When the bonfire was lit, I slid off the rock and stumbled, falling to my hands and knees. The grass existed, a world within itself. Hard and stabbing, soft and bending. The sweet, dry scent from crushed blades filled my nose. After being still so long, my body protested the drastic motion. Every joint shouted at being moved, and my spine? It hated me. I paused there, despite wanting to get it all over with. The grass around me, the blood rushing back to my ass after having been sitting on it so long, and the disorientation made me want to lie flat for a moment.

  I didn’t. Instead, I pushed myself upright. Took Ro’Fatoft out of inventory. Stumbled towards the light.

  Chief Urda looked up at me before I crossed the liminal space. I felt like I was floating, body aching, but in a way feeling good. Free of things like confusion and doubt.

  I stopped near the fire. My voice cracked, and I croaked, “Sho has accepted me.”

  “Give the child water.” She pointed at Dag, who tossed me a waterskin. I caught it. Urda spoke as I pulled the stopper out with my teeth. “Drink slow. Sick it up and you’ll waste it.”

  I fought the urge to suck it all down and let it trickle, soothing my mouth. I saw my mouth in my mind’s eye, like bare earth under a baking sun, cracked into scaled, brittle patterns. Urda flicked a dismissive gesture my way.

  “Go. Eat. Sleep. Come tomorrow,” she said.

  I turned like a zombie and shambled off, across the grass and the dusty yard where I’d practiced spear techniques. The memory of Sho revived as I walked to Fist’s Home. I tread through it again, and her voice clung to me like smoke. The water from the skin was sweet and cool, finished by the time I banged through the door of Fist’s Home.

  I staggered over to the bar and held up the spear like a drunken fool, brandishing the weapon in a flailing, uncoordinated gesture of victory. Alga was at the bar, idly peeling some carrot-looking things. Good.

  “He hopes you live well. Do you have food? Hungry,” I said, my voice too loud, grating to my ears.

  She’d been still as a post until I said the word ‘hungry.’ Alga set her knife down and efficiently dished out a bowl. The liquid she poured into my cup was simple water from the barrel instead of the usual orcish whiskey. I dropped onto a seat and tasted the gravy, eyes closing at the purity of its flavor. Fat, salt, protein, and starch all separated and combined on my tongue. Nothing had ever been better. The warmth of the tavern, the give of the creaking wooden stool beneath me, even the rasp of the spoon between my teeth was like nirvana. Transcendent.

  She watched me, her gaze solemn. Her arms crossed over her chest, but her eyes drifted to the spear, which I’d propped against the bar beside me. It sat next to me, taking up space for its long lost owner. My hallucinitory mind almost imagined him sitting there beside me, watching her, as she watched us. Some little smirk on his face. Pleased. Why would he be pleased?

  But the food.

  “So good,” I moaned.

  “Of course,” she stated. I didn’t look up, too busy eyeing my bowl like a new lover. I wearily ate, entranced by the flavors.

  When I’d eaten half, I felt alive again, blood vibrant in my veins. And so, so tired. My head bobbed over my bowl. I pushed off the stool and staggered for the back room, only to blink and find myself on my bunk.

  Nothing felt better than falling asleep.

  When I woke, I lay on my bed, face in my pillow. Were Sho and Nujol real, or hallucinations given by the System? Did it think it could bind me with this? It was wrong.

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  I jerked awake again, later, and got up.

  Left a text note to my party, audio off. Wasn’t about to start a conversation mid-dump.

  Went on a vision quest because the Orc Chief told me to. Trippy.

  No one answered right away. With a shrug, I went about my business. While I was in the process of washing up, the chat log awoke. I was not ready. Mentally.

  Jake: Vision quest? Like Native Americans? How was it? Was it cool? Where did you do it? How…

  A wall of questions and no idea where to start.

  Fig: That’s amazing! What was it like? Describe it in detail. Leave nothing out.

  They wanted stories I didn’t have words for. My brain felt like it was functioning on one fritzing, overworked cell. Concentration on texting my answers broke when Elora’s message appeared.

  Elora: How come you get all the crazy fun stuff? Nothing ever happens to me.

