(Dylan)

Dylan woke up to the dissatisfied shouting of Runemist. “What in the Pits is a refugee doing on my quest?!” she asked. Her demanding voice carried down the hallway, slipping under his door as she stomped her way toward his cabin—a tiny room, barely larger than a closet.

Dylan suspected it was the smallest they had. He was still lying in the hammock hanging above the large, double-wide footlocker that stored his equipment when unintelligible whispering came from the other side of his door.

His eyes closed as he leaned in, focusing on the murmurs, trying to decipher them. Suddenly, the door flew open toward him. Startled, he threw himself backwards. But the hammock, being a hammock, swung forward, canceling out the maneuver. The door missed him by an inch as he flailed about. His bunk unceremoniously dumped him onto the footlocker. He landed with a thud and a grunt.

‘How’d she open the door?’ he wondered, groaning as he rolled off the storage chest. ‘It was locked.’

“You’re a refugee?” The wolf-woman glared down, her piercing gaze locked onto him, both clawed hands planted firmly on her hips.

Dylan wasn’t sure if that was a question or accusation. Either way, the answer was fairly obvious. “Yeah,” he said.

She huffed, narrowing her eyes. “We’re already on day two of this trip, and this is the first I’m hearing about it? From the crew, no less.” Her glare said it all: this was clearly his fault.

Dylan shifted slightly under her intense gaze, resisting the urge to look away. Yesterday’s efforts had caught up to him, his body protesting as he repositioned himself to sit up on the footlocker. His legs hurt, his arms hurt, even his fingers and toes hurt. Everything hurt after Wedge worked him over. He’d spent half the day climbing up and down the rigging, falling more times than he could count—and injuring himself badly enough to require Runemist’s mending at least a dozen times.

‘Or was it two dozen?’ Dylan tried to recall, but it wasn’t pertinent. He hesitated, measuring his response before answering. “Is… that a problem?”

Runemist looked as if he just slapped her. “Is that a problem…”

Her nostrils flared.

“Yes, it’s a bloody problem. And now you’re my bloody problem. We’re too far out to turn back without abandoning the quest.”

She turned to walk away, paused, and spun back on him with a pointed clawed finger. “I’ve a mind to confine you to your quarters.” Her piercing blue eyes scanned his cramped space before locking back on to him. Her expression softened, if only a little, replaced by a hint of concern. “How am I supposed to complete this quest while making sure you don’t get hurt?”

“Now you care if I get hurt?” Dylan asked.

She exhaled sharply, and after a slow, deep breath, she explained, “Before I overheard the idle gossip of the crew, I thought you were just a guild initiate, like the other three. Well, two…” She waved a hand with a quick shake of her head, brushing away whatever thought had distracted her.

“I’m allowed to train initiates, to push, break, and remake them into stronger versions of themselves.” She paused a moment, connecting the dots. “I assume Nathan was the one to pick up your contract?”

Dylan nodded, choosing to remain silent. She wasn’t shouting at him anymore, and he didn’t want to risk setting her off again.

“I don’t know what he was thinking.” She gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Allowing you to go on this trial in your current state.”

He knew where this was going, and he wasn’t about to let Nathan take the fall again for his own rash decisions. “He didn’t ‘allow’ me to go on this trial,” he admitted. “Specifically, he told me to wait until the next one.”

“Did he?” she asked.

Dylan nodded slowly. “I signed myself up, and I feel bad about going behind his back to do it.”

She looked at him, her gaze shifted, reassessing her previous assumptions, and asked, “Why?”

Dylan shrugged. “Because it feels like I lied to him.”

“No—I don’t care about that.” She waved her hand. “Why do you want to be an adventurer?”

He blinked. That was a damn good question, one that he was still figuring out a little more with each passing day. He shrugged and spoke earnestly.

“Back on Earth, where I come from, there isn’t any magic. You’re born, you live, you struggle, and then you die. And there’s little you can do to break that cycle.”

She gave him an uncertain look, but held off on asking questions, choosing to wait until he finished.

“Since I’ve arrived and experienced magic for myself, I’ve seen how terrifyingly powerful it is, but I’ve also seen how marvelous it can be, too.

