I watched from a perch on a stone fence as Nana dealt with the fallout of her explosive statement.

An hour had passed since we exited the longhouse, yet Tybalt had come no closer to accepting her decision. He locked heads with Nana for the umpteenth time, starting a shouting match across the street.

Nilen cowered behind me, surprisingly timid in the face of snarling adults. I patted her head and glanced up at Mavari who stood nearby with crossed arms, watching the scene.

“What’s the big deal with World Shrines anyway?” I asked.

Why is Tybalt acting like someone stole his candy?

Mavari frowned. Despite her rigid posture, her eye bags betrayed the truth of her condition. Whatever mission she had undertaken yesternight had taken a toll on her. She didn’t deserve this, not after all she had endured.

“A lot,” Mavari said at last, glancing at me. “Every nation desires wealth, power, and resources. World Shrines offer all three, rolled into one.”

“That makes a fair amount of sense, but I don’t understand.”

Mavari sighed. “Imagine a reservoir of icy water standing alone in a strategic desert. Everyone who passes through desires to drink from this well. But, there is only so much water and too many travelers. The reservoir replenishes itself too slowly to cater to demand. What would you do?”

“As a traveler or passive observer?”

“As a lord who claims domain over the area.”

“That’s fairly easy. I’d set up a guard around the reservoir and ensure my subjects are given priority. Everyone else pays a token for access, which can be revoked once the water level falls too low for comfort. The revenue generated from the fees would be used to improve our livelihoods or secure alternate watering holes.”

Mavari nodded. “That’s a fine plan, Damien, but what if your subjects are too numerous to be given free access to the reservoir?”

I stroked my chin. “Then, they pay for its usage, albeit far less than outsiders. Free access would be restricted to my household and guard.”

“Let’s assume you tried this. However, the water remained insufficient to serve the needs of your domain.”

“Then, I'd do the same as I just said, except we’d prioritize by importance. Key people and infrastructure jump ahead of everyone else.” I paused to think, then scratched my head in resignation. “No matter how I look at it, the situation would devolve into mindless conflict. The best bet would be to leave the desert altogether or amass even greater resources.”

Mavari met my gaze with those warm eyes of hers, and then she returned to staring at the squabbling Nana and Tybalt. “Welcome to Vizhima.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, licking my lips. “The World Shrines are the only way to advance from regular to classer. However, they aren’t enough to serve all who wish to use them?”

“Correct. All World Shrines possess a set number of charges determined by tier. The charges represent the number of times they can facilitate specialization. An expended charge will refill, but only after a period.”

Oh my god . . .

“So, nations scramble for control of World Shrines,” I rasped, unable to stop my mind from going into overdrive. “The more of them a nation holds, and the higher the quality, the more classers that nation may field.

“The fact that charges are limited means that citizens are required to pay for access, essentially making World Shrines available only to those who can afford it—”

“Or those sworn into servitude,” Mavari finished.

I stared at my fingers. “Wealth, power, and resources rolled into one.” It sounded fascinating, but I couldn’t imagine a world based on the control of these shrines.

Or could I? World Shrines were just another form of the natural resources available on Earth. And, war was war, no matter what form it took. The powerful would joust. The weak would suffer. And, the masses would revolt only to be crushed underfoot or cinch pyrrhic victories.

I could now understand some of what Tybalt felt. By offering the service to me pro bono, Nana was stomping on the sensibilities of her people.

Tybalt was still a hater though.

“How much does it cost,” I asked, “to use the World Shrine here in Harkonean?” I wasn’t very liquid right now, but the least I could do was someday reimburse the village.

Mavari snorted. “Oh, please. The method we discussed is just one way of handling the problem. There’s not a lot of free coin running around in Dreadwood, and we won't employ such greedy methods among our kindred.

“We own a Common Shrine, Damien. It’s enough to serve our needs as long as we prioritize the most deserving . . . like Nilen here,” Mavari added, sparing the teenager a smile.

