Sam watched as the young woman who introduced herself as Hande Yilmaz picked out a matchstick from its matchbox and lit a candle seated upon a miniature silver stand.

She had pale skin, long curly silver hair, and green eyes. These features combined together made her so mesmerizingly beautiful that even though she was approaching with something as dangerous as fire he couldn’t pull his eyes away from her blood red thin lips that were curved into a smile.

His heart was pounding crazily. What was this feeling?

“Tilt your head to the side,” Hande said as she pulled a stool over and sat directly before Sam.

She was of Turkish origin and so had an accent when she spoke. But even that was pretty to the ear. At least, Sam was not bothered. Maybe he couldn’t even be. They were in a clinic, and just staring at her face caused the thick smell of medicine in the air to be lost to him.

He did not like this, but he did not want it to stop.

Sam obliged and tilted his head, and Hande leaned in closer, her breath pouring on his face in return. The tip of his ears reddened, and it was definitely not because of the fire placed underneath his right one.

Hande caught him staring then, and her smile widened.

“That’s impossible, you know?”

Sam’s gaze shifted from her neck to her emerald eyes. He gulped. “What is?”

“Us.” She chuckled at Sam’s expression. “Keep your head stable. We don’t want the fire burning you, now, do we?”

Sam blinked twice. “What do you mean ‘us’?”

“Well. For one, I’m thirty and you’re seventeen.” Sam’s gaze remained stoic. “And I have a boyfriend.” Now they faltered, only just.

A boyfriend? Why should I care? The age difference didn’t even bother him.

Although, he didn’t speak out his thoughts. Instead, he just sighed and said, “I understand.”

Hande smiled at that reply, oblivious to the fact that Sam was not insinuating he would put a stop to his supposed crush on her.

Regardless of what went on in each of their minds, the room fell silent then, with only the occasional sounds of people outside breaking it in intervals.

Sam came to realize from the discussion he’d had with the faction leader, Luca Belluci, the day past that the Hunter’s Faction consisted of a whopping sum of at least two hundred people.

He had wondered why he had not gotten the exact head count but did not bother pushing it with the faction leader. The man had a pleasant face, but the sort of aura he emitted gave Sam the chills. And that was why he answered truthfully when he was asked about the Role he had received from the Plexus.

Sam did not need it spelled out to him.

A faction with over two-hundred people had not even a single Protagonist, and the presence of one meant a Glade could spawn at random moments. It was obvious why. And since he’d confirmed that he wasn’t one, he saw no use in lying.

Besides, what good would come from building distrust between himself and the faction leader?

Their conversation continued on with the faction leader spelling out what and what was not acceptable in the faction—at least after he’d made sure Jim had already told Sam the basics of what was going on in the world, as well as how he’d wound up in this faction. Out of all the things Sam had heard, the one which stood out to him the most was the rule towards ‘deserters’.

Attempting to leave the faction meant that the person was a deserter, and a deserter was someone who was a spy from another faction, or who wanted to trade the secrets of their faction to another, or even build their own faction with those secrets as a base. There were more reasons as to why deserters were subjected to being punished by execution, but Sam already got the gist, so the faction leader did not bother. It was then that Sam also came to understand that the three people who had been beheaded at the shore were deserters.

Well, he did not recall anything about himself so where would he go?

Granted, it was only natural that he should seek out his family considering the situation, but he had no base ground to work with. Furthermore, they could be dead already. Wouldn’t he just be putting himself in harm’s way unnecessarily if he chose to traverse the ruins earth had become with no particular aim in mind? He would rather stay in the Hunter’s Faction considering all that. Here, he could learn how to survive, how to protect himself, and possibly, be thrilled beyond reason.

For that last thought, a chance was presented to him when the bald, wiry man he’d met at the gate of the lighthouse came into the faction leader’s office bearing news from a scout on the appearance of a Glade.

Of course, Sam had been sent back to the farmstead then, so he had been unable to hear anything further, although he'd gotten the gist by then. An expedition was coming up. In other words, monsters were going to present.

Despite being perturbed about how they were going to activate the Glade since they had no Protagonists in the faction, from then, up until now, there had been only one thought plaguing him: He had to join in.

Sam had wanted to bring it up to Jim, since he was the second in command, but he’d decided to put it on hold until after he was successfully cleared from being infested by a brain-eater and he’d selected his Division and Skill. After all, as the faction leader had told him, those two things had to be cleared out of the way before he would be allowed to engage in any major activities in the faction.

He’d already made his choice on what Division he wanted after carefully scrutinizing each all through the night until this morning—the damned Wraiths had bothered him, but he’d easily been able to block out their pleas soon later. The only reason he was yet to make known his decision to the Plexus was because he had been busy ever since.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Jim had made him clean, even though he was yet to have breakfast—that alcoholic was an animal. And now he was making sure his medical records were clean.

“You’re all good.” The warmth surrounding Sam’s ear subsided as Hande pulled away from him and stood up, the lab coat she wore swaying as she turned around. “No brain-eater.”

Sam straightened his neck. “I see…”

Hande dropped the candle stand on the table, then turned around and leaned on it. Her blood red lips were still in a graceful smile. Sam was confused why, considering how she’d put him off early on.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Fine… I guess.”