  I started writing something snarky and then deleted it.

  Akilah: Because he’s a sucker. He’s like, the living equivalent of a domino effect.

  Fair.

  I sighed and filtered my thoughts to the interface, the words appearing on my HUD.

  It was kinda like, well, if you had to stay up for 3 days straight with no food or water. Your mind starts messing with you, and you hallucinate things that are like dreams. My hallucinations seemed to satisfy them, so I might have a solution to my Hythsaa problem. I have to go see the Chief.

  Elora, next time, you’re playing the damsel in distress in a creepy cave.

  Elora: Boo. I do not want that job. I changed my mind.

  Jake: Trippy. I almost want to try it, but I like food too much.

  Fig: Same!

  I got ready to meet the Chief the same way I had when I went before, bathed with herbs, and wore my armor. Showed my scars. Alga obliged me by marking my face again. Orcs didn’t use mirrors. Couldn’t do it myself. I kept my eyes closed for the process, but once she was done, she didn’t let go of my chin.

  My eyes opened. She was staring at me, a need lurking in her dark gaze. Her hand fell to my shoulder.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “Sho and Nujol walking the plains. Just walking. They cut through the yard by the animal pens to speak with Voj’Kasak and me. Nujol said he hoped you were living well. Speaking of, have you seen Old Fang?” I asked, glancing out the open door. It was well past morning.

  “Not this day,” Alga said, stepping back from me. She gave me a last look over and turned away from me, moving briskly to the bar.

  I left her to it. Figured if she wanted to talk about Nujol, she would.

  Daylight didn’t make the circle of big yurts less intimidating. It even smelled different on that side of the animal pens. The musky scent of natural aggression hung in the air. The bonfire had died down to nothing, no longer masking the smell.

  I lifted my chin, cracked my neck, and kept my stride steady. Confident. The largest dwelling was the Chief’s, and so I walked over and stopped at the flap. At that point, I got hit with a wave of doubt. Do I knock? Where? The support post, maybe.

  Maybe I shouldn’t. Should I just wait?

  I spent a few minutes, standing like a dumbass, trying to figure out my next move. Just as I’d decided I’d just knock, the flap was pushed aside by the tip of a cane.

  “Old Fang?” Startled straight from crown to toes.

  I stepped back out of the cane’s arc. He shuffled out, and the hulking figure of the Krual followed behind him, looking at me with flat eyes. I nodded at her but kept my eyes up. Never look away. I wouldn’t forget that advice.

  Chief Urda passed me and went to the bench by the firepit. She faced me, instead of the pit, and raised her hand. “Tell me what you’ve seen.”

  I told her about the part that mattered, Sho and Nujol.

  Her brow quirked when I mentioned Old Fang being there. Her gaze slid to where Old Fang leaned on his cane, and she smirked. “Knew you were half in the grave, Old Fang, but not that close.”

  Her smirk faded. Urda looked at me and spoke with a gravity I felt in my bones. “You are claimed. You are recognized as blood, son of Sho.”

  Old Fang’s chin lifted. Both his hands clutched his cane as he nodded at me. A shiver ran down my spine; my shoulders twitched with it. My dazed mind felt something lock into place. I belonged. I was Salt Spear. I hadn’t expected fear to result from this, but it did. Respected flashed in my HUD. I’d risen in the Rep menu. Inevitably, I would leave them.

  That was where the fear came from. The eventual failure. I’d leave them behind, and destroy the world that was their haven. Hopefully they’d forgive me when they were back on their own world, under their own sky.

  “Krual, I need to get out of my betrothal to Queen Hythsaa,” I blurted.

  Urda laughed, scars crinkling, the map of her faded tattoos shifting with amusement. She nodded. “You cannot marry a district lord. You are the bonding of Vash’Ora, meant to bring the Salt Spears to glory. Raise it well, and perhaps…”

  Her head shook briefly, as if to silence her thoughts.

  “I want to change everything,” I said.

  Urda smiled fiercely.

  I glanced at Old Fang, who shrugged and grumbled, “You’re carrying me to Shardshore.

  Finally. I caught a damn break.

  I should know better than to think things like that.

  -ARCHIVE-