The Gate Traveler

I had five stat points, just enough to trade for an ability point. After looking at the endless list of spells and skills, and seeing all the amazing things magic could do, I hoped to find something to bring Sophie back. My eyes ran over the screen, scanning line after line, hope rising with each one. The endless lists stretched on, populating the screen more and more as I scrolled up. After a while, the words blurred together. I looked for a slim chance to bring her back or at least reach her. My heart hammered. My fists clenched and unclenched as I skimmed through the descriptions as fast as possible, desperate to find something. Anything that might work. With each item, my frustration grew. Every spell and skill category led to a dead end. My shoulders slumped, and hope faded with every line. Then I reached the Death Magic section, with the Necromancy subsection. Just reading the titles made my skin crawl. The words seemed to carry something wrong and sinister, something unnatural, like they didn't belong in the world of the living. It felt like the screen darkened, the letters twisting into something that shouldn't be read. Those were just words and letters, but somehow they affected the surroundings outside the screen. And it wasn't only in my head. Or at least I didn't think so. The room grew darker. The air heavier. I had a strong sense of foreboding, as if something was warning me away. I got a strong feeling that this magic might be right for some people, but not for me. That if I took it or did something with it, it would cut my future. It wasn't the Knowing I got previously. This was deeper. It came from inside of me.

I let out a shaky breath and leaned back, my body recoiling on instinct. The hope that had burned so bright a while ago was gone, leaving only an empty hollow in my chest. Silent tears ran down my face as I stared at the screen, my spirit sinking even lower than before I'd discovered the Gate. I couldn't bring her back, and it felt like losing her all over again. I slumped into the armchair by the window, the leather cold and unyielding. Outside, streetlights cast a weak glow over the cobbled streets, the light pooling in shallow puddles and leaving the shadows between the stones even darker. My coffee sat untouched on the table, long gone cold. Disappointment weighed me down. My mind drifted, grasping for something beyond this painful moment.

Should I cross the Gate and leave?

I imagined myself standing on that mountain, right at the edge of the Gate. Wind in my face, alien sky above, and some new world stretching out in front of me. The idea excited me. It scared me too, but the excitement was stronger. This was a chance. A real one. Strange worlds, weird creatures, magic, skills that would've made teenage me lose his mind. Maybe it was time to live and stop drifting through memories like a shadow. After all, it was right before I discovered the Gate that I realized I needed a change. That need hadn't gone away. If anything, it had only grown stronger—and the Gate, with all the possibilities it offered, was the biggest change of all.

Of course, that's when the doubts kicked in. Could I even handle it? What if I stepped through and ended up just as lost as I was here? Lost and alone in some place that didn't make sense, surrounded by people who looked at me like I didn't belong. Language wouldn't be the problem. I'd know the words. But everything behind them—the culture, the mentality, the thousand little things that made a person feel like part of something, that made them fit in—that would be missing. And there'd be no backup. No safety net. Just me, my gear, and whatever spells or skills I could buy from the list. And what if things went wrong? Things always went wrong. Always. I knew that from experience.

And then came the guilt. Sophie should've been here. She would've jumped through the Gate without blinking, dragged me along, called it an adventure. Talked me into believing it too. The thought of leaving her behind felt like a betrayal. But was I really leaving her behind? Yes, I was leaving her grave behind, no doubt about that. But was that the same as leaving the person? I didn't feel like I was leaving my mom, and her grave was here too.

That's all I have left here. Two graves.

I sat with that for a while, waiting for the pain and sense of emptiness that this thought brought about to fade away. Everything holding me here was two graves. Just that. Two slabs of rock in the ground. The people I loved weren't in them. They were gone. The voices, the smiles, the warmth, everything that made them so dear to me, were gone as well. They weren't here. Not anymore. If I lied to myself and said I was staying for them, all I would really be doing was running laps in a cage made of memories. Telling myself I was honoring them, when really, I would just be too scared to step into the unknown.

That realization left me feeling completely empty. I'd been clinging to memories and guilt. What was even left for me here? My job? That had been taken from me, courtesy of Sophie's father. Friends? Not really. We had a few dinner couples, movie nights, the usual, but they'd always been more her friends than mine. The last time I saw or heard from any of them was at her funeral. I didn't have anyone I could actually lean on.

