The experience rifts provide will undoubtedly be valuable, as rifts provide opportunities to be placed into roles and situations which are nigh impossible outside.

  Beyond experience, don’t forget to search for more physical rewards as well. Some rifts allow delvers to take anything they can pick up out, some will refuse to allow delvers to exit while carrying certain items, and yet others will require certain objects be in ones possession before they can leave.

  Finally, don’t underestimate the value of the raw potentia you may gain within. Rifts and war-zones are the most convenient places to acquire large amounts of raw potentia. Without going to either one or the other, you’d need to manually improve every aspect of yourself. A difficult proposition, if not impossible.

  

  Willow

  Rat King’s Palace, World’s End Entertainment, Sheerna

  

  Striding through the doors, the dress’ ornate hem whispered in the near-silence of the stone-clad courtyard. The Rat King’s palace bore more resemblance to a luxury resort than a military building. The ‘guards’ weren’t actual rat-men out here, but rather men and women with intricate costumes. They stood stoically, black eyes looking through semi-open rat mouths. Their weapons appeared to be made of some kind of foam, entirely harmless. Not a single guard moved to stop her as Willow made her purposeful way to the large doors which the entire courtyard was designed to draw the eye to.

  The entrance was reminiscent of a portcullis, calling her mind back to the very first time she’d encountered the rat king along with Ravavka and Luzzi. How long ago was that? A couple years now, maybe? At least twenty iterations of this stupid story have gone by.

  In the last week Willow had done little but contemplate. She’d done her morning exercises, along with some evening ones, just out of habit and boredom, but other than that she’d mostly just pondered. She’d never been very philosophical. Her outlook on life had always been a mix of practicality and following her goals. Yet she’d been forced to question why she had those goals.

  It’d lead her to the startling conclusion that what she’d seen on Earth as her own chosen purpose and path, had mostly been the result of others pushing her. They hadn’t pushed out of malice or any sense of superiority or desire to control her. No, they’d just encouraged her to do what they thought would make her happy.

  At first, the realization had brought with it a surge of annoyance, anger, even. It had quickly passed when she thought more deeply and found that they had been right. She had been happy. She hadn’t ever had to think about her purpose, or the reason for her drive and actions, because she’d simply had it. There was no need to question that which was obvious, or analyze why one equaled one. It just was. The purpose she had was driven by those she loved. Love and family is what gives us purpose… Was Veera right?

  Unfortunately, none of that retrospection had helped her mood or brought her any closer to deciding what to do about her current situation. She didn’t want to keep playing these stupid pre-determined scenes. She wanted to be out on an adventure, making choices that mattered, making friends and reconnecting with lost ones! Whether this rift was trying to help her somehow or not, Willow felt stifled.

  The worst part was, she knew how to get out. Yet something deep within her rejected the notion that she would simply accept the hand she’d been dealt. Luzzi and Ravavka hadn’t had a problem with it, they’d just sighed and accepted. So why couldn’t she? It wasn’t a question Willow had been able to find the answer to. Not in a whole week of thinking. So, it was time to stop thinking. It was time to act.

  Reaching the intricate doors, Willow nodded at one of the not-rat-men guards, “Open it.” She calmly commanded.

  As expected, they quickly opened the door. They might have considered a confrontation if she wasn’t going exactly where they all wanted her to go. The hundred or so people who were trailing behind her, far enough away to not be too obnoxious, were barely containing the excited chattering Willow knew they wanted to be engaged in. They wouldn’t let out those noises yet, though. The story here, the narrative, was clearly solemn. Clearly reaching some form of climax. They could feel it. So could Willow.

  Unlike them, though, she wasn’t content to play along with the preconception. Taking a deep breath, she forced a bright smile on her face and leapt through the door. She rolled in a practiced somersault as she hit the solid stone, bouncing up into a flying cartwheel. Landing perfectly in front of the rat-king’s familiar throne. The expected figure sat atop it.

  Sweeping in a mocking bow, Willow called in her brightest drawl, “Waaaeeyll ain’t it just a treayt ta be see’n ya, king Rat!”

  The costumed humans all around flinched, some staring with open horror at her. Others were ecstatic at the break from their expectations. She and the king both ignored them. The later looked up from his finger gnawing and deep hatred was clearly visible in his beady eyes. His raspy, “Human.” Was short and full of derision.

