Knowledge Is Power: The Last Reader

The northern forest was exactly as advertised: damp, dark, and filled with things that wanted to eat them.

Aria and Kelme stood at the edge of the ruins, staring at what had once been a grand estate. Now it was a crumbling mess of fallen stones, overgrown vegetation, and what appeared to be an alarming number of suspiciously ordinary-looking objects.

"Okay," Aria said, cracking her knuckles. "Let’s do this. Let’s clear these mimics, document everything, and prove to Dammy that we’re not complete idiots."

Kelme squinted at the ruins. "Do you see that chair?"

"The one by the window?"

"Yes. The one that’s facing the wrong way."

"So?"

"So chairs don’t face the wrong way. Chairs face the room. That chair is facing the wall. That’s suspicious."

"Maybe someone moved it."

"Who? The ghosts?"

"Don’t be ridiculous. Ghosts don’t move furniture. They just moan and haunt things."

"You don’t know that. You’ve never been a ghost."

"Neither have you."

"Exactly. So we’re equally qualified to speculate on ghost behavior."

---

They entered the ruins cautiously, their eyes scanning for anything that seemed out of place. The main hall was filled with furniture—tables, chairs, cabinets, and what appeared to be a very ornate grandfather clock.

"That clock is definitely a mimic," Kelme said, pointing.

"How can you tell?"

"It’s ticking. But there’s no pendulum. Clocks need pendulums to tick."

"Maybe it’s a magical clock."

"Magical clocks still need pendulums. It’s basic clock physics."

"Clock physics? That’s not a thing."

"It’s a thing. I’ve been alive for over a thousand years. I know things about clocks."

Aria approached the clock cautiously, her light magic flickering in her palm. She reached out, her fingers inches from the wooden surface—

The clock lunged.

"AHHH!" Aria screamed, stumbling backward.

The clock—which was indeed a mimic—sprouted teeth and arms and a very angry expression. It lunged at her, its wooden jaws snapping.

Aria blasted it with light, and the mimic exploded into splinters.

"I hate mimics," she said, breathing heavily. "I hate everything about mimics."

"You’re the one who touched it."

"I didn’t touch it! I was about to touch it. There’s a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes. One is contact. The other is intent. Intent is not action."

"That’s a very philosophical way of saying you almost got eaten by a clock."

"I DIDN’T GET EATEN."

"Almost."

---

They continued deeper into the ruins, their paranoia growing with each step.

"That chest is definitely a mimic," Aria said, pointing at a beautifully carved wooden chest in the corner.

"It’s not a mimic," Kelme said. "It’s just a chest."

"How do you know?"

"Because it’s not moving. Mimics move. They twitch. They breathe. That chest is just sitting there."

"Maybe it’s playing dead."

"Mimics don’t play dead. They just attack."

"Maybe this one is different."

"Fine. Go touch it."

Aria approached the chest cautiously, her light magic ready. She reached out, her fingers trembling—

The chest didn’t move.

"It’s not a mimic," she said, relief flooding through her.

"Told you."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"I tolerate you. There’s a difference."

---

The next room was filled with furniture, all of it suspiciously ordinary. Aria and Kelme stood in the doorway, their eyes scanning for anything that seemed out of place.

"Okay," Aria said. "We need a strategy. We can’t just wander around touching things and hoping they’re not mimics."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes. We use you as bait."

"Excuse me?"

"You’re charming. Maybe you can charm the mimics into revealing themselves."

"Mimics are immune to charm. They don’t have minds. They just have hunger."

"Then we’ll use something else."

"Like what?"

"I don’t know. I’m making this up as I go."

---

The next hour was a comedy of errors.

Aria tried to trick a mimic by pretending to be a piece of furniture. She stood perfectly still in the corner, hoping to attract a mimic that might mistake her for a chair.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Kelme asked, watching her with obvious amusement.

"I’m pretending to be a chair. It’s a strategy."

"You look ridiculous."

"I look like a very convincing chair."

"You look like a person pretending to be a chair."

"That’s what a convincing chair looks like."

---

Kelme tried to use his charm on a suspicious-looking rug.

"Hello, rug," he said, his voice smooth and hypnotic. "You don’t want to eat us. You want to be a normal rug. A nice, normal rug that doesn’t bite."

The rug didn’t respond.

"See?" Kelme said, turning to Aria. "It’s not a mimic."

The rug lunged.

"AHHH!" Kelme screamed, diving out of the way as the rug sprouted teeth and claws.

"I thought you said it wasn’t a mimic!" Aria shouted, blasting the rug with light.

"I said it wasn’t responding to charm! That’s different!"

"How is that different?"

"One is charm. The other is observation. There’s a difference!"

---

They found a bookcase in the next room, its shelves filled with dusty volumes.

"That bookcase is definitely a mimic," Kelme said.

"How can you tell?"

"Because it’s not holding any books. Bookcases hold books. That one is empty. It’s clearly a trap."

"Maybe the books were stolen."

"By who? The ghosts?"

"Don’t start with the ghosts again."

The bookcase lunged.

