(Dylan)

  Quinten slipped the clear orb into Dylan’s hands, and a prompt appeared.

  [Destiny orb]: Initializing, wait.

  [Destiny orb]: Three framework slots available, Destiny framework not found. Requesting permission to activate. Choose one.

  [Consent] [Deny] [Cancel]

  “Uh, crap,” Dylan said, worried he’d mess it up again like the Time orb. “It’s uh… doing that thing again. Asking me for consent.” No one liked a loot ninja, and he wanted to avoid accidentally becoming one. “How do I turn it… off?”

  “Sorry, mate. Didn’t realize you still don’t know how this works. Figured you had it sorted since you’ve used one. Anyway, if you don’t want to use it now, picture yourself touching the Cancel option.”

  “What happens if I pick Deny?”

  ‘Do it!’ an intrusive thought urged him to find out. Dylan frowned, wondering why his intrusive thoughts always sounded like Papa Palpatine.

  “It’s like turning a gal down for dinner. She’ll understand, but don’t expect her to ask you again. Probably shouldn’t do that with this one, though,” Quinten said.

  Dylan mentally selected Cancel and sighed with relief as the prompts disappeared. The orb still sat in his hand, its cool, glassy surface smooth against his palm. He brought it closer, peering at the etched image of himself staring back. His brows furrowed as he glanced up to ask.

  “Why’s there a picture of me in the orb?”

  “It’s a Destiny orb, mate,” Quinten said, casually leaning against an upturned branch. “They always show the person who’ll end up using it.”

  Athrax growled, the sound low and guttural, loud enough to be heard over the whacking of his machete. “Figures. First jackpot I score, can’t sell it, can’t use it. Bloody bollocks, that’s what that is.”

  After the old soldier finished grumbling and kicking at the debris, he let out a resigned huff. “That’s it. Nothing else. Back to the ship, I guess.”

  “Need a lift?” Quinten asked, craning his neck to look up at the ship above them. “Doubt you’re clearing that jump, mate.”

  “Not at common rank.” Athrax sighed, also looking up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… Gimmie a door.”

  Quinten obliged, and a shimmering door materialized in the air before swinging open. Athrax paused at the threshold, stealing one last glance at where the kaiju had fallen. He muttered something under his breath and stepped through.

  The easygoing elf turned to Dylan. “Go on ahead, mate,” he said with a wink. “I’ll catch the next one.”

  After Dylan stepped through the portal, the dense jungle air gave way to the crisp breeze of the airship deck. The door shimmered out of existence behind him just as Hay’len approached. Dylan took a few moments to just breathe deeply, enjoying the fresh air.

  They pointed over at Athrax, who’d crossed his cybernetic arms in full pout. He was perched at his favorite spot along the railing, staring overboard. “Why’s he so grumpy? I thought he was excited to loot the beetle?”

  “He’s miffed we only knicked one item,” Quinten said, as he dismissed the door behind him.

  “Only one?” Wedge’s stony brows furrowed as his gaze fixed on Athrax. “Kaiju usually provide abundant loot.”

  “A bloody Destiny orb…” Athrax tossed over his shoulder.

  W’itney’s face lit up. “Anyone we know?!” Their eyes darted between Athrax, Quinten, and Dylan, brimming with anticipation. Dylan had noticed Destiny orbs always caused a stir—until people found out it didn’t share their own face.

  “Yeah…” the old soldier muttered, more interested in the wind running through his hair than Dylan’s shiny new orb.

  “And?! Whose is it? Come on, don’t make me beg.”

  “Mine,” Dylan said as he watched W’itney’s excitement falter—though only for a moment.

  They flashed him a genuine smile. “You’ve earned it! You saved the day, got the loot; all that’s left now is to kiss the girl… again.” W’itney winked, tilting their head toward where Eury stood, engrossed in her conversation with P’reslen. Neither of them seemed to notice the trio had returned from looting.

  “Pup gets everything…” Athrax grumbled from the corner as his arms crossed tighter over his chest.

  “That ‘pup’ killed the bloody thing,” Runemist reminded him.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you all.” Dylan frowned. “It’s not fair, maybe we should sell it—”

  “Won’t work,” Athrax huffed. “Who’s gonna buy an orb they can’t use?”

  “Just use the orb, Dylan,” Wedge said, stepping closer and motioning toward it.

  “I’m usually on team ‘do-what-ya-want’, but come on, mate. Your name—uh, face is all over it,” Quinten added with a smile.

  Dylan hesitated before sighing. He didn’t want to keep arguing, and, apparently, Destiny orbs didn’t seem to leave much room for choice. So, he gave in to their peer pressure. Turning the orb over in his hands, he asked, “How do I… turn it off and back on again?”