Nilen bit her lip. I’d almost forgotten her, even though she remained pressed up against my side. The runt could be quiet and attentive when she needed to be, huh? I’d need to remember that.

“What I’m saying,” Mavari explained, “is that the children are made to take a series of aptitude tests from ages seven to twelve. The shining stars among them get their pick of the classes. The worst performers . . . well, there is honor in staying regular.”

No, there wasn’t. But, I wasn't about to start a debate. “I never really got to thank you for carrying my unconscious ass back to the village.”

“You saved me first,” Mavari replied without missing a beat. “But, let’s try to avoid a reenactment.”

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The argument between Nana and Tybalt winded down without violence, though both looked eager for blood. Tybalt snarled a final word, then turned back the way he came, leaving his grandmother seething on the path.

He strode past us and, like clockwork, fired a glare at me: the kind of look one reserved for things that grossed them out, like a speck of waste on an otherwise sparkling toilet.

“One last thing,” I mumbled, resisting the urge to flick him off, “when Nana said she intended to lift the restrictions . . .”

“It means she wishes to give everyone a chance to specialize, including lifetime regulars.” Mavari’s tone turned frigid. “I can understand the importance of throwing classers against the goblins as opposed to a bunch of regulars. However, the worst performers on the aptitude tests were the worst for a reason.

“Expending charges on chaff to buy a few more minutes would leave deserving people like Nilen stranded when they get to the threshold. And, for the life of me, I cannot tolerate that.”

Nana waved us over to continue our trek. Mavari walked ahead of me, cloak trailing behind her. For all her kindness, she was not dissimilar to Tybalt.

A product of her environment, yes, but just as biased.

We stopped in front of a rickety building that sat with its back to a small stream that cut across the village.

It looked like a defunct tannery if the leather racks and tall drums that littered the compound were any indication. Nana crossed the chaotic frontage with a familiar ease and rapped against the door.

“Sod off,” a faint voice said.

“Hanno, you witless son of a bleeding dung rat”—Nana scowled—“You have three seconds to get the door.”

We waited three seconds, and when Hanno didn’t show up, Nana reached for The Blackreach Dagger.

“Wait! Wait,” an elderly elf cried, tumbling out of the doorway. He brushed white hair away from his face, revealing hairless eyebrows and an odd, misshapen nose.

Maybe, I had concluded too soon on the beauty of elves, but Hanno looked nothing like the rest of his kindred. His toothy grin possessed more gaps than teeth, and a large gut protruded out of his robes. He managed to adopt the stench of a brewery despite the hour of the day, a fact that became evident the instant he belched in our faces.

“Heh,” Hanno said, mighty pleased with his misdoing, “it seems I have been deemed worthy of a visit from the less graceful Irithiel.”

Bruh . . .

“Grandpa Hanno,” Nilen cried and rushed out to hug him.

“Ay, my sweet, little angel,” Hanno enthused, stooping to embrace her. “Come ‘ere!”

I activated [Identify], expecting to be disappointed—

Dark Elf Priest LVL 41.

My jaw dropped to my chest. How could someone so sloppy be so strong?

Nana watched Hanno tousle Nilen’s hair before clearing her throat. “I presume the rangers delivered my message?”

“About the new rules you wish to enforce,” Hanno said, still focused on Nilen. “Tough decision, but I cannot begrudge it. The threat on the horizon is no faint matter.”

“Are you saying you approve?” Mavari asked with an edge in her tone.

“I’m saying that the Harkon and I have both seen things you haven’t.” Hanno rose to his full height, which was pretty impressive, considering he stood a good head taller than me—and, I was pretty tall, even by elven standards. “If this is the best way to save Harkonean, then we must take it without a second thought.”

Mavari moved to debate further, but I stopped her with a soft palm on her shoulder. She met my eyes and backed off with a sigh.

