then refroze them.

  Despite its oddities, Varnholt felt alive. The sun barely peeked over the mountainside, casting an orange glow across the city, yet various beings were already going about their day. Simon wondered if it was the system upgrades. Last night he'd expected to sleep for days, but woke to the dark unlit morning feeling completely rested.

  He let out a wide yawn at the thought. Simon grinned. Some habits just stuck around.

  Simon watched the morning traffic. Tall Frost-kin with their blue-tinted skin and angular features stalked the roadways. Beautiful celestials walked past, their glowing hair and gem-like appearances casting droplets of light on the surrounding streets. Each had their own distinct color.

  I wonder if their kind ever discriminates based on color, Simon thought to himself, imagining a bunch of glowing green celestials fighting a group of red ones. He shook his head at the thought.

  That seemed to be one decent side effect of the integration. Differences like that seem like minor details when you're fighting to survive day by day.

  That had been his life since arriving here–struggling to survive, day in and day out. So it was nice just to have a quiet moment and people-watch as he made his way to a tailor shop.

  His eyes drifted past Varnholt's walls to the towering mountains. He slowly turned around, taking in the view from the central district. Mountains rose in every direction, vanishing into the distance even on a clear day like this.

  He understood now why they believed they were trapped. There was no horizon, only mountains. Even the sunrise came through a dip between two peaks.

  Speaking of the sun… what the hell.

  Looking closer, something seemed off. There wasn't really a sun visible right now. The light seemed to descend from the heavens. As if the sky itself was brightening without a source.

  He shook his head. There was still so much to learn about this world.

  He shivered again, his rough-spun clothing reminding him of what he'd lost. That comfortable outfit from the Foundation quest had been turned to ash during the fight with the Golden Reliquary.

  Simon checked the map he had been given again, then took a turn.

  “Maybe Emrick has a winter coat I can buy.” He mused to himself. “A nice puffy one. Then all I need is a bit more winter gear, some skis, and bam!” Simon mimed using poles on the street. “I’ll be the first skier in Varnholt.”

  He glanced at the mountains. "Yeah… I could… totally…” Simon shook his head. “Who am I kidding? That would be the dumbest and fastest way to die.”

  —— ? ——

  Several minutes later, Simon found Emrick's shop. He had been worried the man may still be sleeping, but to his relief he could see a faint scrawny outline through the window.

  Simon rapped lightly on the door.

  “Kranofis, I told you, I don't have any progress!" Emrick's nasally voice called out. "Leave me alone."

  "Uhh… It's Simon, but I can come back another day if that's better."

  Shuffling sounds, then the door wrenched open. Emrick looked at him with excitement.

  "Oh! Simon! I thought you were that damned Frost-kin. He won't leave me alone about his project. Comes by almost every day despite my assurances that I am continually trying to solve it." He paused, taking in Simon's appearance. "I see your taste in clothing has yet to improve.”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. "If only I knew someone who could help me with that."

  “Fair point.” Emrick conceded, gesturing him into the shop. “Go stand on that.” The tailor instructed, gesturing towards a circular podium in the center of the room. "Spread out your arms and We'll see about giving you something that doesn't look like you dragged it through a pile of shit, blood, and misery."

  Simon felt slightly insulted. While he had been covered in blood and viscera, the other two were uncalled for. Well, he had shown up pretty miserable the first night and the other time, and… Okay, misery was fair. He dismissed his thoughts as he stood on the raised platform and spread out his arms.

  The workshop was cluttered with spools of thread, fragments of furs and cloth, everything scattered about. A small ball stabbed with various metal-colored needles sat on a table. None of the materials looked polished; they all had a rough quality to them.

  Emrick returned with bundles in his arms, examining Simon closely. When he noticed Simon's searching gaze, he sighed.

  "Yes, yes, I'm aware my facilities are not up to standard. However, the amount of material I can use is limited in this godforsaken frozen valley. Now, keep your arms out straight."

  Emrick made several circles around him. "You are a wide fellow," he mused. “The rags you’re wearing are in the way. Take them off.”

  Simon froze. "Why?"

  "To accurately measure you. Also, I don't want to touch or have anything of mine touch that appalling clothing. When was the last time you washed it?"

  Simon grimaced. That was fair. It smelled of burnt metal, body sweat, and the iron tang of blood.

  "You're right. But… all of it?" Simon said, feeling nervous.

  "I've measured many people before. I’m a tailor, you don’t need to be nervous.”

  Simon continued to hesitate. Emrick sighed and then snapped his fingers. "But if you are so opposed..." With his fingers splayed out, he made a motion and spun his fingertips. As if pulled by an unseen force, a smooth silken material leapt across the room and floated in the air.

  Emrick made another gesture, and the material pounced towards Simon. The article of clothing–some form of boxer briefs looking thing–seemed to melt and ripple around him, snaking into his pants.

  “Hey, hey, what the–eeep!" tightness around his lower body cut Simon’s protest short.

  Simon dropped his arms and spun on the tailor. “What the hell, man!”

  "You were concerned about modesty, so I fixed the problem.” Emrick replied in an annoyed tone. “Now strip off everything else."

