I'm not 100% clear on what happened next.

One moment, Berker was looming over me, his maul still dripping with blood—and other things—from where he'd turned Dema into a paste. The best I could do was stare up at him and contemplate how deeply unhelpful this particular death was going to be to my career as a Warden.

Then everything shifted.

There was a blur. A shadow. A streak of steel.

And then Berker's head wasn't attached anymore.

It didn't roll. It launched. Pop. Clean off, and straight into the underbrush with an undignified thunk. His body had stood there for a few moments, like it hadn't quite got the memo yet, before crumpling, all bulk and ruin, the maul slipping from limp fingers and thudding into the ground like the final punctuation mark in an especially unpleasant story.

A veritable slew of notifications popped up as he dropped, but I dismissed them all without reading them, because Lia was already lowering her blade. She gave Berker's twitching corpse a glance, then turned to me. "Hope you don't think I overstepped there? You looked like you'd appreciate a hand."

I tried to speak. A witty one-liner, a heartfelt thank-you. Anything. What came out was, "Urk."

Somewhere behind me, someone was crying. Then there was the sound of Scar's axe chopping into something off-stage and silence. Just normal village stuff, really. Apparently, it was all over, and my village was safe. Probably. Maybe. Let's not ask too many questions.

"You alright?" Lia asked like she hadn't just thrown down with the world's ugliest medieval sumo wrestler.

"Yeah," I lied. "I'm fine. Just still processing... that. It was a lot."

I glanced around the clearing, taking in the carnage. Bodies, already starting to fade out to be replaced by loot boxes, littered the ground, the remains of all the Rebel soldiers I had killed during the chaos. I wasn't really sure how I felt about any of that.

The System, however, seemed to have all sorts of opinions on the matter. The notifications pinged up again. I dismissed them, and again they pinged back. Sighing, I took the hint.

Somewhere in the blizzard of notifications and post-fight tinnitus – it looked like Aggro Magnetism had hit Level 4, Crash Tackle and Lineholder's Instinct Level 3, and Closed Circle, Weighted Argument and Sidestep Level 5 - a cleaner ping broke through.

[Level Up: You are now Level 5]

→ Core Class Milestone Reached

→ Warden Pathway recalibrating...

→ Subclass Channel: Locked [Status: Read-Only Access Granted]

→ Full Warden Ratification

[System Advisory: Subclass selection unavailable until identity stabilises]

Selection at this point may destabilise Class Core

→ Eligibility trigger: 'Demonstrate Continuity Under Fire' – Progress: 63%

And just like that, the curtain lifted an inch more.

Three words floated into view. Options. Sub-classes. Future identities the System didn't seem to think I was ready for, but not dying at the hands of Berker had somehow earned me the right to preview.

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[Subclass] Warning: Premature activation may cause cascading soul-architecture conflicts.

Available Subclasses:

• Bulwark of Bad Decisions: Because the best defence is making yourself impossible to ignore.

• Thorned Standard  A Warden leads. Even when bleeding. Especially then.

• Lodestone of Regret  Some anchors hold others. Some drag them down with you.

"Pick your poison. But, we would suggest not today."

[System Commentary: These are not buttons. Do not poke them. You are not ready. They are not ready.]

I stared at the display like it might blink first. Three flavours of masochism wrapped in, apparently, different philosophies. One for the attention magnet. One for the bleeding symbol. One for the emotional deadweight with guilt issues.

Still, the message was clear: Later. Not because the System had decided I wasn't ready, but probably because I had other things on my mind right now…

Dema lay sprawled in the mud, a mangled wreck of shattered limbs and twisted flesh. Blood oozed from the wound where Berker's mace had torn through her. Splinters of bone jutted grotesquely from her face, and her left arm bent at an angle no human arm should ever attempt outside of Mr Fantastic during one of his signature japes. The raw grey of her exposed brain glistened through the ragged gash, and I didn't think she was breathing . . .

Lia looked down at Dema, and for the first time since she'd entered the fight, I saw concern cloud her features. "You need to get her to the Medical Hut."