“I’d be dead a few times over if it weren’t for magic, but magic was also the reason I needed saving in the first place. People keep asking why I want to be an adventurer. They don’t get it.” He made a fist. “It’s more than that. I need to be an adventurer, and if I’m going to survive, I’ll need to know how it all works.”

Runemist shifted her stance, her gaze drifting toward the floor as she contemplated his words. Finally, her piercing blue eyes rose to meet his, a note of grim determination in her voice. “Then we have a problem.”

Dylan frowned, worried she’d actually confine him to his quarters, locked in a closet with only flak and a bucket for two weeks—a cruel punishment on so many levels.

“While I can’t comprehend how an entire world remains oblivious to magic, I understand the desire, the need, to be an adventurer.” Her stance relaxed as she leaned against the doorframe. “Look, I rarely explain how this works, because it can spoil the effect.”

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Dylan glanced side-to-side in his tiny cabin, as if he were in some clandestine meeting and about to receive a secret he’d have to take to his grave. He slowly leaned in to listen, careful not to make any noise. Runemist arched backwards, craning her neck to peek into the hallway for eavesdroppers. After confirming the coast was clear, she turned back to him.

“I’ve got a passive that interacts with people under my care. It’s called… Tough Love. Corny, I know. And I will maim you myself if this gets out to anyone.” She gave him a stern look. “After a time… it grants a permanent boon—”

Dylan cut her off. “What’s a boon?” It sounded like a buff, something he was familiar with from video games.

“Ask somebody else. Just shut up and listen,” she snapped at the interruption.

“Sorry.” He lowered his head. “Please continue.”

“My boon increases the toughness attribute. The more you know, the less effective it’ll be, but the tougher I am on you before the boon appears, the stronger it’ll be.”

Dylan’s mind raced to put it all together, but his mouth still outpaced him, sharing his internal monologue. “Is that why you’re so mean? Wait, why are you telling me? I don’t want to ruin the boon-buffy-thing. Is toughness a stat? What’s my number? How do I see it? Is that why you were mean to Nathan?”

Runemist waited for him to finish his avalanche of questions, letting out a small sigh. “Being direct and speaking my mind doesn’t make me mean…” Her gaze found its way to the ground again, as if she wished the words could end there. “But it’s also part of the same passive. I speak… bluntly.”

Sensing she would answer none of his other questions, he said, “Alright. This whole boon-thing sounds pretty great to me. What’s the problem I’m not seeing?”

“With Nathan back at Nightshade, the responsibilities to ensure your physical and mental wellbeing fall to the rest of the members of the guild. Hence why you are now my problem as the leader of this quest. Also, the boon requires a certain,” she searched for the right word, “friction, or it won’t work.”

He squinted at her, furrowing his brow. “Are you trying to say I’m going to get a crappy boon, because my refugee contract says you can’t abuse me?” He watched the muscles in her jaw clench.

She opened her mouth, then shut it, searching for a way to answer without casting herself in poor light. “There won’t be any boon, crappy or otherwise.” She sighed. “But yes, that’s about right.”

There’s no way he was going to miss out on a permanent buff to his toughness over something as trivial as etiquette. “Can we pause the contract for a while or something?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “And I’ll have to insist that you remain on the ship for the duration of the trip, which will limit your training and growth.” She saw the devastation on his chubby face.

“But,” she offered, “that doesn’t mean you’ll fail the trial. I’ll explain to Guildmaster K’hab the circumstances when we return. It should push things in your favor.”

Dylan’s shoulders slumped. “Aw, come on. What if I cancel the contract? Is that something I can do?” He grew more desperate, not just over the boon. He didn’t want to be coddled like some child.

Runemist watched him, noting his discouraged posture. With a click of her tongue, she offered him another option. “No. But there might be another way around it…” She hesitated, gauging his response.

His pleading eyes looked up to hers. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Anything?”

Dylan closed his eyes and sighed. “Is it a sex thing? Because I—”

“What?! No!” she said, her voice filled with a mix of horror and disgust. “Mother no.” She leaned toward him, lowering her voice to ask, “Is that… a thing? Do you trade favors for mating on Dirt?”

