The next days passed in a frenetic blur. Our life became a literal training montage. From dawn to dusk and well past, Aerion and I trained relentlessly with Syrril.

  Duels, retrospectives, meditation, introspection. Rinse and repeat, over and over again.

  We’d usually fight together, but sometimes, Syrril fought us one on one while the other observed and gave their feedback after.

  Though my rate of development wasn't quite as meteoric as it had been at the start—further corroborating my theory that stat growth was correlated to the difference between my stat ceiling and my current stat level, I still made excellent progress.

  Between the meditation sessions and the fighting, I’d gained 230 points in Order, putting me at an incredible 422 with my Undersuit’s 5% boost. I also added 7 points to Dominion and 4 in Vigor, putting those at 79 and 80, respectively. That all had gained me not just one or two, but three more levels, putting me at a respectable D-8.

  Aerion, meanwhile, had poured every stat point she gained from leveling into Order, which in turn significantly accelerated her progress. She’d broken through the Divergence barrier and reached D-3, quickly closing the gap between us.

  She’d gained a new skill with that rank up—Sylvan Current.

  [Sylvan Current] (Foundation - 0): When active, gain Vigor and Grace for each minute spent in [Reave], at a cost of increased Essence drain.

  The gods—or Cosmo in this case—had delivered. With this, Aerion didn’t have to worry about wasting points on her other stats. She’d get tougher and faster for every minute she spent in her Reave state, though it came at a cost of increased Essence drain.

  Her entire Blessing was one-dimensional—a pure offensive power build. [Reave] made her a force of nature, while [Fading Fury] amplified it to new heights. [Sylvan Current] gave her the durability to withstand the force of her own blows and made her faster and tankier the longer she went, and [Shock] was the icing on the cake.

  The synergy with her Blessing was just sublime. So much so that I doubted Cosmo—the guy who’d messed up metric and imperial—could’ve come up with it.

  I only wished there was a way to increase her Essence pool, but it seemed the only way to do that was through leveling.

  She put her new ability to good use in our sparring sessions with Syrril. The sessions now ran longer and longer, often stretching to the five-minute mark, sometimes even ten. While we still hadn’t won against him yet, I felt like we weren’t far off.

  It wasn’t just a matter of improved stats or new abilities—it was our combat skills, too. Fighting this old elf had done wonders for our real-world experience.

  Not on account of the beatdowns, necessarily, but because Syrril didn’t limit himself to a single fighting style. Whenever we found a way to counter him, he’d change his tactics and even his moves, rendering our tactics void.

  If we swarmed him and caught him by surprise once, he started taking one of us out before we could flank him. When we reacted to that development by formulating a Blitz attack, he countered by doubling his aggression, attacking like a mad elf.

  Every time we changed something, he did too, forcing us to adapt.

  I could think of no better way to improve our skills than to fight someone like him. The man had so many ways of fighting that I’d honestly lost count.

  In most games, players fought battles repeatedly just to grind—to increase their stats and their levels. This made you stronger, sure, but there was rarely any benefit besides the numbers going up.

  This was different. Our fights with Syrril gave us real-world combat experience. Something that would give us an enormous advantage in every future fight, regardless of what our loadout or stats happened to be.

  And I couldn’t thank him enough. Despite being the Battle Master of the Sylvan Guard, Syrril had dedicated nearly every waking hour of the day to us. If I were honest, he was more of a father figure to me than my own dad ever was.

  When the fateful day finally arrived and Rocky’s Essence Cost ticked down to zero, Aerion and I didn’t even bother heading to the arena. We’d informed Syrril the night before we’d be taking the day off.

  No amount of meditation or self-discipline would’ve allowed either of us to concentrate on training.

  As fierce as the old elf could be, he’d understood completely and wished us the best, on the condition that he be the first to see the newborn chick. Or wyvern or whatever it was that would pop out of that egg.

  “I feel like I hear something,” Aerion said, putting her ear up to the oversized egg. She’d been doing this every few minutes for the past several hours.

  “You’ve been saying that all day,” I replied, putting my own ear up to it regardless. It was currently on a table, and sat about two feet tall. Whatever was going to pop out of there, it’d be quite chunky.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” I said.

  “Maybe… maybe it needs help,” Aerion said, ignoring me. She’d become more of a mess with each passing day. Understandable, considering how much she was looking forward to this. “Maybe it’s too weak to crack its shell?”

