You’ve earned enough experience to progress to Level 4. Are you ready to level?

  Yes/No

  The box had been sitting in his periphery for a few hours now, but Isabella hadn’t pushed him to deal with it, which he appreciated. He’d been slowly sorting through the personal effects of the Frost kissed that he’d killed. Most everything that he’d looted from them was all but destroyed, but there were a few objects that were salvageable if not completely intact. Now he just needed to figure out how to get it back to the families.

  Maeve and Hydel swung by for dinner later that evening where he’d learned there was a possible option in place already.

  “Why don’tcha just take it to the Reach? That’s what we do?” Hydel sipped at the cocktail Greg had mixed for them, his feline eyes going wide and staring into the liquid. “Damn, that’s nice.”

  “Harim fruit juice and sweet spirits. Why would I take a pile of junk to the keep?” Greg asked before taking a bite of the deep fried squid they’d brought over.

  He shook his head. “Sometimes the crew come across old ship wrecks while we’re out cleanin’ an’ such. Most times we keep anything valuable, but if somethin’ comes up that somebody wants to get back to the family we take it to the Reach. They’ve got like a charity or somethin’ that can locate the rightful owner.”

  “This is a justicar thing?” Greg asked, prompting a snort from Maeve.

  “Fat chance.” She said wiping her nose with a napkin.

  “Nah, one of the fancy folk run it.” Hydel shrugged.

  “Better than you sulking over it here.” Isabella chimed in.

  “Huh,” Greg nodded, pursing his lips. “Thanks Hydel. I’ll have to swing by there.”

  The three of them spent a couple hours together. Eating, drinking, talking. It was something he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done on Earth. It must have been back in college. Since he’d dropped out and then lost his father, keeping up with friendships felt so futile. He’d missed this feeling, though. The companionship.

  “Alright, I gotta get out of here before Greg tries stealin’ me pants again.” Hydel said, swaying as he stood. “Ya comin’ Maeve?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, you furry asshole.” She grumbled as she rolled off the couch and face first onto the wood floor, garnering a roar of laughter from the two men.

  Greg pushed himself off the couch, stumbling over to help her up to her feet. “You alright?” He breathed out, trying to contain his laughter.

  “Keen, thank you.” She brushed off her dusty pants like that would deal with the oil stains on them and patted the thick red braid on top of her head to make sure it was still in place.

  “Hey, before you guys leave…had a question for you.” Greg sat on the corner of the coffee table now strewn with empty bottles and takeout boxes.

  “I will not sleep with ya. I appreciate it, but adding Maeve into the mix doesn’t make it anymore appealin’.” Hydel recoiled when Maeve socked him in the arm.

  Greg chuckled and shook his head. “Serious question, actually.” He cleared his throat as they waited for him. “Do you guys wanna be adventurers?”

  Hydel’s brows furrowed, and he waited. When a punchline didn’t come, he let out a grunting laugh. “No chance, Greggy boy. There’s a reason I play clean-up crew. Don’t like getting my claws dirty with the adventurer business.”

  Maeve stared at him for a long time, her normal mischievous grin replaced by a contemplative frown.

  “I’ll be outside.” Hydel patted Maeve’s shoulder when she didn’t immediately decline and retreated. “See ya around, Greg.”

  “See you.” Greg waved after him.

  Maeve peered at him, face scrunched up like a mistrustful child. Finally she folded her arms and huffed. “You already asked Clover and Ricard? And your good friend Doran Hightide?”

  Greg tilted his head. “No, and no. Also, Doran and I aren’t friends. Acquaintances at best.”

  “Well, you clearly went through the well of Gifted you know before you got to me and Hydel.” She snapped at him. “Otherwise it would not have taken you so long.”

  He bit his lip, failing to hide the grin that spread across his lips. “You’re mad because you think I asked a bunch of people before you?”

  “It’s not funny!” She stomped and reached up into her storage space, pulling out the dark dragon bone weapon, The Axe of the Onyx Throne, he’d given her after his fight with Miles Rillon. “I thought you’d have asked me when you gave me this.” It had shrunk down to be less unwieldy for her smaller frame, though he was certain the weight behind it as she swung it in a tight circle and hefted it onto her shoulder that it was still far too heavy for him.

  “I haven’t asked anyone else Maeve.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Clover and Ricard are kids, and Doran and his group…” He grimaced. “Not gonna work out.”

