"All right, Rowan," Corporal Dren said as he walked over. "What classes did the System offer you?"
He smiled.
"When I awakened, I thought I'd done well. The System offered me four."
I swallowed.
"I... don't know."
The corporal frowned.
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I don't know what half of them are."
He scratched his head.
"Well... don't pick anything until somebody explains them."
Brenn nodded in agreement.
"Sound advice."
He looked at me.
"How many classes did it offer?"
"T-ten."
Silence.
I looked from one face to the next.
"...I counted them twice."
No one spoke.
Finally Corporal Dren blinked.
"Ten?"
I nodded.
"I know what some of them are."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"I've been asking the System to explain those, just to make sure they mean what I think they mean."
"You can do that?" one of the younger soldiers asked.
"I... I think so."
I shrugged helplessly.
"It said limited information was available."
"But..." I looked back at the floating list only I could see.
"There are others I've never even heard of."
Corporal Dren let out a slow breath.
"I've served fifteen years."
He looked at Brenn.
"I've never heard of anyone getting ten."
Brenn shook his head.
"Neither have I."
One of the older soldiers cleared his throat.
"Perhaps... we ought to fetch the captain."
Dren considered it.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice drifted across the camp.
"I was hoping to find Elias Rowan."
Every head turned.
Mage Hodger approached carrying a small wooden chest tucked beneath one arm. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his robes looked as though he had slept in them—assuming he'd slept at all.
"I've brought your compensation," he said.
Then he noticed the circle of silent soldiers.
"What have I interrupted?"
Corporal Dren looked at the old mage.
"The lad awakened this morning."
Hodger smiled.
"Ah! Excellent."
“He was offered ten classes,” Dren said.
Hodger’s smile disappeared.
“Ten?”
I nodded.
The mage studied me for a long moment.
“In forty-three years of studying the System, I have never encountered that many offerings.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"...I have never heard of such a thing."
The old mage stood silently for several moments before bending to set the wooden chest at my feet.
"Your remuneration for yesterday's discoveries. The rings proved considerably more valuable than any of us first suspected."
He fell silent again.
His eyes never left me.
"Yes..."
He nodded to himself.
"That will do nicely."
He looked toward Corporal Dren.
"Corporal, inform your sergeant and Captain Caldwell that Elias Rowan will be accompanying me."
"Sir?"
"There is nothing they can tell him that cannot wait an hour."
The old mage folded his hands behind his back.
"There is, however, something I must do before anyone starts filling the boy's head with advice."
Brenn frowned.
"And what's that?"
Hodger looked almost offended by the question.
"Write."
He tapped a finger against his temple.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
"A scholar records the evidence before he begins interpreting it."
He looked back to me.
"Young man, I have ink, paper, and a quiet table."
"Before you ask a single question..."
"...I would like you to read every offering exactly as it appears."
"One witness only."
He looked at Brenn.
"You may come."
"Why me?" Brenn asked.
"Because the boy trusts you."
***
We followed after the mage as he made his way silently through the waking camp.
I glanced over at Brenn.
The old veteran merely shrugged, his expression as unreadable as ever in the pale light before dawn.
I hadn't forgotten the wooden chest.
It was heavier than I'd expected. Hodger had said the rings were valuable, but I couldn't begin to guess what that meant.
Perhaps there would be enough for new clothes for my sister and brothers. Maybe enough to make certain they ate well while I was gone.
That mattered more than anything I might buy for myself.
It wasn't wealth.
It was simply...
one less thing for them to worry about.
My smile grew a little wider.
Food.
Clothes.
I looked up at the strange words that still drifted patiently before my eyes.
For the first time in my life...
I belonged to the System.
Soon we entered a part of the camp I'd never seen before.
The rough canvas tents of the common soldiers gave way to larger pavilions stitched from tightly woven cloth dyed in deep blues, greens, and reds. Banners hung from polished wooden poles instead of being tied to spear shafts, and the muddy paths had been covered with fresh straw.
Servants hurried quietly from tent to tent carrying trays, wash basins, bundles of clean linen, and steaming kettles.
I found myself staring.
More than one servant wore clothes finer than anything I'd ever seen back home.
Even the wealthier merchants who came through our village each spring hadn't dressed so well.
It wasn't just their clothing.
Everything seemed... cleaner.
Better made.
The tents stood straighter, the ropes were newer, and even the horses tethered nearby gleamed from recent grooming.
It was a different world.
One I hadn't known existed until I'd joined the army.
The older mage led us to a large pavilion near the center of the command encampment.
"Come in."
The interior was surprisingly plain. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books, scrolls, and wooden boxes marked in a neat hand. A broad desk occupied the center of the room, its surface already cluttered with maps, notes, and several curious brass instruments whose purpose I couldn't begin to guess.
Hodger closed the tent flap behind us.
He muttered something under his breath.
For the briefest instant I felt that now-familiar sensation, as though the air itself had shifted.
Several glass globes hanging from the center pole bloomed with a warm white light.
