The sun was warm on John's face. It would have been absolutely perfect if he didn't feel so terrible.

  He sat by the manor's pool, stretched out on a cushioned chair someone had dragged out for him. A small table beside him held his notes on the pre-veil ruins, carefully written out for Aldric. His still hated using the quill, but the work was almost done.

  Two days since the orphanage. Two days of sleeping, only waking to dry heave and use the bathroom. He still felt weak, his body occasionally rebelling with waves of nausea that forced him to stop whatever he was doing.

  He hadn't seen Leon yet. When he had asked Erin, she'd just smiled and said things were "going well" in a way that suggested several nobles were having very bad days.

  But the sun was nice, and for now, that was enough.

  "Are you feeling alright?" Lia asked from the chair beside him.

  John glanced over. She was reading some book about light magic theory. Or pretending to read it, anyway. Mostly she seemed to be watching him out of the corner of her eye.

  She'd been like this all morning, always nearby. Bringing him breakfast, appearing with books she thought he might like, along with extra pillows and a cool drink.

  She had even gone clothes shopping for him while he slept, so he didn’t have to.

  Like an angel.

  "I’m fine” John asked.

  She set her book down. "You're supposed to be resting."

  "I am resting." John gestured at himself. "See?"

  "You're planning something."

  "I'm finishing my notes for Aldric."

  "And planning something." Lia's eyes narrowed. "I worry you're going to disappear if I blink for too long."

  John's eyes shifted slightly to the side before he could stop them.

  Lia sat up straighter. "You're thinking about it! Right now you're thinking about it!"

  "I'm not—"

  "You are! I can see it on your face!" She pointed at him accusingly. "What is it this time? Another dungeon? A dragon? Are you going to fight a god?"

  "That's not—"

  "I can help, you know," Lia said, her voice softening slightly. "Whatever it is. I'm not helpless."

  John looked at her. Saw the determination there, but also the frustration underneath it. The hurt.

  "You want to hit Rank Two," he said.

  Lia's expression shifted. The determination stayed, but now there was something heavier. "I have to."

  "Have to?"

  "I’m a Valebrant." She looked away toward the pool, her jaw tight. "Everyone expects me to be like Leon. Like my mother." Her hands clenched slightly in her lap. "I'm Rank One. Still." She stopped herself. "I have to get stronger. And I haven’t."

  John was quiet for a moment, weighing his options. Then he said, "I know something that could help you."

  Lia's head snapped toward him.

  "I was planning on dealing with it myself but..." John paused, choosing his words carefully. "There's a hidden shrine. About a day's ride north. Dedicated to Alora. It's been corrupted by dark magic. Some goblins. Some spiders. Some goblins riding spiders. Could push you close if you do it right."

  Lia's face lit up. Then it faded slightly as suspicion crept in.

  "And you?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "If I go. What will you do?"

  "Today my only plan is to learn about trees."

  Lia studied him for a long moment. "Are you going to fight them too?"

  "Look—" John gestured at his notes. "After I finish these for Aldric, I'm going to speak with the gardener." He pointed at an old oak near the pool. "And I'm going to learn about trees. That’s it."

  Lia still looked skeptical, but she was smiling slightly now. "Could you tell me about the shrine?"

  John spent the next twenty minutes describing the shrine to Lia. The layout, the enemies, the corrupted altar at the center that would need cleansing. She listened intently, asking questions and already planning her approach.

  When he finished, she paused with her hand gripping the book tightly. "Thank you. This means—" She swallowed. "Starting the academy at Rank One would be unpleasant."

  She smiled, then stood and headed back toward the manor, already calling for Garren. Her voice carried across the garden, bright with purpose.

  John watched her go until she disappeared through the doors.

  Alone at last, he turned back to his notes.

  The final page took longer than expected. His hand cramped twice, forcing him to stop and flex his fingers. But eventually, it was done. Page after page of careful observations about the Pre-Veil ruins. Legible enough, too.

  John set down the quill and leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. With the notes finished, he finally had a moment to check something he'd been putting off. His status. He'd leveled up a lot, but between the fighting and the poisoning, he hadn't actually looked at what had changed.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He pulled up his status screen.

  [Status]

  John Hale

  Race: Human - Rank One

  Class: Empty [Options Unlocked]

  Level: 40 → 56

  Strength: 26 → 46

  Dexterity: 84 → 104

  Endurance: 74 → 114

  Vitality: 23 → 43

  Intelligence: 24 → 44

  Spirit: 91 → 111

  Unassigned Points: 90

  Titles:

  Obsessed

  Masterful Rank Defier [UPGRADED]

  Point Hoarder

  Unyielding Will:

  Reach your limit. Keep going anyway. For you are the master, and the body reflects your Will. - Boost to Endurance.

  Class Skills: [Options Unlocked]

  General Skills:

  Combat Intuition

  Elegant Swordsman

  Advanced Dodger [UPGRADED]

  Spell Resistance [UPGRADED]

  John just sat there and smiled.

  The Titles were working. Vitality was always a dump stat, but now Intelligence and Strength were well on their way to joining it too.

