I figured with all these orphans here, there had to be at least a couple of chosen ones, a few prophesied, and a dozen of long lost royalty.

And in fact, there was one kid different from the rest at the orphanage. He was older, and tougher than others. Anytime I saw him, he was practicing with a wooden sword, doing pushups, or running circles around the abbey. He didn’t waste time on childish activities, but strived to grow up a badass. That, or a villain.

His name was Luther, and when Amelia told me that he had watched his parents die in a Dark Night attack, it made me want to give him a hug. I knew what it was like to lose a parent.

I spent some time playing with the kids using [Illusion.] I had many wondrous characters that I could summon up from my imagination over the many years watching movies and anime.

They took my illusion of Yoda for a goblin, and Chewbacca as a yeti in need of swift slaying. Luther organized them into a party, with ranks and roles. It was unfortunate that I couldn’t make larger illusions for them to play with, nor could I move or animate them to any lifelike degree. I also felt especially bad about one of the boys, a cripple, who looked on enviously as others played, but he couldn’t participate. His back was twisted like a pretzel.

By the time they had vanquished every one of my favorite non-human characters, the sun was setting outside. The kids complained that they had to stop and go to bed. Whereas I was completely exhausted after the fruitful day.

I trudged up to my cold room and lit the fireplace with a candle, piled on the logs, and soon, the fire was crackling. Warmth spread through my cozy space along with the scent of burning wood.

In this soothing environment, I quickly drifted off to sleep. Hours later I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. I nearly pissed myself when I saw a spectral presence looming at the foot of my bed.

A ghost?!

I bolted up right, my hands going right through his ghostly body, as I flailed, trying to shove him back. Unable to breathe, my scream was stuck in my throat, I scooted back as far up the bed as I could go, slamming into the wall.

An eager smile formed on the ghost’s blue lips. “Y-You can see me, right? Right?”

“What?” I croaked out in a barely audible voice. Ghosts can talk?

Adrenaline surged in my veins, and my heart was pounding. Thoughts raced through my harried brain. Do I run, or do I fight it? Would [Power Shot] even work on it?

“You can! Oh thank goodness. I thought there was something wrong with me, but-” He recoiled from the bed. “Oh, where are my manners? I do apologize for frightening you. My name is Gregor of the Alpire, and you are?”

“Huh?” I asked, unable to process what was going on.

“Name, good sir. Do you have one?”

“I have,” I said with a parched mouth, feeling the room slowly come into focus.

Completely see-through and floating above the ground, he was draped in a bathrobe. A pair of spectacles was perched on the bridge of a slightly crooked nose. His eyes, though tired, sparkled with curiosity. Wisps of gray hair framed his forehead, complemented by a salt-and-pepper beard.

“It seems you may need a minute. Again, I do apologize for disturbing you in the middle of the night. It has been many years in this village, unable to leave, unable to speak with a- .. well, anyone worth speaking to really.”

“K-Kevin,” I finally said.

“Kevin? A good name, a good name.”

As I assessed the situation, my heart had started to settle down a bit, and I wondered if I had anything to be afraid of. What sort of damage could ghosts do anyway? Sure, they were all spooky and everything, but if they couldn’t interact with the real world, what was there to worry about? After the initial fright, he wasn’t all that terrifying, but quite the opposite. Perhaps he needed my help?

He flew right up to me, and pointed to a mole on his cheek. “Does this look alright to you? I think it’s been getting larger the last few months. It’s not supposed to do that, right? And the curly black hair can’t be a good sign either, wouldn’t you say?”

“I-I wouldn’t know to be honest. Looks alright, I guess?”

“Just alright?” He winced, and his fingers raced to his neck as if he was checking his pulse. “You didn’t happen to have similar moles yourself at some point? How did they fare?”

“Are you concerned that it’s cancer?” I asked him.

At the mention of cancer, his eyebrows drew together, and his gaze flickered about the room. “N-No. Should I be? Do you- it can’t be right?”

Why was he worried about his health? Did he not realize that he’s a ghost? I didn’t know what would happen if I told him that he was already dead, so I decided to avoid the subject.

“You don’t happen to have some … unfinished business that you need taken care of before, you know-”

He shook his head. “What? No. All good, thank you for your concern.”

He paced around the room with a worried look on his face, constantly checking the pulse on his neck, and feeling up his neck and elbows. I had many questions that I was afraid to ask the villagers as they’d get suspicious about where I was actually from. However this guy was already dead, whether he knew it or not. I could ask him about this world without him revealing anything he might learn about me to others.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m- I just need a moment,” he said in a breathless voice while taking fast, shallow breaths.

“Are you having a panic attack?” I was familiar with those myself, I had a friend who would have them often.

He took a long deep breath, held it, then slowly breathed out. “I need to see a doctor. Do you happen to know a good one in the area? Perhaps one that specializes in the ailments of the skin?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

I shook my head. What sort of a doctor would see a ghost? This man was insane.

“No matter, no matter.” He waved his hands. “I’m sure it’s all fine.”

Yet, it took him a few minutes and many long inhales and exhales before he looked relaxed.

“Now then, you probably have some questions, am I right?” He asked me, yet he wasn’t looking at me, but just over my shoulder.

“Uhm, yeah. How’d you know?”

“You’re not from around here, everything is strange, and you need someone to explain it all, sort of lay it all out for the uninformed?”

“Well, I do have some questions,” I said.

He was still looking past my shoulder. I turned to look, but there was nothing there, just the stone wall. The old man was even more loopy than I thought.

