Nate found himself sitting on the edge of a dark pit that disappeared into the bowels of the Earth. The towering inferno was gone, but the hole was no less intimidating for that. But the old man had beckoned Nate over to sit beside him, and Nate couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse. Still, the feel of all that empty space at his back made Nate a little edgy.

“I must say, Nathan, you are handling this surprisingly well,” Clayrell said. “Most who find themselves in this place are angry, or at least confused. Then again, I have never seen Trini arrive at a positive judgement so quickly. Her intuition is never wrong.”

“You can just call me Nate. And don’t get it twisted. I’m definitely confused. But…” Nate considered his feelings for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Honestly, everything that has happened to me since I arrived here has been so surreal that I’m not sure what would phase me at this point. Control the things you can. Roll with the things you can’t. That’s what I’ve always tried to do.” Not that it had always worked out well. Typically, the balance sheet of life tipped firmly towards out of control.

No longer. You are the Blade of Ulvar. You are the agent of change.

The voice was so sudden and distinct that Nate jerked, then had to windmill his arms for a moment to avoid tipping and falling into the abyss. It was the same dainty, oddly echoed voice in his head from before. With a startled expression, Nate looked down at the tattoo that now adorned the back of his left hand. It was wrought in exquisite detail, each fibrous hair on the creature’s legs almost vibrating with life. As he watched, the tattoo shifted, undulating slightly.

“Trini is bonded to you now. She can be a bit stubborn, but she is surprisingly resourceful. I think you will find her quite useful,” Clayrell said calmly.

Nate swallowed the sudden taste of bile in his throat. Of course. A fucking spider.

There was a sudden twinge of pain from his hand.

Be careful the small voice hissed in his mind.

Stop listening to my thoughts! He hurled back.

Then stop thinking them so loud.

Clayrell, watching him carefully, chuckled.

“You will get used to her. Now,” the man said, clapping his hands together in excitement, “we had best get down to business. I have nothing but time, of course. But you have places to be. I doubt your companions will survive if we dally too long?”

“What?!” Nate said, suddenly alarmed.

“We’ll get to that. But first, your questions. Let’s start with the most obvious ones.”

“Okay,” Nate said, though his mind was desperately scrambling to figure out what Clayrell could mean by that comment about his companions. He had no companions. “Obvious. How about, what the fuck is a Blade of Ulvar?”

“Good. Direct. The answer is less so. But I will try. As someone from an Unaffiliated World, you have no reason to be here and no base of knowledge about it. So tell me, Nathan, what have you surmised so far about the world of Farandway?”

Nate froze.

He had decided early on to keep his status as an outsider to himself. Context had made it clear that the Affiliated Worlds were a vast collection of realms that were all connected to Farandway, though exactly how they were connected was still beyond him. Everyone within that system seemed to possess at least some basic knowledge of Farandway, with the vaunted Factions, who Nate had very little contact with, at the top of the pecking order. At first, he wasn’t sure how rare it was to be from a world beyond this coalition. But time had made it clear that it wasn’t rare. It was unheard of. It didn’t happen. Ever. Like all assumptions that were so deeply engrained that it was impossible to consider an alternative, it was simply never discussed. Even Nate’s frequent slipups and blatant displays of ignorance weren’t enough to make anyone suspect he was an outsider. It was too unthinkable.

Yet this man knew.

“Do you know Jean?” Nate asked, the words coming out in the same instant the thought struck. The man only smiled and shook his head.

“Let’s not get sidetracked. Farandway?”

Nate considered everything he had managed to glean so far. Then he shrugged.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I mean, I get the basic idea. People are brought here from all over the Universe and tossed into this gamified world. Dawn and the valley around it is some kind of training zone, though a lot of people, particularly those from weaker worlds, tend to just stay there. It seems that going to Farandway is some kind of honor or reward for those at the top of the pyramid, but a lot of the folks at the Traveler’s Retreat were sent here as a punishment or just through random bad luck. But…” Nate paused.

“Yes?” Clayrell leaned in, his eyes bright.

“I don’t understand what it is all for,” Nate finally admitted. “What’s the point of it all? I get that we are all supposed to scour the countryside looking for these crystals. But I don’t get why.”

“I’m not surprised you haven’t figured it out,” Clayrell said. “Oh, there are those who think they could explain it to you. But, if you really pressed them, their explanations would wear thin. We don’t have time for the full mystery. But I can share a few of the secrets with you. Let’s start with the most basic. What, exactly, is Farandway?”

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Nate waited, expectant.

“Long ago, maybe even before the Universe we currently reside in existed, there were beings. For lack of a better term, let’s call them Gods.”

Nate grimaced. He already didn’t like where this was going. Clayrell noticed his expression and shook his head.

“Forget whatever baggage you associate that term from your planet’s culture. God just rolled off the tongue more easily than ‘ancient beings of inscrutable power.’ Anyway, you don’t have to worry about them. The old Gods are gone. Dead. Vanished. Most disappeared without a trace.”

“Most,” Nate said, noting the emphasis the man had put on the word.

“Indeed. No one knows what happened to them. A war, perhaps. A cataclysm. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they are gone. And the traces they left behind. The occasional relic. A region of space that is not like any other. And, most important, Farandway.”

“So Farandway was left here by some ancient dead God?” Nate asked.

