It took hours for Damian to get off the roof. Eventually, someone heard him shouting and opened a concealed hatch. When he saw them in [Priests] robes, wearing Marduk's chain, he nearly lunged like a feral animal. He should’ve expected it—being on the Grand Cathedral dedicated to Marduk—but the reaction was instinctual more than anything else.

  They’d had questions. A lot of questions. But his answers only seemed to confuse them, probably because they were checking him with a truth stone and he was telling mostly the truth. After a few hours, they let him go, likely writing him off as a crazy person. That was fine by him. He just wanted out of that oppressive monolith.

  At first, he just stumbled through the streets aimlessly. [Focused Mind] triggered reflexively, and everything faded into a blur except the ground right in front of his feet. His thoughts were running a thousand miles a second, and he felt like he was still standing on the edge of the tower, staring at the ground so far below him. A part of him wanted to step off, let go and feel the air rush past his face for a few jolting, thready heartbeats, and then nothing. But what would Konrad say about that? What about Finn? And Mother Revna?

  It took him hours to pull himself back from that mental edge, and he ended the skill with shaking hands. This time it faded slowly, like he was deliberately untensing a muscle. Less jarring, thankfully.

  He was standing in front of Konrad’s apartment.

  Damian walked up to the third floor and found the door. He didn’t have the key, but a sturdy kick broke the latch, and the door swung open. Mechanically, he started looting the place. Really, he was looking for one item in particular, and he found it in the nightstand drawer beside Konrad’s bed: a small metal key inscribed with tiny runes.

  Damian hadn’t been sure it would be here. Everything Konrad had on him was gone, disappeared when Marduk had—

  With a jolt, he slammed his hand into the nightstand as he flinched at the vivid memory flashing through his mind.

  Scowling, he finished up quickly and left before someone called the watch on him, then made his way toward the harbor. It took him a minute to find the right warehouse—they all looked similar, and he’d only been there once. But when he finally found the door, the key worked just as he expected. When he saw the glassware still out and needing to be cleaned from their last use, his jaw tightened.

  Closing his heart to the memory, he tore the place apart looking for anything useful. There were some potions, which he took; a few pouches of powder, which he left; and a small fortune in coins, which he took. It made him feel sick to be taking Konrad’s things, but if he didn’t, whoever found the place next would. Still, it was only a small comfort knowing Konrad would probably prefer he had it.

  By the time he was done, it was far too late to leave the city. He went back to the same inn he’d checked in at his first night, and at first the [Trusty Innkeeper] was upset with him for never returning the key, muttering about a fine. He produced the key, and the [Innkeeper] hesitated before deciding he didn’t have to pay. Maybe it was something in his face. Either way, he paid for a room and took his included dinner upstairs with him.

  He ate and immediately lay down in bed, wishing he could pass out on a whim. Instead, he lay there for hours, replaying the encounter with Marduk again and again in his head. This was confirmation enough for him: the gods were all trying to kill [The Chosen One].

  But why?

  And there was another question in his mind—the one really keeping him up. Why hadn’t they killed him?

  Sure, Konrad had asked him not to, but Marduk had made it clear he didn’t care what they thought. And he didn’t have to, he had all the power. Which meant he chose to spare Damian, like Nephret had. But why?

  Why, why, why?

  Because they were cruel and evil, and it was the cruelest, evilest thing to do?

  They could’ve tortured him instead. Nephret sort of had, but she could’ve done worse. He was certain she could have done worse. She’d almost killed him. So why save him?

  He thought himself around and around in circles, unable to come up with a good answer. Eventually, the gentle grasp of oblivion crept up on him. But right in the twilight between wakefulness and unconsciousness, the voice of the Great Game whispered to him.

  >Class [The Chosen One’s Squire] Level 15 Obtained!

  >Skill [Sense Divinity] Obtained!

  >Skill [Instant Reaction] Obtained!

  >Do you accept?

  Damian accepted without a second thought, really just wanting it to leave him alone and let him fucking sleep. Tomorrow he could figure out where he was going next. Tomorrow he could face the world again, maybe. Everything was a tomorrow problem. Right now, all he wanted was to not exist for a moment.

  Over three weeks on the road hadn’t been terrible to him, but it hadn’t exactly been easy living either. By the third week, every morning he checked [Locate Chosen One], half expecting the direction to change dramatically, indicating the next one had died. But it stayed steady, and now he could tell he was getting close. If he was right, Mira’s observation was proving true: his skill was leading him to another major city.

