Icarus Awakens

Khiat easily reached the state where time became a background concern. That was reassuring. In some ways, this shouldn’t be different than the thirty times she’d advanced an attribute before over the years. She was practiced with it, confident that she wouldn’t waste any potential.

Concern lingered. This time was different, and she wasn’t sure what to expect. No one in her village had any advice for her as they had all failed to reach this point. Still, she would get her class! What do I want? she thought, wholly alone in her mind. She second-guessed every opinion she had, visualizing herself in different ways. Here already it strayed from the normal course of improvement, which would involve reflecting on the ways she’d expressed a particular attribute and seeking improvement. Khiat saw herself firing a shot at some giant winged creature, faintly reminiscent of the wyvern. Sticking to the shadows, bow in hand, ready to surprise a monster that had infiltrated her home. For one confusing moment, she saw herself with no bow at all but a spell ready in her hands.

That wasn’t right. She liked bows. Adjusting for wind and distance, varying the draw when necessary, and even the responsibility of using her village’s ancestral arrows. It was like solving a puzzle every time she drew back. They did get easy when she waited for prey to cross her line of sight, but there was still an element of timing there!

These images helped keep her on track as use of ranged weaponry was intimately connected with the dexterity attribute. If she started reflecting on puzzles too hard, she might accidentally start exploring the part of her that related to intelligence. No room for mistakes. It was happening tonight.

Another part of her was impatient. Get it over with! I want to know! She’d live with whatever class she received for the rest of her life. There was no going back, it was permanent. Indelible, a word she didn’t know but felt the meaning of in this space. That didn’t scare her. It meant no one could take it away from her, she would always be Blessed.

She didn’t fight the urge to rush, but neither could she speed up this process. It took time and mental fortitude. As a child, she’d struggled with the transition from the ‘play’ that was advancing her attributes to the intentional way to do so. Sitting in one place was something duskers were naturally good at, but they tended to fall asleep if they did. Learning how to concentrate had been very important, for both advancement and hunting.

Khiat’s stream of consciousness sensed that curve coming up and flowed along it without resistance. Hunting. Scouting, knowing your enemy. She could be a Ranger, couldn’t she? They were those able to move through the wilds freely. Hunting powers would be very helpful for her village, and couldn’t they tame monsters? She wouldn’t mind an armored partner by her side.

Is this doing anything? she wondered. Memories of her mother teaching her about the Octyrrum and each of the gods in turn came to her. It and its pieces? Subordinates? Something like that. The bottom line was the Octyrrum ruled over everything. It could probably give her whatever class it wanted to. The Octyrrum was benevolent of course, but it knew more than she did. It was the world! Whatever class it gave her must be the right one.

She reigned in those thoughts carefully, exercising active control for the first time. She was moving too close to the territory of charisma and wisdom. Dexterity. Bows. Throwing. Acrobatics, not that she was too good at that, but that was what classes were for. Nimbleness. Ok, she wasn’t very nimble during the day either.

The night. That struck a chord. Khiat thought of what it meant to her. Freedom from the sun, seeing the rest of the village who had taken shelter in their own homes. Freedom. That thought repeated in her mind with a sudden rush. There was something there! An aspect of self-discovery. She knew she liked the night better than the day, that was obvious. This went deeper. It felt like she’d pulled a fraction of her class from the infinite space around her. It was happening!

No one had told her it would be like this because they didn’t know. The last Blessed from their village had gone into the wilds one day, never to return. There were still stories of where Xhoten had gone and what might have happened. He was remembered, and she would be too. Although, if this had come now, what did that mean about becoming a Ranger? She hadn’t gotten any special feeling from that. Did that mean that wasn’t her class?

That was fine. That was fine! There was something better and she would find it. Khiat understood now what she needed to do. Find parts of herself with this same resonance. She felt could improve her dexterity and be done with it without further issue, but she wouldn’t find her class. Could she return to this space if she didn’t?

Ok, what else? I like bows. Bows. Bows. Bows! She prodded that part of herself impatiently. She might not be a Ranger, but whatever she’d be included the weapon that lay on her lap. In a way that she could only describe as reluctantly, a second point of resonance flared in her mind. Bows. Another one of who knew how many. But that was the easy one.

Something else caught her mind like a hook, dragging her backward. The Ranger class? No. Khiat found herself dwelling on what she liked about bows. That was odd, she’d already done this. Would doing whatever this was again make her better with bows? That wouldn’t be too bad.

Arrows? No. Aiming, yes, but not another key to her class. Related. Pulling back the bowstring? No, colder. Making bows? Far colder, not even close and that was good. Craftswoman was a fine class but it wasn’t hers. Judging distance? Warmer, yes. Khiat found it with the memory of the past late afternoon. Waiting on a dune, a line of death extending from her arrow tip to a distant point in the sand. Waiting, and waiting for something to cross that line. Preparation. A third spark. Still not enough.

What did this mean? Bows, preparation, and freedom. Khiat’s heart skipped a beat as she began to lose the thread that connected the points. Had she made a mistake? Oh no, was I not supposed to focus on bows so much? She didn’t have to use a bow, not if that would ruin everything. But it was too late. In her mind, that piece had already set.

No. No! In the physical world, the hand holding her bow tightened. It hadn’t been a mistake. It was her. Stupid as it was to associate so strongly with a weapon, it was her. Hunting for the village. Nights spent practicing with her father and mother. Eventually, she’d gotten good enough to stand from the top of the tower, shooting at targets held by running villagers.

