Otter’s eyes fluttered open. A kind face hovered over him. “You’ll be good as new in a few minutes. Give the magic time to work.”

  Otter lay there, unsure of what happened. As his senses returned, he realized combat practice was still going on around him.

  The dull ache in Otter's chest gradually faded as the healing magic did its work. His head buzzed, and his mind tried to piece together what had happened.

  Jasper.

  The strike had been reckless, too forceful for a sparring match. Otter had tried to block, but the sheer power behind Jasper’s attack must have cracked his sternum. His breath had been knocked clean out of him, and darkness had followed.

  He pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing as the last of the pain faded into a faint tingle.

  "Easy there," the healer—a middle-aged man with graying hair—said, gently pushing Otter back down. "Just because you’re healed doesn’t mean you’re ready to run a marathon."

  Otter nodded, though his attention had already drifted to the voices carrying from the other side of the training yard.

  “Did you see that?” Jasper’s voice, fuming with indignation, reached Otter’s ears. “Bennett has no business being here. He can barely hold a sword, let alone fight.”

  Otter’s fingers dug into the dirt beneath him.

  Another voice, one of Jasper’s adoring fans, chimed in. “You think it’s because he has no Class?”

  Jasper snorted. “Probably. I don’t understand why they let him in. If he can’t advance, he’s going to get someone killed.”

  Otter’s chest tightened. His heartbeat, still steady from the healing, quickened with anger.

  “Don’t waste your breath,” a third voice added. “Horvan will send him packing after this. They’ve got to have standards.”

  Otter forced himself to sit up fully, ignoring the healer’s concerned muttering. His gaze locked on the training yard, where Jasper stood with a few other students. There was no mirth in their words or expressions. At least none in Jasper’s. He seemed truly upset.

  A shadow loomed over him.

  “Bennett.”

  Otter looked up to see Master Horvan towering above him, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a flicker of disappointment.

  “Can you stand?” Horvan asked.

  Otter nodded and got to his feet, a little unsteady but managing. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Horvan’s gaze swept the yard, lingering briefly on Jasper before returning to Otter. “You’re sitting out for the rest of the session.”

  Otter’s stomach dropped. “But—”

  “No buts.” Horvan’s tone was firm. “You were reckless. You failed to protect yourself, and now you’re a liability to your partner.”

  Otter bristled. Liability? It was Jasper who’d gone too far.

  “But—”

  “Enough.” Horvan cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I’m writing you up. Report to the infirmary for a follow-up. Dismissed.”

  Otter’s cheeks burned with shame and anger as he gathered his things. The other students watched him with a mix of curiosity and pity.

  As he trudged toward the edge of the training yard, he caught one last snippet of Jasper’s conversation.

  “Maybe he’ll finally get it through his skull.”

  Otter’s jaw tightened, and he quickened his pace, the words echoing in his mind.

  Everything checked out at the infirmary. He’d have a bruise and be sore for a few days, but nothing terrible.

  Otter fumed as he made for Evershade Hall and Understanding the System. He was being written up. For what? For being ruthlessly attacked by a bully? For not having a Fighter Class? He didn’t even know what being written up meant! Would he lose Commissary privileges? Latrine duty? It just wasn’t fair.

  He stormed into the room and slumped into his usual spot near the middle, dropping his notebook on the desk with more force than necessary. His fingers tapped restlessly against the cover, the tension in his chest refusing to subside.

  “It’s not fair,” he muttered under his breath. “None of it is fair.”

  The door opened with a soft creak, and Overseer Blackwood entered, his dark coat trailing behind him like a shadow. His gaze swept across the room, landing briefly on Otter before continuing.

  “Good afternoon, class,” Blackwood said, his voice smooth and measured. He moved to the chalkboard and tapped it with a piece of enchanted chalk. The words System Mechanics: Order vs. Chaos appeared in elegant, flowing script.