Family wasn't any better. My mom's parents disowned her when she got pregnant with me, and when she died, they made it clear they didn't want me either. I spent years bouncing between foster homes until I was old enough to get by on my own. There was no one to call, no one who'd notice if I vanished. Maybe my lawyer would, but only because of the paperwork. And that was the truth I couldn't keep pretending wasn't there. There was nothing left for me here.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, decided to travel through the Gate, and something in me let go. I dropped a small fraction of the emotional weight. The air tasted cleaner, like I had just exhaled something stagnant that had been suffocating me. I wanted to leave. Not to run away, not because I had no other choice, but because I wanted to see what else was out there. Now it didn't feel like a risk. It felt like a choice, one that was completely mine. I chose to leave. I had no idea what was waiting on the other side of the Gate. There was no plan, no safety net. But despite the fear, maybe stepping into the unknown was exactly what I needed. I had to find out what was out there, waiting for me.

I pulled up the abilities list. If I were going to travel, understanding different languages was a must. Learning the language and talking without barriers was a solid step forward. I converted my free stat points to an extra ability point, then unlocked Local Adaptation - Spoken Language. One thing settled. That was progress. Curious, I tried converting another five points from my Vitality, hoping for another ability point. Nothing. I frowned at the screen, wondering what I'd missed. Maybe because those points were already part of me, and only free points could be converted? It was something to look into later. There was a lot to figure out, and I needed every advantage I could get.

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I dove into the Archives, looking for anything helpful. Under World Information, only Earth was currently visible, but there was a General Knowledge section with practical notes and advice, like breadcrumbs left behind by other Travelers. I dove in, reading entry after entry, trying to figure out what it meant to live this kind of life.

As I scrolled, I spotted a small icon in the upper-left corner labeled "Tips & Tricks."

Hmm, that looks interesting.

The first tip was a game changer: I didn't have to leap into the unknown right away. I could stand by the Gate, touch one of the portal stones, and read the world's information before stepping through. That was a relief. No blind jumps into the unknown, but a way to get my bearings first. The person who left the tip got it. I could almost hear them saying, You're not alone. We've been here, too. It was exactly what I hadn't known I needed. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but jumping blind into some unknown world full of gods-know-what wasn't exactly appealing. This? This was smart. A way to test the water before diving in. A safety net, in a way.

The next tip in that section was even better. It was downright genius. If I put in the effort to learn a skill the hard way, by actually learning, practicing, training, and building it up through real experience until I get it as a recognized skill in the "Guidance", I could trade it in for an ability point. Simple enough. But there was a catch. A big catch. Once I converted it, the skill would be locked. I would still remember how to do it, whether it was swinging a sword or playing an instrument, but I would lose the ability to level it up. It could improve further through learning or practice, but this would depend purely on my effort. There would be no improvement assistance from the Guidance through leveling it up. It had another catch. Once a skill was converted, that was it. No do-overs. No going back and relearning it or buying it as a Skill. If I sacrificed something, I had to be damn sure I wasn't going to need it later. It was a one-time deal.

Despite the restrictions, I loved the sneakiness.

The next thing I found fascinating was the trading advice. It was a masterclass in gaming the multiverse for profit. The idea was simple: buy cheap, mass-produced goods from tech worlds and sell them in low-tech mana worlds for a fortune. Items such as knives, cookware, bright fabrics, and even basic wooden toys. All those things were worth their weight in gold in places where everything was handmade. And it worked the other way, too: Buy handmade weapons, bows, or armor from a no-tech world, then sell them in a tech world. I imagined some rich collector paying a small fortune for a basic sword that a Traveler can buy from a country blacksmith for peanuts. The thought of flipping worlds for profit made me laugh.

Then came the practical survival stuff. Things like always having transport options for different terrains, clothes for all kinds of weather, and planning around the fact that tech wouldn't work in mana worlds. It was like having an experienced Traveler holding my hand, and pointing out rookie mistakes before I made them. Sadly, no AI assistant. But honestly? This was good too.

A significant number of posts covered currency. Not surprising. Cash didn't transfer between realities, but jewelry did. Rings, chains, pendants, preferably silver or gold. Coins worked too, but the advice was to rough them up a bit, make them look worn so they'd pass as "foreign" rather than obviously mass-produced. In tech worlds, the trick was to stick to jewelry and sell it at small pawn shops to avoid raising any flags. Over and over, different Travelers repeated the same advice: learn to fight. Apparently, it wasn't optional. At a minimum, I needed to get good with at least one weapon, learn some basic hand-to-hand combat, and invest in a defensive spell, a ranged attack, and a healing spell. It was practically a starter pack.

