In the aftermath of what would be remembered as the Night of Sorrow, the name Misty Hollow became a curse word on the lips of many.

Those afflicted by the blight, marked by their blue eyes and tainted skin, attempted to escape the village. However, their fate was death, whether at the hands of guards sent from the second floor, the blight itself, or the creatures that lived in the wilderness.

Their bodies decayed in ditches and streams, becoming fodder for predators and carrion birds. The blight infiltrated the water supply, the land, and the animals, spreading like wildfire throughout the genesis floor.

Nobody knew what had caused it, but as with all mysteries in life it was soon decided that it had to have been the work of the gods.

Once the guards who’d been sent from the second floor had returned home, the genesis floor was sealed off from the rest of the Tower with powerful warding magic.

For twelve years our floor had no visitors and my dream of ascending the Tower disappeared.

My home, Misty Hollow, became a ghost town. Only a handful of merchants and a couple of families, either too proud or too foolish to leave, lingered in the desolate village.

The only thing stopping the plague from destroying our entire village—were a pair of kithara card wielders who had volunteered to protect us. Evelyn and Alden Wallows. We called them the Protectors. Their barrier spell cards were all that kept the blight from overthrowing our tiny corner of the world.

With fewer mouths to feed, the village slowly stabilized, people adapted to the harsh conditions and life went on. It wasn't a good life, but we were alive, and we were together, for many that was enough.

***

The day everything changed started like any other. It was a cold winter morning, a few months before my eighteenth birthday. My mother was weaving a basket in the kitchen while I prepared breakfast.

It was a good morning.

The kitchen smelled of fresh wood smoke and the sharp tang of left over rabbit stew mixed with porridge and whatever scraps I could dig up.

I sang a jingle I remembered from Earth as I worked, and my mother sang along with me. By now, she knew all the songs I knew. She said I was a talented songwriter, but in reality most of the songs I remembered were jingles from fast food adverts. It was strange how I’d forgotten so much, but somehow, ‘ba-da-ba-ba-bahhh, I'm lovin' it’, was lodged in my brain for eternity.

"Breakfast is served," I said as I slid a bowl of gray gruel in front of my mother. "It's roast duck with a side of mashed potatoes."

She smiled brightly, "Can't wait," she said, as her hands groped for the bowl.

It wasn't really roasted duck, but I liked to give all of my dishes delicious sounding names. Calling it gray gruel didn't wet the appetites in the same way.

My mother tilted her head, her sightless white eyes searching for me.

I touched her shoulder to let her know I was close by, and her hand reached up and found mine. She squeezed it, and I noticed that her grip was weaker than usual.

"Eat up," I said, "There is plenty more if you want seconds."

In the early days after she had lost her sight, food was scarce and mother would pretend to eat, so there was more food for me. Because of that, she became very sick and was bedridden for over a week. When I figured out what she was doing, I’d taken up cooking, and I made sure that we always ate together.

"It smells delicious," she said with a smile.

At least you have the strength to lie, I thought.

Cooking was not one of my talents. Even on Earth, I’d been a terrible cook. Most of my food tasted the same, which was bad, but it was food, and it took away the hunger cramps, and that was all that I could hope for.

I watched my mother ladle a spoon of the grayish paste into her mouth. She chewed once, winced, then swallowed.

She hummed the tune of my jingle and her free hand wrapped around her knee as she slowly ate. She seemed happy these days and that made it all worth it.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"I had strange dreams," I said, as I had another mouthful of food.

It tasted awful, and I was glad my mother couldn't see the gray paste with blobs of mysterious ingredients floating inside it.

"About that night again?" she asked.

I knew she didn't like to talk about it, and it was true that I’d had nightmares about that night for years, but the dream I’d had was different.

In my dream there was a woman, I’d never seen her before, and I knew everyone in our tiny village. She’d been questioning me, asking about my father. The dream had seemed so real.

"It's nothing," I said, not wanting to get into the details. "It's probably one of those indigestion dreams, you know, the ones you get when you’ve eaten too much meat."

She laughed, "Never had one of those."

I’d forced the rest of my food into my mouth and flushed it down with a glass of water.

"I’ve got to get going," I said, "Do you need anything before I leave?"

She shook her head, "Nope, have a great day at school."

"You too," I said, as I grabbed my coin bag off the table.

The handful of copper coins and my lone card essence rattled within. I stuffed it into my pocket, then headed to the door.

"Wait," she said, remembering something.

