(Dylan)

  It wasn’t long before Hay’len, W’itney, and even Eury took over the retelling of Dylan’s heroic adventure as they unloaded the Everafter. Listening to them, Dylan couldn’t help but notice the way they painted him as some larger-than-life figure who’d pulled off impossible, unexpected feats. It was strange. He still felt like he’d bumbled his way through most of it, surviving—sometimes not surviving—on luck more than skill. It was a really good thing he had the ability to reset or his tale would’ve ended a long time ago. But he was getting better, learning, adapting, and maybe, just maybe, someday, he could be the guy they were describing. Their ego-boosting tale made the heavy lifting feel lighter.

  Charles noticed that Dylan’s clothes no longer fit him correctly. He excused himself to go fetch Dylan a new set to replace the ones lost in the jungle, but not before asking if they served leatherscotch roots and cobalt beans in the dining hall. Nathan mentioned they did.

  Runemist returned from debriefing Guildmaster K’hab, having delivered the skill book and completing their quest. She approached her team with her usual brisk, no-nonsense pace.

  “Ostello, Quinten, P’reslen, grab a quick bite and meet me at the stables,” Runemist said. “Make sure you’re stocked up on consumables—we’ll be out about a month this time. Quinten, confirm our supplies are all accounted for. We’ll leave before the end of the day.” Quinten gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement.

  “Off already?” Athrax asked, scratching his chin. “Surviving a dance with a kaiju earns at least one pint at the pub.”

  Always ready for adventure, P’reslen asked, “Where are we heading this time?”

  “Wanderly.”

  That got Ostello’s attention. He froze mid-step, arms wrapped tightly around a large barrel as its contents shifted from the sudden stop. “Did they finish the riftgate?” Dylan caught a rare hint of excitement in the intense elf’s voice, like a child asking if Santa left something under the tree for them.

  Having overheard Tome & Key’s conversation, Dylan turned to Nathan and asked, “Is Wanderly a city nearby?”

  “Wanderly isn’t a place. It’s a guild, like Nightshade. And it sounds like they’ve just got a rift device up and running.”

  Dylan rolled his hand for Nathan to continue. “And… what’s a riftgate?” But Hay’len, eager to explain, responded before Nathan could.

  “It’s a device that uses an orb to establish a temporary dimensional rift, and then acts as a bridge, letting you access the rift until it destabilizes and closes,” Hay’len said, their voice practically buzzing with excitement. “Rifts are amazing! Micro dimensions that take on the same aspect of the orb used to create it. They’re also a treasure trove of resources for adventurers willing to take the risk.”

  “Need a sixth?” Athrax asked, a rare grin breaking across his face. “I’ve got my looting ability, and I’d hate to see a Rift like this go to waste. You lot are a solid team—I wouldn’t mind tagging along for another run.”

  Runemist shook her head. “Wanderly’s Call to Action states standard teams of five. I still don’t understand why you haven’t joined a permanent team of your own by now. You’re more than ready…”

  “Bah,” Athrax scoffed, rolling his shoulder as if to shake off the idea. “Finding a mender is nearly impossible these days.” His frown shifted into a sly grin as his gaze landed on the prismatic elf. “Oi, Nathan, don’t suppose you’re looking for a team, yeah?”

  “Uh…” Nathan hesitated, glancing uncertainly between Athrax and Runemist.

  “He’s not even common-rank,” Runemist said, shaking her head at the idea.

  “Yeah, but he can mend, right?” Athrax countered, undeterred.

  “Sort of,” Nathan admitted as he hefted a sack of salt over his shoulder.

  “Good enough for me. What do you say?”

  “You can ask him after he’s common-ranked,” Runemist said with a finality that ended the conversation.

  Athrax growled. “Alright. My shoulder’s been hitching, anyway. Think the humidity might’ve gotten to it.” The old soldier rolled his shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion. Dylan caught a soft whirring noise, like servos whining under too much strain.

  “I’ll meet you three at the stables after you’ve eaten and stocked up. I’m going to fetch Dorian, and then we can be on our way.”

  “We’re not going on nickelback again, are we?” Ostello asked, groaning. “Those creatures never shut up. And I couldn’t get that stupid tune out of my head. It took weeks Runemist—weeks!” She didn’t answer his question, which told him enough.

  “I dunno.” Quinten grinned as he set down the last of the barrels. “I kinda liked it.” He started whistling the catchy tune to himself as he made his way toward the guild crafting area.

  “So this is it? You’re going back out?” Dylan asked.

  “This is the life of an adventurer, Dylan,” she said with a mix of pride and weariness. “There’s always more contracts, quests, and rifts than there are adventurers. It’s good that you want to become one of us. You’ve got the heart; you just need to work on the rest—”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Before Runemist could finish, Dylan stepped forward and hugged her. “Thanks, Runemist.” The words came quietly, his voice thick with gratitude. She sighed, a rare softness crossing her features as she hugged him back briefly. As they pulled apart, a new message popped up in his vision.

  [System Message]: Initializing, wait.

  ‘System message,’ Dylan thought. ‘That’s new.’

  [System Message]: 1 boon slot available.

  [System Message]: New boon available, [Overlord’s Mark].

  Permanent (exquisite) increase to base toughness attribute.

  [System Message]: Requesting permission to activate. Choose one.

  [Consent] [Deny] [Cancel]

  “I just got a system message.” Dylan took a step back, still unable to see past the floating text. “It says something about a boon.”

  “That’d be my boon, and you better accept it,” Runemist said, folding her arms with an expectant look.

  Dylan mentally clicked on Consent.

  [System Message]: Consent acknowledged.

  [System Message]: Activating new boon [Overlord’s Mark], wait.

  [System Message]: [Overlord’s Mark] boon unlocked.

