《Level: Unknown》 Chapter 1 - Nick The sun was blinding on Nick¡¯s face. His head ached, and his confusion was made no better by the soothing feminine voice speaking within his skull. Unique visitor cataloged Level: Unknown Visitor? Level? He glanced about, but nothing made sense. He was in a field of golden wheat, the stalks waving in a soft breeze flowing down from the mountains to the west. Their peaks were jagged and tilted, like shark teeth rising from the plains. Behind him was a small clearing, black soil surrounded by a circle of stones. The sky was a comforting blue, with nary a cloud. If only the sun wasn¡¯t so bright¡­ No. That wasn¡¯t right. Nick squinted. In the sky, there was a second sun, except it was black instead of yellow. Dark blue veins stretched out from its circumference, seemingly frozen. Initial assessment commencing Archetype: Unknown Special Classification: Unknown Statistical allocation determined by approximation of visitor¡¯s physical and mental self-definition Nick flinched again. It felt like a spike was driving into his forehead. Stats? He didn¡¯t care about that. He didn¡¯t even know where he was. The last thing he remembered, he was¡­he was¡­ Where? He glanced down at himself. His clothes were wrong. They were plain brown suspenders and a white shirt, the fabric surprisingly soft on his skin despite its thickness. A sort of farmer? That wasn¡¯t him, not him at all. He was a¡­ ¡­researcher¡­ Nick dropped to his knees and clutched his head, fighting off a wave of pain so intense he feared he would vomit. He forced himself to breathe in and out, his gaze focused on the wheat before him. He watched its subtle movements near the roots, watched a little black bug crawl along the dark soil before vanishing beneath. Again came the same soothing voice. It was female-coded, pleasant and calm, and with every syllable the ache in his forehead faded. Assessment complete Level: 1 Agility: 1 Physicality: 1 Endurance: 1 Archetype: None Special Classification: None Nick forced himself back to his feet. Ignore the hole in the sky. Ignore the dwindling pain. Focus on what can be dealt with in the here and now. ¡°Level one?¡± he tentatively asked aloud. He didn¡¯t know why, but instinct told him the voice would hear and respond. Simplified estimations of overall caliber of being ¡°Fascinating,¡± Nick said. Curiosity got the best of him, and he started walking through the wheat in search of where the field ended. ¡°So, uh, do you have a name, voice, so I can call you anything other than ¡®voice¡¯?¡± I am Cataloger ¡°Nice to meet you, Cataloger. I¡¯m Nick.¡± I am aware of that user attribute He laughed, and it felt good to move. With the lifting of the painful fog around his mind, he grew more aware of his surroundings. The mountains to the west were beautiful, if distant. Their snowcapped tips rose in stark contrast to the flatness of the field before them. To the south, perhaps a half mile away, he saw a small stream whose water was siphoned off into little rivulets to water the field. To the east, Nick could see a village, so he set off in that direction. Perhaps, once among people, he might get an explanation for whatever was going on. ¡°User attribute,¡± he repeated aloud. Part of him knew it should be strange talking to a voice in his head calling herself ¡°Cataloger,¡± but at the same time, it felt normal. It felt¡­right. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re not much for small talk, are you?¡± I provide information and guidance for unique visitors ¡°And I am a unique visitor?¡± Yes Nick paused a moment. ¡°Is that a good thing or a bad thing?¡± Unknown Time to get used to that response, he suspected. He waded through the wheat as if it were water that went up to his chest. Given how its golden glow continued onward for seemingly miles and miles to the west, it was like being lost in an ocean. Scattered throughout the field, he saw people in similar overalls hacking away with sickles that gleamed in the bright midday sun. Nick thought to call out to them but decided against it. Let them work. He¡¯d find someone in the village to talk to, someone who could explain what was going on. Maybe¡­maybe he was a farmer here and had passed out from the heat? He certainly felt thirsty. Perhaps dehydration? Given how much his head hurt, that could explain his difficulty remembering things, like where he¡¯d been, or what the name of the village ahead even was. Location: Meadowtint Description: A small farming village, population one hundred and seventeen, largely dedicated to wheat production and harvesting ¡°Meadowtint?¡± Nick asked. It carried no familiarity on his tongue. If this was his home, there were no attached positive feelings or emotions. He pushed onward, glad to see the end of the field. The village seemed pleasant enough, about thirty homes arranged on either side of a main dirt road splitting through them. Their thatched rooftops were the color of the field, their walls wood and clay plaster. Beyond the village, from what little he could see, was a dirt road leading toward a distant little river; on the other side grew what appeared to be an oak forest whose contrast to the nearby field was stark. Several people milled about the well in the center of the village. Nearby, an older woman sat in a rocking chair beside the door to her home, protected from the sun by a rickety awning. Nick approached, strolling over as if they were acquaintances¡­which they might even be, if he was suffering from memory loss. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Hello there,¡± he said. ¡°I fear I might be a little lost and confused.¡± The woman hunched over in her chair, slowly rocking back and forth with the press of her heels. He thought she was busy sewing or crocheting, but her gnarled hands were empty when she looked up. Her silver hair was covered in a bonnet, her dress, a mixture of faded blues and pinks. Her eyes, though, were the color of night, as if the pupils had swallowed her irises. ¡°Lost?¡± she asked. ¡°You¡¯ve wandered off the beaten path, stranger. How does one lose themselves in Meadowtint, here where the west ends?¡± ¡°I somehow managed it,¡± Nick said, doing his best to not recoil. The woman¡¯s tongue was a shade of black, as if she had spent the past minute licking tar. He smiled at her, trying to be disarming, while she stared at him until, suddenly, her eyes grew wide with terror. ¡°Vaan almighty, protect me,¡± she whispered harshly, shriveling into her chair. Her hands clenched into fists. ¡°Though I am weak, through him I am strong.¡± Her voice was getting louder. Nick glanced about and saw others in the village, simple farming men and women, staring at him. Several still held their sickles from the fields. ¡°Though I am frail, he is my iron. Though I weep, he dries my tears.¡± Nick retreated from underneath her awning, his hands up to show he meant no harm. Villagers arrived from every direction, surrounding him with unnerving silence. ¡°I give my heart to the Conqueror of Time, and in his hands, I am made safe.¡± The nearest man lifted his sickle. He wore the same clothes as Nick, only they were far more worn and faded. His skin was pale, too, pale and almost gray. Not tanned, like it should be for someone who spent their days in the fields. His eyes were the same as the old woman¡¯s¡ªblack. ¡°Demons in the village,¡± he said, his tongue appearing as a void in his mouth. ¡°Vaan be with us.¡± ¡°What¡­what are you?