Our perfunctory breakfast conversation reminded me of hospital waiting rooms. Back when my relatives hadn’t yet given up on my mom’s relapses, accidents, and overdoses, they made appearances at the hospital. They took turns visiting her and took me along despite my young age. Everyone ignored the topic of my mom’s problematic behavior as if it wasn’t the reason for the gathering. No one discussed what to do with me—as if breaching the subject might draw them into being involved. They focused on their phones or electronic gadgets and discussed sports, current events, the weather, and upcoming holidays. My uncle worked on sudoku puzzles. Brief questions and answers prevailed.

  The three of us spoke similarly, lost in our thoughts. We took baby steps, robotically, avoiding eye contact until normalcy reestablished itself.

  The contest interface tracked 50 contestants left in the game. Knockouts included Tardee, Falconeer, Jimbozo, RIP, ArtGirl, and PinkFox.

  A night’s sleep cleared my head. As I pondered recent events from every angle, I realized that getting knocked out of the battle royale probably wasn’t a life-changing event for the departed contestants. Far from being dead, they were probably giving interviews to camera crews in Crimson’s facility in Southern California. To RIP, ArtGirl, and PinkFox, it had been a friendly competition and a chance to preview an upcoming game.

  None of us were going to let this paralyze us. The fact that everyone went for breakfast together reassured me that we only needed to give Fabulosa a little space. Staring at the floor and brooding over mistakes wasn’t helpful, and I’d already had enough turmoil in my head to last a lifetime.

  Whether Charitybelle and Fabulosa still wanted to build a monster-hunting lodge seemed unclear. Did we even have enough to make it by ourselves? No one asserted themselves as we puttered around the inn, so we fell to our default plan—heading east toward the continent’s center and drifting toward whatever direction fortune decreed. If plunging into the wilderness had been our plan, I saw no reason to change it.

  Still, I had loose ends to tie before we left Belden.

  After thanking the academy staff for their guidance, I purchased a spear when I returned the boffer I’d used against the hit squad assassins. The faculty invited me to stay and join the town’s officer training, but I declined. Leadership didn’t interest me, and I wanted to explore Miros before settling down.

  I made trips to stores for supplies. A week later, I said goodbye to Mr. Fergus and told him about our plans.

  “I’m sorry to see you end your studies. You had the making for a great scholar.”

  I chuckled at the double meaning in my response. “Hopefully, it’s only a brief deviation. After I earn some money, I’ll continue to study in a college closer to my hometown.”

  Mr. Fergus raised an eyebrow and nodded, showing appreciation for my intentions—even if he didn’t understand them. “I’m glad Belden University could help you prepare. If adventurous diversions can fund your education, perhaps I can help.”

  I followed the librarian to his office, which I’d seen only once. It smelled as pungent as ever, reminding me of my first day on campus—after Mr. Fergus and I looked out the library window.

  He pulled two scrolls off a shelf. “I’ve never had a student graduate after only one year. Perhaps a few hand-me-downs will suit as parting gifts. Your research rank should be enough to understand this scroll, which I’ve been preparing since you discovered that book on arcane magic. Read Magic is the only nonmagical scroll that grants power. With it, you’ll be able to acquire this.”

  I accepted the second scroll. Lines and gilded letters covered its surface, giving its page a weighty heft. Someone had inked some glyphs in gold—others looked drawn in lead.

  “This one is magic. To write scrolls one day, a scholar will need a special stylus.” Mr. Fergus handed me a quill that looked like chrome steel. “It’s strong and resistant to molten metal, which you’ll use for ink.”

  Questions assailed my brain. How long would it take to learn Read Magic? Why did the game classify a pen as a piercing weapon? What magic secrets did the second scroll contain? How could I create a scroll?

  “Are scrolls the same as runes? It seems like they do the same thing.”

  Mr. Fergus shrugged. “Reading a scroll is like casting a spell. One must utter its words to empower themselves with magic. On the other hand, runes emit an effect, whether or not someone is reading them.”

