Tarren woke the day of the assembly feeling refreshed and light, the discovery of Shard buoying him despite his worries. For once, given the mandatory assembly, his whole family was up and present in the morning; his father sipping from a mug of tea, his mother coordinating some last minute detail with the other members of the worker’s council, and his brother seeming subdued, yet somehow confident all the same.

“I’m surprised you’re awake so easily,” Tarren joked to Albon. “I thought we’d have to drag you out given the hour.”

“I can rise early just as well as anyone!” Albon defended himself, offering Tarren his usual wry grin. “I just prefer not to, that’s all. I’m not a masochist, like you lot.”

Tarren smiled back, though couldn’t help but feel that something was off in his brother’s tone. It was too forced for his usual sense of humor.

“You mean you don’t normally need to, Albon. The pool for the [Unskilled Laborers] opens only at eighth-stone, whereas only the [Miners] and other advanced laborers need to be out at fifth.” Their father said, disapprovingly.

Tarren expected his brother’s mood to sour, but again he was surprised. Albon merely offered his father a thin lipped smile that didn’t touch his eyes, and said, “True enough, Father, true enough.”

Their father grunted in reply, apparently stymied by this response as well. Before anyone could begin the conversation anew, however, Tarren’s mother intervened, sweeping them all towards the door.

“It’s time.” She said, “We’re assembling in Plaza 2.”

They left the house as a group, but before they made it halfway to the plaza, Albon stopped in the street, turning to look down a side street heading deeper into the city.

“You all go on ahead,” he said, tone too casual, “I need to pick something up on the way.”

“What?” Their mother asked, confused and irritated. “There’s no time for that now, Albon. This assembly is mandatory for all the Workers Classes.”

“I know--I know. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up. You’ll see me soon, I promise.” Albon said, then turned and darted down the side street before anyone could object further. Tarren’s mother half stepped after him, but the streets were already growing crowded and he was soon lost to sight.

“Fine.” she muttered, instead. “On his head be it,” and the smaller group continued towards the plaza.

Once in the plaza, Tarren soon found himself amazed at the number of people packed into the small space. It was easy to forget, given he normally interacted only with other [Miners], but Miner’s Rest housed a large number of people beyond the mining class. Classes from [Smelter] to [Cook] all had their place in the city, to keep the population center running smoothly and shipping resources off to support the war with the Horde.

Today, Tarren couldn’t forget. He felt claustrophobic, jostled elbow to elbow in the mass, His family had had to push their way into the crowd so his Mother could join the other members of their quadrant’s Worker’s council near the Node, which itself was surrounded by several feet of open space. Tarren looked around, hoping to spot Albon or Rhys in the crowd, but couldn’t. He just hoped his brother wasn’t planning to skip the assembly in pursuit of some harebrained scheme--the Alteriad would know if he didn’t attend, and dock him for it at his next allotment.

The event began suddenly---one moment, the noise of the crowd filled the small plaza and the space around the node was empty, and the next the crowd had gone eerily silent and a holographic projection of an impressive stage had filled the area surrounding the node. A voice filled Tarren’s ears, though not one he could hear directly--the Alteriad system piping the sound directly into his mind and partially suppressing the noise of the crowd.

“Greetings, honored citizens of Miner’s Rest and devoted servants of the Alteriad!” The voice boomed in a resonant tone.

“Today... Today I bring to you all dire news. Dire news indeed.” The man projected into the holographic stage rubbed his hands together, his face nearly a caricature of one delivering poor news. He paused for a long moment, eyes flitting out through the crowd, his rich robes shifting over his bulky frame.

“Through an honorless act of cowardly duplicity, the Alteriad Legion has suffered a grave defeat on our 18th Front. The Horde has taken the Fortress of Antiar. The very bulwark protecting this sector -- protecting your homes, your very lives -- is now under control of the Enemy.”

As he spoke, images lit up around and behind him, three-dimensional renderings of a terrible battle. The proud Alterian forces, in impeccable blue and white armor and holding long energy weapons stood firm as civilians fled down corridors behind them. And against this inspiring front, a sea of terrible, slathering, insectile monsters churned. Even though this was just a recording, Tarren nearly took a step back, an instinctive revulsion rising as bile in his throat at the sight. His vision flashed as the system took note of the sight, and abruptly the chitinous forms of the Horde mass alighted in red, instantly flagged as enemies in his internal sight. All around him, other citizens had similar reactions. Some shouted, or even threw things at the projection.

