I startled awake, eyes shooting open as I blinked against the sparse firelight coming from the wall-mounted candelabras decorating the walls. My heart thudded away, sweat dotted my forehead, and confusion raced through me as I tried to figure out where I was and how I’d gotten here. I thrust out a hand, groping at an oversized mattress and a set of silky soft sheets, much nicer than anything I’d ever had IRL. I rolled onto my side and caught the shape of a body curled up not far away; a bob of brown hair and a set of bare shoulders poked out from the tangle of sheets and blankets.

Abby, I finally remembered, as the shape of her body jarred me back into reality.

Hard to forget that.

We’d come back late, exhausted out of our minds, but restless. Anxious all the way down to our toes. And that restlessness had led to sleeplessness, which, in turn, had led to some light conversation. We talked food first: she reminisced about the best pizza place in the Valley—a little mom and pop place called Peppino’s—and I couldn’t help but remember the sub-shop, Richie’s, off of El Cajon and Alabama. Just small things. Things we were homesick for. Books. Movies. Games. Places. Relatives.

Then, late in the night—during an idle chat about pie of all things—her mouth was suddenly on mine, her hands running through my hair, our bodies pressed together, our limbs tangled. Watching her sleep, I couldn’t help but smile. Of all the things that’d happened since coming to VGO, she was definitely the best part.

Pretty soon, we’d be clashing head to head with Osmark, going to war, but I couldn’t forget that all of this—my second chance at life and my second chance with Abby—was all thanks to him. I pushed the uncomfortable thought away and instead considered running a hand across her cheek. I resisted the urge, though, not wanting to wake her. Eventually, I sighed, pulled up my interface with a lazy yawn, and checked the time. 6:15 AM. Awfully early, but I had a full day ahead of me, so I reluctantly threw back the covers and slipped my legs over the edge of the plush mattress.

Abby stirred despite my best efforts, rolling over as her arms stretched and she blinked sleepily against the light. “Jack,” she murmured, “what time is it?”

“Just after six,” I replied, stifling another yawn.

She groaned, rolled over and pulled the blanket up over her head. “No,” she protested, voice muted by the covers. “I don’t want it to be morning. A few more hours.”

“Does that mean you’ve decided to come with me, today?” I asked, a playful edge to my words, though I already knew she was going to say no.

She groaned, rolled onto her back, and flipped back the blanket, glowering at me. “Har-har, Jack. I’d love to come with you, but if we both go gallivanting off on some wonky quest, who’s gonna run the faction, huh? This place would implode without one of us behind the wheel—though I’m going on the record right now: next time there’s a crazy adventure or an awesome dungeon-dive, I say you should have to stay behind and be the adult while I go out, kill the monsters, and backstroke through piles of loot and heaps of gold.”

I snorted and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know that’s not how it ever happens. I vaguely recall being tied up by a giant spider, then eaten. Sucked dry like a juice box. Horrible is the understatement of the century. Believe me, adventuring isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You say that now,” she growled, “but that’s only because you haven’t been stuck doing all the admin work for the Faction. Stacks of paperwork a mile deep is worse than the Spider Queen.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a shrug, raising my hands in surrender. “So, are you at least going to get up with me? We could shower together,” I said casually.

She dived back under the covers, slipped onto her side, and curled into a ball. “Not on your life. The one upside to admin is I don’t have to be in the Command Center until eight. But good luck, Jack. Call me over the new chat feature once things get going.”

“Of course,” I replied, slipping from the bed, my feet touching down on the thick gray carpets littering the cold stone floors. I glanced around, still unused to all the polished granite, gleaming chrome, and fancy art; my Master Suite in the Darkshard Keep looked like it belonged in an upscale New York penthouse. Somehow, though, it actually belonged to little ol’ me. I shook my head in disbelief and padded toward the bathroom, which boasted loads of stylish gray tile, glossy mirrors, a huge walk-in shower, and a tub, large enough to qualify as a pool.

I stripped down and opted for a hot, steamy shower to clear my sleep-addled brain. The water, nearly scorching, washed away any lingering weariness and worked out the tension in still-sore muscles, leaving me refreshed and sporting a new buff:

Buffs Added

Well-Groomed: Restore 200 HP over 30 seconds. Goods and services cost 5% less and Merchant-craft skills are increased by (1) level; duration, (4) hours.

By the time I killed the water, the mirrors were fogged over and Abby was back asleep, snoring softly, her chest rhythmically rising and falling. I geared up—slipping on a pair of clean pants, a fresh undershirt, then tossing on my armor—and ghosted from the room, using my Stealth ability to ensure I didn’t wake Abby a second time. The Keep’s halls were empty as I made my way down to the courtyard; it seemed folks around here were night owls instead of early risers. The kitchen staff, however, was up and already hard at work.

