I roused from sleep at dawn, a habit picked from years of commuting.

Nana hadn’t returned all through the rest of yesterday, leaving me to find ways to occupy myself.

The easiest way involved tweaking my status screen which had two puzzles that needed to be resolved. The first concerned the six stat points yet to be allocated.

I’d wavered between Endurance and Dexterity before settling on the former. [DEX] might have offered increased damage and speed, but [END] boosted survivability.

Each attribute sat at a healthy figure of 10, making an increase to 20 the most appropriate objective.

The [System] had other ideas, however:

Error: Stat cap.

Attributes cannot be improved beyond the Common tier at your current rank.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I’d expected power gulfs to exist between ranks, but the [System] didn't need to enforce them with such heavy-handedness.

The stat caps also exposed [Scaredy-cat] as an outlier for its ability to increase attributes beyond the stated limits. I didn’t want to rely on the ability any more than I needed to, but no point in making hasty decisions. I’d shelved the allocation for later.

The other puzzle involved my new class: ranker [Potential]. From what I’d gleaned, the regular caste consisted of people without classes—people stuck within the lowest grouping of levels one to ten. Something called a World Shrine allowed regulars to advance into any of two higher natures: ranker and specialist.

The [System] had probably decided I was a better fit for the former due to my affinity. Mavari had mentioned something similar . . . but, what did that mean for me? I didn’t know if I wanted to be a ranker. For that matter, why had Nana refused to share anything about the shrines?

I’d lost sleep pondering that dilemma, which was just as well because a new concern arrived to occupy my attention shortly after dawn.

“Mr. Damien!” a chipper voice said from across the door. “Are you awake, sir?” An insistent knocking followed the query as if the visitor intended to pound the door off its hinges.

“Who?” I said, stumbling to the entrance.

An elf-child stood behind the door with dreadlocks and eyes of brightest red. She flinched at my appearance and looked at me in wonder. “Whoa. So, you’re the handsome stranger everyone’s been talking about?”

Handsome? I wouldn’t describe myself that way. Then again, I hadn’t used a mirror since I’d arrived in Vizhima.

“And who are you supposed to be?” I asked the runt, crossing my arms over my torso.

“Ack! Where are my manners?” The elf-child tapped her heart, then offered her palm in greeting. “My name’s Nilen. Pleased to meet you!”

I imitated the gesture much to her amusement. “Pleased to meet you, Nilen. I’m Damien, as you already know.”

Nilen pouted. “You don’t need to pretend, you know. I can see it all over your face. You’re wondering what a girl like me is doing bearing a boy’s name.”

“I’m not familiar enough with elven culture to tell the difference—”

“You have Nana's eyes!” Nilen said, already abandoning her former train of thought. "Same with mine, actually, and cousin Tybalt's. That’s the surest sign that you’re part of our bloodline!"

Wait . . . I had red eyes? That was kinda cool. But, still . . . “You shouldn’t go announcing things you aren’t sure of, Nilen.”

“Maybe, you should start by wearing bigger clothes to hide your crest.”

I flushed and adjusted my collar to cover the black leaf tattoo. “You’re really smart for your age, aren’t you?”

“The smartest in my peer group!” Nilen said with a grin.

I activated [Identify], causing an infobox to appear over her head.

Dark Elf Child LVL 4.

My gosh. Just yesterday morning, I was weaker than this child.

“So, then,” I asked, “what does the great, brilliant Nilen want with me?”

Nilen jumped. “Ah! I almost forgot. Nana sent for me to summon you. She says it’s important.”

I’d been bored out of my mind ever since my discussion with Nana yesterday. Any reason to leave the hut was a godsend, no matter how trivial. “Lead the way.”

We meandered through Nilen’s favorite side paths to Nana’s longhouse.

Harkonean lay shrouded in dew, beneath a second layer of silence caused by the early hour. Sentries patrolled the walls, looking far more numerous than they did the day before. Nana had taken the threat of goblins to heart, an action that spoke volumes about her leadership.

