After his Class finished evolving, Randidly sat for a while on the edge of the Badlands and just stared up at the brilliant nova of light released by Pine’s rebirth. The near-constant wind of the expanse sat in awe, leaving the world hanging in a stalled state.

Here, a Legend had been born. After the effort of producing such a miracle, the universe rested on its brilliant, starburst laurels of light.

Part of the reason for his stillness was the complicated well of emotions dug up over the course of the evolution. Part of it was the ambiguous implications of the word ‘Legend’ being present in his Class, while he still lived and breathed. Part of it, of course, was the beauty of the Pinnacle event, even if this was likely a diminished version of what had happened originally.

But also, Randidly found it fascinating that he could look at this Pine without fear that the monstrous hole the Universe Soul would someday become would notice. Whatever had occurred to release that perfect pulse of energy had erased some of the reality from the memory. Its connection to his present had been severed. Randidly also couldn’t sense that general intelligence he had interacted with earlier, entreating the Universe Soul for help with his impossible attempts.

That fragment of Pine had died, had been sacrificed, had been erased to open up the possibility of rebirth for the people within the memory. Looking at the silvery-blue rays of light giving way before the arrival of true dawn, Randidly sighed.

The memory Pine had trusted him. No communication had been exchanged, other than action. Which made the imperative all the more onerous.

Which, eventually, would propel him out of this lull.

He looked down in the ground, but peered through the examine the fabric of this memory. His eyebrow twitched. The hard edges of the Dungeon that Neveah had created had begun to crack. The time difference had given them almost six months, but now the collapse of the Sonora was catching up with him. The doom he had brought onto this bundle of regrets had arrived. Probably hastened by the strain this explosion had created.

One step at a time. Randidly slapped his cheeks. His mind tried to catalog the tasks waiting in front of him, but he couldn’t focus for very long. He kept flashing back to the appearances of all those from within the Alpha Cosmos, demonstrating their support for his mission. He saw the army of Lancers, now Heralds, with hundreds of the created beings have discovered their own individuality and evolved into different forms. He felt the heat of their fierce pride, being his army. He felt the weight of those connections lying heavily across his arms and legs.

He flexed his fingers and looked at his palm. Although he had grown so much, he still felt like the same individual that had woken up in the Dungeon, not even realizing the world he knew had died. “Almost to the finish line, like it or not.”

Randidly stood and stretched. His shoulders and neck cracked; whether or not it had been held consciously, a lot of tension had lingered in his shoulders after the attempts and into the creation of the Class. He hadn’t handled the details, but he was the one who had to shovel energy directly into the process to carry him to completion. That meant he had to move constantly, even if he didn’t need to engage in any complicated activities.

But compounding that base tension of motion was the constant strain on his Nether Core…

Randidly rubbed the back of his neck as he scanned one last time through the list of his new Classes. Reading each brought to mind various caracatures of himself, versions created to fulfill particular roles.

Mantle of the Tireless Pathfinder.

Silver Protostar of the Alpha Cosmos.

Deviant Calamity, Soulbound to the Carrion Dragon.

The Alchemist of Constellations, Arch-Heretic of Expira.

The Myth of Deferred Dreams.

The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound.

Looking at the six names laid out, Randidly saw three sections. First, rewards for his efforts to help the Alpha Cosmos. Second, the mutations and powers he had pilfered and developed to fight against the Nexus and its tireless monsters. And finally…

Neveah’s fears. The growth of my ‘self’ beyond an individual, the sacrifice of my humanity to take on all this power. Randidly sighed. As the adrenaline of the challenges faded, he had to admit that she had a point. Not that he would balk now at continuing down this Path, but he didn’t need to proceed without acknowledging the consequences.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I should make a meal,” Randidly muttered, the idea emerging fully formed in his chest. He peered down through the ground once more, examining the bottom of the Dungeon. The spider-silk-thin flaws snaked their way outward as the dangerous collapse approached. He suspected that the process would begin to cascade out of control, but he still had some time. Probably a week remained until the memory would fail.

All those who remained in the memory at that time… would cease to exist.

During that time Randidly needed to extend his offer to follow him to the Nether people, per his agreement with Lowanna. Depending on how many peoples he could absorb, to Aether individuals as well. But he should have enough time tonight. One night, one dinner-

He glanced sideways as Enmya walked up to his vigil on the edge of the badlands. The stilled wind discovered itself and began to blow. The former Nether Herald, the former Sovereign of the Breathless Vigil, now bonded to Randidly with Toosah, looked at him with a complicated expression. The Nether being cleared his throat. “I… I’ve thought about the words you told me. A-about my secret. Ahem. And I was hoping… for some help. I’m not sure-”

“Actually,” A slow smile spread across Randidly’s face. “I think I can help you. But we need to begin now. This sort of miracle… it will be a first for me.”

