Traveling the road out of Midguard (yes, that was actually what it was called. More than a little plagiarism was occurring in this world) was rather uneventful. He had expected that after the incident in Riverton, they would be beset on all sides by minions of the Empire, but instead, it felt like he was just playing a walking simulator. The countryside really was quite beautiful at least, but boredom was a constant threat. At least, it was, until a few days in he made a grave mistake.

“So Egan, how’d you end up in the rebellion?” he asked. He never really inquired as to what age he was, but he couldn’t have been more than a couple of years his junior. Compared to an apparently prodigal mage and an ancient elf, he seemed a bit out of place. From what he could tell, Egan was just a normal dude.

Egan didn’t turn around when he replied, “Live in the United Empire long enough and it’ll happen to you naturally,” he shifted his shoulders a little uncomfortably, “’Spose I just wanted to see the world, too. Got tired of the city. Me and Besselaine always dreamed of fields like this...” he said, lost in the beauty of the surrounding plains.

So he was right, then. City? That would make him the archetypal rogue of the party. He recalled the “test” he had been given, how smoothly and silently Egan had put the blade to his throat. He could be more than just a rogue. Maybe even an assassin. He had mentioned a girl as well. Besselaine? A sad backstory? A bit much, but he could respect it. Suddenly he didn’t seem as young as he looked.

Sometimes there wasn’t really a way around something other than to just ask. He felt a little uncomfortable about being so candid. Maybe he would ask some other time. Wait, what was he even anxious about? He had literally been chased around a fountain by a middle-aged woman in front of an entire town. He could handle asking someone a simple question.

“Yo, Egan,” he began. Fuck. This was just so cringe. “so like, what do you do, in this party. Group. Team,” Why was he made this way? Why couldn’t he be a normal person? God damn it.

“Huh?” he replied. Zach couldn’t blame his response.

“Like, I mean...what’s your role?” It wasn’t getting any better. He was asking it like he was DM’ing someone from group finder to find out what spec they were going to play in his key. It couldn’t be this hard to ask someone a question. He just needed to break things down. What did he want? He wanted to know what Egan did for the Final Breath. How should he ask Egan? Should he restructure the question? He didn’t want t come off too nosy, or too aggressively. More gentle wording would be--

No. Fuck it. He was going to ask it verbatim.

“What do you do for the rebellion, Egan?” he asked. Halle-fucking-lujah.

“He’s a messenger boy,” Selara yelled from afar. He couldn’t see her face, but he could practically hear her smile from how she said it.

“A damn good one, too,” said Egan, nodding his affirmation. That was it?

“You’re capping,” said Zach, without thinking. He almost wished he could take it back.

“I’m capping? What does-”

“Never mind. It’s nothing. Another thing from my world.”

“But what does it mean?”

“It really, really doesn’t matter,” he said, trying to steer them away from it. Selara reined her horse in and fell in step with them, Pevarin glancing at them but not getting involved.

“Let me try to guess,” said Selara, her eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“How bored are you guys?”

“Look around. Anyways, let’s see. You said this ‘capping’ thing after something you found hard to believe, I’m assuming it means something close to ‘You’re lying', or ‘You’re joking'?”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Selara. What does any of that have to do with caps? He’s obviously saying I’m amazing. Thank you, Zach.”

“No problem, man,” he said, smiling.

“And this is why boys are the inferior species,” said Selara, bapping Egan across the top of his head.

“Now you are definitely capping,” said Egan.

“No no, Egan. If you identify a statement made by someone who is blatantly capping, it’s redundant to state that they are doing so.”

“I see,” he said, enlightenment entering his eyes, “what would you suggest, then?”

“Just say, ‘That’s cap’, or simply say ‘cap’,” said Zach. If he was going to introduce memes to the multiverse he might as well fully flesh out the rules.

“Selara,” he said, turning to her, “that’s-”

“No.”

Egan turned back to Zach, “It didn’t work.” He shrugged helplessly. If only he could take him into one of his discord servers. He’d have Egan sounding like a no-life cringe neckbeard in an hour flat.

“So how did a messenger boy get the skills it takes to travel with a mage and an elf?” Zack asked, feeling more relaxed after some light meme-ing.

A knife flipped through the air, where it came from Zach had no idea. He had his eyes forward the entire time, and Egan was holding the reins still. The only time he wasn’t looking at him was when he blinked. Egan reached out and plucked it from the air, and it disappeared into his sleeves. “I picked some things up. It’s not hard when you have to.”

“Sure would be nice for me to pick things up,” he said bitterly. Besides the short training session with Kriese, he was still pretty much Level 1. No abilities picked, no specialization chosen, no talent points, nothing.

“Can’t do much with that gut getting in the way I reckon,” said Egan bluntly.

Zach blushed, looking down self-consciously, sucking it in a little bit as Selara peered over at him, turning his body away. It wasn’t as if Egan was lying or even being mean. It was true. He had gamer gut. He was skinny-fat, and it wasn’t that good of a look.

