“Oh!” I said, startled.

I’d been putting some final touches on the evening dinner when a bright flash of golden energy enveloped me. Particles of sparkling light crackled and popped, mimicking the sound of fireworks, as a dramatic swell of triumphant fanfare blared.

Once the theatrics had faded, a message popped up in front of me.

Congratulations on attaining Level 2!

You have begun to get stronger and your experience shows it! Allocate your new Skill points to increase your Abilities!

I’d seen my Cooking Skill go up in levels a few times, now sitting at five, but I didn’t realize that my actual Player Level would go up as well with such menial tasks.

I was excited! I had held out hope to do this with Kellmen’s help, but that was not to be. I knew I could navigate through the process well enough, though I might not be the most optimized.

Before I could celebrate, however, there was a knock on the kitchen door. I looked up at Thorde with a grimace. We both knew who it would be bothering us. Sure enough, the door opened and the grinning face of Halec appeared around the edge of the wood.

“What is it, Halec?” Thorde asked seriously, “we’ve got to finish dinner for the Officers.”

Halec stepped inside cautiously, and nodded.

“Oh, I’m quite aware, Chef Thorde. That’s actually why I am here. There’s been a request that Vale join the Officers this evening for supper.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said sternly. “we’ve still got a ton of work to do, and I can’t leave Chef to the job by herself.”

Halec looked as though he was going to object, but Thorde interrupted.

“You go ahead,” she said, waving a cleaning cloth in the Fomorian’s direction, “I can finish this up on my own. You would be wise not to ignore a summons, even one with such a probing messenger.” She leveled her gaze at Halec and he seemed to shrink back.

“Yes,” he said, opening the door, “listen to Chef Thorde, Vale. Do the smart thing and come along. Refusing an invitation like this would be… a poor choice.”

I sighed and looked at Thorde again. She waved me away and began sprinkling a garnish on the plates. I dropped my shoulders in defeat and untied my apron, leaving it on the counter.

“Hurry along, Vale,” Halec said, “we’ve got a lot of stairs to climb.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Thorde said, marching across the room suddenly. Halec shrank back again, his eyes wide. The chef poked him in the chest with her index finger and waved her hand over at the trays of hot food on the counter.

“You’re taking my server, which means I need a replacement. I am not climbing all of those stairs with these trays. Grab an apron and get to work—there’s still much to be done.”

Halec’s smile faded away, and he looked over at me with disdain and a bit of fear.

“Hurry along, Halec,” I said, and stepped out into the hallway.

I wasn’t exactly pleased with having to meet up with Matar again. I hadn’t seen him since our last conversation as he and some of the Officers had been out raiding for the last week in a newly discovered dungeon. I was hoping privately that it had been a total failure, but they’d returned late last night, a group of twenty or so materializing in a flash as they Home Stoned back. Their celebration had forced me to skip my usual nightly routine and instead, Thorde and I had been forced to work late into the night, racing back and forth between the kitchens and the two dining halls.

I climbed the dark staircase.

------

I reached the end of the hallway of armor that led to the Officer’s dining hall. It was empty, as usual. Luckily, I could see that the door was open. I’d had a few instances in the last few weeks where I’d had to beg someone to open the heavy portal for me so that I could deliver a meal. However, more often than not in those situations, there was no one around, and I’d have to knock, so that someone on the inside could grant me entry.

I had learned recently that the only people who typically frequented the third floor were the Officers themselves. This was because, in addition to their private dining hall, all of their bedchambers were allocated to this floor as well. It only made sense that they would have a floor all to themselves, as they were quite the arrogant pricks, and seemed to have a sense of entitlement that this world nourished.

When you had a quantitative reference point for how much better you were than others, it probably fostered a sense of elitism.

In the real world, there had been a lot of people like that.

My uncle was like that.

I stopped in my tracks. It hadn’t really registered until now, but I realized I hadn’t thought about my uncle in a long time. I disliked him, but now I was having trouble recalling why.

He was an asshole.

That may have been true, but I had to stand, pondering for a moment to really slice through the fine detail. I couldn’t recall any one thing about him very clearly. I sort of remembered how he looked, and I could remember something about his voice, but most of the detail was lost.

I think he was in the military?

It was odd that I couldn’t remember him that strongly.

That’s strange, because he looked so much like my dad.

I was frozen.

What did my dad look like?

I hadn’t thought about my dad, my mom, or my sister in ages. I couldn’t recall their faces, their voices, anything.

Oh no.

How could I forget people I had lived my whole life knowing? I had only been here a few weeks…

I heard a clatter in the Officer’s Dining Hall, and that broke the spell. Something metal had been knocked from high up. I quickly dismissed my troubles, relegating them to a section of my brain to be explored later, and hurried into the dim chamber.

I entered, and was immediately met with a curious scene.

On the floor, next to the table, was an overturned silver goblet. A pool of burgundy liquid had spilled and was creeping slowly along the channels between the tiles. At the end of the table, a disinterested form slumped in the head chair.

It was dark, but it was easy to see who it was.

