Fel came into awareness mid-yawn, his eyes watering as the action caused his face to scrunch in on itself. He slid his glasses onto his head. It was a new day, and the last one here, at the farm, before he'd leave for town with Charles and Isabelle.

Fel straightened himself and dragged his feet over the bed's edge, pulling upright to sit facing the door. He sighed, leaning forwards over his knees. There'd been no new levels while he'd slept.

Nothing was different.

He'd been hoping — no, expecting — to gain an additional few levels in at least one of the classes, given the runework he'd completed the day before. It'd been difficult, involved work, requiring a healthy pre-existing knowledge of the subject and some degree of skill. It should've been more than enough to increase a level in the single digits.

Both Classes remained the same, however. Midnight had passed, a new day had started, and no new levels had been awarded.

Fel glowered down at the floor. He was a level two [Ritualist], and a level one [Simulacrum]. They were ridiculously low numbers, and at the least, it should've been easy to raise [Ritualist] again. He'd already done it once, after all.

He exhaled, falling in on himself. But no, of course, things wouldn't be that easy.

It was just that... being so low leveled made him feel... disheartened.

It made him feel useless and —

Trapped.

That was what it was, really; besides everything else, he felt trapped. Because what could a person do at level one? At level two? Well, a lot, to be honest— but not having levels, not having Skills, made everything harder. It made everything more difficult to handle.

Levels and Skills were strength, they were freedom and influence to change the world. A person needed them to advance. To live a good life.

He flopped backward, back into the bed. And even then — levels, skills, and mana too, they were just the easiest things to think about. They were quantifiable problems; the issues for which progress and regression could be known and measured. They gave him a focus, something to address.

But how did one address being teleported against their will? How did a person quantify the difficulty of such an issue, or even begin to take steps to solve it? How was he supposed to deal with any of the issues? He'd been moved halfway across the known world; his mana regeneration had been crippled; his Class's levels had been wiped; and then, as if any one of those hadn't been enough, he'd been shot with an arrow and—

Fel heaved himself out of the bed.

He couldn't. He couldn't deal with this craziness. Not now.

Taking a deep breath, Fel shook his head. It was morning, and the other two were probably already up and waiting. Isabelle and Charles, they'd make for a nice distraction. Gods knew he needed it.

Pulling the chair out from in front of the door once more, he pushed its back against the wall and exited his room.

Voices sounded out from the opposite side of the house. He could hear the slight screech of wood on wood and the sound of footsteps as he neared their location.

Popping his head into the kitchen, Fel nearly brained both himself and Isabelle, their skulls stopping just short of a collision.

"Oh, Fel — hi! Good morning!" Isabelle jumped backward in surprise.

Charles looked up from his position at the table and waved, crunching on a burnt hunk of bread from his plate. He swallowed, wonderfully calm, then pointed towards the coffee brewer that stood upright on the stove. "Hey Fel. Coffee's there if you want some." Civility complete, the man went back to munching on his toast.

Fel pushed a quick smile onto his face and thanked him, brushing past Isabelle before grabbing a mug and plate. He plopped himself into one of the free chairs and began chewing on a forkful of eggs, his expression still vaguely clouded.

Frowning from her position at the door, Isabelle made her way back to the table. She sat herself across from Fel and leaned forward, smiling brightly, her expression expectant. "Hey Fel! Good morning!" A hand waved at his seated form. "And then you say...?"

Wiping at his mouth, Fel looked up. He stared blankly for a moment before his face cleared and comprehension hit him. He grinned weakly and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Hi Isabelle, and uh, good morning to you too. Sorry, it's been a bit of a rough start today."

She nodded, a small smirk crossing over her face.

"It happens! You about ready to come help with the pump?"

"Sure, in a bit. It's just a bit of checking up on the runework, and some repairs, right? I'll assume you have all the supplies we'll need?"

Isabelle looked at him thoughtfully. "Yup, got everything in my bag. Hey— what do your defensive skills look like?"

Fel choked on a hunk of egg. Sputtering, he pounding at his chest.

"E-excuse me?'

"Not the details. Just if you have any, and a general overview if you do." Isabelle rolled her eyes. "I need to know how well you'll be able to protect yourself out there."

Head swiveling, Fel looked backward— as if he could see the fields through the wall of the house.

"Protect myself from what, exactly?"

