“Don’t worry,” Simmons said with the same light laugh as usual. “I wasn’t trying to worm my way out of answering your questions.”

  “Careful,” Calisco said. “Whenever the adults in Radiant gave him the chance to ask questions, he didn’t stop.”

  “Not that they had many answers,” Det said.

  “Don’t hold it against them so bad,” Simmons said. “A town below the Mistline like Radiant, they have it pretty rough. Any merchant brave enough to go down there—even with a full mistsuit—is going to charge a premium and then some. It’s not like they get a lot of new people coming to live there, and they sure can’t try to move somewhere nicer.

  “Just like there aren’t many pillars up in the sixth stratum, there aren’t more than a couple dozen down in the basement.”

  “The… basement?” Calisco said. “Is that slang for being below the Mistline?”

  Simmons winced. “Sorry, yeah. I shouldn’t have said it that way. It can be a bit derogatory, depending on the crowd.”

  “Meh, don’t care,” Calisco said. “Sure feels like I’ve been locked in the basement for the last twenty years.”

  “Back to my questions,” Det reminded everybody. “Let’s start with your age.”

  “Oh, you as old as the Gen-gen?” Calisco said.

  “Please don’t ever call General Vans the Gen-gen in public again,” Simmons said with a groan. “And definitely not to his face.”

  “Awww, he doesn’t like cute names?”

  “My question,” Det interrupted. If he let Calisco go, she’d never stop.

  “ReSouled age slow,” Simmons said. “Especially if you keep going up in Rank.”

  “Promotions help us live longer?” Calisco said before Det could say anything, and it was a little annoying her question was exactly what he’d been about to ask.

  “Not that kind of Rank,” Simmons clarified. “You’ll get used to the terminology. We measure power by Rank, with E-Rank being the lowest and S-Rank being the highest.”

  “Jeckles said he was B-Rank or something,” Det said. “Is that what he meant?”

  “Yes,” Simmons said. “The average Rank of a ReSouled is C-Rank. That’s where the majority of our members end up. Sixty percent or so, I’d said? Then you’ve got another thirty percent in either B-Rank or—unfortunately—D-Rank. Five percent, or so, get stuck in E-Rank and never go any further than that.”

  “Sorry, Det!” Calisco said and stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Most of the other five percent find their way to A-Rank,” Simmons said, giving Calisco a small glare for her statement.

  Det just gave her the finger while the captain was turned the other way.

  “That doesn’t leave any percent for the S-Rank,” Det pointed out.

  “Because they’re just that rare,” Simmons said. “Like I said, General Vans is one of only thirteen currently in active service. There have been a few others in the records, but it’s generally less than one per cycle. If that.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ve gone one right here,” Calisco said, patting herself on the chest. “Whatever it means to be S-Rank, I’m sure that’ll be me!”

  “You’ve got a lot of confidence,” Simmons said flatly.

  “It’s not hard when you’re as awesome as I am,” Calisco said. “And that’s not even counting my magic.”

  “And that is?” Simmons said.

  “Explosions!” Calisco said, thrusting one hand off the side of the ship. Even as magical energy began to gather at her fingertips, Captain Simmons’ hand clamped on her wrist so fast Det didn’t even see the man move.

  “No,” Simmons said, the word carrying an edge like one of the swords at his waist.

  “I was just going to show you my magic,” Calisco said, though some of the usual fire in her voice had vanished beneath the hard stare of the captain.

  “No,” Simmons repeated. “Neither of you have been inducted into the Mistguard yet, so you don’t know the rules, and I won’t hold this against you. I will tell you, though, that our magic isn’t a game or party trick. There are rules for when and where you can use it, and this isn’t one of them.”

  “Why not?” Calisco challenged, though she’d let the magic fade from her fingertips.

