Ryme had barely listened to Cadence’s story past the words “I went to the barrens and this guy saved me” before she had hustled them both back to the cozy little cottage the mother and daughter shared to extract the full explanation of Cadence’s foolish trip to the barrens and Storyteller’s last second rescue. Now she watched her mother eye Storyteller with dissatisfaction, while Cadence sat quietly to one side, keeping her eyes downcast and fidgeting occasionally.

She still couldn’t believe it. She had a gift! One she had never even heard of before! That was what she wanted to talk about, not what had happened in the barrens! In fact, if Cadence had her way, she’d never talk or even think about that terrifying experience ever again.

“I’ll admit,” Storyteller told Ryme, “I didn’t expect quite this much hostility for saving your daughter.” His tone was flippant in the face of the hunter’s clear frustration.

On the surface, Ryme was not anyone's idea of terrifying. She was just a few inches taller than her daughter, and built along similarly lithe lines. But while no one would describe Cadence as anything more generous than “petite,” Ryme’s body was packed with taut muscle. Her sapphire hair, a couple shades darker than Cadence’s, was kept cropped too short for even a ponytail, and her bangs framed eyes just as bright blue as Cadence’s own–though Cadence had never mastered the threatening glare her mother currently had fixed on Storyteller.

Despite her comely appearance, Ryme’s soul was as territorial and unyielding as the bear that had given her one of her gifts, especially when her anger was roused. She was easily the most skilled and respected of Felisen’s half dozen hunters, and at Initiate level, her gifts gave her the sort of strength even the largest of men lacked without their own gifts. Cadence understood that better than ever since she had seen her own attributes.

Despite all of that, Storyteller looked fearlessly at the fierce hunter, his face set in a smile as smooth and placid as a still pool.

Cadence would have expected his calmness to only frustrate her mother more, but remarkably, it had the opposite effect. Storyteller’s serenity in the face of her anger, and the reminder that he had only acted to help Cadence, left Ryme’s rage with little to feed on, and it quickly burnt itself out.

Ryme made a frustrated noise and all but collapsed into one of the chairs set around their modest dining room table. Her eyes drifted away from Storyteller and focused on her daughter. The concern on her face was obvious, mixed with a healthy dose of chagrin. Cadence didn’t quite understand that last part–while her mother’s anger at her poor decision to sneak off to the barrens made sense, she could see no reason for Ryme to seem upset with herself. It wasn’t like she could’ve known what Cadence was planning!

“I appreciate what you did,” Ryme finally told Storyteller, returning her eyes to him, “but it leaves too many questions. I still don’t understand why you were in the barrens, what it was you saved Cadence from, or even who you are!”

“I’m Storyteller,” he said simply, the first two questions having gone by too fast to answer them.

“‘Storyteller’ is not a name!” She snapped back at him. “It’s a job description at best, and not a very good one at that!”

Storyteller shrugged, unconcerned as ever. “What is a name then? I promise you that more people would recognize me by that name than any other I could give you.”

Ryme rolled her eyes. “Well, I certainly haven’t heard of you. And that doesn’t tell me why you were miles deep in the forest, in the middle of the most dangerous place for dozens of miles in any direction, to save my daughter.”

Storyteller mused thoughtfully on that for a second before answering, “Would you believe it was a coincidence?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either,” he admitted sheepishly. “We’ll have to call it fate, then.”

Ryme sighed. In the wake of her outburst, she seemed fatigued more than angry. Storyteller’s evasive answers weren’t helping. “That is still not a satisfactory answer, Mister…” she sighed again, “Storyteller.”

“Isn’t it?” Storyteller asked. The man blinked and looked around sharply, as if focusing for the first time since they had sat down in Cadence’s home. He leaned forward in his seat, and the difference was startling, like a statue suddenly animating. “Fate is something of a specialty of mine. I was simply following up on a rumor concerning these barrens of yours. I had suspected them to be related to the Arboreal Wastes.”

Cadence perked up at that, while Ryme narrowed her eyes. The Arboreal Wastes had appeared before Ryme was born, but only barely. On the scale of the centuries the Realm had existed, the fifty years that had passed since the appearance of the new Wastes made it a recent event. Elliven, the bastion city settled for the purpose of patrolling the new Wastes, was so young it didn’t even have a Duke yet!

“Following up on a rumor… Do you think yourself some kind of adventurer?”

“In a sense,” Storyteller replied, his previous calm replaced with an animated charm that matched his dancing green eyes.

Cadence took a sharp inhale. Of course she had heard of adventurers–like every other child in the Realm, she had grown up on stories of them. Gallant knights and mysterious wanderers, roaming the Realm, defeating monsters, overthrowing corrupt lords, rescuing invariably attractive young women, and discovering ancient and powerful treasures. But they were just that–stories. Even Cadence knew that.

Ryme rolled her eyes. “I hate to disappoint you, but the barrens are older than the Arboreal Wastes. I’ve got elders in town that’ll tell you their parents were brought up fearing the barrens.”

