“Your brother is dying.”

I stared down at the bed, chest heaving. The healer kept talking, but I heard nothing more of what he said. My mind remained fixed on his indifferent pronouncement.

Soren is dying.

I didn't want to believe it, but for days now, I had suspected it to be the case. He'd been weakening steadily ever since Market Celebration. The signs had all been there, clear as day to read. Why hadn’t I heeded them more? At the oddest of times, Soren’s hands would tremble. He fumbled performing the simplest tasks, and even in the middle of the day he would plead tiredness.

Oh, big brother, why? I can't lose you too.

Maybe, if I’d done something sooner, maybe then I could have saved Soren.

But regret was useless. I knew why I had done nothing. Money. It all boiled down to money. And we had none.

It had taken weeks just to scrape up enough coin to pay the two-bit healer, and the old codger wasn't even a proper healer. He had no magic to call upon. Useless words, that’s all he had for me.

My brother is dying.

That one thought preoccupied me, circling my mind in an endless loop. Grief lay heavy on me like a thick blanket, and sorrow tugged insistently, threatening to drown me. What am I to do now?

“Girl?” Dorin barked.

I ignored him.

“Elana!” he snapped waspishly. “Are you even listening to me?”

I lifted amber eyes to stare mutely at the old man and he flinched. As was often the case with strangers, the odd shade of my eyes gave him pause.

“There is still time to save him,” Dorin said, recovering his composure.

“How long?” I asked woodenly.

“Your brother will continue to decline, but if he is regularly fed, he could survive for some time yet.”

“How long?” I repeated.

Dorin’s eyes jerked away, not meeting my gaze. “A week. Perhaps two.”

The healer did not appear confident in his assessment. Why did I ever hire this charlatan? I wondered despairingly. But there had been no choice. He’d been the best I could afford. “How?”

Dorin frowned. “How what?”

“How can my brother be saved?” I asked. My voice was devoid of hope. I didn’t believe that Soren could be cured from whatever sickness ailed him, but if there was even the slightest possibility... then I had to try.

“One of the sworn can—”

“The sworn,” I spat. “They care nothing for the likes of us.”

“True,” Dorin acknowledged. “But I know one of Arinna’s Lightsworn, and for a price he will be happy to help.”

Anger shook me. The goddess and her followers were the entire reason Soren and I were orphans. If not for the Power’s endless wars, both my parents would still be alive, and my brother and I would not be scraping by in a hovel smack in the center of the city's underbelly.

But for Soren's sake I choked down my rising bile. “How much?”

Dorin licked his lips. “One hundred gold.”

I stared at him in disbelief. How much of that is his cut? I wondered. It didn't matter, though. One hundred gold was more money than I'd seen in my entire life and trying to put that sum together in one week would be impossible. “Are you sure the sworn can heal him?”

Dorin bobbed his head emphatically. “I am. Your brother has contracted Murkyl’s Blight. I have seen the signs before. Many of the soldiers fighting against the Darksworn armies displayed similar symptoms.” He snapped his fingers. “Arinna’s followers healed them just like that.”

I closed my eyes fighting roiling emotions. The war again. “So... this blight, it’s something brought back from the war?”

Dorin nodded. “Sometimes wounded soldiers carry it unknowingly. Fortunately, this particular sickness is not highly contagious and few get infected.” He paused. “Your brother was one of the unlucky ones I guess.”

I bowed my head. No good could come from letting the healer see my rage. My gaze drifted to the sleeping form on the bed. Will we ever escape the clutches of the goddess’ war, brother?

It didn't seem likely.

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“Can you get the money?” Dorin asked, interrupting my musings.

“No,” I said, not bothering to raise my head.

The healer didn't leave then as I expected him to. “Perhaps... perhaps there is some other arrangement we—I mean you and sworn—can come too.”

I lifted my gaze slowly to him again. “Like what?”

Dorin shifted uncomfortably and he didn't answer immediately. “You are a handsome young woman,” he said at last, licking his lips again as an entirely familiar gleam appeared in his eyes. “Perhaps if you—”

“Get out,” I said, not letting him finish.

“Think of your brother, girl,” the healer persisted. “You will only have to—”

“Out!” I roared.

Dorin still made no move to leave.

But I was done talking. Slipping free the dagger I always kept concealed in a sheathe at my wrist, I darted forward and placed the blade’s sharpened under Dorin’s throat. “Get. Out. Now.”

“You're making a mistake, Elana,” he said, scowling down at me from his more impressive height. But I was not deceived, fear lurked in his gaze.

Say nothing, I pushed the dagger deeper into his skin, drawing blood.

It was enough.

Whirling about, Dorin fled the rickety shack.

