I awoke after a night of unrelenting nightmares.

Dawn loomed on the horizon, casting golden fingers across the sky and its trifecta of faded moons.

The timer in the [System] log inched even closer.

Time left till next ingestion: 07:11:42.

I summoned my status screen, more to take my mind off the pressure than for any real interest in its contents. The [System] window unfurled:

Damien Njoku

Race: Dark Elf

Level: 3

Affinity: Fear

Class: [?]

VP: 21/21

MP: 23/23

Attributes:

STR 4, PER 2, END 7, DEX 7

INT 5, WIL 3, V.F 2, MGK 3

Free stat points: 3

Traits:

[Born of Fear], [Against the Odds], [Migrant Soul]*

Skills:

[Map], [Identify]

Abilities:

[Fear Aura], [Scaredy-cat]

My initial assumptions remained correct. VP and MP increased by one upon level-up, accompanied by three stat points to assign as I saw fit.

[Fear Aura] had been unlocked in the fight with the Dread Tiger. I mentally prodded it, revealing its description.

[Fear Aura] [Lesser]

An aura-type ability. Inflicts [Dismay] upon your targets. This status condition grants a debuff to attributes that lasts three minutes. Affected targets subsequently gain resistance.

Cost: 2 MP/sec.

A couple of familiar words appeared in the description. Debuff and resistance were mechanics I understood. Since the [System] qualified [Dismay] as a status condition, it was safe to assume there were many more of them.

The more I thought about the overall setup of statuses, the more I felt like a character in a role-playing game. What exactly was the [System] supposed to be? And how had this world been created?

Mavari dropped by a few minutes later. I stood by the safety of the lone window in the interim, casting [Identify] at passing villagers. The brief exercise taught me a few things.

One: The younger children didn’t have a stated level. The infobox described them in simple terms like Dark Elf Child or Dark Elf Toddler and left it at that.

Two: Many of the adults in the village ranked above level ten. A few older children had levels in the single digits, but no other person my age languished at level 3.

Mavari, for her part, stood at a whooping level 19. She also bore a descriptor awarded to a few others: Dark Elf Hunter.

“Breakfast,” she said, offering fresh loaf and meat from a basket, “and a change of clothes. You can’t keep walking around with your shirt ripped down the middle.”

“Nana—” I started.

“Nana would speak to you when we are done here. But, breakfast first, and a discussion.”

We settled down to eat.

“I’ll start,” Mavari said, folding her cloak into a neat bundle beside her. “What level are you?”

“My level?” I repeated, tearing into the meal. The bread tasted better than it had any right to, even though the roast meat looked suspiciously like Dread Fowl. “Can’t you tell?”

“Innate sensitivity doesn’t work that way, Damien. I can only glean that you are regular. You lack the weight of a ranker or specialist.”

. . . Which meant she didn't possess the [Identify] skill. Seeing as I had gotten my current skills from traits, did that make them uncommon?

“I'm level three,” I said, watching her expression.

Mavari frowned. “Yeah . . . that certainly lends credence to your story. Nobody your age would be that low-leveled.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Yes, but you can always level up. The surest way to do so is by killing monsters, but everyone hits level ten via natural growth sometime around age twenty.”

“You mean it’s possible to gain XP without killing monsters?”

“It is, but only for regulars. And only up to level ten. Beyond that, natural methods of absorbing XP come to an end. As long as one lives up to adulthood, they should reach the benchmark without encountering problems, making your case even more peculiar.”

I thought hard on her words. “You’ve been using that word repeatedly. Regular. What does it mean?”

Mavari paused in her chewing. “Heralds, you’re not faking this, are you? It's almost like teaching a kid.” She reached for a jug of milk—at least, I hoped it was—and chugged it down in one smooth motion. “No one is capable of assessing the [System] from birth, Damien. Children remain incapable of viewing [System] windows till their thirteenth year when they awaken. This holds for all [System] races."

“And regulars?”

“Everyone becomes regular upon unlocking their [System]. This is the first caste, starting from level one. Regulars can evolve into something more upon reaching level ten, but resources are limited and seldom accessible.” She frowned into her jug.

So, the natural progression was from child to regular at thirteen years of age. And then, from regular to something else at level 10. What happened next?

Mavari answered patiently. “A series of decisions. Affinities unlock at that level, as do all of the classes. One may either pick an affinity and become a ranker, or select a job and become a specialist. Until this choice is made, regulars cannot advance any further. They are stuck at the threshold.”

