The White Cliffs, The Serpent Isles - 26th day of the Ruby Moon, Year 24 AH
High Mage Reginald lived a charmed life. His days were spent leisurely lounging in his estate, which was furnished with the most high quality magical artifacts, and the occasional public appearance to ensure the world remembered his name.
It wouldn’t do for the Hero’s fifty-third strongest magical ally to be forgotten, after all. He still had an inch long cut from the decisive final battle against the demon king, and he was damned proud of it. He made it a point to wear short sleeves on that arm so everyone could see proof of his boundless courage.
That morning, Reginald woke up an hour after the sun rose, as he always did. He rolled over and went back to sleep, as he always did. And then, two hours later, he sat up and opened his eyes.
But instead of the ornate mahogany furniture he was used to, a different sight greeted him. In the center of his vision, a string of words stretched across a translucent, floating screen.
[System initialization: 7% complete]
He blinked his eyes, attempting to dispel the screen, and frowned when that did nothing. After a few more failed attempts, he rationalized the words as a peculiar prank orchestrated by another mage and brushed it aside. He went about the rest of his day as usual, all the while the number continued climbing up.
It wouldn’t be until high noon that it would reach 100%, at which point High Mage Reginald was forced to admit that what was happening was not a mage’s doing, was not the result of any sort of magic he knew of, and was probably something the likes of which Elaren had never seen.
The mage would be the first to receive the notification in the upcoming weeks.
He was far from the last.
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Magburg, The Serpent Isles - 4th day of the Sardonyx Moon, Year 24 AH
The smoke was there again.
Cyrus’s steps slowed, his guard armor clanking a little with the movement. He frowned.
Every time he’d walked by this area for the past week, he’d seen the smoke undulating at the edges of the forest. He’d dismissed it at first; a bit of odd-colored fog wasn’t much write to home about when fae, centaurs, and all manners of creatures resided in the woods. It could even be the result of a human mage playing a prank or firing off an experimental spell.
After six days, though, he was starting to have some doubts.
Cyrus squinted. Maybe it was just his imagination, but the movements of the smoke didn’t look right. It curled and twisted, too weighty to be natural. Real smoke should float upwards and dissipate into a thin haze. This was intent on lingering.
“Hurry up!”
A rough, disgruntled voice snapped Cyrus out of his thoughts. Further down the road, Theo was watching him, arms crossed and scowling. The man was tall and built with a natural ruggedness to his demeanor—the stereotypical image of what a guard should look like. It was a fact that seemed to bring him great joy.
“Sorry, it’s just…” Cyrus’s gaze shifted back over to the smoke. It hadn’t crossed into the street and therefore technically wasn’t within the village perimeter, but just leaving it there felt wrong. Especially with all the talk of some “System” appearing, oddities like this should probably be investigated.
“Oh for the love of—” Theo huffed and stomped closer, squinting into the treeline. “You staring at that fucking smoke again?”
“It’s not natural!”
The other guard narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? So go check it out.”
Cyrus’s movements stilled. Slowly, he turned back to the forest. It was still early in the morning, and the sun hadn’t fully risen. Faint traces of morning light lined the tops of the squat village homes, which casted long shadows across the dirt road. The forest with its dense canopy was still largely cloaked in darkness, the quiet of the morning broken every now and then by a distant rustle. He swallowed and twisted the ring under his guard gloves, a nervous habit that he’d never managed to break.
Theo was right, of course. It was his job to investigate anything unnatural around the village. So what if the smoke was in the woods, where people regularly went missing? He’d gotten trained just like the other guards. This should be a piece of cake.
And yet, despite his own assurances, Cyrus couldn’t get his legs to move. He just stood there, staring at the smoke, until Theo rolled his eyes and shoved him aside with a huff.
“Fucking newbies,” the guard muttered. He strode confidently towards the trees, drawing his sword at the same time. Cyrus held his breath as the man approached the smoke, slashing his sword around a few times and even sniffing it with zero hesitation.
Nothing happened.
Satisfied, Theo straightened and turned back to the path. “See? It’s nothing!”
“Why’s it been here so long then?” Cyrus countered. Theo shrugged and sheathed his blade.
“The festival’s coming up. Might be some weird decoration or something.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe some smoke‘s got you quaking in your boots. Why’d you even sign up to be a guard if you’re just gonna be a pussy the whole time?”
Theo clearly wasn’t expecting an answer, simply striding past with a hard slap on the back that sent Cyrus stumbling.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “Edna’s gonna be pissed if we’re late.”
