{Active Skill Acquired}
{Accept? Y/N}
- Trident Power Thrust (Ashen Level One)
- Create a powerful thrust that will amplify the damage of any Trident used. (Ashen)
James stared at the glowing prompt before his eyes. He knew he was going to take it—there was no question. Every ounce of power counted right now, especially with the situation spiraling out of control around him. But as his finger hovered over the "Y" to accept, a sudden pang of memory struck him. A warning from his father, a half-remembered conversation that had seemed unimportant at the time.
He had been sitting beside his father, Andy, near the edge of the farm field, the late summer sun casting a golden haze over the ripening wheat. They had taken a break from the back-breaking work of tilling and sowing, and James could still recall how his father's face looked in that light—rugged, a little tired, but filled with a warmth that only his father had ever shown. James had been almost ten, still so eager to learn everything he could, though he hadn’t understood the weight of it all yet.
“You’re getting older, James,” Andy had said, his voice rough but gentle, like the callouses on his hands as he ruffled James’ hair. “Soon, you'll start getting the chance to learn skills—real ones, not just the farming and the horse-riding. I want you to understand what that means.”
Andy had leaned back against a sack of grain, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the fields, seemingly lost in thought. James had watched him, fascinated. His father never spoke like this unless it was important.
“A person only gets so many skills,” Andy had continued, his gaze growing distant. “The average folk—like us—can hold maybe twenty slots in their spirit. And that's if they're lucky. Most don't even know where those slots are—they’re just there, hidden, unless you’ve got a bit of magic sense. Mages—like your mother, or maybe like you someday—they've got an advantage in that. They can sense the space in their spirit, know when it's filling up. Makes choosing a skill... a lot more complicated.”
James remembered how he’d shifted on the spot, trying to imagine these mysterious “slots” in his spirit, and failing. Andy had chuckled then, noticing his son's furrowed brow.
“It's hard to explain, lad. You'll understand more when you get your status. Think of it this way—you've got three talents, those are something different altogether. They’re a blessing, or a curse, depending on what you get. Some folks get talents that help them all their lives. Others...” Andy had paused, his eyes clouding over with a shadow James hadn’t recognized at the time, “...others aren’t so fortunate. It can ruin a person’s life. But talents are like dice—you roll them, and hope for the best.”
Andy had smiled then, a sad, knowing smile, and clasped James' shoulder. “But skills, those you earn. You have to prove you’ve got what it takes—the right stats, the right experiences. Active skills, they're powerful, but they take up more spaces. Passive skills, they’re quieter, easier to carry, but don’t you think they’re less valuable. Sometimes the quietest skills make the biggest difference.”
James remembered nodding, though the full meaning had eluded him back then. Now, standing in the thick of danger, the echoes of his father’s words came rushing back with a clarity that almost took his breath away.
“The average person who does a bit of adventuring might get twenty slots to fill, if they're lucky,” Andy had said, his voice like a murmur in James' mind. “But choose carefully, James. Choose skills that matter, ones that will keep you alive. And if you don't want to adventure, don't forget that your profession shares the same slots too.”
James clenched his teeth, his gaze flickering to the prompt again. {Accept? Y/N}. The ground shook beneath him slightly. He could almost feel his father's hand on his shoulder, the warmth of that summer day, and he knew what he had to do.
“Accept.”
The word left his lips like a prayer, and he pressed "Y." The shimmering prompt vanished, and with it, a warmth spread through his body, pooling in his chest and flowing outward, until his right arm felt like it was brimming with raw power. Power Thrust. He could feel it there, the weight of it, the new tension in his spirit where it had nestled in, taking root. He couldn't see it but it was a faint feeling in his arm that felt like it belonged there—a coiling snake ready to pounce when he gave the direction to do so. Standing up, he was careful not to wake the already sleeping Joey and made his way to the front of the cave they were in.
A quick glance around the mostly clear area was enough to still his worried heart, and he took a stance with the trident, unsure of exactly what he was supposed to do. James gave a thrust with it, powerful, yes, but not anything magical in nature. The trident moved smoothly, but it lacked the flair or the strength that he was hoping to see from an empowered strike.
He frowned, his mind working through the sensations he had just experienced. Using his proprioception to its maximum, James felt around the metaphorical space that was his arm and again he touched briefly on the skill. Following that thread, he took a stance again and pressed on the area that the skill seemed to have settled.
Still, nothing occurred. A sense of frustration started to bubble within him. Wondering if it was based on intent, as so many things have been in this journey, James felt with his whole being that the next strike was going to be a power thrust. He closed his eyes briefly, visualizing the effect, imagining the trident driving forward with force and precision, an unstoppable spear of might. Leaning into it and feeling the conviction, he again thrust forward, and this time, the trident had an ephemeral glow around it as he felt something leave his body through the area of his spirit that held the skill.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The trident moved with a vicious rend, almost pulling James forward and off balance. Quickly correcting himself, he grinned, a flash of excitement rushing through him. He could feel the difference—there was a depth of strength behind that thrust, a power that hadn't been there before. It was exhilarating, like he had tapped into a well of potential that was waiting to be unleashed. He opened his status to check.
