Morning in Bogwater began, as always, with damp socks and regret.
Levi emerged from Mae's hut blinking under a grey sky, the fog so thick it felt like soup. The wooden plank steps squished underfoot. His first coherent thought was: Today better not involve anything resembling effort.
Then Jory's voice cracked across the bog like a frog being stepped on.
"Levi!"
Levi turned just in time to see Jory jog toward him, face flushed and hair stuck to his forehead. He looked like a man freshly escaped from battle—or worse, from a mother's wrath.
"You're alive," Levi said flatly. "Did she go easy on you?"
"She made me clean the fish trough," Jory said, haunted. "With my bare hands."
"That's… arguably worse than death."
"Warm. Slimy. Bits of scale in places I can't unfeel."
Levi nodded solemnly. "You have my respect. Not enough to take your place next time, but still."
Before Jory could launch a sarcastic reply, a thin, reedy voice called out behind them.
"Oi! You. The new one."
They turned to see an old man with no teeth, more beard than chin, and a limp that made his left foot point due east. He shuffled closer like a sack of bones wearing boots two sizes too big.
"You the one that reads?"
Levi blinked. "What?"
"Gran Mae says you've got ink in your brain," the man said. "We need someone who can copy numbers without turning 'twelve' into 'cow.'"
"I… guess?"
"Good. Come with me. You've just been promoted."
"To what?"
"Bogwater's record keeper." He grinned, revealing exactly zero teeth. "Congratulations."
Jory clapped Levi on the back as the old man hobbled off. "Look at you. Already a bureaucrat."
"Kill me."
The "village hall" turned out to be a lopsided mudbrick hut with a warped door and a table that probably once doubled as a boat. Inside were three scrolls, a dull quill, and a bottle of what might've been ink—or moldy eel juice.
"This is it," said the old man proudly. "All the records of Bogwater."
Levi glanced at the titles:
Fish Caught – 276 AC
Fish Caught – 275 AC
Fish That Got Away (Possibly Lying)
"…Important work," Levi said, deadpan.
The old man nodded solemnly. "History must be preserved."
He handed over the quill, which bent like a wilting leaf. "Get to copying."
One smudgy hour later, Levi emerged with black fingers, sore eyes, and a new appreciation for digital keyboards.
Jory was waiting, munching on a dried root like it was fine jerky.
"Finished scribbling the wisdom of Bogwater?"
"If anyone ever reads those scrolls, they'll die of boredom."
"Come on," Jory said. "There's something happening at the dock."
They walked through the bog paths until they reached a cluster of villagers gathered around the rickety wooden dock. Levi squinted through the mist.
A boy stood at the edge of the platform, barefoot, bow in hand, knees shaking. In front of him, the still water bubbled.
Jory pointed. "That's Oly. He's going to try and shoot the bogtooth eel."
"Why?"
"Tradition. Bravery. Boredom. Take your pick."
A thick, ridged shape surfaced—long, greenish-black, and scarred from old battles. The eel loomed in the shallows like a nightmare come to life.
Oly fired.
The arrow veered wildly into the fog.
The eel thrashed, hissed, and vanished beneath the surface.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"He missed," Levi said.
Jory grinned. "Yeah, but he didn't fall in. That's a win."
Later that day, Levi found himself back at Mae's table, slurping eel stew with faint horror.
Mae watched him with that knowing look of hers, knitting something that might've been socks or a hat for a goat.
"So," she said without looking up, "what did you learn today?"
"That the village's historical records are mostly about fish," Levi replied. "And that I am now legally obligated to write them down forever."
Mae smirked. "Sounds about right."
He set down his spoon. "One of the elders mentioned Greywater Watch."
Mae paused.
"Is it real?" he asked.
"It moves," she said simply. "Hidden in the Neck. Only the Crannogmen know how to find it."
Levi leaned back against the wall. "Do they really keep records there?"
"They remember things," she said. "Some with ink. Most with stories. You'd be surprised what old men remember when they've been drinking bog beer for fifty years."
He chuckled. "So… if I were to rebuild Moat Cailin someday, they'd know how?"
Mae raised an eyebrow. "Boy, you don't even own a shovel."
"Yet."
She laughed—a short, genuine sound. "Dream big, Hallow. Just don't drown doing it."
That night, Levi lay on the straw mattress, eyes open.
His body ached from the awkward hunch of scribe duty. His hands smelled faintly of eel and mildew. But his thoughts weren't on scrolls or stew.
They were on numbers.
He sat up, glancing to make sure Mae was asleep.
Then he closed his eyes.
The cheat engine interface flickered to life—quiet, invisible, but sharp in his mind.
GOLD: 0
FOOD:• Meat – 2• Cheese – 1• Berry – 6• Bread – 0
MATERIALS:• Wheat – 1• Flour – 0• Iron – 0• Ashlar – 0• Wood – 3• Oil – 0• Barrel of Beer – 0
WEAPONS:• Armor Plate – 0• Leather Armor – 0• Sword – 0• Bow – 1• Spear – 0• Halberd – 0• Crossbow – 0
He didn't touch anything. Not tonight.
But the sight of it filled him with a strange sense of power—and dread.
"Tomorrow," Levi whispered. "Maybe tomorrow."
And he closed the interface, heart quietly pounding in the dark.