I didn't think of myself as a coward. Defensive statements like that, often feel a lot like self-deluded accusations. I'll admit as much. But the fact remains: I wasn't a coward. Perhaps, lacking a class, one might argue that my only real skill was of a "cowardly" variety. [Hide Presence] wasn't exactly the bravest sounding ability, but I had fought on a battlefield. I'd seen people die, and every little advantage I'd been given, I'd earned the hard way. My survival was never a sure thing, and I felt that I'd been using all my luck to just barely skim past certain death time and time again. Besides, by all rights, it was a safe assumption that I had probably killed someone on the battlefield. Or at least, actively participated in the event. Which I figured either made me a warrior, or a murderer, or both, depending on your perspective. So, instead of a coward, I would simply boil all of that context down and just say that I was a realist. I knew who I was, I knew what I was roughly capable of, and I knew that pushing my luck too far was a terrible idea. Although I trusted my instincts, as anyone probably should, up until this point I had made it through life by logically, semi-obsessively, mulling over details. Maybe some of this was both good and bad, but by attempting to discern where the better odds lay, and not looking away from the truth of the matter, I'd survived. Even if I really, really, didn't like what I saw, or what I had to do: at the end of the day I had rolled with the punches and I was still alive. But, here I was at the crossroads. Positive thinking wasn't wrong, but it was dangerous. Making choices on emotion instead of weighing risks and being cautious, was the type of behavior that could get me killed. And rationally, I knew that it was through positive thinking, alone, by which I was motivated to take a step forward. A step away from the relative safety of the path, and into the grass. Into the unknown. The world was so very quiet. The grass rustled in the wind, the clouds shifted in the sky. Somewhere distant, the ocean had muffled waves. The scent of salt and moisture was present, and the feeling of a humid heat caught in the underbrush, sticking to my skin, as I watched and listened. I collected as much as I could from the scene, while standing in perfect silence, with [Hide Presence] active. All because, logically, I knew that Gregory was likely dead. And if he was dead, there was nothing I could do about it. That was that. It was a calm, rational, understanding. The conclusion I could draw, brought about by the culmination of everything I'd seen, and learned. Intuitively, I knew. This almost made me sick. Both that realization, and how easily I just accepted it. Facts, logic... I'd always been like this, to some degree. Always just a little too far removed, even before being plucked from my previous reality, but this kind of thinking? I was aware that it wasn't quite natural. Though the irony hadn't gone unnoticed, I was becoming more aware that I "rationally" took advantage of the subtle changes in my personality. Like a fish took to water, I was all too willing to adapt, even though I wasn't the kind of person who should have been able to. My time on this world had broken me down, and what was being built back up was crueler, and sharper. Kindness was in short supply. Why could I simply write-off the life of someone who had rescued and taken me in? If this had happened back on earth, I might honestly be shaking from fear, possibly vomiting, all while struggling to dial emergency services. But, I wasn't anywhere close to that state of mind. And I knew it. More pronounced than ever, now that I'd survived both the battlefield and the forest, the truth of it had been lingering in the back of my mind for quite some time. Something that had bothered me, ever since the King first spoke to us, on that first moment of our arrival. Objectively, much in a similar way to Vitality continued to influence my overall health, or Dexterity was guiding my reflexes, or Strength was... well, my strength: Wisdom and Intelligence had changed me. Warped me, until I wasn't quite the same person I had been on Earth. Maybe, it was simply a sharpening of my thoughts and outlook. Maybe, it was an additional layer, or buffer, to assist what lay beneath, but the end result was the same. My perspective was sharp. Hardened, much in the same way as a knife's edge. Much like a weapon. I saw, I learned, I understood. If there was a clear path to my survival, chances are, I could see it. These changes had likely already saved my life. Perhaps, they had done so several times over. I knew I should trust them for what they were. But, in doing this, lay the dilemma. Standing there, silent, hidden: I knew that Gregory was probably dead. As a statement, or just as a realization: that wasn't absolute. Not certainly dead, not visibly dead. Just very likely. There was the smallest, tiniest, shadow, of doubt. A suggestion that, perhaps, I might be wrong. That the person to whom I owed a great debt of gratitude, might only be injured. That he might need my help, and even if I went about setting aside all positive thinking for cold and rational logic: until I saw the proof with my own two eyes, I was only making an assumption. A well educated guess, on my friend's life. And, if I held there, that is to say: If I choose to let that logic control me and decided the risk simply wasn't worth it, and I should turn back? That was what turned a realist into a coward. That was the difference, and I couldn't live with that. So in that moment, for all of my hesitation, for all of my caution: If you asked me then, I would have said that going into the tall grass was the only logical choice. ....

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

Identify Lvl 5 - Active

Special Skills:

Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active

Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive

Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive

Status:

Vitality: 17

Endurance: 22

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 21

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 52

Health: 50/50

Stamina: 19/20

Mana: 100/100

I had a walking stick, and a dagger. My stats were proven- no. Proven is the wrong word: my stats were field-tested to be lacking when it came to combat.

If there was a monster... well, if Gregory was already dead, that's when I would have to cut the cord. That's when I would have to retreat, and come up with a plan so I didn't die too. I was simply not equipped to be fighting monsters. Or much of anything, for that matter. There was no way that was going to end well for me.

With this in mind, I crept forward.

My motions were slow, careful... painstakenly cautious, not to make a single noise. Not to break my concentration, and let [Hide Presence] slip for even a second. I followed the red covered grass.

I'd never gone off the trail before.

The grass was thick, and my experiences in the forest had left me gun-shy. Staying out in the open felt safer. On the beaten path of dirt and stone, or in the clearing, beside Gregory's small home. Frankly, I'd never ventured beyond view of the cliff. Which probably seems silly, but there was something instinctively worrisome, about letting line of sight drop.

Once the tall strands of green began to surround me, I felt a sense of paranoia. A worrying feeling settled on my shoulders like a heavy weight, reminding me that something might be just out of sight, and that I'd never react in time to stop it.

Surrounded as I was, with only that small break in the leaves behind me leading back to the path, I felt fear creeping in.

There was no way I was alone.

I was certain of this.

Something was out there.

My walking staff hardly seemed sufficient. The feeble wood would be a poor defense if there was a true predator among the stalks. I didn't really know much about the monsters in this world, but I knew they were hardly something to be trifled with. When referenced in conversation, they were almost always suggested to be a significant danger.

So, you can imagine my surprise, when I found Gregory.

Alive.

Bloodied badly, he was clutching his shoulder in agony. Barely even breathing, he wheezed out slow, painful puffs of air. One by one, they bubbled up. It was only when I knelt down beside him, that he even noticed me, and as much as I wished [Hide Presence] was that effective, I knew it wasn't.

"We need to get you out of here." I whispered to him. "I'll try to carry you."

He shook his head.

"The town is close." I insisted. "We can make it."

He shook his head again, and even doing so, I could tell it took tremendous effort. Then, between painful gasps, he whispered something.

I will say this, here and now.

Gregory was far from a young man, but he was a being of pure grit.

Pure grit.

What his Strength was, I do not know: but the number was to be envied by anyone. Of muscle and sinew, built upon a foundation of work, and more work. Of rowing heavy oars, with or against current. Of pulling in nets, or drawing up traps. Of walking up steep stairs along cliffs, with a boat resting on his shoulders, just to make it home.

So, when he barely managed to whisper three simple words back to me: I took them for what they were.

"Fly, you fool."