Storyteller nodded thoughtfully. “I see. That makes a certain sense. Nevertheless, such a small and localized connection to the Chained World is…” The odd man trailed off thoughtfully, then shook his head in an active effort to derail the train of thought. “Apologies, we can talk about the barrens later. To return to my point, I was in the area simply to investigate some rumors I had heard and to kill any outsiders that had manifested in these barrens of yours. Cadence’s appearance was a surprise even to me.”

“And what makes you think my child’s poor decision is some grand act of fate? She’s a rebellious teenager who made a foolish choice. I doubt that’s some cosmically significant event.”

“Mother!” Cadence tried to defend herself. “I only-”

“Quiet,” Ryme snapped, her voice heated once again as she turned on Cadence. “Defend it however you want, it was irresponsible. If not for this vagabond,” Ryme indicated Storyteller with a vague hand, “you’d be dead in an ogre’s stomach right now.”

Cadence flushed, but knew better than to try to argue with her mother when she was angry. The girl settled back in her chair with a guilty flush, eyes downcast once more.

Storyteller watched the exchange silently, waiting until Cadence had relented under her mother’s anger before interjecting. “If you wouldn’t mind, Mistress Ryme, I would actually like to hear her reasoning.”

Ryme’s glare shot back to the odd man, the fire from earlier clearly refreshed, while Cadence looked up with a disbelieving stare at the man. After a tense moment, Ryme waved to Cadence, granting her reluctant permission to continue.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Cadence cleared her throat and continued, “Uhm… well. I’ve been wondering about the barrens forever. And my mo…” Cadence gave Ryme a guilty look, then rapidly changed her sentence, “the hunters wouldn’t tell any of us what was up there. They just said the barrens were dangerous, and that was that.”

Storyteller nodded along. “Okay, I follow so far. But… you’re of age to get your gifts. Why not just wait? I’m sure your mother and the other hunters would loop you in once you joined their ranks.”

Cadence flushed even darker, her reasoning seeming unbelievably childish in the face of the day’s events. She rapidly tried to come up with a better excuse, but in the face of the two intense stares directed at her, she could barely think straight. Reluctantly, she accepted that she’d just have to tell the truth.

“Well… If I just got told, it wouldn’t have been as satisfying, I guess.” She admitted.

Ryme’s jaw tightened with dissatisfaction, but before she could say anything, Storyteller asked, “As if an answer freely given was less valuable than an answer hard earned?”

Cadence looked at the man in surprise. “Y-yeah! Yeah, that’s just it! I wanted to find out for myself, not just hear the answer from someone else!”

Ryme’s attention had fully shifted to Storyteller now. “What are you implying, sir?”

Storyteller gave Felisen’s chief hunter only the briefest look before continuing his stream of questions. “Cadence, would you mind removing your arm guard?” He asked, gesturing at the hard leather cuff that went up either side of her forearm. It was the same one the little bramble-spawn had grabbed that afternoon, still marred by the pinpricks of the thorny vines.

Cadence looked at her mother, confused by the request, but Ryme nodded for her to do so. Brow furrowed, the girl quickly untied the laces that held the hardened leather in place and slid the armguard off.

“Roll your sleeve up please,” Storyteller instructed, “and show us the inside of your wrist.” His voice was still gentle, but his attention was intense. Cadence could swear she felt his focus like a physical pressure.

Cadence did so, then gasped. On the formerly pristine skin of her wrist, a simple black tattoo had appeared. It was a pair of lines in an odd, but clearly defined pattern. She had never seen anything like it, but it was obvious where it had come from. It was a brand, the physical mark made by a gift when it was bestowed. She had seen her mother’s before, and a few others around town, but never one like this.

Storyteller slid to his knees, in front of Cadence, eyes intent on the tattoo. “Well… that is quite something.”

Cadence raised her eyebrows at Storyteller’s tone. Since the moment they met, Storyteller had seemed unshakably confident, but now, he sounded confused, even cautious.

“I don’t know that brand…” Ryme muttered, but neither Cadence nor Storyteller acknowledged her words.

The enigmatic man looked up from Cadence’s outstretched wrist. “Are you sure you don’t have any gifts at all? Maybe a couple you raised to Initiate without telling me?”

“Uhm… yes. Yes, I am relatively sure I didn’t somehow accidentally obtain and level up two gifts without noticing it.”

Storyteller frowned, and looked back down at the marks. “Well. I suppose the easy answer wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”

The man stood up and gave a satisfied sigh. The moment of intensity had passed, and his eyes were already drifting off like the conversation was settled. “Now Mistress Ryme, where do you think I can get a good dinner for the night? A room would be nice, too.”

Cadence and Ryme blinked once at the man at the same time. Their shock made the resemblance between mother and daughter obvious.

“Storyteller!” Ryme burst out, for once not stumbling on the name.

“C-can you tell me what gift this is? Or where it came from? Or why it’s weirding you out so much?” Cadence asked.

Storyteller’s eyes flicked from Ryme to her daughter, his face pensive. “Hmm… that’s a lot of questions. I think I can answer two, but I’d much rather hear you answer the first.” His sharp yellow eyes glittered, though Cadence couldn’t tell if it was with amusement or something darker. “It is your gift, after all. Just ask yourself, what gift do you think it is?”