  Simon was starting to regret coming to see this strange tailor.

  After another moment of hesitation, Simon sighed. He pulled his shirt off and dropped his pants, standing in the strange silken undergarments.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Emrick nodded, then proceeded with his work.

  Simon expected rulers. Instead, lines of cloth squirmed out from the ground below the platform. One moved up his thigh, pulled taut, then leapt away. This repeated for thighs, legs, belly, chest, arms, shoulders, neck.. Each line of cloth measuring then jumped away to float in the surrounding air.

  Simon watched Emrick wave arms and gesture, conducting the madness. Squinting, he realized the clothing wasn't flying. Thin spiderweb-like lines of string connected each piece, leading to eyelets scattered throughout the room. Emrick stood like a mad puppeteer of sewing.

  "That's a neat trick." Simon said.

  Emrick looked up. "Pardon? What trick?"

  "The thin threads going to all those pieces of cloth. It's astounding how you control them all."

  Emrick froze, then nodded. "Well, of course. I'm a tailor. Why wouldn't I be able to manage that?"

  Simon frowned. " I just saw you move, like, fourteen different pieces of cloth in multiple directions simultaneously."

  Emrick shrugged. "There are many moving parts in my craft. I have to keep track of them all, visualizing, moving and pining. So of course, when I ended up in this new world, why wouldn't I be able to utilize abilities that only enhanced what I already do?"

  Simon thought as Emrick turned back to his work. The tailor had a point. Many people in town had specialized skills. Kaelalin had frost magic and explosive mines. Brian had complementary skills to his mad inventor persona. Dravlen was insanely fast. Hell, it seemed like everyone had something that matched them.

  His own abilities frustrated him. Like they had been pulled from some randomly filled K-Mart bargain bin.

  "Hey, Emrick."

  "Quiet. I'm working." The tailor snapped, the various lengths of measuring cloth spinning around him.

  "Do I need to keep my arms out?" Simon asked.

  Emrick glanced up. "No, you daft fool. I'm obviously done measuring."

  Simon relaxed his arms, feeling a bit of heat in his face. Yeah, that was kind of obvious.

  He watched Emrick’s fingers dance through the air. The measuring strips moved in response, forming into outlines of a figure then shifting with each twitch of the tailor's fingers. Fabric in the shop rustled in response as Simon’s eyes were drawn to the movements. He focused and spotted the faint glimmer of threads that wove through the air.

  Simon looked at Emrick. “Can I ask you a quick question?

  The tailor let out a nasally sigh, his fingers continuing to twitch. “If you must.”

  “You have these abilities that seem perfectly aligned with your profession. To an almost terrifying degree. I’m assuming you were a tailor for years before all of this–” he gestured. “Crazy crap happened? How are you using them so well? Is this whole thread, flying clothing stuff something from your world?”

  Emrick paused his fingers and gave Simon an annoyed glare. “In what definition is that a quick question.”

  “Yeah, I know. But please, I just don’t understand.”

  Emrick studied the face of confusion Simon wore, then sighed again and leaned against work table.

  “Alright, fine. I was a tailor for many years before all of this madness happened. My threading ability is not something our world had. When I was dragged into this insanity I was given a boon that enhanced my hands, but the rest of it came from my class and the system events.”

  He raised an eyebrow at Simon.

  “Did you not gain a boon from your patron?”

  Simon glanced around at the floating measuring strips. “Nothing like this. I still just don’t get how you can be so skilled in such a short time.”

  Emrick hesitated for a moment. “It’s rude to ask, but what is your level?”

  Simon mentally pulled, then glanced at his status.

  —- STATUS —-

  > Name: Simon Starfall

  > Level: 8

  > Class: Unassigned - Reach level 10 to make your choice.

  ——————————

  “Level eight.”

  Emrick’s eyebrows shot upwards, looking genuinely surprised. “Really?”

  “Yeah? That’s what it says.” Simon cocked his head, “Why?”

  “Weren’t you level zero when you first came before the council?”

  Simon shrugged, “Right. I was.”

  Emrick studied him for a long moment.. “That is… impressive.” His eyes softened as he looked at Simon in a new light. “Well, you see. Your class is where you gain true power. I was prepared to tell you that everything would make sense in due time. However, with how you have progressed, you are standing at the threshold.”

  “Level ten yeah? That line has been practically mocking me since I got here.” Simon scoffed.

  Emrick smiled, and started to move his fingers again. “Correct. When you obtain it the benefits it offers are substantial. Everyone's craft and abilities grew to new heights after the Trial Chambers.” Emrick flicked his wrist and a pair of pants and something like a t-shirt jumped towards Simon. “Here, put this on.”

  Simon looked at the dark clothing hanging in front of him. Not wanting the tailor to dress him, he quickly complied. He pulled the soft pants on, marveling at how soft and flexible they felt. Next came the shirt, which seemed to be made of the same material. It felt like exercise clothing, thin, breathable, and pliable.

  He pulled the shirt down then asked. “Trial Chambers?”

