The morning air was thick with the smell of damp pine and that Brennale stench Linda had come to know as she navigated the winding dirt paths toward the outskirts of town. Every muscle in her body protested with a dull, rhythmic throb - a souvenir from Izze’s relentless drilling - but her mind was elsewhere, looping back to the sight of the bandits from a month ago. She could still see the way the light had left their eyes, not in a cinematic fade, but in a series of wet, hacking gasps and the metallic scent of blood soaking into the soil. Theodore and Izze had dismantled them with a clinical, terrifying efficiency.
There had been no flashy magic - except maybe the vines? Though Linda hadn't seen that - just the brutal slash of a blade being plunged into a head or the crack of Theodore's staff against bone.
It wasn't a dance, but a slaughter of seconds and inches, and the memory of that visceral finality still kept her awake early in the morning, staring at the ceiling of her room.
The experience had been seared into her brain, but she always told herself it was her or them.
Because what other option was there in this world?
She wasn't very worldly, but she was going to rectify that some today...
Linda adjusted the strap of her gear, her pace slowing as the canopy of the Great Tree began to blot out the sun. The massive ancient tree grew out of the earth like a mountain of living wood, its roots twisting into natural arches that spanned the road. This was where Theodore waited for her history lessons, the man serving as her anchor in a world that felt like a chaotic, unpatched beta version of reality.
As she walked, Linda found herself subconsciously analyzing the perimeter, her eyes darting toward the dense brush. She was trying to apply the "system" logic to her surroundings, calculating sightlines and blind spots, though the habit of shrinking into the background remained a stubborn piece of her internal code.
The silence of the outskirts was interrupted by the distant, rhythmic thwack of an axe hitting wood.
Or animals making noises.
Or the chatter of Brennale getting farther and farther…
Linda spotted Theodore long before he saw her. He was leaned back against a massive, moss-slicked root of the Great Tree, his frame looking small beneath the sprawling canopy that filtered the harsh sunlight into a soft, emerald haze. He looked peaceful, almost dormant, with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic cadence. The air around him felt heavier, denser, as if his very presence anchored the swirling currents of wind that played with the edges of the giant leaves above.
She lifted her hand, waving a tentative greeting that felt too small for the vastness of the woods. Theodore opened one eye - a sharp, piercing blue that seemed to read her posture like a map - and raised a hand in a slow, steady wave. Linda felt that familiar tightening in her chest, the social anxiety that always made her feel like she was walking into a room with the wrong dress on, but she pushed through it. She trekked across the loam, her boots crunching over dried seed pods and fallen bark until she reached the shade, the temperature dropping ten degrees the moment she stepped under the living ceiling of the tree.
"You're late," Theodore noted, though his voice lacked any real bite. He didn't move from his spot, remaining as still as the stone of a mountain. "Are you ready to your mind to use and learn of this world?"
Linda stopped a few feet away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze drifting toward a particularly interesting patch of bioluminescent fungus on a nearby root before she forced herself to look him in the eye.
"Yes, I'm actually very excited to learn," Linda replied, her voice soft but earnest. "I want to understand how things actually work here. Not just the fighting, but... everything."
Theodore gave a slow, barely perceptible nod, gesturing toward the ground in front of him.
"Sit, then. We'll get started." Theodore replied.
Linda obeyed, lowering herself onto the damp wood. She sat with her knees pulled slightly together, her posture stiff and cautious, feeling the coolness of the forest floor seep through the fabric of her trousers. As she settled, she felt the weight of the world around her - the distant hum of insects, the scent of ancient loam, and the oppressive, quiet strength that seemed to radiate from the man beside her.
"Where do we even... I mean, what do we start with?" Linda asked, her head slightly tilted in an inquisitive way.
Theodore didn't answer immediately.
The Ardel man let the silence stretch, the kind of silence that made Linda want to apologize for breathing too loudly.
When he finally looked at her, his gaze was as heavy as the canopy above.
"You want to understand the system, but you have no foundation." Theodore started, shifting, his voice taking on a rhythmic, lecturing tone. "To understand Velmoira, you must first understand the Twelve. The pillars. The gods who carved the laws of this world into the skin of every living soul."
"And... who are... the Twelve?" Linda asked, internally flinching at the number, feeling bad for Vael.
Theodore looked at her, his voice becoming a low, steady drone that felt like a history book coming to life.
