The town library was unusually busy at this time of day. Normally when Tyron visited he would nearly have the place to himself, but as more people unlocked their Class they would head here to consult with the town Scribe and research prospective paths and careers. It wasn't as if you couldn't do this sort of thing in advance of the Awakening, but most didn't bother. Tyron himself had done a great deal of research, trying to cover his bases and have at least some idea what his future would like, regardless of his eventual Class.

However, none of that work had included anything to do with Necromancy.

After running home and hyperventilating on the floor, Tyron had tried to calm down and think about what he should do next. His first thought was that he would have to renounce his new Class, consequences be damned. His father had told him he didn't care if he was a Thief or a Thug, but how would he feel about a Dark Mage who could raise the dead to unlife?! Probably not good! Even if he wanted to keep it, there was no chance he would be able to. He was expected to be Appraised by Mrs Barbury within five days. The moment his Class was revealed he would be forced to have it revoked and that would be that.

Even more troubling was the mysterious Sub-Class. During all of his research, Tyron had never heard mention of something like the Dark Ones, Scarlet Court or Abyss, let alone their ability to convey some sort of Special Class. Anathema. The name alone marked him an enemy of the good and righteous. If he actually did turn up to renounce the Necromancer Class and have it burned out of him, how would they react to his sub-class? The Church wasn't known for its tolerance of things that stank of dark magic. Would he be strung up on the spot?! Surely not… his parents would probably burn the place down when they got back. But could he take that chance?!

If he wanted to avoid the Appraisal then he would need to somehow flee town, avoid the marshals and survive on his own in the wilderness without the support of family or friends. Not to mention the complete and utter lack of survival skills. He might be able to hunt a rabbit or two, thanks to his mother, but Tyron wasn't exactly the outdoors type. No. It would be impossible for him to flee, and even if he succeeded, how was he supposed to survive and raise his level living in the wilds like a savage?

Was there really no other choice but to revoke his Class and Sub-Class? Maybe he could. Maybe they would just remove them and let him go about his way. Without his Primary Class slot and missing a Sub-Class slot, he'd be permanently crippled, but he'd be alive. Perhaps he could get Scribe training and be a village Scribe somewhere. Perhaps his parents would be able to afford for him to take on Alchemist training. There were options out there. Maybe he'd grow slower, maybe he'd never reach a higher level, but did that matter? He could live a safe and productive life somewhere, he could be useful and help people. Was it really important that he be exceptional?

As he lay on the floor and tried to convince himself to accept his fate, part of him refused to acknowledge his reasoning. What had the voice said? He wanted power. He wanted to control. As he tried to piece his thoughts together, Tyron could admit it was true. His parents were exceptional. Both of them were high level, in demand Slayers, heroes of the people, who roamed the wilds and defended civilisation. Deep down, he'd just expected that he would be the same. Maybe not a Slayer, but extraordinary, special. He wanted to stand out like they did. He didn't want to live in their shadow for his entire life. And what would they say? What sort of look would they give him when he told them his Class was gone, that he was going to be weak his entire life?

Reluctance, anger and grief slowly crystallised within him to form a newfound determination. He was exceptional. The Class he'd received proved it. He refused to give up on it without at least trying. Having formed his resolution he'd been able to pick himself up and ransack the books in his home. His parents had a small smattering of books on Classes and Skills about the place, things they'd picked up to use as a reference, along with many bestiaries. Tyron had read them all before but now he flicked through them, desperate to find any reference to Necromancers.

Unsurprisingly, there weren’t any. Unsanctioned Classes were illegal, therefore there was no reason to put any information about them in a publicly available text. The knowledge that he'd have no guide or reference to work from hit Tyron hard. There were thousands of books dedicated to explaining Classes, detailing Feats and Skills that were available and useful, entire essays that discussed prominent holders of the Class and how they'd structured their choices. There would be none of that on Necromancy. Famous Necromancers were anything but celebrated. The opposite more like. Throughout history there had been several who'd done significant damage…

History books!

That was when Tyron realised he'd been looking in the wrong place. He'd never get information from Class guides, they were useless. But there were references to Necromancers in history books. It wasn't nearly as useful, but something was much, much better than nothing.

