"Mosaic?" Archer asked aloud.
He was right next to me, as interested in the new prophecy as I was.
"No," I immediately corrected. "A mosaic is made by fitting tesserae into place. Opus sectile uses larger cut pieces. This is neither. The image has been carved from a single face of stone, cube by cube, like relief sculpture forced to obey graph paper."
"It looks like pixel art," GLaDOS commented from my left. Her Roomba was close enough to almost bump into my leg. "And not very hi-def."
Focusing a little more, I measured the precision of the cuts. The dimensions of the cubes. The way the picture had been arranged.
I reached out, adding touch to visual examination. My fingers moved over the edges, testing their sharpness.
"Not quite," I said. "It is too deliberate. Too precise. Not poor resolution. Artificial limitation. Like a new game pretending to be retro, if we are using your comparison."
"Before you get started on an art critic column for the local newspaper," Archer cut in, "perhaps we should focus a bit more on what the picture is actually saying. Like here."
It was not hard to understand what he pointed at. The carving was conveniently divided into panels, each bordered by a clean carved line. At the top of each panel sat a larger symbol, like a title made without words.
A crate. A hook. A covered dish. A hammer. A heart. A sword. A star beside a golden nut. Four thin towers beneath a clock. A little square camera.
The last symbol was stranger. A little square camera above two blocky figures posed with theatrical confidence. Between them was something that might have been an eggplant.
It almost certainly was not an eggplant.
Archer's finger rested beneath the crate.
"Bananas, oranges, wheat, tomatoes, potatoes, blueberries..." Archer moved his finger down the carved image. "Practically everything one could grow in Stardew Valley. But what does it mean?"
"Well, there is something like a shipping crate at the top," I mused. "So maybe we are supposed to ship every possible produce?"
It was a stretch. But some instinct told me I was right.
"And forage," GLaDOS added. "Well, unless you really want to grow daffodils. They are practically a weed."
But I would.
I would grow everything on the list. Just not on a farm. While performing agricultural labor on the entirely cursed property that was Merrick's farm might be interesting from an occult perspective, it would hardly be worth the effort.
Instead, I would cheat and grow everything in the Irem greenhouse.
It could grow anything. The melon tree had demonstrated that.
What? One had to obey the exact terms of a prophecy, not the nebulous spirit of it. That cut both ways.
Archer shifted to the next panel. "Fish?"
"All fish," GLaDOS said. "Because apparently biodiversity is only meaningful after a man with a fishing rod has personally inconvenienced it."
"Not just fish," I said, looking at the hook. "Catching them. Completion, not ecology."
At least this was an activity Archer and I could do together. That made me feel a little better about it, once I thought it through. I was not fond of fishing. Too much waiting. Too much room for the mind to wander.
The covered dish was easier.
"Cooking," Archer said.
He had perked up at that one. Not much. Archer treated enjoying something as almost a sin. It was Catholic guilt Kirei would have appreciated, which was one reason I had told him that aloud before. Aversion therapy, of a sort.
Not now.
But I made a note to encourage the enjoyment later. A small chip against the massive mountain of survivor's guilt he carried. Small things mattered. In time, erosion could eat mountains.
I recognized it and immediately decided to leave that section to him. If I tried to take the job from him, he would fight me for it, and why would I bother? He would enjoy it more. He would be better at it. And everyone else would enjoy the results more, because whatever else might be said about Archer, the man could make food taste like it deserved to exist.
Sometimes that made me question whether his origin was sword or kitchen knife. Then again, from the proper conceptual angle, a kitchen knife was merely a sword with honest employment.
"Every local recipe," I said. "Or every meal worth naming in Stardew Valley."
The hammer was obvious, so I stated the obvious.
"Crafting. Scythes, hoes, other farm tools, machines, barrels, sprinklers. Everything a farm needs."
"I think I will take over this task," Archer said, with a cutting smirk. "You already sound bored, and when you get bored, you try to make the job more interesting. The world hardly needs a watering can that pours water from one of the five rivers of Hades."
I perked up.
Now that was an idea.
"No," Archer said, raising a finger. "Bad Rin. Do not do it."
"Flirt later," GLaDOS interrupted. "Plan specimen acquisition now."
The panel beneath the sword showed a stylized picture of every monster in Stardew Valley. Slimes. Bats. Shadow brutes. Mummies. And so much more.
