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Eternal Game of the 108 Chapter 4: The Great Escape
🕑 Added 2025-09-28 14:06:17 +0000 UTC“FUCK!”
“More tea? Another blend.”
“Yes please but let me just do something real quick,” I reply to Chronos. “Excuse me.”
I rush to the arcade cabinet. There is something I must buy. It’s not about the experience I just lived through. Died through. Doesn’t matter. It’s for the future. I am absolutely certain that what I just went through is nothing compared to what can happen to me in future loops. I will not subject myself to this if I can help it, and I suspect there is a solution. Clicking feverishly, I try to sort by another category, and I do. It’s as if the UI is helping me along. It probably does.
Time-exclusive powers, by tiers:
0 Reset
1 Atemporal Hypercognition
1 Self Stasis
2 Haste
2 Projectile hyperacceleration
3 Temporal whirlpool:
3 Branching awareness
4 Oracle
4 Banishment
Reset. Reset is what I need. I click on it and confirm that it forces a loop reset without me having to die or lose. Moreover, it’s cheap. I suspect this is one of Chronos’ mercies.
I shoot them a glance. Both of them pretend to notice and look up which I find… quaint. But one question remains: if my mind cannot be broken, then would more qualia not be beneficial? Even the really fucked up experiences? Giving me this power feels like it would go against their goals. It feels like a kindness.
I’m not sure what to believe at this point. It doesn’t matter for now. There is still so much I don’t know anyway.
You have purchased: Forced Loop Reset for 50 points.
There. No extended torture sessions for me. I breathe a sigh of relief as even the muted emotions here were a bit too much. Out of curiosity, I check the price of the next skill on the list: 500. Damn. Those look uniquely useful though.
‘Atemporal Hypercognition [Avatar of Time limited and may not be learned outside of skill purchase] [Augmentation] [Tier 1], cost: 500. Additional requirements: none (soul awakening completed).
Augmentations change you on a fundamental level, regardless of when.
Atemporal Hypercognition accelerates your brain functions to an impossible speed, allowing you to feel as if time has frozen for anything but your mind. You may not move during the effect. Long or repeated uses will cause your brain to overheat. Usage improves with physical and soul awakening.’
So this is one of the very few skills I can’t learn by myself and only I may learn. It’s Steve-exclusive, so to speak. I check the next one. The beginning of the description is the same down to the requirements, but the effect is different.
‘Self-stasis removes you from the flow of time while maintaining you in relative space, meaning that you will not tear holes in the station. Duration must be decided before the effect takes place. The possible duration increases with body and soul awakening. Extended or repeated use will cause your brain to overheat.’
Those feel very useful, if niche. I can see self-stasis helping me survive an explosion or a bullet, while hypercognition would help me stop and calm down in a situation of intense stress. They have drawbacks though. Nothing is preventing someone from waiting until stasis runs out to punch me in the face, for example. I still think I should grab them soon. They’re just safe ways to use my points. Right.
I walk back to the chair, Chronos and Morag quietly waiting.
“Thank you for your patience,” I begin.
Chronos and I both smile. Silly time jokes, haha.
I wish I could forget what every piece of my skin and my lungs freezing and frying at the same time feels like.
“I will have that tea now, please.”
We wait in quiet contemplation while Morag takes her time moving her nightmare feelers around the delicate teapot. She’s really good at this.
“Thank you very much.”
As usual, the tea is delicious. Pu’er, this time. I find the earthy taste comforting.
“May I ask more questions?”
“Of course!” Chronos replies with a pleasant smile.
“So I kind of prayed to you when I was desperate. I suppose I can only talk to you here?”
He tilts his head ever so slightly.
“Hmmm, I believe it is common knowledge that a god may only be communed with at one of their temples, by the uninitiated.”
“But I’m your champion?”
“That doesn’t make you ‘initiated’, and besides, I can no longer provide any help. Feel free to drop by for a conversation though!”
That also means that I need to save my questions for, well, my deaths. At least at first since he’s basically the only person I can talk to.
“You have a clergy?”
“Yes.”
“They won’t help me?”
“Not directly. You might be able to trade for assistance.”
I simmer a bit, more a theatrical reaction than anything since I still can’t feel annoyed. That sounds, I don’t know, unfair.
“They would find the champion of their god and leave him on the curb? Really?”
“As I said, they cannot help you for free, even those who would recognize you.”