  “Because most of the people on this ship aren’t ReSouled,” Simmons said. “And using your magic—especially if it has to do with explosions—is a risk to them.”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt anybody,” Calisco pouted. “But… fiiiiine. You’ll just have to wait to see my magic at the academy. Try not to be too jealous about it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Simmons said, his easy-going face back in place, and the perfect curl bobbing in front of his eye. It really has to be magic.

  “How is Rank determined?” Det said, the situation diffused. The rules about using magic, those he could learn. And, given how little ink he had left in his bottle, there wasn’t much he was going to be doing in the short-term anyway.

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  “Our magic has a Rank,” Simmons said. “Based on power, versatility, and practical applications. Though, combat utility drastically impacts the Rank you get. We’re fighters, after all. Our bodies also have Ranks as well, broken down into our six attributes.

  “Don’t worry if any of these don’t start out very high when you first get to Mount Avalon. A big part of the three years you spend there is about increasing your power, and in turn your Ranks.”

  “Six attributes?” Det said. “Like a game again?”

  “Yup,” Simmons said. “Most of them are pretty easy to understand. Strength, endurance, and dexterity are the three physical stats. Simple.”

  “Do I have to get all buff to be strong?” Calisco said.

  “No,” Simmons said. “As a ReSouled, your body is innately magical. You could look like you do now, and have the same A-Rank strength as a seven-foot mountain of a man.”

  “Nice. Don’t want to ruin this body,” she said, gesturing down at herself.

  “You said physical stats,” Det said, choosing to ignore Calisco with every fibre of his being. “That implies there are mental stats too? Intelligence, probably wisdom, and… what? Charisma? Perception?”

  “Attunement,” Simmons said. “It’s a bit of a strange one, but it’s both those you mentioned, plus just how people kind of connect to everything outside of themselves.”

  “And all of these have a Rank?”

  “Ranks and levels,” Simmons clarified. “For example, a B-Rank-fifteen would be stronger than a B-Rank-ten, if we’re talking about the strength stat. Each Rank has twenty levels within it.”

  “Complicated and boring,” Calisco said. “Sounds like math is involved. I didn’t get isekai’d to do math.”

  “You might be surprised to hear this,” Simmons said with a chuckle. “You’re not the first one to use exactly those words. Don’t worry, though. This isn’t the kind of math that’s scary to meet in a dark alley somewhere. It’s very basic numbers-go-up.”

  “Oh, so something even Det can do?”

  “Weren’t you just the one saying you didn’t like math?” Det said, unable to stop himself before the words escaped his lips. Ugh, just being up flying above the clouds on a technological wonder like the mistship had his usual restraint and guard lowered. “Never mind that. You said our Ranks could go up?”

  “Through training and experience,” Simmons said. “Like working a muscle. Eventually, you’ll also have the chance to find gear that can increase your stats too.” This time, he tapped the white vambrace that covered his right shoulder, arm, hand, and about a quarter of his chest.

  “That’s the same material as the mistship is made out of, from the looks of it,” Det said. “What is that material? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I’d be worried if you had!” Simmons said. “It’s not common, and you won’t find access to it outside of the Mistguard.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Calisco said, pointing off toward the pillar of Refit. “Unless all those ships belong to the Mistguard?”

  “They don’t,” Simmons said. “But they came from the Mistguard. We are the only one who sells new mistships. It’s one of the main ways we fund our operations.”

  “And we can get gear like yours?” Det said.

  “Possibly. It’ll depend on your performance,” Simmons said. “If you get to C-Rank or above, definitely. Only about a quarter of our D-Ranks get any, and none of our E-Ranks do.”

  “What usually happens to your E-Ranks?” Calisco said, then looked directly at Det. “Asking for a friend.”

  “Don’t discount somebody just because of Rank,” Simmons chided. “Everybody in the Mistguard has a place. They wouldn’t have been born as ReSouled if they didn’t.”

  “You say that like everybody stays with the Mistguard, even after the three years,” Det said.

