Jace narrowed his eyebrows and scrutinized Kinfild. The man didn’t respond at all to Jace’s proclamation.

“I said I’d come with you,” Jace said. “So…where are we going?”

Kinfild cleared his throat and tapped the metal deck with his walking stick. “It’s not far.”

“Not far, as in…?”

“To get you started, we’ll head to the Candleshire. It’s a set of villages and hamlets, and one of the few civilized patches of land on this planet. We’ll get you settled and eased into this life, and then we can keep moving.” Kinfild stepped over to the starship’s door and rapped on it with his walking stick again. The door whirred and opened back onto the grassy field. “Grab yourself some food and come along. You can eat as we go.”

Jace looked back at the tray. He snatched up one of the fluffy white cakes from the tray, but his appetite hadn’t yet returned. He stuffed it in his backpack, and asked, “When you talk about cores, do you mean the hypercore?”

“Partially.” Kinfild stepped down the ramp. “All Wielders and worldjumpers form a core eventually. You must first condense Aes, the life-energy of the universe, into a core cloud. This, you have effectively done, by absorbing the hypercore. You are past the early condensation stage. It took you only four hours: a record pace for any Wielder, let alone a worldjumper.”

“And…the core seed?”

“Part of the usual stabilization process for worldjumpers. It should improve your connection with the Split, make those golden screens of yours a little brighter and respond better. Kinfild tapped his fingers on his staff impatiently. “Now, we need to get moving. We have quite the hike.”

“This…is a spaceship, right?”

“Indeed, but the current inhabitants of the shire are not tolerant of most modern technology,” said Kinfild. “And I’m already on poor terms with them.” He held up a finger. “But fear not! If we get moving, we’ll arrive by the time the suns set. We would do well to arrive before then.” He pulled his hat tighter onto his head and chuckled, which turned to a cough. “Aur-Six, cool the Wrath’s boiler. We’ll be back in around a week’s time.”

The small kyborg chittered and clanked, then spun in a circle on its treads and disappeared back into the room it emerged from.

They stepped out of the starship, then continued marching across the fields—away from the forest that Jace had arrived in. Here, though, tall lavender grass rolled across the land all the way to the horizon. Jace pulled the plasma rifle back over his shoulder and lowered his arms, trying to walk as normally as possible.

After an hour, a thick wall of magenta-leaved deciduous trees appeared on the horizon. Another forest.

“What happens when the sun—suns—set?” Jace asked.

“The darklings come out.”

“...You can’t just say that and not elaborate.” He knew what the darklings were, but he wanted to know more.

“You don’t need—or want—to know, not right now. Just keep moving.”

Wow. Thanks.

They stepped into this new forest. Sheltered from the sun and wind of the fields, Jace decided that now was as good of a time as ever to try eating again. He slowed down for a moment to open his backpack and retrieve the white cake he had taken from the Luna Wrath.

“Keep up, please,” Kinfild said, tapping his walking stick against the ground. “We’re on a schedule.”

Jace grunted. He pulled the cake out and fumbled with the zipper to get his bag shut again. “Is the timing so precise that—”

“Timing?” Kinfild looked over his shoulder, but didn’t slow his pace. “It’s not about precise timing, but about how much time we have left. There have been unusual sightings. Dark folk are gathering in inns and taverns across the galaxy, and odd creatures stir in the spaceports. There have been strange happenings on every major planet…and now, the next wave of worldjumpers is arriving.” Kinfild coughed again. “We are on the brink of something. I don’t know what, but every day, the darkness grows. We must act quickly.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. He ran back to Kinfild’s side and matched the Wielder’s brisk pace. He took a bite of the cake and savoured the sweetness. It was light, but every bite was filling, and he hoped it was nutritious.

“Yes, yes, I know you don’t care about this place,” said Kinfild. “Hence our arrangement. I hope it doesn’t seem too cruel.”

Jace rolled his lips between his teeth. Death didn’t exactly sound pleasant, and for the most part, Kinfild had been helping him. If it meant staying alive…then Jace could put up with it.

For about two more hours, they walked at a quick pace without saying a word to each other. They passed a small creek, which Jace used to refill his water bottle when Kinfild confirmed that it was clean and safe to drink.

A half-hour later, the lowest of the two suns dipped below the treetops and disappeared beyond the horizon. Jace asked, “How close are we?”

“Almost there.”

Jace looked down, cautious of where he was stepping. There were only a few slivers of sunlight now, and the roots seemed more pronounced and malicious. Thorns threatened to puncture his boots and tear through his pants, and twigs stabbed at his upper thighs—what his gaiters didn’t protect.

When the last tendrils of sunlight dipped below the horizon, a shiver of dread ran down his spine. The darkness enveloped him, and his heart beat faster. He wanted the faint light of a lantern or a flashlight, but there were only glimmers of twilight. He glanced around, wary of each bush and each fern. Something was out there, he was certain—

The shrub to their left exploded into wooden shrapnel and leaves. A shadowy form leapt out of it. It pounced into the faint twilight. It was a grey wolf the size of a bear, but its flesh hung loose. Patches of skin and fur were completely missing, and shards of bare bone jutted out of its flank. Black tar seeped out of its mouth.

