5

Vander lengthened his stride. His altered strides carried him soundlessly up the valley’s side. At the mouth of the copse, his old man slumped back against a tree, barely visible by the barely burning flame’s light.

As Vander entered the clearing, the old man stirred and reached for his spear, only halting when he recognized Vander. In a slow, strained motion, Vander’s new world dad tossed a heavy traveling knapsack towards him.

Despite all of Vander’s strength, the speed of the heavy bag managed to knock the wind from his lungs. The shame in his old man’s gaze and the redness that spread to his neck confirmed what Vander already knew.

He’s upset. More upset than he wants me to know. At least he doesn’t appear to be injured.

To Vander’s surprise, the old fogie walked up to him and placed his forehead against Vander’s. A tear dripped down onto Vander’s face.

When the old man spoke, his voice was strained but soft, carrying a great weight. “You… did well. I’m proud of you. I-I love you, my son.”

Vander was left shell shocked, tongue-tied, and flabbergasted to the extreme.

Heh?! Did Pops… really compliment me? Vander’s emotions raged like never before in this new life. The feeling he shouldn’t care so much about his new world dad’s feelings was completely eclipsed by the feelings of validation, affection, and relief that flooded through him. He really said… he loves me? What if he knew… that I’m not his son?

Vander stood there and stared into the empty air dumbly for several minutes. Eventually, he forced himself to move and strap the knapsack to his back and follow after his old man. Even with the unprecedented show of emotions, the old man didn’t stay still.

The familiar path leading back to Enari, worn from years of use, would take them out of The Snarl, though it made for a fairly boring trek. The predators stayed away from the track and kept to their familiar territory.

Even if the walk this time around may be boring, it’s much needed. All things considered, this is the perfect time to make a trip to Enari.

Vander walked behind the old man, easily keeping a pace that he used to consider grueling and painful. As he walked, he thought about Enari, their current destination.

Enari, on the best of days, would take half a day of grueling travel to reach from their side of The Snarl. Realistically, they would camp within the woodline before too late into the evening and finish the rest of the journey after a new light. Moving in the morning would definitely make Vander feel better.

The old man needs some rest, after all. He may be trying to hide it, but that limp isn’t getting any better. He looked uninjured, but I guess he hid it better than I thought. Vander kept watching his dad as they moved, trying to figure out the exact location of the injury without hurting the old man’s pride.

Once they exited the Snarl and got onto the proper road back to Enari, they passed through flatlands as far as the eye could see. No matter which way someone looked, the grass as tall as a grown man’s knees covered everything in sight.

Eventually, the land dipped down into a massive crater. Vander’s ongoing theory was that something enormous crash-landed there long ago. When he told the Enari locals, he always got a good chuckle. Even Enari’s local inns’ attendants, who barely qualified as anything above a slave, laughed at his theory.

Even his new world dad always told him not to speak nonsense. But Vander felt deep in his gut that his theory held some truth, even if he weren’t absolutely correct. He felt like he was onto something...

And for one reason or another, that something called to him, begged for him to seek the answers to his questions.

At first, he’d thought it might have been a memory fragment, but after he’d witnessed all the fragments Artemis left behind, he didn’t know what to think anymore. He couldn’t ever confirm the origins of that call. No matter how much he trained, prepared himself to tackle the beasts of The Snarl, and improved his abilities to face off against the rest of the world, his new world dad kept him on a strict leash.

Maybe this time? Vander mused as he stepped foot on the descending stairs.

Enari’s three staircases were considered works of wonder, but having come from Wanda, Vander adamantly disagreed. In fact, he preached that those who’d been paid to craft the stairs should’ve been hung for insubordination and dereliction of duty.

Being young, of course that got laughs from everyone around him…

Fuckers.

The staircases were inconsistently shaped and formed, poorly lit throughout the descending tunnels, and smelled like someone dumped their chamber pots and dirty water all over the stairs. Apparently, they were carved from the crater’s wall face, and the locals considered that to be an impressive feat.

