When Kevregayn was at last defeated and destroyed, Johadon asked what was to be done with Sirayma, whom the fallen Lord of War had driven to madness and destruction with his wrath. And Nissaya said that the dominion of Love must not be lost, but that it had destroyed Sirayma as she witnessed the murder and rape of her people at the hands of Kevregayn’s armies. As it had destroyed her, the dominion of Love would destroy any who held all of it. It had to be divided.

So Johadon gave her power to act, and Nissaya divided the dominion among five of the powers who were willing and able. Three of the Light, one of the Gray, and one of the Dark. To Erreniya, Lady of Family and Farming, she gave Storge and Pragma, the love of family and the love of the married. To Daraff, Lord of Honor and Duty, she gave Philia, the love of brothers and true friends. For herself she took Agape, the selfless love of all, a heavy burden—for Tantho would not take it, saying he had enough of love already—and Nissaya wept as she did, knowing her heart would never again be without sorrow. Iskua, Lady of Darkness, demanded Eros for herself, but Nissaya said there was good in it, and nothing good should be the purview of Iskua. So she divided it into Romance and Lust, and gave Romance to Tislora, Lady of Art and Beauty, while Iskua slunk off with Lust, to torment and enslave all those who would treat the bodies of others as a source of selfish pleasure, that she might rule over them.

Lastly, Nissaya sifted out a little known love, and presented it to the Lord of Thieves, who had betrayed Kevregayn to destruction when he saw the weeping of the children of Sirayma’s people and could bear it no more. Many would call it the love of learning, of seeking truths wherever they were to be found, and delighting in them. But Nissaya gave it another name.

Wonder.

-Excerpt from History of the First Age, a primer for youths, published by the Nissayan Conservatory.

<00>

One hour later Razavan stepped out of the front door of the Issistran Patriarch’s mansion and shut it behind him. The big wooden door made a soft boom as it went home and latched with its mate. Razavan had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, acquired for him by one of the servants while he was going through his room and containing all the possessions he cared about that wouldn’t fit in his personal storage. He wore a fresh set of clothes, a loose pair of char-black twill pants and a dashing red silk shirt. He always had several changes of clothes ready to go in his personal storage… as long as he remembered to use them. He had been somewhat distracted when he climbed up the cliff from the river and had forgotten to swap out the wet set, leading to despair from the house staff at all the water he’d left on the floor. He also had his dueling dagger strapped to his hip, always a good idea when one was going anywhere in the city with any appearance of wealth.

Once his eyes adjusted to the bright noon sunlight he noticed a black house cat sitting a few steps away watching him. It looked like any other black housecat, except for the fact that it was smirking.

“Vennir,” Razavan said.

The cat smiled. “Going somewhere?” it asked in the same smooth voice he’d heard when he was falling from the sky.

“I figured you would want me somewhere as soon as possible,” Razavan said. “All the wits I’ve ever heard of have to go through training. Also, I satisfied your challenge.”

“Ahh, that you did.” The cat leaned back and smiled wider. “Your brain was truly wasted as the neglected son of a rich merchant. Always sad when talent goes unused.”

Razavan’s tail twitched at the compliment. “You promised you’d take care of my class problem. You also said something about putting me up to tier three.”

“Yes. Yes I did, didn’t I? And I do honor my agreements.” The cat looked down at one forepaw, gave it a lick, then waved at Raz with the paw.

Vennir is offering a main class boost to level 30 and a main class restructure. Do you agree to receive the boost and allow him to restructure your main class?

Razavan almost said yes.

Then he remembered the first rule of agreeing to a contract was to read the contract.

“How exactly are you going to restructure my main class?”

“Tsk,” Vennir made a click sound with his tongue while studying his paw. “There it is. I never actually specified that, did I?”

Razavan shifted the bag off his shoulder and set it down. It suddenly felt very heavy.

“I don’t have a choice in what you do, do I?”

“Not if you want to be tier three.”

He stared at the small cat for a minute, contemplating thoughts as wide and varied as what Vennir would change his class to, what his next fifteen years were going to look like, and whether or not he could get in a hit on the Power’s avatar if he tried really hard. He settled for acceptance after a short fantasy of throwing the cat into the river bound up in a sack with a rock.

“Yes, Aganod,” he said in response to the System message still hanging in his vision. Vennir’s aura surrounded him and he felt the sensation of arete flooding into his system.

Boost and restructure now, or while asleep?

