A thick layer of mist clung to the flat white landscape, nothing but pale moonlight to see by. A wet gust of wind whipped through the camp, making Grant’s blanket flap behind him. He pulled the wool coat over his head and breathed into his cupped hands, tugging the bottom back down as he exposed his lower back to the cold. Behind him, smokestacks rose from the chimneys in Estreia, and ahead, the forest vanished into fog and darkness.

  Nevara and Vaeri had offered him first watch, which Grant thought was more than gracious, seeing as he had kept them up late asking question after question. He was utterly exhausted but still hours away from anything resembling sleep, going over everything they had talked about for the tenth time.

  “Why did the Gods choose us?—”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Why would some Gods send us and others send Commanders?—”

  “We don’t know.”

  “How many Gods are there?—”

  “We don’t know.”

  He massaged his temples. Learn one thing, learn two more you should be asking.

  [Perfect Invisibility has been reset!]

  Grant vented a long sigh of relief. On his first day, he had been a wasteful idiot with the Skill. It was a miracle that he was still alive. Four miracles now, by his count. He looked over at the sleeping Airet, who snored softly on their beds. They were one of those miracles, stumbling upon him sprawled out on the forest ground like that.

  He hardly knew what to make of them, the Airet, this world, and his situation. The entire day had been like a feverish nightmare. He’d arrived in lands that were affected by a deadly Curse, there was a giant wyrm to his south, and he had no idea how to even begin looking for Lira, Roland, and Ayers.

  The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to get into Estreia. He’d work on their farms, labor in their inns, do whatever it took to secure passage south. Anyone with half a brain would rather be thrown down an empty well than venture into this peninsula, with cultists, giant wyrms, and a Curse outbreak. Nevara and Vaeri had said it was likely the last season they could harvest their Mana orchards, at least until the Curse was pushed back.

  Grant leaned back, checking his Interface clock. It was 12:30 now, thirty minutes past the time Nevara had told him to wake her. Just as he staggered to his feet, something flashed in the distant shadows. Grant quietly Resummoned his dagger, crouching and squinting out at the forest. It was the third time he’d seen something during his watch. There was plenty of movement at the edge of the forest, between the wildlife and the murmurs of the trees in the winds, and if he shrieked every time he got spooked, no one would get any sleep.

  This time it felt different—different enough that every instinct was screaming at him to wake them and flee. A smaller, far more selfish part of him was whispering that he should leave them and save himself, but he quickly shushed it. He looked down at their sleeping figures, debating for the third time that night whether he was imagining something or they were in grave danger.

  How would Erlan react to being shaken awake over a gust of wind and a scared Human? Perhaps it was more the alcohol than anything Grant had done, but during Vaeri’s story, he’d seemed much friendlier. They’d trusted him to take first watch, which Grant hoped was a sign that they were making amends, as amends meant safety and shelter behind Estreia’s walls.

  A dry twig cracked, making Grant freeze mid-step. He shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “Calm down, Grant,” he said, practicing the breathing exercises from his training. “The forest is full of wildlife, and most of it isn’t Cursed.” Nevara rolled over in her sleep, mumbling something and covering her face with a pillow.

  Grant looked back toward the tree line, craning his neck out. All was silent.

  With another glance toward his travel companions’ sleeping forms, he began creeping forward in a deep squat. Nerves were clearly just getting to him. In the off chance that something was out there, he could turn back any time and yell a warning, and once they woke, he could turn Invisible.

  Step by step, he encroached on the forest’s territory. It was quiet—quieter than it had been all day and night, which was more unnerving than any noise it could make. He flinched every time his boots crunched against the snow and clutched his dagger to his chest, trying to decide between activating Perfect Invisibility or not. But he had learned his lesson yesterday about squandering the limited time he had with the Skill.

  Twenty feet from the edge of the forest, Grant could see little from where he crouched, but his feet refused to take another step. Whatever hid beyond the boundary was shielded by the shadows of the thick canopy of tree branches. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his cold hands ached from his dagger’s handle.

  “Ugh.”

  Grant froze. It came from the bushes. Or maybe he just imagined it. He sucked cold air in through his nose and let it out slowly, his heart thumping and throat swelling. Focused on quiet breathing, like it would make him harder to see in the big open field. After a full minute, he suspected he might have imagined it after all, and he let his hand fall to his side. Nothing was there.

  “Usssh.”

  It was different from the first. Closer. Less a growl, more a hiss. He looked up toward the tree branches.

  A hulking green torso dived at him. Grant reflexively activated Perfect Invisibility as the creature crashed into him, sending them both sprawling and tumbling as it grasped for something, finding his wrist. Grant screamed the air out of his lungs and sucked in a panicked breath, coughing when spit went down the wrong way, then yelled some more.

  The beast looked around in confusion for its prey, tongue darting out in licks. Grant’s bones creaked under the pressure, his shoulder ached where it had hit something hard. The creature’s Strength was far above his, and he couldn’t wrestle himself free, even if he had better leverage. He looked up at him, squinting in the dim moonlight, and shrieked again.

  It was one of the Evenonian prisoners. He'd found Grant.

