The usual login process was a gentle fading out of sensations of the real world and an equally gentle fading in of the sensations of the Age. Not this time, however. This was like the static on a radio connected to every nerve. Colours that weren’t colours flashed in front of his eyes, textures that were both spiky and slimy at the same time ran over his skin.

Peter screamed, but all that came out was the sound of a modem connecting at 56kb/s. He struggled, and felt his extremities disconnect and reconnect. A sharp piercing pain stabbed into his neck at the base of his skull and he clawed at the site, feeling clumps of himself come away like putty before dispersing in his hands. He kept pulling and tearing until nothing came away and still the pain persisted, intensifying into an agonising throb.

Then nothing.

No feeling, not even numbness.

No sight, not even blackness.

Not a sound, not a taste, not a smell.

Then light. Golden, glowing, warm. Fading to dawn’s first light.

Comfort, softness unfolding to a slightly spongy support dipping under his seated weight.

Peter blinked, feeling his eyelids move for the first time since the ordeal began. He cleared his throat, feeling the muscles move and the air scrape the raw nerves in his neck. He rubbed his hands over his face and down the back of his neck to where the implant would be in the real world. His hands found only smooth, unblemished skin.

With the rest of his returning senses came another impression. One of being watched. There was someone else in this place. He blinked again and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands to try and clear them. The world took on a more familiar shape, he was in Bani’s house, but as it had been the first time. The high backed chairs were more spread out, the book case more than a mere shelf on the wall, the lounge room an actual room with walls and a door. Fjor sitting in one of the chairs looking quite disapproving.

Wait? Fjor? Peter’s pounding brain supplied. What’s she doing here?

As though reading his scattered mind, Fjor spoke, golden words tumbling from her lips. “Peter. I tasked you with a simple request. What is taking so long? Did I make a mistake in choosing you?”

“N-no Ma’am,” he stammered. “I’m collecting souls, just like you asked. Only…”

“Only hwhat?” The Avatar’s voice what harsh, like a Victorian queen demanding to know why a peasant’s head had not yet been removed. “My husband poured everything into this place, and you have let it go to wrack and ruin.” The room flickered, revealing the cottage as Peter had expected it to have been: DB in his nest in front of the fire, writing desk by the book shelf, the open plan living area. The next instant it was back to the image of former glory and Fjor’s glaring.

Swallowing hard, Peter tried again. “Only, I didn’t know how to access Bani’s soul harvesting skill until just yesterday. I had to figure it out on my own.”

A single arched eyebrow indicated Fjor’s disbelief in Peter’s excuses. “Travellers talk. Travellers talk all the time. Even when I wish they wouldn’t. Especially when I wish they wouldn’t. Whether in this world or your own it is a simple fact that Travellers talk. Why did you not talk to them?”

Peter looked at his feet. “I tried that. All they wanted was to take advantage of me.”

“And you want to take advantage of them. This is how negotiations work. I have done what I can to support you, to ensure you have help along the way, but even immortals can grow impatient. Especially when their Paragons are doing the opposite of what they have been told to.” Fjor stood, thrusting out a hand imperiously.

“Paragon?” Peter queried. “What’s a Paragon?”

Fjor’s light dimmed and she pressed her hands to her temples. “By my oath, you have not yet ascended to the rank of Paragon? What have you been doing? You were marked for your unique qualities. Never have I seen a Traveller that would mete out and receive death in equal measure. If you had continued to walk the path as you set out, you should have at least found yourself at the rank of Adherent by now.”

Knowing that this was all vital information, Peter braved the potential wrath of an Avatar and pulled out a parchment and pen and began taking notes. He thumbed his Traveller’s Mark and checked his Avatar Alignment stat.

“What are you doing, boy? Scratching at your arm like a plague bearer,” Fjor strode over and grabbed Peter by the wrist, pulling it away from where he had been using it to scroll through the information. Agony erupted up his arm as the skin on his arm began to blacken. “Pay attention when I’m speaking!”

Peter yanked his arm out of her grip and cradled it, tears falling freely from his eyes. “I was checking my Mark! Why would you do that?”

Shocked at the effect she had on Peter, Fjor took several quick steps back. “What ARE you? No Traveller has ever reacted like that.” She raised her hands, fingers spread like a piano player. “Tell me what you are!”