  A distinct possibility. Most people assumed chicks just burst out of their eggs, but the process was often slow and laborious. I’d heard that chicks sometimes died in their eggs because they were too weak to break free.

  “We need to wait for it,” I said. “It has to make the first move. Just because the timer’s run down doesn’t mean it’s necessarily ready to hatch. And if we break the egg too early, we risk hurting it—or worse.”

  “I know,” Aerion said, hugging the egg like a mother hen.

  I was fairly certain her actions did all of absolutely nothing, but the gesture was beyond adorable, so I kept my mouth shut, content just to watch.

  Noon came and went with no progress. With great reluctance, I left to grab us some food from the market.

  There was a stall selling leafy sandwiches we both enjoyed, so I grabbed a few of those and rushed back.

  I returned to find an excited Aerion pacing all around the egg.

  “Greg!” she cried. “I think it’s happening! I think it’s hatching!”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I stumbled, nearly dropping the food, as I stared intently at the egg.

  Its rocky surface now had white striations all over it, resembling cracked glass, and if I wasn’t wrong, they were glowing.

  But when a soft, muffled mewling came from within—almost like a dog in pain—I knew something was wrong.

  “We need to help it,” Aerion said, reaching for the egg in panic.

  “Wait!” Almost on instinct, I grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “Neither of us has any clue what we’re doing here. I’m gonna go grab Syrril. He has experts who can help with stuff like this.”

  “But—”

  “Aerion, we don’t want to mess this up.”

  Aerion hesitated, then nodded. “You’re right. But please hurry. I’m worried for it.”

  I was at the door in an instant, leveraging every ounce of Grace I had to sprint across the bough to the arena, where I hoped I’d find Syrril.

  He wasn’t there, of course. The one time we needed him was the one time he wasn’t at his favorite haunt.

  Fortunately, I remembered where he lived. It wasn’t far.

  Bounding down the hallways of the great tree, I ran through winding branches and elevated walkways until I reached the small, nondescript door that led to the modest single-room apartment he called home. Quite the frugal accommodations for the Battlemaster of the Sylvan Guard.

  “Coming,” a voice called from within.

  The door opened, and Syrril blinked in surprise. “Greg? How can I help you?”

  “It’s the egg—it’s trying to hatch, but we think something’s wrong. Do you have any specialists who could help?”

  Syrril thought for a moment, then nodded. “Return to your bungalow. I’ll be along shortly with a couple of specialists.”

  “Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “We owe you one.”

  Syrril barked a short laugh. “You owe me quite a lot more than that, boy. But it’s fine. I don’t want this little guy to die either.”

  The battlemaster arrived just a few minutes later, followed by a middle-aged woman—which likely meant she was ancient, considering elven longevity—and a slender man. I had no idea how he’d rounded up help so quickly, but I was grateful.

  To my relief, the soft, pitiful cries were still coming from within the egg, though they sounded a bit quieter. Or was that just my imagination? It was tough to think straight through the stress.

  The specialists moved quickly and efficiently, checking the egg from every angle—pressing their ears against it, tapping the shell, and performing a slew of other tests I couldn’t begin to decipher. I knew they both had Boons related to animal care, but past that, I didn’t know the details.

  “Will it be okay?” Aerion asked, trembling with worry.

  I squeezed her shoulder, but if I was honest, I was just as scared as she was.

  “It is difficult to say,” said one of the elves—a tall, slender, elderly woman. “Whatever is within the egg is definitely trying to hatch. However, this shell is far harder than anything I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine any animal having the strength to break through. Not even dragon eggs are this thick.”

  “Dragon eggs?” I asked. Was that what this was?

  “Yes,” the woman said. “They are very rare. I’ve personally never seen one, but I’ve heard the stories. This is almost like…”

  “Rock?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she frowned. “Where did you find this again?”

  “In the Cataclysm Dungeon that Aerion and I collapsed,” I said. “It had been eaten by some massive worm.”

  “Well, that would explain why it’s still intact, at least. This hard shell must have protected it all that time. I just worry that it may be too thick for the poor creature trapped inside.”

  “Can we help it out?” Aerion asked.

  “Of course,” said the other elf. “I normally prefer to allow the baby to fight its way out—but in this case, I think it will die without assistance.”

  Good job, Cosmo.

