The six youths were arrayed in front of Shaman Weigner. They’d expect it, for all had already been noticed by the Shaman during winter and spring.

“You are now grown,” he began.

He tapped meaningfully the Ancient Artifact, the Glasses of Truth. All Shamans of New Willapaga wore them, as the imbued item let them see the truth of people.

“All those years, you have been children. Registering as such, to the sight of truth from the Gods. But you have finally set aside your childhood, and your first growth has occurred. Child no longer, yet adult to be. Today begins the rite of passage. For if you are children no longer in the eyes of the gods, you must become men and women in the eyes of New Willapaga.”

The Shaman was interrupted in his speech by a small commotion. He frowned, then half rose when the source of the commotion crossed the leather-covered entrance. The young man who’d just arrived wasn’t unknown, of course, but he was certainly not expected.

“What is the meaning of this, young Valetta?”

“I am ready, Shaman,” he answered.

“Ready for what?”

“To pass the rites.”

“I may have said that you were no longer a child in the eyes of the gods, but you and your people are from the east, not from New Willapaga. Your rites of the cross are not ours.”

“Yet here I stand, on the solstice. Let my father ignore the day if he wants.”

The Shaman studiously avoided looking at young Iselin. He’d be a poor Shaman if he did not notice the interest of young Valetta over the last year. Hector’s family might be great in the east, but here, his ancestors were nothing.

“By your customs, you will be a child for at least two more years. What do you want to prove, Hector Valetta?”

“That I am a man in New Willapaga. Recognized by gods and men.”

“And how do you intend to achieve that?”

“By going. Like all tee… pre-adults of New Willapaga.”

The Shaman avoided making fun of the almost-slip. Easterners extended childhood for years until they achieved a “legal age”. For the true people, the view from the gods served instead. Instead, he looked over the gangly easterner, his face carefully neutral.

“You are not ready. Where is your pack, Hector Valetta?”

“Just outside, Shaman.”

This almost made him raise his eyebrows again. It wasn’t hard to know about the passage of adulthood. Every kid knew from early childhood what they would do to mark their adulthood. But the easterner was, indeed, prepared.

Let’s see how far he will truly go.

“Then seven it will be. Be it fourteen or seventeen, you are children no longer, so let all of you go, to find a relic of the Ancients, and the story that goes with it. What you find is what you’ll keep and treasure, until your last day, when it will be your grave good. It is what will show New Willapaga who you truly are.”

They didn’t make it far from the fishing village before Ivan pounced on Hector.

“What the fuck are you still here, kid?” he said.

“I’m not one.”

“The fuck you aren’t. All easterners are kids for years.”

“The Shaman himself said it three months ago.”

“Just…”

“Do you deny the sight from the gods?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ivan raised his fist, and Hector immediately dropped his bag to stand ready. But before any of the kids could start slinging, Iselin Zaknussen put her hand on Ivan’s shoulder, stopping him.

“He’s right you know. The Glasses of Truth tell you when.”

Ivan shook his shoulder free and glowered at the girl. Then he huffed and turned away.

“Thanks, Is…”

The slap across his face interrupted Hector.

“Stupid. Do you even know what you’re getting into?” she asked. “Easterner,” she stressed.

She turned and trotted forward. Knut Harval came to him, took his bag, and handed it back. Hector grimaced.

“Stop making a fool of yourself,” he whispered to himself.

“True,” Knut commented and Hector realized he’d been heard.

“Come on,” Knut added.

The group was already split into two smaller groups now, with Ivan, Iselin, Jarl, and another girl, Asta, up front, and Knut, a smaller taciturn boy along with Hector now.

“So, you’re ‘ready’? How much did you take?”

“8 days’ supply,” Hector said.

“Let’s hope it will be enough, or you’ll go hungry.”

“That’s not…”

“We’ve talked among ourselves, of course. We were figuring out what we wanted to achieve. We’re not going for the easy stuff, with small stories. We’re all going for the real stuff. You know you can split, right? There will be a few small ruins along the way. You can get in, pick your Memento, and go back to Willapaga.”

