“I’m NOT running anymore,” Alice declared, kicking at the dirt floor of her cell. It wasn’t that she was tired—though her legs burned from hours of Nabu’s drills—but the sheer stupidity of it all. The bunny people got to swing shiny axes and play with dogs while she got stuck doing laps like some trained hamster. She wanted to play with an axe.

  “Learning the ways of the Cracked Kingdoms requires sacrifice, Chesire,” Nabu spoke, his whispery voice making Alice’s teeth itch. “If my calculations are correct, you are but one Skill Level from gaining your Class. This is a momentous occasion for all. We should—”

  “Queen. Chesire.” Alice snapped, stalking over to the far corner of her prison cell, where the wood pillars still bore claw marks from her last tantrum. The faint scent of pine sap lingered from when she’d tried to gnaw through the bars. She grabbed a fistful of soil just to watch it trickle between her fingers. The texture was nice. Grainy but not too scratchy. “I want to hit things! With an axe! Like the bunny guards!”

  Nabu straightened his robes with a sigh that suggested centuries of dealing with unreasonable children. “Queen Chesire, my apologies. If you do not wish to run any longer, might I recommend training some of the other skills we have found? [Reading] perhaps? We could even try [Writing] again if you wish?”

  Alice fell to the ground with a defiant grunt, her eyes shooting daggers at the elegant elf. “I don’t want to read your stupid books. They’re boring, and they smell like dead people!”

  “Technically, it’s preserving oil—”

  “And the words are too small!”

  Visible frustration spread across Nabu’s sharp features as he paced outside the little prison cell. He placed his hands behind his back, falling into a pretentious version of parade rest; Alice watched as Nabu’s eyes went glassy. He was up to something.

  With a soft snap, a book materialized in the air, its cover embossed with golden letters that seemed to squirm when Alice looked directly at them.

  “Queen Chesire, I have been saving this one for a moment just like this. The Races of the Cracked Kingdoms: A Detailed Accounting of the Process In Which One Must Take to Evolve Your Soul: Part 1 of 5, penned by none other than Lord Ignatious P. Wuthering-Smythe, Master Incriptionist and Literary Luminary of the Illuminated Theocracy of Logosia.”

  Alice looked at him, not a shred of emotion on her face. “You read it.”

  “Excuse me?” Nabu said, his slitted eyes snapping to Alice. “You cannot level a [Skill] by simply…observing.”

  “You read it,” Alice repeated, settling down in the corner of her cell.

  Nabu just stared, a flurry of thoughts racing through his mind, before releasing a sigh of resignation. “Fine. But after I finish, you will complete your training for the day. A Class Selection is not something to put off.”

  Alice just nodded as a small smile spread across her face.

  “The Races of the Cracked Kingdoms: A Detailed Accounting of the Process In Which One Must Take to Evolve Your Soul: Part 1 of 5, written by Lord Ignatious P. Wuthering-Smythe, Master Incriptionist and Literary Luminary of the Illuminated Theocracy of Logosia. Introduction.

  “I, Lord Ignatious P. Wuthering-Smythe, Master Incriptionist and Literary Luminary of the Illuminated Theocracy of Logosia, am the foremost scholar of Evolution, or the study of Race. In this text, I will explore our current understanding of what it means to Evolve. This will be done by detailing a series of one-hundred and seven studies that I completed myself and, as such, can speak to the quality of the work.”

  “Boring!” Alice said, shaking her head. “Skip to the good stuff.”

  “Good stuff,” The elf said, his lips tightening into a line. “By the Old Gods and the New, you really do fit in with these barbarians. One moment…” Nabu said, flipping through the book, “Ah, here we go,

  “The Evolution of one’s Race,” Nabu began, “can be split into three categories: Natural, Mutational, and Technological. While Technological is a simple process—augmenting one’s form with the use of Technology—Natural and Mutational Evolutions are a more involved process.”

  “Ew,” Alice said, interrupting the pale elf. “I’m not putting anything in my body.”

