I moved at a measured pace through the raucous Wetlands market, where the heady aroma of spices tangled with the cries of vendors hawking their wares. My steps faltered before an light green old park bench—a silent witness to my very first encounter with Hozi.
Letting myself sink onto the aged wood, its chill seeping through my clothes, I tried to appear at ease. For a fleeting moment, stillness wrapped around me like a thin shroud.
But Erin, as always, refused to let my thoughts settle, not even for a heartbeat.
"So, you really want to become an Archiveline?" Erin's voice echoed in my mind.
I offered the faintest nod. There was nothing to gain from revisiting my dealings with Hozi. Erin hadn't been there, after all, and now he could only guess at the storm brewing inside me.
"What do you actually know about the Archiveline?" I tossed the question back, hoping to break the ice in my own head.
"Not much," Erin replied, his tone a shrug I could almost see. "Far as I know, talk of the Archiveline only floats around in certain circles. Ordinary people? They don't even know the word exists."
He let out a sigh—a breath I sensed more as a faint tremor in my mind than anything real—then continued, "How to put it... The Archiveline is like a secret doorway for those who want everything fast. Instant. But it's exactly that kind of shortcut that sends the world spinning out of control."
"Instant?" I echoed, careful to keep the edge of surprise from my voice.
Erin pointed—or rather, my mind conjured the image of him pointing. "Look at that man over there. Maybe his fate really is to sell sweet fish cakes, just as the Law of Mahfudz has written. Everything's already mapped out, or so they say."
"But imagine, just for a moment, if one night he dreams of becoming a sailor, or suddenly yearns to climb Tytoal-ba and claim the life of a knight. What happens if he dares to defy the script of his own destiny?"
I let Erin's words whirl through my mind.
"Doesn't that mean he's defying what's already written for him?" I asked, my voice a blend of doubt and curiosity, directed at the voice only I could hear.
"They say every creature in this world carries a great book in their souls, outlining the broad strokes of our journey, from our very first breath to the day wrinkles dance at the corners of our eyes," Erin's voice echoed in my head.
"But that great book is just the beginning. Life, in the end, is an endless library. New volumes appear with every step we take down the corridors of time. Every choice, every scar, every laugh—they all add pages, until our bodies become shelves crammed with stories."
"Can you drop the complicated metaphors? Books this, books that," I grumbled inwardly, half annoyed, half amused.
I could sense Erin chuckling. "In short: the Archiveline is a kind of second chance. It can turn that sweet fish cake vendor into a hero—or even a king—if he's bold enough to rewrite his fate."
"So, the heroes you guide… Hozi and Cabalena too?" I pressed, still trying to wrap my head around all these foreign terms.
"Yeah, them. They can use Magic and Arete, so they must be Archiveliners too. Though, to be honest, I have no idea which system they come from," Erin replied, his voice trailing off, as if adrift.
What is all this? The strange terminology just kept piling up; even before I'd properly met Hozi, my head already felt like a balloon ready to burst. Maybe living as a sweet fish cake vendor would be a whole lot simpler.
Suddenly, a deep voice shattered my reverie. "Have you been waiting long?" Hozi appeared from behind, almost as if my overworked mind had conjured him.
"An eternity," I shot back.
"Don't be so dramatic," Hozi protested, his gestures theatrical. "You know how it is—being captain isn't a walk in the park. I've been running around putting out fires, handling this and that… There's always something."
"Anyway, are you ready?" Hozi asked, his eyes locking onto mine, sharp and unwavering. "One last warning: once we take this step, there's no turning back.
I nodded, steady and resolute, meeting his gaze. There was something in his voice—a contagious certainty. Maybe he was right; there were no guarantees, but I was ready to bite the bullet.
***
"This place…" I murmured, my voice nearly swallowed by the whispering wind, but just loud enough for Hozi to catch.
"Erin, you still there?" I called out inwardly, hoping his voice wouldn't get lost in the chaos swirling through my mind.
"I'll be watching, quiet as ever. We'll keep in touch like always," Erin replied.
A shop I knew all too well stood before us. An uneasy feeling had been clinging to me ever since we passed the noodle stall where this monkey swindled me, then the narrow alley where Aiden and Ramlen once dragged me off. And now, here we were, standing in front of an old green shop radiating an air of faded grandeur, its paint peeling with age, the crooked sign above the door reading "Mozi Antique Shop."
"Here?" I asked, glancing at Hozi. He only answered with a sly, enigmatic smile.
