Ark had returned with one of many comics in his hand. Melmarc didn’t recognize it so it was most likely a new one.

Spitfire was still staring at him and his scar still itched.

Ark took one look at Spitfire and laughed.

“I leave him with you for a whole minute and you already have him thinking he’s human. Way to go.”

Melmarc laughed along, and scratched harder. It was kinda nice. The scratching.

“Trust me, I had nothing to do with that. It just got up the moment you left.”

“Of course it did.” Ark stepped down from the porch and stood beside him. “Wanna see something cool?”

Melmarc shrugged.

Ark raised his hand in Spitfire’s direction, palm facing down. The demon looked at him immediately. Sure that he had its attention, he lowered his palm.

Spitfire followed Ark’s hand until it was back down on all fours. Then Ark dropped his hand.

It shook its body as if suddenly back to its senses, then came up to Ark as he sat down. It rubbed its horned head against his leg then balled itself up at his feet.

Melmarc had to admit it was impressive.

“When’d you learn how to do that?”

“No idea. I think it came with the Class. Last night, instead of picking one of your clothes from the laundry basket, it went for one of your shirts in the closet.”

Melmarc’s jaw dropped and he actually stopped scratching. “Please tell me it wasn’t the blue ‘I love NY.’ Please say it wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t.”

Melmarc let out a relieved sigh. His itch picked up again and he resumed scratching.

“It wasn’t any of them. I just pointed at it because I wanted it to stop, and it did. I think I just have to think what I want and make a gesture and I’m good. Also, should I be worried about that?”

“It’s not that bad.” Melmarc made a conscious effort to stop scratching so furiously. “It just itches a little.”

Ark bent his head as if to get a better look. “It doesn’t look like a little from where I’m sitting. Should I get uncle D?”

Melmarc willed himself to stop, and actually did.

“I thought uncle D went out.”

“He did. But I’ve got this amazing thing called a cellphone. People use it to call other people that are not close to them.”

Melmarc smacked Ark on the arm. “Bite your teeth.”

Ark flinched away from it, laughing. “I swear, you and your friends come up with the strangest phrases for things. Bite your teeth instead of shut up. Who even came up with that?”

“Delano.”

In truth, he’d actually wanted to tell Eroms not to bite his tongue when he had been trying to pronounce a long word and had said teeth instead of tongue. It had just kind of stuck from then on, and for a different meaning.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Ark asked, worried. “You’re scratching again.”

Melmarc looked down and realized he was. He didn’t even know when he’d started. But it was also just so sweet.

“If you don’t want me to tell uncle D, you can just get your insurance card and I can drive you to the hospital. I’m sure we can get an ointment or something for it.”

Melmarc didn’t want an ointment or anything. “Nah, I’m good. It acts up like this sometimes. It’ll go soon enough. Probably just the weather.”

“If you say so. I’m just worried is all.”

It was understandable. Unfortunately, Melmarc didn’t know how to remind his brother that there wasn’t really anything for a magic scar left over from a magic injury inflicted by the skill of a magic bad guy on a child in the hospital.

Chances were that they had an ointment for it. But it would be an ointment for itches not whatever the underlying issue really was.

But that’s better than nothing.

But he didn’t get his card, and they didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, Melmarc fought the battle of stopping himself with nothing but his sheer force of will. It was a trying battle, but victory favored the determined… sometimes.

At least it favored him today.

Spitfire still gave him odd glances now and again but it was never anything serious. At least it didn’t stand on only two legs and look at him. So he took that as a good thing.

Uncle Dorthna returned home, and they had to go in. They dusted the snow from their feet and legs and left the back yard with Spitfire in tow.

Life proceeded along, and the day of the school trip dragged on.

Two nights before the trip, Melmarc woke up. It was the middle of the night. His eyes simply opened. It was sudden, immediate, but not stressful.

He didn’t know what woke him, but he couldn’t say he was displeased to be awake. He had been having one of those dreams where you found out one of your leg was shorter than the other and it was making it difficult to walk or do anything really.

He stared at the ceiling for a while.

