The crater was far greater than she had even realised; it spanned nearly the entirety of the village and and, even upon just entirely the periphery, she could already see the other side occluded but a thin layer of fog. Her view from the caldera didn’t do the hole justice; there was just something magical about being able to see a giant natural formation in person. Like observing the curve of the Earth with your own, naked eyes.

The earthen walls of the crater portrayed no irregularity—to her knowledge; they demonstrated the earthy soil and the layers that’d naturally accumulate in such a environment over time as the soil compacted hardened, as if compressed by a large mass spherical in shape and inset into the ground; this didn’t look like an excavation.

In a way, the walls were almost… Smooth.

The way the houses lined the crater was strange as well; it wasn’t in a circular fashion, where the layout of the village was built clearly to encompass the crater, but indiscriminate; buildings laid a far distance from the crater or were right up next to it. There were even a few buildings with thick, stone supports leading down into the depths below, half the structure leaning out over the precipice

One such building was a large stone structure, ominous from such a distance. Though, peeking out of the fog and defying gravity that so many other structures seemed bound to, the sight was imprinted onto her mind. That place is important.

However, inspecting the crater was not why she was here. Instead, she was accompanying Renald upon his cart while they rode into a smaller section of the village.

The oddities didn’t stop there. The buildings, while mostly stone and wood, looked aged and weathered; many were dilapidated and in varying states of decay—holes in the thatched roof, walls crumbling and collapsing, dirt and mud piled up against the buildings like no one cared to clean them. No house looked sturdy, to her and her sense of modern architecture. The largest factor that played into this impression was the fact that the vast majority of houses they passed by were unoccupied and uninhabitable.

It was just like a ghost town.

Nerves began to arise, her mind turning to worry as errant thoughts popped up erratically, suspicions tellinger her about Renald, about this village. Lessons about personal safety and security bounced around in her head.

Her curiosity naturally wanted to know what had happened here but it was quickly overwhelmed by thoughts of what was going to happen instead.

Ultimately, it was her rationality that kept her sitting on the cart and not jumping off and trying to lose him in the fields; if he was going to do something, he would’ve done so already.

Thankfully, those worries were eventually assuaged by journeying into what was clearly an occupied part of the village; there were people milling about on the streets, windows in houses were open, and the sounds of life could be clearly heard echoing across the open winds.

Interesting, nearly everyone she saw would unequivocally be judged as ‘old’ with nary even a child in sight.

As they passed by numerous people--who all seemed surprisingly well-built for people of their age--and houses, Renald would point, speaking names or perhaps purposes of houses; for instance, one building was ‘meat’, leading Riza to conclude it was a butcher’s. This also taught her the word for ‘butcher’.

The people have less frequently attributed names, though Renald still seemed to know quite a few. Though he lived a fair distance from the village, it was evident he was intimately aware of who lived here.

Finally, the cart pulled to a stop and Renald climbed down, Riza following after with a large jump down to the soft earth.

Before them were rows of houses set a fair distance apart from each other. Numerous houses had small, wooden carts out front, tubs of water in addition to a central well. The houses were in considerably better condition than the ones she had seen earlier, but none of them Riza felt were warm and respectable abodes.

They entered one of the larger houses on the street; the floor space was easily double the average with all walls being of similar construction indicating no extension was added in recent times. This alone lent merit to the idea that the one who lived here must’ve been somewhat of a prominent person—though nobody as far as she could see was important enough to have more than a single storey home.

Inside, the rooms were spacious with little decoration, much like Renald’s home. The room they had just entered had lines of fabric hung around the room, intricate and neatly embroidered patterns that brightened up the whole place.

They only had to wait for a minute or two, after Renald had loudly called out a word, before they were greeted by an old woman, dressed in colourful shawls and vibrantly dyed clothes that utilised far more fabric than Renald and Riza were wearing combined. She was also much cleaner than either of them, her clothes bereft of dirt and her skin paler than Renalds, though not as pale as Riza’s.

Though she had a hunched posture, her eyes were on the same level as Riza. If she was standing tall, she perhaps could’ve been as tall as Renald.

Her words were quick, quiet, and curt, casting glances at Riza while Renald replied promptly. Multiple times, she heard her name brought up but both the swift pace of conversation, the woman’s unusual cadence, and the slightly different accent precluded her from following much of the conversation.

As they were talking, instead of translating word for word, she tried to subsume all aspects of conversation--facial expression, posture, body language, context, tone, words--to synthesise at least a primitive understanding of what they were talking about.

For instance, from the way both of them were acting, there was a level of familiarity there, but the intentful words made this seem much more like a business meeting than a social one.

