I kept a steady cadence with my fingers
across the dark oaken table, the desk of something greater than even the gods.
The man across from me had his arms open wide, a smile plastered across his
face like a painting that never dried. Others sat around the table as well—some
with determined looks, others confused, intrigued, curious. Each one held their
own variant of wonder or wariness. Wish, higher than the all-mighty, finally
set his arms down on the table.

“Well?” he asked, amused.

“I’m not folding, damn it. I check.”

Wish sighed. “Oh, well hell.” He turned
his cards over, and I leaned back, eyes drifting up to the void ceiling. Beyond
where we sat, walls rose into darkness, lined with racks of items—swords,
spears, knives that reflected unseen starlight, shields with moving faces that
breathed flame or lightning. It stretched on into the unknown above, a hoard of
artifacts with weight beyond comprehension. Wish had a lot more than I did to
bet with.

“Eat my ash,” I said, laying my cards
down with a grin.

Wish grunted. “Damn.”

“Royal flush.”

“Pairs,” he muttered, flicking his cards
onto the desk.

“That’s four to three. Seems I won this
one,” I said. “So, you said a bonus item along with my choice?”

“Care to see it now?” he asked, snapping
his fingers.

A small box appeared in front of me,
dark and matched in wood to the table. One of the strategies we’d worked
out—ways Wish would approve of—to earn little helps and gifts through these
exchanges. I nodded and slid the oaken lid open.

Inside sat something I hadn’t expected.

“A lighter?” I lifted it out and turned
it over in my hand. At first glance, it was nearly identical to my old Limco
lighter. It had that familiar build: a removable section that acted as a candle
for the lighter, the flint roll set in the lid, and a quick-access slot to swap
the flint without the hassle of unscrewing anything. The only difference—it was
heavier, denser, like brass that had been pressed from a collapsed star.
Instead of ‘Limco,’ one word was engraved into the side: ‘Wish.’

I didn’t ask. I just held it up and
raised an eyebrow.

Wish gestured at it with a nod. “The
Dragon Lance Lighter. Takes many forms when it’s made—the vessel can be
anything. Pop open the candle section. Look inside.”

I clicked it open and unscrewed the
base. Where cotton and fluid would normally be, there was neither. A
crystalline scroll sat within, inscribed with characters I didn’t
recognize—runic, alien, like something from a culture that died before language
had settled.

“This was made by a very clever sect
from the far world’s other supercontinent. Cultivators,” Wish said. “They
dedicated their lives to mastering the smallest of elemental truths. They were
good people. Gone now, like most good things. But their legacy remains. The Dao
they inscribed doesn’t require Qi or traditional energy. It works as it wills.
But only a mastercrafted mechanism or vessel can interpret and make use of the
knowledge.”

He leaned back, his voice tinged with a
fond melancholy. “Inside the lighter, where you’d normally load flint, are
seven tiny switches. Press one, and you’ll access a minor Dao. Each allows you
to control or create a small manifestation of an element—just enough to
matter.”

He recited it as if from memory:

“Vibrations of earth, flames of fire,
flow of water, gusts of air’s ire.

Lightning and crackle, light and dark tackle.

The Dragon Lance of the hidden mountain spire.”

Tao wiped his eye. “Nice.”

Wish sighed. “Very ‘nice,’ Tao. So much
made, so much lost.” He waved his hand to the countless shelves above.

“When you flip the top,” Wish continued,
“you can manipulate it like this:

Earth: Tap a
surface, and if that surface moves within a hundred feet, you’ll feel the
lighter vibrate—a tether of stone.

Fire: A
small flame will float above the lighter. It will remain lit unless
snuffed—a fire eternal.

Water: It
draws moisture from the air, forming a small orb—pool of purity.

Lightning: A
quick, finger-sized bolt—bridge of blue.

Light:
Absorb a small amount of light and cast it as an orb for a short
time—light that fades.

Darkness:
Absorb darkness and cast a patch to obscure—night that stays.”

He clapped his hands once. “That’s it.”

“Interesting,” I nodded, jotting it down
in a notebook I kept for important details like these.

