Beth once again struck the small loop of metal against the flint, to no effect. It was getting frustrating. If she didn’t get the fire started soon, they’d once again have to rely on Eliza to do it for them. That, or risk trying to light their fire in the dark.

“Come on, you’re almost there. Just keep that wrist relaxed,” Eliza said. Beth took a calming breath and hit the flint again, focusing on relaxing her wrist so that the steel loop swept across the flint rather than banging straight into it while simultaneously holding the char cloth in place on the flint with her thumb.

A tiny red dot appeared on the char cloth, and Beth was about to try again when Eliza grabbed her arm.

“No, no, no, honey. You got it!” she said.

“Really?” Beth said. “But there’s no—”

“Yes! Now be gentle, give it a little air.”

Beth blew lightly on the char cloth, the small ember growing and spreading across the piece of blackened cotton. As the small patch of red expanded, she couldn’t keep the grin off her face. After getting a nod of approval from Eliza, Beth placed the glowing cloth into the pile of dry lichen. With a few tentative gusts of air and some pushing around of the lichen, a small flame formed. Eliza put some cedar shavings next to the little fire, and Beth slowly added them to the fire, building it up big enough to get a couple of pieces of kindling going.

As soon as the kindling caught, a notification flew into being and tucked itself into Beth’s Tome.

NEW SURVIVAL SKILL LEARNED!

Campcraft – Skill Level 1 (Tier-0)

You have discovered how to create fire! And to think… all it took was a starter kit and two days of dedicated instruction from a Master forester with a 4x multiplier to teaching. Good for you!

50 XP Earned

“I did it!” Beth shouted.

“Great job, girl,” Eliza said. “You keep on tending that thing. If you can get it burning properly, you’ll get your Campcraft skill up to Level 2, and if you extinguish it fully when we’re done, you’ll pick up Level 3. Once you and Peter are both there, I can teach you some of the other elements of building a proper camp.

That was great to hear. Eliza had been teaching them some handy survival skills, and her Renown had even bumped up to Level 6 when she finally got her Hiking skill to 11 during a particularly tricky crossing of a rocky slope.

“Are all skills that way?” Beth asked. “With hidden requirements for advancement?”

“To some degree, but the requirements generally make sense,” Eliza said. “It would be ridiculous to have a person with Hobbyist-tier Campcraft who couldn’t start a fire, right? Or a swordsman who couldn’t hold a sword properly? There’s no amount of swinging a weapon that will get you the requisite Skill if you never learn how to hold the thing properly; whether that be by chance or by instruction.”

Beth resumed coaxing life into the fire. It collapsed somewhat and stifled a little bit of its growth, but the kindling was dry and continued to burn regardless.

She was so focused on the fire that she was startled when Peter spoke.

“How would one go about doing that?” he said to Eliza.

“Doing what?” Eliza said.

“Learning how to use a sword.”

Beth looked at her husband, her lips pursed.

“You want to learn a weapon?” Eliza said, eying him curiously. “You’re a big lad, but aren’t you more of the bookish type?”

Peter glanced at Beth, then back to Eliza. “The more I learn about this place, the more I think it would be a good idea.”

“Peter…” Beth said.

“Come on, hon. This place is a lot harsher than what we’re used to. Everything we know, everything we’re good at, has been set to zero. We’re like babes in the woods. Only here, there are literal monsters in those woods.”

“You’re being melodramatic,” Beth said. “We spent two days on our own before Eliza showed up.”

Eliza snorted. “Kiddo, the only reason you’re still alive is because I was keeping an eye on you. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up just from the sound of arrows flying overhead.”

Peter gestured to Eliza. “See what I mean? Look at the Skills we’ve been getting. Do you think there’s one for understanding government policy and using it to maximize return on crop investments? Because that’s what I’m best at. What kind of relevance does that have in a place like Arenia?

Eliza cocked her head. “Can you do that? If so, there’s good money to be made.”

“Really?” Peter said.

“Sure, but then you have to work for one of the Families,” she said, spitting on the ground as though ridding herself of the word's taste.

“The Families?” Beth asked.

Eliza grimaced. “Yes, but you don’t want to work for the Families if you can avoid it, trust me. There aren’t many ways to avoid them for the average folk, but one of the very few is to learn your way around a weapon. It can end up as pretty gruesome work, but at least you’d have your morality intact.”

“How is killing people more moral than a desk job?” Beth said incredulously.

“Because policy can kill a whole lot more people than swords can,” Eliza said.

She shook her head. “As I said, you don’t want to work for the Families.”

Beth shook her head and tossed another piece of kindling on the fire. The whole idea was sobering. Sure, she knew how the world worked in games like the ones her kids played—she didn’t grow up under a rock. She understood that Dungeons & Dragons and games like it presented violence and death as a commonplace occurrence, but she hadn’t yet processed that this world might require them to adopt the same kind of mindset. Sure, someone like Angela was probably ecstatic at the prospect of magic and adventure, and her love of nature probably made this a dreamland, but what choices would the rest of them be forced to make? What would this world turn them into?

Who would they have to become to survive?