Without another word, we stepped inside. The ancient bell above the door chimed sharply, slicing through the silence like a razor.
Mozi, the shop's owner, whipped his head toward us, eyes narrowing the moment he saw who had come calling.
"You again," he grumbled, his tone as bitter as day-old coffee.
"Take it easy, Mr. Mozi. I'm here as a customer today—no need for the sour face," Hozi coaxed, his voice honeyed, though the sweetness was paper-thin.
I trailed behind, my gaze sweeping the cramped shop—creaking wooden shelves, lazy old clocks ticking away, rows of dusty books and sea-worn figurines. Everything was exactly as I remembered. And finally, my eyes landed on Mozi himself: broad-shouldered, short-cropped curls, a thin mustache tracing his weathered face.
"He really hasn't changed," Erin whispered in my mind, his voice soft and laced with nostalgia, threatening to sweep me under. But I couldn't afford to drown in old memories now.
"You? What are you doing with this bastard, Fionn?" Mozi barked, jabbing a finger at Hozi like he meant to skewer him.
"I just wanted to see where this monkey was headed," I replied with a shrug, fighting back a grin.
Mozi's laughter erupted, raw and thunderous. "Monkey! Couldn't have picked a better name for you, Hozi. But if you two are here just to ask about that book again, I've told you a thousand times—I know nothing!" His face hardened, his gaze sharp as a drawn blade.
While Hozi busied himself trying to sweet-talk Mozi, it suddenly struck me—their names sounded almost like two sides of the same coin. Brothers, maybe? But their faces were far too different to have come from the same womb.
"Brothers?" I blurted out, drawing both their attention.
"Idiot! Don't lump me in with this rotten bastard. Brothers? I wouldn't even call him a friend. My life went up in smoke because of him!" Mozi snapped, his voice cracking like thunder in the dry season.
Hozi just shrugged, a sly smile flickering on his lips. "Come on, Mozi. You did this to yourself. You used to be a renowned archaeologist—if you hadn't started cheating and selling off your finds, you wouldn't be stuck here running this shop.
Who knows what discoveries you could've made if you'd stayed true to your field?"
Mozi's face flushed red, fury blazing in his eyes. But beneath that, I caught a flicker of regret he couldn't quite hide.
"So, about this Archiveline… you got the 'recipe'?" Hozi asked, his tone half-joking, half-deadly serious.
Mozi narrowed his eyes, then gave a lazy shrug. "Depends. Which System are you after?" he replied, his voice gravelly and thick with secrets. "I've got four recipes—one for each System, right here in my hands."
Hozi shot me a quick glance, then winked at Mozi. "Could you spell it out? Like I said, he's new to all this."
I drew a deep breath, the prickling sense of foreboding crawling up my neck. For some reason, I braced myself for the barrage of bizarre information about to crash over me.
Mozi exhaled slowly, as if weighing whether he truly wanted to lay it all bare.
"All right, where to begin…" he muttered, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, almost like an incantation. "First things first, the Archiveline is a shortcut—a way for someone to chase after whatever their heart desires."
"But, of course, nothing comes for free. The price? You have to worship an Idea, an entity tied directly to your deepest longing. And more than that, you must commit yourself, body and soul, to that choice—until your very last breath."
He fixed me with a piercing stare, as if to make sure I was truly listening. "To enter the Archiveline, you have to choose one of the four major Systems. Each System comes with its own rules, powers, and price."
Mozi slid open a desk drawer and pulled out four tiny figurines.
"The four great Systems: System of War, Creature, Specialist, and Mysticism," Mozi continued, his voice echoing through the dust-laden, secret-filled room. "Each System is a doorway to a new destiny, but once you step through, there's no turning back."
"The System of War is for those who long to dance on the battlefield, for souls with an unquenchable thirst for combat," Mozi explained, lifting a miniature knight from the table.
"Once you drink the base potion of the System of War, you'll receive your first job: Archiveline 9: Warrior. As you advance, your path splits—Archiveline 8: Knight, Archiveline 8: Marksman, Archiveline 8: Guardian, or Archiveline 8: Berserker." He moved the figurines through the air.
I eyed the figure in Hozi's hand—maybe being a warrior wouldn't be so bad. I could become a royal knight of Tytoal-ba, or perhaps an Alteker, like Adonis and Ashsa.
"Next, the System of Creature. This one's for those who want to become something other than human—to soar through the skies, dive into the ocean's depths, or simply wander without limits."
