Vermis

Chapter 1

Dockwork is Honest Work

"Fish! If you don't get up, I'm gonna give your breakfast to the neighbor's cat!" Rell's voice carried through our thin walls.

I groaned into the pillow. "That cat's already fat enough as it is…"

Rell laughed.

"It's not the cat's fault you can't drag yourself out of bed."

I finally dragged myself out of bed and into our kitchen. Rell was sitting at the table with her back to me, her fingers tangled in her long red hair. Same shade as mine, though she actually took care of hers. She was braiding tiny white flowers into her hair.

"What’s that you’re braiding into your hair?"

"Lavender, from Mrs. Okemi! She gave me some from her window box."

I poured myself some coffee. "How’s your head? Still getting migraines?"

A slight hesitation in her fingers. "On and off."

Dad came in from the balcony where he'd been reading, a book tucked under his arm. Mikkel was tall and elegant. His own red hair—from which we got ours—was streaked with silver at the sides and tied back.

"Good morning, Fischer, I was beginning to wonder if you'd died in your sleep."

"...If I did, would I still have to go to work?"

Dad laughed and placed his book on the table. The cover had a faded title, but it was still readable: Origin Mechanics: A Comprehensive Guide. One of his many research books.

"Work builds character, besides, you wouldn’t want your boss to come looking for you… would you?"

"Yeah, yeah." I grabbed a plate of the funny-looking pancakes. "What's in these?"

"Flour, eggs, milk," Dad said, sitting across from me. "And a little extract from those Nova Lilies I've been growing."

I paused with the fork halfway to my mouth. "...Not the same ones that made Mr. Whitmore hallucinate for a week?"

"No, no, no, these are of a different strain." Dad waved his hand dismissively. "These help boost mental clarity; they aren't psychedelics. And are perfectly safe."

I took a cautious bite.

"So, since you have some time before your shift, let's talk about the Sacred Signal integration process."

"Ughh… Dad, it's too damn early for this."

"It's never too early for knowledge. The Sacred Signal doesn't care what time of day it infects you. It is better to be prepared."

Rell turned around, her braiding finished.

The flowers made a crown of purple against her deep red hair. "Let him eat first, Dad. Not everyone wakes up ready to discuss dimensional physics."

"Fine, fine." Dad held up his hands in surrender. "But Fischer, you should know that the Awakening process is highly individualized. The Trial manifests differently for each person, drawing on their deepest fears and—"

"—and traumas to create a personalized pocket dimension where they must survive to integrate with the Signal," I finished, speaking through a mouthful of pancake.

"I know, Dad. You've only told me about eight thousand times."

"And I'll tell you eight thousand more if that's what it takes for you to remember."

"If it ever happens," I muttered.

A brief silence fell over the table. At twenty-one, I was well past the average age for Awakening. Most Sacred showed signs by sixteen, seventeen at the latest. Every year that passed made it less likely I'd ever develop powers.

Rell reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "It'll happen when it's meant to happen."

Easy for her to say.

Rell hadn't awakened either, but she didn't seem to care. My sister found ways to be extraordinary without supernatural abilities. Like somehow finding fresh flowers every single day.

"Besides, plenty of people live perfectly fulfilling lives without Awakening. The Houses like to pretend Sacred are superior, but that's just propaganda to maintain their control over the Gates."

"Says the Sacred researcher," I pointed out.

"I study what interests me. And right now—" he pushed his book toward me "—what interests me is making sure my children understand how the Signal works, in case either of you Awakens."

I sighed, giving in. "Fine. Hit me with the lecture."

Dad's eyes lit up.

"Excellent! Now, we were discussing Origin rarity last time. Remember how it's determined by each individual's Trial performance?"

For the next fifteen minutes, as I finished my pancakes and Rell packed lunches for our day, Dad explained the intricacies of Origin rarity classifications. How rarity affected power ceilings but not growth rates. How even a Common Origin could become formidable with proper leveling and evolution.

"It's all about optimization, take Vrocks, for example… those vulture demons. Individually, they have a very limited skill set. But when they gather in packs? They have no issue taking out a lone Sacred."

"...And how is that relevant to Origins?" I asked.

"Because it's not just what power you get, it's how you use it and evolve it. A Sacred with a supposedly 'weak' Origin who understands its applications can outperform someone with a 'strong' Origin who lacks creativity."

Rell glanced at the clock. "We should go. Fish has to get to work, and I promised to help at the community garden before my afternoon classes."

Dad nodded, closing his book.

"We'll continue tomorrow. Just remember, Fischer… the most important moment isn't when you get your Origin, it's what you do with it afterward."

I stood and grabbed my lunch from Rell.

◆◆◆

Dockworkers nodded as I entered the locker room. After three years hauling cargo, I knew most of them by name.

"Fischer! You're on Pier 7 today." The Harbor Master's voice called out. Malik was a mountain of a man with mahogany skin and a thick curly beard.

"Anything special I should know?"

"House Azul reps will be watching over the shipment. So don't scratch the cargo, don't drop anything, and for the love of all that's holy, don't make jokes about their fancy blue coats."

"Just be careful… and if anything starts glowing that shouldn't be glowing..."

"...Run like hell. Got it."

Pier 7 was already busy when I arrived. A cargo ship had docked an hour earlier than expected, one of the specialized ones that would travel between Earth and the Reach.

The crew was a mix of regular sailors and a few low-grade Sacred with Origins useful for navigation or minor protection. They worked efficiently, securing lines and preparing the cargo for unloading.