That gives me pause.
“How do people recognize champions?”
“Only the strongest soul awakened may gaze upon a soul and recognize the mark of a god upon their champion. You will find that many gods allowed their churches to announce the coming of their champion, and to recognize them. Some champions were known to the people before they were even selected!”
“But not me,” I grumble.
“My resources were better spent granting you the power of language learning. You will find that there are more uses than you currently suspect. Besides, my church is fairly small compared to, say, war or commerce or even luck. Many pray for success. Few pray for more time.”
I finish my cup, then turn to Morag who pours again with great focus. I just don’t get why they’re so serious about this.
“Thank you, Morag. So… who set up the apartment?”
“A mortal who did wish for more time. Although he obeyed my desires to specification, it appears he was… less than cautious in setting it up.”
“But you knew this would happen,” I accuse. “If you live through all the time simultaneously!”
“My hands are still tied,” Chronos replies apologetically, then his smile turns predatory.
I believe this is the first time I see him express nothing but benevolence, and I am reminded that time is many things but it is definitely not kind. Morag shifts, the sound of her dress like a giant sail scraping a mountain. Right.
“But you are free to do something about it,” Chronos offers. “Remember. You are the most free person in the universe right now. In many ways.”
“Yes,” I reply with a measure of forced annoyance, then a second time more softly. He’s right.
“So about the killer, know anything?” I ask.
“I believe that would be a little bit too much help, but surely you can find something yourself. Perhaps in your nice, expensive flat?”
He winks. With a lot of exaggeration.
“Right. I still can’t read whatever language those squiggles are. I don’t suppose you have any material hanging around?”
“You may not provide any resources beyond simple things that can only exist here, such as paper and a pen or this most excellent shen pu. I will have another cup, dear. Thank you. You may still use this spot to train, although I don’t recommend it.”
“Why?”
“No ambient energy I may grant you access to. Ambient energy helps growth, and there is a lot of it where you are.”
“Fair enough.”
Then I remember the incredible view.
“Speaking of, where am I?”
Chronos leans back into his seat. His hands part, showing a tubular metal structure hanging in space over the blue and green surface of the planet I saw.
“Welcome to Enderlith, seat of the Celestial Court.”
“... thanks.”
***
We finish the pot with a few more questions from me.
“Why are there humans in space?”
“Convergent evolution.”
I have to stop at that.
“Really?”
“Really. You will notice Enderlith has a well-developed train network. It turns out that trains are also spread across the galaxy because it’s a very efficient way to travel at the current technological development level.”
“What about crabs? Are there crab people?”
“Of course! Humans, for example.”
I frown over my cup.
“Opposable thumbs, full mobility, scavenger lifestyle,” Chronos lists with a mocking smile.
“I’m not sure if I want to debate this specific point with a god. Also, no shell?”
“Oh? You do not love armor? Curious.”
“Alright alright. Next question! Is there any safe place every, what Enderlithian? That’s what they’re called?”
“If you wish! You are the only English speaker who knows of this place, therefore you can name it whatever you please!”
“Enderlithian then. Would anyone know where someone with almost no resources could get help?”
“Why, many places!” Chronos replies, still smiling. “Many such places. With different costs, of course.”
I’m not going to get a straight answer, am I?
“Right. Well. I want to check something and then I’ll be gone.”
“Of course! Take your time.”
I roll my eyes, which makes Chronos chuckle. The arcade cabinet awaits me. I immediately get the confirmation I was expecting.
Steve Prentiss.
Qualia points available: 47
Physical awakening: N/A
Mage tradition: none
Soul awakening: second stage
Avatar traits:
Perfect loop (time)
Perfect soul (time)
Avatar language acquisition (neutral)
“Can you tell me what the second stage of soul awakening does?” I ask Chronos.
“And rob you of the pleasure of experimenting? Of discovering? Never.”
He… is making a point. That makes me think of something else but before I ask, I check the arcade cabinet again, and search for soul-based mage traditions. If I have the perfect soul then surely it will help. And I do find several manuals with the cheapest being at 300 and requiring someone with a third stage awakening.
That would probably be a great objective in the short term. Checking, I see that other manuals exist but they require a higher stage. One requires stage 5 and costs 5000 points. Interested, I check something else: augmentations.
If there is an option to advance me to the first physical awakening at the start of the loop, then there might be other ways to improve, well, who I am from the start. It feels like it would provide great advantages, and it seems like it would but I hit an immediate snag.