¡± Nick asked, horrified by the pallid nature of the man¡¯s skin, the emptiness of his eyes, and the dark color of his tongue. Text appeared above his head, the black font faintly outlined in white to ensure clear legibility. Cedric: Level 1 Human Archetype: Villager Sickles, rakes, and knives rose skyward as the other villagers readied their weaponry. ¡°Vaan be with us,¡± they called in unison. Nick chose a direction and ran, attempting to burst through the growing crowd. Shouts accompanied his sprint. When the people did not move, he tucked his shoulder and rammed through, saw open road, and then screamed as a sickle raked across his back. His vision flashed red, and then strangely, a red bar appeared in the upper corner of his left eye. Nick might have given it more thought if not for the pain flooding his body. Thankfully his momentum carried him, and once free from the crowd, he dashed along the center road, eastward, toward the river and the oak forest beyond. As he ran, he noticed the red bar stayed firmly in place in the corner of his vision regardless of where he looked. It was like the little floaters one noticed if looking for them in one¡¯s vision, always there no matter where one turned. This is insane. This is absolutely insane. This is a dream, or a nightmare, or, or¡­ Nick didn¡¯t see who fired the arrow, only felt it thud into his side. He gasped, and when his mouth opened, a faint spray of blood dribbled down his chin and onto his clothes. The red bar shrank, now half its original size. Health, he thought as he ripped the arrow out. Only now did he see the archer lurking at the edge of the village, an older woman with a straw hat and a hunter¡¯s bow. That¡¯s my health, isn¡¯t it? A graphical representation of your body¡¯s overall condition Nick hated the idea of this Cataloger thing having access to his thoughts, but there was hardly time for that now. He had to run. He followed the road toward the river, and when he glanced behind him, he saw a huge group of people giving chase with crude weapons held at the ready. He¡¯d no clue what he¡¯d done to upset them, but he knew for certain he was no ¡°demon,¡± whatever that meant. Now aware of that first bar, Nick noticed there was a second below it, similar in shape and simplicity, except slightly longer and filled halfway with solid green. ¡°What is that?¡± he asked Cataloger, and was disturbed by how weak and out of breath he already sounded, given the distance remaining to the river. A graphical representation of your physical endurance ¡°And what happens when it runs out?¡± You will need to rest¡ªor to use a human colloquial term¡ª¡°catch one¡¯s breath¡± Nick eyed that little green meter in horror. With his every step, it emptied at a shocking pace. It certainly felt like he was about to drop from exhaustion. His legs ached, and his lungs burned when he gasped for air. But that made no sense; if he pushed on, if he forced himself to move, he should be able to run for so much longer¡­ The meter emptied, and it felt like Nick slammed into an invisible wall. He gasped in air, his chest tightening and his legs wobbling beneath him as he slowed to a walk. His every step felt like pushing through molasses. Pure stubbornness kept him stumbling across the grass toward the river. Another glance behind him, one he instantly regretted. Still the villagers of Meadowtint gave chase¡­and they were so much closer than before. ¡°To the river,¡± he muttered, resuming his sprint. ¡°Just¡­cross the river.¡± Any attempt at running ended immediately. The damn green bar¡ªit drained in seconds. His chest constricted, and even his throat felt narrowed in a way that reminded him of how his brother had once described an asthma attack. ¡­brother¡­ Again that searing pain in his mind, somehow worse than the ache of the arrow wound in his side and the cut on his back. Nick stumbled, dropped to one knee, and gasped. ¡°Just a dream,¡± he said. ¡°This cannot be real.¡± The world of Yensere is real by most definitions, with interactions, emotions, and events that are both consequential and long-lasting to the individuals who experience them More answers unasked for. Nick pushed onward, refusing to argue with a voice in his head. After what felt like forever, he reached the river. Nick could practically feel Cataloger¡¯s presence hovering nearby, eager to tell him the river¡¯s name, but she blessedly remained silent. He pressed through the mud that formed the bank and then waded into the water. It only came up to his knees, which ruined his hopes of using its lazy current to swim away from his pursuers. ¡°Suffer not any demons to live!¡± a deep-voiced man shouted. Nick glanced back, saw the man leading the others, taller than them, his pitchfork raised above his head like a battle banner. Nick waded onward as fast as he could while making sure he didn¡¯t push himself too hard, all so that damn green bar could steadily refill with his every exhausted gasp of air. Surprise, though, had him momentarily stumble in the mud-slick water. There, on the opposite riverbank, was the strangest woman he¡¯d ever seen. Her skin was pale, her blond hair even more so, and cut short, just below her jawline. Her eyes were such a vibrant blue they seemed to glow despite the distance. She wore armor made of silver chain, yet azure fabric flowed throughout it, hiding the creases, covering her chest and waist, and coming together to form a sort of skirt that ended just below her knees. Her boots were of slender plate. In one gloved hand, she held a sword. Her other was bare, and she pointed its palm toward him. Frost: Level Human Archetype: Special Classification: ¡°Sorry about this,¡± she said, ¡°but we all have to learn eventually.¡± Blue mist coalesced into a sphere that hovered just shy of her palm and then shot across the river. It slammed into the water between Nick¡¯s feet but made no splash of impact. Instead, the water froze, ice stretching several feet in all directions and then locking together into one thick sheet. Nick twisted, shifted, tried to move. Nothing. The ice had him trapped in place. ¡°What is this?¡± he shouted, baffled. ¡°What are you doing?¡± There was no hiding his panic¡ªthe villagers were right behind him. He heard the splashing of their steps. The woman grinned at him playfully, amused. It¡¯d have been downright charming if he weren¡¯t afraid for his life. ¡°Everyone dies the first time they come here,¡± she said. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Nick. You¡¯ll get used to it.¡± Nick¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Get used to¡ª¡± Pain spiked through him as he felt the sharp teeth of a pitchfork stab his back. He gasped, his arms flailing to push them away, but he still could not move. The ice had him imprisoned. Another hit, a slash with a sickle across his side. Blood splashed to the river. The villagers surrounded him, muttering, murmuring, always that word on their black tongues, that same expression in their dull, hollow eyes. ¡°Demon. Slay the demon.¡± The red meter that was his life flashed just beyond the edge of the box. The pain was unreal. Nick awkwardly collapsed onto his side as the ice dissolved, releasing him. Above him, he saw only bodies, cruel in their aims, heartless in their words. The largest of them lifted his pitchfork and aimed it for Nick¡¯s throat. For once, Nick saw a bit of life and light enter the man¡¯s eyes when he spoke. ¡°Vaan be praised.¡± Down came the pitchfork. Health: 0 Visit terminated Chapter 2 - Nick Nick lurched in bed and immediately vomited. ¡°Easy there, deep breaths,¡± his older brother, Simon, said as he grabbed him by the arm. Nick retched several more times, but nothing came out, just dry heaves that were painful to his abdomen. ¡°There you go. You¡¯re fine. Just take it slow, Nick.¡± Nick leaned back, his head resting on a pillow. He was in a bed. No, not just a bed. A med ward. There were wires attached to his wrists and a sensor on one finger. The world grew firmer around him, more real. The carefully chosen white of the station walls. His brother¡¯s blue eyes, staring at him with obvious worry. The stars shining from the room¡¯s lone window, as well as a tiny portion of the barren planet, Majus, around which Station 79 hovered in orbit. The smell of the vomit across his chest and lap. ¡°Get this off me, will you?¡± Nick said, tugging at the blanket. ¡°Of course.¡± Simon pulled it away, bundling it so the vomit was trapped in the center. Nick noticed he wasn¡¯t wearing any sort of med gown. He must not have been here long. Nick pulled off his shirt, dropped it to the tile, and then shivered as he lay on the bed. No sign of a doctor. Just his brother. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked. Simon opened a nearby shelf and pulled out another folded blanket and tossed it to Nick. He caught it and gratefully wrapped it about himself. ¡°Honestly, Nick, I was hoping you could tell me,¡± said Simon. Nick relaxed onto the pillow and closed his eyes. It felt like he had just emerged from a dream so deep it bordered on the absurd. His head felt light, and his heart heavy in his chest. All his limbs ached, too. What happened? Today had been special; he knew that in his gut. His brother¡¯s clothes, they were nicer than normal, formal attire, crisp blue fabric with gold trim. His brother¡­his brother was doing something special, something with¡­ The Artifact. Nick pushed back up to a sitting position. ¡°What happened?¡± he asked. ¡°The Artifact, what happened when you activated it?¡± Simon¡¯s careful smile cracked. ¡°What happened is that my little brother had a seizure the moment I put my hands on it. Don¡¯t worry about the Artifact. Let¡¯s worry about you. Did you notice any particular irregularities? Hear unusual noises, maybe experience sensations you cannot explain?¡± Nick felt memories hovering just outside his reach, refusing to come easily. The research station over Majus had originally been sent to Majus because of long-distance scans suggesting the possibility of life. Instead they had found a dead, barren planet. They continued their research, of course, collecting rocks and attempting to analyze the fate of the planet and discern why the scans had been so wrong¡­and that was when they found on the surface, seemingly waiting for them, the Artifact. It was an octahedron, its surface as smooth as obsidian, its height thrice that of a man, and its weight, somehow a shocking fifty tons if placed under universal standard gravity. The researchers on the station had eagerly brought it aboard for study¡ªthis was potentially the most important discovery in all of humanity¡¯s long history. An actual piece of alien technology, the first ever found among the stars. Was it from a prior civilization, or the remnant of a spacecraft that had crashed? Whatever it was, the proof of life beyond humanity in the stars was exhilarating and frightening in equal measure. The scientists aboard the station did all they could to open it, speak with it, interface with it in any way. For a month, they accomplished nothing, but then the Artifact itself changed. Curved writing appeared upon the perfectly smooth surface, along with near-invisible grooves clearly meant to fit a pair of human hands. Simon, Nick¡¯s older brother and the youngest station director of the Offworld Planetary Control organization, had been given the honor of tearing it open. There had been a grand ceremony earlier that day, with everyone on the station gathered in the curving observation deck overlooking the Artifact, as Simon spoke aloud the words that had been painstakingly translated. So far as everyone expected, Simon would be chosen for¡­whatever might happen. Simon, the charismatic director of Research Station 79, tall and handsome in his gold-trimmed blue OPC uniform, was the perfect person to make first contact with anything alien. Yet when his older brother spoke the words, Nick had felt strange, like sharp needles were stabbing deep into his temples, followed by queasiness, a sense of vertigo, and then¡­then what? Demons in the village. ¡°I did experience something unusual,¡± he said. He swallowed. His tongue felt like sandpaper. ¡°My head hurt, and then my stomach, too. After that, I think I passed out and went¡­somewhere.¡± Yensere. ¡°Went somewhere?¡± Simon asked. Nick shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to explain it, but I awoke in an entirely new place. And I don¡¯t mean, like, in a dream. It felt¡­real. Vivid. And very bizarre.¡± Simon grabbed a little rolling chair and slid it closer so he could sit. There was no hiding his excitement. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Nick, you have to understand, this was our first significant reaction from the Artifact. For the briefest moment, its core lit up with faint violet light. At the exact same time, you collapsed, hundreds of feet away in the observation deck. This isn¡¯t a coincidence. If you had some sort of dream or encounter immediately after the Artifact¡¯s activation, it might be your mind¡¯s way of processing the information sent to you. More importantly, all my colleagues think the Artifact influenced you, and they¡¯re demanding tests.¡± Simon twiddled his thumbs. ¡°Lots of tests. I understand if you want to refuse, but it¡¯s important that you¡ª¡± ¡°Refuse?¡± Nick sat up straighter in his bed. ¡°Are you kidding? I want to help, Simon. Everyone¡¯s considered me a freeloader for months now, so for me to have a chance to be useful, to actually accomplish something worth a damn?¡± ¡°Language,¡± Simon said, and grinned. ¡°Fuck you,¡± Nick said, and grinned right back. ¡°I¡¯m important now, aren¡¯t I?¡± ¡°To the detriment of all of us, yes, Nick, I think you are. But I¡¯m glad you¡¯re taking it well.¡± Nick sank back into his bed, already starting to feel better. It was frightening, of course, to be linked to the unknown Artifact in ways he did not understand, but he would overcome that fear. When their father passed away two years ago, Nick had been shuffled from caretaker to caretaker on their home planet of Taneth until Simon pulled enough strings to bring Nick aboard Station 79 upon Nick¡¯s eighteenth birthday. Nick was technically a lab assistant, but he heard the whispers. Everyone considered him an unwanted helper, brought aboard through nepotism so Simon could keep an eye on his younger brother. ¡°I¡¯m going to do what I can, but first, you need to do something for me,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Nick pointed past him to the med ward closet. ¡°Grab me a shirt. It¡¯s cold in here.¡± Simon¡¯s mood immediately lightened as he walked to the thin med room closet and pulled out a clean shirt, tossing it to Nick. The shirt was basic white and short-sleeved, similar to a dozen in Nick¡¯s room. He slid it on though it was a bit too big for him, then settled once more into the bed. ¡°All right,¡± Simon said, and he brushed his thumb over his watch twice, activating a recording program. ¡°So after the physical discomfort, you said you experienced a vivid dream. Could you repeat everything that happened? Anything at all, no matter how strange or insignificant.¡± Nick closed his eyes and tried to think. It was all a bit hazy, as dreams often are when one wakes suddenly, but a few images stood out in stark contrast. The first was of an old woman, cowering in fear as she recited a strange mantra. The other was of being frozen in the middle of a river due to¡­ Well¡­due to magic. ¡°Remember, I¡¯m not making any of this up,¡± Nick said. ¡°I exited a field of wheat into an extremely old-fashioned village, was chased by villagers wielding sickles and pitchforks calling me a demon, and died because a woman flung a ball of ice at my feet to freeze me in a river.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Told you it was bizarre.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Simon muttered. He had no notes. Nick knew he would not write anything down, not yet. His older brother would transcribe everything by hand later while listening over the entire conversation. It helped him memorize things, puzzle through them at a pace that elevated him to a savant among his much older peers. ¡°You say you died? How so?¡± ¡°As in I was stabbed to death and bled out,¡± Nick said. ¡°And it wasn¡¯t like a normal dream, either. I didn¡¯t wake up just beforehand. It¡­it hurt.¡± Simon tapped at his lower lip. ¡°Strangely enough, I¡¯m not surprised. Near the end of your period of unconsciousness, your heart rate rocketed to the 180s, and at times you were thrashing around like a wild animal. I almost bound your hands and feet to protect you. Whatever you experienced, it was traumatic, and your body reacted accordingly.¡± ¡°But why am I encountering any of this at all?¡± Nick asked. ¡°The people I saw were agrarian. They had no complex machinery, just pitchforks and sickles. I was wearing overalls, Simon. Overalls. It doesn¡¯t make any sense. Whoever made the Artifact were more scientifically advanced than we can yet conceive. Nothing about what I saw implied those people were the ones who made it. And they looked human.