The light of the skymote Tiganna shifts from green, to yellow, to orange, and so forth throughout the day as we slowly approach the great city.

Standing at the prow of my boat, I take in the full light of Tiganna. Its aether flows are powerful and getting closer by the hour. It feels like sunlight on the soul.

A new job offer flies at me and sticks to my aura. From the skymote itself, it looks like. Complete a major quest or Deed in each domain in Tiganna. I was going to do that anyway. If the skymote wants to challenge me, I won't complain of it.

The title of the 'jobs' screen in my HUD shifts to 'challenges'. Fine, I can accept that paradigm.

Tiganna can read me just as readily as Corwen and probably Tempest can. It read me in that moment and decided to challenge me. Me specifically, and not anyone else in the boat.

I examine everyone's auras to read their own current tasks, because I'm bored and nosy. (I feel that it's only fair. They can apparently read people's faces and tones of voice better than I can.)

All of them have the same invitation from Flux that I have. I no longer feel special. No wonder they were all clamoring to come along.

Some of them have quests from their own cores to do something specific in Flux. The Daring Edgewalkers all have a quest from Corwen to kill Bee Tresco. And steal her ship. I don't presume to understand what Corwen is thinking, but from a purely tactical viewpoint, it makes sense. A valuable resource acquired by a means they can probably get away with, versus an opponent just challenging enough to force them to push themselves to rank up.

The Elite Mushroom Survivors (whatever their name is), including Meadow, all have a quest to kill a floj smuggler named Gannet Halkyn and steal his skyboat, or something like that. I have to ask Meadow to clarify the details, as I don't have all the context necessary to understand it.

Skill increased: Clairvoyance (Witness)

"Gannet was the one who caught us snooping and threw us in the Mushroom Garden," Meadow says. "He fled when the Ardent Pathfinders attacked Halkyn Hearth. We'll see how tough he is when he doesn't have his mother at his back."

Finally, we draw close to the triple city. Although you could practically count it as six cities, given the differences between the topside and underside. Maybe a city with six suburbs would be more accurate.

Before we get too close, I make my aura look like a non-reincarnator. I'm sure higher rank psychics can see through it, but I'm not terribly worried about it. As a non-reincarnator, I might just be a kid on a fun trip, rather than serious business.

There's a lot more traffic here than there is around Tempest. I suppose it stands to reason, given the way the cities are laid out. A great many small boats flit about, the size of an aether pinnace or smaller. Some people are even riding flying carpets and broomsticks. Aranea drift between the domains on parachutes made of their own aether silk.

"Time to stop gawking and get back to the tiller," Uncle Falcon says cheerfully. "Let's put down somewhere and figure out where we're going."

"We can hit up the tourist district and buy a map," Kestrel says, pointing. "That looks like a good spot. Head over for that big holographic sandwich and tuck us into the docking tower next to it."

Flux is overwhelmingly huge from up close, so I'm grateful for any direction. This tower is larger than I'm used to, but designed to hold a large number of small craft rather than a small number of large craft. I find an empty spot and manage to put us into it without hitting anything, helped by the fact that once I get close enough, the enchantments on the tower gently pull my boat into place.

Entering Flux Domain. You have discovered Eildon. Skills increased: Enhanced Soul (Aether Sailing), Mechanics (Piloting), Enhanced Hands (Gentle Touch)

The invitation on my aura unravels, feeding its experience into me. Not a huge amount, but it's immediately followed up by another challenge. This one is just as simple: Explore Flux. I'm not sure exactly how much exploration would be needed to complete it, but I doubt I'll be doing enough of it on this trip. Still, there's no time limit on it and I'm sure I'll be back. Flux seems less inclined to push me into pointless conflict, at least.

Everyone files off the boat, stretching gratefully as they leave their seats and touch something solid and not moving.

Unfortunately, my boat doesn't have a lock or shield or anything to stop someone from just making off with it or rummaging through our food crates. The docking tower has its own security measures, according to a nearby sign, but I'm not sure how much I trust it. Tosko the Alchemist volunteers to stay behind for the moment, take inventory and get some potions brewed.

I take a moment to stand on the dock and revel in the perspective I get from here. Tiganna, above and to the side, shines yellow in the sky like a perpetual sunny afternoon. We're not in the part of Flux where Tiganna's light is blocked by Gleam overhead, but I can see its underside in the distance like an inverted city.

"Move along," a gruff masculine voice interrupts my gawking. "Blasted tourist kids."

I turn around and open my mouth to apologize for blocking the way, but the words die on my tongue when I come face to snout with the owner of the voice. A bear stands at least twice my height, wearing a gray uniform and brandishing a stick. He's only Elite rank, but completely unintimidated by the Heroics.

"What, kid, you never seen a bearfolk before?" the talking bear says. "Run along and quit blocking the way. Either go back to your boat or down to the shops but you can't stand on the dock."

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"Right, sorry," I say. "Moving along now."

We head out and split up. Which is less "splitting the party" and more three different parties going their separate ways. We're here to gather information and pinpoint our objectives.

The tourist hub is full of a diverse throng of beings from more places than I can begin to identify. Humans in wild fashions, elves with colorful hair, and more types of animalfolk than I even knew existed. Their vis mingles together in a psychic cacophony, overwhelming my ability to pick out details.

A kiosk near the docking area immediately tries to sell us a magitech camera. Kestrel buys one and tosses it to Anise.

Kestrel tells me, "This is a cheap brand, but I'm sure you'll have fun playing with it after it stops working after a few dozen pictures. Shoddy sigil work on cheap materials cranked out by apprentices."

The vendor, not even denying it, just shrugs. "I just get paid to sell them."