  “Simply placing it down and picking it back up again should suffice,” Hay’len offered, their hands hovering near the orb, resisting the urge to grab and demonstrate it themselves.

  Dylan spun around, searching for a suitable surface, but found nothing. Not surprising, given he was on the top deck of an airship. He took a knee and carefully placed the orb on the wooden deck. The moment he let go, it rolled unexpectedly toward the back of the ship, its smooth surface quickly picking up speed. His hand shot out, catching it just before it escaped, and the prompt returned.

  “That’s… one way to do it,” Hay’len said.

  [Destiny orb]: Initializing, wait.

  [Destiny orb]: Three framework slots available, Destiny framework not found. Requesting permission to activate. Choose one.

  [Consent] [Deny] [Cancel]

  This time, Dylan didn’t hesitate and mentally selected Consent.

  [Destiny orb]: Consent acknowledged.

  [Destiny orb]: Activating Destiny framework, wait.

  [Destiny orb]: Framework three of five activated.

  ‘That’s weird,’ he thought, frowning at the prompt. The number was off. He’d have to ask someone about that—right after he remembered to request a name change for the “Captain’s Quarters”.

  [Destiny orb]: New passive [Destiny’s Child] unlocked.

  Innate, sometimes finds hidden, lost, or priceless treasures.

  ‘Wasn’t that the group with Beyoncé? And what the hell does innate mean?’ he wondered as the messages continued scrolling by.

  [Destiny orb]: Conjuring first magic influence, wait.

  [Destiny orb]: Manifesting new ability with Harvest influence.

  Harvest was a magic type? Well, if Earth counted as a magic type, then sure, Harvest could too. Dylan sighed, mentally adding “ask Nathan about magic types” to his ever-growing to-do list.

  [Destiny orb]: New ability [Coin Collector] unlocked.

  Transform recent kills into currency and glyphs.

  ‘Wait? I can just make money?’ he wondered, his jaw dropping as he reread the words.

  That didn’t sound very legal. His gaze shifted to Wedge. He wanted to pass the damn trial, not get arrested for embezzlement, laundering, counterfitting—or whatever law “creating wealth from nothing” might break on Mother of Dragons. Back on Earth, it’d just be another day in capitalism.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  [Destiny orb]: Three open ability slots remaining.

  Knowing exactly what his abilities did was nice—really nice. But it only made him regret skipping his first one even more. He still had no clue what his Time passive did. Something about Synchronicity? Whatever that meant.

  “And?” W’itney asked expectantly, leaning into his personal space with wide, curious eyes. “What did you get?”

  “Come on, tell us.” Hay’len looked on, rubbing their thumb into the palm of their hand.

  Charles had taught Dylan a valuable—if painful—lesson about the dangers of giving away that kind of information. Both Runemist and Wedge had also warned him, hinting that sharing too much could lead to risks he wasn’t ready to face.

  “What are the restricted magic types again?” Dylan asked, carefully masking his unease. He wouldn’t say anything more until he confirmed Harvest wasn’t on the list.

  “Psychic, Time, and Undeath,” Hay’len rattled off matter-of-factly, reciting a well-memorized fact.

  “Why?” Wedge asked. “Did you get any of them as an influence?”

  “No.” His concern still lingered, though, as the idea of creating his own money still felt questionable. But at least it wasn’t one of the restricted magic types. P’reslen and Eury finally noticed the looting party had returned and wandered over to see what all the commotion was about.

  “It said my passive was innate. What does that mean?”

  Eury turned to check with Hay’len. “Isn’t that a… legacy thing?” Hay’len gave them a quick nod.

  “What’s a legacy thing?” Dylan asked.

  “Nothing you have to worry about,” Runemist said. “Especially since Dirt doesn’t have magic.”

  Athrax shook his head, still grumbling. “Never heard of a world without magic—”

  “It’s also very common for Destiny frameworks,” Hay’len cut in. “It simply means you were born with it.”

  “Destiny knows all of her children,” P’reslen, W’itney, and Hay’len said in practiced unison, their synchronized voices eerie enough to raise the hairs on Dylan’s neck.

  “That’s a… really weird thing to say.” Dylan frowned, eyeing the three draconi suspiciously. “My passive is actually called Destiny’s Child, and it says I’ll ‘Sometimes find hidden, lost, or priceless treasures.’”

  Athrax and Quinten exchanged a glance, and said, “Scout…”

  “Why do they keep saying that?” Dylan asked, tilting his head as his gaze darted between Athrax and Quinten.