What she had gathered was that Renald seemed to be selling the woman the wool he had brought. Naturally, Riza assumed this old woman must’ve been a weaver of some kind who had a deal with a local farmer for a periodic supply of wool, judging from the extensive collection of woven items she could see in this room alone.

With the deal apparently concluded, Renald began offloading the sacks of wool that was their cargo. As always, Riza deigned to lend a hand, picking up a hefty sack with both arms and lumbering over towards a specific room of the house where a bunch of different components seemed to be stored.

In the time it took her to make one trip, Renald could make two, carrying the sacks effortlessly. Riza would’ve been in awe but her observation of him as he worked the farm already gave her insight into his level of strength; one thing was for certain and that was, even though he was most likely older than her by a decent margin, he had to have been significantly more powerful. Potentially even a higher level, as well.

Finally, with his prearranged business finished, both Renald and Riza said their goodbyes as they clambered onto the now empty cart, the ride less smooth and far bumpier than before. A wistful thought of suspension passed through her mind, the joys of modern engineering unbeknownst to this backwards land.

However, they weren’t done in the village yet; Renald continued to explain, to the best that Riza could understand, where they were going, who they were meeting, and what everything around them was.

Apparently, this quaint little place was called Rinnerden and now they were going to pick up some fruit and vegetables; produce that Renald didn’t personally grow.

At first, she thought it strange that a farmer would have to buy food from another farmer. Renald explained that cattle by themselves took up a whole heap of land that would be used for crops so he didn’t exactly have the space to diversify his stock. That, and he was less knowledgeable about crops as well.

Interestingly, while currency was used in this place--Renald pulled out a cold-plated coin about the size of his thumb as a demonstration--social capital seemed to be something that existed as well; at least, Renald wasn’t visibly paid for the wool so Riza had to assume something that didn’t involve him getting conned. Obviously, this was too hard a concept to express with her primitive understanding of the language, meaning the prospective confirmation languishing in her mind.

Where the weaver lived was a quieter and calmer part of the village—one with few enough people that Renald could happily ride the cart through the muddy streets without an issue, the streets wide enough and uninhabited enough there was plenty of space.

Next, however, was a marketplace; a centralised location with narrow streets, more densely constructed houses, and crowds of people all with an eye to purchase something.

As the sight of a prodigious crowd for the size of this village emerged before her eyes, she finally understood why Renald told her to wait until today for their adventure into the village.

Numerous stalls were open, buildings with massive holes in the wall to allow the perusal of goods, and actual cobbled streets! People walked all over the place, sacks and baskets in arms, satchels hanging off loose belts, and purposeful strides leading them to where they wanted to go. A hive of bustling activity that reminded Riza of rush hour in a city--even the lack of personal space was similar.

A short way off, Renald hopped off his cart and hitched the mule to a nearby tree trunk--the top having been sawn off for some reason. There were two other carts and wagons tied to this rather thick trunk, though both were smaller than his own--one was even partially filled with sacks of unidentifiable things, bulging in irregular ways as they were stuffed inside.

As she drew closer, the hum of the crowd, the constant noise of life, grew louder and louder.

The sound alone threatened to overwhelm Riza; so many days of living in the tranquil, nearly silent forest had changed her ears; she had grown more sensitive to noise, where even the slightest thud could present danger, and twitched at any sound that she could not personally see. Even the breathing of a random passerby was enough to send tingles through her skin, down her spine.

Even with Renald, he was a quiet man—the lack of cross communication was a factor in that—and the sheep were always far away; nothing had ever approached this level of intensity.

So, for arguably the first time since she had awoken in that forest, the deep bass of multiple people talking, the incoherent higher tones of speech, and the thudding of a multitude of footsteps across cobbled streets, the sounds echoing off the stone walls in this congested place, was all far too much.

Her body hesitated to move, Renald walking a few steps before realising and coming to a halt, turning round to stare at Riza with a concerned expression.

Instinctively, her grip around her essence stone tightened while her left hand grasped air, having been convinced to leave the knife at Renald’s place.

She drew 3 essence into herself, topping up as she stared at her stats, the big numbers providing at least a modicum of reassurance as to her strength.

Name Riza Level 5 Health 180/180 Stamina 82/100 Essence

4/4 Power 9 Constitution 4 Endurance 5 Vim 6 Essence

1 Spirit

21 Health Regeneration

100/day Stamina Regeneration

120/day Essence Regeneration

668/day

She closed her eyes, took deep, steady breaths as she focused on her resounding heart. It was thumping at a disconcertingly rapid pace, blooding pumping through her system ferociously.