"They go by many a name… The Primordial's. The architects. The Velmoiri. The Twelve. They are the gods. It matters not what you call them, but they are the Twelve. The Twelve who shaped this world. You have Korath, the iron fist of war and conquest, and Vessandra, whose scales weigh the truth of a man's soul. Then there is Thalmir, who pulls the wheat from the dirt, and Isolde, who knows the exact second your candle flickers out. Brannok hammers the world into shape at his forge, while Mirelle stirs the oceans into a frenzy. Drevan tracks the heartbeat of the wild and is one with nature, and Solanthe - the Sun - bathes us in a light that is as blinding as it is hollow." He shifted, his gaze turning more serious as he talked. "Then come the quieter ones. Nyxara, who weaves the shadows and dreams; Calyx, whose touch mends the broken flesh, Roven, who gambles with the luck of fools and Aethys, who commands the very wind that ruffles your hair. Twelve pillars, Linda. Each one grants a fragment of their power to those they mark, creating a hierarchy of blood and blessing that defines who is a king and who is a peasant."
Linda listened, the information processing in her mind like a series of cascading data packets. Back home, gods were metaphors, cultural artifacts, or comforting lies told in quiet buildings on Sunday mornings.
Here, they were functional.
They were the source code of the entire operating system of the world.
The realization sent a shiver of genuine awe through her.
It wasn't just a game or a strange dream.
The weight of the world felt heavier now that she knew the pillars it rested upon.
"So... it's like a meritocracy based on divine favor?" Linda asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down at her own hands, thinking of the missing thirteenth god, the one who didn't have a pillar to stand on. "That seems... really unfair. I mean, if your entire life's potential is decided by which mark you're born with, there's no room for... well, for actually working for it."
Theodore’s expression softened, sighing, and he leaned back a bit.
"Fairness is a mortal concept, Linda. The gods do not care for fairness, but for order and utility. For example... In the eyes of the Church in Sollavar... the Solavate the institution is called... If the gods did not mark you, it is because you were not worth there time. And therefore, you are not worth Sollavar's time. But they would certainly invest heavily in you." Theodore explained, a small but sad smile appearing on his face.
Linda shivered, the sudden mental image of being processed by a theocratic regime making her stomach churn. She didn't want to be a data point in some divine ledger, especially not one that labeled her as some miracle, and then possibly execute her or worse when they found out she is a fraud.
The Aelvyn shrunk back slightly into the mossy root, her voice barely audible.
"I think I'd like to avoid that. Very much." Linda responded, swallowing roughly at her thoughts.
Theodore didn't pry.
He didn't ask what exactly she feared or press her for an emotional autopsy.
"Avoidance is a survival skill. Keep it. Now that the Velmoiri are established, we can discuss the Blessings. The actual mechanics of how that divine favor manifests in the flesh." Theodore continued on with the lesson, picking up his staff from the ground. He held it up, his Calyx tattoo glowing and the tip started to glow like when they were in the ruins. "A blessing isn't just a gift. It's a conduit. Think of it as a valve. Most people are born with the valve shut tight. They are the lowest tier of blessed called Awakened. They might feel a spark of power when they are angry or scared, but it is accidental and unreliable. A flickering lamp in a windstorm."
"Then you have the Attuned," Theodore said, the glow on his staff fading as he began to pace. "These are the soldiers and the craftsmen. They have learned to turn the valve. They can call upon the domain's power with consistency and precision. A soldier of Korath doesn't just swing a sword; he channels the god's aggression into every strike. It is a practiced reflex, a tool they use every day of their working lives. This is where most professionals plateau. It is a comfortable, predictable kind of power."
The Ardel man stopped in front of her, his eyes narrowing, but Linda was listening attentively.
"And then there are the Ascended. The ones who push the valve open until it breaks and the power simply floods through. This is where the line between skill and magic blurs. An Ascended of Drevan, like Izze, doesn't just track a beast but she can call upon magic. Nature magic, to be precise. It is how she called upon the vines and it is also how I call upon my light. It is a rare peak, earned through decades of obsession and training. To be Ascended is to stop being a tool of the gods and start becoming an extension of their will." Theodore finished, setting down his staff and extinguishing the light it emitted.
Linda was awed by the packet of information that was just handed to her, but her logical and intellectual mind was confused by the ranking...
Why not more?, Linda thought.
It definitely didn't seem like the isekai stories she'd read.
Or any TTRPG system she knew.
"Wow..." Linda breathed, her mind instinctively trying to map this to a skill tree or a level-up chart. "But... why only three? It feels so limited. Why stop at three?"
Theodore paused at that, but it seemed like he enjoyed the challenge of the question.
"Because there are only three ways a mortal can relate to a divine gift," Theodore answered, his chin tilted high, pushing up his glasses with a finger. "You can carry it and that is the Awakened, where the power is a burden you don't know how to lift. You can use it and that is the Attuned, where the power becomes a tool in your hand. And finally, you can become it and that is the Ascended, where the line between the soul and the blessing vanishes. Everything beyond that is merely a matter of degree, not a change in kind. You cannot climb a fourth ladder when there are only three rungs to the sky."
Wow...
...but also uff da.
That is some certified horse poop!
Religious propaganda given form through words., Linda thought with an internal huff.
