Teleportation was not what Myles had in mind.

He’d heard horror stories how long-distance travel could leave people disoriented by losing so much soul energy or by changing locations so drastically in a single stint, but the dreaded teleportation sickness never reared its ugly head. Even after a few minutes of waiting with his eyes clenched shut, he felt normal.

In fact if Myles had to classify it as anything, he’d say that it was a pleasant experience, like being covered in a warm fog and then hugged tightly by a summer breeze. No matter the reason, he didn’t have much time to worry about the pleasant experience.

When he arrived at the grand dungeon city and looked out over the masses, there was no end of things to worry him. The Grand Dungeon City of Kess took up ten… no, twenty Hazens! Then again, it may just have been the height of the platform he was standing on near the top of the Shard of Heaven. In a place like this, it was a building unto itself as he looked at the tangle of stairs and ramps around him leading to and from platforms of all sizes, some barely large enough for a person, others as large as freight trains. From all around him, he could still hear the hum of magical energy in the air that was the crystal’s power, but even at close range, that was a dull roar compared to the masses of people busying themselves around him, coming in and out near the disk he was gawking at the city from.

As he got his bearings and worked his way into the city proper, calls for food, memorabilia, signal-boosting crystals, charms, and other calls from the local vendors were almost as loud as the signs of celebration before the seventh run began proper. It was like Memory’s Night, Peace’s Dawn, every race’s New Year, and The Night of Giving rolled into one insane, ear-piercing, mind-blinding event. The smells alone were almost enough to trigger his skills, but he forced the ideas growing back to the back of his mind and pushed ahead.

The city was alive with everything but a clear sign to the registration booth, so Myles joined the merry throng and let the flow of the city take him where it felt best. He had some time to explore, and when you didn’t have any idea where to go, follow the crowds, right?

Like a leaf on a raging river, the would-be dungeon runner was bucked against the banks of food and frivolity. With a close hand on his coin purse, Myles kept himself from the worst of it, but he did linger a bit too long and was nearly pushed right through the doors of a place that rang with enough laughter and song to put a bardic hall to shame. It was tempting, but if he went in, there was a chance he wouldn’t come out until long after registration was over. The best [Bard]s had a way of making time obey them, after all.

Pushing back off the banks of the city, he was back in the thick of it, pushing further and further into the center of the road and into the flow of the city itself. The sound was still nearly deafening, but there were snippets coming through now. Bits and pieces of the same conversation kept coming through now.

Dungeon followed quickly by runner.

The further in the tide pulled him in, the more often the words began to be strung together. All the while, Myles noticed the growing great wall in the distance. Something that anyone should have quickly recognized as more than just a protective barrier from the outside.

Suddenly, he felt very much like an idiot.

Registration would have to be near the dungeon if the two were connected, right?

Duh.

With a firm course set, Myles began to push against the tide and towards the growing wall with purpose. Ignoring the attempt of the street to steer him, Myles crossed another mile in a handful of minutes as he picked up the pace.

When he arrived, He was expecting lines stretching throughout the city.

He expected to wait to speak with someone for longer than it took to cook a proper loaf of bread.

He was not expecting the scene that awaited him, nor the sign that greeted him.

Dungeon Runners —

Please wait in the red circle of runes. Someone will be with you shortly.

We thank you for your patience.

Grand Dungeon City of Kess Competition Committee

Looking all around, Myles noticed that indeed there were red circles of runes spread out all over the street he was on, and the next few down for that matter. It seemed as though the registration area was spread throughout the city, and that the ‘normal’ people were avoiding this area like the plague.

That was a nice surprise for once, the second in a day actually. It was a new record. As Myles moved in to examine the spot, the red of the circle didn’t glow, and there wasn’t anywhere to sit.

Well, at least he just had to wait.

Upon stepping inside, the runes began to glow softly, humming with a song not unlike the giant crystal that sat at the far end of the city.

As the song reached a low buzz and began blending in with the noise of the city, Myles bent down to take a closer look. The runes didn’t look any different.

He regretted that action immediately.

Myles screamed as his hands shot up to shield his eyes. He’d never felt like less of a warrior than he did at that moment, and the bar really wasn’t set very high for that one as he fell into the ground with a solid thud and curse.

Recovering from the fall and his blindness, Myles returned to his feet only to come face to face with a hulking stone of a man — quite literally a hulking, eight-foot-tall, stone golem with the face of an intent man carved upon it wearing a pair of…

“Greetings, Prospective Runner. I am Registration Golem 1337. What is your name and intent?”

“Are those glasses?”

