Reeve, Millie, and Dawn sat in a loose semicircle. All wore grimaces as they watched Wanda, who stood unsteadily between them, trying to control her new avatar.

  “Of all the people to throw extra limbs at,” Reeve said.

  One of the Wampus Cat’s middle paws raised itself hesitantly from the ground. A few seconds later, the rear paw on the same side followed, and the cat began listing toward the unsupported haunch. Millie leaned forward to press a hand against its side, steadying it until Wanda managed to lower the rear paw.

  Reeve shook her head. “A D-pad and a couple of buttons is about her speed. At most.”

  The Wampus Cat slowly lowered its head and looked under its chest past the three pairs of limbs. Its tail twitched.

  “Perhaps,” Dawn said, “this interlude affords us time for me to review your equipment selections and better equip you two for what may lie ahead.”

  “Review our equipment selections?” Reeve said, looking across her mother to Dawn and feeling slightly annoyed that Dawn was apparently ready to hand out criticism of her build. “Since when are you an expert on Rangers? And more importantly, how and with what would you ‘better equip’ us?” She looked pointedly around the trashed room. “I mean, sorry again, but…”

  “Reeve,” Dawn said, her brow pinching, “do you not wish my guidance?”

  “Well…” Further irked by the prospect of ‘guidance,’ Reeve was uncertain how to respond and breathed out audibly through her nose, not quite a snort but a clear enough signal of her frustration that a quick cough from Millie drew Reeve’s gaze in time to catch a fleeting look of warning. “…I haven’t spent as much time in this world as you have, I get it, but I’ve spent a lot of time in a similar world, and in related worlds, and—”

  “—you don’t need advice from a Non-Player Character,” Dawn said.

  “I didn’t say that,” Reeve said.

  “You didn’t have to,” Dawn said. “That you hold yourself in peerless regard continues to be abundantly clear, Reeve.”

  Reeve felt heat rising to her scarred pewter cheeks. “That’s not fair! I mean, I know my way around this world pretty well, and Thomanji’yheri’s upgrade to my naginata—and you weren’t there, but I didn’t appreciate it when he pulled apart the previous version either, so it’s not just you—probably has me in decent shape for whatever we might run into.”

  “That you know much, I do not dispute,” Dawn said. “But that you are in ‘decent shape’ for what we might encounter, I think perhaps naive.”

  “Naive?” Reeve said. At thirteen, Reeve knew she might not be as old as Dawn by any metric, but she had always bristled both IRL and in-game if anyone suggested she wasn’t mature enough or in any other way not up to a challenge that might be better left to the more experienced. I mean, she thought, my parents are old enough to have all the experience, and look at how much good that does them.

  “OK. Come on, Ms. Williams,” Millie said, leaning forward and lifting the Wampus Cat with a hand under the crook of each front limb. “Let’s go try standing on six legs over on the other side of the room.” As Millie turned to rise, her face swung within inches of Reeve’s, and she whispered, “What are you doing?”

  Reeve frowned and shrugged slightly.

  “Reeve,” Dawn said, “do you have strategic conversations with Gyl and your other ‘real-world’ compatriots who frequent this world and similar?”

  “Yes, of cour—”

  “And if one of them had gained insight into possible improvements to your equipment choices, learnable skills, or other features available to you here, would you have immediately questioned their credentials in sharing their advice with you?”

  “I don’t think I immediately questioned—”

  “You literally did,” Millie called out from the other side of the room, where she was lowering herself and Wanda to rest next to each other on the floor, Millie clearly more comfortable in her resting position than the stiff-legged hexapodal cat.

  Reeve threw her friend a scowl.

  “And is there a more likely explanation for your response than that, regardless of how much you may enjoy this world and our occasional company in it, you still think of us AIs as lesser?”

  “Well…,” Reeve said, frustration spurring out the word but her expression then giving it meaning she might have regretted if given another moment of thought.

  “Wrong answer,” Millie called.

  “You’re not helping,” Reeve shot back.

  “Up,” Dawn said, and she rose from her cross-legged position in one graceful movement.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Up?” Reeve said.

  “More questioning,” Millie called.

  “Whose side are you on?” Reeve said, rocking to one side and planting a hand to rise to a knee and then to her feet.

  Dawn was walking toward the door.

  “Don’t hate me,” Millie said, “but I think I know where this is going, thanks to your stubbornness, and I kind of really want to see it.”

  Dawn turned and gestured to a spot on the floor that mirrored her relative position in the room.

  Reeve walked to the spot. Despite her hackles being up, she was not entirely sure she was in the right in whatever disagreement she and Dawn were having. But she felt like she was being ganged up on, and in the moment her dislike of that feeling was closing the door on any chance of her brain seeking a diplomatic solution.

  “Your blade,” Dawn said.

  “What, are we going to duel?” Reeve said, walking back to pull the naginata from where she’d leaned it against the wall and then returning to the position Dawn had apparently felt justified in assigning to her.

  “We,” Dawn said, “are going to evaluate the ‘decency of your shape.’”

  “I thought so!” Millie said, only just loud enough for Reeve to hear but with a level of excitement that caused Reeve’s half-orcish frown to descend into a proper scowl.