¡± He squirmed uncomfortably. ¡°Why would aliens look human?¡± Simon rose from his chair and tapped the watch to click off his recording software. ¡°Remember, we don¡¯t know what we are dealing with,¡± he said. ¡°Perhaps you were shown what you could understand. Appearances might have been altered to be more acceptable. Perhaps you were introduced to a specific moment of the aliens¡¯ history, like a sliver of time before their space-faring began. If the Artifact is meant to initiate first contact between civilizations, they can¡¯t know what state of technological advancement the discoverers will be at unless the Artifact was purposefully positioned on uninhabitable worlds that required beyond light-speed travel to¡­¡± ¡°Hey, hey,¡± Nick said, interrupting him. ¡°You¡¯re rambling conjecture again.¡± Simon paused, then resumed that cocky grin of his. ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Well. I¡¯ve got enough to form some theories. Prepare for a barrage of tests, blood vials, urine samples, all kinds of fun.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t wait,¡± Nick said, and stared at the ceiling. Simon left, and sure enough, the cavalcade began. Nick did as was asked of him, enduring the pricks of needles to draw seemingly dozens of vials of blood. Pupils were checked, pulse tracked. He recited the alphabet backward, twice, and proved his balance by hopping from foot to foot. By the end of it all, Nick demanded a return to his room. Dr. Haley, the woman in charge of the med ward, had initially refused, until Nick brought Simon in to argue on his behalf. This resulted in a compromise, with Nick allowed to sleep in his own room instead of the med ward, but only if his sleep could be monitored. By the time the machinery switched rooms and Nick relaxed into his own bed, the ceiling lights had dimmed to signal the end of the daytime cycle. ¡°You here to observe my beauty sleep?¡± Nick asked the scientist sharing the room with him, a heavy-jowled man with a clean-shaven head and glasses so thick they seemed like an aesthetic choice. His name was Pagle, and Nick had never liked being around the dreadfully dull and serious man. ¡°I will be monitoring your vitals, yes,¡± Pagle said, sliding an oxygen sensor onto one of Nick¡¯s fingers. Much of the machinery was stacked on his bedside table. The photograph he kept there of his mother and father had been swept aside to make room, a fact that annoyed Nick greatly. ¡°This time, we will be ready if you experience another episode, and be able to properly track any stress-induced tachycardia.¡± Nick closed his eyes as the room darkened further. His stomach clenched. Had he eaten anything since he awoke? He didn¡¯t think so. What he¡¯d give for a granola bar right now. ¡°So,¡± he said, his eyes closed and his mind drifting. ¡°You¡¯re going to be staring at me while I sleep?¡± ¡°Nothing so crass as that. And I will spend much of the time reviewing the results of your various tests, which are only now arriving on the shared server.¡± ¡°Sounds great,¡± Nick muttered. His eyelids were so heavy. It felt like it hit him all at once, a sudden exhaustion that made speaking difficult. ¡°Have¡­fun.¡± Pagle responded, but Nick couldn¡¯t bother to spare the energy to make sense of his words. It felt so good to rest. His mind drifted further. Pagle¡¯s voice faded into nothing. Just silence. Darkness, mixed with a bit of color floating across his eyes. And then. A ring of stones. Chapter 3 - Nick Nick stepped out from the barren circle of stones into the waving field of wheat. Returning visitor cataloged Level: 1 Agility: 1 Physicality: 1 Endurance: 1 Archetype: None Special Classification: None Welcome back ¡°Happy to be back,¡± Nick said, squinting against the light. He meant it, too. To return so immediately only confirmed that his previous experience had been anything but a dream. He closed his eyes and slowly breathed in and out to gather himself. The dreamlike fog vanished from his memories of this place. He recognized Cataloger¡¯s voice. The field of wheat, the jagged mountains, the strange black sun; it was all coming back to him. Including, of course, his unceremonious death. ¡°All right, let¡¯s take this slow,¡± he said, opening his eyes. Judging by the yellow sun, it looked to be late in the day. No one was in the field, not that he saw, but he knelt down to hide within the flowing ocean of grain just in case. Hands to the dirt, he forced his mind to push through the fog to remember the previous day. The med bay. The Artifact. His real life, separate, unique, different from¡­ ¡°Cataloger, where am I?¡± he asked. You are outside the village of Meadowtint, which is situated in the western province known as Vestor ¡°I was hoping for a bit more information than that.¡± It is spring in Vestor, in the six hundred thirty-seventh Year of Vaan, seeing its second year of peace since Batal the Beast began his¡ª Nick shook his head and grinned despite there being no one to see it. ¡°Zoom out a little,¡± he said, interrupting her. ¡°Where is here? This whole world I¡¯m in?¡± Vestor is part of the world of Yensere, which is currently unified underneath the banner of the Alder Kingdom, ruled by God-King Vaan, Conqueror of Time and¡ª ¡°Cataloger,¡± Nick said, interrupting a second time and trying not to lose his patience. This would be information everyone on Station 79 would be dying for. ¡°Please. Let¡¯s try again. Not Meadowtint or Vestor or Yensere.¡± He gestured as broadly as he could, to the ground, the sky, the field of wheat, and the towering mountains to the west. ¡°All of this. The entire world. What is it? It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s virtual, right? A re-creation, perhaps?¡± A very long pause. ¡°Cataloger?¡± I cannot answer that ¡°Can¡¯t, or won¡¯t?¡± I cannot answer that Nick sighed but abandoned the topic. At least that was information, in a way. If this was a virtual world, it might be designed to not let its inhabitants know it was virtual. Granted, the little red and green bars in his vision and the voice of Cataloger seemed to give that away. Still, best not to make any assumptions while still getting his footing. Gathering himself, he looked to the blue sky above. It¡¯s so similar to Taneth, he thought. A momentary spinning sensation overcame him. It¡¯d been so long since he¡¯d stood in wide-open spaces instead of the cramped corridors of Station 79. Even the wind against his skin was a half-forgotten feeling. To ground himself, he thought of his home planet, its lush fields a mixture of flowers and blooming fungi. Taneth was one of the earliest terraformed planets, verdant and pure. For most of his life, it had been his home, and he used its memories to push away the disequilibrium. He had lived in a place like this before, walked open lands, and felt the heat of the sun upon him. He would do so again and relish it. After about a minute, he felt significantly better. That he¡¯d not experienced similar on his first trip into Yensere intrigued him. Did he need to clearly remember his real life for the difference to affect him? Putting the thought aside for now, he peered at the nearby village of Meadowtint. A few villagers wandered the street, slowly, lazily, as if lost in a daze. No one in the field. Perhaps everyone had gone home? There was, however, that strange lady in her rocking chair. He shuddered as he remembered the way she¡¯d cowered from him and prayed with her black tongue to Vaan. The Conqueror of Time? An interesting title for her apparent god. Hopefully not someone Nick would run into anytime soon, especially if he was as friendly as these villagers. ¡°Think this through,¡± Nick said aloud. ¡°Pretend you¡¯re Simon. You¡¯re smart, confident, and actually know what you¡¯re doing. So we¡¯ll do what he would do, right?¡± I do not know the Simon you are referencing; therefore, I cannot judge if his actions would be beneficial or detrimental to your visit ¡°I, uh, was talking to myself.¡± Understood Nick groaned. As useful as Cataloger was certainly going to be, she also needed some lessons on privacy and the concept of ¡°thinking aloud.