He kept walking down the streets, not bothering to check if the other guard was following him. Cyrus watched the man, head held high with confidence and ease, and felt not for the first time like an imposter. His fingers clenched into a fist, the cold metal of his ring digging into his palm.
With a final glance back at the smoke, Cyrus turned and hurried after the other guard.
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Magburg’s barracks were situated on the northern edge of town. The building was simple and plain, its stone walls dull compared to the lush green forest behind it. The hallways always ran cold, which had been nice when Cyrus was in training and running through drills, but was less welcome when they were just trying to get to the office for their morning report. He stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed the heavy oak door open.
Edna had been the guard captain for as long as he remembered. Wrinkles framed hard, weathered features, and her tight bun only added to the severe look. She was old enough to remember the demon king’s reign of terror and subsequent defeat twenty years ago, which gave her added authority and respect.
“Sir,” Cyrus said, saluting. Edna just grunted in response as Theo shut the door behind them.
“Anything odd?”
Cyrus hesitated, taken aback by the abruptness of the question. He glanced back at Theo, who didn’t look like he was going to say anything. Should he mention the smoke? Theo had just tested it though, right?
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, sir. Uh, did something happen?” The guard captain seemed unusually on edge, even more so than she’d already been the rest of the week.
Edna heaved a weary sigh. She turned to her desk and picked up a stack of files, thrusting them in the other two guards’ faces. Cyrus had to squint to make out what they said, but they looked like reports. A few words and phrases jumped out at him. “System.” “Screens.” “Skills and abilities.” There was only one thing this could be about.
“So…it’s real?”
“Of course it’s real,” Edna snapped. She rubbed her forehead. “The Ministry hasn’t said a word yet. Either this hasn’t reached the mainland, or they’re being slow. As usual,” she added in a grumble.
“Or it’s their fault,” Theo said. Edna shot him a disapproving look. The other guard shrugged.
“What? I’m telling you, it’s probably some archmage messing around with projection magic or something. It’ll disappear and they’ll send an apology in a month.”
It didn’t seem too far-fetched of an idea to Cyrus. He distinctly remembered that time all the clouds had turned pink because one of the archmage’s was fiddling with a new weather spell. That had been a funny one, though it hadn’t been quite as amusing when a bunch of pissed off harpies whipped up nonstop storms for the next week as revenge.
“Unfortunately, I doubt this ‘system’ will be disappearing any time soon.” Edna’s brows furrowed. “It’s been granting…abilities, I hear. Some sort of leveling system with numbers and the like. Its effects are quite real.”
She turned to Theo and Cyrus. “Have either of you seen anything yet?”
Cyrus quickly shook his head, followed by Theo at a much more relaxed pace. Edna nodded.
“Alright. If either of you receives one of these ’notifications,’ I want you to tell me immediately. None of the people who’ve seen these screens have reported any ill side effects yet, but I want to be sure.”
“Sounds like it’s doing the opposite of ill side effects,” Theo remarked casually. Edna gave him an unimpressed look.
“Until then,” she continued as though the other guard hadn’t spoken, “Both of you keep an eye out. So far only humans have reported anything, but we have no way of tracking what other species have experienced. If it truly does grant new abilities and opportunities to build strength, then it’s more imperative than ever to remain vigilant. With the festival coming up, I won’t tolerate any ‘funny business.’ Understood?”
Cyrus quickly nodded, mumbling an assent. That seemed to be enough for Edna, who nodded and dismissed them with a wave. Cyrus made another salute on instinct, then hurried out the door.
As soon as it shut behind them, Theo rolled his eyes. “Told you, she always gets like this when the festival rolls around.”
Cyrus winced and glanced back at the door, but he couldn’t hear anything inside. He started walking in an attempt to draw the other guard further away before he said something that got them both in trouble.
“I mean, I get it.” He and Theo had both been young when the demon king was defeated; the most they really knew of the war was the legends and fables told throughout their childhoods. For them, the festival was just that—a celebration of the demon king’s defeat. For the ones who’d actually lived through the war, though, Cyrus imagined there was a lot more wariness around the anniversary.
“He’s been dead for twenty years, you’d think they’d’ve learned to chill out by now.” Theo huffed. “Whatever. Better get back to patrol before the scary smoke gets you.”
Cyrus made an affronted noise, but the other guard was already exiting the barracks. He had no choice but to follow after him, thoughts of the festival and the System still lingering in his mind.
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Cyrus was all too happy when the end of his shift arrived. He had no idea how people like Theo could tolerate evening shifts on top of their morning ones.
The rest of the day had passed achingly slowly. He couldn’t even distract himself by watching festival preparations since his route took him around the village perimeter. At least it would be a surprise when he actually did go to the festival. This would be his first year in Magburg, and he was curious to see how celebrations differed from his hometown.
