Just as my attention was truly starting to drift, refreshments were brought over by one of the inn’s staff, small snacks of jellied fruit, nuts, and watered wine. It was a welcome relief, as I was struggling to keep my interest.

Then Zariyah began to recount how she came to her powers. Finally, my ears perked up and I started to pay real attention. A storm had come while they were traveling in the western lands, a great squall that was relentless in its elemental rage. Winds with the strength of giants tore through the night. Storms like these in Aranthia were a thing of myth and legend, and it was most fortuitous that Gelgor’s caravan had chosen to shelter within the walls of a city that night.

Though Zariyah had no real memory of it, many of the Crows had seen her walk out, as if in a trance, out onto the cobbled streets and into the howling night. They screamed at her to come back, but their voices were lost to the wind as roof tiles were torn off buildings. Fearing the wrath of the unnatural storm, no one followed her out into the tempest.

They found her the next day in a farmer’s field outside the city walls, unharmed by the cutting winds, with not so much as a bruise upon her. It was only later, when she woke up on a soft feathered bed that she realized what the Wind had taken from her. Her voice.

We all listened with rapt attention and without interruption. I always hungered for scraps of information involving magical power and its nature. If her account was true, then it was most likely that the tempest had gifted, or perhaps awakened, her powers. Had there been others like the young Zariyah who had ventured out into that storm-filled night and been gifted by the Wind? Could I do the same? It was a shame that the damn woman had been so light on the details of the how of it.

Unfortunately, the rest of her tale devolved into a boring account of her life on the road with the caravan.

Taking a sip of watered wine, my thoughts were instead turned inwards, to my own trials and tribulations that made Zariyah’s account of her life until now sound like a pleasant holiday. Still, it reinforced my view that this world was cruel and unforgiving.

Against all the odds, and in a world that seemed set against me, I had prevailed. At least, so far. Out of a population of billions I had been chosen, leading me to believe that I was truly special. Indeed, I had proven it, both to this world and more importantly to myself. I was more than the product of a ‘soft’ society that had created me. In me were reserves of will that I never knew I had.

However, for all of this, my goals had always been just about short-term survival and running away. There simply had been no room for thinking about what I wanted from this world, and what I wanted to do and achieve for myself.

All of my dreams and aspirations, trivial as they had been, had turned into so much ash from the moment I had arrived in Gesthe. What was there for me to do here? The conveniences of my old world, I somberly realized, were more than just mere conveniences, but intrinsic and essential parts of living. Without them, I felt lost and adrift.

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You can do anything you want, be anyone you want, a voice within stated simply. Not the voices, not this time, but a rare private thought that offered a grain of hope. Something to aspire to.

I could be powerful here, quantifiably so, as I grew in levels, skills, and experience. But this pursuit of power, for its own sake, felt aimless and empty. However, objectively speaking, it was a road that promised more satisfaction at its destination than any of my railroaded life plans in my old world. That was the dreadful and barbaric frontier beauty of this place.

However, there was a price for this power. Every step of the way, it seemed as though the gods of this world were intent on bending me to their will, singling me out to thwart my dreams and desires. But I was resolute in my refusal to yield to them. This was not a mere act of contrariness on my part, rather, I believed in the depths of my soul that acquiescing would mean trading away something essential.

Ah, the damn gods.

Avaria and Iasis, for all of their overwhelming power, felt human, felt flawed. They were on some level relatable, and therefore not beings that could be classified as gods. At least in the modern sense of the word.

Of the three divine entities I had encountered, only one truly embodied the mantle and title of a 'god.' Yet, even this dark and formidable power felt more like an elemental force, an inescapable truth of the universe rather than a god. The term god seemed too narrow to encompass such a terrible being. Even now, the faint echoes of my encounter with Entropy, filled me with existential dread, but also an odd sense of acceptance. I had, in a very limited way, become a part of the alpha and omega of the universe itself.

Yet, against all evidence to the contrary, a belief that I stubbornly held onto was that gods did not exist. Could not exist. Even if they did, they should be beings so far apart from us that they should be incomprehensible. After all, the true gods who were worthy of our worship were those who did not need our reverence in the first place. For what use did a god have of the regard of a mortal? What use do we have for the ants that we crush beneath our feet?

Suddenly my name was mentioned and I stopped with my internal musings. Zariyah had finally come to the part when Gelgor had gifted her to me, trading her away like so much livestock.

With a fixed smile on my face, I listened in, stopping only to clarify a few small points. A part of me felt grateful that Zariyah saved me the effort of having to explain why she joined me to the rest of my companions.

But, Larynda's face grew uncharacteristically hard towards the last part. The part where Zariyah’s ownership was passed over to me. Silly child, could she not see that this thing was not my fault at all? She had been foisted upon me and I had no choice but to accept her.

I had no intent on keeping a slave, for that was what she was in all but name, as I thought the whole institution morally repugnant. At least until I felt familiar enough with the city.

Kidu and Elwin, companions of my long and weary road, harbored a peculiar dichotomy in their view of slavery. To them, it was a detestable affliction when it clasped about their own necks, yet they held no hate or aversion to the idea itself. The towering Kidu spoke with a disquieting calm of 'bondsmen', prisoners from vanquished tribes who were forced to work for their conquerors for a year and a day, another barbaric custom of his primitive people.

For Elwin, it had been a fate much preferable to the hangman’s noose. As for Cordelia, afraid of her answer, I had never cared to find out her views on the matter. The woman, on a strange level, truly unnerved me.

I had never been good around believers, true believers.