Real-life Keira has had a handful of frightening experiences. Of course, you know, everyone has. I got t-boned at an intersection by a drunk driver when I was nineteen. Then there was calling 9-1-1 while my father suffered a heart-attack; finally leaving a toxic-and-then-some boyfriend I should never have been with; spending a long and sleepless night in a bathtub in Ohio with a friend and her golden retriever while tornado sirens blared and the wind tore off half the roof.
In contrast, my two-and-a-half months in Qeth have seen some more extraordinary events. I was nearly killed by dragon cultists, for instance. I’ve been chewed on by river goblins, nearly frozen by a giant ice spider, speared by froggy-looking thorgs, rammed and slashed by an oozing undead ogre, and nearly crushed by a ceiling cave-in. I’ve had my fingers knuckle-deep in a friend’s leg to pull out a poisoned crossbow point. My life-force has been drained by a necromancer, an undead giant hurled boulders at my head, and something that looked like a demon ostrich on PCP tried to shred me with its pterodactyl-like beak of razor-sharp teeth.
Standing here on a sun-lit residential street with Phaelen feels more terrifying than any of that, though. Maybe that’s because it feels more in the real vein. Goblins and thorgs and giants and demon ostriches are firmly in the fantasy scary column. There’s something about this moment, though, that flashes me back to my ex pushing me against the wall and explaining in clear detail exactly how he’ll break into my flat and be waiting for me if I ever ignore his texts again.
Which is likely the exact mindset Phaelan wants me in.
I find myself trembling as he tugs the strap, pulling me a step closer to him. I can’t tell if he actually wants my bag, or if it’s just a way of keeping me in place. I’m wearing it across my body, which means he can’t just pull it off and run—but it also means I can’t easily drop it and do the same.
“Oh, do relax,” he says, giving me a mocking, pitying look. “You’re quaking like a leaf—are you that pathetic without your green, mongrel partner nearby? What do you honestly think I’m going to do, here?”
“You’re going to let me go on my way,” I reply, wishing my voice was steadier and my heart would stop racing.
“I’m really not going to hurt you, not here. Not now.”
“Then release me.”
“If I do that, you won’t let me talk.” He offers a crooked grin that is almost as disarming as it is predatory, and that creeps me out. It pricks the hair on the back of my neck. “Keira, I just want to have a conversation with you. I have a few things I need to understand before we can move forward.”
I try to pull back, but he holds tight. I’m afraid to divide my attention by looking around, but the street feels still and quiet.
Stupid. So stupid.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Hm. How about we start small. Tell me—what are you doing here?”
“I don’t understand. Specifically, or in general?”
“In Qeth, Keira.” He tugs at the strap again, a hint of frustration in his tones. “What are you doing in Qeth? What is your purpose here?”
I shake my head, my mouth going dry as I continue to tremble and try to make sense of his words—and his expression. There’s something knit across his features that I can’t interpret. I don’t want to call it fear, that’s nowhere near right; Phaelen isn’t afraid of me. But, I think he is something akin to wary, and once my mind clocks that, it’s almost all I can see. He’s dangerous. This is dangerous. But he thinks I am too. Or at the very least, he doesn’t know what to make of me.
“That question doesn’t make any more sense.” I grip the strap of bag as well and try to pull it out of his grasp. “What are you doing in Qeth?”
He lets go, then, the suddenness almost causing me to fall backward. He grins as I catch myself, and he raises a hand as if in greeting. I glance back to realize there’s a pair of human women passing by on the other side of the street. They don’t seem to be paying a lot of attention, but before I can act on any of that information, Phaelen clasps my arm above the elbow, and pulls me into step with him, going the opposite way they are, deeper into the neighborhood and farther from the main street. My skin crawls under his touch.
“I have my reasons,” he says, voice low.
“Well so do I.”
He scoffs. “Of course you do. I know that you aren’t like me, no matter how similar we look. Do you really think you’re fooling anyone?”
That question raises a different kind of fear. I barely feel like I can breathe.