That didn’t sound good.

I mulled over the rest of her explanation. Her words highlighted a single problem with my status: the presence of an affinity. If people got to choose one at a certain level, what did that say about my case?

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

[Born of Fear] probably had something to do with it, but just to be sure . . . “Is it possible to possess an affinity right from the onset?”

“By that, you mean right from awakening?” Mavari tapped her chin. My eyes flickered to a breadcrumb on her cheek, but she spoke before I could mention it. “Level one affinities aren’t unheard of. They are typically gifted by traits, but those are uncommon enough that most people never get one.”

She wagged her finger. “Traits are bad business anyway, what with the loss of choice. Nothing beats the excitement of picking an affinity yourself. But, I guess the early power boost helps make up for it.”

“And an inventory?” I pressed. “Is that also a skill? Or a trait people are born with? I need to unlock one within the next few hours.”

Mavari snorted. “That’s not going to happen.” She chuckled at my quizzical look and reached for the breadcrumb on her cheek. “You’re level 3, Damien. Inventories don’t open till the tenth. Which means you need to rise seven levels in that time.”

My heart drummed an allegro. “Mavari, I am about to die.”

Mavari froze with her index finger stuck between her lips. “Seriously?”

On any other day, I would have laughed at the thought of elves using casual lingo. Not this time though. “Seriously.”

“Let’s go see Nana then,” she said, releasing her finger with a pop.

Nana sat in her high-backed chair, dressed in native robes. She demanded the right to the first query—and the second, and the third—and grilled me with the same questions from yesternight, intent on sniffing out deceit.

I answered as honestly as I could, leaving out the parts that needn’t be revealed.

She steepled her fingers after the final round of questioning and issued a sigh. “I do not like this. You are either telling the truth—if so, then the gods might just be real—or, you are lying. I do not know which to believe.” She narrowed her gaze. “You are saying that before yesterday, you had never stepped foot in this world?”

I nodded in confirmation.

“Rankers, the [System], Vizhima—all of these mean nothing to you?”

“They didn’t until I spoke to Mavari.”

Nana went slack-jawed. “Well, gut me and roast my fingers on a spit. You’re almost like a baby.”

“He is stuck at level three,” Mavari added, “by his admission.”

“A level three adult,” Nana said, a faraway look in her eye. “It sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

I turned my identification skill on her and nearly crapped my pants.

Dark Elf Harkon LVL 50.

The heck?

Little wonder the [System] had tied my origin to hers. By casting doubts over my identity, Nana couldn’t ignore or abandon me to the wild, which guaranteed the help of a strong mentor for the start of my quests.

It was evil. It was dubious, no matter how shrewd. I was taking advantage of the chieftain’s love for her son, and the [System] had been the one to engineer it.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t afford to be picky. I had a few hours left. “Can you help with a request of mine?”

Nana leaned into her chair. “Child, I have a half-mind to throw you out of the village, if only to avoid the trouble you could bring. Your unwillingness to describe your birthplace also rankles me.”

“You wouldn’t understand even if I did,” I said hurriedly. “My world is similar to this one, but massively different all the same. I do not have words for it.”

Nana scoffed. “Tales featuring lost strangers populate the legends of Vizhima, most of them tragic.”

That piqued my interest and also elicited a wince. How many of those tales were actual recounts of people like me summoned for heroic adventures?

I shelved that line of questioning. “I need something called an Inventory. Mavari says I can unlock this only at level ten.”

“Then, Mavari needs to explain better,” Nana said. “Inventories unlock after one chooses a path, which rightly occurs at level ten. Exceptional cases are thought to exist among those with traits, but many are red herrings.”

She lifted her hand. It disappeared with a ripple as though submerged in a pool of water. A moment later, she extricated it, complete with a gem-encrusted chalice in her grasp.

“That . . .” I said. “That is awesome. Can you help me unlock it before noon?”

“Noon?” Nana eyed me like I’d grown a second head. “Did you not hear a word I said? It takes at least a week for a talented individual to go from levels one to ten, via countless brushes with death. Most people are content leveling up the natural way. About seven years via ambient absorption.”

The hall lurched around me. “I don’t have that long!”

Mavari explained in a soothing voice. “Damien needs to do this within six hours, Nana, or die.”

“Die?” Nana crinkled her brows. “How so?”

