Consciousness returns hours later; as the first inklings of the morning begin to pierce the veil of curtains; casting red light into the room. Clio lies beside me and stirs at my sudden movement. The smell of hops permeates my nostrils as a beer can rolls beside my head beneath my computer dusk. What a dream.

“Clio, move,” I whisper as I gently tap the brown-furred dog.

Clio grumbles and whines as she saunters back to the bed and burrows beneath the comforter. I push up to my knees; my face peeling off of the tile as a sticky, red-brown substance adhered to my skin. It comes off in large flakes as I scratch at it with my pointer finger. A large molar dug into my cheek, I pull it off and roll it in between my finger and thumb.

“Ceramic?” I hoped.

Unconsciously, my tongue feels around my mouth. It finds no gap. None of the old ones, nor any new ones. Realization strikes me like thunder on a clear day; I scramble to my feet. My desk rattles as my head smacks against the underside I pull myself from the darkness and run to my restroom.

Once in front of the stained and smudged mirror I pull apart my lips with my fingers. Where my front tooth had cracked and fallen out, I now had a brand new, sparkling white one. I hook my finger to my cheek and pull; every single tooth that I had lost was there. It wasn't a dream?

Fear pounds inside of my chest like a war drum. Fear and something else that I am unfamiliar with. Anticipation? Excitement? I don't know. I push open the door to my room; as the cheap aluminum knob bounces off the round protector. The black mirror-like screen was gone, and the computer lay sleeping. On top of my keyboard, however, there were two things; a twig about the size of my forearm, and a square...thing.

It feels like both metal and stone at the same time. I turn it over in my hand. It catches the light and reflects back a spectrum of red. In the middle of it was a timer: 17:23:41. The 41 changes into a 40, and then into 39. The words, “Time until the invasion begins,” sit right above the timer. The 'screen,' bends and morphs at my touch, as if it were made from a type of gel.

“What is this?” I mutter.

As if responding to my question to no one in particular the 'screen,' changes. The timer vanishes, and the text changes.

“This is a shard of the Bifrost; shattered during Ragnarok by Fenrir.”

“Well, I see it's a timer, but can you do anything else?”

Shadow meows loudly from the pillow as I sit on the edge of the bed. She circles me and hops up onto my bookshelf.

“This can tell you information about yourself, and the world around you.”

I push myself off the bed and slide open the window. Shadow squeezes through the gap and hops down to the small table on the other side; weaving around the flooded pots of dead plants. Her tail curls around the corner of the turn as she vanishes. I look down to the Shard. As the white light from the cloud-filtered sun seeps beneath its surface, it shines like a sliver of rainbow. The calligraphic text reflects this change as well.

“What can you tell me about myself?” I ask it as I sit back down.

Once the curtains flutter shut, the screen returns to the red-spectrum hue. The words vanish and in their place is a table draws itself out:

NAME: LAWRENCE ABLE

AGE:30

OCCUPATION: UNEMPLOYED

LEVEL: 1

EXPERIENCE: 0/100

STATS:

STRENGTH: 10(-3)

STAMINA: 10(-5)

PERCEPTIVENESS: 7

INTELLIGENCE: 13

CREATIVITY: 15

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

ENDURANCE: 12 (-7)

MAGIC: 0 (+2)

COMBAT SKILLS:

MAGIC

Lesser Heal 1/999

Ember 1/999

Ensnare 1/999

Meditation 6/999

CLOSE QUARTERS COMBAT

Jab 10/999

Straight 12/999

Hook 9/999

Grapple 14/999

“Oh, so it's like a game?” I ask it.

Clio crawls out from beneath the comforter and rolls over and stretches out her back.

“Yes, the Gods have chosen a form of advancement they believe you'll be most familiar with. For some, it is in the form of a journal that gradually fills out, for others, it is in the form of a voice in their minds. This, 'game,' form, however, seems to be the most popular.”

The text writes itself out.

“What's with the negative modifiers?”

“Your weight.”

“So if I lose weight, will the modifiers disappear?”

“Yes.”

“How about the +2 on magic?”

“Because you chose magic initially.”

“Does that mean I can do magic?”

“Yes.”

“Then...” I push myself off the bed and take the few steps to the desk. “What is this?”

“A novice's wand; made from a twig of an ancient Elm.”

“How do I do magic?”

“Recite the incantation, and do the motions needed with the wand. For staves, simply reciting the incantations is enough.”

“What are the incantations? What are the runes?”

“You know them already.”

I think about it for a second, and The wand trembles in my hand as I grip the leather wrapping around its base. I stuff the Shard into my pocket and hurry through the door. I slide open the sliding glass door into my backyard — last night's rain now frost that shimmered in the morning light. I step onto it barefoot; the frost crunching beneath my steps.

“I allow the blood of the Salamanders to flow through me,” I utter as I point the wand skyward.

I trace the rune — a simple triangle, as I speak. Excitement surges through my veins as hot as lava. The air vibrates, and my hands feel as if they're about to catch fire. I brace myself against the ground and squeeze my eyes to shield them as I connect the triangle, just as I utter the final syllable.

From the tip of the wand, a single ember — no larger than a piece of ash caught in the wind, falls. It sizzles and dies in a stream of white steam as it touches the frost.

What? How am I supposed to fight with this?

I try again. The result is the same.

I was scammed.

“How about...”

“By the light of Yahweh; the God of Gods, and King of Kings.”

I tap my forehead and draw a line with the wand from the crown of my head to my stomach.

Warmth wells up in me, and the small headache I had from hitting my head against the tile the night before, and banging my head against the underside of my desk that morning throbs a little less, yet remains.

Fuck.

I shove the wand in my pocket and pull out the Shard.

“Why is the magic so weak?” I demand.

“It can't be helped.” The text hurriedly scrawls itself out, “Not only is the level of the spells low but so is your current Magic.”

“The stat?”

“Yes.”

I tap my finger against the gel-like surface.

“How can I increase my stats?”

“You get three points every time you, 'level up.'”

“Is there a way to increase them naturally?”

“There is. For physical stats such as like strength, endurance, and stamina, working out will increase them over time. Experiencing new things, reading and the like will increase intelligence and creativity. For magic to increase on its own one would need to experience something profound.”

“What does that mean?”

“You'll know when it happens.” The reply came. “It's hard to say. What's profound for one person could be something mundane for someone else.”

“How about skills? How do I get new skills?”

“Every three levels you get the opportunity to choose one that you can use. Other than that; certain books you read and actions you take can unlock them for you.”

“Certain actions? Is that why I had those other skills I didn't choose? From the little MMA, I did as a teen?”

“It is.”

Am I going crazy? I think to myself.

“You are not.” The Shard responds.

So I don't have to speak?

“You don't.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You didn't ask.”

Sassy aren't we?

“I don't understand what you mean.”