“So … we’re a team, right?”

“My primary orders are to establish communication with the natives,” Catalya said. “My mission to escort you ends as soon as we arrive.”

“Sure, makes sense.” I stopped walking and looked at her. “Humans are known for their trust of outsiders. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble fitting in.”

She stood there for a moment, eyes half-lidded. I wasn’t sure if my attempt at sarcasm had gone over her head.

“That… so what do you propose?”

“Well, you’ve helped me out, I doubt I’d have made it this far on my own. Not alive anyway. I say we stick together a bit longer.”

“So, an alliance? You help me in return for me helping you?”

“Well, let’s just call it friends helping friends, shall we?” I said putting on my best smile and holding my hands out wide. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that’s what Sebbit intended. What do you say?”

“I’d say we’re not friends.” She stared at me for a moment to let her words sink in. “Your proposal, however, is not entirely without merit. I will continue to protect you, and in exchange, you will put me in touch with the leaders of the human settlement.”

“Charleston.”

“Wha ...,” Catalya began.

“I mean the ‘human settlement’ is called Charleston. It’s my home.”

“Your home is important to you.”

Catalya stopped walking and turned to look at me. “My home, too, is important. I hope to see it once again before I die.”

I wasn’t an expert at alien facial clues, but she seemed lost in thought and perhaps a bit melancholy. Her head was held slightly to the side, and she briefly closed her eyes. It was remarkable how human-like she could appear at times. Even with the blue scales and slit pupils.

“Die? You can’t be that old…”

“Do not patronize me little monkey,” she snapped. “I will not be made a mockery of because of my scales. I am a woman and a warrior of my people. Not a... a child.”

She smiled in a way that exposed two rows of pointed teeth. “Do you understand?”

“I…” I stammered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, well do whatever it is I did. Whatever your age, you’re twice as capable as I am. I just meant it seems a little premature to be talking about death is all.”

She sighed and waited a few moments before answering.

“I, too, apologize, Augustus Finn. The subject of my perceived age is a sore subject, one I hope you will forget we ever crossed.” The seven-foot warrior stared down at me for several seconds before I realized she was waiting for a response.

“Right, of course,” I said. “We never talked about it. Also, it’s just Finn, not Augustus. No Mr. Finn … just Finn.”

“Alright, Finn. Shall we continue then? It’s a long walk and we should try to arrive before the sun sets.”

“Alright then,” I said smiling wide. I was trying my best to channel my inner used car salesman. “So how about we talk about something else?”

“If you are going to ask about my home, then the answer is no. We should keep moving, silently.”

“Oh, it’s not that,” I said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to hear stories of your home. I mean we're talking about an alien planet. But no, what I wanted to ask you about was classes.”

She began walking once more, taking us behind the ruins of a college baseball stadium. The field had become overgrown with grasses, vines, and flowers of all hues. The diamond was a wild garden, only home plate was still visible. The stands had mostly collapsed, but an occasional glimpse of aluminum could still be seen through the earth and weeds.

“Classes? There isn’t much I can tell you about classes that you don’t already know.”

“I just need to know how I get one.”

“You entered the dungeon, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Acquiring a class at a dungeon is the most popular way. You choose from one of seven standard classes, each well researched with clearly outlined and explored progression trees. This knowledge makes these classes extremely powerful for those with the proper guidance, but the weaknesses and abilities of these classes are also well known and documented.

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“Entire fields of research are dedicated to the optimal progression of the so-called standard classes. Some of the highest-level data is restricted and known only to a few of the most ancient and powerful families.”

It’s good to know elitism still existed, I thought. Maybe humans and aliens weren’t so different.

“… and I didn’t get one because?”

“The dungeons are still under quarantine, until that is lifted all access is restricted. You shouldn’t have been able to enter at all, but the system restrictions still prevented you from obtaining a class. It is an anomaly, and a troubling one.”

“I see. You said, ‘most popular way.’ What are the other ways?”

“Well, you could join the Peacekeepers, or another one of the Hegemony controlled organizations or Orders. We get access to unique training, skills and even classes. The privilege of service.”

She glanced at me. "Though, I hardly believe you'd qualify."

“Thanks. I’ll hold out on that one, for now,” I said. “And the other ways?”

“Those are typically the only ways, Finn. Some achievements or high-level feats will grant classes, but such rewards are generally only obtained at extremely high levels and even then, only with luck.”

