When Dean came too, he was kneeling in virtual shadows. All around him, mist swirled, and he could hear sounds in the distance. Laughter? Screaming? He couldn’t tell. He knew only that the semi-darkness around him seemed to stretch on endlessly into the void.

  “Where is this?” he asked, and his voice echoed as if from all around him. Was this the spirit world? Shadows shifted beside him, and he caught a glimpse of something. A pair of eyes?

  Dean rose to his feet, his vision swaying from side to side. He felt as if he were drunk, and yet his mind was oddly free of clutter as he stumbled forward in the shadows.

  “Who are you?” came the imposing feminine voice out of the darkness. “What do you want with me?”

  Dean’s heart leaped into his throat as he realized who that voice belonged to.

  “My name is Dean. Goddess, I know that you do not know me. I wasn’t born under your moon, but I seek your favor over all others.”

  There was a silence as the shadows continued to swirl. Dean walked forward, praying his gamble would work and not knowing what would happen if it failed.

  “I have nothing to offer a human,” said the voice. Ahead of him, a figure seemed to loom from the darkness, only to disappear when he focused on it.

  “I want nothing from you. Only advice.”

  There was another pause, this one so long that Dean feared he might never get an answer. Then at last the figure reappeared in front of him. Two eyes that seemed to glow with Indigo starlight focused, and Dean felt the weight of that stare like a physical strike.

  “If you wish to speak with me, then you must find me. But be warned, mortal. This side of the spirit realm was not crafted with humans in mind. This realm is not for the weak of will. Show me your more than what you seem, and I may choose to hear you out.”

  Dean felt icy dread settle in the pit of his stomach, but he wouldn’t let fear stop him.

  “I understand.” He said. “And I accept your challenge.”

  The Goddess of the Hunt made a sound in her throat, almost like a purr.

  “Good luck, human Dean. Should you succeed, I will await you in my midnight pavilion.”

  And just like that, she vanished into smoke. As if on cue, the mist around him unjulated again, flowing outward like a tide. The ground beneath his boots seemed to shift, and Dean looked down. Dark moss and roots sprouted from the earth at his feet, stretching off in a soft carpet across the floor. In the distance, he could see the trunks of pine trees rising from the ground, disappearing high above into misty darkness. He was in a forest, but it was unlike any forest he had ever seen.

  “Dean.”

  The sound of his voice made him turn. He scanned the dark tree line, seeing a silhouette in the distance. There was something wrong about that shadow.. something not entirely human. Dean’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, and he took a step backwards.

  “Dean.”

  This time, his name sounded like a whisper only feet away. Dean whirled, drawing his sword as he reached for his mana sense. But for once, his senses denied him. He could feel nothing… see nothing but what was before him. And that spiritual blindness terrified him.

  “Who are you?” he asked, his voice carrying across the dark forest. “What do you want?”

  Nothing answered him. Dean shook his head, trying to clear his mind. These were only tricks of the mind. If he wanted to find the pavilion, he needed to keep moving forward.

  “Dean!” The sound was louder this time. The shadow in the trees shifted, and a prickle of fear ran through him. The voice sounded strangely familiar, almost as if…

  “Sylvie?” he could feel the blood drain from his face. He knew it couldn’t be real, and yet to hear his sister's voice so near shook him to the core.

  “Help me. Help me, I’m all alone! I need you.”

  Dean’s grip on his sword was so tight he thought he might bend the hilt. Slowly, he took a step away from the figure, then another. A shrill scream sounded from behind him, and the sound broke Dean’s heart. But still, he knew he couldn’t afford to listen. Dean turned and ran as the shrill scream behind him turned into a howl.

  Branches whipped him as he ran, scattering mist in his wake. High above him, the light of the moon seemed to shimmer off the trees, casting everything in a strange and otherworldly light. Dean ran until his lungs ached, and only then did he slow his pace. He could feel a sheen of sweat on himself and wondered vaguely how that was possible. Could spirits sweat? Was he really here in his physical form? What would happen if he died?

  Dean forced his heart to slow, breathing deep and steady as he moved to calm himself. He needed focus, not fear. Fear would only get in the way of his task. His pulse finally slowed.

  That was, of course, when the loud thumping began. It started as a distant sound that was hard to pinpoint. Dean turned in a circle, scanning the trees around him in alarm as it drew steadily nearer. High above, ravens burst from the trees into the sky, their screaming caws echoing. Then the thumping stopped.

