Nahan – POV

  The third winter since we made Fort Bunzad our temporary home has settled over the land, cold and heavy, like a thick blanket muffling every sound. Tomorrow is my tenth birthday. If I were a normal child of Hovdenia, I would be buzzing with excitement, counting the hours until my advancement ceremony, one of the most important milestones in a young person’s life.

  But I am far from normal.

  I don’t need a ceremony. I don’t need a priest’s blessing or a crystal orb to awaken my class. I already accessed the system when I was still a baby, long before I was supposed to. And now, on the eve of the day when children traditionally receive their first class, I find myself anxious in a way I haven’t felt in years.

  According to the rules of this world; rules I’ve pieced together from observation, books, and the experiences of others. I shouldn’t have been able to access the system before turning ten. Yet here I am: level 57 Shadow Mage and Demonologist/Affliction/Destruction Warlock. A mouthful, even by my standards. Most of those levels came from the tireless delving of my minions, who have been grinding through dungeon after dungeon on my behalf.

  I shouldn’t be worried. Serena turned ten two years ago, and nothing strange happened to her. No sudden transformation, no painful awakening, no divine lightning bolt from the heavens. What did happen was that her growth; rapid, dramatic, and unmistakable; manifested when she started her dungeon delves and gaining new levels. She shot up in height, her body strengthening and refining itself as if sculpted by invisible hands. Her fire magic became sharper, more controlled, and more lethal. She is a beautiful teenager now. She even has many admirers among the other teenagers in our house. She now stands proudly as a level 25 Fire Mage, and she carries herself like a noble lady, beautiful and confident… until she opens her mouth. Then the illusion shatters instantly. Loud, brash, and unfiltered; she’s still the same Serena I grew up with, much to Mother’s endless frustration.

  Jack, now sixteen and a level 29 warrior, has undergone his own transformation. He’s nearly six feet tall, handsome, broad?shouldered, and built like someone who was born to wear armor. And just like Serena, he has many admirers especially among our maids. Watching him train is like watching a future knight in the making. His growth spiked the moment he began delving into the dungeons with the others, and every level he gained carved more strength into his frame.

  Christine turned ten just a few months ago. Like the others, nothing unusual happened during her awakening. But her growth since then has been unmistakable. She’s now level 16, and every week she seems to change a little more—her platinum hair growing shinier, her skin becoming flawless, her features sharpening into the beginnings of a beautiful young woman. Mana, it seems, has a way of refining the body, polishing it like a gemstone.

  And that is exactly what worries me.

  What happens to a boy who is turning ten… but is already level 57?

  Will I wake up tomorrow as a full?grown man? Will my body try to “catch up” to my level in one violent burst of transformation? Will I mutate into something monstrous; an Astarte, a ten?foot behemoth of muscle and mana? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

  The waiting gnaws at me. To calm my nerves, I spend the evening meditating, focusing on my breathing, letting mana flow through me in slow, controlled waves. It helps, but only a little.

  The past two years have been productive, remarkably so. With the knowledge I’ve shared and the skills of our craftsmen, we’ve improved the fort’s technology and living standards far beyond what it once was. Our population has grown to nearly 800, with 500 trained fighters among them. To avoid overcrowding, we expanded the fort’s perimeter, built new barracks, and constructed homes outside the walls for families.

  Our armory is now filled with Damascus steel weapons, blades of exceptional sharpness and durability. I briefly considered making Damascus steel armor as well, but my research quickly revealed its flaws. Perfect for weapons, terrible for armor. Too brittle under certain impacts, too expensive to justify. So, we stuck to what worked.

  Another constant presence in our lives has been High Priest Remor Denoba. He visits often, accompanied by Amiru and his paladins, always eager to collect “donations.” For all his greed, Remor is surprisingly pious. He adheres strictly to the tenets of the goddess Shabiln, protects the common folk, and much to my relief, shows no lust toward the women of the fort. He is celibate, disciplined, and fair in judgment. His weakness lies only in gold.

  Amiru, on the other hand, remains the same arrogant noble-born paladin he has always been. His disdain for commoners is practically a second skin. Still, he does his job well enough.

  Whenever they visit, I order my minions and Shive to stay invisible and far away. Technically, it should be safe; after all, the paladins guard the dungeons where my minions roam freely without issue. But I refuse to gamble with our lives. If the church discovered what I truly am… things would become complicated very quickly.

  Tonight, as the cold wind howls outside my window, I kneel beside my bed and pray. Not to Shabiln, but to God, the one from my old world. I pray that nothing catastrophic happens when I wake up. I pray that if changes must come, they will come slowly, gently, over time. I don’t want to open my eyes tomorrow and find myself transformed into a space marine. The thought is ridiculous, and I scoff at myself for imagining it.

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  But this is Hovdenia. Magic reigns supreme. The impossible becomes possible every day.

