Symon was on his back, staring at the pale blue sky above him. It was cloudless, as it almost always was in the Wastes, and he could already feel the Suns beating down on him. If there was one good thing about the pollen barrier, it was the temperature inside. He would have thought the dark barrier would work like a greenhouse, trapping the heat and cooking him, but it was much nicer than outside. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was better than being crisped outside. He'd gotten so used to the heat that he usually didn't bother complaining about it, even just to himself, but now he had to re-adapt.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, feeling quite pleased despite the still lingering nausea. He turned to Entisse to find her still laughing softly on the ground, her body smeared in pollen and unnameable fluids, yet undamaged under all the filth.

That whole ordeal had been… strange. He wasn't sure what else to call it.

It hadn't been like Keelgrave had taken over his body, but it hadn't not been like that, either. It was more like they'd both become a single person, the distinction between them fuzzing until they were unable to tell where one mind stopped and the other began. They'd perfectly understood each other, knowing what the other person was thinking as soon as they thought it. There had been no potential for any untoward behaviours from the spirit, not when they'd been so closely linked. In fact, Symon was sure that Keelgrave hadn't even contemplated another attempt at a takeover.

Trying to take his mind off the odd experience, he refocused on Entisse. His Anatomy must have levelled up, which made sense after getting such an in-depth view of her internals, filtered through the strange lens of Keelgrave's vitality sight as it may be, as it was telling him she was suffering from blood loss. It would normally have been a simple thing to deduce even without Ledger given skills, but her alien skin tone had thrown him off. It wasn't helped by all the grime coating her. Now, though, it was informing him of her minor yet still noticeable exsanguination.

Right, she must have used that blood to mana thing to top herself off. He was impressed she'd had the foresight to do that, her current state not distracting her from the fact that she'd be getting dumped into a monster-infested forest in front of strange adventurers she'd never met before.

Speaking of, Symon spared them a glance as he moved to help the elf up. They had formed a line in the treeline: Safiya was staring suspiciously, Aslan had just given him a respectful nod, and Atabek was waving excitedly.

He offered his hand and she took it, and he hauled her to her feet with no effort. As expected, her sharp claws dug into the flesh of his forearm, although she didn't seem to notice. His resistances meant he didn't even feel the pain, and only a tiny pearl of blood formed before his healing disappeared the pinprick wounds.

"Well, that was certainly something," Symon laughed, feeling out of breath despite not physically exerting himself. It had been intense, but it had been entirely in the realm of his mind.

She nodded vigorously, her long braid bouncing from side to side. "Our powers together shall make us the mightiest hunters! We shall earn all resistances at the altar of suffering!" she hissed ominously.

"Ow, inside voice please," he winced. Her sibilant speech had been so high-pitched at certain words that his ears had felt a little funny.

"But we are outside?" she frowned.

"It's just a saying. How about we save the sound resistance training for later?"

She nodded in agreement. "A wise idea."

He turned back to the Dumosans, finding that they had all cautiously approached. "Good news, everyone, mission success! And it was much faster than I'd expected, too: I had a bit of a breakthrough. Oh, but where are my manners…"

Symon introduced everyone, though the reactions weren't quite as positive as he'd hoped. Entisse had retreated in on herself once the others approached, her previous bloodthirsty exuberance hiding away. Literally, as she always tried to keep Symon physically between them and her.

Atabek seemed very curious about the elf. He pestered Entisse with questions about her home, mostly about the types of food they ate and if she'd brought any with her that he could sample, but she brushed him off or completely ignored him. The translation ring only worked for Entisse, meaning Symon still couldn't understand the big guy, but he managed to piece together the overall direction of the questions with his limited Dumosi.

Aslan was coldly professional, his usual formal attitude ramped up to eleven. He seemed focused on determining if more of Entisse's people were around, and if they would be a threat. Symon could tell she wasn't handling all the attention very well, so he answered for her, explaining how she was the last of her people and that she'd promised not to harm them.

In contrast with the others, Safiya had been silent, though her actions had spoken volumes. She'd eyed the elf suspiciously the whole time, hands rubbing across the pommel of her daggers, but trusted Symon's vouch for her enough that she didn't do anything more aggressive than that.

What is it with the people of this world and their dislike of all elves?

They didn't seem to get that she was nothing like the forest elves of their homeland. Judging by their description, they sounded more like goblins than elves: small, green, vicious, and stupid.

Entisse wasn't those things. Well, alright, she could be pretty vicious, but she certainly wasn't the mindless monster the others had been expecting.

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He could admit that he might be giving her a little more trust than most people would. He couldn't really confirm most of the things she claimed about her past were true, and everyone, especially Keelgrave, had warned him about Elves.

But she reminded him of himself. She, too, was alone in a brand new world — while she might have been born on Cathar, she hadn't even seen the surface until a week ago. They'd both been ripped out of their home and thrust into some place entirely foreign to them.

He pitied her, but also respected her for continuing on after everyone she'd ever known was killed. He wasn't sure he would have handled it nearly so well if he'd seen his whole family get murdered. The fact that she was here, struggling to survive all by herself… she deserved his help.

"These forest elves, do they really have much resemblance to Entisse?" Symon asked. He stepped to the side, ensuring she couldn't hide behind him, and gestured to her. Her whole body tensed like a tightly wound spring, or a tiger ready to pounce. "What kind of clothes do you wear in the depths?" he continued. He'd needed to convince her to put the servant's clothes on instead of the tattered and bloodsoaked rags she'd been in, but surely her people weren't butt naked all the time.