  Nabu sighed, placing his finger on the page to hold his spot. “And you don’t have to, Queen Chesire, as I will now explain.” He looked down and continued to read. “A Natural Evolution is the most time-intensive. Some Citizens can take decades to reach their first breakthrough, as a Natural Evolution involves increasing one’s [Attributes] to the point that one’s body is unrecognizable. Increasing Strength and Dexterity alone can have amazing effects on the body if one has the patience.”

  Nabu continued, “The most common form of Evolution comes from the Mutational, or in the common tongue, Mutation. A Mutation is the change of one’s DNA to allow for growth within the Cracked Kingdoms. One can look at the simple Orc to find proof of this fascinating process. Scholars are confounded by the origins of the Orc, and to this day, some dedicate themselves to the study of this Race. Where did they begin? Was it a human, an oxen, a gorilla, a torkin, or even gods forbid a frog? Their bodies have become a veritable melting pot of DNA as they continue to Mutate their Races in the hope to one day become Unique.”

  “There are people who are part frog?” Alice said, a disgusted look on her face. “Why do that? I can swim just fine without becoming all green and slimy.”

  Nabu’s eyes brightened at the question, it was clear it had been a long time since a pupil had asked an engaging question. “A Mutational Race Evolution can have many benefits, with few side effects. Look at me, do you truly think I would have gained this majestic form by just leveling a few of my [Attributes]?”

  Alice paused, taking a long moment to inspect the elf. “So you’re a frog?”

  Alice wasn’t sure she’d heard a louder sigh as Nabu closed his eyes in frustration. “No, I am not a frog. It was a simple question. Let us return to the book.”

  “Nah,” Alice said, going to stand. “I don’t want to read anymore, Froggy.”

  “The Mutational Race Evolution can be triggered in many ways.” Nabu continued, ignoring the jest. “Many Root created [Items] and [Events] can trigger—”

  Nabu flinched as an unidentified flying furry object rocketed toward his pointy face. The teddy bear bounced harmlessly off the honeycomb force field that materialized between the bars—same as the last one-hundred and eighty-nine times she’d tried this.

  “Very well,” Nabu stated, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his robe. “I will see if these barbarians have progressed on their hunt. Shall I bring you back dinner?”

  Alice didn’t respond; she was too focused on the notifications blinking in her vision.

  [Improvised Weapons] (Basic - Combat)

  Level 19

  Not all who wander these desolate lands have the providence to obtain a mighty weapon. Some must scrounge. Some must search. Some must lower themselves to use the sticks and stones around them to defend themselves. Whether it’s a chair leg or your weirdly violent teddy bear, Boo-Boo, you’ve proven anything can be deadly if thrown with sufficient malice. Use that teddy bear, girl. Pro tip: Aim for the groin next time. I like watching that Cayn Elf squirm.

  The only thing those damn bunny people had let her keep after they’d thrown her in this cell was her teddy bear. How they had laughed when they saw it. A little brown bear wearing a red floral Hawaiian shirt. It was the only thing she had to remind her of her life. Even her pink sneakers had been worn through by all the running. She wouldn’t go anywhere without it.

  But that wasn’t the only notification in her interface.

  [Congratulations! You have Leveled Up!]

  [Congratulations! You can now select a Class!]

  [Congratulations! You have gained access to Titles!]

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Alice’s grin stretched wide enough that it hurt. Pointy-ears had been correct. She was finally level 10 and had unlocked a [Class]. Whatever the hell that meant. Nabu’s endless lectures about [Attributes] and [Skills] had been more boring than Mr. Hemingway’s algebra class. She got it. She didn’t need some pointy-eared, sharp-toothed, pasty elf guy to teach her how to get stronger.

  She knew what Strength meant. It meant making your enemies bleed.

  [Hello, Queen Chesire. I do recommend selecting a Class.]

  “Yeah, Ok Bev. I just like watching pointy-ears shuffle around like that when he’s nervous,” She thought, looking at her elven teacher, who stared at her expectantly. He clearly noticed her working through her menus.