In the image, the Alteriad forces held the Horde back for long moments while the tide of fleeing civilians continued. In another projected scene on the stage, Tarren saw a group of Alteriad soldiers being suddenly ambushed by Horde members out of the shadows. Their weapons flashed as they fired at the appearing enemies, until at their center a soldier in richer armor raised a glowing blade and shouted something, the sound lost in the muted vision, before spinning out and cutting into the Horde soldiers. In the third projection, Tarren saw great war machines erupt from the earth surrounding an imposing fortress, sending men and women fleeing in all directions. The machines rained fire upon the buildings, even as great shields rose to surround them.

The images all faded off the stage, the Alteriad heroes defending bravely against seemingly impossible odds drifting away into motes of light. Though Tarren was far from a true believer, he had to admit even he was concerned. The Fortress of Antiar was one of the main military bottlenecks for the node-system linking this sector. If the Horde could gain access to that, then even such an isolated sector as Miner’s Rest could be targeted. The Horde had never made it that far, as far as Tarren knew, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

“But even in the most dire of circumstances,” The man continued, looking up now, enraptured, “Hope and grace can bloom! For though The Alteriad constantly tests us, it also constantly Improves us! Uplifts those who are worthy, advancing their classes and awarding skills and boons to those of Merit!”

He was speaking quickly, now, with an almost palpable fervor. But suddenly, he slowed, staring out at the crowd with sharp intensity.

“And now is the time for one of those tests. The Alteriad Legion has a plan -- a bold, decisive plan to take back the Fortress of Antiar, in a manner the Horde will never see coming! But to execute this plan, we have need. Need of you, my good people! We have need of a new generation of Sappers. And by fulfilling that need, you can ensure the safety of your families. The longevity of your home, and of the Alteriad system. And you can elevate your Class to levels you’ve never dreamed of. So I call on you, good people, to rise to meet this need.”

The man smiled graciously, benevolently, as he levied his charge on the assembly. And all around him, shouts rose, people in the crowd swearing their loyalty to the Alteriad, some proclaiming their desire to serve.

Tarren thought the man must have had a powerful social skill, for even he was tempted to sign up, however briefly. Visions of his own class evolving, of him cutting down faceless, insectile enemies with a shining axe raced through his head. But then, with a shake of his head, he discarded the image. Another image flashed through his mind instead. A memory of Rhys, sobbing in his arms, no one left in his family to comfort him, next to a monument in an isolated city plaza. A monument with no names, for it did not have the space. No, Tarren would not volunteer, for Tarren knew what happened to those who volunteered for the Sapper’s Corp, and no image of glory could change that certainty. He briefly saw, amidst the crowd, his father and mother’s faces, both set in hard lines, disapproval plain on their faces. But before he could make his way over to them, the man spoke again.

“Many of you have already spoken with our recruiters, and taken the first steps on your journey to glory and service. Those of you who have will be honored, for your commitments were made first. But for those who have yet to make up your minds, now is the time.” He paused, just for a moment, drawing in a breath, before continuing.

“For we are requiring a force of one in three eligible men and women to sign on for this new Corp.” At that, Tarren heard a far greater gasp of surprise and objection than even the projections had engendered. One in three... Tarren himself thought, reeling. Flashes of one of his family being called to serve, of his own weeping figure at that monument, coursed through his mind. But the man on stage ignored this outcry, continuing over the protests and mutters.

“One in three, to ensure that our home remains secure. That our families can live on! That the Alteriad can prosper, and finally defeat the scourge that is the Horde! Volunteers for this duty will be respected first and foremost, but lots will be drawn to ensure we meet our quota.” The man’s voice was steel, even as he sentenced thousands to death.

“To help you find your own path into Glory, we have chosen from our cohort of volunteers to date a set of new junior officers in this Sapper’s Corp. They will be manning the recruitment centers, along with the existing Legion staff, to help answer any questions you may have. Without further ado, let me introduce you to your next generation of heroes -- the new junior officers for your city ward!”

He waved his hand once more, and motes of colored lights flashed together to form a view of 6 young men and women on the stage in front of him, arrayed in new, crisp uniforms, standing tall and proud, nervous smiles adorning their faces, one and all.

Tarren almost didn’t look at them, so focused he was on the man’s speech. His mind was too busy racing, trying to think of any way to avoid being drafted, to avoid his family being drafted. But then he saw. Second from the left, his grin a familiar mix of wry and sheepish amusement, but now run through with pride and ambition. Albon, clad in the uniform of a new Legion officer. And, like a breaking wave, Tarren knew why he had been given a boon. What karmic debt the Alteriad had settled with him. And, just as he had known, it was a cost he’d have never wanted to pay.

