System Reset: Forged in Nightmare

Alex was surrounded; the killing intent from his adversaries made him feel as though he were being pricked by chilled needles. But there was an important distinction to be made between Alex's un-appraised "Dangersense" and real Dangersense. Where real Dangersense was triggered by the threats themselves, Alex's trait was activated by the intention of threat.

Currently, there were four individuals who intended to harm him—two that circled about flanking him from both sides, and two crouching behind the foliage further ahead. Yet Alex's attention lay solely on the man who'd stepped from the shadows. And as he reached for his sword the unrest in his gut and the tension in his veins weren't triggered by any logic or ability—but pure instinct.

The moment he intends to kill me, it will already be too late.

He drew another inch from Nychta's scabbard.

"I thought I told you to show yourselves!" he snapped.

Nychta awoke and projected her deathly aura. Those needles dug deeper into Alex's astral body and he sensed wariness in his enemies' approach.

"Now, now," The man in front of him spoke. "How about we all—"

"Not a single step," Alex hissed.

The moment the man lifted his foot Alex drew another inch from his sheath. The man slowly set his foot back down and his companions half-complied with Alex's demand to show themselves.

Two shaded figures stepped out from dry overgrowth. One had a slim silhouette and a long staff—a caster, likely. The figure to his left was large and carried a sword and shield. Of the two Alex couldn't see, one had a stealth skill and their killing intent felt restrained and calculated. The other moved light and fast and he designated that one as the greater threat. They encircled Alex and he thought about insisting they reveal themselves too, but deemed it more tactical that he act ignorant to their existence.

Besides, the greatest threat was still that man front and center. He yammered platitudes but Alex felt he couldn't take his eyes off him for even a mere second. He gauged the distance between them and perceived no imminent threat, yet he continued drawing Nychta millimeter by millimeter.

"Act… fassst…" The Lost Souls warned, "Or it'll be… too late…"

Alex ignored them, his mind returning to his trait. His brain rarely fed him useless information on the cusp of a fight, so he knew there had to be something there. Unlike real Dangersense which was affected by the user's perception of danger, his "Dangersense" was only affected by others' perception—which meant the trait's triggers were entirely outside his control. Someone with actual Dangersense could train it to alert them the moment potential threats arose in their vicinity. But Alex's enemies had managed to sneak up on him and he hadn't been alerted to their presence until—

Until I drew my sword.

And there it was—that little morsel of information he was missing. These people weren't here for a fight; they were simply reacting to his temperament. But neither was Alex. So why had he shown first aggression by drawing his blade?

And why can't I bring myself to re-sheath her?

He watched the man in front of him and his hand trembled slightly with the effort. This wasn't the time to be indecisive. That wariness he sensed his enemies hardened into something dangerously close to determination. Few words had been spoken between them all, yet he could feel the situation unraveling with each second.

For one of them, the nerves proved too much.

In the breadth of a moment, Alex sensed a blur of movement to his back. He didn't turn his head to face the threat—in fact, he didn't react at all. At least, not until the needle of intent threaded its way to a gap within his lower back's armor. Then, he silently funneled mana into Nychta's length, only fully drawing her when—

"Fiona, stop!"

The man in front of Alex raised an open palm, and a panicked squeal followed. In a last-minute attempt to halt her movement, this "Fiona" planted her feet, but her momentum was too great. She went head over heels and promptly ate shit, skidding to a stop mere feet from Alex.

With his sword only half-drawn, he opted to pretend he hadn't known she was there and looked down in alarmed confusion. She glared at him and quickly jumped back, spitting dirt. "Damn it, Eric! I was seconds away from ending him!"

"Seconds away from ending an innocent man, Fiona! And weren't going to! He would've had you there."

"What?! What do you mean he—"

Alex no longer listened to their bickering—his mind stuck on something the woman said.

She called him… Eric?

He shook his head. No, that couldn't be… Or…

The man stepped forward now, strolling leisurely into his vision. Alex's eyes widened. The man had broad shoulders, lean muscle, ocean-blue eyes, and the most shit-eating grin hidden beneath a mop of dirty blond hair. His hand was still raised, pacifying his team's fraying nerves as he stopped just a few meters in front of Alex. Then he lowered it, gesturing to the crate between them.

