While the Crafting Ark might have been a place built and run specifically to boost crafting Classes, Sophie was not going to let that stop her from making the most of her time aboard. There was still plenty for her and her astrals to do.
Of course her first task was to resummon Sneakers. It wasn’t the first time one of her astrals had been forcibly unsummoned in combat. That unfortunate honor had gone to Mister Biggs when she had been merely level 2. He’d sacrificed himself to give her just enough of a head start to run away. But the pain of his last moments, and then the gaping absence afterward, had left Sophie feeling absolutely terrified and alone. It was an experience she’d never forget... and the biggest reason she’d refused to push her astrals’ limits for so long.
Sneakers had been just as brave against the {Defiler}; his end had been no less heroic--or less painful. Unfortunately, due to their rush to get to the Ark in time, she hadn’t yet been able to summon him back. He was still drifting out there in the astral sea.
Sophie had to remedy that.
The resummoning ritual took both a physical and mental toll on her, as well as her entire pool of mana. First she had to prepare the space she’d use. She sketched a broad chalk circle on the floor and filled it in with all the symbols and runes her Class had taught her. She thankfully hadn’t had to do this particular ritual too frequently, so she still took her time with it. She didn’t want to risk messing anything up and delaying Sneakers’ return.
Over the course of the next several hours, she dove into a meditative state that allowed her to send her spirit to one of the gates of the astral sea. While she’d read that others found this part nerve wracking, it made Sophie feel quite peaceful. How could it not be peaceful to have her family return home? She slowly crafted her thoughts, emotions, and feelings into a perfect little package. Then was she able to beckon her absent astral from across the material divide.
Submerged amongst the stars, she called out into the astral sea. There were sights, textures, and feelings that swept around her that simply couldn’t exist anywhere else, and several times she had to remind herself to breathe. Luckily she had been drawn close to where the brave bird had reformed. With the equivalent of a mental hand held outstretched, she waited with all the patience she could muster. She knew the instant Sneakers felt her presence, and was reassured when he immediately began to twist and twirl toward her.
Though the task for her was relatively easy and quick, she would have crossed any difficulty or eternity to bring her family back home.
Once they were reunited, she took on his pain, gasping as the cold abruptness of it twisted around her spine and curdled in her belly. It hurt, but so had Sneakers when he'd flown in front of Tristan to protect him.
Sophie was hugging and stroking Sneakers’s soft green feathers as he snuggled up against her. She gently pulled against the tether connecting her spirit to her body, and they both returned to the realm together.
After all, they had work to do if she was going to complete the quest she’d gotten at orientation.
All the guides she’d read about the Ark had stressed that attending that technically optional meeting was the first step in optimizing your time aloft. By all reports, the quest, when paired with the percentile increase from the title, granted so much experience that it was still a full level’s worth even at the end of tier 3! It would be pure foolishness on Sophie’s part not to do everything in her power to complete it.
With that goal in mind, she spent the next several days simply acclimating to the ship, its layout, and its natural ebb and flow. She’d utilized Sneakers’ extra sharp senses to scout out the whole ship from top to bottom and found that the Crafting Ark was monumentally different from anywhere else she’d ever been.
No matter which of the main crafting decks she passed through, with their seemingly endless rows of occupied workspaces, there was a focus on every person’s face that even Sophie had to see to believe. The focus verged on absolute fixation, and even Tristan had fallen into what she’d come to call “the Crafter’s Trance.” It had been over a day since she’d last seen him. She wasn’t even sure he’d been back to his room.
Not that she was worried about him. Far from it. Unlike Poof, who had shown a little concern at breakfast and had asked if it would be possible to see the swordsmith even briefly that day.
Sophie knew that all they had to do was go back to the Foundry, and no doubt he’d still be standing before the exact same anvil and forge as before, just a few steps from Temperance Garrow.
Sophie wasn’t about to get in the way of his growth, especially after she’d worked so hard to get him here in the first place. The last time she’d checked in on him, she’d been elated to see that he’d finally filled his Secondary Classes by taking enchanter. She’d been told countless times that well-fitted Secondaries were a critical part to someone’s Path, and while she didn’t exactly understand how enchanting might fit into Tristan’s particular puzzle yet, she did have to admit that he seemed to be enjoying himself.