“I had been expecting Matar,” I said, ignoring the chaos of what must have transpired.

“No,” said Paris, her glowing golden horns shedding a faint light in the insular chamber, “it’s not Matar.”

I nodded.

Drunk.

There was a large bottle of wine next to her, on the table. The opaque glass gave only an indication as to the remainder of its contents, but it didn’t look like there was much left. Her speech was slurred, and the lazy way she was gesturing made that plainly obvious. She glowered at me, squinting her eyes as if trying to see who it was who’d interrupted her. But when she realized, her face contorted into a fierce sneer.

“Oh,” she said, “you.”

I stood in place, too frightened to move closer and nodded again.

“Yep,” I said, my eyes wandering. I didn’t say anything else, and the silence was pregnant with awkwardness.

“Well,” she said, attempting to sit up, but failing, “what do you want?”

I switched my weight to my other foot and scratched absently at my head.

“Uh, I was summoned here. By Matar, I assumed.”

She kept me in her gaze for a moment, before slumping back again.

“Oh,” she said, “that was me.”

I was surprised.

“I’m confused,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“That’s not shocking,” Paris slurred, a took a heavy swig of the wine glass, “you’re a bit of an idiot.”

I crinkled my nose.

“Thank you…?”

Paris chuckled, just once, as if the sound was caught in her throat, and the smile she presented was absolutely venomous. Then it shifted again, her brows knitting angrily.

“I know who you are…” she said.

“Yep!” I proclaimed sarcastically, “I’m the infamous alcohol fairy, and I have mistakenly left too much at your doorstep.”

“Lower your voice before I cut your throat out,” Paris explained, wincing, “I didn’t call you here to listen to your pathetic and ill suited jokes.”

I waited in silence.

Better not to piss her off even more than just my presence has already done.

“I know who you are,” she accused again, her voice dripping with venom, “or rather, what you are.”

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Don’t play the fool with me, you fucking liar,” she said. She closed one eye and pointed a crooked finger at me. She looked as though she could barely hold up its weight.

“I remember you…” she continued, and began circling her finger in the air, “your face may have changed, but you can’t fool me. I’m a legacy. I can see through all of your bullshit.”

She belched suddenly, and looked up at me in disgust.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

I inclined my head. How long would I have to endure this abuse? I also wanted to know why, other than drunkenly hassling me, one of the higher ups wanted to talk to me at all.

“I guess I was wrong for requesting your resurrection,” she said, “you seem content to labor under this pretense, as pathetic as it is. I thought you’d want to talk to an old friend, but I suppose you’re simply satisfied with your new role.”

I shook my head.

“Listen, ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about—“

“Quiet.” She said.

I stopped.

“I tire of this game,” she said, standing suddenly, “so, if you want to continue, you can continue, but you’ll get no more special treatment.”

Special treatment? I’d hate to see what non VIPs receive then.

“Starting tomorrow, you’re no longer in the kitchens.” Paris stated seriously.

“What?” I asked, bewildered.

“No, I think you’ve spent too much time there as it is,” she began marching toward the door and I shrunk back as she passed.

“Where will I be, then?”

“You’ll find out when I figure out much I want you to suffer.” Paris said, and then was gone from the room.

I stared into the space she’d just left from and sighed.

I’m not even sure what I did, but she seemed convinced that I’m someone else.

I’d have to make sure to let Thorde know of the new arrangement. I felt a little glum about it, and more than a little angry. It didn’t seem fair that my life could be altered so easily, especially when working in the kitchen was the only bit of enjoyment I had eeked out of this whole existence so far. Now it was just the next, in a line of things taken away from me.

I opened my Menu.

At least I can Level myself to cheer up…

But as I stared at the screen floating in front of me, I got a bit more uncomfortable.

Skill Points Allocated!

Remaining Skill Points: 0

Features Chosen!

Good Luck!

I frowned at the display.

Vitals

HP:60 / 60

Fey: 60 / 60

Stamina: 115 /115

Experience: 1000 / 3500 to Level 3

Attributes

Might: 8

Agility: 13

Endurance: 8

Resonance: 10

Intellect: 12

Charisma: 9

Offense

Attack: 10

Speed: 15

Damage Per Second: 12

Critical %: 0.02

Fey Damage: 9

Defense

Evasion %: 4.07

Health Regeneration: 10/ 60s

Shield: 0

Fey Resistance: 16

I flipped to my Skills. Everything was relatively the same, except, now my Cooking Skill was level five, and I had one new, additional Skill.

Dancing

What in the shit? Was everything automatic?

No, I could specifically recall others talking about their choices for their updated stats. I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong.

Did I accidentally select this stuff somehow?

That had to be it. I was extremely clumsy at times, especially with this unwieldy new body.

I sighed again, and hung my head. I’d just have to make sure I didn’t do that again. It was going to be a long life, and having the wrong skills would make it that much longer.

I wonder where Paris’ drunk ass is going to send me. I thought to myself, and slowly began to head back to the kitchen to deliver the bad news.