The path to Brennale wound through dense thickets where sunlight fractured into dappled gold on the moss. Linda's gaze kept drifting from the uneven terrain to the rhythmic sway of Izze's hips ahead, the way her leathers stretched taut across muscled thighs, how her belt accentuated the curve of her ass with every stride. She didn't realize she'd slowed until Theodore cleared his throat beside her, one dark eyebrow arched over the rim of his glasses.
Heat rushed to Linda's cheeks so fast she nearly tripped over a rock.
"Focus," Theodore murmured, adjusting his staff. His tone was dry, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Unless you'd prefer explaining to Izze why you face-planted into the road beneath our feet."
Linda squeaked - an embarrassingly elven sound - and snapped her gaze forward, only to find Izze standing hipshot in the middle of the path ahead, arms crossed. The Krithak's yellow eyes gleamed with predatory amusement beneath the shadow of her grey braids.
"Guild branch?" Linda blurted, desperate to deflect. "Is there- here- in Brennale?"
Izze snorted, spinning around to face Linda.
"The Blade's got a post there, Ashwick Hall, run by an old war-dog named Garviss. Handles silver-rank work mostly, bandits, lost livestock, hollowed that wander too close to town," Izze answered, tapping the dagger at her hip. "Gold-rankers like us?" She smirked, jerking a thumb at Theodore. "We're the ones they call when shit gets real.
Theodore rolled his eyes at the Krithak.
"Meaning we're the only gold-rank team foolish enough to take Brennale contracts." Theodore added as he gestured toward the distant smoke rising beyond the trees. "It's a farming town. Low stone buildings, muddy streets, decent ale at the Crooked Plow. The Ferrymark Inn's tolerable if you don't mind rougher living, and the Velvet Reed's clean, if brothels suit your tastes." He explained with a huff. "Which they do for most mercenaries passing through."
Izze barked a laugh and punched Theodore's thigh, hard enough to make him grunt.
"Oh, don't pretend you don't like the Reed, pretty boy." Izze purred. "Besides, coin's coin, and no other guild's has a branch in this backwater part of Quorrith. Means we get first pick of every damn job that rolls through." Her yellow eyes flicked to Linda, lingering. "And the Reed girls always give me a discount."
Linda’s cheeks burned pink again as she imagined Izze sprawled across silk cushions, her grey braids undone and spilling over some voluptuous brothel worker’s bare breasts, the woman’s fingers tangled in Izze’s hair as the goblin’s rough hands mapped every curve. Her cock twitched sharply against the rough linen of her scavenged pants, tenting the fabric enough that Theodore discreetly cleared his throat and adjusted his robe to shield her from view.
She was grateful he was a gentleman.
"Thank you," Linda whispered to Theodore, her pointed ears twitching at the distant snap of a twig in the underbrush. He waved her away with a subtle shake of his head, fingers tightening around his staff - but Linda’s ears twitched again, swiveling toward the sound.
Izze’s nostrils flared, her yellow eyes dilating into predatory slits as Drevan’s blessing surged through her - her senses sharpened, her muscles coiled.
The Krithak didn’t hesitate.
In one fluid motion, she yanked Linda backward while her other hand drew her dagger, the blade gleaming dully in the dappled light. Theodore spun, his staff already humming with Calyx’s golden energy, not offensive, but ready to support Izze.
It was an ambush.
Two in the front and two in the back.
"Easy pickings boys!" Bandit 1 yelled, eyeing the three of them. "First one to kill the man can have their pick of the women!"
The first bandit lunged from the brush after that - a rusted hatchet raised high - only for Izze’s dagger to sink into his thigh with a wet THUNK. He howled, stumbling, but the second was already on her, a curved knife slashing toward her ribs. Linda’s breath hitched as Izze twisted, the blade grazing leather instead of flesh, before the goblin drove her knee up into the man’s groin with a sickening crunch.
Theodore’s staff whirled in a yellow arc, intercepting Bandit 2’s wild swing, the crude club bouncing off the glowing wood with a reverberating CLANG. Calyx’s blessing pulsed through the contact. Linda saw the man’s fingers spasm as if shocked, his grip faltering. Theodore didn’t hesitate and drove the butt of his staff into the bandit’s solar plexus, then swept his legs out from under him with a precise kick.