“You have to let go of me.”
“No.” He tightens his grip in such a way that pain shoots through my arm, and he quickens our step. There’s a wide greenbelt coming up a couple short blocks ahead of us, which could provide me an opportunity—but could also give him some additional coverage.
I think about the elvish dagger in my bag. Introducing a weapon to the situation may not be the best course of action, especially since I don’t know what he’s capable of, or what he’s willing to do—but I may not have another option. I’m not an expert with it, but my near daily practice with Tyrus these last several weeks has been enough to naturally raise my [Dagger] skill up a point (without having to level up). That has to be worth something.
It may be a way out. If I can get to it.
“I need to know, Keira. I need you to tell me what your goal is.”
“And I can’t answer that until I understand what you mean.”
He stops and turns me to face him, grasping my other arm in the same place.
“Stop it! Just tell me true—are you here to help us or to stop us?”
Phaelen’s voice has dropped lower and reverted to that same form of elvish as before. His dark eyes burn into mine, an urgency behind them, and his body language has shifted. He’s lost patience. His confident, charismatic mask has shifted, and his wariness of me has set in deep.
I shake my head, heart still pounding, but I’m seeing some opportunities as he gives me some power in the situation. He wants something from me. Play along, get him talking, keep us out in the open, stick to the positives. I am on his side. I want to help.
“Phaelen, I want to answer you, but I don’t know how. Who is us? Help you with what?”
“The Order of Talons.”
He searches my face for any reaction to that, and I try to offer some kind of recognition, but I doubt I’m all that successful. Again: not much of a poker face. His brow furrows and he seems to be reconsidering… everything. I don’t think he actually had a plan, here, beyond to knock me off balance.
“You have no idea,” he breathes, eyes narrowing as he considers this, actually laughing a little. It’s a low, gruff sound, deep in his chest, one of absolute disbelief. “How can you loom so importantly for me, and yet you have no idea? That makes no sense.” He breaks his gaze from mine and looks around us, grasp tightening further on my upper arms, tight enough that pain shoots down to my fingertips. It makes me wince, pulling his attention back. “What is your connection to the Stone of Ylaura? I know you’re linked to it, but I don’t understand how. Did it bring you here?”
My stomach drops. What does he mean by that?
What are you doing in Qeth?
You’re not like me.
Did it bring you here?
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He doesn’t know me. We shared a campfire one night. He has no way of knowing anything about me.
And yet, he knows my name when we didn’t give it. And he is so pointed.
You loom so importantly for me…
I shake my head.
“I don’t know what that is.”
His fingers dig into my arms in a way that will leave bruises, and he gives me a pair of solid, emphasizing shakes. “Don’t. Lie. We’re having a frank conversation. Tell. The. Truth.”
Fear creeps back around my throat. His control is slipping, which could go one of two ways: it may get him to make a mistake and I can get away, or it could get me hurt.
“It doesn’t feel frank to me.” My voice wavers a little and his jaw tenses again. I try to steal myself as I attempt to tug one of my arms out of his grip to little success. “I don’t know you, Phaelen—I can’t read your mind. I can’t honestly answer questions I don’t understand. How can you ambush me and drop me into the middle of a conversation you’ve been having with yourself and expect me to contribute?”
He draws a slow, deep breath as if calming himself and he nods once, visibly deciding to shift his tactics. His hands tremble slightly as they clasp me, but, unfortunately, the intensity of that hold doesn’t change.
“Do you believe in destiny?” He watches my reaction and nods again. “No, I never did either. I always considered that the self-excusing ramblings of the religious and the mad, with a fine line between them. But then I met someone. They gave me the opportunity to see things differently that most and guidance for how to understand it.” He releases one of my arms to lay his hand at his chest, over the place where he tucked those spectacles. “There’s more to this world that just what our naked eye sees, Keira. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”
He watches closely as that settles over me and my gaze drifts to where he presses against his own chest. He’s speaking of the [System], isn’t he? He has to be. But how would those spectacles do that?