  Dean’s palms were sweaty as he raised his sword, eyes fixed on the darkness beyond. But what stepped out of the mist was not some beast or giant. Instead, it was..

  “Captain Ripley?”

  The man stumbled towards him, looking haggard. He was exactly how Dean remembered him, from his waxed mustache to the slight drop of his shoulders, but this time he was in a bad way. His clothes were torn, his breastplate torn open as if by giant claws. Blood trickled in a steady rhythm from his chest, dribbling a trail across the grounds.

  “Dean,” said Captain Ripley, his voice forlorn. “Is that really you? This place… it plays tricks on me. These days I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t.”

  Dean hesitated, staring at his old mentor. He couldn’t be here… could he? And yet the man looked real enough.

  “It’s me, captain,” he said, his voice uncertain. “But how are you here? How did you..?”

  Ripley stumbled to a halt, his shaking hand going to his face. Where his hand touched, Dean saw stains of dark red.

  “I don’t know. It’s all so mixed up. The last battle was brutal. I thought we stood a chance, but in the end…”

  He shook his head.

  “In the end, what was the point of any of it? To see our comrades die? To be so close to victory only fail over and over again. We never stood a chance, Dean. Not against monsters like that. We never have and we never will.”

  Dean halted, going still as he watched the Captain lower his head.

  “We failed, Dean. We watched humanity lose everything and now… it’ll happen again. It’ll happen over and over again in an endless loop. Slaughter, destruction, our desperation to rail against the inevitable. But men are not gods. We should give in. Stop this before-“

  “Shut your mouth.”

  Dean’s words were cold as he directed them at his former captain. The man froze, face raising towards him in an expression of confusion.

  “How dare you wear his face,” said Dean, his anger rising as he lifted his blade. “Captain Ripley was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. The real Ripley would never spew defeatist propaganda. He was an honorable man and a hero to his last dying breath.”

  The Captain’s face was in shadow. But Dean saw it tilt its head. He didn’t give it a chance to react. Moving forward, Dean swung his sword, decapitating the false image of the captain. The head fell to the ground, where it disintegrated into smoke. Dean’s hand was steady, though his heart still pounded in his chest. Then, the clearing seemed to shift.

  All at once, the moon seemed to grow brighter, illuminating the forest around him. Under its light, the mist seemed to dissipate, fading away until he could see the trees more clearly. Music drifted to him on the breeze, soft and almost forlorn. Dean moved through the trees towards a light in the distance. As he went, the scene around him seemed to shift.

  The tree's bark appeared to lighten, becoming white silver in the moonlight. Water flowed nearby, a steady stream that brought with it the glow of bioluminescence. The foliage became denser, bringing with it the smell of fresh rain on stone. All the while, the flute music continued to warble into the night air.

  Ahead, Dean saw a pavilion loom out of the trees. It was a simple construct open at the sides with dark blue cloth swaying in the unseen breeze. The pavilion itself was constructed out of that same strange white wood that seemed to shimmer in the light of the moon. But it was not the pavilion that had Dean's attention.

  At its center, laid out on a cushioned divan, was an elf woman. She was wrapped loosely in midnight cloth that cascaded around her. Her skin was deep indigo, the tips of her pointed ears and fingers lightening to purple. Her eyes, which had no pupils, resembled those of the night sky, shifting between light and dark as she gazed at him. That stare seemed to hold the weight of hundreds, if not thousands, of lifetimes, and Dean became starkly aware that he was in the presence of the divine.

  He pressed his fingers to his lips and inclined his head in the formal elven greeting. The last note of the reed flute hung between them as the Goddess lowered the instrument.

  “So the guardian couldn’t fool you. How very interesting. I must confess, you are not at all what I expected, human.”

  “The Guardian? Is that what that thing is called?”

  She nodded, her starlight eyes flicking to the tree line behind him.

  “Yes. It is an old being – one tasked with the duty of protecting this realm from those who would seek to do it harm. This part of the spirit realm walks a thin line between unreal and reality. There are things here, delicate things, that would be best to remain undisturbed. And so it waits and watches, hunting and attacking anything it deems a threat.”

  Dean grimaced.

  “I’m afraid I killed it.”

  The Goddess laughed, and the sound was at once like the ringing of bells and the roar of some great beast.

