Seraphine led the way with Eric right behind her, followed by Shannon, Naomi, Peter, and the two guards. The path led them down stairs carved from the mountain’s roots and smoothed by hand. Each step was etched with intricate scrollwork and was inlaid with a shimmering, crushed orange crystal that gave off a minute glow. The walls had a hand-sized gap that acted as a smoothed rail which helped when navigating the very steep descent.

  Eric was well aware of what was coming. The Summoned would be connected to a force that allowed them to control the ambient mana that was slowly filling their bodies. It was a means to turn that mana into abilities that would allow for powerful feats of spellcraft and martial prowess, framed through the lenses of archetypes to provide form and structure.

  I need to make sure I control The Paths, Eric thought. I can’t go with the same thing as last time and just take what it suggests and pushes me toward. I can always pick up a Warden Class once I can unlock my second one, if I still want to have some sort of barriers like my previous timeline. Even better, if I can get to the White Keep, I can get that Scroll that will give me the Exarch Class. Then, I get my Self-Resurrection Trait back. I need that insurance policy.

  Seraphine’s voice echoing down the stairs pulled him from his thoughts. “On Elyndor, people are assigned a Path when they go through their awakening ceremony by touching a Ley Line Loci. These special stones are scattered across the world and are a natural means of focusing The Paths into a person. Immersion in a Ley Line can do the same trick, but that takes longer and requires a longer recovery time.” She glanced back. “I can answer a handful of questions on our way down to our destination.”

  “What are The Paths?” Eric asked, wanting to make sure he blended in with the questions he knew his fellow Summoned would be asking.

  Seraphine answered that immediately. “It is what dictates one’s course in life. A way to think of it is that it will determine your career here on Elyndor. We call those Classes.”

  “Class like a video game?” Peter reluctantly asked, his voice still low and filled with frustration.

  Seraphine shook her head. “I do not know what those are.”

  “What’s mana?” Naomi asked. “You mentioned it is energy.”

  “Mana is everywhere, in everything. It is a primal force of nature,” Seraphine replied. “It is ambient in the environment. The Ley Lines are the largest natural source, but it occurs elsewhere.”

  “What’s a Ley Line?” Shannon quietly asked.

  “Ley Lines are vents in the surface of the ground,” Seraphine replied. “Think of them like rifts in the earth, from which raw mana surges forth. Does your world have volcanoes?”

  “Yes,” Naomi replied.

  “They are similar to that, but lengthened out,” Seraphine replied. “And, of course, they do not project molten rock, but instead mana in its raw form. When condensed down, mana forms what is called manacules—little rocks of hardened mana that are akin to the tiniest of pebbles you might find in a river bed. If allowed to disperse, it becomes a vapor. It permeates our atmosphere.”

  Eric knew that Ley Lines were more than just sources of raw mana. They made for fantastic natural barriers against incursion. It allowed Trok to only be assailable from two fronts. And the formations had been around since recorded history.

  Could the Ley Lines have something to do with this Titan inside the planet? He thought. Maybe it generates the mana? Could it be some type of eldritch creature? The Ley Lines could be like some type of wound, and mana is what it bleeds? Heck, the whole world could be some type of egg, incubating the Titan.

  “This ambient mana, can you use it to power devices?” Naomi asked.

  “Oh yes,” Seraphine replied. “In fact, the orange glowstones you have seen are fueled by the ambient mana in the atmosphere, which can only power small items and natural resources. Glowstones themselves are manacules that hardened over decades and have been harvested from near Ley Lines.”

  She grabbed a small flask from her hip, took a sip, and then continued. “Some Tinkerers have begun to experiment with piping gaseous mana from Ley Lines toward cities to fuel larger, more complex devices. But progress is slow, as trial and error means mana sickness. Glowstones, heatstones, coolstone, and windstones are all naturally occurring and mined up from nearby Ley Lines. You’ll find them used for cooking, temperature control, and more.”

  Of course she’s already on it. Naomi, the brilliant revolutionary who is going to drag Trok kicking and screaming into the Industrial Age, substituting the need for electricity with mana.