Ignore it, she told herself, putting the ill-fitting pieces out of her mind. It would make sense. She trusted the Octyrrum, it would guide her. At some point. No, that was doubting. The only reason she could reach this space in herself was its grace. If anything was going to ruin this, it was being unsteady in her faith.

A momentary pause, but no, nothing. Khiat hadn’t seriously considered the possibility of Cleric. She didn’t think dexterity was appropriate for them, but who knew? She was throwing sand to the wind to find what was hiding within at this point. Food? She liked cooked meat and the rare times someone brought back something sugary from the capitol. Was there a Cook class? If there was it wasn’t for her.

Family? The village itself? Both were important to her. What about relationships? Hwtel? No, and no, not a Bard. It was reassuring in some way, that she could explore these topics. There was no sense of urgency or that she was losing what she’d already gained once the shock from the initial stall in progress had worn off. Maybe if this was happening near dawn she’d run the risk of exhaustion, but Khiat was fresh.

Running? Flexibility? Yes! There was something there, which made sense. This was a class that prized dexterity. Of course, that was so obvious! The way her limbs could move when not under the sun, each chitinous section a point of articulation. Flexibility, exactly what she’d thought to get her back on track with dexterity.

That made four. Still, it wasn’t over. Only by the sense that she’d improved her dexterity did she know about an hour had passed, otherwise her time in this space had gone by in both seconds and days. More accurately, it was timeless. The only other sense of time passing was a faintly growing hunger and the odd sounds that were made around her. They were quiet enough to be ignored in circumstances other than the otherwise dead silence that surrounded her.

Silence? There was something there, branching off of freedom like preparation had bows. Stealth? There it was, instantly. That did make sense, she used camouflage to hunt. What did that mean? Rogue came to mind, but she didn’t want that. Of the Blessed, they were often the most villainous and were perceived that way. Noble Rogues existed, of course, but Khiat could see how hard it was to resist temptation when your class could be used to steal from others.

That wasn’t her. Unlike when she’d fought to have the self-discovery of bows, she didn’t have to struggle to disabuse the notion of stealing. Not her. She was a good person. She provided for the people she loved and didn’t have to hurt anyone to do it. Animals and monsters didn’t count, of course.

After fully ridding herself of the thought of Rogues, Khiat felt something else. She was close. One more? That made sense. There were six pieces of her soul, one for each attribute. Maybe each of the words fit into that? Only, she was just improving dexterity here. Hmm.

In equal measures, she was thrilled and wary. This was the cusp. There was no doubt in her mind that her class was within arms’ reach, and yet she still had no idea what it was. Freedom, bows, preparation, flexibility, and stealth. If not a Rogue, what would that make her? What else did she need to find?

Again, she came back to that hunt. One last thing was there. She could see the scene playing out. Waiting, the moment the time was right, firing. Arrow striking, blood spraying, animal dying. None of those things directly, but the final key was there. She played it over and over, fixated, scrutinizing every detail.

The other animals? Pack? That shouldn’t apply to her. The thought of attacking itself? No. How the animals fled their wounded companion? No. No, she should be focusing on herself. What else had she done? On the ninth replay, she figured it out.

She’d targeted the animal’s neck. Its weakness, and her recognition and use of it. How was that a good thing? Her people hated their weakness, being forced underground each day. As children they couldn’t bear the sun, no less going outside while it shone. And yet… and yet… it fit. Weakness. She didn’t see how every piece assembled, but that wasn’t important.

Magic flowed through her, there was no other way to describe it other than the blessing of the Octyrrum. Her blessing. Her class. No word had jumped into her mind to declare it, but she knew now she had it. Khiat couldn’t help but tremble. Her family was speaking to her, worried, but she wasn’t scared even though that last word made no sense. She had her class. She’d done it.

Hands were on her. She threw them off and stood to her full height, gazing up at the sky and screaming in triumph! A class. Her class. Her blessing. A future as bright as a full moon. She could do anything.

…

Lograve had a distant smile on his face when the dusker stood. He quickly prodded Daniel, who’d fallen asleep as the ordeal entered its third hour. “I think we can converse normally now, though don’t shout.”

Daniel’s head perked up as sharpness returned to his eyes. “Did I miss it? What happened?”

“This is it.” Lograve extended a hand. “All of the magic happened in her head. I wonder if she knows what she is already. Honestly,” he whispered, “I’m jealous. She’ll have you to tell her if not.”

The duskers of Duststone Oasis were in revelry as Daniel found he had to re-identify Khiat. Hunter hadn’t fallen asleep, so it appeared level ups could cancel out the aura. The villagers hadn’t received any sort of objective confirmation of Khiat’s success, but you couldn’t fake that kind of joy in Khiat’s voice. Alien as it was, it still carried to Daniel. He alone saw the empiric truth in the tag that accompanied the halo of green-tinged gray light around the young woman being lifted into the air. He frowned, startling Lograve.

“What is it?”

“That’s her class? I didn’t even know that was a class.”

Lograve pulled on his arm, less forceful and more impatient after sitting in the sand for three hours waiting for this very answer. “What is it?!”

Danger.

“What?” Lograve and Daniel both asked Hunter.

I think the shouting drew their attention. Coming fast, I just heard them. Should someone tell cape man?

“Oh no. We’re going to need more than him.” Daniel looked to the south, where a large number of red outlines were quickly charging across the sand.

Shank Stomper - (2)