That got me thinking. I needed ability points and had to convert skills to get them. The problem was that I didn't have skills I was willing to part with. Then I got an idea: tennis. I hadn't picked up a racket in years and doubted interdimensional aliens would be interested in a friendly bout. Seemed like the perfect candidate. After a few calls, I booked a lesson at a local tennis center for two days later. Not exactly the epic training montage I'd imagined after reading the fantasy books, but a point was a point.

To ability points, I looked into private courses and workshops that could teach me specific skills. Of course, I gave myself a well-earned mental pat on the back for using the right jargon.

Making handmade pasta

— I would like to learn this for myself; I love cooking.

Ceramic workshop

— a strong contender.

Pencil sketching workshop

— one more in the bag.

Macramé workshop for jewelry making

— I will never need this skill.

How to make beer workshop

— this I might need on my travels, worth checking out.

Painting on vinyl records workshop

— one more point.

Flower weaving workshop

— and another point.

Iron wire sculpture workshop

— definitely another point.

Lining up all the options felt weirdly satisfying. I was planning my interdimensional future, one macrame workshop at a time. A grin crept in as I looked over the list. Some skills I might actually use, others I'd probably never touch again. Still, I made the calls and filled up my schedule for the next week and a half. There was a quiet pride in it. I was turning my decision into reality, one small step at a time.

On my way to the tennis lesson the next day, I tried out the Identify skill on everything I passed—people, signs, anything that caught my eye. The results were, to say the least, underwhelming. Everyone appeared as or Not exactly groundbreaking. Objects fared little better. and First, I was disappointed, then annoyed, and finally threw the skill to the back of my mind to never use again. My only hope was that the "payid" skills would work better, not just on paper. Or, well, and a magical screen that only I could see.

At least my tennis idea worked out. Fifteen minutes in, I scored my first point against the instructor. As soon as I did, the red light started blinking.

Immediately, I clicked it with my mind, with the intention of giving it up.

Yes, please and thank you.

Yes! It worked! Bless you, anonymous Traveler.

In the following days, I attended all the workshops and learned the Skills. The class description wasn't kidding; learning skills was easy. I kept the pasta, beer, and pencil sketching since I liked them, but converted the rest.

With six more Ability points in the bag, I first purchased the skill One of the Crowd.

Thinking about protection, I purchased the spells Mana Dart and Mana Shield. At first, I wanted to get the Fireball spell, but eventually realized that avoiding any potential fire hazards might be prudent.

Additionally, I invested another ability point in my Storage. Based on everything I read in the Archive and the books, I would need the space. Now, I had 512 cubic meters.

A lot of Travelers in the Archive recommended getting a healing spell, so I opened the Healing Magic sub-section under Life Magic. That's when I ran into a problem. Most of the spells were grayed out, listed but unavailable for purchase. My class was supposed to let me buy anything, or so I thought based on the description, but clearly there were some hidden limitations. I wondered what the criteria were for unlocking them, but in the end, it didn't really matter. The options were limited, and I had to work with what I had.

Clicking on the locked spells did nothing. Just to be sure, I checked a few other categories. Some had restricted spells too, but nowhere near as many as in Healing Magic. In this section, almost everything was off-limits. In the end, the only spell I could actually buy was Minor Heal. There were some other options, like Rejuvenate Body, Stamina Boost, or Lower Fever, but they were too specific and not really workable in my opinion.

Something in me rebelled. I paused, staring at the spell description, and all my years of medical training flashed through my mind. The all-nighters, the crammed study sessions, and feeling tired all the time between studies and work. The knowledge that was a part of me. My white coat wasn't just clothing but proof of everything I'd worked for. Using a spell to heal would feel like invalidating all that, like throwing away years of hardship. And yet, I couldn't argue with the recommendation. It was smart. No matter how much medical knowledge you have, a broken leg is a broken leg. I thought about the risks medical knowledge couldn't prepare me for. A quick heal would make an enormous difference.

Mends broken bones, cuts, scrapes, and common ailments like colds.

Finally, I sighed and bought it. Yes, my mind rebelled against the idea, and it felt like I was betraying all the hard work I had put into becoming a doctor. However, being injured and helpless in a strange place sounded even worse.