It had been a few days since he'd returned home. Life was slowly moving back into place. Its boring and mundane monotone was only overshadowed by Ark's minute need for some level of shenanigans.

Ever since their return, Ark had developed a new… game? Melmarc liked to think of it as a game. It included him very rarely but was more inclined towards their Uncle Dorthna who still hadn't gone off to wherever he usually went when their parents got back from work.

Randomly and completely out of the blue, he would jump their uncle. Playful as it was, there was rarely any hilarity to it besides the smile on his face. Once, Melmarc had almost gotten a face full of fire when he'd been coming out of the kitchen. Ark had attacked their uncle with a full blast of fire from his mouth straight into his face.

Uncle Dorthna had reacted quickly—always quick. He'd slapped Ark's face to the side and sent the blast of fire spraying all over the place.

Their mother had given him a stern talking to while their uncle had snickered in the corner, enjoying himself a little too much.

Ark didn't stop, though. In fact, Uncle Dorthna began to encourage it. Sometimes, he would goad him, often jumping him too. The house was alive and chaotic.

In the last few days, they had finally gotten around to buying a new set of chairs and a television. In his motivation of Ark's shenanigans, Uncle Dorthna had cast protective spells on them. Unlike when he had cast the protective spells and enchantments on the house, he allowed them to watch.

Spell casting was… interesting.

When those with the [Mage] class did it, they simply held their hands out in one way or the other and the spell came to life.

"Interface assisted," Uncle Dorthna called it when Melmarc had pointed it out. "Their interface simply guides the mana and moves it."

"And what's an interface?" Ark asked.

It was an old question, as old as humanity had interfaces. A grand explanation of the interface was what Melmarc had been hoping for, but their uncle had given them the generic answer.

"Shouldn't they have taught you this in school already?" he asked as he continued to cast his spells. "It's the body's understanding of mana. It is mana interpreted."

Ark looked as unsatisfied with the answer as Melmarc was.

"Sounds kinda boring," he said.

Uncle Dorthna held his hands over the chair in front of them. It was a three-seater, black and long with armrests at the ends. He moved his fingers, stretching and thinning the air. Each time he did so, it was as if he plucked at strands of mana.

Melmarc watched the particles of ambient mana move. It didn't take him any amount of time to realize that Uncle Dorthna was actually picking at the particles of mana and stretching them.

He'd grab a red particle, then pull at it. Instead of going with his hand, it would remain in place, then stretch. Then he would grab another and do the same. By the time he had grabbed enough, curving and turning them all, a spell impression would appear. It was always in geometric shapes. Triangles in circles. Squares in triangles.

It was interesting to watch.

Then he would layer one spell upon another, then he would allow everything to fall into the couch. The furniture would glow a soft color, green or amber or red, depending on what color of mana particle dominated the spell impression.

"Some of my skills aren't guided," Melmarc said while they moved on to another chair.

"That makes sense," their uncle muttered as he began on the other chair. "You have the [Faker] class. It would be surprising if all of them were."

Uncle Dorthna called people as their classes. He didn't say that Eroms had the [Gluttony] class, he said Eroms was a [Gluttony]. The same rule applied to Ark. With Melmarc, he said he had the [Faker] class and called him an [August Intruder].

Melmarc shook his head. "No, all the skills I get through [Bless Your Kindness] are mana guided."

Uncle Dorthna looked at him. "Oh. So, you've got the same class as your father. You're a faker, faker. That's nice."

"I don't understand."

Uncle Dorthna paused what he was doing. He canceled the spell impression he'd been creating half-way with a flick of his wrist. On a normal day, mana particles already avoided him, so he moved his hand casually through the impression and the lines and curves he'd made fled, untangling themselves.

"You know how the [Faker] class has limitations on what they copy?" he asked.

Ark and Melmarc nodded.

"That's because some skills are naturally inclined to them. If you're a good artist, you can copy a painting easily, it will be second nature. If you are a good writer, you can copy another writer's style of writing in the same way."

"So, copying a skill that you're not compatible with is like a writer trying to draw," Ark mused.

"Close enough," their uncle said. "More accurately, it's like a right-handed writer trying to draw with their left hand. It's not impossible. It's nigh impossible."

"So, they can," Melmarc noted. "It's just too stressful."

"Too stressful is putting it mildly," Uncle Dorthna said. "But yes."

"So why don't people go through the stress of figuring it out?" Ark asked. "I'm sure people know this. They just have to learn it."