“What were you thinking!” Their mother screamed at Albon, back at their family home. He still wore his new uniform, the sharp colors seeming out of place on his frame, in this place. She was furious, more than Tarren had even seen, fear visible in her wild eyes. “I could’ve gotten us all exempt! I’m on the worker’s council!” She yelled, pounding her small fist on Albon’s chest, uselessly. Their father merely sat, quiet and still, at the table. His normally rigid posture had wilted, his frame even more sunken and hollow than usual.

“Mother!” Albon said, trying to interject, despite her continued shouting. “Mother!” He said again, more forceful, catching her hand before it could pound on his chest again.

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“I choose this! Me!” He said, his own temper rising. “I wouldn’t have wanted to ‘get out of it’! The Horde is right on our gates! The Antiar Fortress is sacked! I -- no, we-- we are all needed!” He threw her hand aside roughly, stepping past her, pacing. “And you ask me what I was thinking? As though I should, what, stay here? Follow in your eminent footsteps?” He sneered at her, at their father. “To lose a limb in the mines, to content myself with the scraps of power the merchants throw at you, to pacify your petty Council? I want more! I... I want this!” He yelled, again, clutching at his uniform, wrinkling the pristine fabric. He stared at her, at their father, at Tarren. Their mother stood, seemingly shell-shocked, silent. Her shouts had transformed into tears at some point in the tirade, but they fell silently. Their father had never moved. Albon waited, almost hopeful. Looking for... something, in their parents. Some shred of recognition, or even just more arguments. But he only got more silence.

“And besides. Now you don’t need to ‘get out of it’.” Albon said at last, quietly. “Family members of Legion officers are exempt from drafts. They would’ve denied your request, regardless. It was already a set policy when I signed on -- existing council member exemption status is disregarded given the emergency situation. So you’re welcome.”

Albon stormed out of the house, his words finding no reply. Tarren’s mother collapsed, then, weeping. Tarren, himself, felt numb. He had, somehow, never imagined this. Never foreseen Albon would make such a choice, even though it was totally in line with his character. He looked to his mother, thinking he ought to do something, to comfort her. But he was numb. He found no succor to offer her within himself. And, before he knew it, he was on his own feet, leaving the house, to where he did not know.

Tarren wandered the city for what felt like hours. The workers had been given a rare rest day after the assembly, a calculated move, he was sure, to incite more volunteers. The extra time confused him, all his routines broken. At first, he didn’t know what he was looking for, but soon he realized that his feet were taking him to all of Albon’s favorite spots. He didn’t know what he would do when he found his brother, but still he kept looking. It was at his ninth stop that he found something, though not what he had been expecting.

The church of the Alteriad rose out of the cavern’s center like a strange dream, its bare stone walls melding seamlessly into colored stones foreign to Miner’s Rest and even into stranger materials higher still. Stained glass windows reflected colored lights back onto cavern’s floor, and the building’s wooden roof rose to a sharp peak taller than any three homes combined.

Tarren wasn’t a frequent visitor of the church, but Albon was. He devoured their sermons and prayed each night, seeking a path to his own class and his own purpose. He’d even tried to participate in one of the Church’s missions once, before their mother had put a stop to it. In retrospect, Tarren realized, that should’ve been a red flag for exactly this eventuality. Pushing his thoughts aside, Tarren strode into the building, the strange quiet inside putting him even more on edge. But as he peered down the aisles and checked in the back rooms, he was greeted not by Albon, but instead by Keeper Liam, the head of this chapter of the church.

“Young Tarren.” The old man said, warmly. “Albon’s brother, if I’m not mistaken?” He asked, smiling. “Though we don’t see you near as much as your younger brother!” he added, after Tarren nodded, a hint of rebuke in his voice.

“Is Albon here?” Tarren asked, voice tight and clipped. “He... Well, I just want to find him. It’s urgent.” He added, not wanting to voice aloud that Albon had joined the Sapper’s. Not wanting to say that he’d be leaving with the Legion at week’s end, likely never to return.

“Ahhh.” the Keeper said, seeing to the heart of the question at once, despite Tarren’s reticence. “This is about his recent appointment to the honored Legion.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I suppose you’ve known about this for a long time, then.” Tarren said, coldly, sudden dislike surging in him.