She also tried not to be bothered by what looked to her untrained eye like rather lackadaisical tutelage from the Garrow woman. All that truly mattered was that Tristan got a solid enough foundation that it wouldn’t hinder his future endeavors.
Sophie hadn’t stuck around very long after seeing how focused he was. If nothing else, it seemed practically painful for Poof to see the swordsmith at work but to not be given any of the attention she was used to. The fluffy astral clearly missed spending time with him, and she got a bit sulky while Tristan was ignoring them, no matter how many perfect head-scratches Sophie gave her.
To try and take Poof’s mind off their absent friend, Sophie took the tiny mage to experience the things she’d explored earlier, just without the bird’s eye view. They only ventured into two crafting floors before she realized she was going to encounter that same Crafter’s Trance everywhere. Whether in the Cauldron with the alchemists, the Gearbox with the engineers and tinkers, or even in High Dining with the chefs--where she’d enjoyed the best meal of her entire post-home era--Sophie was in awe of these people that were all hyper focused and striving to master their crafts one project at a time.
They spent more than a few hours each day training in the onboard gym. It was kind of funny, but Sophie seemed to be one of only a very few that returned after the opening two days. Few kept up any resolutions of physical training amidst the opportunities offered aboard, no matter people’s best intentions. At least Sophie was able to gain a level by improving her and her astrals’ mastery of their new skills.
No matter what their gains or activity, Poof was less than thrilled by the constant absence of the other third of their party, and she constantly told Sophie that through their new psychic bond. Sophie had always suspected that Poof was a diva, and now she had a growing list of incontrovertible proof with practically every thought the little puffball sent her way. It was almost enough to make her switch Poof out for the much more stoic Mister Biggs. Not that she would, because she still loved the fluffy little astral with all her heart.
She's also better company than Tristan has been, she finally admitted with a sigh.
Now it was their fourth day aboard the ship, and with the swordsmith off in a self-imposed crafting purgatory, Sophie was devoting herself to the Ark’s big quest. She opened up her quest again and reread it.
[Quest: All Play and No Work]
Complete all the community tasks put forward by the founder of the Crafting Ark. Required tasks:
Attend an orientation meeting
Explore 2 crafting zones
Eat a meal in High Dining
Buy something in the Central Market
Attend a lesson
Make something worthy
Attend an event during the Finale Celebration
Complete a voyage
Rewards: Title, Bonus XP
She'd already nearly completed everything, and she knew the final two tasks would be easy enough, with the last taking care of itself as long as they weren't thrown overboard for some ghastly reason. That left only one task to nettle her.
Make something worthy.
Specifically, it was that last word of that task that was giving her trouble. If it just said “Make something,” then she’d have been done in no time at all. She’d made plans. She’d made conversation. She’d made promises--and kept them! She’d even made a string of paper airplanes that she’d thrown off the Ark in a series of mock races with Sneakers, much to the astral’s delight.
What made something “worthy” though? That was the question she couldn't quite answer yet. Worthy in what way? Worthy to who?
She didn’t doubt that for the thousands of crafters crammed onto this gigantic flying ship around her, this was the easiest and most natural step to quest completion. To Sophie, a person without a single crafting Class to rely on, it was going to be a much greater challenge.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
But she had come up with one particularly intriguing idea.
It had arisen in large part because she’d joked recently with Tristan about how glad she was that she wouldn’t have to live up to her parents’ definition of “worthy.”
Amid the flood of memories that she wished she could forget, she’d found her answer. By age 14 she’d already been to too many cotillions, masquerades, galas, and balls to count. And she’d hated them. It had been so bad she’d half feared her Awakening would be as some sort of partygoer or socialite Class just from the overwhelming amount of experience. She acknowledged that hosting a big event would probably thrill her parents to no end when they heard about it, but Sophie was still going to do it anyway.
She was going to host a ball.
All she had to do was find someone with enough authority to sanction her endeavor. It was a task she'd thought would be fairly simple, but everyone she spoke to either pointed her to someone else or had no recommendations for her at all.
After speaking with practically everyone in the Gearbox, she made the trek back up to High Dining where she sat down with Poof and a tray of delightful-smelling roasted skyfowl at a small table beside one of the porthole windows. Beyond it she could see a seemingly endless sea of clouds. She sighed, cut some food, and held it up for Poof to munch on as she pondered what to do next.
