Chapter 8

Zoey and Rosalie worked through the crumbling halls of the shard, avoiding traps and fighting off a variety of strange monsters. Eventually, they pushed through a thick pair of drooping double-doors, and into a room stuffed with boxes, weapon racks, and rusted suits of armor. Rosalie made a noise of appreciation.

“Loot,” she said. “It’s about time we bumped into some. Hopefully my armor’s here.”

The casual way the serious girl used the game-like terminology was still something Zoey hadn’t accustomed herself to. But when it was a fundamental aspect of her world, of course she didn’t think twice about using a word as normally relegated to video games as ‘loot’.

As for Rosalie’s armor being in this room ... well, for all it would be practical, Zoey secretly hoped not.

At least they’d have weapons besides their fists, now. Not that Zoey would be using one. Rosalie had made it clear the only thing Zoey was allowed to do was stay back and sling ice spikes when she had the opportunity.

“You can tell the quality of items by the metal bands,” Rosalie said idly, gesturing at the side of the room, where a large, rusted chest sat between weapon racks. “Steel. So, uncommon. Better than copper, but not likely anything good. I told you the rarities, right?”

“Common, uncommon, rare, superior, and mythic.” The topic had been brought up when Zoey had asked what having a ‘mythic-tier’ rune meant, which apparently her Rune of Bonding was. Then again, of course the rune granted by a literal goddess was the best it got. “What kind of stuff is inside, usually?”

“Varies.” Rosalie delivered a harsh kick into the side of the chest, then danced backward.

“Checking for mimics?” Zoey asked.

Rosalie blinked at her. “I thought your memories—” she shook her head. “No, clearly you’ve retained some basic information. Still, you remember mimics, but not runes? Or spells?”

Well. The mimic thing had been a joke, something that had escaped from her without her thinking too hard about what she was saying. And she only knew of mimics from osmosis of pop culture back on Earth. “I guess,” Zoey said, the real explanation obviously too tricky to get into—and Ephy had barred her from doing so, anyway. She’d rather not find out what happened when she ignored a goddess’s direct order.

“Hm.” Rosalie didn’t spend overmuch time reading into Zoey’s response, because why would she? “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Zoey approached, leaning forward as Rosalie cracked open the chest, curious despite herself. Because while video games had never been too much of her thing, the idea of loot was ... appealing, she guessed? Like opening a mystery box. It could be anything.

The lid swung open, and...

A black void filled the interior. Rosalie didn’t seem surprised, but the sight gave Zoey pause. Why had she expected something normal?

Rosalie reached in, rummaged for a second, then pulled out the first item their adventures had yielded: a small pouch of brown fabric, with about a fist’s size of material in it.

“Alchemy reagents?” Rosalie said. “What a droll start.”

“How can you tell?” She hadn’t looked inside the bag.

Rosalie gave her an odd look. “Inspect.”

Right. For the second time in as many minutes, Zoey’s brain was working rationally, instead of in the context of the magical world she found herself in. Not many things could be Inspected, but loot was explicitly one.

[Coruscant Flameroot, Powdered]: A fine, gritty substance useful in the preparation of potions that inflame or mute the senses.

“Inflame or mute the senses?” Zoey echoed.

“Is that what it says?”

“Huh? Yeah?”

“I’m not an alchemist,” she reminded Zoey. “The description for me is just, ‘a fine, gritty red substance used in alchemy’. Your Identify skill affords you more information.” Rosalie paused. “But ... inflames the senses?”

“Like an aphrodisiac?”

They each paused at the reminder of what had happened earlier. Rosalie blushed and cleared her throat. “Reagents often have wide usage. But as one application, perhaps. It would be fitting of the shard’s theme to give us something like this.” She handed it to Zoey and brushed forward. “But I have no use for it. It’s yours.”

So Zoey got everything Rosalie didn’t want—the discarded, useless items. But she couldn’t really complain. Rosalie was the professional here, and the one doing all the hard work of clearing the shard. Zoey hadn’t had to grapple down furred monsters in a blur of limbs and claws. Wouldn’t have been able to, frankly, even with the spells she could now cast.

Using another of those strange abilities afforded to her, Zoey vanished the pouch into her inventory. So weird, she thought, staring at the empty space in her hand where the pouch had just been. Now it sat somewhere in the back of her mind, to be pulled out of pocket-space when she needed it.

Rosalie continued to withdraw items from the chest, pulling objects from the inky void, inspecting them, then either handing them off to Zoey, setting them to the side, or stashing them in her inventory. She commented on each. Many of the items were expected for a world running on RPG-like principles. Health potions, small weapons, rations (actually quite relevant; she was starting to get hungry), and other miscellanea.

Seeing Rosalie sort through the items popped a thought into her head.

“Hey, what’s in your inventory? From before, I mean.” Before the two of them had gotten into this mess.

“The shard emptied it. So nothing.”

“It can do that?”

“It took my armor and weapons,” she said dryly, “so why couldn’t it take my inventory?”

“I guess.” She’d assumed the dimensional space was sacrosanct, for some reason. “Is that common?”

“No. Nothing about you, this shard, or our circumstances is common, Zoey.”

Fair. “But you’ll be getting it back?”

“I hope. Presumably, worst-case, it’ll be as part of the boss loot.” Rosalie was quiet for a bit. “I, as most Wayfarers, kept almost every coin I owned in my inventory, so I really hope it’s not lost to the ether. That would be ... unfortunate.”