Peter cowered behind his good arm, palm up to ward off the destruction that was imminent and whimpered. The flesh on his arm was still bubbling and had begun moving unnaturally all the way up to the elbow.

“What is this?” Fjor demanded, pointing at his Mark with one hand and the other over her mouth. “You bear the Mark of the Traveller, but your flesh rejects my power like that of the undead!”

Turning his raised arm to face him, then back towards Fjor, Peter shook his head. “I AM a Traveller. A player… wait, you can see it? You can see the Mark? I thought Citizens couldn’t see stuff like that?” The excruciating pain in his arm was making it hard to think.

Fjor whipped her hand from her mouth and clenched it into a fist at her side. “You think I am a mere Citizen, boy? I am the Avatar of Life. Of course I can see your Mark. Not that I should have to explain to myself to the likes of you.” Peter could see her hand trembling with suppressed rage through his tears of pain. “In fact, it is I who should be demanding an explanation of YOU. What is the meaning of this,” she flicked a finger at Peter’s arm as the blackening spread further towards his fingertips and up his forearm, “and how have you managed to align yourself so closely to my departed husband’s Aspect without being awarded the meanest rank along his path?”

A guttural cry was wrenched from Peter’s lips as the skin on the back of his hand split and the flesh sloughed off like thick mud, landing on the floor with a splat. All the way from the tips of his now skeletal fingers to just shy of his elbow, the exposed bone glistened in the light. “Oh god, what have you done to me?”

Recoiling from the sight, Fjor looked visibly distressed. “I was trying to cure what ailed you. You have an aura of… of death! Oh, what have I done?” She kneeled beside Peter and reached out to him, but Peter scampered back out of reach.

“Please, not again!” He held up his hands in front of him in a vain attempt to ward off the Avatar. “It hurts so much.”

Backing away slowly with her hands wide, Fjor spoke in a soft, reassuring tone. “I’m sorry Peter. I think I have figured out what has happened. Will you allow me to examine your arm?”

Sniffling hard, Peter wiped his nose on his sleeve as he considered Fjor’s sudden change in attitude. He gingerly held out his arm for inspection, then pulled it back. “You’re not going to hurt me again, are you?”

“I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, and I will not be doing so again. Please,” she whispered, “I think I have figured out what caused such a violent reaction to my magic.”

Scooting forward carefully, Peter held his arm out again. The smooth bones of his hand hung limply without muscles or tendons to support them. He wasn’t even sure what was holding them connected to each other, there was no cartilage between them, just a haze of distorted air.

Fjor remained still and allowed Peter to approach at his own pace. When he was close enough she slowly reached out and cupped the fleshless limb with care. As she touched him, Peter flinched, expecting more pain, but none was forthcoming. Fjor closed her eyes and caressed the smooth, shiny bones. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh my. I see.” Her eyes snapped open. “Did you only just cross the divide between worlds?”

Cringing in case this line of questioning caused the Avatar to resume her torture, Peter squeaked out a “Yes.”

“Hmm. And do you no longer reincarnate in my temple’s graveyard?”

A little bolder, Peter forced out another “Yes.”

Gently releasing the hand, Fjor pressed her fingers to Peter’s temples. “Oh my,” she breathed again. Peter thought he could feel someone sorting through his memories, but the touch was so light he might have been imagining it. Nevertheless, Fjor’s next question gave him pause. “You’ve never met my husband, have you? You figured this out on your own!”

“Well, yes, ma’am.” Peter cradled his ruined limb in his lap. The bare bones didn’t hurt anymore, but they did still convey some sensation. “I mean, no, ma’am. I mean, no, I didn’t meet Bani, and yes, I’ve had to figure out everything on my own.”

“This explains so much.” Fjor folded her hands in her lap. A note of irritation entered her voice, “not why you didn’t seek help from your own kind, that is still a grave oversight,” she sighed, “but at least why you have never trained in Bani’s Aspect or had your alignment recognised. His last Paragon has not been seen in this world for an Age and you have clearly not figured out how to utilise the Focus in his place of power.”

“Ma’am,” Peter ducked his head in embarrassment, “you keep using words that I don’t understand. Do you mind explaining them?”