“It’s just a bonus. A gift. I hope some
of what’s been lost doesn’t stay lost. In small ways, at least,” he said. “Now,
have you decided what you want?”

I glanced to Kito, who shrugged. “I
think so.”

“Alright then, out with it.” Wish leaned
forward and a large book materialized in front of him with a soundless thud,
its presence somehow immediate and ancient. Guess we were locked in. It had
been days since I’d arrived here, and we’d all taken our time. Time flowed
differently in this place.

Though to them it might’ve seemed like a
rush, we’d been here for many long days. Each one of us had been using Wish’s
strange hospitality to relax and reflect. I certainly had. I’d picked Wish’s
brain dry, page by page, concept by concept. Every second I could, I studied
under him like a student desperate not to forget the lesson. I filled over
forty journals in my smallest handwriting—each one stored in Frog’s dimensional
space.

“The Pumpkin King Ring,” I finally said,
sliding a carefully drawn schematic across the table.

Pumpkin King Ring – Cursed,
cannot be removed.

This ring allows the user to make a ‘thread’ between two points and exchange
energy between them. The first point must be the ring; the second, a summoned Pumpkin
Lantern.

Energy flows from one to the other. The ring can control or manipulate anything
it’s threaded to and has filled with enough energy.

Maximum of 10 threads—one for each finger.

Pumpkin Lanterns: Formed
from a sufficient amount of the user’s own material. Max 10. Appearance depends
on the material used.

The ring wasn’t just interesting—it was perfect.
I had traded something away with Enigma: the infinite potential of the base
prime elements. That meant I could never channel them directly, never let them
grow within me like a mage would. They would never bend to me as spells or
skills. My affinity had been stripped away—but not my ingenuity.

The ring let me bypass all of that. I
could convert internal energy into something tangible—transferable. I could
charge a lantern and drain it later. Power another device. Feed a glyph or
ward.

I wasn’t a Rune Scribe, not in the
traditional sense. I couldn’t make runes float in the air or write
spell-sigils, but I could learn how to enchant—to carve and inscribe
surfaces, charge them with power, and activate them when I needed. Wish had
shown me how, bit by bit. Not practice, per se, but theory. Enough that Craft
could teach me the rest when the time came.

He’d teach me how to make bombs. Remote
triggers. Glyph traps. Maybe even tools to keep the people I cared about alive.

Supposedly, the Pumpkin King was a minor
god—a master of the Fall Season, one of four such deities created by The
Spectre himself. They weren’t like other gods. These were designed as stewards,
guardians of flow and season, and the Pumpkin King drifted between planes like
a watchman of forgotten paths.

Wish told me of the ring’s last owner, a
scarecrow called The Red Watcher, who once guarded a demi-plane—some
eternal garden nestled in twilight. He’d lit the lands with pumpkin lanterns,
giving fire to nature itself. That ring had been his.

I didn’t ask how it came to be here, or
why it could now be mine, even though it couldn’t be removed.

The ring slid onto my finger—steel vines
twisted into a pumpkin crown. It looked like something from a festival fair…
before I remembered there were no festivals anymore. No more vendor stalls. No
soft laughter at dusk. No jack-o’-lanterns glowing with warmth and nothing but
good intention.

I spun the ring once on my finger, then
let the thought of the city fade from my mind.

If there was a curse in this ring… then
the cost would have to be worth it.

If I could enchant the revolver
with an ability to store energy before discharging it I could fire elemental
‘minor’ spells as Tao and Wish put it by having a fuel  source to power more then most magical items
could ambiently cast after being expended. Options. Variability.

So much fucking thinking.

“Hey, could I get a cup of coffee?”
I asked as I looked over to Wish.

“Sure, just this once” For the
millionth time.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ito, Tao, Kito, Jax, Drek, and Bjor
all watched me in silence as I looked down at the intricate, densely packed
list laid out before me. It was covered in options, strategies,
contingencies—layers of planning written by hands both hopeful and tired. I was
the last to give my approval to the plan they’d put together. They had become a
true team in my absence, one forged under stress I hadn’t yet fully shared in.
I had been pulled away, dragged through trials and timelines, but now I was
back—to fill in the gaps they had already mapped.