I snagged a sweet-roll in passing—the bread warm and soft, the icing sweet and creamy—and a cup of Western Brew, before hopping a ride via the stone port pad into Yunnam proper.

The town was a bit livelier than the Keep; the gunmetal-skinned Murk-Elf residents were already up and about their business for the day. Folks were busy making and selling food—huge pots of rice boiled over low fires while meat roasted on spits—while crafters dutifully went about their business. Seamstresses worked away in the small shops set up below their stilted houses, and smiths worked at forges, the clang of steel ringing out in the early morning air. A handful of hawkers and peddlers—mostly Outlanders, new to Yunnam, brought in by the flood of new Faction members—cried their wares at passerbys: weapons, food, health potions, ingredients. Anything. Everything.

I avoided them all, weaving through the lightly packed street, greeting the villagers I knew, and giving polite nods to those I didn’t, while constantly scanning the passing faces. Searching for Cutter. I hadn’t seen him since leaving for Rowanheath a few days ago, and I really wanted to have him along on this new quest. He was egotistical, petty, and often a pain in the ass, but he’d saved my neck more times than I’d care to count—not to mention, he really was the best thief the Alliance had. He’d begrudgingly decided to train our up and coming Rogues, but none of them held a candle to the Cutter.

A fact Cutter was more than eager to point out to literally anyone who would listen, especially if mead or Law-jiu—Murk-Elf rice wine—was involved.

I wound my way toward a new area the clansfolk were calling “the training ground,” which amounted to a shallow pit the size of a basketball court filled with gritty, gray swamp sand. The Keep now boasted an agility course, an archery range, and a melee ring, but Cutter preferred to work his recruits over on the training grounds. He wouldn’t tell me why, but I suspected it had something to do with the fact that Amara—Huntress, badass, and daughter to the Chief—lived within a stone’s throw from the site. Just a suspicion, but a persistent one.

I rounded a bend, passing by a gnarled tree, hanging with glowing moss, and nearly ran headlong into the man I’d come looking for. He pulled up short, a scowl painted across his face. “Jack,” he said with a terse nod, “just who I was coming to find.”

“What’s up?” I asked, giving him a quick once over. He was a Wode with the wiry build of a street brawler, short blond hair, and a strong jaw riddled with stubble. He wore dark leathers, a night-black cloak, and had a pair of daggers, etched with runes, tucked into his belt. He looked terrible, though—purple bags hanging under his eyes, his clothes rumpled and stained with brown mud, while a spatter of blood decorated one cheek. “What the heck happened to you?”

He grunted, dropped his hands to his hips, and scowled at me, his forehead furrowed. “It’s that bloody Chief Kolle, is what it is. The ol’ bastard thought it’d be fun to send me and Amara off on a quest to round up a bunch of Feral Bog Wolves encroaching on the Southern border.” He paused and took a furtive glance around. “Little did I know, Amara intended to use me as bait. Pig-headed woman nearly cost me a leg”—he slammed a hand against a thigh, showcasing some serious blood-stains. “She’s trying to kill me, Jack. I swear to all the Gods she is. Just a bloody, awful woman.”

I smiled at him, slung an arm around his shoulders, and handed him what remained of my coffee—he certainly needed it more than I did. “She’s probably only returning the favor,” I said with a noncommittal shrug. “I warned you about tasking all your recruits with attempting to pickpocket her. Your chickens are coming home to roost, buddy.”

“Whose side are you even on,” he grumbled under his breath before taking a slug of the brew. “And what brings you down here, anyway?” He asked after a second. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me now that you’re a big-shot faction leader. You finally got something fun for us to do, eh? Something with gold? And loot? Please tell me there’s loot involved. I need more loot and gold in my life, Jack, especially after that debacle yesterday.”

I grinned then launched into the story, telling him about the Jade Crown, our appointed meeting with Dark Conclave, and the possibility of unifying the entire Storme Marshes under the Crimson Alliance Banner. Naturally, Cutter blanched when I told him both the Chief and Amara would be accompanying us—at least for the first leg of the journey to the Dark Conclave—but mostly, he looked happy. Well, greedy might be a more accurate word, but for Cutter, happy and greedy were synonymous.

“Count me in, friend,” he said rubbing his hands together in covetous glee. It took us another half-hour to round up Amara and Chief Kolle, then another ten to navigate our way to the Yunnam’s Mystica Ordo, but then we were off. Heading for the Conclave headquarters, located deep in the dangerous heart of the bog.