"Another one we can do together," I said to Archer.
"It's a date," Archer replied. "Or, considering the collection, a whole series of dates."
"You take me to the nicest places," I returned, but there was no bite in it.
"I take you to places you enjoy," he parried back. "You would be bored by a beach with seaborn monsters?"
GLaDOS did not wait for me to answer.
"Humans really cannot go five seconds without thinking about sex," GLaDOS said. "And I thought that was just pseudoscience. I suppose it is too much to ask that the heart means you need to extract the heart of every person in town instead of seducing them all. Disappointing."
"I think it is neither," I said, with a quiet sigh. "It means something much harder. More tiresome. More emotionally engaged."
I looked at the rows of little pixelated portraits beneath the heart.
"It means making friends with everyone."
"Obelisks and a golden clock," Archer said, already moving to the next set of items. "You do not seem very enthusiastic about acquiring magic objects. How unlike you."
"There is only one licensed provider for those items here. M. Rasmodius," I said with a sigh. "Which means another lecture on the dignity of the wizarding profession. It is easy to have dignity when one has inherited a tower. And a quest. The quest is the less annoying part."
Well, I was not poor now.
But some of Merrick's attitude lingered with his memories.
"Why are the nut and that fruit outside the main produce section?" GLaDOS asked. "Poor classification."
She did not have local memories, or she would have recognized local oddities.
"Stardrops and golden walnuts," I explained. "Native oddities. Rare. Wild. Not cultivated. This is collection, not farming."
"A fetch quest," Archer summarized.
"Several fetch quests wearing one coat," I corrected.
By unspoken agreement, we skipped the camera.
It was obvious. It was also not something GLaDOS would want to discuss, and therefore not something she would discuss gracefully. Better to plan that part when Archer and I were alone. As she would put it, she had watched humans mate more than enough during work hours.
Only with much more sarcasm, and at least one threat involving disinfectant.
Instead, we looked to the text at the bottom.
Perfection is its own reward.
But it need not be the only one.
And beside the words was another pixelated portrait.
Not anyone I recognized from Merrick's memories. Besides, everyone Merrick knew from Pelican Town and nearby was already under the heart.
"At least this one comes with compensation," GLaDOS murmured.
"So did the other two," I replied. "Three Great Secrets. The Age of Blood."
"I thought the Age of Blood was a threat," Archer cut in. "Or a warning for disaster, at least."
"Considering our role in it, I think it was more a statement of dominion," I said. "A dangerous one, yes. But still a reward for playing along with prophecy."
"Well, there is nothing urgent here," I continued. "I think we should go to sleep. I mean those of us who need sleep. We can continue with detailed planning tomorrow."
"Biological frailties are so inconvenient," GLaDOS said. "What about my new platform?"
"It can wait until I am rested," I replied. "The Gray Gull will not reach Runestone for at least two days."
"There is one thing we need to do here," Archer cut in. "We need to be seen before they label us missing persons. Building friendship will be harder if we cause a major upheaval. We will also need an excuse for the missing day."
Another complication.
But I glanced at the ring on my finger, and an idea came.
"Well, we could drop by the Stardrop Saloon and announce we visited Zuzu City to get married. Bouquets and mermaid pendants are local tradition, but Zuzu City uses rings. We could also explain that we are not staying because we are eager for the wedding night."
Archer looked at me.
"A wedding night," he repeated, very softly.
Ah.
So he had noticed that part of the plan. There was enough promise in the words to make the excuse feel suddenly less like an excuse.
"You are tiresome," GLaDOS replied. "And you do not need me for this. I will return to A.S.E.N.D. to start on actual work."
And with those words, she rolled away, back toward the Gate.
I called the Threshold Slime to pick up all the scattered things left behind.
It was not much. Merrick's discarded robes. Dwight's torn shirt and pants. Merrick's staff. The wardstone he had used to protect the improvised movie set from wandering monsters. And, of course, the camera.
When the slime touched the case, I found something amusing.
"What are you smirking about?" Archer asked, crossing his arms.
"The camera," I said, letting mischief color my tone. "The one used to record a certain adult movie. It has merged with a Palantir. I was just thinking what its maker would think of that."