"So, what now?" he asked. "I stopped Fiona from attacking you this time, but you'll get a fight if you plan on making this one."

Alex's heart skipped a beat.

"A bluff," he said, matter of factly.

But beneath his stoic mask, his heart pounded. And then, before the words even left Eric's mouth, Alex already knew his response.

"A bluff, ay? Well—"

"—wanna bet on it?"

The moment Alex heard those words, a vastly different scene flashed through his mind––one that had played out before. The same man sat before him but he was surlier than he appeared now. His hair was clipped shorter, a mustache shadowed his upper lip, and stubble crept along his jaw. Yet, despite the differences, that same shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he leaned into the campfire.

"Come on, Alex. Bet."

Alex had hardly looked up from cleaning his knife.

"I don't gamble."

"Right, right. Gamblings not your thing, I know," the man's voice dripped with sarcasm, "Now, how about this? I'll give you an hour. If you can land even a single scratch on me, I'll… hm, actually––not sure what I'll… Ah– genie in a bottle––how about that? I'll grant you three of your greatest wishes."

Alex snorted. "And if I can't?"

"You already know what I want. If you fail, then after this journey ends, you stay. Join my party, Alex."

Alex let Eric's words linger.

"Come onnn! You're a betting man, aintcha? Don't tell me you're not even tempted!"

A silence had stretched between them, light and teasing on the surface but weighted underneath. Some days ago, Alex and Laura had already planned to join Eric's party, but by this point…

"Eric, you already know this. I don't take bets that I have zero chance of winning."

The fire crackled. An ember danced between them, and Alex caught the somber shift in Eric's expression in its fleeting glow. He'd already known the answer.

* * *

"Hey, you alright my guy?"

Alex snapped back to the present. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks as he realized he had been zoning out––at such a crucial moment, no less.

"Geez, you take too many blows to the head, or am I really that pretty?"

"It's definitely not your looks," a bored voice quipped from the shadows. Eric gasped in mock offense, then turned back to Alex––who, to his further embarrassment, was still frozen mid-draw, his sword half-unsheathed.

Eric cracked his knuckles. "Well, aren't you a betting man? If you're really that sure it's a bluff, then…"

Before Eric could run his mouth further, Alex acted. With a satisfying click, he sheathed his sword. Then he turned away from the man, waving his hand dismissively. "I submit. Take it, the crate's all yours."

He strode past the snarling woman with dirt in her teeth, working to conceal his expression. Bless this dark, he thought. He noticed another woman, one he recognized, as he shifted aside a branch.

Eric's words had been a bluff. Alex knew that, because no matter the circumstances, Eric would never needlessly risk his teammate's lives. It was one of the things Alex respected most about him, but at that moment, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Who would have thought their first meeting in this life would go like this? With Alex almost killing his teammate…

He scrunched his fist. I don't know if I'll ever be able to repair this.

It couldn't have been helped, but his gut still twisted in regret. Nightmare had a way of pitting logical and reasonable people against each other, and the results were always the same. Even if Eric never forgave him—

"Wait."

Alex halted; his back still turned. His vision blurred slightly.

"You're not taking this food from us," Eric continued. "But I never said we're not sharing."

Alex exhaled, collecting himself. "Oh… I'd just like water if there's some to spare. Orange Juice, maybe. You guys can have the rest."

"Ope—I'm sorry," Eric said. "You misunderstand me. That's not what I meant by sharing."

Still faced away, Alex couldn't help his tears as a long-buried smile tugged at his lips. Ahh, how could he have forgotten? Eric was neither a logical nor a reasonable man.

* * *

"What do you mean we have no lighter?!" Fiona fumed.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean'," A man's voice retorted. "I meant what I meant, Fiona! We have no lighter!"

Alex almost snorted from the nostalgia. It was a very Dalton response to give. Then the thought caused him to frown as their argument played out behind his back. Walking through the mists, their voices drowned out the Lost Souls, and as they exited the soul mists, their company drove the whispers out entirely.

You have been invited to the Path of Blind Creed!

