Walk your own Path. Seek the Subtleties. Never give in.

These were the words on Augustus Perry’s mind as he ran through a small forest in the center of Kittridge, North Carolina. He’d been out for a walk before dinner, trying to clear his head, when a few drunken frat boys started chasing after him, shouting insults.

Gust, a nickname given by his father, didn’t fear for his life, but he’d been jumped before, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat. He thought he would pass through the forest, then circle around back to his house. It added a couple miles to his trip but wouldn’t ruin his night.

As he ran down the path, however, Gust noticed the voices grow quiet and eventually disappear. He assumed the boys had given up, so he slowed to a walk. His left hand idly thumbed his father’s tarnished old coin, as the old man’s words rang in his mind.

Walk your own Path. Seek the Subtleties. Never give in.

They were words from his father’s mysterious journal, which sat in his back pocket. They were the only words Gust could understand, as they were the only ones written in English. A few pages filled with line after line of the same words, albeit in different languages, followed, before the script turned into something entirely unrecognizable.

The air was quickly growing colder now that Gust wasn’t running. It seemed to freeze the light sheen of sweat on his back. Just as he was catching his breath, he saw a light appear beyond the trees, just off the path. It wasn’t that of the setting sun, nor a streetlight. No, it flickered like a flame.

As a child, Augustus’s father warned him against entering these woods. His friends used the trails often, however, and it didn’t take long for them to pressure him into breaking that rule. Despite getting in trouble when he got home, the forest was clearly safe, and Augustus used it ever since.

As a result, he knew every path well enough to sprint through them in what little light the setting sun had to offer. He knew he wasn’t close to the exit and assumed he stumbled upon a group of campers, or in the worst case, arsonists.

Worried that the fire might catch, Gust left his well-trodden path behind. As he pushed through a thick growth of bushes, branches swiped at his glasses, and mussed the dirty blond hair that barely reached his ears. Gust’s feet suddenly crunched a bed of dry, multi-colored leaves. He only had a moment to wonder where they had come from in the middle of May, when he saw something else that caught his attention.

Gust stepped into the light and found a gate set into a wall he had never seen before. Both were made of thick wooden logs, likely from the trees nearby, and rose to nearly ten feet high. The gate was thick and solid, but stood with its doors open, reaching out toward a pair of young guards that reminded Gust of monks or priests.

Their loose robes were bound around their waists by corded belts. Where the gray robes met over their chests, two halves of an image met to form a dark green tree.

One of them wore thin chains wrapped around darkly tanned wrists and a green sash with two tassels hanging from its ends, while the other wore a purple version with only one set of tassels. That one carried a spear. The two young men grew tense the moment they saw Gust.

Rather than their expressions, it was their strange outfits that Gust focused on. “What are they? Cosplayers of some kind? Larpers? How long has this place been here?” he wondered.

The pair of guards glared as Gust ambled closer, then shared a tight glance. Whether they were worried, angry, or about to kill him, Gust had no idea. He waved at them mildly.

“Uh, hi. Mind if I hide out here for a few minutes?”

The one with the spear had long black hair gathered into a top knot and a serious face whose tone matched Gust’s sandy bronze. He stamped his spear into the dirt and his voluminous sleeves shook with the motion. “Who are you? Where is the Subtle Blade?”

“The what?” Gust thought as his eyebrows climbed. He assumed this was a code word or a title in whatever game these people were playing. They probably didn’t know each other’s real names any more than Gust knew the real names of his guildmates online. “I don’t know who that is. What is this place?”

The serious boy didn’t answer. He looked behind himself and muttered an order, which caused another boy who had been resting behind the gate to take off running. He repeated his question. “The Swordsman? Saith Zakir? You are holding his coin.”

Gust held out his left hand and revealed the coin therein. It belonged to his father, not some swordsman with a strange name. The thing wasn’t real gold, anyway, and the fake lettering meant nothing to anyone except his father, Seth Perry. And apparently this boy.

“It… belongs to me now. The,” Gust cleared his throat, “uh, previous owner passed away.” Those were the only details he wanted to share at the moment. Some things were too painful to remember, never mind talk about with a pair of strangers.

The young men shared another glance and the one with a spear sighed. “The elders told him this would happen,” he said under his breath.

The other crossed his chain-wrapped arms. He had long brown curls which shook as he chuckled. “Show’s him, eh? No one lasts long in the underworld, never mind thirty years! What do we do about…” he jabbed a thumb toward the strangely dressed newcomer.

There was an odd look in their eyes, as if Gust were a new form of life they just couldn’t understand. Gust shifted uncomfortably under that gaze.

The spearman cleared his throat. After some thought, he said, “You know the rules. Come on. If Master Ephraim hears about this from anyone else, even the Patrons couldn’t save us.” The chain-wearer snorted.

“Ephraim?” Gust sounded out the strange name. “What is this place? How have I never been here before? I’ve lived in Kittridge my entire life…”

The young men shared a glance, then one whispered, “Kittridge?”