Charles answered him, laughing at his actions from the side. "Beetles! We're hitting the tail end of the growing season, and they're out in force. Gotta agree— it'd be good to know if you can handle a large one."

Fel blinked. "If I can handle... beetles?"

"Raze Beetles, if you've heard the name before. They start coming out from their holes at the end of summer, before flying off to strip the surrounding landscape." Charles thumbed over to Isabelle. "Most of 'em are about her size, or maybe a bit larger."

He pulled his chair back and shifted closer to Fel, as Isabelle's hand edged for a butter knife in the middle of the table.

"Real nasty critters— they'll eat just about anything. We kill most of them off as they migrate in, but [Field-sense] gets a bit finicky when they're small, or if they manage to set up a burrow before I can check up on things. Even with Isabelle's help in getting whatever's left, there's always a few running around out there."

Fel took a moment to digest the information.

"Ah. Don't think we have those in Leudran. On the topic of defensive Skills though..." He scratched at an ear, frowning. "Yeah, no defensive Skills at the moment."

Charles gave him a strange look at the phrasing, but let it pass, while Isabelle forged onwards.

"No worries; that's not a problem! Well, no— it is —but it's a small one. What about spells? Anything I'd need to be aware of?"

Her question raised a small, red flag within Fel's mind. If he'd been thinking, the first likely would have as well. Asking after a mage's spells was a bit more personal than the situation ought to have dictated, and only more so considering their temporary relation.

He wavered.

There was a pause, a moment's silence around the table, before Fel stretched out a hand. In the center of his palm, a small orb of writhing fire burst into existence. He spun it, letting the two take a nice, long look at the spell, before sucking the fireball back into his pool.

"I can cast a few of these if we hit anything, but that's about it. I'm not really the combat type."

He shuffled against his chair, a hand coming up to straighten his robes.

Isabelle seemed disappointed.

"Oh... okay, yeah. That makes sense, I guess."

She got up from the table. "I'm gonna go grab my gear— we'll leave in just a bit, yeah?" Flashing a quick smile, she left the room.

When she was gone, Fel turned to Charles, who merely shrugged.

"She's a fan of magic is all; was probably hoping you'd show her something. I wouldn't worry about it."

"Oh!" Fel perked up a bit, some coffee sloshing out from his mug as his arm jerked upward. "Is she a student then? I mean, what's her focus? I'm hardly the most proficient, but if we have some time—"

He petered off. Charles was shaking his head.

"Just interested. She's... well, as the last mage put it, she's 'not magically inclined'."

"Oh."

Fel let the topic of conversation die off, and they sat in silence until Isabelle returned.

"Alrighty! I'm prepped— and I know you didn't bring anything, so do you need some kind of gear, Fel? I've got some daggers, short swords, a few staves..."

She tilted her head.

"No, thank you though," Fel laughed. "I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to use them. Though— give me one moment."

Fel checked up on his mana pool.

It was 62% full. Something about that number bugged him, but...

Nodding, Fel rolled his shoulders. It was more than high enough to ensure his protection.

"Yeah, I'm good to go. Shall we?"

The front half of a beetle exploded in a ball of fire.

"Alright! Not a bad shot!" Isabelle resheathed the dagger at her waist and clapped. "Gods I wish I could do that. So much less mess." She made a face, her nose wrinkling.

Fel also made a face, though his was directed more towards the crisped body of the beetle. The 'less mess' half of her statement was highly debatable.

Still, though, she likely meant less mess on her, which was a fair point.

Beetles were gross.

"Just remember though— the young spawns are fine, the mid-sized too, even if you're toeing the line a bit there. But if you see a big one, point it out and run. Those aren't ours to tangle with."

Fel nodded along absently, giving her a thumbs-up as she finished. It was her fourth reminder of such, and by this point, it seemed... unnecessary. They'd been out working for nearly three hours, and encountered the same number of beetles in that time. None of them had managed to come above Fel's waist.

"We about done here?" He gestured at the pump.

Slapping her hands together, Isabelle stretched, before moving to pack away a couple of tools that lay scattered on the ground.

"Yup! We replaced the lower check valve, greased the lever—"

"We checked the runeworks that stabilized the lower shaft of the well."

Isabelle gave him a flat stare.

"—and we changed out the cylinder's piston rod, yes, I was getting to that too."

