Socializing.

Social skills are the key to winning friends and influencing people, and if I wished to be successful in my new life I had to master this subtle art-form. I regretted not starting earlier, due in part to a rural upbringing and reserved personality, but I can’t delay any longer!

I had formulated the perfect plan to see my efforts fruitful.

Step 1. My long term plan now that I had unlocked skills was to see them all leveled to the current level 5 maximum. To that end, I would practice my skills in more open and communal spaces. This way, as I began to display prominence with my magical prowess, the other residents of the village would have no choice but to acknowledge my superiority, and thus they would flock to me like the mindless sheep always flock to the powerful. The useful skill levels would be a very large bonus to this portion of the plan as well. When my [Mana Forming] reached a high enough degree I could begin to manually form spells.

I was unsure what the level would be for the forming variant, but with [Mana Shaping] It was unlocked at exactly level 5. For a more advanced skill, I imagined level four at the latest, if not three. With spells in hand this monotonous rural life would become exponentially more bearable. The magical revolution looms! Prepare thine self peasant masses! Your savior is at hand.

In the process of training up my new skills, I had become a more constant fixture of village life. Gone were the days of isolated rural family life. Instead, I was quickly forming inroads with the people of the village.

Near the center of the town lived a young boy named Clifton. He was a touch younger than me and a hair larger. His father was headman, responsible for organizing the militia and administering to the town as well as his own farm. Clifton, like his father, was a beast of a boy with as much muscle as sense and a oafish look beneath his dirty brown mop of hair. He meant well though, He reminded me of Vincent in that manner. Too strong for his own good.

On a related side note, I made it a point to become familiar with the tradesfolk here in the village. Everyone farmed for their sustenance to some degree, but we had a few necessary craftsmen for essential tools that supplemented their table with bartering. My goal was to pick up a few odd jobs, dabble here and there in as many fields as I could, and establish a wide base for my eventual class-ups.

To that end, The local smith had been a frequent visit of mine. I feigned interest in his daughter Leigh as much as his forge, and the aging man I suspected to be of dwarven descent seemed not to mind.

Leigh herself is a stout girl, two years my senior and already partially system unlocked. She could take skills and such, but her class upgrades were apparently locked for several more years. She had a forge skill of her own and acted as her father’s apprentice and more recently, my tutor in metallurgy. Despite being older than I, Leigh was practically the same height as I was, though her sturdy and at times rather adorable build had led us to see more eye to eye than many others. I of course was not attracted to children, but I must admit when she smiled there was an involuntary reaction in my chest. Her hair reminded me of the forge, as did the heat in my face.

While I made no pretense to being a particularly skilled metalworker, Leigh had helped me grasp the basics quite well. I felt confident that I had qualified long ago for any class expansions, but I would miss the opportunity to be near her, so our training continued.

Likewise I had visited the local carpenter, a man my father insists was a stonemason yet seemed to do nothing but carve gravestones, a combination tailor, leather worker, and cobbler, as well as the largest family farm by volume.

The Prescots had three brothers, their wives, and fifteen total children living in the large house at the edge of the forest. The space between the village and them seemed barely enough to feed such a hoard. I say children but even the youngest Prescot broodling was more than 6 years my senior, and they seemed more infatuated with each other than they did anything going on in the village. Best left alone if you ask me.

But, as such, my web of understanding had slowly narrowed around this village and my rural life. I learned we were called Romsey Village, and I had at least passing familiarity with everyone here and their jobs. They knew me by name, and I them. If I was to gain anything else it would be from the careful and constant nurturing of these relationships as well as diligent training.

Diligence was something I could manage. In fact, with my age and independence reaching a point so as to explain any undo curiosity, I could now broach a subject I had thought long and hard about for years now.

“Hey mama?” I asked one evening during dinner.

“Yes vincent?” my mother Neia looked up from her own meal with a smile.

“So, uhm, everybody has a class right? And I have a class that says ‘kid’ on it, cuz I’m a kid. Leigh says her dad has a blacksmitherers class because he does metal forging all day.” I began to lay the ground work for my master plan, laying it on thick with the affected cuteness. Mother was smiling already.