We set out and browse the shops. Kestrel buys a tourist map of Flux Topside and probably overpays for it, but it's convenient.

A stand near the docking tower offers what look like living boots. A few pairs in different colors sit in a large transparent bin, and by "sit" I mean they're watching the crowds like puppies waiting for adoption, one of them pressing up against the glass eagerly as we approach.

"Can I interest you in some new footwear?" asks the catfolk manning, or catting, the register.

"What are they?" I wonder.

"Allow me to demonstrate."

Stepping out from behind the counter, he reveals that he's wearing a pair of living orange boots that go up to the… cat-ankle? An ankle for a cat-leg is at a different spot than where it is for a human, but I know it's an ankle and not a backwards knee. With paw-like hands, he grabs the top of one of the boots and tugs down. The boot-creature goes slack and allows him to remove it without resistance, revealing a fuzzy, clawed hind paw.

"They will adjust to whatever size and shape of foot you have," says the vendor, putting the boot back on.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable wearing something that's alive," Rowan says.

"Also, they cost more than our boat," Basalt adds.

"What do the boots get out of it?" asks Jade.

"They eat your sweat, they trim your toenails, and it's like having a constant pedicure," the vendor says. "They hardly ever eat anyone's feet. I guarantee these are well-behaved and well-trained."

We all pass.

The next stand has jewelry displayed beneath a glass counter. A sign hanging overhead touts them as the finest in illusory accessories.

I scrunch my face up at the sign. "Are they accessories that make illusions or accessories that don't exist?"

The vendor, a red-haired human woman, happily gives a demonstration. She has three small studs on her right ear. Touching them one by one, her outfit switches between sensible work clothes, a ball gown, and a bathing suit, before returning to the work clothes. I have to wonder how many people buy these things just because a pretty woman who was briefly wearing a bathing suit was selling them.

"Wouldn't you be naked if it breaks?" I ask.

"If something hits your upper ear hard enough to damage this, you have bigger worries than being naked."

More complicated ones can store blueprints for multiple outfits. These are also much more expensive. Simple silver rings can hold a single blueprint, and even they require vis to activate, which would leave me reliant on my mom to turn on my clothes. I'll pass.

Another vendor is offering Epic dragon bodyparts laid out in shelves in a locked display case with glowing sigils around the edges. Scales, horns, claws, eyes, spleens… It seems that people aren't terribly picky about it. If it came from a dragon, it has to be useful for something.

I get a very peculiar feeling from them, and go over to give them a closer inspection.

Rank Epic Aspect Heroic

What? Oh… I see what happened. There's an illusion or something over them that tricked [Appraisal] but didn't stop [Psychometry]. And my [Empathy] reads the vendor as the most honest saint I have ever met. Uh-huh, sure.

"Are these genuine?" asks a gnome, examining the dragon body parts as well.

"Of course!" the vendor exclaims. He's a tall, weedy half-elf with blond hair and a pristine smile. "I would never sell substandard merchandise. These were brought in fresh from the Tempest Underside just last week."

"And they're Epic ranked?" the gnome asks. "Because I really need some Epic-ranked dragon scales for a project."

Feh. I will never rank up from not getting involved. Grandma's got my back.

"Those aren't Epic," I interrupt.

"Are you accusing me of fraud, little boy?" the half-elven vendor says, pinning me with a glare.

"Yes," I say. "It was a clever trick, but my skill was better. Sorry."

Skills increased: Clairvoyance (Psychometry, Empathy), Persuasion (Diplomacy) Your Charisma has increased.

"Too honest for your own good," says the vendor with a sigh.

"So it's true?" the potential customer says. "These parts came from a juvenile dragon?"

"Tell you what, I'll give you half off," the vendor says hurriedly.

"The very accusation will require an official inspection," says the potential customer. "Which you know you will fail, don't you?"

"Seventy-five percent off, a great deal!"

"Okay, how much trouble is this?" I say. "I'm not from around here. Will they fine you or torture you to death?"

"You're not worried about the alleged baby-dragon-murder of my suppliers?"

"I really don't care," I say. "If their parents care so little that their hatchlings are being killed, why should I care?"

"Dragon mothers abandon their eggs after laying them," the vendor says. "The survival of the hatchlings depends entirely on themselves."

"They're completely helpless!" the potential customer protests.

"How about we just fly over there and see how helpless they really are?" I say. "You'll tank, right?"

The potential customer looks at me, looks at my utterly insane grandma and mom, and says, "You know what, Heroic is fine. 80% off and I'll take the lot of them off your hands. Sometimes quantity will suffice when quality lacks."

The transaction occurs quickly, and the customer hurries off with his baby dragon scales.

"Why did you rat me out then make me a sale?" the vendor wonders once he's gone.

"I only said what I thought was true in both cases," I say with a shrug.

"If you're the lawful sort, doesn't it worry you that trading in juvenile dragon parts is illegal?"

"Seems like if people want to protect dragons, they should actually go protect dragons. Are there no dragon riders or anything?"

"Nobody could tame such a beast unless they were higher rank than it," the vendor says. "You'd need to be an Epic Ranger to tame a baby dragon."

I'm betting that surviving the apocalypse will require dragon riders or something, because that's just the sort of ridiculous trope this world would set up. I, however, do not want to be a dragon rider, so I'll just suggest it to someone else. I don't mind there being dragon riders around, I just prefer my mode of transportation to come with a bed and not need sleep or food. I do happen to know an Epic Ranger.

What if, when I unlock Necromancy, I put one of my ghosts into a dragon egg? I'm fairly certain I could get it to work, and plenty of my past lives would be thrilled to be reincarnated as a dragon. I add a note to my continuously growing list of "cool things I want to try when I reach Elite."

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