“Wait, repeat that one?” I said, scratching numbers and letters into the dirt. Aerion looked on with profound confusion.

“It says, ‘Racial Trait: Boon of Elven Grace. Followed by ‘+10 Grace. What language is that, anyway?”

“My native tongue,” I replied. I’d inadvertently learned that Cosmo’s Gizmo didn’t help me one whit with writing. When I wrote, it was English, and I suspected the same went for reading as well.

“Hmm… Not one I’ve ever heard of,” the elf replied. “Though I’m not familiar with many, apart from Common, of course.”

Aerion had slowly regained her composure and made her way to the miracle water for a sip.

There was so much to discuss, but I couldn’t help myself, so we started with her new abilities. Her System page was hidden from me—for privacy reasons, I supposed—so I was getting her to narrate it line by line.

Needless to say, it was a massive pain in the ass.

“Okay, got it,” I said. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s everything.”

I looked down at the scribbled stat sheet in the dirt.

Aerion: Elf [Sylvan Reaver]

Essence: 50/50

Soul: Common / F

Stats (Available: 10):

— Vigor: 14

— Order: 8

— Wisdom: 5

— Passion: 2

— Grace: 13

— Cunning: 5

— Dominion: 3

Boons:

— Racial Trait: Boon of Elven Grace: + 10 Grace

— Racial Trait: Boon of Elven Vigor: + 10 Vigor

— Racial Trait: Boon of Order: +5 Order

Blessing: Sylvan Reaver (F - 2) [Uncommon]

Ancient legends once spoke of fierce warriors who terrorized the ancient Elven Elderglades. Thought to be extinct, Sylvans risk it all for ultimate power. Few sights are as terrifying as a Reaver on the battlefield.

Details:

— [5] Stat points awarded per level

— [1] New ability per rank

— Abilities can level to current class level

— Evolvable (Evolutions: 0)

Spells:

— Reave (Foundation - 2): Cost: 100% Essence. When activated, the Reaver gains supernatural strength until either all enemies in the area are dead, or their essence pool is drained. In return, they give themselves to their rage, which only the strongest can control. +[60] Dominion while active.

“Hnnng—” I tried to form coherent words. I really tried. What came out was gibberish instead.

This stat sheet wasn’t good. It wasn’t great. It was ludicrous!

Ignoring her Blessing for a moment, her base stats, while not great on their own, were buffed considerably thanks to her racial traits.

I brought up my status screen as a point of comparison.

Stats [LOCKED]:

— Vigor: 11

— Order: 1

— Wisdom: 13

— Passion: 12

— Grace: 8 (Max: 10)

— Cunning: 15

— Dominion: 8

Why didn’t I get any of those benefits? Was it because I was an Otherworlder?

Then I remembered that penalty I’d taken. Forego Boons. It said it right there—her Racial Traits were all boons.

Well, guess I now knew what Boons did. Ten or twenty points wasn’t nothing… but I figured once I ranked up and started Initializing [Uncommon] items, twenty points wouldn’t be difficult to match, or even exceed. A nice starting benefit, but noise in the long run.

I couldn’t say the same about her class, though. I didn’t know if I got lucky, or if my Blessing gave me something that would get us out of that sticky situation, but her class was… well, better than anything I’d thought possible.

Picture a Viking in war paint, dual-wielding bearded axes and screaming about how they’ll enjoy ripping you from limb to limb before drinking about it in Valhalla.

Aerion was basically that. A Berserker.

Instead of the Viking, I pictured the diminutive elf rampaging, and somehow, the image got even scarier.

It became even more so when I recalled that my Blessing gained experience when my gear leveled. As demeaning as it was, the System considered Aerion a ‘weapon’. Judging from the level-up notifications the Siege Bolts got when Aerion had fired them, it seemed like I’d gain experience when she did. Ditto for when she used my Initialized gear.

My heart started to pump faster. If that was true, then my Blessing was far more powerful than I’d ever imagined.

“Greg?” Aerion asked, looking at me with concern.

“Sorry, zoned out there. I’d recommend dumping your points into Vigor,” I said. “It’s already a fair bit higher than mine, but with your Dominion boost in combat, I think you’re plenty strong as it is. Being able to survive more damage is never a bad thing. Or actually… Might be better to hold off until we know what sort of boss—er, Trial Guardian—we’ll be up against.”

Aerion was currently sitting some distance away, alternating between sneaking glances at me with narrowed eyes and whispering to herself.

Not quite the response I’d expected. Had she even heard me?

I wondered if she was worried about that notification where the System called her a weapon. If I was honest, that felt more than a little fucked up. Maybe it was just the System categorizing weapons and armor as it always did, but it made me question what was going through Cosmo’s mind when he designed this class.

Besides that, having the power to Reclaim Aerion's ability didn't sit right with me. Not if we wanted to have any sort of working relationship as equals. Still, it did give her incredible power, which might very well get us both out of here alive. My concerns would have to wait until we were out.

“Is something wrong?” I finally asked, a little nervous at the answer.

“You gave me a Blessing,” Aerion said. “A Blessing! The highest form of power. That only gods can give out.”

“Oh. That! Uh, yeah. Guess I did,” I replied with relief. She wasn’t upset about being called a weapon, at least.

“Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are,” I said.

“I’ve never heard of anyone who can give Blessings. Not even…” Aerion trailed off, shaking her head. “No, nevermind. I must be mistaken.”

“Look, I know it’s probably not the sort of power you wanted, and if you want, I can take it back. But I think—”

“No,” Aerion replied; this time, it wasn’t the low mutter of someone talking to themselves. It was firm. Resolved. Unyielding.

Aerion’s stone-cold face popped into my head, and I almost shivered.

