“With the coming of aerships, the growth of trade among the coastal cities and with other races, the institution of the Adventurers guild and the entry of Mages Guilds into commerce it was necessary to draft a system of standards for valuation of goods and services. The process was long and arduous and over several years, the entities with stakes in the market could not agree on a standard of measuring a unit of weight; in fact, there wasn’t even a standard in the first place. It made valuation of tangible goods, artifacts and ingredients very difficult and business was slow going. The use of arbitrary units of measures also led to complaints among customers of different races and affiliations. Something needed to be done and fast, before the economy of Alkerd stalled.” -Excerpts from Archival Records of the Merchants Guild, Antefall Calendar Year 1520.

The windfall from selling their first big kill was noteworthy; not less than 50 gold coins after taxes and other processing fees. Part of being an adult was paying taxes; Arthur did not expect that it would have come soon.

Of course the bite from parting with a significant amount of money to the town council was already taken from him when the guild gave out his payout through the promissory note which Nora had retrieved from the Merchant Bank after five days.

Five days was all it took for their mana core to be auctioned to someone willing to pay a premium coin for a rare Ter mana core; apparently Tertherite crystals were even harder to find.

Yet all around them, the ground underfoot was made of earth…earth with a small e if you wanted to get literal. Yet, like everything in this world, there were mysteries even the top echelons of [Researchers] and [Mages] had yet to answer; it was a big world. They hadn’t even discerned whether their horizon was an edge or a curve yet.

After the first job which was a stroke of luck for them that just so happened to fall into their laps, the next others were rather lackluster… drudgery even. Unless they were willing to range far from home that is, go to the Great Vale for days at a time which at this point in time was a no go. They had to keep up appearances in their mansion as a mage lord and his maid.

Around hereabouts, the ruling class, the then merchant families were each headed by a [Merchant Lord] or [Merchant Lady] which gave them skills inclined towards governance in political and financial matters.

If asked, Arthur would have said that his class was [Scion] and people would have accepted that as the foundation of his implied nobility. However, the man himself still didn’t know what to think about the class. He didn’t let people know that the second identifier of the name was the one he’d used to forge or rather create his identity in Aldmoor. Perhaps it was on them if they discovered they were dealing with a phony.

[Scion of Sturmdrache] had just been sitting there—no levels or skills whatsoever. It didn’t budge when he practiced swordsmanship even though it had given him masteries over three affinities at the drop of a hat.

Mastery was rather ambiguous, it neither counted as a skill or a type of magic he could unleash; it was a trait—yes a trait was what it was. All the magic and skills he had, he’d retained from his previous classes. On the same front, [Magitech Aercrafter] had also been idle; no new discoveries and no new eureka moments. He was beginning to think he was a one trick pony.

“Are you going to concentrate or am I going to have to put out one of your eyes?”

A dagger thrown to his face was rebuffed using the fuller of his practice sword— all of it practiced memory beaten into his muscles until they could remember and no new skill… no new class for it since they’d started adventuring even. Another throw, a reaction taken a blink too late—clipped across the left cheek.

“Ugh!”

“Get your head in the game before you lose it Arthur! Focus…”

‘Jeez, what a driver!’ Arthur thought, wiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his palm before the skin stitched itself closed.

They were using actual daggers to try to coax a skill or a class out of him; practice with his life on the line she said. Lacerations and cuts he could heal just fine…also he had a healer who knew when to pull back her blows—

“From the left!” a dagger materialized from the right. But he ducked just in time going into a controlled fall as the dagger went whistling past where his neck had been

‘Whoops, too fast!’

He got back on his feet just to stumble forwards again when Nora ported her knee into his back.

“Keep moving damn it—” Nora’s words echoed as she shadow ported again.

She was using her porting skill to drive him into a corner; while he…was fighting at a disadvantage no magic whatsoever. Perhaps something would come out of fighting a desperate battle—that was something they were trying too.