Advancing a level was usually done while asleep, slowly. Advancing several in one go was almost always done that way. When he had integrated his mother’s legacy he had gone to sleep early in the evening and been down for half a day. However, he didn’t want to wait to find out what Vennir was going to do, and he was pretty sure he could take the suffering.

“I’ll do it now,” he said.

Are you sure?

Aganod rarely asked twice. That he was doing so now meant the pain was not going to be mild.

Razavan did not want to wait. “Yes.”

Boosting.

The arete slammed into him, filling him up and catching on fire. His whole body was burning and he had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. Only the knowledge that he was being watched kept him from crying as he sank down to his knees and drove his nails into his palms. The burning went on, and on, and on, somehow increasing in intensity, then doubling. He was certain he whimpered, but he couldn’t hear it over the pain filling his mind and the blood roaring in his ears.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

About the time he began to regret surviving the fall earlier that day, the pain began to recede. Quickly it faded to nothing, leaving him with moisture on his cheeks and a ringing in his ears.

“Gods,” he whispered.

“We’ll have to work on your patience,” Vennir said.

Razavan blinked and stared at the cat. He felt the last of the upgrade shift into place and a message popped up in front of him.

You have upgraded to level 30 Elemental Battledancer.

Raz groaned. “Why…”

“Wait for it,” Vennir said.

Total Dance affinity 50%. Racial class available. Arete available. Battlemage subclass available. Reconfiguring.

Raz felt a new surge of heat, this time rolling around through him, but it peaked much lower. Still it was uncomfortable, especially in the wake of the agony he had just been through. He bit back another whimper and shoved it down as the heat slowly receded again without going into the zone of raw agony.

Battlemage subclass deleted. Subclass added to main class. Main class upgraded to level 30 Graceful Claw.

Raz studied the message for a long moment. Finally it sank in that he was looking at a racial special class that he had never seen before. He opened his character sheet. Vennir had put most of his new stat points into agility, reflex, intuition, and the various magic stats. He focused on the class and opened it for a deeper look.

Most people stuck with simple classes, such as warrior, soldier, seamster, mason, and so on. It wasn’t because those classes were better, but because a person left no legacy until they reached level 20 in their main class. Level 10 was guaranteed by the mid-teens or so, but after that the yearly progression became so tiny that most people died before they ever reached the threshold. Extra arete could be earned from achievements, killing monsters, trading with adventurers, or working for an organization that had some to spare, but each of those had its own problems. Getting to level 20 with a simple class was far cheaper than trying to “go wide.” Since getting more arete was such a problem, most people went that route and tried to survive long enough to have something to pass on to their children.

Wide classes, such as the elemental dancer class Razavan had inherited from his mother, combined portions of various classes into one. In her case it had combined half of a full elementalist class with a dedicated dancer class, allowing for some truly stunning performances. Such a class cost the same to advance as a simple one, but putting it together in the first place involved building up and folding multiple subclasses into the main–an expensive process. Wide classes usually only showed up in second- or third-generation legacies, or in adventurers who wanted the extra utility more than they wanted to go up a tier and who had arete to burn.

The class he was looking at was a wide class. A battle-focused elemental dancer with about half of a full battlemage class focused on illusion. Essentially two full classes’ worth of utility shoved into one, something that was only possible at tier 3 with a racial special class. As it was a racial special class, it also had some traits that made it particular to Catfolk. The one that caught his eye was Flowing Motion, which looked like it would dovetail with the Fluid Grace trait that all Catfolk had.

“It’s still a dancer class,” Raz said. Why did it have to be a dancer class? What in all Agona was he going to do with that?

Vennir hissed and rolled his eyes. “It’s a greater battledancer class! You truly have no idea how rare that is. I’ve been trying to get one in my company for ages.”

Raz shot a glare at him.

Vennir didn’t seem to notice. “Tislora will break something when she finds out.” He shot Raz a smile. “Now, get up. You were right about having someplace to be.”

Raz sighed, gathered his duffle, and pushed up off the ground. His knees wobbled for a moment, then he was steady again. Having a health enhancement meant he recovered quickly from all kinds of things.

Vennir stood and set off at a trot for the main gate of the compound, his tail high and twitching. Raz was able to keep up with a fast walk.

They crossed the courtyard, Raz’s boots tapping on the smooth tan brick, and no one approached them until they were almost at the main gates. As Raz reached out to work the latch on the big wrought-iron gate he heard the sound of boots striking the brick. He half-turned his head, catching the sound with one ear, and recognized the weight in the steps.

“Valen.” Raz turned to greet his brother.