“This is power,” Aerion said, staring at her palm. “Real power. The power I’ve sought all my life. I’ll not give it up so easily. Even if it makes me a freak.”

“Not a freak,” I said. “What you have is called a Berserker power. I admit it’s a bit scary, but you can’t deny its potential,” I admitted. “That strength you displayed? Well,” I brought out my mangled sword. Amazingly, it somehow sat at a whopping 2 points of Condition—not destroyed, but one or two more whacks, and I imagined it would be.

“The Aerion I know can’t do this on his own,” I said with a small smile, keeping the charade going. “What’s more important? Not being a little scary? Or kicking ass?”

Aerion cracked a tiny smile of her own in response. “I suppose you may have a point. What does it matter what form it takes?”

“Right,” I replied. “Thing is, most Berserker classes—er, Blessings—I’m aware of are all about unbridled rage. Yours… seemed a bit different. I dunno how exactly it works, but if you’d like, we could find out? Test it on various foes—see where its strengths and weaknesses lie?”

Aerion scrunched her brows together, then nodded. “I’d like that. I don’t enjoy not being in control. I can think while in that state, but it is as though the world disappears, and only my enemies exist.”

“Right, that makes sense to me,” I said. “The good news is that you should be able to learn how to control it. With time and effort, I think you’ll be able to significantly lessen its influence on your mind. For now, just try your best to maintain your awareness when you enter that state.”

“I shall,” Aerion said with a nod. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” I said. “So anyway, I know it’s a bit early for this, but… what now?” I asked, sitting down against the wall of the hallway that led to the Sanctuary.

Aerion rose from her position near Emma’s grave and sat heavily against the Sanctuary wall across from me. “What now, indeed?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m kinda over this Trial. I’d like to sleep in a nice bed for once. I’d like to wake up knowing that there aren’t monsters waiting to murder me the first chance they get.”

Aerion breathed out sharply. “I… concur. May I confide something, Greg?”

I raised a brow. This was the first time Aerion had ever opened up like this. “Of course. Always.”

Aerion paused for a moment, but when she started, her words came out in a deluge. “I’m exhausted. Every day for the past month, I’ve fought for my life. I’ve nearly died more times than I can count. But at least I had Emma. Now that she’s gone, I…”

“Feel like a ship adrift on the ocean?” I volunteered.

“Exactly. I came here seeking power. I’ve… found that now. Perhaps not in the form I expected, but it’s clear what I have… What you’ve given me. It’s special. It’s—honestly, I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve never heard of such a power. Not even once. You claim to have lost your memories, and yet you know so much. Who are you, Greg?”

I smiled tightly. I wanted to come clean. To tell Aerion everything. But I’d have to be a moron to dump that on her right now. She was already fraying at the edges after having lost Emma. Just a little further, and she’d break.

Right now, coming clean wasn’t important. Being her anchor was. I had to keep her together until we got out of here.

“Someone you can rely on,” I said at last, looking her in the eyes. “You are not alone, Aerion. I’m here. I’m with you. And I’ve got your back. Just like I know you have mine.”

Aerion’s eyes widened. She nodded, clearly not having expected that reply.

“So, now that we’re in agreement about checking out of this rather crappy hotel, are there any bailout points on this floor?”

“Nope!” Aerion said, chuckling, which put a smile on my face. Moving on was never easy. I’d experienced that firsthand with my mom. I knew what it was like. Just as I knew how many times I’d wished I had someone by my side. Just to be there for me.

I was piss-poor at this sort of thing. I couldn’t do much. But if my being here for Aerion gave her something meaningful, then I’d be happy.

“The way I see it, we have two options,” I said, mostly to avoid the sort of awkward silence that’d fallen over us. “Either we go up to the seventh floor and defeat the Trial Guardian, or we backtrack to a lower floor with an exit.”

“The third floor,” Aerion confirmed. “We’d likely have to defeat the floor guardians on each floor as we descend. The shortcuts are one-way, leading to the higher floors. To return, one must come down the regular path.”

“Alright, so that’s two Floor Guardians we have to fight.”

“Though, if we ascend, we must also fight two. And harder ones, at that,” Aerion replied.

“Well, maybe. Not necessarily,” I said. Something Aerion said had been nagging at the back of my mind.

“These shortcuts. You said they bypass the floor guardians. That means they lead to different places, right? Places where the floor guardian isn’t?”

Aerion nodded. “That’s right.”

“What about the Trial Guardian? Do you have to kill it to be able to leave?”

“I am unsure. It seems the Trial Guardian changes forms, so one can never predict what it will be. Sometimes it is a great turtle that causes earthquakes. At other times, it takes the form of a great dragon that breathes fire. The only constant is that it resembles the monsters of the Trial—it is always obsidian. But I do know that delvers must pass through a gate to exit the Trial. Killing the guardian does not automatically transport you outside.”

“Right. Okay,” I said, feeling the seed of an idea—an insane idea—starting to form. “And if we were to get to the seventh floor the normal way, how would we do it?”

“We’d take the cog carts to each castle, navigating each in turn, until we reached the eighth, final castle. There, defeat the Floor Guardian and ascend to the next floor.“

“Ascend, you say. Which means going up through the ocean?”

“Yes. It is the only safe route to the surface—the seventh floor, and the domain of the Trial Guardian.”

“So, you’re saying that if we were to somehow find another way to the surface, we could just bypass all that and avoid the Trial Guardian in the process?”

“I suppose,” Aerion said, frowning. “But there is no such—oh,” her eyes shot open in realization. Realization and horror. “Oh, by Dominion! No!”

I beamed and flashed her two thumbs-ups. “Oh, by those whales’ fat asses, yes!”