A group of small children streamed out of a large stone dome into the bright noonday sun. Leaving its sheltering shadows they flinched and quickly shaded their eyes. Spreading out from the doorway almost instinctively to make room but unwilling to move forward while unable to clearly see. Not that it took long. A few moments for their eyes to adjust and they were again braced with the enchanting sight of Paradise. Situated on a mesa that rose commandingly over the River’s main branch on one side and not so commandingly over the jungle’s outskirts on the other.

Just as well it was only the outskirts. The mesa was an irregular shape, as most natural-looking things were, towered between 175 and 220 feet in the air but true forest giants still made that imposing height look like the Appalachians screaming ‘I’m a real mountain’ at the Rockies.

Still, mountain or ambitious hill, its height fulfilled the purpose its creators had intended. Providing both safety and comfort to the small community that lived atop it. Like most things in life, both advantages were qualified. While height mostly protected them from ground beasts it was only mostly. Chameleon cats and Shadow snakes could both climb straight up solid rock. The mechanics of how they managed it was different, but manage it they did.

That didn't even consider the flying predators. From PsyBuzzards to Siren Parrots or even the feared Harpy Eagles, the heavens were not a safe place for people. That didn’t even mention the never named kings of the air.

Likewise, it was the same for comfort. A steady breeze blew at this height, providing some reprieve from the muggy omnipresent heat. But only some. A fact made obvious by the residents. The mesa top was liberally covered with growing fields of a variety of vegetable crops and dotted about with young but growing orchards of fruit-bearing trees surrounding small pools. Channels allowed the water from these pools to trickle through the nearby crops while the shade helped to prevent evaporation.

In both fields and orchards, the working inhabitants of town did their daily chores, from chanting and dancing glittering river serpents of water to dart their way from the river below to refill the pools above to weeding the vegetable patches or harvesting some colorful red and yellow gourds from curling vines that were as thick as a man's waist.

All of this in incredibly colorful, but very brief clothing. Mid-thigh length baggy shorts and wide-brimmed hats (larger in span than the wearer's shoulders) were the norm for both boys and men while women merely added a bandeau-like top to the ensemble. Even that much clothing was optional at times.

A fact made clear when several field hands, both male and female, stripped off their clothing and dived into one of the tree-lined pools. Somewhat cooled by the waters they surfaced otter-like from crystalline depths, put their clothing and hats back on and continued with their work, cooled, refreshed and somewhat cleaned of sweat by their brief dip.

It was a lively place, Paradise. With a cheerful, laid-back attitude that frequently stumped the more militant members of the Union. Not to mention the more prudish.

A fact unfortunately obvious by the shocked hungry stares many of the boys in the student groups were giving the impromptu show. Parkour tried not to sigh at the sight. The middle-aged man was neither a Paradisian native nor a field worker and his own staid outfit reflected it. More armor than clothing it was made from alternating heavy sections of boiled boar hide on his arms and shoulders with handwoven hemp, deliberately loose weave, holding the leather together while still letting the outfit breathe. It wasn’t new armor either. Showing a veteran's honor in its many scrapes, burns and scars. Even the dyes used made him stand apart. In a drab mottle of greens and brows designed to blend into the jungle, he stood out like a hawk among peacocks.

The armor reflected the man. Solid, practical, dependable and dangerous. Or at least he liked to think so. But it wasn't fancy. Wasn't glamorous. His upbringing was as plain and simple as he was. Rural American, playing at hunting and hiking. Thought himself a sure enough badass. Then he joined the military to prove it and he learned how very wrong he’d been. It hadn't been a nice or polite wake-up call either.

The first shock came in boot camp, where the men around him were the badasses of their own smalltown or streets. And where the drill sergeant made them all realize how little that mattered. Breaking down the arrogant boys and building up dangerous men.

And it worked. He was remade, rebuilt and a sure enough top dog. Right?

Then ranger school happened and he learned what those words really meant.

What he'd considered tough before wasn't. But again, he learned. he adapted and overcame. He was no longer a guppy in a puddle but a shark in the ocean.

Then the change came.

Those first desperate months of survival in a world he didn’t understand. The old rules he’d learned at such a high cost weren’t true anymore. Tricks and habits learned by generations of American soldiers suddenly, mostly didn’t apply. Camouflage face paint meant nothing when beasts saw with magic or smelled him from 100’s of yards away. Fields of fire meant less when sightlines were choked up and everywhere he looked magic turned ordinary fights on their head.

Mostly. Individual tricks and expectations let him down. But attitude didn't. He knew this game. Had been through it multiple times. When your old world ends, when the puddle empties into the ocean, don’t lie down and die before larger predators. Get back up and grow. Someday you will be that predator. When the rules change, buckle down and learn the new ones. Never settle for second best.