Their uncle shook his head as if they were misunderstanding something. "A lot of people don't actually know it, though. I doubt anybody really does, unless they conduct magical experiments of various kinds on the Gifted."

Melmarc grimaced at the thought of it.

Uncle Dorthna paused, thoughtful. "I guess they do every now and again. The point I'm trying to make is that when you're in pain, you stop, right? I mean, when you're in far too much pain. It's to the point where if you're in enough pain, you just pass out."

Ark rolled his eyes even though he sported a cocky smile. "Been there, done that."

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Melmarc couldn't say that he was surprised.

"I can't say I'm surprised," their uncle muttered. "In the same way, when you were offered your skills, did you say 'no, I want another one'?"

Melmarc paused. "We can do that?"

"Nope," Dorthna said, moving on. "Instead, you just waited and got another one, right?"

"If we can wait and get another one, then why can't we just demand another one?" Ark asked. "Sounds like something that should be possible, if you really think about it."

"Sure," their uncle rolled his eyes. "The same way you can will yourself to take a piss when your bladder is empty. You get another skill when you get another skill, kiddo. The point I'm making is that in your custom, the interface does not lie."

"Please tell us the interface doesn't lie," Ark said, interrupting him.

Uncle Dorthna sighed. He completely ignored his task and sat on the chair instead.

"There's a reason I can't teach for shit," he muttered. "Alright, let's try this again. Your interface doesn't lie to you. It tells you the truth. Let's use Mel for instance. You've seen one of my skills before, right?"

Melmarc nodded. "Correct."

He thought back to when he had used [Knowledge is Power] on their uncle after he'd recently gained his class. The skill and everything about it had read as question marks.

"What came to mind when you got it?" Uncle Dorthna asked.

"It was just question marks."

"So, you didn't try to copy it."

Melmarc nodded very slowly in realization. "If I had tried to copy it then maybe I would ha—"

"Nothing would've happened," Uncle Dorthna interrupted him. "It would've probably told you that you cannot copy it or you would've failed, or you would've been unable to copy it. Different possibilities. The point is, just the way you saw it and interpreted it as something you can't copy, you didn't try. Even if you did try, you would've failed. It's like high jumps. You jump high and know your limit, so you accept that that's your limit."

"Until tomorrow," Ark said.

Uncle Dorthna nodded. "But here's the kicker. That is not your limit, even at that moment. You just aren't using all the right muscles in all the right ways. If you do, you'll jump higher, but you aren't because you don't know how to. And trying to at that point in time, even if it crosses your mind, is a waste of your time and strength."

"But it would be useful."

"Sometimes talking to you is like talking to a brick wall," Uncle Dorthna grumbled. "Can you draw, Ark?"

"No."

"But you can learn how to if you devote your time and self to it, right?"

"Yes."

"But you still can't draw."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not really interested. But," Ark added quickly, arguing their uncle's point, "that's different. In the skill scenario, it's not really a waste of time."

"But it is. You can't draw because you haven't devoted yourself to learning how to because you don't need to know how to. You have alternatives that work well for you."

"In the same way," Melmarc said, his understanding growing, "a [Faker] that can copy all agility skills and some mana skills won't waste their time learning how to copy strength skills because they are already naturally inclined to agility and mana. You focus on your strengths because it's your strength and your inability to copy strength skills isn't considered a weakness."

"Because it's not." Uncle Dorthna shrugged. "Ark can't think in four dimensions, but it doesn't make it a weakness. Besides, it also boils down to your customs in relation to your interface. If your interface tells you that you are unable to do something, you don't immediately question it as wrong. You see it as the truth and accept it."

"If all [Faker]s have this flaw, why don't I?" Melmarc asked.

"Probably because your body has been learning how to copy and assimilate all the types of mana since before you gained your class. Raw mana or pure mana is the heart of all things. Strength, agility, what you call mana based. All of it stems from pure mana. By the time you got your class, your body knew how to do it all, so you can do it all."

"What about dad? Did he have pure mana too?"

Uncle Dorthna shook his head. "From what I got, your dad's always been a little cocked in the brain. He was something of a jack of all trades growing up, learning any and everything. By the time he got his class, I'm assuming his sense of self was already accustomed to learning everything. You get people like that in every era."

"There are probably a few people like that around," Melmarc mused.

