Stars. Until now Dallion had never realized how much he missed them. Not the few pale dots he saw from the city, real stars, covering the sky like salt on a black napkin. Even the moons had lit up, emanating a crisp colored glow. Lying on his back, Dallion raised his hand up, as if stretching to grab hold of one. It was childish, but right now he wanted to be a child, at least for a little longer.

The fight against the pack had exhausted him—more physically than mentally—to the point of collapse. He had suffered a few more bites, each costing the boy between five and ten percent health, and seen things he wished he hadn’t, but in the end he had won.

After the fight, the realm of the Well had become much brighter, not only the rocks and streams, but the air itself. Dallion could smell freshness and the unmistakable sensation of joy with every breath. There was nothing like this on Earth, or even back in the village. Despite the freshness of the air, there was a lingering sensation of unease, probably because everyone was so afraid of the village chief so much.

“The seven moons,” Dallion whispered out loud.

What did they really represent? Representations of deities? Sources of awakened abilities? Both? Dallion had often come across them mentioned in everyday talk, and still that’s all they were—parts of phrases. Everyone knew that there was some order or religion based on them, just as everyone knew that their monasteries were willing to accept anyone, even social pariahs… but that was all. It wasn’t only that people didn’t have answers, they didn’t have questions either. Dallion himself had the faintest of interest, everything considered. All his efforts were entirely focused on getting him to level up and improve his skills, almost to the point of obsession.

“I really need to live more and level less, don’t I?” he asked the moons. To his slight disappointment, the moons didn’t reply. Unfortunately, something else did—the nagging voice that reminded the boy that the realm was only ninety-nine percent repaired. With a bit of effort, Dallion could easily track down the final creature and end it to get the coveted hundred percent.

Maybe tomorrow, the boy closed his eyes.

The night passed quickly and painlessly. In the morning, Dallion felt completely refreshed. The pain had all but subsided along with the hunger. It was almost surprising how comfortable sleeping on rocks could be after a fight.; either that or mending the realm had changed its properties.

After a stretch, Dallion went to the nearest stream for a drink and quick wash. Once done, he set off up the mountain once more. The nagging reminder of the missing one percent kept pestering him a bit longer, but soon gave way to his determination to get done with the challenge and return to the real world.

If I come across it, I come across it, Dallion told himself and persisted on.

The higher he got, the steeper the mountain became. The easy path soon disappeared, forcing him to do some rudimentary climbing. Thankfully, he could still avoid the vertical sections. By the early afternoon he had halved the distance yet again. By his rough estimations, about two dozen miles separated him from the top. Normally, Dallion would pass such a distance in a few hours. Considering he was climbing, he hoped he could manage by nightfall.

Alas, he didn’t.

When the sun touched the horizon several hundred feet remained—the most difficult yet. Sharp cliffs, half of them vertical, lead on forcing the boy to make full use of his perception and reflexes to move from one ledge to the next. The boy was lucky enough to reach a small recess in the rocks, just large enough for him to curl up for the night.

Dallion’s recklessness urged the boy to keep going for the top, his common sense told him that it would be a terrible idea trying to climb in the dark.

“Tomorrow,” he told himself. “I’ll get there tomorrow.”

The following morning, he continued again. Despite his initial enthusiasm, though, progress was incredibly slow. Lacking Gloria’s skills, he had to fight for every inch, at times taking hours to climb a few dozen feet. It was only in the evening that he managed—after a few slips and several dozen near falls—to pull himself onto the top.

Once there, Dallion plopped on the hard surface like a steak in a frying pan. This whole endeavor felt more difficult than besting the panther pack. Now he understood why people held awakened in such high regard. Awakened skills made difficult things easy. Without them, a person would have to undergo years or decades of rigorous training in order to partially achieve what skills provided. If Dallion had climbing skills, the whole trip up here might have taken him less than a day, and even be enjoyable.

No pain, no gain, the boy thought, remembering the phrase his mother back on Earth used to say. At least I’m here now.

Although that could pass as a huge achievement, it was not why he was here. There was still the minor matter of facing the Well’s guardian in order to escape this realm. Given how difficult the fight with the pack was, it was safe to assume that the guardian would be no pushover. Come to think about it, there was no telling what exactly the guardian would be like. In the past each had characteristics of the item they were in. But what were the characteristics of a well?

I guess there’ll be lots of rocks and water. Dallion mused as he stood up.

The top of the mountain was roughly the size of a tennis court, only composed entirely of stone. There were no altars, thrones, columns, or anything else indicating a battle arena. What the boy could see, though, even in the moonlight was a dark patch right in the middle.

Could it…? His heart skipped a beat. Had he just found the last creature in the realm?