“I’m going to miss you, Clay. I know I didn’t seem that upset when we said goodbye, but that’s because I knew I would cry my eyes out if I said too much. I’ll make sure we keep in touch though, and I’m sure you’ll do just fine at South Farron. Show those rich kids who’s boss!”

from a 2128 e-mail from Rey to Clay

The lamppost’s light welcomed me back in a way that shouldn’t have been possible in such a harsh world. I looked around for Jacob, but the town was empty save for a single Seeker leaning sullenly against a sloping wall of one of the huts.

“Hey,” I called out, walking over to him. His head raised slowly like a helium balloon on its last legs. “Where is everyone?”

He shrugged. “Hunting.”

“You seen Jacob?”

“I don’t know who that is,” he replied. He was still wearing starter gear and had no weapon equipped.

“Okay…” I said. The Weeping Hills had never been so deserted. The moon still hung heavy in the sky, and I heard Wilhelm’s hammer clang ring out from his hut, but the player chatter was gone. “Well, if you see a guy named Jacob, tell him Rand went to see Rathborne for me?”

“Sure,” he muttered back, lowering his head and kicking a stone at his feet. Part of me wanted to stick around and chat, see if I could cheer him up at all, but I had work to do and wasn’t in the best of moods myself. So I struck off, heading out to the woods in the direction of Rathborne’s. My 5% death penalty from my death at the hands of the Stone Demon’s trap hung in the corner of my vision like a mosquito I couldn’t swat away.

Rand—Level 4 Vitality:13 (-1) HP = 327 (-25) 302 Toughness:5 (-1) Strength:16 (-1) Skill:5 (-1) Viletaint:10 (-1) Intellect:5 (-1)

I wasn’t the best at math, but I knew enough to know that 5% of 5 wasn’t 1, but apparently the game had to apply its death penalty in whole increments and liked to round up—way up.

I realized I hadn’t taken time to check out whatever it was I’d managed to loot off the Stone Demon and quickly opened my inventory. It was a slab of stone with a few orange lines scratched into it, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I inspected it.

Rune of Beast Protection—A rune typically used by young seekers beginning their journeys. Offers mild protection against the scourge of many beasts.

+7% protection against Frenzy

“Seven percent, huh?” I scoffed, equipping the rune. It made a sound that was much more satisfied than I was feeling.

At least it’s not raining anymore, I thought as I pressed on toward the tree line. I passed Alastor and his bizarre bath on the way and heard him call out to me.

“Sonny! Sonny! Care to do some business?”

I waved over my shoulder as I shook my head. “Not now, Alastor. I’m broke.”

His laugh was dry and full of phlegm at the same time and I heard the waters of wine where he lay splash against the edges of his bath. “Happens to us all, sonny! You come back and see Alastor when you have more tasty Quintessence!”

“Will do,” I replied, twisting my axe in my hand as I entered the woods. The shadows were like old friends as I strode quickly, my eyes searching for the flickering flames that would signal the arrival of a Corrupted Villager.

I was ready for the first one, and cut him down quickly with a perfectly timed riposted and a massive follow up behind as I Shadowstepped behind him. My Rally bar was more than half way stacked, so I raced on to a group of three and by the time I was finished with them, my death penalty was down to 2%.

A midwife was somewhere to my left—I could hear the rocking of her chair—but I avoided her. I didn’t feel like getting into any complicated combat. I just needed to reach Rathborne. It felt like I’d been out to sea in a tiny rowboat before, and just as I’d started to get a hang of the oars, a hurricane had come and smashed my little raft to bits and now I was clinging desperately to a pile of kindling that was barely keeping me from sinking beneath the waves.

Rathborne will have the answers, I thought as I decimated another Corrupted Villager, watching as his face twisted in agony as my axe carved a fissure where his neck met his shoulder, sending blood cascading into the air. I stepped through him, collecting another swirl of Quintessence. 1% left.

It was strange to think that I was going to an NPC for guidance, and not the pre-programmed type that you’d get from a quest giver or class trainer. But Rathborne wasn’t an NPC—not in the traditional sense. He was a man, a real man who’d had a son and lost him. He was a Seeker who’d seen something in me. He’d know what to do.

