Yellow Jacket

"Everyone, we need to find Muscle Grandpa before some disaster happens. That man is a menace," Warren said. He was pacing the hall with his hands running through his hair, already imagining what chaos the old bastard could cause if left unchecked.

"Ugh," Jurpat said, "do you think he's in the ceilings?" He glanced upward like he half-expected the old man to fall through the panels right then and there. His shoulders hunched, bracing for the crash that didn't come, eyes flicking nervously from shadow to shadow.

"No," Styll said. "Isol in the upper deck."

"There's an upper deck?" Vaeliyan stopped pacing, staring at her like she had just revealed the house was secretly alive in even stranger ways than usual. His voice cracked, half in disbelief, half in dread, and he jabbed a finger toward the ceiling like it might suddenly split open.

"Yeah. House made it because Styll wanted to sit on the roof, but not get wet. So, House make changes, and now there is a new nest for Styll to stay warm in the sun. Styll knows that Warns likes rains, so didn't know if it would be wet all the time. Now it not wet all the time, only when Warns asks. So Styll stay warm, but Warns still happy." Styll's tail flicked as she explained, clearly proud of her nest like it was the most important addition to the home. She hopped in place once, claws tapping against the floor for emphasis.

Jurpat rubbed the back of his neck. "That sounds ridiculous. But I guess with a premium-quality, super mansion setup, of course she can build whatever the fuck she wants." He shrugged helplessly, as though admitting defeat before even trying to argue.

House chimed in flatly, "I resent that. My expansions are carefully considered improvements. And Styll is persuasive."

Jurpat groaned louder, muttering under his breath, "Great, the house is playing favorites." He shot a sideways glance at Warren as if expecting him to intervene, but Warren ignored him.

"Now, Stylls can takes you, but you gotta go throughs the vents." Her whiskers twitched, excitement bubbling in her tone. She already had her claws on the edge of a grate, eyes gleaming like this was the adventure of the day. She began to tug insistently, testing the metal.

"Wait, Isol climbed through the vents?" Warren asked, suddenly imagining the man's large frame twisted inside a narrow shaft. The thought made his stomach drop. The idea of Isol lurking above them in the dark was somehow worse than Muscle Grandpa. He could almost see the gleam of Isol's eyes waiting from the dark.

"Oh no," Styll said, "just Stylls only gonna go through the vents to get there. You can find it yourself, or you can follow Stylls." Styll hopped once, claws tapping, then darted toward a wall grate. She tugged at it with a grunt, metal squealing until it popped loose.

Jurpat threw his hands up. "We're really going to crawl through vents, aren't we? This is my life now. This is what I signed up for." He let out a loud groan, his shoulders sagging like the weight of every bad decision was pressing down on him.

Lessa stepped forward, eyes narrowed, her arms folded tight. "So, let me get this straight: we're supposed to crawl through vents because the ferret says that's the fastest way? This is insane. But honestly? I vote yes. Warren can do it. Better him than me." Her voice was firm, and she didn't even flinch when Warren shot her a look.

Rokhan snapped back immediately, voice sharp. "Got a better plan? Because right now the old man's probably setting up some horrifying test that we should have studied for..." His agitation was so strong he looked ready to tear into the wall himself, fists clenching as if violence might solve the problem.

Wesley pressed his palms together like he was praying to no one in particular. "I hate tight spaces. I hate dark spaces. Combine the two and I'd rather just… stand guard out here." He edged toward the door, but didn't actually bolt, his face pale and drawn tight with nerves.

"Stand guard?" Lessa asked, glaring at him. "While Warren goes in alone? That works for me."

Even Fenn piped up with a grin that was just a little too wide. "I say we draw straws. Whoever loses has to follow him in. Seems fair." He mimed pulling straws from his fist, smirk fixed in place.

The cadets laughed. The tension broke for a moment, nervous chuckles rippling through the cadets. But when the laughter faded, the eyes all turned on Warren. Every single one of them silently agreed with Lessa: yeah, no, you gotta do this. We're not going in there.

The cadets looked at one another, each trying to gauge if anyone else was brave or foolish enough to volunteer. Nobody stepped forward. The air was thick with the unspoken agreement that Warren was on his own. Feet shuffled, eyes turned away, and the tension pressed down heavier with each passing moment.

Warren threw his hands up in frustration. "Fine! I'll go. I'm going, you cowards. Apparently, my life isn't complete until I'm jammed in a metal tube chasing after a ferret and Muscle Grandpa." He crouched reluctantly, peering into the dark tunnel. His shoulders slumped further as he muttered, "If I get stuck, someone better kill me before Isol finds me in there." He shoved his head inside and coughed against the dust.