Animasomatic imprint, which requires me to reach the third stage of awakening before buying, costs only 500 points but each subsequent level adds a number to the end until I don’t think I could even afford the sixth level. There are also options to make me a gifted awakened blademaster. That costs almost five thousand points. As much as an ultimate manual.
“One must live through and experience much of the universe before understanding it , through effort, the way a natural does,” Chronos explains.
“By this logic, by the time I can buy the skill, I might have just achieved a similar result through my own efforts.”
“Yes! Or not, if you centered your efforts on another aspect of existence. Or you might reach greater heights after having changed yourself at the most basic level! It’s not an uncommon thing to do on Enderlith.”
“What, really?”
“Do you really believe all those patricians popped out of the primordial ooze over two meters tall with purple hair, perfect skin, and a natural ability for awakening? No! It is the product of generational efforts. And training. And technology. There is always a way!”
Well.
Anyway, basic physical awakening and the soul-based mage tradition will be a nice short-term goal. A part of me argues that it would be a waste of my suffering to spend points on cheap stuff that can obviously be found elsewhere but I see it more as an investment. I need basic stuff to get me started to get better stuff faster.
Also I’m tired of dying stupidly.
“I don’t suppose there is a trait that prevents someone from making stupid decisions?”
“There are several traits that limit people’s stupidity. Sadly, nothing fully cures idiocy but death. Except for you! Death doesn’t cure your idiocy.”
“Yeah yeah,” I groan.
That death. Isn’t it weird that what I feel the most is shame? Even dulled here, the emotion waits in my stomach like a pool of cold acid.
I turn to glare at my fifth corpse but find only dark ash peppered on the previous corpses.
“Isn’t a bit fucked up that I would get so many points for basically killing myself?”
“Tut tut,” Chronos corrects. “Remember, the point system is a simplification to help you understand your growth. You didn’t get points for dying. You fed your soul with the experience of despair, of inevitability, with the sinking emotion that comes with facing one’s end. You grew from tilting over the railing, for fighting your own sense of self-preservation and winning. For suffering. You grew from the certitude that you are capable of taking that step.”
“Without facing the consequences,” I reproach.
“Did you not? The world forgot, but you won’t. I do believe those are consequences. After all, you did harm yourself in desperation.”
I come to an uncomfortable realization. I mean, it’s pretty obvious in retrospect but… I’ve been focusing on short-term survival so much that I was distracted. My soul cannot be destroyed, and I always start with the same body unless I decide to improve it, so I am free to experiment. What matters is experience: good, bad, abominable, it doesn’t matter. Any new experience will make me grow.
I’m not sure I like the implication.
I turn and meet Chronos’ gaze. As always, it is unreadable, but I remember. Time is not kind.
***
This is not my flat. The ghost of everything burning whispers of a pain that, technically, never was, but I remember it only too well.
I need room to breathe. I died five times and never lasted a day. Chronos said there was something in the flat that might help me. I search a bit, but this only leaves me more puzzled. What I assume is a kitchen area has a fridge and an oven, except the oven has entirely too many keys and the fridge is empty with some sort of menu on the door. The mezzanine is a sleeping spot with what I assume is a wardrobe, also with an interface. I also find a sort of shower that doesn’t seem to run on water and a wall panel downstairs and I’m met with the same problem as before: I can’t fucking read. And then I realize I can feel more people through the walls.
My sphere of detection has increased, I guess. One of them is approaching. It is not closed off but the emotions I perceive are cold and focused. It’s too late for me to run so I rush to the gate control and push with my soul, but this time I also… speak to it. I try to make sure it doesn’t open this time. Two low chimes sound weirdly like a confirmation.
The unknown soul stops before my gate. It’s moving slowly this time but it confirms that it’s just one killer and their drones. Looking around, I realize I should probably shutter the windows or the drones can just shoot me through them. I do not find a way to do so but it doesn't matter. As I approach the door to check the wall panel again, I —
Death count: 6
Qualia points acquired: 2 (new violent death by explosion)
Total available: 49
***
“Well I mean, I just need time to learn how to read. Can’t do much without the language,” I tell Chronos.
This time, my corpse has no external signs of damage I can see. I guess I died from the blast. I heard it’s the pressure that kills ya.
“Alright, let’s do it again.”