Thoughts of his old village quickly soured his mood, and Cyrus shook the memories away. This was a fresh start. He refused to think about the past.
He picked up his pace, metal armor clanking with each step. The sun was just beginning to set, and a cool breeze rustled the forest branches. His home sat on the village outskirts, and while he wasn’t a fan of being so close to the woods, the privacy was nice.
Cyrus stepped inside and shut the door, sighing in relief as he threw off his guard helmet. The interior of the space was small and still filled with boxes that he hadn’t unpacked yet. It hardly looked like a home at all in its current state, more like a storage shed, but he was confident he’d get everything unpacked and sorted. Eventually. It wasn’t his fault that every time he opened a box, a fresh wave of memories hit that made him want to give up entirely.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
He removed the rest of his armor and stepped out the back door once he was done. Facing the trees, the sky pink and gold above him, he breathed in the fresh air. Another day almost over.
Cyrus turned to head back indoors before it got dark, but a flash of movement in the corner of his eye made him freeze in place.
There, drifting at the edge of the forest, was the black smoke.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Cyrus whispered. He looked around, but there was no one else nearby. It was just him, his house, and that strange smoke.
The guard swallowed, willing himself to calm down. It had probably just spread here because of the wind, nothing to worry about. Theo had even gone up to it earlier. He could practically see the other guard’s sneer in his mind, could hear his mocking voice. Coward, he would say. Always running. Cyrus clenched his jaw and stared at the smoke again.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he strode forward towards the treeline.
Stopping just outside the smoke’s range, Cyrus squinted at it. Its movements still felt unnatural to him, but it really did look just like ordinary smoke. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and slowly reached towards it. A few wisps swirled around his hand, and he instinctively jerked his arm back. Cyrus flushed, feeling foolish for his jumpiness.
Exhaling, he extended his hand again, but this time he kept it there, letting the smoke undulate around it. There was no particular sensation, just the usual wind. It really was just smoke, Cyrus thought. His shoulders relaxed. Theo was probably right about it being some wayward festival decoration. It was stupid of him to get this worked up over something like this when the System was a much bigger issue.
Satisfied, he lowered his arm and turned to return indoors.
“Good evening.”
Cyrus yelped and tumbled backwards, landing hard in the grass. His head snapped around, but he didn’t see anyone.
“I apologize, I didn’t mean to alarm you. Are you alright?”
The voice spoke again—smooth, rich, and warm. It echoed around him, seeming to emanate from everywhere all at once. Cyrus’s eyes landed on the smoke, still swirling innocuously by the trees. The voice couldn’t be coming from anything else. His pounding heartbeat roared in his ears.
“Who—what are you!?”
There was no answer at first. The silence stretched long enough that Cyrus was seriously starting to wonder if he’d hallucinated the voice, but then it suddenly spoke again.
“Remnants,” it said, still in that calm, serene tone. Cyrus furrowed his brow.
“Like…a spirit?” It wasn’t unheard of for lingering souls to manifest as apparitions, but it was rare. Reapers were usually good about collecting every soul that passed in the material plane.
“That would be an apt comparison, yes.”
The smoke continued to sway, and Cyrus swallowed. He still didn’t move closer, but so far it didn’t seem like this spirit (or whatever it was) wanted to hurt him. Something about its voice was oddly soothing, and he couldn’t help his rising curiosity.
“If you’re some kind of ghost, why’re you here?”
The voice hummed thoughtfully. “In truth, I’m not quite sure myself. My memories are a bit hazy, but I’ve been drifting for a long time.”
Cold dread settled deep in the pit of Cyrus’s stomach. It couldn’t be. But if the voice was really a lost soul and it had followed Cyrus, what if…?
The sound of roaring waves filled his ears, old memories crashing over him like a tide. His ring felt like it was burning around his finger. There was no way. This was supposed to be a fresh start. It couldn’t possibly be.
Cyrus shot up. In his panic, he barely processed scrambling onto his feet and bolting back into his house, that serene voice calling worriedly after him.
He slammed the door shut, breaths coming in heavy pants. Cyrus closed his eyes.
There was no way.
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He barely slept that night. Every time his mind drifted off, he’d hear the voice again, would see flashes of that day by the water, and then he’d shoot out of bed and swear he saw smoke in the corner of his room.
In the end, Cyrus gave up on sleeping altogether and took to pacing around, reasoning to himself. The spirit hadn’t recognized him (but it said its memory was hazy). If it was who he thought it was, then he would recognize the voice (who knew how voices were distorted after death).