¡± First things first: Based on his previous experience, it was probably best to assume everyone he met was a potential threat. That meant he was likely going to face a lot of threats, so he needed a method to defend himself. Violence wasn¡¯t his favorite answer to conflict, but he certainly wasn¡¯t keen to repeat the ¡°death¡± he¡¯d experienced last time. Dying from pitchfork wounds was both humiliating and horribly painful, and even if the pain was just psychosomatic, Simon had made it clear his physical body reacted negatively in the real world. Curious, Nick patted his overalls. Nothing useful in the empty pockets. None of the Meadowtint villagers were likely to lend him a knife or a hatchet, so Nick instead scanned the ground, spotting the tip of a rock through the packed soil. He dug it up with his bare hands, revealing a stone roughly the size of his fist. ¡°At least it¡¯s something,¡± he said, turning his attention to the village. The next question was, what to do? He could skirt its edges and make for the river, but the thing was, he didn¡¯t know where he was going. He barely even knew why he should be going anywhere. Granted, maybe someone with him did. ¡°Hey, Cataloger, is there a particular place I should be headed?¡± Visitors are meant to explore the breadth of Yensere and experience all of its wondrous environs ¡°So¡­no?¡± Correct Nick was starting to think Cataloger was going to be the least helpful ¡°helper¡± he¡¯d ever met. He pinched his bottom lip, debating what to do about the villagers who seemed convinced he needed murdering. ¡°I just want to walk up, say hello, and ask some questions,¡± he muttered. ¡°Is that so terrible?¡± Apparently it was, since he resembled some sort of ¡°demon¡± to them. Perhaps he did look like a monstrous creature. Frowning, he glanced about the field despite knowing it was hopeless. Still, maybe if it had recently rained¡­ Are you seeking something? I may help you find it ¡°A puddle,¡± Nick said. ¡°Or even a mirror, if you¡¯ve got one. I want to take a look at myself.¡± One moment A little sheet of statistics flashed before Nick¡¯s eyes, neatly arrayed and matching what Cataloger had spoken to him upon returning to Yensere. In the top left corner beside his name, in a disturbingly accurate three-dimensional representation, was his own face. Nick stared at it, confirming nothing was out of the ordinary. Still had the same short brown hair, same long nose, same brown eyes his mother had referred to as her ¡°two favorite pieces of amber.¡± Your eyes contain insufficient red and too much gold to be considered amber by most metrics¡ªI would consider them hazel Nick clenched his jaw. ¡°Cataloger?¡± Yes? ¡°Please, stop reading my thoughts and respond only when I specifically address you. Can you do that?¡± I seek only to be helpful There was something almost plaintive in her voice, a shift in expression he had never heard from her before. Had¡­had he hurt her feelings? Nick tossed his rock up and down, catching it as if he were a pitcher in a ball game. ¡°Sorry, Cataloger, it¡¯s just a little strange having someone hear my thoughts.¡± Do not feel concerns for modesty, shame, or embarrassment¡ªI am incapable of judgment ¡°Right, because you seek only to help.¡± Correct Nick sighed. He had a helpful little voice in his head¡ªso be it. As for the task at hand, he decided he needed supplies if he was to trek beyond the river in search of a civilization that would not try to murder him on sight. Of course, that raised an interesting question. ¡°Do I need to eat?¡± Silence. Nick closed his eyes and felt a twinge of a headache as he approached the village. ¡°Cataloger, do I need to eat while I¡¯m here?¡± All living things must consume sustenance in some manner This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°Are you upset with me, Cataloger?¡± he whispered upon reaching the edge of the wheat field. Though the black sun remained exactly where it had been, the yellow sun descended, casting long shadows across the village, sharp triangles stretching from thatched rooftops. My advice is not influenced by emotions ¡°That¡¯s not a no.¡± Another long pause. I seek only to help Nick figured that was as close as he was going to get to a yes. And he felt hungry, just as he¡¯d felt while falling asleep in the med ward. So, it seemed he had his heading¡ªfind food, then leave Meadowtint with haste. He eyed the nearby home opposite the lady in the rocking chair. So far as he could tell, there was no sign of life within the decrepit building. As for the lady, she was so still Nick assumed she was asleep, and her head tilted so most of her face was hidden underneath her bonnet. Nick waited a moment longer, searching for anyone who might be watching. Once convinced he was alone, he crept out from the field to the nearby window. No glass, no mesh, just open air blocked off by curtains fluttering in the evening breeze. A small patch of flowers grew underneath it. They looked like buttercups, their healthy yellow a stark contrast to the apparent lifelessness of the rest of Meadowtint. Nick paused by the windowsill to listen. No sounds within, no creaking floorboards, no rustle of feet. Feeling a bit more confident, he climbed through the window headfirst and collapsed onto the floor. The home was modest, to say the least. The floorboards were coated with a thin layer of dirt. Dust covered every inch of the walls and cupboards. To his left was a doorway blocked with a heavy curtain, and to his right, a sort of den leading to the front door. Nearby was a hearth, the fire currently out. For Nick¡¯s purposes, the most exciting prospect was the closed cupboard nailed to the wall above a well-worn dining table. He hurried to it, wincing at his every footstep. It felt like the floorboards carried a vendetta against him, they made so much noise. Nick opened drawer after drawer, searching for anything edible. What he found was a collection of wood plates and forks, all of them in deep disrepair. Some of the plates looked ready to crack in half, while others sported long streaks of black mold. Even if he did find food, the idea of eating any of it was losing its appeal. The creak of the floorboard was his only warning before the sickle slashed his arm. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the iron cut from shoulder to biceps. Nick choked down his scream with clenched teeth as his health bar flashed into view while also dropping by a quarter. He didn¡¯t want to alert the rest of the village with a cry of pain. Instead, he retreated while turning to face his assailant. One of the villagers, an older man, his face covered with a white beard that stood in sharp contrast to the blackness of his tongue and emptiness in his eyes. He¡¯d come from the room blocked off with the curtain, moving more quietly than Nick thought possible. ¡°Demon,¡± the man said, his voice raspy and pained. He lifted the sickle for another strike. ¡°Must you haunt us, demon?¡± Nick readied the rock, slightly bewildered. ¡°You attacked me!¡± The old man charged at him. Nick had no combat training, so he leaned into what little he knew of defensive positioning. The sickle swung, but Nick was faster, easily dodging out of the way. But the villager was relentless, flailing with the sickle over and over again, so that Nick had to dodge again. In a panic, he swung the rock at his assailant, clubbing him across the jaw. A red bar appeared above him, similar to Nick¡¯s, and then it shrank a tiny bit. The old villager staggered, blood trickling down his chin. Nick gave him no reprieve. He caught the man¡¯s wrist the next time he swung the sickle, holding its iron edge up high. A tug, and the man stumbled closer, his balance uneven. Nick beat him across the head twice more with the stone. Blood gushed from his broken nose, and more trickled from his teeth and across his black tongue. Another pull, and the man fell to the ground. Nick dropped to his knees beside him, adrenaline taking over. He moved with a singular purpose. Teeth clenched, pain flaring from every movement of his injured arm, he smashed the rock into the man¡¯s face, again and again and again. And then the bar was empty. No red left within it. No more movement. The old man lay still, breathless, limp, his face a mutilated mess. Nick collapsed onto his rear, the blood-soaked rock slipping from his fingers to roll across the dirt-covered floor. A white bar flashed across the center of his vision, a bold number 1 at the far-right end. The bar filled halfway, then vanished. ¡°Not real,¡± Nick whispered as his hands started to shake. The body, void of life, seemed to mock the assertion. The detail, the vacant eyes, the broken bones, the smell of blood; it was so real. So vivid. He began to heave, though there was nothing in his stomach to relieve the feeling. Not real. Not real, not real. ¡°Cataloger, what¡­what was that?