  Flopping into a seated position on the floor in front of the king, Willow asked, “Why don’t we be friends?”

  Gasps from all around, a couple angry shouts. Willow wasn’t entirely sure why the people expected them to be enemies, after all they didn’t have any inkling of their shared history.

  With a deep, suffering, sigh, the rat answered tiredly, “We cannot. It’s not our roles.”

  “What is your role?” Willow asked, suddenly realizing she’d always assumed but never thought to ask.

  A deep silence fell as everyone waited, breath held, to hear what the rat king believed his own purpose to be. Willow wondered if he would answer, if he even could. After a lengthy silence, though, he did. “I am to restrain you, demonstrating that taking the easiest possible path has consequences.”

  “That consequence is being imprisoned in a jail cell for a year?” She clarified, pulling her legs up into her arms so she could rest her chin on her knees. She felt the dress she was wearing pull and strain at the seams but ignored it for now.

  “I can’t say.” He spat sharply.

  Willow nodded, “If there are consequences, why would I ever go along with it?”

  “BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO!” He screamed, surging to his feet. “I can’t control you, I can’t stop you from doing whatever the hell you want! But the world itself can and will! There will always be someone able to bind your hands!” He stood, panting and glaring.

  Taking a while to think his words through, Willow’s eyes drifted over the rat king’s form. Same as always. Burned, slimey, unbathed, clothed in ratty scraps. Everything else could change, but the rat king and his throne were always the same. He was conscious of his role, didn’t enjoy it in any way, yet played it anyway.

  Slowly, she felt realization began to dawn. It wasn’t anything solid, but more like a feeling that the answer to the problem was close enough to touch. She pressed, “What about you? What are the consequences to you for imprisoning me?”

  “What?” Impatiently, he waved a claw through the air, “I cease to exist. There is no consequence. I finally get to rest.”

  “You don’t want to exist?”

  “I did! Until you made me relive this hell again and again!”

  “But you tried to capture me the very first time? You knew you’d stop existing then, but were still going to follow through?”

  “Of course.” He spoke as if she was stupid and began pacing, his tail dragging along the stone floor, producing an audible hiss. “I have to.”

  Lowering her voice, Willow spoke softly, “You don’t.”

  Spinning and glaring, the rat snarled at her, “How would you know what I do and don’t have to do?!”

  “I know you don’t, because you’ve never succeeded.” She lifted her chin, glaring back. Her ice blue eyes held his beady black for several moments, whispers and excited chattering ignored in the background.

  Finally, it clicked. Willow released her knees and stood in a single smooth motion. Stepping forward, she reached a hand out to the rat king. “You refuse to let me be free because you think you can’t, I refuse to let you take me captive because I can’t…”

  The rat king looked at her hand but didn’t move to take it. Just stared with clear hatred. “At least, that was the excuse I was using. ‘If I let myself lose, I won’t be me anymore.’ I’ve thought that a few times….”

  In a quick motion she reached forward and snatched his nasty paw, holding the slimy appendage firmly. “That’s not it though. If I let myself lose I’d still be me, but I’d be changed. Just a little. That option would be there, that option to give up. I faced that before and had someone help me through it. I learned not to give up. If I give up now, though, I’m scared I’ll go back to who I was then.”

  The rat was staring down into her face with malice, pulling to try and free his hand and failing. “I don’t care. Just kill me and we’ll start over.” He spat bitterly.

  “But why are you so set on not losing? I know why I am, I think… At least… Partially…” Her voice was lacking passion, she knew. Ironic, my emotions not being there when I need them. They’re always there when I don’t want them though.

  “I’m just a construct! Don’t you get that?! I can’t want anything! I can’t go against my own nature, what I was made for!” More frantic paw-yanking.

  “You just said you want to exist.” He stopped trying to pull away, thinking about that.

  Then, he shrugged, “So? It doesn’t mean I can. At least, not once you finally fall in line.”

  With a sigh, Willow let the rat king’s hand go and shook her head, “That’s the thing though, I won’t.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  For the first time she could remember, Willow reached out to her emotions. Rather than controlling, containing, suppressing, she fanned them. Pushed them. She thought of her entire time here, the frustration which had turned to apathy. About being separated from Luzzi and Ravvy, who had so easily accepted their role without a second thought. Her mind went back to her childhood, to her teenage years, to her few years of adult life before the tutorial.

