When the living god disappeared into the book, she did not go alone. Everything went with her. The only things that remained were him and the man in strange armor. The one that claimed to be a celestial. There was no light, no dark, no earth, and no sky. That lack highlighted the strange feeling in his chest. There were no sensations but what he felt inside himself. What he felt was a deep and ravenous void. He had lost something; something he did not understand, but he knew it to be important.

Death was no stranger to him. Loss was a constant companion. But now… now he felt things he did not, could not comprehend. A loss of self.

Before, each death gave him drive, a reason to move forward. This time, he felt abandoned and alone. A stranger with unfathomable power had appeared, sacrificed her freedom for his, and then left him here with the burden of living in a way that does her sacrifice justice.

His heart felt heavy. It pressed down on him.

“All you protagonists are the same.” The celestial’s veneer of professionalism had disappeared along with everything else. “The world bends over backwards for you and all you can do is think about yourself. You think you are so special, but there are millions of you and each one may as well be cut from the same cloth. Pathetic.”

His hands clenched at the accusation and he reached for the power that dwelled inside him, intent on teaching this ‘celestial’ a lesson in manners. No power flooded his veins. The world did not respond to his call for violence.

He was empty and the celestial’s words, as inane as they were, hurt him with the sting of a truth that ran deeper than his surface understanding.

Perhaps the celestial had an axe to grind. Maybe he was upset over how the embodiment of a world’s magic sacrificed herself for someone he deemed inferior. It is possible that he was just the sort of man that attacked when he saw weakness. Whatever the reason, he said his piece in a clear voice and with proper pronunciation, making it easy to understand and remember.

“Your life was a lie; the same story told a million different ways, but eerily similar each time. You are not special. You are not unique. You are the worst kind of Native scum; just a snowflake in a snowstorm. Do not forget that.”

With a look of unbridled disgust on his face and a wave of his hand, the celestial caused everything to change once more.

***

He stumbled back into existence.

A quick glance around revealed that he was in an open foyer. The sun shone through beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows, a sharp contrast to the underground venue and subsequent nothingness he occupied moments before. The crisp marble floors and vaulted ceilings, while notable, could not keep his attention.

A constant and familiar weight was gone. Not the weight of responsibility that had, on occasion, haunted him. Nor the weight of loss and expectation that he was now burdened with. No, a far more intimate weight was missing. His cloak, a trophy claimed from the still warm corpse of his parent’s murder, was gone.

Heart twinging at the realization, he clutched his hands to his shoulders where it used to hang. His arms crossed his own chest in an embrace. He used to hold the cloak and remember the reason he did all the things he did. The cloak was important to him. Even in its absence, it served as a focal point for everything that had been taken from him. The things he had just experiences were abstract and hard for him to wrap his mind around. But a missing cloak? That was a physical loss that he could grieve.

Grief, unfortunately, was a wound that required time and attention. It would have to wait. Right now, he needed to analyze his situation. He focused on his breathing, forcing himself to slow down and focus. It was a useful technique. When he remembered that his first love taught him the technique to help cope with the rigors of the Academy, he almost slipped back into a spiral. She always understood him. Never did she belittle the edge of fear that haunted his waking moments.

He closed his eyes and crafted a flame in his mind. As he exhaled, he fed his emotions into the flame, focusing on the fear. It took several breaths, but when he opened his eyes again, he was ready to face his situation.

A cursory self-inspection revealed that his usual adventuring gear was gone. Instead, he was dressed in plain clothes of decent quality, but an unfamiliar style. From his shoulder hung an equally unfamiliar, unadorned satchel. Before he could open it up and search its contents, someone cleared their throat in a way that most observers would be hard-pressed to describe as subtle.

From behind a polished oak desk, a green behemoth rose to greet him. The creature loomed like the physical embodiment of the word, its muscles straining against a thin white shirt. It opened its maw to reveal a row of sharp, serrated teeth.; the teeth of a predator. He took a frantic step back, reaching inside himself for the familiar well of magic. A quick glance from side to side revealed that the wall behind him was curved toward the monster, accommodating the curvature of the elaborate designs carved into the floor. He was trapped.

His fight or flight reaction surged through his body, causing him to fall back on instinct and habit. So, he did what he always did. He raised his hands to unleash a raging storm of elemental fury. He stood there for two full breaths before he realized that reality was not bending to his will. His well of magic was empty. The traces of magic he could feel in the air were refusing to acknowledge him, let alone respond to his call. When the realization hit home, he almost crumpled at the stark reminder of his recent revelations and subsequent loss.

But he did not fold. He took a deep breath, rolled back his shoulders, raised his arms, and balled his hands into fists, preparing himself for the worst.

Hand-to-hand combat was not his forte unless it involved wreathing his hands with lightning and zapping anyone who got too close. That said, he would be damned before he went down without a fight.

“Boss!” the creature roared, a deep and intimidating rumble. “Could you handle this? It’s one of yours.”

“Leave it to me,” a man’s voice echoed out after a few tense seconds, the man himself following close behind. He stepped into sight from around the corner. His appearance, much like his voice, was well-cultured and smooth. “But you should probably volunteer for a different job if this continues to be an issue.”

