There is perhaps no event more scarring to the psyche of a world than an Induction. Such is the trauma it leaves in its wake that certain groups have outright banned the mention of its name on pain of death. An extreme example, but this author does not blame these groups for their vitriol.


    For masked behind an entirely unassuming label lies an act of butchery unmatched in scale across the galaxy. Butchery made worse for it is done in the name of ‘upliftment’.


    Of unity.


    There is no greater lie in this universe.


    Because the price of unity cannot be the hundreds of worlds that have broken from the strain of Induction. It cannot be the multitude of races and cultures lost to the chaos of violent integration as levels, mana and magic make mayhem of established laws and customs. It cannot be the countless peoples made slaves to the cold calculations of The System and its patrons.


    It cannot.


    How much more sacrifice is necessary before we all refuse to entertain this lie anymore?


    How much longer must our galaxy bleed worlds until someone finally puts an end to this madness. An end to The System.


    This author does not know.


    This author can only ask into the endless abyss of space a question that has not yet been answered: who dares fight The System itself?


    --- Stricken Records of Tuluth the Southern Sage ---


    o.o.o.o.o.o


    Rek crested the hill and sucked in a deep lungful of dewy morning air, a content smile on his face as he surveyed the landscape ahead.


    Songsmiths had sung of the Fields of Colour as being a sigh apart from Heaven itself for centuries on end, and now, as he stood before the majesty of it all, he finally understood why.


    Long-grass painted in iridescent colours stretched to the horizon, their willowy stalks dancing to the rhythm of the sweeping breeze like a ritual celebration of the coming dawn.


    The air itself seemed alive with the song of the world, the wind carrying with it little whispers that caressed his ears as they swept past, speaking of the great and momentous things they were audience to.


    He read those whispers well and thanked the spirits as they went.


    They had offered him nothing he wasn’t already aware of, but civility mattered where the spirits were concerned. They were an easily offended and fickle lot.


    ‘Not as fickle as some mortals can be.’ added a voice amongst his thoughts.


    He smiled. ‘Yes. Not as fickle indeed, Illna.’


    His companion was soothed by the admission and returned to his inner self, quietly observing as was her norm. Though outwardly calm, he knew that she was worried by the coming change.


    It was no easy thing for an earth spirit to part with the world of their birth. The fact that she agreed to do so was a great sign of how much she valued their bond.


    He mentally pressed on their connection, sending outward feelings of gratitude and trust, which she returned readily. He smiled.


    His gaze then turned towards the distance where he spied the very edges of a gathering of the ages. Hundreds and thousands of tents and yurts laid sprinkled across the grass in three massive concentric rings, all centred around a singular circle of polished white stone.


    A circle large and wide enough to host an army.


    An army of the adventurous, the brave and the decidedly mad.


    The famed portal to another world. One of dozens of its kind mustered by The System across the length of the continent. He could not make much of it from here. Magic would’ve helped, but he decided that his first proper look of it should be up close and in the flesh.


    “No small assortment, master.” remarked Ashyne as she strode up to his side. He glanced at her. Even after so many days, it still struck him as strange to see her without her ceremonial war-mask. A casualty of The System’s demands that they leave behind their valued equipment.


    He would be leaving behind much in this world as well. His fingers tightened around his new stave, smaller and much lesser than his Stave of the World’s End. It was a sacrifice well worth the reward, but still...


    “Aye. Quite the showing. More than we expected.” he said after a moment.


    “Far more. No names as big as ours, though. Most of them are middling at best. I spy Roadrin’s banners there. The Culler too. Milnon. Ikbar. Still, there’ll be a lot of fighting to fill the gaps they leave behind.”


    “Chuffed that we’re to miss it, ay? Odal’s leavin’ too, master!” bellowed Orenthan as he hobbled up towards them, the goblin’s maw opened in a toothy grin. “Saw the bastard’s banner down there! He''s got guts to show ‘imself! Might be I’ll send ‘im to the dirt ‘fore he has a chance to taste the new world!”


    Rek frowned. “There will be none of that. We come under a banner of peace. All old grudges will be forgotten here. Understood?”


    There was some grumbling, but Orenthan nodded, as he should. Rek was a tolerant leader, but no chief worth their steel brooked outright disobedience. Rebellions had started for less.


    “Saddle up. We continue on.”


    His generals jumped to obey. Word spread across his clan and they were on the move once more within minutes.