  Every moment worth remembering was accompanied by some strong feeling.

  Her first time performing a hand-stand had come with giggling joy and accomplishment. Nights with her friends giggling and laughing in unrestrained joy over the silliest things. Her accident in front of the world, shattering her shoulder and ruining her career as a gymnast: burning shame and desperate horror. The brokenness she felt standing in the gym for the first time after her surgeries. The sorrow and agony had been much worse than the pain of shattering her shoulder. The knowledge she’d never be able to do what she loved again. Then the powerful surge of desire, need, determination, when Mr. Joseph so casually assumed she would overcome the obstacle.

  Feeling a warmth she’d felt was gone slowly begin to infuse her, Willow smiled with hard determination, “Let’s see who breaks first, then. I think you’ll fall in line before I do.”

  “Toss her in jails.” The rat king spoke flatly, clearing understanding how useless the order was.

  Willow’s fist went through his head the next moment, as every clump of flesh and fur transformed into rat-like creatures who rushed to bite and scratch.

  Six more iterations passed.

  Willow had begun speed-running them. She rushed through every scenario, cutting through every contrivance and going straight to the end as quickly as possible. It was clear that there was a limited number of actual scenarios, as she began to find patterns. The settings changed every time, but the actual story itself was the same. Each time, she made for the rat-king as quickly and efficiently as possible. Every time she spoke to him, tried to convince him.

  The nagging feeling that this was all pointless, worthless, still whispered at her insidiously. She ignored it, fought it, pushed it back. Assured herself there was a point. The point was getting out. More importantly, getting out on her terms.

  Ten more cycles.

  The rat king no longer let her speak. As soon as he saw her he simply screamed and exploded into a pile of swiftly animating blood, bones, and fur.

  Desperation fought with apathy as Willow struggled to continue her rapid clear rate. She hadn’t even changed out of the dress from World’s End Entertainment. It was a tattered and ratty mess now.

  That realization made her stop and think, if she could bring things from one scenario to another, why not? She’d always assumed anything she tried to bring through that she hadn’t brought into the rift herself would disappear when the cycle reset, but for some reason hadn’t tested it.

  Five more stories.

  Willow was standing on the roof of a brutalist skyscraper staring toward another. Inside was rumored to be a fruit which had an entirely unique taste in all the world. Willow had heard about it as she was rushing through her normal find-the-rat preparations and had wondered whether it was actually that good.

  For the last twenty one cycles Willow had avoided such distractions, forcing herself to remain focused and dedicated to her task. It had been getting harder to care again, she had to meditate nightly. In a sick parody of her normal meditation, she dredged her emotions up and fed them back into herself. Keeping her fires stoked.

  Realizing she felt some excitement at the thought of trying an entirely unique fruit, and more excitement learning it was heavily protected and locked up, she gave into her urge. Now, on a whim, she would attempt an ad-hoc heist to steal the most valuable fruit in the world!

  The familiar sensation of excitement over something absurd bubbled up and Willow welcomed it. It was more fuel to the fire within.

  Taking a deep breath, Willow backed up to the far edge of the roof she was standing on. Eyes locked on her destination, she channeled her focus, while wrapping a sheet of discipline mana around her feet and legs. She invested them with the instruction ‘jump high and far’ then she sprinted with everything she had. Just before she reached the roof’s ledge she sent a packet of imperative command, ‘launch me!’. Hitting the patch of the roof she had instructed, it bucked at the same moment she leapt.

  Soaring through the air, a bright laugh was ripped from her throat. Excitement and joy in the stretched moments of free falling. Then she struck the side of the target building. Sending more imperative instructions to provide herself hand and footholds, Willow quickly scaled the building. It brought back the oddly nostalgic memory of her time fighting Madrick to scale a mountain. Good times. Back before she was stuck in this silly pseudo-loop.

  Reaching the top, Willow trotted over to the huge pane of glass which provided a perfect beam of light from the forty eighth story all the way down to the display of the artist’s reaction of what the fruit looked like. The actual fruits weren’t actually displayed, of course. Someone might steal it! Willow snickered to herself.