“Do you know your numbers?” I asked Nilen, as we neared the longhouse. “Can you tell me how many people live in Harkonean?”

“I know my numbers,” she said with a frown. “And we have about six hundred villagers.”

“Including women and children?”

Nilen shot me an exasperated look, which was pretty effective, considering her age. “Of course, it includes women and children. Why would anyone want to exclude us?”

“Right. Sorry about that.” That method of counting was probably used in ancient times to identify fighting strength. A bit redundant here in Vizhima where everyone above twelve had access to the [System].

Nilen peeked at me from beneath her locs. “Um, is it true that you bonked your head and don’t remember much about yourself?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Well, that was one way to put it. “Kinda. Where did you hear this from?”

“From the guards! Everyone says Mavari found you near-dead at an even lower level than me.”

“I wasn’t that low-leveled,” I mumbled. “I was just conserving my power.”

“Uh huh,” Nilen said, with a tone that implied disbelief. “So, why is everyone talking about how you climbed seven levels within six hours? Mavari even said you defended her from gobbers!”

“Goblins,” I corrected.

“That’s what I said.” Nilen looked down at her feet. “I wish I could level up that fast. Nana says to take my time; I’m only thirteen. But, you surpassed what I did in a year in less than a day.”

“I faced a lot more risk, and I had gobbers to fight.”

“See! You said gobbers.”

“The point I’m making,” I said, resisting the urge to groan, “is that I had a lot more riding on my shoulders. Still do, actually. I don’t wish that on anyone.”

“I can handle pressure,” Nilen said stubbornly. “Mavari says I’m the best with a bow. The best at striking too. But, I don’t care much for physical combat. I’m going to hit the threshold and become the strongest caster Dreadwood has ever seen.”

Her eyes burned as she spoke, accompanied by a puff of her chest. But then, the fires died, and she deflated. “Don’t tell aunt Mavari I said this though. She’s been my archery teacher ever since I was eight. I don’t want to betray her trust.”

“My lips are sealed,” I said, making an X over my mouth. “There’s just one problem though . . .”

“What?”

“You’ll never be the strongest caster in Dreadwood, because I am already at the threshold. And, I intend to claim the title unless you beat me.”

“That’s not fair,” Nilen said, pounding my arm. “You have a pretty big head start!”

“Git gud then, you little runt. Consider me your final boss.”

We bickered some more until we arrived at the longhouse.

Right from the moment we opened the door, I sensed a change in the atmosphere.

Nana stood beside the center hearth, locked in dialogue with nine elves.

“We didn’t find goblin caves,” Tybalt was saying, “but we found signs of disturbance. The goblins have been foraging deep into these lands, under the cover of magic and night. My best guess is that they are preparing for an incursion.”

None of the elves so much as glanced at me, despite perking up at my entrance. All nine of them stood ramrod straight, dressed in stained leathers and Cloaks of Viridian Gleam that shimmered in the firelight. Their heavy bows—almost as long as they were tall—exuded menace from straps on their backs.

A trio of elves bore wooden staffs rather than longbows. Magic users, most likely. They dressed with slight differences, favoring looser robes over restrictive jerkins.

I’d known that Harkonean boasted a respectable number of combat forces, but they looked even more impressive now that I viewed them in person. Even Nilen understood the gravity of the situation, falling silent at my side.

Mavari caught my eyes as I slunk into the back of the hall and offered a faint smile. I nodded in return.

She looked tired. For that matter, all of them did. Nana looked like she hadn’t slept a wink in days, and the rest of her people stood matted and stained with muck.

Despite all of that, their beauty enraptured me. I had never held much interest in sex and other bedmantics, not for a lack of trying, but because it was difficult to think about dates while scrounging for the next meal. Nevertheless, there was just something enthralling about severe, lithe, dark-skinned men and women, each with a physique chiseled from fine marble.

Nana massaged her temples. “A goblin incursion. Dragon’s breath, I never thought I would live to see another one.”

“What do you advise, grandmother?” Tybalt asked.

“What else? We need to seek an audience with the Wood King. He’s the only one with the power to summon a conclave and rally the chiefs.”