And, as if it couldn’t get any more evil-looking, it had two curled ram horns atop its head.

Another darkling.

Jace pushed Kinfild aside. He tackled the old man to the ground, then scrambled back to his feet alone. The beast—which Jace decided he would call a ram-wolf—snapped at him with its massive jaws. There wasn’t time to check it for a floating tag.

Its teeth sliced through the air as fast as a bullet and smashed together with a bang that, in the quiet forest, was almost as loud as a gunshot.

Jace tugged the stolen rifle off his shoulder. He swatted the ram-wolf’s muzzle with the rifle’s stock to buy himself time. Then, stepping back along the path, he flicked the safety catch off. He set the rifle’s butt beneath his clavicle and pulled the trigger. Plasmafire leapt out of the muzzle.

The blast scalded the ram-wolf’s flank and sizzled away into the woods. The beast roared, letting off a sound somewhere between a bleat and a snarl, and kept charging.

Jace pulled the rifle’s bolt up and back, then rammed it forward and down again. Just like a hunting rifle. Another shot was ready. He fired, aiming for the creature’s head. The blast struck the ram-wolf’s horn and melted straight through, but it didn’t hit anything vital.

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Jace’s eyes widened. The creature was too close. The ram-wolf opened its jaw, ready to bite into his neck. Before it could close its jaw, Jace stabbed the bayonet into the beast’s neck without turning it on. He aimed right where the badger’s dark core had been. Or, as close as he could on a wolf.

It reared back and bellowed—first, in a low pitch, but steadily rising to a shriek. Its pure black eyes widened and its matted fur spiked up.

Jace twisted the bayonet. The ram-wolf recoiled, but he chased it, keeping the bayonet embedded in the beast’s flesh until it stopped moving.

Jace waited until his heart stopped pounding. He wrenched the bayonet free and wiped the beast’s black blood on his pants. As he cleaned the blade, the corpse of the monster decayed before his eyes. It melted into black ash.

Jace’s core cloud heated up, and for a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of golden sparks passing into his chest, through his jacket, and swirling down towards his gut like he’d just taken a sip of hot coffee. He grasped his chest, gasping at the sudden warmth. But the sensation faded after a second.

“We’re almost there,” said Kinfild, standing up. He brushed off his robes and straightened his hat. Was he not bothered at all by what happened? “Just a little further. Not all the darklings will be so easy to deal with.” His smile suggested that he found the encounter mildly amusing.

“That was easy?”

“I didn’t have to help, did I?” Kinfild let out a soft laugh, then continued along the trail.

Jace looked east. The trees were thinning, and more fields sprawled across the land ahead. Thin wooden fences marked off plots of land. Golden wheat filled some, and herds of roaming goats filled the others. In the distance, there were pillars of rising smoke. Civilization!

Jace readied another shot in the rifle, just in case, then slung it over his shoulder.

Kinfild hadn’t stopped. Jace sprinted to catch up, following him to the edge of the forest. Once the trees ended, the trail became easier to follow. There were two ruts where wheels had carved through the grass.

Kinfild slowed to a walk. “None of the darklings would dare to leave the forest, even at night. They aren’t bold enough to move in open spaces, and even moonlight is enough to agitate them. We are safe out here.”

Jace fell into a walk beside Kinfild. For a few minutes, he didn’t say anything, not until his mind parsed the events of the past few hours. “So, I…I have magic?”

“Indeed,” Kinfild said. “That core cloud is the first step, and you’ve already begun your journey. At the Foundation stages, you’re working on strengthening your core and Aes system—and to get the process started, you will need a larger supply of Aes. Problem is, the Aes channels in the body are incredibly weak at this stage, and you can’t harvest any Aes from the energy fields of the world. But you can earn it.”

“What makes me”—Jace pointed his thumb at himself—“different from you, then?”

“Wielders go through the same stages of magic as you,” Kinfild said, “yet we cannot interact with the Split as you can, with your interfaces and sheets.” Kinfild shook his head and adjusted his hat. “The greatest duty of the Wielders of the Crimson Table Sect is to support the worldjumpers.”

“S—support?”

“Help you,” said Kinfild. He reached into his robe and produced the small device that he’d scanned Jace with earlier. He passed Jace the device, then said, “This is the Reader. Crafted by the galaxy’s greatest mage-scientists, it interfaces with the Split, and using a variety of metrics, can produce an estimate of certain creatures’ Attributes. It will give you an idea of how you’re doing if you use it on yourself.”

Jace took the device in his hands. It was heavier than he expected it would be, and he nearly dropped it.

“Point it at yourself and flick the switch on the side,” said Kinfild.

Jace did as he was told. The white hologram flashed to life again.

