[Please select a primary class upgrade.]

Mason took a deep breath and scratched Streak’s ears, feeling a familiar peace as he stood alone again beneath the stars. He’d Wyrdwalk back to Nassau and all its problems soon enough. But first it was time to do his level.

He clicked his blinking profile and checked out the options. The list was short, but obviously customized based on his powers and choices.

[Dark Stalker. The wise predator hunts only when he is strongest. Teach your foes to fear the night. Archery and perception focus.]

[Packmaster. The best hunters work in packs. This ranger need never fight alone. Melee and animal focus.]

[Adaptive Hunter. Attack correctly, and you can kill anything. Exploit the weakness of your enemies. Versatile focus.]

Mason let out a breath and stared. All three options sounded amazing. His entire ranger class was now upgraded to tier 2, so he expected this would be also, which made it even more powerful and important. But after a few seconds he discounted Dark Stalker. A focus on night fighting had the same vulnerability as stealth.

Sometimes you just didn’t get to choose when and where you fought. His ‘unnatural’ penalties were already bad enough. He wasn’t going to compound the problem with more potential weaknesses.

So it was between Packmaster and Adaptive Hunter. As usual, a few more fucking details would have been nice. The animal focus was definitely appealing, but at the end of the day Mason didn’t want to rely too heavily on companions, or really others at all.

If he hadn’t gotten his new innate bow, he might especially have picked Packmaster, because a lot of powerful foes seemed to have a counter to ranged weapons, so a heavier focus on melee might be wise.

But the enemies had counters because ranged was so incredibly powerful. The fact that Mason was fast, durable, and had a bow he could summon and banish at will, with an unlimited supply of arrows…he just couldn’t ignore the absolute ridiculousness of that.

And maybe between Transformation and Duality of Strength he hardly needed to worry about much else when it came to melee. Maybe he could focus on other things. Or at the very least keep talking ‘hybrid’ abilities.

With a final glance at the choices, Mason picked Adaptive Hunter. His class changed on his profile, and several new messages scrolled.

[Exploiting Strike. The wise hunter finds his prey's weakness before he kills. A fast-charging, deceptively powerful ranged or melee attack that increases in effectiveness every use against the same target.]

[Synergy discovered: Ranger's Mark ===> Ranger's Quarry. Increased information and display of target's vulnerabilities. Limited suggestive tactics.

A new synergy was always welcome. ‘Limited suggestive tactics’ definitely sounded interesting. Did that mean the system would help him strategize how to kill his target? He wasn't sure he trusted that. OK, he knew he didn't trust that. But he supposed it could say what it liked and he could just ignore it.

The attack looked amazing. Though Mason was definitely noticing a theme.

He'd gained yet another power that improved with time. He got stronger, faster, better, the more damage he took. And now the more he struck an enemy. He winced, though, knowing it made him less and less useful in a group battle that might be decided in only a few seconds.

In a team setting, he was starting to run a very real risk of just getting warmed up when either the others had won the fight, or all died while Mason watched on, helpless to save them.

He shivered with a strange feeling as he looked at his powers, his titles—as he thought about the Nephalai event and his experiences with the game so far. It was something Carl said: that roboGod was telling a story, maybe trying to...communicate. And at the same time, Mason had thought, maybe asking for help.

"Is this how it feels?" Mason said, looking up at the night sky. "Is this what your existence is? Powerful—yet too weak to help others? Outliving everyone and everything?"

Little hairs stood all over his body, but the feeling slowly died. Maybe his power 'theme' was slow and built to last, but he was still an Elven Bow shooting, double-clawed, shapeshifting killer with a giant wolf and magic powers.

Sure, he got more powerful with time, but it wasn't as if he was useless in a quick fight. He just had to learn to exploit his powers for everything they were worth. To go in first and hold the others back, to let him start building. Then when he was battered and nearly down, all his powers in full swing, they could swoop in and give him a minute to heal and get unstoppable.

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As the players developed more and more 'thematically' he knew the group composition would matter more. He'd need to tailor his teams to suit him exactly—with either a lot of toughness like Becky, or the ability to hide or escape like Carl. Players who could handle themselves and get out to buy Mason the time he needed.

But these were problems for another day. It was time to get back and figure out what to do with this Nexus. Probably to get it built into Nassau and see the ridiculous effect. Then he had three days to figure the shit out before 'communication beacons' started and they probably found out if and where the other humans were.

Oh, and to sort out his girls. And marry an elf. And sort out all the House bonuses and patron points and figure out what the fuck Blake was up to over in the orc tower.

Mason sighed. Streak growled and rammed into his side.

"Yes, we'll get some kind of wolf house. Yes it'll have lots of meat. No I don't know what kind of meat. A pool? Jesus Christ can we just...be out here in the desert without problems for another minute. Preferably in silence."

Streak whine-growled and flopped down on his paws, and Mason put a hand on his head. He watched the very end of the sun as it dipped below the horizon, lighting the huge sky in clouded reds and oranges.

"Alright," he said, looking back towards the temple. He wasn't 100% sure this was going to work, but he figured the huge stone temple or maybe just the desert itself would count as an old and majestic enough natural phenomenon to let him Wyrdwalk. Worst case, they had a bit of a run to something that worked.