Styll's voice floated back, muffled but eager. "Come on, Warns! Vents fastest way! Stylls knows!" Her claws scraped ahead in the dark, already leading them toward the hidden deck. The sound echoed like some frantic signal urging him deeper.

Warren groaned, the noise rattling in his chest, a sound that could have been mistaken for a death rattle. "If I don't find Muscle Grandpa up there, I swear, I'm throwing him out the nearest window when I do." He dragged himself forward, the metal groaning under his weight as the cadets exchanged uneasy looks behind him.

Vaeliyan crawled into the vent after Styll, his shoulders scraping the sides as the metal groaned beneath his weight. The air was clean and sharp, circulating smoothly, every shuffle forward sending a hollow echo bouncing in all directions. At first, Styll's claws clicked happily somewhere ahead of him, a rapid rhythm that promised she knew exactly where she was going. He tried to keep pace, but the rhythm grew faint, then vanished entirely.

"Styll?" Vaeliyan called, his voice cracking against the walls. He stopped, listening. Nothing but the hollow thrum of the house settling around him. The silence pressed in. "Oh, perfect. I've already lost the one being who knows the way. I'm gonna die in this place and they're never going to find my body." He crawled another few feet, then sighed loudly. "This is how legends end, suffocated in a vent like a rat."

He shuffled forward again, palms slipping on smooth metal, his knees aching. The vent forked in two directions, both equally miserable. He picked left. After three turns and a steep crawl upward, that nearly had him sliding back, he realized he had no idea if he was going anywhere at all. Each junction looked identical, each corner mocked him with more shining emptiness.

"House?" he tried, voice strained. "Where am I?"

No reply.

His voice rose. "House. Please. Don't do this to me. This is not funny. I swear if you let me suffocate in a vent, I'll haunt you forever. I'll rattle every panel; I'll whisper from every fan. Just answer me!"

Still nothing. Just the quiet hiss of air moving through the ducts. He crawled forward with a groan, muttering to himself about betrayal.

"Styll!" he groaned. "Please, please save me. I don't know where I am. I'm gonna die in here. This is how I go, lost in a vent maze while everyone else laughs." He bumped his head on a bolt and cursed loud enough to echo back at him three times. "See? Already dying. My skull's concave now, thanks."

The vent sloped downward suddenly, and Vaeliyan slid like a sack of laundry, arms flailing for purchase until he landed hard on his elbows. "Ow. Great. Down we go. Why not? Next stop, furnace. Throw me in, make me useful."

He scrambled onward, the crawl narrowing, then widening, then narrowing again. He went up a slope that felt like climbing a ladder on all fours, then belly-slid down another incline that spat him onto a grate face-first. He lay there for a moment, groaning. "This is my life now. I'm part of the ventilation system. Someone please just tape me to the wall and call me a filter. Filter of shame."

He crawled into a chamber-like bend and looked up to find three separate paths spiraling away in opposite directions. He blinked, sweat running down his forehead. "I'm in the belly of some mechanical beast. This is it. These are intestines. I'm worm food now."

Ahead of him, claws scratched again. He perked up, hopeful. "Styll? Is that you? Please tell me that's you and not Isol crawling around waiting to terrify me."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The claws quickened, scurrying with a kind of playful chaos. No answer. Just the sound of her darting off in whatever direction she pleased, looping left and right, sometimes above, sometimes below. Vaeliyan groaned, dragging himself after her, muttering curses under his breath. "You're enjoying this, aren't you. Just a game. Ferret hide-and-seek. Wonderful."

He got stuck briefly at a junction; his hips wedged against the metal. He wriggled, swore, then shoved hard until he popped free, tumbling forward with a crash. His knees scraped, his shin barked against a ridge, and he ended sprawled flat like a discarded doll. "This vent system is carnivorous. It's eating me alive."

Finally, the noise stopped, and Styll's voice drifted back, cheerful and bright. "Warns! You made it. See? Easy."

Vaeliyan's jaw dropped. He was scraped raw, muscles burning, knees throbbing, one elbow bruised from a bad fall. His hair stuck in sweaty tangles, and he could feel the faint sting of metal impressions across his chest. "Easy? Styll, I nearly died six times."

Styll tilted her head innocently, whiskers twitching. "See? No die. Easy."

Vaeliyan slumped against the wall of the vent, wheezing. "I swear, sometimes I hate this house."

His AI pinged smugly: Noted. New dream training protocol: vent warfare.