  “What grade did you get?” P’reslen asked.

  “Grade?” Dylan didn’t see any scores.

  “Oh! Grades are a scale from worst to best: Poor, Basic, Fine, Exquisite, and Perfect,” Hay’len said. They loved explaining things.

  “Uh…” He reread the message. “I got exquisite.”

  “Impressive,” Runemist said, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “My best boon yet.”

  “Wow, that’s really good,” P’reslen said. “Ostello and I got Fine, and Dorian and Quinten both ended up with Basic grade.”

  “So what does an exquisite increase to my base toughness actually mean?”

  “Well, for boons, like this one, each grade is roughly a twenty percent increase to your base stat,” Hay’len said. “Exquisite should put you at about one hundred and eighty percent of your natural toughness, almost double. That’s… huge.”

  Dylan smiled, liking the sound of being nearly twice as resilient. His chest swelled with a small sense of pride as Hay’len continued speaking.

  “I mean, potentially, that’s huge,” Hay’len added quickly. “But, uh, doubling a low value… could still end up being, well, a slightly larger low value…” Dylan’s smile faltered, his excitement deflating as the words sank in. Hay’len’s eyes widened in realization. “Sorry!” they blurted, pressing their lips together to physically stop themselves from saying more.

  Runemist left quickly, clearly unwilling to risk a second hug. Dylan chuckled softly, shaking his head, before making his way around to say goodbye to the rest of the team. When he reached Athrax, he hesitated for a moment before saying, “I’d offer to shake your hand, but I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  Athrax squinted at him. “What bloody impression?”

  “That I’m flirting with you,” Dylan said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

  Athrax burst into laughter, clapping Dylan on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble. “That only works on draconi, lad. Doesn’t mean the same to the rest of us.”

  “Oh,” Dylan said, glancing over to the stables where Charles had parked his treehouse. “But I think it worked that way with an elven buddy of mine.”

  “Maybe he’s been hanging around a bunch of draconi.” Athrax shrugged, the whirring in his shoulder getting louder. “Or maybe he just thinks he’s a draconi.”

  One hour later…

  By dinner time, most of them had worked up an appetite. The rich aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the guildhall, a scent that only seemed to linger before mealtimes when the kitchen and cooks were in full swing. Nathan’s stomach growled audibly at the smell—he was famished.

  “You sure you want to be around food again so soon?” Nathan asked, glancing at Dylan with concern as they approached the dining hall. “From what I’ve heard, that wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for you. I don’t want you torturing yourself. Why don’t I meet you in your quarters after I’m done eating?”

  “Naw, I’m good,” Dylan said with a shrug. “Had my last loaf of flak just before we got here, so the smells won’t bother me now.”

  Nathan nodded but kept sneaking glances at him, his expression unreadable. Dylan frowned. Sure, he’d lost some weight, but wasn’t that just part of the job? Everyone here was super fit—he was just catching up. Maybe Nathan was just being a good physician, monitoring his fitness, mental well-being, or making sure he was getting over the most recent harrowing adventure.

  Still, there was something; the way Nathan avoided meeting his eyes for more than a second… felt off. It wasn’t like him, acting so cagey. But Dylan dismissed the thought. Maybe he was just tired.

  Dylan stopped mid-step, brushing his beard with his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Yeah…” Nathan admitted. His eyes kept shifting toward Dylan’s face. “I thought you said you didn’t like hats?” he asked, finally looking directly at him.

  Dylan stopped fussing. “What do you mean?”

  Nathan pointed to the black tricorn perched on Dylan’s head. Dylan blinked, his hand going up to touch it—he’d forgotten he was even wearing the thing.

  “Oh, that.” He glanced up and shrugged. “It came with the ship…”

  “What do you mean, it came with the ship?”

  “So, don’t get mad,” Dylan said, putting up his hands defensively. “But I sort of… accidentally accepted a promotion to captain…”

  “How? You weren’t even part of the crew!” Nathan said as they made their way toward the table.

  “That’s… another long story.”

  They both took a seat across from Charles, Meekan, and Eury. Hay’len and W’itney sat across from each other at the end of the table.

  “What do you plan to do with the airship?” Charles asked as they sat down, having overheard their conversation from across the hall. Impressive hearing, really.

  “Damnit,” Dylan muttered. “I was gonna have someone change the name of the meeting room…” He shook his head at his forgetfulness and then sighed.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. Haven’t really thought that far ahead… Why?” Dylan gave a wry grin. “You in the market for a slightly used airship?”

  Charles raised an eyebrow as he stabbed a strip of what looked like leather from his plate, dotted with off-colored blueberries. “Why would I need an airship when I’ve got a treehouse?” he asked, ripping a bite from the leather. It was odd watching Charles eat something other than flak.

  “Does your treehouse fly?”

  “Not currently,” Charles said between bites. “But it might with enough ranks.”

  “Wait, what do you mean it might? So, some treehouses can fly and others can’t?”

  Hay’len put down their utensils, clearly excited to explain. “Abilities improve with ranks,” they said. “Sometimes it’s a passive upgrade—like using less mana or having a shorter cooldown. But just as often, it can give the ability a whole new function, like a different mode of movement or a new way to use it.”

  They gestured animatedly as they continued, “And here’s the really interesting part—those upgrades can vary from adventurer to adventurer. Even if two people start with the exact same ability, it could end up completely different after just a rank or two.”

  “Hey handsome,” a sultry voice called out behind Dylan. He turned to see Ni’ot walking their way with a plate stacked with meat. She stopped to give him an appraising look and frowned.

  “You look… different,” she said, her gaze appraising. “Thinner, I think? Been eating enough? It’s okay—Nathan told me you were a bit too good-looking and needed to lose some weight.” She grinned slyly. “At least you’ll never lose those adorable button ears of yours.”