“It isn’t my fault, Boss,” the creature said. “How was I supposed to know that most new Awakened would be so racist?”

“Speciest. Besides, I’ve seen you eat a person alive,” the man cocked an eye-brow and stroked his short, dark beard, all too casual given the topic matter. “You are not exactly on the forefront of disproving orc stereotypes.”

“At least I don’t monologue.” The creature, an ‘orc’ by all accounts, complained to himself as he sat down and turned his attention to a stack of papers on the desk in front of him.

He dismissed the orc’s comment, deciding that he heard the creature wrong. There was no way that anyone would compare eating a person alive to monologuing. It made little sense.

“Do not mind him,” the man said, approached him. He extended a hand and flashing straight, white teeth. “My name is Angosin. May I ask what yours is?”

He hesitated, lowering his fists. The celestial’s words echoed through his mind, made poignant by his turbulent emotions. After a few seconds, he reached out and grasped Angosin’s proffered hand.

“You can call me ‘Snowflake,’” he replied, rolling the name around in his mouth, testing to see if it suited him.

A snowflake in a snowstorm.

“I’m sure you have plenty of questions, Snowflake,” Angosin said, giving Snowflake’s hand a firm shake, a smile still plastered on his face. “You’ll need to do some quick paperwork, but then I can take you on a tour of the city and explain the situation here and what predicaments you might face.”

“Paperwork?” surprised by the mundanity of his words, Snowflake followed Angosin over to the large, lacquered wood desk without protest. Angosin shooed the disgruntled orc away, telling him to go find something productive to do. He dug around the desk for a few seconds before sliding a bundle of papers in Snowflake’s direction.

“Yes, just a signature here and a drop of blood,” Angosin said. “The Guild will handle your lodging, training, and equipment, for the time being. The paperwork is a show of faith; an agreement to pay the Guild back for its expenses. When you’re able, of course.”

“And if I don’t sign?” Snowflake took the offered writing utensil. The slim black stick, filled with ink instead of dipped in it, was different from the quills he was used to, but seemed to work just fine.

“Ah yes, that’s the catch.” Angosin's smile grew a degree brighter and perhaps a touch more genuine. “Awakened who strike out on their own have to make do with the knowledge and equipment they have on them.”

He gestured to Snowflake’s side as he explained. Snowflake glanced down to the satchel he noticed earlier. A quick examination of its contents revealed a dagger, several small bags, and a slim book.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, but some people choose that path,” Angosin said.

“Why wouldn’t you recommend it?”

“I wish I could tell you. Unfortunately, answering questions is not a free service for non-Guild members. They are rather uptight about this rule, and I cannot afford to get written up again for at least a month. Sign here and I will be happy to answer the questions you may have.”

Snowflake considered the facts. He was powerless and alone in a strange place, trapped in a room with at least one being that could rip him limb from limb. With his magic it would be different, but… as it was he had two options. He could either strike out on his own and hope that everything worked out or take the deal and pay them back for the inconvenience.

The ridiculousness of the situation was so bizarre he did not know whether to laugh or cry. Minutes ago a living god made of magic confessed her love to him and sacrificed herself. Now, a strange man was insisting he sign some papers to join a Guild.

“Can I think about it and get back to you?”

“Yes, but if you leave this room, the offer is void.”

In the back of his mind, Snowflake thought the answer should irritate him, but all he felt was detached and numb. The Guild was taking advantage of his disoriented state; it was so blatant it baffled him. But what could he do about it besides suck it up for now and address the situation later when he was in a better position?

As he signed the paper, Snowflake felt like a puppet in his own body. He was so detached nothing seemed to truly matter.

After signing, he shed a drop of blood on a metal card, referred to as a Guild Identification Card.

As Angosin led Snowflake out of the foyer, through a hall, and out into the city, he explained.

“The Guild owns everything in the city. All the stores, housing, food, and so on and so forth. You name it, the Guild owns it. Guild Points are even edging out Cores as the standard currency more often than not. The city used to have multiple guilds, independent merchants, suppliers et cetera, but when the current guild master came into power, he conquered them in a series of [Hostile Takeovers]. With no competition, he made full usage of his [Monopoly] Skill.”

“What do you mean by ‘Skill?’” Snowflake said, half listening and half trying to absorb the sights. As much as he could, that is. Everything felt so far away. Too far away to be real. Buildings with foreign architecture pierced the sky around them as they walked. Strange people of unheard-of races moved about their day, accompanied by even stranger beasts. It was a cacophony of new sights and sounds. It was like a dream. He could feel the distant thrum of unfamiliar magic permeating every inch of the city. On instinct, he reached for it the way he would call to the magic back home, but it refused to acknowledge him. “Does it have to do with magic?”

“Oh, right,” Angosin led Snowflake through the crowd to a small restaurant with outdoor seating. “Sometimes I forget new arrivals don’t know about the Core, Class, and Skill system. Or the System itself, I suppose. Let’s grab a bite and I’ll tell you about it.”