I gave a slow nod. “Alright, I’ll
go last.”

“So then,” Wish said, the corners
of his lips curling in amusement, “what is it you all wish to take before you
leave?”

The phrasing made me pause—whether
he meant to include his name in the sentence or not was a fleeting thought—but
I kept quiet, lighting up my smoke and letting the first drag simmer through my
lungs. I stayed out of the conversation for now, letting their choices come
first.

Couldn’t help but think about what
I’d lost. Everything I’d earned in that city, stripped away. Except what I’d
brought into the portal initially. I missed the way my weapon used to echo with
what was inside me. Now it just hung at my side, holstered and dumb. It
couldn’t be summoned from thin air anymore—but I still appreciated its weight,
its memory.

The lighter sat in my grip. Of all
the things I had now, it was easily one of the most intriguing. Not
life-saving. Not earth-shattering. But cool as hell. It had purpose. Design.
And every time I felt its weight in my pocket, I felt something else too—like I
hadn’t quite lost everything.

Yeah. That feeling alone was
enough.

My gaze drifted lazily across the
chamber, up to the racks of unreachable artifacts hanging from the walls and
beyond. Then it settled back down to where Ito stood up, his jaw set, paper in
hand as he stepped forward to Wish.

“You sure?” Wish asked. “Can’t go
back on this.”

“I believe it would be best,” Ito
said without hesitation, his hands open.

With a snap, a blade dropped into
his palms, glowing faintly with an unseen internal fire.

Sword Spirit

A sword of your choice becomes bound to you in mind, body, and soul. Any
enhancements to the blade—or techniques used with it—may also be applied to the
wielder. The deeper the bond, the stronger the shared power becomes.

What the description didn’t say
outright—but what we knew—was how deeply this ability let you strike. It could
bypass armor, pierce illusions, even slash through a spirit’s soul. The sword
became a part of you. If you enhanced the weapon’s speed or sharpness, your
body followed suit. And if you were clever enough, you could turn every aura,
every buff, every enchantment into a double-edged boon.

Perfect for Ito. A gift that
required discipline and devotion—and he’d already proven both.

He stared at the blade, eyes
narrowed in focus, as though he were memorizing its every line, weight, and
hum. Then he nodded and returned to his seat.

“Well, that was fast,” Drek
muttered.

Ito simply shrugged. “I already
mastered my devotion to it. Only needed to make the connection.”

“A real savant…” Wish said, tilting
his head. “Who’s next?”

Tao stood without a word and handed
over his slip. Wish smiled—one of genuine amusement—and for the first time slid
the book in front of him forward.

“Did you know?” he asked with a
chuckle.

“That you’ve been reading blank
pages this entire time?” Tao replied. “It was pretty easy to spot. I always
wondered why that spot on the table existed but you never took the book with
you. Maybe you meant to—”

Wish lifted a hand quickly.
“Never.”

“Right,” Tao replied with a
tight-lipped smile. “I discovered it while browsing your lists. Found a match.
The Infinitum.”

Wish nodded in approval and slid
the book across the table.

The Infinitum

This book holds near-infinite pages. Any spell, memory, drawing, or word
written within can be recalled perfectly and cast, replicated, or utilized to
the best of the user’s mastery.

A flawless tool for someone like
Tao. While most needed time, runes, or verbal invocations to cast, he could
simply write, and it was his. That perfect recall would remove the
friction between thought and action.

He sat back down and began writing
in the book immediately, head buried in it as if he hadn’t just changed the
course of his future.

Next was Jax. He stood up with a
theatrical sigh, running a hand through his hair before giving us the most
exaggerated serious face I’d seen in days.

“Alright... I’ve finally decided
what I want.”

Collective groans echoed from every
side of the table—including one from Wish, dramatic and exasperated.

“No! Really, this time I mean it!”
Jax protested. “I choose...”

We all leaned in.

“Mod Mechanism,” he said with a
grin, arms spread like a stage magician.

