Stephan was halfway through arguing about cabbages when the world changed. He couldn’t have known it, but a class had suddenly become available.

  “No, I’m telling you,” he said, gripping the edge of the stall, “three copper is not fair. They were two coppers just last week. Just look at them, most are wilted, and this one,” he accusingly picked up a particularly limp cabbage, “looks like Missus Cabbage cheated on him, and he’s about to go hang himself in the barn.”

  Darren the merchant, a red-faced man with a permanent suspicious squint, crossed his arms. “Two copper was last week’s price. Today it’s three. It’s supply and demand.”

  “What demand, Darren? They are the same cabbages! Look at that one, it has a beard of mold!” Stephan shouted, gesturing towards another particularly nasty-looking piece of cabbage.

  Around them, Brighthollow’s stalls bustled with the ordinary chaos of a midmorning market day.

  “Are you going to Brighthollow Fair?

  Parsley, sage…”

  The bard sang, hoping for a few coins even as others yelled prices. Children darted between legs, all the while the smell of bread, meats, and livestock hung thick in the air. Nothing about the moment felt special. Nothing felt chosen.

  Which was why Stephan almost missed the first sign.

  The sound faded.

  “... rosemary, and thyme.”

  It wasn’t all that abrupt; more like someone slowly pulling a wool blanket over the world. The merchant’s voice dulled, the bard’s song grew distant. Darren’s lips still moved, though, but his words no longer reached Stephan’s ears. The market’s noise softened into a faint, background hum before vanishing altogether.

  Stephan frowned. “Are you—? Am I—?”

  Pain blossomed in his chest.

  He staggered back, stumbling into a crate of suspicious-quality turnips. The cabbage he had been grasping and whose married life he had badmouthed escaped him, rolling across the dirt as if making a bid for freedom or the barn.

  Stephan barely noticed it. His heart felt as though a massive hand had closed around it, holding it firm, but not crushing. Not yet. It was testing. Feeling whether he could carry the weight.

  Heat bloomed beneath his sternum.

  He gasped, clutching his tunic. The pain wasn’t sharp. It was heavy. Immense. Like suddenly being aware of the sky pressing down. Like… He recognized the sensation and smiled despite the discomfort. He felt like he was finally getting his class.

  People turned to stare.

  “Oi, you all right, Stephan?” someone called.

  Stephan didn’t hear them. Couldn’t. Instead, golden light flooded his vision.

  It wasn’t blinding, not at first. It enveloped him and the world alike. Every crack in the cobblestones, every thread in the merchant’s sleeves, every particle of dust hanging in the sunlit air sharpened into impossible focus. The pigeons taking to the air slowed, their wings flapping as if through honey. Then everything froze.

  “Will you protect my children from the demonspawn?”

  Stephan’s heart shook, his bones rattled from a voice that wasn’t a voice.

  “Will you safeguard them from the fae?”

  Everything stayed still, but Stephan’s knees hit the ground. Getting a class didn’t entail voices. Not for the Commoner and Artisan classes, which was what just about every adult in town had ever gotten. Not even the Priest mentioned hearing voices when she shared her experience with the town’s children.

  Stephan’s mind raced. I’m hearing things. I’m seeing things. Maybe I’m reacting to my class poorly? Yes, yes, that has to be it.

  “Will you keep the dragons at bay, and the stalkers of dreams outside the homes of the devout?”

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  “I’m dreaming.” Stephan laughed in the frozen world that focused on him.

  “You are not dreaming, Stephan Cobblerson. Will you carry the burden of the mankind’s protector? Will you be the Paladin?”

  Stephan blinked, his laughter dead in his throat.

  Paladin. The Paladin. There was only one Sir Paladin. The slayer of dragons, the vanquisher of fiends, the guardian of mankind.

  I’m supposed to become the second Paladin?

  Stephan didn’t know how that was supposed to work. Would he be a Paladin in training? Would Sir Paladin teach him how to use the most powerful class in the world? Would he become someone important?

  The voice waited, and Stephan gulped. He licked his lips. He wanted to say yes. He should have said yes.

