Shadow

Shadow closed the curtains of his rented room, made sure the door was locked and sealed, and sat down before the low wooden table. This was a small room, but Shadow didn't hold that against the establishment. It was to be expected from such an unimposing building in such an out-of-the-way town. The building was itself indistinguishable from a typical inn--for those perceptive enough to even find it in the first place. It was the perfect example of 'hiding in plain sight,' looking just as run down as any other old, unprosperous inn might.

Or, at least that was how it looked to people without [True Sight]. For those that had it, there were a few hints of what lay behind the "ordinary" facade. How it managed to hide its Tier 5 enchantments, which should have been a beacon blazing across the countryside, was a mystery even to him. It should have been noticeable--by feel alone!--as soon as someone entered the narrow wedge of space between the domains of the neighboring gods. It was probably the most heavily enchanted place Shadow had ever been.

It was a private, neutral bastion of security.

These were all reasons why Shadow had come to this location. Honestly, he admired what it stood for and what its proprietor was able to maintain. Sure, the proprietor kept it small, but Shadow knew that was because it was vastly easier to keep such spaces secure. Case in point, Shadow had actually struggled to track all the wards and barriers the 'innkeeper' had lowered or bypassed on the way to this particular room. Some layers had been so thin that even Shadow wasn't certain how many there had been.

But now he was here, and the pouch he'd carefully stitched into the interior of his cloak ached with unrealized purpose.

Exhaling and stilling his nervous hands, Shadow carefully removed that pouch. He opened it delicately, and despite all the precautions he'd put into obscuring and storing the shard, he was still exceedingly cautious in removing it. Careful to avoid the one jagged edge.

A smooth, freezing cold surface met his touch, sending a shiver down his spine. The raw power it emitted, even at the slightest touch, was unbelievable.

With all the practiced stability he could manage, he laid the shard on the table before him.

It had been a solid week since Shadow had taken it, and he hadn't stopped moving that whole time. Though he'd long since left the Frontier behind him, and with it any fears that the little gnome berserker might be able to find him, there were always others that might somehow think themselves lucky enough to defeat Shadow despite the damning gap in capabilities. Shadow had made many enemies in his time, after all, and not all of them were creatures of habit like Bronco had been. There were quite a few that took petty vindictiveness to whole new heights. So much so that it could have been their Path. Given the chance, they would jump at even the slightest hint of inconveniencing Shadow.

That was why the enlightened bladeweaver had been so careful, so deliberate, and so thorough in his escape from both the Frontier and society's eyes in general. No matter how much his blades had begged him to kill something, Shadow had done nothing that would cause attention or create any sort of trail. He hadn't gone into any towns, hadn't eaten anything but his own rations, hadn't even spoken to anyone in a week.

Hopefully, this establishment would protect him sufficiently that he could lower his guard... and then maybe also rest safely.

What is it all truly for? he asked himself, staring at the shard on the table before him. Just what exactly are you, you fascinating, destructive little thing?

He used his newly-upgraded [Identify], pushing it to its highest ability in hopes that it would delve into the thing's depths.

[Fraction of Oblivion (unique)]: [ ? ]

A jagged fraction of the end.

The question mark at the end of the first line stared back at him, and the whole second line felt insultingly vague.

I'm so sick of this shit! Why is my [Identify], which is the most advanced in this whole accursed realm, blanking on so many--!

Except, after a few seconds more, another notification appeared at the bottom of his vision.

[Path Quest unlocked: Divinity's End]

Receiving a Path quest was something he hadn't even dreamed possible at this point. He knew he'd eventually need to complete one to be able to progress to Tier 5, but that wouldn't be necessary until level 80. Getting a Path quest already, at level 44? To call it unusual was an understatement. Granted, some people did have a goal that resonated strongly enough with a Path to receive such a quest earlier, but that was also incredibly uncommon.

And here one was being offered to Shadow.

Of course he expanded it. Why wouldn't he? The title was enough of a hook that he couldn't have stopped himself regardless.

[Path Quest available: Divinity's End]

Kill a god.

Rewards: Title, Class, Bonus XP

Shadow's eyes read each and every word a second and then a third time, savoring them, locking them into his [Eidetic Memory]. His eyes grew wider than they ever had, as a huge, hungry grin spread across his face.