Alex followed Eric to a pit with warm cinders but no fire. "Ohh… sorry, we smothered the fire when we saw the smoke go up. Geez… this is going to be a roughie…"

"Maybe if you hadn't thrown away our only lighter—"

"Oh come on, Fiona," Eric complained. "That monster was gnarly! Lighting it up was the right decision!"

"He's right," Alice, their ranger, said. She walked up to the pit, undoing her stealth. "But it's also only fair that the person who made that decision is the one who makes the fire."

"As long as it's not me," Fiona grumbled.

Jory—a larger man who had already crouched himself over the pit and started rubbing sticks—paused at that and rubbed his head bashfully, handing them off to Eric. Eric looked at the sticks, then looked around as though in search of allies. He found none. "But—"

"Eric, you're making our guest feel unwelcome," Alice teased.

"Oh no!" Eric exclaimed. "Sorry Alex, are we making you feel unwelcome?"

They all turned to him, genuine concern in some of their expressions. Wariness still glinting in their eyes.

"Very unwelcome," Alex said. He held out his palm and tentatively, Eric handed him the two sticks. In a rage, he snapped them in half. "This is no way to treat a guest! For fuck's sake, you guys can't even light a fire for me?"

They all stared at him in stunned silence until Alex cracked a friendly smile. "Gotcha."

A moment passed and they continued to stare at him in stunned silence. Fiona reached nervously for her weapon.

"A joke!" Eric exclaimed, slapping his knee. "Haha! You're a funny guy, aintcha Alex?"

There was a forced quality to his laughter as he beckoned for Alex to take a seat. 'Wasn't funny at all,' Alex heard Dalton mutter.

The silence became awkward and heat rose in Alex's cheeks. "Ah, right… Well in any case, just leave the fire to me..."

He produced his dagger—triggering more wariness—then the cleanest wooden slat he had in his inventory. He began scratching into it, simultaneously trying to scratch the past several seconds out from his memory.

Eric rested a hand on his shoulder. "Hey bud, not every joke finds its audience, but you miss all the shots you don't take."

Alice rested her hand on Eric's shoulder. "Don't console him Eric, can't you see you're just making it worse?"

Dalton rested his hand on Alice's shoulder. "No. Don't stop him. I want to see this play out."

Alex's dagger chipped his rune. He summoned another slat and focused more intently on carving. In some ways, he'd preferred the Lost Souls.

Jory cleared his throat, taking mercy. "So… what are you working on?"

"Right, yeah. I'm uh… carving the rune for fire so I can enchant it."

At that, everyone went silent again. Then they all gathered around to see what Alex was doing.

"No shit," Dalton said.

Eric nudged his shoulder trying to get a closer look. "My god… that looks archaic, wow… And I thought my skills were crazy."

"How does it work?" Alice asked.

It better work, Alex thought. If it doesn't, this is only going to get ten times more awkward.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Enchantments as a whole are complicated, but the base skill does two things," he explained. "First, it will allow me to imbue this rune with Essence. And since this rune is a symbolism of fire, that Essence will naturally form an Essence-pattern that uses the wood to burn. Its pattern will solidify once the aspect of fire is drawn to it."

"The what will do what now?" Fiona asked.

"He's saying the rune will dictate the formation of power, drawing the aspect in the Essence," Dalton told her. He frowned. "Or maybe… the aspect influences the Essence simultaneously? Aspects… we've seen that word come up occasionally. They're basically elements right?"

Alex shook his head. "You're thinking along the right track, but not all aspects are elemental. They can be conceptual too. There's the aspect of dream, aspect of death, and more."

"So… Alex, you're a mage?" Eric asked.

"No, but I learned all this from one."

For now, it was the simplest explanation and they didn't press for details. He carved in silence as Dalton tried explaining all that to Fiona in terms she could understand. None of them were Mages, but Dalton was on his way to attaining a Wizard class so his grasp on these things was better than most at this stage.

Eric and Alice watched on with silent curiosity and Jory started piling fresh wood into the pit across the way. Alex closed his eyes and could almost imagine Laura there too.

"So, what's the second thing Enchant does?" Dalton asked. He'd returned his attention to Alex, giving up on Fiona as a lost cause. "Everything you mentioned so far is just the first part, right?"