  “It takes more than that to kill a guardian. Besides, it is not the only one of its kind to lurk in these woods. You have subdued it for now, but chances are it will resume its hunt as soon as it is able. It’s best you be gone from here by then.”

  The thought of another encounter with that strange creature was enough to make up his mind. Dean had come for answers, and now he needed to gather as much information as he could before he left this place.

  “Goddess. I came to you because I needed advice, and I believe you are the only one who can give it to me.”

  “Oh?” The goddess watched him with guarded eyes. “And why is that? What is this knowledge that you seek?”

  Dean took a breath, preparing himself before plowing ahead.

  “I want,” he said, his eyes meeting herss in the light of the moon. “I want to know how to kill a god. And as far as I know, you are the only deity in divine history to ever accomplish such a feat.”

  There was a pause so long that Dean feared he’d made a grave error. Then a wind whipped through the pavilion, making the cloth hangings sway. The Goddess moved so quickly that Dean almost stumbled back as she stopped before him. She was tall, at least seven feet, and she had to bend to examine his face. As she drew near, Dean caught the faint scent of mint and juniper.

  “You come to me asking how to kill one of my kind? You, a mortal? Tell me, human, do you have a death wish?”

  The question had no malice in it, and yet Dean felt the weight of her power. In this close proximity, the fact that she could end his life with a mere crook of her finger was not lost on him. And yet Dean didn’t waver. He stood his ground, holding her gaze as he shook his head.

  “It’s not a god that I want to kill. At least, not in the traditional sense. But there is a man… one who will rise in the ranks to one day become a saint. I cannot tell you how I know, but I believe he will betray humanity and the allied races, and in doing so, doom us all.”

  The Goddess’s eyes narrowed.

  “You speak of the future and things you shouldn’t know. And yet I sense no dishonesty. How then do you know these things?”

  Dean hesitated. In truth, he wasn’t sure how much he could tell her, and he was weary of Bast’s warning to keep their bargain a secret. The Magus was powerful, and he had no way of knowing if things said in the spirit realm could be overheard but unwanted ears. Still, if he wanted answers, he knew he would have to give some of his own. After all, this was a trade.

  “I saw them,” he said. “Or more accurately, I was shown them. By a Magus.”

  At his words, the Goddess recoiled. Her face seemed to shift, eyes becoming sharper as she bared her teeth at him. Her canines were long, and Dean was reminded somewhat of an angry cat.

  “A Magus?” she hissed, her nostrils flaring. “Is that what I sense lingering on you? The foul remnants of a dark magic, older still than the birth of the world.”

  The intensity of her reaction surprised him.

  “You know of them?”

  “Know of them!? Every deity is aware of the existence of those vile abominations. They are old, some older even than the gods themselves. Once mortal men, they dabbled in arts far darker than you could imagine. Tell me, were you foolish enough to make a deal with one of them?”

  Her eyes flickered down to his bare arm, where the symbol that Bast's hand branded on him now throbbed beneath his skin.

  “You did,” said the Goddess, her eyes narrowing. “Your judgment cannot be trusted. Begone human. I will not allow that taint in my realm. It is far too dangerous.”

  She turned and stalked towards the end of the pavilion.

  Dean’s blood ran cold. On one hand, an angry goddess was an extremely dangerous thing, but on the other, the cost of failure was too high. If he failed now, he would leave here with neither the information he needed or the spark of his essence ignited. Dean knew he had to smooth things over, but the only question was.. How. How could he convince her that he himself wasn’t a threat?

  “Wait,” he said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice. “I did not seek the Magus out; he came to me. And the deal I forged with him was one of necessity.”

  The Goddess growled, the sound vibrating the pavilion.

  “Necessity? Personal power is the only thing men like you desire.”

  “What power?” Dean felt his temper flare, and wrestled to subdue it before he continued. “I have no power, no privilege in my world. I’m human, but I’m aware of the nature of the corruption of men. I would have never offered my soul as payment for some back-alley bargain. The only reason I played their game at all was to save my friend.”

  The Goddess was still striding away, descending the marble steps towards a pool of water. The surface swirled, rising and falling like a miniature tide, and somehow Dean knew that if she entered it he would never see her again. There was only one tool he could use now, and he knew it. The only thing he could offer the Goddess was the truth.