The one with chains stepped inside the gate while the other said, “Our elder will explain everything you need to know, Demon. Better him than us,” he added while he turned and bade Gust to follow.

Gust paused, his mouth agape as he wondered, “Demon? Why the hell would he call me that?” The other boy used the word ‘underworld,’ too, but Gust attributed this to these boys’ role-playing game. It was a bit strange, but he had time to kill, so Gust played along.

A thick wall of tall, sharpened logs ran along either side of the gate, enclosing a small village of cabins and wooden buildings. It reminded Gust of a very old school campus, or a sect of monks.

In the center, there was a large courtyard with a tall church beside it. These were the only deviations from the rest of the area, being made of pure white brick. There was a bell at the church’s peak and colorful stained-glass windows covered the walls, oddly decorated with scenes that belonged in fantasy novels. Gust could just barely make out extravagant mages in meditation or fighting fantastic creatures.

Gust’s jaw unhinged as he wondered where the fuck he had taken a wrong turn. He’d been through the forest hundreds of times and thought he knew where every pathway led.

The more he thought about this place, the less it made sense. This forest was right in the middle of town. It dominated a large area, but he couldn’t understand how a settlement of this size could exist here all his life without him knowing about it.

As he walked through what appeared to be a Buddhist school for cosplayers, Gust passed numerous robed figures, men and women, all of which treated him with a mix of awe and fear.

“What are these people, Amish?” he thought. They were the only group he knew of that fit the relatively primitive town he found himself in.

Without fail, everyone glanced his way briefly and whispered to each other. A few even seemed to sneer or laugh at his clothing. His clothing! Gust’s light gray sweatpants, plain green t-shirt, and blue shoes were nothing to brag about, but these people were all dressed like nuns who wanted to be ninjas!

Gust thought about them as several dozen faces passed by. They were so close to his home and yet he didn’t recognize a single person. His small town had been growing in recent years, but not that fast.

“Did you guys move in recently?” Gust asked, searching for an explanation while he swept his eyes around the bustling monastery. In the distance, he glimpsed small open areas of grass or sand where students practiced martial arts forms. Some used weapons, others bare fists and feet. “If I’d known there was a dojo around here, I might have signed up years ago,” he commented.

The one with chains glanced back with a wry smile and said, “Recently? Not at all. Oh, don’t worry about them,” he nodded toward some of the onlookers. “We just don’t get a lot of visitors. It’s a pretty remote place.”

While they walked down a paved road, Gust stared at the young man. “No… it’s not,” he said finally. “Kittridge is small, sure, but not remote. Even this school must get a lot of visitors, once people realize it’s here.”

The guys shared an amused look. Before they could say anything else, a girl trotted up to them. She had lazy brown eyes and a curious tilt to her head. Long gray robes trimmed with gold and purple trailed behind her, as did long, black hair.

She deliberately placed herself in the way and leaned in, smoothly whispering despite her lack of discretion. “Who have we got here?”

The spear-wielding boy gritted his teeth. “You’ll find out later. Ephraim first.”

The girl pouted. “Poor Oba. Always so desperate for the elders’ approval that you can’t bend the rules even a little bit. Well, you don’t need to! Since the two of you are escorting him, I know he came from the underworld, and if only the sitting Headmaster is allowed to speak to him, it must be important. Which only leaves one thing,” she sighed and pretended that it barely interested her. The sly smile on her face said otherwise. “He’s a Demon isn’t he? Does he know what happened to that old Swordsman?”

Gust’s brow wrinkled as he wondered, “Could they mean my father?” There was a sword on one side of his father’s lucky coin, but Gust had never seen a blade in the house, nor heard of some elaborate role-playing game.

Even if there were such an immersive game in town, Gust knew his father was the last person who would ever dress up and play pretend. Gust remembered playing with his father as a child, but as the years went on, his father only grew more withdrawn. By the end, he spent nearly every day alone in his office.

Oba grew frustrated as he tried to walk around the girl, but she blocked his path. He clenched his jaw and stared at the girl, grinding his spear into the ground. When he merely repeated his earlier assertion, “Ephraim first,” the curly-headed guard burst out laughing.

The girl rounded on him next. “What about you, huh? You must know as much as he does, or are you just the assistant?”

The boy put on a big smile. “Not gonna get me, Lyth. Oba knows what he’s doing. If he says I should keep my mouth shut, I think he’s right. You’ll find out soon enough, anyway, so why push it?”

Lyth shook her head. “You two have no sense of economics. Of opportunity. There are times when waiting is for the best, and times when you just need to get up and go!” She snapped her fingers and fixed her eyes on the boys. “Remember that.” Then she shot Gust a curious look, wrinkled her nose, and walked away.

“Friend of yours?” Gust asked a moment later.

While the boy with the chains snickered, Oba seethed. “We should keep moving. I don’t want any more interviews.”