Chapter 41: Vixen Among Kits

The previous night the Historian had been staring at a viewing slate showing an empty chamber and a closed bathing room door, and lamenting his decision to take ‘Hindsight’. It was a good Skill which allowed him to view glimpses of the past with almost disgusting impunity. Right now though, he wished he had something that would let him view reality as it was in this moment. Because of course one of the few conditions that would prevent him from skimming someone’s past is that their world was not integrated into the System Network before he gained his Skill.

Suddenly, a sensation he couldn’t rightly describe washed over him like a wave. Aggressive in approach and execution, but entirely harmless on contact. It was a wave of energy so diffuse and brief that he doubted there was anyone in the tower with enough perception to feel it, and if by some miracle they did, he knew for a fact that he was the only person here with the expertise to recognise it.

“That was not mana,” he whispered, pupils blown wide, and fluffy white tail twitching in agitation. This was

“If only we could see what was happening,” the Historian lamented.

“Master?” Tareth called out. The younger vulpian wondering why he couldn’t. “She is in the suite you gave her.” He said, pointing to the slate that was currently displaying an empty bedchamber.

“She is in the bathing chambers of her quarters,” the Historian corrected. Tareth didn’t see what the issue was. Sure the human might not like it, but this was the Historian. A pillar of his people, and the administrator of the tower for as long as he remained. His authority superseded her comfort, his attention was her privilege.

Moreover, if whatever she was doing had his master’s attention, then it was information he needed as well. He was also sure their faction would be interested in the little human. While he couldn’t divulge information on her, he could ensure his people were able to capitalise.

“We gave her no expectation of privacy,” Tareth said.

He froze when the Historian turned his head to face him, taking his eyes off the slate for the first time in hours.

“I am going to give you a lesson this time, because you are my pupil. Also, because this is the first time you’ve ever disappointed me like this. However, if you open your mouth and say words so foolish again, I can promise you won’t be calling me master for long afterwards,” the Historian said. The pressure the elder was releasing was suffocating. His legs buckled, and he had to brace himself to remain standing. The Historian paid him no mind as he spoke.

“That young woman is Level 7.” the Historian began.

“Yes, master you already-”

“Level 7 less than a month into Integration.”

“So, she is a rare genius. It’s not unheard of.” Tareth said, genuinely confused. Didn’t all sapients on newly integrated worlds have increased growth potential? When new worlds opened, most factions weren’t rushing to claim material resources nearly as aggressively as they were for talent.

The Historian’s eye twitched at his disciple’s ignorance. He had to remind himself that this was not. In fact, common knowledge. It barely even counted as obscure knowledge, that’s how niche it was. It was no wonder he couldn’t grasp the implications. The potential opportunity.

“Level 7, less than a month into full integration, and the average System-sanctioned grace period is eight years. That rate of progression,” the Historian shook his head. “Then consider that the first portal world she found and entered is connected to a nexus.” He gestured around himself at the tower, though the emphasis was entirely unnecessary.

Tareth looked back to the display. “I understand, Master. So she is more than just a rare genius, she’s a vixen among kits” Tareth said. “But Master, in the grand scheme, eight years of accelerated growth won’t be enough.

“You have already prevented me from reporting to the faction, then you made me sign that contract, and now you are suggesting we invest true faction resources into this, this, interloper?” He shook his head. Once Scarlet’s world was up for the pickings, there was no way the human woman would stay independent. She would be claimed, or killed, and the vulpians would lose out on their investment.

It wasn’t like she’d be able to unify the planet and claim its core. Such a feat had been done only thrice in known History, and only once with no assistance by an external faction. The history of the world known as Complicity, and its ruler, the Sovereign of Compliance, was something the Historian, had been fascinated with for going on centuries now.

What exactly did this have to do with Scarlet?

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“Wait, Master, are you suggesting…”

The Historian shushed him. On the screen the door opened, and for the next hour, the two of them watched a newly integrated Tier 0 human stare at rocks. Both lost in their own thoughts.

That’s when the human decided to look at the door. It was the stone door to her chamber that had read her mana signature. Three seconds later the woman was on the floor, passed out with a nosebleed.

The Historian’s eyes opened wide. For a moment he’d felt the shift, the moment she’d surpassed some threshold. Psionic affinity. No, psionic attunement.

He cackled, positive the human woman had no idea what she’d just done.

“Master?” Tareth turned to the older vulpian.

“Attunement, at Tier 0,” the Historian said, delighted. Tareth was less sure.

“Master, that’s not possible,” Tareth said. Not for beings born at Tier 0 anyway. The soul simply wasn’t yet robust enough to hold onto any sort of conceptual attunement. The strain on her soul would be astronomical.

And yet, the Historian would not lie about something like that.

“By the System,” Tareth muttered.

“This changes things,” the Historian said.

As if by mutual agreement, both vulpian’s turned back to the tablet, where a groggy Scarlet had roused and managed to get herself to bed.