“Be careful dear. I worry when you go out hunting by yourself,” Irina said.

Anya smiled at the grandmotherly woman with genuine feeling – something absent since Anya’s mother was killed. “You know I can take care of myself. I’ve told you that my staying here is the greatest danger. I know you don’t believe…”

Irina grabbed onto both of Anya’s shoulders, and pulled her in for a hug. “You’re wrong dear,” Irina said. “You came here dressed in how many gold pieces worth of gear, with weapons all over, wearing it all like you were born in it. You always sit facing the door, and . . . well, you don’t sleep well, or silently. You’ve been through things no child should. So yes, I do believe you, every word.”

Anya nodded, and said “it isn’t over. You don’t need to be at risk because of me.”

Irina sighed. “Look at me,” she said. “I’m ancient. I don’t have long, and Sylus is nearly as old. We want to live our remaining time on our terms.” Irina paused, looking thoughtful, and said “I’ll admit that when you first stumbled on our small farm, I thought maybe the Gods knew we were lonely after our granddaughter passed. But you are your own person, dealing with things our Natalia never had to. We know that. We want to be here for you. Is that ok?”

Anya knew it wasn’t; not really. She was a loose end, and the Guild didn’t just let those go. She hadn’t run far enough, if such a thing was even possible. Still, she was not quite thirteen, and hadn’t experienced kindness in a long time. “Yes,” she squeaked, receiving another hug.

* * *

Anya returned from her hunt just before sunset with two rabbits. She hadn’t found anything worth experience, and the sensation that she wasn’t leveling fast enough was always a nagging worry. Still, she smiled when she saw the Fosters’ small farm, and happily wondered what marvel Irina would make for supper from the rabbits.

Anya opened the door to a nightmare. A twenty-something man in what looked to be pricey chainmail with a large broadsword strapped to his back was sitting at the kitchen table. Another man, clad in heavily scripted leather sat in the second chair. A bulge under his leathers in the center of his chest spoke to a focus gemstone; a mage then. In the third chair, newly-made by Sylus just for Anya, Irina was propped up, her throat slashed open.

“Ah hello!” the warrior said with a sick smile. “So glad you could join us . . .” The warrior trailed off at Anya’s cold expression, and took note of her actions; Anya slipped a pair of forge-goggles from her hair to around her eyes, and lifted an odd mask over mouth. The warrior smiled even more broadly. “So you are ready to play! I didn’t expect that from a child, but I suppose a legendary class doesn’t come to just anyone.”

Familiar ice water ran through Anya’s veins; emotion was for later. Anya assessed the situation the way she was trained, and what she saw made her wonder. These men clearly weren’t Guild, and the Guild would never stoop to mercenaries. Perhaps Andre hadn’t actually assumed leadership of the Guild, or perhaps he wanted this done quietly? If at all possible, she needed to know. “Who are you? Why are you here?” she asked through her mask.

The bastard’s smile never wavered. He patted his chest expansively, “they call me Blackjack. And I’m afraid I’m here to kill you. The old woman just got in the way. The tea was lovely though.”

Anya was took note of the nickname; the mark of an idiot Father had always said. She doubted that was entirely fair, but in her own limited experience, men with the highest opinions of themselves were rarely the most competent. This man was wearing expensive gear and likely at least level twenty. Highly dangerous for certain, but she doubted he was particularly skilled for his level and gear, at least not by Guild standards. “Why?” she asked.

The bastard waved his hand as though dismissing a trivial affair. “Nothing personal. You legendary classers are just a complication. Once you’re all good and properly dead, then the real work can begin! Well, I do apologize, but schedules. You understand how it is. It was lovely chatting, but…”

Anya activated her most recent skill, “Stasis,” which created “a spatial fold of asynchronous time calibrated to [5.9%] of standard local progression lasting for one second of subjective time.” The description was a riddle, but what it did Anya knew – a bubble sprang up around the warrior; he would barely move for seventeen seconds. Anya would have preferred to kill the bastard first, but there was no telling if the mage might be able to resist Stasis.