“And classes have levels right? Like I’m level 1 cuz its locked.” Neia was nodding along politely, not wanting to interrupt. I was a sparkling conversationalist no doubt, but rarely was I the initial voice to start things.

“What are you and dad’s classes about? Cuz, you don’t do a lot of garden stuff like the other mamas, and dad’s always patrolsing the forest” I sprang my trap, asking innocently enough in tone but striking perfectly to get to the bottom of my ultimate family mystery.

“Oh! Why didn’t you just say so? I knew you’d be pretty curious eventually” Mother explained rather calmly. “Go get your writing slate and I’ll show you some of my classes, and when papa gets home I’ll ask him to show his after he has a chance to eat” She instructed, Daniel was out on some hunting patrol or other and likely wouldn’t be home for another few hours. A near weekly occurrence that kept us stocked in fresh meat but left mother and I with lots of time alone together.

Not wanting to delay any juicy secrets though, I stuffed one last roast potato chunk into my cheeks and hopped down from the dining chair just a touch too tall for me. No use in wasting mom’s potatoes! She did such a great job that I was convinced she had a cooking skill at max level. The wonders she could weave with such simple ingredients. No! My mind was wandering again. Distractions like this used to be so foreign to me…

With haste and a force of will only described as prodigious I overcame the tender temptations of perfectly flaky root vegetables. Within moments I returned to the kitchen and handed mother my slate and chalk. I needed her to take it from me so I could return to my seat, the chairs we sat in are a bit higher than average so I had to step up a little stool to get into them. My hands being full had unbalanced me on more than one occasion. A few more inches of growth would solve this problem permanently! That or shorter chairs…

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“Okay sugarplum, so we don’t have to talk about it much when your dad gets home, but I’m actually a few levels higher than he is” Neia smirked as she started to write out the specifics of her classes. I couldn’t contain myself from peaking over at what she was writing, and it seemed like she was writing the class names in High Elvish and then translating them into Hikos to help me better understand the context. What a saint! A patron of learning if ever there was one.

“I have those extra levels though because I’m an Elf, and we talked about it before how Elves live a really long time right?” Mother asked me, confirming the information she’d “told” me despite probably knowing more about Elf biology than she did.

“Well, your dad and I are of similar age when you compare total life span, how far away we are from being old folks” She giggled, clearly trying to simplify the concept in such a way that a child could understand.

“The only thing is, your dad will seem to age faster than me because of that. Faster than you since you have elf blood” She continued, finishing the list of classes on the slate and pushing it my way.

“Some people think Elves are immortal” She whispered, giving a knowing look that usually accompanies the phrase “I’ll tell you when you’re older” whenever I asked her about what she did before she met dad. “Most of the people I knew when I was younger that actually passed away didn’t get old or sick or anything, they just got really tired after being around so long. So they went to sleep and stayed that way, wandering in the dreams.”

For the first time in my life I saw my mother activate a skill. A shimmering mirage appeared at her finger tips depicting a lush and vibrant city that sparkled and shined like a diamond. I couldn’t feel any mana being moved so it certainly wasn’t a spell, but I didn’t have enough knowledge of Elves to know what skill it was.

“Memories and Dreams are very important to my..” Mom stopped herself mid sentence to correct her wording “To our people. When you live for a long time, you leave a lot of things behind, and it’s important to remember them so you don’t lose what was left”.

Neia finished her explanation and I could feel an air of sadness settle in for a moment, she’d clearly pondering something important. I didn’t dare interrupt her, so I just cast my eyes down to the list of classes and began to read them.

Classes:

Elven Child lvl 5

Elven Student lvl 10

Apprentice Scribe lvl 25

Apprentice Enchantress lvl 50

Memory weaver lvl 75

Keeper of Memories lvl 125

Retired Immortal lvl 36

Immediately my mind began to race and crunch the numbers. Carry the 2. Add the 5. Holy Cow! She’s level 326! It took me nearly 40 years in an advanced era of knowledge to reach the lvl 75 class cap. I had died with total level in the low 200’s, and she has passed me by more than fifty percent.

Just how old was my mom?