  “She was an elf!” He shouted after her. “And the best person I’ve ever met. She died trying to protect me and others, and it cost her her very soul. And until I can free her, she’s stuck in that awful place. Trapped like a fly in a bottle.”

  The Goddess had stopped walking. She stood still, long hair whipping in the breeze. Then slowly she turned her head.

  “You aren’t lying,” she said. “I would sense it if you were. And yet… You really intend to risk your own life to save the soul of an elf. Why?”

  “She’s not just an elf. She’s my closest friend. The one who taught me how to fight and survive in this world. Who was by my side in every conflict, every battle. She risked her life for others because that’s who she was, and she fought against all the injustice in the world right up until..”

  His voice broke, and Dean looked down, his shoulders hunched as he remembered her final moments. Tears stung his eyes, and he felt a flash of anger at himself for allowing his emotions to get the better of him.

  “I can’t just leave her,” he said softly. “Not when I know she’d never do the same to me. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

  A breeze stirred the air around him, smelling of pine and juniper. Warm hands cupped his face and tilted it up towards hers. Gently, the goddess brushed away his tears with her thumbs and leaned forward, planting a kiss on his forehead.

  “Never in my three thousand years of life have I ever seen a human shed tears for an elf. There is much animosity between our races, and there has been since the beginning of time. And yet, I know without doubt you are in earnest, as I sense the sincerity in your heart.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She stepped back, eyeing him thoughtfully.

  “Perhaps I was… too swift to judge. Come, sit and share wine with me. I have cast a spell on this pavilion that prevents eavesdropping, though it cannot protect you if you utter the Magus’s name aloud. Names are a powerful thing in the spirit world.”

  She lifted a jug of red wine, which she poured into a crystal cup and handed to him.

  “Drink,” she said. “And when you are ready, tell me your story. There is much I want to know.”

  So Dean drank the glass dry, and when he was finished, the goddess refilled it as he told his tale. He started from the beginning, from the death of his mother to the fall of Haven itself. At first, the words were halting, even awkward. But after a while, his pace increased until he felt almost feverish. He spoke on the battles, of the traveling, and the time spent in between. And, though he was reluctant to at first, he spoke of Charlotte, too.

  Throughout the story, the goddess listened with wrapped attention, only interrupting him occasionally to ask a question or for clarification.

  “Fascinating,” she said at last. “Truly, you are an unusual case, and you have been through much that might have broken lesser men. Still, the power of that Magus is unsettling. The use of chronomancy…” she shook her head, her midnight eyebrows drawing together.

  “While no being possesses the ability to completely alter time and space to their reality, even small manipulations of the timeline are troubling. Magic has rules, and when those rules are broken, it can have catastrophic effects. Your knowledge of the future will serve you well, but be warned. Time is not linear. Even now, the decisions that you make will alter the trajectory of your former life, and in doing so, you will create new ripples that may further shape the world. In other words, you cannot always count on events playing out exactly as you remember. Because now the world has a factor it didn’t have before.”

  “Me.” Dean rubbed at his face. She was right, but even so, he wasn’t sure what the extent of it was. If the changes he made for the better altered the course of events, then as time went on, his knowledge of the past might become less and less valuable. In other words, he’d have to move quickly if he wanted to create the most impact. Anything significant that he changed would have a ripple effect, the scope of which was impossible to predict.

  “You’ve done well in sharing your story with me.” The Goddess glanced to the side, her eyes narrowing as she seemed to consider something.

  “I sensed no deceit in your tale. I believe you truly did not know of the danger of the Magus, or the truth of the dark arts they use. I will not tell a mortal their secrets, as I do not know all of them myself. But I will tell you that what you witnessed… what you felt. It was something called Soul Magic.”

  Dean’s skin prickled as he remembered the floating orbs trapped within glass, unable to escape.

  “Soul magic?” he asked. “You mean.. human souls?”

  “Not just human, but yes, the magic itself is exactly as it sounds. In order to wield that king's power caster must tether the power of souls themselves as the source of energy. It is different than essence-based magic as it has fewer limitations. Technically speaking, one could burn an infinite number of souls in order to achieve a spell or rite that might otherwise have been impossible. But there are unforeseen side effects to such magic. For one, the use of souls draws the attention of Tartarus. A dangerous endeavor these days. And secondly, wielding that kind of magic does immense damage to one's own body and soul. So much so that a weilder might expect to die within six months to a year.”

  Dean whistled.