The room was lit since the lights were on because Ark couldn’t sleep with the lights off. It wasn’t that he was scared of the dark, he just couldn’t bring himself to relax in it. He was always too alert, watchful.

His therapist said it had something to do with the night their mom was attacked. But since he said it wasn’t necessarily a big deal, no one was in a hurry to force him to sleep in the dark.

The light didn’t bother Melmarc much so he had no problems with it. Sometimes, though, when Ark was fast asleep, he would turn it off before going to bed.

Tonight he had fallen asleep first so the lights were on.

Still unsure of what had made him wake up, he turned his head to check on Ark. He found him sleeping carelessly, hands in sprawled out on his sides and legs chaotic. Spitfire fire slept peacefully on his chest, on top of one of Melmarc’s shirts.

He found what had woken him up when he turned his head back to the ceiling.

He didn’t know what he’d expected or how he’d expected it to be. If he was being honest, he’d thought it would be something more eventful or momentous. He had thought it would be…

He didn’t really know what he had thought, but certainly not this. Not woken up from his sleep without any event or occasion.

Most Delvers that did tell their stories always made it seem eventful.

Dark-Mist—rest his soul—had gotten his when he’d tried to stop a mugging. There was some guy in Equatorial Guinea with a skill that made clothes solid enough to use as weapons who had his own when he’d almost drowned in a stream.

Waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t… anything.

But it was what he got and it took a moment for it to settle in as he stared at it.

It’s really happening. Excitement bubbled in him as he stared at the words in front of him. I’m getting a skill. A wide smile stretched his lips. I’m a Gifted.

Well, not yet. Technically.

He did have to choose his skills first then get a class.

For now, he read the words in his head very slowly. He made sure he didn’t miss a single word. They say the words are your body interpreting itself to you, so it was always best not to miss anything.

[Humanity is ushered into an age of superiority when a chosen few awaken to themselves. Understanding mana is an understanding of oneself and their capabilities. Only a few ever hold the potential, and only a few ever live long enough to see it.]

Can’t say I saw that coming, Melmarc thought. Only a few live long enough to see it?

All Gifted got their skills between the ages of sixteen to seventeen. Some got it at fifteen but that was practically unheard of, much like those who get theirs at eighteen.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

But the notification was telling him only a few lived to see it? They said the words were the body’s way of talking to you but he refused to believe his body could be so dastardly wrong.

Regardless, he continued reading.

[Upon activation of your skills you will gain the ability to manipulate the mana within and around you, affect the injuries that plague the world, and make decisions large enough to affect the fate of the world.]

Decisions that affect the fate of the world?

This was less of a congratulation for getting powers and more of a pep talk of the responsibilities that came with great power.

Just out of curiosity, Melmarc looked at Ark. Did he get this kind of notification, too?

And if he did, how had he only been able to focus on the excitement of getting skills and not the fear of potential decisions that could affect the fate of the world.

Isn’t that too much pressure to be putting on a sixteen-year-old?

[The skills you have discovered are based on your innate capabilities. They are advanced and powerful, but, ultimately, they are nothing new. They are simply advancements of what you are already capable of. Do not fear them. Do not run from them. Embrace them for they are your destiny.]

Now the words were getting kind of poetic.

Do they really expect me to believe this is my body talking to me? Because that’s not possible.

Melmarc read the last line again. Embrace them because they are your destiny? There’s no way my body’s that poetic.

But he understood the heart of it. In summary, he was getting powers. For more in-depth analysis, the skills he was about to pick from were going to be things he was already good at, just magical versions.

He thought of what exactly he was good at.

He read a lot, like a lot. He’d read anything, really. A menu. A sign post. A manual. The other day he read the ingredients on a milk carton.

Maybe skills that have to do with the eye?

There was a Delver who could shoot lasers from his eyes. It was cool, but did he really want that? He couldn’t picture himself shooting lasers from his eyes.

He was taking self-defense classes. Those were designed to teach him how to defend himself from armed and unarmed attacks.

Maybe Strength based skills? Something unarmed?