  “Today,” Blackwood began, “we will discuss the purpose of the System. Not just its mechanics, but its philosophy. Why does the System exist? Why do we have Classes, Stats, and Skills? Why are some paths open to you and others closed?”

  The room fell silent. The students leaned in, eager to hear Blackwood’s insights.

  “The System,” Blackwood continued, “exists for one reason: to provide order. Without order, there is only Kaos.”

  He tapped the chalkboard again, and the word Kaos appeared, jagged and menacing.

  “Long ago, before the System was established, there was no balance. No structure. People were at the mercy of wild magic, uncontrollable forces, and chaotic beings. Entire civilizations were wiped out because they couldn’t harness the power available to them.”

  Otter leaned forward, scowling. Order. The word grated on him.

  “But why does the System have to control everything?” Otter asked, his voice cutting through the silence. “Why can’t people choose their own paths? Why can’t everyone choose any Class they want?”

  Several students turned to stare at him, some with curiosity, others with disdain.

  Blackwood’s gaze locked onto Otter, calm but unwavering. “An interesting question, Mr. Bennett. But let me ask you this—do you believe that everyone would make wise choices if left to their own devices?”

  Otter’s hands clenched into fists. “I believe people should have the opportunity.”

  Blackwood nodded slowly. “And what happens when someone who wants to be a Fighter lacks the strength or constitution to wield a blade? What happens when someone who wants to be a Spell Lord has no affinity for magic? The System isn’t perfect, but it prevents people from making inappropriate choices that would destroy them.”

  Otter bristled. “So, the System decides who’s worth something and who’s not?”

  The tension in the room thickened. Several students whispered among themselves. One of the Fighters in the front row—Jasper’s friend Owen—snorted. “Of course you’d have a problem with the System.”

  Otter shot Owen a glare but ignored the jab, focusing on Blackwood. “The System gives some people every advantage and leaves others with nothing. How’s that fair?”

  Blackwood’s expression hardened. “Fairness is irrelevant when survival is at stake.”

  Otter’s jaw clenched. “Irrelevant? So you’re saying it doesn’t matter if people get left behind? If someone’s stuck as a Level 0 their whole life? If the System decides they don’t deserve a chance?”

  Blackwood’s tone remained calm, but his gaze sharpened. “I’m saying that the System doesn’t care about fairness. It cares about balance. Structure. Stability. Without it, we’d fall to the forces of Kaos.”

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  He tapped the chalkboard again, emphasizing the jagged word Kaos scrawled across it.

  Otter stood, unable to contain himself any longer. His voice rose above the murmurs in the room. “But what if the System is wrong? What if it misses something—someone? What if there’s more to people than what it recognizes?”

  The room went dead silent.

  Blackwood’s eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Bennett?”

  Otter took a deep breath, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room pressing down on him. “I’m suggesting that people shouldn’t be defined by the System. That it’s too rigid. Too... controlling. People aren’t just stats and skills. We’re more than that.”

  A ripple of whispers spread through the class. Some students nodded in quiet agreement, while others looked at Otter like he’d lost his mind.

  “The System’s supposed to help people grow,” he continued. “But it feels like it just puts everyone into boxes. If you don’t fit, you’re stuck.”

  Blackwood approached the front row, clasping his hands behind his back. “Tell me, Mr. Bennett. What do you think would happen if the System wasn’t so ’restrictive’ as you suggest? What if it didn't guide them through its process?”

  Otter crossed his arms. “Maybe people would be happier. Maybe they’d have more control over their lives.”

  “Or maybe there would be anarchy,” Blackwood countered. “Choice paralysis, perhaps. Maybe people would run headlong into danger they weren’t prepared for—and die because of it.”

  “That’s a risk people should be allowed to take.”

  “Is it?” Blackwood’s voice was cool, but there was an edge to it now. “And when their failure puts others at risk? When their lack of preparation costs lives? Who’s responsible then?”

  Otter faltered, his mind racing. “People... learn. They adapt.”