  The technological level of this story felt ambiguous to Willow. There were no computers, no planes, cars, helicopters, yet there were massive structures which absolutely looked machine made. So, she wasn’t sure if there would be an alarm. She also didn’t care. Willow began slowly swinging the extremely thin, but incredibly strong, length of string she’d gotten in a previous story. The grapple on the end was essentially just a large-ish hook, but it’d be fine.

  Stomping down hard, Willow sent her demand through her foot into the glass. ‘Break’. It cracked, but held. Eyebrows shooting up toward her overgrown bangs in surprise, Willow tried again. This time the entire thing shattered and she fell.

  Not suppressing the whooping laughter which was ripped from her throat, Willow threw the grapple at random. It caught one of the banisters lining the massive multi-leveled room. Swinging, Willow barely managed to twist in a way that avoided slamming herself bodily into a pillar and instead went tumbling across a rug-strewn floor.

  Still giggling with the giddiness from the almost forgotten feeling of adrenaline, Willow spent a few minutes fighting with her super-strong string until she managed to get the hook free and could pull it down. She quickly packed it back into her bag, which was now bulging in contrast to the tightly fit form it’d had when she entered Sheerna.

  Standing, she rushed to the nearest stairwell and began rushing to and fro. It took her almost two hours to find what she was looking for. A reinforced steal door with an incredibly complicated looking spinning lock in front. Cracking her neck, then her knuckles, then shaking herself, Willow approached.

  She reached out and pulled at the door, just in case. How embarrassing would it be to try and crack a safe if it was o- The door swung open easily.

  Seeing a man lounging in a chair, reading a book and munching on something which Willow could only assume was the fruit, she entered. The room behind the vault door was surprisingly bright and cheery. In fact, it was a kind of garden. The center was set with a circular stone stage, with a bamboo gazebo covering it.

  Around the stage was a gently burbling river which flowed in all four directions from the center, probably cycling through some kind of pump to return and flow again. Every quadrant of the room contained three trees, each growing a different variety of fruit. Under the tree’s canopies was a blanket of flowers, with bushes and shrubs interspersed artfully. The entire garden - orchard - was perfectly manicured.

  As she’d looked around, Willow had entered the vault. When she returned her attention back to the center, she saw the man staring at her with his book laying open in his lap. He was in his prime, though pretty much everyone was, and stared at her with eyes that seemed more amused than angry.

  “Hi!” Willow called as she made her way unhurriedly toward him.

  Leaning to his right, the man took a bookmark from the table he sat near and slipped it between his book’s pages. Then, closing the book he stood and bowed, “Hello miss. I presume you’re here to steal the fruits of our labor?”

  He waved toward a plate which appeared to contain sliced fruits of each variety grown in the room. Nodding happily, Willow agreed, “Yeah! I just wanna taste though, I don’t want to take a lot or anything.”

  “We are auctioning an entire crate of each variety next week.” He replied drolly.

  “Oh. I didn’t know that, but I also don’t care? Part of it was just wanting to see if I could break into the supposedly most secure place in the city. Though… Do people know how easy it is to get in? Cuz this was almost insultingly easy.” She stopped an arm’s length from the man. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, with golden hair coiffed neatly. He had a pleasant face, with subtle laugh lines around his eyes and slightly too-large ears.

  His lips twisted back and forth in apparent thought, “Part of what makes it so difficult is the army of mercenaries guarding the outer part of the entrance. Beyond that, the doors themselves have several layers of enchantment against tampering and could likely be struck by several milliton of force without being damaged in the least.”

  “Oh. Well, your skylight was real easy to break.” Willow’s eyes sparkled as she saw the man visibly restrain himself from what she assumed was a face-palm.

  Merciless, she continued, “Maybe think about setting up some kind of alarm, at least?”

  Leaving her defeated opponent to ponder, Willow passed him and went to the table. Taking a slice of one of the fruits at random she examined it. It looked like a plum. She ate it. Yeah, that’s a plum. It was a nice enough plum, but hardly life changing. Taking another, she thought it might be some kind of citrus. It kind of looked like a hairless pink kiwi. Eating the small slice, she nodded in appreciation.

  “Is this one the supposed best-fruit-ever? It’s pretty good! I think I like raspberries better though.”

  Stiff-shouldered, the man slowly turned. With a sigh, he let his tension bleed away and pointed to a cluster of bright pink orbs on a vine. “It’s the Sheerna fruit that’s so highly prized.”