“Have anything you want to talk about?”

Where’s this coming from?

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“Well, you look like you have a lot on your mind,” Hande said. “It’s not good to keep things buried in, you know?”

I see where this is going.

“You’re the one who checked me out when I was brought in, I suppose?” Hande nodded with downturned lips. “There’s no need to worry. I’m perfectly fine. My loss of memories isn’t troubling me in any way. But of course, if it gets to that stage, I’ll make sure to let you know.”

Hande repeated her previous action. Then she picked up a medical record folder and penned something inside. “Rest up. I’ll get Richie.” She patted his shoulder as she left the room.

It would most likely take a bit of time for Richie to get here, depending on where he was, so Sam decided to just get his Division and Skill selection over with. As soon as they got back to the farmstead he was going to lay bare his claim to that alcoholic. Hopefully the man would not already be drunk by then.

How come there was so much alcohol, by the way?

Sam summoned the Plexus, and it brought forth the words he had last engaged with before pushing them aside.

[Divisions available for Deuteragonist Sam Leclair as a Lightweight]:

[Elementalist Division]: The elements of the world are all controllable, but that depends on if you want to hold their reins.

[Rogue Division]: Stealth and trickery entices you, a world where you are no longer the prey but the predator. Such a world exists, and it awaits you.

[Saint Division]: Extravagance is rarely your forte, but perfection is. A fighter you believe you are? Then skills fit for such are yours for the taking.

[Make your choice Deuteragonist Sam Leclair]...

Rogue Division… Since he’d already thought it out long before now, he did not hesitate one bit.

In fact, why had he even considered choosing anything else? The simple words “you are no longer the prey but the predator” should have been enough to convince him right from the start. Taking into consideration what the world had turned to, none of the other Divisions would probably be able to lace the boots of the Rogue Division. This was the perfect Division for survival, and, most of all, thrills.

[Division selected]...

[Assigning Rogue Division to Deuteragonist Sam Leclair]...

[Assignment successful]...

[Selected Division cannot be changed]...

[Proceeding]...

[Skill selection has been unsealed]...

[Proceed to select Skill?]...

Proceed…

[Rogue Division]

[Shadow Walker]: A Skill that plunges its user into a world of stealth. As long as shadows exist, traversing them is a feat.

[Shadow Panther]: A Skill which grants its user the pinnacle of nocturnal abilities. Darkness is home to the Panther of Shadows.

[Shadowmancer]: Stealth has been exchanged for Trickery. This Skill grants its user the ability to manipulate shadows into whichever state they feel pleasant.

[Shadow Clones]:Two heads are better than one? How about five or more? This Skill grants its user the ability to create clones from shadows.

[Make your choice Deuteragonist Sam Leclair]...

If a person wasn’t sure of their goals, then deciding on a particular Skill would surely put them in some sort of dilemma. Not Sam though. He knew what he wanted, and the best Skill that would provide him that was none other than…

Shadowmancer…

[Skill selected]...

[Assigning Shadowmancer to Deuteragonist Sam Leclair]...

[Assignment successful]...

[Selected Skill cannot be changed]...

[Proceed to Plexus Interface?]...

Those words appeared as soon as the fleeting ethereal tingle which had caressed Sam’s body subsided. It was then, just before he could respond to the latest question he had been asked, that Richie spoke from behind him.

“Let’s go.”

Sam turned around to see the apathetic teenage individual already walking off.

It seemed he had not been that far away from the clinic after all.

Sam then exhaled and stood up, prompting the messages to revert back to the pulsing blue and purple light in his peripheral vision.

###

The drive back to the farmstead was all silence. Most of the time Sam and Richie spent together was.

Of course, Sam was not particularly interested in conversing with the boy that much, but it still felt stiffening.

Was this the ‘opposite poles attract’ kind of thing? Maybe. Since they both didn’t enjoy talking or long conversations they were not compatible.

Well, that was the least of his concerns at the moment. The one at the top of his list was getting that alcoholic to help him join in whatever expedition was going to happen.

Sam was just about to bring that up as soon as he walked into the cabin, though he stopped himself when he saw that Jim wasn’t drunk but setting up the dining table with an apron around his waist. He wrinkled his brows at the sight.

I’m not hallucinating, am I…?

“Ah. You boys are back.” Jim pulled off his mittens. “Made potatoe porridge. It’s gonna be a bit spicy, but you’ll manage.”

“You cooked?” Sam had to confirm his suspicions, while Richie simply walked into the kitchen and brought out a mug of water.

“What’s with the tone, boy?” The burly cowboy took off his apron then too.

Sam watched as Richie quietly began serving the porridge into the bowls that had been set and he shook his head as a reply to Jim’s question. “Nothing. By the way, I have something to discuss with you.”

Richie had told him that the reason both of them were living with Jim was because he was the one who had saved them both. It was one of the rules in the faction. Saving an individual meant it became a duty to cater for their needs.

Although, that was obviously not the topic of what he wanted to talk about.

“Huh?” Jim pulled out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet and Sam frowned slightly. What had he been expecting? “That’d be after breakfast, boy. Talking while eating causes constipation. Now sit.”

Sam did not talk back and simply took his seat. Richie put a bowl of porridge before him.

Breakfast was served.