    Rek rode at the front of the bustling army, as was his right, mounted on his trusted dohrino steed, the hulking ruminant’s polished armour glistening in the morning light. Orenthan and Ashyne rode by his side, his banners held high on their backs.


    “Are you excited to return home, master?” asked Orenthan as he inched closer. He paid the goblin a nod.


    “It has been five years. I wonder how much of it has changed.”


    “A lot, likely. What with an Induction takin’ place an’ all that.”If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He didn’t doubt it, and it was that very fact he feared most.


    “Your family will likely be dearly awaiting your return.” remarked Ashyne with a smile.


    “Aye, if they still live!” bellowed Orenthan. The ashanti glowered and the goblin quickly snapped his mouth shut, his eyes wide. Rek sighed.


    “Crude, but it is true. Much can happen in five years.”


    “Fear not, master. Your family lives. I am sure of it. Do not abandon hope.” Ashyne reached over to place a hand on his shoulder to show comfort. He smiled and thanked her. Hope. He supposed that after so long, it was all he had left.


    “I want to try this chicken wings food that you spoke of once we arrive there, master!” declared Orenthan, spittle flying from his lips.


    Rek laughed; his fears lost in the wake of the goblin’s spontaneity. “Aye, you would, wouldn’t you.”


    “All others worry about the dangers to come and this one’s greatest concern is still stuffing his mouth.” remarked Ashyne with a roll of her eyes.


    “A warrior needs his meat! How else can I serve the master at my bestest!”


    “With your brain as well. Do you know what that is?”


    “’Course I know, venomous woman! Do you know of the end of my axe?”


    Ashyne snapped back a retort at that, and the two fell back onto familiar routines. Rek listened to their bickering with amusement, taking comfort in the distraction they offered from the worries that plagued him.


    It was appreciated, even if it was only for a moment.


    o.o.o.o.o.o


    It was near an hour later that they arrived before the settlement. The scent of roasted meat and the cacophony of a bustling camp greeted them long before any singular soul did, though he didn’t doubt that the scattered scouts of a great many of the gathering’s factions had taken notice of his arrival long before.


    Rek dismounted a few meters away from the edge, as did the rest of his troupe.


    “Go with the wind, loyal one. Be free.” he whispered, his head pressed against his steed’s snout.


    The regal creature paid him a long look of bestial understanding before it roared and galloped away. Dozens of others did the same, a small herd of dohrino coming to life as they gathered together and charged into the open plains.


    Rek watched them go with a smile on his face before he steeled himself and turned back to the gathering.


    His steps calm and focused, he marched towards the outer ring of tents, his warriors at his heels.


    Not a single individual dared to come out to test them as they approached, as so often happened when the orc-blooded met.


    It came as no surprise. The outer edges of a settlement like this were the place of the weakest of the assembled. Small tribes and rogue warriors of little repute. Not the sort that would dare test themselves against his clan.


    But they would stare. They would whisper. The bravest of their lot would even show themselves from their tents, daring to meet his gaze. He applauded their spine. They would need at least that much mettle to survive an Induction.


    It was half-way into the camp-city that he spied the first individuals worth a mention. Aldras, a slinger famed for singularly slaying a beast ten levels higher than him. The Red Tribe, that his own clan had fought many times over the years. The Red leader, a mighty ogre twice Rek’s size, lowered his head respectfully as their eyes met, a gesture of peace and a sign of submission in one. Rek nodded in acceptance before walking away.


    Others took heed of the interaction to do the same. Former foes, some. Others fresher in memory. Orenthan bristled as they spied Odal’s clan in the distance. The goblins were a minor force, but subordinate to one of their chief rivals. Fortunately, a look was enough to ensure that the warrior did nothing foolish, and so they continued without issue.


    Eventually, they breached upon the inner ring. It was far less congested here compared to the previous two rings, each group giving the other a wide berth. It was to be expected. Few here were friends, and none wanted to contend with unnecessary violence just before the world-jump.


    Especially against someone like him.


    Even the smallest wound could affect their chance at glory on the other side, and against his clan, they knew well that they would only be seeking death. So, a fragile peace held the air. Rek led his group to a sizable clearing near the stone circle. Here, so close, he could see the intricate patterns that lined the platform’s surface, no doubt the work of the great magics that The System called its own.


    He understood none of it, but his magic had never been the thing of patterns and logic, but whispers and understanding.