“We already knew that, you
dunce,” Kito groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well I finally settled on
it, okay? Jeez.” Jax huffed and turned dramatically—though I knew he just
wanted to rush back to the pile of broken parts I’d pulled from Frog. He was
already rummaging through the scraps, eyes gleaming.

Mod Mechanism

Repurpose and modify an existing object or concept using the properties,
materials, and designs available.

It was vague, but we’d talked about
it long enough to know: it didn’t just reshape objects—it could reimagine
them. A creative mind could break rules with it. Subtly. Just enough.

My old pistol was in his hands now.
He’d already begun fiddling with it. I'd leave him to his alchemy.

Kito was next. She stood and handed
her slip forward, calm and confident.

Bastion Bell

This bell channels protective incantations to ward against spirits, creatures,
and even the elemental forces of nature.

She’d chased it for years. That
bell had been legend to her—part of her origin story. She had delved into
ruins, crossed cursed valleys, and studied dusty tomes for whispers of it. It
had led her to the city. And here, now, in the hands of a white-haired being
older than time, it simply... appeared.

She cried the moment she held it.

No one said anything. Ito shook her
shoulders, trying to get her to laugh. Tao smiled from behind his pages. She
let herself feel it. It was hers now.

Then came Drek and Bjor. They stood
as one, looked to each other, then to Wish.

“I choose the Heart of Ice,” Drek
said.

“And I choose the Eye of the
Mountain,” Bjor followed.

Heart of Ice

A core of pure water-plane essence from its deepest trench. Its structure
embodies the very principle of ice.

Eye of the Mountain

A gem from the plane of earth’s roots. It allows the user to sense tremors and
feel through stone itself.

Neither power made a spectacle. But
they were deeply personal. Practical. They’d both suffered, and I could see the
quiet ache behind their choices—they wanted to stop fighting. These
would give them clarity, and maybe peace.

Wish turned to me, fingers
steepled.

“Lastly, we have you, Jaeger.
So—what shall it be? Pants of fire? Gloves of telekinesis? Armor of a dead
god?”

“First off,” I said, taking a drag
of my smoke, “does my spirit get a reward too?”

“No.”

“Damn. Well, with that out of the
way…” I slid my paper forward.

Wish nodded. “With this, you’ll
have twenty-four hours before you’re deposited back into the fountain’s inner
dimension. You still need to defeat three more bosses.”

I looked down at the box that had
appeared in front of me—replacing the empty one I’d received the lighter
from—and opened it.

Arcane

A bamboo cane with a short spear point at the tip. Energy can be stored within
and released in three forms:

Point:
A bolt shot directly ahead.

Line:
A piercing beam.

Plane:
A shield-like surface formed from pure energy.

I had chosen this for utility. For
versatility. And because I had no clue what I was allowed to keep and
what counted as a reward anymore. This felt safe. Reliable. But it also aligned
with the Pumpkin King Ring, which let me thread energy. The Arcane could use
that energy—fueled by the bracelet I wore, connected to lanterns I’d summon,
threaded like circuits.

I had plans.

It was said the Plane form
of the Arcane always took a defensive shape—a wall that scaled with energy
input. That meant it could become a weapon or a barricade. A stopgap in
desperate moments.

Of course, I still needed to learn
to fight with it. The cane had a hooked handle like a question mark, bamboo
shaft with a hidden point. Sleek, mysterious. But experience would have to do
the rest. No shortcuts.

It wasn’t lost on me that our
choices were filtered. We didn’t have access to everything. What Wish offered
was tied to who we were now. If we met him again later—stronger, smarter—maybe
the list would be different. Wider. Stranger.

This might be the last time I was
here.

I’d thought about armor that could
deploy in motion. Shields that hovered and returned with a flick. A cloak that
made you vanish for seconds at a time. I was torn between so many options.

But the cane? It would work—for
traps, for reach, for defense, for versatility. I could attach a thread before
firing, guide it like a fishing line. It wasn’t proven, but the theory was
strong.

And theory… well, it was all we had
to go on in here.

Most of us had bet our lives on
imagination.

Mine was focused on what would keep
me alive—and what I knew was coming.

Gods willing, it wasn’t another
spooky bitch.