A white expanse stretched for as far as Castor could perceive. An infinite emptiness. A blank slate that went on forever. Then Castor lurched forward, pulled rapidly through the space before he found himself standing naked in a stone room, lit by torches that hung on every corner.

“Where the hell am I?” Castor wondered out loud. A screen flashed in front of him, answering his question.

Chamber of Beginnings

“Well, I didn’t expect an answer, but much appreciated all the same.” He mused. “Now, what am I supposed to do here?” Castor asked, hopefully. He bounced from toe to toe as the chill of the ground nipped at his heels.

Three more torches that he didn’t notice sparked to life, and cast an otherworldly blue light on three altars that definitely weren't there before. Each one claimed a side of the room for themselves, perfectly aligned in the center of each wall.

Choose a Beginning

A blue screen hung in the air in front of Castor. It left him just as clueless as before, not at all explaining what was happening. Castor waved his hand, dismissing the window and took a step back, only to be blocked by the wall behind him. Empty, and cold, unlike the ones on all sides of him.

“Probably should’ve asked the kid what all this means.” Castor shook his head.

Go with your gut. Castor told himself. He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped towards his options. He wanted to gather as much information he could glean about each altar before deciding.

The altar to his left was surrounded in a soft, violet haze, concealing its material form. It almost seemed to flare its own light as it bathed in the radiation of the typical and mystical torches.

Various impressions emerged from its direction, lasting just long enough for Castor to get an idea of something before vanishing, replaced by an entirely different stimulus. The sound of iron striking iron, the smell of seafood, and the ocean spray, a mental image of a huge mountain.

Something about it seemed ethereal compared to the other altars.

Altar of Phantasm

Crimson and golden vein-like wires ran through the altar directly in front of him. Swirls and geometric shapes shifted across the surface in indiscernible patterns.

The wires visibly pulsed under the blue torch, and did so at regular intervals, as if following a beat Castor couldn’t hear himself. They occupied every corner of the pedestal, transforming the otherwise dull stone into a cornucopia of treasure and blood.

The beat of the stone flesh seemed to allude to something deeper, more primal. It was simultaneously unnerving and fascinating to observe.

Altar of Substance

The last altar was the most unassuming of the three, a plain gray stone compared to the unreal colors of the prior two. Yet, it was the most weathered of the three, its edges dulled from erosion that was impossible to have occurred in this enclosed space. A hilt sat upon it, leading Castor to believe the altar sheathed the unknown weapon.

Still, when he tried to identify the item by the handle, it changed form and shifted into different shapes; from an obvious sword hilt to something that may have been a hammer, to different shapes of tools Castor lacked the knowledge to identify. Although the altar looked mundane, it obviously wasn’t so simple.

Altar of Expertise

Castor scrutinized each pedestal as much as he could without touching them, in fear just a touch would lock in his choice. Of course, the visual clues were much less telling than the names of the altars themselves, but even then, Castor had no idea what would be a good choice.

Only the [Altar of Expertise] held any apparent indicators, but being an expert would mean nothing without a tool to express mastery. And that’s if it would work the way he thought it would.

Castor was all very new to this; he may as well be walking blind. There would be no way to tell if the way forward was towards safety or off a cliff. Honestly, he couldn’t even tell if this was a dream or not.

Castor shook his head. “Trust your gut.” He said ritualistically, heading towards the [Altar of Substance] and slapping his hand on the crimson and gold pedestal.

Use the Altar of Substance to Awaken?

Y/N

Castor hesitated for a moment, yet the moment passed, and he braced himself. No reason to second guess himself now.

He selected Yes.

Calculating… Possibility found!

Node Status modifying Nature.

Prepare Yourself, Traveler.

The blue prompts lingered in his vision, and Castor rolled his shoulders at the last message.

Beginning Awakening Attempt…

Whatever Castor expected was surpassed multiple times over as his body seized against his will. He was thrown onto his back by the force his body exerted, all while his hand was glued to the surface of the altar before him. He screamed and cried, his body thrashing as crimson and golden lines swarmed down his hand to rest of his body.

The veins burned into his body wherever they passed, sending waves of pain into Castor with every pulse of its alien cadence. They traveled unimpeded, from his arm to his back and chest, down to his legs and toes.

His screams grew rough and ragged; only ceasing when the crimson and golden veins plaster themselves across his head and neck.