Her hand fumbled along the table until she found what she was looking for.

"Can you deliver a basket to Mrs. Holt?"

"Sure, mom," I said, with a sad smile, "I’ll bring the money home after school."

***

I stepped outside with the basket in my hand. The sky was blue, the winds were mild. It had been a bitter cold winter, but as spring approached, the days had grown longer and color was beginning to show in our small village.

Mrs. Holt, my neighbor, ducked back into her house when she saw me. Her door closed with a bang.

She did that sometimes, pretending she wasn't at home when she saw me coming, like I hadn't seen her through the window a moment before.

It wasn't just me. The whole village shunned my mother and me. I knew it was my fault, I was the strange kid, the one that drew pictures of Darth Vader on my shirts and made up strange songs.

I think the thing that really set them off was the day I built a bicycle from scrap and tried to ride it down the hill outside of town. The bike had worked, and it was glorious, until the wheels fell off, and I crashed into the village well.

The villagers didn't like strange folks, didn't like kids with odd ideas about food and hygiene and clothing. I'd been trying to introduce them to soap for years, and the closest they had to running water was the stream, which they still used to bathe.

I understood why they were like that, the last time change had come to Misty Hollow, hundreds had died.

I watched Mrs. Holt peeking at me through her window.

I waved, and she pretended not to see me.

The woman hadn't ordered a basket from my mother. The truth was, nobody had ordered one in years, but I didn't have the heart to tell my mother that. She enjoyed being busy and weaving was all she knew, I couldn't take that from her, not after all she had lost already.

As I walked, I heard voices ahead and saw a few kids from my old school walking towards me. They were talking loudly, a couple of them laughing.

When they saw me, the laughter stopped.

I smiled.

They didn't.

I waved.

They ignored me.

I pretended to be a robot, and held my hands in the air in the shape of a 'T' as I walked past them.

That made them laugh.

I turned to the side, keeping my arms in the shape of the letter T.

One of them threw a rock at me, it bounced off my shoulder, and I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

"Hey, Bas!"

Gus, the kid who had thrown the rock, turned to see who had called my name.

It was Sylvia, a girl from my old class.

She was wearing a yellow dress, with a cloak over the top, her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her brown eyes shone bright with excitement.

"Did you guys hear about what happened last night?" she asked.

The kids shot her a questioning look, their heads shaking.

"What are you talking about?" Gus asked.

"Myrtle the barmaid was found dead behind the Waystone Inn!" she said. "They say her heart had been ripped out of her chest and her body was found drained of blood."

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"No way," Gus said. "That's bullshit. Nobody could have gotten in here."

"It's true," Sylvia said, "and Professor Tommelkins has been missing since last night as well."

"Yeah, I'm not buying it," Trisha said.

"Ask the Protectors, if you don't believe me."

"You're a lying whore," Gus said. He grabbed his crotch as he spoke.

"Don't talk to her like that," I said.

Gus turned to me, his eyebrows raised. "Why not, are you going to run to your blind bitch mama, and cry?"

Gus was the tallest guy in class and because of his five points in [Strength] that he liked to boast about, he thought he could push the smaller kids around.

I was one of the smaller kids.

I stared at Gus.

Gus stared back.

He stepped closer, and a grin formed across his face.

"Keep walking, Gus!" I said. "You don't want to be late for school."

"Don’t," Ned said, "You know Bastion is already Porcelain-6."

"Bullshit!" said Gus, stepping closer, his hot breath in my face.

I remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next. I didn't bother correcting Ned, but I did wonder where he’d gotten that number from.

"Let's just go," Trisha said, grabbing Gus by the arm.

"Yeah, this is boring," Gus said, he tried shoving me aside, but I stood firm.

Sylvia remained as the others walked off, her eyes lingering on me.

"I'm sorry," I said, once they had left.

"It's fine," Sylvia said. "They're just stupid."

"Yeah."

"Where are you going?" Sylvia asked, changing the subject. "Schools the other way."

"Work," I said.

She frowned, "Work? Oh, right, I forgot. You're a... well, whatever you are."

"Are they sending out a search party to look for the professor?" I asked, quickly changing the subject.

Sylvia shook her head.

"They're not? Why not?"

"The Protectors say that magic was used, they don't want anybody else getting involved."

"Magic," I said, shaking my head.

That meant a person did this. It was a strange situation, we hadn't had a murder in town in... well, ever.

There were too few people around to want to kill any of them. If someone had a problem with a neighbor, they could easily find another abandoned house to live in and move on with life.

