"I thought I was gonna be out there for the entire day," I muttered, shaking my head as the familiar, drab buildings of Avarnove finally came into view. "I fucking HATE the wilderness."
I walked with a weary slouch, my boots kicking up puffs of dust with every step. Beside me, Godspeed strolled with that same maddening, effortless energy, looking as if he'd just taken a leisurely walk in the park rather than a trek through a monster-infested oasis.
"It was barely 90 minutes. Just take it as a moment to connect to nature," he said, his voice cutting through my internal grumbling. "As it is—Give me the recap. What did you learn in the last hour and a half?"
"Like, don't you think it's insane that a so-called 'oasis' is an entire freaking forest? In the middle of the desert??"
'I may be speaking it with a small tinge of franticness, but at the same time, was I not totally speaking something true? Like, come onn~~'
"Think of it as an over-exaggeration meant to pull you deeper into the truth of this world. Now, recap, please," Godspeed quickly replied with a brush off of my worries.
Fine. Suit yourself. Bleh.
I took a breath, letting the details of the afternoon flood back into my mind. Despite my exhaustion, the images were sharp—crystalline, even.
"Okay," I started, holding up a finger. "First off, they're organized. Like, disturbingly organized. The layout of the settlement isn't random. They have designated zones for cooking, sleeping, and for resources." I paused, visualizing the scene again. "The cooking fire was centrally located, close to the huts but downwind to keep the smoke away from the sleeping quarters. Pretty smart."
Godspeed nodded, a small hum of acknowledgment escaping his lips. "Good. What else?"
"About their Hierarchy," I continued, warming up to the subject. "They're brutal, but efficient. The bigger ones—High Warriors, right?—they control the resources. I saw one guarding the water inlet. He physically shoved a smaller grunt away from the stream. The strong have privilege shown off to the weaker ones. And the weaklings either have to deal with it, or succeed in things like, a hunt or something, so they can show off. That means if we disrupt the leadership or the supply, the lower ranks might turn on each other, or at least become disorganized."
"Solid inference," Godspeed commented, his tone neutral but underlined with encouragement. A desire for more. "Did you notice anything about the perimeter?"
"Yeah. The wall. It's just wooden stakes, no battlements. But they have hidden panels for entry and exit. No gates. Just sections of the fence that slide open. I'm guessing they just got a guy on the inside that picks it up after hearing a specific vocal exchange. Oh! They definitely got a language that they communicate with. Idk how to translate it though, so whatever. And the guards...errr…" I shuddered slightly, remembering the cold, armored figures. "... Sentinels. Yeah. Three of them, I saw. They were stationed at the middle hut, each one taking station at a different side. But, they were also kinda blending in. They didn't move. And, they were wearing scavenged armor—mismatched pieces, looked like player gear… I can guess how they got that stuff…"
A small tremor wracks my body that I try to shake off.
"Very good to know," Godspeed said. "And did you catch the gaps?"
I frowned. "Gaps?"
"The Sentinels," he explained, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "They cover the entire settlement from their middle position, yes. But that is only because of rotations. Every specific interval, they rotate sides because there are only three of them, while there are four quadrants of the settlement. Meaning, there's always a blind spot, aka 'gap', in what they can directly see at a time. That's what you need to focus on, staying in that gap. Did you get the timing of the interval down?"
I blinked. "I... didn't catch any rotation."
"That's fine," he said easily. "You caught the existence of the Sentinels, at least. Knowing where they occupy is half the battle. Knowing where they aren't looking is the other half. But your foundational observation was good."
"...Mm." My reply was a mumble of nothing. I know he wasn't trying to put me down exactly. I mean, there was a little compliment around there. But, jeez… if there was something I had a real bit of pride in, was my observational ability. Call me a sore loser, or a try-hard, but…
… I kind of wanted to one-up him.
We walked in silence for a few more steps before I spoke again, my mind still replaying the scene in high definition.
"Well, of course there was something else," I said, trying not to be brushed off so darn fast. "At… The cooking pit. Yeah; the spit they were using for the stag... it wasn't wood. It was metal. And the group at the pit: There were four of them when I first paid attention—One was turning the spit; Two were sharpening blades, running flat rocks against them; The fourth one, the guard, was pacing a six-step pattern, and he'd scratch his chin every time he turned west."
