Brookdell was, shockingly enough, built on either side of a slender brook that ran through a dell. Trees surrounded the village, providing a sense of shelter. The last bit of road that led into town was canopied by leaves from both sides, creating a natural entrance gate into the village.

Hendrix rubbed his palms together and grinned as we entered. I didn’t ask. In the short time together, I’d learned to ignore his odd behavior and preferred traveling in silence. He was useful to have around despite his oddity. He’d taught me a little more about classes, their roles, and the five different races of adventurers. Humans and dwarves, I already knew, but there were elves, toadkin, and raventaur as well. If any of them resembled the image their names put in my head, it would be difficult not to laugh whenever I first met one. I’m sure the humans of Goldmill thought the same thing about dwarves before I came along.

A few wooden buildings lined both sides of the single road that ran through town. Each held some sort of distinctive feature. The inn was made clear by the sign over the door depicting two mugs clashing. The smithy had the forge, the butcher had a sign with a boar haunch, and so on.

Goldmill was a much busier town. The streets in Brookdell were nearly deserted save for a few odd folks either using the forge, tanning a hide, or boiling something with a foul smell. “What’s that guy doing?” I asked.

“He’s an alchemist,” Hendrix said. “Brews potions that could either buff party members, curse enemies, heal certain wounds, and a bunch of other pretty cool stuff the better the alchemist gets.”

“He’s an adventurer, then?”

Hendrix nodded. “Everyone you see on the road here in Brookdell is. The shopkeepers and trainers stay indoors here. It used to get pretty crowded, but most adventurers are well past these low levels by now.”

Only one house in town had no discernable purpose. It was the tallest and stood right before the opposing gate from the one we’d entered through. A cloud of pinkish dust escaped the chimney where the others in the town coughed out grey. “That must be Fandor’s.”

“Definitely,” Hendrix said.

We kept a brisk pace and bypassed the other adventurers, all of them humans. Each one was focused on their own affairs and paid us no mind, save for the alchemist who glanced up at us for a short moment before returning to his foul-smelling mixture.

The mage’s door creaked open when I knocked. We exchanged a shrug and walked in. It was cool and damp in the mage’s house as if it were a cellar. The walls were covered in untalented paintings, and the minimal furniture was dusty and littered with cobwebs.

“Up here.” The frail voice came from our left. A narrow balcony spanned the wall and led to the only room on the second floor. An old, bearded man garbed in a faded black robe leaned on a wooden staff and smiled at us. His hair was grey and frizzy as if it had gone unbrushed for years. “Billington and Hendrix, I presume.”

“Sheriff Gunn of Goldmill sent me to meet you.” I wasn’t sure how to address a mage or if there even was a formal way to address them. “I’m an adventurer seeking the Dark Lady and was told you could help.”

Hendrix chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” I whispered to him.

“You don’t need to talk so much,” he said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but non-adventurers don’t converse like we do. They barely listen to what we say, if they listen at all, and they tell us whatever they were going to tell us no matter where we try to push the conversation. Not to mention how often they repeat themselves.”

I had noticed it before but thought it was just a cultural thing with humans. My mother repeated herself, and many conversations with the townsfolk would end in awkward silences.

“You can talk all you want,” Hendrix said, “but don’t expect any responses that make sense. Oh, and don’t tell him or anyone else about the diary just yet.”

“Why not?”

The mage made his way down the stairs, slow and careful.

“There’s a time and a place,” Hendrix said. “It’s not now, and it’s not here.” He actually seemed to be annoyed by me, which I couldn’t help but find funny. I nodded and moved to the base of the stairway to meet Fandor.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Fandor said, short of breath. “The Dark Lady has finally done what we’ve always expected. We knew this would come. She’d been planning for years hidden deep in her mana wastes, but we were too late, and now she has let herself loose upon us.”

“What has she done?” I asked. “I know of her attack on the garrison at the Rocky Heights border and of Pepper Dam.”

Hendrix scoffed. I sent him a pair of furrowed brows. He closed his eyes and laid a slender finger over his lips.

