Beth made her way through the Port District via the unimaginatively named “North Port Road” that ran straight from the western edge of the Cirque du Chânce to Palmyre’s northern port. This contrasted with the “South Port Road,” which was south of North Port Road and ran from the Industrial District to—not surprisingly—the southern port.

Apparently, poetry was a lost art among the Palmyrian city planners.

The North Port Road was a wide and well-trafficked affair, though not quite as robust as its southern twin, with grooved cobblestones and copious pedestrian traffic. Guard presence was high, and some of the mercenaries even served traffic duty at the busier intersections to ensure the wheels of industry ran smoothly. It was somewhat comedic seeing a person with a sword on their hip and wearing an armoured vest waving carts around like they were at a parade, and she knew Peter would have gotten a kick out of it. His interview had gone well, though, and the representative from House Laws was taking him to lunch so he could meet some higher-ups. Apparently, accountants were very highly valued in Palmyre, and Beth agreed with Peter’s plan to leverage that fact to the hilt.

The sight of the mercenary traffic cop’s sword reminded Beth of the dagger on her own hip, causing her mood to darken. She had worn the weapon at Darius’ insistence despite lacking even a single level in the Daggers Skill—a situation she had no intention of changing. Her family probably thought her naïve at best, but she was well aware of the city’s dangers. More so than they realized. But what was the point in learning to use a weapon you had no intention of ever drawing? Better to find a different way to protect oneself than try and embrace a method you’d never use.

As Beth continued her trek to the port, it became clear that despite Darius’ descriptions and Eliza’s map, the scale of the city was wildly out of alignment with its naming structure. To her way of thinking, when you divided your city into four regions—five if you counted the Chance District—there was an inherent assumption that the areas would be roughly equal.

That was by no means the case.

After an hour of walking, it became clear that the so-called “Port District” made up nearly two-thirds of the city, rather than just the portion by the water. That was an absurd ratio, and Beth’s natural curiosity pushed her to discover the reason for the discrepancy. As a result, she spent a lot of time on the journey investigating her surroundings. In a way, she wished she hadn’t.

Her first impressions upon entering the Port District had already been poor. It had started in roughly the same condition as the Chance District, but before long, those well-kept areas gave way to a vast sprawl of apartments and businesses whose state of repair ranged from “not great” to “awful.” She’d initially dismissed it as a couple of poorly maintained buildings, but the closer she got to the ocean the more difficult it became to ignore. Between the buildings with missing shingles, the roads covered in horse dung, and the loss of any decorative flourishes in favour of stark, utilitarian architecture, this was unquestionably the city's poorest section. What was more disturbing was that it kept getting worse the farther she walked, and she couldn’t even smell the ocean yet. Was the whole district like this?

Her mind returned to the previous night and the conversation she’d had with her family. They had said that playing it safe wasn’t an option; that they’d have to take risks she wasn’t comfortable with if they wanted to thrive. She didn’t want to believe that was true. She wanted to work hard and build a life like they’d done on Earth. A life that minimized the potential for danger and risk. But there was a problem with her plan.

The path her family wanted was simple. Fight, take chances, get a good class, and increase Renown. It was risky, but it had a clearly defined path to success. Her preferred route lacked that clarity. It meant working inside the existing Palmyrian power structure, but that also meant becoming a part of the power structure. But what did that mean? What was Palmyre? Who were the people at the top, and how did they treat the people at the bottom? And most importantly, what was the quality of life for the average person in this city? Because if the trend she was observing continued all the way to the docks, that quality of life was not good at all.

In her heart of hearts, Beth was still a social worker. If they were going to build a life here, a downtrodden working class could not be the foundation. Better to risk their own lives than benefit through the misery of others.

The conditions of the Port District continued to decline as Beth moved west. Soon, she noticed that the low-slung businesses were being replaced by large warehouses, while the apartments faded away in favour of long, 3-story buildings that often took up half a city block. They were dotted with tiny windows that would have been out of place in a factory, and lacked the large loading bays of the warehouses. Given the number of low-Renown elderly that sat on the stoops, watching over children that played in the dirty street, she started to suspect that the buildings constituted some form of communal living despite the buildings looking more like livestock pens than group housing.

At least the appearance of the warehouses meant that every other side street was now in decent condition and well-guarded. These better-maintained roads connected to the warehouse loading bays, whereas the poorly maintained streets abutted the fronts of the communal housing. That came as no surprise—most of the lesser streets would break the axle of any cart that dared use them—but it made the conditions of the poor streets even starker by comparison.

