“Come on! Why can’t I go with you?” demanded Miguel. “You always said that having someone to watch your back is important.”

“This ain’t that kinda city, kid,” Colt said, running his hand through his short hair. He’d had the barber back in Ironshore cut it down to little more than a fringe, which was his preferred style. Easier to handle, that way. “You heard your uncle. It’s ‘bout as safe a spot as there is. ‘sides – you need to venture out on your own a bit. Havin’ me or your uncle hoverin’ over your shoulder won’t do you a bit of good. A boy needs his independence as much as he needs guidance.”

Miguel looked like he was going to argue, but then the boy thought better of it. That was as expected. When Colt had first taken the young man under his wing, he’d been a bit unruly and very undisciplined. But he’d latched onto the structure Colt provided, his grip tightening even more after their exile.

That wasn’t to say that Miguel never acted like the teenage boy he was. He certainly did, and often. But he’d learned that when Colt gave instructions, he expected them to be followed, and without complaint.

“Fine. Whatever,” Miguel said. “Maybe Isaak can show me around.”

“Maybe,” Colt allowed. “But that ain’t much different than havin’ me or your uncle ‘round.”

Miguel glared at him.

Colt didn’t waver, though. “And don’t leave the city.”

“But –”

“No buts, kid. It’s dangerous out there. I heard stories about some kinda maneater from a while back. Nobody ever killed it, either. It ain’t hit nobody in a while, but that don’t mean it ain’t still out there. And somebody like you? Without levels? You make a juicy target for a monster like that.”

“We should go back to the swamp,” Miguel said. His cheeks reddened. “To check on the kids. You know, to make sure they’re okay.”

“The kids, huh.”

“Yeah. I thought we should’ve stayed until they had everything they needed. But Uncle Elijah said that he didn’t want to influence their decision,” the young man persisted. “By now, they had to’ve made a choice, though.”

“That’s the only reason you wanna go? To check on the kids.”

“Uh…no. I think the swamp is…uh…cool. With all the mud and…leeches…”

“Right. Leeches. That’s what all the kids’re into these days, eh?”

“I’m not a kid,” Miguel insisted. “I’ll get my archetype any day now.”

“Well, ‘til you do, you’re a kid,” he said. Then, he shook his head and said, “Now go on. Git. Don’t wanna see you ‘til sunset at least. Go get into some trouble. Have a rock fight. Explore. Just be a kid. You ain’t had much opportunity for that kinda thing since…well, since forever.”

“Fine,” Miguel huffed. “Can I at least take a sword, though?”

“Spear.”

“But I don’t like the spear!”

“That’s all you get ‘til you prove you can handle the sword,” Colt said. In truth, Miguel had progressed exceedingly well with his swordsmanship, but Colt had high standards that the young man had yet to meet.

After that, Miguel only argued for a little longer before taking up the spear they’d brought with them, then leaving the hotel’s common room behind. For his part, Colt glanced at the innkeeper, Agatha, and shrugged, saying, “Kids, right?”

“Don’t have to tell me. My boys were a lot worse. At least he listens.”

“Most of the time,” Colt said with a chuckle as he leaned against the bar. Then, he reached up, intending to tip his hat to the elderly woman, but brought himself up short when he remembered that he still hadn’t replaced the one he’d lost back in Easton. “Say, you don’t know of a decent haberdasher ‘round here, do you?”

“Haberdasher?”

“Hat maker,” Colt explained. He gave her a tight smile, adding, “I seem to’ve misplaced my bonnet.”

She answered, “Old Markakis is your best bet. He’s got a fair few hats. Not sure if he makes them, but he’s a Tailor.”

After she gave him directions, Colt said, “Much obliged, ma’am.”

Then, he left the hotel behind. Vaguely, he was aware of Miguel following him for a bit, but eventually, he left the boy behind. As he walked through the town, Colt was amazed at how normal it all seemed. There were plenty of cultural differences from any other place he’d ever been, but aside from those, it was remarkably similar to his hometown back in Oklahoma. Or, presumably, hundreds of other mid-sized towns throughout the world.

Argos was too big to be considered a town, though. If he’d had to guess, he would have said that it played host to at least a hundred thousand people. Maybe more. That was how most towns were, from what he could tell. Anywhere that offered a modicum of safety attracted refugees like moths to a flame. The settlements that didn’t grow usually ended up getting overrun.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Colt had seen plenty of evidence of that during their exile. And he suspected that more would fall everyday until everything normalized. But one thing was certain – the world wasn’t getting any safer, and humanity needed to take its own progression seriously or there would be another culling not dissimilar from what had happened directly after Earth experienced the touch of the World Tree.

For his part, Colt was lucky. He’d always been a man of action. As a former soldier, he felt he was well-suited to the new world, and his lifelong fascination with the art of Bushido had served him well with his Warrior archetype and the Samurai class that had followed.

However, he hadn’t had a purpose until he’d reached Easton and found Alyssa. She’d shown him the good people were capable of, and he’d followed her willingly. After her death, he’d pledged himself to Carmen. And now, she’d become something of a little sister to him. After everything they’d experienced together, they were practically family.

