Chapter 4: 4. Quickened Pace

“Oh, is that a hologram?”

Her face is that of bemusement. Already, I’ve confirmed what I need to know. The very acknowledgement of the ‘boxes’ existence is enough for me.

A sigh escapes my throat. I seat myself on the wooden chair next to her.

“Thank you, Morgan; I appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

She smiles. “Oh, no worries.”

Looking at her makes me feel strange. If I were in her position, I wouldn’t suppose a simple thanks like that would be very deserving. Any normal person would be upset by my behaviour, me included.

In any case, while the unease hasn’t left me completely, it doesn’t mean that Morgan deserves to suffer for it.

“I mean it.” I say firmly. “Sorry about earlier. Just the isolation that got to me, that’s all.” My eyes meet hers. “If you want, you can leave. Won’t hold it against you for being tired of my antics.”

She laughs. Morgan looks at me with a hand to her mouth, barely suppressing her amusement.

I have neither the self-awareness nor the insight to know the intrinsics of what made it that funny, save for the fact that I probably sounded too edgy.

“Was it that funny?”

“To be honest, yes.” She replies, hand on hip. “You take things really seriously sometimes, you know that? We’re friends, remember? We look out for each other. Dealing with stuff like this is a part of our contextual relationship.”

“Hmm.” The way she describes it is awfully corporate. “You really are a saint, you know?”

“I think anyone who wants to be friends with you has to be one,” she smiles brightly.

I laugh. She’s so on point with my personality that I can’t help it. Gods, I miss such banter.

“Apologies, Saint Morgan Pendragon. Bless my unclean soul for having sinned in your presence.”

“An affront of little importance, good Camille.” She reaches out her hand and places it on my right shoulder. “Now do tell, what has burdened your heart so to summon my presence here?”

“Well, if I’ll be honest.” I point to the still floating menu. “You see that thing right there?”

She nods.

“For some reason, something like it appeared a while back and told me I had magic video game abilities.”

Her face remains distinctly curious as if accepting everything I said at face value.

“So, no holograms or anything, right? They just suddenly appeared?”

“Think it might be magic?”

“If you want, I can cast a spell to scan for mana in the vicinity. Though just from instinct alone, I can tell you it probably wouldn’t amount to anything.”

I take her word for what it is. There’s no better mage I know than Morgan. Granted, she’s the only one I know, but still. Even back in middle school, she scored top marks on theory and practical assessments, so that has to amount to something.

I lean back in my chair, hands behind my head. “So, no sudden mana vessels for old Camille then?”

“Afraid not,” she replies. “According to what I know, at the very least, you don’t awaken to mana vessels at the age of twenty-seven all of a sudden.”

“Shame, that is.”

Morgan clears her throat and adopts a new, more serious tone. “I hope you’re not actually disappointed, though.” For a second, her eyes almost look solemn. “You’re my best friend, and I know you wouldn’t lie, but you’re sure this isn’t a hologram, right?”

“I’m certain.”

“Can I try touching it?”

“Be my guest. Any sudden zaps, electrocution, or otherwise damaging affliction is beyond my control, though.”

Not even five seconds in, and she’s already looking, touching and feeling the blue status menu with her hand.

Talk about caution…

Still, there’s something to be said about all this.

Given that she’s soo cooperative, I might as well disclose everything I know, would be a disservice otherwise.

“Got it two hours ago,” I admit. “Supposedly…” My word traces off, extending itself as I lean forward to tap a stat, summoning a menu in the process. “It means I have some new powers to resist magic, run faster, and lift more, amongst other things.”

“Well, since you specified ‘supposedly’, I’m assuming you don’t know if it works?”

“Certainly don’t feel different just yet.”

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“You could, um, try lifting something.”

“Smart.”

Hrnn. Knowing Morgan, she means well. Granted, it’s quite stupid of me that I didn’t so much as test it. Guess I’d been so caught up in whether I was sane or not that some former shreds of logic withered.

Since I don’t have weights here, though, best choice I have is to rely on something nearby.

“You could try to lift me.”

Right.

That is an option. No harm done in entertaining Morgan, so might as well.

Rising up from my seat, I walk a single pace, squat down, and grab Morgan’s chair by its four legs.

I then lift with the smallest input of energy possible. A second later, and the chair is hoisted on my shoulder. Morgan’s looking at me all the while, her blue eyes peering with a slant of her neck.

So—this is what being strong feels like.

“How does it feel?”

“Feels good.”

“Hehe.” She giggles innocently, resting her chin on a right fist. “No doubt about that, knowing you, but I mean, how does it feel in relation to the force it exerts on your body?”

“Appropriate, I reckon. Just the right amount of weight for someone capable of lifting 120 kilograms over their head.”

I reflexively put on a smile. The word ‘pleasant’ describes what I’m feeling quite well.

Even back at my peak, maybe six years back tops, I wouldn’t have been this strong. No matter the amount of weight training, lifting, or whatnot. Though I was practising martial arts, to be fair. Not lifting to become a bodybuilder.

Goal was always to develop functional strength. Never to flex muscles and get massive.

“Want to test you running?”

“Could. But I find myself terribly comfortable within the heating of my apartment, unfortunately.”

I set the chair down and look at Morgan. I skip past the formalities of small talk and get straight to the point thereafter.

“I know there are regulations and all, but could you use a spell against me?”

A pause. Hers is a face of complete acceptance. She could’ve looked surprised or anguished at my request but instead takes it completely naturally.

“Camille…”

My name is called. Spoken by a girl lowering her head and smiling.

“Yes?”

“You won’t get mad if it hurts, right?”

Sometimes…

Sometimes I just have to wonder.

What exactly is going through that head of hers?

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a bit frightening by objective standards.

Morgan has such a reassuring smile right now that I can’t help but think how it contrasts against my potentially morbid and sudden request.

Still.

It’s a normal thing for her to ask.

No reason to do something out of compassion only to get reprimanded for it later.

“Might flinch and wail. Might shuffle about uncomfortably. Might just roll over and die, depending on how strong your magic is. Though, I can promise I won’t get pissed at you for something I brought upon myself.”

Again, that quaint smile of her returns.

“Alright Camille.” On my name she gets up. “Where should we begin?”

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