  According to one of the [Innkeepers] he’d spoken with, he was over six hundred miles from Jahrmarkt, a distance he couldn’t really wrap his mind around. He’d stuck to the major roads, cobbled with ancient stones that glowed faintly at night with magic. Apparently, they let travelers move faster than they realized, covering ground significantly quicker than if you were walking beside the road. He only noticed how fast he was moving when he actually thought about it, which was odd.

  A mixture of walking and hitching rides had seen him make what he felt was good progress. But it had been so damn far. He’d passed out of the Jahrmarkt Republic and through two other kingdoms, making his destination technically the fourth kingdom and fifth nation he’d ever stepped foot in. When Mother Gertrude told him and his brothers and sisters stories about the world, they’d been just that: stories. But to actually travel through the world? It was still breathtaking how large and varied it was.

  Damian had never really imagined so many peoples and cultures could exist in the world. He’d seen towns made up primarily of beast-kin, river cities built on stilts, and even a village built inside a cave. Eventually, things stopped surprising him as much, though every now and then he was still caught off guard by something especially crazy.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His destination was Raya, the capital of Solgorod, a smaller kingdom tucked into the northwestern corner of the continent. He’d recently purchased a map to help keep track of his travels. The [Merchant] who’d sold it to him had been kind enough to explain the longitude and latitude lines on it, probably thanks to his [Natural Charm]. In any case, Solgorod was roughly in line longitudinally with Bekham, slightly north of Jahrmarkt.

  Because of that, it was fucking freezing this time of year. He’d invested in a heavier fur cloak but was thinking of spending some of his dwindling cash reserves on a pair of gloves too. The money situation wasn’t dire, but after Jahrmarkt and Konrad, he’d decided he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to sleep in an inn if he had it. If Konrad had taught him one thing, it was that life is too damn short to sleep on the ground and eat cold jerky when you can afford not to.

  His current ride was a gruff [Bulk Driver] moving grain and fruit up into Raya from the south, where it was warmer and still growing season. Apparently, there was profit in shipping preserved fruits hundreds of miles rather than just growing it in place with skills. When he learned that, he’d only been slightly surprised. At this point, discovering he didn’t know how the world worked was becoming a regular pastime.

  The wide cart crested the large hill they’d been switch-backing up for over an hour, and the city of Raya came into view in the valley on the other side. Penned in by a mountain and rolling hills, the city looked picturesque, with dark stone and wood buildings topped with a dusting of white snow. Strong winds swept over the edge of the mountain, carrying eddies of white snowflakes like a blanket, keeping everything freshly coated in sparkles.

  Even though Damian was used to snow, this region took it to a whole new level. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter, leaving only a tiny slit in the fur to peer out of. Going back down the hill was a lot faster than going up—and easier on the poor pair of shaggy horses the [Bulk Driver] was making trek through the freezing temperatures. They were named Mop and Biscuit. He almost felt closer to the horses than to the [Driver]. He’d certainly spoken to them more. But a ride was a ride, and he wasn’t complaining.

  Even in the freezing cold, some agriculture was still being done. Patchy fields filled the valley, with almost all the crops being the same large, dark green leafy plants; vartots, a tuber renowned for being incredibly nutritious and hardy, if not particularly tasty. He offered a wave to a team of farmers tending to dark soil steaming with heat. They stood to stare as he and the [Driver] rolled past, then waved back.

  Friendly folk. Everyone in this kingdom was oddly friendly, at least relatively. Or respectful, if not bubbly.

  As they approached the city, he remarked on how Jahrmarkt had really spoiled his sense of scale. He’d passed through other large cities with hundreds of thousands of citizens, but none came close to Jahrmarkt. That included Raya, though it was about smack in the middle in terms of apparent size compared to the four capitals he’d seen so far. The dark stone walls held thousands of buildings, and the sprawl continued outside them as well. That told him they had some sort of defense against wandering monsters, since a lot of cities tended to be walled in because large populations attracted nasty critters on occasion.

  In any case, the inner keep was only a hundred feet tall—gargantuan by Damian’s pre-Jahrmarkt standards and the bare minimum for “tall” by his post-Jahrmarkt scale.

  Still, the walls looked intimidating, with towers regularly set into them and guards visible on patrol even from far away. Thrown over the side were large wool banners showing the twin sun and moon symbols of Cirael and Lumora and the head of a snarling wolf. It was Solgorod’s banner—a wolf representing the people and their deference to the sun and moon gods. He’d seen it in the smaller villages on his way to the capital, but seeing the gods’ symbols on such large displays still made him scowl. Every single nation had a patron god or two.