  Reeve gave the staff of her naginata a squeeze and focused her attention on Dawn, wondering how quickly her enchanted weapon would identify that someone who was usually a party member was now her combat foe. Reeve broadened her stance and angled the weapon, at the same time extending her thoughts toward Dawn to sense the half-elf’s intentions.

  Hot soup.

  Reeve considered the unmistakable mental image she was sensing from Dawn. The half-elf was thinking of eating a bowl of piping hot soup. Reeve adjusted her grip slightly on the shaft of the naginata, resisting the urge to shake it as one might a malfunctioning electronic device with a bit of loose wiring. The intention she was sensing from Dawn sharpened, and Reeve realized it was stew, not soup. Beef. Carrots. Potatoes.

  This may not go well, Reeve thought, as Dawn took a step toward her and then began to turn as though pirouetting. Reeve raised her weapon to the horizontal, and Dawn disappeared.

  Reeve did not have time to process Dawn’s disappearance before an arm crossed her right shoulder from behind and wrapped in front of her neck, its partner crossing her shoulder from the left, and the hand of the first clamped the bicep of the second and tightening like a vice, instantly cutting off Reeve’s breath.

  Still not comprehending everything, Reeve responded instinctively, mind shifting to combat survival mode. She pushed her body back, carrying the weight of her unseen assailant with her, and after two steps, launched herself toward the wall she knew to be only another yard behind her. Dawn’s reappearance in front of Reeve coincided almost perfectly with Reeve’s shoulders and skull striking the wall, but the uncushioned impact so stunned Reeve that the precise sequence of events was lost to her. She blinked and tried to shake off the impact.

  Dawn drew Reeve’s shaky attention by turning her lithe body so that one shoulder faced Reeve.

  Reeve still sensed only hot stew.

  Dawn extended an arm toward Reeve, palm raised, and flicked her fingers back toward her palm.

  Reeve’s scowl, which had momentarily been replaced in quick succession by wide-eyed confusion, angry determination, and then wide-eyed surprise and pain, returned. Despite Dawn’s clichéd gesture, or perhaps because of it, Reeve instantly responded to Dawn’s invitation by pushing off the wall with one elbow and bounding toward the half-elf.

  Dawn flicked her fingers a third time and disappeared, replaced by a stone wall that immediately greeted Reeve’s onrushing face.

  “This is—” Millie said from where she sat a few feet away.

  “—totally unnecessary,” Reeve grunted, eyes watering.

  “—the coolest thing I have ever seen,” Millie said.

  Reeve took a step back from the wall, wondering how to get through it to Dawn.

  “May I?” Dawn said from behind Reeve.

  As Reeve turned in surprise, one of Dawn’s hands met the back of Reeve’s wrist, and the other deftly rolled the naginata from Reeve’s weakened grip. Reeve wheeled to reclaim the weapon, but Dawn had already stepped out of reach.

  Reeve forced herself to stop and not rush into another surprise. The pause gave her a moment to realize that Dawn had not manifested a wall, she had translocated Reeve past Dawn and almost, but not entirely, to the far wall of the room…which Reeve had then obligingly run straight into.

  “I am feeling a lot of things right now,” Reeve said for her own benefit as well as that of the room as a whole.

  “I can tell,” Dawn said, raising the naginata slightly and twisting the enchanted shaft in her hands.

  Reeve frowned. “All I was getting from you was hot stew.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Dawn said.

  “Uh…what?” Millie said.

  Burning with embarrassment from the ease with which Dawn was handling her, and feeling a line had been crossed with the taking of her weapon, Reeve quickly considered her options for evening the playing field. Scenarios flashed through her mind.

  Dawn, who was watching her, frowned. “I do not think your mother would appreciate being thrown at me,” Dawn said.

  “What?!” Millie said. “Reeve!”

  “Dawn skipped over the fact that I was planning to throw you at her first,” Reeve said.

  “Huh,” Millie said. “Well, then I no longer feel guilty about how much I’m enjoying this.”

  “If you’re looking to even the odds,” Dawn said, “will you accept one of my weapons as recompense?” From within her cloak, Dawn drew one of the silver daggers Reeve so closely associated with the twins. With an adroit flick of her fingers, Dawn flipped the weapon one-half revolution and caught the blade tip between her finger and thumb. Looking expectantly at Reeve in a way that reminded Reeve of her first attempt at leveling her dad’s character using Giant Wolf Spider Eggs, she lofted the blade, the weapon remaining perfectly level, handle toward Reeve, throughout its arcing travel.

  Tracking the flight, Reeve quickly extended one hand and then began retracting it, starting to match the speed of the thrown weapon to cushion the catch and already thinking how best to use the gift. As soon as she began wrapping her fingers around the weapon’s handle, however, Reeve registered that something was wrong but could not identify what it was until the weight of the weapon dragged her hand to the ground, where it nearly crushed her knuckles before she could wrest them from being pinned against the stone floor.

  Feeling both insult and now several injuries more embarrassing than painful, Reeve glared at Dawn and spent a few seconds thinking of every possible mode of attack, hoping to flood the half-elf with too many options to prepare for. And then Reeve simply charged straight at Dawn.

  With her free hand, Dawn gently waved toward the doorway, as though wafting a gnat or an unpleasant odor to the side, and Reeve charged headfirst into a deep snow bank.