The three words in the middle were something that, as far as he'd heard of, had never been done before. But here they were, presented as a Path quest, which meant it literally had to be possible!

His thoughts were already racing. How was it possible? Obviously the shard itself was involved. What would happen if he somehow succeeded? What would happen to the realm if a god died? The ramifications of deicide would be realm-breaking.

He'd have to pick a target at some point, even if they were all deserving. Some of the so-called gods were bound to be weaker than others, right? Should he start filtering by their relative ages, or their known power sets?

No matter what, he had lots of research to do. He wasn't even sure where to start with this, but the sudden purpose that it thrust into his life gave him both immense joy and pride.

{Legendslayer} is nice, and the rewards were amazing, but what will I get if I become the first god slayer? And it offers a new Class! What could that possibly--?

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"Zaniel," a voice from outside said, calmly and quietly, yet still remarkably clear. A voice the enlightened bladeweaver had heard before. "It's time we had a longer chat."

The man from the bar. "George," he answered, trying to hide the immediate fear and anger that hearing his true name had caused. "If I asked how you know that name, would you tell me?"

"I have an interest in history," the mysterious man replied.

"That's not a real answer."

"Yet it's all you'll get from me, as long as I'm standing out here. Please let me in. Even I cannot bypass these wards without an invitation."

Even he? Shadow stored that away for their 'longer chat,' as it felt important--and juicy. "Why should I let you in, after you announce yourself with such suspicious timing... and in such an insidious way?"

"Because I can feel that thing in your possession. Whatever you just did, it is now crying out to my Path with an urgency I've never known before. But that does not have to make us enemies, and I would much prefer that we become stronger allies instead." There was a quiet that stretched on, as Shadow considered how this complicated things if he should choose not to interact with 'George.' How would he escape from someone who could track him even here?

"We last spoke on such positive terms," George continued. "Clearly you have been successful in what I presented to you. I have been tackling our shared problem from a different angle, which I believe you will still wish to hear."

And here there were sounds like a shuffling of shoes, and the man's voice grew quieter still. "I have information on the man called Brightside. And his plan."

- - - - -

Tristan

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Surprisingly enough, Tristan did have plenty of time to read his new book in the two days before they returned to Cam'ron for his new pants. Rather than travel all the way back to central Perpetua just for an inn they'd liked, a journey Sophie had loudly objected to, they'd decided to find one close by.

Sophie had been a bit picky as they'd walked straight past the first two without so much as approaching the front door. "You can tell a lot about an establishment by its facade," she'd said. One had too many frills, which she'd said marked it as "overly concerned with appearances. It's a place my parents would stay, and it'll charge you far too much." The next was the opposite, "Too grimy and rundown to be trustworthy."

But the third place had been "just right." They'd gone inside, Sophie had struck up a conversation with the man behind the front desk, who was apparently the proprietor, and they'd ended up in a pair of decently-sized, upper floor, adjoining rooms with a little balcony out back that provided a view of the top of the Cinderbark statue. Tristan had liked that part the most, and as a result he'd spent a lot of time out on that little balcony.

He'd switched between reading his two books, starting with the astral languages until he was exhausted, then he dove into the much lighter fantasy novel written by the clerk, Kaylee Small. Admittedly, he enjoyed the novel much more, but it wasn't something that would help him in the long term, other than as a means of unwinding. It was an enjoyable read, quite funny in places, with intriguing characters that were put into totally unrealistic situations. It was strange to even consider a world without magic or level-ups, but it also made so many of the conflicts the main characters had to overcome feel so much more intense!

He got so into the novel that he actually had to set an alarm for himself, to make himself stop and switch back to the language manual. He knew there wasn't really any sort of deadline for completing it, but he didn't want to neglect it either.

In the end, across those two days, he'd read what felt like only a tiny fraction of the Newbie's Guide, and maybe a quarter of the World Without Magic. That was mostly because he'd foregone sleep last night as he kept telling himself 'just a little bit more.'

As the sun rose on the third day, Tristan was still on his balcony, tucked into a blanket and turning page after page.

The door to the balcony from the adjoining room slowly slid open. "I figured you'd still be out here," Sophie said with a sigh. "Is it really that good?"