  “It is an archetype,” Wedge said. But that didn’t answer Dylan’s question, and the big guy must have read it on his face. “I will explain later,” he said.

  “Well, that explains the bloody book,” Runemist said, crossing her arms.

  “And the flowers,” Athrax muttered, scratching his chin.

  “You mean the gashole?” Quinten asked. Athrax nodded from his perch on the railing.

  “What about your ability?” Hay’len asked.

  “Hey now, every bloke’s entitled to a bit of privacy,” Quinten said.

  “I agree, do not give away tactical information so easily,” Wedge said.

  “It’s not tactical. At least I don’t think it is? It’s a looting ability,” Dylan said. “I don’t mind if they know.”

  “A Destiny looting ability?” Hay’len sounded even more intrigued.

  Eury, as perceptive as ever, asked, “What’s the influence?”

  “Harvest, if I understood it properly.”

  “No way!” W’itney exclaimed, giving Dylan a light shove, their grin widening with feigned jealousy. “Harvest magic makes the best looting abilities.”

  “It’s called Coin Collector; Lets me turn recent kills into currency and glyphs.”

  “Might as well just call it ‘money maker’,” P’reslen said with a chuckle. “You’re going to be rich.”

  “Maybe even rich enough to buy a small kingdom to call yourself a king…” Quinten said with a sly smile. Dylan shot him a glare from under his brows, which only seemed to amuse the easygoing elf even more.

  “So, I won’t get in trouble if I use my ability to make money?” Dylan asked, his gaze shifting nervously toward Runemist.

  “Nah, mate.” Quinten slung an arm around Dylan’s shoulder. “Loot to your heart’s content. Although I’d watch out if you get actual metal coins.”

  Dylan looked up at him, tilting his head in confusion. “Why’s that?”

  “Because nothing is tastier than a bit of raw metal,” Quinten said, pulling Dylan’s face closer as he gestured toward the twins and P’reslen. “Just look at the fiends—already salivating.” He reached over to tap Dylan in the tummy. “If you thought they were forward with their advances before, just wait until your pockets jingle with something else they want to snack on. You’ll be beating ’em off left and right.”

  Dylan wanted to say something about his phrasing, but thought better of it. The easygoing elf probably chose those words for that very meaning, just trying to get a rise out of him.

  Athrax pushed off the railing, his boots thudding across the deck as he joined the group. “Well, now I’m glad he used the orb.”

  “You are?” Runemist raised a suspicious brow. “I thought you wanted your ‘fair share’ of the loot?”

  “Bet your bonnet I do. Now he’ll be able to afford airships for the lot of us.” That earned a chuckle from the group. “Captain Athrax has a certain ring to it. And at the very least, he’ll be able to replace my armor.”

  “Athrax,” Runemist sighed wearily. “You know bloody well Nightshade’s going to replace your armor when you get back…”

  “Yeah, but if I’ve learned anything from this quest, it’s bringing more than one set of armor.”

  P’reslen joked, “If you want your armor back, just go for a walk with Dylan. I’m sure he’ll trip over it eventually.” He shot Dylan a teasing smile.

  Dylan found their jokes endearing and was glad Athrax didn’t hold it against him for hogging all the loot. The sounds of their laughter filled the air, and the smiles on their faces made it all worthwhile. He felt seen and heard—like he belonged. And belonging felt good.

  He wanted to ask Wedge if he’d passed the trial, but wasn’t sure how to do it without looking selfish. Dylan shifted his weight from foot to foot, his mind drifting to his conversation with Ni’ot and her cryptic message about the quest not being the trial he needed to pass.

  A small crown icon in Dylan’s lower right vision was driving him crazy. It’d first appeared after he’d blown up the arc beetle and landed in the pit. And he still wasn’t sure what was safe to ask—or what might get him reset.

  Dylan edged his way around the group until he stood beside Eury. He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Hey Eury, can I ask you something?”

  Her eyes met his, and she said, “Always.”

  “It’s sort of…” His voice trailed off as he glanced around, worrying someone might overhear him. “Can we go over there and talk?” He gestured to a secluded spot on the railing with a great view of the jungle below.

  She saw the spot, looked back to him, unable to suppress her smile, and nodded eagerly. Dylan reached for her hand and gently tugged her away from the group.

  “Do you know what a small crown icon in the bottom right of your vision means?” he asked after they’d reached the railing.

  “Oh…” she said, her shoulders sagging. It wasn’t the question she’d hoped for.

  “That’s… where your accolades show up.” She was quick to recover, offering him a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It means you’ve got new ones on your League card.”