There were Classes that favored unarmed combat. The Monk class was a famous class that granted extra damage for physical attacks.

Is there an Intelligence type skill I could get for what I can do?

Maybe I could get…

…

When he thought about it, he couldn’t find anything in that category. He wasn’t really surprised though. It wasn’t like there were things people normally did that translated into magic.

For instance, what daily activity did a normal person do that could translate into… say… telekinesis?

Making crane lifts? The people who work with them pick things up all the time, just not with their hands.

That could pass, right?

Regardless, he got the gist of it. He was clearly not going to be offered any range skills. He played no range sports. Unless basketball counts.

But it wasn’t like he was very good at it. He was average at best. If he tried to join the school team he would be quick and steady friends with the bench.

But he understood it.

As if it had been waiting for him to be sure he understood what was happening, the words disappeared. They were replaced with new ones.

[Gifted: Melmarc Jay Lockwood]

[Rank: None]

[Class: None]

…

[Melmarc Jay Lockwood, a selection of skills you have proven efficient in to some degrees over time have been listed out for you. Would you like to view them?]

[Yes/No]

“Yes,” Melmarc said quietly.

Ark mumbled something incomprehensible on his bed. He turned slightly, was held down by Spitfire’s weight on his chest, and remained in his position.

For one moment Melmarc considered waking his brother up. The thought brought up something new and he quickly checked the notification.

No timer, he thought with a sigh. Which meant he had all the time he needed in the world to choose.

The notification disappeared and was replaced with a new one. In front of him was a list of skills.

[Fist Of Thunder]

The Gifted wraps their fist in electricity at a mana cost.

[Sword of Light]

The Gifted wraps their sword in light, giving it heat properties.

[You Are Not Alone]

The Gifted communes with animals of almost every kind.

[Let Me In]

The Gifted possesses telepathic abilities.

Melmarc read the list twice, like a father checking an unbelievable Christmas list his kids wrote up.

It didn’t make sense. The notification had told him the skill selection was based on what he was already capable of.

But only one of the skills made sense. The first one could be explained away by his self-defense classes. In fact, he’d anticipated something in the category. The second skill was confusing.

Sword of Light. He didn’t have any sword training. In fact, the only bladed tool he ever used was a knife, and it was for cooking. And he didn’t even cook very often.

Yes, once in a while Ninra and his mom made him help with the cutting when she wanted to cook, but it wasn’t even often enough to justify a knife skill.

And I just know that’s the first step to a blade class. Maybe sword master or something.

The third class was kind of insane, and completely out of place for him. He didn’t hate animals, but he couldn’t say he necessarily liked them. He’d had a pet hamster once, but that had been for a school project.

He turned his head and looked at Ark. Somehow he couldn’t help but blame Spitfire for that one.

He had nothing to say for the last one. Telepathy was an interesting skill but most Delver teams liked to take Telepaths with an ability to link to more than one mind.

Most of them just tended to end up being nothing more than glorified walkie-talkies. He didn’t have anything against them, every role was important in a team, but he just wasn’t looking to play a role that was too supportive.

He wanted to be strong, after all…

…Strong enough that they wouldn’t even dare.

A supporting role wasn’t something he wanted to go for. Supports were good, he knew some that were even amazing, giving buffs and status effects to others.

But he didn’t want that for himself. He didn’t want to help someone get stronger. It might be selfish of him, but he wanted to be the strong one.

While he thought about it, he realized that he’d gotten a skill for at least each Class type. Fist of Thunder was clearly a Strength type skill. Most sword classes were Agility types. Telepathy was Intelligence based. And so was communing with animals, which seemed like another branch of telepathy.

But he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure of that last one. there were Classes that could commune with animals that weren’t Intelligence types. Besides, the skill didn’t say he would be able to read their minds, just commune with them.

There were classes that could do that and were not Intelligence types.

Like Beastmaster.

The class could incite the frenzy of wild animals, turning them feral on chosen enemies. Some variations of it could even turn them to pets for a specific period of time.