Because Tyron didn't know much about Necromancy. Why would he? It was an illegal Class and therefore not discussed during lessons or written about in textbooks. His parents had never talked to him about Necromancers they'd worked with. Come to think of it, he'd never heard them mention Necromancers they'd worked against either. If he weren't as well read as he was, he may have never even heard of it at all.

So he'd hunted down every historical text he could find in the house, a grand total of two, and scoured them for any reference of Necromancers. After ten minutes of relentless page flicking he'd finally found a hit. He eagerly seized the sizable volume in both hands and brought it closer to his face. After a few moments he threw the book back in disgust. There was hardly anything. A slight reference to the devastation wrought by 'Arihnan the Black' in the Empire of Granin, to the west. A few lines about cities burned and armies destroyed before the Mage was finally brought down outside the walls of the capital.

At first Tyron was discouraged, but then his mind began to turn. Armies destroyed? Cities burned? A single mage had almost brought an entire Empire down. How had he done it? By raising zombies? That didn't make any sense. Brow furrowed, Tyron grabbed the few bestiaries in the house and tore through the pages, looking for references to Undead.

He found what he was looking for in the second volume, an entire chapter dedicated to Undead creatures, their characteristics, strengths and weaknesses. Zombies were weak, slow moving and easily dispatched monsters that could be threatening in large numbers. They were often found in locations of great death where mana was thick. Some advanced forms of zombie were able to pass the curse of undeath onto their victims, thus growing the horde. Any such monsters should be put down urgently.

Surely one mage with an army of weak, slow zombies wouldn't be much threat to anyone? There must be more to it. He flicked over the pages and read about skeletons, ghosts, bound spirits, undead mages, vampires, liches and other, nightmarish creatures. The most common were generally considered soft, full of exploitable weaknesses and easy fodder for proper Slayers. The more powerful undead were rare and seemed to have little do with necromancy. Vampires were created by existing vampires, apparently passing on some sort of curse to their victims. Liches were formed from powerful mages trying to extend their lives beyond death, most of them being Necromancers themselves, not something Tyron would be able to create.

There were small hints here but it was frustrating. One Necromancer was capable of bringing down cities! What incredible power! But how? What did this Arihnan actually do to build that sort of strength? He needed to know more.

Which is why he reluctantly decided he had to go to the library, where he found himself huddled over a small table toward the back of the reading area, pouring over texts relating to the history of the Granin empire and studying bestiaries on Undead. The bestiaries were pretty useless, not containing anything he hadn't been able to learn from those he'd read at home, but the history books were different. After an hour of searching through the modest history section, he'd been lucky enough to locate a volume dedicated to the Granin Empire and found an entire chapter dedicated to the disaster that had been the uprising or Arihnan the Black.

The book spoke glowingly of the valiant warriors who had stepped up to defeat the evil mage, of the Priests and Paladins who had taken up arms to put down the evil that threatened their people, but precious little time was devoted to discussing the mage himself. Other than describing him as a 'Necromancer of great power', very little time was given over to the man. Where was he from, where had he lived before his uprising, what made him try to bring down an entire Empire single handed? Nothing. It was baffling. Surely such a figure of historical importance warranted more than a casual mention?!

Still, there was some meat to be had. In the descriptions of the battles the author detailed the ranks of Skeletons bolstered by dark robed figures who had flung out curses and dark bolts of eldritch energy. There were monsters who'd been risen from the dead as well, wyverns with flesh dripping from their bones but nevertheless flew aloft and hounded the empire from the skies. Even skeletal knights on steeds of bone who thundered forward, heedless of danger, throwing themselves into the ranks before them to cut down as many as they could before the magic that held them together was broken.

And it was magic that held them together. The book detailed the moment that Arihnan had lost his head in excruciating, flowery language. One thing was clear though, the moment the mage had died, the entire army withered away and fell apart. Somehow, that one person had been holding the entire thing together.