  Raising an eyebrow at the ‘coincidental’ name, Willow took a bite. That one bite was an explosive experience. There was absolutely nothing she could compare the taste to: other than to describe it as the flavor equivalent to staring up at the most gorgeous sunrise framed by a rainbow after standing out in a thunderstorm, soaked and alive. It was both a hyper-specific feeling, and also somewhat nonsensical. If it was possible to taste being awestruck, it was this Sheerna fruit.

  “Whoa.” She whispered softly.

  The man nodded at her, a slight smile crossing his lips. “It’s quite the experience, no?”

  “Yes! Uh… I know I said I wouldn’t take too much, but maybe just a few more bites?” She tried for puppy-dog eyes. I’m forgetting something, right?

  Left side of his lip quirked upward, the man asked dryly, “Are you asking permission to steal more from me?”

  Right! That’s what I forgot, I’m robbing him! Gleeful, she scooped a small handful up and stared at them. She frowned as she considered how she could bring them along with her. She didn’t want to put them in her pack, crushing them in the process. Not to mention she wasn’t sure how long they’d keep.

  Sighing deeply, the man stepped forward and leaned down under the table. Pulling a drawer out which Willow hadn’t noticed, he handed her a small sack. “This is how we transport them safely. Anything within is separated from the regular flow of space and time both. They’ll stay fresh indefinitely.”

  Excited, Willow took the sack and put five fruits in. Then, for good measure, she popped one more in her mouth and savored the extraordinary sensation.

  “So whatcha reading?” She asked suddenly. “And what’s your name?”

  The rest of that cycle had been pleasant and Willow made a startling discovery. She’d been her own worst enemy. The melancholy and feelings of apathy hadn’t been due to being stuck in the loop. They’d come from her repressing herself, at least partially. The loops and increasingly depressed rat-king weren’t helping of course. But she realized that if she was going to be stuck until lil rat gave up, at least she could enjoy herself while being stuck.

  Another twenty resets went by.

  Willow broke through the keep door. Holding two pistols, wearing tattered flannel and an eye patch, she wobbled on the peg-leg concealing her real one. “ARRRR! PUT YER HANDS IN THE AIR, ME HARDIES!”

  The rat king wept openly.

  More time passed, more stories played out.

  “Hey ratty! Ready to die?” Willow asked as she walked into the throne room on her hands. This time, the story had been particularly somber with a lot of oppression of peasants, exploitation of labor, slavery, and lots of other nasty things. So she’d naturally decided to see how much of the story she could do while walking on her hands. Surprisingly, almost all of it! Except sleeping, she hadn’t quite managed that. She’d fallen over most nights, leaning against walls not enough to stabilize a sleeping body as it went limp.

  Dead tired eyes stared at her, the king no longer squatted on his throne and chewed his nail at the beginning of every encounter. Instead, he was usually just sitting with a defeated slouch. “How?”

  “How what?” She maneuvered around, trying to find a good position to see him from. That was one of the main problems with this challenge, it was darned hard to see people’s faces without straining her neck badly.

  She caught the expression of desperation as it flashed over her opponent’s face, “How are you happy again? You were as broken as I am.”

  “Oh, I just stopped being stupid.” She grinned cheekily toward his feet, “I realized I was searching for purpose when I already had it.”

  “And what is your purpose?”

  Deciding that getting to the rat-king was victory enough to call her self-dictated challenge a success, mostly, Willow dropped and rolled onto her feet smoothly. Seeing the devastation behind the rat king’s eyes was almost heart breaking. Not because she pitied the self-declared construct, but because she knew it mirrored her own desolate heart mere… However many loops ago.

  It hadn’t been a sudden realization, exactly, so much as a slow kind of acceptance. Every time she thought back on those times where she felt the most sure, the most purposeful it was always accompanied by strong emotion.

  At first, she’d found it somewhat conflicted with her desire to be disciplined and controlled. It wasn’t, of course, not really. As she’d been told countless times, discipline never meant doing away with her emotions, just not letting them control her. They could still be what gave her drive though, purpose.

  “Passion gives me purpose.” She spoke simply, casually. The world trembled.

  Love and family had stoked her fire on Earth, but they had never created it. She held that spark within her, she always had. She always would.