Alex stopped carving. He looked over the wooden slat and saw there were no visible flaws in the carving. He placed it down by the fresh kindling. "The second part is simple. It will all happen in a flash, but when you imbue the rune with Essence, it will still be tethered to your existence for a moment—and that tether creates a path for mana to flow through, activating the enchantment."

Dalton hmm'd and stood back, watching.

No doubt remained in Alex's mind. He already felt warm even without the fire, and he sensed the aspect drawing nearer as he extended his arm.

Enchant

The wood caught flame.

Cheers went up around the campfire and Eric jostled Alex in a way that might've been weird if Alex hadn't been the first offender of acting over-familiar. Staring into the fire, he started to smile.

"Breathtaking…" Jory ushered.

He'd taken the words right from Alex's mouth. Creating fire from nothing… It was like magic.

* * *

The apocalypse transformed Earth into a living hell practically overnight. Life under the System's rule was fraught with danger, and with invasion looming on the horizon, the world became a harsh and unforgiving place.

But Alex knew its hardships were not without reprieve.

He had observed that no matter how hardened people became, certain acts of kindness could bridge the gap between strangers. All that was needed was an inch of common ground. For competing blacksmiths, it could be as simple as comparing each other's craftsmanship. For war-hardened soldiers, it was often sharing a drink and a pastime. And for Adventurers––despite the risks of the job, and regardless that there were many reasons to fear one another––a bond was easily forged between brothers who shared their fire come night.

Eric Goodwen—also known as Nightmare of Ohio, the Dashing Invisible Demon, or most commonly, Eric Featherfoot—was the epitome of what one imagined when thinking of an Adventurer. And as Alex settled across the fire from him, he felt like a marshmallow in the cocoa Santa sipped by the fireplace after his once-a-year deliveries. That is to say, his heart melted. Warmed and feeling oddly cozy for once, he sat back wordlessly and soaked in the familiar scene.

They had split the crate's contents one part to five, and steak skewers now sizzled over the firepit. A light breeze prompted them to scuttle closer, the savory aroma wafting to their noses. Alex nearly sighed.

Then, for what must've been the hundredth time in the last few minutes, Fiona lifted a steak skewer for inspection before flipping it again.

"Come on, Fiona. Give it a rest," Dalton said.

"But Eric's burning them!"

"I'm not burning them," Eric countered. "The char adds extra flavor!"

Fiona shot him a glare.

She was the only one in this party Alex hadn't met in his last life, for one simple reason. She had died in Nightmare. But he recalled Eric and the others spoke fondly of their fifth member, and he was warming up to her presence.

Regardless, some things just didn't change, and Alex had been in their company long enough to sense another argument brewing as Fiona flipped the skewers again. Surely enough––Dalton, who he'd always known to have a stringent personality––pushed up his glasses to Alex's left.

"I'm with Eric on this one," he said. "Overcooked is better than undercooked. Do you really want to contract salmonella in a place like this?"

"Salmonella? It's steak, Dalton."

"Of undetermined origin. It's still possible."

Fiona harrumphed. "Fine! Maybe… well… maybe you're right. But flipping it should still help it cook more evenly…"

"Only if you do so in longer intervals," a deep voice spoke.

Everyone turned to face the speaker. Even Alex did, distinctly out of habit. Jory looked significantly older than when Alex had last met him, though that was likely due to the lumberjack's beard he hadn't yet shaved, which matched his gruff appearance.

He shrank slightly under the attention. When he remained silent for a moment too long, Fiona perked up again, ready to argue––but before she could, Eric swiftly hushed her.

"Everyone, shush!" he hissed. "Jory's sharing his wisdom…"

Jory rubbed his pate bashfully. "Cooking over an open fire is… different from cooking on a stove or skillet. The fifteen-and-thirty-second rules don't apply here. If you flip too frequently, the steak won't develop a flavorful crust. It'll lose moisture and actually cook slower. Ideally, you'd flip it once, after five or so minutes on each… side. No… I guess that's only if we had a metal grilling grate since it conducts heat. But since we're using a platform of sticks… maybe even seven or eight minutes before flipping would be better. That way it will cook perfectly."

He nodded at his words, then frowned. "Or actually… that's just my preference. Your tastes might vary. Also… raise the cooking platform a little. Twigs and sticks tend to catch fire."

