Jarod didn’t want to be the first one to complain, but gods he needed rest.

  Their group had been walking for nearly 5 hours now, and they’d only stopped once to refill water from a stream and light a couple lanterns. The flickering oil flames cast moving shadows about the forest, jolting Jarod awake every time his weary mind began to search for rest in an unfocused daydream. The traces of motion, forever at the edge of his vision, and his aching shoulders from carrying the backpack, left him with a constant mental pressure that pressed in from all around.

  But even Filgrin hadn’t complained yet, so Jarod wouldn’t either.

  He looked ahead, watching the long strides of Tex’ana as his loping gait carried him easily across the road. Aside from the occasional branch that got in his way, the sight servant was free to remain in his taller posture, free from people he might intimidate and short ceilings alike. Jarod wouldn’t have wanted to switch places with the tall man’s strange life as an emissary for the king, but right now he wouldn’t have mind swapping legs.

  Nikolao stopped and looked around, allowing Jarod a moment’s rest to lean heavily on his staff. The surveyor poked his head off the trail, looking up the small bank, towards a pile of boulders that would keep them sheltered from any wind that arose in the night.

  “We’ll make camp here,” said Nikolao. “Eat and fall asleep quickly if you can, we have another long day ahead of us tomorrow. Tex’ana will keep watch.”

  Finally, he’d get a chance to eat and fall asleep. Jarod quickly set out his bedroll beside Basma and pulled out some rations. While Jarod and Basma started eating, eagerly tearing into the dried meat and hard bread, Filgrin set about making a fire. By the time Nikolao had come back from a cursory glance around the surrounding area, the fire was burning well, and Filgrin had set a pot on it to boil some water.

  “You thought it wise to bring a pot for tea as your travel essentials?” Nikolao asked.

  “Didn’t slow me down, did it?” Filgrin shot back, as he added a packet of powder and a sprig of some plant to the water. “Keep askin’ questions like that, and you won’t get any.”

  Shadows leapt up Nikolao’s forehead as he furrowed his brow in the firelight, but he dropped the subject. He and Tex’ana took out rations of their own, more elaborate than the villagers’, with dried fruit, and a thick root that looked like a potato when Tex’ana bit into it.

  Jarod scarfed down his food quickly. It was nothing fresh, but it tasted like heaven after the trying day. He ate the last scraps of bread, and leaned back on his bedroll, content.

  Soon, Filgrin’s tea was finished, and he poured some out for each of the travellers. Jarod recognized it by smell as the same concoction he’d been given by the bowyer after that first fight he’d had at the tavern.

  “Good idea Filgrin,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve only got the one night’s worth, so don’t be expectin’ any tomorrow. Should be a little pick me up after a long day. Help ya sleep as well.”

  Indeed, Jarod could feel it already. The combination of food, weariness from travel, and a hot drink had him yawning, and he lay down under the two pale moons, shining pale white light that flickered down through the trees. The greater moon (still mostly full) and its lesser (growing brighter in its cycle) watched like beacons above Tex’ana, as Jarod drifted into sleep.

  * * *

  Pale white light, growing brighter, seeming to encompass all his vision, then all his senses. Rushing momentum of something being drawn away. Of himself, themself, being drawn away.

  Voyager awoke to familiar surroundings.

  Voyager? Yes, they were Voyager.

  The return here had caught them unawares for a moment, but as they adjusted to the place that was not a place, their disembodied form became familiar again.

  Before them were the three humans they’d seen before, one of them much more homely than the others now. The woman and the boy still were laid out in front of Voyager, as they’d seen them before, suspended in perfect neutrality. Jarod was different.

  Jarod was laying on a patch of the soft grass that grew out of nothing in the white void. It was the only ground anywhere here, springing forth from nowhere, faded around the edges. He was on his back, neck cocked to the side, under his bedroll. Voyager could still feel themself in the man’s body, snoring faintly as weary muscles and torn skin worked to repair itself.

  “You have done well.” The Voice was back. Having now heard sound, Voyager understood the voice to be neither a man’s nor a woman’s. It spoke in harmony, octaves and chords cascading upwards and downwards to infinities beyond sensation.

  “Through your decisions, you have grown,” the Voice said. “Through your growth, you become more powerful, and you understand yourself better. Choose now your ability.”

  Before Voyager appeared impressions of ideas. Impressions in that sight that was not sight. Three options were arrayed before them.

  The first, a margin of his own luck, for having flirted with death for so long, and escaped its clutches. The second, an eye for protection, for having placed the village and Wilfurd ahead of Jarod’s life. The third, the hardiness of a bear, for having stoically borne his misfortune.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Voyager moved forth to inspect the abilities. They were effervescent things, each of them, boiling with energy in the form of strange symbols that twisted in on themselves in ways which would not have been possible from Jarod’s sight. No matter how close they got though, Voyager could not interpret them further.

  Voyager thought back to how, as Jarod, he’d failed to protect Wilfurd. Of how close their party had come, and yet how, in a momentary lapse in the flow of battle, he’d been unable to do anything to protect the other man.