He took a breath, slowly exhaling through his puffed cheeks as he debated how to respond. “That’s… a really complicated question to answer,” he admitted out loud. Not that he had an issue with sex work; it just wasn’t something he’d be comfortable doing.

She crossed her arms. “Either way, that’s not how we do things at Nightshade. Also… you’re far too smooth and round for my tastes,” she said, shaking off the remnants of revulsion.

‘Thank God,’ he thought.

She cleared her throat. “There may be another way, but it’ll come at a cost.”

Dylan thought about how Nathan had paid for everything since he’d arrived. “How much? I don’t have any money. Nathan—”

Runemist held up a hand to stop him. “It doesn’t involve gems, credits, or… mating. I have a way to force myself to ignore your refugee status, resume your training, and allow you to take part in your trial.” She pushed off the door frame and lowered into a squat to match Dylan’s level.

“Before you say no, you wouldn’t be in any more harm than the other initiates, as I’ve no intention of letting anyone die under my command. However, you couldn’t change your mind afterward. It would be immutable.” She let her words sink in, watching him intently.

A tightlipped smile formed on his face as he awkwardly held her gaze, silently waiting for her to mention any real drawback. When he didn’t protest or ask questions, she continued.

“You have two choices. Enjoy the safety of the ship and relax for the rest of this trip, which is what I’d recommend. You’d still pass the trial, most likely, and there’d be almost no risk involved.”

Dylan shook his head, already dismissing that option even before hearing the other.

She glanced back over her shoulder again, lowering her voice. “Or… ask me to ignore your contract, resume your training, and bring you on the quest.”

Dylan didn’t understand what she meant. “Ask?”

“I’ll explain in a minute, but even if you join the quest, that won’t guarantee an invitation to Nightshade, and this trip will be much more… uncomfortable.”

He held up a finger, wanting to make sure he understood. “This is what I’m hearing. My choices are between an all expenses paid cruise, or abusive training to improve my body and mind, experience from a dangerous quest, and a permanent boon-thingy to my toughness?”

“Yes.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Does the boon come with a really cool tattoo?”

Taken aback by the random question, she paused, narrowing her eyes at him. “No…”

Dylan sighed, snapping his fingers. “Bummer. But I’m still going with the second option.”

An approving smile slid up her muzzle. “I agree. The path of greater resistance offers far more rewards in the end.” She gave him an affirming nod. “So, I’m going to help you.”

Her smile was contagious, and his excitement grew. “Awesome. How does it work?”

“I hope you paid attention when Guildmaster K’hab spoke before we left. I’m trusting you with very personal information. It’s important that you understand which knowledge is yours to keep and yours to share.”

“I understand.” He made a lock and key gesture over his lips. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

Runemist appeared as she wanted to correct something he just said but decided it was close enough. “Oathbound is another of my passives. I can’t break a promise. So, if you’re sure about this, ask me to promise to ignore your refugee status until the end of the trip.”

She held up a finger before Dylan could open his mouth and said, “But don’t do it just yet. I don’t want to catch the team by surprise. We’ll announce our pact at the meeting, so everyone is on the same tablet.”

She left his doorway, and he sat on the trunk, unsure if he was supposed to follow her or wait.

The answer came a few minutes later as he was pulling on a fresh shirt. A loud voice spoke from the upper corner of his cabin. At first, it looked like a speaker, but upon closer inspection, it was a fist-sized rock mounted to the wall.

“All passengers are requested to gather for an immediate meeting in the Captain’s Quarters,” First Mate Echo’s voice said. The message repeated, and then the rock went silent.

Dylan had learned that the Captain’s Quarters wasn’t actually where Captain Echo slept; it was simply more interesting than calling it the “meeting room.” He stepped into the dimly lit hallway, hearing the creaks of doors and grumbles of half-awake voices as others emerged from their cabins.

“What time is it?” “Have we arrived?” “Need… mana-tea.” “What’s this about?” These murmurs echoed through the dim hallway as the Nightshade crew sluggishly shuffled toward the stairs leading to the top deck.