Rylan slept fitfully. He woke several times, including when Tamina took Soren’s place in the bedroll, her freshly washed armour still smelling a bit of whale, but he managed to fall back asleep each time with relative ease.

  He was definitely not done sleeping when Soren gently shook him awake for his turn at watch, but he dutifully got up, put on his glowband, and groggily sat down next to his backpack on the other side of their sheltered little plateau, his back leaned against the wall of rock there.

  It was a good spot to sit, as it allowed him to keep an eye on his sleeping companions without risking getting snuck up on from behind.

  Night in the cloudsea was pretty quiet. At first, every little click or pop in the distance had Rylan twitching and turning his head, but after sitting for a bit, he started to relax. And not long after that, he became bored.

  Getting a bit thirsty, Rylan looked around for the fog condenser. Unfortunately, Soren had not been considerate enough to top it off before he went back to sleep, and while there were a few sips in the reservoir just from its passive collection, they weren’t enough to slake his thirst.

  Well, he was going to need to learn to use the thing anyway.

  All right, so I just need to direct some mana from my pool through my body into the conduit point...

  Finding the ball of warmth behind his sternum was easy enough by now, as Rylan had done so twice already. With some effort, he managed to push some mana out as well, but that’s where his experience ended.

  The moment he pushed it out, the mana dispersed, filtering out of his torso and causing his Mana Shell to briefly light up around his chest. As it was already filled to capacity, however, the mana ended up leaking through and disappearing.

  While his Mana Pool was close to full right now, Rylan still didn’t want to waste it. So on his second attempt, he kept a firm grip on the mana he pushed out, then quickly tried to shove it down his arm, towards where his finger was pressed against the fog condenser’s cold conduit point.

  However, while the small wisp of mana complied with the forced motion, it didn’t seem to like it. Halfway down his upper arm, it fell apart and ended up dispersing through his skin anyway.

  The increased mana concentration in the air did appear to affect the condenser, the fog around it swirling a little more than usual. However, after but a single drop of water fell down into the cup, it quickly settled down again.

  Rylan tried again. This time, he decided to take things slow, pushing out a small portion of mana, and keeping a firm grip on it with his mind as he moved it through his body at a sedate pace.

  While the process was painstaking, the gentle touch seemed to help, and the mana passed through his upper arm, his elbow, and down his lower arm without any issue. When it approached his hand, it even started moving forward by itself, as a kind of suction force pulled at it through his finger.

  He lost grip as the small glut of mana passed his wrist and his heartbeat accelerated in excitement as his finger momentarily lit up white from the mana flowing into the condenser. However, the moment it entered through the conduit, the thing started sucking in fog the way Loukas inhaled his dinner.

  Water spewed from the spout in a flow so fast that it splattered out of the cup, ending up everywhere, and for a moment Rylan feared that the noise or the disturbed fog would wake his sleeping companions, or worse, draw in a predator.

  Thankfully, the spewing water quickly petered out, and the flow of fog into the condenser returned to its slow, sluggish churn. Rylan blew out a breath in relief, his heart pounding.

  Good thing I didn’t start my practice with the firemetal... I could’ve melted the fogging pan!

  Anyway, this clearly wasn’t quite the right method.

  With a frown, Rylan thought back to what it had looked like when Tamina used the condenser, and how steady the stream of water coming out had been.

  Fog, of course!

  Rylan tried again, this time not pushing out a lump of mana, but pulling out a small, steady flow of it. He slowly threaded the flow down his arm, until it reached his hand and the pull of the cloudmetal took over.

  This approach proved to be a lot more successful. While his control was rather shaky and his output nowhere as steady as Tamina’s had been, he managed to feed the fog condenser a small stream of mana that set it churning out a continuous trickle of water.

  After some more practice, he was even confident enough to dare to use the firemetal pan next. Which was nice, because he was getting very chilly, and could definitely use a drink of hot water.

  He started out extremely careful with the heating, drawing out even less mana than he had before, and only ramped it up when he managed not to destroy the precious device.

  Interestingly, the conduit point on the side of the pan was not made of firemetal itself, but some kind of coppery alloy, with a less reddish hue. Rylan supposed that was to prevent Quinthar from burning their fingertips off, which he was rather grateful for.

  The first sip of hot water burnt as it slid down his throat, but the trail of warmth it left behind was worth it.

  Now that he had access to warm water—and his stomach was nice and warm—Rylan figured he should at least make an attempt at washing the clothes he’d worn the day before. Zahra hadn’t packed that many, after all, and he’d probably have to share some with Soren at the very least.

  He found them in the sand on the lower ledge, where he’d left them, and the smell almost made him abandon the task and turn back.

  Almost.

  With a sigh, he brought them back up to their little camp, and got started, dumping hot water on one of the worst sections of his tunic, and finding a suitable rock to quietly scrub it with. Getting the sticky scum off the woven brown kelp was slow-going and the effort of it kept him warm at the very least.

  He'd have to be more gentle with his leather coat, but it should also be easier to wash. He just hoped not too much of the whale’s grease had soaked into the wool lining.

