"What are we going to do, Sam?" Kendra asked.

"I don't know, honey," Sam replied quietly. He didn't want to wake up the two little ones curled in his lap, but even at a whisper the southern drawl in his voice was clear.

He had lived all his life in Aliston. Grew up there, met Kendra there, was married there. At Kendra's insistence, he had made the trip to Clayton General Hospital for his kids' births, but that was a special occasion.

Everything he loved was is Aliston. Why would he ever leave? That’s what he thought when his Numbers reset to zero. That’s what he thought when the monsters started showing up. That’s what he thought when his neighbors fled.

He regretted it now. He hadn't seen anyone outside his family in days, but the monster sightings had only increased. He had already needed to make a trip to the store before this all started, and the kiddos spent most of today crying because they didn't like what food was left. At least they hadn't had to go hungry. Sam hadn't eaten for the last two days, figuring they needed the food more than him.

Sam sat up straighter, glancing at the window before relaxing again. For a moment, he thought he saw something round and yellow just outside. But it was gone just as quickly, so he dismissed it as his imagination.

- Sam of Aliston, Inclusion +5 days 14:03 hours

I limp as I gingerly push the wheelbarrow through the trees, following a floating red orb. Pallas and Melete walk behind and on either side of me, Pallas holding his rifle while Melete carries her pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.

Unfortunately, we only have a single magazine for the pistol, what it was loaded with when Melete stole it from the hapless guard. We avoided using it or the rifle in our first conflict with the hive, hoping to maximize our gain of Numbers. Thankfully, the rifle has more ammo, despite Pallas having used a full magazine to take down the hive queen. I haven't asked him about his gain of Numbers from that battle to compare with the gain of those of us who didn't use guns. Truthfully, I can't convince myself to care.

I’ve added my Numbers from the hive almost without caring, more-or-less evenly split between charisma, strength, and dexterity.

The floating red orb weaves around a dense clump of trees, and I turn the wheelbarrow to follow. The orb is an illusion of Sam's, created to guide us to its colony. At first we tried to follow Sam directly, but its short body was surprisingly hard to follow through the underbrush, so the orb is our solution.

Meanwhile, Sam is walking directly to my right. For the last few days, I've grown used to it always being by my side, but now that I know it was all a ruse so as to be ready if I ever checked the compass, I find it hard to tolerate its presence. I've had to bite my tongue multiple times already to keep from screaming at it.

It's easy enough to hold back though. I just glance at the still form of Styx in the wheelbarrow in front of me, a constant reminder of the need to stay on Sam's good side.

"I could not help but notice the tattoo for your original skill," Sam says. I breathe deeply, taking a quick look at Styx before responding.

"And?"

"I assume you are currently having trouble using the skill now? That would be because the skill is currently in recovery from some sort of skill strain."

Sam pauses, as if waiting for a response. Despite our silence, Sam has only grown chattier over the last few hours. Part of me wants to ascribe that to some sense of guilt Sam may be feeling, that it is trying to repair the damaged relationship, but I push that away. I can't ascribe human behavior, human emotions and loyalties, to the monster. I've learned my lesson.

"Do you already know what skill strain is?" Sam asks.

I sigh. "No."

"I will explain, then. I would not have expected it to appear within humans, as you, similar to the Alatir and many other species, empower locomotion with muscles and have the ability to train Numbers through effort. This is not true of all creatures, however."

Despite myself, I'm intrigued. Part of me wants to ignore Sam out of petty revenge, but my natural curiosity can't help but listen closely to its words.

"Some creatures cannot increase certain Numbers by training. The glass titans, for example, are composed entirely of crystal rather than carbon like most other lifeforms. Biologically, no amount of effort will not cause them to become stronger. Their bodies simply do not function that way.

"This has some benefits, however. Whereas most carbon-based lifeforms have muscles that must be moved with effort, the glass titans have no concept of 'effort.' For them, any action they can either do or not do. There is no try."

There's a muffled snort behind me from Melete. Sam doesn't seem to notice, and continues.

"This can lead to trouble with skills, though. When acquiring a skill from another creature, you acquire more than just the ability. You acquire a piece of the creature itself. You acquire the knowledge of how to use the skill, the instincts that come with that skill, and also the limits of the skill -- at least to a certain extent. Most skills require some sort of effort to use, require training and pushing to the limit in order to advance. Glass titans, and some other species, cannot even comprehend this. And so they are immediately able to use the skills in greater ways than other creatures might be able to, unrestricted by the normal bounds.