“No doubt you want to know about the king and queen,” Fandor continued, completely ignoring my question as Hendrix predicted. “The royal family is alive, but that is where the good news ends. Atlaris has been engulfed by Kaloriann’s mana wall, an unfathomable wall of pure, churning energy she’s surrounded our kingdom with. The ring of unbridled power has shrunk and encroached until it finally stopped after swallowing the capital. Now King Antonio, Queen Adriana, Prince Christoph, and Princess Cosette remain locked in their throne room, silenced, but alive.”

“How do you know they’re alive?” I asked. I turned to Hendrix. “How does he know?”

Hendrix shrugged, leaning casually on a cob-webbed wall, and pointed his chin toward Fandor.

“We know this because one of their guards managed to escape the storm,” the mage said. “He shared his horrible tale. I won’t burden you with any of the horrid details, but from the panicked ramblings that spilled from his quivering mouth, we’ve gathered that the royal family is barred in their throne room and have been since the Dark Lady’s mana wall closed in.” The mage leaned in closer to me. The whites of his eyes burned with red lightning. “Whispers also speak of the princess’ diary. Any who find it may learn more clues to help us in finally rescuing her and her family.”

Hendrix and I exchanged a look. I reached into my pocket where the book lay dormant, unsure if I should show it to the wizard or not. Hendrix shook his head and turned his attention to the old man.

“So far, no one, no matter how strong, has discovered how to penetrate the mana wall without dying or being lost forever,” Fandor said. “Do not run in blindly, adventurers. Learn. Investigate. Our great kingdom is counting on you.”

“Yeah,” Hendrix laughed. “Us and thousands of other adventurers. It’s been five years. Many have entered the mana-wall by now, but no one’s figured out how to get into Atlaris yet.”

Fandor ignored the remark and returned to his stairs. He climbed them at the same pace he’d descended. It wasn’t on purpose, but Hendrix was changing the very foundations of my world one small, smirking revelation at a time. I knew to keep an open mind, especially since I’ve lived my entire life in a small town and had only been exposed to a tiny portion of the world, but it was difficult to accept so much change to my reality in such a short time.

“Let’s get going,” Hendrix said, headed for the door.

“He didn’t tell us where to go or what to do,” I said.

“Trust me.”

I sighed and followed. The moment we reached the door, Fandor called to us from his balcony. “There is a tower a few miles north of here. It’s the Cult of the Ann’s headquarters. High-Lord Mallar is their leader.” He spat on his own floor. “The man was my colleague once upon a time—the fool. You need to take him out. It’s the only way to stop the cult. Be wary. He is adept in battle and ruthless. Show him no quarter, for you shall receive none. Good luck, adventurers.”

I was going to respond to High-Mage Fandor when Hendrix left the room. I followed once I saw the mage had already dropped his attention from us. “How did you know he was going to talk again once we got to the door?”

Hendrix crouched in the road to stretch his legs. “I don’t know, to be honest.” His usually smooth voice graveled as he rose from his crouch. “I knew a lot about how all of this worked from the moment I spawned. I couldn’t tell you why, but I can tell you that I won’t be complaining about it. Innate knowledge has shown to be quite lucrative.”

“How so?”

“I charge n—” He stopped himself. “No. I can’t say that word. I charge new players a bit of gold for advice and information.”

“Not very friendly,” I said. “Why haven’t you charged me? I’ve done nothing but bombard you with questions since we’ve met.”

“You’ve got the book,” Hendrix said. “Charging you would be sacrilegious.”

I dropped it. “We’d better head for that tower.”

Hendrix whistled and bent his body to get a better look at something near the natural canopy we had passed when entering Brookdell. “Maybe we should stay here and take in the sights first.”

I looked in the same direction to see what he was talking about, and everything made sense instantly. A beautiful woman sauntered into town wearing almost nothing. Her golden hair flowed down to her waist, exposed by the ragged cloths that barely covered the essentials. Once she was a bit closer, her strange gait became apparent. She walked with a limp. Not the limp of an injured leg, but that of an exhausted woman, barely able to keep awake.

The other adventurers in town showed no signs of having noticed her. Each focused on his or her respective task. A couple of guards exited the inn and walked straight toward her as if they’d known she’d be there before leaving the inn. Hendrix clicked his tongue. “We should be the ones helping her. Those guards do enough every day, putting their lives on the line like that. Wait here. I’ll take care of this.” He left.