¡± he asked as he sat there and waited for his heartbeat to calm. Maybe talking would help, get him distracted by anything other than the growing foul smell of blood and shit. Clarify ¡°That white bar or line.¡± A visitor¡¯s initial level and statistics are only an approximation¡ªa more accurate assessment may be obtained through comparison with existing known entities Nick thought through the comment twice, piecing out the meaning. ¡°So¡­by killing that man, I proved I¡¯m stronger than him?¡± By comparison, yes¡ªfurther improvements may also be made through lived experience to exemplify natural progression ¡°And the white line?¡± Progress toward reassessment and improvement¡ªplease note visitors will receive accelerated experience growth for increased enjoyment and understanding It made some sort of sense. If this virtual world was trying to replicate a real one, then someone would expect to see improvements after consistent practice. If Nick took to tilling these fields, he suspected his physicality score would improve. Sprinting around the village a lot might increase his¡­what was it¡­agility? And it seemed if he wanted to become a stronger human, then he needed to kill. The thought was a troubling one, and he didn¡¯t like the way it squirmed in his belly. Trying to put it out of his mind, he reached over the dead man¡¯s body for his sickle. The fingers were locked in a death grip, forcing Nick to grab it with both hands and pull it free. ¡°At least I have a real weapon now,¡± Nick said as he clutched the sickle to his chest. ¡°Better than a rock, anyway.¡± Approximately one hundred twenty percent better Nick lifted an eyebrow. Though Cataloger was physically absent, it was hard not to imagine her hovering just to the side, able to see his every movement and expression. ¡°That¡¯s a weirdly specific percentage. You know this how?¡± In answer, a little sheet popped into existence just above his sickle. Item: Sickle Quality: Tier 1 (Poor) Classification: Farming Instrument A single-handed agricultural tool known for its curved blade, typically used by farmers to harvest crops from fields Nick reprimanded himself for being so ignorant. This was a digital simulation, after all. Of course there would be a statistical comparison in some manner between usable objects. ¡°Is that how you convert health to that red bar?¡± he asked, glancing again at the body. It was unnerving being next to it, even if he kept telling himself it wasn¡¯t a real person, but a simulation. To reduce computational stress, the consequences of battle, such as the effects on muscle groups, blood flow, balance, and motion, are made with simplified methods of wounding and overall health based on one¡¯s physicality It was exactly what Nick expected and yet still took twice as long to say. It also helped explain why the wound on his arm felt strangely¡­nebulous. There was a lot of blood across his sleeve, and it certainly hurt, but even when he focused on the injury, he couldn¡¯t quite tell how deep it went, nor see much beyond the surface of cut skin. ¡°But why do you need to save computational stress?¡± he asked. ¡°This whole world, it¡¯s¡­it¡¯s incredible.¡± I cannot answer that Nick shrugged in the fading light. ¡°If you insist. But it also sounded like you admitted we are in a simulation, Cataloger.¡± A long, now familiar pause. I cannot discuss that Nick stood, sickle in hand, and looked once more to the corpse. The man was perfectly still, his eyes open, his black tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Nick¡¯s stomach tightened, but he refused to look away. ¡°He¡¯s not real, is he?¡± Clarify Nick tucked the handle of the sickle into one of the deep pockets of his overalls, suddenly feeling much better. The old man wasn¡¯t real. None of this was real. It was a digital simulation, a fake world. This wasn¡¯t killing. It was the temporary removal of 1s and 0s. The people didn¡¯t die, no differently than how he didn¡¯t die when he was assaulted in the river. Still, the way the man cried out, the way the blood flowed¡­ Nick started for the front door and then changed his mind. He wanted out of Meadowtint entirely now, but now he knew that running through the heart of the town wasn¡¯t going to make that happen. He peeked out the window and noted the forest in the distance beyond the stream he¡¯d been ¡°killed¡± in upon his first visit. That was probably as good a place as any to find some food, be it through foraging or hunting. He doubted he¡¯d be any good at any of that, but perhaps Cataloger would have some tips on catching and cooking prey, if any of the fauna here were edible. Survival advice is limited as to not diminish the benefits of acquired skills in hunting and foraging ¡°Well, never mind that,¡± Nick muttered. He cast one last look at the dead man, then shook his head. ¡°Just a simulation,¡± he muttered, and crawled out the window. He landed atop the buttercups, smashing them underneath his feet. He forgot to look before doing so. ¡°Demon!¡± screamed the old woman from her rocking chair. She pointed at him from across the street, her bonnet falling from her head to land at her feet. ¡°The demon has returned!¡± ¡°Happy to see you again, too,¡± Nick said, waving at the old woman as several villagers ran toward him, farming tools in hand. This wasn¡¯t real. This was a game, one he could become stronger in. Perhaps that was even the expectation of visitors who came into the Artifact, like some sort of test? He didn¡¯t know, but what he did know was that it hurt so damn much when their weapons raked his flesh. Gripping his sickle in both hands, he braced his feet and held his ground. No running. Time to see how well he could fight. A villager in ragged clothes and with ashen hair was the first to reach him, the man wielding a similarly old sickle. He slashed wildly, using frantic movements as if he were trying to strike a fly out of the air. Nick retreated several steps, waiting for an opening, and then seized it. He dashed in, striking with his own sickle directly into the man¡¯s chest. The man screamed, and blood splashed across Nick¡¯s hand, wet and warm. A red bar appeared above, then immediately dissolved half of itself. As the villager staggered, Nick swung again, burying his weapon in the man¡¯s neck to release a bloody spray. The man dropped, his own sickle falling to the dirt. Again Nick¡¯s white bar appeared, sliding from left to right to fill up and touch the bold 1. A surge of exhilaration filled Nick as that 1 became a 2, and the white bar emptied. Reassessment Level: 2 (+1) Statistical Improvements: Agility: 1 Physicality: 2 (+1) Endurance: 2 (+1) Archetype Changed¡ªNew Categorization: Vagrant Nick¡¯s health bar extended, and weirdly, the sickle felt a little less heavy in his grip. ¡°Holy shit,¡± he whispered. His body buzzed with excitement. It reminded him of when he and Simon had celebrated his eighteenth birthday with glasses of homegrown Station 79 beer made from fermented mushrooms. He¡¯d been so giddy then that he¡¯d challenged Simon to climb the entire rock wall in the station gymnasium without a harness, and despite his brother¡¯s slurred caution, Nick got halfway up before falling to the thick foam pad below, cackling all the while. He grinned at the next two villagers hurrying toward him, their mouths open and their black tongues hanging low. The woman had a knife, and the man, a long shepherd¡¯s staff. Nick rushed them, abandoning any defense. He slashed at the man, except instead of hitting flesh, his weapon chunked into the staff. As Nick pulled his weapon back for another hit, the woman¡¯s knife cut across his left arm. He held back a scream as blood sprayed across them both. His health shrank accordingly, dipping downward. Nick shifted his attention to her, swinging an overhead chop directly at her forehead. Her eyes widened, and though she tried to dodge, it took her much too long, her movements deeply sluggish. The curved end of the sickle buried in her forehead, pushing down through bone. Her health bar never even appeared. The instant death denied her a scream, but no such thing stopped the man with the staff. ¡°Clara!