  "Ugh."

  The sound came from the treeline. He wasn't alone.

  Grant gritted his teeth and Resummoned his dagger with his left hand, then made a wild swipe at the prisoner’s wrist, scoring a deep gash to the bone. The prisoner roared, but held tight.

  [Inflicted Status: Bleeding (Stage II!)]

  [Perfect Invisibility has been canceled!]

  Grant didn’t wait for him to realize he'd had him all along. He swung again, connecting with the same spot. The bone broke and his knife did the rest of the work, sawing straight through and detaching the clawed hand from his arm. The prisoner let go a piercing shriek and jolted upright, icy cold blood pouring from the wound all over Grant’s face and neck. Grant stabbed at his chest, but the lizard creature had flailed back, gripping his wrist in agony. Grant yelled incoherently and jabbed forward again, digging his blade up to its hilt somewhere into his stomach, then ripped it out and rolled away.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  [Inflicted Status: Bleeding (Stage IV!)]

  With a shudder, he noticed the claw still attached to his wrist, and pulled it off with a cry, scrambling to his feet and sprinting through the snow. It was deep, but if Grant was light on his Human feet with 24 in the Attribute, he was like an entirely different species with 28. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a panicked cry.

  The other prisoners were lumbering forward. Their eyes were as glassy and unfeeling as the elk’s had been.

  The Tomb Fiend's Curse. They must have wandered east, where it was thickest.

  He shook his head. “Wake up!”

  The creature’s cold blood dripped into his mouth. He spat it out, wiping his face with his sleeve.

  “Wake up! Attack! We’re under attack!”

  Erlan was already up. There was no hesitation in his movements and no grogginess. Before the warning had fully left Grant’s mouth, he loosed an arrow that whistled an inch from Grant’s ear. With a crunch, one of the figures collapsed in the snow.

  Seconds later, it rose again, and continued its pursuit with an arrow lodged in its shoulder.

  Nevara and Vaeri were up seconds later. Vaeri cast a Spell that made a field of roots grow on the snow behind Grant, and the prisoners’ lumbering steps slowed to a stop. With a wave of Nevara’s hand, Erlan began to glow and fire arrows faster.

  “There are too many!” shouted Erlan. His bowstring twanged, the arrow landed in another prisoner’s arm. “Get to town!” Nobody questioned his order.

  Vaeri recast her rooting Spell to slow the prisoners’ advance, but it only lasted seconds. Every time she cast it, she fell behind by a few seconds and had to sprint to catch up.

  With a moment of concentration, Nevara cast a Spell on Grant.

  [You have been Enhanced by Druidic Attributes!]

  [+2 to all Attributes (30 minutes remaining)]

  As the power flowed through Grant, she stumbled and held her head. Mana Depletion? thought Grant, but when he offered her a hand, she brushed it away and continued running.

  The four raced through the field with the Cursed at their heels. The Cursed were slow, and they could easily outrun them for short distances, but they never seemed to tire. Every time Grant peeked back, it seemed as if they had gained ground.

  [You have slain Zerrick Heath!]

  [You have gained 4,452 Experience and 21,491 Points!]

  [You have reached level 4!]

  [Agility has increased to 31!]

  [Perception has increased to 26!]

  [Vitality has increased to 14!]

  Who in the Goddess’s name is Zerrick Heath?

  “Oh,” Grant muttered to himself a few seconds later, remembering the scaled green creature. He must have bled to death.

  Something welled up. He had killed another human being. Or a lizard creature who had once been a Human. Or a Cursed lizard creature who had once been a Human who once tried to kill him. Whatever it was, Grant had to push down the nausea and keep moving. He could deal with the guilt later.

  “Is there nothing you can do?” snapped Erlan as he fired another arrow. He had used most of those he had brought, and now only a few rattled in his quiver. “Do you not have a Spell you could cast? A Skill you could use? What did you use on the elk?”

  “I don’t have one!” Grant yelled. “I started with only 487 Points!”

  “What?” Erlan shouted. “How is that even possible? Don’t even the weakest Humans start with thousands?”

  “There!” Grant shouted, pointing toward the ground, where a lump moved near their feet.

  A hulking prisoner burst out from beneath the snow and lunged at Nevara. Erlan’s bowstring thrummed, and an arrow clipped the man in the collarbone, then ricocheted upward. Grant jumped in front of the Airet woman and kicked the man in the chest, sending him flailing back with a deep grunt. Another lumbered forward, stomping on the one he’d kicked, and Grant scrambled back.

  “You have no Skills? No Spells? Did you spend all your points on that dagger?”

  Grant was too exhausted to answer. He winced every time his left heel came down, a cramp crawling up his hamstring. His ribs ached, and every breath of the cold air he sucked in felt like there was a rope around his neck. If he survived this, he would have to do something about his low Vitality.

  He was tempted to open the Store and buy a Skill or a Spell that would get them out of this, but even with his recently gained Points, his options were limited. Splitting his concentration between running and reading would most likely have made him unable to do either well, and so he stayed focused on his footing.