"Your illustrious ancestor probably has much more dire things to contemplate in the Halls of Mandos," Archer replied. His tone turned contemplative, and serious. "Though, I suppose, he could use a distraction. Even deserved hell is not pleasant. Especially if deserved."
Then he changed the subject.
"I am surprised you were not more insistent on personally examining a certain anomaly."
I pointedly looked at his now-covered crotch.
Even covered, the size increase was difficult not to notice. Or his pants were too tight.
"I am saving the inspection for the wedding night," I flirted, then added, "Jokes aside, there have been enough changes with six World transfers in less than twenty-four hours that I need to design proper protocols before I start examinations. In truth, I am more interested in building a new body for GLaDOS. It would let me test how Item Construction works from the inside."
Because Servant Skills were not precisely what people usually meant by skills.
If one knew how to ride in the ordinary way, that knowledge contained details. Balance. Pressure. Reins. The animal's gait. The terrain. Weight, motion, fear, habit.
Servant Skills could be too conceptual for that.
It was as if the legend had told the world that the hero could ride, and so the hero could ride. Horse, car, plane. It did not matter. They could ride because they could Ride.
Useful. Interesting. Not tonight.
Tonight, unfortunately, required social engineering.
With the last matters at the Gate site handled, it was time to go back to town.
Dwight and Merrick had been sensible young men. Relatively. The site they had chosen had not been exactly safe, but it fit their combat capabilities with a generous safety margin.
The combat capabilities Archer and I had inherited only compounded with our own.
The monster-infested caves were less a terrifying adventure and more a vigorous walk.
"Ethics committees," I said, as a bat rushed me with a loud screech.
I raised my hand, conjuring a barrier of mercury. As the bat struck the mirror shield, the shield rippled, spikes of liquid metal piercing it. The dying bat fell to the floor, only to be picked up by a pseudopod of the Threshold Slime.
I was not yet sure what I would do with monster parts from this World. But as they said, waste not, want not.
"What about them?" Archer replied, cutting through a rock crab with his sword. Poetry in motion was a poor description, but I could do no better.
"Well, you said we need one as soon as possible," I said, a bit louder to be heard over multiple screeches. I conjured five quicksilver bullets and used them to pierce five more bats rushing us at the same time. "So I was going over possible members in my head. Nero. Grimhilde. Tesla."
"So a witch queen from the Nibelungen saga, a Roman emperor recorded in the Bible as the Beast, and a proverbial mad scientist," Archer said dryly, as he impaled another rock crab. "Is this an ethics committee or a villain cast for a superhero movie?"
"They have been misunderstood," I replied.
"I have been misunderstood. Again and again," Archer said in a theatrically deep voice. "That is what the villain says just before he pulls the lever on the doomsday device. You know the job of an ethics committee is not to find a way to make your latest madness sound ethical."
"Of course I do. That is the PR department's job."
After a short pause, I added, "That is why I want you to chair it."
Past the cave entrance, we were greeted by the warm air of early summer and a beautiful sunset.
"Eight in the evening," I said.
Sunset ran like clockwork in this World, obedient less to astronomy than to calendar. Summer meant eight o'clock, fall seven, winter six. Neat. Suspiciously neat.
To be fair, seasons lasted about a month here. In the Vale, they lasted years, and both Worlds were rich with magic.
"It was a little past one when we arrived beyond the first Gate. If the Worlds are aligned, that means it has been only nineteen hours."
It seemed so much longer.
"Then either the Worlds are not aligned, or the Gates are in different time zones," Archer cut in. "Because by my reckoning, it has been no more than ten hours. Twelve at most."
Ten to twelve hours.
That would mean Merrick and Dwight had started shooting their movie somewhere between eight and ten in the morning. Reviewing the memories, it seemed Archer was annoyingly right.
Well, if we had only been absent for one day, we did not really need an excuse. It would be enough just to be seen in the Saloon.
But for some reason, I was reluctant to abandon the excuse.
So I said nothing, and let us proceed as planned.
The first test of our, technically truthful, cover story came not at the Saloon, but on the road through town, just past the abandoned Community Center.
Abigail was on one of her wanderings.
Merrick's memories supplied the name before I needed it. Abigail. Pierre and Caroline's daughter. Purple hair, dark clothes, and the restless posture of someone who treated staying indoors as a temporary defeat. Fond of strange places. Strange stories. Strange gifts.
Useful.