Alone once more, I left the blade drop from my numb fingers and turned back to the makeshift bed. “I'm sorry brother,” I whispered. “But I c-can’t. I couldn't. Not that... Not even—”

A tired chuckle floated from the sweat-drenched sheets. “It's alright sis,” Soren wheezed, eyes still closed. “I know you can't. And I would never ask that of you. Besides, I know I taught you better than to let yourself be bullied by the likes of a lecherous codger like Dorin.”

I knelt beside the bed, tears rolling heedlessly down my face, surprised but grateful to find him awake. “What do we do, Soren?” I sobbed.

“I don't know El,” he mumbled. “But you will think of something. You always do.”

“And if I can't?” I asked, fear gripping me.

“Then I am better off dead,” Soren said with a trace of his old assertiveness. “And so are you.”

“No!” I said fiercely. “Don't you dare even think it. We will get through this. You hear me, brother? We will!”

But there was no response. Soren was already unconscious again.

~~~

I couldn't let Soren die.

But I wasn’t about to let myself be used by Dorin and his sworn friend either. There was another way, though the idea of doing what was needed was nearly as repugnant as submitting to Dorin’s ugly proposition.

I had a secret. One I'd shared with no one.

Going to the right corner of the single room shack that was the family home, I drew my stiletto and pried loose the floorboards. They came free easily. It was not the first time I had removed them. The space beneath was my hiding spot, where I concealed my most prized possessions.

Reaching down, I withdrew an oiled cloth and, unwrapping it, stared at the meager contents within. They consisted of a single tear-stained letter—scribbled by my parents while in one war or the other—two silver coins, a faded gold ring that looked more fake than real, an ancient book, and a bronze marble.

It was the marble that held my attention.

It was a Class stone.

I stared at the small bronze object fixedly, even now hesitating to pick it up. If there was one thing that I hated in this world it was the Game and its players. Everything that had ever gone wrong in my life could be attributed to the so-called ‘Grand Game.’

It was the Game that gave the Powers and their followers the strength to subjugate the proles—the derisive term applied to non-players.

It was the Game that had stolen my parents from me.

It was the Game that was now about to steal Soren.

And the biggest irony of all?

If I wanted to save Soren, I would have to become the thing I hated most: a player. Because the dark secret that I had buried in the depths of my heart, so deep that even I forgot the truth sometimes, was that I was a player.

Or rather I was a prole that had the potential to be one.

Ever since I turned eighteen, I began hearing a voice in my head. I'd known who it was. It was the Adjudicator. Every prole was taught young to recognize his voice. But where others would’ve gone running to the nearest recruitment center, joyously shouting out the news, I'd told no one.

I’d kept my secret for an entire year, steadfastly ignoring the voice, and telling no one, not even Soren.

Somehow though, dad had always suspected what I was. He had known enough to warn me well before the Game had informed me.

When I’d turned nine, a year before dad and mum went to war never to return, dad had given me the marble, book, and the ring, telling me that they were the family’s prized possessions—heirlooms that had belonged to one of our ancestors and since passed down from old to young in an unbroken chain for generations.

It was my duty, he’d told me, to see them passed onto my own children, and from them to theirs, until finally, they reached the hands of the one they were destined for. “That is,” he’d added in the mischievous way he had, “if you aren’t the one, kiddo.”

When I asked him how I would know if the heirlooms were meant for me, he told me what his grandma had told him: when the time came, I would recognize the truth.

And sure enough a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, when by chance I gazed upon the marble, the Adjudicator had identified it for what it was—a Class stone. Never having set eyes upon Class stone before, I hadn’t known until then what the item was.

I sighed, lost in the memory. I'd often wondered why dad had given me the family treasures and not Soren. He was the elder, after all. But all dad would say the one time I'd asked him was that I had the family eyes, and that if I ever wanted to learn the truth about my heritage, I should take up the book, ring, and stone.

I hadn't known what he meant then. I still didn't know now either. And despite my curiosity over the years, I’d never been tempted to use the three items.

Until now.

Soren’s life hung by a thread, and the only way I could think to make one hundred gold in a week was as a player.

Players were rich, filthy rich, especially Arinna’s followers and sworn. If the rumors were to be believed, the source of their great wealth were the many dungeons that dotted the Forever Kingdom. Sadly, though, it was only players who could enter those supposed treasure troves.

But if I wanted to save Soren, I would have to do so too.

And if that failed, I could always go to the sworn and pledge myself to Arinna’s service. The goddess was always at war and hungry for new players to add to her armies. If I took up the Class and offered my service to the Power in exchange for Soren’s life, I was sure I would not be rejected.

If necessary, I would do that. But I was not there just yet. I still had a week. A week to enter a dungeon and make enough money to pay a real healer—one with life magic—to restore Soren.

I set aside my musings. It was time to begin.

Laying the oil cloth down on the floor, I reached for the Class stone.