  She glared at him for another long silent moment before extending the axe in one hand to point at his face. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay…” Greg nodded slowly, lowering his hands. “While you’re thinking about it, you wanna go on a little recon mission with me in the next couple days?”

  “What kind of recon mission?”

  “Breaking into a Rillon warehouse and snooping through their shit?” Greg shrugged.

  Maeve frowned. “After you killed one of them?”

  “Didn’t kill him.”

  “Sure thing.” Maeve popped the immense axe back into her own extradimensional space before skipping up to him and wrapping her arms tight around his waist. “Thanksforasking.” Her muffled words slurred as she buried her face into his chest and squeezed.

  After seeing Maeve and Hydel off, Greg collapsed into his bed. Head spinning, he glanced at the blinking notification at the corner of his vision.

  “Ready?” Isabella asked.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “We’ll see. I’m a little drunk, stop me before I do anything stupid.”

  You’ve earned enough experience to progress to Level 4. Are you ready to level?

  Yes/No

  Yes.

  You’ve reached level 4. Congratulations!

  Progress to level 5:

  150/12500

  Stats increased per Gloamstrider class choice

  Dexterity

  Increased from 15 to 18

  Constitution

  Increased from 6 to 8

  Luck

  Increased from 5 to 7

  3 points have been added to your character sheet. You may distribute them as you see fit.

  Greg grimaced slightly at the three spare points as the awkward feeling of his muscles stretching taut and tightening on their own washed over him again. His class would quickly cover what he needed to fight, it made sense to start spreading the free points into his other skills so he didn’t end up like some dude-bro who skipped metaphorical leg day.

  “Thoughts on the extra points?” Greg asked, remembering his promise to keep Isabella in the loop with his decision making.

  “Use them to round out your lower stats. I’d focus on the soft ones personally, but you are a man. I hear your kind can get real insecure if another person is stronger than you.”

  “That’s the best you’ve got? Your burn game is better than that.”

  “Remember that time Maeve said you were an unattractive stick boy? Good times.”

  Greg frowned and closed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure that’s not what she said, but I did ask for that.” He stuck an additional point in strength, wisdom, and charisma.

  “One more notification,” Isabella said as she pulled up the last little blue box.

  Ability Level Up!

  Flame Strike has evolved

  Flame Strike

  Level 2: 3 of 1000

  Enhance an attack with demonic fire. Any physical damage dealt will be matched with equal fire damage. Now applies the Burning Blood status to enemies from whom you’ve shed blood with this ability.

  Increase Demonic Resonance by 3

  Increase Volatility by 2

  Decrease Divine Resonance by 1

  Burning Blood

  (Stackable)

  Lights your foes on fire from the inside out. Applies a fire damage over time effect.

  “That’s disconcerting.” Greg swallowed as he read through the updated ability.

  “It’s not on just a melee attack anymore. Maybe you should find some kind of ranged weapon to supplement your equipment.”

  “I’ve got the harpoon.”

  “Maybe something a little more subtle?”

  ###

  Stepping through the gates and into Warden’s Reach was how he imagined the first glass of water would feel after being dehydrated for days. The sun hit his face, and warmth spread through his body. Brannoc’s duster kept his body temperature tepid at all times, but there was something about the sun beating down on him that he couldn’t place. It felt so peaceful. He stood there, smiling like an idiot for a beat until he realized what the feeling was.

  It reminded him of home.

  He frowned, stomach sinking as he walked toward the beautiful white stone walls and away from the ever-present fog that clung to the rest of the city.

  The last time he was here was under precarious circumstances, so he didn’t get to examine the true grandeur of the place. He walked down a gray and white brick path that splintered off to the left, right, and directly ahead. The grass and trees along the walk were something you rarely found inside the city. Some of the upperclass neighborhoods could afford to keep grass alive, but rarely trees, especially one’s baring fruit. His eyes lit up at what looked suspiciously like a purple apple, and he actively had to stop himself from reaching up to pick it.

  Getting through the gates had not been an issue. The guards didn’t even question him there. Approaching the ash-colored double doors seemed a different process entirely. Two guards stepped forward from the doors, each carrying ornate halberds.

  “What is your business at Dawnflare Tower?” the woman called out.

  “Uhh…” Greg rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I was told there was some kind of program to get items back to the families of people that have passed?”