  As they neared the town walls, Grant glanced over his shoulder again. Erlan had run out of arrows. They were all gasping for breath, and Vaeri hung on Nevara’s shoulder. The prisoners were closing the distance one stumbling step at a time. Their breaths fogged in the cold, steady and even. If they were tired, they weren’t showing it.

  “Open the gates!” thundered Erlan. He pounded on the door. “In the name of General Erlan, I command you to open the gates!”

  The soldiers manning the gate towers took one look into the advancing Cursed in the fields before disappearing behind the parapet. “You cowards! Open the gates!” Erlan kicked the wood futilely. It was built to repel a battering ram. A man would have better luck trying to break a stone with a flick than he would kicking it down.

  Even if the King were to come knocking, we would tell him to come back in the morning, Grant remembered Vaeri saying.

  He looked at the walls. They stood about three yards high. Grant could easily clear them with his Agility, but what of his party?

  Vaeri stood with her hands on her knees, panting for breath. She was a Healer, not a Ranger or a Spearman. Even rested, she would have no chance of making it over. Nevara didn’t look any better as she shouted through the gate. The only one from their group who looked fresh was Erlan.

  “Come!” Grant shouted, not bothering to look back. To his surprise, their footsteps crunched behind him. No matter what happened to him, he wanted nothing less than to see his three new comrades buried. They had prayed for help, and all his world had provided was more fodder for the Tomb Fiend to inflict with his Curse. He wasn’t going to let them die.

  He approached the corner between the gates and the guard tower, and with a yelp from Vaeri, he grabbed her by the waist. She was over a foot shorter than him and even lighter than he would expect of a woman her size. “Hold on!” Grant shouted, crouching low. She hugged his shoulders and clenched her eyes shut. The snow under his feet was too soft a platform, but it would have to be enough.

  With a grunt, Grant jumped, wedging the toe of his boot between two stacked stones of the guard tower. He pushed off with all his might and twisted his body toward the other wall, grabbing its top with one hand and unceremoniously dumping Vaeri onto the ledge with the other. He slid down and waved Nevara over.

  She put an arm over his shoulder. Erlan scrambled up the wall next and straddled its ledge, holding his hands out to receive her, as Vaeri climbed down the other side. Grant could hear the Cursed now. With only seconds to act, he leaped.

  Hands brushed his feet. He scaled the wall the same way as before, and Erlan’s hand clasped Nevara’s wrist.

  Grant reached out to grasp the ledge, but his hand fell short. There was no way to slow his fall. The Cursed were below him, hands pushed toward the sky and teeth gnashing greedily as he slid boot-first. Erlan’s mouth was open in a wordless yell as he watched Grant descend. When he dropped out of reach, his expression turned to sadness and disbelief.

  I see we’re friends now, Grant thought. And all it took was me sacrificing my life for theirs. That’s good.

  With a mock salute and a grin, Grant activated Perfect Invisibility.

  ***

  From the perspective of the Cursed, it must have been the oddest thing in the world. They somehow retained their Store-bought abilities, but as far as Grant could tell, their minds had been turned to mud. One second, their prey was within their grasp, ready to be torn to shreds, and the next, something they could no longer see crashed into them, sending them down in a tangled heap.

  As Grant crawled between their kicking legs, taking the occasional boot to the face, he could only wonder how he had so rapidly made a habit out of brushing with death again and again.

  The snow stung against his belly, and the wool coat and pants he had borrowed from Erlan were stained with the blood, sweat, mud, and everything else the prisoners had tracked through the Portal and beyond. He felt guilty about ruining such fine clothing, but he figured Erlan wasn’t the type to fuss over something like that.

  A squawk of pain escaped his lips when something stepped on his injured wrist, but it moved on.

  He continued his low belly crawl. The Cursed had given up on their search, and instead bulled against the thick gate, rattling its hinges. Light glowed over the walls, a sign that the commotion had woken half the town, and that they were standing around with flickering torches and lanterns.

  Grant made it past the forest of legs and crawled to his feet. He turned the corner and scaled the wall, dropping down into the courtyard on the other side.

  He canceled Perfect Invisibility after landing and jogged to the spot where Vaeri, Nevara, and Erlan had crossed.

  Vaeri bawled into her palms while Nevara held her, patting her on the back as she whispered in her ear. The townsfolk rubbed sleep from their clueless eyes. Erlan was wrestling and shouting at the two armored guards holding him back while pointing frantically at the wall.

  He wants to go back for me. That’s sweet.

  Grant strolled up to them. The temptation to savor the moment pulled at him, but Vaeri was inconsolable, and it seemed unnecessarily cruel to let them think he was dead. He even felt a bit bad about deceiving Erlan, despite the soldier’s previous attitude toward him.

  Not knowing what to say, he borrowed from the woman in the white room.

  “Hi.”

  Vaeri’s sobs stopped, and Nevara looked as if her God had descended from the Heavens and delivered Grant to her arms. Erlan just stood, pointing in disbelief, his eyes flitting between Grant and the wall, giving him a look that was almost worth nearly being ripped into ribbons by the Cursed over.

  Grant gave a sheepish grin, gesturing at himself. “So, about your coat…”