  I climbed back onto the bed, carefully maneuvering between the two girls still fast asleep. The moment my head touched the pillow, they instinctively shifted toward me, each curling in from a side like they always did. I let out a quiet sigh, half exasperation, half comfort. For all my worries, their warmth was a blessing. Even with the fireplace burning steadily and the windows shut tight, the winter cold still crept into my bones. Nights like this made the fort feel more like an icebox than a home.

  I pulled the blanket a little higher around us and let myself sink into the heat they radiated. My breath fogged faintly in the air. Damn, it’s really cold.

  Out of habit, I summoned my status page one last time before turning ten. A final check. A final reassurance. My heart thudded a little faster as the familiar translucent window appeared before me, glowing softly in the dim room.

  Status:

  Name: Nathan Mayweather- Abensberg

  Noble House: Mayweather – Abensberg (member)

  Class: Shadow Mage, Warlock Demonologist, Affliction, Destruction

  Title: Otherworldly Knowledge, Master Chef, Quaeritor Artium

  Name: Nathan

  Class: Shadow Mage, Warlock Demonologist, Affliction, Destruction

  Level: 57

  HP: 1080

  MP: 7740

  Strength: 58

  Stamina: 58

  Agility: 58

  Dexterity: 108

  Intelligence: 774

  Constitution: 108

  Affinity: Shadow SSS+, Fel Energy SSS+

  Active Skills: Shadow Bolt 10, Immolate 10, Summon Imp, Shadow Tendrils 10, Corruption 10, Curse of Weakness 10, Life Tap 10, Curse of Agony 10, Fear 10, Summon Voidwalker, Drain Soul 10, Create Healthstone , Health Funnel 10, Drain Life 10, Curse of Recklessness 10, Unending Breath, Searing Pain 10 Create Soulstone (Greater) , Ritual of Summoning, Summon Succubus, Summon Incubus, Rain of Fire 10, Demon Armored Skin 10, Eye of Kilrogg, Shadowmeld 10, Drain Mana 10, Sense Demons, Banish 10, Summon Fellhunter, Subjugate Demon 10, Hellfire 10, Curse of the Elements 10, Shadow Ward 10, Detect Invisibility, Summon Felsteed, Howl of Terror 10, Death Coil 10, Curse of Shadow 10, Soul Fire 10, Detect Greater Invisibility, Summon Infernal

  Passive Skills: Mana Sense 10

  One-handed Sword Mastery 41

  Two-handed Sword Mastery 46

  Spear Mastery 49

  Dagger 41

  Nothing new appeared on my status page, aside from all my skills finally reaching rank ten. The only exceptions were skills for summoned demons and Summoned Infernal, which had no rank. I hadn’t used the skill Summon Infernal. Too risky. Too many eyes around the fort.

  I knew exactly what would happen if I dared to cast that spell.

  A massive boulder wreathed in sickly green felfire would tear through the sky like a falling star, crash into the earth with enough force to shake the walls, and then; rising from the crater; a towering infernal would emerge, its body a molten construct of stone and felfire. Hard to explain that away as “normal magic.”

  I wanted to summon one. Badly. The curiosity gnawed at me every time I read the spell description. But not yet. Not while we lived in a crowded fort full of people who would panic at the sight of a demon made of fire and stone.

  Soon, maybe. When the time is right.

  I closed my eyes. And tomorrow, I turn ten.

  When I woke up, my first instinct was to bolt straight to the mirror beside my bed. Panic clawed at my chest, urging me to confirm whether I had transformed overnight. But I forced myself to stay still. Shive and Christine were draped over me like warm, breathing blankets; their arms and legs tangled around mine. They had been sleeping in my room for a couple of years now. They had their own rooms, of course, but they always insisted they slept better beside me. Strangely, Mother tolerated it, though I suspected she was simply relieved we all felt safe.

  Still… puberty was coming. And when it arrived, this arrangement would have to end. I’d cross that bridge when I reached it.

  Carefully, I eased myself out from under their limbs, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake them up. Once free, I took a moment to feel my body; my height, my limbs, my face. Nothing felt different. No sudden surge of strength, no strange tightness in my muscles, no bizarre shift in proportions.

  I turned to the mirror.

  The same boy stared back at me. Same hair, same eyes, same scrawny frame. I let out a long breath of relief, my shoulders sagging. Thank God.

  I turned back to the girls, intending to wake them, but paused. The blanket had slipped off during the night, leaving them exposed to the cold winter air. They were curled together, shivering faintly. I pulled the blanket up to cover them properly before calling their names. Knowing them, it would take at least half an hour before they were fully awake.

  As I tucked the blanket around them, I noticed how much they had changed; Shive’s porcelain skin, Christine’s warm complexion, both of them growing older, taller, more mature. The curves of the bodies were becoming more noticeable. Their chest area showing noticeable bumps through the thin fabric of their nightgowns. Their features were sharpening into those of young women, not children.

  Right then and there, I felt stirring and hardening in the crotch area. Damn it! And that was exactly why this sleeping arrangement needed to end soon.

  I swallowed hard, embarrassed by the sudden heat in my face. “Get a grip,” I muttered to myself.

  Today was my tenth birthday. I had bigger things to worry about.