  The two guards whispered back and forth before one of them nodded. “Name?”

  “Greg Norwood.”

  “Please wait here. I’ll get you an escort.” The woman rested the lance on her shoulder and slipped through the door.

  “Oh, alright.” Greg nodded and then locked eyes with the other guard. His knuckles whitened around the haft of his halberd. Doing his best to not look awkward probably made it all the worse: pursed lips, flared nostrils, idly tapping the toe of his boot to the brick path. Perhaps the longest two minutes of his life passed before the door opened again and a familiar sight stepped through.

  “Mr. Norwood.”

  “Ms. Pontaine.” Greg grinned.

  Lorelei Pontaine was the woman who’d conducted his initial interview after his fight with Miles Rillon that resulted in the man needing to be revived. She readjusted her glasses on her elven ears and gestured to the open doorway.

  “Follow me, please.”

  “Well, that’s convenient,” Isabella said as he followed Lorelei into the building.

  Unlike the portion of the Reach he’d been held in, the entrance hall was lit with warm everburns. A crimson runner with golden flourishing designs protected the polished dark stone floor from the entrance across the long room to the staircase on the other side. Instead of paintings, the walls themselves were murals. The right wall depicted a pale-skinned woman battled a dragon with a spear and shield on a vast open desert. On the left, a dark-skinned man in what he could only describe as bright blue wizard robes stood atop one of the buildings of a perfectly recreated Rhobair with arms outstretched and deep gray fog spewing from his hands.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Lorelei’s long legs slowed to match his pace when she’d noticed where his attention had gone.

  “They are. I’m no historian, unfortunately. Are they real events?”

  Lorelei lifted one thin dark brow above the glasses but nodded. “Althea.” She gestured to the pale woman battling the dragon. “Many believe her to be the first Gifted. She was cast out by her people, only to return when the dragon rulers became tyrants.”

  “Wow,” Greg nodded, a piece of history that would be good to know if he was supposed to keep up this charade of being a normal Gifted. “What about him?”

  “Serril Hightide.” She turned to the other wall after he’d indicated it. “You don’t know how our cloud was made?”

  “Pshhh.” Greg gave an exaggerated shrug. “Of course I do, I just like hearing you talk.”

  Though she gave him an incredulous look, he swore her cheeks took on a little more color. “During the Embryl war the demonic forces corrupted our skies. Any rain that fell over Rhobair turned to fire. Serril Hightide poured every ounce of magic he could into those clouds.” She indicated with a slender finger. “He stood atop that building for weeks to protect our city while the other adventurers killed the fallen demigod and took the glory.”

  “You make it sound like he wasn’t recognized for his contribution.” Greg nodded to the mural.

  “Perhaps.” She nodded and then waved for him to follow her into the next room on the right. “I’m not certain a painting is proper compensation for saving millions of lives. That’s not what you’re here to talk about though. You’ve recovered items that need to be returned to families of the deceased?”

  “I have.” Greg said, stepping up to a long table that Lorelei stepped around and laid out a few empty wooden crates.

  “How many?” She asked without looking up at him.

  “A lot…” he answered, cocking his head slightly. “Wait, do you run this?”

  “It’s a side project.” She nodded. “The Lady allows me to run it so long as it doesn’t interfere with my other duties.”

  “What other duties?” Greg started pulling items he’d already sorted through as possibly returnable and lining them up in front of her. “Other than interrogation, obviously.”

  They spent the next hour in casual conversation. Surprising himself most of all, Greg hardly made a fool of himself, even when blatantly flirting with her. He’d not figured out exactly how she was going to identify what belonged to whom, but there was some sort of system.

  “Is that the last of it?”

  After placing the last item into one of the three wooden crates, she looked up at him with a genuine smile that made her bright green eyes sparkle. They weren’t the strange, hypnotic eyes of a Gifted, but beautiful all the same.

  “That’s it.” He nodded, not breaking eye contact with her.

  She tucked a strand of turquoise hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. “Well, thank you for bringing these things in. It’s my policy not to disclose the way the victim died to the family, but I heard you had an incident with a Frost kissed horde.” She indicated the crates. “That’s where this came from?”

  Greg’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes, how did you hear that?”

  “Justicars cleaned up the mess you left. And Lady Dawnflare has had you followed since you were released.” She said casually as she put the crates away.

  “Sorry, come again?”