They were sparring in the training grounds that connected to the back of the right wing. The left wing connected to the idyllic patio where they loved to while away lazy afternoons whenever they had time for leisure.

There was no noise; the sun was shining beautifully, dappled rays of light reached the ground from the tall and freshly pruned tree branches that hovered over the training field. The temperature was just right; but why was he reacting with the urgency of someone who’d just woken up?

“I think we should stop this, for now… you have too much on your mind.” Nora suggested as she frowned disapprovingly. She was juggling her dagger by the blade.

“Yea,” he dumped his practice sword into [Inventory] as he got up from the ground and dusted off his knees. He was wearing training clothing that could be spared for the kind of training they were doing; there were more holes in his shirt than there were when he’d first put it on in the morning.

Nora disappeared and then ported back with a glass of water and a wet towel, he quenched his thirst and wiped off the crystallized salt that had left his face ashy from all the sweating. In fact, there was still vapor wafting off his person. Draping the towel around his neck, he turned to his training partner who sported a scowl on her face.

“Well, what can I do though; It’s been like what? Some month and a half since I got the class and not even one level for my effort?”

“Well perhaps, if you just told me how you got it I could help,”

“Eh, I don’t think I am at liberty to tell you that,”

‘And here I thought dragons were common. Aeskyre wasn’t kidding when she said she wouldn’t have known where to look for her own race. The class I have is as old as the Wars. Good gods, If I hadn’t read that book I would’ve blundered before I even knew the implications of what it means to be a Scion.’

“You’re zoning out again…” Nora admonished.

“Sorry, I just can’t help it,” he threw up his hands dejectedly “…I think I’ll grab a book or something. Oh and send a request to visit the Lalilabs while at it.”

“I’ll send the request on your behalf. Maybe you should try the Church of Thea; Elena told me they have some books on classes.”

‘Schucks! If I say it might not even be there she’ll have more questions. I guess I’ll go then; if only to humor her.’

“Will you port me there then?”

“What? You should be able to ride the horse on your own; it’s been a week and a couple days since I started teaching you.”

“Ugh,” Arthur grimaced, remembering how the horse had bucked and thrown him off. If it weren’t for his draco-human constitution, he might as well have been paralyzed from the waist down. He was still sore on his tailbone though it was just a phantom ache since his live-in healer embarrassedly told him nothing was broken. But he still had sore thighs for days.

“How about— “

“No, the church is visible from here; you can’t miss it. Besides you need to declutter your mind, get a fresh perspective…horse riding can be a therapeutic hobby.”

“Yea right, horse riding is an orthopedic hazard,” Arthur mouthed.

“What was that?”

“Nothing…” Arthur waved nonchalantly; he’d already turned, plodding back to the mansion. He needed to freshen up.

Riding a horse was frankly not a sit on the saddle and let the animal do all the work kind of thing as most people inexperienced with horses would believe. Horse riding was an art form and in a gallop, the mount and the rider moved in synchronicity, like one body. Arthur called this rolling with the gallop. And both rider and horse had to build a kind of rapport to make it smooth.

Also, horses were very emotionally intelligent animals and rather intuitive about the character of their riders from the way they handled them. Then there was the breathing of powerful lungs, the trembling and flexing of powerful muscles as the hooves hit and lifted off the ground like a well-oiled machine. It was adrenaline inducing; well it could go either way, excitement or trepidation.

Arthur had gotten the hang of riding but he was still reeling from the experience of his practice exercises, namely clenching his jaw because horses did not have shock absorbers. His first horse ride was a spur of the moment thing back in the Vale so he didn’t think much about how horse-riding was like because instinctively, he’d chosen to roll with Nora’s motions while she commandeered the horse. He hadn’t given much thought to what the movements were for.

A couple of gut-clenching, teeth-rattling moments later, he’d arrived at the cathedral. He thanked the gods that the streets he used were sparse in traffic else he would have bowled someone over despite the horse’s common sense.

