"But why MUST the spell have [Plant Material]?" The words came out louder than Finn had intended. He slapped his palm against the stone as his right calf seized. The muscle drew so tight he half-expected his shin to snap.

He shifted his weight against the obelisk; it hummed with energy beneath his palm. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the spasm. If he was being honest, it was getting scary now. He could see it in his parents' eyes: they knew it, too. His muscles were growing tighter by the day, and if it kept up like this, even crutches wouldn't be an option.

Balance loomed above him in his male form. He waited for the cramp to pass, staring at Finn.

Almost a full minute ticked by.

"All right, now?" the Caretaker asked softly.

Finn nodded.

When Balance spoke again, his voice carried its usual stern weight.

"I warned you both." Balance's voice was flat, and his pointed index finger moved between Finn and the silent figure of Caretaker Earth beside him. "When you two cooked up this specialization, I told you it was a long shot that you would actually figure out how to make [Plant Material], let alone produce enough to access all these abilities. My [Caretaker Boon] is not going to be a bail out."

Obviously, Finn could not remember making that choice. The class selection, the creation of his [Botanomorph] specialization . . . all of it existed in some void he wasn't allowed to remember, even though Balance brought it up every single time Finn was in the Soul Chamber.

"Your spells are too dynamic," Balance said. His tone shifted from scolding to lecturing. "They encompass too much utility to not require an outside component for balance."

Finn's left leg started to tremble. He pressed more weight against the obelisk, trying to hide it. He glanced defiantly at Caretaker Earth, who was watching him with worry in his eyes.

"I already let you get away with no [Plant Material] on a very powerful healing spell."

Balance paused, and studied Finn. "How do you plan to spend your stat point?"

Finn didn't even have to think about it. He had been to enough specialists, and endured enough examinations, to know exactly what was happening to his body.

The words came out clinical. "I'd like to discuss what will help me with muscle tone regulation. It's the body's ability to keep muscles at the right tension. Not too stiff and not too floppy."

Balance nodded slowly. "That seems like a valid goal. I think the best application would be to apply a Dexterity point with the intention of helping with spasticity and hypotonia. Remember, this is not a magical cure. Think of it as taking magical steps toward the medications you previously took."

Finn knew those terms and their meaning, and for a moment he was surprised that something might actually go his way. He had been expecting to be shot down, or to hit another [Plant Material] roadblock. But he could work with this. Even if the stat point didn't help immediately, he knew all the stretching exercises and physical therapy routines. He would take full advantage.

"Thank you." The words came out quieter than Finn intended. He tried to hide that he was getting choked up.

A glowing prompt materialized in the air between Balance and Earth. Finn's spell list displayed.

"As for your [Caretaker Boon]," Balance said, his eyes flicking over the display, "you have mentioned many times that your desire is for your spell kit to be built for versatility. While your teammates specialize, you want to be someone they can count on, no matter what."

Wouldn't that be something. To actually be needed.

"I have an idea for an ability," Balance went on. "At the cost of all of your [Plant Material], you can summon [Fungivincula Mysteria]. This is a magical fungus which spends your [Plant Material] and spreads it into the earth, enchanting the ground beneath your feet. If anyone is standing on it, then their spells are captured and amplified, mixing them into one powerful intention-driven ability. A true 'greater than the sum of its parts' spell."

Earth shifted for the first time since the conversation had started, his weathered face creasing into a smile. "I like it." His voice came out at a normal volume, but the ground rumbled faintly with his words. "I will modify the plant from the [Fungivincula Mysteria] to a species of magical fern, which is more aligned with what we're trying to achieve here. Let's go for a whole Fern Gully magical theme, shall we?"

I love Fern Gully.

The prompt shimmered and shifted. Where [Fungivincula Mysteria] had been, now [Osmunda Regalis Mysteria] appeared in flowing script.

"The Royal Fern," said Caretaker Earth. "Very magical, and fitting for a young Lord."

A glowing representation of the plant floated in the air. Finn had seen something like them on a botanical gardens field trip once: massive prehistoric-looking things with fronds that could grow six feet tall.

"Good luck figuring out the [Plant Material], young Finn." Earth's gentle hand settled on Finn's shoulder. "I know it is frustrating, but I still have faith."

"Okay then, Finn," said Balance. "Please enter the pool."