I was left alone on Fandor’s small wooden porch. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. The woman was clearly in need. It would’ve been disrespectful to look upon her with any sort of longing in her current state.

Hendrix was half-way there. Abreast with the guards but moving at a quicker pace. His giggling was loud enough for me to hear from the porch. I slapped a palm on my brow and looked at the ground again. The woman was destitute, pitiful, and… scantily clad. Just like the cultist said she’d be. My eyes shot up. Hendrix was nearly within arm’s reach. “Stop!”

The three adventurers in town looked at me, but Hendrix either didn’t hear me or pretended not to. I dashed from the porch and drew my wrench. Hendrix politely put out a hand, offering aid to the woman. I sprinted past the guards, who continued with their languid pace and stopped beside the bard.

“I’ve got this, Billington,” he said in a sideways whisper. “I saw her first, man, come on.”

“Leave this town, cultist,” I said to the woman who had yet to lift her eyes from the dirt.

She raised her hands. The bruising on her skin was convincing. I didn’t know which had the worse outcome between me being right about her or being wrong. If I was right, the town of Brookdell was under some sort of attack by the cult of the Ann. If I was wrong, a poor, innocent woman who’d traveled from God knows how far seeking aid was instead accused of being a cultist, and worse, flirted with by a gold-begging bard.

She didn’t give me much time to think about it. She’d been touching the bruises on her waist and belly. Her hands groped their way upward until she made her move with incredible speed. Her hands dipped into the ragged cloth around her chest and emerged with two daggers. She jumped into a battle-ready stance. Her knife-wielding arms thrust outward like wings. Subtle streaks of purple on the blade caught the shine of the sun.

Hendrix jumped backward and swung the lute off his back. He struck a pleasant sequence of chords, and the music coursed through my veins. I drew my wrench with more vigor than I’d ever felt before.

The cultist smirked and charged me. I met her charge with confidence, which probably had a lot to do with Hendrix’s song. He continued singing and strumming as we clashed. She thrust her blades often, choosing to strike with precision over power. My only hope was to back away. I’d never have been able to dodge strikes that quick had I been within reach. She threw enough strength in her next thrust to produce a grunt through her snarl. It would have opened my neck if not for a quick wrench parry. I jumped back a few paces, and she stayed where she was, smiling, evidentially pleased with the direction of the fight.

The bard’s music ceased abruptly. Its strength faded from my body. “Billington, behind!”

I spun, reluctantly taking my eyes off my opponent. Four men garbed in tight purple leathers charged down the road from the other end of town. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted at the other adventurers. “A little help here?”

Each one looked at me, then at the commotion around them. They dropped their tasks and ran onto the road to intercept the charging men. The adventurer who’d been brewing the foul-smelling potion advanced with a heavy wooden club. The one working the smithy wielded an iron hammer and a wooden shield, and the third, who’d been tanning a hide, stayed back. She knocked an arrow onto a shabby bow, took aim, and released once the cultists were in range.

Something scraped dirt behind me. I turned just in time to catch the woman’s rush. She jumped and soared at me, both knives cocked, ready to strike. I fell to the ground and rolled to where she’d jumped from just as Hendrix resumed his song. The melody came to life within me as I sprung to my feet, now behind the woman. Her mind was quick enough to deal with my maneuver as her eyes never left me, but her momentum kept pushing her in the wrong direction. It was my only chance. I dashed at her, pulled my wrench back, and whipped it forward. It cut through the air and met with her spine.

A large number twelve floated from her and disintegrated into the same yellow specks as the number that had emerged from the wolf’s wound. I’d never hit a human or anything with conscious thoughts before. It was sickening. She fell to the ground near Hendrix. The bard shuffled on light feet until he was safe behind me. His song never faltered as he moved.

The battle in the middle of Brookdell was chaotic. The large man with the shield held each enemy’s attention while the man with the club stood behind the cultists, swinging heavy blows on them at will. The woman with the bow positioned herself on a chair on one of the balconies and rained carefully aimed shots into the mess of purple. I had to double-take a mangy wolf gnawing on a cultist’s arse as if the beast was part of the team. It was the tall cultist with the amber-tipped staff.