But Colt knew that he needed to keep pushing forward. He was just outside the top one-hundred, but that could be said for thousands of people. Maybe tens of thousands. It was especially necessary because, like everyone else, he’d gotten a notification a couple of months before:

Four years have passed since your planet (Earth) felt the transformative touch of the World Tree. In one year, the top five-thousand (5000) humans and top five-hundred (500) settlers will be afforded the opportunity to endure the Trial of Primacy.

Participation is not mandatory, though it is encouraged. In one (1) year, present yourself at any Branch of the World Tree, and you will be teleported to the Trial Grounds.

Prepare yourselves accordingly.

He had a little less than ten more months to ensure that he would be eligible to go, and he intended to use every day to accomplish that goal. But first, he needed a proper hat. So, he followed Agatha’s directions, eventually arriving at a small shop faced by large windows that displayed a series of mannequins dressed in all the latest fashions. Colt wasn’t in the market for clothes, but he could admire the cut of the two suits on display.

He adjusted his coat, then stepped inside, his entry announced by the tinkling of a bell. The interior of the shop was much as he would have expected. There were dozens of mannequins lining the wall, each one displaying the Tailor’s wares. Colt also saw a few tables upon which were folded cheaper, less formal clothing like tee-shirts and blue jeans. Though his senses told him that, despite their modern appearance, the pieces were not mundane.

“How might I help you?” came a nasally voice from the back of the room. Colt’s eyes quickly found the owner, who was a short, thin, and bespectacled man with a mop of brown hair.

“I’d be much obliged if you’d point me to your finest hats,” Colt said with a crooked smile that he hoped was charming.

“Hats? I don’t sell hats. Do you see any hats?”

“I do not,” Colt admitted. “Bit new in town, if I’m honest. I was told you were my best bet.”

“Well, I don’t have any hats. Please leave.”

“Surely the finest Tailor in the city could make one, measly hat.”

“I said I don’t…wait, who said I was the finest Tailor in the city?”

“Everyone says so,” Colt stated.

“Perhaps I could be persuaded to take on a custom job,” Markakis said.

Colt gave the man his warmest smile. Then, he retrieved a few silver coins from his pouch, saying, “Will this be persuasion enough?”

Markakis cleared his throat, then said, “Yes. I believe it will. Tell me, Mr…”

“Colt.”

“Mr. Colt, tell me –”

“It’s just Colt. Ain’t no Mister attached.”

“Right. Colt. Tell me what you require.”

* * *

Miguel sat on the stoop, idly petting Artemis. The cat had found him the moment he’d left the inn, and she had followed him all the way to Isaak’s house. Of course, the other young man wasn’t around, which had thrown a bit of a wet blanket on Miguel’s plans to enlist Isaak’s help in finding something interesting to do. So, without any other ideas, Miguel had sat on the stoop in an effort to figure things out.

“He lost me on purpose,” he said to the purring cat. The thing was the size of a Siberian husky, which made it the biggest cat Miguel had ever seen. However, the beast acted just like every other cat he’d ever met. “I know he did.”

The cat purred in solidarity.

Or probably because she enjoyed the attention.

“He wouldn’t have been able to if I had an archetype,” he went on. “I saw the stuff Uncle Elijah could do, too. If I had those kinds of abilities, nobody would stop me from doing what I wanted.”

But what did he want?

That was a question that had plagued him ever since he had met his uncle. Sure – Elijah had visited years ago, but those memories were hazy. By contrast, everything that had happened since Seattle was extremely vivid. Elijah was one of the most powerful people in the world. Everyone said that he was at the top of the power rankings that Miguel had never seen.

And he’d gone to Easton and killed Roman.

Nobody had said it outright, but Miguel could read between the lines. Elijah had set out to get revenge, and when he’d returned, the results were obvious.

That had robbed Miguel of purpose. For the entirety of their voyage across the wilderness, he’d imagined himself making Roman pay for what he’d done. He had dreamed of doing so in a thousand different ways, too. But now? That door was closed to him.

So, where did that leave him?

What purpose did he have?

Colt always said that a man needed a purpose, and now, Miguel had none.

He sighed, leaning back on the stoop, propping himself up with one elbow as he looked at the spear he held in his other hand. It wasn’t even a Crude-Grade weapon, which meant that it was next to useless against anything with any degree of power. However, it did have a durability enchantment on it, so at least it wouldn’t snap at the first sign of strain.

“Mom used a spear,” he said to the cat. “I mean, it’s a good weapon. That’s what Colt says. Better reach than a sword. Easier to use, too. It’s what most armies used before guns and stuff. But it just doesn’t feel right.”

Or not completely right, he had to amend. He enjoyed training with all sorts of weapons, but none of them had really grabbed ahold of him. Miguel was at least self-aware enough to recognize that much of the reason he wanted to use a sword was because Colt used one. Otherwise, he felt no real connection to the weapon. The same was true of spears and axes, daggers and bows.

But he needed to learn to focus. Otherwise, he would never become a master with any particular weapon.

Just as he was starting to get lost in thought, he heard a scream from nearby. Instinctively, he shot to his feet and looked around for the source. He saw nothing, but another shout gave him some direction. So, without further thought, he grabbed his spear and sprinted toward the sound.