“And, you think he’d grant this audience? Grant it to you, that is. The Hindulië would rather suckle hemlock than abandon their petty squabbles. And, the last time you visited court, an assassin—”

“Enough.”

Tybalt bristled at her tone. “I’m as worried as you are, grandmother, but diplomacy is not the way. Harkonean would once again bear the brunt of a goblin advance, and the Wood Elves would permit it if only to rid themselves of us.”

“Is there anything else we can do?” an unfamiliar elf asked. “Unless the other clans are tormented by goblin riders, we remain at their mercy.”

“They’d let the goblins burn through us before calling a moot,” a magic user said. “We need to shore up our defenses.”

“Why not both?” Mavari suggested. “We can prepare for war and still appeal to the conscience of the Wood Elves.”

“Or we can leave,” Tybalt said quietly.

Soft gasps emanated from the elves around him, including from Nilen.

“Yet again with this rubbish,” Nana said, pinching her nose. “Mavari has the right of it. I’ll contact the Wood King and reach out to all who are willing. In the meantime, we prepare for the inevitable.”

“Grandmother—”

“One thing we know for certain,” Nana continued, drowning out Tybalt, “is that the goblin horde isn’t yet on the move. We have a window to work with, no matter how brief. It is in this regard that I am making a declaration. The World Shrine is open to all regulars.”

A brief silence followed.

The elves had only gasped at Tybalt’s suggestion. This time, they stopped breathing.

“Surely, you don’t mean that . . .” an elf-maiden rasped, cradling her magic staff.

“Are you calling me addled, child?” Nana lashed out. “Or do I not know the implication of my words before I speak them?”

“Harkon,” Mavari interjected respectfully. “The World Shrine is best used on elves who merit it. Gifting access to kinsmen without proper conditioning would only weaken us in the long run.”

“And, what would fielding an army of regulars do to us when the goblins arrive? Think, fool girl! If we do not survive this fight, there will be no long run.”

The elves shuffled their feet, visible displeasure plastered on their faces. However, it spoke volumes of Nana’s influence that they didn’t try again to contest the matter.

“If that is all,” Nana continued, “you are hereby dismissed. However, before that: Damien, please, come up here.”

The elves turned as one to face me. Oh, god. Did I have to be the center of attention? I did as Nana asked, regardless, bowing to make myself as small as possible.

“For those who haven’t met him yet,” Nana said to the hall. “This is Damien Njoku, our wanderer from outside the woods. You may consider him to be under my protection.”

The elves murmured among themselves. A handsome fellow walked up to me and bowed in greeting. He tapped the spot above his heart much like Nilen had done and offered his palm.

“So, you’re the one behind the loss of our Dread Goats,” he said in a voice full of mirth. “Well met, friend Damien. I hope you enjoy your stay in Harkonean.”

“Thank you,” I said, imitating his gesture and fumbling all the way. “I’m, err, forever in your debt. I wouldn’t be standing here were it not for your people’s graciousness.”

The elf-maiden from earlier—the one with the staff—peeked over the handsome elf’s shoulder. She was a looker this one, with golden eyes and hair of wavy darkness. Not that beauty served as an effective differentiator among the elves. None of them looked anything less than stellar—not even Tybalt with his grimace of perpetual constipation.

“It pains me,” the elf-maiden said after offering her palm, “to welcome you amid such great peril. I promise Harkonean isn’t usually as severe.”

“Mayhap,” Tybalt said, “Damien here is a portend of evil. A calamity unto himself and others.”

“Tybalt!” Nana and Mavari roared in tandem.

I didn’t even feel bad. He was kind of right.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before the hall could erupt with the fury of chastisement. “I don’t know why you summoned me. Most of what you discussed flew over my head.”

Nana frowned at Tybalt, then turned a softer gaze on me. “This involves you as well as any other. You heard my declaration. I’m lifting restrictions on the World Shrine.” Her red eyes deepened. “Rejoice, child. You are now first in line to use it. Prepare to choose a class.”