The thought nauseates me.
If others in world can see the [System], then it stands to reason that it’s actually a thing. It’s real. It’s not just a way for me, personally, to make sense of what’s going on. It’s not just in my head. It’s not just a figment of my imagination.
What kind of game-breaking shit is that?
I think back to one of my excuses for why I haven’t raised my origins with my party yet.
What happens if characters in a videogame world learn that about themselves?
Is Phaelen an example of that awareness? What does it mean if he is?
Is this proof that it’s all real, somehow? Or that it isn’t?
Or, does he understand the [System] as something else? He must, right? There aren’t videogames in Qeth, he wouldn’t have the same reference point. It wouldn’t make sense for him to see it the way I do. Would it? I see it as a gamified [System] because that’s how I think of Qeth, that’s my frame of reference to all of this, and he, what? Does he see it as a guiding hand? A message from a god? An extra-planar patron? Something else?
He tucks a piece of hair behind his long, hunter elf ear.
Is it just a coincidence that we’re both of that origin—or is that part of it, too?
Is it possible that everything I’m seeing is less a symptom of being from a different world and more a symptom of the fact I put on the stupid ears? Anthene told me that hunter elves are considered special by many in Qeth, that they’re said to be closer to the original elves, to have access to different types of magic than anyone else.
Is the [System] just how my outlander brain interprets that magic?
But if so, then why would Phaelen need the spectacles?
If he even does. If we’re even seeing the same thing.
The thoughts feel very loud. I’m spiraling, I know it, and I try to force myself back to the moment, to root back in the fear if only because it’s more grounding and immediate than the chaotic uncertainty all this introduces.
Phaelen releases my other arm slowly and spreads out his hands in a tentative manner—he’s prepared to grab me if I run, but he seems fairly confident he has my attention now. I don’t like the fact that he’s right about that, if only because it could lead him to conclusions that I don’t want him to have.
“The Stone of Ylaura is my purpose. It means everything,” he says, tone low and deliberate. “The power in it has the ability to stabilize the magic in Qeth, which would, in turn, provide the biggest chance to strengthen magic in the rest of the world—including Caulin. My home. My birthplace. Which is… struggling. My people—our people, Keira—they’re fading. Our connection to Essence is getting weaker. Every generation is a little shorter than the last. We—my party and I—we’ve been searching for years, trying to uncover information about this lost item that could change our world.”
The words prick at me. That’s how it was first introduced in my own [Quest Log]—Stone of Ylaura: uncover information about a lost item, though the change our world part is different. I never saw that. Is that just his own flourish? Or a consequence of him actually being from here? Regardless, it’s too close to be coincidence, right?
“That doesn’t explain why you think I have anything to do with it.”
“Six weeks ago, I was given new guidance. Find Keira Ogdyn and retrieve what she has.”
Goosebumps fan over my body, and a shiver creeps down my spine. I shake my head and take a small, careful step back. His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t make any other move.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything. You know more about all this than I do. I only know about the Stone because I read a random book, and it didn’t say much—just a lot of theories about what it could do. There’s not every anything about stabilizing magic.”
He frowns, brow furrowing. He looks like he believes me, which sends a pulse of relief through my adrenaline-charged body, but he’s clearly not sure what to make of it.
“If this is true, then why would we be diverted from our original path toward you? We were on our way north, and then it sent us back here to find you—a girl we had but a brief and chance encounter with only a few days earlier.”
“I don’t know. Coincidence? Maybe whoever or whatever you’re talking to got confused? I don’t know. But I don’t have anything. Truly.”
“The guidance is sometimes… fragmented.” He draws a slow breath, then meets my gaze and takes a very deliberate, emphasized step backward, giving me more space. “Please, Keira. I know you find me repugnant, you haven’t tried to hide that. I deserve that. And I know you owe me nothing. But please realize, I am only trying to do the right thing. People’s lives are depending on me, and you’re my only lead. I’m getting desperate. So much time has passed. Please. Help me.”
