Zenos awoke in the blue light of the dawn. His sleep was complicated by dreams of Darigon and his demon lords, but he slept through the night.
Mad had already packed his bedroll. He had made a stump his seat and was halfway through a trail bar of mixed nuts and honey. “How was your first night on a new world?” he asked, wiped his lip with his thumb.
“A lot… like nights in my own,” Zenos said with a yawn. He sat up and began packing the bedroll. “I dream the same and it feels… like I wake up the same.”
It had been, at most, six hours since Zenos turned in. He had hiked through the day and late into the night, and his legs ached terribly. He leaned exhausted to one side while he bound the bedroll. Mad had woke ahead of him, but the seasoned adventurer looked unfazed.
I should strive for that, Zenos thought. He clipped the bedroll to the bottom of his bag.
Mad stood, brushed crumbs from his coat. “What sorts of dreams did you have?”
“Dreams of old companions,” Zenos said as he stood.
Mad smiled and nodded. “Those are the best dreams,” he said and turned toward the trail. “It’s about another day’s hike to get up Mount Adderhorn, then we can settle in for a while. How are you holding up?”
“Tired,” Zenos said.
“We’ll take as many breaks as you need.” Mad pulled the backpack up on his back. All the packages, ornaments and utensils clattered together. “But if we start now, we’ll make it before sundown.”
Zenos nodded, but before they set out, his stomach gurgled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. He looked at Mad.
“I’ll wait.” Mad chuckled.
Zenos set his bag down to search its pockets and found a paper-wrapped trail bar of his own. He peeled back the wrapper and crunched down.
[Honey-Nut Survival Bar] a notification read. [Quality: 50]An icon appeared in the upper right-hand corner of Zenos’ HUD.
[Well-Fed: 500 Constitution. Buff Duration: 8 hours]The bar’s sweet flavor, combined with satiating almond nuts, did make for a tasty snack, but it was the buff that surprised Zenos. I only had 100 constitution to begin with. One bite of this bar gave me five times that for a third of a day? The sandwich Mad prepared didn’t buff me at all. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.
In Player Guide parlance, a buff was an effect added by a spell, ability, or item, that increased a characteristic or other statistic in an arbitrary way. They were usually helpful, but rarely permanent. Now that Zenos had tasted the bar, its name was highlighted in a holographic window whenever he viewed it. Its quality and buff were indicated there as well.
Should I be taking bites out everything I see? he wondered. Or maybe it only added the buff because its quality was high enough.
Since Constitution affected his maximum health pool at a rate of 0.8 points of health per point of constitution, that mouthful of honey and almond had given Zenos 400 extra HP. It occurred to him that if one bite was enough for a buff, it would be wise to save the rest of the bar for later. By the time he had that idea, he had already eaten the entire bar.
Zenos stuffed the wrapper back into his bag. When he stood, he noticed his aches were gone. He shook his leg and flexed his arm; all reactions, from his head to his toes, felt better—sturdier. He had tangible energy that couldn’t be explained by abstract digestion.
Mad watched him a nearby tree. He leaned on the trunk, arms folded, as Zenos paced around. “You’re looking lively,” he said.
“That bar was good!” Zenos said. The fatigue of the morning had left him entirely.
“Lowether made them himself,” Mad said. “He tells me it’s his secret recipe, but I think it’s just almonds and sweetener.”
One bite and I already feel so powerful. Is this the power of the Player System? Zenos clenched his hand into a fist. And if I were to level up and add new stats, how much greater could I become?
He looked at Mad. Although his full name was displayed on the health bar above his head, his HP value was still obscured by question marks.
I wonder how much health Mad has.
Mad blinked and his smile eroded in confusion. “Something the matter?” he asked.
Zenos shook his head. “No, just lost in thought. Are you ready to go?”
Mad brightened up and tugged on his shoulder strap. “If you’re ready, let’s be off.”
The pair set out on the trail with Mad leading the way and Zenos close behind. They watched their steps down narrow paths, walked over wood boards laid on a shallow marsh, and passed through a stand of birch trees that took autumn colors of red and orange. Good sunshine, even on a cloudy day, and a cold breeze made the journey enjoyable in their own ways, but it was Zenos’ high constitution that made it easy.
