The realisation that her bold, desperate attempt to attack her own killer had failed spectacularly came to Livien not immediately—first there was only the instant of impact, a blinding flash, though unaccompanied by pain, and then... emptiness. Understanding of what had happened materialised as bright, luminous text appearing directly before her inner vision, as though seared by fire onto the retinas of eyes that no longer existed.

  Warning! You have died! As you have no binding to a specific Stele, you will be reborn at the nearest Reincarnation Stele in the village of Taviri'Naa.

  Around her stretched absolute, impenetrable darkness—thick, viscous, almost tangible in its totality. It enveloped the girl's consciousness from all sides, like a dense cocoon admitting neither sound nor light nor the slightest sensation. In this formless void there was neither up nor down, nor any point of reference for the mind. Only her own consciousness existed, drifting nowhere, stripped of physical shell and the sensations connected with it.

  However, this oppressive, crushing darkness didn't last long and began dissipating quite quickly, like morning mist beneath the sun's first rays. For her subjective perception, for her internal sense of time which persisted even in the bodiless state, only a brief instant passed—no, to be precise, perhaps ten seconds at most she remained in this suffocating darkness, no more.

  Though the game world's clock, had anyone checked it at that moment, would have shown a completely different, objective picture to an outside observer: from the moment of her violent death at the cave entrance to the moment of her rebirth at Taviri'Naa's Stele, exactly three hours of real game time had passed. Three full hours which the neurolink had compressed into ten seconds.

  The impenetrable darkness suddenly gave way to bright light and a spacious, high hall in the village temple. Vaults soared upwards, vanishing into semi-darkness beneath the very ceiling, whilst along the circular walls stood in silent guard majestic statues of deities. A typical village game cult building, architecturally distinguished by nothing special amongst hundreds of similar ones scattered throughout Seratis, utterly failed to impress the girl, far too familiar with such structures.

  Hundreds of identical temples, practically identical in layout and decoration, she'd already seen in numerous beginner guides, on popular streams of experienced players and in colourful holotheatres displaying the beauties of virtual worlds. Circular layout, statues of the Twelve along the walls, torches in their stone hands—all this was familiar to the smallest detail, as though she herself had been here hundreds of times.

  But the Reincarnation Stele itself—an ancient artefact of the Primordials, rising in the very centre of the circular hall—truly caught her attention and made her momentarily forget her recent death. This was something completely different, something impossible to fully appreciate through a screen or holographic projection—one needed to stand beside it, to sense its presence with one's own Sphere of Perception.

  In height the monumental structure reached some ten metres, perhaps more—difficult to judge precisely in this spacious hall with high vaults. Its entire surface, from the very base to the pointed summit, was completely covered in intricate spiral inscriptions in a language utterly incomprehensible, alien to human understanding. Symbols wound across the stone like living serpents, intertwining with one another in the most complex patterns which seemed simultaneously chaotic and perfectly ordered.

  Many player linguists specialising in deciphering ancient languages of virtual worlds had spent years trying to solve these writings, applying the most advanced algorithms and cryptanalysis methods. However, an analogue of the Rosetta Stone that might have served as the key to understanding the Primordials' language had to this day never been found in Seratis, despite all the efforts of researchers and adventurers. So none of the mortals—neither NPCs nor players—knew for certain what exactly was inscribed on these ancient monuments scattered throughout the world.

  Only one thing was known for certain, confirmed by the developers themselves but extremely sparing in details: these were the writings of the Primordials. A mysterious, practically mythical race of Seratis's first sentient inhabitants who, according to the lore, existed in this world long before the arrival of all currently known species—before humans, trolls, elves and all others. About the Primordials themselves extremely, depressingly little was known as well, despite years of research and countless expeditions to ancient ruins.

  Mainly scholars had at their disposal only fragmentary, incomplete knowledge gathered piece by piece from various sources, and that thanks to artefacts such as these—Steles, ancient ruins, rare finds in the most complex dungeons and raids. Each new scrap of information was valued at its weight in gold, but assembling them into a coherent picture proved impossible—too many gaps, too little context, too deep the chasm of time separating modern Seratis from that long-departed epoch.

  Slowly extending her hand to the ancient monument's surface, Livien felt beneath her palm the cool, almost icy smoothness of stone. The texture proved surprisingly pleasant to the touch—polished by centuries and thousands of touches to incredible, mirror-like smoothness, yet retaining barely perceptible roughness, like a memory of those distant times when it was first created.

