“Effort is the slow knife, carving freedom from within the stone of order.” — The Maker’s Code, Chapter 2, Line 423

We made it into the woods, the chaos of our escape from the city fading behind us. Lia was walking in silence, her father’s unconscious form propped over her shoulder. She hadn’t spoken since our narrow escape from Eldhaven, but every so often, she’d glance over at me as if searching for words that couldn’t quite make it past her lips.

Because not all of us have anything close to decent Stamina, we’d needed to stop in a small clearing by a stream for a quick break. I didn’t think we were likely to have been followed – with the completion of the ‘Escape from Eldhaven’ quest, Lia’s Outlaw status had faded, and she was back to being a certifiable killing machine – so I sat down with a deep sigh, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me.

I had all sorts of notifications – the usual bunch of XP gains, a fuckton of loot and an insane amount of gold – but also some more interesting things. And by ‘interesting’, I meant rather unnerving. My eyes first went to a notification which was blinking gold.

New Title Gained: Defiant

Description: You are now recognised as an agent outside of any single Celestial order. This title marks you as one who disrupts the cosmic balance, drawing both attention and unease from entities who favour conformity. Those who seek autonomy, however, may respond with admiration.

The words felt more like a warning than an actual title. Disrupts the cosmic balance. Basically the universe officially viewed me as a thorn in its well-ordered side. Not exactly a reassuring message, especially now that the Slacker had . . . stepped away.

Yeah. I’m going with ‘stepped away’. Humour me.

And then, just below that, another notification flashed insistently.

New Title Gained: Noted by The Maker

Description: Your presence has disrupted the primary narrative of The Maker. This title may influence future encounters with entities aligned with The Maker, increasing your chance of unpredictable interactions.

Oh, well that’s nice, isn’t it? And then there was a third one which really did both take the biscuit and dunk it in my tea and break it off.

Status Notification: Removed from the Maker’s Pattern

Subjects: Lia, Jorgen

Description: By engaging in actions contrary to The Maker’s script, these individuals have been severed from the primary narrative path. Though no longer bound by predetermined fates, they experience instability and an increased susceptibility to external influence.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“What is it?” Lia was staring at me.

“Oh, just the fact that I seem to have pissed off half the cosmic hierarchy on the one hand and The Maker in particular on the other,” I replied, shutting down my notification screen.

For a moment, I wondered how much it would be wise to tell her about the whole ‘You-have-apparently-pissed-off-your-god’ thing, but looking at her red-rimmed eyes, I thought it was only fair to clue her into the full picture.

“Look, Lia, there’s something else.” I paused, glancing between her and the groggy figure of her father sprawled against a tree. I was up to unburdening my soul to her but wasn’t at all wild at that particularly leaky vessel having access to all the secrets. But, no, he was still out of the count.

“During our escape from Eldhaven, we didn’t just get Outlaw status. We also might have irritated The Maker a touch . . .’”

“What does that mean?”

I glanced back at the notification and then pushed it over to her. We both read through it again in silence. “Look,” I said, “I’m not sure this is all bad news. Basically, it’s saying you’re now free to make your own choices. Certainly more than you were before. Sure, that whole ‘susceptible to external influence’, is a bit ominous, but it’s clear you are not bound by a predetermined fate anymore. That’s got to be a net gain, right?”

“Free to make my own choices,” Lia repeated, as if testing out the weight of those words in her mouth. She looked over at her father, still lying slumped on his tree stump. “I wonder if that’s really a blessing.”

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As if on cue, Jorgen stirred, letting out a groan as he sat up, his hand instinctively reaching for his belt. “Where’s my drink?”

Lia’s face instantly hardened as she looked at him. I think if I managed to get through the rest of my life without her looking at me like that, I’d be feeling pretty pleased. “We just risked everything to get you out of Eldhaven, and that’s the first thing you say?”

Jorgen looked up at her, blinking, then smirked. “Well, forgive me for wanting a bit of comfort after being crucified, Wren.”

“Comfort! You think that’s what you deserve?”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me. Didn’t ask you to save me, either.”

Well, that was lovely. I certainly felt bathed in the warm glow of his grateful thanks for the save.

I wasn’t motivated to break the silence that descended after that, but finally, Lia spoke up. “Don’t you feel bad at all, Dad? After saving you and writing off your debt, you threw us right back under the thumb of The Maker. And went to take up with another loan shark! My whole life you’ve been making the wrong choice!”

“The wrong choice?” Jorgen said. He spat the words out like they were bitter fruit. “You think I ever had a choice in anything that has happened? You were a kid, Wren; you don’t remember what it was like after your mother passed. She was barely cold before the Priest of the Maker was on my doorstep, sharpening his teeth for another debt to sink them into.”

He leaned back against the tree. “That Priest was a real piece of work, you know. He didn’t talk about grief or loss. No, he painted a nice, bleak picture of our future, one where folks like us didn’t have a snowflake’s chance in the Maker’s hell. ‘Embrace your role,’ he said. ‘Submit, or be crushed under the wheel.’ So I embraced it, didn’t I? I accepted my role as a broken man in a broken system, and the Maker rewarded me, didn’t they?”