A waitress with high cheekbones, pointed ears, and an extensive tattoo across her face came to greet them. Angosin exchanged familiar pleasantries with the girl and a very familiar kiss on the lips. He ordered for them and drew Snowflake to a shaded alcove.

“Your instructors will go over everything in more detail, or you can check your Starter’s Manual for the basics, but here is how I understand it,” Angosin said. “Source, the ‘magic’ of this place, permeates your body and eventually builds up a Core inside you. After you develop your Core, you farm achievements, which is what we call the things you do that the System acknowledges as prerequisites. You do that using Ambient Magic until you unlock a Class you are willing to commit to. As you live according to that Class, it levels and grants you Skills. Cores change your body, for what reason I’m not sure. If I get to the bottom of it, I will let you know.”

It’s more of an art than a science, as far as I can tell. Some think that it’s the System giving us a real chance at life by giving us all the same starting point and making us choose the direction we want our life to go, but I’m not sure I buy that. Too convenient.”

Angosin rambled on, an apparent endless fount of knowledge. If Snowflake was a tad less generous, he might suspect that he didn’t mishear the large, muscular green ‘orc’ from earlier.

“That sounds complicated,” Snowflake cut in, averting his eyes from a golden skeleton in elaborate armor that rattled along the street — a snake with the appearance of crystal wrapped around the skeleton’s neck like a scarf — ignored by the surrounding people. “Honestly, I was hoping you could explain some things about how I got here? Or why we’re at a restaurant a stone’s throw away from where we met…? Maybe show me where I can get a cloak?”

“A cloak? Are you cold?” Angosin shot him a bemused glance. Before he could say anything, they received their order from the tattooed waitress, who delivered it with a wink. He pushed a single-person sized pie with a golden crust and a mug of an unidentified liquid in Snowflake’s direction. He resumed his lecture around a mouthful of pie. “First, the restaurant. I thought it would be nice to talk somewhere you could have a few minutes to eat, relax, and reflect on the series of events that brought you here.

Second, I know it is a lot to process, but if you think back, I’m sure you’ll remember your own ‘Awakening’ and meeting a celestial representative that traded you this chance at a new life for an object. Most likely a book.”

The food, as delicious as the first few bites were, turned to ash in Snowflake’s mouth. He swallowed and opened his mouth, filled to the brim with a thousand things to say. Before he could speak, Angosin beat him to it.

“It might take a little work, but it is important to process your feelings. Some tend to block it out because of the traumatic effects. However, before we dig into that, this is important so listen close, you must stop staring at people.”

“Hrm?” Snowflake’s came out as a strangled grunt. A woman with brilliant, dyed feathers and clawed feet caught him staring before his brain could catch up to Angosin’s words. The woman made a gesture toward him that was less than friendly and bordered on a promise of violence.

“People here are sensitive about their appearance.”

Snowflake latched onto the new topic. It was safe and concrete in a way that was proportionally less abstract and terrifying than the other topics at hand. He glanced at the people in the street, analytical instead of just appreciative. “Does it have to do with all the body modifications?”

“Good job. Not everyone puts that together straight away,” Angosin said.

Snowflake paused, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, Angosin required little, if any, prompting to continue talking.

“Finish up your food and I’ll explain on the way to the Dungeon,” Angosin’s got up to leave, his food practically untouched. Snowflake got up to follow and drained the creamy drink with foam and a hint of bitterness that was in the mug. A ‘latte’ Angosin called it.

“People are fascinating, Snowflake,” Angosin led him through the streets as he spoke. “Magic has its moments and the world at large is mysterious and full grandeur. However, the world can be mapped and explored. Magic, despite its limitless potential, is essentially a series of rules, like any math or science. No, the true depth of a place is the people in it.”

Snowflake considered his own experiences, especially those involving magic, and came to a conclusion.

“That is a bold statement.”

“The truth is as bold as it is ugly,” Angosin said, a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. “Trust me on this, people can be as dangerous, complex, and mystical as any high-level spell or natural wonder. You need to be careful with people around here. Going from being a unique individual to one of the masses can change a person. It can even drive them to extreme acts.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look around and what do you see? Beyond the superficial alterations,” Angosin gestured. “Lithe elves with fair skin and high cheekbones, gorgeous women with hourglass figures and almond-shaped eyes, ruggedly handsome men that exude danger? But no, the physical similarities between Awakened can be explained away. What makes so many of us sensitive is this: when we were brought here our life experiences, what makes us us, was distilled down to a single skill. It turns out that for many, their Unique Skill was not very unique per se.”

“Unique Skill,” Snowflake murmured to himself. He recalled the celestial mentioning something about assigning him a skill. He tried to remember what the ethereal embodiment of magic had told the celestial, but he couldn’t quite-

They broke through the crowded market, past the towering buildings, and into a large, open plaza. At the center of the plaza, a great tower rose. Snowflake’s steps and thoughts stuttered at the sight of it. The massive structure pierced the clouds above, impossible in its majesty.

“Their Unique Skill can say a lot about someone’s past,” Angosin’s voice cut through Snowflake’s stunned thoughts. His eyes seemed to glow with an inner light. “What does yours say about you?”