The most consistent theme in James' life at this point seemed to be waking up in strange places, with pain accompanying it at least half the time. This thought flashed through his mind as he came to, hearing the incessant drip, drip, drip that seemed all-pervasive in this rift. He tried to shift slightly, feeling every sore muscle and bruise make its presence known. His body felt like a collection of aches and raw nerves, but at least he was alive—that was something.
"Joey," a parched James croaked out, barely able to make a sound. His throat felt like sandpaper, and his body ached in ways he didn't know were possible. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. "Joey," he said again, more insistently this time, his voice barely above a whisper, but with a touch more strength. Slowly, he opened his eyes to take stock of the world around him.
He was stashed in the same alcove Joey had dragged him to what felt like a lifetime ago. The alcove was small, damp, and barely enough to fit him comfortably. It smelled of damp earth, with the faint metallic tang of blood lingering in the air. A few objects lay scattered nearby: his trident lay on the ground, its surface glinting dully in the faint, phosphorescent light that seemed to permeate this cavern, along with what looked like makeshift supplies—a mix of torn cloth, a rusted helmet, a spoon, and a handful of mushrooms that glowed faintly. The mushrooms emitted an eerie green light, casting shadows that seemed to dance across the rocky walls. But Joey himself was nowhere to be seen. Instead, James heard grunting sounds coming from the direction of the main cavern, where the lake was.
James winced as he tried to push himself up, his body protesting each movement. He gingerly touched the spot where the salamander’s teeth had sunk into him. A wave of nausea washed over him at the memory—sharp teeth, the agony, feeling his strength ebb away—but the fear was quickly tempered by a new, steadier presence inside him. Something that felt more composed. Frank’s influence, James thought. The memories and experiences of another life were a stabilizing force now, helping him not to lose himself in the panic.
He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing deeply, drawing on Frank's resilience. It wasn't just the memories; it was a whole different set of instincts—a patience that James at ten years old would have never had. He found himself feeling thankful for that presence, for that anchor in a situation that felt increasingly surreal.
"Joey!" James called again, louder this time. The grunting reached a crescendo and then stopped, followed by hurried footfalls approaching. James braced himself, pushing his body into a kneeling position, ready for whatever would come next. He had no idea what kind of creature might come barreling around that corner. He reached for his trident, trying to get ready to fight.
But it wasn’t an ugly beast that came—it was his best friend. Joey, in his threadbare shirt and with more holes than fabric in his pants, sprinted into view. He was panting, sweat mixing with the grime on his face, and his eyes were wide with panic. His disheveled appearance gave the impression of someone who had been in constant battle since the last time James saw him.
"JAMES!" Joey’s face broke into a wide grin as soon as he saw James conscious. Without a second thought, Joey rushed forward, the black blood dripping from his hands quickly forgotten as he grabbed James and hugged him with an unexpected ferocity.
"Oof, missed you too, buddy!" James wheezed, returning the hug as best as he could. Joey’s grip was strong, much stronger than James remembered, as if the last few days had changed something fundamental in him. Joey’s strength seemed more mature, more purposeful, as if he had somehow grown far beyond his years.
"Buddy? What's that?" Joey asked, pulling away slightly, his face scrunched in confusion.
'already less than a minute and I already blew my cover as to my circumstances through a colloquial of all things. Wait English is different than the native language here, did I just mix the two?' James grimaced internally yet not yet ready to delve into the can of worms that explaining it to Joey would bring and the baggage of a whole new language.
"Uh, a term of endearment," James said dismissively before nodding at Joey’s hands. "Is that blood I see dripping?"
Joey looked down at his hands, suddenly aware of the dark liquid staining them. "Yeah, but don't worry, it's not mine," he said quickly, shaking his hands as if to brush off the concern. "I was fighting a salamander! After you…" Joey’s voice faltered as he looked away, his eyes shadowed. "After you died… kind of. I got really angry, like, really angry, and I fought the one that bit you. It was then I discovered my affinity, and I got a skill as a reward!"
James blinked in astonishment. "Affinity? Skill?" He looked at Joey, really looked at him. Joey’s eyes were weary, his clothes torn, but there was something different—something more solid about him, like he carried an invisible strength that hadn’t been there before. His posture was more grounded, his eyes fiercer, filled with something beyond mere determination—something bordering on desperation and purpose.
Joey stood straighter now, his face showing pride mingled with exhaustion. It was a look that spoke volumes about what he had been through while James was unconscious. "Yeah," Joey nodded eagerly, "it's metal! My affinity is metal!"
"Metal?" James asked, his curiosity piqued. He lowered himself into a sitting position, his body still aching. He could feel his muscles screaming, but curiosity burned stronger than the pain. "Also, do we have any water?" He could barely croak out the words, his throat still parched.
"Oh! Right, let me get you some." Joey scrambled to grab a helmet from the small pile of salvaged items beside the trident. "It'll have to be out of a helmet, but it’s all we have that holds water." He paused, and a grin spread across his face. "Oh, and like I said, it's metal! My affinity is metal!" He said it proudly, his eyes lighting up before he rushed off towards the lake.
James watched him leave and let out a breath, feeling a strange mixture of pride and relief. Joey was getting stronger. He had fought a salamander. Alone. It was hard to imagine, but it filled James with a sense of hope. Joey wasn’t just waiting for help; he had taken action. He was fighting to survive, even when it seemed impossible. And now, for the first time in two lifetimes, James could do something he’d been dreaming of since forever. He focused inward and whispered, “Status.”
