Jeb was shocked back into himself when the Archdruid came to visit him.

“Jeb,” the man called, authority in his voice.

Jeb blinked rapidly, unsure where he was. Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by a veritable herd of large bees, each the size of a child a few years old. Each was taking in and pumping out so much Mana that the ambient Magic in the air was almost becoming visible to his own sight. Somehow, though, the bees were not causing any sort of Essence Storm. The Archdruid stomped his staff once, and Jeb was pulled from his musings.

“I hope that your time in my Enclave has been fulfilling to you,” he commented, nodding at the bees that had begun to softly butt into him. One flew near the Archdruid’s waist, and he gently reached out to pet it.

“I think that I have!” Jeb replied happily. “Is there a reason that you have come to visit me?”

The Archdruid nodded solemnly. “Walk with me,” he said.

Jeb saw the world rearrange itself around the Archdruid as they slowly meandered through the woods. Each step he took had the earth rising up to meet him just slightly, and the grass grew greener where he passed by. The two walked in silence for a few hours as the sun started to set in the sky.

“Are you familiar with the Tier Nine Bottleneck?” the Archdruid finally asked, pausing beside a particularly large willow tree.

With a gesture, he caused portions of the tree to begin blooming again. With another, he cut off all of the parts of the tree which still were bare. When he had finished, the tree was far smaller but plainly more healthy.

“Maybe?” Jeb hedged. “I have a vague memory of my grandfather saying something about how some are unable to advance to Tier Nine. Is it that?”

The Archdruid nodded. Sitting beneath the tree, he continued, “Tier Eight is often referred to as the first of the Tiers of Power.” His calloused hands began braiding willow switches that lay beside the two of them.

“In order to progress to Tier Nine, one must be willing to pursue their deepest wish. For many, that is not an issue. For those who have only ever followed a path that another picked for them, however, Tier Nine is often seen as an impossibility.” Picking up the willow basket he had woven, the Archdruid began walking again.

As the moon rose over the night, the Archdruid stopped beside a blackberry bush. It was overgrown, with sharp thorns blocking access to all of its berries. With another gesture, the brambles opened, and half of the bush was thinned away. The Archdruid picked the newly revealed berries before sitting down next to the bush.

“Tier Ten, as you know, is where most reach immortality. More than that, though, Tier Ten is also the point wherein the world itself recognizes your efforts. Have you ever seen someone at their Tenth Tier?”

Jeb shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I suppose that I don’t really have a way to know.”

The Archdruid chuckled. “Believe me, you would know if you had. At Tier Ten, most Classholders begin to form,” he gestured vaguely around at the air, “something that does not translate well into any of these modern tongues.”

Furrowing his brow, he tried anyways, “to be powerful is to exemplify some Truth.” He frowned and shook his head, “that was wrong. To be Powerful is to create the Truth which you exemplify.”

He stood, and Jeb noticed that vines had begun to crawl around the Archdruid’s body as he sat. The moment he decided to move, however, they released him. The Archdruid began walking again.

Jeb heard the crashing of waves just before he started to smell the salted air. The Archdruid led him out onto the sand, and Jeb saw that the Druid’s steps did not leave any indentation in the soil. Crabs and other small creatures started following the two of them. Beside the sea, the Archdruid waved a hand and hundreds of rusted and broken weapons washed onto the shore. Jeb watched as they fused together into a single mass of iron. The Archdruid tapped his staff onto the ground and the world pulsed. The metallic ball disappeared as standard reality reasserted itself.

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“Tier Eleven, for those few who reach it, is where one begins to enforce their will onto the world around them. The nascent Truth that a Classholder writes on the world starts to make its mark. Many cease to be identified by their name at this point, becoming little more than avatars for their Class.”

He continued walking again, and Jeb began to wonder if there was a reason that the Archdruid was taking him on such a long journey. The sound of the sea faded as they once again walked into the forest’s embrace. The smell of living things and the rustling of countless creatures moving reminded Jeb just how much of an interloper he was in the space. Unlike the Archdruid, he did not truly belong here.