Melmarc ran a hand through his hair. If he was to pick, it would be between Fist of Thunder and Sword of Light.

A blade or a fist. Strength or Agility. It’s all—ow!

He muffled his own voice, trapped the spurt of pain that pierced him. His hand went straight to his stomach, grabbed it as the pain grew. It felt as if something was trying to pierce its way out of him.

My scar, he realized, turning on his side. It burns.

It wasn’t painful to the point of tears, but it still hurt. It was more along the lines of severely uncomfortable. He groaned and new words appeared in front of him.

For a moment he was terrified that he’d somehow unwittingly chosen a skill. In his pain, he caught himself praying that it wasn’t the case.

When new words appeared in front of him, he was both relieved and scared.

[Anomaly detected]

[Foreign mana detected]

[Gifted, Melmarc Jay Lockwood, is contaminated]

[Attempting to decontaminate]

[Decontamination is in effect]

Decontaminate?

Melmarc’s mind went into a panic. What did it mean when someone’s body told him it needed to decontaminate them? He knew what the foreign mana was, he would be stupid not to.

The hospital had already told him there were faint residues of mana in his scar which made it impossible for the Healer to remove it. And since he still had the scar, it was safe to assume the scar still had some residue of mana, even though he’d completely forgotten about it.

The discomfort in his stomach grew, until he felt like he was completely full of gas but couldn’t fart. He groaned a little more, still turned on his side.

The entire ordeal lasted for almost fifteen seconds before the pain subsided and new notifications appeared.

[Decontamination attempt failed]

[Unable to expel foreign mana]

…

[Seeking alternate solution]

[Alternate solution found]

[Attempting alternate solution]

[Attempting to Assimilate]

[Assimilation is in effect]

Can it really do—

A new pain filled Melmarc and his thoughts were cut off. It wasn’t as painful as the one before it, but it was still painful.

It was like getting an injection in the stomach. No… it was actually like getting ten injections in the stomach at the same time.

[Identifying foreign mana]

[Identification complete]

[Replicating mana root]

[Replication complete]

[Assimilation is in effect]

…

[Assimilation complete]

The pain disappeared almost immediately.

Melmarc’s hand left his stomach, his mind confused. There was no aftermath of the pain. No slight residue that it had been there just mere moments ago. It felt as if it had all been in his head.

He was happy he was done with it, but the notifications weren’t done with him.

[Anomaly detected]

[Due to detected and resolved anomaly, re-calculations have been made]

[Melmarc Jay Lockwood, a selection of skills you have proven efficient in to some degrees over time have been listed out for you. Would you like to view them?]

[Yes/No]

Melmarc read the entire thing.

He was scared to answer this time.

What if it’s like a game glitch. When it gets to a point, there’s an error, and it has to start again. And that error’s not fixed so it just continues in an endless loop?

He didn’t know which was more terrifying than the other, getting an F-rank class or being a Gifted without a skill or rank. Just stuck in a constant skill selection glitch.

The second one, he agreed immediately.

At F-rank, you at least had a skill and were definitely above average. The second option just meant being a normal person that walked around with words in front of him and pain for every time he said yes.

You miss all the shots you don’t take, he told himself, pep-talking himself into a decision. You won’t know if you don’t at least try once.

“Yes.”

He winced in anticipation of pain when he answered, but nothing came. Instead he got his skills list again.

[Fist of Thunder]

The Gifted wraps their fist in electricity at a mana cost.

[Sword of Light]

The Gifted wraps their sword in light, giving it heat properties.

[You Are Not Alone]

The Gifted communes with animals of almost every kind.

[Rings of Saturn]

The Gifted wraps a ring of pure raw mana around their body and can attack with it.

The notification had replaced the last skill with a new one.

Melmarc read the new skill twice. A frown slowly creeped onto his face.

The new skill felt familiar, very familiar. His mind brought up the image of a ring, expanded it, then made it bright… and white.

He knew it. He knew the skill as deeply as he knew his own name. Knew what it was capable of. What it could do to a person. What it could do to a house.

As he stared at the new list, only one word came to his mind.

“Why?”