"Dumb fucking curseborn!" Izze growled as she faced off against Bandit 4, the man larger than the rest and cracking his knuckles with a gross grin.
Bandit 3 was quick - not quick enough - but quick.
He slammed into Linda with the full weight of his body, knocking the breath from her lungs as they hit the dirt. Her back scraped against roots and rocks, her silver hair tangling in the underbrush. His knife glinted in the dappled light, trembling as he pressed it toward her shoulder, his breath hot and sour against her face. Linda's fingers dug into his wrist, her muscles straining - she was stronger in this body, but he had leverage, desperation.
The blade inched closer.
And closer...
And closer…
Oh, god I’m going to die!!!, Linda thought.
Until the tip was scraping her shirt and bandit 3's sweat was dripping onto her cheek.
"Fucking blessed shits!" The Bandit spat, twisting the blade against her collarbone. "Think your gods' tricks make you better than us?" His breath smelled like rotted meat and desperation. "Well, I'll show you—"
His words choked into a wet gurgle as Izze's dagger punched through the crown of his skull with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed hot across Linda's face as the blade exited through his palate, his tongue lolling grotesquely before she yanked it free with a squelch. His eyes rolled white as he collapsed sideways, twitching.
"Rot slow, cunt," Izze spat on his convulsing body, wiping her blade on his shirt while Theodore’s staff cracked against Bandit 2’s temple with surgical precision. The man dropped like a sack of grain, unconscious before he hit the dirt.
It was efficient
Just like the hollows.
Except...
Except these were people, ones whose blood she had on her face, and she just watched Izze kill someone...
Linda sat frozen, her green eyes wide and unblinking as she stared at the corpse beside her, the gaping wound in its skull still dribbling crimson onto the dirt. Her breath hitched in short, shallow gasps, fingers trembling against the damp earth, until rough hands seized her face, forcing her gaze upward into Izze’s yellow eyes. The Krithak knelt before her, her calloused thumbs smearing blood from Linda’s cheeks in harsh, efficient strokes.
"Breathe, Aelvyn." Izze growled, but her voice cracked, raw in a way Linda had never heard before. "Twelve Hell's, why didn’t you burn them? Solanthe’s fucking blessing could’ve easily taken care of every last one of these piss-drunk shits."
Why, indeed?
Linda was supposed to have a Blessing, Vael's Blessing, but nothing happens when she tries to use it.
Why?
The word died on Linda’s tongue as Theodore’s shadow fell over them, his staff dripping viscous yellow light onto the trampled grass.
"The last one’s bound," Theodore said, voice clipped. His hazel eyes flicked to the corpse beside her - its skull cratered like rotten fruit - then away, jaw tightening. "Alive, but barely. They’re all curseborn. I confirmed it." He nudged a limp wrist with his boot, revealing unmarked skin where a god’s tattoo should’ve been. "Desperate men. Starving, by the look of them."
Izze scoffed at that, anger still prevalent in her eyes.
"Desperate my ass. That was a coordinated ambush." Izze replied, jerking her chin toward the tree line where the second bandit lay trussed in vines. The man’s face was a mess of broken teeth and snot, his whimpers muffled by a knotted gag of roots. "Piss-poor coordination, though. Amateurs."
Theodore exhaled through his nose and knelt beside Linda without another word, his fingers brushing her collarbone where the knife had scraped fabric. Calyx’s blessing hummed through his touch - a slow, warmth that seeped into her skin, knitting the shallow cut before she even registered the sting. His hands moved methodically: palm pressing against the bruise forming on her ribs, fingertips tracing the raw patches where rocks had scraped her back.
Each contact left a pulse of honeyed heat in its wake, the pain dissolving like sugar in tea.
Linda exhaled shakily, the scent of iron-rich blood thick in her nose.