All in all, the Port District painted a bleak picture. Beth had set out that day hoping to prove Mark wrong, but it seemed that his warnings about what it meant to be a low-Renown resident of Palmyre were accurate. Still, she pressed onwards. She had no illusions that things would get better, but if she was going to accept the family taking drastic steps to find a path in this new world, she had to be sure that her dreams of a simple life were truly dead.

By the time Beth neared the port, she was grateful to have earned her Hobbyist-level Hiking Skill during the trip to Palmyre. Without the foot protection of her tier, her ragged shoes would have left her in agony by now. Truth be told, everything about her clothing was ragged. It hadn’t been the best quality to begin with, and between wear-and-tear and the need to sew a large, bloody, spear-shaped hole shut in the back of her jacket, she was due for a replacement.

Just thinking of that goblin spear made her shoulder complain. Despite Eliza’s healing potions, the pain had lingered, and Beth unconsciously worked her arm in a circle to let out some of the stiffness. It was a habit she tried not to do in front of Peter, knowing that it would add to his feelings of guilt over the event, unreasonable as that may be.

Beth froze, her arm in mid-circle as she crested a small hill and caught her first clear view of the docks.

How? her mind shouted. How is this possible?

“Keep moving!” a guard barked, knocking Beth out of her stupor. She quickly jogged to the end of the buildings and stepped out of the flow of traffic so she could take in the entire view.

The pure scale of the operation was mind-boggling. Hundreds of ships—most of them massive trading galleons—dotted the bay, lined up and waiting their turn at the dozens of piers, each of which had a pair of figures standing at the end, waving them in or out. Enormous wooden cranes stood at the ready, constantly loading and unloading trade goods, and there was a hum in the air that Beth couldn’t define. It wasn’t the hum of human activity, though. That seemed muted, if anything, given the lack of motor vehicles. It was more like someone was playing a low base note, where the sound caused a vibration in your belly, and it took her a long time to work out the source of the hum.

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When she did, her eyebrows rose in surprise.

It was magic.

It had to be. Every time a ship approached a dock, it did so at an unsafe speed, only for the two figures at the end of the pier to perform their hand waving, causing a swell in the belly-hum that permeated the area. As soon as the note sounded, the ship responded by slowing unnaturally as it slid perfectly into its berth, the bow wave caused by its high initial speed crashing over the seawall in a torrent of water that quickly disappeared through grates set in the stone. The loading and unloading began immediately, proceeding with a breakneck efficiency that only ended when the last crate was on board. As soon as the cargo transfer was completed, the dockworkers would sprint back down the pier as the mages again raised their arms, causing the ship to move backwards with impressive speed despite leading with the less hydrodynamic stern. This resulted in the ship’s unnatural movement creating a vacuum in front of the boat which filled in a torrent of water that exploded into the empty space, the geyser blasting across the pier with a violence that easily explained the dockworkers’ haste in vacating the pier.

Beth shook her head. For any given ship, the time saved in the process on display would be somewhat minor, but when multiplied against the massive amount of traffic moving through the port? The improvements in efficiency would be astounding.

As her awe over the process began to wane, Beth was able to consider the port’s massive flow of ships more analytically, causing her to frown. Palmyre couldn’t possibly use this many trade goods on its own, but from her understanding, there weren’t enough land-based settlements nearby to justify such quantities either. That raised some significant questions about Palmyre’s economy, but those would have to wait until she could talk with Peter. He’d undoubtedly have the same questions but was much better positioned to seek answers.

Beth’s stomach growled, and she was reminded that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Fortunately, she was at the port, and with literally hundreds of people working in the area, she figured that she could easily find a vendor who would be selling food to the masses.

Except there weren’t any.

In fact, there were no obvious stores at all. No restaurants, shops, taverns. This was a port…weren’t there sailors on shore leave who would want to grab a drink before heading back out to sea?

Beth frowned. Given the highly efficient port operations, it was possible that this area was restricted to cargo movement only, leaving the galleons to anchor in the bay and row their sailors elsewhere for their leave. Unfortunately, that didn’t explain where all the workers would go to eat, nor did it do anything to allay her hunger.

“There’s got to be something around here,” she muttered. The sheer mass of people demanded it.

Scanning the crowd, Beth looked for someone with a Renown similar to her own who was also wearing Family insignia. If anyone knew where to get food it would be one of the dockworkers, and a shared Renown would ease the passage of conversation.

Beth spotted a dirty-blonde woman in her 30s with a cube insignia on her sleeve that was heading in her direction.