The Alevyn also thought if Vael subscribed to any of this and made a note to ask the goddess sometime when she next saw her.
"That makes sense," Linda lied, her voice barely a murmur. She looked down at the moss, her mind subconsciously translating Theodore's 'three rungs' into a simplified data architecture. "It's like... a blacksmith's apprentice. First, he just holds the hammer, feeling the weight but knowing nothing of the heat. Then he learns to strike the iron, making a nail or a simple hinge. Finally, he becomes the master who can forge a crown for a king. The skill doesn't change the nature of the fire, just how the smith dances with it."
Theodore froze, his eyes widening as he looked at her with a sudden, renewed intensity.
The lecture-drone in his voice vanished, replaced by a sharp, genuine curiosity.
"A dance with the fire..." Theodore repeated, almost to himself. "Few see the blessing as a relationship. Most see it as a ladder or a burden. You have a way of distilling the essence of things, Linda. Perhaps your mind is more attuned to the patterns of this world than you think."
Linda felt a sudden heat creep up her neck, her gaze dropping instantly to her boots.
The praise felt like a spotlight she wasn't prepared for, and she instinctively tried to shrink back into her shoulders.
"Thank you," Linda murmured, her voice small and shaky. "I just... it's how I usually think about things. Like systems."
Theodore’s expression returned to its usual stoic mask, though the intensity in his eyes remained.
"Since you possess the capacity for patterns, we shall shift from the divine to the dirt," Theodore said, his voice regaining its rhythmic, lecturing quality. "To understand the present, you must understand the map. We begin with Sollavar, the Empire. It is a sprawling, oppressive mechanism of a continent, built on the singular belief that the light of Solanthe is the only truth worth following. It is a place of white marble, gold trim, and blood-stained cobblestones, governed by the Solavate that treats dissent as a disease and curseborn as a plague to root out. It is the heart of the world's order, and the source of its greatest cruelty... some would say." He shifted his weight, gesturing vaguely toward the horizon where the canopy of the Great Tree thinned. "And then, there is Sylvenreach. If Sollavar is a clenched fist, Sylvenreach is an open hand... though one that keeps its grip tight on its secrets. It is the Deep Forest, a realm of ancient, towering hardwoods and emerald mists where the Aelvyn and the Sylphaine dwell in clans. They do not care for the Solavate's laws or the Empire's taxes. They live by the oral histories of the times of old, guarding a wisdom that predates the Sundering, rooted in a harmony with the land that the people of the plains have long since forgotten."
Linda listened, her mind automatically sketching a rough map of the two regions, noting the stark contrast between a rigid theocracy and an isolationist woodland. She felt a strange, jarring tug in her chest as he mentioned the Aelvyn and Sylvenreach, as if some dormant part of her biology was reacting to the description. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tracing a seam on her pants, wondering why she felt a sudden, inexplicable connection to a place she had never been.
"Do they... do they ever go to war?" Linda asked, her mind going back to her memories of Earth. She thought of the headlines she'd seen before her death - the simmering tensions between superpowers, the terrifying math of nuclear winters, and the fragile peace of Earth that always felt one bad day away from collapse. "I mean, with ideologies that different, it seems like someone would eventually try to... fix the other."
The Ardel man let out a slow, heavy exhale, the sound echoing softly under the Great Tree's canopy.
"There is a peace..." Theodore answered, his tone flat and devoid of optimism. "But it is a fragile thing, like a thin sheet of ice over a deep, freezing lake. The Velmoiri once united to carve this world from the void, but that same unity is what divides us now. Each god provides a different truth, and when two stubborn truths collide, blood usually follows. The Empire's greed for land often brushes against the forest's silence, and the desert Khals or trade lords of Calmerra play a game of gold and whispers with the sailors of the Quennith Isles."
Linda felt a familiar, cold knot of anxiety tighten in her gut. It sounded too familiar. Different names, different skins, but the same old story - expanding borders, clashing egos, and people at the bottom paying the price for the delusions of those at the top. The Alevyn didn't want to map out the geopolitical fault lines of a second life and had spent enough of her first one scrolling through endless feeds of disaster and systemic collapse.
"Can we... maybe skip the part about the wars for a minute?" Linda asked, her voice small as she looked away. "I just want to know what else is out there. The rest of it, please?"
Theodore watched her for a moment, noting the way she shrunk into herself to avoid the weight of the conversation.
"A pragmatic request," Theodore murmured, nodding. "Beyond the fist of Sollavar and the silence of the forest lies the gold of Calmerra, a desert empire where the Vyssarai and Ardel trade in stars and secrets. Further still are the Quennith Isles, a scattered chain of islands where the wind is the only true law and the people treat the curseborn with a curiosity that the Empire would call heresy. Then there is the Frozen North of Drosthul, a land of ice and merit where only the strong or the stubborn survive, and the Open Continent of Quorrith, a chaotic sanctuary of free ports where any soul, marked or unmarked, can find a place to sleep if they have the coin." He explained, but paused for a moment. "Then the more... unusual places. The misty ruins of Vaelmourn, where the dead and the forgotten whisper in the marshes. The dark expanse of Vorrathis, the home of the Nocturae and the great beasts, where the sun is a stranger. And then finally The City of Silver, the floating jewel of the sky, where the Seraphel look down upon us all."