  “But if that’s the case… If soul magic is so detrimental to the user, then how have the Magus managed to live this long?”

  “There are two reasons.” Vienna held up a hand, lifting one elegant finger in the air. “The first is that the Magus possesses the ability to hop bodies. They are, by all intents and purposes, living parasites. The host matters not. If they force their way into a body, they contain the ability to snuff out the consciousness within, effectively planting themselves within the host for as long as that body is viable.”

  Dean swallowed, trying to imagine what it would be like to have your existence crushed while a stranger, some foreign entity, took over the entirety of your being.

  “And the second.”

  The Goddess paused for a long moment, her eyes growing dark.

  “The second is quite simple, though it is no less horrifying for it. The Magus must, in order to continue to use soul magic, consume souls themselves. Dozens, sometimes hundreds or thousands, are required in order to keep them at full power.”

  “Consume souls?” Dean’s stomach twisted at the idea, and he felt sweat prickle on his palms. Eating souls… eating the very essence of people? The very thought was monstrous.

  No matter what, I can’t let that be Charlotte’s fate. To be consumed by that monster..

  He looked up to find Vienna watching him with guarded eyes.

  “They really are monsters,” he said, shaking his head. “And where… where did they come from? You said they were mortal. Were they human?”

  She tilted her head, her dark eyes serious.

  “Yes and no. That they were once human is without doubt. What they are now, however,” she shook her head. “It is hard to say. I do not know much about them other than the magic they use and the fact that there are several of them. How many, I cannot be sure, though there are other gods who might know more. Rumors say they fight amongst each other, though they appear to follow a very strict set of codes and rules. Like gods, their interference in this world is prohibited. At least directly.”

  Dean grimaced at the thought.

  “And the gods oppose this?”

  Vienna’s eyebrows rose in amusement.

  “Are you surprised? I cannot speak for every god, especially those that humanity worships. But neither I nor my brother is very fond of those… creatures. While we live, we would never allow them to meddle in the affairs of mortals uncontested. This is why they never interfere directly… choosing instead champions to carry out their causes.”

  Dean rubbed subconsciously at his wrist, the area that Bast had grabbed and branded before he’d been cast back into his old life.

  “So it’s safe to assume there are others out there?”

  “Almost certainly.”

  The goddess laced her fingers, her expression growing distant as she gazed into the moonlit forest.

  “I cannot say for certain, but there is a possibility that those agents will pursue you, should you make enough waves. It is for that reason, among certain others, that I’ve decided to offer you my blessing.”

  Dean looked up, his mouth dropping open as he stared at her.

  “You’re willing to bless me? A human?”

  The Goddess smiled gently, rising to her feet.

  “Who I bless is my decision and mine alone. I believe you are a good man with a hard task ahead of you. Some might believe it is impossible, but you’ve shown you have the grit and determination to see it through. Be wary of Tartarus, Dean. Even now, I sense a stirring in the realm below. Be also wary of those who would call themselves your friends. There will be many who don’t understand you and seek to manipulate or harm you. Though I cannot interfere with your life directly for fear of starting a divine war, I can both bless you and give you the gift of knowledge. Consider it a token of my goodwill.”

  She tilted her head, her hair falling over her shoulder.

  “But. You should know before you accept my gift that some humans may shun you. We of the elven race are not popular among your kind. Once my gift is given, it cannot be revoked.”

  Dean stared up into her starlight eyes and nodded once.

  “I understand,” he said. “And I accept your blessing.”

  The goddess inclined her head.

  “Very well. Then take this offer. I bless thee, Dean Thompson of Haven, to carry out your will to avenge your friends and comrades and stop this war from ravaging the land. I grant you the ability of greater perception, that you might sense your foes before they strike. With my blessing, I give you promise that all who worship me will welcome you. You will walk among my people, known as a friend of the elves, and never in the presence of a dark elf shall you face prosecution.”

  The words rang with authority that Dean felt deep in his very bones. From his core, he felt the thrumming of power. Power that was at once unknown and familiar. The goddess gripped his shoulders, leaning down to whisper in his ear.

  “And I grant you my favor in the way of a boon. My gift is potent, so prepare yourself now to receive it.”

  Dean swallowed, unsure of what to say. He took in a breath, steadying himself. Then he nodded, and the goddess smiled.

  “Accept my boon, and become thus blessed.”