  “Not always.” Blackwood’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “The System exists because history has proven that without it, people succumb to Kaos. The world becomes unpredictable. Dangerous. The System provides order. It ensures that people are prepared for the challenges they’ll face.”

  Otter shook his head. “It feels more like it’s holding people back.”

  The Overseer shook his head. “We’re talking in circles, Mr. Bennett. I can see you feel very strongly about this topic, but we have digressed from today’s lesson.”

  “But…”

  “Enough.” It was harsh, but it silenced Otter completely. “Come see me in my office when we have concluded here.”

  Otter couldn’t focus for the remainder of the session. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, chasing each other around his brain like a puppy chasing its own tail.

  When Silas dismissed them, Otter began to pack his things to leave, but Blackwood caught his eye and crooked a finger toward him.

  Otter’s stomach dropped, but he took a deep breath, slung his satchel over his shoulder, and followed the Overseer out of the room.

  The corridor was cold and quiet, the stone walls pressing in on Otter as he walked behind Blackwood.

  Was he wrong? Was the System truly the only thing standing between order and chaos? Or was there something more—something people like Blackwood weren’t telling him?

  When they reached his office door, Blackwood unlocked it and Otter thought he saw a faint shimmer around the frame as it swung open.

  “Sit,” Blackwood commanded, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk.

  Otter sat, his heart in his mouth.

  Blackwood leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “You’re frustrated. That much is clear. And I suppose that is understandable, considering your circumstance. But I expect decorum during our sessions. Is that understood?”

  Otter lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, let me see if I can clear up a few misunderstandings for you. First and foremost is your claim that the System doesn't allow for choice. You are wrong in that regard. The System considers an individual’s strengths, weaknesses, and desires before presenting them with a Class. And often, it offers people options. It isn’t unusual for a young person to be offered three Classes to choose from.”

  Otter’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  Silas nodded. “Indeed. Even those that aren't offered an Adventuring Class are usually given a list of professions to choose from.”

  “Professions?”

  Now it was Silas’s turn to show surprise. “You mean you don’t know about level 0 professions?”

  Otter shook his head. “No. I mean I know people have professions like blacksmith, baker, and that sort of thing. But I didn't know it was assigned by the System.”

  “They aren’t assigned, Mr. Bennett. They’re offered. Where are you from again? Brighthaven was it?” He moved around to the other side of his desk and retrieved a quill and parchment, making a note. “I’ll need to speak with the Overseer of the primary schools there. This lack of basic knowledge is unacceptable.”

  Otter struggled to fit this new information into his current understanding.

  “Sir, if that’s true, it kind of makes things worse.”

  Silas paused and studied Otter carefully. “How so?”

  “Well, if the System usually offers everyone more than one Class…why hasn't it offered me even one?”

  Silas didn't reply for a long moment. When he did, his tone was softer. “I wish I knew, Otter. May I call you that?”

  Otter nodded.

  “It is very strange, indeed. I’ve seen students come through this Academy with unusual circumstances,” Silas continued. “Late bloomers. Class mismatches. Even some who rejected their initial Class outright and waited years for the System to offer another. But you…” He shook his head. “You’re an anomaly.”

  Otter felt tears well up in his eyes. “Is there something wrong with me?”

  “No, my dear boy. Of course not. The System’s logic is difficult to comprehend, even for those of us who’ve spent decades studying it. It works in ways that appear both calculated and unpredictable. But one thing is certain—it rarely acts without purpose.”

  “That’s not exactly comforting.”

  “No, I suppose it’s not.” Silas stood and began pacing slowly. “But consider this. The System isn’t just about granting power or status. It’s about responsibility. Every Class comes with expectations—roles that must be fulfilled for society to function and for Kaos to be kept at bay. The fact that it hasn’t offered you a Class could mean many things. Perhaps it’s still evaluating you.”

  Otter frowned. “Evaluating me? For three years?”