But the fact that all of this happened over a century or so ago and no improvements had been made to the basic structure, he couldn’t help but be severely disappointed in the people of this world. The lack of pride and innovation when it came to their constructions boggled him in ways he couldn’t describe.

The fact the stairs took nearly an hour to descend didn’t bother him much. Hell, were he and his new world dad to run down the stairs as fast as they could, they’d probably make it to Enari within a tenth of the time required by walking.

But of course, some accursed noble set up a dozen verification stations manned by a single, rinky-dinky looking newbie—probably as punishment. Just that alone added more time, since the attendants couldn’t tell their asses from their mouths.

Verify traveling papers and certifications? The people on post were geniuses if they were capable of staying awake on their half-day shifts.

All in all, descending the stairs sucked. Vander would take a magical elevator any day. And if not something so simple to create, just a decently maintained staircase that didn’t smell like shit. That alone would be a big plus.

Third time’s the charm, Pops said? He wrinkled his nose towards the equally smelling attendant they passed. A truly tragic experience that I’d trade for the smell of fresh rain and oak wood. The stairs leading towards Enari are travesties against all of mankind. To be fair, the city is something truly awful. Doesn’t surprise me the entrance sucks too.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Even if the beasts of The Snarl wanted to eat him, Vander found their company preferable. They would at least meet his eyes and stare him down when trying to rip out his throat. The worst thing about Enari? All the people there were refugees, renegades, or exiles from Maldus.

Maldus, the shithole continent of The Mad God and the originating lands of that piece of shit’s Zealots. Vander figured if anybody would be more appreciative of the world, the people of Enari would be.

Sometimes, I feel like an idiot. I figured they’d be different, kinder, seeing as they’ve all been persecuted and judged by The Mad God and his Zealots.

But no.

The sad truth was that everyone in Enari was there for themselves in one way or another. It was a festering pit of crime and scum. Vander couldn’t figure out why his old man helped them. And he’d tried. More than once. It didn’t make sense.

I’d let them all rot in their stinking city, he mused.

There was another city, Trushal. Comparing the two… Trushal was slightly better in the way that having your throat ripped out by a Monarch Beast or Terror Monkey was better than being stolen by the spiderkin swarms.

I feel ill considering death by spiderkin. So atrocious. But… it’s an accurate metaphor for the point I want to make. Enari sucks, seriously.

Avalia was by far Vander’s favorite city of the three he had to choose from. But it also happened to be… the farthest one away from The Snarl. Sucks to suck, and that really sucked. That infuriated him to no end. He’d been to the shitty excuse for a city, Enari, for every full moon over the last eight years. On the flip side, he’d only seen Avalia twice. In his whole life. Twice! Ever!

They had the biggest port and most trade, both local and intercontinental, which in turn meant they had the highest presence of security to keep the vagabonds and savages in check.

Vander winced, remembering how ‘savage’ he must appear to others. To double check, he looked down at his fur pelt and self-consciously attempted to rub away a few layers of caked-on dirt.

Futility, the name of that game.

He stopped and looked at the dirt that looked like shit stains as his cheeks burned in embarrassment. He tried harder, and dried crust fell off. Seeing his success, Vander looked towards his new world dad. The old fogie didn’t notice a thing.

I have to give up for now. He sighed, dejected, and stared down at the single patch of ‘clean’ pelt, realizing just how little hope there was to ever remove the layers and layers of grime. He fondly caressed the pelt. It’s not your fault, it’s mine.

Jogging to close a bit of distance between himself and his dad, Vander thought about the wonders of The Snarl in comparison to the shitty city of Enari. A lot of smaller herbivores loved to make the trail they’d traveled, and traveled often, their home since the predators stayed away. He reminisced over the hybrid lemurs he wanted to catch and tame that mingled with the feisty squirrels.

They would share different nuts and berries they’d scavenged from various locations within The Snarl. In addition to the little critters that called the paths home, a dozen different types of birds also claimed a little real estate along the path.

Surprisingly enough, they’d even managed to spot a Golden-Striped Hawk among them. The other critters gave it a wide berth, but it lorded over the rest of the creatures—almost proud of the little community that formed. It had scooped up proffered food the smaller birds collected as sacrificial offerings for its generous protection.

