Chapter 11.

Eli was, like everyone else who’d had the system forced upon them, abruptly aware of the moment that he’d had a new language thrust into his brain, but after discussing it with his party they mutually agreed to continue speaking English because … well because speaking the alien language downloaded directly into their brain was weird.

English was familiar. The alien language was weird. But after searching on the internet, they were surprised to learn that everyone had this new language. There was a bit of uncertainty on what to call it, ironically, since nobody could think of “the name for this new language” in a name and not a concept that required explanation in the new language.

Eli found an online poll. It had hundreds of suggestions; apparently this was the third iteration of this online debate since the update to the system had apparently updated everyone on the planet’s Broca’s area. While the official naming was clearly far off, there were a few clear front runners.

The simplest, and the one that got Eli’s vote, was just Common.

But there was also Vox Universalis, and some form of “Common Tongue” or “Universal Speech in a few other common languages. Eli’s preference for ‘Common’ was strictly because he was an English speaker.

Which made him think of the translation for ‘common’ in the new language, and he hit his head in frustration.

He posted on the same forums. “Hey guys. So, everyone is suggesting some version of ‘the language that everyone speaks.’ But they’re using their own language. English speakers want to call it Common because of various reasons, but that’s admittedly English biased. But the new word for “Common” is “Bakotu.” So, yeah. I already voted for common because I hadn’t thought of it yet, but yeah I’m totally changing my vote next time.”

He got a few responses pretty quick, including a link to Titansystem.app. He followed the link out of curiosity, blinking in surprise when the registration system looked a lot like a party invite, except on his phone.

Curious, he registered. It didn’t ask for an email or any personal details. He could enter a pseudonym, which he did, but it asked for his class and his stats, which he entered honestly. He lied about his age reflexively as a teenager on the internet; it was just easier that way. Once he’d registered, he was directed to the information page, which was a list of information officially confirmed by the website devs, and a second category of speculation by its users.

He swallowed as he realized exactly who it was that had set this website up.

He regretted choosing his username –Runekeeper. But not enough to change it. If the Webmaster was going to recognize him and send someone after him, he’d have done it by now.

He got a few messages from others, but a lot of them seemed to be just trying to increase their friend count. He learned pretty quickly to tell the difference between real users and wannabes because the people who actually had the system at this point knew that everyone started out with base 10 in every attribute. And there were people who tried to quantify things the system didn’t measure using notes like “My charisma is 50+” or something equally stupid like that.

He was spent a few hours reading through some of the theorycrafting and of other system users displaying their level one powers. Here was a warrior doing a standing long jump that set a world record. There was a mage casting a fireball that was slightly less damaging to people and property than the one that Luke had cast in his backyard last night. There was a young woman unscrewing a wet pickle jar effortlessly.

Okay, so that last one was a bit stupid but it made him laugh.

Eventually he decided that it was probably safe to share what he knew about his own class, so he recruited the eager Peter to hold his phone for him as he showed off some of the gear that he’d been preparing for the dungeons.

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“I guess my class is kind of rare,” he said to the camera, “It’s called Scholar. But yeah, it’s like mage in that I got a grimoire downloaded into my brain. It’s teaching me to enchant things, I guess? I don’t know, I’m not quite certain how I contribute to a party yet. Or maybe I don’t? Maybe I’m just an enchanter and strategist. Anyway, if you look at these boots, these runes empower grip and speed. I’ve tested it out, and when I’m pumping mana through the enchant it’s … let’s say it’s like running on a regular surface that versus skating on the ice, except on reverse. You’re even less likely to slip than you were. And it’s hard to say how much faster it makes me since I’m still adjusting to my post-awakening reality.”

“Show them the baseball bat,” Peter suggested.

“Okay, right, turn off the camera and we’ll do that next,” Eli said. After setting up and getting Sophie to toss him a softball for the camera, he demonstrated the difference between his athletic ability alone versus swinging the bat with the enchant activated.

His pure athleticism hadn’t been anything impressive before, but after the system awakening he might have been mistaken for someone who actually practiced swinging a bat. But with the enchant, the ball just … kept going. Out and into the trees. Two, three hundred yards at least.

“I’m not chasing that,” Peter said.

Eli sighed, but he took his phone back from the thirteen year old Warrior and ran off to chase after the ball he’d grand slammed. He finished uploading the two videos and submitted them to the power demonstration forums, expecting that they’d be buried pretty quickly.

He wasn’t wrong. His abilities just weren’t as flashy as warriors displaying superhuman strengths, rogues displaying impossible levels of grace, and mages blowing things up in creative applications of low level magic.

It was actually reassuring that his posts were buried. He’d had a phase when he was like eleven when he’d actively tried to go viral. It had been awkward and cringe, and he didn’t like thinking about it. That wasn’t what he’d been going for, he’d been hoping to connect with other scholars through the website to perhaps compare notes.

Instead he got a message as he was returning after finding the ball. He checked it, reflexively trying to accept the message request with his interface – funny how swiftly he’d adapted to that – before he remembered that it was on his phone.

He checked the message the old fashioned way. With his finger. Like a peasant. And he was surprised when he got another one from another sender a second later.

“Hey, your abilities look awesome. You have a group yet? I’m in SoCal,” the first message read. “Gonna challenge the dungeons when they open?”

Eli thought about his response, but saw no reason to lie. Thousands of people were apparently openly discussing their intentions to delve as soon as the dungeons opened up, which the website had ‘verified’ as occurring ‘soon.’

“Planning on delving with some friends from school,” he admitted to the anonymous internet stranger. “We’ve got a solid line up, I think. Hopefully it’s not an alien trap and we don’t die on floor one.”

“If they were going to do that why not wipe us out instead of giving us superpowers?” the first guy responded before Eli had a chance to respond to the second message he’d received. He had really fast typing fingers, Eli thought to himself.

He took another moment to explain his thoughts. “It’s more like … what if we don’t understand what it is that’s at stake that worries me. I think most of us are either asking what the point is or treating it like it’s a game at this point. I don’t think it’s a game.”

He checked the second message. “UR magic is obviously fake.” He blocked the sender.

The first guy responded again. “There are games that play for keeps,” he said. “Maybe this is one of those. We’ll find out in the dungeon together, I guess? I mean, not together, but in spirit, yeah? Us dungeon delvers need to stick together.”

Eli smiled and sent the guy an emoji and a “Yeah. Together in spirit.” And a friend request, because why not.

When he returned to the yard, the others had found the website and were currently playing around on their own phones as they registered and began reading the info-dump and theorycrafting that was being shared there.

He sighed as he went to check on Maia, who was sleeping peacefully on the couch at this point. At least as long as his friends were on the phone, they weren’t doing anything dangerous like shooting fireballs straight up and forgetting that things that go up tend to come down.

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