The aegis was holding just barely against the traitless at their gate. Her power an enigma. Unexplained and unfathomable.

Even worse, she was supposed to be dead.

Told the old man to the children listening with rapt attention. It was a good story, he found. It showed the kids why some of the drastic measures taken in the last couple of days were necessary and justified.

Glutfort’s citadel – staffed by over ten thousand compatible people exceeding level one hundred each by a solid margin easily. Yet they were losing. The entire capital of the old Issar, a continent-spanning political institution ravaged by a single person.

With no regard for the life of the common folk.

Isana had claimed to only care about the throne, who had supposedly done her unjust by claiming that traitless like her were dangerous. Yet here she stood, ready to sacrifice hundreds of thousands just to get her way.

The surrender of the king himself, who had been willing to give his life for his people hadn’t been enough. He had left the city by himself, impaling himself on the earth he had conjured.

A man to his element, kin in death. The old man smiled when the children recited the last respects given to an honorable person.

She had raged.

She hadn’t kept her word.

The capital lay in ashes. One in five that had been present in the assault were left alive. Her promise had been to only take the lives of nobility.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Time was running precariously close to an end for Kent.

For the fiftieth time this day, he checked his status, to see whether anything had changed to his status’ final statement.

Kent Larsson [Level 0] [NONE]

Pools:

Health: 39/39

Stamina: 58/64

Mana: 8/8

Stats:

Vitality: 8

Toughness: 7

Endurance: 11

Strength: 13

Agility: 10

Senses: 9

Mind: 7

Magic: 4

Willpower: 8

Regeneration 10

Trait:

Trait Solidification is being attempted!

The attempt had been ongoing for the better part of eight years. Initially, it had been exciting, intriguing, and wonderous, he would soon be able to wield the magic of his parents. The advent of unlocking magical powers just like the rest of the village’s adults was more than just thrilling, it was what he strove for. Regardless of following his family’s footsteps, gaining a nature magic alignment, or something different he was ready for it.

Ideally, it would be something that would allow him to keep working the fields with his friends.

“Kent, what’s going on lad. Give us poor sobs a helping hand,” Olis, a longtime friend just a year younger, taunted.

“I will in a bit. I need to help ma, first,” Kent responded.

With reluctance in his steps, Kent sought out his mother further down the field. As a nature mage, she couldn’t do much to speed up the harvest, besides lending their physical prowess, which was not very remarkable as with most mages. His mother though was able to increase the shelf life of crops by a significant amount, several years for most crops, when she applied her magic shortly before the harvest.

“Hello ma, what did you need me for?” he asked.

“Kent…” she paused for a moment. “You should prepare for tomorrow, make sure to be gone should it fail to solidify. If you carry too much stuff when they see you running away…” her voice stocked. She sniffed before continuing with a large frown on her face - a frown that only a mother worried for her child could hold. “You might be fine. Alia and Marc might still be out there.”

The quivering of her voice's pitch indicated what she thought of that might. And Kent couldn’t disagree. Uncertainty was preferable to certainty in some cases.

The entire situation could go and rot. He knew that it was bad for him to have given up, but his parents too? It was certainly not ideal for his current state of mind. Emotions quelling over he hurried back home. He briefly remembered his promise to Olis, going back to help. It would have to wait until he had prepared for the coming storm that would trample his life like a thunderstorm the crops.

If this was supposed to be his last day, he would not spend it without at least trying to prepare.

***

When Chieftain Jarrok woke the first thing he realized was the pounding of [Instincts of Old]. The skill allowed for the instinctual access to the wisdom of his forefathers which had long since been lost. It was also never a good sign to start the day under.

He weighted his options. Sometimes just going back to sleep would be enough to solve whatever the skill warned him of. By the intensity of the pulsing he could tell, that today it wouldn’t allow him to go back to sleep.

He was of course fully aware that ignoring an issue was seldomly the right option. Since ten years ago he didn’t care anymore.