Eventually the trail widened and merged into what could be called a road, but far from paved, it was brown and muddy. Trees had been chopped to pieces or stripped to their trunks, and piled on the roadside. Wires crossed the forest canopy and connected machines big and small, with arms for holding and blades for cutting.
“This road goes all the way to the shore,” Mad said as he led Zenos beneath a rusted arm. “When the mithril ran out, they repurposed the mountain road for lumber. It wasn’t profitable, though, and work stopped altogether when the Atilonians started sinking transports. You might be the first visitor it’s had in a year, at least.”
“How do these machines work?” Zenos asked.
“Mana engines,” he answered. “But you might want to talk to a real engineer for the details. All I know is the engines turn a generator, which provides electricity for the mithril fibercoils.”
“Mithril fibercoils?”
Mad stopped and turned. Zenos was growing accustomed to the routine: He asks a dumb question and Mad stops to look at him with a paternal smile.
“Didn’t have fibercoils in your world?” Mad asked. “It’s a bit of a Bastilhasian invention, though you’ll hear disputes from time to time. Edwindy will always claim they invented in first. Well, a mithril wire contracts when you run an electric current through it.” He flexed his arm and demonstrated the concept. “Depending on how you use that electricity, you can create all sorts of muscle-like reactions.”
Zenos nodded and Mad turned toward the road. After a moment of walking Zenos opened his mouth. “What, exactly, is electricity?”
“Did you have lightning on your world?” the patient adventurer asked.
Their hike continued like that for some time, with questions and answers, and answers themselves leading to new questions. As they made progress up the slope, Zenos noticed how moss had grown on the machines and trees had tangled new roots into their idle treads. In some places the forest had spread into the road and reclaimed a portion of it for themselves. In time, the scar that men had cut through the hills would disappear, and their inventions would sink into the earth.
“That’s the way things should be,” Mad remarked. “We borrow what we need from the forest and in return, when our time is done, it takes us and all that we made. We disappear, first into history, and then we’re forgotten entirely. That is the trade we make for civilization. But, what if that system breaks? What if the reverse were to happen?”
“A civilization reclaiming the forest?” Zenos asked.
“Thousands of years ago, the natural order was… damaged,” Mad said. “Perhaps it came to be when Achlesial struck down Chotokhet, or maybe their battle was just a symptom of a sickness that pervaded the natural order. Even you, Zenos, are a sign that the just and ordinary way of living—what laws all life must obey—have broken down.”
“What do you mean?”
Mad stopped, but didn’t answer immediately. He stood ahead of Zenos; head hidden behind his backpack. “What times do we live in, when the dead cross into the world of the living?” he asked.
Zenos swallowed, but said nothing. Mad started walking with Zenos behind him.
“The Adventurer’s Guild exists to protect the natural order,” Mad continued. “Dungeons are places that defy it. They spread like a cancer beneath the ground and erupt in boils that destroy the wilderness. Wherever there’s a dungeon, there will be monsters, and they will slaughter anything they find until a wasteland of their dark civilization remains.”
“But you are necromancer,” Zenos said. “Is meddling with life and death not perverting that order as well?”
“I don’t force any spirits to do my bidding, but rely on their good will to help me when I need aid,” he said, but stopped again. “It’s true, though. I am a symptom of the sickness, like you are. And I can do good with that power, like you could do good with yours. Don’t you feel that way about those strange eyes?” Mad turned to smile at him. “I have noticed how they shine sometimes. I suspect there’s more to them then you’ve let on.”
“A little glow and you think they’re all that special?” Zenos asked.
Mad laughed. “A man runs headlong into perilous danger, without even a sword in his hand, because he thinks he can help. I don’t think you’re crazy, so if you have a trick to play, I hope it’s a good one.”
That was the last stop they made on the road, before the mud turned to paved bricks, and they arrived at the outskirts of what Mad called the Dungeon. Zenos’ eyes rounded and his voice was trapped in his throat. Ahead were ruins in the hillside, black and brown, and covered in weeds. They appeared to emerge from the earth and rise at strange angles, such that doorways were horizontal, and dark halls ended in rock. And all around were statues, not of men, but of dwarfs. They looked passive in their petrified forms, where they had their hands close to their sides wherever they emerged from the mud and rock.