Beyond attitude were the habits that would benefit any man. Attention to detail. Fortitude in the face of pain, fatigue and worry.

That two was solid gold.

And that was what he had to teach these pathetic little puppies. They were little buds, ready to bloom. Not young men full of testosterone that could be broken down and then molded into soldiers. But creative potential flowers that had to be toughened up, and trained to pay attention without breaking the originality that made them unique and valuable.

He glanced at them again with no small degree of depression and uncertainty. They stood there in a gaggle that geese would be ashamed of. The boys drooling away like puppies and the girls not much better.

Not that he could completely blame them. He’d grown up rather body shy himself. At least around the opposite sex. The military had damaged some of those small-town attitudes. On deployments, his squad hadn’t had room for privacy.

Even so, he hadn’t been prepared for the direction their society took. From casual nudity to mixed bathing. Old-world morals got turned on their heads.

Looking back he couldn’t see how it could have been any other way. In the first couple months of the new real the only clothing they’d had, the so-called tutorial clothing, had been completely destroyed. That clothing hadn’t been anything to write home about, but even that had been better than what they’d been reduced to. Where tears, scrapes and stains covered more than the original cloth. Nakedness started to matter a lot less when merely walking gave everyone around a peep show.

The young lady currently adjusting her bandeau was trim and fit. Her mahogany skin glittered as sunlight hit small beads of water and broke into mini rainbows. Maybe 5’8” and a bit overly endowed for that style of top she stood unconcerned about her audience. Unconcerned, or perhaps just unaware. Either way, she didn't draw it out. Dressed she gave a small shake to settle herself then sauntered back to continue weeding. And that was the thing, used to it or not, it still mattered. And he prayed to whatever deity or deities that might exist that it always would.

The day he didn’t notice a well-built naked woman was the day they planted him 6 feet under.

Still, there was honest appreciation, and there was what these whelps were doing. Boys he was supposed to turn into men and here they were slobbering like puppies at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He held back a sigh.

“Keep up!” Parkour barked, trying to keep his thoughts from his face. Pointing out their errors would just make it worse. Hopefully, he glanced at the youngsters behind me, picking through their ranks for something different. And he found it. The few who, while certainly still getting an eyeful, did so with a casual mein that spoke of experience while showing a measure of distaste for the actions of their new classmates. The correction would be far more effective, and less humiliating if it came from them in private later.

In the meantime he limped down the path with as much grace as he could muster, which compared to these unaugmented youngsters was still quite a bit. The ivory staff in his hand, Scrimshawed to the point that there were more runes than blank space, aided him greatly in the pursuit.

He stumped down one of many narrow serpentine paths that radiated out from the teaching hall, ducking down and around the many small hillocks that dimpled the plateau top. Well covered in more food crops or the occasional tree, no one unfamiliar with the town would realize that there were warm, comfortable homes hiding beneath many of those hills.

Hobbiton meets a french nudist colony, he snorted internally. Still, for all its oddities it was perhaps the most stunning hold in the Union. A riot of colors and wholesome smells that made him feel younger just by passing through.

But even such an idyllic walk had to end. He turned sharply into a shallow-seeming crack in a nondescript boulder and began descending the stairway hidden within. For a few steps he enjoyed the shade, a welcome relief notwithstanding the pleasant breeze, but rapidly it turned into a hazard. Unnaturally fast darkness seemed to rise up and strangle the light.

He casually reached out and pulsed his willpower into a rune carved into the wall. It spluttered to life in a dull glowing blue. A blue that poured down to light up a long set of curving stairs below. If stairway he could call it. It wasn’t the familiar rectangular platforms and vertical connectors, but rather a series of slightly overlapping round platforms, visible now in a corkscrewing arc in front of them. A corkscrew that grew longer as he descended, and disappeared behind the last student. But while the platforms glowed, it wasn’t with light. Light, no matter how dim, would shine on the features around it. Even a bit of light could let the eyes see something, at least once they adjusted to it. Not here. He couldn’t see his own hands in front of his face.

It was slightly creepy, completely uncomfortable and wholly ethereal. Like walking on fluorescent mushrooms floating above a lightless abyss. He shrugged off the fanciful image, taking a moment to enjoy the discomfort of the ducklings following him down. If they wanted more light than this, they would have to create their own.

Shaking his head he marveled at the Runefathers preparations. This same principle showed up everywhere. Give them just enough to get by, but never enough to be comfortable and let the desire for comfort inspire them into creating their own solutions.

At times he found it manipulative, but it wasn’t hidden manipulation. It was a blatant challenge. A challenge that could be refused.

