Dead? I shook my head.

  How long had they waited before they decided their friends or family weren’t coming back?

  My brain circled back to Bram calling for his mother. What if those really were his last words?

  "I'm so sorry," I said again, because what else could a person say?

  An older man two seats down leaned over. His armor was well-worn, and marked with lines and creases from dents hammered out again and again. "You talking about Rory's lot?"

  Violet nodded, her eyes holding unshed tears.

  "Damn shame, that." The man shook his head. "Saw Bram here that very afternoon, proud as a rooster. Had a new sword. Was bragging about the deal he had got, you would think he had swindled the armourer. Said he was finally going to make tank his permanent role, stop trying to DPS his way through everything."

  My stomach dropped. Bram. My fellow fighter, the swordsman who'd tried so hard to get his blade through spider carapace. Who'd gotten poisoned and eaten by a spider. Well I assume they got eaten, or did they disappear and the spiders went hungry? But either way he was gone, all because he joined my party.

  "He was a good lad," the old warrior continued. "Stubborn as hell, didn’t listen half the time, but good. Always bought a round when he got paid for a job."

  A woman in deep red mage robes approached our end of the bar, her face severe weathered features drawn in a frown. "He didn’t listen to you because half of your tales are untrue, old man, and the boy knew it. Mind if I take a seat?” She didn't look to us or wait for an answer. "Kevin was one of my students. Not a great one, mind you. The boy panicked at the worst times, but he tried really hard. All he wanted to be was a wizard; his mum was so proud of him." Her voice cracked, but her face gave no hint of emotion.

  Kevin, who'd panicked and hit us all with that lightning attack. Who'd been crying when Ayerelia yelled at him. Who'd screamed in the dark when the light went out. He had had an in-game mum.

  The goddamn game had programed some mum to be proud of her son. And now to be be stricken with grief. For what? A game? Players wouldn’t likely know or care about this. Ayerelia would roll her eyes at the idea of some NPC suffering the loss of an NPC child.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I wouldn’t have cared as much.

  "He came from nothing, you know," the mage continued, staring into her cup as if it held answers. "Dirt dirt-poor family couldn’t even afford to stay inside the city walls. But they scrounged up the money to pay for lessons. They thought adventuring would be his way out." She laughed bitterly. "Guess it was."

  More people were drifting over now, drawn by the conversation. A dwarf with a magnificent beard spoke up. "I knew the lot of them. Used to see Rory around here most nights. He was a good man, a good man” The dwarf repeated and dipped his head at Violet as he raised his glass. She nodded and raised hers too. “He always had a smile and a joke. Good DPS, too, that sneaky bastard could get behind anything." He raised his mug. "To Rory."

  "To Rory," several voices echoed.

  Violet wiped at her eyes roughly. "He had joined a party; he had left me a note here at the guild. Said he'd found a strong fighter, someone new to the hall. A woman with a club." She looked at me then, really looked at me. "Big fighter type, like you. Said she reminded him of the heroes from the old stories."

  My throat closed up. I couldn't breathe.

  "Funny," Violet continued, her gaze still on me, "we don't get too many lady fighters. The party leader he went out with, she was a fighter he said." Her voice went hollow. "She never came back either. I hope she doesn’t have family wondering what happened to her. To bad we will never know what really went down that day in the dungeon.”

  I wanted to scream. To tell her I was right here, that I knew exactly what happened because I'd died there too, felt my spine melt from venom, suffocated by the dark. That I had been there listening to their last breaths as I gasped mine. I reached up and rubbed at the spot where the spider’s fangs had sunk into the back of my neck, and my face went hot with shame.

  But she wouldn't believe me. Couldn't. To her, I was just another fighter passing through. New to the city.

  "There was a fifth, wasn't there?" someone asked. "Another woman?"

  "Aye," the old warrior said darkly. "Saw her myself that night. Elf woman had one of those fancy staffs. Very fancy gear, possibly a noble, slumming.”

  A few people grumbled.

  Ayerelia. Of course. These people’s friends and family were dead, and really, it was both our fault. I had made the party, but she was the one who had to log off for work, leaving us without a healer to die.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Because to her it was just a game. Because none of this was real to her.

  But Rory was real enough to have a sister who missed him. Bram was real enough to have bought rounds at the bar. Kevin was real enough to have had dreams of a better life.

  "The fighter who led them," a young ranger spoke up quietly. "Did anyone know her name?"

  "He didn’t mention it," Violet said, “I wish he had, we could track down her family and at least let them know. Imagine if your daughter or sibling just left the house and never came back." She shuddered.

  A few of the others looked sombre and everyone drank deep.

  "Then they should have waited, levelled up some more," someone else said. “That’s a risk we all take when we are adventurin.” The voice was half drunk and slightly belligerent.

  "Aye, they should have." The mage woman said calmly without emotion, refusing to accuse or absolve us. We weren’t prepared that angry voice was right.