There’s the inkling I sometimes get in the back of my mind. Insight or intuition, I don’t know, but I’ve discovered it’s pretty reliable. Phaelen believes what he’s saying. If he’s lying, he’s doing so as much to himself as he is to me right now. And, of course, his “guidance,” whether it’s truly the [System] or it’s something else, isn’t entirely off base: I do have the map and the other research from that second copy of the book.
That said, I don’t trust him, and even if I did, I’m not ready to give that information up, even if I don’t really understand why I’m holding onto it as tightly as I am. It’s that same intuition telling me that all this is bigger than it seems, that I’m in the middle of it for a reason. I know, deep in my bones, that it’s my way home, even if I have no hard evidence to confirm that.
If I haven’t handed it off to Nyssa, who has supposedly been on our side from the beginning, then I’m not going to pass it along to someone who still frightens me, no matter how noble he thinks his goals are—even if something may, somehow, be leading him straight to me.
For some reason, it all makes me think about the dreams I’ve been having: the barely contained frustration of the voice I hear, the fact it wants me to do something. I mentally try to overlay Phaelen’s tones, but I don’t remember it well enough to decide for certain if it’s him somehow reaching out to me. Even if I could determine if it was, I’m not sure if it would be a mark in his favor or a strike against him.
He frightens me. And Flynt didn’t like him. And I trust Flynt. I trust my party.
“Give me a little time,” I find myself saying. “Let me see if there’s anything potentially helpful that I’m just not thinking of right now. I have some other resources, maybe. Maybe they can help.”
He looks wary. “How much time?”
“A week. My party and I, we have some business outside of Oosal. Give me time to deal with that, and to see what I can find. I want to help. I do. I just need some time to do it properly. I don’t want to accidentally give you bad information.”
“A week,” he repeats, considering this. “Okay. Will you meet me, or should I find you again?”
The implication isn’t lost on me, but I try not to let that show. “Let’s meet at the Wide Sky. Evening. The Acvum next. You can trust me.”
He narrows his eyes slightly, but nods. “Acvum next. One week… Thank you.”
“And Phaelen. Just a little note, for the future? If you want someone to help you, scaring the shit out of them isn’t the best way to get it.”
He shrugs slightly. “I don’t know about that. Seems to work reasonably well.” That chilling, crooked grin returns. “I’ll see you soon, Keira.”
He takes several steps backward, keeping his eyes on me as he puts some space between us, before turning, and heading toward the greenbelt. I stay put, breathing, watching until his form disappears into the trees there. Now that he’s not bearing down on me, I realize the presence of a few other people on the street, going about their business: a human couple, a trio of dwarves working on the façade of one of the row houses here. They’re not paying me any attention, I suppose they don’t really have reason to anyway, but at least they’re there.
There’s a ping in the bottom corner of my vision: an [Achievement]. I haven’t gotten one of these in a while—only a couple since we returned to Oosal from our excursion across the sound.
> [Special Achievement: Roads in a Wood. A previously unknown path has presented itself. Does it lead where you want to follow?]
I consider it. So far, I’ve just been going along with the [Achievement] concept as part of the gamification. Sometimes they seem like rough guideposts, other times as nothing more than bizarre sub-conscious commentary, but they’ve never seemed all that important except as a little bit of extra XP (and at this point, who knows if any of that even matters).
Could that be wrong, though? Could there be another purpose to them? Guidance? Explanations? Warnings?
And if there is something behind it, then why does everything have to be so opaque? Why aren’t there clearer directions?
Before turning back toward the main road—I’m not exactly feeling this shortcut any longer—I pull up the [Quest Log], wondering if it will mention Phaelen the way he seemed to suggest he sees my name.
It doesn’t, but what it does show turns my hands and feet cold and throws yet more doubt into my already reeling thoughts.
> [QUEST: STONE OF YLAURA. ??a??@#^??**? ???&??? 111#@????t? ???a?11???*??.]