There is a path at the edge of the world,

  And patiently does it wait.

  But to reach that golden road,

  You must pass the mountain’s gate.

  No structure of steel or iron,

  Wrought with hands of flesh and blood.

  Instead, a more venerable guardian,

  Of rock, scree, stream and mud.

  Above that ancient choke point,

  Bones of the earth jut forth.

  To ring the sky in majesty,

  While titanic roots lead north.

  If you search for gold, I tell you true;

  Treat that ancient guardian well.

  For otherwise, heartbreak will call;

  A death on ancient fell.

  - ‘Ware The Mountain’ by unknown author, attributed to the 2nd era and recovered from an Akashic Tomb-Vault by Hunters of the Scarab King.

  The Chimera bunched its legs and leapt into the air, great wings flaring to give it further lift, and I threw out my hand beneath the bone-shield I wore. Mana drained from my core at an alarming rate, nearly half gone in an instant as the skill in my soul surged to life like a bonfire in the night.

  A cage of starlight appeared around the calves huddled behind their parent’s legs, and it did so instantly. It appeared as if branded upon reality, lighting up the surroundings with dazzling light and forcefully repelling the manticore as it slammed into the cage headfirst.

  The Mountain’s Gate was a powerful new skill I had received upon gaining my 2nd tier class, and it was clearly a skill that could only be wielded in the 2nd tier. The mana requirements alone were astounding and would have drained my core completely only a few days prior, and the pressure on my soul would have been immense. Even now, I still trembled to hold the working together, the silver glow of the pillars that protected the young buffalo from their assailant flickering as my soul shook with the strain.

  A thirteen-pointed star was branded into the ground beneath them, with a pillar of light thick as my torso emerging from each point to join together above in a dome that rose over 4 meters from the floor. Instead of a smooth shell structure, it had jagged edges, like false summits that lined its sides ready to catch and pierce any creature foolish enough to attack it.

  It flickered in place, but had done its job, giving me enough time to close on the manticore and engage it in melee. Axis-Shift in combination with my spear work was enough to leave it covered in bleeding cuts, but after a while it started to learn my rhythm, predicting my strikes and leaning just out of range when I would thrust.

  Unfortunately for the semi-intelligent creature, breaking rhythms was something my class was surprisingly good at. Myrmiddion Spear was a collection of ancient weapon arts from before the system graced Tsanderos with its presence rather than a single style, and so I simply switched stances and started again, leaving more red welts across its leathery flesh.

  It bit down on my shield, attempting to saw through the bone and crush my arm, but the exoskeleton of a 3rd tier beast was too strong for its jaw. I stabbed it in the side, my blade catching against a rib as it shied away, and then followed it with a strike aimed at its throat. It swayed back on a surprisingly dextrous neck, but I forced mana down the link to my spear, and Resolution grew another foot of length in an instant.

  Despite its strange appearance, the blade was sharp as winter, and sliced cleanly through its windpipe, leaving a yawning wound in its neck that gushed a torrent of blood down its muscular chest. The manticore stumbled a step, and my spearpoint took it through the eye.

  You have killed a Glabrous Manticore (Level 83). Experience gained.

  You have killed a Glabrous Manticore (Level 81). Experience gained.

  I sighed to myself in relief, glad to have escaped the battle without any serious injuries, and then turned and scaled the rocky bluff in a handful of breaths. I saw Nathlan plunge his shining blade into the heart of the chimera he stood upon and twist it savagely before the creature stilled beneath him. He looked up and caught my eye, waving to show he was finished and unhurt.

  I looked back down to see the herd of buffalo swiftly cantering away from us, two of the larger adults, possibly bull males or the matriarchs of the herd – I wasn’t familiar enough with their species to say – looked back at us every dozen heartbeats just to check we weren’t following, but we had no intention of chasing them.

  I grinned at Nathlan as he joined me on the outcropping, surveying the valley with satisfaction. My skills had proven themselves reliable, though Break-Step demanded more practice until the timing was second nature. I was hesitant about my choice to take Shatter Point over Glacial Carcass, but the others had assured me that there were no wrong choices when it came to my path within my class, and recent experience had taught me that armour penetration was more important than big finishing moves.

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  If it was likely to work on an opponent, I probably wouldn’t need it, and there were many contexts – like in a frozen cavern beneath the earth – where destroying the terrain was prohibitively dangerous.

  Finally, my newest skill. It had worked. It was costly, and hard to maintain, but the instantaneous activation was a boon, and it had repelled the charge of the manticore without sign of breaking. The strain of maintaining it seemed even, and I supposed it was a trade-off between being cheap to cast but draining mana with damage it repelled versus being expensive upfront but able to weather the storm without further input. I preferred the latter, honestly.

  It was a shame to see the lack of a level up or any skill increases, but I was in the 2nd tier now; it would take more than one semi-dangerous fight to propel me to new heights.

  I examined my status with satisfaction, as Nathlan and I caught our breaths.

  Ancestry: Titan-Forged Human (evolved)

  Level: 45

  Class: Blood Of The Mountains

  Titles: God-touched

  Attribute allocation:

  Strength: 60

  Agility: 45

  Endurance: 45

  Perception: 35

  Cognition: 40

  Available attributes: 0

  Current skills:

  A Frozen Pyrre: Level 1. Passive.

  Axis-Shift: Level 1. Active.

  Stride The Edge: Level 1. Passive.

  Break-Step: Level 1. Active.

  End Of The Hunt: Level 1. Active.

  Myrmiddion Spear: Level 1. Passive.

  Shatter Point: Level 1. Active.

  The Mountain’s Gate: Level 1. Active.