"Thank you for your wisdom, Jory," Eric said sagely. He smiled gracefully, as though had just attained enlightenment. However, when he addressed the group, it became clear his selective hearing had missed the most crucial part of Jory's insight. "Alright, then! It seems we'll have to settle this by popular vote. So, raise your hand if the only good steak is a rare steak!"

Eric was the only one to raise his hand. Jory, meanwhile, silently lifted the wooden platform a few inches higher.

"Is 'rare' when it's still pink and fleshy?" Fiona asked.

Dalton paled. "Alright! Everyone's in charge of their own skewers. Case dismissed!"

More bickering followed, but Alex tuned it out, chuckling. There was never a quiet moment in the company of these people––it was… nice. He couldn't say he was particularly suited to the noise, but he definitely didn't dislike it, not after all this time.

His breath was misting, and he looked up at the sky, full of stars, and marveled at how he was seeing them from a different path tonight. The shift was minuscule and imperceptible to the mortal eye, but it was true. The universe was so vast, and he briefly wondered how he ended up here again. With people who had long since surpassed him––people he had once imagined adventuring out in the stars without him. While he had spent his years alone in Dykriest, trapped by circumstance, he'd fondly imagined them living by the rhythm of their distant heartbeats

"Youu could've… been out there with them," the lost souls whispered.

Alex didn't let the thought shake him––it wasn't true. Eric had been a good man and had done more for the war than many Nightmares could boast, but he also knew when to quit and accept things as they were. For better or worse, Alex never had.

He yawned, still gazing up at the stars, when a soft, lifting, familiar voice murmured into his ear.

"Thank you, Alex," Alice said.

Alex jolted and quickly backed away a few inches as he found himself face-to-face with an intense, green-eyed gaze. The woman giggled at his reaction in a good-natured way, but he was familiar with Alice's antics. Once, when he'd been a young man, he'd found her lush lips and teasing expression seductive. And he still did. But he was no longer so… inexperienced as he'd once been and had learned not to let such thoughts affect his demeanor.

He coughed. "T-Thanks? What-whatever for?"

"For the salt." She smiled, then took a small bite of her steak. "Whoever's sending these crates down just doesn't understand what seasoning is. I'm glad to finally eat something with an actual flavor. It's fortunate you had that with you, isn't it?"

"Ah… yeah." Alex took a moment to calm himself. "I just happened to be walking out of a 7-Eleven when all this started."

"You buy your salt from a convenience store?" she asked.

Alex nodded, and Alice narrowed her eyes in scrutiny. She didn't say anything more on the subject, and her attention was quickly drawn elsewhere as she was dragged into the conversation. But Alex knew what that look meant.

Eric and the others were capable fighters but Alice had always been the brains of the party. Even as she chatted away, he could feel her glancing in his direction every other second––ever the watchful protector. And as he looked across the fire at the same old playful banter he'd always known, he suddenly felt a little cold.

It was all the same… but it wasn't, really.

He'd spent three long months with these people back on Earth––laughing, crying, and fighting alongside them. He had forged some of his most impactful memories during that time. Only, all of that had taken place in a deep and distant dream. Here, he was an outsider. A potential threat. They didn't know the first thing about him, so why should he be surprised they didn't trust him?

And hell, how could he even trust them? Less than an hour ago, they'd been ready to kill each other, hadn't they? This sense of comfort he was feeling wasn't based on reality. It was presumptuous, simply a perverted indulgence he was secretly partaking in without their knowing. He didn't actually belong.

And Laura was still…

Christ. Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. I'm overthinking this. How long's it been since I've had steak?

Too damn long, he decided. He reached in carefully, mindful to keep his hands from the flames. It would be cumbersome to explain if his hands lit up like molten charcoal.

Personally, Alex didn't really care what his steak looked like on the inside as long as it wasn't well done, so as soon as it had a nice crusted glaze, he lifted it to his lips for a bite. He burnt his tongue a little but didn't care as meat juice dripped down his throat and out the corners of his mouth. He chewed, letting out an appreciative moan.

He washed it down with Cola. His silent ecstasy was short-lived, however, as Eric soon turned to him with an expectant look. "So, whose side are you on, Alex?"