Name -Jameson CastellioAge -10Titles -| Dungeon Marauder (Crimson) |
| Convergent Soul (Crimson) |
| Mana Harmonization (Cobalt) |Achievements -First KillRace -Human (Ashen Rank One)Level -2 (70/150)Class -N/A
HP -
410/415MP -295/295 +15Stamina -340/415Strength -
8
Dexterity -8Agility -7Intelligence -9Endurance -8Charisma -5Wisdom -8Fate -12Innate skillLevel 1
******
Level 50LockedLevel 100LockedActive Skills
| Trident Power Thrust (Ashen) Level One |
Passive Skills| Trident Proficiency (Ashen Rank Four)|Affinities********
His mana was still full, but his stamina had dropped quite a lot considering he just started practicing and wasn't working out particularly hard. It begged the question: what was the difference between skills that used mana and skills that used stamina? It was an interesting feeling that the use of the skill gave, and it deserved more testing. There was a definite strain on his body when he used the skill—a feeling like his muscles were demanding more fuel to push the power out. He could almost feel his own energy reserves depleting.
James began experimenting more with the trident, deciding to continue practicing in order to get a better grasp on how much stamina a single Power Thrust would cost. He switched between normal strikes and Power Thrusts, pushing his body to feel the difference. With each Power Thrust, there was a noticeable drain, and the heavier the feeling of intent, the more his body seemed to strain.
After another series of thrusts, he collapsed to his knees, panting, his trident planted into the rocky ground in front of him. His limbs felt heavy, and his breath was ragged. This wasn't just about physical fatigue—it was like every fiber of his being had exerted itself, a spiritual exhaustion that was far deeper than any workout he had ever done. He rubbed at his arm, trying to knead out the tension that seemed to linger even after he'd stopped.
The air around the cave was still, save for the faint sound of dripping water from somewhere deeper in the cavern. The oppressive quiet pressed down on him as he listened to his own labored breathing. The faint echoes of the cavern made everything sound larger, almost as if he was being surrounded by invisible shadows. A shiver ran down his spine, but he shook it off. He needed to understand what he was up against.
Still catching his breath, James took a moment to open his status screen again, his eyes scanning over the numbers. His stamina had dropped from 340 to around 260, which seemed a lot for just a few tries. The realization started to set in—every skill had a cost, and if he wasn't careful, that cost could put him in real danger.
He looked over the status again, lingering on his other stats. His Strength, Dexterity, and Endurance seemed to matter more with each passing day, and he wished he could just will them to be higher. But this world didn’t work that way—he had to earn every point, every improvement, just like his father had said.
James pushed himself back up onto his feet, his muscles screaming in protest. He decided he was done practicing for now. He wanted to make sure he was limber and ready for anything that may come for the hideout, so he decided to head back in, settling down with a growling stomach.
There were only two more donut crumbs left in their provisions—pathetic remnants of what once was a much-needed supply. He glanced over at Joey, who was still sleeping peacefully, and then eyed the mushrooms Joey had brought in earlier.
- Luminous Shroom
- Use {Identify} for more information.
It didn't look appetizing, and it was losing its glow, but he took a bite and found it had an earthy flavor, slightly chewy, but not bad. Honestly, it was just a mushroom. He ate a couple more, feeling a warmth settle in his stomach. It filled him just enough, not quite satisfying, but enough to ease the pangs of hunger. He wondered idly if there were any additional effects that the shrooms might have. After all, everything else in this world seemed to come with a twist.
After eating, James leaned back against the cave wall, stretching his sore legs out in front of him. His eyes wandered toward Joey again, who had begun to stir slightly in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent. The sight made James smile. Even amidst all the danger and uncertainty, there was something comforting about Joey being there. He was, after all, the closest thing James had to family right now.
James' thoughts wandered, drifting back to the days on the farm with his father. He remembered the evenings they would sit under the stars, eating simple meals cooked over the fire. His father would tell him stories—tales of heroes and adventurers, of dangers faced and foes vanquished. James had always dreamed of being one of those heroes, of going on grand adventures and making a name for himself. Now that he was living it, it wasn't quite what he had imagined. The danger was real, and the stakes were life and death. There was no room for mistakes, no second chances, well now he was sure no second chances. The weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders.
Still, there was a part of him that couldn't help but feel a thrill. The skills, the leveling up, the sense of becoming stronger—it was all exhilarating, even with the risks. He was growing, changing, becoming someone he never thought he could be. And despite everything, despite the fear and the uncertainty, there was a part of him that welcomed the challenge.
James closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of rest. The cave was quiet, save for the soft sound of Joey's breathing and the distant drip of water. His body ached, but it was a good ache—the kind that came from hard work, from pushing himself to his limits. He knew he had a long way to go, that there would be more challenges, more dangers. But for now, he was content to rest, to let his body recover, to prepare for whatever came next.
He glanced at his trident, resting beside him. It was a simple weapon, but it had served him well so far. He reached out, running his fingers along the rough surface of the handle, feeling the weight of it. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a symbol of his growth, of his determination to survive, to protect Joey, to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
James let out a slow breath, his gaze steady as he looked out into the darkness. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—he wasn't going to back down. Not now, not ever.