[Gathered Analytics]

Name: Jace Scott Baldwin

Worldjumper #: 5

Class: Core Hunter

Advancement Progress: Foundation 1 (2%)

Standard Level Rating: 4

Everything else that the hologram said was the same.

He didn’t understand what half of it meant—number five, advancement progress, and so on—but what caught his attention the most was the abilities form at the end. “It says…‘techniques’. Can you read this hologram?”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Kinfild told him. “It manifests in the language you are most familiar with. But I can see that last line—you have a technique card socketed already, which is an excellent first step.”

“Can the Reader see what the card does?” Jace asked.

“You’ll need to activate your innate system sheets for that, or perform a spiritual scan of the card—as normal Wielders must do.”

“How do I do—” Jace began. But as soon as he began to think about technique cards, and really concentrate on them like he had before, a sheet of golden dust manifested in the air ahead of him.

Before it displayed anything about his technique cards or manifested the card itself, it displayed a single message: [Standard Level Rating Increased: Level 4. Attribute Shards available.]

“Your level rating improved, yes?” Kinfild asked.

“It…did.”

“The Split gives us all standard level ratings, though few of us can see them,” Kinfild said. “Just a measure of strength based on your progress—in theory, separate from your stage, though the two often rise together. You can guide where some of that strength goes with Attribute Shards. Now, let’s see that technique card.”

The sheet of golden dust shifted, and the card manifested above the palm of Jace’s hand. The technique description hadn’t changed, but he still read it aloud to Kinfild. Finally, Kinfild said, “Very good, very good. An auspicious start, if I do say so myself!” He chuckled.

“Why technique cards?” Jace asked.

“Techniques require such complex and precise movements of Aes that your mind and willpower could not manage it on their own. The card provides a framework to guide it.”

“The rarity?”

“The higher the rarity, the more willpower you need to use the card—not to mention a stronger foundation.”

“And the types?” Jace asked. “This one is ‘Utility.’ ”

Kinfild snorted. “You’re catching on, and I like the attitude. There are five types of cards: Utility cards—support and other miscellaneous abilities. Attack cards…well, those are as they seem. Fortification cards strengthen your body temporarily. Curse cards apply negative effects to an enemy, and Shaping cards manifest Aes into reality and create physical objects with it.”

“And last question, then. How do I get more powerful?” Jace hadn’t had any percentage towards an advancement (whatever that meant) before he had killed the ram-wolf. “Do I just have to…run around, killing zombified woodland creatures?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.” Kinfild shook his head. “But that’s the gist of it, for a Core Hunter like you. You absorb Aes from defeated foes—all beings have it, whether they use it or not.”

They reached the top of a hill. Jace stopped. Ahead, small wooden houses with thatched roofs dotted the land as far as he could see. Trails wove up and down the hills and wrapped through the tranquil gardens, and windmills with neon-orange blades churned in the distance. A creek passed through the center, and horses pulled carts through the village—even late in the evening.

Jace deactivated the Reader and slid it into the front pocket of his backpack. He blinked. The people who occupied the village were…human-like, but they weren’t exactly human.

They all had beige skin and pointed ears that protruded straight out the sides of their heads, and most had long, dark brown or black hair. Jace blinked, rubbed his eyes, then forced his vision to focus.

As if that would make everything any more logical…

The beings had long, segmented tails that swayed behind them. At the tips of those tails burned a small, orange flame. It didn’t set the fabric around them alight, nor did it spew any smoke.

“Those,” Kinfild said, “are the candlefolk. They’re the inhabitants of this planet, and they’re usually quite pleasant. Simple folk, of course, and they have little to do with the outside world.”

“But—”

“Yes, yes. They’re made of fleshwax, and their bones are rigid, woven wick. You’ll notice that the horns sprouting out of their heads—male and female—are also made of wick. Their tails burn down as they get older, all that. Did the purple trees not clue you in that this is an alien world?” Kinfild cleared his throat and motioned towards the village. “There is an inn, and I’d suggest we settle down.”

Jace stuffed his hands in his pockets to shelter them from the cold evening winds. He wouldn’t mind that, not one bit.

They passed by the first hovel. A pair of elderly candlefolk sat on the front porch, smoking pipes and staring at Jace. If it wasn’t for the mechanical dog barking at them, Jace would’ve thought that he had stepped back centuries into the past.

“I thought you said they didn’t like modern technology,” Jace whispered. “I…I assume that’s modern.”

Kinfild chortled. “They reject most modern technology, I said. Technology that doesn’t help them with their passions—brewing, gardening, smoking, and most importantly, tending to the bees.”

The Wielder pointed in the opposite direction, where a pair of younger candlefolk chased down an enormous bee. It was the size of a small cat, and wherever it fluttered, its downdraft parted the flowers. Jace raised his eyebrows, but that was about all he could muster at this point.

Oh, you better not be getting used to this already…

“Usually, candlefolk are quite kind,” Kinfild whispered. “But not if you disturb the peace.”

Jace offered a faint smile, then said, “Let’s just make it to the inn, then. No more peace-disturbing for the night.”

“I give no guarantees.”