The next day, Faye woke to the sun high in the sky, filtering through the glass of the inn’s windows. For a moment, she was confused. She could not remember coming up to bed. She was under the cover, and surrounded by fluffy pillows, and for a moment she wondered if she had imagined the last few months.

Status.

A moment later, the words that she had grown used to appeared before her.

~ Status ~

[Name:] Faye Weaver

[Class:] Spellsword

[Level:] 14

[Aspect:] n/a

[Boons:] Experience boost (x2), Sprite’s Touch

[Banes:] n/a

[Stat Growth:] Tou+2, Str+1, Rea+2, Agi+1, Int+1, Wil+3

~ Attributes ~

[Toughness:] 31

[Strength:] 28

[Reaction:] 22

[Agility:] 21

[Logic:] 10

[Intuition:] 19

[Willpower:] 28

[Charisma:] 10

[Magic:] 1.5

~ Skill List ~

[Skill Points:] 0

[Mana Sense] [Tier 1 – 2/5]

[Spellcasting — Basic] [Tier 0 – 4/5]

[Swordfighting — Intermediate] [Tier 0 – 5/5]

[Swordfighter's Sense] [Tier 0 – 5/5] [Locked]

[Survival — Basic] [Tier 0 – 4/10]

~ Spell List ~

[Fire Dart] [Tier 0 – 4/5]

[Scorching Lance] [Tier 1 – 1/5]

[Blades of Flame] [Tier 1 – 3/5]

[Cleansing Flame] [Tier 2 – 1/5]

And her reality snapped back into place like a rubber band, with a spark of disappointment. Part of her still wanted to wake up and see her mother again. But the last six months of her life had not been wasted. It was equal parts relieving and disappointing.

She took another look at her surroundings, remembering where she was and why there was suddenly glass in the windows: the inn. Apparently, glass was not too expensive for a waystation.

She took her time getting herself gathered, but there was no way she could stay laid in bed, she had to see if Gavan was okay. Her stomach was also dangerously close to eating her alive.

A toothy comb was presented next to a small bowl filled with water, alongside a wash cloth. She availed herself of the water and the cloth before running the comb through her hair, taking it out of its braid for the first time in a while. Running the comb through her hair was therapeutic. Without the products that she had been used to for most of her life, the first few months here had basically ruined her hair. More than once, she had considered chopping it off, but something always stopped her.

The people of Lóthaven tended to wear their hair long and braided, and it was only the occasional person that removed the majority of their hair. She stuck out so much already, being blonde, that not using the same style as the others seemed like a step too far.

But, now that Faye had almost reached the midpoint of cresting, she realised that her attributes were doing more for her overall vitality than simply making her stronger. Her hair was strong and suffered from fewer breakages and split ends than she was used to, even without the conditioner and shampoo.

That did not mean she was immune to dirt, but it meant that the upkeep on her image was less intense than it ever had been at home.

Half an hour later, Faye sidled down the inn’s main stairs, one hand on the hilt of her sword to pull up the scabbard and make sure it didn’t hit every step on the way down.

The innkeeper looked up from his place by the hearth.

“Ah! Good day,” he called out and got to his feet, walking toward the bar. “I wasn’t sure when you would wake, but I have some things ready to eat. Sit down!”

The last he had shouted as he disappeared into the kitchen door.

Faye chose one of the tables close to the one the innkeeper had been sitting at. His table held a stoneware mug holding something hot, it still steamed a little, and a half-eaten plate of food. The smell was almost too much to bear, but he reappeared almost immediately with a plate and mug for Faye.

He lay them before her with a small flourish. “Hot from the stove, enjoy!”

It was a pastry of some kind, it looked like. The dough was sturdy enough not to fall apart as she picked it up. Taking an experimental bite, the steaming hot contents hit her mouth and practically melted into pure bliss.

Without waiting longer, she stuffed massive bites into her mouth as fast as she could chew.