Sylvia’s eyes strayed to the basket at my side. "So, when are you coming back to school?"

"Never."

Sylvia sighed, "You know all your friends are missing you, right?"

I laughed, "Yes, Gus and Trisha were just telling me how much they missed me."

Sylvia rolled her eyes, "They did not! Anyway, if you don't come, you'll miss lunch. And I brought cookies."

I put a hand over my stomach and groaned, "Oh god, my one weakness, how could I say no to that?"

She laughed, patting me on the shoulder, "I better go, but try to make it to school when you finish with work."

I nodded.

"Good luck with your work, Bas!" she said, and then her face turned serious, "and be safe out there who knows what really happened to Myrtle."

***

As I walked, my thoughts strayed back to the professor and the barmaid.

We’d all experienced a lot of death in the village, which had made us a bit numb to it, but still the news shocked me.

I didn't know Myrtle very well, she’d kept to herself most of the time, and she’d only been working at the inn for the last month. But Tommelkins had been my teacher since I was six. He’d taught me how to read and write in this world, and he always listened to my strange ideas.

If magic was involved, well, that meant that there was a killer among us. The only people in town with spell cards were the Protectors, and they had no reason to kill Myrtle.

I was still lost in thought when I reached the tall oak tree below the ruins of the old temple.

I looked around.

"Took you long enough," a voice called out from behind me.

I spun around and saw Flint, sitting on a crate with his legs crossed. A broomstick rested across his legs, and he looked like a monk deep in meditation.

"Sorry, man. You know how it is," I replied.

Flint leaped off the crate, landing gracefully and spinning his broomstick in a wide arc.

He was a few inches taller than me, and I noticed that he now sported a black eye under his mop of wild and unruly hair.

Flint and I had always been good friends, but the day my father and his mother died, he'd become like a brother to me. We shared a common goal, and we'd become inseparable, spending our mornings scavenging for loot and our afternoons training.

He groaned. "Is that another basket?"

I nodded. "I told my mom I'd get the money for it by this evening."

Flint shook his head, "How much is that one going to cost us?"

"Two silvers," I said.

Flint sighed, "Where the hell are we going to get two silvers? I thought you said you were going to get your mother to stop with the baskets."

I scowled, looking up at his black eye, "I thought you were going to get your dad to stop drinking."

Flint snorted, "Yeah, right. Have you seen my old man sober? Right miserable bastard. At least he passes out early when he's drunk."

I shook my head, I'd never understood why Flint put up with the abuse. His father was old and weak, if Flint wanted to he could break his arms so that the old man could never lay a finger on another person.

Flint glanced down the streets. "There's no way we'll get enough coin in these buildings. We picked most of them clean months ago."

He was right, all that was left in the ruins were rusty nails, but they weren't worth more than a handful of coppers, and it took all morning just to get them out of the walls.

"You don't need to help," I said. "It's my mess to deal with."

"Like hell!" Flint barked. "We’re in this together."

There was something different about Flint today. He had been on edge lately, and I couldn't blame him. When we were younger, we'd made a promise that one day we'd become card mages and ascend the Tower. Instead, we were scavenging the homes of the dead for a few measly coppers just to put food on our table.

His forehead creased in a frown as he thought, and finally he looked up. "There is one other place we haven't checked."

I squinted up at him. "You mean the tailor’s house? I checked it last week, there's just old leather and pots of piss in that place."

Flint laughed, "I was thinking, Old town."

I groaned.

There was a reason Old Town hadn't been picked clean by scavengers. It was on the other side of the barrier.

I glared at my friend, "You heard about what happened to the professor?"

Flint snorted, "I heard, sounds like he got a bit too passionate with the bar lady and then fled. That has nothing to do with blight fiends."

I shook my head. That was a cynical way to look at things, but Flint had never seen life the same way I did.

"Maybe you are right," I said, "But Old Town! We're not that desperate, not yet."

"Really," Flint said. "We always knew it would come to this eventually."

He flashed a grin, "No better time than now. Besides, what's the point of all our training if we’re afraid of a couple of blight fiends."

He was right, of course. We had picked most of the houses clean inside the barrier, eventually we would have to leave the safe zone.

Why not, today? It was as good a day to risk our lives as any other.

"You know we can't get our stats above six without killing shit," Flint said, a broad grin on his face.