  Despite himself, after a while, his mind drifted to home and the warm, comfy futon he’d left behind. He shook his head angrily.

  Frankly, even knowing what he knew now, he wouldn’t have changed his plans. Getting lost in the cloudsea was not ideal, but he’d succeeded! He’d escaped the island that had become his prison, and by the time they found their way back to civilisation, he’d be strong enough that the Thistlethorns couldn’t force him to do anything.

  He didn’t want to entertain the idea that they might not ever find their way back. That kind of thinking was not helpful or productive. No, they’d make it out one way or another, and then he’d wave Soren goodbye and move to a free city.

  His churning thoughts caused him to scrape a little harder, and he was startled when he realised how much force he was exerting on the weave. It also struck him that his arm muscles were only just starting to tire from the repetitive scraping motions.

  Right, I increased my Strength and Endurance Attributes!

  Excitement flooded him at the thought, and part of him immediately wanted to drop what he was doing and go test his new limits. Unfortunately, it would be rather difficult to test something like his capacity to lift things or to do push-ups compared to before while down in the floaty fog. Moreover, he needed to keep watch.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Thus, he kept scrubbing.

  He’d probably get a feel for the difference soon enough. He wasn’t entirely sure what they’d do come morning, but staying where they were probably wasn’t it.

  When he was at last satisfied with the state of his clothes, he laid them out over some rocks to... well, not ‘dry’ as much as leak out any excess fluid. There was no such thing as dry in the cloudsea.

  Then he washed his hair—which had only gotten more tangled overnight—making sure to carefully control the water’s temperature this time.

  Finally finished, he pulled on his coat, walked back to his backpack and sat down with his back against the rock, stifling a yawn which was quickly followed by a shiver. The scrubbing and hot water had kept him relatively warm, but even with his coat on, the second he sat down, he started growing cold again.

  Honestly, this place was as dark and chilly as the cooler. The fog might not physically restrict him from leaving as the walls had, but it was just as oppressive in other ways.

  At least here he had his glowband, so he didn’t have to sit around waving his letter opener just to—

  Rylan bolted upright, his eyes going wide. Then he swiftly turned around and opened up the backpack. After a little digging, his hand came out clutching a small, rolled-up slip of paper.

  Swallowing, he carefully unrolled it. However, he quickly frowned, as the dim, purplish-red glow from his glowband proved to not be the best reading light.

  Where did Soren leave his glowband?

  Rylan glanced over at his sleeping companions and sighed, knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to risk waking them by rummaging around near them.

  But actually, he didn’t need to!

  After thinking about it for a moment, he climbed back down the ledge once more, making sure he was facing away from their camp before he lifted a finger up to the glowmetal on his forehead.

  It was probably a good thing he’d moved. The second his mana started pouring in, the world around him lit up in a multitude of hues, the shimmering glow reflecting off the mist and spreading around him.

  He quickly toned down his mana output, then took a seat and awkwardly used his free hand to roll the letter out across his knee.

  Bathed in shimmering colours, the black squiggles finally resolved into legible—if sloppy—handwriting.

  ‘Dear Rylan,’ it read. ‘I don’t have much time, and my hand won’t stop shaking, but I figured I owe you this much, at least. I have many regrets. I wish I’d known about you sooner. I wish I could’ve seen you grow up. But all that matters, truly matters, is your safety. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I fear they suspect. Your caretakers asked me not to contact you directly—I don’t know how much they’ve told you and I can’t say much here either, lest this letter falls in the wrong hands—but I had to warn you: they’re coming. If you treasure your jewels, stay out of sight. Anonymity remains your best defence. If all else fails and you really need some assistance, come to the Knackered Hag, and ask for “Red-Nosed Art”, sincerely...’

  And beneath that stood a small, scratched-out word. He stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out if his eyes were tricking him, or if it really looked like it had once read ‘Dad.’

  The comments about regrets and wishing he could’ve seen Rylan grow up certainly suggested a familial connection, but then again, it could be mere wishful thinking on his part.

  Also, was this Red-Nosed Art the sender, or someone else? Not the most flattering nickname...

  Was it short for something? Rylan had so many questions, and not just about the sender! The contents of the letter were equally mysterious. My ‘caretakers’ told him not to contact me? Does that refer to the Thistlethorns? Does that mean they know this person?!

  Also, who were the ‘they’ that suspected something, and what could they possibly suspect? And then there was the part about Rylan’s jewels...

  Wait, jewels as in... that?!

  Rylan instinctively clenched his thighs together at the implication, as if that would better protect the precious cargo dangling in between.

  Honestly, the more he thought about the letter, the stranger it got, to the point where he was starting to suspect a prank of some sort. Loukas was the one who delivered it... would he pull something like this?

  Rylan squinted at the scratchy handwriting, trying to remember if it looked familiar, but he’d never really seen Loukas’s handwriting. It would be a weird prank, but Zahra could have put him up to it...

  Except there was a bloodstain on the letter as well. It was just a drop, but it still seemed a bit much for a mere prank.

  Rylan turned the letter over and scoured the back, just in case, but found it to be empty. Shaking his head, he dropped his hand from his glowband and let out a sigh as his surroundings turned a reddish-purple once more.

