“To master the game, you must first listen to the rules spoken by those who think you are too small to understand them.”— Seneca The gray dawn of the frontier town hung over the lower district as Riven stepped out from the back of the inn.
Cold air bit at his skin.
He pulled the heavy black cloak tighter around himself and lowered the hood.
The deep cowl covered most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.
At his hip hung the oversized sword he’d taken from the guard at the slave camp.
It was still far too large for him, but he had no better weapon.
His integration ring gave off its faint, steady hum against his wrist.
Riven glanced toward the sky.
The sun had barely begun to rise.
When he reached the front of the Adventurers’ Guild, Boulder and Gorn were already waiting beside the hitching posts.
Boulder stood with his massive arms folded across his chest, a leather flask hanging from one hand.
Gorn leaned against one of the posts, his fingers resting loosely against the hilt of his short sword.
Boulder noticed Riven first.
“Look at the little shadow.” He tossed the flask from one hand to the other before taking another drink.
“Clean clothes and everything.
Almost looks like a real adventurer instead of a stray cat.” Gorn looked Riven up and down.
“Looks more like a wraith.” He pushed himself away from the post.
“You get any sleep, kid?” “Enough.” “Good.” “Because today’s work isn’t going to be easy.” Riven adjusted the cloak around himself.
“I’m ready.” Boulder gave a rough laugh.
“We’ll see about that.” The three of them set off.
The town slowly disappeared behind them as they followed a worn dirt road north.
The sounds of merchants and taverns faded, replaced by the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the occasional cry of a distant bird.
Riven walked a few steps behind the two men.
He watched them carefully.
Boulder was built like a wall.
His heavy frame and thick arms made it obvious that he relied heavily on physical strength.
The battle-axe hanging at his side was almost as intimidating as the man carrying it.
Gorn was different.
He was leaner, lighter on his feet, and constantly looking around.
His short sword was easier to draw than Boulder’s axe, suggesting that speed was more important to him.
Neither man appeared to be wearing particularly expensive equipment.
Riven memorized what he could.
Weapons.
Armor.
Movement.
Habits.
If something went wrong in the quarry, he wanted to know what they were capable of.
After nearly an hour of walking, Riven finally broke the silence.
“How does magic work?” Gorn glanced at him.
It was the first time Riven had asked a question since they’d left town.
“Magic?” “Yeah.” Boulder chuckled.
“Curious little bastard, aren’t you?” Riven said nothing.
Gorn shrugged.
“It’s not exactly complicated.
You have a core.
The core holds your mana.” Riven looked down at the integration ring on his wrist.
“My status said I have a Level 1 Core.” “Then you’re at the bottom.” Boulder laughed.
“Don’t worry.
That’s where most start.” Riven ignored the comment.
“What do I need to do to cast a spell?” “Learn one.” Gorn said it like the answer should have been obvious.
“Most spells are written down in spell tomes.
You study the spell until you understand its structure, then you practice channeling your mana through it.” “How?” “Depends on the spell.” Gorn tapped his chest.
“But the basic idea is the same.
Your core produces the mana, your channels move it, and the spell shapes it.” Riven thought about the status screen he’d seen at the Guild.
Name: Riven.
Age: 5.
Class: Level 1 Core.
Affinity: Shadow.
Skills: None.
“So I can only use Level 1 spells?” “Pretty much.” Gorn nodded.
“Your core determines what tier of magic you can safely use.
A Level 1 Core can handle basic Tier 1 spells.
If you try to force something beyond what your core can handle, your channels can rupture.” Riven’s eyes narrowed.
“Rupture?” “You bleed internally.” Boulder answered this time.
“Sometimes you live.
Sometimes you don’t.” Riven was silent.
That was enough of an explanation.
“And mana?” “Limited.” Gorn raised a finger.
“Every spell costs mana.
The more complicated the spell, the more it costs.” “So how much do I have?” “Couldn’t tell you.” Gorn looked at him.
“Depends on the person.
Even people with the same core level can have different amounts of mana.” Boulder grinned.
“Think of it like a bucket.” He pointed toward Riven.
“Your core is the bucket.
Mana is the water inside.
Cast a spell, and you pour some of it out.” “And the bucket gets bigger when your core level increases?” “Exactly.” Riven considered that.
It was simple enough.
A core determined his limit.
Mana determined how much he could actually use.
That meant even if he learned a spell, he couldn’t simply keep casting it forever.
He’d need to be careful.
“What happens when the mana runs out?” “You get tired.” Gorn shrugged.
“Push too far and you’ll collapse.” Boulder snorted.
“Seen plenty of idiots do it.” Riven looked ahead.
“So how many spells can a Level 1 Core cast?” “Depends on the spell.” Gorn paused.
“Something simple?
A few times.
Something expensive?
Maybe once or twice.” “But it depends on the person” Riven nodded.
Useful.
He looked down at his small hands.
If he wanted to survive, he couldn’t depend on a power he didn’t understand.
For now, he had his sword.
And even that was too large for him.
The road continued upward.
The trees became thicker as the town disappeared completely behind them.
Pine trees covered the slopes around the path, their dark branches swaying in the morning wind.
Eventually, the terrain opened up.
Riven saw the quarry.
It had been carved directly into the mountainside, leaving behind jagged cliffs of gray stone.
Old wooden supports stood around the entrances, many of them warped or partially collapsed.
Several dark tunnels disappeared into the rock.
From this distance, they looked like enormous holes punched into the mountain.
Riven stopped for a moment.
A cold breeze came from one of the entrances.
It carried the smell of wet stone.
And something else.
Something rotten.
Boulder rested his axe against his shoulder.
“There it is.” Gorn nodded.
“Old quarry.” Riven stared at the tunnels.
“So this is where the goblins are?” “Goblins and burrow-rats.” Gorn pointed toward the largest entrance.
“Mostly rats in the outer tunnels.
Goblins have been spotted deeper inside.” “How many?” “Don’t know.” Riven looked at him.
Gorn gave a small shrug.
“That’s why the Guild put up the bounty.” Boulder laughed.
“Most parties don’t want to waste their time clearing a place like this.” Riven understood.
Low pay.
High annoyance.
That was why they needed someone small.
His eyes moved toward the tunnels again.
Dark.
Narrow.
Easy to get trapped inside.
He rested his hand lightly against the hilt of his sword.
Riven frowned.
This job was already looking worse than he’d expected.
Boulder started walking toward the quarry.
“Come on, little shadow.” Gorn followed.
“Stay close.” Riven hesitated for half a second before following them.
The mouth of the quarry grew larger with every step.
By the time they reached the entrance, the daylight behind them seemed strangely distant.
Riven pulled his hood lower.
Then he stepped into the darkness.