“Where are you going?”

“Greater Seattle,” Knut answered.

The seven youngsters crossed another invisible border. A sharply defined line between tall pine trees and sudden grassland. A few miles further, another sharp line of trees indicated yet another border where everyone assumed Mana’s density changed.

So far, they’d been lucky. Packs of Lepuses, numerous, best to be avoided lest they get riled and become dangerous. Single predators, diminutive Canids and Felids, far too busy in their hunts to bother the intruders.

The remnants of the Ancient road were their guide. A single panel over the road, intact and perfectly preserved, had indicated “Seattle” in the distance yesterday, and another today.

After three days, the angry ones, as Hector had nicknamed them, had slightly warmed to his presence. He didn’t really care about most, but Iselin’s cold shoulder hurt. She had been much livelier back in New Willapaga. Hector had been sure she’d appreciate that an “easterner” was willing to be recognized. But she had seemed very angry at his attempt to follow her traditions.

Knut, at least, had wanted to help.

Mav, the frontman of the group, raised his fist and they all stopped and ducked. Hector looked for a few seconds before spotting. The general shape looked like an elk… but elks didn’t have deep green fur. And the beast looked to have four antlers, not two.

“Cervid,” Knut whispered next to Hector. “You don’t see them outside the mana zones.”

“Dangerous, then?” Hector asked back.

“My grandfather saw one gut a Canid with one flick of the head during his rite. Entrails spilled and all, instantly killed.”

The Cervid kept looking at the expanse of grasses between the two forests before an unheard signal made him turn his head. He started running at an angle, entering the forest further away. Hector stayed put, letting the front man decide when to call it safe.

Just as they came out of yet another strip of forest, Mav and Knut stopped abruptly. As Hector and the rest of the group reached the border, he immediately spotted what had prompted the two to break.

The half-broken road continued, but the forest made a large miles-wide circle, in the middle of which were ruins. Or, rather, a building, looking almost intact, surrounded by what looked like all kinds of calf-high ruins.

“The last panel said Seattle in 12 miles,” Ivan noted.

“This is a big ruin,” Hector said.

“And intact. Highly intact,” Mav noted.

Inga whispered, “That’s the place then. There must be… stories to find there.”

Ivan turned and looked, and the last members of the group all nodded in agreement.

They angled from the road, crossing the high grasses that grew. Hector looked around before he noted what was bothering him.

It looked like the building was at the perfect center of the forest. As if the building anchored the mana around it, delimitating the zone.

Half a mile from the building, they found more of the road material – asphalt – spread all over. Grasses had split the black substance in places, and Hector noted rusted iron there. For some reason, there were pieces of ancient things, and grasses had burst through wherever there was one as if to hide the rust.

The pieces could have made fine Mementoes on their own, with the oddities and all, but he knew none of the Willapagans would stop there. Not with the Ancient building showing, promising more mysteries.

They crossed the half-broken expanse of asphalt, aiming for the real target.

Up close, the building was a slight off-white, stained in various parts. Despite the decades, it seemed mostly intact, without the slightest overgrowth of plants to cover it. An expanse of round polished stones followed the building’s walls. Large panes of glasses, still completely intact, showed the existence of two floors. The front of the building had some weird shapes. A lattice of lines with globes at random intersections, and a gigantic “Q” letter in green with decayed flat panes of what looked like glass around it.

Thankfully, the entrance was all glass panes as well, and those had broken a long time ago. The seven explorers carefully stepped into a hall, lit from up top. Glass had been there as well, and maybe half of the panes were still there. Dirty stains, mostly square-ish, showed where the panes had disappeared and the rains had fallen.

There were traces of wood and metal all around, including a small symbolic barrier separating the two sides of the entrance all. There were also what looked like huge pots, full of earth and little else. Whatever had been in those had died long ago.

Mav pointed to a corridor leading inside. The seven stepped over the remnant of the barrier and gathered at the beginning of that corridor, looking around.