  Mr. Fergus gestured to the parchment. “This scroll empowers its reader with Mineral Communion, a tier 2 power whose requisite is Mineral Empathy, the spell you’d asked me about before. After someone reads these words, the gilded metal will energize and ignite the parchment. Runes endure, so perhaps they’re more complicated. I’d hoped to give this to an aspiring archaeologist one day, but we are a dying breed.”

  “Why is that? It seems like there are plenty of ruins along the northern coast.”

  “Archeology is lonely and dangerous work. There’s little profit in restoring forgotten cultures, empires, and ideas.”

  He patted my shoulder. “I want you to have this. It will be of use if you’re exploring underground or rocky terrain. The rocks can tell us much. Feel free to sell it, although you’ll likely not fetch a good price. Fools care little of the past.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fergus. I don’t know what to say.”

  “And you might as well take that.” He pointed to a thick, 10-foot rope hanging in the far corner of his office. “You’ll find it essential in the wilderness. I employed it in my younger days on digs in the North.”

  I pulled the dirty rope off its hook.

  Mr. Fergus waved me away. “Take it and be well. Visit me if you’re in the area. I’ll be around.”

  After more thanks and farewells, I left the cluttered office with a pen, two scrolls, and a rope. His wavering voice made me uncomfortable, and I left the library to cut the awkward moment short.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I knew saying goodbye wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t realized that it had been harder on my mentor. It was easier to leave than to be left behind.

  His mysterious gifts distracted me. Because they might be valuable, I didn’t monkey around with them in public spaces. I ducked into an empty stall in the university’s livery. With most of the apprentices gone, the barn’s vacancy gave me all the privacy I needed to inspect my new toy, which glowed after I cast Detect Magic.

  I experimentally tossed it in the air, careful not to throw it against the ceiling. One end snagged on something invisible, and the top half disappeared, leaving the bottom dangling over the livery floor. I yanked on it and felt solid resistance.

  Trusting that Mr. Fergus wouldn’t give me something dangerous, I climbed. As I reached the top of the rope, my head poked into a transdimensional space—a small room invisible from the outside.

  From inside the room, I could still see the livery below, and outside sounds reached my ears. This one-way window had incredible potential for spying.

  Four bunk beds and two desks surrounded me, but I grew aware of a strange atmosphere that gave everything a dreamlike feeling. Being in another dimension wasn’t a big deal since I’d lived in a virtual world for the past year, but this space felt artificial and disconcerting.

  Climbing inside made me feel disconnected from life and otherworldly. A slight hum resonated in my chest, and an ambient light filled the space. No hard shadows fell upon its interior surfaces, and it muffled sounds like a recording booth.

  Two glowing fist-sized rocks caught my attention.

  The rocks provided as much light as a candle. They weren’t hot, and my cantrip fizzled when I tried to see if they glowed from Detect Magic. My interface showed all my spells in gray—hinting that I couldn’t cast them. It seemed magic didn’t work in the Dark Room—but if that were true, these luminous rocks glowed naturally.

  The desk drawers stored water skins, sheets of parchments, and two dozen more glow stones. I spotted a neat pile of cooking gear, including copper bowls and utensils. Four pickaxes, two felling axes, a sharpening stone, eight chisels, and six shovels rested in one corner. A bag lay on the bedding of one bunk. I inspected it, but no description appeared. It looked magical, but if magic didn’t work in the Dark Room’s extra-dimensional space, I’d need to leave in order to see its properties.

  Mr. Fergus gave me more than a portable campsite—the Dark Room worked like the perfect safe house.

  When I slid back down to the barn’s floor, the rope remained hanging in space. I played with the line, hoping to dislodge it somehow, and discovered it unhooked from its magical anchor with a curt shake. Gravity brought its length to the floor. It could serve as a belt by wrapping it around my waist. Before leaving Belden, I’d fashion a buckle or clasp at the smithy.

  Outside the Dark Room, the bag bore a description.