We’d noticed that a few months back when we’d achieved Porcelain-9. It seemed that Porcelain was the training rank and to reach the next rank, which was Obsidian, we needed to start killing monsters. The problem was that all the monsters on the genesis floor were infected with the blight.

"Well, when you put it that way," I said. "How can I say no, but if things get ugly, we get out fast."

Flint crossed his heart, "Cross my heart, hope to die."

I let out a deep breath and then followed after him.

***

I swallowed, trying to fight back the bile rising in my throat. The closer we got to the edge of the barrier, the stronger the smell of decay became. The barrier kept the blight out, but it did nothing for the smell.

Rats scurried out of the way as we passed, and I saw a pair of dark shapes fluttering overhead.

"Damn, this place is creepy," I muttered.

"You should have brought that push wagon of yours," Flint said. "We might strike it lucky today."

I snorted. "It's called a wheelbarrow."

Flint laughed, "Where do you come up with these things?"

I shrugged.

After arriving in this world, I'd quickly realized that technology was on the same level as the Middle Ages.

That had suited me just fine at first. But there were some things I missed. Coffee, hot showers, toothpaste, and most of all, toilet paper. God, I missed toilet paper.

I'd tried to invent a few things to help, most had failed. My wheelbarrow had been a huge success. I could move more debris and salvage in an hour with that thing than a half dozen scavengers with backpacks.

Something crunched underfoot, and I looked down, cursing. I'd stepped on a snail, its shell smashed, and its body smeared like a paste under my boot.

"Sorry, little guy," I said, wiping the sole of my boot off on the grass.

"Come on," Flint called out from ahead.

"Wait up," I said, rushing after him.

Finally, we arrived at the gate that separated Old Town from the rest of the village.

A rotting sign hung above the gate.

It read: Blight!

The gate was locked, but the hinges were rusted over. From the rust build up, I could tell that nobody had come this way in ages.

I wished I’d brought a flask of water to flush the taste of decay out of my mouth.

"We should have brought supplies," I said, glancing around.

Flint snorted, "What supplies? You mean that rusty kitchen knife you call a sword?"

"Don't speak about Excalibur that way," I said with a half smile. "And I would never leave her behind."

I raised the corner of my shirt, revealing the knife hanging from a makeshift scabbard.

Flint snorted, "You named your kitchen knife?"

I grinned, "Don't act like you haven't already named that broomstick of yours?"

Flint gasped, "It's a bloody quarterstaff, you know that."

Flint and I had grown up, learning to fight with the broomstick and knife.

I'd chosen the knife because it was all we had in the house, Flint had chosen the broomstick because he thought it was a more badass choice.

The truth was the broomstick was far better than the knife. With six points in [strength], Flint could crush a man's skull with the thing.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and then wedged my knife under the latch and wiggled it, loosening the rust.

Flint noticed the tremor in my hands, "This will be a simple in and out job," he said, "No confrontation needed."

I nodded as I pried the hinges open.

"Well, fortunately for me, you're a slow runner," I said.

Flint frowned, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't need to outrun the fiends, I just need to trip you up and leave you behind."

He laughed. "You’re a good friend."

I smiled, "I think so too, it's weird that you're the only friend that ever stuck around."

Flint snorted, "Super weird."

He pushed the gate open with the end of his broomstick and the hinges screeched, the sound echoing off nearby buildings.

I stared across the line for a while, gathering my courage, preparing myself for whatever horror waited on the other side.

"You ready?" he asked.

I shrugged and stepped through the gate. A tingle of power ran through my body. This was the first time in years that I was not protected by the barrier. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.

Flint slammed the gate closed behind us, "If we run into any problems—"

A howl echoed across the street.

I blinked, staring in shock and surprise. "Did you just—"

Something white and wispy streaked past, passing through the air between us. I heard a crunch and I turned. A blue-eyed eagle, half skeleton, half feathers, had its talons wrapped around a giant rat.

Flint sucked in a breath, "Blight fiend."

The undead bird watched us for a moment, and then it lifted into the air, taking the rat with it.

I shook my head, "Shit! That was close. What in the Defiler’s name are we doing here, we should go back."

"And tell your mother that the buyer didn't want her basket anymore?" Flint asked.

I groaned at that.

"Besides," Flint continued. "I need the coin as well, I got a big date with Molly Perkins tonight."

I took a deep breath, "This isn't worth it, the blight might turn animals into monsters, but one scratch from those talons, and we'd be dead by sunset."

"Well, there you go," said Flint, forcing a smile. "Just don't get scratched."

***