"Possibly," their uncle agreed. "But don't get your hopes up. Your dad is like that, and he ended up becoming the Oath of Madness. People become what they are by pretending to be what they are not yet. Children pretend to be the adults that they watch growing up or pretend to not be them. Before they know it, their pretense becomes real. That's why people like to say fake it 'till you make it. When a person does the impossible and fakes being different things, including conflicting things, it does something to them. Your father gained great power at a cost."

"Sounds like he has it tough," Ark said, voice sad.

Uncle Dorthna snorted in amusement. "Says the kid who has to conquer at least seven hells or risk death."

Ark blanched. "What?"

"Spitfire didn't tell you?" their uncle stroked his jaw in thought. "Then again, it's just a baby. It probably doesn't know. You'll have to conquer seven hells, possibly seven [Demon King]s, too."

"What happens if I don't?" Ark panicked. "How will I die?"

"Your body probably won't be able to contain the accumulating mana in you and you'll explode. Remember how your class was unranked when you gained the class?"

"Yes. Now it's A-rank."

"That's because your body was still accumulating energy. Unlike most of your mates, your rank will increase even if you don't do anything since you're drawing in [Demon King] energy just by being alive. You're A-rank now because that is the limit of your body's capacity. It will increase the harder you work."

"How do I stop?"

"You don't." Uncle Dorthna did not sound the least bit worried. "You'll just keep on accumulating the power until you burst. Conquering seven hells is to use them as storage spaces. Kind of like what Mel is doing right now."

"I don't understand," Melmarc said quickly, before Ark could put a word in. "What am I doing right now?"

"You've taken command of this world, so it's feeding off the excess mana you generate, growing stronger."

"What if I didn't do it, would I die too?"

"[August Intruder]s work differently," their uncle clarified. "If you don't claim a world, you just find yourself having wasted mana. The end. A [Demon King] powers himself, by absorbing mana from outside. An [August Intrude] powers themselves by powering worlds. You'll grow at a normal speed without a world, but you'll grow faster with one. The more the worlds the merrier. They help you contain the excess mana that leaks out of you giving you your own reservoir of mana."

"So, I'm making the world stronger?"

"Yep. In a matter of time, more people than what you normally have will become Gifted."

"Isn't that just fair," Ark grumbled. "I'm conquering worlds to save myself and you're conquering worlds just so you can get stronger."

"You're conquering hells, Ark," Uncle Dorthna corrected. "There's a difference. Yours is more wasteland and lawlessness. His is more civilization and people."

"Will I have to fight other [August Intruder]s, too?" Melmarc asked.

"Certainly."

Melmarc swallowed as his next question came up. "Will I have to kill them?"

"That part's up to you. Conquering isn't always a violent affair, you know."

"It kinda is."

Uncle Dorthna adjusted on his chair so that he could face Ark bodily. "I mean this with the utmost care, but how are you the sibling that's better at math, and still sometimes feel like I'm talking to a brick wall?"

Ark grinned. "It's a gift."

Their uncle paused, then sighed. "I miss Ninra sometimes. She's always been the smart one."

"What of Mel?"

"He's smart enough, but he's too lost in the mystery of it all." Uncle Dorthna shook his head. "Talking to him is like talking to a philosophical brick wall that can talk back but is too enamored in the nature of things. Instead of accepting things as they are, he's too lost in how they are, what they are and why they are. It kind of turns a two-minute conversation into a two-hour conversation."

He gestured around vaguely. "This conversation, for example. It wasn't supposed to be more than a few sentences, a simple back and forth while I spelled the furniture. But here we are, taking up an entire chapter."

Melmarc's brows furrowed in confusion. "An entire chapter? What do you mean?"

"You won't understand, just think of it as a figure of speech. I'm old. I use outdated figures of speech."

Ark was quick to move on from the topic. "So, you're saying that Melamarc can conquer a world if it's [August Intruder] simply surrenders?"

"Correct."

"What if the world doesn't have one? We didn't have one until he came along."

"Then it will have Oaths. If it doesn't have Oaths, then it is too young to conquer. He's more likely to destroy it if he tries, or do nothing to it. If it has Oaths and no [August Intruder] then they will all have to surrender unanimously."

"What of my case?"

"You don't have Oaths. You'll have to deal with demons and or [Demon King]s."

"And they can just surrender, right?"

Uncle Dorthna bobbed his head a little. "Yes, I guess. But before you go looking for peace, ask yourself this one simple question."

"What's that?"

"If someone was taking your source of life, yes?"

"Yes?"

"Would you surrender?"

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