By the time she opened up her eyes again, her pulse was far steadier, far slower, and there were three people in front of her:

Renald was there, anxiety showing plain on his face as he spoke animatedly.

Next were a man and a woman, both dressed in a white garb covering their shoulders down to their knees. Underneath their surprisingly bulky forms, she caught glints of metal, shimmering sunlight reflecting off them.

The man was talking to Renald, his tone a juxtaposed sea of calmness. In the fervent conversation , Riza struggled to make out many words.

The woman, however—brown hair framing her face with a scar down her chin—stood watching Riza. Her hands were open, arms by her side. Riza got the impression of someone ready to reach for their weapon at a moment's notice; the lack of any visible weapon did little to smooth over that worry.

Once Renald seemed finished, huffing in exasperation, the man, a hood with a simplistic, green-accented pattern blocking his face, responded with a few short words. Their effect was obvious; Renald slouched, resigned over something, while the woman exchanged a few quick words with her partner, before turning back to face Riza.

“Come with us,” she said, her tone annoyingly neutral.

A hand clutched at her heart as she looked at Renald, her eyes wide and questioning as a strange sensation bubbled within her.

He stared hard into her eyes—his brown irises containing unfathomable depth to them—before saying simply:

“Go.” The word was heavy, and though she barely knew the man, she could feel the weight of the emotions behind it.

The woman placed her hand on Riza’s shoulder, the thin cloth separating skin from skin, doing nothing to cushion the uncomfortably firm grip she held.

Together, and without any say in the matter, Riza was marched through the crowd quickly. People made way for the white-clothed figures, moving instinctively and without any grumbling. Some even stared at Riza with undisguised intrigue and curiosity, but gazes were few and far between, transient in nature. Perhaps this wasn’t a very infrequent occurrence?

Riza managed to pass through the entirety of the market in good time, not able to look at any of the merchandise and the volume no longer the most pressing thing on her mind. Instead, she was taken to a wagon in the opposite direction to Renald’s, and of a different make.

Whereas, Renald’s was clearly intended to transport cargo, with the only seating being where the driver and passenger sat, this one was longer, narrower, and contained two wooden benches along the walls. In addition, there were two horses mounted to the front.

Nudged towards the back, Riza got the hint and climbed up to sit down, quickly joined by the woman. The man got into the prime position, holding the reins of the horses in his hand.

Thankfully, though as much of an abduction this felt like, Riza was neither cuffed nor trapped on this wagon. As she nervously rubbed her wrists, a brief thought drifted into her mind, wondering about what would happen if she jumped off here and now.

Nothing good, she mused. They’re probably faster than me even without the horses. That, and I don’t exactly have anywhere to go. Other than back to the forest.

The ride was bumpy, the wooden bench hard and rough. The wood felt barely processed, lacking the quality she was so used personally. The only saving grace was that their location was still inside the village; in fact, it was one of the first things she saw when she arrived here.

The wagon came to a halt next to a mass of varying wagons, each without occupants nor tied to an animal. Some were like hers, meant for people transportation, whilst others were more like Renald’s. Some were covered, where only the vague outline of the shapes underneath alluded to what they were hiding.

The building they had arrived at was large and stoic, it’s two or three storey height an imposing bastion, dwarfing the houses around it.

Whilst the houses were made of a mixture of stone, wood, and mud, they were rudimentary and haphazardly dashed together. They were clearly constructed from experience rather than knowledge and education.

This building, however, was different. Even the intimidating aura this edifice gave off was not solely attributed to its grandness but also the processed, smooth stones that constituted its walls. Even it’s roof was stone, a far cry from the thatched proves she had seen so far.

In a way, it reminded her of a church, with a tall tower that was surrounded by rooms. Though, this building wasn’t so much cruciform but rather shaped like an ‘L’. The two walls created a courtyard of sorts, eclipsed by the walls.

Even with all this mind, none of that was perhaps the most significant aspect to this building. No; rather, the crater was, for this building was right on the cusp. The tower, hiding in the corner of the whole thing, wasn’t even on solid ground.

From so far away, she simply assumed the crater wasn’t that circular and that the tower was on an earthen wall. While the ground it was on was earth, it was more like a plinth than a wall; it stood out in the crater, the wall acting like a bridge.

Because any other nearby structure must’ve been destroyed or had fallen into the hole, she could barely make out the sight of carved stairs in the pedestal holding up the tower, descending into the crater itself, her line of sight unoccluded.

She was prodded out of her gawking both by someone pushing against her back and the realisation of hearing her name being called. Any other word that must’ve been said blurred into the background, exactly the same as the sound of disgruntled horses.

