GRIFFIN TUCKER VASILIAS, GREAT HOUSE SCION, REBORN LVL 5

VASILIAS COMPOUND, HELDON

Loris’ analysis of Griffin’s capabilities took the rest of the day to complete. Each test seemed custom-designed to wring out every bit of focus, pain, creativity, and tactical thinking out of him. Loris hadn’t used the Holodeck the whole time (Loris insisted on calling it an “infused reality chamber” but to Griffin, it had instantly become the Holodeck), though she’d run him through over a dozen different scenarios before she decided to move on to other, more esoteric methods. To Griffin, it all blended into one long, seemingly never-ending cavalcade of pain and exhaustion.

Her final, scathing judgment of Griffin’s skills had utterly failed to stir up the anger or ambition she seemed to expect.

“Your technique isn’t simply lacking, it’s absent entirely. You use your grafts as if you’re discovering them for the first time every time. Have you ever seen My True Romance? You’re like Captain Nyk, stumbling from one situation to another, completely ignorant of the true danger but still, miraculously managing to avoid death or maiming at every turn!” She snorted as if she’d made a joke.

Griffin was laid out on a bend next to a small pool in an echoing swimming area. Right next to the small pool was a much bigger one—it looked big enough to be a small lake—but Loris hadn’t even glanced over at the big pool. He had been unceremoniously tossed into the little pool by Loris while he was still fully clothed.

He discovered that the little pool was deeper than he could reach with his toes which meant he had to tread water. Before he’d had a chance to splutter his confused betrayal, Loris had done something on her Systablo and the pool had suddenly turned ice-cold, stealing the breath away from him. His clothing clung to him, pulling him down but, despite all that, he managed to keep his head above the water and only halfway drown.

Then the water turned hot. And then the whirlpool appeared. The “tests” Loris put him through only got more extreme from there. When she thought he wasn’t swimming hard enough, she flicked a finger across her Systablo screen and a dozen electric blue eel-like critters with far too many teeth had appeared in midair and dropped into the pool with a splash. They swam right at him and Griffin redoubled his efforts. The little bastards were fast, too.

Now Griffin was breathing heavily, still dripping from Loris’ last grueling exercise. He managed a weak chuckle at Loris’ obvious disapproval.

“Yeah, you’re not wrong, Loris. It was pretty much stumbling from one deadly encounter to another,” he said, exhaustion making him slur his words a little bit. “I mean, every time I left my room I thought I’d probably die. There were giant cybernetic centipedes out for my blood, right? You know they have lasers on their heads, right?” He shook his head incredulously. “One time, I conjured a stick of dynamite and exploded one of the Mothers with it. Nearly liquified my internal organs in the process, but, uh, I got better.”

He fell silent for a second, and then something occurred to him. “Hey, d’you think you could answer a question about something I never really understood?”

“Ask.”

Griffin snorted at the brusque response and tried to form his jumbled thoughts into words. “Right. So here’s my question. How do you guys—I mean, how do we choose Classes or even plan for them? I mean, that’s the whole point of this training, right? To prepare for the Stone Gate Quest and get a Class?” He frowned, shaking his head. “But how can you prepare for a Class? The grafts I’ve gotten have all been random and Kismet said that until you get a Class, any ethershard you absorb will give you a random graft. So what exactly am I missing here? How the hell do you plan for randomness?”

“That is an unexpectedly observant question,” she remarked. After a moment of thought, she said, “Your question is simple on the surface, but it has occupied Class Trainers for as long as there have been Class Trainers. To answer it, I must establish a baseline, though. Do you know about graft type categories?”

Griffin remembered Kismet going on and on about graft categories and types. She’d insisted it was important, but he’d never really been able to keep her lecture ‘top of mind’ when she was droning on about it. Still, there’d been at least a couple of things that stood out.

“Uh, sort of. I know I don’t exactly have any attack-type grafts. I think I have a bunch of utility grafts,” he said, sitting up slightly, leaning on his elbows. “I mean the DEEP Suit’s pretty cool, but I don’t think it qualifies for an attack graft.”