  It brought some comfort to Eric’s thoughts that Naomi was still acting the same as before. That implied her decisions would be similar. Predictable. And it implied that this timeline would play out the same as the last one, barring decisions he made and whatever new outcomes those choices resulted in.

  “You mentioned Classes,” Shannon said. “What are they?”

  “A person’s lot in life,” Seraphine answered. “Farmer, Street Sweeper, Guard—The Paths determine what a person does in their life.”

  “That sucks,” Shannon replied. “They’re just assigned a position in society?”

  “You will be too,” Seraphine replied. “Without a Class, you cannot live in Elyndian society. You would be cast out.”

  Actually, anyone can choose their first Class, and it seems like Seraphine doesn’t know that. I can play up this whole fate angle even more and portray myself off as some type of prophet. The question is, how overt should I be about it? Or do I take a subtle approach, if at all?

  “Although,” Seraphine added, “Trok and a few other nations offer retraining programs. It takes hard work and dedication, but a person can start from scratch.”

  Shannon leaned over Eric’s shoulder and whispered loud enough for him and only him to hear her: “I hope we get good Classes.”

  At the same volume, Eric replied, “I’m sure if you tell this Paths thing what you want, it will give it to you. There must be some choice involved.” He glanced behind him at Naomi, who was deep in thought, and Peter, who had a curious look. Then, Eric spoke a bit louder. “Why were we brought here?”

  “It is part of a linked ritual,” Seraphine replied. “I can explain more later, but that conversation would veer into global politics which we do not have enough time to get into.”

  “Another question,” Peter said. “Classes are in video games . . . will we have levels, talents, all of that too?”

  Seraphine replied. “Levels, yes. The rest? The Paths will fill your mind with all the information you require the moment you acquire your own Path. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘talent’ unless you’re implying the natural talent some are born with.”

  A hint of irritation came through her demeanor. So little, Eric barely caught it. Another bit of information he did not have last time around, another bit of insight to file away.

  Peter’s repetitive questions about Classes in particular seem to have gotten under her skin, which implies that she hates repetition in conversation. I need to be direct and to-the-point with her with any future inquiries and make sure that I connect the dots from prior answers she gives me instead of asking further questions to elaborate. She obviously values people who can make those leaps of logic without clarification.

  They reached the flat, bottom-most part of the citadel built into the mountains. The rock here was still polished smooth, but the temperature had shifted. It was slightly warmer than up above. The ten-foot-wide-and-just-as-tall corridor led to a huge set of stone doors. Seraphine placed her hand on them, and with a flash of cerulean light, their outlines flared with the expenditure of mana. The doors opened outward ponderously.

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  The Ley Line Locus was past another series of doors Eric knew were operated from levers nearby: actual, mechanical levers. They were effectively a series of airlocks meant to keep the overwhelming mana of the Ley Line from leaking out. The Summoned were in an outer room, which had a thick, clear diamond window that allowed one to look upon the inner chamber. There were stone seats in tiers to allow for multiple viewers to look at the events within, much like bleachers at a sporting event.

  People were seated in the upper rows of the carved stone benches. Notable, powerful men and women that Eric recognized immediately. The small council. Their names flickered through his mind, and he experienced a range of emotions as he remembered what each had done.

  He settled on anger, the type that set his teeth on edge, when he spotted two of the people responsible for the worst ills to befall the kingdom—the Steward with his smarmy grin, and the Admiral with her shaved head and lewd smile aimed his direction.

  Eric kept his gritted teeth behind closed lips and a neutral expression.

  The Admiral was the woman who had sunk her claws into him almost from the start, and the Steward was the man who had torn the Summoned apart. They had been the architects of his demise, his ruin, and his forced flight from Trok. They were people he loathed, and in that moment, he wished for nothing more than the power to annihilate them . . . but that would come in due time.

  Seraphine pointed to the seats. “Please, sit there.”

  Eric sat on the bottom-most stone bleacher. The anger he felt at the sight of the Admiral and Steward faded away as anticipation built up in his chest, coiling tight around his torso. He could already sense mana penetrating his body but failing to find a place to call home. It felt like a soft breeze that pushed against him, a tempestuous torrent that surged and ebbed like a wave as it sought hospitality but was denied a seat at the table.