"Hold on, buddy," he said, feeling the wolf's anxiety flickering through their bond. "Don't worry. I'll get you through."

He took a handful of fur and activated his power, worried for a moment it wasn't working until he saw flickering green shadows beneath the empty sky.

He let his vision fade without focusing, and more and more of the 'fey' world began to materialize over the 'real' world. Then with no more effort than 'walking' (he was beginning to understand the name), he pulled Streak forward, and stepped into another world.

* * *

"It's him!" a voice called from somewhere in the shadows of the fey. "Already he comes again."

"Arrogant human," another hissed. "It brings too much attention. It walks like a herd of elephants."

Mason blinked and tried to get his bearings. He couldn't see the speakers, or really much of anything. To his eyes he was in a dark, alien forest, the entire desert around him now little more than a puddle of sand.

"If it comes this way I will punish it."

A hiss. A rattle.

"He can probably hear you," whispered the other. "And the horned god has marked him. He isn't to be…damaged."

Another hiss. Angrier this time.

"The child hears nothing. And damaged? Who said I would? There are many ways to punish."

Mason grit his teeth as the things chittered and laughed. He tried to ignore them, to hear the voices of the great trees. It wasn't clear but a general direction was still obvious. He took a few tentative steps, feeling as if the world flashed and changed around him like a puzzle. Each step took him what seemed like miles, the terrain shifting unnaturally, without obvious logic.

"Oh he is very close," said the voice, excited now. "A few more steps and he'll stand on a leyline. He doesn't belong there, my friend, there are rules."

"There are rules," said the other voice in agreement.

"What rules?” Mason called, angry and fighting the concern, feeling Streak almost whimpering at his feet. “Tell me and I won't step on your stupid lines.”

The voices died out entirely, their chittering gone with a breeze and a flashing of shadows through the strange canopy above.

"Course not," Mason said, his voice strange and deep to his ears. He stopped and closed his eyes, listening again for the songs of the trees. As before he began to hear them, even beginning to recognize the unique voices.

The nymph's tree was like a woman's voice singing as she worked. A pleasant, comforting sound that Mason sensed as the partial trickery it was. He knew if he wasn't a druid the nymphs would be far more frightening creatures. That they baited other living things like venus fly traps.

The tree of the north, Eve's tree—called as if just for him, beckoning, promising power and love and knowledge if he came to her and stayed. As always it was a tempting offer.

But he waited to hear the tiny cry from the sapling tree in Nassau. It sounded like a child calling to its parent, its tiny voice often drowned out by the cacophony of life all around. But he heard it.

With no idea if he was breaking the 'rules', he stepped closer towards the voice. Then another. One more.

He stopped to listen and assess again, feeling close to home but not quite there. He felt the power radiating ever further and deeper from the great forest. He felt it swelling beneath the earth and covering the trees like a mist full of magic and life. He grinned, expecting it was the result of saving all the great trees.

Whatever the 'doom' had been, Mason decided this forest was the opposite. It was life spreading ever further, maybe even pushing itself towards the desert to undo what was done centuries before.

Mason went to take another step, then blinked as yellow eyes flashed.

Something had been watching him, and when he noticed it bolted through the trees. He stopped and stared, listening, sensing, as Streak growled and showed his teeth.

"I see you," he whispered. "I don’t want to fight you. But I won't let you stop me. Or interfere with me."

"Arrogant human," whispered the same chittering voice. "You missed the ley line. But just barely. And the horned god does not watch the fey. He cannot see you. He cannot help you. He will not know if I...teach you a lesson."

Mason grit his teeth and formed a Claw, flipping through the list of his powers.

"It might not go how you hope."

"You wake things that should be left sleeping, druid child!” the voice hissed. “You traipse through the godpaths, bringing that...animal. There are consequences. You must learn before you cause more harm."

"You're right," Mason called. "I don't know what I'm doing. So teach me, damnit, then I won't cause any 'harm'. I'm not your enemy."

"Oh, I will teach you."

Mason blinked and watched the trees, sweat beading on his brow. The air seemed to still, the endless sounds of the fey silencing as it froze like a single frame.

"Achh," croaked the voice, as if surprised, and maybe pained. "Marked by the Mother and the Horned God? How? Pah!” It snorted and chittered like an angry beast. “Go, then, immortal. Leave me in peace. Begone!"

Mason roared and slashed at nothing with his Claw, feeling some kind of hostile energy forming around him. But he couldn't see or touch or fight it.

"I promise I'll find you,” he hissed. “Stop now or I swear, I'll..."

The world made an audible pop, and Mason stumbled. He went three, four, five—a dozen steps trying to keep his balance, staggering like he was drunk. The fey world spun and lurched until he'd lost all sense of direction.

Finally he tried dropping, knees hitting the ground and instantly stopping the world from spinning.

He blinked and looked up, to see a very confused looking...elf? Sitting by a candle.

The pointy eared man stared at Mason with an open mouth, a book falling out of one hand as he reached for something nearby.

Mason moved first.