“What does that even mean?” Damian asked, furrowing his brow as Finn paced the length of the lodge.

  They were the only ones inside. Everyone else was going absolutely bonkers preparing for the coming-of-age celebration of a generation. The moment they’d recovered—or honestly, a moment before Damian had—the [Seer] emerged to announce to the village that Finn had been chosen by the gods for a glorious future. Needless to say, the response had been appropriately over the moon. They’d slaughtered two hogs and rolled out barrels of mead usually saved for trade after the harvest festival.

  Even the endlessly affable Finn was feeling overwhelmed. While he paced, he pulled at his hair; straight and golden unlike Damian’s shorter, dark brown curls. “I don’t know, okay, Damian? It just said I’d been chosen, and I accepted it. What else was I supposed to do, say no?”

  Damian shifted uncomfortably on his bed, drawing his knees to his chest. “I dunno. Just trying to understand.”

  Finn paused, then turned to Damian. Pulling his hands from his hair, he walked over and sat beside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. After a moment, he leaned back against the wall and groaned.

  Damian leaned against his friend, resting his head on Finn’s shoulder. He said nothing but could hear his best friend’s heartbeat begin to slow. Soon his breathing evened out, and the manic energy subsided.

  “When you’re ready,” Damian said softly.

  Finn waited another minute in silence. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “I think I have to go, Damian. The Game told me I have a quest, to find some crown or something. I can feel it in my gut. Like a pull.”

  “Do you... want to go?” Damian asked. Finn turned his head to look at him.

  “I don’t know,” Finn said, sighing as he looked away. “If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said yes. But now, leaving the hearth? Everything I know? Yes, I want to go. I’ve been called. But it’s going to be… awful.”

  Damian shifted uncomfortably. Even the idea of leaving left an acrid taste in his mouth. Sure, he’d wondered what the world was like—everyone had. But Bekham was all he knew. It was his family.

  “What exactly did the Game say?”

  Finn sighed again, closing his eyes as he recited: “The gods call on you to face the greatest evils of the age. You have been chosen to do what must be done. Will you accept the call?” He opened his eyes. “After giving me my class and skills, it told me my quest was to begin by retrieving the Crown of Vorea. I can feel it, in the distance.”

  Damian watched as Finn raised a hand, pointing toward one corner of the lodge. He looked so sure of himself, but Damian knew better. For perhaps the first time in his life, Finn wasn’t ready to charge into a problem headfirst and damn the consequences. It was a side of him Damian didn’t like seeing.

  “Okay,” Damian said, standing to face Finn. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do.”

  Finn groaned again. “Party like monsters?”

  “What? No,” Damian scoffed. “I’m coming with you.”

  Finn’s brow furrowed. “You—you’re coming with me?”

  Damian blinked. “Yes, obviously. Unless you don’t want me to come?”

  “What? No. I mean yes. I mean—” Finn stumbled over his words and nearly his own feet as he scrambled out of bed. Catching himself, he steadied and tried again. “I just mean, are you sure? You’re not exactly…”

  “Not what?” Damian challenged, crossing his arms.

  Finn looked down at his best friend, his broad frame nearly a full foot taller. “Er… nothing. I just meant—”

  “Meant what?” Damian pressed.

  Finn grinned. “Just meant it’s going to be nice having someone to carry all my magic swords. Didn’t those traders a few years ago say [Knights] had people who followed them and carried their swords? What’d they call them again?”

  “[Squires],” Damian answered, uncrossing his arms. “And I’m not going to be your [Squire]. I’ll be a... [Not Chosen But Equally Cool Adventurer].”

  “Right,” Finn teased, stepping closer until he was right in Damian’s space. It was a trick he often used to put Damian on the back foot in a conversation. Damian half-stepped away, scowling. “Well, whatever you are, I’m glad you’re coming. Really.”

  “Yeah,” Damian muttered, pointedly not looking at him. “Whatever.”

  “Can I hug you now?” Finn asked, all innocence.

  “No.” Damian scowled deeper. “You should go party—you’re keeping everyone waiting. They’re probably wondering where you are.”

  Finn laughed. “Probably. But you’re coming with me, c’mon.”

  Damian let himself be dragged out of the lodge, and they were almost immediately surrounded by people. For a minute, Finn held onto him, basking in the village’s congratulations and awe, but eventually Damian convinced him to let go. The press was too much for Damian, too many people and much too close. He ended up orbiting the edge of the celebration, standing near the lodge walls around the fires where people gathered.