“Kill her!” Hendrix shouted over his music.

I watched my injured opponent, hoping she would just fall back down or surrender. Cultist or not, she was a woman with a soul. Not much different than my mother. Though, my mother had never glared at me through dirt-caked strands of blonde hair with a look that said ‘I’m going to kill you’ more clearly than words ever could.

She came at me again. Much slower this time, yet somehow more intimidating. I raised my wrench, hoping it would change her mind, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her dark eyes locked onto mine. They were so cold and lifeless they made me reconsider the notion of her being a creature with a soul. She was a monster. Perhaps as powerful and unstoppable as Kaloriann herself.

“Finish her off, Billington,” Hendrix said. “She’s only a level higher than you, and she’s already critically injured.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, slowly backing away from the encroaching cultist.

“What, the fact that she’s injured, or the level?”

“Both!”

“When the damage number explodes into yellow bits, it means you got a critical hit,” Hendrix said in a frantic voice. He desperately wanted me to end the fight. “As for her level, just look at her. All adventurers have an innate ability to detect an enemy’s or another adventurer’s level.”

His song continued, as did my backing away, but I focussed on detecting her level. He was right. I could never explain how, but I knew she was level three. It was as intuitive as knowing something sweet was safe to eat. It would’ve been like trying to describe the color blue to a blind man when the truth is you just know by looking at it. “You’re right.”

“I know I am,” Hendrix said, strumming faster and faster on his old lute as the battle went on. “Now, please, finish her off.”

I dashed forward and slammed my weight into her unsuspecting frame, knocking her to the ground. I looked up to the sky, closed my eyes, and mouthed, “God forgive me,” then slammed my wrench onto her head. I expected something like hammering a melon, but she lay motionless, fully intact, with only a stream of blood and the number eight exiting her wound. I had avenged Sheriff Gunn, but it didn’t feel half as sweet as I thought.

Dark clouds churched above me as they had after defeating the wolf. The same thing happened over Hendrix’s purple, feathered hat. He grinned, put his lute away on his back, and cheered. “What is this?” I asked.

“Just enjoy it,” Hendrix said.

The same whooshing sound came as before, followed by familiar thunder. Both clouds erupted into light, revealing a massive golden number three above my head and a number four over Hendrix.

“We leveled up,” I said, finally understanding.

Hendrix smiled and clapped. “You’re damn right, we did. Thirty-six to go for me. Doesn’t matter—It’s the journey, not the destination, right?”

“Sure.” I eyed the fallen woman before me. I couldn’t help but feel horrible for what I’d done.

The others cheered from the center of town. All three adventurers stood victorious over the corpses of cultists. I wanted to introduce myself, congratulate them, and maybe make some friends, but a strange weight appeared suddenly in my pocket, distracting me. “What’s this?” I reached in and pulled out a handful of small metal beads. I studied them as they rolled back and forth in my palm.

“Nice. Ten silver.” Hendrix crouched beside the dead cultist, then moved to my side after pocketing coins. “Those are ball bearings.”

“What are these for, and where do they come from?”

“Sometimes, when we level up, God grants us a new ability,” Hendrix said. “In your case, you’ve been granted these ball bearings. You can throw these at your opponent’s feet, causing them to lose their footing. The best part is you never have to worry about picking them all up after using them. They regenerate in your pockets after a certain amount of time.”

“Incredible,” I said, staring at the little metal beads in awe. A thought occurred. I shifted my attention to the bard. “If we could sense someone’s level, why did you ask what mine was back in the woods?”

Hendrix shrugged. “I’m not the best at starting conversations. Thought it could break the ice.” He slapped me on the shoulder, nearly causing me to drop the beads. “You ready to storm that tower?”

The bard started out of town. I lingered for a while, watching the group of celebrating adventurers make their way to the inn. I wanted to join them. It seemed friends were going to be an essential resource in all of this. What would have happened had they not been there? Hendrix and I could never have fended the entire invasion off on our own. The last adventurer to enter the inn pat the mangy wolf on the head, pointed where she wanted it to stay, pushed her way past the two guards who’d been useless during the fight, and disappeared into the inn.