[19:08:55]

  Buck sat perched on a gnarled branch overlooking the jackalope camp, the Popo Agie River's calm waters mirroring the chaos below. Hundreds of jackalopes, all hailing from different tribes, moved through their routines. They sharpened weapons, tended fires, fed coyotes that lay about like lazy sentinels, but Buck's attention remained locked above him. On that impossible structure that loomed over everything.

  The Border.

  Calling it a wall would be calling a hurricane a breeze. It pulsed with liquid light, its surface rippling like living mercury across the horizon. What disturbed him most was how he'd missed it before. When he'd first scouted the camp, his eyes had registered only more thinning forest beyond. It wasn't till he found this spot, sitting still and focused, just a few hundred meters from camp, that reality had snapped into dreadful clarity.

  Buck's temples throbbed. The Border didn't just obscure itself, it pushed at his mind. Every second spent observing sent icepick headaches stabbing behind his eyes, his instincts screaming to look away, forget, flee. He gripped the branch until the bark bit into his palms, forcing himself to study the monstrosity.

  It ascended into the clouds—no, through them— with no visible end. The scale knocked the breath from his lungs. Was this a cage? A dome? Some Mobius strip of cursed geometry? What happened to creatures that tried to cross? And why had Evander's voice turned to gravel when warning, "Never be near it when the Convergence comes"?

  The copper taste of blood snapped Buck back to reality. He wiped his split lip, watching crimson droplets stain the frayed denim of his jorts. Above him, the Border shimmered mockingly before dissolving back into ordinary trees, as if the universe itself was gaslighting him.

  His [Quest Timer] pulsed urgently in his vision. Gods, when had the hours slipped away? Forcing his gaze downward, the jackalope camp sprawled before him like some grotesque Renaissance fair.

  There were too many of them. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Well… not thousands, but there were a lot. A barbarian horde indeed.

  Something was bugging him about that seething mass of fur and muscle. They really were just going about their day. Acting completely oblivious to the cosmic horror show they were trapped in. This really was their normal. How could they just… live like this?

  Children ran through the tents, smiling and laughing while being chased by coyotes ripped straight from nightmares. Men and women stood knee-deep in the river alongside herons as they told stories and washed clothes. In the distance, Buck even swore he saw the shadows of furrows in the ground, indicating that the jackalopes were testing out their farming knowledge.

  Besides the Border, the thing that really stuck out was a single two story structure, built of the purest white stone. Undecorated, but a stark contrast to the field of tents that lay before him. Had the jackalopes received a Citizen?

  "Master," Flint whispered. "Patrol."

  Buck swung down silently, his movements fluid from his new [Skill Specilization].

  When he'd confronted the Nexus a few days before, the rewards had been interesting to say the least. With the [Solid Foundation] Skill added to his repertoire, he had no idea how the [Sneak] Skill would branch. But thankfully, he'd been provided a few options to select.

  [Congratulations! You have completed Echelon 1 of the Sneak Skill]

  [Please Select a Specialization and Ability]

  [Natural Sense] (Common - Exploration)

  - Level 1 -

  Born to be free, you've chosen to become one with nature. Blending into the shadows of a majestic tree, hiding within the dense foliage of a vibrant hedge, standing as still stone. Natural Senses expands upon your Sneak Skill to enhance ones ability to hide within the natural world. Use it wisely. You wouldn't want to become some dirty hermit who never interacts with the world around them. This is a [Specialization] of the [Sneak] Skill.

  Ability

  [Nature Proficiency](Common)

  Your understanding of the the natural world exceeds even those who were born within it. Some day you may even enjoy being outside, instead of building all those buildings to hide from it.

  Passive: You inherently Know the density and elasticity of the Fauna of the Cracked Kingdoms.

  [Night Walker] (Common - Exploration)

  - Level 1 -

  As all who follow the Path of the Thief understand, it is easier to complete your task in the deep of night than the brightness of the day. Through patience and practice, the night has become your home. Using the shadows, you may pass through the busiest of streets without a passing glance. Good luck! Someone who has spent this much trying to hide has to have their fair share of enemies. This is a [Specilization] of the [Sneak] Skill.

  Ability (Spell)

  [Blend with Shadow](Common)

  You are born of the night, molded by it, you would rather never see the light of day, even as a man. Now, if you could just move around. It's okay, you'll figure it out eventually.

  Active - Spell: While remaining still. You may choose to use Mana to blend in with the shadow. Disappearing from all but the most observant eye.