“No, Nathan. Farandway is some ancient dead God. The rotting carcass of one, at least. This entire world is a pocket universe contained within the corpse of a dead God.”

“Ahhh…gross, I guess,” Nate said, eyeing the cavern they sat in with trepidation.

“Don’t worry about the details. Let’s keep it simple. Long ago, millions of years in fact, a few civilizations came across these remains. It took millennia for them to piece out what they had found. Millennia more to understand what it contained. But, eventually, they recognized what Farandway represented.”

“And what’s that?” Nate asked.

“Power. A nearly infinite source of power. Even a whisper of the Old God’s former power could do things that were previously unimaginable. And so, those civilizations found ways to harness that power, siphoning off bits to make use of it back on their home planets. Magic, as they came to call this power, was born. And the first of the Affiliated Worlds made use of it.”

Nate tried to concentrate, but the scope of what Clayrell was describing was so vast, so alien, that he couldn’t even manage an emotion in response. To his earthly sensibilities, it simply sounded ludicrous.

“Okay, let’s say I buy all of this so far. How do we get from that to a thousands of people running around in the forest bashing at things with swords?”

“Over time, problems developed,” Clayrell went on. “The power was apparently inexhaustible. But it was also unpredictable. Periods, sometimes lasting thousands of years, where the flow of magic dwindled to a trickle became more and more common. It was only then that these newly Affiliated Worlds discovered the System.”

Nate perked up at this.

“And what is the System?” he asked.

“The final traces of the will of that long dead God. Perhaps you have already guessed the name we know him by?”

“I’m going to go out on a ledge and say, Ulvar?”

“Indeed. The System isn’t Ulvar. Not even a sliver of him. The System is more like an automated system, a code that was left running long after its creator vanished. It was through interfacing with the System that the Affiliates learned that there were pressure points that built up in the magic, like an ulcer or a blood clot. These were responsible for the fluctuations in that magic.”

“The crystals.”

“After a fashion,” Clayrell confirmed. “The reality is far more complex. But the Jewels of Farandway are a representation of those magical clots, if you will. The System offered a solution. Each of the Affiliate Worlds would send champions. The System would accept these champions into a constructed space, and they would collect and clear these build-ups of power. This would allow the flow of magic to continue unabated. Thus, progress could march ever onward.”

Nate considered that. It was interesting, he supposed. But there was a problem.

“What exactly does any of this have to do with me?”

“Let’s imagine, Nathan, that you had something rare and precious. Something powerful. Let’s imagine that precious thing was left unprotected, where thousands of people had access to it. What do you think would happen?”

“Someone would take it, obviously,” Nate said without hesitation.

“Exactly!” Clayrell chimed, clapping his hands again. “Exactly so! And that is where you come in. The Jewels of Farandway, once collected, are meant to be recycled. Returned to the world. A cadre of custodians was created to complete this task. But they have become corrupt. They are now a parasite on Farandway, siphoning the power for their own purposes. And their plans are reaching a critical point. When the pressure in a system becomes too high, some of that pressure must be released. This requires a cut. To cut, one must have a Blade. The Blades of Ulvar exist for this purpose. To cut away the cancer.”

“Wait. What do you want me to do exactly?”

“The High King of Farandway and his minions are stealing the divine magic of Ulvar, corrupting their purpose. Who better to catch a den of thieves than a thief?”

“A policeman?” Nate suggested caustically.

“And when the police are the ones turned thieves?”

“We call that a Tuesday,” Nate said back. Clayrell chortled appreciatively. It was annoying.

“Very quick. The System has fail-safes for everything. You represent one such fail-safe. An outsider, uncorrupted by the politics of the Affiliates. A man possessing unique skills and a rare mindset. You could say, Nathan, that you were born for this. It is your destiny.”

“Are you sure you don’t know Jean?” Nate asked, narrowing his eyes with suspicion. “Let’s say I buy in to all this. What exactly do you expect me to do? Murder the High King?”

Nate’s voice dripped with sarcasm. But Clayrell didn’t laugh this time. He just gave Nate a level look. Nate’s eyebrows rose.

“Are you serious? I’m no killer.”

“Yet you have killed.”

Nate froze at that. His pulse quickened, and sweat beaded on his brow. He tried to speak, but his throat clenched in protest.

“The point is moot at the moment. The High King is beyond your reach, both too far away and far too powerful. In fact, it may be too late. Six times before you, Blades have been chosen to hunt down the High King. Each has fallen short. Now, he is more powerful than ever. Your task might be impossible.”

“Oh, good,” Nate croaked, his mind stuttering back to life. He pulled his thoughts away from the darkness they had been circling a moment before. It wasn’t my fault, he thought.

Why feel guilt for killing your enemies? Trini dainty voice asked. Nate ignored her.

“There is much to learn. Far too much for now. Our time is almost gone. For now, know this. To destroy corruption, you must eliminate all traces. Otherwise, it will simply spread again from what you left behind. You will be given a series of tests, each more challenging than the last. Completing each will result in rewards, preparing you for what comes next. Your first task is simple. The corruption has spread to Dawn. The Factions have turned the trial grounds into their personal plaything, and the champions of countless worlds sit rotting in comfort and safety. You must change that. Break the grip of the Factions. Return Dawn to its former purpose. This is your fist task.”

“Of course. How simple!” Nate laughed, a bit hysterically.