“I have. He volunteered some six days ago, I believe. Though it was on his mind for some time before that.” The Keeper replied, not rising to Tarren’s tone. “Are you not proud of him? He goes to keep you safe. You, and your parents.”

Tarren opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say to the Keeper, nor did he even know if he wanted to say it. How could he tell this man that Albon went not only for that, but also for Glory? Also to make up for his own feelings of inadequacy, his feelings of guilt at never receiving a viable class? How could we tell this man that it didn’t matter why Albon went, that anyone going into combat with the Horde with only base attributes and an unevolved class was just going to die? And that, worse yet, Albon wasn’t just anyone -- he was Albon. He believed, believed in every foolish lie told by the church, in every myth that each trial in the Alteriad was just an opportunity to prove his true worth. That Albon would rush at each dangerous situation he found until it killed him or broke him inside. That he would die, by his own naivete before the enemy’s cunning.

“It is not a path that he needs walk alone.” The Keeper continued, seemingly oblivious to Tarren’s thoughts. “You too, can find a path to Service. There is Glory and Reward in service, young Tarren. This is something Albon has learned, that you too, could appreciate.”

Tarren couldn’t help himself, then. He sneered, and snapped back at the man, “I’ve already been rewarded, honored Keeper. For my service here, in the dirt. And for Albon’s own choice, and the inevitable consequences.” He felt his boon like a physical weight, now. If he had told his parents about it, could his mother have done anything? Pulled strings in teh council, stopped things, before the official announcement? Was this all, in reality, his fault?

The Keeper’s eyes flashed, as he used his own skills, appraising Tarren’s system information. His face softened as he read, sadness creeping into his eyes.

“I see.” he said, sorrowfully. “A Karmic Boon.” He gave Tarren an assessing look, then continued hesitantly. “I have always thought that a poor name, in truth. A ‘Karmic’ Boon. It is not, as so many think, some kind of blood price, paid out in response to misfortune.”

Tarren scoffed, but before he could speak, the Keeper rode over him.

“Why would the Alteriad pay any such price? It is not responsible for our suffering -- that is by our own hands, after all. No, no... Boons are not bribes for misfortune, paid after all is said and done. Of course they are not gifts -- I would not claim you to be such a fool as to believe that, young Tarren -- No... They are... possibilities. Tools, given to those in need. Given to those, so that they may deal with the trials ahead. They balance the scales of possibility, so that all have the chance to rise to the trials before them. You did not receive this boon to pay for your brother’s likely death. You received it so you could use it to help protect him.”

Tarren opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He wanted to scream at the man, wanted to scream at Albon, wanted to scream at himself, for not telling his family immediately. For not realizing what it might mean, for not seeing this coming. He wanted to scream at his family, too, for pushing Albon away so hard, so consistently. For rubbing his failures in his face, even as the punishment for success woke every morning in their home with only one arm. In impotent rage, in a prelude of grief, Tarren left the church.

Tarren never found Albon. The end of that evening found him, instead, sitting back on the rooftop where he and Albon had shared the fruit, on the day he had received his boon. And, exhausted, emotionally and physically, he thought. Try as he might, the Keeper’s last words kept ringing through his mind. He didn’t receive his boon as payment for his brother’s death, he received it so he could help protect him. He knew the terms of a commission in the Sapper’s Corp. Two years of minimum service, at which point enlistees could either re-enlist or, had they the funds to do so, attempt to leave and return to their home province. If one was drafted, that length jumped to five. Two years, and if he and Albon lived, he could try to bring them both home. Could he actually help Albon, though? Could he even help himself, were he with the Sappers? Serving with the Sappers was notoriously dangerous. They were ostensibly not a combat unit, focusing instead on tunneling, using explosives, rituals, and mana arts to bring down enemy fortifications, and on assembling and maintaining localized teleportation networks, but when fighting the Horde, every position was lethal. And that didn’t even take into account that the Horde were a natively tunneling species, so encounters with Sappers units were not rare.

But Tarren had advantages, too. His heightened intelligence had already proved instrumental in effective mining, and should be even more so for working with mana arts or determining how to most effectively bring down an enemy fortification. If he could leverage that to keep him and Albon out of the general mining crews, and instead in a position of more specialized contributions, they might avoid combat. Plus, he still felt Albon’s biggest risk was himself -- diving headfirst into dangerous, poorly thought out plans was an Albon special, and just having Tarren there to rein him in could keep him alive at least a little longer. And Tarren had to admit, in some deep part of himself, the idea of him bringing Albon back, victorious and rich off his service with the Legion, to fix his broken family appealed to him. Greatly.