  I had wanted to dress the carcass of the buffalo calf that had been butchered by the manticore, but the same venom that prevented us from eating them also put us off the calf. Instead, we trekked back up to the ridge where Sadrianna waited, and then ghosted along the top of the ridgeline, silhouetted in the marigold glow of the setting sun. We made it back to Jorge and Vera before dusk and set camp for the first night in our crossing of the Dragon-Spines.

  “I want a name,” I said into the crackle of the campfire and the lull in conversation. Heads turned to regard me, and Jorge’s gentle voice rolled over the group.

  “What’s that, Lamb?”

  “I want a name. You’ve all got one. I want one.”

  Jorge turned to share a look with Vera and Nathlan glanced at Sadrianna in confusion. “Lad...you’ve got a name. You’re welcome to change it if you like, but Lamb is a name sure as any other.”

  I waved him off. “No, not that. Although, yes, Lamb is a stupid name, and I blame you personally for that” I said with a mock glare.

  He threw his hands up as he protested. “You came up with it-” but I cut him off before he could finish.

  “I want a surname. An epithet. A title. Something that strikes fear into the hearts of men and makes women swoon” I said, gesturing grandly into the sky like a poet struck with inspiration from the heavens.

  Vera cuffed me in the shoulder and Sadrianna scoffed, but Nathlan caught my eye with a grin. “Look” I continued on, “you’ve all got one. Nathlan Wavebreaker, Sadrianna Aryniasdottir, Vera the Burning Bitch” a dangerous look shot my way at that, but I knew her well enough to see the warning for the joke that it was. “Jorge The Shepherd.”

  I looked around at them all as I named them and finished with my hands spread wide in supplication. “I want one.”

  Glances were shared, looks were traded, and then began a tenth of a bell of the most ridiculous names imaginable being thrown at me with seemingly complete sincerity.

  Sadrianna’s mask cracked when Nathlan suggested ‘Lamb the Useless’ – because it rolled off the tongue well, apparently. Vera actually laughed out loud when Jorge did his best impression of a disgruntled sheep in the middle of pronouncing ‘Lamb Baaaaadman’ which was just insultingly juvenile. Apparently though, ‘badman’ was a name given to many an outlaw in the Desolate Empire, so perhaps the joke was funnier if you had that context to begin with.

  Eventually though, we settled down and took the topic slightly more seriously. I didn’t begrudge them their fun, and it was nice to see the group sharing laughter and easy smiles without anyone left out in the cold, even if it was at my expense.

  “Why not something like ‘Lamb the Fell-Handed’. That’s good, aye?” I asked, but Jorge just shook his head sadly.

  “Sorry lad, Fell-Handed is already taken, and by someone more venerable and ancient than even myself” he said, a tinge of faux importance entering his voice at the end. Vera gave him a gentle nudge that brought him back to earth with the rest of us though. Glad to see she had hands for everyone when they got out of line, not just me.

  “What about being named after your weapon?” Sadrianna asked. “Magnus The Axe is a famous example from Clan Red-Cloud.”

  “Lamb The Spear sounds a little silly though” I replied wearily.

  “Lamb Red Spear isn’t too bad,” Vera hedged, and I tilted my head, considering it.

  “I was thinking something more traditionally threatening, like ‘bonebreaker’ or ‘shieldsplitter’ and the like, but maybe. The Carmine Killer, perhaps?” I said, but Jorge scoffed.

  “It’s got to be believable, lad. You can’t just pick any old name that you like the sound of, and demand people call you by it.”

  I shrugged. “Well then, how do names like this appear in the first place?” I asked.

  “People make a name for themselves. They collect feats and act in accordance with a theme, and their companions eventually pick up on it and name them after it. Starts small and local, and with enough fair-fame, it spreads and becomes accepted.” Jorge explained.

  “Well, you’re all my companions. I’ve acted. Now you have to name me,” I said, a broad smile on my face.

  “Lamb No Sense” Vera said almost immediately, and I whirled on her.

  “We’re not starting that again!” I half shouted, though couldn’t stop the smile from twitching my lips.

  “Look lad, you don’t split any shields, and you don’t break any bones-”

  “I break some bones” I interjected.

  He rolled his eyes and continued on. “Point is, you don’t look like you go around breaking bones and crushing skulls. You need a name to be believable, at least before you’ve spread it far and wide. Something more abstract would probably suit you better, I reckon.”

  We thought for a time, chucking around the occasional epithet, but they always seemed a little too grand. I’d feel embarrassed to answer a ‘what is your name, stranger?’ with ‘they call me Lamb DeathBringer’ or something similar. Would also probably also lead to a frostier reception at the local tavern, if I had to guess.

  “Your class is all about mountains – why not ‘Lamb of the Mountains’?” Sadrianna offered. “As long as you don’t say it too loud amongst the clans, nobody will laugh. I bet the lowlanders will be suitably impressed too” she smirked.

  “Lamb of the Mountains; Red Spear, God-Touched, Wielder of Resolution. It has a ring to it, I reckon” I said with a grin.

  “Too much of a mouthful, Lamb. You want something simple and memorable” Vera replied. “What was your new skill called? The Mountain’s Gate? That could work.”

  I cocked my head to one side in consideration, but Jorge interrupted before I could decide. “The issue you’re having, lad, is that Lamb just ain’t an intimidating name. It’s hard to pair with something. Red Spear sounds dangerous – Lamb Red Spear just sounds strange.”

  “Well as you’ve so rightly pointed out, Lamb is my name. For better or worse, I’m stuck with it, I think.”

  “How about something that incorporates both your name, and the name of your skill?” he asked reasonably. I stilled. He was too calm, too understanding, to be serious. This was a trick, a means to lull me into a false sense of security before he rudely-

  “Something like say; ‘The Mountain’s Goat’” he said, oh so reasonably. “A goat is close to a lamb, after all.”

  The glare I threw his way could have cut steel.