"We're dragging this sack of shit back to Brennale," Izze announced, toeing the unconscious bandit's ribs with her boot. The man groaned weakly, his breath whistling through broken teeth. Izze's grin was all sharp edges as she glanced at Theodore. "Ashwick Hall pays double for live proof of bandit activity... less paperwork for them."
Theodore adjusted his glasses with an exasperated sigh, the lenses catching the fading light.
"You mean you want the reward without the hassle of filing another incident report," Theodore responded, but he was already heading for the bandit with a tired sigh.
Linda flinched when Izze hauled her upright by her tunic, the goblin's rough hands gripping her jaw, forcing their faces close enough that she saw the texture of her green skin.
"Listen here, silver-tits..." Izze growled, her voice low and venomous. "...you freeze like that again, and your pretty green eyes will be rotting in some ditch before sundown." She jerked her chin toward the corpse leaking brain matter into the dirt. "That? That's the kind end. Hollows do much worse. And bandits? Bandits will use you or sell pretty things like you to slavers in Vorrathis." Her thumb dug into Linda's pulse point, hard enough to bruise. "Face it head-on or get swallowed whole. No third option."
Linda's breath hitched...
Not from fear, but from the sudden flood of memories.
Her grandfather's funeral, the sterile smell of the hospital. News footage of riots scrolling endlessly on her laptop, bodies slumped against concrete. The knife in New York, slipping between her ribs like it belonged there.
Death wasn't new.
Just closer now.
Linda met Izze's gaze.
"I'll do better," Linda said without a stutter, voice steadier than she felt.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, no keyboard to ground her, and no screens to hide behind.
Just this new reality she had to adapt to or she was going to die again.
Linda wondered why Vael had so much confidence in her, but she would do better.
Izze nodded at Linda's words, satisfied, and jerked her chin toward the road.
"We move now or camp in another ditch." Izze grunted, sheathing her dagger with a sharp CLICK. Theodore had already hoisted the unconscious bandit over his shoulder with surprising ease, his staff in his hand. The man’s broken nose left a thin trail of blood down Theodore’s robe, but the scholar didn’t flinch. "Brennale’s gates close at dusk," Izze added, kicking dirt over the pooling blood at their feet. "And I’m not fucking sleeping outdoors again with that stink in the air."
Linda swallowed thickly.
The copper tang of blood clung to the air, but worse was the memory rising unbidden...
Theodore’s grip on her hair, the stretch of her throat around him, and the way his hips had stuttered against her face...
Her stomach lurched.
Linda pressed a hand to her mouth, her breath coming too fast.
Theodore’s gaze flicked to her, hazel eyes sharp behind his glasses. He shifted the bandit’s weight, leaning closer.
"Later, if you wish," Theodore murmured, low enough that Izze wouldn’t hear. His voice was steady, but his knuckles were white around his staff. "When we’re settled."
Izze snorted, already striding ahead.
"Keep your guts in, sunshine," Izze called over her shoulder. "If you’re gonna spew, do it downwind. I hate the smell of puke." Her yellow eyes gleamed in the fading light, but there was no real malice there, just the same rough care she’d shown since pulling Linda from the hollow’s claws.
Linda took a shaky breath, squared her shoulders, and followed.
The road to Brennale stretched ahead, flanked by towering oaks that swayed in the evening breeze, their leaves whispering secrets in a language she couldn’t yet understand. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of violet and gold, casting long shadows over the rolling hills - so different from New York’s jagged skyline - yet somehow more alive.
Theodore moved with surprising ease despite his lean frame, the unconscious bandit slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain, his staff glowing faintly with residual energy.
Linda marveled at the contradiction - his lanky, scholarly appearance belying the strength beneath to carry the bandit.
She watched the play of light across the grass, the way fireflies flickered to life as dusk deepened, and tried to reconcile this world’s logic with her own.
Theodore’s blessing wasn’t just healing - it was light, precision - a controlled force that thrummed beneath his skin.
Izze moved like a predator, her senses unnaturally sharp, her reflexes honed by Drevan’s gift, and had connection with nature?
Hunting?
Yet neither of them cast spells like an RPG or chanted incantations like The Earthsea Cycle. Their abilities were as natural as breathing, woven into their very being. Linda flexed her fingers, half-expecting something - anything - to spark at her fingertips, but there was only silence, only absence.