And his situation wasn't any different. He’d taken this teaching position because the Runefather had baited him out of his depression. Baited him with that most poisonous of gifts. Hope. Hope that his toes and a chunk of his foot, lost nearly five months ago to an acid fern, could be regrown. They couldn’t pull it off yet. But it was that word that had suckered him in.

Yet.

So here he was. What did he know of teaching children? Drill sergeant? Sure, he’d give it a try. But teacher?

What's worse is he couldn’t afford to be lousy at it. This was an opportunity. An opportunity to not just make some decent coin, but to do the Runefather a favor. A favor that was worth far more than the five pounds a week of his generous salary, for a non-hunting position. Because while a cure was likely, a cheap cure wasn’t. If working with the Runefather had taught him anything, it was that the cost was proportionate to the gains.

That was for later though, for now, he had children to teach. And if he wanted to get that cure, he had better teach them well!

He stepped through a doorway outlined in fluorescent lights, again showing up against the absolute blackness, but without radiating any light to dispel it. Stepping through, the unnaturally dark surface stretched around him like a thin skin of the blackest oil, until it could stretch no more and snapped back into the flat plane of the doorway leaving him in a dimly lit cavern.

He stumped forward, refusing to pause in front of the doorway and take in the sights, despite them being well worth a look. He didn't have to. This was his brainchild. His creation. And he knew it well.

Leaving room for the children, who fell over each other as they did stop directly in the way, he approached the ledge. Looking out over an obstacle course from hell with a smile of pardonable pride. The massive room was some 40 feet wide by 200 in length and it was covered in obstacles. Massive snaking pillars, more like the roots of some massive petrified tree than the artwork of human hands, reached from the darkness below up through the darkness above, leaving only a portion of the middle visible. A peep show thrown into even more mystery by the interplay of shadows cast by the few light sources. Lines of posts reached out of the abyss to provide pathways forward. A dozen different ones, even from the start, stretching out from the cliff edge like a jumping trial from an Indiana Jones movie.

Each of them was different, some had small post tops spaced far apart, but seemingly moving in direct lines while the easier paths, larger platforms closer together, were more likely to snake around, up and down, through the maze of growths in front of him.

He turned back. Grinning as a sudden jet of water crashed out of the darkness to sweep across the closest pedestal. Smashing into the next pillar over with a retort that sounded more like a hammer than a liquid, then falling down to splash somewhere in the shadows below. It wasn’t just a maze or a test of hops. Oh no, it was so much more.

He waited, refusing to recognize a few raised hands or stuttered questions. There would be time for that later. He remained silent until counting the 53rd child finally stretching through the oil black doorway.

“Welcome to the machine!” It wasn’t exactly the pit of despair, but some memories were worth preserving. Unfortunately, there was a distinct lack of recognition in the faces staring back at him. Surely some of them saw the movie before the change?

“Today is the only day that you will all come down here together. 53 is a bit much for most of these classes. You will be broken up into five groups starting tomorrow. For today though you are all together so I only have to make the general introduction once. What you see in front of you is not merely one thing. The Runefather taught you this game, tell me what you see.”

“Roots.” “Pillers.” “A lake?” “Cavern.” they spouted off answers left and right. Some obvious, some insightful. Either way, it was enough to fulfill the Runefathers requirements. He wasn’t permitted to simply spoon-feed them information. Even had he been willing to. Instead, they were all required to offer at least 5 different possibilities for everything. Or, and he preferred this option, have the children supply that variety for him.

“Yes, all of these. But a few more as well. Three in particular. This-” He waved his hands at the course. “Is a metaphor. There are many, many paths. They intersect and diverge, creating hundreds, perhaps thousands of possibilities. None of them “The” right way. Some routes might work better for those of you with long legs.“ He gestured at the gangly blonde Brit. “Some obstacles might have holes, only large enough for the smallest of you.” he gestured again to a small Asian girl this time, not even 4 feet in height and extremely petite. “And dozens of options in between. You get to attempt to cross, making judgments and suffering for bad ones.” He tossed a rock off the ledge, pausing a second or two, enough for the splash to be clearly audible. “You won’t die if you fall, but it certainly won't be pleasant.” That was an understatement. Falling into the pitch black was an experience in itself. Add to that trying to swim through it? It was like sensory deprivation with a side of cold water and a large dose of fear.

He wasn't a sadist. There was a purpose for that misery. Most humans were tactile animals. Deep thoughts made them dangerous, but most needed more than simply sitting in a blank room somewhere thinking. He wanted to let them feel the risks and possibilities in front of them with their very bodies and hopefully learn to be careful!

