“And on the fifth day the Demiurge, Master of the Archons, did build for the peoples of the world Levels, to unite us and help us grow into our best selves. And to each of the Six Archons the Demiurge did assign a continent, a vast land separate from the others, to watch and protect from any great evils and failings that might transpire…”

- Excerpt from The Divine Words of the Hexad, Way of Exalted Esun holy text

A caravan of more than a dozen wagons made their way through the Old Pass, drawn by sure-footed goats as tall as a man and one and a half times as wide. Eight of the wagons rattled as they moved, and as the cold wind blew past the bars of the cages, the folk that sat within each one shivered and drew closer, eyes glassy, no spark left in them. They wore ragged clothes that did little to keep out the cold, and mostly spent their time huddled together for warmth.

They were Desolate; men and a few women from forts west of the mountains who had deserted or committed some other great crime against their nation. They would go to Cardona to be processed, and then either executed or sentenced to a life of manual labor of some sort.

In one cage, a young boy, hair a dark blonde, perhaps in his early teens, sat and rubbed his hands together, trying to warm himself against the harshness of the icy air. He turned to his cellmate, a middle-aged woman who was doing likewise, and who glared at him and frowned with her sharp features.

“Whatchoo looking at, son?” She asked.

“I was just thinking you look like you’re very strong, ma’am. You could get to be a Beholden, if you’re lucky. What level’re you?”

She glared at him even harder, if that was possible. “Who goes askin’ questions like that, sonny? I’ll tell you my level as soon as you tell me yours, and that’s the deal.” She shook her head ruefully. “I won’t be Beholden, that’s for sure. Too much bloodshed on my record. Well, too much unapproved bloodshed, o’ course.”

The boy stuck out his hand. “I’ll do ya one better. I’m Bim Selks, and I’m a Level 1 . My Talents are and .”

The lady looked at him with bewilderment and did not move to shake his hand. “Word to the wise, kid, I don’t know where you grew up, but with you being where you are, I don’t think you should so freely give out your name and Talents like that. Or your level, for that matter.”

She sighed, leaned back. “For what it’s worth, since you told me all that, I’m called Zara, just Zara. I’m a Level 4 . Damn Archons. That ‘of Fortune’ part’s new to me. It’s a… long story.” She gazed at him a bit longer, than leaned in and whispered. “My Talents are , , , , and…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Oh hell, why not. My fifth Talent is . Lets me know in a battle which side is likely to win.”

She leaned back once again. “You can probably guess why I’m here, but what doesn’t make sense is why a kid healer who can’t be even half my age ended up in a caravan with a bunch of murderers and thieves and liars.”

Bim sat back as well. “Mine’s a long story too. But I can’t tell it now. For now, let me show you a trick.” Zara raised an eyebrow.

Bim called out to the pair of guards walking alongside the slow-moving wagon. “Hey, guys! Hey, guys!” At length, the guards approached.

“The guy two cells over from me has had a runny nose and a cough for a couple days now. He has book-perfect Beggar’s Lung. If you let him sit like he has for another couple of days, in the cold and filth, he’s going to die, and that’s one cell empty, a smaller cut for you two to take your pay from. If you let me treat him, he has a much better chance of making it through. I'm an . Get a Arcgem and test me if you want, but I swear on my father’s grave, I can help save him.”

The guards looked back and forth, then trotted away and spoke to whoever drove the carriage; Bim thought it was one of the caravan masters who did it, looking to save coin on hiring a driver.

After a brief conversation, they walked back over and grunted at him. “You, deserter, get back from the door, to the other side of the cell!” One guard stepped into the caravan as he barked orders, the other Desolates huddling back. Zara did as instructed, looking to Bim in confusion. The guards warily unlocked the cage, and, one grabbing him by the shredded shirt, walked him over to the sick man in question, who looked even paler than a normal Vrogottian, skin tinged green, eyes sunken, lips ashen and chapped, all from the disease and the horrid conditions.

Bim managed to haggle for a few meager medical supplies, and even a thin blanket to drape on the man, but he found he could do little to help save for cleaning the man’s few wounds and trying to drain what pus he could from various sores on the man’s body. It was messy work, but Bim trusted his Talents and his own education.

After a while, he was forced to go back to the cage with Zara, and slept fitfully, dreaming of being able to do more. Before falling asleep, he checked his only pocket that hadn’t ripped yet, and felt cold metal.

Conditions met! Class attained!

Level 1 (N)

Talent — gained! (N)

Level 2