It felt like the Devil was drawing patterns of agony on his skin, in long loops, perfect circles, and straight lines that crossed at odd intervals. Castor was aware of every mind-numbing second of it.

He didn’t believe in God, but he prayed every second for the torture to end. Predictably, nothing answered.

His body refused to pass out and give him the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Or better yet, his body was unable to faint, forced to endure every moment of this torture.

It didn’t stop once every inch of his body was covered in those same lines of the altar, as they turned their cancerous spread turned inward, afflicting every corner of his body in the same anguish.

Castor shuddered uncontrollably on that cold stone ground; there was no stopping the mind-rending pain. Static pain invaded every fiber of his being. No one could help him.

He could only endure.

Castor woke with a start, gasping for air. Phantom pains receded from his body until his breath wasn’t ragged with desperation.

Blue jumped to his paws and Castor’s movement, standing over him with a wagging tail. A disgusting strand of saliva dripped from the dog’s lips onto his shirt.

“Ugh.” Waking up in sweat was bad enough, but Castor drew the line at being covered in dog slobber.

“Dude, what took so long,” Micah whispered, relief clear in his voice.

Castor ignored Micah as he continued to inspect his body, looking for those malignant veins. He half expected to be dead after that, but he felt fine—more than fine, he felt better than ever. Castor flexed his arms and stretched his legs, marveling at the freedom of constricting pain in his shoulder.

Removing the cloth bandages revealed a healthy arm, completely contrary to his expectations. It was surreal. Almost like he wasn’t just tortured for an indescribable amount of time.

“How long was I out?” Castor finally asked.

“I don’t know. I lost track after my phone died.” Micah huffed, “Last I saw, it was two hours, and that was a while ago.”

Castor was about to ask how long his awakening lasted, but realized for the first time since he woke up that he had perfect vision. In the dark.

“Can you not see right now?”

“Can you?” Micah responded to his question with a question. “Check your Status. Maybe you got something lame like [Night Vision].” He snickered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Castor repeated for the third in about as many hours. But, before Micah could answer, a blue prompt appeared in front of Castor, answering his question.

Castor Dark Human

POW:0.2

MND:0.1

ATM:0.3

RP:14/14

Skill List: Alter (Ra)

Just a Human, huh. It was an oversimplification of his life, but it was true.

His status responded to his will fervently, bouncing across the edges of his vision, disappearing and reappearing to Castor’s desire. It was like a mental switch, clicking into view with a thought.

Castor closed his status with a click. I don’t feel any different. He almost wanted to punch a wall to find out.

“So, what’d you get?” Micah edged closer. He eyed the space in front of Castor but didn’t focus on the screen.

“Can you not see my Status right now?” Castor pointed at the status page.

“Not one bit.”

“Interesting,” Castor rubbed his chin. “No night vision, but I did get a skill. My resource is at 14, too.” He couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.

“No Role?” Micah cursed when Castor shook his head. “That’s going to complicate things.” Castor raised an eyebrow and motioned for him to explain.

“Okay, okay. You know how in a regular game, you get classes that dictate where and how you should play?”

“Sure.”

“Well, in Rifts and Boundaries, Roles replace classes. You get all your skills, perks, and traits out of them. But the most important part is, you can’t level up before you get one. There is no way to get stronger until you get a Role.” Micah sighed deeply.

So, I’m actually a bad character. Castor paused at the dilemma. Maybe he should’ve chosen the expertise altar, but it was too late for regrets. “Well, how do I get one?”

“I don’t know, man. This whole situation is messed up.” Micah sighed. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

Castor hesitated. “... I’ll try my best to get us out of here.”

“You don’t even know me, what’s going to stop you from leaving if things go sideways.” Micah countered.

“Well, you already helped me once; you didn’t have to carry me all this way. I at least need to pay you back.”

Only a decent person would have done that, someone who thinks for themselves would’ve just left him.

“Plus, this isn’t a situation where somebody can walk around alone. I need someone to watch my back, and so do you. So, why not stay together for a while?” Castor held out a hand.

Micah hesitated before he grabbed Castor’s hand and shook it. “Deal. Micah, by the way.”

“Castor.” He returned.

Coincidentally, Blue chose that moment to smack his paw on top of Castor’s and Micah’s hands, earning a much-needed laugh in a horrible situation.