  And then, without hesitation or ceremony, the goddess bent down and bit Dean in the side of the neck. The pain was sharp and sudden, but it was nothing compared to the cold that rushed through his veins. Dean went stiff, grunting as the brunt of it hit him. It felt as if his veins themselves had frozen over as the boon, whatever it was, worked its way through him. His vision tunneled, and he thought he might pass out if it wasn’t for the goddess’s firm grip holding him upright.

  She let out a sound against his neck, a deep purr of satisfaction. Then her tongue snaked out to taste his blood. Dean blinked hard as the cold hit his heart, rushing through him until he felt like he might burst. Then all at once, the pain dulled to an ache, and subsided.

  “There,” she said, flicking a bead of his blood from her lips with her tongue. “I think you will be pleased with the results. Now, you ought to go back soon. Your body is about to die, and the priestess in the temple is beside herself with worry.”

  Dean blinked. He had almost forgotten about the temple… that he wasn’t really physically here. All at once, the priestess’s words rushed back to him.

  “When you find what you are seeking, return as quickly as you can. For to stay is to risk losing oneself.”

  “Thank you,” he said to the goddess, reaching up to touch his neck. She inclined her head once before leaning forward, her cheek pressed to his as she whispered in his ear.

  “As I promised I will give you the gift of knowledge. You asked me a question no mortal has dared to ask. A dangerous question… knowledge one such as you should not have. So I will give you a piece of the puzzle that you may work it out yourself. But it comes with a cost. You shall not recall this knowledge until you require it. In fact you will have no memory of these words. Knowledge is both a blessing and a curse, Dean Thompson. Use it wisely.”

  And then she spoke in his ear, words in a language he didn’t know but that seemed to ring through his very soul like the tolling of some bell. Her words overwhelmed him, wrapping his mind so tightly that he felt like his consciousness might be crushed. That knowledge, whatever it was, was stored deep within his mind in a place he couldn’t access. The goddess stepped back from him, and her midnight eyes seemed to swallow him whole.

  “I wish you luck, Dean. I will be watching your journey with wrapped attention. Now, be gone from my sight.”

  And with that, she gave him a gentle shove on the chest. The floor of the pavilion fell away, and Dean found himself tumbling through darkness. There was no wind, no sound, only the emptiness of the dark around him. From his core, he felt the beginning of hum.

  A box appeared in front of him, a different shade than the black he was used to. This status box was a deep, dark blue, and the white font seemed to glow from within it.

  Congratulations, Dean Thompson. You have earned your badge and been deemed worthy of becoming an Adventurer. Below, you will have the ability to choose the class that best suits you. Once chosen, a class becomes intertwined with your fate and cannot be changed. Choose wisely.

  The text disappeared, and Dean found himself slowing in his fall as more loomed up at him out of the darkness. Seven… he counted seven floating status boxes all around him. Each one contained a class and the explanation of that class's strength and attributes. This was it… his chance to finally manifest and take the first step on his path to ascension.

  Dean studied each box, weighing and measuring his choices. Because of his experience and fighting style, he knew the rogue class wouldn’t suit him. Though there was value in the stealth, it didn’t fit his usual engagement style. Second, he ruled out archery. Dean had never been good with a bow despite Charlotte’s attempts to teach him. Besides, ranged combat wasn’t really his deal.

  He paused over caster, but quickly ended up ruling it out for similar reasons. Casters were also required to undergo at least three years of academy training, something his current timeline wouldn’t permit. That left Sword, Hammer, Martial, and Spear.

  Path of the Hammer: You value strength and power above all else. The path of the hammer is the road of the mighty, granting the adventurer the power to crush their enemies with unrelenting force. This class is best paired with mastery of heavy armor and weaponry.

  Martial Path: You pride yourself on your physical prowess and require no weapon to aid you. The martial way is a path devoted to unarmed melee combat, with bonus stats for blunt damage and heavy strikes. The Martial warrior gains power through commitment and sheer force of will.

  Way of the Sword: You have a respect for tradition and wish to test the limits of your abilities. The way of the sword is an art warranting respect – one forged through the endless test of time. A true swordsman is always learning, pushing himself or herself to greater heights than before. One who masters the blade can expect to be peerless among weapon users so long as he keeps his edge honed. One can expect additional stacking bonuses as a reward for blade form mastery. This class is best paired with medium armor and shield options.

