I look around the room, slowly raising an eyebrow at Illumisia scraping a claw against the glass. A line of molten orange follows, then bursts into flames. She repeats this three more times, creating a star of lines that emanates warmth and magic.
Before she has a chance to tell me not to come over, I sit just within range of the fire’s warmth and set my backpack on the ground. She watches as I take out my water bottle, fill it with the dark waters of the pool, and set it right next to me. Pearl scurries down my shoulder and sits a little closer to the fire, then splays out and… melts into a smiling puddle of goo.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
She burbles a relaxed sigh. “It wasn’t safe enough to really relax yet. Now it is. You and Illumisia make friends while I take a nap, okay?”
I raise an eyebrow at her, then look over to Illumisia. “Whatever you say, Pearl.”
“Yes. We will try our absolute best.” Illumisia smiles, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Worry not–your Shelby will be alive when you wake.”
“She better be. Goodnight.” Pearl yawns, then even her face melts into the puddle, leaving no features behind. Leaving me alone with Illumisia–whose intensity skyrockets the moment we’re alone.
“You need to learn how to enslave the system. It is an arduous task, and one that I have only seen mastered by a very small handful. If you cannot do this, the system will use you to its own ends.” She shifts on her bed of sand, making just enough room for one human to sit beside her. “Come. Pearlescence is attached to you, both in the literal and emotional sense, and from her explanations it seems undeserved. I am terrified the system has put those attachments in her mind.”
Now that’s a scary thought.
“I never even thought about that, but I guess it’s possible.” I grunt as I stand up, but pause before I walk over to her. She tilts her head in question as I bend down to grab the spade from my backpack, then stuff it under my arm and walk right over to her. “So what do you want to know? It seems like she told you everything already, but if you feel like there are any holes in the story, I’ll fill them in as best as I can.”
Illumisia watches me sit down, her animalistic face completely unreadable. Her eyes look me up and down, then shift and lock onto Pearl.
“No. If she is untouched, then I trust her judgment. And if she has been altered, it is no fault of your own. But if you ever free her from the system’s clutches and she no longer wants anything to do with you, you will let her leave. You will not attempt to stop her, convince her, or follow her.”
I frown and lean back as I stick a finger into one of the holes in the sand. “And what if she wants to stay with me? Does she get the freedom to choose if the result isn’t something you like?”
“Watch your tongue, system-born.” Illumisia growls. “Do not make this out to be a personal grudge. You–and all of your ilk–are a symptom of a much greater disease. One that Pearlescence and I fought for years. One that is not so easily abandoned due to a minor setback. She… she…”
Illumisia turns slightly, her expression softening as she watches the puddle that is Pearl rise and fall with rhythmic breathing. She seems to reconsider what she was about to say, then sighs dramatically and curls up as far away from me as possible while still remaining on the sand.
“She was always like this. A realist in the best of times, an optimist in the worst, and prone to snap decisions. Which led to many moments of glory and an equal amount of panic.” Illumisia shakes her head and chuckles fondly. “Any further explanation would trigger the system’s censorship, but I hope you can make an inference from that little information. So I will change the subject–your Class is Gambler. Pearl informed me that it has primary attributes of Fate and Worth. Is this correct?”
I'm still trying to parse what Illumisia was trying to get at, but I nod anyway. “Mmhm. Fate and Worth, and apparently a really crappy class according to you. Are you finally going to tell me why?”
“Because it is a Worth Class. One given out by the system only because it is required to have a combination of each possible attribute and significantly hampered for those exact reasons.” Illumisia shuffles around and glares at my coin holster. “Not all Worth-attributed classes have access to mana, they must work for Stat gains that all other classes gain instantly, and their starting equipment is of significantly lower quality compared to a non-Worth class.”
The information hits me like a runaway truck. I reach for a coin to flick nervously through my knuckles, but nothing comes. Because I wasn’t reaching for a ghost quarter, or even some Worth–all I could think about was the Class Coin and the charred corpse it appeared with.
“I see you understand the ramifications of your class better than I had hoped. Good. It shows you have the potential to survive. Now, what stats were you assigned when you first appeared in our world?”
I swallow hard.
“One of everything except Fate, which I got two of. And twenty-five Worth. And a backpack of supplies. And… when I got attacked, the system let me buy a spell tutorial that gave me two basic spells. Oh, and I had six inventory slots. …Or was it eight? I think it was eight, but it might’ve been six.”
Illumisia frowns. “Is that really all?”