As the words washed over her, Linda felt a familiar sense of cognitive overload. It was the exact feeling she got when she tried to push through a Brandon Sanderson novel. She loved the intricate clockwork of the world-building, but the sheer volume of terminology and lore often felt like trying to download a terabyte of data through a dial-up modem. Her brain was instinctively trying to organize the information into a database, tagging each continent by climate, species, and political volatility, but the "info-dump" was starting to make her head swim. She liked the structure - the logic of it appealed to the programmer in her - but she felt a sudden, pressing need for a mental break before her internal processor crashed.
"Geez... Is that... all of it?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. She shifted her weight, feeling the rough texture of the moss beneath her. "I mean, is that the whole map?"
Theodore looked at her, his gaze steady, almost assessing.
"The larger landmasses? Yes. But do not mistake the map for the territory." Theodore answered. "I have spoken only of the dominant powers, the pillars on Velmoira that hold up the current age. I did not mention every species, for there are dozens of lesser kin and hybrid bloodlines that drift between the borders of every continent. Although, Sollavar is rigid in who they let in..."
Linda let out a long, shaky sigh of relief.
It actually made sense.
Back on Earth, the Aelvyn hadn’t known every nuanced culture, every obscure race, or every jagged landmass on the globe. She’d just known the broad strokes and the places that usually started wars. The idea that she didn't have to memorize the entire geopolitical directory of a magical world just to survive the week felt like a weight lifting off her chest.
Theodore let out a light, rare chuckle, the sound dry like old parchment.
"We can review the geography when your head stops spinning, Linda. But knowing where the mountains are is useless if you do not understand why the ground beneath them is screaming." Theodore responded, pausing, then his expression darkening as he leaned on his staff. "You must understand the Sundering. It was the great fracture that broke the unity of the gods and left us with the Sunderlands, those scarred wastes where hollows run free and kill each other for sport. The hollowed are the direct result of the Betrayers last effort of corrupting and destroying life as we know it before the Velmoiri prevailed. They come from the Sunderlands, the Shards of Vael, and Sunderwounds. Shards of Vael are the pieces of the Betrayers power left from the monumental clash, usually contained within ruins or temples, but are volatile. If a Sunderwound opens, a flare-up of corruption that can tear through the air anywhere, it turns everything it touches into a hollow."
Linda exhaled shakily again, a burst of a breeze blowing through her silver hair.
She shook her head, the movement sharp and abrupt. For a moment, the instinct to lash out flared in her chest, to defend Vael. It felt like watching someone explain a piece of code while ignoring a massive, glaring syntax error in the first line. She knew, or felt, that this narrative of a "Betrayer" and "corruption" was a sanitized version of a much messier truth, a story polished by centuries of religious scrubbing.
"Can any of it... be fixed?" Linda asked, her nose scrunched. She didn't want to call him a liar - she didn't have the confidence for a confrontation - but the idea of a world permanently broken into scars and wounds felt inefficient and wrong.
The Twelve were gods..., Linda thought.
They could just snap their fingers and fix it all...
...but they won't because they want to perpetuate the lie.
Theodore stared at her, his silence stretching out like a long, empty hallway. The Ardel man didn't look offended - he looked perplexed - as if she had just asked if the ocean could be drained with a bucket.
"Fixed?" Theodore repeated, the word tasting bitter. "The Sunderlands are not a broken carriage, Linda. They are the consequence of a divine war. You do not 'fix' that. But the shards... Yes, shards can be extinguished. Hollows can be culled. Sunderwounds can be managed. But nothing can be done about that damned place."
Linda shifted, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her sleeve.
She remembered the way Izze had mentioned the Dawnguard’s success.
"But if the Dawnguard can... I mean, they actually got rid of three of them," Linda murmured, her voice gaining a tiny sliver of strength. "Maybe... possibly... I could do something about them t- to?"
Theodore didn't laugh.
Linda had expected a scoff, or perhaps a dry chuckle at the naivety of a girl who had been in this world for less than a week, but the sound never came. Instead, his face tightened, the muscles in his jaw locking as he looked at her. It wasn't a look of mockery, but something heavier...
..she wasn't sure.
"Possibly..." Theodore whispered as they eyed Brennale and watched the lives of those that called the small city there home. "Possibly..."
If Theodore thought it was possible then maybe that was what Linda was meant to do...
Help Vael get free and free this world of a corruption that seems never-ending....