I continued, the memory playing back with perfect clarity. "Right after that, one of the ones sharpening a blade—they had a torn ear, I'm pretty sure—tried to be all, like, sneaky and stuff, and reached for a piece of stag off the spit. They obviously burned themself, and howled. To rub it in too, the one turning the spit saw him and smacked the backside of his head. They hissed at each other for a second before the High Warrior glared back at them, and they both immediately went back to their duties. It was so, like, cartoonishhh~~," I chirped, the word leaving my mouth before I could stop it. A snort almost followed it, but I choked it back when I saw his face. Godspeed just stared, his expression unreadable yet still weirdly judgemental, I swear.
I felt some blood running to my cheeks, so I quickly cleared my throat, forcing myself to sound serious. "Uh," I stammered, suddenly feeling like an idiot. "Which is, you know, good to know. That they're... distractible. That's a vulnerability."
Godspeed stopped, turning to face me. The general-knowing glint in his eyes was gone, for once. He instead chose to look at me with perplexion; maybe even disbelief. "And the tactical value in observing that... was what, exactly?"
I fumbled for a justification. "It shows... their hierarchy? That they're undisciplined? And, like, personality stuff? 'Know thy enemy', and all that? It's a… an analysis. Yep."
"No," he said, the word sharp and precise. He wasn't dismissing me, but instead dismissing my logic. "That's not what you can call an analysis; It's more like you're a record, repeating a transcript back. You're reciting pretty insignificant details, to be blunt. Why commit that to memory?"
"I don't!" I snapped, a sudden spike of frustration hitting me. "I don't commit it. It's just there. If I see it, I remember it. That's it."
A sarcastic retort was what I expected to hear, but the demeaning words never managed to bother my ears. Instead it was his silence that my ears noticed first; he wasn't necessarily a guy that kept quiet…
'Unless it was to give me a freaking heart attack!… Bitch.'
It was his visage that was actually telling. The way he started to react—one eyebrow was already cocked in a perfect, skeptical arch, just from before. A dry huff of air, the prelude to a dismissive laugh, escaped his lips. But it dissipated in an instant, as he froze mid-expression. The mocking arch of his brow faltered, and then his other eyebrow shot up to match it. His eyes, which had been narrowed in judgment, went wide with a sudden, startling clarity. It was like watching a mask of practiced disbelief crack and fall away, revealing real, and I mean real, curiosity.
Again… Cartoon-like.
He tilted his head, studying me a bit more intensely than I would like, before his words slipped through, "... That's... incredibly specific detail retention." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "Are you normally so... say, mindful, with everything you see?"
I raise an eyebrow and lift my chin up, as if to tell him 'What's the problem, bub?'
Just a bit of defiance. A bit.
I drop the chin quickly.
"What are you getting at, exactly? Like, sure. I guess I can be kinda detail-oriented. So?"
**SNAP!**
Quick was the sound that came from his fingers, which then turned into funky little wag, as if Godspeed was getting into a tempo with music, or into a rhythm, or like if he had a flash-bulb moment.
"You have Eidetic memory, don't you?" He prodded, a mischievous tone framing the question.
I blinked, the word feeling too sciency for my tired brain right now.. "I-tested... what in my memory? Huh?"
"Eidetic memory," he repeated, sounding out the syllables. "E-I-D-E-T-I-C. Total recall. The ability to remember images, sounds, or objects with high precision after only a brief exposure."
"O-ohhhh," I said, connection and realization dawning. "You mean that photographic memory stuff? Yeah, I guess. I've always been able to do that. It's just... how my brain works. I see it, I keep it."
Godspeed's eyes widened, only to then narrow quickly from there as a far-too-big grin stretched his lips. "Oh," he said, the mimicked syllable carrying a larger weight of revelation than should be possible. "Yeah. Photographic memory, you can call it."
He then let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Wow. Okayyy~~; I... didn't expect that."
"What?" I asked, a little defensive. "Got a problem with it….bub?"
'Corny.'
"No," he said quickly, the grin shortening to something more visually manageable for my eyes. He waves a hand as if to wave away the notion. "No, not bad at all; It's actually... fantastic. Truly changes some rules here. If you can recall enemy patterns and terrain details with that level of accuracy..." He trailed off, his mind clearly racing with new possibilities. "That's a massive advantage. We can use that."
He looked at me again, shaking his head as if still processing the information. "Damn. An Eidetic. Who would have thought?"