  The stone's cold instantly spread through her fingers, then along her wrist, climbing higher up her arm—the sensation was strange, almost mystical, as though the Stele itself was testing her, studying her, deciding whether she was worthy of this ancient gift.

  In that same instant a semi-transparent system window materialised before her eyes with clear, laconic text.

  Warning! Do you wish to bind to the Reincarnation Stele in the village of Taviri'Naa?

  Yes/No

  "Yes..." She spoke aloud, though a mental command would have sufficed. Her voice sounded confident, firm—the girl had truly large, ambitious plans for this starting village, an entire list of tasks and goals she intended to accomplish here. So leaving Taviri'Naa in the foreseeable future, at least for the next few weeks or even months, she categorically didn't intend. Here there were too many opportunities, too much unexplored that could give her the necessary advantage.

  Withdrawing her hand from the now-warm surface of the Stele—the stone as though having absorbed part of her life energy and responded with its own warmth—Livien decided to thoroughly check what exactly had happened in those fateful seconds before Nemira's death.

  To this end she opened the event log—a detailed chronicle of all actions, damage and effects which the system scrupulously maintained for each player.

  The information about damage received, unfolding before her eyes line by line, produced a truly stunning impression on the girl. She reread the figures several times, not believing her eyes, feeling how a mixture of amazement and belated horror grew inside. The numbers were so monstrous, so disproportionate to her own characteristics, that it became genuinely uncomfortable. The damage exceeded her maximum health reserve by dozens of times—she'd simply been erased with one careless movement, like an annoying fly.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, whilst her stomach unpleasantly ached from recognising the scale of her own stupidity. The main revelation that came to her belatedly but with crystalline clarity—she'd committed a truly enormous, unforgivable mistake when, like a complete fool, not thinking of consequences and moved only by emotions, she'd resolutely rushed to attack her future killer. A being that surpassed her in strength so much that the difference between them was comparable to the chasm between heaven and earth. But that wasn't the main thing.

  The name of the one who'd dealt the damage—that was what truly stirred the girl.

  "What was I even thinking?" She asked herself bitterly, clenching her fists until her knuckles whitened.

  Taking a deep breath and forcing herself to calm down—the past couldn't be changed, one could only learn lessons from it—Livien tried to find something positive in this catastrophic situation. Well, at least the starting task had been counted as completed. And now she'd officially become an initiated inhabitant of one of the Ether's worlds.

  True, so far only first level. But even for advancing from level zero, she'd received five free characteristic points which could be invested in any parameter at her discretion.

  Having carefully weighed all options and considered the possible consequences of each choice, she ultimately decided to spend them all, to the last point, on increasing Agility. Next time—and there would definitely be one, she didn't doubt that—thanks to increased agility it would become noticeably easier for her to land precise, calculated strikes, dodge enemy attacks and generally feel more confident in combat.

  The temple's heavy wooden doors slowly creaked on iron hinges, admitting into the sacred space a stream of cool evening air saturated with the salt of ocean breeze and the barely perceptible smell of volcanic ash. In the opening appeared a massive figure in a snow-white tunic—Tavarek, the local priest of the Twelve, whose presence instantly filled the entire hall.

  He seemed truly imposing to the girl. Livien involuntarily admired the complex interweavings of symbols and images covering every centimetre of his skin from wrists to shoulders.

  "I greet you, child."

  The priest's voice sounded deep and resonant, echoing from the temple's stone vaults. In it could be heard notes of sincere warmth mixed with majesty befitting a servant of the gods.

  "My name is Tavarek. I have served here to the glory of the Twelve for three decades now."

  The man approached closer to the Stele, his bare feet stepping soundlessly across the polished stone floor. Livien noticed that even on the backs of his feet he had tattoos—evidently he was entirely covered with these sacred writings.

  "I see you have just passed initiation. Death—the first lesson Seratis teaches you. Whilst you serve the Twelve, the Ether won't allow you to die a final death."

  In his dark eyes flickered something like understanding, as though he himself had once passed through similar trials.

  "Look at your right palm. There you'll find confirmation of my words."

  The girl glanced at her hand and saw the Seal of the Ether. Even without the man's words she knew she'd acquired the mark. It existed on all players and appeared after the first death in any of the Ether's worlds. And dying was inevitable. One need only exit the cave/cryogenic chamber/or somewhere else, and the village priest/station android/or someone else immediately killed the new player.