“You’re not capping there,” said Selara, staring at Zach in thought. She had a habit of intently studying him in a way that made him extremely uncomfortable. “If we’re going to turn you into the Hero of Peratha, we do need to work on the basics. You won’t inspire much looking like a fat noble. Stop the horse, Egan. Get off of it, Outlander.”

Egan pulled the reins hard and the horse whinnied hard as it kicked its legs up in the air, Zach holding on to the boy’s midriff for dear life. When the animal had returned all its limbs to the earth, he climbed down off of it, looking between the two. They looked at each other for a moment and nodded, some unspoken conclusion reached between them.

“Won’t be much work, actually. Muscle will be different, but we can at least get you into molding shape. It’s very simple. For half the day, you’re going to run. That’s all.”

He tried to calculate that in his mind. They usually trotted at a leisurely pace on the horses, which was about as fast as a person jogging at a brisk pace. For a few hours of the day, they made the horses gallop, covering a good distance. Even if he only had to do an hour running with the horses galloping, the trotting alone would leave him a dehydrated, panting mess.

“Uh, I don’t know about that. Can’t we just start with...I don’t know, walking?”

“You’ll be fine,” said Egan, smiling. There wasn’t a hint of malice in the man’s eyes. He honestly didn’t realize just how badly out of shape Zach was.

“So, are we starting, like, now?” he asked, hesitant.

“It’s a nice day,” said Selara looking up. “Might as well.” She whipped her horse around and started off at a trot, and Egan followed shortly behind her. He stood there, dreading what was to come.

“The longer you wait the more you’ll have to run, Outlander,” said Selara, almost yelling as she became smaller and smaller on the horizon.

“That ain’t cap, Zach,” said Egan in agreement.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Just one foot in front of the other. He walked for a few moments and then started pumping his arms, then his legs. He began at a slow trot, his soles already hurting a little. He had flat feet and bad ankles. It wasn’t as if he was completely averse to physical activity. He’d been forced to play sports growing up, although he came to enjoy them later on. Like everything he usually enjoyed, it gave him a chance to prove he was better than other people at something. He had never been an all-around athlete, but he was quick and had long arms and legs. Running had been something he was decent at, but he could distinctly remember the pain of the first few weeks. He was not looking forward to going through that all over again.

Despite him increasing his speed, they were still widening the gap. How the fuck? His legs were already starting to burn, his breathing turning ragged. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes. No, it was probably less than that, it just felt longer. He was about ready to give up, but for some reason, he remembered a book from high school that he had been forced to read, Night, by Elie Wiesel. One thing that had always stuck with him was how insane it had been that the prisoners of the internment camps had been forced to run at a dead sprint through the snow to for near on forty-two miles, and how they had made their bodies work beyond their normal limits. They had no choice, then. To stop was death. He cursed at himself in his head--he was a goddamned pussy.

If they could do that, he could do this.

****

It was sunset when he finally tripped over his own feet face-first into the dirt. He was proud of that, at least. He tried to rise, pushing himself up, his body angled like a tilted see-saw, but his legs felt like Jell-O. All he wanted was one glorious sip of water. It could be boiling and he wouldn’t even care, so long as it graced his lips and trickled down his esophagus

He heard the sound of hooves dimly through the haze of numbness that thrummed in his ears. He expected Egan, but it was Selara whose feet he saw, walking towards him. Cool. She could see him looking like a complete idiot up front and personal.

“Not bad, Outlander,” she said, and unless he was mistaken, she actually sounded a little impressed. “You lasted far longer than I thought you would. Just a few more weeks of that and I think you’ll be in good shape. Are you thirsty?”

He made as close to an “Of fucking course I am,” sound in his throat as he could, but grunts could only go so far.

“I thought as much. I’ve a full waterskin here. All you have to do is stand up and take it from me and it’s yours.”

He raised his head off the ground, rolling his eyes up to see her. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

She poured a little onto the ground in front of him for effect, then took a small sip. “I’m thirsty myself. I don’t think that little bit I just spilled will do you much good, nor would it taste very pleasant.”

Begrudgingly, he stood, coming to his feet shakily. He wasn’t sure if a ruler would fit between them, she was standing so close to him. God, he had to smell like a barn, but she didn’t shy away. She was battle-hardened, so she was probably used to worse smells than a repugnant out-of-shape gamer, but he still felt self-conscious. She really was beautiful, and the proximity only made that even more painfully apparent. It was also the first time he had actually been able to stand next to her, and he realized that she was actually quite short compared to him. The way she carried herself and her abilities as a mage made him think she was larger than she was.

“Just take it,” she said, a touch breathily. Now that was definitely hard cap. Breathily? For him? No fucking way. He did take it, with a touch of anger at himself, at her, at everything. Why the hell was he even imagining him with her? There was no chance of that. He was the Hero of Peratha, sure, whatever. Chosen hero, blah, blah, blah. He turned away from her, putting the waterskin to his lips and downing the whole thing, the crisp, warm water a blessing from all the gods of this world.

He was still him. Zach. A loser. A college dropout. Unemployed. A kissless virgin at age twenty-three. His only claim to fame?

He was a hardcore gamer.