The Weight of Legacy

All it would take was a single step.

If only she could figure out how to take it.

Another thing Malwine couldn't shake was a growing feeling of imbalance. She had wondered if it could just be her tendency to imagine problems to be concerned by, but no, there was definitely something off.

Her inability to pinpoint the source of the eerie sensation quickly soared through her list of top annoyances—which she refused to make a panel for, no matter how tempted to she was—and settled somewhere between the curse and still not being at the next stage.

Some days, she felt as though she was making some progress on her cultivation, only for it to splash down as if the mana were pouring from her grasp.

Within that beach that wasn't, the widow stood with both arms outstretched. Regardless of whether the usage of this imagery was unfortunate by this world's seeming standards, it was far too late for Malwine to change it. It worked, and trying to fix something that wasn't broken was the sort of thing she recalled her past life stated would be a terrible idea.

Citrine light coalesced as the widow's hands rotated slowly, until her palms faced up and glowing spheres of {Legacy} hovered above each. She didn't know why touching one to the other would work, nor what it would achieve, but the act just felt right. Two globs of mana pressed against one another, almost repelling each other, but the widow's arms were strong.

Maybe stronger than they had ever been in reality.

The effort felt gargantuan, sweat beading across Malwine's real brow, but at last, they began to merge. She felt the very Mana Source shaking, shuddering under the pressure. She was ready to take this step.

Her core—housed within a form that wouldn't even have been 3 years old by her old world's standards—wasn't.

The spheres sped in opposite directions, one crumbing against the sand while the other rose to unseen heights within her visualized sky, and Malwine awoke, panting.

Dammit. That was SO close.

Far from her first failure at pushing herself to the next rank, but certainly the most disheartening. It felt like climbing up a dozen flights of stairs only to slip right before setting foot on the next floor.

Malwine had taken to meditating in a sitting position when alone, but she could barely keep herself up now. Her [Integrity] was near full, yet she was exhausted. Having her bed double as meditation stool paid off, as she could just slink under her blankets for a well-earned nap.

"Malmal!"

Her eyes narrowed as soon as they were open. No more than seconds could have passed since she'd reached the point where she just knew she would have fallen asleep, and here she was, extricating herself from the blankets. What does she want?

Adelheid stood next to her bed with a grin, and Malwine's anger all but melted away. She could never bring herself to remain mad at her little aunt. "Hm?"

"Got somethings!" her aunt swung from side to side, still grinning, before reaching for Malwine with an exaggerated bow. What looked like somebody's first attempt at molding clay materialized in her hand, undoubtedly summoned from inventory.

Gingerly, Malwine accepted the thing. Her eyebrow was up before she even identified what it was.

Now both of her eyebrows were up.

Then Adelheid had the audacity to summon several others, placing them on the floor between them before sitting down. "Share?"

"Definitely!" Malwine couldn't help her own grin as she joined Adelheid. "Yes!"

There were seven of those 'harvestables' in total, and she left four of them to Adelheid. It was only fair, seeing as the girl was the one to have clearly stolen these from Malwine's grandfather. Just imagining that had Malwine struggling not to laugh.

"Can't use."

Entranced as she'd been by the object in her hand, Malwine had to look up to face Adelheid, who was frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Can't use," Adelheid repeated, handing the item to Malwine. It was a small, translucent gem.

Malwine froze. Holy shit. And it's only Uncommon? How?

What could make something like this not be considered a higher rarity? Was it the limited timeframe for usage? Perhaps that was it. A randomized reroll sounded risky enough to not be considered particularly powerful, Malwine figured.

She wanted to have it, and she wanted to use it. Immediately. Oh, the time limit was absolutely getting to her, and while she might have once considered herself not the type to get scammed by limited-time offers, the timers in this world had always been genuine so far.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

For what would she use it? No idea. But use it, she would.

Malwine held out one of the items they'd set to her side. "Trade?"

Adelheid tipped her head as if examining Malwine and the token, then nodded, taking the unused harvestable. "Trade."

Maybe if I get one that's of no use of me, I could give it to her, Malwine reasoned. She almost felt bad for taking something this seemingly powerful from Adelheid, but the girl couldn't use it. Now I wonder, why could she 'reveal' this if she can't get Skills?

Malwine figured a couple seconds or minutes wouldn't be that much of a loss. Two hours was already low enough that whatever decision she made, would be rushed regardless. "Do you have Skills?"

Adelheid was focusing on the harvestable in her hand. After a few seconds, she shook her head. "Want Skills. Never get Skills."

She almost sounded angry, despite the lightness of her voice making anything and everything she said seem gentle. Malwine figured she shouldn't push. Where did the system draw the line when it decided whether children were mature enough to attain Skills? She supposed she'd find out sometime, if she remained close to Adelheid.

Now, to choose an Aspect to yoink… yeet…? Where's Yoyo when you need him?

Oh, it had been far too long since she'd allowed her thoughts to wander to her old grandson, and she did everything in her power to shift gears as fast as possible. Pondering his hypothetical fate after her death would only lead to heartache—she knew all too well that, for all she knew, it might have been literal eons since her first life.

To her, he was—and always would be—the thirty-something grandson she'd reconnected with and loved more than anyone else in that life. A grandson who was—and always would be—out there, doing whatever.

Malwine strengthened her control over her train of thoughts to an almost uncanny degree, the sort of focus she could only manage when she absolutely wanted to avoid the alternative. She thought of her Skills—of their Aspects.