  Her options appeared:

  [The Scribe] (Basic)

  Your endless hours of practice have come to fruition. You have taken the first step to learning the language of the Old Gods. Runes! Keep reading and writing; one day, you may even carve your histories upon the Root itself!

  [Abilities]

  (Infuse - Basic)

  The runic language of the Old Gods responds to your beck and call.

  Passive: Add your Intelligence Modifier when infusing mana into runes.

  (Write - Basic)

  The world is your notebook

  Active: Cast temporary Buffs by writing upon the very air itself.

  (Memorize - Basic)

  You cannot learn if you cannot remember.

  Passive: When Reading, a number of words equal to your Intelligence Modifier are inscribed upon your memories.

  [The Traveler] (Basic)

  The vastness of The Cracked Kingdoms is immeasurable. Spanning the very cosmos themselves. Few get the chance to see even one percent of its splendor. You are among the few who may be able to see more.

  [Abilities]

  (Charge - Basic)

  They would have to catch you to stop you.

  Active: You can Add your Dexterity Modifier to your Speed.

  (Explore - Basic)

  Each step reminds you of where you have been and where you will go.

  Passive: Each Step will be recorded on your Mini-Map. Detail increases equal to your Intelligence Modifier.

  (Escape - Basic)

  Live to see another day.

  Active: Gain an explosive amount of Speed equal to double your Dexterity Modifier for five seconds. Cooldown is reduced equal to your Intelligence Modifier.

  [The Brawler] (Basic)

  Your strength lies in your resourcefulness. A true Brawler is not tied down by their weapon. It is not tied down by the constraints of what is ‘normal.’ A Brawler is a true jack of all trades. Don’t let a Brawler get their hands on anything. It’s embarrassing to be defeated by everyday household items.

  [Abilities]

  (Consume - Basic)

  Without access to the finer things in life, You have found a way to survive.

  Passive: Gain a percentage of the benefits of a consumable by eating the prerequisite ingredients. Benefits increase equal to your Endurance Modifier.

  (Throw - Basic)

  What is a cup but not a bullet if thrown hard enough

  Active: Apply your Strength Modifier to all thrown weapons

  (Slam - Basic)

  Everything is a weapon if you wish it to be.

  Active: An Improvised Weapon is Upgraded for a duration equal to your Endurance Modifier. Attacks with this weapon Apply your Strength Modifier.

  Alice’s nose wrinkled as she looked at her options for her first [Class]. Her studies with Pointy-ears obviously influenced her choices. It was infuriating. He’d explained to her the wonders of The Cracked Kingdoms. The infinite variety that the Root provided each of its Citizens. Every person is unique. Bound to follow a path of their own making.

  But she’d gotten the same class option as that stupid elf.

  [The Scribe]

  There was no way in hell she was going to follow in her teacher’s footsteps. And [The Traveler]? That just seemed plain old boring. Was she supposed to run everywhere for the rest of her life? Running away from your problems was for cowards.

  There was only one option. Only one way for her to get strong enough to get out of this damn prison cell. Also, it seemed like fun. Especially [Slam]. Could she really use that on anything she got her hands on?

  Alice stood, selecting [The Brawler] as her first [Class] within The Cracked Kingdoms. And with a thought, a spiraling network of Source fled down her arm, entering her faithful teddy bear friend. Boo-Boo’s stitching groaned as its plush body twisted into wrought iron, the Hawaiian shirt melting into razor-edged armor.

  “Cool,” Alice muttered. Then, with a pitcher’s windup, she activated [Throw].

  Boo-Boo became a brown blur, cratering the cell wall hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. The impact left a bear-shaped indent in the wood.

  Nabu’s book slipped from his fingers.

  Alice cracked her knuckles. “Again.”

  —-

  As William awoke in his wisp form, the world shimmered like a heat haze on a desert road. His vision filled with the familiar sight of the Source flowing through all living things around him. The silver threads in the soil, the emerald pulses in the pine needles, the faint golden glow still clinging to the riverstone wall he’d placed with his own hands. It guided him as he rose, reconstituting himself and returning to his human shape.

  Then the pain hit.