She picked up the old metal rod and shoved that into the bag at her hip as well. "What did I say though, huh? Easy, with some mana control and an extra set of hands!"

Shrugging, Fel handed her one of the wrenches. "Not terrible."

"Pfft —not terrible— whatever. Give me a minute to prime the thing, and we'll make sure it works."

One minute, an opened cantine, and a couple of pumps later, water spewed from the outlet, splashing against the ground.

Both Fel and Isabelle sagged.

"Oh thank gods."

With the tools retrieved and the pump functioning, the two began their trek back to the house. They were more than ready to be done. Fel checked his mana as they walked.

50% capacity.

Stopping briefly, he winced. There'd been a pretty hefty expenditure over the last couple hours, and he'd probably gone overboard. Three fireballs were a bit much for a man on a mana limit.

Isabelle, noticing his pause, tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, you doing okay? Need some water?"

He waved her off with a polite smile.

"No, no, just having some mana issues. Bit of a pain, but nothing to be concerned about."

"Alright, but if you need something, just ask."

They walked on.

Nearing the half-way point, Isabelle stalled. Her fingers tapped against her belt as her head twisted, eyes skipping through the surroundings.

"Uh, Isabelle, are you—"

"Shhhhh."

She hushed Fel as he attempted to speak.

Their surroundings had gone silent, the familiar cries of crows and the soft chittering of insects having disappeared into the grain.

The hairs on Fel's neck began to rise, and he stepped backward, coming side-to-side with the younger woman.

There was a soft rustling in the air. Different than the sound of the breeze, and growing louder.

Rustling turned into a roar, with sharp cracks accompanying the noise. The sounds came faster, growing louder still, and more defined.

Isabelle's head whipped to the side, and Fel's followed.

A horn — a sharp and chitinous protrusion — sheared through the stalks to their left, causing the grain at the plants' peaks to spill across the dusty ground.

A monster, a beetle twice Fel's size and nearly three times Isabelle's, emerged through the gap.

Fel gaped at it, his eyes widening.

"Move! Get some distance!"

Isabelle turned and shoved Fel, sending him staggering. He spun, arms flailing outward as he attempted to reclaim his balance.

The beetle slammed into her side.

Isabelle was flung. Her body skidded across the ground on landing, disappearing behind a plume of dust.

"Isabelle! Are you—"

Fel recovered, taking a step towards where she'd landed. Then he froze. His eyes locked onto the creature that turned to face him. Shifting his weight again, he began to move in a new direction. Fel backed up. One step backward. Two steps. Three. Some additional feet of space emerged between them.

Fel pulled his hands up slowly. "Shiiiiitt..."

Mandibles clacked together. A drop of liquid fell from the creature's maw, only to splatter and hiss against the dirt.

He took another step back, and something seemed to click in the creature's head because the beetle charged. Barbed legs stabbed into the ground as it raced towards him.

Fel dived to the side. The creature screamed past him. Clods of earth burst against his form, the beetle's claws scooping chunks from the ground as it turned for a second pass.

Fel's heart pounded, a beating pulse that blocked the noise from the world. He could feel the grit, the rocks in the earth, tearing into his palms as he scrambled. The stalks of grain slapped against his face. Stumbling to his feet, Fel raised a hand and yelled—

"Stay back! Back you— Fireball! Fireball!"

Two bursts of fire and air exploded against the beetle's carapace, and the creature screeched.

Then it speared Fel through the leg. The beetle burst through the resulting curtain of smoke and lunged, two craters smoldering on its outer shell. A front claw sheared through the bottom of Fel's robe. It anchored his calf to the dirt.

Fel screamed— a wordless howl.

The beetle slammed him into the earth, causing Fel to choke. He sputtered, gasping for air.

Its horn carved a trench in the dirt above his skull.

Pushing mana into his palms, Fel's hands scrabbled desperately against the side of the beetle's head. They slipped against carapace as he struggled to keep the creature's snapping mandibles away from his face. He pushed forwards, his left leg straining — tearing — where the barbed claw skewered it to the earth.

"Chain—"

Fel's head smacked against the ground. His body bounced — the mana in his hands dissipating in an unfocused flash of light. The creature bashed him again with the blunt underside of its horn, and Fel's world flashed white. It repeated the action a third time, before pulling back to prepare a heavier blow.