  “Patience is not the System’s strong suit. So that leaves another possibility.” Silas turned to face him. “It may be that what the System sees in you doesn’t fit neatly into one of its pre-established categories.”

  Otter blinked. “You mean… it doesn’t know what to do with me?”

  Silas smiled faintly. “Precisely.”

  Otter’s mind reeled. He thought back to all the times he’d tried to trigger a Class. The odd jobs. The hours spent mapping the alleys of Brighthaven. The desperate attempts to prove himself. And still, nothing. Was it because I don’t fit?

  “But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Otter asked, his voice quiet. “I can’t keep pretending like I belong here. Jasper’s right—I’m a liability. I’m going to get someone hurt.”

  Silas’s expression hardened. “Don’t you dare believe that nonsense. Your presence here is not a mistake.”

  “But I can’t keep up. Without a Class, I can’t bump my stats.”

  Silas arched an eyebrow. “Do you know what the difference is between a level 0 Villager and a 1st level Fighter?”

  Otter shrugged.

  “About 4 points of Life Force,” Silas said.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Otter slumped back in the chair.

  He’d always imagined getting a Class would be a big jump in power and abilities. It appeared he’d been wrong.

  Otter sat in silence, processing this new information. His gaze drifted to the shelves lining Blackwood's office, filled with weathered leather covers that whispered secrets of forgotten realms, and mysterious artifacts. His eyes lingered on the brass compass he noticed last time he was here. It reminded him of Emrys Gale.

  “You said I’m an anomaly. Does that mean I’m unique? Or have there been other anomalies?”

  Silas steepled his fingers. “There are always oddities—variations in every new group of students. But I’ve never met someone your age who hasn't been offered a Class. Though I have heard stories. Rumors. Most of them faded into obscurity. But there are a few names that stand out.

  Otter leaned forward. “Emrys Gale.”

  Silas’s brow furrowed. “Where did you hear that name?”

  Otter hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much to share. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

  Silas studied him before nodding. “I see.” He folded his hands together. “There are conflicting accounts regarding Emrys Gale. Some stories suggest that he never received a Class. Others imply that, if he did, it was something… different. Something outside the standard Adventuring Classes.”

  Otter felt a jolt of excitement. “So, it’s possible? There could be a way to advance without a Class?”

  Silas sighed. “Possible, yes. Proven? No. If Emrys did find another way, he left behind very little concrete evidence.” His expression grew serious. “Be careful, Otter. Pursuing these kinds of questions can be… challenging.”

  “Why?” Otter pressed.

  “Because the Academy was built on the idea that the System provides order. That it is the best—perhaps the only—way to fight against Kaos. If you start questioning that order, people will resist you.” Silas tapped a finger on the desk. “Some will find your questions dangerous.”

  Otter swallowed hard. “I’m not trying to fight the System. I just want to understand my place in it.”

  “That, Mr. Bennett, is what the Academy is all about.” Silas straightened and smoothed out his coat. “That will be all for today. I suggest you keep your head down, focus on your training, and continue to learn what you can within the confines of the Academy. The answers you seek may come with time.”

  Dismissed, Otter rose to leave. He hesitated at the door, glancing back at Silas, who was already returning to his notes.

  “Thank you,” Otter said quietly.

  Silas didn’t look up, but he nodded once. “Good luck, Mr. Bennett.”

  Otter stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, his mind racing. If there was truly so little difference between him and a Level 1 Fighter, then there was no reason he shouldn’t be able to keep up in Combat Basics. No reason he should be struggling the way he was.

  Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.

  The System didn’t assign Classes randomly. It followed rules. Parameters. What if he needed to do the same? What if, instead of trying to brute force his way through training like the Fighters, he approached things the way the System would?

  Maybe it wasn’t about forcing a Class.

  Maybe it was about defining one.

  His mind buzzed with the implications as he headed back to the dorms, ideas and theories already forming.