The larger cat man slowed to a full stop, huffing a little. Older by two years and half-Jaroga, Valen towered over Raz by at least two hands. While he had most of his mother’s patterning, the Jaroga orange-gold fur was shifted more toward the orange of his father, and he very much had his father’s blue eyes. He had also inherited much of his father’s laid-back disposition, though that could get unpredictable when his mother was involved.

“Raz! The servants said you accused my mother of trying to murder you! And now you’re leaving! What happened?”

“I sent you a note,” Raz said.

“It was two lines, Raz! You said you were going to work for Lord Vennir and you’d be in touch when you knew more! And… my mother… she wouldn’t try to kill you!”

Raz immediately decided that telling Valen his mother was one of the biggest schemers in all of Takara would be a useless endeavor. Not only was he, perhaps, just a little bit dense, but he also possessed the filial loyalty that was common in all sons of Takara, where speaking ill about a man’s mother was only done in a court of law with guards present, and even then only with the greatest respect.

Instead, he reached up and clapped his brother on the shoulder and smiled. “Valen, I just fell out of the sky. By the grace of my new employer here, I am still alive to tell you about it.” He pulled his hand back and gestured to Vennir, who sat on his haunches nearby.

Valen looked at the cat. “Lord Vennir!” He clasped his hands and bowed.

“Hello, Valen Issistran. We haven’t been introduced, but I have been watching you. I look forward to the day when you are running Issistran affairs. Hopefully you won’t make the same mistakes regarding companionship that your father has.”

Raz winced. Despite the fact that he had the same opinion of his father’s life choices, he didn’t like hearing it from someone else. Valen wouldn’t like it either. Still, Vennir was known for having a razor tongue on some things, and if anyone could call out one of their parents for poor decisions and get away with it, it was the Patron of their clan, their profession, their race, and their city.

Valen looked a little sick at Vennir’s words, but took them anyway. “Is it true, m’lord? Did…” He closed his mouth and ground his teeth. Took a breath. “Did my mother try to kill Raz?”

Vennir smiled. “Now, now. You know I rarely just hand out such information.”

Raz set down his bag again and summoned his status screen into his hand with a little exercise of illusion. It was a thing that could be faked, but Raz trusted that Valen knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t. Not when it was just between them. He held up the small projection hovering over his palm where his brother could see it.

“Wait… You’re tier 3! Graceful Claw?”

“It’s…” Raz coughed. “It’s a dancer class. Racial special.”

“So, you are sworn to Lord Vennir.”

“Yes. But I didn’t get the boost for swearing myself into service. That just got me enough help to not die. I got the boost for figuring out it was your mother who was responsible.”

Valen stared at the screen, down at Vennir, then back to Raz.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I was on a skybike. It died. High up. Then fell.”

Valen’s brows knitted together. “That doesn’t happen.”

“I know that. But it did. You’ll surely be able to read about it in the papers tomorrow. Gresham told me the bike landed in the workers’ district. Thankfully it didn’t hit anyone.” That would have been awful. He had been grateful when their household’s head servant had told him the outcome, acquired through the connections he maintained with the various official departments in the city.

“That…” Valen grimaced. Shook his head.

Raz understood. It couldn’t be easy contemplating the fact that one’s mother might be a murderous bitch.

“I’m not going to do anything about it, Valen.”

Valen looked at him. “Wait, but if she did…”

“The family doesn’t need this. I could prove it, but then I’d have to admit that I was riding around on a stolen skybike. Both of us would be in trouble with the lawkeepers, your mother somewhat more, and our clan would lose tremendous face. So, I’m not going to do anything about it. Well, apart from accusing your mother in our own home.” He wrinkled his nose. “That’s enough. She won’t try anything while I’m a wit. My employer here takes a dim view of killing his servants, and everyone knows it.”

The cat let out a low chuckle.

Valen sighed and gave Raz a sad look. He still didn’t seem entirely certain, but he was good at taking life as it came. It was one of the things they had in common.

Raz clapped him on the shoulder again. “I will get in touch as soon as I’m settled in. Wherever that is.”

Valen nodded. “If it’s not too far, I expect you to visit.”

“We’ll do dinner. Kivinrais’.”

“All right.”

Raz smiled one more time and turned back to the gate. This time he got his hand on the latch and the smooth brass mechanism parted the curling wrought-iron barrier into two halves. Raz pulled one side open and Vennir trotted out ahead of him. Raz began to follow, then heard his brother again.

“Raz.”

Raz turned one ear back to Valen.

“Work hard. You’re a lazy bastard.”

Raz chuckled and walked out the gate, shutting it behind him.