***
This isn’t my flat. I turn around, grab the chip and a sort of sheet from the table. It looks like what the ‘patrician’ was using to read so I’m going to assume it’s a computer of sorts. Could be useful. My trait means I just need more exposure anyway.
It looks like I can send emotions and images now so I do so at my neighbor. I sense shock from her and nothing else as she freezes, her hand stopping before she can unlock her door. She’s still gawping at me by the time I get into the lift. The trip towards the train station is even faster this time, and I send the lift to the roof as an additional distraction. I decide to take the train in the same direction as before despite the risks, ignoring purple hair’s glare of disgust. Something makes me turn around, I don’t know what. Maybe instincts? On the other side of the security door is one of the drones that killed me. Its spherical eye is fixed on me.
But… how? I did the same thing as the last time? Fear claws at my chest. I wait for the violent sting but… the drone doesn’t attack.
When the train arrives, I jump in. Something blurs to the drone as the train takes off but we’re already gone. So… I’m still being tracked down?
A rumble attracts my attention just as blonde hair leaves the car to call the jacked up bobbies on my pedestrian ass. It’s muscle lad. I think he’s talking to me in, what was it? Sallurian? No, it’s the common tongue but heavily accented.
Wow. Someone’s talking to me and it doesn’t sound like insults. Full of undying gratitude, I just… push my incomprehension towards him before I realize what I did. For an instant, the thing shielding his soul pulls back and I feel his surprise. He rumbles something else. I shrug.
“I don’t understand, mate. Sorry.”
I send him my confusion again. Wait, I couldn’t do that before. I’m a telepath now?
Elation fills me because sending thoughts at someone is pretty neat. If I see someone spit on the ground, I could send them what I think of them directly to their mind. Amazing.
Wait, could I send music? That would be so nice. But that’s for later.
How does one think of shelter? Before I can think of a way, the mind of muscle lad unexpectedly opens, and I receive hesitating images in return. They lack clarity or coherence from my perspective, a bit like half-faded pieces of painting, but they’re enough to show me the shape of my killer and the drone. Muscle lad spotted him, it seems. I get ‘male’ from the armored shape and ‘armed and dangerous’ from the plethora of weird handles and muzzles poking out of his cloak. Not that it would matter since I’m one drone sneeze away from carpet stain status at any given moment.
Muscle lad is looking at me. I turn my head right towards the lead car. We just stopped, and two souls are walking in our direction with the ponderous gravitas of anti-vagrant policies. It’s the fucking jackboots again.
The Sallurian points at the computer still in my hand. I oblige since he can take what he wants anyway. He beeps it open, raises a brow in surprise, then presses keys so fast his fingers blur. When he returns it to me, I realize… I understand what I’m looking at.
Because it’s a map with direction on a panel to the left. With numbers which I assume refer to lines. He gave me an itinerary. A last image sent to my mind shows me a circle crossed by a wave, not a letter, a symbol.
The itinerary says I need to change at the next stop. I send him one last wave of gratitude, then go for the door just as the fuzz comes in. The Sallurian stands up. I sense… wariness from the cops, but then I’m out, and they leave in a burst of speed.
Everything’s so fast here.
Anyway that guy saved me a lot of wandering. I walk through more corridors with windows showing breath-tanking views of the skyscrapers, the lights, the trees of strange essence snaking branches among the impossible buildings… I cannot read the direction well but fortunately, everything is really well indicated with plenty of shiny signs and the only thing I have to do is to match the numbers of the computer thing to the ones I see. There seems to be very few people in transit, which could be the time. It looks to be very late. Besides trains, I also take elevators and quite a few sets of stairs. After an hour, I am hot, tired, and sweaty, but the world around me starts to change.
It begins with the people: less color in their hair, not as tall and the clothes appear more functional than decorative. There are a lot of earthy tones, but also a preference for shiny reflective clothes with a metal sheen. I still get surprise as a reaction but no more disgust, and people are quick to return to their own affairs. Many are human, of ethnic groups I’ve never met before. Some I would call human variants with strangely colored skin, scales, or other features I cannot really identify. Some are downright strange like a tall quadrupedal entirely covered in fur, yet holding another sheet between stubby fingers. I do my best not to stare as I don’t want to risk offending anyone.
More than their appearance, it’s their, I don’t know, aura that changes. They don’t feel as different or as dangerous as the ‘patricians’ from before. I’m not sure but I think it could be related to awakenings.