Tristan, not looking away from his page but placing his finger as a securing bookmark just in case, answered, "It is. You can borrow it after I finish it."

Sophie chuckled. "Maybe I will. Are you going to leave that spot today, or am I on my own again? There are always more letters to write."

"I can be ready to go whenever you want to," Tristan replied. "Besides, my pants will be done today, and I won't miss getting them."

"Just checking."

A long quiet followed, long enough that Tristan looked up to see whether Sophie had somehow slipped back inside without his noticing. Instead, he saw that she'd taken a seat on her own balcony and seemed to be watching the sunrise.

"I hope you found something to do while I was relaxing," he eventually said in a not-quite apology.

"Perpetua's a big city, Tristan, and there are countless ways that Poof and I can entertain ourselves. Besides, we've traveled together long enough that I know that sometimes I'll need to. I'd say I'm getting fairly accustomed to your 'focus thing.'"

Tristan wasn't sure how to take that last remark, but he appreciated that she wasn't even remotely asking him to change. He grunted, "Fair enough," and inserted the bit of folded napkin he'd started using as his bookmark. "Well, I guess it is probably time to stretch my legs and start the day."

The moment he rose from the chair, he realized just how stiff he'd grown thanks to his absurd lack of movement the past two days.

"Hey, don't grunt at me," Sophie said with a laugh. "It's not my fault you're getting old and stiff! Anyway, once you sort your creaky self out, what do you say to grabbing some breakfast? I found a cool little spot a block over that has these sort of fried toast things, dredged in eggs, and then coated in the sweetest syrup. It's utterly divine!"

"Sure," Tristan said, already beginning his morning stretches. "Give me..." he paused, doubting his normal routine would be sufficient for the stiffness he was feeling. He decided to double it. "Give me half an hour."

"Alright. That'll give me time to groom Poof's fur a bit."

"Poof's back today?"

"Hah! Poof was back yesterday, Tristan. We went shopping!" With a laugh, Sophie slid her balcony door open. "Anyway, see you in half an hour."

It took him every bit of those thirty minutes to not only work out his stiffness but also change into fresh clothes, cleanly shave his jaw, and muss his hair a bit.

"Ah, trying to be somewhat presentable today?" Sophie chided when she answered the door.

"I've gotta look good to impress my new pants," Tristan replied with equal sarcasm.

They took a leisurely walk to the restaurant Sophie had found the day before, a place called The Broken Yolk, and though it was pretty packed, they were still seated immediately. The waitress who came to serve them was a small, older gnome who was clearly very experienced but also busy. She came to their table directly from one of the others, and as soon as he and Sophie had both ordered the 'sweet toast,' she was off to her next. She never wrote anything down, but clearly she didn't need to.

Their food came out at most five minutes later, and then Tristan was treated to one of the best breakfasts of his life. It wasn't just the sweet toast, either. There were slices of fresh fruit artfully circling the plate, and whatever the fruit juice was that came with it was equally tasty. He devoured every last bite, even using the last bits of his toast to sop up all the delicious syrup, leaving his plate completely clean. Across the table, he saw Sophie and Poof had accomplished a similar feat with their own practically-spotless plate.

It was so good, Tristan quickly decided the best way to thank Sophie would be to pay for the whole meal himself. Covering her bill was his way of thanking her for finding such an incredible spot. Besides, it was much more reasonably priced than he'd expected from Perpetua, only lightening Tristan's purse by three gold coins--including tip--for both their meals.

Tristan walked out pleasantly stuffed and rejuvenated, which felt like the perfect mood to pick up his new pants!

No sooner had they walked into Cam'ron's shop than the apron-wearing elf rushed out to meet them with a huge, satisfied smile. It was impressive how quickly he could move while avoiding all of the rugs littering the floor. "Oh, good, I'm glad it's you! I finished them last night, and trust me when I say they're spectacular!" He reached under the counter and held up a hanger draped with a dark cloth. "Are you ready for the unveiling?"

Clearly, the elf had a flair for the dramatic, but Tristan was in such a good mood he didn't care. "Do you do this for all your commissions?"

"Only when they go really well," Cam'ron replied, his grin widening. "Which they usually do. So I ask again, are you ready for the unveiling?!"