Weirdly, the left side of the corridor was completely trashed, while the right side was almost pristine. Most of the doors were locked, but one was half-opened and they peeked into the room. Light came from the side window, which was not only intact but looked cleaner than most window panes in New Willapaga. The room itself had a desk, with strange items on it. The most recognizable was a tray with papers on it, although touching those made them disappear in a puff of dust.

“That must be how they did stuff?” Ivan wondered.

“An office,” Hector said. “My father described how they live back east, as I was too young to remember. He had something like that.”

Seeing the incredulous looks, he quickly added, “well, not like that. All wood and stuff, not metal and Ancient materials. At least the desk is wood… I think.”

“What’s that?” Mav asked, pointing to one item.

“I don’t know,” Hector replied.

The flat and thin black surface was slightly reflective, but not enough to qualify as a mirror. It had a large black string attached, but it ended in something that looked like it had melted, hanging over the edge of the desk. Under it, there was a pile of broken, half-decomposed wood that looked like the same painted wood as the desk, save that it had suffered from age.

Iselin spotted a gleam in the woodpile, barely visible in the “office”. She reached and grabbed it, pulling it out.

“Hey!” someone complained.

“Keys,” Hector noted.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“People don’t use those flat versions, but I recognize them. See, the indents at the end are just like a normal key.”

“I wonder why they’re there.”

“I imagine there… must be a story behind this.”

She laughed as everyone protested.

“There must be a place that no one could get back to. Because they left the keys here.”

“Maybe in Seattle?” Hector wondered.

“They ran all the way, and never could get back to their life,” she continued.

“Likely. But all the Ancient’s lives ended with the Fall anyway.”

She pocketed the keys, prompting another round of protests.

“There’s plenty of stories in there,” she said dismissively.

The corridor kept on, turning to go deeper into the building. As they reached the corner, they all stopped at the sight. There was a skeleton fallen in the corridor.

Hector quickly realized what bothered him with the skeleton. It looked mostly intact, but it was far too big. Close to eight feet… yet not wide. It looked like it had been stretched. Then he shuddered as he spotted the hands at the end of too-long arms.

Both hands had six fingers.

Changed. Some kind of Changed from the Fall. Of a species he knew nothing about. His father had told him stories from that history book. There had been plenty of small bands of Changed that failed to stay alive. All Changed species were not fertile with humans, or even each other. The dead had been one such, then.

Something attracted him. There were scraps of long-decayed cloth under the skeleton, but there was a rectangular piece of something, with a string around its neck. Hector knelt, as Ivan hissed.

“Pay respect.”

“It’s not an Ancient. It’s a Changed One.”

“It was an Ancient. Before,” Ivan insisted.

Hector ignored the older boy. The rectangle had a picture on it, a face, framed with grey. Under it was the name “Ulrich Albert” and some weird designation: “System administrator”.

“That was his name. I think,” Hector said. “Ulrich Albert.”

Ivan reached, but Hector wasn’t about to let the boy claim such a meaningful Memento. He grabbed it instead, and the string broke, leaving him with just the rectangle.

“Hey, let…”

Hector ignored the boy as he looked at the flat, slightly reflective rectangle. It had changed.

It now had… his face. And his name, “Hector Norbert Valetta”.

And another peculiar designation, for a different reason.

“Level 1 Unspecialized (achiever)”

Ivan snatched the rectangle, prompting Hector to yell.

“Hey, watch…”

He stopped immediately, and Ivan startled. Because the flat rectangle now showed Ivan’s face, along with the name “Ivan Urbiss”, and a slightly different “Level 1 Unspecialized (leader)”. Even the grid underneath which had all kinds of numbers shifted to different values.

“What the?”

“It’s an Artifact,” Hector realized.

“A what?” Iselin asked next to him. He hadn’t noticed her getting close.

“An Artifact. An object of power, from the Ancient world. You know… like the Shaman’s Glasses of Truth.”

All the six faces looked at him incredulously.

“It’s true. My father said those things are rare, and they’re always found in mana zones. Deep, where Changestorms pushed mana into Ancient items.”

He pointed to the rectangle in Ivan’s hand.

“Try it. It will recognize who you are, I bet,” he said, looking at Iselin.