I laugh uncomfortably and shove my hands in my pockets. “You don’t have to be sarcastic. I know it sounds like a lot, but if you’re saying–”
She cuts me off with a shake of her head. “No. That is so much less than I remember a non-Worth class beginning with. Combine that with the fact that your stat bonuses don’t apply the moment you gain the stat and it is a miracle you managed to survive. …No, I must rephrase that. You only survived due to the specific ecology of the seasky shores. Which means the system did not have a say in where you appeared.”
“What do you mean ‘so much less’?”
“I could offer you a complex explanation. Or I could simply list off what the last non-Worth class I encountered was given when he gained his class. He was a Glistener–a class with primary attributes in Body, Soul, and Fate. He was given fifteen inventory spaces, two weapons for variable ranges, enough food and water to survive for two weeks, clothes woven with magical fibers to keep him warm and safe, a rechargeable trinket that functioned as a magical shield, two spells and three skills, a magical map that marked any locations his quests mentioned, and a grand total of fourty-five Worth.”
My frown deepens with every single thing Illumisia lists. She stops to take a breath, and I try to get a word in, but she bulldozes through with even more information.
“He appeared in a highly populated location–Palastia–where he was given quests that properly readied him for the dangers being a system-born poses. Palastia is the capital of an entire country carved out for the sole purpose of educating these new system-born, allowing them to grow stronger in peace and relative safety. Obviously that is not here.”
I snort and cross my arms. “Obviously. So what, I got teleported to a completely random place, and it just so happened to be somewhere that let me survive? But… I had some protection from the system to begin with. If it wanted me dead, why would it give me that?”
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“Are you referring to the grace period?” Illumisia asks, but doesn’t wait for my answer. “That is not something the system has control over–it is a function of the world itself the system takes credit for.”
Oh. I guess the system really didn’t care if I died. Actually, if what Illumisia’s telling me is true, then it probably would’ve preferred if I croaked before I got anywhere.
“Is that why I don’t have anywhere to sell my things?” I mutter to myself in thought. “It wouldn’t matter where I went, or even if I managed to survive, if I can’t make that thousand Worth it wants me to. And there’s the whole ‘get to an unspecified place’ thing, which probably isn’t even on this continent if you’re right.”
I turn back to Illumisia with a frown deeply etched onto my face. “What about the cost of getting a stat point? Is that a lot cheaper for everyone else?”
She shakes her head. “That is a cost standardized to the stat itself, not your class.”
“Okay. At least that’s not blatantly screwing me over. What about the quests? Is the system giving me those, or are they just cataloging them?”
“Cataloging. Though it can twist the wording of the quest to blur its true form.”
I nod. “I can work with that. What about Fate? Is that independent?”
“Oh, it is very, very independent.” Illumisia snickers and bears her teeth. “Fate existed long before the system tried to quantify it. In the old way, Fate was quite simply defined as the path that existence decided to take. The most likely path was Fated to be, but nowhere near a set outcome. Those with greater ties to Fate could both see these Fated paths as well as pull the less likely outcomes into reality. Your Fate stat is a passive quantification of reality diverging from your Fated path.”
“I… don’t think I got any of that.” I admit with a sigh and lean back on my palms. “I think it’s almost like being the opposite of a prophesied chosen one, kind of?”
“You are closer to the truth than you realize.” Illumisia traces her claw through the sand to draw a perfectly straight line. She finishes a dozen inches from where she started, then goes back and adds countless other branching paths onto the line. Once she finishes, she traces once more along the main line–thickening it compared to the branches. “This line is the Fated path. It is what will happen if nothing is challenged, and what is happening as we speak. It is difficult to know when the Fated path changes, as whatever we are living becomes the Fated path. And then what was once the Fated path ceases to exist. It is why prophecies are pointless, and why those in power desperately try to limit the number of variables that could change their desired path.”
“Uh-huh.” I say when Illumisia looks to me.
Obviously I’m not doing a good job of selling my understanding, since she sighs theatrically and makes a show of wiping away her branching paths. Then she starts over with one single line.
“This line is the Fated path. For Pearlescence and myself, that fate was to be locked away in our respective prisons. It was to continue forevermore, as the likelihood of anything changing was so minuscule that it was not even measurable.” She says slowly and clearly, then flicks a claw through the sand. A much deeper line now veers off to the right from the Fated path. “Then you came along. The moment you freed Pearlescence, the Fated path was changed. But I was still trapped. That Fated path only changed when you made the choices you did.”
She swipes through the sand again, and the Fated path now points in another completely different direction.
“To some system-born, Fate seems to be something they have difficulty accepting. They see it as an unchanging future–what will come to pass, no matter anyone’s actions. But that is simply not the truth. Fate is ever changing, ever fluid, and ever cruel. Those with no possibilities do not even know it, and those who choose a path that leads to their own ends make it with no knowledge of where it will take them. For you system-born, the Fate stat is a symbol of your possibilities. It offers you tangible choices, highlights moments of importance, and increases the power of your most reality-bending skills.”