By the time the sun began to peek out from below the horizon, Cyrus, sleep deprived and half-mad with his own doubts, yanked open the back door and marched outside.
The smoke was still exactly where it had been last night. He hadn’t dreamed it, then. Clenching his fist, Cyrus stepped closer. Exhaustion and his own desperate need to know the truth emboldened his movements.
“Are you Anne?” he blurted out.
There was no immediate response, and for a crazed moment Cyrus wondered if he’d imagined the spirit entirely—driven insane by his own guilt and grief.
Finally, after a few seconds had passed, the voice spoke.
“No, I do not recognize that name.”
Relief washed over him like a crashing wave, so powerful that he nearly stumbled. Of course not, what had he been thinking? He really was losing his mind.
“Forgive me for asking,” the voice continued, its tone gentle, “but was Anne your wife? I couldn’t help but notice your ring.”
Cyrus’s hand flew protectively over the ring in question. He hadn’t thought the spirit would notice.
“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. “Yeah, she was.”
“I’m sorry, I did not wish to bring up painful memories for you. I know something of loss myself.”
He glanced up. “You do?”
The smoke swayed, as though nodding. The voice took on a distant, almost wistful tone. “Yes, I’ve lost much over the years. Companions, homes, dreams. I never imagined I would linger on in this state.”
Cyrus felt a tinge of sympathy for the strange spirit. It sounded like this soul hadn’t meant to remain, but had simply been missed by the Reapers. He couldn’t imagine drifting around the world, caught between life and death, without anyone to talk to. It was already bad enough to be alone when living.
“Is there, I mean, do you know any way you could pass on?” he tried asking.
The voice was silent for a moment. When it finally answered, its words were slow.
“I have a theory,” it began. Cyrus perked up.
“Really? What is it? Can I help?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” the spirit said. “I’m sure you have better things to do than humoring a dead man.”
“It’s still early,” Cyrus pointed out. “My shift doesn’t start for a few hours.”
“You still need to eat. Is your family not waiting for you?”
Cyrus pursued his lips, eyes darting away. “I live alone,” he admitted. “My parents died when I was young.” The only family he’d had was Anne, he didn’t say, but the spirit seemed to understand.
“I see,” it said in a soft tone. “In that case, I would be immensely grateful to you for assisting me.”
Cyrus nodded, shoving away the memories to focus again on the present. “Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”
“Please come closer,” the smoke instructed, “and focus. You should feel a slight warmth. I’d like you to concentrate on that sensation. Imagine yourself reaching for it.”
He hesitated. “Is it going to hurt?”
“No,” the voice said. It sounded sincere. “I promise it will not hurt.”
Cyrus thought it over a moment longer before he finally took a step forward. What did he have to lose, anyway? If this worked out, at least he’d have done something worthwhile in his life. Done a little good. It wasn’t enough to make up for his past mistakes, nothing would ever be enough, but it was something. Besides, if Anne had been trapped as a spirit like this, unable to pass into the Pulse, he would’ve wanted someone to help her, too.
The guard inhaled. He was right in front of the smoke now, which really did look completely formless. He’d always pictured spirits retaining some of their living shape, but maybe that was his own limited knowledge. Who knew what shape the soul took?
Cyrus focused, attempting to search for that warmth the spirit had spoken about. There was nothing at first, and he was beginning to get discouraged before he finally felt it.
It was faint, barely stronger than a candle flame would be, but constant. The spirit hadn’t lied; it didn’t hurt at all. If anything, the sensation was comforting in its steadiness.
“I think I feel something,” Cyrus said.
“Good,” the spirit said approvingly. “Now please try to reach for that sensation.”
Cyrus frowned, but did as instructed. It was difficult, with the warmth being as subtle as it was. He closed his eyes and concentrated, imagining a hand gripping onto a little flame. He could feel himself getting closer. He gritted his teeth. He was almost there.
A sudden chill washed over him. Cyrus’s eyes flew open. He gasped and grabbed his chest, but it was cold. None of the warmth was there anymore.
“I—”
His voice cut off.
All around him was a void of darkness. The coiling smoke rose like an incoming wave, completely cloaking and enveloping the area until there was nothing left. Cyrus’s whole body froze. All he could do was stare as it continued to expand.
The smoke rushed straight at him.
Cyrus’s vision went black. The sounds around him grew muffled, as though he was floating through layers of liquid. His whole body felt sluggish and heavy, and that ghostly chill spread from his spine and crawled up his limbs. Cyrus tried to move, tried to open his mouth, but he couldn’t. Nothing was working. Nothing made sense.
He felt himself fall through the darkness. Images flashed past him, memories clawed loose. So vivid and sharp that they hurt to look at.