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Nothing happened. James frowned. “What the heck?” He grumbled to himself. Then, with a sigh, he subvocalized, “Where is my status?” Suddenly, the familiar blue screen appeared before his mind's eye, the SYSTEM finally responding to his request. It was both surreal and exhilarating.
---
Name - Jameson Castellio Age - 10 Titles - | Dungeon Marauder (Crimson) |
| Convergent Soul (Crimson) |
| Mana Harmonization (Cobalt) | Achievements - First Kill Race - Human (Ashen Rank One) Level - 1 (0/100) Class - N/A HP - 185/195 MP - 265/265 Stamina - 195/195 Strength -
5
Dexterity - 5 Agility - 4 Intelligence - 9 Endurance - 4 Charisma - 5 Wisdom - 6 Fate - 12 Innate skill Level 1
******
Level 50 Locked Level 100 Locked Active Skills Passive Skills Affinities ********
--
Seeing his entire being quantified in stat form really did something to James. It caused every aspect of himself to stand out—where he was lacking, where he was strong. It was a reminder that he was no longer just James or Frank—he was both, and that meant potential. He wasn't surprised to see he was specced into a mana-focused build. Even in his previous life as Frank, he had always been meticulous, thoughtful, and aware of the subtleties around him. It excited him—the prospect of exploring magic in a tangible, quantifiable way. But what really caught his attention was the prompt that popped up after viewing his status.
{Passive Skill Acquired}
{Accept? Y/N}
- Trident Proficiency (Ashen Level One)
- You have proven sufficient to wield the trident. Allows use of trident up to the skill level (Ashen)
James hesitated, then looked over at his trident lying on the ground. He reached out, attempting to pick it up. “Argh!” It was unexpectedly heavy, almost immovable, like trying to lift a boulder. “So that’s what Joey was talking about,” James muttered. It really was the skill that made all the difference. It was strange to think that, somehow, using the trident before without having leveled up must have broken some kind of rule.
Shrugging, he chose to accept the skill. A surge of essence filled the air, swirled around him, and then entered his body. He could feel it move within him, seeping into a part of himself that felt unfamiliar, like discovering an entirely new muscle he had never used before. It was empowering, almost like a surge of adrenaline, yet more controlled. a glimpse is all that he got to see though as it was over in a flash, like trying to catch a fish with your hands as it's swimming downstream.
Joey returned, carrying a deformed and rusty helmet filled with water, which sloshed precariously with each step. “It has a hole in the top, so be careful,” Joey chuckled, passing it to James.
James took the helmet, taking a long gulp. “Ahh, stale leather, amazing.” He gave Joey a grin before asking, “Where did this helmet even come from?”
“Like I said, I've been fighting. After you went down, I realized no one was coming to help us. We got attacked a couple of times, so I started guarding the entrance. I managed to kill some salamanders and got loot from it! It's not been easy, but once I got my new skill, {Iron Fist}, things got a bit easier.” Joey flexed his small arm, and James could see the faint bruises and scars etched along his forearm.
James's eyes widened. “How long was I out for?”
Joey paused, considering. “About four days.” He then brightened, his energy returning in full force. “But enough about that! Have you opened it yet? You’re ten now, right? You should be able to see your status!”
James chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Joey always had more energy than anyone he had ever known, in either of his lives. “Yeah, I opened it. I guess defeating that salamander allowed me early access to it. I got my status, somehow, just before I died.”
Joey gave a nervous laugh, his expression haunted for just a moment. “It was a real light show in here, man. I thought you were gone. I thought I was gone too, for a while.” He shook his head, the memory clearly still vivid in his mind. “But we made it through. Mostly in one piece.”
James gave Joey a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Wanna hear my title? I think mine’s better than yours!” He teased, sticking out his tongue.
Joey rolled his eyes but leaned closer, clearly interested. James opened his status screen and read aloud.
{Acquired Title - Dungeon Marauder (Crimson)}
- Enter a dungeon with a level infinitely lower than the Rift level
- Gain a 100% chance for dissipating mana to coalesce into an item (Item randomized based on collective species understanding of material rewards)
- Gain a 30% chance for the item to receive an upgrade or doubling
Joey's eyes went wide. “WHAT?! How’s that fair?! Even when my title got upgraded, it wasn’t anything like this! I only have a thirty percent chance, and you’ve got all these bonuses.” Joey’s rant escalated, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “This is just like that time when you showed up late to Mrs. Smith’s pie night. You got to cut to the front of the line, all soaked from the rain, and she gave you the biggest piece, while the rest of us were waiting forever!”
James leaned back with a grin, listening as Joey went on. “Or that time…” Joey's words blurred together, the rant becoming a comforting background noise that made James smile. At least some things hadn't changed—Joey’s boundless energy and his penchant for long-winded complaints were very much still intact. And somehow, in this dark and dangerous place, that brought James a sense of comfort.
James watched Joey animatedly wave his hands as he spoke, describing various injustices he felt James had benefited from, each story more exaggerated than the last. The laughter bubbling in James' chest felt refreshing, almost like cleansing away some of the darkness that had settled there. The two of them were still here, still fighting, and for a moment, the cavern seemed a little less oppressive. The rift was dangerous, terrifying, and unforgiving—but as long as they were together, things would be okay, hopefully.