Freya brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.

There was a lot to sigh about. She was worried about Logan and missed him. She was hungry. She hadn’t slept that well. The bugs pissed her off too. As did that bimbo Kat. But most of all, Freya felt like a fool.

She was doing a menial errand. That in itself was fine, she supposed. With this new life, menial errands were a part of life. She was crouching on the ground and collecting petals of a white flower for Dr. Rosenberg. The [Healer] was testing all sorts of plants to make medicine. Freya figured the flower wouldn’t amount to anything but a bitter taste, but what did she know?

“What do I know…”

She sighed again. It wasn’t fair. That was a childish thought, but in a way she kind of was a child. She knew she was a good person. She knew she wasn’t a gold digger. She had loved Logan far before she even understood his family’s wealth.

But dating the son of a billionaire since you were a kid came with certain perks. Such as getting pretty much anything you wanted by just mentioning the thought. Freya had long ago promised herself not to abuse it. It wasn’t her money. Well it would be some day. Kind of.

Bad thought! You dumbass. It’s not like any of that matters anymore.

But she did still love Logan. That made her feel better about herself. Logan had changed a lot since coming here, and Freya had to admit it might have been for the better. As much as she adored his free-spirited, open-hearted confidence, he was a child just like she was in many ways.

“Maybe that’s why we’re good together,” Freya said to herself. as she plucked the petals in her hands. The squirrel-monkeys that were observing her with great curiosity made a questioning noise. Freya smiled at them, but her heart wasn’t in it. Not like she needed to impress a bunch of monkeys.

“But the difference between Logan and me is that irresponsibility, that Malcolm doesn’t understand. I’m here sitting on my hands, trying to think of what’s the best way to go forward. Logan just goes forward. Sure, he could think more, but that man acts with no hesitation. He’s brave.”

The monkeys had nothing to say to that. But one of them made a screech and showed Freya its butt. The other monkeys laughed and then they left to go on about their monkey business.

When Freya came back to the camp, she wasn’t surprised to see Malcolm Specter talking with two new people who were being offered some berries and mushrooms to eat. They ate them with such overt gratitude, it almost broke Freya’s heart to see that.

A small trickle of people had started to come into the camp, most likely guided by the smoke of the cooking fires. Each one looked more haggard than the next. They all ate from Malcolm’s hand. Freya smiled to herself. Logan would hate to see that.

They see a strong and stern leader. Of course they flock to Malcolm in a situation like this.

Freya brought the flower petals to Dr. Rosenberg. He was an elderly man in his early sixties. Long horse face and a receding gray hairline. His ever creased forehead was of monstrous proportions.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Freya,” he said and offered a tired smile. “Good girl.”

“You’re welcome,” Freya said with a smile of her own. Albeit hers was strained. He clearly didn’t mean it in a demeaning way, but right now it felt like that.

“Freya,” The sonorous and powerful voice of Malcolm Specter came from behind her. Freya turned.

“Hey,” she said.

“Good job on helping our… [Healer]. What are you going to do next?”

Freya knew this line of questioning very well. If she didn’t have a plan, Malcolm would give her one. She just wished he was nicer about it.

“I…” Freya started, trying to come up with something. “Don’t know.”

There was the slightest flicker on Malcolm’s face. Freya had years of practice, so she knew what this particular lapse in poise meant. Displeasure.

“Take some food and water to Simmons and ask if you can help him,” Malcolm said. “If not, go collect rocks for us.”

“Got it,” Freya said, trying to sound confident. From the look on Malcolm’s face, he wasn’t impressed. It hurt more than it should.

He is actually trying to be polite. Logan would get the hell reamed out of him.

After getting food and drink from the gatherers, Freya sighed as she made her way towards where Simmons worked. It was easy to follow the line of stumps left behind him. That man was methodical. Simmons had always been a nondescript, barely emotional guy for him. Even more so than the average agent. But he had found a strange passion in chopping wood. Freya wished she had that.

I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO! She screamed internally. WHAT CLASS AM I SUPPOSED TO PICK!? I’M NOT GOOD AT ANYTHING!”

She saw the shirtless Simmons swinging his stone axe in a wide arc. With only a few deft strikes the young tree he was cutting was almost done. Classes were amazing. Simmons’s single-minded enthusiasm had made him at least level 15 already in his [Lumberjack] sub-class.

Meanwhile I’m not even level 1 in anything.

She greeted simmons and brought the food and water to him and sat on a stump for a while to watch him work. The man was so engrossed, he didn’t even stop to eat. His built body shone with sweat in the cool morning sun. Resting her chin on her fist she looked at him go. She brought up the class selection window for the umpteenth time.

I know what class I want to pick. I think… Well there’s a few. But that one would just be so COOL. But it’s weird right? Logan would just laugh and tell me to pick it anyway. But he’s just the kind of person who can get away with it…

Soon enough Simmons wiped a sheen of sweat off his face that could qualify as a miniature monsoon rain. He was as blunt as ever when he thanked Freya, but there was a satisfied kindness in his eyes. Freya asked what he needed help with, and soon enough she was carrying varying pieces of wood back to the camp for building and crafting materials.

It was a morning of menial tasks and incessant worrying spiraling into bottomless despair. So a regular tuesday? Well not for Freya. She was used to private jet planes, fancy dinners and expensive clothes. She could live without, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss some of that.

Well that stuff’s gone now. Better start letting it go. Also, are we going to need weekdays and calendars?

Freya spent the rest of the morning lugging lumber to the [Carpenter] and [Builder] by the river who were building a pier. Malcolm had insisted on a pier for washing, fishing, and water gathering. Freya could only marvel at the many functions of a pier.

It was hard work, but at least she was being useful. After an hour she was so sweaty and tired that she had to stop and take a rest. She plopped herself onto a smooth rock next to the food and water supplies that one of the agents was guarding. Freya thought it excessive, but then again if more people flocked here, there were bound to be bad apples. Maybe Malcolm had a point here.

As Freya was munching on a bright yellow fruit which resembled a pear, she saw the agents stir up, their new shields hoisted.

“Somebody’s coming!” One of them announced to the camp.

Through the woods appeared three familiar faces.

“Logan!” Freya got up, a wide smile on her face. That smile waned at record speed. “Why are you carrying that bitch!?”