I woke without pain.

I had a strangely coherent picture of the events that had passed. Almost instantly upon waking, I understood where I was and what had happened. Yes, there was a moment of confusion, the strange surroundings disconcerting me.

I lay in a bed, the hums and beeps of hospital equipment working away in the background. I was in a single-occupant room. The walls were plain; there was the smell of disinfectant.

But after only a few moments, I was able to pull back the events that passed—the battle with Doom, the insanity of how I had killed the monster, Olaf carrying me, and… the levels.

Was I remembering wrong? Had my level shot to 21? It hardly seemed possible.

I wasn’t without some awareness of how fortunate I’d been. It was simply that my excitement at gaining the levels, at climbing to my goal, even exceeding it so suddenly, was an object that blotted out other thoughts.

I realized with some confusion that my helm was folded back. I looked down and saw that the armor had peeled itself back from my forearms, and tubes and wires ran from sensor pads and injection sites on my arms back to chittering machinery with glowing screens and flashing lights. Had I done that? Had I removed my armor to help treatment? I wasn’t sure.

With a thought, my helmet folded back around me, consuming my face. I needed to assess my condition, I needed to talk to someone. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. Had I lost hours? Days? Had the Falling started already?

But first, my levels. My new skill.

Subject: Tiberius

Status: Chosen Sword

Level: 21

My breath caught in my throat. It was almost too amazing to believe. And there, blinking away, was the skill notification. I selected it and passed through to a new screen.

New Skill: Axe-break

Below it were a few lines outlining the details of the skill.

Axe-break is a one-use action with substantial cooldown. Axe-break is a Shield-type attribute that delivers enormous damage to Axe-type Griidlords.

Finally! An offensive skill. I was uncertain at first about the value of a skill like this. How long a cooldown would there be? How much value would this add to my presence on the field if I could only use it once?

Nonetheless, it would give me some advantage over Axe types—the Achilles' heel of Sword suits. I would need to discuss this with someone of more knowledge and experience in order to get a true measure of how substantially this would improve my impact on battle. In my mind, I could see it ranging from limited to very substantial. I would need counsel.

The door opened and a figure entered. A tall and broad creature. He was more than intimidating—a monster of a man. I realized my vision was still murky, though better than it had seemed during the flight to Pittsburgh. The man before me was Olaf.

His eyes widened as he saw me looking at him. “Thank fuck, you’re awake! You took your time!”

I said, “How long?”

Olaf moved closer to me. His dynamic was confusing. He had exerted himself beyond human limits to bring me here, to save my life, and yet there was a strange standoffishness.

He said, “About two days now.”

“Two days? Wow… I thought I was dead.”

Olaf smiled shyly. “I kinda did as well.”

I shook my head slowly. “You saved my life. That’s twice you’ve saved me.”

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Olaf shrugged and fell into a chair near the bed. “What else was I gonna do? Let you die so that asshole Lance could get the suit after all?”

We spoke without speaking. Olaf had no desire for me to emote grandly. He wasn’t the sort of man who would enjoy an excessive outpouring of emotions or gratitude. Instead, our eyes met briefly, and it was communicated. He smiled evenly and nodded, then let his eyes move away from me.

He said, “We were lucky. The doctors said you nearly died.”

A sudden, terrifying thought struck at me. I had an instant sensation that I had made a truly irreparable mistake. I thought of Chowwick, losing nearly a month to healing the damage to his legs after the Hordesmen. “How long will I be recovering? It’s what? Three days to the Falling now.”

“Less,” Olaf said.

Then he said, “You’re nearly good to go.”

“But when Chowwick went down, he was out for weeks. And I nearly died.”

Olaf waved a hand as if to dismiss the thought. “How much do you think I know about it? The docs said you’d probably be back on your feet in time for the start of the Falling. Different injuries heal differently. Burghsmen docs used relics on you; I don’t know. I think you had bleeding, but not wounds—nothing pierced, no big piece of tissue that needed to be put back together. Shit, I don’t know. Best thing you can do now is get back to Boston as fast as you can so you can get into your own Pod. The Burghsmen used some Mystorium on you, but I’ve been around most of the time, and you’re only patched up.”

I said, “They used their own Mystorium on me?”

Olaf smiled flatly. “It won’t have been free. They probably did a deal with Boston.”

I said, “Why help me at all? Wouldn’t it suit them better to have let me die? One less Griidlord out there to compete for Flows. Their Griidlords will be trying to kill me in a few days anyway.”

Olaf shrugged again. “Burghsmen are weird, Ti. They don’t think like that. You better believe they’ll gut you for an Orb, but when you lie down dying at the gates of their city, they bring you in. It won’t have been free—Boston will pay something for this. But… well, was it worth it? Did it work? Everyone is talking about the fight with Doom. The Jaxwulfs got back the next day, and they’ve spread the story far and wide.”

I said, “It worked.”

He leaned forward, excited. “You got to level 20 in one shot?”

I said, “Level 21.”

He whistled. “And a new skill?”

I said, “Axe-break. It’s a one-use, with a cooldown. Lets me dish damage out on Axe-types, I guess? I don’t know, Chowwick or Jacob or someone will know better.”

Olaf sat back in his seat. “That’s so you.”

“What is?”

Olaf said, “You made all the wrong choices there. Anyone with half a brain would have given up on the fight when they knew they were outmatched. It’s not a stroke of genius that you stuck it out and came out on top. The wrong decision is still the wrong decision, no matter the outcome. You could have been killed, or disabled for the whole Falling. Boston would suffer a lot more at the loss of you than it gains from your extra levels.”

His words rolled off me like rain on oilskin. They didn’t penetrate. The simple fact was that it had worked. I was instantly a level 21 Griidlord. I was instantly a factor in the Falling. With my new skill, I might even be more than that.

“So my legend grows?” I asked. I felt less discomfort with the idea of people talking about me than I used to feel. I felt intrigued, excited, validated.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “The bars and taverns and meeting halls are full of talk about it. You know how the Burghsmen see outsiders. We’re all soft and decadent. They like the idea of a Sword who would literally climb into the belly of a beast rather than turn tail.”

I smiled. A warm feeling spread through me. There was a satisfaction from my triumph. People talking of my deed was the very essence of proving myself. But more, there was comfort in Olaf’s presence. The fact that he had remained here while I was unconscious touched me. Was this friendship? I had not had male friends, not really.

Without thinking I suddenly said, “Stay in Boston.”

The words startled him. His eyes turned fixedly away from me. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

And he was right, I knew he was right. He could no more relinquish an opportunity to gain a suit than I could walk away from the one I wore.

I said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

His eyes were dark. “That’s all I hear from Father. He accuses me of treachery, of betraying Boston. ‘Better to be a knight in Boston than a Griidlord anywhere else.’ I know I’ve hurt him… But… I can’t let go of it. I wish I could. By the Oracle, I envy you, Tiberius. It always works for you.”

I let my own eyes go distant. I was very tired. The pain might have receded from my body, but the cost of the exertion, of the injuries, of the healing, was a debt my body was still paying. I thought about what had worked—winning the suit despite the weakness of my start in the arena, gaining levels so quickly, surviving Doom. But I also thought of the fresh grave where my Father rested, the tattered trade empire I was tasked with abandoning or rebuilding, of the two young women in Castle Oakcrest who passed on being wife to a Griidlord in exchange for deeper happiness.

“Not always…” I whispered as sleep swept up from the darks of my mind to pull me under.