  The other Summoned sat next to him on the bottom row, heedless of the dangerous politicians and powerful men and women who regarded them from above with either beneficent or malefic intent.

  The inside of the Ley Line Locus room was absolutely flooded with glowing, blue-purple energy. Ambient mana in its rawest and most primal form: a mix of gaseous, dense mana and manacules that hovered near the ground. Eric was intimately familiar with the power, having immersed himself on two occasions in the particles to advance his Classes to new heights of power.

  At the center of the circular chamber was a deep crevice, and perched over the top of that crevice was an icosahedron—a twenty-sided dice-shaped object, just like the ones Eric used to play with during his Pathfinder games back on Earth. One of the sides was missing, and in its place was a hole that shimmered with crimson light.

  Seraphine spoke, and gave instructions in a measured tone that implied she had done this hundreds of times. “You will enter one at a time. The Ley Line Locus has a small hole for your hand. Put your palm within, and you will be given everything you need by The Paths.”

  Naomi raised her hand again. “What exactly are we being given?”

  “Knowledge,” Seraphine said. “Specifically. . .”

  Eric tuned her out. He knew this already, so having to wait to maintain an appearance set his mind to wandering. He wanted mana flowing through his body. Its absence made him feel hollow and helpless. He craved that power, surging around his body like a second circulatory system.

  We’re going to get all of this information once we touch the fucking rock. Why waste time explaining it?

  Instead, he focused on his plan, refining the details for what he would do over the next few days. The plan began to crystalize into actionable steps. He pushed aside the rage that had bubbled up at seeing the Admiral and Steward. His plans for those two would need to wait for a good, long while. He needed power before he could challenge their enterprises.

  Revenge had to wait.

  Seraphine finished her speech. “Who wants to go first?”

  “I’d like to go last,” Eric said. Saying that went as against his instincts, as he desired the feeling of mana around him and in his body far more than the others could know . . . but he had good reason.

  I want to see what it looks like when someone interacts with it, he added in his thoughts. Last time, I went first and woke up in the recovery room. I need to see if there is some effect, like coming out of anesthesia, where a person might ramble a bit. That could fuck things up royally, like if I let something slip about the future timeline.

  The small council, whose reflections he could see in the window before him, all looked at him with curiosity. Seraphine’s lips pursed, the woman appearing dour, and the other Summoned looked at each other questioningly.

  “Why?” Peter asked.

  “Call it caution,” Eric replied.

  “Or fear,” one of the council members seated behind him muttered.

  Eric knew the voice of Alp Nash, the Steward, immediately, and the former Exarch bristled at the comment. But Eric could not react or show any emotion. That would give away the game immediately.

  Naomi stood up. “I’ll go first.”

  “Excellent,” Seraphine said. “This way.” Seraphine led Naomi to the airlock doors. She was let into the room through the doors by the guards, and visibly winced the moment she entered the chamber swirling with mana.

  “This is bullshit,” Peter whispered to Eric out of the corner of his mouth. “Why the fuck are we doing this?”

  “You heard Seraphine,” Eric whispered back. “If we don’t, we’ll die.”

  “I think it’s a crock of shit,” Peter replied.

  Naomi held her arm in front of her mouth and nose as she walked up to the stone and placed her hand into the aperture.

  I should be surprised that Naomi and Shannon are going along with this so easily, but it does make some sense. They’re still a bit shell-shocked, compared to Peter. I can use that to my advantage to some degree. Take up a leadership role, to get them to follow along, stick close, protect them, and keep us from splitting apart like before. I’m not a leader by nature, but for now I don’t think I have a choice.

  He shifted his gaze to Peter for a moment, noting the man’s intense glare at the guards near the airlock doors.

  He’s going to be hard to control.

  Eric leaned forward and watched Naomi closely. The blue-purple light flared up around her as mana seemed to rise up and embrace her like a cocoon, the crimson in the hole became very dark, almost dropping to black, and then a series of cascading stars exploded out of the Locus. Naomi’s face was in a smile of rapturous bliss, and her body twitched. After ten seconds, she relaxed, pulled her hand out, and collapsed to her knees, clutching the rock like a drunk sorority girl clinging to a barstool for dear life.

