"The capital is this huge city, see?" My axe hit the tree with a thud. "It's bigger than any of the others in the Federation," I swung my tool again, "and I'm from there," and again. "My sister and mom are there right now." Then, with a final hit, the tree fell with a crack.

Ilya paused his descriptions as the tree's descent interrupted him. His tangents did help me learn more about this world, but he was so talkative that the majority of his words were utterly frivolous. Over the days, I learned to filter what came from his mouth into two categories: important and not so need-to-know.

[Strength +1]

It took many trees now for my strength to increase. The first coming so quickly seemed to be a fluke, but I had begun to feel the change. It was easier to swing my axe, and it cut deeper with every chop. I was faster as well, but that was probably just because I was getting used to the task.

Every day for the past week, my routine has been the same. Wake up, eat breakfast, cut down trees, help move felled logs to an endlessly growing and shrinking pile, eat, and then sleep. The results showed for themselves, and I wondered if my captors meant for their prisoners to grow in strength. Or maybe my gains were trivial in their eyes.

Name: Cain Miller

Title: Blind Man's Avarice

Class: None

Strength: 20

Endurance: 23

Vitality: 13

Dexterity: 17

Intelligence: 11

Wisdom: 19

Perception: 2

Skills: None

Hard work was rewarded in this world. I gained strength as I moved logs with the help of horses, endurance as I worked long days, a point in vitality as my blisters and wounds on my hands healed into calluses, and dexterity as my proficiency with the axe improved. It was exhilarating, in a way, when a point was earned. I was growing as a human when I had been stagnant for so long. I was stronger than I had ever been. However, it has been said that power and riches are the most common addiction a person can have, and I felt that addiction slowly creeping up on me.

"Why are you here, when your family is in the capital?" I asked Ilya as I caught my breath. It seemed strange for a boy his age to be separated from his parents.

"Well…the Federation needs all the help it can get, so I chose to come here."

"For money?" He chuckled a little nervously as I seemed to hit the nail on the head.

"Yeah. They said they would pay my mom if I went with them. We're not the most well-off family, and with two kids, she was struggling. So I figured leaving would be good if it helped. One less mouth to feed, and all."

"I see." It seemed my questions had only led to Ilya missing his family even more, and he fell into a somber silence that contrasted his usual mood. I held back any further questions. We took a break to get water, sitting in the shade. Ilya stayed quiet before we got back to work, and then he began directing my motions like usual.

The repeated task of chopping seemed to soothe me, in a way. Pulling the axe behind my head before swinging with all my strength gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I tried to improve the motion with every swing. I fell into a meditative state, and the only thing in my world was the thud as the axe hit the tree.

[Skill Gained] - [Chop (1)]

My movements halted in shock as I was given a message I had not received before. I focused on the skill like I had with my title.

[Chop (1)] - [passive. Increases proficiency in sharp blows made with an axe.]

I immediately tested it out, swinging my axe towards the tree like I had done a hundred times. The difference was immediately noticeable. The outside of the tree was cut through like butter, my axe automatically finding the grooves that would help break the tree the easiest. I felt like laughing. The rewards from a week of hard work were finally showing, and it was amazing to see my progress in such a visible way.

Perhaps my attachment to my status was too much, but I couldn't find the gall to care. It was the only thing I could see—it was the only thing grounding me to myself and the world. Without vision, I had felt myself slowly drifting away, my sanity fading even more than it already had. I had gained a sense of purpose; there was now a reason to wake up in the absence of light.

The tree fell, the fastest one yet.

***

Waking with a start, the silence and chill clued me in that it was still the dead of night. My heart pounded from something I could not remember, and the rattling of my shackles sounded like the echoes of ghosts.

I stood up, intending to go to the stream that ran past the camp. I walked the path I had memorized, the clear air filling my nostrils. My pounding chest refused to settle, and it was as if a presence was just behind my shoulder. Kneeling, I splashed freezing water over my face, hoping to cool down my overactive body.

"Can you see?" I jolted, water splashing down my front. It was the priest, his voice deep like the crunching of gravel. He stood over my crouch, looking down into the black water that swallowed my hands.

I swallowed, my throat dry, bending my head as well. "I cannot."

"You must learn to." My hands shook—maybe from the cold—as I stood and turned towards him. I was shocked when I realized I could see his shadowy figure: his tall height and folded hands were nearly solid in the darkness, breaking through the obstacle of my blindness.