Name: Unknown

Species: Unconfirmed (human suspected)

Renown: Level 13 (class unknown)

Base Stat Average: 18.8

The woman’s Renown was only 13, a perfect match for Beth’s own, and since the woman was leaving the docks in no apparent haste, she appeared to be “off the clock,” which was perfect.

Beth walked over and intercepted the woman. “Excuse me, I was wondering where I might find something to eat?”

“You mean other than the Family kitchens?” the woman said with a confused look. “They’re only two streets from here.”

“Oh. I was unaware of these kitchen places,” Beth said with surprise. “I’ve only just arrived with my family.”

The woman laughed brightly. “You must be new if you don’t know about the kitchens! Come on, I happen to be heading there myself right now. You can tag along.”

“That would be perfect, thank you very much,” Beth said.

The two women made their way up the street, chatting idly as Beth made some small inquiries into life in Palmyre, making sure not to reveal too much of her own ignorance. The woman answered in good humour, guiding Beth up the main street for a couple of blocks before turning down a street that intersected the North Port Road. It wasn’t one of the warehouse streets, but one of the more run-down ones, and Beth only took one step off the main road before old instincts set off alarm bells in her head.

“Actually, I think I’d best be heading back,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “Thanks for your help.”

Beth turned back the way they had come, only to discover two men and a woman right on her heels. The trio kept walking, colliding with Beth and corralling her off the main street before shoving her violently, sending her stumbling away from the safety of the heavily-guarded road. All of them wore the same cube-shaped patch that Beth had taken for Family insignia, a match for the one worn by the woman who had led her into the ambush. Beth hadn’t even heard them coming, and a quick skim of their Renown confirmed that they were all much higher level than the woman who had lured her into this trap, and consequently much higher level than Beth as well.

As one, the three gang members drew their weapons, their eyes making it clear what fate they had in store for her.

It was all of Beth’s fears come to life.

Time froze.

This was exactly what Beth had been afraid of when they were sent to Arenia. Of the people she loved being put in a position where they had no options. Where they were forced to make hard choices and reveal the answers to questions that were better off never being asked.

Questions that Beth had already been forced to answer.

It was so many years ago, but those memories still haunted her. As Grandpa Jack had told her they would. But as he had said to her back then: When it’s you or them…you choose you.

Once again, Beth’s idealism crumbled.

She spun.

Pick the weakest link in the group and go after them.

She lunged at the woman who had guided her into the ambush.

You’re a small girl, so you have to make a big scene. Go fast, go first, and go violent.

She drew the dagger from her waist and slashed at the woman in a wild swing.

Their first instinct will be anger, so you can’t go easy. You need their fear to overcome their other emotions.

With little time to prepare, all the woman could do was raise her hands in defence. Beth took two fingers off at the knuckle before the force tore the dagger from her hands.

This isn’t about showing off. It’s about breaking your opponent’s spirit.

Beth charged in and swept the woman’s feet out from under her as she tried to step back, the sudden motion catching the woman by surprise. Before her assailant could fall all the way to the ground, Beth planted a hand on the woman’s head below the jawline and drove it downwards with all the force she could muster, the technical judo of her father conspiring with her grandfather’s rougher version to send the woman’s head slamming into the cobblestones.

If you can manage that, then you get the hell out of there. If you did everything right, their friends will be too stunned to follow.

Beth sprinted past the woman’s limp body, her feet pounding on the rough stones as she tried to distance herself from the muggers. She didn’t look back, knowing it would only give them confidence to see the fear in her eyes.

Here’s the hard part, Beth…

She wasn’t sure how far she ran or where she ended up. She could barely see through the tears; it was a miracle she didn’t trip on a loose cobblestone. When her flight did stop, she didn’t know how or why. All she knew was that one moment she was running, and the next, she was being guided into one of the nondescript buildings that lined the rough Palmyre streets. She had no idea where she was or why so many children were around. She could no longer think.

Even though you did the right thing; that you stopped something horrible from happening to you, you’re still going to feel the pain of what you did.

She collapsed inside the entrance, sobbing in the fetal position with her back pressed against a stone wall.

And that’s okay. That pain is how you know you’re still a good person. But it will tear you apart inside.

When it became clear that Beth wasn’t going to move, someone placed a blanket over her. They sat beside her and waited patiently for the crying to subside, but Beth was oblivious to their efforts. All her brain could do was spin in recycled horror at the words on the page she held clutched in her hand. A page that had appeared only moments after her flight began.

You have killed a Level 13 Human Dockworker.

I’m so sorry.

300 XP Earned

Sometimes, even doing the right thing leaves ghosts inside your head.