The night has gotten colder, but it’s a nice shock to the system as we step out of the warm shop, the crisp air helping to clear the fog from my head. Jonas loops his arm through mine, and we walk together, tromping through the snow as if we’re in a musical, while Meg walks silently behind us, seeming thoughtful.
“I’m surprised you’re coming with us when Tyrus is back there,” I can’t help but say, leaning affectionately against the guy that I’ve known for such a short time but feel closer to than most of the people I’ve worked with for ten years in the real world. Jonas chuckles and leans back into me as we walk.
“That transparent, am I?”
“Eh,” I shrug. “Neither of you is especially what I’d call subtle if we’re being honest.”
“What can I do? He’s cute. And I like the kleptomania streak.”
I laugh out loud at that.
“But. Oh, what is that old advice you gave me, Meg?” He glances back toward her and grins. “That’s right. You have to leave them wanting more.” He says it theatrically, like an actor in a Shakespearian comedy, complete with a hand flourish in the air in front of him. “So that is the current plan, sweet Elf Girl.”
“I need to just give in on that nickname, don’t I?”
“Embrace it,” Jonas agrees.
I laugh again, shaking my head. I hesitate then, but only briefly because I’m honestly curious and way too drunk to really censor myself so I hope it doesn’t come off poorly.
“Where I come from there’s sometimes a stigma. Is that something you have to worry about in Qeth? For you and Tyrus?”
“What do you mean? That I’m human and he’s a dwarf?” He shrugs. “It would get some looks in some places. You know, people wondering too many intimate things about how it all works and all that, but those people can chew rocks, you know what I mean?”
I nod and can’t help but grin. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The journey back to the Wide Sky Tavern is uneventful aside from a handful of drunken giggle fits brought on by one of Jonas’s side comments, and I can almost feel Meg’s eye roll—though, every now and then, she cracks a smile. They walk me up to the door and I have to fish my key out of my bag to unlock it and slip inside. Jonas mockingly shushes me the whole way as I try to wave him off.
I make it quietly up the stairs and stop first at the privy—where I use the facilities and brush my teeth again, the feeling of having a clean mouth absolute perfection in my semi-drunken state—before locking myself in my room for the night.
First thing I do is pull off my boots, then I flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, which is vaguely rotating. I’m not sure how long I lie there before I force myself up to change into my new night shirt. It looks clean, and smells clean, and it’s not like I have any other options right now, so I’m just resolving not to think too hard about it—figuring out laundry is Tomorrow Keira’s problem.
The fabric is also soft and comfortable, and (at the very least) it’s different from the clothing I’ve been living in since I was inexplicably transported here. I pull on my new, warm socks and braid my hair back, tying it off with the cord. Then, I climb into bed.
That’s when I see the letter.
The envelope is set carefully on my pillow with my name written in flowing, elegant script. I recognize it as the Elvish alphabet, though I read it as easily as English (thanks game mechanics). I pick it up and inspect it. The paper has a nice, heavy weight to it, and there’s a wax seal in the back with an elegant ‘Z’ in its center. Carefully, I slip my finger under the flap, pop it up, and unfold the envelope to reveal the writing on the inside.
> [Dear Keira,
>
> Though you have been in Oosal, and indeed, Qeth, for only a short amount of time, you have made an impression on those of us who pay attention to such deeds. As a result of your recent successes, stand-out both for their results and for the speed in which they were accomplished, I would entreat you to consider my proposition herein.
>
> I look for capable adventurers to aid me in a great undertaking, one that will serve the peoples of Qeth. In exchange for your service, I offer any and all resources that you may come by on your quests as well as that which you desire most and is within my power to give. In your case, this is a way home.
>
> Qeth needs more who possess your character and your skills and, though both are admirable, neither is quite so meaningful alone as when paired to the other. I assure you: you would not simply be a bow for hire. You will be an adventurer whose perspective will be as valued as her weapon. This is not an offer you will find from many other sources.
>
> Rest assured, you are not the only one to receive such an entreaty. Each of your compatriots will come by a similar offer with promises that speak to their innermost desire to the extent that I am able to offer it. I do hope that the party as a whole will find the terms agreeable and seek to learn more.
>
> If such an offer entices, please gather at your table in the Wide Sky Tavern and Inn upon its closing tomorrow, and my agent will be with you shortly.
>
> Yours Sincerely,
> Z]
I read it several times over, each time sticking on the promise of a way home.
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A way home. Does this mean there is one? Meaning that home is another place that I can go to and that is not here? Does this mean that this is a reality even if it’s not my reality? Is this confirmation that all of this is real?
The thought mixes poorly with the alcohol, and my stomach twists as my head gets a little dizzy. I’m really, really not ready to accept that—if only because that means I’ve suddenly found myself in a very dangerous profession in a very dangerous place. What business do I have going up against giant spiders and cultists and crime lords? Zero business. I’m a marketing consultant, I’m not an adventurer.
Except, I kind of am, aren’t I? Isn’t that what I’ve been doing the last few days—adventuring? And, thanks to my handy [Abilities] and [Skills], I’m not half bad at it either. I’m not great. I’m not going to go down in history as the finest ever—at least, not any time soon—but I can hold my own, can’t I? I can do this. I want to do this. I like the adrenaline, I like the people I’m with, I like the idea of what we could do in the future. I like not sitting at a computer all day.
And I like my life at home, I like my job—but it’s nice to feel that I could be helping people and doing something. I like feeling like I can be brave.
I fold up the letter and clutch it to my chest as I stare up at the plaster ceiling of my room.