Finn turned toward the shimmering circle of liquid light. His legs protested the movement, his muscles firing in all the wrong sequences, but he forced himself forward. Each step was deliberate. Calculated. He had learned long ago that rushing meant falling.

The last thing he heard before submerging into the pool was Earth's voice, as distant as wind through leaves. "Remember, young sapling: even the mightiest oak grows from a small seed."

*****

"Scared or not, young Lady Tess," Balance said, "you are one of the pillars of Raintree. Foundation is counting on you. Your citizens are committed, and they are looking to you for leadership. Just like you asked for."

Tess's throat tightened. Balance's words pressed down on her shoulders.

This IS what I wanted. Right?

When none of the adults would train with her, that was all she had fought for. Now that she had it, she was very aware that she was a fifteen-year-old girl about to lead three hundred people into war.

"I know," Tess said, her voice catching. "I just . . . I'm scared of letting them down. Of getting people hurt. I've messed up so many times already."

Balance tipped his head, watching her with his strange, unsettling calm. "And you probably will again. There is no commander in history without regrets. No commander whose choices have not cost lives."

It wasn't very comforting.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

But it wasn't a lie.

Tess's breath caught as another figure stepped forward from the cavern's darkness. She knew who this was by the descriptions that went around Foundation: Caretaker Job. He stood there in a sleek business suit, his black hair slicked back enough to show the graying at his temples. His gold eyes fixed on her.

"I would venture that Raintree is lucky to have you, Tess Robinson. All over the world, people hide from responsibility, even when it means their own survival. It's ridiculous."

Job's eyes swept over her, assessing, calculating. She felt like a file he was perusing.

"I continue to be impressed with you and your family, Lady Robinson. I anxiously await the day you come see me for a profession. But, for now, time is money. Caretaker Balance, what do you have for Lady Tess?"

"The Boon seems an easy pick. The creature army headed your way vastly outnumbers the Raintree army. Thousands of creatures will hit Raintree at once. I find it fortuitous that you have chosen three hundred warriors to stand against the incoming horde."

"Yes, I had to nudge Caretaker History to next in line for this spot," Caretaker Job said.

Three hundred.

When she had stacked the volunteer slates, that number had felt like a lot. Now, it felt piddly.

"Against those odds," Balance continued, "there will come a point at which your army's morale will flag, and probably even threaten to break. I will give you a strong army-wide morale boost of unbreakable will for a short time, and this will center around you."

Balance raised his hand. A prompt appeared, detailing the spell [Rally]. "The people will find inspiration in you."

"The skyrocketing work ethic of Raintree is admirable," Job said, "and, in anticipation of Raintree soon churning out Basic weapons and armor, I will increase Caretaker Balance's spell to include a 'Made in Raintree' buff. All items made in Raintree will obtain a power boost for the duration of your spell."

Amazing!

An army with an unbreakable will: every sword; every piece of armor; every arrow; all of it enhanced when they needed it most. The workshops her Dad had been driving everyone to complete, the Smiths and Crafters working through exhaustion . . . their efforts would be even more impactful.

"Based on the way Raintree has banded together," Job said, "I will rename the spell [Patriotism]. I do love it when hard work pays off."

*****

Bo strained forward, his neck muscles pulled tight, trying to snatch even a sliver of what Balance and Epic were saying. The two of them had positioned themselves just far enough from his pool that all he caught were murmurs. Each time he shifted to hear better, they seemed to drift another step away.

Unbelievable. Absolutely un-fucking-believable.

They were making important-ass decisions on his behalf and they wouldn't even be bothered to hear him out.

Balance's golden eyes flashed as she gestured toward Bo. Epic nodded along, his stupid fucking fedora bobbing with each motion, his golden eyes occasionally flicking to Bo as well.

Bo raised his eyebrows.

Am I the unreasonable one?! Is it too much to be part of the discussion about my own fucking abilities?

The air beside the Caretakers rippled.

A third figure materialized. The new Caretaker's form refused to hold still, his features slowly melting and reforming like clay. One moment he had a sharp nose, the next it was flat, and his entire form was in constant motion.

Bo was starting to recognize them all.

That must be Caretaker Meme.

Unlike the other two, this Caretaker seemed to have no problem letting Bo listen in.