"I can see you." His appearance was stark against my ever-present dark world. Perhaps I could only see him because he wasn't real. When pitch black, the mind tended to create its own images to compensate.

Stolen story; please report.

"See the world as you see me," he reached out a hand, pointing towards the water. I followed the extended finger.

"How? I have no eyes."

"See with your ears. See with your nose. See with your skin. Your body is a tool, but you forget it. Do not just see, but feel." The priest was benign with his words, like a caring father teaching his son. But there was a hint of austerity under them—it showed his desire for me to understand.

I dipped my hand back into the stream, feeling its current. I listened as it rushed over rocks and tried to smell the river water as it disturbed the air. The cold was penetrating, and it focused my concentration.

A bony hand fell to my shoulder, shockingly firm. Sharp fingertips dug into my skin, their iciness permeating my bones. The chill was entirely different from the water, letting me see how the stream traveled toward the forest, disappearing into the trees. Overhanging grass was disturbed by the flow, making quiet brushing sounds. A cricket moved, then paused, on the other bank. A fish splashed close to the surface, spraying water onto dry dirt.

[Perception +1]

"You can see," the priest said, satisfied. Then, he vanished, and I didn't need to turn around to know.

His wording was odd because I still couldn't see. But my world now had a holistic undertone. It let me see with my other senses how different parts were connected. The wind brushed over my face, then disturbed the grass. Water slid through my fingers, then overflowed onto the protruding ground.

I stood, wiping my wet hands down my shirt. Making my way back to my tent, I found navigating the path was much more manageable. Rocks I would have stumbled on were avoided; spikes that held down tents were no longer hazardous. My feet and those objects were connected to the ground, and in turn, they were connected to me. Granted, it didn't go far, but I now understood my immediate surroundings. It was practically supernatural.

It was liberating to have confidence in where I stepped, which was often taken for granted. Sure, another person would stagger their way forward in the dark, but that was but a fraction of their life. Every second of mine was dripping with that hesitancy, and I'd had to rely on a service dog and my outstretched hands.

My heart was filled with excitement. It was almost a miracle that I had increased my perception, making me wonder how much more it could improve. It was hard to imagine a blind person enhancing their senses back on earth, and even if they could, it would most likely take years. But never to this extent. It had only taken me one breakthrough in the night, with the help of my subliminal hallucinations. My title was no doubt supporting my growth as well.

I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, and when morning came, I listened to the birds come alive. I sat outside my tent, letting the sun warm my face and chase away the last of the chill. I stood, making my way without Ilya to get my morning meal. I took it back to the stream, wincing as I sat on damp grass. I ignored it and began to eat.

As I was close to finishing, footsteps approached before a man sat beside me.

"Seems you're doing well. I can hardly tell that you're a blind man," Keith stated. He must have been watching me since I left my tent.

"There's no lie about my disability," I confirmed. "I would be doing even better if someone took these shackles off." It was easy to ignore them most of the time, but their annoyance was magnified when I tried to bring my utensil to my mouth.

Keith surprised me, saying, "That could be a possibility in the future." I turned towards him, my eyebrows raised. He said nothing further, and there was a brief silence as I washed my meal down with water.

"Do you not hate me for killing your friend?" I asked. He was surprisingly amicable like we were polite acquaintances. I would've expected some hostility from him, similar to what Owen had shown me. It seemed odd for him to approach me.

He seemed to think about it before replying. "We weren't all that close. When you're a soldier for the Federation, it's smart not to become friends with others. You'll never know who'll die next."

His reasoning surprised me. His wording hinted that, despite it all, he still wanted to become closer to his comrades. I couldn't help but compare the situation to my own experiences. Back on earth, some men in the military would die for their friends, and everything was very squad-oriented.

"Is everyone like you?"

"Not particularly. My attitude is common on the front. Others, like Owen, are fiercely loyal and want everyone to live." He snorted. "Like a dog."

Keith abruptly stood, dusting off his pants. "Come on. Let's spar a bit. I haven't been able to practice my moves lately."

I frowned a little, standing as well. "What, you want to take potshots at a blind man?"

He scoffed as if my question was uncalled for. "'Course not. I'll go easy on you. Here, let's make a rule: no hits to the face." I could hear the grin in his voice. We walked a couple of paces away from the water, my back facing it.

