I look at Raimi, then at Denet. Both stare at me with innocent eyes, though I am certain innocence doesn’t guarantee secrecy.

  The brook bubbles behind me as Taren waits for my acceptance of fate.

  “And what should I do if they can’t keep quiet?” I ask.

  “That’s not what should worry you,” Taren says. “It’s making sure you get the chance to give your spin on things. It’s not like you ain’t known yet.”

  I turn back to Raimi, who has reddened.

  “They’ve been spreading the word about some woodland boy,” Taren says. “Though Denet exaggerates some, calling you the wood spirit.”

  “So I’m resigned to whatever fate Raimi and Denet dream up.”

  “Not only them.” Taren stretches his back. “Honep says you’re some trickster, sent to ruin our chance for game. And see, some of the other village folk have their own ideas, though they never met you.”

  “And you?” I ask. “What rumors have you spread about me?”

  “Nothing. I don’t waste my breath with something like that.”

  “Yeah,” Denet says, jumping between us. “Taren’s already got four skills, as much as adults.”

  Taren pats Denet’s head, then looks at the boy’s blood-soaked clothes. “Best we clean him up so we can downplay the cut.”

  I nod. Taren takes the Denet towards the brook to wash.

  Raimi stands idly by, holding her yew bow, the bowstring dangling. Then, with a sigh, she snatches her bag and pushes the bow inside, even though it’s way too large to fit. The bow evaporates, as does the arrow she adds afterward.

  I watch her in amazement.

  She notices. “Enchanted,” she says as she wraps the straps over her shoulders. “My father lets me use it. It's not as good as [Inventory], but only three people in the village have one of those. Father says it’s expensive getting an [Inventory] enchantment in the city.”

  “How much can it hold?”

  “Not much more than what I have. The magic’s based on size and weight. Anything too big or too heavy fills most of the space.” She seems to concentrate, then the yew bow appears in her hands, then disappears again. “It’s like an [Inventory], if you’re wearing the bag. Just a miniature one.”

  Denet and Taren return at that moment. Denet still has red stains, but it all looks less severe than it had been. Taren rubs the boy’s head. It's at this moment that I notice one of his fingers is missing. He sees my eyes and hides his hand.

  I want to examine the enchanted bag, but everyone turns to head back towards the village. I’ve watched the children head this way a dozen times. Now I follow them.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Welcome to Ashgrove,” Raimi says as we come upon the village.

  It’s closer than I realized. Small huts decorate a dusty pathway towards an arrangement of buildings, most of wood with thatched roofs, but two stone buildings stand out from the rest: a modest, two-story home, where the Village Elder resides, Taren explains; and the chapel, where a weathered steeple acts as a beacon to the forest all around.

  At the cusp of the village edge, I’m overcome by a sense of unease. Though many villagers dress in little more than bundles of cloth, each outfit looks clean. My rags lie tattered against me, ash stained and torn. Many eyes follow me, with more than a few narrowed.

  Taren, the older boy who so tormented me because of Denet and Raimi, now strides beside me, a determined look on his face.

  My hand rests in my pocket, fingering the moss I stuffed in it before we marched away from the brook. I yearn to [Leech Grip] the plant, even for a little courage or strength, but I know vitality doesn’t work that way.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The village elder exits his stone home and stands near the doorway, leaning on a stiff cane. His leathery face and knobby hands stand in stark contrast to his clear eyes.

  [Hunter] - Level 16

  Seeing his level makes me wonder what they see for me.

  Maybe I’m a villager. Or some other boring [Class].

  Taren, the children, and I stop ten feet from the Elder.

  “Welcome, child.” The Elder’s voice rumbles like rolling gravel. “We don’t see many strangers out this far, especially not children. I am Elder Rorahn, and what might we call you?”

  “His name is Sevorn,” Denet says. “I told you he was real—” Denet cuts off when Rorahn raises a hand.

  “Sevorn…” Rorahn glances at Raimi, who nods her head. “I see you’ve arrived at level two already. So you must have one [Skill] at minimum. Yet, you have no [Class] listed.”

  Denet jumps up and down, holding out his arm. Hints of blood still line his sleeves. “He’s a healer, Elder Rorahn! I was going to die, and he saved me!”