“Might I join you, young astralist?”
Sophie was mildly surprised at the newcomer’s nearly silent approach and looked up, wiping away the slight frown that had settled on her features as she recognized who had spoken. “Oh, Spiro! Yes, of course you may.” She gave a measured smile and indicated the seat across from her.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” the old elf began, setting his own tray with mostly green vegetables down opposite her, “but I often find myself coming here when I need to clear my head. A good meal, when paired with an exquisite sunset, has been the source of many an inspiration. To find you here now seems quite serendipitous.”
Sophie tried not to let her unease from their first meeting resurface, but she couldn’t help but wonder at how the old elf had known so much about her and Tristan within moments of their meeting. Part of her doubted that his arrival was as unscheduled as he was letting on, and another part dreaded what any conversation with him might contain.
“We’ll see. I don’t think this place will be quite as useful to me as it is for all the rest of you though,” she admitted. “I’m not a crafter.”
Spiro stroked his beard thoughtfully as he picked up a fork with his other hand, speared some roughage, dipped it lightly into a salad dressing, and brought it toward his mouth, only to pause with it held aloft there. “It is unusual to see a person whose Path contains no crafting Class aboard this vessel.” He took the bite, nodding thoughtfully. “It is even more so to have someone book their passage within a mere hour of departure. Yet here you are, having done both.”
Poof butted her head against Sophie’s chest, clearly upset about the most recent forkful of skyfowl that had stopped moving just beyond the little astral’s reach. “Sorry, Poof,” Sophie quickly whispered as she delivered the meat to the hungry mage’s mouth.
Her attention returned to her dining companion. “I didn’t think anyone would mind,” she said. Or notice, she mentally added. “It was just something I wanted to do for my friend.”
The old elf smiled as he finished chewing. “It does not seem to me that anyone has minded, especially not your friend. He seems to be flourishing here. Yet I am not here to discuss the young Hammerson. You were the curiosity that drew my attention. I fear you do not know quite how rare someone like you can be, at least on this Ark.” He leaned back and set his fork down, waving a single kind finger at Poof. “Given the suddenness of our last encounter, I was afraid I had left an ill impression upon you. I would be remiss if I were not to remedy that. I want you to know how admirable I find all that you’ve gone through to help a friend; That is the kind of undertaking I also enjoy from time to time. I hope that by the end of this conversation you might even consider me a friend, too.”
His astuteness made Sophie’s mouth a little dry, so rather than reply, she used one of her mother’s old tricks of stalling by cutting and slowly taking a bite of her food. She repressed the shudder as she heard the woman’s lesson repeated, ‘It is impolite to speak with one’s mouth full, so a Proper Guest should cover for another’s indelicateness.’
It did not surprise Sophie that Spiro seemed to be what her mother would call a Proper Guest, as he smiled with his eyes and continued with hardly a rest in the conversation.
“It has not gone beneath my notice that you are providing such an incredible opportunity for others, yet seem to be struggling with finding a route for your own advancement on the Ark.”
Sophie carved off another slice of the tender meat but knew it would be both too obvious and impolite if she stalled any longer. Instead she gave it to Poof, who devoured it with an excitement that was nearly untoward. “Once again, you’re well informed.” She sighed. “I wish it was as easy for me here as it seems to be for...” she waved a hand generally in the direction of the rest of the ship, “others.”
“There is nothing easy about finding inspiration, my young noble, not even when presented with all the opportunities of the realm.” Setting his fork down once again, the old elf looked out the porthole. “This place is unique not only for what it offers, but in how it does so. While it might not directly appeal to you in the same manner as it does the myriad others aboard, do not underestimate the value of the occasional break in routine.”
Sophie laughed cynically. “I’ve not exactly had the best luck with establishing a routine from which to take a break.”
Spiro’s head tilted slightly. “That was not what I had been led to believe at all. I’ve heard nothing but praise for what you’ve accomplished of late, and that was prior to your increase in tier.”
Sophie pulled back slightly, which she tried to disguise as hugging Poof tighter to her--though that only made Poof more insistent in trying to squirm away and toward the meat.
“Who are you?” she asked quietly.