I stared.
"No flames..." I whispered.
"They're mage lights," Brenn said quietly. "Don't touch 'em."
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Good."
Hodger was already moving.
"Sit, sit."
He gestured toward two sturdy wooden chairs before disappearing behind his desk.
He gathered several fresh sheets of paper, uncorked a bottle of ink, and selected a fresh quill before looking up.
Every movement seemed practiced.
Methodical.
At last he settled into his chair.
"Now then."
He dipped the quill.
"Elias, if you would be so kind..."
He looked directly at me.
"...please read your offerings exactly as they appear."
Brenn settled back with a grin.
"I've been wanting to hear those myself."
I swallowed.
Looking back at the floating words only I could see, I began at the top of the list.
“Farmer.”
The scratching of Hodger's quill immediately filled the room.
“Laborer.”
The quill never slowed.
“Craftsman’s Apprentice. Soldier. Scout. Teamster. Hunter.”
At that, I hesitated.
“The last three are the ones I don't understand.”
Hodger looked up.
“Read them exactly as they appear.”
I swallowed.
“Guardian. Spear Adept.”
My eyes settled upon the final name.
“Fated Swordsman.”
At that, the old mage's quill paused for the briefest moment before continuing.
When I'd finished, I looked up.
"Those are the ones I'm unsure of."
The scratching continued until he'd finished the last line.
At length he set the quill aside and lightly dusted the page with sand before blowing the excess away.
"Hunter," I said. "Guardian. Spear Adept. Fated Swordsman."
I shrugged helplessly.
"I mean... I've seen hunters before."
I rubbed the back of my neck.
"But the other three..."
I shook my head.
"I've never even heard of them."
Brenn leaned forward in his chair.
"I've heard of Guardians."
He frowned.
"Never met one."
Hodger nodded absently.
"I've heard of Spear Adepts."
His eyes remained fixed on the paper before him.
"They're... uncommon, maybe even a rare offering."
Then he fell silent.
A long silence.
Finally Brenn cleared his throat.
"And the last one?"
The old mage didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he slowly looked up at me.
“I have read records dating back nearly six centuries.”
He rested one finger on the page.
"I have never before seen..."
His eyes met mine.
"...or read..."
Another heartbeat passed.
"...the words Fated Swordsman."
Silence settled over the tent.
I gulped.
"...Is that bad?” I asked.
Hodger blinked.
“I don't know.”
That answer bothered me more than if he'd said yes.
He let out a long breath.
"And I find that... deeply unsettling."
Brenn shifted in his chair.
"You've never heard of it?"
"I have heard many stories."
The old mage rested a hand on the paper.
"I have read of classes thought lost for centuries."
He looked back at me.
"But this..."
He tapped the name once.
"...this is unknown to me."
I frowned.
"I don't understand."
"No," Hodger said softly.
"Neither do I."
"You said you've already asked the System for information on some of the other offerings."
The old mage leaned forward slightly.
"Yes, sir."
"And it answered?"
I nodded.
"It told me what Farmer did. Teamster too."
Hodger's fingers drummed lightly on the desk.
"Interesting..."
He looked down at his notes before raising his eyes to meet mine.
"Elias..."
His voice was calm, but I could hear the curiosity beneath it.
"Ask the System if it has any information to share regarding Fated Swordsman."
I swallowed.
"You think it will?"
"I have no idea."
The old mage smiled faintly.
"But if the answer exists anywhere..."
He tapped the side of his head.
"...it is more likely to be in the System than in mine."
I nodded and turned my attention back to the glowing words only I could see.
"I would like more information regarding the class..." I hesitated, almost expecting the words to disappear.
"...Fated Swordsman."
The words hung alone before me.
For a heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then the rest of the class list dissolved into darkness.
Only a single panel remained.
Fated Swordsman
Information Restricted.
Compatibility Confirmed.
This Path has no surviving instructional archive.
I stared.
"...That's all?"
"What does it say?" Hodger asked immediately, quill already in his hand.
I swallowed.
"It says..."
I read the words exactly as they appeared.
When I finished, the only sound in the tent was the scratching of Hodger's quill.
No one spoke.
The old mage read back over what he'd written once.
Then again.
Finally he set the quill down.
"...Interesting."
Brenn snorted.
"That's your word for everything."
"It is," Hodger admitted without offense.
He looked at me.
"No surviving instructional archive..."
He leaned back slowly.
"That wording is curious."
"Why?" Brenn asked.
"Because it doesn't say there never was one."
The old mage tapped the paper.
"It says none survive."
I frowned.
"So... someone has had this class before?"
"I would wager yes."
Hodger folded his hands.
"Whether one person or one hundred, I cannot say."
He looked thoughtful.
"But at some point..."
He tapped the words again.
"...someone thought it important enough to write an instructional archive."
"And now?" Brenn asked.
The old mage smiled sadly.
"Now the System tells us that knowledge has been lost."
The realization settled over the room.
If I chose this path...
No one could teach me how to walk it.