I finally nod in understanding. And this time, when Illumisia looks like she has more to say, she simply wipes away the Fated path and opens the floor for me to say something. I gather my thoughts for a good few seconds, but she doesn’t seem impatient. If anything, she looks curious at what I’m going to present. What I’ve gathered from her explanation.
I breathe calmly and sit up straight. “It’s like reality is a really long hallway. If I keep walking straight, it’ll take me wherever I’m ‘meant’ to go. But if I have a high Fate stat, doors start to appear. I don’t know where they’re going to take me, but I also don’t know where I’m ‘meant’ to go. And when I open one of those doors, all there is is another long hallway. With even more doors.”
Confidence creeps into me as I speak, and something in me tells me that I’m on the right track. It seems to vibrate through my entire being, like some massive monster purring in content on my chest. It’s not Illumisia, that’s for sure–she’s sitting there listening with absolutely no emotion on her face. The feeling fades instantly, whatever it was, and I’m stuck with reality once more.
“Once I open a door it reveals another long hallway. And that hallway becomes the Fated path.” I continue, leaning slightly forward and lacing my fingers together in my lap. “But the door closes behind me so I can’t go back to the other path, but I also don’t know what this new one will be. From your explanation you never know what’s at the end of the Fated path, and… huh. I guess you wouldn’t even know when you opened a door. But… I can see Fate somehow. In orange auras around things that… that…”
I frown once again and lean forward even harder. “Are the auras telling me I’m going through a door, or are they leading me down the Fated hallway?”
Illumisia lets out a loud grunt. I startle at the noise, then snap to see begrudging acknowledgement written plainly on her face. Well, as plainly as it can be on a shark-wolf.
“And there you have understanding. Fate is not simple. It is not complex. It merely is, and trying to understand it leads to nothing but confusion. All you can do is acknowledge how it functions and act in ways that you think most benefit you and yours.”
The sapphire spade glimmers under my thigh. I reach down and trace my fingers along it, then raise it into the firelight. Illumisia watches me with an unreadable expression, as if trying to get information out of my reaction to it. Just like I’m trying to do to her.
I break first. And I’m pretty sure it isn’t even close. “How did you get this?”
“It fell.” She says easily. “The sands spat it out and it finished the task you started.”
“What task… wait, do you mean the whole ‘freeing you’ thing?” I stab the spade into the sand, then force a thought into it. All at once, the ghost quarters trapped within rise to the surface.
Illumisia grunts, then shifts as all the ghost quarters under her slide free. “Yes. Your cutting off the power supply started to diminish the barrier I was trapped in, but it was nowhere near quick enough. That shovel crashed through the sands–and glass–above my prison and destroyed the device.”
I flick the spade with one finger as I pull my mouth into a thin line. If the shovel hadn’t destroyed the device imprisoning Illumisia, would she have gotten to me in time?
“How quickly was the barrier disintegrating?”
She thinks for a second before answering. “If it kept at the pace it was going, it would have taken close to three hours before I could slip through a hole without damaging the barrier.”
Three hours. That’s definitely enough time for me to die. Which probably would’ve meant Pearl’s death, too. Or maybe not. Maybe Illumisia would’ve found her sprawled out around my body, and she wouldn’t have the annoying system-born to deal with. Hell, maybe she regrets saving me.
I glance over at her and quickly decide that’s not a question I want to ask. But there’s one thing that bothers me–one thing that bubbles up from the bottom of my stomach and screams at me about the conversation we just had.
If I’d somehow managed to take the shovel the first time it appeared, I’d be dead right now. My Fate stat would’ve effectively killed me. That puts the orange glow into a new light. Pun intended.
“My Fate stat could’ve killed me.” My voice shakes as I speak, and I can’t tear my eyes from Pearl. “If I raise that stat a lot higher, how much danger am I going to inadvertently put myself in?”
Illumisia shrugs as well as a shark-wolf can. “If the Fated path leads to death, Fate can save you. If it leads to prosperity and happiness, Fate can damn you. It is unrestrained possibility. So you must ask yourself this; would you rather be blind to your own future or shape it with your own two hands–even if it means your suffering is your own doing?”
Even though I know she meant it metaphorically, I can’t help but look down at my hands. Just a few days ago they were the soft hands of a future office worker, hardened only by short-lived stints of hobbies. Now they’re stained with dirt, lined with little cuts and sores that are in a constant state of sort-of-healed, and tipped with pointed nails that look a little too much like teeth for my liking. Even my fingertips are scarred from Illumisia’s healing, jagged lines through my fingerprints separating them into the before and the after.
My own two hands, huh.