The trains change, becoming bulkier and larger but also slower. It starts to smell. Garbage has been left on the seats. Then it goes dark.
I think we’ve entered some sort of tunnel but the direction goes down and I realize: this is the end of the skyscraper zone. The last bridge was not a bridge, but the actual ground. Or a ground. Lights show me we’re still moving rather quickly but now there is little to see but cave-sized open spaces crammed with buildings lit by garish neon lights. It feels more lively too, with shapes moving despite the late hour. It only takes another fifteen minutes before I reach my stop. I step out and regret it as soon as the security gate beeps me out.
It stinks. Or rather, there is a persistent stale smell that’s somewhere between mid-traffic and locker room. The only trees are dark things hanging for dear life from crummy balconies, their leaves dull. The station is at the top of a ‘hill’, although I know the terms makes little sense, but the faraway walls are covered in lodgings, and the space in between cramped with shorter buildings planted haphazardly along cluttered streets. There are many stalls but they’re mostly closed. There is however, one thing that attracts my gaze: a large compound sitting straight in the center of the space and in the middle of its colossal wall, in orange light, is the symbol the Sallurian sent me: a circle around a wave.
I’ve arrived.
***
Walking through the empty streets brings a sense of strange familiarity. I’ve been on pub crawls before, and missed the last train home so I had to walk a bit. Despite the alien nature of this space station — but seriously how does it maintain artificial gravity? — there is a universal weirdness about crossing a spot that would be a hive of activity at any other time. The witching hour turns shops and main thoroughfares into empty ghosts of themselves. I let my gaze roam over the ground, which is made of metal and asphalt and dirty as hell. There is uncollected trash in the side alleys, most of them smelling like piss. It’s almost like I’m back in London, really. The very simple, unadorned buildings form a weird, eclectic mess though they’re not dilapidated. More… lived in. And in need of renovations. Here and there, holographic neons and alien writings remind me I am on Enderlith. I notice now that the squiggles merge with a more basic alphabet seemingly made of all sharp lines and angles. It could be a translation or a phonetic system. Not sure yet. ironic how I’m supposed to be the champion of time and I can’t get five fucking minutes to stop and read.
My destination rises over the other buildings, flooded with orange light. It’s very close now. I am only two blocks away when I pick up three souls approaching from behind. Their ‘emotions’ wake me up like a fresh slap.
Greed, excitement, aggression. It’s an acid, vile cocktail that leaves a bad taste on my neurons. I’m already sprinting.
Really like London then. On a very bad day. I think I lose them for a while while closed shops and locked residential buildings pass by but I feel out behind me with my soul and they're still there, gaining quickly. I burst out of the main street into a small plaza lit by orange lamps. The entrance is there and next to it stands a guard, a lone one but I get a strong impression from him. He’s a tall, bald human with tan skin and furrowed blue eyes over a simple outfit, something functional in brown leather. More importantly, he wields a staff.
“Hey!” I greet. “Heeey!”
He ignores me. I know he ignores me because I can feel his annoyance and perhaps a bit of guilt as he looks away. He’s still looking away when hands grab my shoulders and pull me back into an unlit alley.
Asshole.
***
There are, as I thought, three of them. One is broad with neanderthal features, and he spends his time looking at the alley entrance. The second is a shorter, angry guy as pale as they get with pinkish iris and short, stubby blue hair. They look natural, which I notice when he flings me against a dumpster. The leader has already grabbed the computer with a laugh and a smile of pure greed. He’s stocky with dark hair and darker eyes. They don’t look like the same ethnic group at all, but their ratty clothes which I’ll call ‘space dumpster chic’ gives them a cohesive look. They also reek, not just of filth but that acrid smell I associate with digesting alcohol.
The leader speaks to me in a sharp dialect, then more slowly in the tongue used by the patricians before. His accent is rugged and awkward. When I don’t reply, the pale guy slams me against the dumpster again. It hurts a bit.
I’m not sure what to do. I merely don’t resist when white guy pats me down, missing the chip in my pocket somehow. Their emotions surge, dark and giddy, as does their condescension. Then they freeze.
I jump with surprise when a figure uncurls herself from a nearby mattress. I hadn’t seen her, but more importantly, I hadn’t felt her. When I do see her I understand why.