  Good intel. I didn’t see this in my last timeline. Seems like it’s just a state of stupor followed by a blackout period.

  Peter stood up. “The fuck is going on?”

  “It’s normal exhaustion,” Seraphine replied as she pulled the levers. Two guards went in, grabbed Naomi, and pulled her out. “We will take her to the nearby recovery room.” She looked back at the remaining Summoned, “Who is next?”

  Peter’s rage was unchecked as he growled, “You want us to go in there, touch a rock, and then fucking go unconscious?”

  Seraphine ignored him. “Who is next?”

  Peter stood up. “Fuck that. I’m not going to get knocked out by some bullsh—”

  A guard walked over and held his spear just at head level. Seraphine spoke pointedly, and her voice took on a sharp edge. “Summoned, without a Class, you will die. Mana permeates everything on Elyndor. Without The Paths, you will eventually build up mana in your body and have no way to expel it. There is no place on this world where mana is absent. Mana sickness is a painful way to go.”

  Those words—and likely also the lethal weapon tip looming—caused Peter to sit down. His body was practically shaking from helpless anger.

  Shannon stood up shakily, wrapping her arms around herself. Eric reached up and gently grabbed her elbow. “You got this,” Eric said softly. She gave him a little smile, but that fear still lingered on her face. Seraphine escorted Shannon into the chamber.

  Once more, the same process occurred. Hand in hole, light flaring, constellation of stars. But this time, the stars seemed to have a different pattern to them. He couldn’t quite make out what exactly the pattern was, though. Shannon had that same look of bliss Naomi had before she fell unconscious.

  Maybe the pattern has something to do with the archetype they chose?

  “Next?” Seraphine asked.

  Peter looked at Eric. “I don’t trust it,” he muttered.

  “Not much of a choice,” Eric said. He pointed to the guards holding weapons. “We aren’t in a position to fight back. And I don’t feel like dying to mana whatever it is.”

  Peter gave him a begrudging nod. “Fine.” He stood up, scowling at the guard, who kept him at spear point.

  Seraphine escorted him into the chamber. Peter went through the exact same process before also falling unconscious like the other two.

  Each interaction of the other Summoned was only ten seconds of sustained contact with the Locus before the collapse to unconsciousness.

  I won’t have to worry about rambling while I’m out. Good.

  Seraphine returned and addressed Eric. “It is your turn.”

  Eric followed Seraphine until he stood in front of the all-too-familiar doors. The solid stone moved out of the way as the handler pulled the lever nearby, and Eric entered the first chamber. The door behind him shut, and he went through the next one.

  The moment he entered the main chamber a wave of warm heat met his skin, like he had walked into the spring sunlight at mid-morning. The mana in the air had a pungent smell. It reminded Eric of strawberries. His throat tickled from the manacules in the air: tiny, crystalline flecks of mana. It was an almost welcome sensation.

  Last time, the flow of mana had felt unnatural and almost hostile, as if he were pushing through a sandstorm. This time, it was like an old friend welcoming him home with a soft hug. He was getting a piece of himself back.

  Here we go.

  Eric approached the rock confidently, knowing exactly the type of Class he wanted. Holding his hand out, he placed it into the opening and set his palm on the rough surface. His eyes shut against their own volition, and his consciousness was pulled out of his head.

  He was now standing on an open, black field. The skies above were the same blue-purple color of the ambient mana in the prior chamber. White grass poked up through the dark dirt. In the distance, a huge, crimson moon hung in the sky. It was almost ominous, in a way, and felt like an eye looking down on him.

  Eric was in front of two different stone archways. Each had a silvery light emanating from it, opaque films that stretched across the center. Above each arch was an inscribed word. COMBAT, and PROFESSION.

  In the air before him, white letters floated and spelled out a message. A soft, almost mechanical voice read the words aloud. The familiar mana construct that aided in Eric’s journey last time.

  [Welcome to The Paths.]

  [Step through one of the doors to seize your destiny.]