“I’m trying to choose a profession, do you have any suggestions?” I asked him.

“You are? T-That’s a bit … odd. Ahh, wait, you have [Versatile], am I right?”

“Exactly.”

“Now it sort of makes sense. Well, the thing about professions is that the product they craft can be readily found on the market, though at a markup. So what’s most important is whether you'd enjoy the work of your chosen profession. If you hate mucking about in the dirt, don’t be a farmer. But if you love brewing and using potions, choose Alchemy.”

Most of the professions were mundane, stuff like a stonecarver, spooner, lutemaker, carpenter, potter, leatherworker, smith, and even a nailmaker. I’d hate to be that guy.

One caught my attention. The Wandcrafter. This reminded me that [Power Shot] listed ‘Wand’ as one of the possible ranged weapons.

“Is there a wandcrafter in the village?” I asked.

“Not that I’m aware. And it’s a decent choice, especially if you plan to be a Wander yourself.”

The thought of crafting a magical weapon like a wand appealed to me -- I had enjoyed dabbling in wood carving in my previous life. Shooting a bow was great and all, but a wand seemed so .. magical.

I asked more about the wands and although he was confused how I didn’t know such basic things, he explained how they worked. While not as powerful as the bow, they were more adaptable to the situation. Wanders carried an array of different wands depending on the situation, whereas it was difficult to carry more than one bow. Bow users could switch out arrows, but they didn’t provide as much variety.

“I hate to be rude, but I must ask,” he said. “What are you doing here?” He pointed down at the floor.

“Excuse me?”

“This small town of Moorhaven is far from any civilization. This would be the last place one would run into a Hellion.”

“A what?”

“A hellion, or .. or, a Tyrant? .. no? Overlord? Hellbringer? Ascendant? What do you call yourself?”

“Kevin?”

“Kevin. Right.” He floated in deep thought for a time. “Something isn’t right. What is it?”

I shrugged. “I’m just lost, that’s all.”

He scratched his shoulder. “No, that’s not it.” After another pause he smiled politely. “Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?”

One question nagged at me more than others, but it would certainly raise his suspicions. And he was already suspecting something awry about my origins. Still, I couldn’t think of a better person to ask than this ghost. Who would he tell? Another ghost?

“Is there a way I could maybe look more human?”

“Pardon me?”

I tapped on a horn with my clawed finger. “A lot less of this?”

“Why? Are you displeased with the way you look?”

“Wouldn’t you be if you were me?”

He looked taken aback. “I-I .. well, it’s not that bad. Is it?”

I sighed. “It’s not great either.”

“Trust me, I have seen much worse.”

“But any way to fix it?”

He shook his head. “I’m certain there’s a powerful relic out there that could change your appearance, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Your horns are your best feature.”

I scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“Why, of course I’m serious. They are a clear sign of an Ascendant, or whatever they call your sort in these parts.”

“A what?”

He sighed, rolled up his sleeves. “The troublemakers, the bringers of doom and destruction. They get so powerful that they often go out of control and become a menace to everyone around them. Though, a few have become great kings, and even scholars, poets and priests.”

He went on to explain that the size of the horns indicated one’s attributes, along with the number of skill and passive slots. One could roughly gauge another’s potential and power simply by the size.

“Do you perhaps know what that black wall is?” I asked him.

“Black wall? Are you perhaps referring to the Stygian Cube? I must say, it does look like a wall if seen from one side. However, it is more of a tower. As to what it is, regretfully nobody knows quite for certain for it is an incredibly dangerous place, and especially the further up one goes. It appeared hundreds of years ago, as no records of it exist past 700 years.”

He was more than happy to talk, and in fact, as the night drew on, I realized I needed to get some sleep, but he just wouldn’t go away. Things got worse when he started reciting a long list of his symptoms, along with many dreadful ailments that he was absolutely certain he had. Just listening to him was exhausting at times. However, I was able to learn a great deal about the world and how skills worked.

***

While it had grown light outside, the sun’s rays wouldn’t be visible until late morning when it finally rose high enough over the Stygian Cube.

“He’s mad,” Darya said, sitting slumped over the table close to the hearth radiating a gentle warmth. All the extra firewood was more than welcome, as the harsh winter had taken a toll on their stocks. Despite a mug of black coffee in her hand, she appeared fatigued with dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was disheveled and unkempt.

“What is it this time?” Amelia asked, sounding exasperated.

“I heard the lunatic talking to himself. I mean, sure I do that sometimes myself, but he was going on and on for half the night!”

“Is that so? Going on about what?”

She sighed. “I-I .. I don’t know, I couldn't hear any of it.”

“Some people just need to talk things out, like our uncle Fredous.”

She chuckled at that. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better. Also, why would he waste precious skill slots on a tier one [Illusion]?”

Amelia smiled. “I’m certain there’s wisdom in that choice far beyond your meager comprehension.”

“Rude. I never saw those monsters that he conjured up, and I have ventured into the Void far more than most in the village. He must have traveled all over the world to have seen such a variety.”

“And he’s great with the kids.”

“Yeah I suppose, they do love him. Have you seen what they started doing?”

“What?”

“Attaching twigs to their heads, and the hanging rope tails. A few cut a hole in their blankets to wear just like him.”

Amelia chuckled. “Oh, that. Isn’t it adorable?”

“No, it’s not. Who’s going to fix all those damn holes when he leaves? Hmm?”

“You worry too much.”