  Emrick didn’t answer, his brow furled in concentration. Simon glanced around the shop but couldn’t see anything moving despite the rapid gestures of his hands. Looking for the threads, he was barely able to make out a shimmering movement leading to the back of the shop. There, a circular metal ring hung from the roof. Curtains draped down from the ring to the floor, obscuring whatever the tailor was doing.

  “What did you mean by ‘Trial Chambers?’” Simon asked again, turning back to Emrick.

  The tailor glared at him, but then paused. “So no one told you? It was one of the last System events. We were all given access to resources, training areas, scenarios and well… I’m not sure. There were so many things that were offered. I spent months there practicing my craft. Many others did the same.”

  Confusion filled Simon. “What do you mean months? Haven’t you only been in Varnholt for a month?”

  Emrick gave him a pitying look. "Yes and no. We have been in Varnholt for a month, but the time we have spent in this new reality has been… longer. It was strange. It was as if time moved slower during those events. I made a cup of tea right before one, and it was still warm when I returned despite spending countless days in an event.”

  A cold sinking feeling spread through Simon. “So…” his jaw tightened. “You could just stay in those events for as long as you wanted?”

  Emrick shook his head. “Unfortantely, no. When you finished the event you would be returned. Councilor Brian was crazy enough to test the System's patience. From his account, you would fail the event if you merely waited.”

  Emrick bit his lip in focus as his hands were already moving again. “If I remember correctly, he said it was nearly a year before the System shunted him back here.”

  Simon clenched his fist, his eyes going cold. “How many events were there?”

  The tailor paused, looking up and mentally counting. “Twenty-three.”

  Simon went silent as anger boiled in him. His mind raced, and a memory that had long been burned into him surfaced.

  The glowing lines of text that had taunted him for years.

  —- Notice —-

  > Duration: 22h 39m 13s

  Melodian believes in you! ~ Remember, practice makes perfect ??

  —-—-—-—-

  That. Fucking. Asshole. Simon ground his teeth as his vision grew distant, his anger clouding his senses.

  It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? He had conveniently spent twenty four hours in that nightmare of a realm and missed twenty three system events. Sure, he had years to train his body, but so what?! From what Emrick had just said, it sounded like everyone else got the fucking upgraded version of that.

  Simon closed his eyes, the anger causing a dull thudding in his head. He clenched his fists. He needed to calm down. He needed to think.

  Breath poured into his lungs as he inhaled. With a force of will, he let it escape in a long exhale. He repeated this several times as he cooled.

  The swishing of thread, rustle of fabric and infrequent sound of cloth being cut soothed his mind.

  Yeah this bombshell sucked, but then again… what did he really expect? Those shit for brain deities had essentially tried to kill him. Why was he surprised that they would handicap him to this extent?

  But just how much had he missed? Simon opened his eyes and blinked.

  “Hey, Emrick. Wha–”

  “Would you please be quiet!” Emrick snapped. The tailor’s face was wet with sweat, his gaze distant. His hands pulled, pushed, spun and moved.

  Simon watched him, then his eyes followed the shimmering threads to the curtains. The sounds in the shop grew louder as Simon waited.

  The hum of threads built into a crescendo that filled the shop… then cut off, leaving only silence.

  “It's done.” Emrick said in barely a whisper. His face had transformed into that of satisfaction. He clapped his hands, startling Simon. “Alright! For you the uncultured heathen known as Simon Starfall. I have a gift.”

  Suspicion filled Simon as he looked at the tailor. “I didn’t do anything for you.,”

  “True!” Emrick laughed, wiping his brow. “But I shall give you one anyway. You should be thankful. On Ulsan, they would weep to receive a gift from Emrick Velthar. And you–” his grin widened–“you get it for free.”

  Simon squinted. “So… No strings attached?”

  “Ye..” Emrick froze. His lips twitched, eyes narrowing as though Simon had just spat on him.

  He stomped past Simon, muttering under his breath. He moved next to the curtains and spun back around. Simon gave him a cheeky grin, which the tailor met with an eye roll.

  Then Emrick flicked his hands.

  The shop responded. Cloth leapt from shelves, bolts unrolled, ribbons and threads of every color rippled through the air. The hum returned, louder now, each strand vibrating like a plucked wire. With a grand gesture, Emrick swept his arms wide, summoning a storm of fabric.

  “Behold!” he declared, voice ringing with triumph. “Hopefully a masterpiece. Something befitting the mysterious stranger, the bloody fool, the half-dead moron. I give you… your armor.”

  With a flourish, he pulled tight. The strings throughout the shop snapped taut with sharp, metallic twangs. One sang dangerously close to Simon’s throat. His eyes widened as they snapped to the glistening line. These threads were so much stronger than he assumed. The way they cut the air reminded him of steel more than cloth.

  The final pull caused the curtains to fall revealing a mannequin.

  The sight of what covered it took Simon’s breath away.

  He stared at Emrick's creation for several long seconds.

  “Well? What do you think?” The tailor asked.

  Simon swallowed.

  “What the fuck is that?!”

  —— ? ——

  — AUTHOR NOTICE —

  Thanks for reading!

  ~TheBusyBard

  ——————————