One word that could have described it? —Majestic. How could he have missed a building this memorable?

‘Ah, I guess I have my head on the ground or in the clouds’ he chuckled

Resplendent of gothic architecture, the main complex stood in defiance against the sky, dwarfing the buildings on either side of it. It had flying buttresses, mythical creatures serving as waterspouts and the works as well as the most surface area of glass stained arched windows he’d seen aside from the bourgeois mansions.

And of course they did tell stories as they were wont to; from the look of things, colored glass was more common than clear glass, that would have explained its use here for sure. At the peak of the main complex, nestled in the tallest construction on the property was a carillon of bells. Arthur gulped, even from down here the things looked heavy.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Arthur jerked to find an ash grey haired woman in robes standing next to him. He still held the horse’s reins but she didn’t even shift to alert him of someone else being that close.

‘Bessie you betrayer!’ He glared at the horse. Bessie whuffed spitefully.

“Oh don’t blame the horse, you were simply too lost in your ruminations,” the woman leveled her hazel irises at him as she chuckled amusedly. Unlike a typical clergy’s habit, she wore a royal blue robe but with a clerical collar and buttons that ended at her bodice.

She had no cap either but her hair was neatly bound in a chignon bun. Her embroidered stole garment shimmered turquoise and purple and also the same length as her upper outfit. Where the robe continued below the bodice, was an open placket, lined the same color as the stole. Completing the outfit was a pair of culottes and low heeled leather boots. To Arthur it was unorthodox. Nonetheless he found it modest for the profession. It evoked a scholarly rather than a pious air.

“Er sorry ma’am, my apologies, I get that a lot sometimes,”

“No need,” the woman said as she motioned a nun walking nearby to tend to his horse. After the nun was out of earshot, she turned to him again and bowed,

“You may call me [Abbess] Rhodea, [Scion]”

“Huh, please rise [Abbess]. You don’t have to show me any deference; I am no one important,” a flustered Arthur protested as his hands hovered in the air.

“Hmm? You do not hold yourself in high esteem [Scion of Sturmdrache]. Nonetheless please follow me, I’ve been expecting you.”

“Wa—wait! how’d you know my class and that I’d come?” Arthur called out, following after the Abbess.

As they ascended the stairs to the front entrance, the Abbess responded, “You do know that the Church of Thea is also known as the Church of the World don’t you?”

“Uh, yes?”

“You sound unsure,” her eyes crinkled, crow’s feet becoming pronounced at the edges. “However I do not hold it against you. As servants of the World, of the All-Mother, some of us are blessed or skilled you might say, at perceiving the bestowments or classes that the World has professed upon you,” She gave him a knowing smile as they entered the lobby.

Arthur expected pews, instead he found a library? More nuns, and priests wearing differently colored robes strolled around the isles checking, retrieving or organizing books. The library was stories tall and design-wise it could have been an upgrade of what he had at the estate.

Instead of catwalks, it had open plan floors around the central atrium all populated by scholarly looking people poring over all manner of documents. He counted five floors from the ground. At the apex was a gigantic skylight that let in shafts of blunted sunlight.

“Scientia, intentio et conatio “the Abbess intoned as they stood in the foyer.

“Knowledge, intention and endeavor,” Arthur translated.

“It is knowledge of your class you seek is it not?” The Abbess stated the obvious as they continued walking. “Your spirit is in flux; unstable and agitated” She started walking, Arthur followed, strung along by the whims of the woman.

‘Gods... next you’ll be asking for a confession…please don’t,’ Arthur cringed.

The sweet scent of old books was a lingering presence in the atrium, redolent of aged wood and leather; so heady that it gave him goosebumps. He was just enticed to breath it deeply.

‘Please don’t give me a prognosis about my memories; I don’t need counselling’ Arthur cursed internally and then reproached himself when he remembered he was in a church. However, after a long spell, Arthur’s curiosity won over.

“Do you know why that is, Abbess Flora?”