  It was as if his very essence had been bruised. With his transformation complete, a deep, bruise-like purple stain radiated from his naval, discoloring his skin, and the denim shirt stretched over his spectral torso. The memory returned with violent clarity.

  He had nearly been cut in half. No. He had been cut in half.

  That flaming axe had sheared through him like he was the morning mist. Why had he thrown himself in its path? For a man, he’d known barely a month?

  The wind carried the scent of pine and freshly turned earth. This month had radically changed the way William thought about his existence. Challenging not only his preconceived notions of reality but also what it meant to be a living, if not breathing, human. This place, Buck, Evander, hells the very earth beneath his feet, it was his home.

  A cold fist clenched around his unbeaten heart.

  [Ruler Blackwood lives. Do not worry, Citizen William Wight]

  William’s shoulders slumped in relief. Then stiffened again at the soft click-clack-click of claws on stone.

  Between the pines, a [Zombie Rodent] watched him with milky eyes. Its fur hung in patchy clumps, revealing grayish skin beneath. Most disturbing were its paws—too long, too articulate, the nails blackened and curling like old rose thorns. Gods, those things were creepy.

  With a squeak, it bounded off. Bouncing from stone to stone, it made its way across the graveyard toward the Apothecary. William followed, willing his ghostly form to float after the rodent. Yet, with a tilt of his head, William noticed something. Well, more accurately, he saw a lack of something. Where was the swarm of rats that usually infested the graveyard?

  The Apothecary door groaned open, vomiting forth a cloud of greenish mist that smelled of spoiled meat and copper. Evander’s cloaked form emerged, brushing something disturbingly moist from his robes.

  “William.” The hamster nodded. “You’ve awoken. Good. Time waits for no…ghost.” He turned back inside, the zombie rat scurrying after him.

  William wasn’t surprised. That little hamster hadn’t taken a moment to rest in all the time he’d known him. Always pushing for that next level.

  “Now hold up here, little fella,” William called after him. “You mind explainin’ how I got split like a cord o’ wood and lived to tell the tale?”

  Evander didn’t pause. “Blackwood is truly a fascinating specimen, isn’t he? That Attunement of his…” His voice took on the reverent tone of a cultist describing his god. “We find ourselves on the precipice of something truly magnificent. I’ve studied necromantic texts older than the Kingdoms themselves. Yet, I have never heard mention of such power. We stand at the dawn of—”

  “Evander.” William said, planting himself in a chair.” The short version, if’n you please.”

  The hamster blinked as if remembering ghosts could interrupt. “Ah. Yes. An Attunement like his shall be like a guiding light in the darkness of this new world. I’ve heard of the power of Unique Attunements, but to lay my eyes upon one is truly fascinating.”

  “Memory’s mighty fuzzy,” William said, rubbing absentmindedly at his now bruised core. “Though, I seem to remember Buck turnin’ all misty and stickin’ his hands up in me.”

  Evander turned, his beady eyes gleaming. “He did indeed, my ghostly friend. But Blackwood didn’t just heal you, William. He rewrote you. Stitched your essence back together with threads of his own life force. This power he has stumbled upon seems to touch upon the Root Source itself. Allowing him to bend and shape it to his very will. Do you know what this means?”

  “Sounds mighty uncomfortabl—”

  “It means,” Evander continued, dumping what look suspiciously like a fingerbone into his cauldron, “That Unique Attunements aren’t just powers. They’re relationships. The Gray has chosen Buck and, in doing so, has chosen all of us.”

  William rubbed at his temple. “You talkin’ like that thing’s got a mind of its own.”

  “Oh, William.” Evander’s chuckle sent ice down the ghost’s spine. “It is as if fate itself is bending around him. A Unique Attunement before the first Convergence?”

  Outside, the wind howled through the pines. Somewhere in the distance, a single rat squeaked.

  “We stopped dealing with ‘just powers’ the moment you decided dying was merely an inconvenience. Not since the germination of the Root itself have we seen a power of this magnitude. It must be nurtured. We must continue to provide it with the fertilizer it requires.”

  William suddenly missed the days when coyotes were their biggest problem.