As much as she would’ve loved to venture inside the building, for one, she had bad experiences with towers that went down into the ground and, two, she was being led elsewhere rather enthusiastically.

Elsewhere, it turned out, was a building like any other. Though the tower of doom seemed like the sort of place an important organisation would occupy, it seemed they had expanded into nearby houses as well, for she found herself sitting down on a creaky wooden chair at a plain, old wooden table in a predominantly featureless, wooden room and facing the woman she had just been walking with. The man had wandered off while she seemed intent to sit Riza down in this specific spot.

And so, she talked. Once again, her voice was an accent that obfuscated her words, her tone equally familiar and strange. A word every now and then, Riza could understand—even apply a modicum of meaning to, given the context.

But, ultimately, she couldn’t comprehend anything that the woman was saying. Hearing ‘dog’ from ‘do you want a hotdog’ doesn’t allow you to grasp what someone intends you to. Furthermore, a tonally dependent language—which this one seemed to be—just complicated the matter further, the same sound may mean something different depending on how it was said.

So, after a good few minutes or exasperated sighs, increasingly slower and more enunciated sentences, the woman gave in. Riza tried to talk, asking questions in both her language and theirs—trying to get across the impression that she wasn’t mute nor dumb—but nothing sunk in.

She spoke eagerly, answering presumed questions but quickly drew silent as it became obvious to both of them of the language barrier.

Afterwards, she was directed towards the bedroom of the house—which contained a bed far nicer than anything she had slept on before—and left to her own devices, twiddling her thumbs while time passed.

There was no message, nothing telling her what to do, and all she had was a barren room to work with. So, instead, she decided to do something she should’ve done a lot sooner.

That was to look over the skill trees.

Information is strength; history has proven time and time again that knowing your enemy, and preparing against them, is what won conflicts. Even if monsters didn’t have the system like she did, the skills, at the very least, would give her an idea of what was possible.

Then again, she also just wanted to know what else she could do with skills points; life was juicy enough but what if there was something better?

So, she browsed around. First, she started with the more basic and fundamental skills, ones that she presumed she would’ve looked at already if she hadn’t gained the life aspect.

But her perusal was cut short as something interesting caught her eye; within the ‘fire’ branch of skills, there was something interesting. Something that just didn’t sit right with her.

Solar Ray (1/10)

Fire a beam of heat that deals 15 damage

1m range

Cost: 1 es

She hadn’t seen the skill personally but, from the name and description, the skill didn’t feel ‘fire’ to her; instead, it seemed to be a ‘laser’, and a laser is a beam of light.

This necessitated investigation. Why would a light skill be listed as a fire skill? An answer quickly arose; no matter how much she tried to look for it, she could not find a ‘light’ branch of skills.

Questions beget more questions. Are there other miscategorised light skills? Why isn’t there a light branch? Is solar ray even light? Does light function like how she believes it does.

She was going to get nowhere thinking about it like this. What she needed was the skill itself--something to experiment on. To do that, she’d either need to level up or find someone with the skill. This further worked to resolve her desire to learn the language.

Worked up, her mind began trying to retrieve the conversations that she had paid close attention to. She closed her mind, picturing a vivid scene in front of her with Renald, talking, and actions occurring. Linking sounds to actions, trying to find similarities between different sounds; she did her best in remembering everything she had heard.

She felt like she was brute-forcing learning a language but her mind surprisingly complied, drawing out the remnants of memory necessary for what she wanted.

She tried this for an hour, repeating sounds back to herself as she mentally translated words directly to words and a collection of sounds to context. Repetition would enforce these new phonemes and concepts into her memory, even if something like this would be forgotten. It was all about practice, practice, practice.

Tired as she was, and desperately not trying to think about her situation, there was a hard knock on the door to the bedroom. The door was not locked, not did it have a handle--it was merely planks nailed onto a hinge--but she hadn’t yet tried to exit; she doubted she’d be able to get very far and was mentally exhausted from having to deal with people.

Yet, the door opened begrudgingly as she stared at the person. Again, the white covering that she was used to cover the person’s body, but there was no visibly armour underneath it, as well as their form being slimmer in general.

They were young--probably the same age as Riza--and had a yellow hood down around their neck. In his hands was a bowl of stew, bread, and a cup of water. There was an awkward smile to his face, sitting uncomfortably like he wasn’t used to the expression, and spoke but a few words, before placing the meal on a table in the room and backing out promptly.

Riza, meanwhile, didn’t move a muscle. She shot up at the knocks but then remained in her position on the bed, just watching the young man as he retreated.

As acceptance of her new situation finally began to sink in, she trudged over to the food and began to eat.

I’m a prisoner, now. Great.