  I’d bet the god didn’t have a clue how thick to make the shell for when it eventually hatched. Then again, the healer was right—Rocky wouldn’t have survived all these millennia without that protection.

  Aerion and I watched anxiously as the healers brought out scalpels, carefully cutting and prying at the shell. Their tools, designed for much thinner material, proved completely unfit for the task. They destroyed more than one blade trying.

  In the end, I offered to help with Light of the Fearless, and Aerion joined in with Aurora. Carefully, under the healers’ guidance, we inserted our blades and twisted—being as gentle and cautious as possible.

  Piece by piece, we pried away the shell, revealing a thin membrane underneath. The healers made quick work of it with their tools, and soon we caught our first glimpse of the creature inside.

  A scaly, pinkish newborn thing peeked up at us—its body slick with blood and birthing fluids.

  It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen.

  “It’s adorable!” Aerion said, seemingly not seeing what I was seeing.

  Barely formed skin, a set of tiny wings, and bulbous eyes—it was definitely birdlike, but with all the wrong proportions. It might’ve been cute… if it weren’t covered in blood and goo.

  “Careful now!” the woman instructed the man as they reached in to pull the baby free.

  It blinked slowly, looking from one face to the next, clearly trying to find its mother.

  “Aw, look at that, Aerion,” I said. “It’s going to imprint on you.”

  That was when its head snapped toward me, and once it did, the thing refused look anywhere else, cooing at me.

  “Um... I think it thinks you’re its mother,” Aerion said with a giggle.

  “Great,” I said dryly. “Just what I’ve always wanted.”

  Though, I had to admit, the way it stretched its neck to coo at me was pretty damned adorable.

  The tenders worked their magic, cleaning the detritus from the creature’s body, even as it happily licked the gooey, shiny substance.

  As disgusting as it was, I knew that the goop was probably nutrient-filled and as delicious as anything for the newborn. Or maybe it was the specks of gold scattered throughout the goo the creature found compelling?

  With the creature cleaned up, we still didn’t know what it was—wyvern, drake, or something else? Its wings certainly looked large enough to be functional, and the matted feathers on its tail seemed like they’d eventually puff out. Our elven tenders seemed to be at just as much of a loss as we were, arguing and debating over what it could be.

  Those were about all the clues we had, though, and the elven tenders didn’t know any more.

  All we really knew was that it had distinctive avian traits… and that it was a she.

  Despite the mystery that was our little friend, the relief in the room was palpable. What mattered was that it survived—and that it was safe.

  “We’ll make sure she gets all the nutrients she needs,” the healer said. “Would you mind if we took her to our facility? We can care for her much better there.”

  Aerion hesitated, but I squeezed her arm.

  “We want to make sure she’s well taken care of. And they know a lot more about animal physiology than we do,” I said.

  Aerion nodded. “Please take care of her.”

  “For an exotic creature like this,” the man said, “there is no question. We will work day and night if we must. I guarantee it.”

  He went to scoop up the little creature, only to receive a squawk of fright as it backed away. Its little body was shivering in terror.

  I glanced at Aerion and moved closer.

  “Hey, there,” I said in as gentle a voice as possible. “Do you want to come with me instead?”

  I needn’t have bothered. The second it saw me, the little bird stumbled over, nearly falling on its unstable hind legs. I caught it in time, though, and it didn’t resist at all as I held it in my arms.

  Despite being a bit larger than a human baby, the thing weighed almost nothing.

  Holding the tiny thing in my hands, I followed the healers to the tree's nursery with Aerion.

  “Well, it’s a girl,” I said, staring down at the sleeping bird. It had fallen fast asleep the moment I started cradling it. “You think of a name? Or are we sticking with Rocky?”

  If I was honest, Rocky had a nice ring to it. At least, so I thought until Aerion gave me the kind of glare that chilled suns.

  “Are you being serious?” she asked.

  “Er, yeah?” I said, suddenly less confident. “Thought it’d be a nice reference to her origins, y’know?”

  “Greg? If you call her Rocky, I will activate [Reave] right here and now, and I will not stop until you swear to never utter that word again.”

  The look in her eyes told me she’d do it, too. Except she couldn’t really think while under Reave’s effects. It’d only stop once she passed out… or killed me first.

  “Noted,” I replied. “I think we can come up with a better name. Definitely.”

  “Galia,” Aerion said at once, her glare melting into the most genuine smile I’d ever seen. “We’ll call her Galia.”