The creature leaned closer, confused by the words that had no bearing on the question asked and repeated. “Greetings, Prospective Runner. I am Registration Golem 1337. What is your name and intent?”

Who made a golem that needed glasses?

Still, Myles did his best to gather his wits and answer. “Myles Chase, and my intent is to register for the dungeon run.”

A blue screen appeared to float before the golem, and its ten fingered hands began to move faster than a creature of stone had any right to be as letters lit up the screen, transcribing Myles’s answer to the letter. “Class?”

“[Baker].”

Like a bolt from a crossbow, the fingers moved as 1337 asked another question. “Do you intend to keep this class or sacrifice it at a chance at a new class?”

“Sacrifice it.”

There was another long pause as the golem typed far more than he should have been able with those stone fingers. “[Baker] may be removed by the end of your qualification if conditions for a new class are met or used as a catalysis for a class change. Any class aligned skills will be converted to fit your new path or purged to avoid inconsistencies. Secondary skills will be carried over. Do you understand this risk of removing your class?”

“Risks?”

There was another pause, more typing, and then in a monotone, slightly metallic voice, it continued. “A class is soul-bounded. Any removal of part of your soul will result in temporary paralysis, pain, unconsciousness, and possible death. As a general warning, it is discouraged if you are above the master classification. By accepting the terms of this binding agreement, you are acknowledging the risks to yourself and accepting the additional risk of being class-less should you fail the trial.”

That did not sound pleasant. Never-the-less, Myles wasn’t ready to let his dream die and gave the golem a quick nod. “I accept the terms.”

There was no fanfare as the golem continued to mark its blue screen in a succession of rapid, precise taps. “Your response is accepted. Myles Chase, you will report to Gate Seven in two hours for your qualification.” Before he could even ask directions, the sounds of guttural grinding and screeching rang out and paper dispensed from the golem’s chest. The paper tore easily as the golem handed it over to the confused teen without hesitation. “Please follow the map from here to the gate. No supplies will be necessary. Weapons will be forbidden. Have a nice day.”

“That’s it?”

1337 looked him up and down as if searching for a hidden meaning in his words before answering simply. “Yes.”

And…

Blinding him once again as it flashed out of existence.

It wasn’t exactly rude. 1337 was just doing it’s job, but it didn’t make him feel any better as he rubbed the pain from his eyes. As he looked at the paper, Myles smiled. It was a well detailed map, and his gate wasn’t too far. Certainly not far enough to warrant two hours, but the delay did give him time to look around. There were a few landmarks he could visit on the way if he took his time and still have plenty to arrive early. Maybe he’d catch an early lunch too.

It was a good plan really, but that notion only lasted as long as it took for a hand to tap his shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

He moved faster than he thought possible as stories of pickpockets crossed his mind. Hand at his belt pouch, he eyed the…

He eyed the…

... the…

A laugh caught his attention as a finger caught his chin before it could slam into the road and brought his eyes up from the rather ample amount of woman. She was a head taller than him easily, and the way her deep purple hair bled into equally purple scales scattered across her humanoid face and trailing downwards told him exactly what he was dealing with.

“You’re a Korgan!” he blurted out, not having the proper surprise to be embarrassed about pointing out a race.

The woman for her part simply smiled and nodded, “I am. The few, the proud, the intermediate race.”

He knew Korgans were rare enough but pointing that out to her didn’t really feel right. “Sorry for that.”

“For screaming my race for all the Pantheon to hear and brining more attention to me or for staring at my breasts?”

“Both?”

The Korgan woman him an understanding smile, nodded to him, and wink almost too obviously. “All part of the game, love. Your reaction is exactly why the powers that be have a woman like me as the liaison for the Seventh Run.” Her smile widened, showing pointed, gleaming white teeth. “Trosana Leea, Official Reporter 42 for Kessivan Trials News. Was what I heard right, by the way? You’re a [Baker] by class?”

He may not have liked his Class, but Myles wasn’t embarrassed by it. "I am, but hopefully for not much longer.”

Another blue screen appeared, and the reporter began to write, thankfully slower than the golem. Her smile never left her face as she began speaking to the tap-tap of her typing.

“How would you like to do an interview?” She asked, looking up from the blue screen and right at him.

Interview?

She could read hesitation instantly on his face and instead of pushing harder, folded her hands conspiratorial as the blue screen disappeared, using her feminine whiles to great effect as she spoke. “It won’t take long, and I can promise at least one support shipment from the Trials if you make it into the Run if you agree to be open about it. Tit for tat, right?”

More ample words were never spoken.