"Fischer!" A familiar voice called out. I looked up to see Thomas, one of the haulers and probably the closest thing I had to a friend on the docks.

"Hey," I said, joining him by a stack of secured containers. "These the crates?"

He nodded, pointing to black boxes.

"Those go directly to the research facility. We don't touch them."

"Fine by me." I glanced at the manifest. "Looks like we've got about forty containers to move."

"Better get started then." Thomas handed me an exoskeleton that attached to my shoulders and hips, providing mechanical assistance for heavy lifting.

For the next few hours, we worked, moving containers from the ship to the waiting transport vehicles. Each box contained dozens of carefully packaged Soul Crystals—the physical manifestation of Essence harvested from beasts in the Reaches.

We were about halfway through when the surge sirens began to wail.

Everyone froze for a split second, then moved as if it were routine. After centuries, Freetown had reduced the surge response to an art form.

"A minor surge," announced a calm voice over the Harbor's speaker system. "Eastern Gate anomaly detected. Projected emergence: Grade 5 entities, count estimate 75-100. SDC response units deployed. All non-essential personnel, please proceed to designated shelters."

Thomas sighed, setting down his container. "Third one this week. Active as fuck lately."

"Should we...?" I gestured toward the nearest shelter entrance, a reinforced bunker built into the Harbor Master's building.

"Nah," Thomas said, checking his watch. "It's over at the Eastern gate. SDC will have it contained. No way they will get to us."

Minor surges were handled so efficiently these days that they were more of an inconvenience than a real danger. Still. My father's voice echoed in my head: Complacency kills more people than beasts do.

The dock supervisor made the call: "Continue operations. Keep your emergency beacons handy. First sign of trouble, head for the shelters immediately."

We returned to work, though everyone moved a bit faster now; conversation dropped. In the distance, I could see SDC response units mobilizing.

I couldn't help but watch them as I worked.

The Sacred Defense Corps… the professionals, the ones who stood between civilization and the horrors of the Reaches. Every kid in Freetown grew up wanting to join them. Most grew out of it when they realized what it actually meant: fighting nightmares for a living, dying young more often than not.

But still, they looked impressive as hell.

"Stop staring and let’s get this shit done."

"Just watching the response," I muttered, returning to my work.

"Still hoping for that Awakening, huh?"

I shrugged. "Wouldn't mind being able to do something more useful than move boxes."

"Hey, without us moving boxes, those fancy Sacred assholes wouldn't have all their precious crystals." He patted a container. "We're part of the war effort too."

"Yeah, the part that gets eaten first when containment fails."

He laughed.

The next container I grabbed felt... slightly irregular. The weight was normal, but it vibrated against my hands.

"Hey, Thomas?" I called. "This one feels weird."

He came over, frowning. "Weird how?"

"It's... vibrating."

Thomas placed his hand on the container and immediately pulled back as if it were burning. "Shit. That's unstable as fuck." He looked around frantically. "We need to get a Sacred over here. Now."

Before I could move, one of the House Azul representatives was beside us.

"Step back," she ordered.

We didn't need to be told twice. Thomas and I jumped back several feet as she placed both hands on the container. Her eyes glowed.

"The containment field has degraded…"

Before they could respond, a commotion from the eastern side of the Harbor drew everyone's attention. The surge sirens changed, becoming higher and more urgent.

"Attention, Surge escalation. Grade 4 entities detected. Count revised to 200+. All personnel proceed to shelters immediately. This is not a drill."

The docks erupted into controlled chaos.

"Get to shelter," she ordered. "We'll handle the containers."

Thomas grabbed my arm. "Come on, Fish. Let's get the hell out of here."

◆◆◆

By evening, the surge had been contained.

Seventy-three beasts were destroyed, twelve casualties among the SDC forces, and four civilians who hadn't reached shelters in time.

"There he is, we were starting to worry," Dad said from the kitchen.

"The harbor was locked down for extra checks after the surge," I explained, dropping my bag by the door. "How was everyone's day?"

"Productive," Dad said, stirring the pot. "I managed to stabilize that Regalia component I've been working on. Could make an excellent defensive piece for the right Sacred."

"And you? Garden go okay?"

She nodded, though I noticed she was rolling the flowers in her hair between her fingers. "...We planted a new section today. Nothing major, but might help someone someday."

"Always thinking of others, that's my Rell," Dad said, pride evident in his voice as he brought the stew to the table.

We ate together, sharing stories from our day. I told them about the surge, the unstable containers, and the House Azul representatives.

"Interesting that you sensed the instability," Dad said, his expression thoughtful.

I shrugged.

"Or perhaps, a sign your sensitivity is developing. Sometimes that happens before the actual infection begins."

"Don't get my hopes up," I warned.

Rell had been quieter than usual throughout dinner. As we finished, she rubbed her temples slightly.

"You okay?"

"Just tired, and... I don't know. I've been feeling strange."

Dad immediately looked up, his attention sharpening. "Strange how?"

"It's hard to explain… like something's humming just below my skin. And sometimes I feel like I'm... not quite here?"

"Probably just fatigue," he said, placing his hand over hers. "You've been pushing yourself too hard with the garden, your classes, and all your volunteer work."

"Probably…"

"Early night for you, both of you, actually. Fischer, you look dead on your feet."

I couldn't argue with that. After dinner, Dad insisted on cleaning up alone, shooing us both toward our rooms. "Rell? You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Fish. Just tired like Dad said."

I wasn't convinced, but I nodded anyway. "If you say so. Night..."

"Goodnight."