“Take it.” Shea said with an expectant glance, and I was unfortunately reminded of the fact that he could see my System Screen, along with each and every pop-up I received. “It’ll be fun, and I’ll help! I love crafting.”

I sighed, looking at my Quest offer once more. The reward—+10 Crafting Experience and +1 Herbalism Level—was tantalizing, but the lack of consequence made me hesitant. So… what happened if I didn’t fulfill it? Was it hidden until failure? Could I be possibly roping myself into a dire situation I was far too underskilled to tackle?

As my mind became clouded with questions, my often missing voice of reason came to the forefront.

Ask your Platoon Leader, moron!

Oh. Right. Shea was right there, eager and willing to answer.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say the consequence, so…”

“So what? That just means the consequences lie within the Quest.” He answered, and from my blank stare, Shea knew he needed to elaborate. “Er–it means that there are no consequences for failing, and the hardships that come with learning are enough.”

Ah. Okay. That made sense. Still, though—today was my last day off before real training started. Before I’d have to get up at 5AM, meet all of the other members of this platoon, run ten miles, spar, learn how to handle a weapon, and how to get hit in combat. Before my life would forever morph and shift into my greatest nightmare.

But wait. Maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be my greatest nightmare! Sure, I was forced into this. Sure, it’s an eternal, looming threat of death with a side of manual labor. But this guy—Shea—seems happy. He seems to enjoy his time here, despite being known as easy-going and, well, soft. That’s what my father calls me, too!

Perhaps I should suck it up and try to have fun. At least for today, at least right now. Sort of like a trial run to see if I can actually survive this grueling, new life, or if I’m destined to spear myself in the head one day when I decide it’s not worth it anymore.

So, I took a deep breath, attempting a less… lazy persona, and lifted my fingers up to the quest floating above me, splaying them out and pressing Accept.

There. I did it. I made my first active choice. Goodbye, my lovely, former life as a bystander. Hello new, engaging Firth.

Eugh.

“Hey! Good choice!” Shea said, and we both turned to read the new announcement that followed.

[Side Quest Accepted: Create a Healing Salve]

[Progress: 0%]

[Objective: Gather ingredients and craft a basic healing salve.]

[Reward: +10 Crafting Experience, +1 Herbalism Level]

“So… what ingredients do I need for a Healing Salve?” I asked, my eyes flicking over to Shea.

“I’m not telling you that, Ridire. I said I’d help you with the crafting, but you’ve got to figure the rest out on your own. Your Intelligence stats could use it.” He grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “One of these tents here has a library full of my finds in it. I’ve definitely got some worthwhile recipes there, and… most of the ingredients can be found in the forests and fields near the camp. That’s why my platoon is stationed out here.”

“I’m going to be foraging.” I lamented with a drawn-out sigh, pursing my lips.

Ugh.

“Yeah! Foraging. You’ll have to get used to it if you want to be a magic-user. And it’s just good to know if you’re sent on long missions.” He tilted his head at me. “You’ve never done it before?”

“No, I have. But I hated it. I spent six hours collecting algae for something called a ‘super healing brew.’ My mother made me make it for her. She said it helped with mild itch relief.”

Shea raised his brows, clearly amused. “Your mother made you make potions for itch relief? She a baker by any chance?”

“Yes. Always one for making blessed cakes and tarts of wisdom to give to my father before he left on missions.”

With that, Shea gave me a breathy laugh and a delicate send off, disappearing into his own tent as I traversed the camp for the library. It took me quite a few tries to find, quite a few embarrassing encounters and instances of interrupting my platoonmates’ slumbers and free times. After being chased away by a still-humiliated Rory and snarled at by Iessaí, I finally landed upon the cloth-enclosed fortress of books, my eyes drinking in the sight.

Wow.

These were all Shea’s?

My fingers gingerly trailed over the scrolls, inscribed rocks, and tomes, looking at the spines of each, admiring the handicraft and striving to find anything that could teach me how to craft a healing salve. After a few more moments, I landed upon something promising:

“All Purpose Concoctions for the Wounded Warrior.”

The recipes within were straightforward enough, but the footnoted, barely visible warning about the dangers of using the wrong kelp and its penchant for causing death and hallucinations was troubling. Nothing like a little danger, little possibility of catching a currently uncured, deathly disease to keep my adrenaline up and my focus lasered.

Now it was time to forage, as Shea had put it. I made my way outside, checking my list of necessary ingredients.

Scallop shells, sand, sea grass, red spiral kelp, healing moss, and pearlwort.

The sand and scallop shells were easy—the campground floors were made of them. With a scoop, I gathered the necessary amount and then some, placing it in one of the two pockets on my large and baggy, white shirt. I then swam over to the seagrass field I had noticed earlier, the one I was sure that seahorses grazed on. As I neared my destination, I found I was right.

There they were—the beautiful beasts, the giant creatures, clad in bioluminescent armor that served within the Leviathan’s Lancers, Neptune’s heavy cavalry unit. Shea’s platoon was the perfect placement for their stable, considering his distance from any known rebel locations, and his large plot of flowering land.

I reached my hand out to touch them, but the farmhand thwacked it away.

“No.” He said sternly, looking me up and down. “State your business, soldier.”

“Oh, um, just here for some seagrass. Making a Healing Salve.”

“Healing Salve? Are you a medic?”

“No.”

We stared at one another for a few awkward moments, before the young man bent down and ripped up some of the grass, handing it to me. The giant seahorse nearby whinnied, as if it were aggravated I was stealing such a miniscule portion of his feed. Before I could say some sweet words of reassurance, I was waved away from the farmhand.

Hmph.

I made a mental note to attempt to touch the creatures later, and continued my journey, heading to the forest. It was beautiful, as most of our underwater greenwoods were, but also… inconvenient. The kelp towered languidly above me, swaying and thunking into my head with each current, while fish darted every which way, whizzing in and out of the thick foliage as I roamed about.

I wanted to be done with this whole foraging thing already. But I knew I had to be careful. My fingers pinched the kelp above me, examining the flora intently. The color was slightly off, and the veins were too dark, too green to be the necessary Red Spiral. With a sigh, I turned, lifting up rocks and digging through sharp coral before I came across it—a patch of short kelp, the innards of it tinged red, idly swaying near a rocky outcrop. With a quick flick of my tail, I swam over and grabbed a few strands, pulling them loose. Easy enough.

[Red Spiral Kelp Acquired.]

[Located in Inventory Slot Two.]

Better be.

As luck would have it, just a bit above me, clinging to the rocky outcrop, was the healing moss. Lots of it. So, I flipped by tail once more, launching upwards and gripping one of the protruding ledges, clawing at the moss until it fell off and into my hands, coating the underside of my nails with its fuzzy flesh.

Ew.

I looked up again, only to catch a glimpse of the pearlwort.

Today really was my day!

The plant was located up high, right at the very edge of the rock wall, almost breaching the surface. That made me… nervous. I had never gone up so far before, never dared exit The Dark and move into The Light. That was where the Overworld people existed, with their large boats and netting, sucking up our resources and dumping garbage into our abodes.

But I had to do it. I had to get the pearlwort, had to craft, had to try out this whole potion making, herbalist thing. Had to see if I was really into it, or simply seduced by a fun card game into believing I cared for pharmacognosy.

So, with a deep breath of water into my gills and a quick prayer to the Tentacle God, I thrust myself upwards, my vision momentarily ambushed by the brightness of the water surrounding me, the bubbles and the caustics reflecting the sun harshly.

I had entered it.

The Light.