She reached, and Ivan let the item escape. As soon as his fingers let go, the picture and words shifted under the glassy surface, setting into the familiar face of Iselin. She was also Level 1 Unspecialized, but “explorer” instead, and yet different values.

They all checked the rectangle, which displayed the same “level 1”. Three were labeled “explorers”, another “achiever”, and Asta was the one labeled “follower”, much to her dismay.

They all looked at each other. Then Hector grabbed the item and handed it to Ivan.

“What?”

“The Artifact… says you’re the leader.”

“It’s a powerful Memento, sure, but…”

“But it’s not one. Artifacts are too precious to be Mementoes. They are heirlooms to be passed on to your heirs, not grave goods,” Hector said. “Like the Shaman’s glasses.”

Ivan looked at the rectangle and then reached a decision. He pushed the item into his pocket, sighing.

“This is weirder than I imagined.”

Hector laughed.

“Getting toward Seattle was always going to be that weird.”

Beyond the skeleton, things had warped slightly. The floor was going up in a small ramp, but Hector could have sworn the lines of the corridor were no longer straight. The corridor looked like it had deformed under some pressure. As they reached, he realized the temperature had dropped several degrees… and then noticed the white streak on the walls. He reached for Ivan’s arm to stop him.

“Ice. There’s ice.”

“What are you talking about? It’s late June…”

Hector pointed at the frost. Ivan looked dubious until he reached and realized.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Mana, I bet,” Hector answered.

He hesitated.

“And probably dangerous. It’s one thing to have mana that changes plants or beasts. But mana that changes a place…”

Ivan looked at the door at the end of the corridor. Part of the floor from above still jutted, marking the only point where the upper floor was – partially – there. The door itself had a slightly warped look.

“Can’t turn away. We came here to find the greatest stories, after all.”

The youngsters were standing in front of Shaman Weigner. The Glasses of Truth couldn’t tell him more, of course. The left side showed what someone was. The right side showed whether they lied. But nothing showed what people thought, felt… just his experience with people. The young adults that stood in front of him had been into the real ruins, and come back changed, as expected.

And only six of them had come back. Missing was not the one he’d more or less expected to fail.

“What of your travels? What of your stories… What of Urbiss?” he finally asked.

None volunteered anything, until the easterner, Hector Valetta spoke.

“Our leader went and fell, Shaman.”

“Did he find his story, Valetta? Did you bury him with the mark of his adulthood?”

The youngster hesitated.

“There was… nothing to bury. But… he did have the greatest of grave goods with him when he fell.”

Since the Glasses showed him no deception, the Shaman had to accept the tale. But the ‘nothing to bury’ bothered him. Even if the easterner made clear honor was due.

“And your own stories?”

“They are there. And ours to keep,” Iselin Zaknussen answered instead.

He frowned. Usually, youngsters liked to brag about what they found, and what they thought happened with the Ancients. Not this bunch, though.

He hid his curiosity, however, and stood. If Iselin said they had found their Mementoes, then they had, as she spoke the truth.

“You left New Willapaga at the end of your childhood, though, and came at the beginning of your adulthood. All of you… even you, Hector Valetta. From now on, you are full adults… and all the responsibilities of that are now yours.”

The six hesitated, and he waved them away.

“Go. Of course, there’ll be a feast tonight. And that’s the only one you’re not allowed to help make, for the rest of your days.”

Knut and Iselin crowded Hector. The girl – woman – asked, “Shouldn’t we have told the Shaman?”

“We all agreed. People knowing about that Q-place… that’s too dangerous. You saw it. We all did. Kids would go to seek stories. And be crushed, like you almost did, Iselin. One more step and you’d fallen inward, like Ivan.”

She squeezed his hand in return.

“You pulled me in time.”

Hector laughed.

“I got reflexes. Thank god… all the gods, I do have reflexes.”

Then he shook his head, before sighing.

“Let’s only the Mementoes remind us of the hole at the end of the world.”

His own hand grasped in his pocket, feeling the door handle he’d picked. The memory of the door that separated the world of men and the abyss of the Ancients.