  [Social Camouflage] (Common - Exploration)

  - Level 1 -

  Surrounding yourself with a plethora of creatures has led you to one absolute truth. You hate it. All this attention? Pshaw! Wouldn't it be easier to weave in and out of your social life with the grace of an antisocial gazelle? Well, look no further than Social Camouflage! This is a [Specialization] of the [Sneak] Skill.

  Ability

  [Distraction](Common)

  With a snap of your fingers, you can push away the attention of any unwanted onlookers. You ever get deja-vu? It's kinda like that, but instead of seeing something twice, you forget that you saw something. So… not really like deja-vu, but you get it.

  Active: Compete against an Opponent's Charisma Modifier to hide from their attention for 1 second.

  Buck descended the pine, his fingers reading each branch's strength through [Natural Sense], the wood's subtle vibrations whispering its limits before his weight tested them. Definitely the right choice.

  For these brief moments between earth and canopy, he existed in perfect symbiosis with the forest. Or what passed for nature in this godsforsaken place.

  THWUMK

  His sandals hit dirt with enough force to send a dust devil swirling around his calves. As the particulate haze settled, Buck squinted futiely at where Flint should be standing. Gods, it was so cool having Mana. If he just focussed hard enough—

  A patch of darkness rippled.

  [Blend with Shadow] didn't erase Flint so much as convince the world he wasn't worth noticing. Shadows congealed around him like clotting blood while sunlight bent away in subtle ways. The effect made Buck's eyes water if he stared too long.

  "Two pairs," Flint's voice emerged from the writhing darkness. "Three of the Howling Moon, one with those corkscrew horns that look like rat tails." A pause. "Sixty yards south. Closing fast."

  Buck exhaled through his nose. Showtime.

  "Stick to the plan," he murmured, creeping northward. "River crossing first, then we can finish recon of our would-be Kingdom."

  Flint's silhouette nodded sharply before materializing out of the shadow.

  The Popo Agie's current tugged at Buck's sandals as he waded in. When the water reached his chest, he turned, just in time to see Flint's usually stoic mask crumbling like wet sandstone.

  Their first crossing attempt flashed in Buck's mind: the fearsome Revanant flailing like a drunken raccoon, waterlogged fur plastered to his face, his panicked snarls bubbling beneath the surface. It had been… objectively hilarious. The mighty warrior reduced to a spluttering, soaked mess, and if the riverbed hadn't been shallow enough to stand, Buck suspected he'd have witnessed actual jackalope tears.

  Thankfully, Bev took pity on her furry friend and bestowed a solution:

  [Swimming](Basic - Exploration)

  - Level 1 -

  Water, Earth, Air, Fire, Plasma, Wood, Flesh, the Seven Elements that make up the Cracked Kingdoms. Or… at least the ones I can think of right now. Water, the bringer of life, a way of transportation, and inevitably a barrier stopping earth-bound life from crossing. That is, if you down know how to swim. Best time to learn is the present! Time to get thrown in the deep end!

  Flint moved through the water with the cautious grace of a cat in a bathtub. Which, for a seven-foot-tall death machine, was progress.

  At least he wasn't drowning.

  The once violent rapids of the Popo Agie now flowed like liquid honey; the gentle current carried the water through the mountain pass with steady ease. For once, the Cracked Kingdoms offered something resembling peace. Slow strokes through sun-dappled water, the warmth baking Buck's bare scalp, the rhythmic pull of muscles he'd forgotten he had.

  Then the world exploded in fire and steam.

  A flaming tomahawk hissed past Buck's ear, plunging into the water with a dragon's breath of bubbles. The heat seared his cheek.

  "Die, Whisper!" A war cry echoed across the canyon as a second firebrand arced toward them.

  Buck didn't think; his body acted. One hand clamped over Flint's muzzle as he dragged them both under. The submerged world erupted in amber light as the axe passed overhead, its flames distorting into demonic shapes through the water's lens.

  Flint struggled against his grip, his natural instincts screaming for air. Thankfully, both of them had received the [Breathing Proficiency] Skill, so after a few panicked seconds, Flint relaxed. Buck locked eyes with his companion and flashed a series of sharp gestures: Cross. Silent. Now.

  They moved like eels through the gloom, the riverbed's pebbles scraping Buck's stomach as they crawled along the bottom. The banks stood empty when they finally surfaced, gasping despite the Skill's magic. No war cries. No footsteps. Just the mocking gurgle of the river.

  "After all that, they don't even follow?" Buck spat out a mouthful of river water.

  Flint shook himself violently, sending a spray of droplets arcing through the air like a wet dog. "The Bear," he rumbled, water still dripping from his whiskers, "the one you dismissed in your field guide?"

