“It is time,” came a gleeful whisper. The cool of the night brushed over my arms as the tent flap slightly lifted to let the wind playfully swirl in. The voice did not wake me; its owners’ quick footsteps had, not so silent to my ears.

I stood from my cot, grabbing a hooded coat and my axe. A bag was slung over my shoulders—I had packed it a week ago in preparation for this night. I had finally gained a dagger, and my lighter from earth was still in my pocket.

As I moved to meet Keith, I marveled at my body, even though I had grown used to its gradual changes. I felt strong and agile; my steps were controlled and precise. For nearly three weeks I had been improving myself the only way I currently knew how: by logging, and by engaging in recurring bouts with Keith as he approached me to stave off his “growing boredom.” The results showed for themselves.

Name: Cain Miller

Title: Blind Man's Avarice

Class: None

Strength: 32

Endurance: 27

Vitality: 17

Dexterity: 20

Intelligence: 11

Wisdom: 19

Perception: 5

Skills:

[Chop (2)] - passive

[Enhanced Sense (2)] - passive

Strength was still easiest for me to improve. Any idea about intelligence and wisdom eluded me, and skills proved difficult to level without some form of critical event to push it forward. Still, my growth seemed fast, and my body was now inhuman.

“Carter, quickly,” Keith hissed, growing impatient. I pushed past the tent flap, following behind him as he swiftly moved. “Now, you know the plan. I’ll grab two horses and meet you on the north side of camp—then we’ll follow the river west.” He paused, and I knew he was giving me a look. “You’re sure you’ll be fine with the distraction? We need anything we can grab from Captain Roth’s tent.”

“Yes,” I assured. “I have a plan that I’ve been working on for a week now. Besides, you know I am quieter than you.” He scowled but did not refute me. We had played a twisted game of hide-and-seek nine days ago, and despite my blindness, I had found him more times than he had me. It is what led me to volunteer for my part of our scheme.

The captain had grown increasingly frantic as the weeks flew by, his annoyance at his helplessness growing in our isolated camp. News from the frontlines arrived less frequently as the Federation’s manpower spread thin. The latest update was what sprung our plan into motion. The north had fallen to the troops coming from Markitan, the thinning of soldiers to aid the south proving to be a fatal mistake. We would head there tonight after stealing any last-minute knowledge from the captain.

“Fine,” Keith said. “Don’t screw up. I’ll see you later.” Then, he was gone. I moved in the opposite direction, ducking my head as I stepped slowly but steadily. Sudden movement always drew the eye, and any sounds from me were non-existent. I put practically all focus from [Enhanced Sense] into my hearing, listening for even the tiniest rustle that would derail the plan.

As soon as Keith had proposed his plan to me, the pyromaniac had appeared much like the priest had. He had rubbed his gloved hands together hopefully, before pulling out his lighter and starting to mutter indiscernible words. He had not disappeared this past week; his presence was constant as I prepared. Now, the pyromaniac followed behind me while chuckling gleefully.

I had set up small pyres sporadically on the south half of camp, hidden and composed with anything I knew to be easily flammable. They were set up close to tents, and once I lit them the fire would spread and start to consume the camp. The flames would hopefully draw the captain out of his tent on the north side, which I would raid as I made my way back to Keith.

Approaching my first pyre, I went over my route before I began. I had placed them in a weaving pattern, which would allow me to move quickly. Bending down, I pulled my lighter out of my pocket, cupping my hand to keep the wind from the flame. The pyromaniac was perched like a bird on a tent, looking down to observe my work.

As the small campfire caught the flame, his chuckles evolved into delighted cackling, and as I felt the fire's heat against my face, I could not help but smile myself. I wished I would be able to see the chaos.

Staying only long enough to make sure the fire would not go out and begin to spread, I moved quickly to the next target. The flick of my lighter and the pyromaniac’s laughter was my symphony, leading me to the crescendo. From behind me, I began to hear screams and panicked yells, the bonfire of my design heating my back. The fire's crackling was the perfect supporting sound.

I frowned as I moved to the next pyre, noticing my lighter was beginning to run out of juice. There weren't many stops left, and I could forgo some, but a part of me wanted to see this through to the end. More rolls of my thumb were required to ignite my lighter, and its flame had begun to weaken. My own stubbornness kept me kneeling by the final pyre, even as some people began to run away from the flames, while others ran towards it to help.

The pyromaniac had stopped laughing, and he stood over my shoulder, back bent and hands folded behind his back as I pushed the lighter to its limit.

“Light it up,” he said, his voice drenched in malicious pleasure.

“Burn it down,” I quickly responded, hopelessly trying to conjure flame from nothing and bend it to my will. The pyromaniac laughed, a short but crazed sound.

“Burn it down, burn it down, burn it down burn it down burnitdownburnitdown!” He gleefully screamed, in time to my frantically beating heart.