¡± he shrieked, the horror in his voice washing over Nick. Don¡¯t think on it, he told himself as he ripped the sickle out of her body, feeling a little out of breath while doing so. His green stamina bar was shrinking. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, swinging at the staff. It hit the wood twice more, and now that he was aware of it, Nick saw little chits of green stamina dissolve with his every attack. Not good. He had to finish this man off quickly. The entire village was coming. Already he saw the giant man with the pitchfork leading a squad of five toward him. All the while, the woman in the rocking chair howled out her warning. ¡°Demon! Demon! The demon returns! Vaan save us!¡± Finally the man abandoned his defensive posture, his rage overwhelming him as he swung wide for Nick¡¯s waist. Nick did not try to block it, instead swiping for the man¡¯s neck in an exchange of hits. The wood struck, and he gasped as his health dropped, but it was nothing compared to what he did in return. His sickle raked across the man¡¯s throat, gashing him. The man gasped with wide eyes at the hit, then pulled his staff back for another strike. Nick was faster, his sickle cutting twice more across the chest. The body dropped. Nick¡¯s white experience bar filled by another third. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said. His heart thumped, and his exhaustion was more pronounced. There were so many of them now, approaching with their crude weapons held high. Too many to fend off by himself. Death was inevitable at this point, but he was going to go down swinging. ¡°Send all of you!¡± He charged right into the center of them, his sickle flailing wildly. He clipped two of them, thin grooves into pale skin. Not enough to kill. Not enough to thin the numbers. A knife plunged into his abdomen. A hatchet smashed into his collarbone and buried deep down in his chest, releasing a stream of red blood. Last was the pitchfork, its teeth aimed straight for his eyes. He saw the metal, saw the grin on the face of the big man wielding it, and then saw only darkness. Health: 0 Visit terminated Chapter 4 - Gareth Sir Gareth gently pulled on the reins of his horse, Ladybell, to halt her trot. His golden chain mail rattled as he dismounted. Before him spread the tiny village of Meadowtint, and already he sensed a worsening of the blight since his last visit. Nearly every home was in a state of neglect. Curtains frayed. Doors hung from uneven hinges. When the people approached, they had an emaciated look to their flesh and bones. ¡°Gareth!¡± a young man shouted, the first to notice his arrival. Gareth came to Meadowtint rarely, for it was several hours¡¯ ride from his home in Greenborough. He was certain he¡¯d met the boy before but could not recall his name for a proper response. ¡°Hello there,¡± Gareth said. ¡°I pray matters have not worsened since I received Baron Hulh¡¯s letter?¡± The boy¡¯s already pale skin whitened further. Gareth pretended not to notice the black on his tongue when he spoke. ¡°They have, sir. The demon returned in the time it took you to arrive.¡± Gareth¡¯s hand fell to the sword belted to his waist. ¡°Any casualties?¡± The boy winced. ¡°Yes.¡± Gareth hid his worries. They needed confidence, and sympathy. He put a hand on the adolescent¡¯s shoulder as more people of Meadowtint approached. ¡°Do not fear,¡± he said. ¡°Even in the outermost reaches of the world, Vaan watches over us and grants us his blessing.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stable Ladybell for you,¡± a young girl said, rushing up to him. Gareth smiled at her. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you,¡± he said, offering her the reins. ¡°If you have any snacks for her, she would much appreciate them. Just don¡¯t spoil her.¡± The girl, a freckled little thing maybe ten years old, beamed at him. ¡°Of course, sir,¡± she said. No black on her tongue, full color in her irises. Gareth prayed the youth might be spared. Ladybell taken care of, Gareth scanned the crowd. ¡°Where is Elder Malek?¡± ¡°I am here, still kicking by the grace of Vaan,¡± a bearded man said, pushing through the crowd. His yellow shirt and brown trousers hung from his bony limbs. ¡°Come with me, Sir Gareth. I would show you the bodies.¡± They went first to a ramshackle home at the edge of town, just shy of the beautiful flowing field of wheat. Gareth stepped inside and winced as the floorboards groaned from the weight of his armor. Dust covered every surface. It felt like no one had been taking care of the interior for weeks, if not months. The body lay on the floor of the kitchen. It was an older man, his face mutilated beyond recognition. A dozen flies buzzed about, swarming his exposed skin and open mouth. Gareth¡¯s stomach sank at the sight. ¡°How did he die?¡± he asked, careful to keep his voice calm. ¡°A monster beat him to death with a stone,¡± Malek said. He pointed. ¡°Body¡¯s still there. We were afraid to touch it.¡± Gareth picked up the stone, the rusty color of the dried blood a stark contrast to the graying floorboards. He tried to imagine the brutality, or perhaps desperation, that would cause a man to murder another with such a crude, simple tool. ¡°Poor Iver had done nothing wrong,¡± Malek said. ¡°Just living his life when that demon climbed in through the window and murdered him.¡± Gareth scanned the room, and he noted that nearly all the drawers and shelves were open and their insides disordered. ¡°He was looking for something,¡± Gareth thought aloud. ¡°But what, I wonder?¡± Malek scratched his leathery cheek. Unlike most everyone in Meadowtint, he still had sunbaked-tan skin. ¡°Didn¡¯t think to check,¡± he said. ¡°The stories I heard as a child, they said demons are a resourceful lot and steal without hesitation. But what did he think poor Iver would have worth taking?¡± Gareth dropped the rock to the floorboards. ¡°If I were to guess, a weapon,¡± he said, and gestured to the body. ¡°We¡¯ll dig a grave for him and pray for Vaan¡¯s blessing. Were there any other casualties?¡± The mixture of anger and sorrow in Malek¡¯s dull brown eyes told Gareth the answer before the man even spoke. ¡°Two more,¡± he said, and gestured for him to follow. He talked as they exited and curled around the side of the home. ¡°Happened late yesterday. One of our own, Julie¡¯s her name, spotted the demon as he was climbing out Iver¡¯s window and called out a warning to the village. We readied our weapons and hurried to defend our homes, but¡­but some of the youngsters, they didn¡¯t listen. They didn¡¯t wait until we were all gathered.¡± Gareth slowed to a halt upon arriving at the scene. This was worse somehow, the blood upon the ground more vibrant and plentiful beneath the gaze of the two suns. A pair of bodies lay side by side, together in death. ¡°Clara and Gerard Carpenter,¡± Malek said. ¡°Iver¡¯s son and his wife. They had a kid of their own, too, a kind lad named Matthew. I¡¯ve taken him into my home, for now.¡± Gareth knelt to examine the bodies. No blunt trauma here. Instead, their corpses sported clear signs of being slashed and stabbed. Clara¡¯s forehead was cracked open, a slit across her brow. Her eyes were open, and they stared lifelessly at the blue sky. A fly buzzed around her mouth and then settled upon the black iris. Gareth shooed it away. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°The demon armed himself,¡± he said, turning his attention to her husband, Gerard. ¡°A knife, perhaps?¡± ¡°A sickle,¡± Malek explained. ¡°He wielded it when we killed him the second time.