Cadence’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before she spit out, “How am I supposed to know!? It’s not like I… I…” The teenager’s words trailed off, her eyes drifting down to the intricate brand on her wrist. Suddenly, it didn’t just look like a vague pair of lines. It was almost like… a road, winding aimlessly off into the horizon. “It’s the gift of the wanderer.” Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears.

“Good.” Storyteller’s voice was suddenly very close–while Cadence had been entranced by the tattoo, the adventurer had crouched back down in front of her. “It’s part of your soul now, Cadence.” There was no absent distraction or teasing in the man’s voice now. He was fully intent. It was unsettling, how quickly and abruptly he seemed to change personalities.

“Now, as for your other two questions… They are excellent ones, and I fear the only answers I have will prove at least mildly dissatisfactory. You see, the gift of the wanderer is granted by the Adventurer archetype–but it is limited to those who have opened their Initiate slot, which you most certainly have not.”

Cadence gasped. Even if she hadn’t had any gifts, Cadence was familiar with how leveling worked. When you first received your gifts, you could only get two of them. You had to level each of them from Novice to Apprentice, then to Initiate, like Ryme, before you could accept your third gift and begin to progress to Adept. “B-but… but that’s not… I don’t have any gifts!” Cadence insisted.

“Mhm, that would appear to be the case. It’s quite the mystery.”

“Then how is it possible!?”

“An excellent question. I don’t know.” Storyteller stood up, and Cadence noticed again how tall he was. Though slender, he towered a foot taller than even Ryme. Crouching, he had been on eye level with Cadence while she was seated. Standing, he loomed overhead.

His eyes were sapphire chips of ice when he inspected Cadence. Hadn’t they been yellow earlier? And brown before that?

“Gifts are magic, even if they are a limited and well controlled form of it. You’ll find that with magic, as with most things, every rule has its exceptions.” Storyteller shrugged. “The gift of the wanderer, to the best of my knowledge, is granted by surviving a journey to a dangerous place, undertaken for no greater reason than curiosity and wanderlust. I would say that accurately describes your little escapade in the barrens, Initiate or no.”

“But… but… I only survived that because of you!” Cadence insisted, feeling the burning of futile tears in her eyes.

“Yes, yes. But never underestimate the power of luck… or, to bring our conversation full circle, that of fate.”

“I don’t like this,” Ryme said, her first words in a few minutes now. “I’ve never heard of this Adventurer archetype.”

“Unfortunate, but not unexpected,” Storyteller replied. He sighed and sat down on a chair. Now that his more intense personality had faded into the background again, he seemed almost sleepy, his eyes half-lidded and brown yet again. “I expect you know of the more common archetypes then? The Warrior, the Mage, the Primal?”

“Of course,” Ryme replied, the words clipped. “I know we have the bad luck to be uneducated frontier citizens, but we do know a few things.”

“Mother!” Cadence gasped. “He’s trying to explain, please!”

Ryme looked at her daughter, and guilt showed through her anger for a moment. She nodded to Storyteller. “My apologies. You didn’t deserve that.”

Storyteller grinned easily, his unremarkable brown eyes seeming only half-focused. “It’s okay. You’ve both had a long day. My point is, while everyone in the Realm can list off a few of the archetypes, some of them are lesser known. Which archetype gave you your gift?”

“I have the gift of the hunter, from the Elder,” Ryme replied instantly.

“Just so. Not all archetypes are as grand and universal as those that govern the heat of combat, the art of magic, or nature itself. The Elder caters to those who live on their own, or in villages like this one, and gives gifts like the hunter, the farmer, or the laborer. An upjumped noble, coddled in the comfort of a bastion city, would be hard-pressed to earn the Elder’s notice. The Adventurer is similarly limited in scope, but he caters to those who travel the land. He gives gifts like the bard, the rebel, or,” Storyteller waved a hand at Cadence, “the wanderer.”

Ryme subsided, and gave her daughter a look of mingled worry and thought. “I see…” Cadence had never heard her mother sound so concerned before, and it sent insecure flutters through her.

“So… this archetype is Adventurer as in, you know, adventurers? He’s the archetype of story book heroes?” Cadence couldn‘t help but ask the question. She had gotten a gift from the Adventurer–did that mean she was going to be an adventurer too?

Storyteller answered with a small, indulgent smile and little more. “I believe I’ve given both of you enough to think about for one night. I’ll take my leave for now.”

“Will you be staying in town?” Ryme asked before Cadence could.

Cadence looked at her mother warily, confused by the eagerness that had prompted such a fast response.

Storyteller nodded. “I will. We’ll need to talk tomorrow about why I came here in the first place, if nothing else.” His gaze returned to Cadence, concern apparent in his warm brown eyes. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Cadence. And yourself, Mistress Ryme. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Without another word, the tall, strange man soundlessly paced to the door and slipped into the cool night air, leaving Cadence alone with her mother.