Though he had no ambitions of destroying empires or burning cities of innocents to the ground, Tyron felt a sliver of excitement coiling in his gut. How many Classes could boast of this sort of power? The strength to control literal armies? What could he do with that sort of strength? Forget being a Slayer, he could conquer huge stretches of the wilds, exterminate monsters across land equivalent to a kingdom. Maybe he could put his own parents out of business.

He chuckled to himself at that thought but quickly sobered. If he were able to accumulate that sort of strength, the sort that Arihnan had possessed, but used it for good, he would be excused for his Class, perhaps even celebrated. Was this another path for him? He'd be reviled at first, sure, but with enough good deeds to his name, he'd be welcomed home, surely.

"Is everything alright, Tyron?" A soft voice spoke beside him.

"Gah!" Tyron jumped in his seat, his arms flinging out over the open books in front of him before he turned his head.

"Mrs. Barbury! How - How are you?"

The woman in question eyed him with a cool gaze until he started to sweat.

"I'm well, thank you," she answered finally, "I was curious what you might be reading back here."

She cast her eyes over the books on the table. "History?" She asked with one brow raised.

"Uh, yeah. Just brushing up on a few topics I found interesting. Nothing big."

She nodded slowly and pursed her lips and Tyron was taken aback, not for the first time, just how attractive the town Scribe really was. To the teenagers and kids in Foxbridge, she was 'old lady Barbury', but in reality she was only in her thirties. Behind the plain clothes and serious demeanour she was smooth faced and possessed a pair of intelligent, sharp eyes.

"I thought I'd find you studying up on your Class. I don't mean to pry, of course, your Class is your business outside of the registration..."

Tyron forced a chuckle, his throat dry. "Naturally," he wheezed.

"… but I wanted you to know that if you wanted to discuss your options, you can look for me. I'll be moving between the town hall and the library for the next few days. I'm happy to talk anytime."

Puzzled, Tyron forgot to be nervous and tilted his head as he gazed up at the Scribe as if she were a puzzle. Suddenly, it clicked.

"The Mayor sent you," he said.

Mrs. Barbury nodded and smiled wryly.

"Too smart for your own good, young master Steelarm. Yes. He mentioned that you hadn't looked too… pleased, after your Awakening. He asked me to check in on you and offer my advice."

He supposed he should feel grateful for their care, but instead he felt threatened. They probably imagined he had acquired a boring Class and was distraught at the plain future laid out before him. There were always several people in that boat every year. No doubt the Mayor kept a sharp eye out for them and tried to settle them down before they did something stupid. But one thing still puzzled him.

"But why you, Mrs Barbury. With respect, this sort of thing falls outside your normal role."

"That it does," she said drily before she gathered her skirts and sat down at his table. "It isn't something I talk about often, but I myself renounced my Class after Awakening."

"What?" Tyron was shocked. "Really? Why?"

"It's a common enough story, there are people all over the place who've chosen to renounce their primary Class. It's not the end of the world. With hard work and a Trainer, it's possible to pick up almost any Class at all, once enough time has passed. Plenty of people have gone on to do great things after choosing a new Primary Class. As to why, my family didn't approve of my Class and I didn't see a future in it, so I changed it. After six years of waiting, then months working with a Trainer, I acquired the Scribe job and took over duties here in Foxbridge. See? Not the end of the world."

"Can… Can I ask what your original Class was? If that's okay.. I mean." Tyron stuttered, realising how inappropriate it was of him to ask.

The first Class was quite personal and people could get quite touchy about it. Mrs Barbury hesitated before she answered.

"I received the Dancer Class. I quite enjoyed dancing when I was young."

Tyron could see it. Even now she moved with a certain grace that she surely didn't have the Dexterity to justify. Having said her piece, the Scribe put her hands on the table and pushed herself up.

"Remember to come and look for me if you need advice, alright? Make sure you talk to a range of people before you make any decisions."

Tyron would, if he could.

"Thanks, Mrs Barbury. Tell the Mayor I appreciate his concern."

"I will."