Something slammed against the beetle's side. In a flash, it scuttled backward, the creature's foreleg disentangling itself from Fel's with a rip of flesh.

Wheezing, the world spinning, whirling, around him, Fel pushed himself to the side. His body flopped against the dirt, blood pooling to make a muddy sludge around his leg.

The beetle edged forward, fighting against an unseen foe. It's forelegs scythed outward, cutting down swaths of grain, but hitting little else. One strike. Two Strikes. Three. The grain was shredded around the beetle's front.

Then— a sharp crack. The beetle stumbled, turning.

The opposite side of the field was revealed as the creature moved out from in front of Fel's sight— but there was nothing there. The grain stalks whipped in place.

Fel began to drag himself to the side, towards where Isabelle had disappeared into the crop. He groaned as his leg pulled against the dirt, and his head dropped. It nailed the ground with a vicious thunk that rendered him dazed but still conscious, facing the beetle.

Its whole right side was shattered. The wing, previously hidden underneath, had been shredded. Dark maroon blood seeped from the creature, welling up in pools across the broken chitin.

A flash of green and orange exited the field, lancing towards the beetle's head. The wind whipped around it, and the object blurred.

It was snapped from the sky. The beetle's mandibles crunched together and shattered the offending item into two halves.

Yellowed seeds fell from one of the ends.

Grain? Grain?

Two hands grabbed hold of Fel's underarms, yanking him backward.

"Move, you idiot! He can't shred the thing until you're out of the way!"

Fel's whole body tensed as he was dragged through the grain stalks. He gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut tight as pain lanced up his spine.

Then the arms holding him let go, and he fell forwards, barely managing to catch himself with a forearm. His face angled up to face the sky.

A shadow towered over him. Isabelle, her eyes dark and mouth curled into an angry snarl, stood behind his head.

"What the hell were you thinking? The one thing I reminded you of before we came out here— we'll kill it if it's small, we'll run if it's large. Do I need to spell it out for you? That's large. That's why we—" She jerked to a stop, her face paling as she caught sight of his lower half.

She ripped the pouch from her waist and dug into it. "Shit, Fel! Stop me — say something — next time!

Pulling a glass bottle about the size of Fel's fist from the bag, Isabelle uncorked it. A sharp wrench as she pulled his leg toward her, and she poured a third of the bottle across the puncture in his calf. The red liquid spilled across Fel's injury.

The healing potion was cold— frigid almost. It pulled the heat from his core, causing his chest down to go numb. He could feel the flesh of his leg, pulling itself together. Fel ground his teeth, an attempt at a smile coming out as a wavering grimace.

"Sorry, I didn't—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off as the field around them surged. A sharp wind roared through their surroundings, the stalks of the grain snapping to point towards a single location in the field. There was a moment in which the crops stilled, their forms bristling in place; a moment in which the earth rumbled beneath the two people's feet.

Then a crack, and spears of green and orange flew into the sky.

Fel watched as the rigid poles of green and orange begin to fall. He heard the beetle screams sound in the nearby distance, the cries growing into a high pitched keen.

The world fuzzed around him.

Was it dead? Had she killed it? What in the gods' names had happened with the field— was it a Skill?

Forcing his way upward, Fel brought a hand to his head. His leg had stopped hurting, and the hole that had pierced his calf was gone. He turned to Isabelle and opened his mouth, head tilting to one side.

The world tilted with him. Tilting, and tilting, and tilting, until—

Isabelle jerked her head down, a wumpf sounding out from in front of her feet.

She froze for a second, fearing the worst in spite of her best efforts. Then the man in front of her let out a raspy breath, and her shoulders fell in relief.

Fel lay face down, the right side of his face pressed into dusty earth. His glasses were, somehow, still on the top of his head. A small miracle, considering his disastrous attempt at fighting the adult Raze Beetle, rather than fleeing as they'd agreed.

His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady.

And Isabelle wanted to kick him so, so bad.

Still, she restrained herself; he'd already been stabbed for his troubles. That was probably enough.

Jumping, she looked over the tops of the grain, searching for the farmhouse roof. When she caught sight of it, however, she sighed. Isabelle looked down at Fel's unconscious body, then off in the direction of her home.

She huffed, tiredly, and grabbed Fel under the arms again.

It was gonna' be a long walk back.