"This also presents a danger, however. Unaware of and unable to feel the limits of the skill, glass titans will often push past those limits. In small quantities this is productive training, increasing the power of the skill. In large quantities, this is skill strain. The skill is used and abused past the point it is able to tolerate, and so becomes much weaker, or in some cases entirely unusable, until it recovers."

"How long is the recovery time?" I ask.

"That varies," Sam says. "It very much depends on the skill and on the intensity of the strain. However, in your case I do not think it will be for too long. You are a carbon-based lifeform. I doubt you have the requisite willpower to cause significant skill strain."

And just like that, I'm angry at Sam again. I frown and lapse back into silence, focusing on pushing the wheelbarrow through the trees.

----------------------------------------

It’s dark, but we continue our trek.

Pallas has taken over pushing the wheelbarrow, and I limp just in front of him with a flashlight illuminating our path. Melete guards the rear with her own flashlight, knife held in her off-hand. At first, we tried to convince her that the gun would provide better defense, but after a fruitless argument we gave up and resumed our journey.

Now that the darkness has completely set in, I’m regretting choosing her pistol over a knife of my own. I’m not confident in my skill with the handgun, and the shadows, coupled with our noisy steps, mean any monsters will find it trivial to approach unnoticed to within melee range.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

I don’t worry about it though. On our next break, I can free up my other hand for my machete. For now, I maintain our pace.

An hour later, my thoughts are interrupted by Pallas’ voice.

“Atlas.”

Thankfully, Sam had given up on making conversation once the sun fell, and we’ve been hiking in blessed silence. I know it’s probably not healthy in the long-term, but I’ve been stewing in deepening cycles of anger and guilt at Styx’s condition. In the present, it’s a constant motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other, despite my exhaustion.

I pause and turn to face Pallas, keeping my flashlight pointed to the ground. “Yeah?” I ask.

“We need to stop,” he says.

I nod, although I doubt he can see it. “Okay, break time then. Let’s try to keep this one short. I think I’m ready for another wheelbarrow shift, if you’re feeling tired Pallas.”

“No,” Pallas says. “Not just a quick break. We need to rest.” I immediately start to protest, but he cuts me off. “We can’t keep going like this. We’ve already been in two fights today, and hiked probably twenty miles besides. If we try to keep going all night, one of us will collapse, and what will we do then? Carry them too?”

I stare at the ground in sullen silence.

“Look, there’s no way we’ll make it all the way there without getting at least some sleep,” Pallas continues. “Better to rest now while it’s dark. We’re barely making any progress as it is. And Styx won’t be helped by us being too weak to protect her if even a single dog monster attacks, or by tripping and spraining an ankle.”

“...you’re right,” I finally answer. “But we leave first thing in the morning.”

“Of course,” Pallas replies.

Melete releases a huge sigh of relief upon realizing we’re stopping, but she doesn’t collapse immediately. Reaching into her backpack, she pulls out one of the few unused blankets and carefully spreads it on the ground, making sure there are no sticks or rocks stuck underneath. Once finished, she takes a long swig of water, walks a few steps away from her blanket, then drops to the ground in a ball, asleep almost immediately.

Pallas and I gingerly lift Styx from the wheelbarrow and place her onto the blanket. As she is jostled against the ground, her eyes flutter open and she starts mumbling.

“...Mom...?”

Immediately, I’m by her side and holding a bottle of water to her lips, lifting her head off the ground so she can take a sip. “Shh, shh, it’s me Atlas. You’re going to be okay, we’re taking you to someone who can heal you. Drink this.”

She swallows a few mouthfuls before coughing. “Oh, Atlas. Hey.” Her eyes are glassy and her face is flushed.

I try to coax her into drinking more water, talking at the same time. “Hey, while you’re awake, can you try and add to your charisma Number? It’s just right here.” I lift her right hand up and position it next to her left forearm, just over the triangle above her charisma Number.

“Add? Sure,” she says, and to my relief slowly starts tapping at her arm. I keep a close eye, and as her finger wavers and adds one to intelligence instead, I gently grab her wrist and reposition her hand.

Less than twenty taps and two sips of water later, she’s back asleep. I sigh. Pallas is sitting on the other side of Styx, hands in his lap. As I lay her head back down, he pulls himself to his feet and begins to set up his own sleeping area, not quite as careless as Melete in his own sleeping arrangements.

“She’ll be okay,” he says.

I just nod.