While the patricians had looked like demigods wrapped in high fashion, no one seeing the, well, woman, would imagine she’d ever been human. Her skin is black, not like a normal skin tone but black like onyx coursed by crystal veins in shades of red, gold, blue, every color dancing under the surface like slow lightning. Her very short hair pulses red like the corona of a red giant, and her eyes are black orbs with single white dots where, I assume, her pupils are. They almost look painted on. I look at her and see something immensely vast contained in a human shape. The scene is so surreal that it takes me a few seconds to realize the woman is entirely naked. Her nudity has nothing sexual. She is akin to a statue lacking ornamentation. At no point do I look at her and see a human.
So the fact she just popped out of a trash pile is that much more baffling. The long-suffering sigh that follows gives me whiplash.
The two goons give their leader a quick glance. He gives me one last dismissive glare before running away with my computer. I decide that the toll is acceptable for this loop. After all, there is always a next time.
I take a moment to stand up. By some miracle, the ground I was sent on was dry so I’m only a little dirty instead of having a soiled shirt beyond salvation. I pat myself a bit. My heart beats a nice dance and the adrenaline is starting to fray my nerves but… I’m ok. I’m ok.
Will I ever get used to aggressions? I wonder.
“Ah, thanks a lot,” I tell the woman, before remembering she cannot understand me.
“You’re welcome, traveller.”
I’m so not expecting this that it takes a second for my neurons to connect.
English?
Here?
With a BBC accent?!
“Uh, wow. You speak my language?”
“Say,” she replies.
She lifts two pieces of foodstuff that look vaguely like pies. They glisten with grease in the dim light.
“Do you think this is edible?”
I wouldn’t touch those with a rusty pole.
“Errr, probably not. Well, I owe you. If you speak the local language I can just, you know, repay you. With a meal?”
The eyes consider me for a short moment. I’m not sure but I think I read sadness on her elfin facial features. Now that I stand, she’s also very short. She barely reaches my chest.
That’s very weird. She should probably be taller.
I don’t know why I’m thinking that.
“It does not matter. You should get on with your night, traveler.”
She turns. She’s the first person who’s talked to me here that I can actually understand!
“Wait!”
And to my surprise, she stops.
“Will we meet again?” I ask, before amending. “Could you tell me your name, at least?”
“Kaisari.”
And then she’s gone. Literally gone. I can’t see her.
Well. That was… strange. But it’s also my chance. I sprint again out of the alley and towards the compound. The guard is still there. He raises his staff while I approach, and starts speaking in bored common.
“Some help you were. Cunt.”
I can’t help it. With fear evaporating, I’m angry.
He sighs and signals for me to wait.
***
I am led to an office. I find a mature woman with deep green hair here and quite a few scars on her tanned skin waiting for me on a tattered seat. Well, she appears a fit forty but I’m not sure it means anything here. The room is clearly an office with a strange mix of advanced electronics, paintings, holographic decoration, old parchment or papyrus and just plain notes written on some sort of plastified paper. Or paper-like plastic. She considers me with deep green eyes before uttering a few words that lack warmth, but at least she doesn’t appear hostile. I can detect her presence but not her emotions so I try the telepathy thing again. The images flow more easily now. I show elements of my flight, the killer’s drones, and finally the Sallurian showing me where to go on my stolen laptop. Her gaze travels to my empty hands so I obligingly show her the mental image of her guard ignoring my cries for help, then the stolen computer. Her attention towards the guard confirms that there had been no hostility directed against me before, because now I know what she looks like when she’s annoyed. The door opens towards a massive bear of a man with a sheepish expression. He scratches the graying sideburns adorning his dark face. With a gesture, I follow.
The yelling begins when the door closes.
***
The man introduces himself as Torl. When it becomes clear I can’t follow what he’s saying, he takes his time to use gestures to show me around. The compound is half a monastery and half a shelter with plenty of small bedrooms to accommodate four at a time. I am granted a locker which I learn how to use with much patience — it uses fingerprints instead of energy. I put the chip there. I’m also gifted a set of gray clothes that make me look like a discount buddhist monk. But hey. I’m still alive. We are allowed to clean ourselves at a sink with blessed soap. I share my room with a twitchy golden-haired man. The fourth bed remains empty.
I fall asleep on Enderlith for the first time.
Comments
Drakenclaw
Thanks for the chapter. Few pray for more time.” => I personally call bullshit for that. XD
WarStrider72
thanks for the chapter!