  He didn’t mind. The mead was delicious, and after two horns he was pleasantly buzzing. The roasted hog came with bread made extra fluffy by Father Bjorn, a level 17 [Baker] with [Automatic Leavening] and [Stabilized Moisture]. Paired with goat cheese and honey, it was the best food he’d had since the harvest festival a moon ago. He hadn’t expected food like this until next year, so it was a welcome surprise.

  “Is that your third horn?” a voice asked. Damian lazily tore his eyes from Finn, who was dancing with Asta. Frigg looked jealous.

  Mother Revna stood beside him, her own horn of mead in hand.

  “Yeah?” Damian said, a hint of challenge in his voice. “What of it?”

  Revna just looked at him, and despite his best efforts to stand steady, Damian realized he was swaying slightly. He scowled, trying to lean casually against the wall behind him, but misjudged and bumped his head, wincing. Mother Revna snorted.

  “Just take it easy,” Revna suggested. “You wouldn’t want mead sickness in the morning.”

  Damian eyed her silently, unsure if Finn had told her he planned to go with him.

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  “Are you sure you want to go with him?” she asked.

  That settled that.

  Damian sat on his answer for a moment, took another sip of mead—it really did taste good—and then said, “Yeah, I’m sure. Why? You think I can’t handle it?”

  “Not what I said,” Mother Revna replied, slightly amused.

  “Good,” Damian shot back, scowling.

  Revna gestured with her mead horn toward Finn, who’d passed Asta’s hand to Gunnar and was now dancing with Frigg. “You know, a lot of the others offered to go with him.”

  Damian slouched, muttering into his horn. “Yeah? Good. Finn probably needs the help.”

  “He turned them down,” Revna commented idly. “All of them.”

  Damian paused. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel, and he was too tipsy for introspection. After a moment, he settled on another sip.

  Mother Revna sighed, leaning around until he couldn’t avoid her gaze. Damian scowled, trying to slip past her and walk away. She cut him off, planting an arm against the wall. With dulled reflexes, he bumped into it and sloshed his mead. She was nearly twice his weight, half a dozen inches taller, and over 25 levels above him. The difference in their strength was that of a baby to an adult.

  “What?” Damian asked, anger biting into his tone.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Revna asked, reflecting none of his bitterness. “To follow in his… wake?”

  “You think I can’t handle it?” Damian bristled. “You think just because he got a special class, and my future was foggy or whatever, that I can’t keep up with him? Fuck you.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Well, you didn’t have to!” Damian cut her off. They were drawing some attention now, but Damian didn’t care. “I’m small, I know. Trust me, I fucking know. And I get cold, and I get sick, and I’m quiet. But I can handle myself, just like everyone else in Bekham. And I can certainly handle this.”

  Damian finished yelling, realizing he was heaving for breath and practically screaming by the time he stopped. The village had gone silent around him; the [Folk Bard] had paused her music, everyone frozen and staring. He flushed, backing away from Revna and melting into the shadows between the lodges as he fled the attention. With nowhere else to go, he ended up back at the lodge he shared with his nine remaining brothers and sisters who hadn’t yet aged out.

  Tomorrow, he and Finn were supposed to get a lodge of his own. Except he was leaving. He’d never have one, not until they got back from Finn’s quest. They were coming back, right?

  He rolled into bed, fighting back tears he didn’t understand. A few moments later, he heard the door open and heavy footsteps approach before his bed creaked under added weight. Damian recognized Mother Revna from the feel of her hand running gently through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean you couldn’t handle it. Just… that it’s okay to let Finn walk his own path, if you have another.”

  “I do want to go with him,” Damian muttered into his furs. “I really do.”

  There was a short pause before she spoke again. “Are you jealous?”

  “What?” Damian turned to glare at Revna. “No.”

  She only stared at him.

  He scowled and turned away again. “Yes. Everyone’s jealous of him. He was chosen by the gods. Who doesn’t want to be chosen by the gods?”

  “The gods have a plan for all of us,” Revna said gently, leaning close so he could hear. “The stars shine on everyone. Your path doesn’t have to be his.”

  Most of the village worshipped Nephret, goddess of the stars, though some favored the sun or moon gods. Damian hadn’t yet decided which one he felt aligned with him.

  “Mother Revna, I want to go with him.” Damian finally spoke with real confidence, the kind he’d been faking before. “I don’t care what the gods’ plans are for me or for him. Wherever he’s going, that’s where I want to be.”

  He lay in silence for a while. His mother—the one he was closest to, who knew him best—didn’t challenge his choice again. Instead, she simply sat there, supporting him in silence. When she finally spoke, it was exactly what he needed to hear. “Then I’ll pack a bag for you. Will you let me do that much? For my favorite son?”

  “You’re not supposed to have a favorite,” Damian muttered, but he took her hand and squeezed.