“Glad ye like it,” the innkeeper said, with a chuckle. He took another bite, much smaller than Faye’s, of his own pastry. “Learned the recipe from me grandad, years ago. Never realised how special they were until I tasted others’ attempts.”

Faye simply nodded as she chewed and closed her eyes to enjoy the taste. The savoury warmth was perfect for a morning, despite the fact that it was closer to afternoon than anything.

The mug held something close to a malt drink, something that back home would have been a goodnight drink, but here was a tasty accompaniment on a cold day.

“My way of thanks,” the innkeeper said as he held his own mug to his lips. “Least I could do. Yer friend seems okay. More out of it than you, though. The fire put itself out, eventually. Some kind of healing spell, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” Faye murmured the affirmative, “new, though, so I don’t know all the in’s-and-out’s.”

The man lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect ye to actually answer.”

Faye shrugged. “Didn’t tell you much, so I don’t mind. You already saw the spell.”

The innkeeper nodded. “Alright. Well, can’t say many people would agree with ye.”

“I’m used to it,” she replied. “Wow, well that was fantastic. Thanks.”

He waved a hand. “Ye saved me and my place,” he said, “I can’t imagine they were going to just leave me be.”

Faye hummed. “What did you do with their bodies?”

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Buried them in the field out front.”

“What’s your name, by the way?” she asked, she looked at him with a smile, “Can’t keep calling you ‘innkeeper’ in my head.”

He laughed. “Seán, nice to meet ye.”

Faye tilted her head. “Seán? Really?”

His smile turned confused. “Yes, why?”

“I just… well, it’s a name I’m used to hearing, unlike most people around here.”

Seán nodded, slowly. “Right. Where did you say you were from?”

She sighed and smiled, sadly, “Far, far away.” She took another sip of her hot drink to avoid commenting further, which he accepted gracefully.

“I have a few things to do around the place. Make yerself at home. Yer mage friend is in the room next to the one you were in.”

She nodded and watched him leave. The prickly reception they had received seemed more to do with the thugs they had fought than the man’s disposition itself. Thinking back over the fight, Faye had quite a few questions for Gavan when he woke up. But she would let him rest for now.

Her body ached, still, from what she put it through and it had been days since she had relaxed and even longer since she had been full with warm food, drink, and in front of a fireplace. It was a sense of relaxation and peace she had not realised she was missing before.

Her inner source was back to its normal self, a raging fire of its own, a ball of power that she could siphon off and use to produce flames from thin air. It was still hard to wrap her head around if she was truthful.

Her musings were interrupted by a sound at the top of the stairs. She looked up and saw Gavan making his way, step by step, down into the common area.

“What are you doing up?” she called, jumping up from her seat to move over to the bottom of the stairs. She did not try and interrupt his movements, because she knew that sometimes the last thing you wanted when you were recovering from something was to sit alone in a room.

“I heard some talking, but it took this long to build up the energy to get up,” he said. “I’m alive because of you, but I think they did more to me than I realised.”

“Can’t you heal yourself?” she asked. “Would have thought that would be step one.”

He grimaced and lowered himself into a seat, after he had made the slow journey across the common room floor. “No, not yet. It’s painful to draw mana right now.”

She nodded and gestured to the kitchen door. “Food?”

“Gods, yes.”

After Gavan had had the same rapturous experience Faye had over the food, they settled back in the wooden chairs and stretched out their feet towards the flames of the hearth.

“So, I’m wondering about experience,” Faye said, after some time. Her eyes were half-closed. “It’s been a while since I’ve levelled.”

Gavan groaned and shifted a little in the seat, but opened one eye to glare at her. “You’ve levelled unnaturally fast for months and now you’re worried it’s taken longer than a few days to get a level?” He snorted, then groaned when that hurt.