As I continued rattling off more details—the specific height and figure differences between the different stages of hobgoblin, for example—I noticed a lack of attention given. The encouraging nods stopped. His replies became clipped, then ceased altogether. He just walked, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his expression distant. He was off in his own world, lost in some internal calculation I couldn't bother to fathom.
"Hold on," he said suddenly, his arm spread out to cut me off mid-step. We paused abruptly at the very edge where the oasis's damp soil gave way to the dry, open sand of the desert. "Give me just a moment. I'll be right back."
I frowned, gesturing around us at the clearing. "Right back from where? We're right here. There's nowhere to—"
It was like talking to a ghost. I'd glanced away for a split second to emphasize the pointlessness of his statement, and when I looked back, he was… gone.
'Of course.'
The guy acted way too much like a ninja.
'Is he a ninja? Wait no.'
There was no sound, but also no puff of smoke. Stereotypical maybe, but really all that was left was an empty space, its previous heartbeat gone in a literal blink.
A wave of frustration once again washed over me. I swear I could not fathom this guy's abilities. Every time I try, it just makes my head hurt.
I sighed, and reached up to unclasp the buckle under my chin, pulling off my helmet to let some warm air wash over my face and hair; it felt better to let it all breathe like this than to continue being trapped with sweat and ick.
I looped my forearm through the chinstrap, letting the helmet dangle like a bag, and then crossed my arms. "One minute," I muttered to myself. "I'll give him one minute."
That one minute then bled into two. My patience was quickly fraying.
'Should I go back in and find him? Scratch that; absolutely not!'
"I'm not chasing after that fool."
"--What fool?"
"?!?!?—Holy—!" I yelped, spinning around. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"
The voice came from behind me, from the direction of the oasis. It was Godspeed's, yet he was nowhere in sight.
I turned around again, scanning the empty desert for any sign of him. All I heard was the rustling of leaves from the dense foliage I'd just left. It had to be him, messing with me.
The rustling grew louder, more violent, followed by a heavy, tearing sound. And then something was shoved unceremoniously through the wall of leaves.
**WHUMP!**
It landed in a heap on the ground, a tangle of sallow skin and corded muscle.
It was not Godspeed.
It was a Hobgoblin.
My brain short-circuited. My hands flew to the weapons on my back, fumbling in a panicked dance. 'Sword? Shield? No, the staff, he said staff! Wait, I still gotta put my helmet on!' I was a mess of indecision, clumsiness.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I shrieked into the trees.
"WELL," Godspeed's voice boomed, still calm and still disembodied. "When considering how to use your Eidetic memory best, I thought I should see how you fight in life-or-death battles first. It's different from simple sparring. Then afterwards, we can have a film session. Review the tape, see what we can improve."
I know he was trying to sound like some type of coach, but he really just came across as insane. He'd brought back a live monster that could kill me.
The Hobgoblin groaned, pushing itself onto its hands and knees. It shook its head, then looked back into the foliage where Godspeed was presumably hiding. A look of legit terror flashed across its ugly face, and it immediately scrambled away, putting distance between itself and the unseen threat. Then, it looked at me. It saw the open desert behind me—an escape route. It saw my panicked posture, my fumbling hands.
It quickly found which was the path of least resistance.
A low growl rumbled in its chest. It flexed its three-fingered hands, scraping them in the dirt, and licked its yellowed tusks.
"Now we just need to even the odds a little," Godspeed's voice mused from the shadows.
A glint of metal flashed through the air. A shortsword, well-made and sturdy, landed in the sand right in front of the Hobgoblin. It looked down at the weapon, then back at me, a malicious grin spreading across its face.
I stared, first dumbfounded, then I brought a hand up to my face, pressing my palm hard and smushy against my nose.
'Are we being serious right now?!'
Compared to me, there was no hesitation in the Hobgoblin. It snatched the sword from the ground, its grip sure and practiced. Roaring its battle cry, it charged. My hands shook as I scrambled to get my helmet back on, fumbling around with the buckle of the damned chinstrap. My world quickly narrowed to ten feet(and less) between me and the hobgoblin, yet the helmet was only now barely slipping over my head.
'Damn it! I don't have enough time!'
"FORGET THE HELMET!!"
It was Godspeed who was roaring now, or more like commanding. "Toss it and focus on the enemy!"
"Shiii—SCREW IT!!"
By the visor, I grabbed my helmet and yanked it off. In a twirl I launched it to who-knows-where, and with an awkward stride slipped off my bo staff to meet the clumsy arc from the weapon of a monster.