Vaeliyan groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Great. Can't wait to dream of suffocating in metal tubes. That's just what I needed."

Isol was sitting in a lounge chair underneath what looked like a sunroof, sipping on a drink while waiting for Vaeliyan to crawl his way out of the vents. His eyes were half-closed, his posture relaxed, as though this was nothing more than a holiday. A small tray of snacks rested beside him, untouched, condensation dripping lazily down his glass. The air above was filtered sunlight, a pale imitation of the real sky, but good enough for him to pretend he was far from the chaos of his own home. He looked like a man hiding from the world, and in truth, he was.

"Ah, there you are, Vaeliyan," Isol said without opening his eyes. "I have something interesting to show you." His tone was casual, but there was a glimmer of mischief under it.

"Why are you here, Isol?" Vaeliyan asked, climbing out of the vent, filthy and frustrated. His hair was a mess, his pants covered in faint scuffs from his vent journey, and he looked ready to murder the next person who made him crawl through a narrow tube. "Why wouldn't you just wait downstairs?"

"Oh, uh, I just wanted to get away for a minute," Isol said, scratching his cheek with exaggerated nonchalance. "Josaphine's mother came over, and I thought this would be the last place she'd ever look for me. So yeah, I'm here now. Love my wife to death. Cannot stand her mother." He tilted his head back, eyes finally opening to squint at the fake sunlight above.

Vaeliyan blinked, pausing mid-step. "Wait her mother is still alive? how old is she?"

"Oh, she's probably like a hundred and twenty-ish now, I guess? Something like that." He swirled his drink casually, ice clinking softly. "But she always insists on looking much younger than even a third that. She was very disapproving of how Josaphine and I look now, since we're much closer to our actual ages in appearance than she would prefer. She's a classic noble of the Green. All vanity, all appearances, never enough mirrors. You know how they are."

Vaeliyan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "So, you're hiding up here in my house from your mother-in-law?"

"Exactly," Isol said with zero shame. "If she catches me, she'll want to talk about etiquette and my posture and how I've 'let myself go.' I'd rather deal with an angry Josaphine than that lecture again. At least Josaphine has the decency to shout once and leave me alone. Her mother? She circles back three times with a new insult every round." He drained the last of his drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. He gestured vaguely at the vent Vaeliyan had just crawled from. "Honestly, I thought about hiding in there too, but I'd rather suffocate on this chair than crawl through those shafts."

Vaeliyan grunted. "Fair."

"Also…" Isol leaned forward suddenly, lowering his voice like he was about to share a forbidden secret. "I took something from the skill vault that you might like to see. I'll give it back later, but for now let's say I borrowed it. Don't tell Wirk. He'd kill me twice."

Vaeliyan narrowed his eyes, his curiosity pushing past his annoyance. "What is it?"

"Here." Isol tossed a small package across the space. Vaeliyan caught it neatly, feeling the weight shift and hearing a faint click inside. The surface smooth and cool against his palms.

He turned it over in his hands, frowning. "So this is… what, exactly?"

"One of the more interesting facts about the Neuman," Isol said, sitting up straighter now, "is that they don't have chips. But somehow, in some way or form, they still produce fragments. If they have a Soul Skill, they have fragments, but it's strange. Their fragments sit in their hearts. Similar to that daemon we met near the Ark under Mara."

Vaeliyan tilted the package, curiosity flickering in his eyes. He could almost feel it vibrating in his palm. "That's… interesting."

"Also, another curious fact," Isol continued, his tone sharpening, "is that Neuman fragments are almost always at a higher tier than the fragments you get from Broken. More refined. You should check that one out too. You might even want that skill but I have to return it so don't."

Vaeliyan frowned deeper, brows drawing together. "What do you mean, check it out? Can't you just tell me what it is?"

Isol smirked, tapping one finger against the armrest of his chair. "Sure, I could. But I kind of promised Wirk that if I was going to borrow it to show you, I would have you feel it first. There's a difference between hearing and knowing, Vaeliyan. And this fragment? He wants you to understand it." He leaned back again, folding his arms behind his head, every inch of him smugly comfortable. He looked like a man who had done something reckless and couldn't wait to see how someone else reacted. "Go on. Open it. See for yourself. You'll thank me later… or you'll hate me. Both are fun."

Vaeliyan found only a regular fragment sitting inside the box. There wasn't anything special about it visually, just the same crystalline gleam as any other fragment, but he knew better than to be fooled by appearances. All fragments looked almost identical on the surface, and the danger was always in assuming they were simple. He set it in his hand and began feeling along the edges, searching for tiny abrasions, for the subtle micro-markers that might indicate what the fragment truly held. His thumb pressed against a ridge, his other hand tilting it toward the faint light of the upper deck.