As the bubble sprang up around the warrior, Anya immediately activated the first skill she had chosen – and which saved her life from Andre’s goon what felt like ages ago – “Accelerate.” Anya remained in love with Accelerate, even if it didn’t work exactly the way she initially hoped. The description stated that the skill “disassociates the caster from the local time field for .5 seconds of local time, during which period the caster experiences the subjective equivalent of [6 seconds].”

Six seconds sounded like an eternity to one trained as Anya was, but the reality was different. As Anya began to move towards the mage, she pushed against air the consistency of molasses. Anya thought she understood – the faster you run, the more wind you feel on your face – but understanding changed nothing. Using the skill had been extremely difficult before she acquired the mask, and especially before she obtained the goggles. Anya had put several points in strength to try and better deal with air that seemed to fight her every movement. As she approached the mage, Anya mentally counted seconds.

At two, Anya stepped directly in front of the mage, raised her right hand directly in front of her lips, and from point blank range blew powdered chalk towards his eyes. On leaving Anya’s hand, the chalk dust appeared to freeze in the air, but Anya knew it would do its job once her skill ran out. Nightshade powder would have been preferable, but she found none in the only one of Father’s emergency caches she knew of.

At three, Anya stepped to the side of the mage, slicing his cheek as she passed. To Anya, it felt like her dagger scraped on stone, but practice with beasts taught Anya both that she could break the skin, and also that at least some of the dagger’s poison would transfer to the target.

At four, Anya stepped behind the mage, and turned a vial of acid upside down above his head, spreading her fingers to release the vial and trusting gravity to do the rest.

At five, Anya reached between the mage’s legs and sliced his manhood; she knew of no better distraction. With the Hellfire poison on the dagger, the mage wouldn’t be doing anything other than screaming anytime soon, even if he survived her initial assault.

At six, Anya positioned her arm just so. As Acceleration expired, Anya felt a brief but powerful disorientation as she returned to normal time. Thanks to her practice, she recovered in the span of a blink, thrusting forward with her dagger, penetrating deeply into the mage’s neck.

In normal time, Anya started a new count at three. Stasis prevented her from getting nearly as close to the warrior, and she didn’t have any timing devices precise enough to hit him just as Stasis dropped. Annoyingly, the Stasis bubbles expanded around the subject – meaning it added about a foot to the warrior’s already considerably height. On four, Anya grabbed and positioned a chair.

On five, Anya stepped onto the chair and carefully opened and positioned a sack over the top of the Stasis bubble. While she did not have a poison specifically designed to be inhaled, she hoped that this wouldn’t matter much, given that the warrior should get a meaningful dose while getting the sack off his head. He was likely high enough level to have time for a potion, but her strategy was based on layers.

On six and seven, Anya splashed a vial of oil on and around the base of the time bubble.

On eight and nine, Anya raced around the home and gathered a few things she hadn’t packed for her hunting trip.

One ten, Anya tossed an activated firestone canister at the warrior’s feet. Since he wore what appeared to be unenchanted leather leggings, there was a good possibility that she could open his femoral artery while he was distracted with the sack, but with Sylus due at any time, she didn’t want to risk it. Better the warrior see the burning home and assume there was no one left to question.

On eleven, Anya ran.

* * *

Anya returned to the home two hours after sunset with all the stealth Father taught her. As amazing as her new skills were, the cooldowns were brutal. If the warrior was strong enough to live through the poison and fire she left him with, Anya had no illusions that she could beat him without her skills.

What had once been Irina and Sylus’ home was reduced to smoking embers. The clearing around the ruined home was empty, save for that which Anya half expected and feared to find; Anya ignored the sight. Anya watched and waited, and waited some more. Seeing no hint of the warrior, she carefully circled through the nearby trees, half-expecting that the warrior might be positioned to attempt an ambush. Satisfied that the warrior was gone, Anya stopped ignoring her heart, swallowed the lump in her throat, and went to comfort the softly crying Sylus.