  The conversation continued around me, people sharing memories, arguing about what should have been done differently, raising drinks to the fallen. I sat there frozen, my hands clenched so tight around my drink I felt the wood creak.

  They were gone. Really gone.

  And I caused this, the blame was mine. Well, and that of a sparkly elf. But I had picked them. I had invited them into my party not knowing how serious the consequences could be. I could tell myself how could I know? But who was I kidding, I had been playing this game for a while now. My brain was running in circles of guilt that I was helpless to stop.

  "You all right there?" Violet asked, peering at me with concern. "You look pale."

  "I'm fine," I managed. "Just... that's a hard story to hear."

  "Aye," she agreed. "It is." She studied me for a long moment. "Be careful in that dungeon, if you're planning to try it. Don't go in underleveled like they did. And for the gods' sake, make sure you have a healer."

  "I will," I promised, my voice barely a whisper. We had had a healer, until we didn’t.

  If I ever took an NPC with me on a quest again I swore I would make sure to have lots of healing potions to share.

  She nodded and turned back to her drink, and I sat there surrounded by people mourning a party I'd killed, unable to tell them the truth. That I hadn't died. Not really.

  I'd respawned. I always respawned, but they hadn't.

  I went to bed feeling terrible, I was glad for the magic of the bed that made me fall asleep instantly.

  The next day I got up

  That night, I couldn’t sleep. Even with the enchanted bed.

  Dekka had collapsed at the foot of the bed and was out almost immediately, paws twitching as she hunted an imaginary something. Her belly rose and fell in that fast little rhythm interspersed with little yips that I had always imagined meant she was dreaming of being twice her size and eating the neighbour’s border collies. I smiled; she had really hated those dogs. The way they stared at her through the fence and stalked her from their yard.

  Now she knew what it felt like to be as big as she believed she was. She was free from the weight of responsibility and regret. She was living her best life. At least one of us was having fun in this fucking game.

  I patted her and tried not to disturb her as I sat up.

  Settling in and wrapping the blankets around me I took a deep breath. If sleep wasn’t going to happen, I could at least pretend to be productive.

  I flicked my HUD open. It bloomed over the darkness, a cool-white light that only I could see. A light that didn’t reflect on anything in the room.

  Numbers. Bars. The quantification of who I am and my usefulness.

  Strength 10, Speed 9, Constitution 13—creeping up, grudgingly Those were the stats of a fighter. Those had been growing slowly but steadily. Intelligence at 8, Wisdom was 5 and Charisma was 7. These weren’t moving much. I guess a fighter didn’t need to be smart.

  But I had always been smart. Not super smart, not a brainiac or anything. But I had done well enough in universtiy. Now here it I was just muscle. Good for swinging a hunk of tree.

  I though back to Sera, I hoped she was happy with her betrothed. I could do things that didn’t involved bludgeoning somethings brains out.

  I sighed. The game was changing me. I couldn’t deny that in the dark of night. But what could I do about it? It was making me like fighting. Hitting things was beginning to feel like option one when presented with a problem.

  Maybe a new class would help? Something that rewarded thinking.

  Two branches on the tree pulsed in unison.

  [SWING] forked into [MIGHTY SWING] and [TRIP]. I hadn’t been able to use that one yet. The HIT path split into [CRIPPLING BLOW] and [TARGETED HIT

  At the bottom, a new line blinked with aggressive innocence:

  [Two Skill Trees completed. Upgrade or consolidate primary class? Y/N]

  No preview. No hint about what that would entail. No options that I could see after like I had been able to with the skills.

  And definitely no “are you the kind of person who enjoys wearing skulls as accessories or would you prefer spell-books and robes.” Chance to respec

  “What if I want to know what I’m consolidating into,” I whispered.

  Dekka growled in her sleep. I felt like growling too.

  I opened the context menu. Nothing. I tried the little “i” bubble. The bubble just repeated the words [Upgrade or Consolidate]

  I closed the menu. Opened it again. The prompt still blinked. If words could emote these had the smugness of a small terrier on a table.

  My finger hovered over Y. But I stopped. With my luck, and with this game it would probably decide to transform me into something appalling. Something worse than being a basic fighter. But I didn’t want to stay basic fighter either, it felt like admitting I was the person who ran at problems with a stick because nuance was for people who weren’t covered in rabbit brains.

  I pictured possible futures; Elizabeth the Duelist: fancy footwork, wrist flicks, a flourish after every parry. Elizabeth the War Sage: wraps on her wrists, a faraway look, lecturing about leverage while avoiding all actual fights. Elizabeth the… Barbarian. The word thunked down in my head like a dropped anvil.

  Beth the Barbarian.

  “No,” I told the ceiling. “Absolutely fucking not.”

  The ceiling, or the god like game dev should they exist, declined to argue. The HUD waited. I closed it angrily. I would deal with this tomorrow. It was a long while before sleep took me away to dreamless sleep.