The forges were cold when he returned, the Warden nowhere to be found. Sam wandered down to the lake, enjoying the sensation of the cool breeze on his skin. It was a perfect day for fishing, and in another life, he could have seen himself sitting on the dock and laying down a line. His father had always been trying to take him on fishing trips when he'd been younger, but the act of pulling the slimy fish from the water had never appealed to him. Now, it didn't seem so bad.

  He caught a whiff of smoke on the wind and noticed a fire coming from the chimney of the main house. The short trek up the hill—which previously would have left him winded—didn’t even raise his heart rate. He grinned, still amazed by the simple effortlessness of his new body.

  The cottage squatted like a fat toad at the edge of the yard. Its simple stone exterior was topped with a heather roof, and it looked as if it had stood in that spot for a thousand years. Sam figured that, given where he currently was, a thousand might be too conservative.

  He knocked softly at the rear door before letting himself in, stepping into a truly eclectic kitchen. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, the open hearth housing a thick, cast-iron pot. The smell of stew permeated the air, and Sam’s mouth began to water, his stomach letting out an audible rumble.

  The rest of the kitchen looked like something out of a sixties edition of Homes & Gardens. Vintage electric appliances hummed away, and a large stack of Tupperware sat on the long, family-style table. Sam helped himself to a tub of mac & cheese, hoping that whatever animal had produced the milk wouldn’t set off his lactose intolerance.

  Wait, am I even still lactose intolerant? Given the transformation his body had undergone, it seemed unlikely. A clanging of metal woke him from his contemplation, and he made his way through a series of cramped rooms towards the front of the house. He was surprised to see that the entire front third of the building was set up as a shop. Suits of leather and metal armour lined the walls, and racks of weapons dominated the center of the room. Arther stood behind the counter, polishing the head of the now completed spear.

  “Well, well, the conquering hero returns.” The old Smith said with a smirk, setting the spear down on the bar. “Don’t look half bad for surviving your first melee.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow, “How’d you know?”

  “Wouldn’t be much of a Warden if I didn’t.” Arther let out a small chuckle. “Truth be told, you were making such a ruckus I could hear you all the way from the forge.”

  “Wait, did you do that on purpose? Did you know other warriors might be taking the road out of the city?”

  Arther gave a slow shrug, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I knew it might be a possibility, though a trio was perhaps more than I was expecting.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to maybe come help?”

  The Warden’s gaze grew stern, “If you needed my help against three unskilled whelps, then you wouldn’t be worthy of it at all. This was the easiest of the trials you’ll face. There will be no help for you out there, only your strength and that of your party. Never forget that.”

  Sam gulped, cowed by the sudden intensity. “Right, well, good thing I didn’t need it. You weren’t exaggerating; this first round of skills is night and day. I took them apart without even trying.” He held up his arm, the long cut almost fully healed. “They only managed to hit me once, but even at full strength, it was barely more than a scratch.”

  “Remember this feeling, savour the taste of victory. Know in your heart that you have what it takes to overcome unfavourable odds…then forget it.” Arther rubbed his beard, eyes losing focus. “I’ve seen too many Warriors ride the highs of early victories. The immediate reward of a new skill or a new tier can be intoxicating, but it's also a trap.” His eyes refocused, piercing Sam with razor-sharp points. “Overconfidence has killed more Warriors than every sword or spear combined. The Arbiter has a twisted sense of humour, and exploiting the hubris of mortals is the favourite pastime of the gods. Don’t become another warning for future generations. One Icarus was enough.”

  “Wait, so, was Icarus a real person?”

  “How is that your takeaway?” Arther buried his face in his hands, “Yes, he and his father were both ‘randomly’ selected during the same cycle. They worshipped Apollon, but Zetos grew jealous, as he always does. He claimed they tried to bypass the Valhallan Gates and fly directly to the Halls of Eternity, but that was a lie.”

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  Sam gave a wry smile. It was a rare sight to see the Warden speak directly against the gods. “Seems like a common trend.”

  “Oh, aye, it is. A tale as old as we’ve had mouths to speak them.”

  “So, are all myths based on the ring wars?”