“Serves you right… okay, so you’re saying that it will take even longer to level from now on? I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “So, general wisdom is that, yes, you will take much longer to level up the higher level you are. This is because most people are content to stay where it is safe, do the same kinds of things they always do, stay comfortable.”

He wiggled his feet and smiled.

“Not much wrong with comfort,” Faye said.

“No, except that it slows down your growth. It’s new experiences, challenging enemies, difficult situations that make you gain more experience and level faster. Without those things, your growth will slow, and slow, until it stops.”

“How does that affect the world?” Faye asked. “It seems clear that not everyone gets to stupid high levels, or I would be surrounded by a mega-city of paradise.”

Gavan nodded. “Right. People basically stop trying.”

“They do?” she asked, surprised. “Why?”

“It’s hard work, Faye, this life we’ve chosen. Constant danger, idiots like those thugs outside—”

“They’re buried in the field now.”

“—well, wherever they are, for every one of us, there are a dozen of them. People that gain a modicum of power that either don’t want to lose it, or who want to lord it over those that have less than them.”

Faye looked into the flames of the hearth. “Doesn’t seem sustainable.”

“It’s fine, for the most part. The system separates people well enough. Probably by design.”

“How?”

“The world is not equal,” he replied, then took a few seconds to reorient himself in the chair again. “Sorry, as I said, not equal. There are some places that the ambient mana is low, the monsters are low levelled, and the natural resources are… ordinary. But there are others where the mana is so thick that an uncrested kid won’t survive more than a few minutes of exposure.”

Faye hummed. “I guess I assumed it was just… the same, everywhere.”

“It gets worse,” he said, “because for every person like us that gets stronger to help others, and every dozen of those idiots that get stronger to help themselves, there are those that somehow surpass both goals. They get so strong, they can’t help but move mountains, change the world with a whisper, or destroy people by barely wishing to. Those masters are so strong that we are like ants.”

“They’re all bad?” she asked.

“No, no,” he replied, shaking his head, “not even most of them are bad. We don’t call a thunderstorm bad for lighting a barn on fire. Floods themselves are not bad, but the situation is. It’s the same for the most powerful people. The world just bends around them. They lift a finger, and half a world away, someone’s life is destroyed.”

“The butterfly effect,” Faye said.

“What’s a butterfly?”

She sighed. “Of course, there is no such thing as a butterfly, but I can create fire just by thinking about it.”

Their conversation lapsed a little, as they simply sat and stared at the flames.

“So, how long does it take to become one of those masters, then?” she asked, eventually.

Gavan took a few moments to reply. “A lifetime, for most. I have no idea. Some it took centuries.”

Faye was about to nod, but she stopped, then turned slowly to stare at her friend. He looked back at her, bewildered.

“Did I say something you didn’t expect?” he said.

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Was it something about how no one tells us how long or how exactly to do it? I’ve told you before, knowledge is—”

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” she interrupted, “though that’s strange to me, too, I’ve had chance to get over it. No, it was… you said centuries?”

He blinked. “Well, yes?”

“How does anyone live that long?”

Gavan paused. “How long do you think people live for, Faye?”

Faye narrowed her eyes. “Is this a trick question? Most people around 80 years, some few to 100.”

Gavan blanched. “Only 80?”

The door to the inn closed, and Seán stomped in. “Gah, it’s cold.”

They turned to watch him come in. He took off his outer jacket before stepping into the room fully. He grinned when he saw Gavan sitting by the fire.

“Ah, young mage! I am glad you’re alright. I tell you; I haven’t seen someone throw that much mana around in many, many years.”

Gavan inclined his head a little. “Thank you, innkeeper.”

“Seán,” Faye supplied, “he’s called Seán… and, I was wondering… how long do people live, Seán?”

The innkeeper blinked and scratched the top of his head. “Erm, well, unless you’re like those poor buggers out there,” he nodded to the field they could see out the window, “then it depends what stage you are, of course. Anywhere from one to four hundred is most common.”

Faye stood up.

“What?!”