I laughed as well, pulling from my aching chest, the pyromaniac’s delight helping the incomprehensible force along. My lighter had long since fallen into the pyre, and my hands were buried in its combination of fibers, sticks, dry grass, and other objects.

My arms started to blaze, a tingling zap moving erratically down them. It seemed to fry my nerves, but I paid it no mind as it reached my hands. My palms began to burn as if I were holding them against flaming coals, and the sensation warmed me to my frozen core.

Then came a flame. A beautiful flame that I could see; bright but small, hot but weak. The pyre caught, then the flame disappeared from my view as it disconnected from my hands. No more fire came from me—it was now fueled by the pyre. I felt drained; not in my body, but in my mind.

[Skill Gained] - [Summon Flame (1)]

I hardly processed the message, my head filled with the lingering sight of my fire. I had seen it! It was only for a moment, but I had seen something other than the darkness.

A yell too close for comfort finally brought me to my senses, and I ran. Disregarding any stealthiness, I flew through the intact tents to the captain's. I knew I would blend in with those running madly from the chaos. Stopping by the side of his tent, I noticed I was barely out of breath thanks to my improved endurance. No movement or sound came from inside, and I slipped in to take what I could find.

I unhooked my bag from one arm, opening it up. I had left it half empty for this purpose. Moving to Captain Roth’s ever-present desk, I pulled open its two drawers and grabbed whatever was inside. Papers and other objects were dumped into my bag, anything on top of the desk was also swept inside. I moved to the cot lying innocently in the corner and reached my arm underneath, looking for anything hidden. It was the only other thing in the tent, and I didn’t have time to look anywhere else.

My hand bumped into a wooden box, and I pulled it out then stood. It was about the length of my forearm, and half as thick. There wasn’t enough room for it in my backpack, so I closed that up and braced one arm to grip the box tightly. I moved outside the tent quickly, forgetting to check for anyone moving outside.

“Stop!” A powerful voice commanded; it was the owner of the tent itself. I froze despite myself, before turning to my left and booking it. Roth yelled angrily, chasing after me. The man was fast—frighteningly so. I clenched my teeth in desperation as he quickly overtook me, painfully crashing into my back, and I smashed into the dirt.

The chest slid from my grip, traveling forward in the way I wanted to escape. Roth turned me around to my back, squeezing my arm until I swear I could hear my bones creak from the pressure. He gripped my shirt, pulling up my body.

“What do you think you are doing?” He snarled. I said nothing. My face was covered with a mask to keep smoke out of my mouth and nose, and now it kept my identity hidden.

I crept my free hand down to the blade at my hip before Roth shook my shirt and slammed my head into the ground, halting my efforts. I groaned from the pain, my brain shaking in my skull. His effortless strength was in play; I could already feel blood wetting the back of my head, and bruises forming on my arm.

“You fucking thief,” he spat, “I’ll make sure you never finish what you had started.” Roth’s countenance was drastically different from his calm self, and his powerful anger was frightening. His hand holding my shirt moved to my throat, where he began to squeeze. I choked, spittle flying from my lips to dampen my mask. I scratched with my free hand at his life-taking hand, decreased oxygen to my brain muddling my cognitive functions. Getting a grip on his forearm, I struggled to think what to do next as pulsing pain spread from my neck.

“Burn it down,” said an errant whisper, and I did. Using my new skill, I summoned a flame from my palm to scorch the captain’s offensive arm. He yelled from surprise and pain, pulling back from me. The smell of blackened flesh graced my nose, telling me of my skills' success. The sudden flow of air made me dizzy, but I still reached for my knife. Hacking coughs left my hands shaking as I moved.

I plunged it deep into his thigh, bone scraping the tip as blood gushed out, most likely meaning I had severed an artery. I stumbled to my feet, moving away from the bleeding man. I hoped it would be enough to keep him from chasing me again. I picked up the separated box and ran with what little strength I had left. The captain screamed after me, slowly following as he limped on his good leg. Soon, I could no longer hear him, tents thinning as I approached the stream.

I had escaped. I brokenly laughed before breaking into a cough. What a skill I had learned. It was one that fit into my very being like a missing puzzle piece. I knew instinctively I could not use it anymore—the well that had fueled it was empty. I feared what would happen if I tried anyway, and wondered if the drained pool would fill again.

“Carter, you crazy bastard!” I heard Keith call to me, and I smirked under my mask. Making it to him, I pushed the wooden chest into his arms, my breathing loud in my ears.

“We need to go.” I winced at my raspy words, my throat damaged from Roth’s attack. “The captain caught me, and I barely got away.”

“Say no more,” Keith responded. He put the box into one of his saddlebags, before swinging onto his horse's back. I did the same, patting its neck as I grabbed the reins. “Keep close. If you stay right behind me, you won’t run into any holes or dips, cripple,” he taunted.

I shook my head as he kicked his horse into motion. Following his example, we began to follow the river, leaving behind my flaming pyre.