“How high level are we talking about?” I huffed between words as we began to climb over ruble. Large chunks of concrete were littered across the road.

“Well, I’ve heard about legendary ranked feats giving classes when mastered. Maybe rare feats could, as well. Classes sometimes merge to create new ones, but that’s about it. Almost it, anyway.”

“Almost?”

“Well, yes,” She paused, even stopping her walk. “There is a method of crafting classes, but it is extremely unlikely to work. You’re much more likely to be stuck with a sub-par class that will hinder you for your entire career, and at the expense of your best feats and skills.”

“Explain, please.”

“Well, by sacrificing abilities - usually two feats and two skills - you can create a unique class based around those abilities. The trade almost never results in a class worth the sacrifice, however. Generally, the higher the level of the abilities and the more closely they are related, the better the class.”

“No one creates classes this way?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. Again, the ancient families all do this. The skills and feats involved are all secrets, as are the ways of acquiring them.”

“In theory, if I wanted to try, how would I go about it?” I continued walking, forcing her to keep up with me for a change.

“It’s called Soul Forging, and you should have access to a manual through your status screen. I don’t know any more about it then you will find in there. Now, let’s keep moving. Quietly.”

We continued our slow march towards the bridge. It would have taken no more than an hour to arrive, even at a careful pace, but Catalya insisted on using a route that circled around and brought us through trees and behind cover. This snaking path kept us safe, but it was nearly dusk before we arrived.

The current growth of trees we were traveling through ended in a line roughly one-hundred meters from the barricade blocking access to the bridge.

Seven men and three women stood atop the encampment, all armed with rifles and an eclectic variety of melee weapons. I saw a woman holding a club almost as large as herself. One of the guards, a man with a red mohawk and a bushy beard, had two swords strapped to his back. He looked like a low rent Witcher. The rest carried a collection of spears, longswords, and axes. Most of the weapons were probably looted from monsters, but the axe was clearly a fire axe from before the system.

“It’s probably better if I go alone and introduce you later after they know we aren’t a threat,” I said.

“Acceptable,” Catalya said. “Remind them, however, of clause B of the eleventh amendment of the planetary charter. They should be aware of these restrictions and rights from the tutorial simulation.”

“Right,” I coughed, “Of course, rule 11B. Anything else?”

She just stared at me, shaking her head. I put my hands up and slowly made my way out of the trees and towards the bridge. It didn’t take long before I was spotted, and soon I saw ten rifles, all trained on me. I stopped.

“Hello,” I yelled. “Can we speak? May I approach?”

The large man with the red mohawk and two swords held his hand up as a signal to the others. They all seemed to relax but didn’t take their guns off me.

“Who are you?” The man yelled.

“My name is Gus Finn. I’m from here. My family lives in there.” I pointed towards the peninsula on the other side of the bridge.

“And you’ve survived out there for two weeks, alone?” His voice got higher in pitch as he completed his question. It was obvious that he didn’t trust that anyone could survive the wilds.

I wondered what had happened in that time. It must have been terrible had obviously been traumatic. I tried not to think about everything they must have had to do to survive. Or how many had died.

“I haven’t been entirely alone, no,” I said. “Can I come closer, so we can talk about it?”

He lowered his rifle slightly and turned to talk to one of the men next to him. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but it was obvious that they didn’t agree with each other.

“Alright,” Mohawk said. He frowned and turned to look at the man next to him before continuing. “Slowly. And keep your hands where we can see them.”

“Alright,” I said trying to match his speech. “I’m coming over now.”

I considered removing my weapon, but they hadn’t told me to and I didn’t want to get shot for doing something unexpected. I suspected that my jumpsuit was bulletproof. It would still hurt to get shot, however, and my head was definitely not immune to bullets.

If I increase Might enough, would I be able to shrug off bullets? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t ready to test it. Nor would I ever; Superman cosplay was better left to others. I always preferred Batman, anyway.

As I got closer, Mohawk climbed down and approached me alone. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder, but I still had nine more trained on me. If anything, it guaranteed I stayed polite. Perhaps they were smarter than they looked.

“We’re gonna need your weapons,” he said. “You’ll get ‘em back later, once you’ve been cleared.”

I unstrapped the belt holding my collapsed staff and threw it towards him. He caught it easily with one hand. He glanced at it admiringly for a second before slinging it over his shoulder.

“All right,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to New Charleston.”