¡± Gareth clenched his jaw shut to prevent saying things he might regret. He had never fought a demon before, but during his instruction into knighthood, he had learned about them from his master, Lord Frey. Demons were often weak and feeble when they were first born, but their supposed immortality meant that they had the ability to become unstoppable monsters. They needed to be murdered quickly, and consistently, until their will was broken and their desire to walk the lands of Yensere extinguished like a candle in a storm. For this demon to die so easily on the first day, and yet murder three villagers on the second, was a horrifying development with foreboding consequences. ¡°It¡¯s been a long ride,¡± he said, standing and stretching. The motion pushed the lowest ridge of his shield, strapped to his back, uncomfortably against his spine. ¡°Might we rest a moment at your house?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Malek said, and guided him there. It was the largest home in the village and was well kept, unlike many of the others, its curtains washed and its floor cleanly swept. A young kid sat at the kitchen table, a sheet of thick yellow paper in front of him. Matthew, Gareth assumed. The boy held a stick of charcoal, his fingers stained from using it to write. ¡°Go on and play for a bit outside,¡± Malek said. ¡°We adults need to talk.¡± Matthew politely nodded and hurried outside, though not before staring up at Gareth with big, teary eyes. Gareth¡¯s heart squeezed in his chest. He couldn¡¯t imagine the nightmares that boy would face knowing how his parents met their end. But there were still more pressing matters than a demon in their midst. ¡°I would hear of Meadowtint.¡± Gareth¡¯s voice lowered. ¡°How fares the blight?¡± Malek rested his elbows on the table, clasped his hands as if in prayer, and then pressed his forehead against his fists. He stared at the table, peering into nowhere. ¡°I try,¡± he said softly. ¡°I do, sir, I do, but it¡¯s like pissing into the wind. I¡¯d say half the village has it bad, and the other half, they¡¯re just waiting their turn. I help feed the worst cases, but it all feels pointless. They seem so¡­hollow. So lost and gone. The people I knew, my friends, my loved ones¡­they aren¡¯t in there anymore. They¡¯ve been replaced by slow, sluggish, forgetful impostors. It makes it so hard to trust in Vaan¡¯s light to save us.¡± Each word was a burning coal heaped atop Gareth¡¯s head. When Gareth achieved knighthood, Lord Frey Astarda had assigned him to work alongside Baron Hulh to govern and protect Greenborough and her surrounding villages. These were his people to care for, yet he came to the far west reaches of Vestor so rarely. Here they were, suffering, needing a glimmer of hope, and yet it took a demon¡¯s murders to bring Gareth riding. ¡°Do not despair,¡± he said, putting his hand atop Malek¡¯s clenched fists. ¡°The god who conquered time can conquer all of Yensere¡¯s trials, if only we keep our faith in him.¡± Malek lowered his fists. He was crying, albeit silently, maintaining control, with just the twin trails of tears down his cheeks to betray him. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Gareth.¡± ¡°Careful now, elder. It¡¯s a sin against Vaan to tell lies.¡± Their laughter was broken by a sudden, piercing scream. A single word, but enough to startle Gareth to his feet and drop his hand for his sword. ¡°Demon!¡± He sprinted out the door, his long white cloak billowing behind him. Villagers rushed to their homes for weapons, and he dashed past them, his legs churning. Every second mattered. The scream came from the western edge of the village, the demon having once again emerged from the field of wheat. As Gareth neared, he slowed, the sight shocking in its brutality. What appeared to be a young man with short brown hair stood before a rocking chair underneath an awning. He wore clothes similar to those of Meadowtint¡¯s villagers, only his shirt was startlingly white, or at least the parts of it that weren¡¯t stained with blood were. He carried a sickle, and its edge was wet from murdering the woman in the rocking chair. Fury burned hot in Gareth¡¯s chest. Julie. The demon had sought out and murdered Julie as retribution for spotting him after last night¡¯s murders. The vindictiveness of it added an edge to Gareth¡¯s voice as he addressed the demon. He hadn¡¯t just killed her. He¡¯d hacked her head clean off her shoulders. ¡°Murderer of another realm,¡± Gareth said, drawing his sword and pointing it. He kept his shield in reserve, feeling no need for it. ¡°I am Sir Gareth Anoc, knight of Greenborough. Hear my name, and look upon my face, for I will be the slayer of all your lives, from now until the dark sun sets.¡± The demon turned, his head tilting to one side. He looked so¡­normal, so like everyone else, but there was no denying the sense of wrongness that emanated from his presence. Just looking at him felt like jamming a tiny needle into the back of Gareth¡¯s neck. He was separate from Yensere. Different. Obscene. ¡°Nick,¡± said the demon. ¡°Just Nick.¡± And then he charged straight at Gareth, despite wielding only a rusty sickle and lacking any armor compared to Gareth¡¯s finely constructed chain mail. The confidence was unnerving, but Gareth refused to let it shake him. He planted his feet and let the demon close the distance. Nick lifted his sickle just before his arrival. A clumsy swing. Brutish. Simple. Gareth stepped into the attack, his sword sweeping upward. Upon striking the sickle, he easily smashed it harmlessly away. His shoulder, meanwhile, collided with the demon¡¯s chest, bashing him several feet backward. The demon let out a cough, the wind knocked out of him. Gareth gave him no reprieve. He pulled his sword back and extended a gloved hand with the palm facing outward. He didn¡¯t just need to kill the demon; he had to break his spirit. Words of prayer flashed through his mind, and he called upon the blessings of the god-king. ¡°Be still, and know your fate,¡± he said as golden light flashed from his fingers. The light washed over Nick, burning into his skin. His movements slowed. His eyes widened. His every step was lethargic, time itself betraying him so that it moved at a snail¡¯s pace. His sickle, swiping in mid-swing, was child¡¯s play to dodge. Gareth pressed his sword to the demon¡¯s neck. The magic would last only a few seconds, but it would be enough. ¡°There is no hope here,¡± he told Nick. ¡°Only death.¡± One press, and he rammed the sword straight through the demon¡¯s throat. His intention was to bury it all the way up to the hilt, but he never had the chance. As the sword ripped open his windpipe and snapped the bones of his neck, his entire body turned translucent and then burst apart like vapor. Nothing remained of him in the aftermath. It was that strange disappearance, first witnessed after his death in the nearby Rattling Creek, that confirmed his status as a demon to the villagers and caused Elder Malek to write a letter to Baron Hulh pleading for aid. Gareth sheathed his weapon and looked to the rocking chair. No blood from the demon, not even a drop to wipe off his blade, but so much to clean from the murdered old woman. Murmurs behind him. The rest of the village, arriving. They were staring, confused, frightened, and upset. Another dead loved one, and after Gareth¡¯s arrival. They might now doubt the safety he offered. He turned to them, and he let them stare into his blue eyes and see his resolve, his determination to save them from this nightmare. ¡°Tonight, we dig graves for four souls,¡± he said. He lifted his left hand and summoned the magic of his god. Light shone from it, mastery of time at his command, as it was for all lords and knights sworn in service to the Alder Kingdom. Within that holy glow, he made his vow, one he would hold until the setting of the dark sun. ¡°But I swear to you, tonight¡¯s is the last grave you will dig. Let the demon come. Let him fight. Let him die, people of Meadowtint. Let him die, die, and die again until naught is left of his mind but dust and ruin, and you suffer his presence no longer.¡±