Alex blinked. What? Whose… side?

He hadn't been paying attention to the conversation, but despite his confusion, he answered swiftly and unerringly. "Dalton's."

Dalton smiled. "See, Eric? Even he agrees! I knew our visitor was a man of sense."

Eric sputtered for a response to whatever they'd been arguing over, only to be drowned out by everyone's laughter. Alex smiled inwardly, and where no one was watching, he shared this joy with himself.

Soon, the night deepened. There were no more steaks to be had, their bellies were full, and the fire had waned in intensity from time and the chillier breeze. Alas, while kindness merely for its own sake was beautiful, this world was not. Strangers did not share their fire just because they happened to cross paths, and Alex had not delayed his progress merely to reminisce… Well, actually he had, but still. When Alice took control of the conversation, he knew their meeting had reached its true purpose.

"So, what's your story, Alex?" Alice asked. "We've shared a lot about ourselves, but you've been awfully quiet. Not that I dislike that in a man…"

If Alex hadn't known for whom it was Jory would eventually shave his beard for, he might've gotten needlessly flustered by her words. Regardless, she had a point. Eric and the others had shared much about how they'd come together and their challenges thus far. Albeit, Alex had heard the story a thousand times already, in greater detail.

He grunted. "Please excuse my shyness. I've been fortunate enough to avoid too much conflict so far, so the warning about those wraiths… it's a life-saver."

"Of course!" Eric laughed. "I wouldn't wish those things on my worst enemy. Think nothing of i—"

Eric paled at a daggered glance from Alice and went quiet. 'Think something of it' was the message Alex received from that. And naturally, he also wanted to give them information that could help them. However, he was hesitant to share too much. Because the truth was, they simply didn't need his help, and he'd already experienced how seemingly small changes could backfire in unpredictable ways.

Alex sighed, "I really appreciate the steaks, but Eric's story was a hard act to follow, so please don't expect too much. I can't weave a narrative for shit, but I can at least share my experiences."

They nodded and Alex began recounting his past many days since he'd come to Nightmare. He obviously didn't share the whole truth––and naturally, they hadn't either. Eric's story had glossed over some darker bits that he'd once shared when the wounds weren't as fresh. It was clear enough from the number of death skulls on their status displays––which were assigned whenever someone killed another person––that their last few days had been more trying than they were willing to let on.

Alex's lack of any skulls likely played a part in their willingness to share their fire with him. That wasn't always the symbol of purity people took that to be, but he wasn't about to say that now. So as he talked, he omitted how he'd beaten the first scenario, and didn't mention he was currently busting ass chasing after some kid. He explained much of the advantages he'd gained as simple luck or an exaggeration of his capabilities. But what followed was a surprisingly honest retelling of it all.

He wasn't lying about his lack of oration skills, but soon, he had the entire party waiting with bated breath, hanging on to every word. No one spoke until he was finished.

"And that's how I got here," Alex ended drably.

Eric's expression was no longer so jovial. His fist was clenched and shook slightly in his palm. "So you're saying… you managed to beat one of those scenario bosses on your own?"

"I did."

Eric's frown deepened, and Alex painfully empathized with the weight of that acknowledgment. After all, it was only Eric's snap decision to call off Fiona's attack that saved his team from heavy casualties––and saved Alex from what he now knew was mutually assured destruction. It was a burden only the two of them could fully comprehend––those who knew what it was like to have their comrade's lives so trepidatiously balanced on their words. But it was Alex alone who was privy to the sickening irony of it all.

My own comrades…

"I see," Alice noted impassively. "I wouldn't have expected any certain safety in this hellscape, but what more can you tell us about this 'Gathering Hub'?"

Alex stared blankly at her for a second, then let the tension drain from his body. "Right, not much, honestly. I think it was practically like a medieval pub, but they served food and wine there. Though… the staff were undead. They won't attack you, but be prepared for that. The place apparently unveils itself to others after the third scenario, but it's mainly just there to provide a neutral territory for networking."

Alex couldn't mention anything about the VIP rooms. That oath of secrecy was still a point of confusion for him, but it wasn't like he wanted to terrorize them with its existence in the first place. He was still mentally recovering from the olympic swimming pool, himself.