  “I choose an eye for protection.” Voyager’s voice sounded shallow and hollow compared to the richness of the Voice.

  The other two impressions faded, and the one Voyager had picked presented itself to them.

  Eye for Protection

  When you take a Defensive Stance, you get an additional penalty score of half your level which can be applied only to incoming attacks against adjacent allies. This “ally penalty score” persists until it is used, or the end of combat.

  A flood of knowledge for Voyager to interpret. They knew how effective Jarod had been when he tried to defend himself against the trifleys. It seemed this would allow him to apply those defenses to save his allies now, not just himself.

  Before Voyager had more time to think about what this might mean, the Voice spoke again. “As you gain power, so too do you gain knowledge. The System dictates your existence, so I will answer a question about it. The System is everything that you see with your sight that is not sight. It is everything that you see here. It is that which defines existence. Choose your question wisely.”

  An unexpected gift, and one Voyager would have to ponder. They had started to understand a little of what this system was that the Voice described, but there was still so much they didn’t know.

  When Jarod had been trapped in Warin’s cellar, he’d had a little time to think about it, and had started to recognize most of the meaning of the checks that happened. There was a number that represented his ability and (usually) another one which represented the target he must reach to succeed. His actions in combat had a similar format, where there was some number which represented his ability to swing a sword, and a hidden number he must reach to land a hit against his opponent.

  The big unknown about the process was where those numbers that represented his ability came from. They always seemed to correspond to numbers in brackets in his messages, but they weren’t consistent. This seemed as good a place as any to start.

  “What do the numbers in brackets mean?” Voyager wondered if they should have phrased the question better, but they got the impression the Voice would understand what they meant.

  The Voice responded, musically ringing out across the vast, empty landscape. “They represent your ability for the task run through the filter of fate. The System utilizes random chance, interpretable by you as dice. Each time your fate is called into question, dice are rolled to determine the outcome. How many sides they have are determined by your ability for that particular task.”

  That answer explained more than Voyager had expected. They’d known there was some measure of luck to it, because the same check didn’t always have the same result. To know that there were different possible outcomes depending on their ability in that skill was valuable information indeed. Perhaps there was some way to improve their ability, to have a chance to roll a higher number. They wondered what someone like Nikolao might have for their ability, if they even operated under the same rules as Voyager.

  But not all could be puzzled out in this place beyond a place, for Voyager saw Jarod being to stir in his bedroll. The time for rest was nearly over, and soon their voyage would continue.

  “You have done well,” the Voice said. “Now progress your story, so you might understand Existence better. Return to the world, Voyager, that you might transcend beyond it one day.”

  * * *

  Jarod awoke gently, as Tex’ana’s long arm nudged him out of sleep.

  The sun hadn’t even poked its way past the horizon yet. As far as Jarod could tell, it was still nighttime, but his internal clock told him they had rested for long enough.

  He brought a hand to his face to rub the sleep away and noticed Tex’ana watch him with slow black eyes. The sight servant watched until he saw Jarod push himself up to begin packing, and then moved on to wake up Filgrin.

  Jarod’s brain slowly reassembled itself from his return to consciousness and return from the white void as Voyager. There was a lot for him to think about on the day’s walk. The morning’s message gave him even more to ponder.

  Full rest (1) + recovery elixir (1)

  Health: 8/10

  Overexerted penalty

  Filgrin’s elixir had done its work again, but the extra five health was a surprise to Jarod. It must have come from him returning to speak with the Voice. Clearly, what he’d done for Cleftshire had been important, and the system that the Voice spoke of must have rewarded him yet again for his efforts.

  The numbers might say he was healthier than ever, but the other words matched more with how he was feeling this morning. After spending the night before locked in a cellar, then a full morning of fighting trifleys, and a forced march afterwards to cap it all off, Jarod still felt worn out. Hopefully his newfound strength would offset whatever his overexerted penalty was.

  Jarod finished packing before Filgrin and Basma, and dug out some of today’s rations to gnaw on for the morning. He looked curiously at Tex’ana, remembering now that he’d been on watch all night, presumably without sleep, yet he looked no different than usual.

  “Were you really keeping watch all last night?” Jarod asked. “Don’t you have to sleep?”

  Tex’ana rolled his head. “I do not have requirements that coincide exactly with your own. My people have been trained for such a long time to accomplish feats which surpass a human’s. My need for sleep still exists, yet I am granted the ability to ignore it when need persists, as I have done last night.”

  Jarod was a little worried by the response. The sight servant might be able to forgo sleep, but would he be well rested enough if a fight broke out? “We have others here that can keep watch. If you need a chance to rest, we can take turns.”

  “This is not necessary,” Tex’ana said.

  “Indeed, it is not,” said Nikolao, shrugging his backpack into place. “I ordered Tex’ana to keep watch last night because we need our sleep more than he does. I know the sight servants’ abilities, and I’ll balance his need for sleep with our own. Now, enough dilly-dallying, let’s get a move on.”

  Jarod cast a skeptical glance at Basma, but they followed Nikolao out of their camping spot and onto the road without protest. They had a city to get to.