The old elf leaned in and placed both hands squarely on the table as his voice lowered. “Someone who not only wants you to succeed, but has the ability to help make that a reality.” The smile that lit his face then was practically contagious. “Tell me, Sophira Adrielle, what do you want from your time aboard the Crafting Ark, not for others, but for yourself?”
Sophie had to shake herself to fight off the lightness that his smile seemed to elicit. Or maybe it was his offer that was brightening her mood. It was hard for her to tell in the moment. Uncertainties aside, she found the words for her reply easily enough.
“I want to make something worthy.”
The smile of the old elf across from her bloomed anew. “As do we all. Have you considered what you might make then? Have you had your own stroke of, shall we say... inspiration?”
“I think so,” Sophie admitted, “but it resulted in an idea that’s rather... ambitious.”
“Many of the paths toward greatness are. Knowing what you want is one thing, and knowing how to achieve it is another. Rarely do the two come together or, rarer still, with clear instructions.”
Sophie cut up several more pieces of the roasted skyfowl and scooted Poof closer to them, trying to ignore the overwhelming glee with which the little poofball inhaled the delicacy.
“I have been trying to get something started,” she began, but she didn’t quite know how to continue. She took a long, thoughtful sip of her water.
“My dear,” the old elf began, pausing until she looked at him again. “For one as selfless as you have already proven to be, I was hoping there would be something I could do to assist you. Name it.”
In the old elf’s eyes, Sophie saw the sincerity and compassion that had been missing from all the others she’d spoken to aboard the Ark. The words arose in her throat just as the idea had only a few days prior. “I’d like to,” she began, wetting her lips slightly with her tongue, “--What would you think if I hosted a ball? Specifically, during the Finale Celebration? I think it could be an awesome way to end our journey and not just celebrate but also provide a certain closure to our voyage.”
Her companion laughed jovially and leaned back. “What do I think? I think it would be my greatest wish granted to see your little ball come to fruition. How can I help?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘little,’” Sophie said before catching herself. Then she let her smile mirror her companion’s. “What I mean to say is that since we’re on the Ark and we’re going to offer to entertain everyone aboard, shouldn’t it be just as magnificent as the place itself?”
“I can see why you originally called this ‘rather ambitious,’ but you haven’t answered my question.”
“Right, sorry,” Sophie said, leaning in. “If you’re really looking to help, what I need most of all is a meeting with someone in a real position of authority. Someone who can authorize all of this. Do you think you could make such a meeting happen?”
Spiro chuckled lightly as he leaned back. “What do you suppose this has been?”
It took Sophie a moment to collect herself. He has the authority? Once again she wanted to know exactly who this guy was. She bit her lip lightly before asking, just to be certain: “So does that mean I have permission to get started?”
“I think you will find that I, much like the fae, never lie, child,” the old elf replied. “Additionally, I can do more than merely give you permission.” He extended his hand, and in it was a strange little card the exact size of a typical business card, only blank.
“What’s this?” Sophie asked, accepting it and turning it over in her hand.
“That is a way for you to let others know that you and your endeavor have my full blessing. Do whatever it is you need to do, and not only should none stop you, but all should assist.” He raised an eyebrow. “Within reason, of course.”
Sophie blinked, examining the innocuous-seeming bit of cardstock again. “But how will they know--?”
The old elf laughed, cutting off her question. “Normally, I would say that you should just trust me, but I have reason to believe that trust does not come easily to you. May I see my token once again?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Sophie shrugged and extended the blank card across the table to him. The moment it touched Spiro’s fingers, it glowed with a silver light of such intensity Sophie actually had to shield her eyes and turn away.
She turned back when she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. The old elf had risen with his tray in his hand, clearly only moments from walking away.
“It should go without saying, but especially now, make sure not to lose that token.” He nodded down at the table. “I will check in on you later, young astralist.” Then he walked away.
Sophie took up Spiro’s card and didn’t immediately understand what had changed other than its color had shifted ever so subtly. Where once it had been a smooth, warm cream, now it had a cooler silver hue.
Then she flipped it over and saw that text had also appeared on its face. Now it read, simply:
She has my permission.
And directly under that, the only other blemish on the entire card, were four letters that might have been wholly unimpressive if it wasn’t for where they were and what they meant.
A signature that she couldn’t help but stare at in utter astonishment.
Jack