    “Make camp. Do not allow anyone to leave and do not engage in idiocy. Peace is to be maintained, understood?” Ashyne and Orenthan nodded. Tensions were high. He’d only brought three dozen of his best to this, which was far smaller than some others had.


    He noted entire clans having come out in their fullness, old and young and all, willing to throw their everything into this gamble in a new world. It was a mighty risk, even for him with his homefield knowledge, a secret only privy to Ashyne, Orenthan and Illna.


    But his five years had led up to this, and risk or not, it was one he could not afford to not take.


    Rek glanced up at the sky. The time to cross would come at high noon. They still had a few hours, then.


    He could spend some time rubbing shoulders. Parting from his troops, Rek strode towards a familiar face he’d spied in the distance. A face that had noted him back. Breaking from his own group, the warlord strode towards him. The air went quiet as all eyes turned towards them.


    Lesser clans watched with bated breath. It wasn’t often that individuals of their level met.


    “Rek the Earthsong, Commune of the Spirits and Chiefseer of the Heavensons Clan.” he announced himself, as was good decorum.


    “Oleg Spearbird of Thrice Found Purpose, Warlord of the Seeking Fortunes Ilk.” declared the troll in return. Rek smiled.


    ‘I remember this one. He smells like fresh soil.’ purred Illna amongst his thoughts.


    ‘Yes. He is a good friend. We fought together against the Ildhari.’


    ‘Wretched rot-things.’ spat the spirit, her good mood lost at the mention of the foul creatures. A sentiment he shared. He placated her with assurances of calm before returning his attention to the troll who had closed the gap between them.


    “Brother. It has been long.”


    The two embraced with a laugh. “Long indeed. I did not expect to see you here, Oleg. A warrior of your fame has as much to lose in an Induction as he stands to gain.”


    “Truth. Same can be said of you, Earthsong.”


    “It is a great risk. But a greater reward. An Induction is where true legends are made.”


    The troll nodded at that. “Mhm. Many centuries passed, but still we sing of the legends of our world’s Induction. It is a glorious thing. I too will become a song in this new world, brother.”


    Rek grinned. “So, shall I. Let us meet together at the top then.”


    “So swear it.”


    “So it shall be.”


    The two clasped hands and laughed. A few more words were shared, fond memories reminisced about, and promises for the future made before they parted again. Rek returned to where his troops sat in quiet preparation.


    He joined his two trusted generals, their focus as much on their neighbours as it was on him. And then, it was just a matter of waiting. The hours ticked by and other groups trickled in from every corner of the land. The mad, the desperate and the ambitious.


    Goblins, orcs, trolls and a half dozen other peoples of every colour and faith.


    All gathered here, awaiting their chance.


    A destiny upon another world’s shores.


    But not for him. Rek sought no opportunity here. No glory. For him, this was a return to his home. To his friends and family and a life long lost. This was a chance to save his world from the cataclysm to come. Maybe his only one.


    And it was on him sooner than expected.


    The sun was high in the sky and magic filled the air. The assembled slowly started to gather on the platform. Rek and his clan claimed a good position at the very centre. Above them, a countdown had begun, numerals painted in stark white lettering carved into the very air itself.


    Twenty seconds, it read in every language and time-keeping system known to the world.


    Nineteen.


    Eighteen.


    Rek steeled himself and glanced at his people. There were no promises with an Induction. He wasn’t sure if he’d awaken near his clan, or if they’d be scattered a thousand miles apart. It was among the many dangers of partaking. But it was one they’d all prepared for. He shot them all a fortifying look, his magic brushing against each of their spirits, gifting them with courage and resolve.


    It was all he could do. The time for words and action had long since passed.


    Their lives were in fate’s palm now.


    Five seconds.


    His fingers tightened against his stave. Distantly, he spied Oleg glance his way. They nodded at each other, comrades wishing each other well.


    Two seconds.


    The light of the numerals had become blazing, like fragments torn from the sun. The platform beneath them started to quake, and he could feel the spirits begin to muster. Their voices were a chorus of cries, spirits of earth wishing well their departing sons, and spirits of air blessing them with good winds.


    Illna joined them in their song, her magic reaching out to intertwine with the others.


    The world itself was rising to tide their way forwards. The mana in the air had risen to a crescendo by then.


    One second.


    The stone beneath his feet was a rumble of power and tension. Rek braced himself for the shock he knew would come.


    Zero.


    There was a mighty pull, as if the ground had been torn away from under him, and then he was falling through thick darkness, and that was all he knew.