  “Ninety-nine percent do,” Simmons said. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know how we get chosen as ReSouled. What I do know is that everybody who does—for one reason or another—has too much to gain by joining and staying with the Mistguard. Some kind of internal motivation that means they don’t leave. A drive. Almost every time.”

  “What about that one percent?”

  Simmons grimaced at the question. “There have been a few—very rare—cases of Mistguard going rogue. You’ll learn more about those individuals during your time at the academy, but I will warn you they were each hunted down with extreme prejudice. The crimes they committed warranted nothing less.

  “Do not become like them. You do not want me or General Vans coming after you.” Simmons let the statement linger for one, two, three seconds, before the smile came back to his face. “Enough about that dour topic. What’s your next question.”

  That was as clear a dismissal of that line of questioning as possible, so Det took the hint and moved on to his next one. “General Vans—and you—are both old enough to be our parents or grandparents, yet the general talked about a relatively recent video game. One he couldn’t have played if he’s been here a hundred-plus years. How?”

  “Another thing I don’t understand the how of,” Simmons said, but held up a hand before Det could glare at him. “How old were you before you came to Elestar?”

  While Det wasn’t fond of a question being a response to his question, he answered anyway. “Forty-seven.”

  “Whoa, gramps,” Calisco said with a laugh. “No wonder you’re grumpy all the time.”

  “And you?” Simmons asked Calisco.

  “Twenty-one,” the girl said.

  “And do either of you remember what year it was?” Simmons pressed.

  “Of course,” Det said. “It was twenty…” he trailed off, his brain sputtering out at the last date he remembered. It was Fall, the leaves were turning red, but as soon as he tried to pin down the month or year—specifically—it flitted away like water through his spread fingers. “Twenty… something.”

  “Losing your memory over there, old man?” Calisco laughed. “Last I remember, it was two-thousand and… and… it was two-thousand and…” The woman’s eyes narrowed and then closed, even scrunching up as if she was trying to force it.

  “Don’t bother,” Simmons said. “And try not to hurt yourself. None of us can remember what year was our last one on Earth. It all seems to be after the year two-thousand—that’s the one thing we can agree on—and before twenty-one-hundred. Nobody has that as part of their memory. We think it’s probably somewhere between twenty-ten and twenty-thirty, because nobody’s talked about flying cars or full-immersion VR.”

  “I can remember the details of my life, but not the dates?” Det said, half to himself. “I know I graduated, and I can see the ceremony in my head, but I can’t for the life of me picture the date on my diploma.”

  “Like I said, none of us can,” Simmons said. “And, to make your brain hurt even more, no matter when we were born here on Elestar, we all come from those same two—maybe three—decades on Earth, as far as we can tell.”

  “Wait,” Det said, a sudden hope blooming in his chest. “Are you telling me time works differently here on Elestar? That, on Earth, it hasn’t been twenty years since I vanished?”

  That I could get back to Nat and Yumi, and they might still remember me? They might not think I ran out on them? He didn’t say that out loud, though it was by far the most important.

  “That part, I can’t tell you,” Simmons said. “Not like anybody has gone back to Earth to find out. The trip to Elestar is one-way.”

  “Did we die?” Calisco said. “Cause, I don’t remember dying. Then again, would I?”

  “Another thing nobody knows,” Simmons said. “Are we dead? Are we dreaming? Did we stumble through a portal that messed up our memories and planted us inside a womb on another world? There’s even one theory we’re all in a shared coma. Like a big accident or something, with our real bodies lying unconscious or injured, and we’re all trapped there. Together, for some reason.”

  “I think that was a plot to a TV show I watched,” Calisco said, head tilting back in thought.

  Det didn’t bother joining in on the commentary. Any of them could be true, or all of them could be wrong. All it meant was he had a lot more research to do, and more leads to run down. Then again, it did let him do one other thing; he grabbed on to the hope that he hadn’t missed twenty years of his daughter’s life. Grabbed it, and held on tight.

  “I’ll be the one to find out,” he said quietly, the sounds of the mistship consuming the words before anybody could hear them.