I let out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. “I need an inventory to store a material called a spirit orb. Daily consumption of this orb is necessary for my survival, or so the [System] says.” I lowered my hand. “I don’t suppose you have this in your possession?”

“Never heard of it,” Nana said.

Of course, she hadn’t. The [System] wouldn’t make it that easy. If heroes were summoned to this world to accomplish great deeds, then spirit orbs were the mechanism meant to keep them in line. I could understand the logic behind it on some level, but the implication was just too dire.

“Quick question,” I said, wanting to ensure I had all the facts. “Quests aren’t a thing usually assigned by the [System], right?”

Nana and Mavari shared a look.

“I’m not sure I follow . . .” Mavari said.

Nana wrinkled her nose. “Only quests I know of are those available at the guilds, unless you mean a heroic quest . . .” She trailed to a stop. “You’re not claiming to be one, are you? A hero from the stories.”

“I am not,” I said with finality. Neither did I have any interest in playing along with the [System]'s game.

I still hadn’t forgotten the way it had killed a homunculus at random after offering us the illusion of choice. Stop the apocalypse? Like hell I cared about that! Once I found a way to resolve this spirit orb conundrum, I would cut ties.

Nana watched me with keen eyes. “If I understand you correctly, child . . . you are saying you need a breakthrough within six hours. And, since that excludes the natural method, you intend to level up by throwing yourself at monsters.”

“Yes—”

“You’d perish,” she interjected. “Gruesomely, too. The beasts of Dreadwood have nothing to fear from elves of your power level. And, the moment you grow strong enough to overpower them, you’d run into a new problem: the plateau of growth. Grinding, by its very nature, demands that one seeks increasingly greater challenges to progress.”

“Well, I can’t wait around,” I said. “I have to try.”

Mavari frowned. “You intend to accomplish in six hours a feat that demands a week from the best of us?”

I didn’t answer, keeping my gaze on Nana.

The elf chieftain—Harkon—matched it with a piercing stare of her own. And then, she laughed—loud and boisterous—a sound that belied her years. “My heart may doubt, but my eyes bear good witness. You possess the fire of an Irithiel in your veins!”

She winded down to a chuckle. “Very well, Damien. You have convinced me. If you survive this venture, I would take it as a sign.” She speared her hand into her inventory and flicked it in my direction.

I caught the thrown dagger with a deftness that would have shocked the old me. A blade of perfect steel sat naked, attached to a gilded, wooden hilt.

[Identify].

The Blackreach Dagger [Greater]

An item forged with soul-steel. The blade changes nature according to affinity.

Requirement: None.

Mavari’s eyes widened. “Nana, that’s—”

“My old adventuring dagger, I know.” Nana laughed again.

“You’ve never let anyone touch this,” Mavari cried. “Not even Tybalt!”

“First time for everything, eh? If Damien here survives, he can return it to me. And, if he dies, be sure to get it off his corpse.”

I looked from Nana to the dagger at a loss for words. Before now, I had only encountered items of Lesser grade. Greater seemed even higher. But, how high?

“Child,” Nana said. “Give it a practice swing. You don’t have an affinity now, but if you focus—”

I grabbed the hilt. Power flooded down my arm and into the soul-steel, painting the blade a deep, devouring black.

Nana froze.

Mavari did so too, turning a ghostly white. “Damien, you have . . . No, don’t tell me . . . That affinity . . . Fear?!”

I glanced down at the dagger. “Yeah. I'm sorry I didn’t mention it. I have a trait.”

The elves didn’t speak.

“Is something the matter?”

Nana guffawed.

“This isn’t funny,” Mavari said. “There's a high chance our lives could be in danger!”

“Eh,” I said, jumping out of my skin. “What do you mean?”

Mavari scrunched her brows as though in pain. “You don’t know the stories because you are new. The Lord of Terror—”

“Mavari!” Nana barked. “Damien doesn’t need to know all of that. At least, not now with the weight on his shoulders.”

“But—”

“He has six hours, girl. For good or for ill, the presence of an affinity boosts his chances. I’m sending you along with him as his guide. He would need more than mere Dread Tigers to reach his mark.”

Mavari’s eyes remained transfixed on the blade. She managed a nod.

“Damien,” Nana said. “I look forward to your return. My interest in you has risen a hundredfold. Ensure you survive.”

I lowered the dagger and bowed at the waist. The two elves had spoken ominously, but I had more pressing matters to attend to.

The mandate was clear: Unlock your inventory, Damien, or die.