  The last word died in his throat as Flint's clawed hand clamped down on his weapon. The Revanant's ears swiveled like radar dishes, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the damp air. When he spoke, it was barely a breath:

  "Quiet then."

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Not a suggestion. A warning.

  Buck rolled his eyes, but fell behind Flint as they entered the northern forest for the first time.

  —

  The northern forest swallowed them whole. Towering pines stood like sentinels, their interlocked branches weaving a thick canopy that choked the sunlight into fractured beams. The air hummed with the whistles of unseen birds and the eerie, near-human laughter of those monstrous squirrels Buck had come to loathe.

  Every step forward became a battle; the undergrowth conspired against them, tangling their feet in nests of thorny vines and hidden roots that seemed to shift underfoot. The unnatural density told Buck everything: no jackalope wandered into these woods. No creature dared test whatever lurked in the darkness.

  His plan was simple, the only kind he was good at making. First, skirt east along the riverbank. Second, Circle behind the war camp. Third, Gather intel. Finally? Don't die.

  Simple. Straightforward. Should've been easy.

  Gods, let it be easy this time.

  The Root, of course, had other plans. When Buck finally spotted movement through the trees, it wasn't the [Ironfur Bears] that haunted his dreams.

  It was worse.

  More jackalopes.

  "You'd think an all-powerful cosmic horror could be more creative," Buck muttered, shifting on his pine branch perch. The bark dug into his thighs through his worn jorts.

  [Your Kingdom lacked harvestable Souls. Jackalopes feature prominently in your people's collective memory]

  Yeah, well, Wyoming's not exactly crawling with urban legends." Buck adjusted his grip on the branch. "We've got guns, cattle, and if you're feeling fancy, Old Faithful."

  [Guns. Fascinating. I wish to Observe these 'Guns']

  Buck's smirk felt tight. "I'm sure you'll get a chance, Bev." His eyes flicked to the shimmering Border in the distance. "There were loads of them in my hometown. Whole damn arsenal just past that lightshow over there."

  [Good. Complete your Quest. Then we will speak more of these Guns]

  Snap.

  Buck became stone. His body folded into a crouch, rough bark biting through his shirt as he pressed against the trunk. Every sense sharpened, sorting through the forest's symphony of chirps and rustles for that one wrong note.

  A breeze whispered through the needles. The river murmured half a mile south.

  There.

  Buck's fingers twitched in Mr. Seeker's direction. The eyes shot off into the canopy toward the sound.

  Moving like liquid, Buck slid down the trunk. His [Natural Sense] turned descent into silence, each controlled movement leaving no trace but the faintest indentation in the bark around him.

  Then he saw them.

  Three jackalopes carved through the undergrowth like warships through fog. Two were unlike any jackalope Buck had encountered, living fortresses of shining steel and muscle. Their entire bodies were encased with interlocking plate armor that clicked with each step, leaving only their muzzles exposed. The battleaxes they wielded looked less like weapons and more like felled trees with razor-sharp leaves, handles thick as Buck's thighs, blades that could cleave a man in half sideways.

  Sunlight glinted off their most shocking feature: massive moose antlers that spread wider than Buck's outstretched arms. The bone gleamed unnaturally white, each tine filed to needle points. Flint would look like a child next to these titans.

  Buck's nails bit into his palms as the third figure clanked into view.

  Coal.

  The same tawny-haired jackalope who'd slipped through their fingers now looked absurdly outmatched by his new companions. His ill-fitting helmet listed to one side, the jagged points of his elk antlers poking through holes cut too large into the steel. Every clumsy step threatened to send him sprawling, whether from exhaustion or the sheer weight of equipment never meant for his smaller frame, Buck couldn't tell.

  "Quickly, little firebrand," rumbled the lead warrior, his voice like stones grinding beneath a glacier. "Don't tell me you've lost your spark so soon."

  Coal's breath came in ragged gasps that filled the inside of his slitted visor. "My word… is honor-bound," he wheezed, the declaration undercut when he tripped over a root.

  The second armored brute laughed, a sound like boulders tumbling down a ravine. "Honor? What would a Howling Moon whelp know of honor?" He kicked Coal's dropped axe toward him. "We face our trials head-on. Not scamper like startled prey."

  For a heartbeat, Coal's eyes burned with enough fury to melt steel. Then his shoulders slumped as he fumbled for his weapon. "I've passed… every test, Swarf." The axe handle slipped twice in his grip before he managed to lift it. "This one… won't be different."

  The warrior leaned down until his antlers framed Coal's face like prison bars. "We. Shall. See."