  The Warden nodded, “Most of them, at least from my time. Many of the stories of the gods come from the Returned, those champions who chose not to stay on Olympos, but rather return to their home planet as mortals. Each one is allowed to keep a portion of their skills, and without fail, every one changed the world.”

  “Huh.” It made sense, and Sam looked back at his old history textbooks and books of mythology through a new lens. How many key figures in human history had been Returned? How many heroes and villains? The silence stretched, and Sam realized Arther was waiting for him to speak.

  “So I assume some of this is for me?” Sam asked, pointing to the objects on the bar.

  “Aye, it is,” Arther replied, waving him towards the counter. “As a shopkeeper, I’m allowed to give certain discounts, and as a Warden, I can give even more. However, there is a limit to how much we can equip you right at the start.”

  “Makes sense, Zetos did mention that the Arbiter was setting prices.”

  Arther nodded and pressed a gem set into the counter, opening up a very traditional-looking shop interface. “There are a few key pieces we should start with, which you can add to over the next few weeks as you gain more spira.” He touched the spear, a round wooden shield, and a simple leather chest piece. They lit up on the screen, showing their stats as well as their prices. “These three should be your first purchases. That will leave you enough spira for a set of basic supplies, as well as food. A home-cooked meal I can offer, but I can’t just give you camp vittles, unfortunately.”

  “They seem determined to make this as complicated as possible,” Sam said with a sigh. But he leaned forward to get a closer look at the items.

  [Tempered Var Short Spear - Iron - Uncommon - 500 Spira - 250 Spira]

  Built in the Pre-Fall Ilen’Var style, this spear is designed to cause maximum damage on the thrust. The head shape also allows it to be used as an effective cutting weapon. Moderate piercing and slashing damage.

  [Durability 100/100]

  [Simple Round Shield - Iron - Common - 200 Spira - 100 Spira]

  A simple, round wooden shield. This traditional design features a sturdy steel rim and boss, allowing effective bashing techniques. Moderate damage reduction.

  [Durability 75/75]

  [Enchanted Warrior Cuirass - Iron - Uncommon - 300 Spira - 150 Spira]

  A solid piece of leather can be the difference between life and death. This rugged cuirass provides moderate protection against slashing damage and weak protection against piercing attacks. Enchanted by the hands of a skilled smith, it also provides moderate protection from [Divine Skills].

  [Durability 50/50]

  Sam tallied the numbers. With the final skill purchase, he’d have just over three hundred spira to buy a basic set of camping equipment, as well as a few days' worth of food. He didn’t even know how much a sandwich cost, but he hoped three hundred would be enough for the remainder of his gear.

  He confirmed the trade and picked up the spear, marvelling at the balance. Despite the large head, it felt perfect in his hands. The red-dyed leather wrapped around the center was a striking contrast to the light grey wood of the haft. The head was still mostly black with forge-scale, the edges shining like twin bands of silver in the dim light of the shop. He rested the metal ferrule on the floor, admiring the twisting, mace-like ridges that ended in a dull point.

  Every part of the spear was a weapon, and his newly awakened mind was already feeding him a dozen different ways to cause chaos and carnage.

  “What do you think?” Arther asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  “I think it’s amazing,” Sam replied, flipping it up to let it balance in the palm of his hand. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a short spear, though.” At well over seven feet in length, he had to be careful not to stab the point into the rafters.

  “Short for an Ilen’Var,” the smith replied with a chuckle, “And the exact length that it can be used as a throwing weapon if needed, while still long enough to be ideal for close combat.”

  Sam lowered the spear and settled into a thrusting stance, senses immediately extending to cover the entire weapon.

  “Whoa, easy there, lad,” Arther said, a note of panic entering his voice. “I’d rather not have you destroy my shop. There’s plenty of room in the training yard.”

  Sam let out a loud belly laugh, feeling the first genuine pangs of excitement since waking up in the forest. This weapon would have felt completely foreign to him even a few hours ago. Now, it felt like reuniting with an old friend.

  Arther walked to a rack in the center of the room and picked up a similar spear with an all-black finish. He turned to Sam with a half-cocked grin, “You seem awfully happy for someone who’s about to spend the next few hours getting knocked on their ass.”

  Sam returned the smile, “Oh, we’ll see about that, old man.”