"Meep meeeeeep, MEEP!" Poof answered, which, other than making out a yes, Tristan still absolutely could not understand at all. Her tone did make him think she was saying 'but stop teasing us about it.' Or maybe that was just Tristan projecting his own feelings onto the astral.

"Yes please," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I can't wait to see what you've made."

The leatherworker began to slowly raise the drape. "Then I present to you... my [Emblazoned Shadowhide Leggings]!" He snapped the cover away, and immediately Tristan could see why the man was so proud.

The pants were a deep russet color, layered two or three times in some of the high-wear areas with intentionally jagged texturing and details that made Tristan's eye want to slow down and study every stitch. Along the hips and thighs, flourishes resembling dark flames practically absorbed the light. The knees were brighter again, and reinforced with an extra front guard that flowed down the shin before broadening to encompass the whole ankle. They looked like well-made, fashionable, very protective pants.

Yet as the crafter set the pants down upon the counter, Tristan didn't hear or see any sign of stiffness in the material that might limit mobility, despite the added thickness.

[Emblazoned Shadowhide Leggings (rare)]: [Catfall], [Agility Boost II], [Intended]

Legguards made from the pristine hide of a shadowcat by a talented crafter who focused on improving their mobility.

Tristan recognized the second property from some of Cam'ron's other gear and more than welcomed the 20% boost to one of his better stats. From there, he couldn't expand the first property quickly enough.

[Catfall] With these pants on, you will always find a way to twist and turn so that you land on your feet, no matter the height. You are also immune to falling damage. Additionally, when you deliberately dodge an attack, you gain 10% movement speed for 3 seconds.

He couldn't have been happier with it once he did. [Catfall] legitimately seemed like an absurdly powerful property, and it was something he couldn't wait to test out. He was already wondering if he'd really be able to just jump off of tall buildings. More than that, he could imagine how quickly he could zip around opponents when using the final part of the ability.

The final property, though, drew his eye even more. Because this time, he could expand it.

[Intended] This item was crafted for you, Tristan Hammerson, and is only usable by you. Upon your relinquishment or death, it will return to Cam'ron.

Tristan wasn't exactly shocked by that property, because it was almost exactly what Cam'ron had told them would happen with his gear. But it was a little unsettling to see it mentioning him specifically by name! He also was curious what cases 'relinquishment' covered, but he wasn't planning on testing it out any time soon. [Intended] was a cool property, and one clearly unique to Cam'ron and his Core.

"They're incredible," he made sure to say aloud. "I can't even begin to express how cool they seem, especially that first property!"

"They truly are," the elf agreed, "and I'm genuinely proud of them. It's the first time I've been able to make that property work--and I've tried several times before! It's scarcely found on Tier 2 gear, but as you can see, here it is, on something wearable by a Tier 2! I mean, you're almost Tier 3 now, but the accomplishment still stands!"

Sophie chimed in. "It really is an impressive property. Congratulations on your success, Cam'ron! Shall I pay the remaining balance now?"

"Right you are," the elf said, nodding and folding the pants with careful pride. "Business before pleasure. I have to admit that you're definitely getting your coin's worth with these, so all that I ask is that whenever you're out and about you talk up my work." He handed the pants across the counter to Tristan as Sophie's hands dropped the final coin. "Tell anyone who asks that my leather is the sturdiest in the City. You'll never rip it, no matter what. So it's way better than everyone else's gear, which is just tearable."

Tristan actually stopped mid-motion and laughed, which made Sophie look at him like he'd gone crazy. Apparently she'd missed the pun.

"Tear-able," Tristan repeated, trying to help her understand. "Like their stuff can be torn. Which also is terrible..."

"Oh, I see," Sophie said, giving a polite smile.

"MeeeEEEeeep," Poof added.

"You couldn't be more right," Sophie said, lifting her chin and not bothering to translate for either of the men, who both seemed to be left confused.

I've got to spend more time on that guide, Tristan promised himself. "Thank you so much for this, seriously," he said to the other craftsman. "I'll make sure to talk you up whenever anyone asks for good leather."

"Thank you," the elf replied, "and try not to let those pants return to me too quickly, eh? It would be a shame for such craftsmanship to be short-lived."

Tristan tried not to think about the implications of that as he, Sophie, and Poof carefully avoided all the rug-covered spots of 'floor' and left the shop.

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