Strawberry's Descent

They found Nettle holding court near the city's outer market district, a small crowd of Low-Key guild members gathered around her, several of them already deep in animated conversation with curious golem locals.

Nettle spotted them first, and her grin turned immediately, insufferably smug.

"...Well, well." She crossed the distance with the exact swagger of someone who'd clearly been waiting for this exact moment. "Look who finally made it."

[Title: First Pioneers] hovered faintly above her, visible to anyone checking her profile, and Arista felt the small, familiar sting of competitive defeat all over again.

"...Congratulations," Arista said, managing genuine sincerity despite herself. "You beat us. Fair and square."

"We beat you by four hours, according to the timestamps," Nettle said, delighted. "Four hours, Straw. You were that close."

"We got hit by an actual storm. Real weather, not the barrier kind. Tore our envelope, blew us hours off course." Arista gestured at her own crew, still faintly salt-stained from the crash landing. "In our defense, we also crash-landed and survived, so I feel like that counts for something."

"It counts for a great story," Nettle said, "not for first place."

"Harsh but fair."

Nettle's competitive edge softened slightly, genuine curiosity taking over. "How'd the storm actually go? You all look intact, at least."

"Cloud-material suits," Arista said. "Same stuff as everything else I've ever built. Absorbed the crash impact clean, same as Bram's very first shield test." She glanced toward Bram, who offered a small, tired thumbs-up in confirmation. "Lost a little pride, gained a lot of respect for actual open-water weather."

"We had our own excitement," Nettle said, grin returning. "Sea monster. Big one. My guild's combat crew handled it beautifully, genuinely, some of the cleanest coordinated spellwork I've seen all game."

"I watched, actually. From the air. Spyglass." Arista admitted it a little sheepishly. "You all looked terrifyingly competent. Made me feel very single-digit-crew-size about my own preparation."

"You built a flying ship, Strawberry. I think that evens things out." Nettle glanced past her, toward the vast, breathing mechanical skyline stretching beyond the market district, genuine wonder briefly overtaking the competitive banter. "Have you actually talked to one of them yet? Really talked, I mean?"

"Garry," Arista said immediately, entirely too fond of the name already. "He's, genuinely one of the most interesting beings I've met this entire game. Efficiency-obsessed to a degree that makes my entire personality look like reckless chaos by comparison, which, given my personality, is saying something."

"Garry," Nettle repeated, delighted. "You named him."

"He didn't object. Or rather, he calculated that objecting would cost more energy than allowing it, which is somehow both hilarious and deeply on-brand for this entire culture."

Nettle laughed, genuine warmth returning fully now that the competitive edge had run its course. "...I'm glad you made it. Genuinely. Four hours or not, I wasn't going to actually enjoy 'winning' if you'd gone down in that storm instead of just crash-landing safely."

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"Sap," Arista said, grinning.

"Rival," Nettle corrected. "There's a difference. A very small one, apparently, given how relieved I clearly am that you're standing here annoying me in person instead of just being a permadeath notification I'd have to explain to your fan club."

Arista laughed, the last of the sting from losing the race finally, fully dissolving into simple, genuine relief at having both crews arrive intact, however many hours apart.

"...Come on," she said, gesturing toward the wider city, gears and pistons breathing in patient rhythm all around them. "Let me introduce you to Garry properly. I think you two are going to get along either terribly or perfectly. There's no in-between with efficiency logic like his."

"I look forward to finding out which," Nettle said, already falling into step beside her, both crews merging into one considerably larger, considerably louder group as they made their way deeper into the living, breathing city together.

Bram jogged to catch up, still faintly salt-stained from the crash, and fell into step beside the growing group just in time to catch the tail end of Nettle's teasing.

"...Wait, hold on." Nettle stopped mid-stride, studying Arista with sudden, sharp suspicion. "Your stat panel. Let me guess."

"...Nettle."

"How many unallocated points do you have right now?" Nettle grinned, already anticipating whatever absurd number she expected to find, ready to mock it thoroughly. "Still sitting on that ridiculous thousand-plus hoard, or did you finally—"

"Zero."

Nettle blinked. "...I'm sorry, what?"

"Zero," Arista repeated, a little sheepish. "I allocated everything. All of it. During the storm."

Nettle stared at her, genuinely, thoroughly speechless for what might have been the first time since Arista had known her.

"...You spent it. The whole hoard. The one that got you a custom title. The one you refused to touch even facing an actual permadeath quest."

"Bram made a compelling argument," Arista admitted, glancing sideways at him. "Something about not wanting to explain a permadeath screen to my 'fan club,' which, based on how you phrased that exact same sentiment about thirty seconds ago, might actually be a phrase you two have discussed independently of each other."

Bram shrugged, entirely unbothered. "It's a good phrase. Accurate, too. She has a lot of strangers rooting for her at this point."

"Where'd you put it?" Nettle asked, still visibly recovering from the shock. "Please tell me you didn't suddenly become a combat build overnight. That would break something fundamental about the universe."

"Vitality. All of it. HP pool, regeneration." Arista held up both hands quickly before Nettle's expression could shift into anything resembling triumph. "I am still not a fighter. I still have zero points in Strength, Dexterity, anything remotely combat-adjacent. I just have considerably more HP to survive whatever chaos I inevitably build my way into next, instead of relying purely on never getting hit at all."

Nettle considered that for a long moment, then broke into a slow, delighted grin. "...So you're still fundamentally you. Just slightly harder to accidentally kill."

"Exactly that."

"I actually love that compromise," Nettle admitted. "Very on-brand. Solve the problem your own way, just... with a small, hard-won concession to basic self-preservation."

"That storm terrified me," Arista said, quieter now, the memory of the tearing envelope and Bram's raw, uncharacteristic fear still fresh enough to sting a little. "Not the hydra fight, honestly, that had a plan, a weapon, a controlled variable. The storm was just... chaos, immediate and completely outside my control, and for a second I genuinely thought all four of us were going down with nothing I could engineer my way out of in time."

Nettle's teasing softened into something gentler. "...I'm glad you allocated, then. Genuinely."

"Me too," Bram said, firmly. "For the record."

"Me three," Arista said, managing a small, tired laugh. "Turns out surviving is worth spending stat points on, even for someone as stubborn as me."

Nettle glanced toward the vast, breathing mechanical city stretching out around them, then back at Arista, grin returning fully now.

"...Well. Zero unallocated points, second place in the pioneer race, and an entire new civilization to poke at with a stick." She clapped Arista on the shoulder. "Sounds like exactly the kind of mess you were always destined to end up in."

"High praise," Arista said, grinning back.

"It absolutely was," Nettle confirmed, already leading the combined group deeper into the city, toward whatever fresh, mechanical chaos awaited them next.

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