“What do they look like to you?” Mad asked as they walked in the cool shadow of the mountain. “Dwarfs?”
“Dwarfs,” Zenos uttered. He searched the ruins, scanned for any identifier that might prove they were from his world.
“Do you recognize them?”
“No, but they are dwarfs,” he said again. “They are dwarfs.”
And then there was a whistle, like a flute. It was followed shortly after by another of a deeper note, and another, lighter than the last. Zenos saw that the eyes of the dwarf statues would glow red and they would emit a tone. It continued across the mountain side wherever the statues were, with no obvious pattern. Sometimes one would whistle, then several would sound together. They would do it close together or far apart.
“What are they doing?” Zenos asked.
“Nobody knows,” Mad said. “They make this activity, such lights and sounds, only when adventurers are nearby. That is, only when magic is nearby. Some Atilonians have used this to justify attacks on the guild.”
“How so?”
“That the guild is somehow responsible.”
Mad led Zenos to the top of the road, where it turned straight into the mountainside. In the sheer cliff was a door, fashioned into the face of a bearded dwarf. On either side of the door were towers carved of stone, marked with parapets and dead-fire holes. Zenos recognized it as the entrance to a fortress, but the dwarfs would build many homes wherever the mountains were tall. He couldn’t tell if it was from his world.
“We will camp here in front of the door,” Mad said. “I always store the tents nearby. We’ll setup and make this our base for the month.”
“Why not use one of these houses for shelter?” Zenos asked and pointed to the low-rise buildings that looked most complete.
Mad shook his head and set down his backpack. “Shadows, my friend. Shadows move inside dungeons, creep into the mind, and affect trespassers; adventurers, especially.”
The pair used the last of their daylight to setup their tents and prepare a new fire pit. Mad gathered some wood and Zenos arranged loose bricks in a circle. With a spark and some kindling they lit their fire by nightfall.
“We’ll collect some water and ingredients for a real meal tomorrow,” Mad said, “but for tonight, another bar will have to do.”
Zenos didn’t mind another survival bar. He sat by his open tent and stared inward, searched for answers to the ruins around him. My world is gone, he thought, that was the ultimate function of the configuration spire, but Ghost was unclear on what would happen after I died.
Mad sat across from Zenos on a wood stump. “Does seeing all this shock you?” he asked.
“It does,” Zenos said passively. He was deep in his thoughts.
“When you described dwarfs, well, they are the spitting image of short and bearded,” Mad said. “Did they make noises like this in your world?”
“No, they did not,” Zenos said. “But could be great singers.”
“I see.”
The conversation would have ended there, but Zenos perked his head up. He looked intensely at Mad, his reptilian eyes focused in diamonds. “I have a question,” he said.
How did it slip my mind?
“Go ahead,” Mad said with a smile. He had answered many questions already.
“Do you know anyone called the Demon Emperor?”
Mad’s eyes widened and then, slowly, his face hardened. His smile faded and he looked down again at the flames. “Where did you hear a name like that?” he asked.
“I heard it once before,” Zenos said.
Mad crunched an empty wrapper in his fist. “It’s considered a children’s story by some, and heresy—punishable by death—in Atilonia, so don’t repeat it outside of good company,” he said. “The story goes that mankind waged war against the Pantheon and tried to usurp their throne in the heavens. They were nearly successful, until Achlesial led the twelve in a counterattack which defeated the armies of man. They killed all but one, a man that refused to yield: The Demon Emperor. To punish him, or defeat him, Achlesial destroyed the world itself. The story goes the Demon Emperor did not fall until the last piece of rock disintegrated at his feet.”
Zenos’ heart palpitated. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “They’ll kill you for repeating that?”
“The Atilonians adopted some of that myth into their religious scriptures,” Mad said. “They believe that if mankind was defeated by the gods, then we must serve them. Most believe the same, to varying degrees. To suggest otherwise is often punishable. The real danger, however, is that some even believe it’s literal. They call themselves the Knights of the Devil King. They believe that the Pantheon of Eleven will destroy our world, Adohas.
“They believe the Demon Emperor will return.”