I tried not to think about Rey and what had happened to her, but it was like trying to build a levy in the midst of a flood. Images of her face, tortured and vacant, came crashing into my mind one after the other, and I couldn’t help but think that because I hadn’t actually seen her since she’d become one of the Bloodless, I was feeling even worse. At least if I’d laid eyes on her when she was…lost, I would have had a specific image to force out of my mind. But now, all I had were my imaginations, and weren’t about to give me a break. My hands clenched tightly on my weapons as Rathborne’s clearing came into view, the crumbling hut looking like an old friend. Grapefruit sized puffs of smoke spat lazily from the chimney.

I crossed quickly to the door and rapped against the wood with the blunt end of my blunderbuss’ grip. Rathborne’s voice called out from within.

“Come on, Rand.”

How did he know? I thought as I pushed open the door. Its hinges whined as I stepped inside to find Rathborne seated by the hearth which crackled gently. Embers sparked as he dropped a fresh dry log into the flames.

“Have a seat, son,” he said with a smile.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked as I took the chair in front of him. Rathborne simply smiled as he stoked the fire with a long piece of iron.

“Call it old man’s intuition.”

“Okay,” I replied, setting my axe down and laying my blunderbuss across my lap. I thought I saw a faint gleam of approval in his eyes they moved across my cape cloak he’d given me, so I told him, “I’m doing it justice.”

“No doubt you are,” he nodded. He smiled again, but it wasn’t strong. Something was on his mind. I hesitated a moment before speaking again.

“You’re thinking about your son.”

Rathborne stirred uncomfortably in his seat, readjusted his stovepipe hat atop his head. This man had no doubt been a great Seeker, and it pained me to see him in this state. I felt as though I was looking at a great lion, once the ruler of a mighty kingdom, now haggard and old, past his prime, his body heavy and weighted down by the ghosts of the past.

“It has hard to keep one’s mind occupied out here,” Rathborne replied sadly. It still seemed a miracle to me that this was an A.I. I was speaking to, and part of me thought it cruel that Mizaguchi had created this man, given him conscience and faculty, then burdened him with such a tortured past. For all intents and purposes, Mizaguchi was the god of this realm, and what kind of god would want that for his children?

The old Seeker’s head lifted energetically as though fighting against the heavy weight that lay upon him. “What is that death penalty you’re carrying there?”

“Stone Demon,” I grumbled. “Well—not the Stone Demon itself actually. We killed him rescuing Grecia, and then got killed by a spike trap after.”

Rathborne chuckled and nodded. “Grecia. What’d you think of the old witch?”

“Not what I expected,” I replied, thinking back to the strange hag splayed out beneath the crimson cloak that clung to her like a layer of old skin. Rathborne chuckled, stoking the fire as the fresh log began to catch. “Rathborne, I—I don’t know what I need to do, but I need to level. I need to be powerful, and I was hoping you could help me.”

“Well, if you’re looking for a companion, son, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said as he set the poker aside. “But, seeing as how you’re sporting that thing,” he nodded to my cape cloak. “But Southwest of here, at the Swamp of Sacrifices, that cloak will come in quite handy.”

“Swamp of Sacrifices, eh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds gruesome.”

“It is,” Rathborne grinned. “You’ll see when you get there.”

Unexpectedly, the old man got to his feet as though signaling the end of our conversation. I stood up and followed as he moved to the door and stepped out into the night. I could almost feel the gravitational pull of his son’s grave out back as he stared up at the stars beyond the cold fingers of the trees as they seemed to struggle forward in an attempt to invade the clearing around his hut.

I wanted to say something to him—something that would let me know that I felt for him and that I understood—but I wasn’t sure I did. Sure, I’d lost Rey, but she was out there somewhere and I was doing my best to get her back. Rathborne’s son was gone, his bones beneath the earth where they would remain forever. What did I know about that kind of loss? I felt suddenly uncomfortable, as though my presence was an interruption, an invasion of his time alone with his thoughts.

“Well, this death penalty isn’t going to go away on its own,” I said as cheerfully as possible. “Thanks for the advice, Rathborne. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Yes, of course, son,” Rathborne replied quickly as though I’d startled him. “You are always welcome here. Be safe, keep your axe sharp and you will find your way.”

He put a strong hand on my shoulder and squeezed before turning back to his hut. I watched him go and frowned as the old door shut behind him. What was once clearly a great man, reduced to an old hermit camped beside the bones of his boy—it just didn’t seem right.