  He wasn’t going to find any more answers out here. If he wanted to learn what the fog was going on, there was only one thing for it: he needed to find his way out of the cloudsea, give Soren the slip, and find Red-Nosed Art in the Knackered Hag.

  Filled with renewed energy, Rylan stood up and climbed back up to their camp. Even if he couldn’t leave right now, there was still stuff he could do to prepare for their journey—whatever shape that might take.

  His first project was to sew the straps of his backpack back on, but that only took him ten minutes. Once he was satisfied they would hold, he took out the knife roll and some spare straps of leather, and started fashioning himself a bandolier.

  When he quietly tried moving around with it, he found the weight of the knives made it tend to swing around too much, so he added a strap that went under his armpit to hold it in place better. However, while it took him a good while longer, that project was eventually finished as well.

  Some inklings of early morning light were starting to filter down through the fog, but impatient as Rylan was to get going, he forced himself to calm down. They would need to be sharp down here, which meant they all needed their rest.

  Still, the new fire that had been lit under his britches made it hard for him to sit still, and what he most wanted to do next was practice using his Skill.

  It didn’t sit right with him how dependent he’d been on Soren and Tamina the day before, but more importantly: he was a Quinthar now! A path towards growth and personal power lay wide open before him, and he was raring to go.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have an appropriate target to throw his knives at, and even if his Skill protected them from damage to a degree, he was loath to risk chipping Chef Zelim’s precious knives for practice. Moreover, it would probably make too much noise.

  Rylan leaned back against his freshly repaired backpack and considered his options. Was there any way to throw knives without making noise and risking damage to the blades?

  He blinked when the answer came to him. There wouldn’t be any sound or damage... if he simply threw them up and caught them by the handle.

  He glanced down at the bandolier of razor-sharp blades hanging around his chest, and gulped. Yeah, that sounded like a great way to lose a couple of fingers. Except... he did have one rather dull blade.

  Digging his fingers into the side of his boot, he fished out the letter opener, and felt around its edges. It really was perfectly dull. On the other hand, under the effect of his Skill, it had penetrated into the bamboo door quite deeply.

  His Skill’s description had said it increased the knife’s impact, though, not its cutting ability...

  Rylan hesitated for a minute or two longer, until the boredom finally overcame his better judgement. Throwing the blade up and catching it probably wasn’t the greatest way to practise his Skill, but it was something, at least. More importantly, it was something to do.

  As a precaution, he took out some spare straps of leather, and wound them around his left hand, which he would be using to catch; just in case he slipped up and caught it by the blade.

  Then he moved to a small patch of uniform, rock-free sand nearby, so that the letter opener wouldn’t make too much noise if it ended up clattering to the ground.

  With all his preparations done, Rylan focused on his Skill. It had been a while since he’d used it, but he quickly rediscovered the feeling of pushing at something inside of him. Probably the Quintessence Structure that made up his Skill, as it was a bit deeper in his chest than his Mana Pool.

  It was, however, connected to his Mana Pool somehow. That was very clear, as the moment he activated his Skill, a stream of mana poured out of the ball of warmth behind his sternum and rapidly flowed down his arm towards the blade he was waving around in vague throw-like motions. It required no intervention of his whatsoever as it tingled up his arm and enveloped the bladed portion of his letter opener in a soft white glow.

  As Rylan had previously experienced, it took about a second for the glow to reach its highest intensity—which still wasn’t very bright, closer to a bright star than a candle. Once the mana had fully settled, he took a deep breath, and softly lobbed the blade upward.

  His eyes widened as the letter opener flew much higher than he’d anticipated, making several rotations as it slowly fell back down. He almost fumbled the catch from surprise, but still got it in the end, and by the handle as well.

  Right, the fog lightened everything. It was easy to forget. Well, once he’d adjusted to the difference, it should actually make his practice safer.

  Rylan shook his head at himself, and started flipping his letter opener a couple of times without using his Skill.

  I should’ve done this in the first place...

  Only when he’d gotten a feeling for it, did he try again with his Skill. And again.

  At first, he focused on reliably activating Knife-Throwing, and seeing how long and how little he could wave the blade around before the Skill started to sputter and fade.

  Being able to maintain the Skill’s activation for a bit before he threw sounded useful, and either way, stretching his Skill’s limits should be a good thing. What he really wanted to do was to try and overcharge his Skill with additional mana from his pool, like Soren had mentioned, but that seemed like a bad idea if he was going to keep catching it.

  Instead, he started throwing the blade higher, seeing how far he could get with a single spin. Then he started doing a double spin. He was really getting quite handy with it; perhaps his worries about catching it by the blade had been—

  On his last throw, he’d flicked his wrist just a bit too hard, and the blade ended up doing not two, but two and a half rotations, ending with the blade hitting his palm.

  However, right before it touched the leather wrapped around his hand, white light flared up from his palm, and negated the impact of his Skill.

  Rylan stared at his hand for a moment, then had to fight down a laugh. He’d been worried over nothing: he’d forgotten he had a Mana Shell now!

  Well, that certainly changed things for his practice session...

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