Meme shifted into Eleanor Shellstrop. "Listen, dude, I don't wanna tell you how to do your job, and I really WANT to like this guy, but he's kind of a basic deck. You're gonna have to give this dude something to stand out."

Bo clenched his jaw.

Fucker.

Epic hissed a few more hushed words: Bo heard 'well, actually' but couldn't make out the rest.

Meme shifted into Michael Bay; one thumb rested on a detonator-button..

Their eyes flashed back and forth for a few moments, until Epic's shoulders hunched and his posture disintegrated. His fake artsy director persona was gone. "What did you have in mind?"

This time Meme's response was too quiet for Bo to catch, but fragments drifted over: something about needing 'that It factor'; and definitely the word 'hair' as Meme lifted his hand over his head and generated small exploding fireworks.

Bo's fingers froze mid-motion against his smooth scalp; he had been absently rubbing the top of his bald head.

The conversation continued for several more agonizing minutes. Epic nodded along while Balance remained perfectly still and observed the exchange. She began tapping her foot, each tap a little more forceful than the last.

Finally, Caretaker Meme turned and gave Bo a cheerful wave. Then he vanished.

What the fuck.

Epic's entire body sagged with relief the moment Meme disappeared. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, and muttered something that Bo still couldn't hear to Balance.

They slowly made their way to Bo and his pool. Their conversation continued in low tones until they were close enough for him to participate.

"Listen," Bo said, trying to keep his voice level, "I think you should take my input into consideration. Please. Amber is a smart kid. Maybe I should start doing something with bows?"

Balance's features sharpened with irritation. "Mr. Robinson, for the third time, if I would like your input I will ask. This ability is a gift. You do not get to pick your gifts." Her tone turned mildly acidic. "Hana would say you are being rude."

Bo let out an exasperated sigh.

Fine. Fuck it.

He made an exaggerated gesture of zipping his lips shut.

"How do you plan to use your stat point?"

Now you want my input?

For half a heartbeat Bo almost didn't answer out of stubbornness. But then he relented. "I was thinking INT. Crunching numbers, resource inventory, schedules, stuff like that, to help with city planning and logistics . . . "

Epic stepped forward, his usual theatrical flair dampened by frustration. "Let me be frank with you, Bo. Honestly, the self-hating Bard shtick is getting a little old."

A glowing prompt materialized in the air between them, displaying Bo's performance against the Headless Boss. Epic made a so-so gesture with his hand. "This one? Pretty good. People loved it, it was fun."

"What people?"

"Not important. Now, see here . . . " The prompt shifted and showed the Spider Dungeon battle.

"This one sucked. You're actually making a frowny face during the song!"

There was Bo, singing [I Need A Hero], [Auto tune]'d several octaves higher. He was playing the right notes and singing the words, but his eyebrows were pulled low. His whole expression radiated misery.

"It sucked!" Epic boomed. "Couldn't use a single piece of it. Wasted my time."

The prompt shifted again to the [Another One Bites the Dust] and [Footloose] performances.

"These were decent, but you know . . . very 'blah'. Easily forgettable. I need you to play with real emotion! Real heart, Mr. Robinson. We can all tell when you're faking it." He heaved a deep sigh. "Meme is right. You need to commit, and you need to look better doing it. I deeply suggest you focus on becoming a better Bard and choosing DEX, with a focus on faster fingers or better dance moves. I implore you to embrace the Bard, because we have decided . . . " He gestured toward Balance with a flourish.

Balance studied Bo for a moment, then pointed to another prompt that had appeared. It showed the stage currently under construction back at Foundation; the project the kids had insisted on despite his complaints about wasted resources.

"Mr. Robinson," Balance said, her tone formal, "it appears that your stage is on track to be completed for the battle. It is the strongest piece of equipment you have, and I would like to capitalize on that. I am giving you the spell [Concert]. This will roughly cover the area of your stage, and will greatly enhance yours and the other Bards' bardic abilities. Further boosts can be stacked, depending on how well the performance goes, and on how well the songs match the situation."

Bo's heart sank. A performance spell. Of course. Not something practical.

Dance like a trained monkey.

"And as for me," Epic said, raising his hand with theatrical slowness, "I will be modifying . . . "

He pointed directly at Bo.

"What?"