  And Taren’s a prophet. Denet would tell the world if he could.

  Rorahn’s eyes twinkle. The softness fades an instant later. “A healer then?” He rubs one gnarled hand. “A rare skill, so far from the cities. And without a [Class]? Rare indeed…”

  Someone pushes through the growing crowd. I feel a chill—twice. First, when I see the many piercing gazes on me. Second, when a familiar hunter breaks into the opening. Honep.

  “Here’s that trickster boy,” the tall man says, “the one stealing our game.”

  “You’d as soon as lose any game you spot on your own,” says a woman from the crowd. “Don’t go blaming the children for your own faults.”

  “This isn’t the same, Marlene. We found him breaking our traps.” Honep turns to Taren. “Right, boy?”

  Taren straightens. “I don’t think getting tangled in a trap is the same as destroying it. Sevorn’s lucky to be alive.”

  Honep curses at that, then turns and stomps out of the growing circle.

  Rorahn huffs, but says nothing more.

  “If I may, Elder,” says a deep voice from behind me.

  I spin around. A tall, robed man stands there. He shepherds Raimi and Denet aside so he can approach. His eyes are alight despite his relaxed posture.

  Cleric - Level 15

  “Father Edrine,” Rorahn muses. “A bit of foresight would be most welcome. What do you see in the boy?”

  Edrine’s gaze shifts to lock on mine. I do not break contact. The rest of the crowd quiets as time stills. Edrine’s eyes burn like the holy flames that once nearly consumed me. I repress a shiver and cling to the moss in my pocket.

  [Leech Grip] comes of its own accord, just a fraction, enough to wake me from my trance.

  Edrine’s eyes widen, so subtle I almost miss it. He suspects something. I break away from his gaze and turn my head down.

  “I foresee darkness in this boy,” Edrine says. The crowd murmurs.

  “That can’t be right,” says Taren. “He healed Denet. What kind of darkness can do that?”

  Denet nods with enthusiasm, lifting his arm again as proof.

  Raimi glances between me and the cleric. She seems confused.

  “The boy will bring calamity upon us,” the cleric says.

  “That’s nothing but nonsense,” says the woman from before, Marlene. She steps out of the crowd and into the center. “When was the last time you foresaw anything right? You’re always seeing ghosts where there are none.”

  There’s division here. I have become the spectacle in a deeper conflict in this village.

  “And would you trust your life,” Edrine says, “on your lack of faith?”

  “We can’t cast a child back into the woods,” Marlene says. “Look at him.”

  All eyes are on me.

  “He’s as pale as snow, and not a bit of meat on his bones at all.”

  The cleric shakes his head. “Do not mistake me, sister Marlene.” Edrine faces me again. His eyes burn. “To cast a danger out will only lead to sorrow we cannot predict.” He reaches out and sets a rough hand on my shoulder. “I will tend to the boy until I deem him safe amongst our people.”

  Denet jumps up and grabs my arm. “But I wanted him to stay with me.” He shakes me before running over to the woman, Marlene. “Can we, mama? I’ve been wanting an older brother.”

  The woman smiles at the cleric. “Wasn’t it you who once preached that the words of a child will save us all?”

  Edrine’s grip tightens on me. I [Leech Grip] a drop more from the moss to contain myself.

  “I have a spot for you,” Marlene says. “Banol’s old shed, next to the house.” She turns her gaze to the cleric. “Right beside the chapel, that way you can ‘foresee’ so much easier. Can’t be much closer to you than that, unless you planned to have the boy sleep on a pew.”

  Rorahn steps forward, jerking his cane along before Edrine can speak. “It will be for the best. For Marlene and the village.” Rorahn nods once to Marlene. “You could use an extra hand around the house.”

  Marlene smiles. “Everyone earns their bread in my home, even when Banol was still around.”

  Denet hops over to me and latches onto my arm again. “I can show you the loft.” He pulls me, but Edrine still has my shoulder.

  I look up at him. His eyes have smoldered, leaving coals in their place. He releases me. His gaze burns my back as I’m dragged through the crowd. I’ve joined Ashgrove. I’ve entered the belly of the beast.