Not just that though. “At the same time, and much less dramatic, this is some much-needed exercise. Something to run you all out of energy so you can concentrate on the coming lessons.” Not every goal needed to have deep significance.

“And last but certainly not least, It’s training. There are traps seeded all through this course. If you don’t pay attention here then you will suffer for it. But if you don’t pay attention later when you are outside these walls-” He kicked his right shoe off, holding out the melted remains of his foot for them all to see. His big toe was intact, as was the toe next to it, but the remaining three were simply gone. The flesh in back of them was missing all the way back to the arch of his foot in a half-circle of scared and ruined flesh. He forced himself to look at it, ignoring the sound of retching. His inattention had caused this. there was no one to blame for his current condition but himself. “-you will be lucky to only suffer. I was lucky. I’m still here. This shouldn’t be anything new to you. It might be uglier than most wounds, but none of your home holds are exempt.”

He moved though, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “Learn to pay attention, to notice small clues and you just might survive long enough to do something useful. With that in mind, step up to the ledge and watch.” Feeding his will into the control beacon hanging about his neck he brought the lighting up enough to make the entire course visible and jumped. Not bothering to put his shoe back on.

Stepping on the first pillar, he quickly jumped up instead of forward. The slight chugging sound of flowing water was deliberately loud. A freebie hint to get them started. The later traps would not be so kind. Reaching over 10 feet in the air he easily dodged the water jet and stepped off the vertical side of the pillar in a massive sideways jump. Ignoring entirely the pathways beneath him to bounce from wall to wall. He had to augment his jumps from time to time with thrusts of motion from his staff, but only enough to make up for his bum foot. Walking on walls and jumping 20 to 30 feet at a time he crossed through the maze, leaping from a final pillar just far enough to snag the end of a rope, nearly invisible in the shadows cast by the now bright light source on the roof. Tarzanning across a chasm rather than taking a long twisty jump test around the base. Releasing the rope he fell into a thicket inspired by a childhood fascination with Briar Rabbit.

Even here though there were hard paths with nasty-looking thorns, or easy paths if one's eyes were sharp enough. He jumped up and began to swing across from smooth handhold to smooth handholds. Not hidden exactly, but simply horizontal section of the everpresent roots placed close enough together to provide a path suitable for a chimpanzee. Or a hyperactive youngster.

He didn’t mind showing this one off. If any of the brats tried to copy him they would regret it. Just because you knew it was there, didn’t mean it was easy to pick out each successive handhold. Especially not if they wanted to maintain the required momentum. Doing it one-handed (he needed that staff dammit) was a bit of a rush even for him and he knew what to expect.

Making the final bar with a good amount of momentum he swung up and arched his body, like a pole vaulter, threading himself through a hole that was barely two feet square. Landing lightly on the next platform he quickly dropped as he heard air whistling. Holding his body barely off the platform on the toes of his good foot and his fingertips he felt more than saw the pendulum sweep over his head. Two hundred pounds of sand on the end of a rope, just waiting to clean someone's clock. He had a discrete motion ward buried inside the sand in case of emergencies. He had a number of unseen safety fields set up in various places. But he had no plans to use them. Not unless he was forced to by a potentially life-threatening injury. With no consequences they wouldn’t learn what they needed to.

Making a few more simple jumps he reached the platform at the other side. He spoke quietly, trusting to the control spells to make himself heard. “Take it one at a time and pay attention. This isn’t a competition. Not unless you want to compete with yourself. Some of you are 12, some nearly 15. Some short, some strong some week. Completing this course quickly won’t make you a better wizard. Rushing too much might just make you a dead wizard.” Not from the course, but in general that statement was as true as could be. “So take your time and learn from it. There are many lessons just waiting for you.” He started walking again for the exit. “And since the way behind you is closed-” He fully expected someone to try it and wanted to save them the effort. The membrane of darkness was one way only. “-you will all have to find a way across. Two last things. “ With a snap of his fingers a ladder, on the far right of the starting platform and descending down into the water below, began to glow. For those who fell, or were knocked off that was the only non-magical way back up. “There’s your mulligan and remember to keep it physical. You can make plans and think about how you will cheat the course. I encourage it in fact. But The Runefather asked me to remind you all that you aren't ready for any real casting yet. Try it and I wouldn’t bet on your survival.” He paused for a moment. “No have fun, lunch is waiting for you. Don’t be too long.”

Then he walked out. Letting his limping stride echo through the magical amplifier as he made the stairs.

Coolguy exit. Stage left.

They didn’t have to know that he slipped through a hidden door to an overlook mere seconds later. Ready to watch and protect his batch of flowers.

And maybe, just maybe.

Watch them grow.