“Hold out your arm again,” Fjor requested. “I will try to explain as I undo the damage wrought here.” When Peter complied, she placed one hand on the normal skin above the elbow and the other on the forearm bones and looked deep into his eyes. “What would you know?”

Peter winced as the Avatar ran her fingers over the exposed ulna. “You mentioned Paragons and Adepts and Aspects. I have never seen anything anywhere about them, nor heard anyone talk about them either. What are they?”

Fjor shifted her attention to the radius, sliding her touch from the nub of flesh where the bone emerged at the elbow down to where the carpal tunnel would normally be. “An Avatar’s Paragon is their representative in the world. We each have one, someone who serves as ambassador to other Avatars, as well as performing various duties in the world.” She pulled one hand back and made a complicated gesture. “Do you feel anything?”

Shaking his hand and watching the bones flap about uselessly, Peter shook his head. “What about Adepts? If you only have one Paragon, how do they work?”

Pulling a face, Fjoy lifted Peter’s fingers and began examining the gaps where the knuckles would ordinarily be. She poked a finger at the haze between two bones and Peter sucked in a hissed breath. “Sorry,” she apologised. “I had to check, but I won’t do that again.” She turned the hand over, staring through the spaces with a frown. “Adept is a rank of alignment to an Avatar’s Aspect.” She pulled his hand down out of the way and looked straight at Peter. “In order to have one’s alignment recognised by the Avatar, the Traveller must seek out the Paragon or visit the Avatar’s place of Power. Which is why I have come to realise that you’re doing this all alone. Bani is gone, we believe perished, and neither I nor my siblings have seen his Paragon either. Whether something happened to him, or he simply stopped visiting this world, we do not know.”

“So, what you’re saying is that when Travellers align themselves with Avatars they gain powers?” Peter queried.

Fjor placed Peter’s hand back in his lap and stood up, brushing off her dress. “Not exactly, but close. When a Traveller’s actions and ethos match that of an Avatar, their personalities synchronise. We call this Aspect Alignment. When the synchronisation reaches a sufficient point, the Traveller is able to access portions of the Avatar’s Aspect.” She turned and sat in the chair she had been in when Peter arrived. “And while we have formalised the training of these Aspects by granting named ranks to those who seek the knowledge and having our Paragons import restrictions and tests before conducting the training, it is entirely possible for a Traveller to align themselves with the Aspect of an Avatar they have never met and to learn to harness the power of that Aspect untrained.” She gestured to the couch, inviting Peter to sit more comfortably. “I suspect that is what you have done. Completely untrained, you have found out how to harvest the souls of the excess beasts that seek to overrun our world and utilise them to power Bani’s Place of Power.”

Clambering up onto the couch, his arm still flopping about but no longer paining him, Peter tried to make himself comfortable. “So, you’re not angry anymore?”

“On the contrary, young man. I confess you have managed to impress me, something that has not happened in a long time.” She indicated Peter’s new defining feature. “You have paid the price for the power you have earned, and without complaining overmuch. You have managed to discover a path to complete the Geas I laid on you with no help from any other, though I suspect you have paid a price for that too.” Fjor reached out to her right, her hand disappearing into thin air up to the wrist. When she drew the hand back, it was holding a piece of paper.

“What is that?” Peter asked. “A spell to fix me?”

“It appears that I cannot repair your arm. Your alignment to Bani’s Aspect has left you fundamentally incompatible to the Life magics I would use to heal you. It is part of you now, even should you die and be reborn.” She held out the sheet to Peter. When he reached forward to receive it, she flipped it back out of reach. “This means that any and all Life magic spells will have the opposite effect on your body now. Be warned.” She lowered the paper into Peter’s hand. “No. This, Peter, is a design for a mechanical prosthesis. My Paragon picked it up while solving a problem for me, but we have no use for such things. I had been saving it as a bargaining chip negotiating with one of my siblings, but it appears you need it more than I. Find someone you trust to build and affix it.”

Peter accepted the piece of paper, but barely glanced at it before folding it in half and slipping it inside his vest. “Thank you ma’am. I will. Your trust has not been misplaced, I will bring Bani’s Place of Power back to greatness.”

“Good. And Peter?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“For the love of all that is living, find yourself some friends.”

“Yes, ma’am.”