Mozi produced figurines shaped like a cat, a bird, and a fish, arranging them on the table like chess pieces. "You'll start as Archiveline 9: Human. When you reach Archiveline 8, you choose your path: Landwalker, Waterbreather, Windreign, or Fictionhood. Then, at stage 7, it all comes together in one form: Archiveline 7: Pupa, based on the creature you chose."
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I imagined myself with wings or gills. This world truly knew no boundaries, I thought. But what price would I have to pay to become something 'other'?
"Then there's the System of Specialist," he went on, stroking his thin mustache with a touch of pride.
"This is for those who want to serve the community—or just chase after life's pleasures. At the lower levels, you might be a shopkeeper, a gardener, or some other job that sounds ordinary. But the higher your Archiveline, the greater your status and influence. You could even become a king." His grin widened, as if hinting at personal experience.
"The System of Specialist starts at Archiveline 9: Freelancer, then rises to Archiveline 8: Worker. At Archiveline 7, you pick a specific career that will set your path."
"And last, the System of Mysticism."
Mozi drew a wizard figurine from the drawer and held it aloft. "This one's for those hungry for spells and the secrets of the magic. You begin as Archiveline 9: Apprentice, then move up to Archiveline 8: Spellfinder. At stage 7, you choose your own branch of magic." My eyes followed the movement of Mozi's hand.
"These are the four major Archiveline Systems. Anyone who chooses this path is called an Archiveliner." Mozi finished his explanation with a breathless flourish, the counter slick with the spray of his enthusiasm. But for the first time, I felt like I was starting to grasp the complexity of this world.
"You said we have to worship the Ideas. What does that even mean?" I asked, curiosity finally outweighing my confusion.
Mozi's face soured, but before he could answer, Hozi jumped in. "When you join a System, you drink a special potion. In it, there's an ingredient chosen by the Idea—an entity that'll grant you its blessing, but also bind you to it."
Hozi picked up one of the figurines, turning it over in his fingers. "When you choose to become an Archiveline, you have to decide which System you'll enter. At the lower tiers, from Archiveline 9 to 8, you're still under general rules. But once you reach stage 7, you have to truly commit to the job you pick. Each job has its own Idea, and you can't just jump ship halfway through. Your choice is your fate till death."
"So, if I decide to be an antique shopkeeper, I'll be worshipping the Idea of antique shops until the day I die?" I asked, glancing at Mozi, wanting to be sure I hadn't misheard.
"Exactly," Mozi nodded firmly. "Though, at the end of stage 6, there's something called Confluence—a chance to merge two Idea blessings and unlock a unique job. But the odds of pulling that off are next to nothing.
I nodded, slowly piecing it all together. Turns out, Erin's earlier explanations had helped me digest the tangled logic of this system.
"So, you're an Archiveliner too, Hozi?" I asked, my tone casual but my curiosity sharp.
Hozi grinned wide, pride flashing in his eyes. "Of course. I follow the System of Creature—Archiveline Monkey King."
"Wait, you're actually… a monkey?" I blurted, barely able to believe it.
Hozi just laughed awkwardly, thumping his chest with pride. "Well, I'm only Archiveline 6: Juvenile. Nothing too special yet."
I looked him over, trying to gauge the truth in his words. If the stages start at 9 and he's already at 6, he's halfway to the top. That's no small feat. No wonder Cabalena kept her guard up. And no wonder Hozi could lead the Fianna.
"Ah, thanks for the lesson, Mozi. No surprise, coming from a former famous archaeologist," Hozi said, laying the praise on thick.
Mozi's mustache seemed to sprout half a centimeter at the compliment, curling proudly across his face.
"So, what's the price for all the recipes?" Hozi asked, eyeing him sidelong. Mozi's mustache looked ready to twist itself into a rope.
"Five hundred rega," Mozi replied flatly, pulling out four sheets of paper inscribed with the recipes. He fixed me with a steely gaze, as if to make sure I truly understood the stakes. "These are the base recipes.
Remember, pick just one—you don't need them all. Wetlands doesn't need another monster, especially not from a youngster like you."
I nodded quietly, taking the recipe sheets in trembling hands. We stepped out of the shop; the outside air felt lighter, but my head and chest only grew heavier.
In my hands, the four recipes felt like keys and shackles at once. Choosing one meant closing the door on all the others, and there was no way back. Drink or refuse, live or die—I wasn't sure which choice was truly mine.