“Hey mama?” I asked tentatively, glancing her direction out of the side of my eye. I could already feel her ice cold glare boring into my shoulder as the intuition only a mother can hold had read my intentions.

“It’s impolite to ask a woman her age Vincent.” Neia commanded in a stern and monotone voice. A cold sweat ran down my back. This woman means business!

“Yes ma’am” I sighed, holding the slate back out towards her. “Can you explain your classes to me now?” I begged with my biggest, most adorable puppy-dog eyes.

“Of course sugar!” Mom perked up as soon as the topic of conversation had changed, and began explaining her classes one by one, stressing the importance that I keep her classes a secret between only the family. If anyone asked, I had no idea.

The raw stats she must have made any threats of punishment carry that much more weight, so I agreed wholeheartedly.

The first two classes on mother’s list were pretty straight forward. [Elven Child] and [Elven Student] were variations of commonly known classes. Every known race with system access had a variation of the child class, with the only difference in them being the base stats offered. [Elven Student] was an interesting choice though, as most student classes offered very little in stat gain in exchange for having such broad skill lists.

“You see Vincent” Mother began as she explained the class to me. “Since Elves live for such a long time, there’s actually a period of time after we’ve already stopped growing where the rest of society doesn’t really see us as adults. It can be frustrating for everyone else around you to look exactly the same but only treat you differently because of age. So it’s common for young folk to take on apprenticeships or join a school and spend that time studying alongside peers close in age.”

It had never really occurred to me how a near limitless lifespan would make even fully grown adults seem like children to the Elves. Theirs was a very reclusive society, so I’d admit Teraq did not have much contact. This planted even more doubts in my mind about how old my mother must’ve been in order to be considered “Adult” in Elf society. Not that I would risk voicing such doubts. I valued my continued existence too much.

Mother’s list of classes got significantly more interesting after that though. Each time she described a class on her list and why she chose it, it felt like I was getting to know her a little bit better. It was nice, I knew she’s my mother, but we hadn’t ever felt especially close beyond just that initial familial bond. I knew next to nothing about my extended family, my parent’s interests, or what they liked to do when they were younger. My definitions of Neia and Daniel were clearly “Mom and Dad”, and I would like to change that. They’ve given me everything they could manage and helped with everything I’ve asked, it’s the least I could do to try and know them a little better.

The next two classes on Mother’s list were straight forward enough, even in my current life I had a basis for understanding the [Apprentice] class variants. The general theme was that each one focused on studying a particular job under the guidance of an expert. Mother had [Apprentice Scribe] and [Apprentice Enchantress] which would focus on the skills of scribing papers and enchanting items respectively, while Leigh from the village likely would take [Apprentice Smith] at some point.

“Mom? Why do you have two apprentice classes if you never took the big class they were studying from?” I asked Neia. Unfortunately, I wasn’t familiar enough with Elf culture to know if I was missing any cultural cues, but it seemed a bit out of the ordinary to me.

“Well, there are [Scribe] and [Enchanter] skills that are either fundamentally necessary or very helpful to my next class, [Memory Weaver] and if I had waited to level up a full scribe class or a full enchantment class it would have delayed my goal by potentially a few hundred levels.” Mom explained very carefully. I didn’t know what skills she was talking about since I was completely unfamiliar with [Memory Weaver] as a class. I suspected it might be an Elf exclusive class. She made a good point though. Even with a nearly endless lifespan, a few decades worth of leveling just to get to your starting line sounded torturous.

I wasn’t going to think about that too much. I might jinx it.

“What does the [Memory Weaver] class do mama?”

“Well Honey, [Memory Weaver] and the class after it [Keeper of Memories] are used by elves to make magical copies of very precious memories so our people can relive them later. They let me see people’s memories and help make them more clear as well as preserve them for later” She explained so softly, yet it still caused my blood to run cold.

Had she seen? Did she know? No. No. Breathe deep and calm down. There’s no need to panic.

Even assuming she did know, if Neia was going to do something about it she would have done so already. Though there was a chance she has no idea. I had to ask.

“So, Uhm, Mom?” I stammered nervously.

“You can see other people’s memories?”