“And you,” Hanno said. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I’m Damien,” I answered.

“Cyran, right? You look different from when I last saw you.”

“I just said Damien.”

“I don’t care what you said. I’m not calling you that shit.”

My left eyelid twitched.

Nana intervened before the situation could deteriorate. “He’s first in line to use the World Shrine, Hanno. Just, shut up and get things started.”

“He might possess the family crest,” Hanno contested, “but he is no Irithiel. He shouldn’t be given that which belongs to us.”

Nana growled. The wind picked up around her, accompanied by the sounds of laughter, much like it had done for Mavari back when we’d encountered the goblins.

“I get it! I get it,” Hanno cried, backing away with raised arms. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you though. You’re coddling the boy, and he would be in for a rude awakening once he leaves Harkonean.” He fled into the building before Nana could respond, covering his head in fear of retaliation.

Nana cursed under her breath. “I’m surrounded by idiot relatives.” She nodded my way. “Ready, Damien?”

My heart skipped a beat. “I’m not sure exactly what I should be ready for.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I come too?” Nilen asked, turning her eyes to the elf matron. “I’ve never seen someone specialize in person.”

“Of course, you can,” Nana cooed. “I wouldn’t have brought you along if that wasn’t my intention.”

“Guys,” I said with an uneasy chuckle. “Maybe, a primer would help? I still don’t know what the process entails. And, there’s also the matter of choices.”

“We’ll get to it after we inspect your stats,” Nana said, following Hanno. “You have nothing to fear . . . unless you’ve kept vital information hidden from us.”

“Me? Hide vital information?” I chuckled and rubbed the back of my neck. “C’mon, there’s no way.”

“You’re not being very convincing, child.”

Mavari coughed from her spot beside me. “Specialization ceremonies are usually kept private, Damien. I’d understand if you don’t desire my participation.”

Considering that Hanno and Nana had both claimed front seats to the upcoming ritual, it made little difference to exclude Mavari.

“Nah, you’re good,” I whispered. Her insight could prove valuable. Not to mention, she’d saved my skinny hide twice. “Besides, I owe you a truckload of gratitude for all you have done.”

“What’s a truck?”

“It’s, err, a large vehicle of transportation back in my home world.”

“Ah.”

We crowded into the hut. The interior looked mostly like I’d expected—not that I had a clear picture of my expectations to begin with.

The hut consisted of two bays, littered with clutter. Scrolls and empty wine flasks featured predominantly with used clothes smattered between. A mattress lay at the furthest end of the room, flanked by a wardrobe and a rickety work desk.

An open pantry stood at a corner near the door, filled with storage barrels and more empty wine flasks. Smoke clung like a second skin to the interior, courtesy of a central hearth that burned beneath a covering of tiles.

Hanno kicked open a door at the opposite end of the hut, revealing a stairway that descended into a cellar. We followed him down this flight of stairs, guided by the flameless lamps that adorned the walls. The sounds of running water reached me before we hit the landing; the corresponding view stole my breath.

Unlike the upper area, the cellar resembled what I imagined a shrine should look like: a sacred place within a chapel of sorts.

A semi-dome stood at the opposite end of the hall, bearing a rather intricate apse. The apse contained a circular pool fed by fresh water that ran along conduits near the walls.

Sconces illuminated our trek across the stone floor—not that they were needed, because on a dais built atop the pool and connected by a bridge, a dwarf tree stood, emitting soft, silvery light.

World Shrine [Common], [Identify] supplied. Unlocks [System] specialization.

The dwarf tree grew in the form of a rough throne on closer inspection, complete with arms and a seat protruding from the trunk. A small group of vines formed a crown that jutted among the branches.

No . . . not a crown . . . A headgear.

The wooden device emitted no electrical signals, but the similarities to VR machinery were more than obvious.

“Well,” Nana said, thumping me on the back. “Why are you hesitating? Go, take a seat.”