Loris nodded, coming around the bench and addressing Griffin more directly. “There is decidedly more nuance than simple ‘attack’ and ‘utility’ grafts, but your categories serve the purpose well enough. All Classes have certain requirements to obtain them—prerequisites, if you will.”

“Like certain stat requirements or something?” Griffin asked, familiar with the idea of classes in Dungeons & Dragons. “Or is it feats?”

Loris shook her head, blinking slowly. “No, Griffin. It’s grafts. Graft types. That is why I started talking about graft types.” Her tongue flicked the air twice in rapid succession.

“Oh. Right,” Griffin blinked, feeling stupid. “Sorry.”

“Classes require particular graft types being unlocked,” Loris continued, “along with System Achievements that you earn as you use your grafts. Classes that have a requirement of two to three grafts are considered Common Classes. Common Classes then become the most valuable Classes, since they offer control and predictability for your grafts sooner rather than later.”

Griffin sat up straighter. “But doesn’t predictability mean that your enemies can outflank you with unexpected powers and tactics? Why does predictable automatically equal good?”

“You have benefited from having Legendary ethershards of rare affinities,” Loris admonished. “Most ethershards—and therefore most grafts—are Common. And those grafts have far more limited utility and power than rarer grafts. I’ve seen poor individuals who are level ten with ten versions of essentially the same graft because they decided to try for a Rare Class and just got unlucky.” Loris shook her head, flicking her tongue again. “It’s a warm-blooded waste—excuse me,” she interrupted herself, nictitating membrane flicking over her eyes rapidly. “I did not intend to be insensitive.”

Griffin gaped at her for a moment, trying to figure out what he was supposed to take offense to when he landed on the ‘warm-blooded waste’ comment. She’d pretty much told him his only utility was as a figurehead and she was worried about his feelings when she said ‘warm-blooded waste’? Still.

“Yeah, it’s no problem.” He decided to try to set her at ease with a little timely empathy. “Warm-bloods waste all kinds of things. As opposed to…” Shit, now he was floundering. He cast around for a desperate few moments before he said, “cold-blooded…liz—uh, draakan people. Who don’t waste anything.”

An awkward silence fell over the conversation then, until Loris thankfully broke it. “Uncommon and Rare Classes require that you’re at least level four and at most level eight,” Loris said, steamrolling through the awkward silence. “Each one has their requirements and though these Uncommon and Rare Classes certainly pack a punch in the power department, beyond their difficulty to even attain, those Classes will have much more stringent requirements for upgrading Class powers.”

“So that’s why you’re so hot for me getting a Common Class,” Griffin said.

Loris nodded, “It’s always possible to pick up a Common Class at later levels, though you’ll limit yourself a little bit. Nowhere near as much as if you never attain a Class, but it’s always best to attain your Class as early as possible so you can gain the most Class-specific powers.”

“So even though I’m already level five, I can still get a Common Class?” Griffin asked. “But won’t I have a couple of…what would they be, vestigial grafts?”

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Loris nodded. “There are many Reborn in Jade or Sapphire rank with a few grafts hanging on from their Rebirth. It’s the most skilled and dedicated Reborn who not only train their Class powers but also their non-Class-specific grafts.”

Griffin took a deep breath and paused. He was a little afraid of the answer Loris would give him, but he had to ask anyway. “So…what, uh, what Class do you think I should take? Y’know, based on my grafts and whatnot.”

Loris’ tongue flicked out several times before she answered, “I believe—with your deep synchronization with your DEEP Suit and strong Legendary graft base, there are a few Common Classes that will be best suited to you. At the moment, I’m leaning towards Scout, Builder, or depending on your ability to pick up combat training, a Ranger of some variety.” Loris ticked off the options with her clawlike fingers. “But I’m sure the Mistress of the House will have a suitably impressive Uncommon or even Rare Class that she might try for. Your DEEP Suit graft is a strong base on which to form a powerset. I’ve never seen a graft that so readily expands with synergies!”