“Sam,” I say, and it scuttles to my side. In all the time Sam’s been with us, I’ve never actually seen it sleep. Hopefully that can be useful for us now. “Would you be willing to keep watch tonight? Not for too long, we want to be moving again at dawn at the latest.”

“Yes, I can do that. I will alert you if anything approaches,” Sam replies.

I begin to set up my own sleeping area without responding. I don’t want to trust Sam, but it’s too late for half measures. We’re already following it like lambs to a potential slaughter. What’s letting it guard us while we sleep compared to that?

I don’t realize how truly exhausted I am until I lay on my side and close my eyes. Part of me is terrified that I’ll oversleep, that I’ll snore through the morning and only wake up when the sun is high in the sky, too late to help Styx.

That likely is the reason I jerk awake so many times through the night, heart pounding in my chest. Only to relax upon seeing the darkness and quickly falling back into a troubled rest.

The sixth time I wake -- truthfully, I am not sure of the exact number -- I’m barely able to see my hand in the lightening darkness. I slowly crawl to my feet and shake Pallas and Melete awake. I don’t feel any more rested than last night, but I know I’ll be able to go much further today than I would have had we continued through the night.

Melete at least seems to have regained some of her energy, humming a tune under her breath as she eats breakfast. Pallas and I are silent as we go through our morning routine and lift Styx back into the wheelbarrow. I had hoped we’d get another chance to try and give her more water or raise her charisma, but unfortunately she doesn’t stir as she is loaded up for travel.

Fortunately, I’m able to once again use my skill to fix my leg. I can still feel a strange emptiness when I try to force any other larger changes, and the modification to my leg takes five times as long as it had yesterday morning, but hopefully we’ll be able to travel faster than we were now that I’m mostly healthy again. But then I see Pallas wince and grab his side as he gingerly walks across the camp.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

He starts to shrug his shoulders, but freezes halfway through the motion. Instead, he just gives me a grim smile. “I’ll be okay. We’re going to see a healer, after all.”

I just nod.

Apart from Melete’s humming, our trek begins in silence. But as the sun rises on the horizon, I come to a realization.

“Hey, Sam,” I say. Within seconds Sam is back at my side. I’m watching the back of the group this time while Pallas pushes the wheelbarrow. Despite his injury, he’s just so much stronger than the rest of us that, if we want to maintain as fast a pace as possible, the responsibility is almost entirely his.

“Yes?” Sam says.

“I was wondering. You said before Styx got hurt you were already leading us to your colony. You never explained why.” Sam does not immediately respond. As the seconds pass, I begin to get impatient and ask again, “Why?”

“The leaders requested it,” Sam finally responds. “I apologize for deceiving you, but I did not have any other choice. Starting a colony on a new world, a world that has just undergone the inclusion, displays a large amount of trust and respect for the new leaders. Communication between worlds immediately after an inclusion is almost impossible, meaning the leaders of my colony are the supreme leaders of Alatir on this planet. Well, at least in this region.” Sam pauses before continuing. “If I had the option, I would have verified the order to bring you in with a higher Alatir. But for now, there is no higher Alatir.”

I sigh. Sam seems to be working hard to regain our trust with that little speech, but I’m reluctant to give it back so easily. “So what should we expect from these Alatir leaders then?” I ask. “Why did they want to see us in person so badly?”

“I truly do not know for certain. I assume that it is to further investigate the possibility of an alliance with humanity, but I cannot be sure. They did not choose to share their reasoning, and it is not my place to ask for an explanation.”

I just shake my head in response and continue the hike in silence. Eventually, Sam scuttles back to the front of the group.

The day passes in monotony. Typically, our travel days have consisted of breakfast in the morning, followed by two large breaks for lunch and dinner, with at least two smaller breaks for snacks, water, and the bathroom between each meal.

Today, however, our breaks are as short and as rare as we can make them. At first, I had decided that we would only stop when one of us specifically requests a break. But after hiking for four hours without resting, Melete gasping and dripping sweat and Pallas wincing with every step, I give up and call for us to stop.

But within fifteen minutes we’re back on the move, not wanting to waste even a second. Three hours later we rest again, stuffing food in our mouths for a quick lunch before moving on.

Finally, as we walk past a field into what seems to be another identical stretch of forest, I hear from Sam the words I’ve been waiting for.

“We are here.”

S: 148 (+45)

D:144 (+44)

W: 321

I: 102

C: 100 (+27)

0 (-115)

Skills: Adjust:Self, Bond:Mental