"Agreed," We ran toward Dema's crumpled form. Lia knelt beside her, checking her pulse with a practised hand and gave me a weak little smile. "She's not dead," followed by the less reassuring, "but she's very close."

I felt a surge of panic rising in my chest. Dema was tough, but she clearly didn't have the ridiculous stats Lia had, and Berker had really done a number on her. "Can you carry her in there?"

Lia picked Dema's broken body up with a surprising tenderness and slipped her inside the building, which, up until now, had been her own little Bacta Tank.

Almost as soon as Dema was positioned in the bed, the whole thing started humming again – I'd oddly missed that sound – and the messages started again. "Stable (Critical)?" I glared at one of the messages. "What does that even mean?"

"It means she's not getting worse," Lia said in an annoying, reasonable tone. "Considering how she looked, I think you can take that as a win."

"I really can't be doing with another interminable bloody 'stable condition. What's wrong with this system? Can't it function without a wrecked damsel in distress in a weird Snow-White-Glass-Coffin situation?"

Lia's hands went to her hips. "Two points. Firstly, screw you and that 'damsel in distress' schtick. I was only in there because I ended up soloing Balethor the Magnificent whilst you... no, my memory doesn't have you doing very much of anything at all. And if you were lucky enough for Dema the Huntress – and you better bet your backside I know who she is – to take a hit from Berker for you, I don't want to hear any more of that 'damsel' stuff about her either. And secondly, if I understand your metaphor correctly, you're suggesting you're Prince Charming in this scenario?"

I wisely didn't say anything here.

"Because," Lia continued, "if I even get a hint of you visiting her in that unconscious state to try to wake her up with a kiss, I'm going to beat you up faster than you can say 'lack of consent."

Fair point. Well made. And apparently, the Snow White myth is good for all time zones.

I felt terrible about this. Dema and Scar had been the only people who stood with me when everything had gone to hell. Sure, the rest of the crew were good at gathering resources, but Dema, in particular, was different. She'd stepped up even though she must have known this was how it was going to end. That made her a helluva ally. Maybe even a friend?

"Message heard and understood, Lia. But what the hell am I supposed to do now?"

"First off, calm down," Lia said. "The Rebellion will leave you be for now. You'll have a bit of peace and quiet to be able to build things up. I'm sure the next level of the Medical Hut should take care of her."

Okay. That wasn't as terrible an outcome as it might have been. "And the Empire? There's someone called the Harbinger coming back in a day's time – who, incidentally, turns out to be who killed me and sent me to this realm in the first place."

Lia didn't answer for a moment. "I must get back to Sablewyn," she said eventually. "I need to hand in the completed quest and see where things lie with my father. Doing so will give us both a reputation boost with the Empire, which might smooth things out a little with the Harbinger. Or not. But, at the very least, there will be resources available there. People. Maybe even someone whom I can bring back to boost Dema's healing. If I go now, I can be back before you have to make a decision. Maybe things will look clearer by then."

Sablewyn. The place where everything had started going wrong. The thought of Lia heading back there sent a shiver down my spine, but she was right. It appeared I had time now with the Rebels. I needed the same with the Empire. A Warden could always use more time.

Lia looked like she was about to say something more when Scar appeared, axe hanging loose at his side, the blade slick with things I wasn't going to ask questions about. His coat was torn at the shoulder, and there were flecks of blood up one side of his face, but none of it looked like his. He didn't say a word. Just stood there, taking it all in.

The bodies. The broken ground. The bent trees and Berker's ruined corpse. Then, finally, his gaze landed on Lia.

I opened my mouth to explain, but then realised this was one of those moments when I wasn't even close to the main character in this clearing. Scar and Lia obviously had... history. I'd be wise to stay clear.

The moment stretched out, the air between them crackling with barely contained hostility. Scar's face darkened, and Lia's hand instinctively moved toward the hilt of her sword. Ennio Morricone would have scored an awesome little ditty to accompany this moment.

"Where is she?" Scar asked. "What have you done with her?"

It could just be me, but I thought the answer to this question was unlikely to lessen the tension . . .

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