Fiona snorted, "C'mon guys! The rest of this is like a game, so why should this surprise us?"

"This isn't a game," Dalton warned.

"I—I know. I… agh! I said it was like a game, Dalton! I didn't say it was one! Fucking listen, will you?"

"I was listening. It's because I was listening that I—"

Eric moved to intervene, and Alice spared Alex an apologetic smile. The party had always been on the rowdier side, but Fiona and Dalton especially seemed to get along like oil and water.

Frankly, Alex was grateful for the distraction from being questioned. Honesty had never been his virtue, but he was beginning to think his standards might've lowered over time. When he'd traveled with these people––back when they'd been his comrades––he hadn't had much cause to lie to them.

As the bickering continued, Eric's attempts at peacemaking only resulted in him being dragged into the argument, and by that point, only one person could stop it.

"Stop fighting," Jory said. "Alex shared all this so that we know what to expect. Fighting because of it… is inconsiderate to him."

Dalton and Fiona paused mid-sentence from talking over one another. They glowered, then settled back down. "Naturally," Dalton said. "I was in the process of communicating that."

Alex accidentally snorted and the man shot him a pointed look.

Eric laughed. "Sorry, things always seem to go this way."

"Yeah…I can imagine."

"Hey…" Alice said, poking his shoulder. "Is this container you've had out full of some sort of magical substance or is it exactly what it looks like?"

Alex picked up an empty plastic jug that was filled with murky liquid. "Oh this? Yeah, it's just dirt."

"Dirt?"

"Or to be more accurate, dirt water. When you filter some types of dirt with water, then shake it up a little, the lighter bits float to the top. So what you see settling here at the bottom will eventually just be sand."

Eric peered closer. "So… this sand is for your enchantments?"

"No. I'm going to use it as a temper for my clay."

"Clay?" Alice asked.

Alex nodded. "I found a good deposit near my Second Scenario spot. It's still drying, but it should be good in a day or a week from now. Depending on how much sun time I can get it."

Dalton frowned. "And… the clay is for…"

"Pottery."

They stared at him for a bit and Alex shrugged.

"Oh yeah, it's definitely good to have a hobby," Eric said. "Keeps your mind off things."

Fiona blew out some air. "Fuck! That's for sure. If you hadn't brought that pack of cards in with you, Eric, I would've died from boredom weeks ago."

"What do you mean 'weeks ago'" Dalton asked. "We've only been here one week."

"Do you really have to get on my ass about ever little––"

"What about your sword?" Eric asked quickly.

The party immediately fell quiet.

Fiona glanced around in confusion. "What about his sword?"

"You idiot," Dalton hissed. "You were the one who charged him. Are you telling me you didn't feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"It felt… like pure death," Jory said. Then, a frown formed on his face. "No… that's not right. It felt more like…"

Jory trailed off, shying away, and paid his remaining attention to poking the fire. But he'd always had sharp senses and Alex thought he'd been about to mention Nychta's aura. She was still slumbering, and even Alex might not have been able to sense her presence if their souls weren't connected. That sensation of pure death Jory had mentioned was more likely the guardian spirit of Lionheart, which still carried a residual necromantic aura. Jory's senses must've developed earlier than Alex had assumed if he'd already been able to see past that.

Regardless, when the man fell silent, all eyes swung back toward Alex, and he was reminded of one more thing he hadn't told them. But this was something he had a very good reason to withhold. In fact, it was crucial to his plans that he did.

"I've actually lied to you about one thing," he admitted. "I didn't just plunder this sword off a random undead townsman."

"Well, obviously," Alice stated.

Her expression made it clear she'd just been courteous enough not to pry earlier. But at that revelation, Eric's eyes went wide next to her.

"Then… how did you get it?" he asked.

Alex hesitated. "I… I don't know if I should say. It seemed like he wanted his existence to be kept a secret."

"He…?"

The others shifted a little, but Eric was outright leaning across the fire now and the sight almost broke Alex's poker face.

And… he's hooked. Like fish on a line.

Eventually, Alex did smile––a lopsided, almost crazed one––as he gave his audience a once-over. Then his eyes met Eric's, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

"By any chance… have you guys heard rumors about the wandering blacksmith?"