"YOU ALMOST WALKED INTO A MIMIC!" Kelme shouted, dragging Aria out of the way.

"I DIDN’T ALMOST WALK INTO A MIMIC! I WAS WALKING TOWARD IT! THERE’S A DIFFERENCE!"

"There’s no difference!"

"One is intent. The other is action. Same as before!"

---

By the time they’d cleared the main hall, they’d destroyed seven mimics and developed a deep, abiding hatred for the entire species.

"I hate mimics," Aria announced, standing over the remains of a particularly aggressive chair.

"You’ve said that."

"I’m saying it again. It’s still true."

The remaining rooms were a nightmare.

A cabinet mimic that tried to trap them inside. A door mimic that slammed shut and refused to open. A chandelier mimic that dropped from the ceiling and tried to crush them.

"This is the worst quest we’ve ever done," Aria said, blasting a chandelier mimic into pieces. "Worse than the rats. Worse than the goblins. Worse than everything."

"At least it’s not boring," Kelme offered.

"I would rather be bored. Bored is safe. Bored is not being attacked by furniture."

---

They finally reached the main chamber, a grand hall filled with what appeared to be an entire village worth of furniture. Tables, chairs, chests, cabinets, rugs, and what appeared to be a very suspicious-looking grand piano.

"That piano is definitely a mimic," Aria said.

"How can you tell?"

"Because it’s a piano. In a ruined estate. In the middle of a forest. Why would there be a piano?"

"Maybe the owner liked music."

"Maybe the owner was eaten by a piano."

"Fair point."

They approached the piano cautiously, their weapons ready. The piano sat in the center of the room, its keys gleaming in the dim light.

"Stay back," Aria said. "I’ll handle this."

She raised her hand, light gathering in her palm—

"Wait," Kelme said. "Don’t destroy it. We need to document it. Remember the procedures?"

Aria groaned. "Procedures. Right."

She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, writing down: Large grand piano. Appears to be a mimic. Location: main chamber.

"There. Documented."

"That’s not documenting. That’s just writing words."

"It’s documenting."

"It’s the bare minimum."

"I don’t care."

---

The piano lunged.

Aria dodged, rolling to the side as the piano’s legs sprouted teeth and claws. The keys turned into a mouth filled with rows of sharp, wooden teeth.

"WHY IS IT SO BIG?!" she screamed, blasting it with light.

"MIMICS CAN GROW!" Kelme shouted back. "THEY’RE AMBUSH PREDATORS!"

"THIS IS NOT A PREDATOR! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!"

The piano lunged again, and Aria dove behind a table—a real table, not a mimic, which was a nice change of pace.

"We need a better plan!" she shouted.

"WHAT PLAN?! WE DON’T HAVE A PLAN!"

"We need to work together!"

"I DON’T WORK WELL WITH OTHERS!"

"DO YOU WANT TO GET EATEN BY A PIANO?!"

"NO!"

"THEN WORK WITH ME!"

---

They eventually defeated the piano by luring it into a trap—a pit that had been dug by some previous adventurer who’d clearly had the same idea. The mimic fell in, and Aria blasted it with light until it stopped moving.

"That was the worst experience of my life," Aria said, lying flat on the ground.

"I’ve had worse," Kelme said, sitting beside her.

"What could possibly be worse than being attacked by a piano?"

"Being attacked by a grand piano."

"...That’s the same thing."

"I know. I’m trying to be funny."

"You’re not funny."

"I’m hilarious. You’re just too traumatized to appreciate it."

---

They spent the rest of the afternoon documenting everything they’d found. Every mimic. Every trap. Every suspicious piece of furniture that had tried to kill them.

By the time they were done, Aria’s hand was cramping from writing, and Kelme had developed a twitch in his left eye.

"That’s it," Aria said, folding up the last piece of parchment. "We’re done. We documented everything. We followed procedures. We proved we’re not complete idiots."

"Did we?"

"I think so."

"I don’t think so."

"Well, we’re not dead. That’s a good sign."

"Not dead is a low bar."

"It’s the only bar I care about right now."

---

They returned to the guild, tired and covered in dust and splinters. The receptionist looked at them with a mixture of surprise and something that might have been respect.

"You’re back," she said.

"We’re back," Aria confirmed. "We cleared the mimic infestation. We documented everything. We followed procedures."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "You followed procedures?"

"Yes. It was horrible. I hated every second of it. But we did it."

Margaret took the documents, reading through them with a critical eye. She nodded slowly, a hint of approval flickering across her face.

"Good work," she said. "This is... surprisingly thorough."

"I know. I’m as surprised as you are."

Margaret stamped the documents and handed them back. "I’ll forward this to Guild Master Balogun. He’ll review it and decide whether to authorize the A rank quest."

"How long will that take?"

"Three weeks."

"THREE WEEKS?!"

"Would you like me to make it four?"

Aria opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"Fine," she said. "Three weeks. We’ll wait."

Kelme patted her shoulder. "Cheer up. At least we’re not dead."

"Not dead is a low bar."

"It’s the only bar we’ve got."

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