  John dumped all 90 points into Dexterity without hesitation.

  The shakes hit immediately. His whole body trembled as the stat increase took hold, muscles and nerves adjusting to the sudden change. The nausea that had been manageable before surged back with a vengeance, making his stomach clench. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing slowly through his nose.

  He kept his breathing steady and measured, willing his body to adjust. The trembling gradually subsided, though the nausea lingered. He'd almost drifted off completely, lulled by the warmth and exhaustion, when a shadow fell across him, blocking the light.

  John opened his eyes.

  An elf stood in front of his chair. No sound of approach. No warning.

  She was beautiful in a way that made John's breath catch. Otherworldly. Her features were too perfect, too symmetrical. Long silver hair fell past her shoulders, catching the light, and her blue dress fit her curves in a way that was both revealing and elegant.

  She was just staring at him. Intensely. Those ancient eyes fixed on John's face with an expression that was hard to read.

  "Hello," John said carefully.

  John shifted slightly in his chair, suddenly very aware that he was still weak, still recovering, and now alone with an elf who'd be killing thousands within the month. Maybe sooner.

  This was fine.

  "Can I help you?" John tried.

  Her eyes flicked to the table beside John. To the stack of notes.

  The pages lifted from the table as if pulled by invisible strings. They floated through the air toward her, fanning out in a perfect arc.

  John watched, frozen, as the elf's eyes moved across the pages. Her gaze flickered from one page to the next with inhuman speed, taking in every word, every sketch, every observation John had painstakingly recorded.

  It took maybe thirty seconds.

  Then the pages settled back onto the table in a neat stack. Exactly as they'd been before.

  She crossed the distance between them in two smooth steps and dropped to her knees beside John's chair. The motion was fluid, graceful.

  She clasped her hands together in front of her chest. Her head bowed slightly.

  Then she looked up at him, and John saw tears in her eyes. Silent, glistening tracks running down those perfect cheeks.

  She opened her mouth and the words came out broken, desperate. "My daughter. She's dying. Poisoned."

  "Poisoned? By who—"

  "Your mentor." Her voice cracked.

  John stared at her. “Huh?”

  She shook her head violently. "I've tried everything. Every healer. Every cure. Nothing works."

  "There are only two options left," Sylbera continued after a moment, forcing the words out. "One requires..." She looked away, jaw clenching. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Much.”

  "The other is the healing chambers of the ancients. Pre-Veil, like your notes."

  She grabbed his hands, pressed them against her chest. He could feel her heart racing beneath his palms. She stared at him, intense, unblinking. Desperate.

  "I will do anything to save her," she said.

  John swallowed hard.

  “Anything.”

  Her thumb traced slowly across the back of his hand in a deliberate caress. She pressed his hand even closer, and her skin was impossibly soft and warm.

  John's mouth went dry. His mind was racing. "I—look, you don't need to— I do know of one. A chamber, I mean. But—"

  Sylbera released his hands abruptly and pulled something from her robes. A skull, blood red, pulsing with dark energy that made John's skin crawl. She began chanting, her hands moving in complex patterns that left trails of crimson light in the air.

  "What are you doing?!" John jerked back in his chair, trying to get away from whatever that thing was.

  "Binding myself to you, my master." Her voice was steady, resolved. "My will becomes yours. My life becomes—"

  "Stop!" John felt something reaching for him through the air. Invisible tendrils of magic, wrapping around his soul like cold fingers.

  She kept chanting.

  "I'll order you to kill her!" John shouted desperately. "Your daughter! I'll command it!"

  Sylbera stopped mid-word.

  The magic hung in the air between them, incomplete and waiting.

  John's heart was hammering so hard he could hear it in his ears.

  "Don't threaten my daughter," Sylbera said quietly. The tears were still there, but her voice had gone cold. Dangerous. The voice of something powerful that was only barely holding itself back from violence.

  "Then don't make me a slave owner," John shot back.

  They stared at each other. The red skull pulsed in her hands as she returned it to her robes.

  "I'll help, okay?" John said, forcing his voice to calm. "Just give me a moment."

  He took a shaky breath and tried to organize his thoughts through the adrenaline. Right. The chamber. The moonstone.

  "I know where one is. The entrance is buried in a cave-in, deep in the Corded Wastes." A Rank 5 zone. Full of monsters that could kill him with a thought. "The chamber's inactive. It needs a power source, a moonstone. A massive one. Like the one in the Cathedral of Light in Valtor City."

  Sylbera's eyes widened in understanding. Then, without a word, she stood and launched herself into the air.

  John watched, stunned, as she shifted forms mid-flight. Her body became something half-way between elf and bird, as she shot toward the horizon.

  Within moments, she was a just a speck in the sky.

  Then gone.

  John sat there, staring at the empty air.

  "I know where a bigger moonstone is," he said to nobody, his voice flat. Closer. Easier to reach. Less likely to start a holy war.

  A pause.

  "I really should have led with that."

  Another pause as the full implications sank in. A desperate and powerful elf, near insane with stress, flying toward the capital city to rob the most sacred cathedral in the kingdom.

  "Oh no."