Griffin looked at her skeptically. “Ranger? Scout? I mean, even Builder makes more sense than either of those to me.” He laughed incredulously and gestured to himself, “What about me makes you think I’d be any good at those kinds of Classes? Now, if you’d said Librarian or Cook or, shit, I dunno, Movie Watcher, I think I could get behind that.”

Loris’ forked tongue flicked in and out rapidly and a false eyelid—a nictitating membrane—flicked over her large eyes. “At least you don’t have any pride to break down,” she muttered. “We’re done for the day, Griffin. Go back to your rooms and get some rest. I’ll have a masseuse and a Healer arrive in an hour.”

She looked down at the Systablo she was holding, flicking at the screen a few times, her tongue flicking in consternation. Griffin was content to just lay there and rest. He was sucking in as much tensa as he could with his gathering technique, but his tensa pool was full and no matter how quickly he circulated his tensa, he couldn’t squeeze another erg of energy into his muscles.

Kismet had stayed mostly silent throughout the entire training experience, only encouraging Griffin silently through their shared UI. She’d been oddly reticent ever since they’d arrived at the Vasilias compound. It was especially noticeable since she was usually so free with her opinions. Right now though, Griffin was only focused on breathing and circulating his tensa.

Loris finally looked up from her Systablo and noticed that Griffin hadn’t moved. Her tongue flicked out again and she spoke to someone that Griffin couldn’t see.

“Brion, if he hasn’t moved in ten minutes, get him to his rooms. He’ll need to be ready for Attribute stuffing when the Healer arrives.”

Someone—presumably Brion—answered, “As you say, Loris.”

The voice sounded young to Griffin and it occurred to him that the only reason he could hear the low conversation was because of his enhanced senses.

It was surprisingly exhausting; there had been a comfort he never knew he’d miss in having relatively dull senses. Now every sound painted a picture of his surroundings on his skin. Loris left a minute later, casting a lingering look at him before she left.

“What the hell is Attribute stuffing?” Griffin muttered to himself. “Ow. My everything hurts.”

He sat up, groaning as his muscles protested. A handsome, youngish-looking guy in his early twenties dressed in a conservative black uniform with the Vasilias crest on the left breast stepped diffidently into view. He was one of the first regular, non-Reborn humans he’d seen up close.

He’s an alien, Griffin thought. Or no…I’m the alien. He suddenly chuckled. I can’t exactly say, ‘Take me to your leader,’ can I? I mean…I’m also the leader. Loris’ disappointed reptilian face swam through his mind. Nope. Strike that. No leader would have fucking Loris demanding another goddamn lap while calmly dumping fucking flesh-eating eels into the water. He grimaced, then blushed when he realized he was making faces at the uniformed servant.

Brion, Griffin reminded himself. His name is Brion. Even though Griffin was technically the alien on Nolm, he couldn’t help but stare at him.

He was human. All the requisite body parts were there in familiar proportions, but just a little off—like an alien from the original Star Trek series. It was little, subtle things: The texture of his black hair, maybe. It was definitely in a complicated, unfamiliar style. Or maybe it was Brion’s features. He had bright green eyes and dark skin with light freckles sprinkled on his face and down his neck. The darkness of his skin wasn’t in shades of brown, though: His skin was a deep, pinot-noir red.

Brion cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Is the Scion ready to leave?” He asked.

Griffin started, realizing he’d been staring. Now he’s going to think I’m a weirdo, he thought, grimacing.

He considered summoning his DEEP Suit to hide his embarrassment, then dismissed the idea. Brion would probably freak out, even if it would break the awkward moment. The extra boost to his Attributes wouldn’t hurt, either, about now. Almost by instinct, he switched his attention to the HUD—anything to break the awkwardness—and noticed that Kismet’s cartoonish portrait had appeared on his HUD with a little red number by it.