"I'm sure your strength is much higher than mine. It'll be over in an instant," I predicted.

"Said I'd go easy on you, didn't I?" With that, he ended the conversation with a punch in my gut. I doubled over, desperately moving to avoid his other fist already making its way to my prone body. I redirected it with my forearm, which led Keith to pull my body into his extended knee.

We traded painful blows for endless minutes, with me obviously more on the receiving end. Ragged breaths scraped at my throat as sweat rolled down my nose. I tried to take advantage of this abrupt exchange, attempting to discern where Keith's body was moving and how I could avoid him. I did not doubt that I would've been much worse off if he had approached me yesterday.

Forced to the ground, I turned my senses into overdrive. Lunging, I aimed for the back of his knee, making him fall and get a face full of dirt. I counted it as my one victory because immediately after, I found myself flat on my back with no air in my lungs. However, I was rewarded for my efforts, making the defeat almost worth it. It seemed attributes improved quicker in the face of skilled opponents.

[Perception +1]

"Almost had me there, cripple." Keith dusted off his hands while I wheezed in the dirt.

"You… you sure you didn't just want to take your anger out on me?" I coughed out.

He laughed. "Maybe."

"Fuck you," I shot back, but there was little heat in my words.

He laughed again, then walked away. I groaned as I stood, knowing I would have quite a collection of bruises showing up later. The spar had delayed me, and I knew I was running late. I quickly returned my bowl and spoon and met Ilya at our regular meeting spot. I didn't wait long before he ran up to me.

"Whoa! What happened to you?" He exclaimed, and I could only imagine what I looked like.

"I just wrestled with a wolf in sheep's clothing."

"...huh?"

Roughly tousling his hair, I brushed his confusion aside. "Nothing. Let's get to work." He grumbled after me, hands scraping through his hair to put it back into place.

I had hidden it, but it irked me that I had been so powerless, and it showed in my axe swings. My movements were more violent, and it seemed Ilya had noticed. After the tree had fallen, and he went to remove its branches like usual, he hesitantly questioned me.

"Are you angry, Carter?" he asked, as only a child would. I sat on the freshly made stump while pondering how to answer.

"A little, yes. It's no secret that I am just a prisoner with a little more leeway than usual. I don't have much control over my life at the moment."

"Isn't that true for everyone? I- I mean, not trying to say your struggles are small," he stuttered, seeming afraid I would get angry. "But there are a ton of things that are out of a person's control. It affects you, and sometimes you don't get to make the choice you want to." Sometimes Ilya reminded me of how he had been forced to grow up too fast, and his simple words rang with truth.

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Yeah. I've sort of had to learn when to pick my battles. Not anything too serious, though." I could tell he was trying to play it off.

"Do you want to share?"

"Uh… sure." He seemed slightly taken aback, but he cleared his throat and continued. "Well, your status grants you a class based on your experiences, stats, and skills. Sometimes people are offered a class right as they reach adulthood, and sometimes it can take another ten years.

"That's why people say your time is the most precious when you're a kid. You want to learn stuff to help you get the class you want, and not be lazy about it. A class defines you." Ilya began to break the branches more vigorously, violently sawing at the thicker ones. "But I'm stuck here when I had wanted to be in the city learning how to use a sword, and becoming strong! But I couldn't, because I had no money.

"At this rate, I'll be lucky to get a class like [Woodsman] or [Lumberjack]. But with the way things are going, I will probably get a class like [Lackey]." He trailed off into brooding silence, and at times like this, he seemed to act his age.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"Four months. Came three weeks after the civil war started," Ilya sullenly said.

"You're only eleven. Some say adulthood doesn't come until your twenties, and that is when you are mostly mature. I doubt the war will last that long. I'm sure you'll be able to travel the path you want," I assured. Most of the things I said were true, but as Ilya had said, there were countless abstruse forces at play that he had no way to influence.

Ilya lightened up a little. "You think so?"

"Yes. But you will have to work hard to make it happen." With that, he moved to the next tree with great zeal, encouraging me to follow along. My objective was completed, as the mood had recovered to something pleasant to work in. As I stood up, it was clear my body had not recovered, and the aches had only just started showing themselves.

Unlike Ilya, I had no ardor to lighten my burden.