"We wear clothes woven of spidersilk, armour forged of deep metals unheard of by surface dwellers and weapons of the same ken," she responded automatically, the seemingly random question throwing her for enough of a loop that she forgot to be taciturn.

"And the forest elves," he said, turning back to the Dumosans, "what do they wear?"

Aslan frowned in thought for a few moments, but quickly picked up on his point. "Nothing, strips of vegetation, or bloodied and rotting beast hides," he admitted. "I understand your meaning. The forest elves and deep elves are, hmm, only distant cousins, yes?"

Entisse shrugged, and when it was clear she wasn't going to elaborate further, Symon spoke up. "She's never even seen one before, so there's no way of knowing. She's only ever known the monsters down below, her people, and the humans who attacked them."

Aslan chewed on his lip, but eventually nodded. "I must admit to being unlearned of your people, and I applied the incorrect assumption in my ignorance." He pressed his fists together and bowed deeply at the waist. "Forgive us for the insult, Deep Elf Entisse. Would you join us for a meal around the fire?"

She perked up for the first time since meeting the Dumosans. "Is there any more of that wolf meat?"

The group, newest member included, spent several hours sitting around the fire engaging in idle chit chat. No monsters came this close to the barrier, although Symon had tasked Stitch with keeping an eye out, giving the little bird orders to circle their camp and return the second it spotted anything dangerous.

His familiar hadn't been harmed by the mist, and their connection had been unhindered. It had simply poofed out of the barrier when he'd called for it from where he'd left the bluebird resting in a windowsill. Did that mean it had no mana? As far as he knew, the bird didn't have any special abilities like the emberwolves did, so he wasn't able to test if his undead minions still had their magic.

He was guessing it wouldn't work, though. His magic provided vitality to animate the body — in Stitch's case, this meant around a single unit per hour he was active, and almost nothing when he was stationary — but it did nothing for the mana. He already knew the dead, even the undead, couldn't regenerate their own mana normally. It was why Keelgrave had needed Symon.

After he'd set the bird on overwatch and everyone had gotten to know each other a little bit, he felt safe in checking his progress. While he wouldn't say the Dumosans were as immediately trusting of Entisse as they had been of him — being the healer had a way of putting you in people's good books, after all — but both sides seemed to realise the others weren't so bad. The Elf always maintained a distance, both physically and socially, but she at least didn't seem to be on the verge of running away or attacking anymore.

Safiya was making a clear effort to be accepting, though it seemed hard for her.

He didn't directly ask why, but it didn't take a genius to guess she likely had more personal experience with the forest elves. She was usally spinning and twirling her daggers around, but her recent motions seemed to have a more nervous energy.

After extracting a promise from Entisse that she wouldn't harass Atabek too much while he prepared more food — something of a late lunch — he turned back to the nice stump he'd found to sit on as he perused his Ledger. Given that he wasn't in a rush, he let it display his full status.

[ Status: Name: Symon Class: Cursed Healer Strength: 0.99 Constitution: 1.34 {+0.01} Acuity: 1.05 {+0.01} Intelligence: 1.10 {+0.02} Will: 1.46 {+0.05}

Vessel (Vitality): 23/23

Abilities: Idealise (21) {+1} Seize (20) Essence Bond (19) {+4}

Passives: Anatomy (10) {+4} Bleeding Resistance (4) Languages (13) {+2} Pain Resistance (15) Poison Resistance (6) {+1} Running (9) Swords (6)

Titles: Blessed by Order Blessed by Chaos World Traveller ]

Symon's mind was drawn to the negatives, in the way that the human brain was want to do. "Aww, man, only one level in Idealise? I felt like I was really onto something just before… and the sheer quantity of vitality I used… it must have been in the hundreds!" he complained to Keelgrave.

<Welcome to the First Step, kid, it'll only get worse from here. The day isn't even over, and you're whining about only getting one level!> Keelgrave spat, but without any venom.

Symon slumped in his makeshift chair. It was just like training your muscles in the gym: the newbie gains would only last so long before the improvements came slower and slower. "Your highest level skill, how long did it take you to get the most recent one? Do I even want to know?"

<No, but I'll tell you anyway. It was my Helmsmanship, in the Third Step.> Keelgrave's body diffused slightly, and Symon had the odd sensation that the spirit had just leaned forward. <Two years to go from my second last to my last level, and that was a skill that I used constantly, even when I slept.>

Symon tilted forward even further, his forehead now resting on his knees. Oh God, and the months here have more time in them than on Earth…

He supposed he couldn't complain, not really. Getting to the First Step in less than two weeks sounded pretty good to him, and he couldn't expect to make it all the way to what was widely considered the peak in just a few months. Presumably, there was a Fourth Step, but Keelgrave had never definitively confirmed that, although there were plenty of stories and mythological heroes that were supposedly there or even higher.

His current goal was to get Seize to level 50, halfway through the Second Step. He'd be able to get Thread Compression at 40, but the math meant he'd need the extra levels to bring the range all the way down to zero. Then, he'd be able to act like mostly like anyone else would around others. If a range of nothing meant it was touch only, like he thought it did, then he'd just have to wear gloves and some thick clothes.

That seemed pretty attainable to him, especially when he considered the possibilities of the nearby dungeon. Maybe his quick progress didn't have to stop…

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