  “Then don’t tell,” Revna said, squeezing his hand and leaning in to gently kiss the side of his head. “You should sleep. You’ll need your strength tomorrow. I’ll leave your bag by your bed.”

  Damian felt her rise and heard her walk to the door. It creaked open, but she paused in the doorway. She had one more thing to say before leaving. “I love you, Damian.”

  Before he could think to say it back, the door shut. A tiny part of him wanted to return to the party, but he quickly dismissed it. He was too tired, too overwhelmed, and too tipsy. Still, he hoped Finn was having the celebration he deserved. Jealous or not, Damian wanted the world for his best friend.

  The alcohol and his frankly a-lot-to-handle day had sleep’s heavy fur almost immediately dragging him toward unconsciousness. He barely managed to roll over and pull a fur around himself before he was out like a light. Unlike last night, he didn’t dream. Instead, for the first time in his life, the voice of the Great Game whispered in his ear.

  It spoke without tone, or volume. It wasn’t heard so much as vaguely comprehended. Though he knew he was asleep, Damian still felt fully capable of understanding what was happening. It was, in short, very weird.

  >Conditions Met!

  >Class [The Chosen One’s Squire] Level 4 Obtained!

  >Skill [Locate Chosen One] Obtained!

  >Skill [Dangersense: The Chosen One] Obtained!

  >Do you accept?

  Damian almost didn’t, acting on instinct. He’d been serious when he said he didn’t want to be Finn’s [Squire]. Nine hells, he didn’t even know what a [Squire] really did. But he knew the Great Game was supposed to give classes based on what you wanted most. And Damian wanted to be there for Finn more than anything. After a moment, he accepted.

  The instant he accepted, he woke to a terrible, scorching pain. Panicking, he leapt out of bed and checked himself: hands, arms, legs, chest, all fine. What was hurting? After a moment he realized it wasn’t pain exactly, but something new. Somewhere between anxiety and physical discomfort. And it wasn’t coming from him.

  Damian stepped toward the door and tripped over a packed bag at his bed’s foot. Scrambling up, he grabbed it on impulse as he burst outside. Nearby, the party was still going, so he couldn’t have been out long. Long enough for Mother Revna to pack his bag, but not so long anyone else had come to sleep.

  The not-pain beyond his body was coming from the bonfire. Staggering, Damian wove between the lodges, chasing the source of the sensation. He must still be tipsy; the sky swam, stars dancing. It had been overcast earlier, yet now the heavens blazed. No clouds, only countless glittering gems.

  One of them was moving—closer and closer—like a tiny burning sphere swelling as it streaked toward the village. The sensation sharpened into real pain, splitting Damian’s head as he cried out and dropped to his knees at the edge of the revelers. A few of his fathers and mothers turned, faces tightening with concern.

  Right then a ball of light streaked down from the heavens, struck the bonfire, and sent the villagers screaming as the flames roared thirty feet high. In a moment they calmed, and a woman walked from the white-hot fire. She was nine feet tall, her skin darker than any Bekham villager’s. Her face was round, her features soft, and her long dark hair was set in a single braid down her back. For clothes she had only a sleeveless tunic cut to fit her ribcage, and a skirt that didn’t make it to her knees. Once, Damian had seen a starmetal knife, and her clothes shimmered like that polished metal, the liquid starlight cloth glowing like magical runes. Above her head hovered a ring of floating lights—miniature stars.

  Damian would’ve been awestruck if he wasn’t doubled over in pain.

  The villagers recovered from shock and threw themselves to their knees, bowing low. This figure, this being, was instantly recognizable to everyone there. Nephret—goddess of the stars, patron of adventurers and outlanders—gazed down at the tiny village of Bekham.

  “Where is he?” she whispered, yet her voice carried easily across the clearing. “The boy who was chosen?”

  Damian looked up, eyes watering from the splitting headache, and saw her eyes shining brighter than anything he’d ever seen. It was as if a distant star’s power sat trapped in her skull, glimpsed through her eyes. Somewhere in the crowd a figure rose. It was Finn.

  “I am he, my lady,” he said, though his voice trembled slightly.

  “Good,” the goddess crooned, and in a single stride she crossed a dozen feet to stand before him. She reached out, cupping Finn’s face and tilting his chin up. His features went slack with awe and disbelief as he stood stunned in the presence of divinity.

  Suddenly the strange ache sharpened into something denser, more specific, and useful. It resolved into a single unmistakable truth: [Dangersense: The Chosen One] warned that Finn was in immediate mortal peril.

  “Then I will make sure you die,” Nephret whispered, her hand tightening around Finn’s neck.