“You think I wanted that life?” Jorgen’s sneer deepened. “That I wanted you tied to the same debts and curses I had? It’s the Maker’s world, Wren. You either take the scraps you’re given, or you starve.” He let out a dry chuckle. “Sure, some men might take the ‘noble path,’ but they’re the ones who die alone and empty. So yeah, I took what I could and left the rest to rot. But don’t go thinking it was my ‘choice’. Choice is for people who’ve got something to fall back on. And your dearest mother left us with fuck all.”

Before I could stop her, she pushed over the notification I had shared with her. “Well, that’s not the case anymore, is it? You’re cut free now. Brave new world of freedom, eh?”

Jorgen read the message and then leant forward, finger jabbing toward her aggressively. “Fuck that ‘freedom’. Do you think that if I’d done anything different, we’d have had a better life? That by having choice I’d have been some kind of hero? No. I was never going to be that man, Wren. I knew it. The Priest knew it. The Maker sure as hell knew it. And if you’re smart, you’ll get to knowing it too.”

He smirked at her again and I’ve never wanted Lia to chop someone’s head off so much in my life. “Don’t trust that notification for a second, Wren. The best thing you can do is to embrace your role, Wren. Don’t fight it. Do exactly like me. Drink. Gamble. Play your part in the great cosmic fuckup. The Maker never promises you’ll come out clean on the other side. And I can respect that.”

“You never thought of doing something . . . I don’t more?” I asked. And trust me, when it’s me questioning you rolling over and giving up, surely you can see that you’ve probably strayed a little too far away from the pack. “Sometimes, you have to take a stand, mate.”

Jorgen didn’t even look my way. “Stand against what? A fate written by a god? The whole world’s set up to punish those who don’t follow the plan. Who don’t toe the line. You think I wanted to live like this? I made a choice, sure—a choice to live comfortably numb rather than fight a war I couldn’t win.”

“Then why bring me into it?” Lia yelled. “Why raise me in a world that was never, ever going to mine? Fuck your own life up, for sure. But why ruin mine! You chained me to your debts!”

For the first time, a flicker of something almost like regret passed over Jorgen’s face. “I didn’t have the strength to break free, Wren. And I couldn’t bring myself to let go of you, either.”

“No! That’s not good enough. Not anymore!” Lia rose to her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. She stared down at her father, her fingers twitching slightly, caught between duty and disgust.

“Not anymore,” she repeated, quieter this time.

Jorgen watched her with that same smirk.

Seriously, if Lia wasn’t going to slap him silly, I was going to have a go. “You’re saying this now, Wren, as if you’re suddenly better than the rest of us,” he said. “You think a single notification in the woods changes anything? That stepping out of The Maker’s path isn’t just another trap in a world full of them?”

I saw the fracture between them widen. Jorgen’s cynicism had cut deep, leaving Lia hanging between fury and hurt, and I couldn’t blame her. The Maker’s philosophy, this concept of “embracing your role,” had driven Jorgen to justify years of debts and dependency. It had driven him into submission, shaping his life into a cycle of despair and self-loathing that he hadn’t even tried to break.

But, what was worse, he’d dragged her down with him. Despite everything I blamed my own parents for, they’d certainly never sought to pull me down . . .

“You think you’re free now, Wren? Bollocks. Freedom’s an illusion. You’re still going to end up exactly where the universe wants you to be. It might not be The Maker writing your script anymore, but another fucking Celestial will be taking up its quill. You’re as trapped as the rest of us. Just like your mother. Just like me.”

I thought back to the words of that notification.

Instability.

External influence.

Words that seemed vague yet carried a sense of foreboding. If Lia and Jorgen were truly severed from The Maker’s path, then what did that mean for them? Lia, with all her strength and resilience, was no longer bound to a destiny shaped by the Maker. Happy days. She was finally free to make some choices of her own. But, on the other hand, having spent her whole life knowing exactly what she was supposed to do next, I could see how that might make her feel a bit lost.

And Jorgen . . . Well, Jorgen seemed unable to see the chance he’d been given, only that his safety net – if you could call it that - had been yanked away.

Lia seemed to have realised the same thing. “You know what, Dad? You can live in that cage you’ve made for yourself, but I’m done with it. I’m done being told what I’m supposed to be, who I’m supposed to become. I don’t need the Maker - or you - dictating what my life looks like. I’m carving my own path.”

She turned to me, her face set with a hard resolve I hadn’t seen before. “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time here as it is.”

Without another glance back at Jorgen, Lia strode past me, her gaze fixed firmly ahead as if nothing in the world could stop her now. And as much as I knew this was her triumph – her moment of breaking free – I couldn’t help but feel the faint shadow of a complete and utter shitshow looming over us.

Severed from the Maker’s path, with freedom on the horizon . . . but with no clear end in sight. And the Rebellion against us. And the Empire. And with no Great Slacker around to help out . . .

Jorgen remained seated and gave a bitter laugh. “Go on then, Wren. Chase that freedom. See where it gets you.”

Lia didn’t answer, and I followed her in silence as we left the clearing.