Also a little dangerous, socially speaking. Some people repeated gossip. Abigail collected it, examined it, and occasionally stabbed it with a sword to see what happened.
"Hey," she said, slowing when she saw us. Her gaze moved from me, to Archer, to the ring on my finger, and stayed there half a breath too long. "Where were you two all day?"
"Zuzu City," I said.
I let Merrick's smile answer. Easier. Warmer. A little theatrical around the edges, but not in my usual operatic sense. Merrick's drama was built for small-town life, not apocalypse.
Archer gave me the smallest sidelong look.
Yes, yes. I was enjoying myself. That was not a crime.
"Zuzu?" Abigail said. "That's kind of far for a day trip."
"We eloped," I said, and lifted my hand.
It was not, precisely speaking, a lie.
Technically, Archer and I had been married since the Third Age in Imladris. Technically, Merrick and Dwight had become married after we merged. Technically, we had renewed our vows a dozen or so hours ago in a crypt, officiated by a robot who was also an undead heretic nun.
But "eloped" was easier to parse.
And technically true.
Abigail stared at the ring. Then at Archer. Then back at me.
"Wait. Seriously? You two got married and nobody told me?"
"It was sudden," Archer said.
His delivery was perfect. Calm. Grave. Entirely unhelpful.
"That is what people say when they do something dramatic and want it to sound romantic," Abigail accused.
"Then it was very sudden," I said.
She narrowed her eyes at me, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "I missed the wedding."
"We are planning a party later," I said. "Something more local. Food, music, witnesses who can be shocked in an organized fashion."
"That sounds more like you."
I was not entirely sure whether she meant Merrick or the person currently wearing Merrick's face. Since the distinction would not help anyone present, I ignored it.
Her attention returned to the ring. "It's pretty."
"Thank you."
"And expensive-looking."
"Also thank you."
Archer's expression did not change, which meant he was laughing internally. I made a note to punish him later. Possibly during the alleged wedding night.
Abigail still looked wounded in the way of someone who had been denied drama that was rightfully hers. An offering seemed appropriate.
I reached into the pouch the slime had returned to me and drew out an amethyst.
Only after my fingers closed around it did I remember that it was one of mine. A proper gem, faintly charged with mana, tuned for use rather than eating.
But Abigail's eyes sharpened at once.
"Here," I said. "For missing the sudden part."
She took it with both hands.
For a moment, I thought she meant to hold it up to the sunset.
Then she bit it.
The amethyst cracked between her teeth.
It should have come as a surprise.
It did not, because I remembered her doing something similar before. Or, more precisely, Merrick did.
Still, I wondered whether it was a spell, an innate ability, or merely an unusually enthusiastic digestive system.
Abigail chewed twice, swallowed, and blinked very quickly.
A faint purple spark ran through her hair.
"A bit zesty," she said.
"Is that bad?" I asked.
"No. It's like Joja Cola, just better," she said. "I love it."
Well. First step toward fulfilling the prophecy: friendship through targeted gifts. Like lobbying, only on a smaller scale.
Technically, second step. We had already hunted some monsters from the list.
With a short goodbye, she wandered off, and we continued toward the Saloon.
As we passed the General Store, Archer paused to look over the bulletin board with its tasks and birthday calendar.
It was a charming Pelican Town custom that every inhabitant's birthday was posted there. Merrick's memories supplied the story: a family feud, a missed birthday, and half the town taking sides some fifty years ago. The calendar had been the compromise, because small towns did not forget grudges so much as build furniture around them.
While Archer read the board, another communication arrived from my greater self. Apparently the other me had waited until I was idle enough to listen.
A status update. Merrick's farm had been absorbed into me.
Interesting implications. Also a convenient shortcut. Instead of returning through the Gates and Irem, we could simply go back to the farm.
There were less pleasant details. Unexplored mine passages Merrick had missed. More structure to the curse than advertised. Not merely ambient haunting, but something nested, partly divine, and stubbornly rooted.
Removing it would be difficult.
My greater self was also against the idea. The farm would be a useful place to grow unpleasant or undead plants. Euclid loved running through it. My greater self, disturbingly, found the place comfortable. Like a warm goth blanket.
I would have called that strange taste, but he was also me.
And no one thought their own taste was strange.
As the Saloon came into view, I used the Threshold Slime to slip some local money into my pocket.