"Do you have any of the tools I'd need to examine this myself, or do you want me to use Examine?" he asked, keeping his eyes locked on the shard.

Isol snorted into his drink. "Examine isn't going to tell you shit. It'll just spit out a name, maybe a line of description, but that won't explain what it can actually do. We both know that."

"Yeah." Vaeliyan turned the fragment over, sighing. "It's disappointing knowing the limitations of that skill. It seemed so useful when I first got it. Maybe it was, in the beginning. But now? Most of the time it's been more annoying than helpful." His voice carried the weight of someone who had leaned on it too often and been burned by half-truths.

"That's most people's explanation," Isol said, a dry amusement slipping into his tone. "There's a lot of propaganda baked into Examine. It was designed to give people the illusion of certainty while keeping them blind to the details that mattered. Not many know why, but it serves its purpose. Keeps the System neat, keeps people convinced they understand." He reached to the side, pulling a slender device from beside his chair, a tool etched with faint lines of circuitry. "Lucky for you, I came prepared."

Vaeliyan took the device carefully, slotting the fragment inside the oculoscope. He leaned in close, twisting the dials, adjusting the focus until the faint engravings sprang into view. At first, they were only scratches, a faint shimmer in the glass. Then the micro-markers aligned, threads of meaning interlacing into a lattice. His eyes widened as he traced the pattern across the shard, following it line by line. "This… Is this really what I think it is?"

Isol smirked faintly, enjoying his reaction. "Maybe. What do you think it is?"

"If you think this is a skill that can partition the mind… let you think multiple thoughts at once…" His voice clearly amused. "Then yes. If you thought of something else, then no."

"I need this skill." The words came out like a vow, like he'd already committed himself.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Isol said, lifting his glass again and taking a slow sip. "But it's the only one in the vault. And if you want it, you'll need to finish the tasks you've set for yourself. It'll be one of the rewards, assuming you succeed. I thought you might like to see it first. A little motivation to keep you hungry."

Vaeliyan's hands clenched tighter around the oculoscope. His thoughts raced, branching in too many directions at once, and for a moment he could almost feel the promise of what the fragment contained, his mind splitting, expanding, handling more than a single thread. The idea alone was intoxicating.

"You should finish that Flash skill evolution as soon as possible," Isol added, his voice sharper now, his eyes watching every flicker of expression. "And maybe decide on your other two evolutions sooner rather than later. Don't waste time. Talk to Imujin. Or Wirk. They'll each have strong opinions, and you'll want to weigh them."

The lounge was quiet for a moment, the hum of House's circulation the only sound. Isol leaned back in the chair, stretching his legs out, suddenly more serious. "Do you mind if I stay here for a couple weeks? Josaphine's mother might come around again, and she'll be furious if she finds me hiding. For the love of all Hemera, Vaeliyan, please, don't let her know I'm here."

Vaeliyan's eyes lit with sharp amusement, his lips curving into something between a smile and a sneer. "What's in it for me?"

Isol groaned, covering his face with one hand. "You bastard. Always bargaining." He lowered his hand, glaring without much heat. "Fine. What do you want and no it can't be that fragment"

Vaeliyan tilted the oculoscope in his hand, weighing both the fragment and the leverage.

Vaeliyan leaned back, turning the oculoscope over in his hand as he contemplated. He thought about torturing Muscle Grandpa for all the grief he'd put him through. He thought about simply telling Isol's mother-in-law where to find the man and letting nature take its course. Both ideas brought a certain satisfaction. But then his expression shifted, a slow, wicked smile curling across his face as he turned his eyes back toward Isol.

"You know what I need from you?" Vaeliyan said smoothly. "Scrub the Citadel database clean of that 'dumb-dumb head' meme the rest of my class saddled me with."

Isol sat up straighter, his drink nearly spilling. "I can't do that. Deck would be pissed, and if he found out it was me..."

"So you want me to tell your mother-in-law you're hiding here, and let her know she's welcome to visit anytime?" Vaeliyan interrupted, his tone deceptively polite, though the threat was sharp underneath.

"Oh fuck no," Isol said immediately, paling. "Between the two, at least I have a shot at survival if Deck finds out it was me. Josaphine's mother? I wouldn't last an hour."

"So," Vaeliyan said, the wicked smile never fading, "we have a deal then?"
"Fine we have a deal" Isol said begrudgingly.
"Pleasure doing business with you." Vaeliyan grinned.