  The void bag held herbs, spices, and eight bags of salt. Salt came from mines on the northeastern coast, making it a valuable commodity in Belden.

  I returned to the inn with buoyed spirits.

  Fabulosa met my eyes after we hugged. She missed RIP and our friends, but she would be okay.

  I told Fabulosa and Charitybelle about the Dark Room and how it could shelter us from danger in the wilderness. They explored it, and I showed them the void bag. These gifts gave us everything we needed to embark on an adventure.

  We all reached the same conclusion—our tenure in Belden had ended. It made sense to move on.

  Over the days, the ladies and I divided the loot from our assailants. Between us, we had only 33 silver pieces of coin. Our vanquished enemies carried almost no money, which surprised me, considering their high level. We kept leftovers in the communal kitty. The amount wouldn’t go far in the bigger cities, so exploring Grayton or Arlington made little sense.

  Charitybelle took Tardee’s ornate plate mail, while Fabulosa took Falconeer’s leathers and short swords. We found an empty vial in Falconeer’s belongings, so we surmised he’d quaffed an agility potion before our battle—which explained why he hadn’t taken a healing potion. He didn’t think he’d need one against us.

  I carried Tardee’s old short sword and cudgel in my belt. I knew enough about leatherworking to avoid spending money on armor. As a hunter, I could make anything I needed in the field.

  I spent the next day at the university smithy, working on a belt buckle and weapon clasps. My level 5 status excluded me from student privileges, but the semester had yet to start, so no one shooed me away.

  When fashioning a clasp for my Dark Room rope, the crafting interface allowed me to upgrade the item. I used the opportunity to infuse a white core we’d picked off a monster. It added +2 armor to the piece, a negligible improvement, but it familiarized me with using cores on newly created items.

  The interface asked if I wanted to confirm using the core we’d taken from a beast, finalizing its creation. The core bonus slot allowed me to change to other cores, but all our white cores gave the same +2 armor perk. Cleaning up after myself, I concluded my brief stint as a blacksmith.

  I hoped crafting would not be necessary for my game. The buckle wasn’t exceptionally well-designed, and I stopped caring once it met the minimum requirements—not the right attitude for a proper artisan.

  While I worked in the smithy, the ladies went into town and arranged a river trip. We had two choices. We could ferry 25 miles northeast and hop off at Basilborough or take a fork to the southeast to Darton Rock. Darton Rock, a provincial mining community, wasn’t worth visiting, so we opted for Basilborough. Miros’s winter climate never dropped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit, so we expected a pleasant journey.

  We planned to jump ship before reaching Basilborough to avoid other players. It wouldn’t do to advertise our destination to local busybodies.

  Besides arranging passage on a riverboat, the girls took the void bag and our 33 silver pieces to the village market. As spoiled Americans, we valued creature comforts and stretched our money as far as possible. Fabulosa had plenty of experience sleeping in the wilderness and knew what to buy. We had tons of inventory space between the Dark Room and the void bag.

  They returned with several 50-foot lengths of rope, knives, blankets, machetes, twine, baskets, flint, oil, water, ale, and rolls of canvas. Charitybelle bought farming seeds for grains and vegetables, stopping short of bringing chickens or anything alive. Inventory storage preserved meat, but doing so discredited us as hunters. We stored our settlement gear in the Dark Room and our food in the void bag, but unfortunately, we couldn’t fit a bathing tub inside.

  I tried to buy a used anvil from the university smithy, but the blacksmith wanted 25 silver pieces, so I passed.

  After a day of blacksmithing and packing supplies, I drew a hot bath, likely the last I would have for a while. I planned to say goodbye to Mother Marteen in the morning and wanted to be clean. It seemed the least I could do for spilling blood in her temple.

  We ate dinner in subdued conversation that evening. It didn’t help that we dined at the pub, but everything there reminded us of our fallen friends. We bid farewell to the barkeep, Bomba, and left for the inn, where we’d spend one last night in Belden.