He righted himself and began to dress. Whatever the skill was warning him of was a catastrophe. It could be the ruin of the entire harvest through spoilage or magical plight. An attack on the village through somniferous turrls – the most annoying and unfathomably low-level monsters out there. Or an assortment of even worse trials up ahead.

He just hoped that it wasn’t related to the Gewer’s boy still not having gone through the solidification. It would be a right shame should he have to be driven off. The skill didn’t agree with mellow actions whatsoever, it could only be satisfied with total obliteration.

“Maybe they are right. Maybe I should abdicate,” Jarrok mused as he ignored the dull ache.

He went down to enjoy breakfast with his family. His eldest would move out soon, indicated by her and her husband’s plans of construction after the harvest.

The repast, prepared by his second son was as always fabulous. His most likely unique trait was a blessing and would no doubt allow him to become one of the grandest chefs somewhere else. Here he was just the village head’s son that had no intentions of leaving his friends and family behind.

Their conversations shifted through the topics, as was usual for a family that was as harmonious as theirs. They talked about each other’s interests, their upcoming days, and maybe just a tiny smidge of gossip.

Jarrok was just setting up for one of his infamous punchlines when the system interrupted him.

*Ding – Notification pending*

Ahh shit. That was never a good thing when his skills were acting up.

New Notification:

Trait Solidification in Villager Kent has failed

Quest Alert (Threat Removal):

Remove the threat that Kent, Son of Margret and Fredrik, poses to this village.

Static Reward: Level Progress

Variable Rewards: Skill Progression, Zone of Civilization Upgrade

This is bad. It would have to be handled unless other parties got wind of the predicament. The Gewer’s were difficult.

“I need to go,” he said, getting up in a rush. “Kent... didn’t solidify a trait. We will talk later. Enjoy your day,” he said, trying to put up a smile to assure his family. He didn’t feel happy whatsoever. Kent’s family could be troublesome, especially his uncle. He just hoped that they were emotionally prepared for this, it was never easy to exile one’s child, he knew from experience.

At least now I know why [Instincts of Old] was acting up. Jarrok cursed on his way out, not managing to keep his annoyance unvented.

***

Kent knew this would come. Not the exact wording of course, but the general gist of things.

New Notification Log Entry:

No trait could be solidified.

Quest Alert (Divergent):

Flee the village to avoid your execution.

Quest Update (Divergent):

Flee the village to avoid your execution.

You have been exiled and are no longer keyed to the Zone of Civilization.

New Objective: Gain a foothold after being exiled

Variable Rewards: Variable

Failure: Death or Variable and Death

The quest alert and subsequent update were a surprise though. He had heard of quests of course, but they were for the influential only. They sometimes happened in dire situations but as far as he knew you only gained access to them once you had a trait. That was all irrelevant now though.

The wording was clear. Death wasn’t an option just yet. Life had been good for the most part.

He wanted to scream at the world and the unfairness of life. Not once had he done anything to deserve such a fate. Besides his actions of last night, he presumed. It would be ironic if his premature measures to secure his survival after the exile had been the reason for the exile in the first place.

He focused back on the exact wording of the quest, breathing steadily a few times.

His future became clearer. He saw himself, living constantly on the run, a struggle for survival.

His parents had seemingly expected this outcome. Having thrown him a morbid sort of appreciation party the evening before. They had said goodbye then, all parties going to bed devastated and hopeless. He wished they would fight for him, but they had been raised by a different sort of people than who usually lived in the village. Knowing his father’s grandparents, he was glad, they weren’t insisting on the kingdom’s rules regarding a failed solidification.

The law was clear.

“Through the wisdom of our ancestors everyone who doesn’t gain a trait in their eighteenth year shall be removed from existence to save our world from certain doom,” was one of the core pillars enforced in the Kingdom of Issar’s judicial system.

He had prepared everything he could think of the night before. A small stash away from town would hopefully increase his chances of not getting stopped on his escape by anyone.

Now it was up to fate what he would encounter beyond the boundary.

The forest and the unknowable, ever-increasing threat of everything past the zones of civilization awaited.