Not Merrick's money. He had not brought any when he planned to shoot amateur porn in a monster-infested cave. Too much risk of it getting lost.
Fortunately, one of the older hoards stored in Irem had always been flexible about denomination. Not infinite. Not even especially generous by my current standards. But it had a way of presenting part of itself as local currency after certain World transfers.
Past the door, the smell of alcohol, pizza, and coffee hit hard. With a brief glance, I catalogued the room.
Gus behind the bar, warm smile already forming because hospitality was a reflex before it was a business. Emily moving between tables with bright efficiency and eyes that missed less than they pretended. Pam at one table with a drink in hand and pride sitting beside her like an unpaid bill. Shane near the wall, using beer as insulation. Clint close enough to watch Emily and far enough to pretend he was not.
Willy sat with the patient slouch of a man who had learned more from tides than from people.
And from the side room came the sharp electronic chirp of arcade machines, the crack of billiard balls, and young male voices arguing with the seriousness only games could produce.
Good.
An audience.
Drawing on Merrick's theatricality, I spread my hands and announced, "Drinks and pizza for everyone. We are celebrating."
There were subtler ways to gain attention.
They were less fun.
Gus's smile brightened on instinct, then hesitated.
Ah. Right. Merrick was not known for being flush with cash.
Before the hesitation could become awkward, I placed the money on the bar.
Gus looked down at it.
Then back at me.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
Need and guilt warred across his face. Hospitality had met accounting, and neither wished to be rude.
"Of course," Archer said firmly.
Then he lifted his hand, displaying the ring.
"It is not every day one gets married."
Emily was the first to react.
"Congratulations! Can I see the ring?"
Archer moved to the counter and let her examine it. I noticed Clint looking too, but not quite at the ring. His gaze went to Emily first, then to Archer's hand, then back to Emily.
Longing. Desire. Opportunity.
Perhaps. Helping a friend achieve his heart's desire was a classic route to friendship.
Assuming, of course, that the heart's desire was not an idiotic fantasy built entirely inside his own head. That would require checking.
Pam raised her glass. "I'm not one to refuse a free drink. To no regrets!"
"No regrets," I echoed, because correcting the toast would have been rude.
Shane offered a wan smile, as if even borrowed joy was a burden too heavy to hold.
I moved him up on the priority list.
He needed a friend. He needed more than a friend. And need was a wedge.
From the back, Willy muttered congratulations into his mug.
"A wedding?" Sam said, emerging from the side room with a pool cue in his hands. "Man. I was hoping the band would play at the next wedding here."
Sebastian hovered beside him like a particularly attached shadow.
"It was a small ceremony," Archer said dryly.
"But you can play at the party," I added.
"This party?" Pam asked, a little dryly.
Even after wetting herself with drink, she still managed arid.
Impressive.
And useful. I noted that a gift of elven wine might help.
"No, this is merely the celebratory announcement," I said, with Merrick's theatrical gravity. "The real party is coming soon. The whole town will be invited. Your band can play then."
Sam brightened at once.
Sebastian crossed his arms. He kept glancing at the door. Not panic. Habit. To a heart yearning for freedom, any place might seem like a prison if one stood in it too long.
"Shouldn't the reception come before the wedding night?" he asked.
Suspiciously, that sounded like something Elladan or Elrohir would have said in Imladris, long ago, on the same general subject.
"Well, that would mean waiting longer for the wedding night," I said.
Then I pulled Archer into a brief but intense kiss.
"A man must have his priorities straight."
As the celebration settled into motion, I began properly mapping reactions and opportunities.
Making friends was too serious a job to leave to chance.
A/N:
Thanks again to @NotAWriter for all the hard work as my beta reader.
And with this, we have finally finished the introduction arc. All six Gates have been opened, all six worlds have been visited, and the board is now properly set.
This also means we finally get to see the Stardew Valley side of the story as more than just a list of mechanics. Because, at least to me, the real point of that world is not the perfect completion run. It is the people you meet along the way. So here, at last, we meet some of them.
I hope my interpretation of the Perfection run as an actual in-story challenge was interesting. It is always a strange balance, translating game mechanics into something characters can understand without turning the chapter into a checklist.
As always, questions, comments, and thoughts are welcome. I have learned by now not to expect too much, but I still genuinely like hearing what worked, what did not, and whether the experiment landed.