Enmya flushed. “...why a miracle?!”

*****

Charlotte Wick stood at the edge of the root colony, after the long and dangerous night finally gave way to dawn. Hanging curtains of bright lights swayed, the remnant power of the Ghosthound’s actions.She released a sigh of relief, glad that the Homids and other non-Turtleline creatures that dwelled within the former slum were able to escape without much harm.

After a few seconds of simply enjoying the vista painted across the sky, she picked back up her shovel and began to dig. Although she understood that soon her existence here would be over, she still worked with as much dedication as she could manage. Just by being the last job she took working in the root system area, it became special. To be fair, it was also the largest and deepest request that had even been made. Because of that, some extra problems were involved that required a bit of thought.

Her image rumbled, the Primal Ground just happy to be mucking around. Shovel by shovel, she cleared out a space.

Nearby, under the leafy auspicious of one of the thick roots, three Homid women and one Lizakh sat in the shade and gossiped. It was there favorite pass time.

“What a loud storm,” The first Homid commented. She was the largest of the group and the oldest, her legs withered down to twig-thin wrists and strings for fingers. Her arms had thickened to more than makeup for the difference. She handled the detail work, weaving together a silk scarf.

“I heard a rumor that when the Turtlelines lost the battle, they tried to end the world,” The second Homid said. “Petty, as usual.”

“End the world? How ridiculous,” The third Homid snorted. She had reeds in her feet, quickly bringing her limbs in circular motions to finish the outer structure of a basket. “The world isn’t something that ends easily, you know. But definitely, I felt the shift in the feel of the air. Like there were times in the worst darkness that— have I mentioned I was once an adventurer? Before my husband died-”

“You’ve mentioned it.” The first Homid sniffed. Next to her, the Lizakh woman methodically squeezed some of the fruit harvested from the tops of the root colony. The sweet smell of the rich fruit filled the area, so even Charlotte could smell it. The Lizakh woman then took a metal skim and drew out the pulp.

“Anyway, you get a sense for these things, important moments and what-not.” The Homid set aside her basket and raised her foot to wag a toe purposefully at the others. “The sensation of a paradigm shift is unmistakable. Last night, the world changed. That light- the noises, the violence… well, I’m not sure what happened to the Nether army, but they certainly have left the area around Homewell. Isn’t this our chance?”

“Chance?” The second Homid seemed puzzled.

“To no longer run away from bullies. To not live in fear. Our sacred plant growing and protecting us is great, but…” The third Homid had a determined look on her face. “Homewell has not treated us in a gracious manner. It is time to be independent of them. Because of the mobility of this root system, isn’t it now possible?”

“Where would we go?” The first Homid looked up from her ornate scarf. Charlotte speculated about their specific relationships quite a bit while sticking her shovel into the ground and prying up dirt, but it was clear which held the power. The other two Homids fell silent, unable to provide the older woman with a satisfactory answer.

In the end, it was the Lizakh woman who spoke up. “Madam Wick, do you know where we should go?”

Charlotte paused, straightening and wiping her paw against her forehead. Her thick fur only served the squeeze out the sweat hanging in her pelt into her eyes, so she had to blink several times to keep them clear. “So long as you are willing to be patient, I believe you will soon have an individual who will come and make you an offer. If you accept his terms… you will find the place you seek. For you… and for your children.”

Charlotte’s heart clenched slightly as she spoke. Because her thoughts turned toward the Homid girl Dattylan, who had joined her in many of her projects. Even if the people of this former slum agreed and decided to come join the Alpha Cosmos, it would be unlikely that she would see her again. Because she was a Knight of the Ghosthound and her related Skills informed her that their journeys would only become more difficult in the future.

“Tch. So long as it is not the one they call Beigon,” The first Homid shook her head slowly. “Weaves hooks into flowers, that one. In a decade, I have no doubt he will have a private estate out in the Badlands, entrapping refugees.”

The nearby roots began to tremble slightly. Everyone paused in their discussions and approached the roots. Even Charlotte stretched up and pressed her shovel onto the root thoroughfare, so she could feel the rumbling message.

An individual had come to the slum to talk. It was not a Turtleline, but a humanoid who called herself Diane.

All four individuals turned and looked at Charlotte. She shook her head. “This… was not the offer of which I spoke.”