What is this great undertaking? And why us? Why not the Silver Swords or one of the other more experienced veteran teams? Have they already been approached? Have they said no? Would some patron really just emerge, offering the thing we want most in exchange for some unspoken mission? Is that something that happens? This is, after all, exactly the thing that Meg was hoping for. It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?
Then I remember what Meg said about the traps and the statue: sometimes, things just don’t make sense in this world. Sometimes, there are a lot of coincidences, a lot of convenience, a lot of railroading down certain paths—and people seem completely happy to go along with all of that. Many seem to chalk it up to some kind of fate, others to godly intention. Meanwhile, I have a [Quest Log] guiding the way.
Speaking of… I pull it up, taking a look at the most recent To Do.
> [Stone of Ylaura. Learn more about an ancient lost item.]
Well, that’s enlightening, thank you, [Quest Log]. Very helpful.
I lift my bag off the floor and try to remember the title of one of the books I found in those trunks, but can’t off the top of my head, which is probably good enough evidence that I shouldn’t be—or at least, won’t be—learning much about anything in this state. Drinking that much of something I’ve never had before was a poor plan, and I hesitate to think about what I’ll feel like in the morning.
Though I wonder what my constitution is like. Is it like when I was in my twenties where I just shrug it off? Or is it my rapidly approaching forty, get a headache by looking at red wine, kind of constitution? I really hope for the former.
As I lie there fighting the drunken war of whether to pass out or to force myself into some kind of ill-advised productivity, I decide to down the remains of my waterskin and pull up my [Stats]. Why not? I haven’t checked them since after the spiders.
> [Keira, Hunter Elf]
> [Urban Ranger, Level 2]
> [Reputation: Rookie]
> [Defense: 13]
> [Hit Points: 21 / 21]
> [Experience: 635 / 1000]
> [Stamina: 30 / 100]
> [Essence: 0 / 0]
> [Stats]
> [Abilities Menu]
> [Skills Menu]
Yikes. Thirty [Stamina]. I guess alcohol really does have an effect.
Also—635 / 1000. It’s going to take forever to get to [Level 3] (to say nothing of [Level 15], assuming that’s even the goal). Hopefully, the bad guys will get bigger and scarier and—well, maybe not scarier. I’d be okay not going up against a giant or an undead dragon or whatever else might be possibilities; though, given how these games go, I somehow doubt that’s going to be a doable proposition.
I wonder how long it would take me to level up just killing goblins. Are there even that many goblins in all of Qeth?
The game question still nags at me though, and I have no idea how I feel about all of it. Let’s say it’s not a coma dream. Just for argument. This is real life, somehow.
What does it mean, then, that there are game mechanics? It does feel like I’ve landed in the middle of a story with quest trees and an end-goal in mind—even if I don’t necessarily know what the objective is yet (though I have an inkling it’ll all come back to dragons in Qeth given the not-so-subtle foreshadowing).
There’s progression and a push toward it—otherwise, why are there things like [Achievements] that give XP—as well as [Stats] and [Skills] that I wouldn’t have in my real life. This isn’t Marketing Consultant, Sit-At-My-Desk-Twelve-Hours-A-Day Keira at work here. This is someone else.
Am I still even me?
No. Not the right time for that particular tailspin. That’ll be later. I’ll do that after I defeat a giant. That seems far enough away to be a good timeframe.
So, if this is a reality, what is the [Interface], the [System]? Where does it come from? Is there some deity looking out for me, helping me to understand what is going on here?
Or is it easier to believe that I am somehow in the game itself?
That is what the Experience was heavily based on—the Chronicles of Qeth videogames. This storyline seems more in keeping with the show than the games, but maybe there’s some cross contamination going on with the connections between the Insight device and the game mechanics and whatever script was written for the VR Experience and maybe the earthquake did something sci-fi to ensure this all happened and…
That’s ridiculous.
Okay. So. What am I more comfortable with? Continuing on the coma dream theory, or embracing the idea that this is an alternate reality and game mechanics are how I’m meant to get it all figured out…
It could be something else too. It doesn’t have to be a deity, does it? It could just be my brain trying to understand things that everyone else here seems to know inherently. It’s not really about the points, but rather that the points reference things I’m using and developing as a result. But why, then, can I put points into [Skills] and [Abilities] that I haven’t used?
Actually—can I do that? I haven’t even tried. Maybe that's the real secret behind those [Locked Skills].
Another question, though. Does it matter? Is it really going to change how I react to things whether I think it’s a coma hallucination, an alternate reality, or that I’m just stuck in a game?
I mean, not really. I’m not going to walk into the jaws of certain doom or throw myself in front of carts or anything. I have no desire to find out firsthand whether there’s a save point situation happening here. Best case scenario is that there is, and I have to do everything again. Worst case is that there’s not, and, well… that’s that. Recent decisions to the contrary, I think I’m a little too risk averse for that kind of gambling. I’d rather bide my time and do whatever this is correctly than risk this being the end and, potentially, no one I love in the real world knowing it.
Which is a point in the I should just stay here and bartend column. But I didn’t especially love tending bar in my real life, and, while I can’t see the Wide Sky condoning bellybutton shots, I can’t imagine it’s going to be all that much better an experience in my fantasy life.
I roll over and hug my bag as if it’s a stuffed animal. The night is clear outside the window, the moons’ light reflecting on the snow in the tree just beyond the glass. It’s a beautiful sight. I find a tear rolling down my cheek and wipe it away. And yet, I’m still not as upset about this as I know I should be.
If this is real, would that really be so bad?