  Swarf's claw emerged from his [Inventory] clutching a bell that shouldn't exist, its burnished bronze surface etched with angular runes so precise they looked grown rather than carved. Where the runic language of the other tribes flowed like cursive, these glyphs stabbed outward like fractured code.

  Buck's pulse stuttered just as the second warrior swung.

  The battleaxe moved with unnatural precision, its arc violating physics as it struck the tiny bell with a sound that wasn't a sound. It was a vibration that bypassed ears to rattle teeth and bones directly. The metallic shriek propagated through the forest in visible waves, shaking pine needles loose in its wake.

  Reality hitched.

  One heartbeat Buck clung to his perch, the next he was airborne, not falling but unmade, his body a distant concept as that terrible resonance peeled back layers of consciousness. Somewhere in the dissolving dark, tendrils of absolute hunger coiled around his slipping mind, whispering in a language of collapsing stars.

  Then—

  —impact.

  Dirt. Blood. The taste of copper and… something else.

  The bell's echo still hummed through his bones as vision returned in jagged fragments. Above him, the warriors stood unaffected, their forms now haloed in the same sickly glow as the runes.

  Coal was screaming.

  No… Buck realized with dawning horror. He was laughing.

  Recognition flared in the jackalopes eyes as he hefted his battleaxe with sudden purpose.

  Buck's gaze snapped to Flint. The Revanat stood fully exposed, his [Blend with Shadow] shattered by that unholy chime. The bell's resonance had severed their [Abilities] for just a heartbeat, long enough to leave them vulnerable.

  Fumbling for his Source, Buck exhaled sharply as [Gray Mist] flooded his veins. His body dissolved into swirling vapor just as—

  "Recruit!" Swarf's roar split the air. His axe blade bit deep into the earth as he abandoned it to advance. "Your trial begins, yet you flee? This is COWARDICE!" Spittle flew from his muzzle. "Prove your worth or join the silent ones!"

  Coal froze. Buck watched conflicted emotions compete for dominance across his tawny face, muzzle twitching, nostrils flaring. Then, with deliberate slowness, the jackalope turned away.

  The glob of spit that landed at Buck's mist-shrouded feet kicked up a cloud of dust.

  A massive paw materialized before him. "Apologies." The armored jackalope's voice carried unexpected warmth. "The Unblooded whelp thinks with his heart, not his horns. I am Orik."

  Buck re-materialized cautiously. Up close, Orik's armor bore hundreds of tiny scratches, each precisely spaced like ritual scarification. His antlers gleamed like a polished mirror, reflecting light in all directions.

  "Uh… Buck," he managed, letting [Gray Mist] dissipate while keeping his muscles coiled. One wrong move and—

  Orik yanked him upright effortlessly, then turned toward the clearing where Coal stood alone. "Silence now, human. Settle your debt after." His glowing amber eyes flicked to Flint. "That includes you, shadow-walker."

  Flint's tomahawk remained sheathed, but his grip on Buck's shoulder threatened to crush bone as he positioned himself as a living shield.

  Buck's mind raced. These jackalopes weren't attacking. Weren't even hostile. Just… disturbingly pragmatic. Once again, Buck's head began to throb.

  Then the forest screamed.

  A roar Buck knew too well shredded the air, the same primal sound that haunted his nightmares. Two tons of midnight fur and fury explode from the undergrowth, slamming into Coal with the force of a derailed freight train. Claws screeched across armor as the jackalope's battle cry turned into a grunt of impact.

  Neither Orik nor Swarf moved to intervene. Instead, they began a synchronized chest-thumping that vibrated the earth beneath Buck's feet.

  This was Coal's trial?

  He cast [Identify]:

  [Citizen Coal]

  - Level 19 -

  Level 19? An impressive increase since their last encounter. But, however much Coal had grown, it wouldn't matter against a 2nd Echelon Beast. This wasn't a trial— it was an execution.

  Coal became a whirling storm of steel and desperation, his axe flashing in futile arcs against the monstrosity.

  Gods, the bear was an abomination stitched from a serial killer's nightmares. Its patchwork hide oozed between matted iron fur, the left hind leg dragging while the right moved with unnatural precision. The muzzle split vertically with each snarl, revealing concentric rings of yellowed teeth that ground together like rusted gears.

  How this thing could move was a miracle in itself. If said miracle wished only to rip through your juicy flesh and feast on your flesh.

  Coal's defense crumbled with each thunderous swipe. The bear backed him against the pines, bark splintering under the impact. For one frozen instant, Buck saw true terror in the jackalope's eyes, that primal understanding of impending doom.

  The bear's paw descended.

  Not a swipe, but an executioner's strike. Curved ivory claws sheared through the helm like parchment, spraying dark blood across the pine needles.