  Dean’s eyes came to rest on the final box, where they remained. This was it… the class his enemy had chosen. It would be Dean’s first insight into the mind of the man who had betrayed all of humanity for his own selfish gain.

  Path of the Spear: Wielder of the spear, your power is without question. Born for battle, the spear is a weapon that has survived generations of scrutiny. The spearman is versatile, fluid, and uncompromising. This class is best suited for those with a robust fighting style who seek not just to win, but to dominate. For those who claim mastery, additional bonuses and passives can be applied to ones weapon and form. This class is best paired with light to medium armor.

  It wasn’t a bad class, and although he loathed the spear saint, he was forced to admit he understood the appeal. Hell, he was tempted to take on the class himself.

  Beating the spear saint at his own game? Now that would be something.

  In the end, though, Dean knew it was a lost cause. At this time, Isaac Alarin had at least eight years of field experience on him and was no doubt a spear master. Even if he trained hard, there would be no guarantee that he’d be proficient enough to challenge the spear saint himself. No, it was best to stick with what he knew. At least becoming a swordsman would give him an edge.

  “Okay,” he said out loud, giving each choice before him one last look. “I’m ready. I’m ready to choose.”

  Dean reached out towards the box directly in front of him, his fingers illuminated by the deep blue glow. This, he knew, was his destiny. And he had just decided his fate. His fingers hit accept and that’s when the world around him went dark. The boxes vanished from his view, only for a new one to appear, hovering directly before him.

  Congratulations Adventuerer, you have chosen your path. From here, there is no looking back, only the path towards ascension. Your inner spark has been ignited by the goddess Vienna. Do you wish to manifest?

  Dean’s breath came faster and faster as he read the words, and he felt a laugh bubble up inside him. After everything, after all he’d been through, he was finally achieving his dream. Dean jammed the accept button and was still laughing when the power within him exploded.

  ***

  The tiny field mouse perched on the edge of the city wall, gazing out over the rooftops of the riverland border town of Camden. The walled sprawling town was larger than Jirdosh remembered. Then again, he’d only ever been this far south once – when his father, the Third Divine Prince, had visited in order to dedicate the statue of the emperor that now stood as a bastion to those crossing the river. It was in the shadow of that giant statue that he now sat.

  At six years old, I was unaware of the nest of vipers I was born into. More obsessed with toys and candy than I was with earning my grandfather's favor. He snorted, the sound coming out as more of a squeak. Maybe ignorance really is bliss.

  The field mouse that Jirdosh was animating twitched its nose, head cocked as it searched for any sign of the scent from weeks ago. It had come from the riverlands, of that he was almost certain. But that didn’t exactly narrow it down. Jirdosh focused, sending a flow of essence from his consciousness into the rat's brain and forcing the creature to run along the wall until he found a rooftop to jump to.

  What he needed to do was locate a government official's office. If there were any reports of strange happenings, it would be likely that either the captain of the guard or the Mayor had been made aware of it. Jirdosh just had to hope that said mayor didn’t have an Adventuerer body guard. Anybody with a silver rank or higher would be able to sniff out his beast animation ability, and that could spell trouble.

  The mouse darted from rooftop to rooftop, squeaking something that sounded suspiciously like a swear as it scalded its paws on hot clay roof tiles. Finally, it came to rest on a nearby chimney, where it perched to get a better view.

  “I can’t bloody believe this!”

  The mouse nearly fell off its perch as Jirdosh startled. In the alleyway between two houses, he could see the gleam of armor in the sun as two watchmen tromped by.

  “Two shipments from the southwest delayed, and you know what that means. No southern shipments, no good wine. The mayor is going to piss his pants with rage.”

  The other watchmen sniggered.

  “Isn’t he supposed to be hosting the Governor of Haven’s daughter for her twelfth birthday? He’ll not be pleased when he finds out wine and florals are delayed.”

  “Nah, I heard the Governor’s daughter is too sick to leave the grounds of the estate these days. Essence sickness, they say. Damn shame, that.”

  Essence sickness? That piqued Jirdosh’s interest. The condition was rare and almost always developed in young children who had an aversion to natural essences. While in the best case it could prevent one from manifesting a class as an Adventuerer, in the worst, the condition could lead to severe illness, sometimes even death. As poor taste as it was, he was loath to pass up the chance for a snippet of gossip. After all, knowledge was a currency among the nobility.