They stopped beside a doe lying on the ground beside a wolf. Neither was attacking each other, and the Archdruid’s expression grew grim. He tapped his staff three times, and a deathly white ichor began to pour out of both of them. For a moment, the Archdruid became the sun. The ichor did not simply burn. It was consumed, turning a healthy brown, before blowing away on the wind. The doe leapt up, bounding away. The wolf, by contrast, nodded at the leader of the Druidic Enclave before laying back down and returning to sleep.

“Few enough reach the Twelfth Tier. Your own President is one of those. Tell me, do you know his name?”

Jeb tried to rack his brain, positive that he would have learned that as a child. Try as he might, though, he could not think of the man as anything but the President.

“I am certain that you cannot. Very few of us are able to maintain any portion of ourselves that does not act in the interest of our Class. I am certain that you have noticed the way that the Enclave rewrites itself to be more pleasing to me, even and especially when I am not paying attention.”

The Archdruid sat down, fire blazing around him as the wolf stood up and left. The clearing quickly became choked with smoke, but Jeb found that he was still able to hear the Archdruid clearly, even if he was completely obscured by the fog.

“This is truly the issue,” the Archdruid finally spoke. The smoke cleared, and Jeb found himself in a completely dead space. There was nothing but ash and cinders around him.

“To become one’s Class comes with a number of benefits, it is true. At the very least, every action I take now is done with the full force of my Truth behind it. However, I will never reach past this Tier.”

He let out a wry chuckle. “Of course, it would be ridiculous for me to attempt to reach past this Tier regardless. The world is not as young as it once was, and sources of Experience grow fewer and smaller the higher one climbs. As I have no desire to plunge the world into an endless war, there are in fact no foes for me to slay to claim their Experience as my own.”

Jeb cocked his head. He had never heard that one could progress by killing others. He had always imagined that the reason Adventurers increased their Level so quickly was because they were constantly accomplishing Quests related to their Class. If they grew stronger simply by killing, however, that told a wildly different story.

The Archdruid stared at him in plain confusion. His eyes widened, and he spoke, “Did you truly not know that one’s power grows by defeating those as strong as you?”

Jeb shook his head. “I did not.”

The Archdruid waved his hand dismissively. Unlike the rest of his actions that day, there was no sudden rewriting of the world or release of Magic. It was simply a dismissal.

“I am glad that the young no longer have a need to grow through violence, even within the Republic. Regardless, what I was trying to allude to is that becoming one’s Class, although beneficial, does come with its own drawbacks. Because the world accepts me as the Archdruid, I am fixed in my Class. It cannot grow any further. It would be a great shame for someone with the potential you have to needlessly limit your own growth.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Jeb replied.

The Archdruid blew out a long breath, nodding. “Do you remember how you finally unlocked Druidic Magic?”

Jeb flinched, a phantom pain suddenly flaring in his fingertip. “Kind of?” he hedged, “it’s a little bit of a blur what exactly happened at the end.”

“Are you aware of what the people on the border of the Enclave are calling you?”

Jeb shook his head.

“They know you as the man cloaked in midnight. I would be well beyond surprised if that is not a Class offered to you at your next Tier increase. However, the fact that you cannot remember what you do while in that state is the reason that I took the time to speak with you. If you desired to become that man, then it would be an understandable, if still tragic use of your abilities. Given that you do not, however, I would be ashamed if I let you fall into that accidentally.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jeb asked, only half understanding the man in front of him. Actually, he thought to himself, “is he even a man any longer?” He shook his head, clearing the thought. At the end of the day, it was hardly relevant what, exactly, the Archdruid was, other than that.

“I did not truly expect you to understand. The first times that one touches on their Truth often lead to broken pieces of memory. However, so long as you remain within my land, I will not allow you to slip back into the man cloaked in midnight. You are Jeb,” the name seemed to resonate on the world itself, and the dead ashes glowed slightly brighter for a brief moment, “and you are capable of anything you do while within the grasp of your Class.”