“I don’t know…” Beth said. “Aren’t there other ways?”

“Sure,” Eliza said. “But then you need to be a mage or a criminal. Or a blacksmith, but it’s illegal to become an apprentice after the age of nine, so that’s not happening.”

“A mage?” Beth said. “What’s that?”

“Magic-user. Wizards, sorcerers. Mancers of various types.” Eliza got a considering look. “What are your intelligence scores?”

“17,” Beth said.

“18 for me,” Peter added.

Eliza looked like she’d just bitten into a lime. “Blech. Nope, that's not gonna happen.”

“Those aren’t good scores?” Beth asked.

“Eh. On the low side, but still within the average for someone your age. Nowhere close to what you’d need for the mage’s college, though. A couple of folks like you with no political connections? You’d need at least a 32 for intelligence. Probably 25 or more in willpower as well.”

Beth got a sinking feeling in her stomach. If 18 was on the low side…

“Eliza,” she said. “What is an average score for a person’s attributes?”

“Oh, people bounce around, but 20 is the commonly accepted number,” Eliza said. “Everyone has some higher and some lower, of course, but the average person’s score comes out to roughly 20. It’s so universal that some cultures on Arenia don’t consider you an adult until you’ve reached an average score of 18.” She pointed at Beth’s fire. “You’re going to need more wood on that if you don’t want it to go out.”

Beth looked down and realized that she’d completely neglected her fire to the point that it was just some bits of cedar kindling with a light smattering of coals. She hastily pushed the unburnt wood onto the coals, then rebuilt the flames with more kindling. As the kindling caught, she added some larger and larger pieces until she got a notification:

Campcraft Skill Increased to Level 2 (Tier-0)

PROMETHEUS LIVES!

50 XP Earned

Beth read the notification, but her mind was elsewhere.

“Good work,” Eliza said when she saw the fire catch. “You could have added larger pieces quicker and not gone through so much kindling, but you’ll learn to read a fire given some time. Let me take over and I’ll get dinner cooking.”

Beth thanked her and got up, wiping the dirt and char off her hands and trying not to think of the fact that she’d probably never see a shower again. Glancing at Peter, he raised his hands defensively

“Before you start on the sword thing—” he began.

“It’s not that,” she said under her breath. “Look at your character sheet.”

Peter did so, and she brought up her own.

“Look at our averages,” Beth said. “My Endurance went up to 16 yesterday and I’m still only a 17.9 average. I’m not even an adult here.”

“17.9?” Peter said. “My Endurance went up a point as well and I’m only 17.4.”

Oops… there was a reason Beth hadn’t mentioned it earlier. “It’s only a 0.5 difference. That’s nothing.”

Peter raised an eyebrow and pointedly ignored her comment, instead choosing to scratch at the scruff that was overtaking his formerly trimmed beard. “Either way, it’s clear that our scores are way too low.”

“Agreed. Why do you think that is?” Beth said.

He looked thoughtful. “Maybe it’s just a reflection of how different this place is from Earth? Like when Eliza told us that people raise their attributes by pushing themselves. Think about the lives we led on Earth. How hard can you honestly say we had to push ourselves? Machines do all of our heavy lifting. We don’t need to stretch our minds because everything can be found on the internet. And when it comes to Willpower…” he patted his stomach. “Hell, two of my best attributes are Strength and Luck, and my strength probably hasn’t moved since I played football in high school.”

“I knew I should have listened when Kathy tried to get me into power yoga. My Strength is only 14. Blech.”

“Exactly. We’re way behind the curve here. There are new rules we need to play by if we want the family to survive. It doesn’t mean we need to be vicious people, but we have to be prepared in case people inflict viciousness on us. Or the kids. Not Jack, though—he’s probably killed seven people since we got here.”

“Peter!”

“Sorry!” Peter said, chuckling. “Just trying to inject some levity. Although if your grandfather wasn’t so old, he’d probably be the best equipped of all of us to handle this.”

There was some truth to that, Beth had to admit. But still…

“I’ve been a social worker, Peter,” she said. “Bringing violence into the home is never a good idea, no matter the reasons.”

“We’re not ‘bringing violence into the home,’” Peter sighed. “Did your grandfather do that after the war?”

“Grandpa Jack was forced into the army and then left it all behind once the war ended,” she countered.

“No, Jack volunteered for the army. Big difference. Plus, he took up judo when he got back. A couple decades of that didn’t make him a violent man.”

Beth grimaced. It was a fair point, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that her grandfather was the exception, not the rule.

Leaning into her husband, Beth placed her head on his chest. He put his arm around her as they stared at the fire, lost in thought.

“I don’t want to lose sight of who we are,” Beth said.

“We won’t. We’ll be the same people we’ve always been,” Peter said.

Eliza smiled at them, gesturing towards Peter with a piece of wood. “He’s right, you know. In Arenia, you are your class. And your class is based on who you truly are. Just be true to yourself and trust that your Tome will offer a class that reflects that.”

The words were meant to be reassuring. Too bad Eliza didn’t realize they were exactly what Beth was afraid of.