So what did that mean?
How did blessings work?
Did someone gain more the longer they used and trained their blessing?
It made the most sense, Linda thought.
A kid has the ability to draw, but is awful at it in the beginning. Then the kid grows, learns more and gets experience, and they level up. That was how Linda saw blessings - incremental growth, mastery through repetition and devotion.
Well, at the moment she did.
Who knew if that's how it actually worked?
She would ask the pair she was traveling with and try to work around it regarding her own blessing...
And what curseborn were...
Linda's hands itched for a keyboard - some tangible way to organize her thoughts - but she forced herself to speak instead.
"What are curseborn? Exactly?" Linda blurted as they walked, the question sharp in the quiet. Her voice felt too loud in the golden evening air, but she pressed on, hands flexing at her sides. "You called them that. The bandits. But no one’s actually explained—"
"People the gods spat out," Izze cut in without looking back, her braids swaying with each step. She kicked a pebble off the road, sending it skittering into the underbrush. "No blessing. No mark. No use. Well, at least anywhere else. Quorrith takes in curseborn, but the poor Vael spawn still have a hell of a time in a world that centers around our gods."
The explanation landed like a stone...
Flat.
Final.
The words settled in Linda’s stomach like lead.
She glanced at Theodore, hoping for something more nuanced than Izze’s brutal summary. He adjusted his grip on the bandit, his expression unreadable behind smudged lenses before he finally spoke.
"Curseborn aren’t inherently lesser," Theodore began, voice measured. "They simply lack the divine favor others take for granted. In Sollavar, they’re outlawed and hunted as heretics. There one step above a one who worships Vael. Here in Quorrith, they’re tolerated, but survival is… difficult." He hesitated, then added quietly, "Without a blessing, even basic trades... Blacksmithing, adventuring, even farming become near-impossible to master. Not impossible, but we base everything in our society around the gods. The system isn’t kind to outliers, Linda, not at all."
Izze shook her head.
"Most bandits are desperate curseborn. No guild will take them, no smith will apprentice them, no farmer will trust them with crops. Twelve fucking Hells, even a drug-addicted peasant who’s stolen before can find work if they have Thalmir’s blessing... The fields will still flourish under their hands, even if its a small amount. But a sober curseborn? Nothing." Izze added, jerking her chin toward the unconscious man Theodore carried. "This one and his group were probably the same way or at least some of them were. That fucker I killed who was attacking you sunshine deserved everything he got. Some people are just fucked." She continued with a light shrug.
Linda knew that.
She might not be from Velmoria, but it was the same on Earth.
Theodore nodded at the Krithak's words.
The road crested a final hill, and Brennale sprawled before them. It was a patchwork of low stone buildings and timber-framed houses clustered along the riverbank, smoke curling lazily from chimneys into the violet dusk. The town’s wooden palisade gleamed amber in the setting sun, its gates still open but guarded by two figures in worn leathers. Beyond them, lanterns flickered to life along the muddy main road, illuminating stalls packing up for the night and the silhouettes of laborers trudging home.
Linda’s breath caught.
It wasn’t New York’s steel skyline or North Dakota’s endless plains - this was something alive in a way cities back home never were. The scent of woodsmoke and frying dough tangled with the river’s damp musk, the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rang counterpoint to laughter spilling from the Crooked Plow’s open door. Her fingers twitched, phantom instincts urging her to capture the moment - a screenshot, a tweet - but there was no interface here.
Just this...
The weight of Izze’s gaze, the warmth of Theodore’s sleeve brushing her arm, and the undeniable reality of cobblestones underfoot.
Izze snorted, elbowing her.
"Close your mouth, silver-tits. It’s just Brennale... backwater trade town with more mud than charm." Izze said, but her smirk softened as Linda’s green eyes tracked a flock of starlings swirling above the rooftops, their wings catching the last gold light. "First cities leave marks. This one’s yours now."
The words settled in Linda’s chest like a promise.
She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, toward the gates, ever moving toward whatever came next.