Veil was led away from the arena with fervor. The entire town followed him out. As they walked, they began to hum.

“What are they doing?” Veil asked the chief.

“It is part of the ritual, young one,” the chief replied. “They chant so that their magic and yours can meld and become one.”

“You mentioned that before, Chief,” Veil said. “How does it work?” he asked as they walked.

“Their chants increase until they hit a crescendo, and their notes become one. Their souls’ magic joins together, and together they reach out. As the tattoo stick pokes the skin, it opens tiny holes which allow the soul’s energy to enter the body much more easily,” the chief said.

“So, their soul and my soul will become one soul, and then, as the tattoo progresses, it will mix with my soul? Am I getting that right?” Veil asked.

“Yes, that’s what happens,” the chief said with a shrug.

“I have one more question,” Veil said.

“Yes, son?” the chief replied.

“Did you say stick?” Veil asked.

“Yes, but do not worry, it is very sharp,” the chief replied.

“Oh, okay,” Veil replied with a grimace.

The building they entered was nothing more than a shack on the outside, but on the inside, it was pristine. There was artwork all over the walls, and its smell reminded Veil of the hospitals he’d visited as his father’s disease overtook his body. The thoughts flooded his mind, and his legs began to tremble. The chief mistook Veil’s sudden reluctance as a sign of weakness and walked over to console him.

“Are you okay, son?” the chief asked.

“Yeah, it’s just this place,” Veil began.

“It is okay, son. We have a salve that will make the pain seem as though it’s no more than a tickle. We give it to the children to heal from their scrapes,” the chief said with a smile.

“It’s not that,” Veil replied.

“Oh, then what is it?” the chief asked.

“Well, you remember when I told you about my father’s passing,” Veil said as the tears began to sting his eyes.

“Yes, I do,” the chief said with a nod, lightly goading him to continue.

“It smelled,” Veil began.

“Yes?” the chief said with a nod.

“It smelled just like this, and it’s a lot to take in,” Veil said.

“Then we can do this elsewhere. It is a ritual, that’s why we come here—the magic in this spot is increased through a vortex in this shack,” the chief said, gesturing to the shack itself. “But even then, we can make special arrangements for the Beast Master.”

Veil took a calming breath to clear his mind. As he did, he realized he could hear the chants of the tribe—no, it was more than that. He could feel them. The vibrations from each of the notes were shaking his very core.

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“No, it’s okay, Chief. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” the chief said, slapping Veil on the shoulder. “I’ll go get the artist so we can begin.”

“I’m right here,” the artist said as she entered the room from a hidden door that led to the back of the shack Veil hadn’t even noticed was there. The orc woman who entered was the most beautiful orc Veil had seen in all his months in the village. She was also the only orc he’d seen who seemed to wear makeup. She was thick and curvy, but in all the right places. Her dress seemed to hang onto her body as though it was grasping at the edge of a cliff. Her sheer beauty caused his mouth to become so dry that even the harshest of deserts would admire its perseverance.

“Hey Charie,” the chief said. “I have another victim for you,” he added with a chuckle.

“Hello, Chief,” Charie replied. “Is this him?”

“It is. This is Veil, the Beast Master,” the chief said.

“Ah, the Beast Master,” Charie replied. “Have you chosen?” she asked, turning towards Veil.

“Chosen?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“Chosen your tattoo. We can bestow one additional ability on this day. It is more powerful than a scroll, and it will allow the entirety of the village to prosper. But you will forever be judged based on which one you choose,” she said, gesturing to the art along the wall with a note of awe in her voice.

“Oh, I didn’t know that this was an option,” he replied, taken aback by the sudden development.

Veil thought over everything he’d just been told, but only one thing came to mind. He’d been told that the clan tattoo increased his health, extended his life exponentially, and even increased his magical power. But he was also told his tattoo would do the same for the village and the clan.

“Can I just get the same tattoo on both wrists?” he asked.

“You can, but no one has chosen to do so. Are you sure?” she asked.

“Well, it would help the clan, wouldn’t it?” Veil asked.

“I’m not sure, honestly. When I say no one has ever asked to have this done, I mean it. Most people want more power to help the clan, but we certainly can try. Most people can only get one additional tattoo, so most wouldn’t potentially waste it,” she said.

“If it’s a waste, wouldn’t I get another chance?”

“That’s not how it works. Once a tattoo is placed, it cannot be removed, and any tattoo after that would be used as a show of art or upon leveling up.”

Veil’s mind began to swirl as he remembered all of the tattoos the chief had shown him when he briefly explained how the tattoos worked.

“Level up?” he asked.

“Yes, as your soul grows in power, you can achieve several level ups.”

“What level is the chief?” he asked.

“It is not my place to speak on others’ achievements.”

“How does leveling work?” he asked.

“I’ll explain it later, or you can ask the chief—or maybe even your brother. He should know at least on a fundamental level,” she said. “But the tribe has already changed, and I believe they are almost at a crescendo. We should begin. Has a choice been made?”

“It has,” he began. “I will get both wrists marked with the clan’s insignia.”

“So it is, so shall it be,” she murmured under her breath as if it were a prayer. She held his arm in a comfortable position as she worked. The pain numbed his mind, and the chants of the villagers became louder and louder until a vision appeared behind his eyes. He’d experienced this before—his therapist back home called it post-traumatic stress disorder. His heart felt like it was going to explode as the world around him fell into darkness and colors began to swirl in his mind.

He was transported to a world that wasn’t his own. As his brain tried to make sense of everything, he noticed the new world was colorful but didn’t seem to make any sense, as none of the colors were solid. He looked out over the horizon, where animals with long necks could be seen. There was a brick sitting area, and his gut told him he should sit and take in his surroundings a bit more. But as he did, he heard a booming voice from seemingly nowhere, but all around him at the same time.

“You have taken the first steps of a long journey. I am proud of you,” the mysterious voice said.

“Who are you?” Veil asked.

“Your journey will continue. You made the right choice by bolstering your connections with the orcs, and for that, I grant you an additional ability. You had fire; now you will be the man of fire and ice.”

“Dae?” Veil replied.

“You’re no fun, young one,” the voice said. “Anyways, it’s done. Be well.”

“Wh—” was all Veil got out before he was thrust out of the beautiful world and back into the real one. The pretty orc was looking at his second wrist with a look of pure concentration on her face as she plunged the needle into his wrist one final time.

“And done,” she said, looking up at him.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“What did I see?” he replied.

“Yes, when the ritual is in full swing, many people have a spiritual vision. Many quests have started because of this. It’s the way it is—it’s the way it’s always been,” she said.

“I saw Dae,” he said without really thinking about it.

“Dae, as in Daewolivres?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Her mouth fell open with astonishment. “You saw the god of life? Are you sure? What did he say?”

“He, uhm,” he began.

“He, uhm, what?” she insisted.

“He gave me a new spell.”

“He granted you a spell? What spell?”

“He gave me an ice ability.”

“That’s amazing,” she said. “You may go.”

“Thank you Charie,” he said as he stood to leave.

As Veil stood, he saw a glimpse of something on his wrist. In all of the commotion and the visions, he had forgotten why he was there. He turned over his wrist to see the tattoo. It was far more beautiful than he’d assumed.