With a final smile, she walked away to check in with another group and left Tyron to his books. Though he felt a little shaky at this unexpected intrusion, he returned to his study, hoping to find more examples of Necromancy throughout history. After another hour he was successful. As he flicked through a dense volume that dealt with the dealings of the Sand Folk to the south, he found reference to certain cultural practices that sounded a great deal like Necromancy. Supposedly able to summon spirits and bind them to service as well as passages that described those 'devoid of life' being used to suppress rebellious villages.

He rose from his table to search for volumes related to the tribes and returned with a few promising texts within ten minutes. Before he could sink his teeth into them, he was interrupted once more.

"There he is! I knew he'd be stuck in a book!" Rufus boomed through the hushed library.

Not now. He didn't want to deal with this now! But he didn't have a choice. When he turned away from his book he found Rufus already striding across the room, headless of the disruption he caused, with Elsbeth and Laurel trailing behind him.

"Hey Tyron! Sorry I didn't see you after your Awakening," Elsbeth greeted him.

"It's fine," he said, "I know you had to talk to your parents and sort out stuff with the church."

She blushed and nodded.

"Was it that obvious?" she asked.

Tyron forced out a smile.

"It was, yes. Congratulations on becoming a Priestess."

"I told you it would happen," Rufus broke in, "nothing was more sure. I got the Swordsman class as well. The group is coming together! I'm telling you guys, we are purpose built for Slaying!"

Tyron turned to Laurel.

"I assume that means you got the ranger type class you wanted?"

Laurel's eyes twinkled as she smiled.

"Maybe," was all she said.

Tyron felt his heart clench in his chest. His friends had all received the Class they wanted and now they were here without a care in the world, the future rolled out in front of them like a red carpet. He struggled to shove his bitterness down. It's not their fault he received the Class he did. If anything, it was his own. This was the Class he was most suited for. Who else but himself could he blame for that?

"So," he broke the silence, "Elsbeth. Have you put any thought to the deity you want to serve? You have to pick one, right?"

"That's right," she said, "I shouldn't be surprised you know about that."

"I researched a lot of classes."

"It shows," she laughed. "I have to choose before I can get Appraised, since it permanently affects my Status and Class. It's not entirely up to me though, the Gods have their say."

"You want to pick Seren, right?"

She brought her hands up to clasp the symbol of Seren she wore around her neck, a flower, wrought in silver that she'd had for years. Seren was the Goddess of Purity and Healing. Most of her followers were women and Elsbeth spent most of her volunteering time with the Sisters who worked out of the local church.

"I hope so. My family wanted me to appeal to Seren as well."

"I'm sure you'll be accepted. And there are tons of villages and churches crying out for a Priestess. You'll do well."

Rufus shifted his feet before he broke in.

"Elsbeth can worry about that later, It's time to celebrate! We've Awakened! Let's hit the town! Get off your butt and let's go!"

Tyron leaned away from his friend's exuberance.

"Ah, I'm fine. I think I'll just stay and read for a bit before I hit the hay. I haven't checked in with Uncle Worthy yet either, he's probably worried."

That was very true. His uncle had expected him back as soon as the ceremony was done, which was five hours ago. He had to get back there.

Elsbeth broke into his thoughts.

"You didn't say what Class you got, Tyron. Is it alright if I pry?" She smiled, her eyes dancing with excitement.

His heart froze in his chest. He couldn't tell them. He tried to play it off.

"Ah, nothing special. I don't think there'll be any Slaying in my future."

There was a heavy silence after he spoke as the three friends tried to think of something to say. Tyron waved his hands.

"It's fine! Nothing dramatic. Look, you guys go celebrate. I need to get back to the inn anyway."

They looked at him with complicated gazes. Considering his family it was almost inconceivable that Tyron would have an ordinary Class. Elsbeth looked equal parts shocked and saddened. Tyron rushed to slam all his books closed and pushed through them.

"See you," he muttered.

He couldn't take their pitying gazes. He rushed out of the library as quickly as could but he couldn't help but hear Rufus' voice behind him

"Look, forget him. Are we going to celebrate or not?"

Feeling irritated, Tyron rushed back to the Inn to reassure his aunt and uncle that he was well and endure their curious, concerned looks before he retreated back to his parent's house. He needed to think.