“It is a common thing; you are trying to become many things at once,” they ducked into an arched corridor then started going up a flight of stairs to the second floor. “Like a mage who wants to become a warrior. You can become both of course, given time. However, one bestowment will always take precedence over another—” They passed other people traversing the stairwell; all who stopped, standing aside to bow as the two passed.

“One bestowment will always dominate another when a marriage of the two takes place. Nonetheless, both will become more than the sum of their parts…”

“Class consolidation…” he mumbled.

“Yes, and you seem to have already had your first” reaching the second floor, they turned right and entered a door, past a reception desk and then to the Abbess’ office chambers. The Abbess took her seat, motioning Arthur to take his as well while the receptionist, also a nun, came in with refreshments—honeyed tea.

“Your circumstances are similar—,” the Abbess sipped her beverage, holding the cup in both hands as she leaned forwards. “but not quite…” she furrowed her brows.

“You have another class, hidden…even from me. Perhaps for a good reason too. But no matter, that does not affect what you are trying to do.”

‘Does she mean [Lost Worlder]? I don’t even remember when I got it. Never even saw if it gave any skills.’

“So about the class that’s been giving me trouble?”

“We have a book on it yes…but I regret that, in the way of understanding it we do not have much to go on…”

“How come?” Arthur asked. He reached for the cup that had been sitting in front of him the whole time; the tea was still comfortably warm.

“Whatever knowledge you seek was lost during the purge. And our brothers who choose the way of unraveling enigma’s and mysteries from the Order of Vesper has been trying to decipher it ever since.”

“The church of Vesper? It’s here too? but I thought—”

“Whatever preconceptions you have about the Primal of darkness are perhaps ill-founded.” Abbess Flora face crinkled in mirth. Laughter lines and dimples made themselves known as she beheld the youth in front of her.

“Vesper is the Primal of Darkness, yes, but that does not make him evil. Power is only a means to an end; what matters is to what end?” her cup clinked on the saucer as she put it down. “But Vesper is more than darkness you see, beyond death and decay he is also the Primal of change…”

“Ooh…” Arthur exclaimed in realization.

“Vesper and Claritas are Order and Change, or depending on how you interpret it Chaos and Stability,” she said, mimicking a scale with her hands. “They are the Primals who stand in the middle but they are not opposed as people think…unlike some of our brethren who think otherwise.” She added in visible displeasure, before the expression disappeared as if it had never happened.

“Uh…who?”

“The Clarendian church,” the abbess’s eyes narrowed. “They are a perversion of the church of Claritas…uh, pardon this old woman for maundering.”

“I don’t mind,” Arthur said, looking on from the rim of his cup. “So you must have like seven churches under this enormous complex then? Does that mean I can find what I’m looking for from the church of Vesper?” he then added, also lowering his cup.

“That might be a tad difficult undertaking,” she remarked, eyebrows raising. “Our Brothers of Vesper are rather brusque and eccentric, and short of dragging them out of their cubicles by the scruff of their robes…” she shook her head ruefully. “If only they were as amicable as their cleric and healer Sisters of Claritas—”

‘Oh, the shut-in researcher types; can’t say I don’t understand them.’ Nora had to drag him out of the workshop just to sit in the sun like a plant sometimes. Abbess Flora took his contemplative gaze as being downcast and quickly added,

“Since I knew you’d come at one point or another, I had some material prepared for you beforehand,” she rummaged through her desk drawers and retrieved bound sheaves of paper; actual paper not parchment, bound in translucent vellum. She handed it to Arthur’s receiving hands “And the paper is courtesy of the Brothers of Vesper as well.”

“Ooh, a new invention?”

“No, a rediscovery actually…paper wasn’t as rare as you would think,” she tented her fingers. Arthur opened the bound documents which were only about ten papers worth of leaf to feel the texture. It was coarse and a little off-white, perhaps a little hot-press would’ve made it smoother but he couldn’t tell what fiber it was made from. He opened the first page…