  Instead of intervening, the armored jackalopes only intensified their rhythmic pounding, their chestplates ringing like funeral bells. Swarf's voice boomed:

  "Only in death may we find life!"

  The bear's maw yawned wide, its gullet pulsing with the same sickly flow Buck had seen in the bell's runes. Coal's remaining eye rolled wildly as the creature's breath washed over him, reeking of rotting meat and something sharper, like ozone before a storm.

  Buck watched as Coal looked upon his death. The beast that would take his life. He recognized that look, that pained truth that cracked Coal to his very core. The realization that no matter what he did, there would be no returning from this. His life was tied up in the hands of another.

  Then fire erupted.

  Flames coiled around Coal's battleaxe like serpents, exploding into a sunburst that made the bear recoil. For one glorious moment, the jackalope became a phoenix, swinging his blazing weapon in a desperate arc that ended with twin baldes burying themselves in the bear's ribs just as—

  CRUNCH.

  Teeth sheared through antler and skull alike. A geyser of dark blood painted Coal's armor in macabre stripes, mixing with the bear's oily ichor in steaming rivulets.

  The world exploded into violence.

  Orik and Swarf charged moved like avalanches in steel, their war cries shaking pinecones from the branches. Where Coal had struggled, these warriors carved through the beast with terrifying precision, each swing of their massive axes removing chunks of flesh the size of Buck's torso. Iron fur parted like wheat before the scythe.

  And they laughed.

  Not the cruel chuckles of bullies, but the pure, unhinged joy of predators finally unleashed. Swarf's blade found the bear's spine with a wet crack, his mirth booming across the clearing:

  "See, little Ember?!?! This is how we harvest legends!"

  "Well, that escalated quickly," Buck muttered, staring at the gore-streaked clearing. What kind of fucked up hazing ritual involved near-death by mutant bear? A test? Initiation? Religious experience?

  Flint stood unnervingly still, chin raised like a soldier at attention, but his nostrils flared with something Buck couldn't place. Awe? Hunger?

  "Flint—"

  "Hrrrn." The Revanant's grunt carried disturbing reverence.

  The wet schlorp of axes wrenched from carcass punctuated Orik's honking laugh. Before them, Coal knelt in a pool of mingled blood, his remaining antler cracked but his posture defiant.

  "You're sacrifice is accepted, Blooded of the Forged." Orik cleaned his blade with ritual precision. "Return to Barrowspire with your trophy."

  With visible effort, Coal looped a crude noose around the bear's neck and began dragging the massive corpse away. The severed head lolled gortesquely, leaving a slick trail of black ichor that steamed where it touched grass.

  Swarf, and Orik on the other hand turned towards Buck, who realized his jaw had gone slack enough to catch pine needles.

  "Witness!" Orik spread his arms, sending droplets of bear blood arcing through the air. "What brings you to our Ancestral Valley?"

  Buck's brain short-circuited. After that horror show, they were… welcoming him? "I… kinda live here?"

  Orik's bloodstained teeth gleamed in a sudden smile. "Another Citizen then! Do you hail from the Popo Agie Kingdom?"

  "No… I uh… hail from the Wind River Kingdom."

  "Excellent!" The armored jackalope clapped with enough force to startle birds from nearby trees. He gestured to Flint. "And this brooding fellow, another escape from the southern forest?"

  Buck hesitated, "No, he's my bodyguard. And friend."

  Escapee? So, Coal had fled his own tribe. That explained the desperation.

  Orik gestured to his companion. "This is Swarf.. We're of Barrowspire, capital of the Sinks Canyon Kingdom." His antlers caught the light as he tilted his head. "From your tension with our new tribesman, I assume he owes you blood?"

  "If anything, I owe him blood," Buck admitted with a dry chuckle. "We had a… misunderstanding a few weeks back."

  Swarf stepped forward, his armor creaking like old ship timbers, "And you've returned to him?" A predator's grin split his muzzle, "Strength begets strength. You'll accompany us to Barrowspire then, Buck of Wind River?"

  "We'll join you," Buck said, straightening. "I expect it'll be… enlightening."

  Orik's congratulatory slap nearly dislocated Buck's shoulder. The impact reverberated through his ribs like a gong strike.

  "Excellent! Allies make better drinking partners than enemies." The jackalope's laugh scattered whatever birds were left over after the clap. "After you've seen Barrowspire's glory, you'll doubtless join our campaign against the false tribes." He began leading them down a hidden trail. "Though soon their hunt for the Whisper will be moot. Come! Our Warchief will want to meet the human who survived both bears and Coal's temper."