"You." Epic moved his finger around to indicate all of Bo. "You need some X factor. I will add a passive onto the Boon. You are going to grow some 80's power ballad rock hair. That'll stand out, as well as further boost your spells."

Bo's mouth fell open. "Wuhhh."

"You better not shave it, by the way." Epic wagged a finger. "It's kinda like a Samson power. If you shave it, you lose it. I'll make a note in the spell prompt for you."

Of all the humiliating . . .

A shitty spell, nimble fingers, and . . . hair. They were giving him magic hair.

Great. I'm sure that'll save the fucking day.

*****

Hana's throat tightened as a second figure emerged from behind Balance. The new Caretaker was . . . freaky. His skin had the gray pallor of something long dead, and was stretched tight over his features, which were all sharp angles. He gave off a Disney villain vibe, complete with a thin mustache. Dark robes draped his bony frame; his shriveled hands were hidden within the sleeves. He floated forward, the tips of his toes barely scraping the ground.

Hana gulped and forced her diplomatic instincts to the surface. She turned to the gray figure and forced herself to meet those burning gold eyes. She gave a polite nod. "Hello, Caretaker. I don't believe we've met."

The figure slowly drifted closer. The creepiness intensified; it was like standing next to an open grave.

"Hello, Ms. Robinson." His voice was a dry rasp. "I am Caretaker Purge. We have met. I helped you with your class and specialization. You really captured my attention with the 'I'd give an arm and a leg' for any advantage for my family." His thin pale lips turned into something of a smile.

Ice flooded Hana's veins.

Had she chosen to give up her arm?

"You know we are not allowed to discuss specifics of the class selection," Caretaker Balance said. "Let us move this along."

Purge gave a lifeless chuckle. "Don't worry. I'm not here to collect any more pieces from you. I'm here to lend my support, free of charge."

"Um, please forgive me," Hana managed, though it was hard as hell to keep her voice level. "Why would you help us? I recognize your name from the Dungeon prompts. You're trying to kill us. Your monsters have killed so many people."

She looked back and forth between Balance and Purge.

"Hana, I am sorry but that is untrue, he—" Balance began, but Purge unfurled one long, skeletal hand from his sleeve and held it up to Balance. The fingers were too long, too thin.

"Thank you, Balance, but I can speak for myself." Purge turned his intense golden eyes back to Hana. "Yes, Ms. Robinson. I am in charge of the Dungeons. However, it was the invading entity which transformed me from Caretaker Challenge into Caretaker Purge, along with all the horrors that go with it."

His voice carried a bitterness that surprised her. Genuine scorn and anger animated his cadaverous frame.

"I assure you, this is just as much a punishment to me as it is to you. Which is why I am helping you." The golden eyes narrowed. "I hope to end this disgusting farce as quickly as possible."

"Oh." Hana didn't know what else to say. "I apologize."

Purge nodded: a sharp gesture that made his robes whisper against themselves.

Balance stepped forward. "Hana, I realize you have not exactly bonded with your class and specialization, but I am going to give you access to a temporary boost in power. It just . . . will not be very appealing, I am afraid."

Hana's stomach clenched.

The dead Caretaker fixed his burning gaze on her. "Hana, how do you plan to spend your stat point?"

"I was thinking Constitution. Maybe help me with faster recovery from sickness?"

Balance nodded. "Perfect. I am going to give you [Carcass]. Your entire body will enter a state of undeath, just like the arm prostheses you have been using. You will be able to pump large amounts of malady magic through your system: much more than if your body was alive." Balance paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Once the spell is over, you will return as you were, only much, much sicker for it. However, with the added Constitution, that should—"

"I think I have a better idea than a point in Constitution." Purge's interruption was smooth. He pursed his lips, which further sharpened his starved features. "Hana, you have recently been exploring the use of different limbs, and studying their effects on your spells. You realize now the importance of the essences, and the need to switch out bone arms before casting certain spells. It's smart. However, it is slow."

He glided closer: close enough that she could see her own reflection in those gilded eyes.

"What if, during [Carcass], you could attach multiple undead limbs? Really pump out the damage. The drawback is that, to control so many limbs, you will need to put the stat point into INT instead."

A putrid scent wafted from him.

"Meaning," Purge continued, "no relief from the sickness."

He leaned further forward, his radiant eyes boring into her soul.

"So, I guess . . . how much do you want to win, Ms. Robinson?"

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