  According to the lore, this was done so that no cursed soul/sentient gone mad after cryostasis/or some other creature from the Ether's countless worlds could enter the world.

  Livien raised her palm higher, examining the mark in the dim torchlight. The Seal shimmered with silvery radiance—a complex pattern of intertwined lines and symbols, as though burnt directly into the skin, yet causing not the slightest pain or discomfort.

  "Greetings! Thank you for the explanation, Master Tavarek."

  She lowered her hand and met the priest's gaze. Her politeness was dictated by common sense. In his eyes could be read the calm of a man who'd seen thousands of such confused novices during decades of service.

  "My name is Nemira. Pleased to meet you, Father."

  Formality required respectful address to a servant of the Twelve—this she'd learnt from numerous guides. Priests could become useful allies or, conversely, create masses of problems if one behaved incorrectly. And for apostates of the sole pantheon across all Seratis, only character deletion awaited. So uncomfortable did the game become for them.

  Tavarek nodded, glancing approvingly at the troll woman. The tattoos on his arms pulsed slightly in time with his breathing—an effect of magic or simply the play of shadows, Livien couldn't determine for certain.

  "Your soul is only beginning its path in Seratis, child. I suppose you have questions after such... sudden acquaintance with death?"

  "No, Father, such is the will of the Gods..." In her interlocutor's eyes flickered satisfaction.

  "A commendable answer, young Nemira. I have a task that will help you strengthen body and spirit."

  Tavarek folded his massive arms across his chest, and the tattoos on his forearms seemed to come alive in the flickering torchlight.

  "On the southern slope of our village dwells a pack of wild rabbits. These creatures may seem harmless, but they devour our farmers' harvest."

  The priest gestured towards one of the walls.

  "Evidently that's where the fearsome carrot devourers are located, or whatever they grow here." The girl correctly interpreted Tavarek's gesture.

  "Your task—to kill ten of them. This will teach you the basics of hunting, allow you to feel how your body behaves in combat with living opponents, and help our settlement."

  Livien listened attentively, mentally estimating the difficulty of the upcoming task. Wild rabbits—classic first-level mobs, practically harmless to any player, even one who hadn't mastered basic combat principles. An ideal target for practising skills without risk of receiving serious damage.

  "Besides," the priest continued, "from each killed rabbit you can remove the hide. Having accumulated sufficient material, you can approach our tanner—he'll craft you simple but reliable protection. Always remember: in Seratis the one who knows how to use the gifts provided by defeated enemies survives."

  He extended a knife that had unexpectedly appeared in his hands to Livien.

  "This knife will help you both kill and collect trophies. When you complete the task, return here for your reward. I'll prepare the next trial for you, a more serious one."

  In the priest's eyes flickered a barely noticeable smile.

  "And try not to die this time, daughter of trolls. The Gods don't like when their charges display excessive weakness."

  "Thank you, I'll return soon, wait for me!" Firmly gripping the just-received gift in her hands, Livien turned on her heels and ran from the temple's only door, heading in the direction the priest had indicated with his massive finger.

  Whilst she ran along the sun-scorched paths of Taviri'Naa village, a system notification appeared before her gaze. Running her eyes across the lines of text, the girl learnt additional information about the received task. The quest proved to be standard F-rank—the lowest difficulty level that existed in the game. As reward for completion was listed the knife she'd already received and seventy-five experience points.

  "Not much..." The girl noted mentally, quickly calculating the necessary figures. After all, to reach second level Nemira needed to accumulate a full thousand two hundred and fifty experience points. Simple mathematical calculations showed this task would bring her merely a pitiful six per cent of the required amount.

  Looking more attentively at the issued weapon, she sighed with disappointment again, reading the item's characteristics.

  ["Common Knife"

  Rank: F

  One-handed

  Dagger

  Damage: 2-4

  Durability: 100/100

  Sale price: 1 copper coin.]

  Instantly chiding herself for such dismissive and ungrateful attitude towards the very first item and task received in Seratis's world, Livien gripped the knife's handle even tighter. After all, even great heroes had once started small, and she shouldn't consider herself above this path.

  Suddenly remembering her long-time idol—a legendary player whose exploits she'd studied even in the real world—Livien pondered for a moment, trying to imagine how exactly that player would have acted, were she now in the place of a beginning troll woman player in a small starting village.

  After deliberation, a sinister, predatory smile appeared on her face, stretching her lips in anticipation of the hunt. It promised the unfortunate wild rabbits a truly unforgettable and quite unpleasant evening.