Could he do it to his parents, though? Take away both their sons, instead of just one? Even if Tarren went just to keep Albon alive? Could he do it to Rhys, who had already lost so much to the Legion?

He was rich -- rich for him, at least -- now. Tarren didn’t know. But as he sat on the rooftop’s edge, the vision of his brother dying alone in some Sapper’s tunnel, the Horde swarming over him, ran through his mind. And the knowledge that maybe, if he had told his mother about his boon, she would’ve seen, could’ve done something, burned.

Tarren didn’t realize he had made up his mind until he found himself outside their quarter’s recruitment tent. A few higher-quality glowstones burned in its corners, giving the interior an unnaturally steady light.

“Enter!” A sharp, military voice commanded, and Tarren walked in through the flap.

“Name, class, and standing?” The man sitting by the open desk inside inquired, not looking up from his paperwork.

“Tarren Havenrock-Boltair, [Miner], 3rd tier” Tarren answered, quietly.

The man skimmed down a long list of names among his files with a finger. After a moment, Tarren spoke up, awkwardly.

“I might be on a special list. My family is already exempted from the draft.”

“Hmm? Why would that be?” The man asked, looking up with a frown.

“My brother is one of the new officers. For this quarter, I mean.” Tarren explained, and the man scowled.

“A new ‘junior’ officer, you mean.” He said, brusquely, sneering slightly. “I don’t know who told you that makes your family exempt, but it does no such thing. ‘Junior’ officer is a far cry from being an actual officer, kid. But I suppose you’ll see that soon enough.”

Before Tarren could react to that revelation, the man continued,

“Ahh, there you are! Havenrock-Boltair. Ha! Exempted. Your father was actually already on a shortlist to recruit from if we don’t meet our quota. All those who can’t fulfill their basic class duties are.”

Tarren’s eyes widened in horror, but the man continued. “Don’t worry -- with you and your brother volunteering, your whole family will be moved to the bottom of the queue. I doubt we’ll need to draw that deeply.”

Tarren filled out the rest of the paperwork in silence. He didn’t realize how much these new revelations had kindled his anger anew until, just as he was turning to leave, Albon himself walked in through the tent flaps. Albon’s eyes widened, and he smiled uncertainly.

“Tarren? What are you doing here? Mother said you’ve been gone since this morning--” he cut off as Tarren roughly shoved his newly signed paperwork in his chest.

“What am I doing? Trying to clean up your messes.” Tarren spat, his patience for Albon’s antics gone to kindling for his rage.

“What?” Albon said, taken aback. He grabbed at the papers Tarren had forced to his chest and skimmed them, eyes widening in horror. “Tarren, what? Why? You didn’t--you shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t what? Follow to keep you from rushing off even faster to die? Shouldn’t take any of your precious glory?”

“Tarren, I did this for our family! I was wasting away here. In the Legion I... I can become something! I can find my class! I can bring us honor, instead of shame. And I can keep us safe!” He added, nearly as an afterthought. “And even if I hadn’t signed on, chances are they would’ve drafted me, or Father, or both! They always pull from the unskilled Laborers first. This way, the rest of you would be safe.” He looked at the paperwork, frustration plain in his eyes. “Would’ve been, safe. I just... why did you do it?” He implored, looking at Tarren.

“You think you would’ve found your class? You think you would’ve kept us safe? That your volunteering would’ve kept them from drafting me, or Father?” Tarren asked, voice low and hard. “You couldn’t even read your own paperwork. ‘Junior’ officers aren’t offered a thing. We would’ve been drafted all the same.”

Albon’s eyes widened in horror.

“But... I was told...” he sputtered, grabbing at the paperwork once more.

“Besides. If I come along, maybe I can get us both in an Engineering Specialty Corp.” Tarren said, his rage evaporating in the place of indomitable weariness. “Keep us alive. For two years. Then, somehow, we make our way back.”

“But...” Albon protested, weakly, but Tarren didn’t wait for him to finish. He strode out of the tent, defeated and alone. When he told his parents, they didn’t even seem to have the energy to weep. At the revelation of his Boon, his mothers eyes widened, and a new stab of guilt surged through Tarren’s gut. That night, he lay awake all through the evening, listening to his parents' quiet sobs, wondering if there had even been any right decisions at all.