58 - A God, Masterful

Lin

I'm making myself yet another ramyeon bowl.

It's absolutely freezing.

It turns out that it has snowed, as Chione said, and I get the feeling that whilst this may not turn into an ice age, that it will help bring the Earth somewhat back to normal.

Whilst it does, I'll be sitting by the kitchen radiator.

Only joking.

But from what I can tell, I made this happen. Or at least, helped to.

The climate change programming was never supposed to exist. Weirdly, I get the sense that the seasons have been recalibrated to what they're supposed to be, somehow, and that I was a part of it.

I do wonder if this was what Asteria meant by me not having to go through anything or do anything for bin boy to get his comeuppance.

I won't doubt that this is part of it in some weird way.

I'm excited. I haven't felt this able to do things, let alone in my kitchen, for a long time.

This probably means that I'm getting better, and if it does, then I'm so glad.

I just ate, and now I'm watching the docuseries on Harry and Meghan's life, and how it came to be what it is.

They're being more honest about the Royal Family than the Royal Family are.

The irony is that people are outraged by them being honest instead of being quiet.

People seem to really like cancel culture these days, and smearing people they don't agree with. I for one know exactly what it's like, and frankly, it's being used on the wrong people.

On a lighter note, I just got an email from a lady from the independent publishing house I signed up to about my novel.

I haven't sent her any details yet, but I'm hoping to be able to once I get a laptop that works. I may ask one of my caseworkers about it at some point.

I am considering asking one of my caseworkers about applying for a disability grant, which is what I've been researching for the past few hours.

If all goes well and my main caseworker is working tomorrow, I'll leave them a message to ask if we can perhaps apply for one, so that I can get the laptop sooner rather than later. After all, I do need it, and I need the best I can get.

As you should.

Who am I speaking to?

You'll see.

A piece of paper, which looks like either a form or a letter, appears on the altar in my nemeton. When I get a closer look, I realise it's an acceptance letter for a grant.

You work fast.

You're welcome.

I may need to be on guard for this, given that this person is giving me something, but then not giving me their name. It could be anyone, for any reason - including potentially taking advantage of me later down the line.

I have my reasons.

When I see those reasons, I'll act accordingly.

You won't have to.

I'll decide whether they're something for me to act on or not. 

I tug a pair of gloves onto my hands, and handle the letter with care, slotting it into the containment safe, which I keep a reasonable distance from my altar.

Salutations to whoever you are. I suggest you stay away from me and mine until you can prove your identity.

Whistling, I raise my arms, pulling up the spiritual guard that keeps my nemeton, and myself, safe.

I might be isolated, but I'm not ignorant.

You'll wish you hadn't.

I smile. There we go.

No, I don't think I will.

Whoever it is, I have now been able to block out their presence with the wall, but I hear a knock at my nemeton door.

"Tavi?"

Loucetios.

"Word?"

He says the word, and I shove the door open, snow flurries bobbing in and out of the doorway.

My uncle looks harried, but I'm already pretty sure I know why.

"Did you get a letter?"

I nod, showing him in, and closing the opening behind me.

"Burn it."

I immediately set up the fire pit in the open room in my nemeton, bouncing small pieces of paper into the small square until I find one that I want to set alight, which I then throw straight onto the pit.

The fire gradually grows, our two shadows enlarging with it, and I take out the letter, tossing it onto the open flames.

Nice try, Rickmansworth.

Loucetios sighs in relief.

"Even now, neither he nor Maybury can fool you."

He reaches into his pocket, and he himself brings out a form, as opposed to a letter.

"For whenever you choose to sign it," he points at me, "but don't feel any pressure. You may not need it."

I grin. "Trugarez, uncle."

I pull out a silver wheel medallion on a silver chain, alongside a bottle of chouchen. 

"For both saving my life and getting me an opportunity to make my own life."

"Of course." He opens the bottle, and I give him a tankard to fill. Then, he attempts to pass the bottle to me.

"I insist."

I bring out a tankard of my own, and fill it.

"To life, to family, and to taking down those who would see us as slaves. 

"Yec'hed mat."

I raise my tankard to his in a toast. 

"Yec'hed mat."