  “I can’t promise I will always know what to do, to know what’s right.”

  “You need not know.” The indifferent voice grew warmer, caring. “Only stand and do what your heart tells you is right.”

  Images flickered before his eyes. A man raising a knife over a crying child. Stephan knew what to do - disarm the man. A mercenary stepped aside before the bandits, letting a caravan burn. Stephan would protect the caravan. A priest counted coins in his warm room, wearing a fluffy robe before a crackling fire while beggars froze outside. Stephan would find them work and give them a chance to become their own people.

  In each vision, Stephan felt the same thing.

  Not outrage, but responsibility. An obligation to help his fellow man, not to smite. Smiting could come later, but first, problems needed fixing.

  “Do you accept the burden of action, of power? Of your class? Will you stand for those who cannot?”

  Silence stretched.

  Then Stephan nodded.

  “Yes,” he said. “I will stand for them.”

  The world holding its breath exhaled, engraving the moment in history. A flash of warmth passed through his body, and Stephan felt it, the weight. Something impossibly heavy had found its home in his heart. He felt an invisible, immaterial armor tighten around his body, a full suit heavy with meaning, offering burden, but no protection.

  Words burned themselves into his awareness.

  [Class acquired - Paladin]

  Time resumed. The light and words vanished, and sound rushed back, the noise of the world crashing on Stephan’s ears all at once. The hovering pigeons fluttered away; the leaves flew in the wind, and the soft lute carried above the background noise of the market.

  “Remember me, the one who lives there

  For she once was a true love of mine.”

  Stephan collapsed forward, hands braced against the cobbles, and gasped. A stabbing pain passed through his heart, but its beat was strong. Stronger than it had ever been before.

  Lacy grabbed his shoulder. “You all right?”

  Stephan looked up in confusion and nodded. She smiled, and it was a beautiful smile. The smile he had fallen in love with, with a hint of mischief just peeking out behind the tender care.

  “You got a class now, didn’t you? And you went all wimpy like that. I’m a girl, and looking at you, I took it like a man.” She pecked him on the brow. “Get up, you lug, you’re shaming me in the middle of the market.”

  The merchant squinted at him with even more suspicion than when they had discussed cabbages. People around whispered, the children stopped running and watched him enviously while the older folks smiled in amusement at the youth’s overreaction.

  Mike, the watchman, moved his hand towards his truncheon, the other one balled into a white-knuckled fist. Something about Stephan’s condition made him uneasy. Mike held the Sentry class, and his gut told him something about Stephan had changed. He could pose a threat. Put up a fight. More than a youth with basic militia training should.

  “Love imposes impossible tasks

  Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme”

  The bard’s ear seemed to grow to thrice its size as he thrummed his lute, nonchalantly pretending he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation of two youths even as he drew closer.

  “So, what did you get?” Lacy’s eyes sparkled with excitement, but she immediately went back to her normal, teasing self. “Merchant? Jester? I’m an Artisan, you know, and I have standards.”

  Stephan cocked an eyebrow, a smug smile on his face. Lacy made fun of him, and that was good. That was life. Everything was the way it should be. He stood straight and tried to look dignified.

  “I’m a Paladin.”

  The lute released a bow-like twang as its string snapped. Lacy failed to control a snorted laugh. At least the children looked suitably awed, and while a couple of other adults also laughed, most frowned.

  “Blasphemy.” A handful of people made the sign to ward off evil, glaring at Stephan.

  “You don’t disrespect Sir Paladin like that, boy!” George, drunk since before daybreak, slurred with fanatical fire blazing in his eyes.

  Stephan wanted to argue, but Lacy grabbed his arm.

  “Let’s go.” She tugged at him to leave. “You never did learn how far you could push a joke.”

  [Class acquired - Paladin]

  [Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 1

  Class skills: In Living Memory XVII, Blessing of Healing I

  Attributes: Agility: 10, Charisma: 10, Composure: 11, Dexterity: 10, Endurance: 11, Intelligence: 11, Luck: 11, Perception: 11, Presence: 11, Strength: 11, Toughness: 11, Vitality: 11, Willpower: 11, Wisdom: 11]