Beasts are far better than people. Vander turned his head north then south. There was only one good thing about Enari, the gossip.

Last months’ rumors sang tall tales of five parties of adventurers being sent north and south. Apparently, the idiotic nobility created a custom to send at least one party a year, but none who ever left for the expeditions had ever returned.

Fuckers.

Seeing as the candidates were nominated by nobility and most participants were of powerful nobility, Vander had a good idea what the deal was and felt bad for those that had to venture into either the northern or southern regions.

The ‘tournament’ held for the ‘lucky nominees’...

Spiderkin to the north, fae-folk and elves to the south. Yeah, nope. The whole tournament thing is definitely just a political ploy to execute rival noble houses’ fighting forces, Vander mused, shaking his head. The fact these persecuted people became the very thing they tried escaping from on the Maldus continent. Fuckers, ruining a good opportunity to make a difference without those other fuckers watching. Truly scum.

As they traveled through Enari, Vander scowled at anybody who looked at him. He looked at the back of his new world dad and sighed. The old fogie, his new world dad, usually kept them far from the nastiest territories. The rule ‘East and West, that’s the best, but never North or South’ existed for a good reason.

Despite that, close encounters had happened in the past. Vander had seen one of the spiderkin once—and luckily only once. The damned thing crawled around on eight long, spindly legs that stuck to any surface. They had four more arms that extended from their strangely humanoid torsos. Their point bits at the end of their legs, ew. Super sharp, super terrifying. Their mandibles and face full of eyes—

No-no, no thanks. If I never saw another spiderkin, it would be too soon.

The fae-folk gave him the heebie-jeebies. since their whole shtick was unpleasant. They were ultimately better than the spiderkin though. The spiderkin were the absolute worst and deserved to have the strongest fire mages in the entire continent burn down that entire side of The Snarl.

Vander shuddered. Ewwy. I hate thinking of those things.

Sure, he’d seen some things when he’d been a Delver. He’d even seen things reminiscent of the spiderkin before, but they’d been far easier to handle. On top of that, he’d also had his Voltia to back him up. Armed with only a spear, he’d shit bricks and run as fast as he could if he came upon another spiderkin any time soon.

The fae-folk were at least semi-merciful. They enjoyed tricking people into massive illusions of pleasure that left those who were trapped drooling dumbly until their physical bodies died of starvation or dehydration.

Nothing like the spiderkin, who wrapped their prey up in webbing thicker than steel, constantly corroded that prey, and then waited so they could pretty much suck the remaining goop through a straw.

Vander shuddered again, his stomach lurching as his imagination went wild thinking about the feeling of acid slowly corroding his flesh until he was just a goopy-flesh bag for them to slurp up.

The fae-folk, in contrast, were merciful executioners. The dreamscapes their prey experienced, paradise. They fulfilled their prey’s ultimate desires, no matter how depraved or pure. The few who’d survived a fae-folk’s illusion all wished they’d died. Needless to say, they didn’t last too much longer after that in the real world once they had to face the harsh reality of their shortcomings or incapability of achieving their deepest desires.

The whole north and south territories were generally designated as a no-go zone for anybody that didn’t have a death wish. As far as Vander knew, only the Monarchs dared step foot into either territory. And even those monstrous beasts couldn’t do so as they liked.

Despite all those things, the nobility refused to give up and still sent their people to die in order to “push deeper into Ainos”. Again, an excuse for corrupt nobles to remain corrupt. Pathetic.

Vander found it hilarious that Enari’s notoriety echoed worldwide. All trade goods were shipped to Maldus and Varoth, the third continent to make up Gaia’s trifecta, from anywhere but Enari.

Hopeful, opportunistic merchants often wished to settle in Ainos so they could pay the layman a pittance and profit off their hard labor and Ainos’ rich vibrant lands. They loved shipping off raw resources to fuel the world’s economy and refused to develop either Enari or Trushal.

Money is overrated…. Wait, I really am a savage. Ouch.