  The mouse hopped down from the chimney, racing across the roof's edge as it attempted to keep up with the patrolling watchmen.

  “Aye, well, either way, the delay in shipments is becoming a problem. Our supplies are down in half the province, and the mayor will have to increase taxes if we’re to have enough to survive the winter. That means half pay all around.”

  The other man groaned, scratching at his chin beneath his helmet's strap. The rasp of gloves on stubble was enough to make Jirdosh’s sensitive mouse ears hurt.

  “Just what we bloody needed on top of everything. If we have any more guardsmen quit, we’ll be down to bare bones this year. And we need all we can get. One bronze-ranked Adventuerer to guard an entire town? We'd better hope whatever is plaguing the south doesn’t come further north.”

  The doors to the garrison building banged shut, cutting off the rest of their words but Jirdosh had heard enough to raise his suspicions. So, something was going on in the south – enough to raise the concern of riverland towns along the border. Whatever it was that Cole was looking for might very well be connected.

  The Field mouse turned, intending to leap down onto the second-floor balcony of the garrison, but something made it pause. It sounded like some sort of odd frequency, something far enough that his sensitive mouse ears were only just able to pick it up. It started as a low whine, but that whine built to a rumble as something in the distance shuddered.

  Jirdosh paused, rising on his hind paws to snuffle the air. There was something off about it. The smell was faint and yet… Jirdosh’s hackles rose as a shock wave of invisible power shot towards him. It was distant, but the speed with which it moved was incredible.

  If he had been present, he might have felt it as a gentle brush against his mana sense, but as it was, his heightened animal senses made the rush of power feel overwhelming. What was even more alarming, was that the feeling.. that strange distant power was almost familiar.

  This is it He realized, little mouse paws slapping the tile in excitement. It’s the same as it was before. It wasn’t close, not exactly. But there was no doubt that the source had come from…

  Jirdosh scanned the horizon, his beady mouse eyes urgent as he tried to see the source of the essence disturbance. Had he been here in person, his mana sense might have helped him visualize it, but with only a fragment of his consciousness planted within the mouse's brain, it might not be enough. Still, Jirdosh strained himself, knowing that he couldn’t afford to give up. His mission's success might be what he needed to clear his name, and if he ever wanted to return to the divine capital…

  An odd disturbance fell over Jirdosh’s mind like a blanket. He blinked, shaking his tiny mouse head to try to dispel it, but the feeling only grew stronger.

  What was…

  An invisible hand clamped down on him, and Jirdosh felt as if his consciousness was being stretched.

  No, not now. He thought frantically as the tug intensified. I’m not finished here! I’m not…

  But, as they always did, his complaints fell on deaf ears. All at once Jirdosh’s consciousness was wrenched out of the mouse, hurtling back towards his body on the floor of his bedroom in the estate. Jirdosh slammed violently back into himself, his whole being vibrating with the force of his return. His eyes shot open, and before he could stop himself, he turned his and gagged. It was a dry heave, thank the gods, but it didn’t stop his stomach from cramping.

  He had never been able to maintain his beast form for long, but these days his stamina was much lower than it had been. Shoving himself upright, the prince sucked in air, willing the room around him to cease it’s spinning.

  The door to his bedroom, which should have been locked by all accounts, burst open. Kale swept in like a hurricane, his sword halfway drawn as he stormed around the room.

  “Where?” growled the stupid oaf. “Where is the threat?”

  “There is no threat, only me.” You bloody lunatic. Jirdosh somehow refrained from uttering the last bit aloud. Even an old dog could learn new tricks he supposed.

  Kale’s scared face pulled into a scowl as he eyed the prince on the floor.

  “What happened then? Did you find something?”

  Jirdosh dabbed a sleeve at the sweat clinging to his forehead and shook his head.

  “I.. I don’t know. But whatever I just felt, your master felt it too.”

  He was sure of it now. That blast of power, whatever it had been, had felt the same as it had before. But how and why was Jirdosh able to feel it as powerfully as he did? That was what troubled him most.

  “Tell Sir Cole I’ll have an update for him soon.” Jirdosh pushed to his feet, his heart still hammering.

  “You know what the anomaly is?” Kale raised a dark brow, the scowl on his face a testament to his disbelief.

  Oh ye of little faith.

  “No,” said the prince, striding for his washroom and the steaming bath that waited beyond. “But I think I know where to start looking.”