There was him and Anne standing on the rocks, the cool spray of ocean water against their faces. Their laughter ringing out into the open sky, brand new rings gleaming in the light. Alone on the shore, the sunset behind them, it had felt like they were the only ones in the world.
More laughter, splashing, running. It was slippery, the rocks sharp, but they were wild with the courage of youth.
A single wrong shove was all it took to break the reverie.
Cyrus saw her eyes clearly in his mind, wide with shock and terror as she tumbled backwards. He heard the crack of a skull hitting sharp stone. The waves washed away red.
“It was your fault,” a voice rang in his mind. It sounded familiar, but in his haze, Cyrus couldn’t tell who it belonged to.
It was an accident, he tried to say. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.
“And yet you didn’t tell anyone. You let the ocean carry her corpse away. You ran, and you’re still running.”
I didn’t, I wasn’t—
His protests sounded weak even to his own ears. Months of suppressed guilt returned in full force, and with it his mind seemed to grow fuzzier and fuzzier as his surroundings slipped away. Where was he? Who was he talking to? Why did any of this matter?
“Sleep,” the voice said.
Cyrus closed his eyes. Sleep. If he slept, maybe when he woke up this would all have been one big nightmare. Everything would return to the way it was. He wouldn’t have to fear anything anymore.
“Sleep,” the voice said again.
“Sleep.”
Cyrus let himself sink away.
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The door of the guard barracks creaked open. Theo glanced up with a frown. There was supposed to be another three hours before the next barracks shift change.
He opened his mouth, about to point out that the idiot was early, when he stopped. He recognized the person standing in the doorway. A scowl stretched across his face.
“Cyrus, what the fuck? You didn’t show up this morning!” He strode forward, jabbing an accusing finger at the younger guard. “I had to cover for you! You know how pissed Edna was?”
Cyrus didn’t respond, which only served to increase Theo’s fury.
“What, you too good to answer me?” He moved to grab Cyrus by the collar, but before he could drag the other guard closer, a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Fingers dug into skin, pressing down with far more pressure than he would’ve thought the new guard capable of. Theo felt something snap and yelled in pain.
A second hand flew over his mouth, muffling the sound before it could escape.
“I would appreciate it,” Cyrus said, “if you would try to remain quiet.” He smiled, the expression perfectly pleasant, but it sent a chill down Theo’s spine.
That wasn’t Cyrus. What in the Ark was going on? His heart raced. He fumbled for his weapon with his unbroken hand, but he never managed to unsheathe his sword.
A blade plunged straight through his neck.
Theo choked. Cyrus twisted the knife, severing the guard’s arteries before yanking it out.
The human slumped forward, falling limply onto the ground. Warm blood dripped down from his sliced neck, forming a steadily growing puddle of red around him. He released a gargled sound.
The figure above gazed down indifferently. It was only after all the life had bled out of the guard that he finally turned away and continued calmly down the hall.
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The barracks were quiet at night. Soft moonlight seeped through narrow windows, illuminating the slumped figures strewn about the cold stone floors. Dark liquid bloomed around their bodies, pooling into the cracks in the ground and spreading like a scarlet web.
A young man stepped between the still bodies. He shut the door of the building office, where the crates inside had been upended and stray papers lay scattered across the ground around the corpse lying in their center.
The figure’s footsteps echoed throughout the quiet building, the only living being left in the barracks. Words flashed across his vision, but he continued walking forward at a steady pace.
He strode through the narrow hallways and out the back exit. His shoes sank into soft earth, and around him, stone walls gave way to tall trees stretching towards the starry sky. He paused for a moment to gaze up at those scattered lights, to breath in the crisp night air, before he continued deeper into the forest.
Up ahead, the sound of running water rang out from a shallow stream. The figure stopped at its edge, bending down and peering at his reflection.
Wavy black hair and bloodstained bronze skin greeted him. Handsome by human standards. He raised a hand and touched his face, turning it and examining it with clinical detachment. In the water, green eyes stared back at him.
Now that he was alone in the forest, he finally gave himself enough time to read the notifications that had appeared in his vision. He skimmed past the first few, all of which were variations of the same message, and focused on the unique screens at the end.
[You have gained experience!]
[You have leveled up! 1 —> 5]
[You have gained the [Deceiver (Uncommon)] Title]
[You have gained the [Amplify Vice] ability]
[You have gained the [Fear] species trait]
[Would you like to view status screen? Yes/No]
Regis smiled to himself. In the water, his vessel’s eyes briefly flashed violet before fading back to green. He cocked his head, studying the notifications with interest.
“Now,” he murmured. “What is this?”