Odd. She hadn’t used that style of notification before. Wearily, as he got up, he concentrated on the notification and several lines of text appeared floating in the air, superimposed over his surroundings. He read her message quickly, brow furrowing as he did.

> Griffin, I’m using this circumspect method of communication in an effort to remain as private as possible. You are under constant mundane and mystical surveillance. I decided to take a cautious approach until we know how they intend to treat you.

>

> I’ve been searching through the House Vasilias internal network. They have a whole private dataspace guarded so thickly with enchantments and security subroutines that I’m working to subvert so I can uncover what they aren’t willing to tell you.

>

> For now, I will limit my appearances and keep my communication with you strictly private and constrained to this interface.

Griffin just nodded. He figured Kismet could see him and would understand what he was nodding about. The uniformed kid seemed to think he was nodding at him and began leading the way out of the indoor pool area. It took his tired mind a few seconds to realize he was expected to follow the guy before he shook himself out of his stupor and realized he was still in sopping wet clothes.

Before he set off after the servant, he looked around nervously for the locker room. Or a bathroom. Something. But this wasn’t like a pool back on Earth. Here, there was just an exceedingly deep pool of nearly black water and the oddly-textured tiled floor. A door led into a darkened part of the facility that looked like offices or maybe a workout room. Griffin couldn’t make much sense of the equipment in it anyway.

Shrugging and deciding he didn’t care if this servant guy saw him naked, not when the alternative was just being in wet clothes. He stripped out of them and tossed them to the tiles where he saw that water leaking out of them was quickly leached into the floor, leaving it completely dry. Someone politely cleared their throat behind him.

Griffin spun around, nearly losing his balance despite his supernatural Attributes. Brion had his eyes averted politely and was gesturing to an empty spot on the wall. Griffin stared blankly at him and then at the wall, completely oblivious to whatever it was he was trying to indicate. Brion’s expression became a little less sure and he seemed on the verge of saying something.

“Go ahead and say whatever it is you’re gonna say,” Griffin said, exhaustion tinging his voice. “I’m not gonna get you fired or whatever.” He briefly wondered what exactly might be encompassed in that ‘whatever’, but decided not to dwell on it right now.

Brion didn’t seem to relax much, but he did say, “Uh, Scion, your House Seal should open up the refresher stations…that is, you don’t need to undress here.” He nodded over at the wall, “The door is hidden by a concealment enchantment keyed to House Vasilias.”

Griffin cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him but sighed. Of course, there were changing rooms or refresher stations or whatever here. And of course, he’d just stripped down unnecessarily. At least this feeling of slowly dawning embarrassment was familiar.

How was I supposed to know about the concealment enchantment? He wondered to himself. Oh, wait. It couldn’t be something as simple as…

With a mental grimace, Griffin enabled his tensa sense from his Sensor Suite graft. Immediately, Griffin was able to perceive the ambient tensa in the room and suddenly everything made a lot more sense to him. It was like being granted X-ray vision and seeing all the wires and conduits that connected everything, but also being able to see where the electricity was going and what it was for.

He saw a delicate filigree of tensa laid out in a beautiful pattern of repeating geometrical designs on the tile floor. Not only were they beautiful, but they were also functional: these designs were the enchantments that drew away the water from his wet clothes and prevented the floor from getting slippery. Along the walls were more conduits of tensa, these in a far more utilitarian pattern, looking more like electrical wiring or circuitry, and there, picked out in glowing red-orange tensa, was a set of doors right where the servant was indicating.

Griffin approached the wall slowly, marveling at the flows of tensa as they reacted to his presence. Instead of disappearing entirely, as he drew closer, he saw that the tensa flows in the walls simply took different paths, curving around the door. As it did, the door faded into view to his regular vision, revealing a frosted glass door with the House Vasilias crest painted on it.

“Oh wow, that’s rad,” he said, grinning. The door slid open without him touching it and his smile widened. “Now this is impressive.”