  Passing through the Kingdom of Eldmere had made him nauseous. They were Nephrites, followers of Nephret, and he’d spent much of those eight days glancing skyward, expecting one of the stars to streak toward him. It’d been fine, though he’d actively avoided the many, many churches in the kingdom.

  Solgorod didn’t make him feel much better—Cirael was supposedly married to Nephret, though he didn’t know exactly how that worked with gods. The sun god was married to both Nephret and Lumora, according to the religious texts he’d managed to get his hands on, but it seemed to him that most texts drew more connections between Cirael and Lumora than Cirael and Nephret. Still, a small comfort, all things considered.

  Near the gate, he got his second glimpse of what Solgorod was primarily famous for. The gate was guarded by a dozen [Wolf Knights] in armor made of faintly blue-tinted steel covered in furs and padding. Each [Knight] was mounted atop or standing astride a dire wolf, gigantic canines that stood as tall as a horse at the shoulder. On his way in, he’d seen one, though only from afar. The locals he’d spoken with revered the [Wolf Knights] as heroes of the kingdom, each one supposedly a pillar of virtue.

  Damian had decided to reserve his own judgment.

  The [Driver] pulled gently on the reins as they came close to the gate, bringing them to a slow stop. Unlike in Jahrmarkt, or even the other major cities he’d been through, there were almost no travelers at the gate. And they were the only cart. It was really too cold for reasonable people to be out and about.

  “Whoa...” he called out to Mop and Biscuit, who were nickering nervously at the gargantuan wolves only a few steps away.

  One of the [Wolf Knights] approached them, his mount a fabulous gray-and-white creature that Damian thought made for a handsome wolf. He had the urge to pet the beast—its fur looked deep enough to swallow his arm to the shoulder. Then it bared razor-sharp teeth the size of daggers, a low growl rumbling from its chest, immediately killing that urge.

  As the [Knight] came to a stop next to the driver, the wolf sniffed their cart. He wondered if it was trained to smell out contraband. Then he wondered if they ever had issues with [Butchers] or people hauling meat.

  “Your purpose in Solgorod?” the [Knight] asked curtly.

  “Just a [Driver] making my last delivery ’fore the winter really sets in,” the [Driver] explained. “Too frigid for me up here, no offense. Took on a passenger from Marrin—s’no responsibility of mine.”

  The [Knight] looked over to Damian, who pulled his cloak away from his face and offered a scant smile. He felt [Natural Charm] start to do its work as he spoke. “Recently came of age and looking for a trade to apply myself to in the city, sir.”

  He could barely make out the features of the [Knight] behind their helmet, but steely eyes bored into him for a moment. Then the [Knight’s] hand reached down and petted the shoulder of his mount. The wolf stopped growling.

  “You are seen,” the [Knight] said with a nod. It was the phrase worshippers of Cirael used as a greeting. “Welcome to the city of Raya. May your hearth be warm.”

  The [Driver] and Damian both nodded, and the cart rolled slowly through the gate and into the city. It was impressive, as all cities were in their own way, but he’d seen it before now, so it wasn’t paralyzing or breathtaking. Soon, they were approaching an inn, and the [Driver] headed straight for the attached stables, parking the wide cart beside them.

  “Not going straight to your delivery?” Damian asked politely.

  The [Driver] grunted. “Have to meet with the buyer to confirm first. Also, the horses deserve to get out of the cold. This inn is good, if’n you’re looking.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “My thanks for getting me here.”

  “Eh,” the gruff man grunted. “Was on my way anyhow. You weren’t no trouble, and the horses liked you. Them’s better judges of character than me.”

  Damian managed a smile he forgot was covered by his cloak, then nodded and stepped off the cart. Getting a room at the inn was easy enough, and only seven copper coins. His money pouch was disturbingly low, even with what he’d gotten from Konrad’s stash. He was considering eating from his travel rations tonight to save on coin. But then again, maybe his quest would end in a warm hearth.

  The day was only just past half over, though one couldn’t tell given the heavy gray overcast spanning the entire sky, so Damian decided it was as good a time as any to go looking for his goal. Jahrmarkt had made it really easy to find Konrad—until he’d gotten skilled into deliriousness at the bazaar. But unlike Jahrmarkt, Raya had winding streets and dead ends. He’d walk in the direction [Locate Chosen One] pointed him, then the street would curve away or end at a random wall, and he’d have to backtrack.

  Eventually, Damian came to a conclusion that made his heart sink. For the third time, he ended up in the same plaza, his skill pointing in the same direction, and he sighed. His breath billowed into a cloud of steam in front of his face. Dominating one side of the plaza, standing as the tallest structure in the city, and the inevitable direction his skill was leading him, was the royal castle keep.