  Dylan hesitated, catching something in her expression—expectation, maybe? Disappointment? It was there and gone so fast he couldn’t be sure. Eury was always hard to read. She carried herself with a quiet determination, someone who always seemed to know more than she let on. Like the rest of the initiates, she seemed light years ahead of him in understanding the League, magic, and Mother of Dragons. Even W’itney knew more than he did.

  But after he’d saved Eury from dying in that gas-filled pit, they’d shared a moment—a real one. Sitting there with her, she’d made him feel like he had answers, like he’d finally done something right. And he wanted that again, to see that same look in her eyes, the one that saw something in him worth admiring.

  Instead, all he had was more questions—things he just didn’t understand. It was endless, and he felt hopelessly lost.

  He scratched his brow, leaning in close and dropping his voice, as if the question might make him any less. “And… what’s an accolade?”

  Her smile deepened at his approach—an authentic smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made her golden-flecks sparkle. With an exaggerated show of secrecy, her eyes darted left and right before she leaned in slowly, playfully, as if to share a forbidden secret. Her lips hovered close to his ear as she whispered, “Your League card keeps track of what goes on around you and records when you accomplish impressive feats.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure why they were whispering, but it made her happy. That alone was reason enough to play along. “Feats? Like what?” he turned to whisper back. He could smell, almost taste, the spearmint notes on her breath again.

  She pulled back with a casual shrug, her grin honest and teasing. “Oh, I don’t know… maybe killing a kaiju, for instance?”

  “Oh, like an achievement!” He smiled. He’d gotten a lot of those from playing games. Some people even obsessed over them. “How do I get rid of the icon?”

  “Take out your League card,” Eury said, her hand drifting toward him. She pointed to his pants pocket, where she knew he kept it. “And read the accolades. They’re on the back.”

  He jammed his hand into his pocket and fumbled around until his fingers closed on the rectangular card. He yanked it out, flipped it over, and scanned the list of new accolades.

  “New Achievement!” he shouted, a little too loudly. The chatter around them died instantly as Eury and the others turned to stare at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

  “Sorry!” Dylan waved them off awkwardly. “It’s a Dungeon Delver Daryl thing.” His shoulders sagged as he realized none of them would get the reference.

  “Never mind…” he muttered, turning back to the card. Eury hopped up onto her toes, leaning against his arm to peer over and read the accolades with him.

  Dylan of Dirt - Accolades

  Unranked

  

  
• 
  
    Killed a kaiju - Kaiju Slayer
  
    


  
• 
  
    Killed a kaiju with two rank disparity - Kaiju Annihilator
  
    


  
• 
  
    Killed an uncommon-ranked kaiju solo - Colossus Slayer
  
    


  

  Dylan looked up from his card and asked, “Do they… do anything?”

  Eury shrugged. “You can set one as your title if you’d like.”

  “I’d go with Kaiju Annihilator,” P’reslen said, appearing from over Dylan’s other shoulder. “I don’t know anyone who’s got that one.”

  “Jesus!” Dylan jumped, slapping a hand over his thumping heart. “How are you all so quiet?”

  “Accolades are a two-edged blade,” Wedge said, appearing behind Eury. Dylan hadn’t expected the big guy either, but his calm, deliberate words had a strangely grounding effect. “They will cut a path forward but will cut you in return if not wielded properly.”

  “Reckon people’ll get the idea that slaying kaiju is sort of your thing if you go parading that one around,” Quinten added, his voice drifting in like the breeze.

  Dylan flinched, looking around wildly. Everyone was sneaking up on him now. He decided not to set any titles, especially if they didn’t come with tangible buffs. The last thing he needed was people thinking he was some kind of hero.

  Eury gave his hand a gentle squeeze, her smile soft and fleeting, before stepping away to take her spot at the railing. She gazed out at the jungle below. It really was a spectacular view—when the airship wasn’t being shot out of the sky.

  The first mate waited nearby, his skeletal hands poorly hidden behind his back, patient as ever. He only approached when Dylan turned toward him.

  “Would you like to depart for Nightshade, sir?”

  Dylan channeled his inner Picard, bringing his hand down in a firm, decisive arc before pointing it toward the horizon. “Make it so, Number One.”

  The first mate tilted his skull. “Who’s Number One?”

  “You are.” Dylan let out a small sigh, realizing none of them would get any of his references.

  “I’m Echo, sir,” the first mate corrected. “Apologies, sir, but was that a yes or—”

  “Yeah,” Dylan said softly, his gaze on the horizon. “Let’s go home.”

  Dylan of Dirt, Book 1 - Arc of the Beetle.

  Dylan of Dirt, Book 2 - Lord Kairos Loves Big Balls.

  (title is a work in progress) Book 2 starts posting in a week!

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