The ladder creaked again, each complaint of wood against wood driving up his panic.
His heart hammered as the ladder groaned. The hay scratched against his palms as he pressed himself deeper into his makeshift nest, as if he could somehow burrow through the loft floor and disappear entirely.
Think. Think!
Luckily, Thalorin's memories responded instantly, flooding his consciousness with context. The voice belonged to Corinne Hearthsong, sixteen years old, innkeeper's daughter and Thal's only real friend. Images cascaded through his mind: Corinne, rosy cheeks dusted with flour, sneaking him a fresh sticky bun from the inn's kitchen. Her fierce hazel glare, defending him from the other village boys a year ago. The sound of her conspiratorial whisper as they hid from her mother in this very loft. The voice of an ally.
The knowledge that it was a friend climbing toward him still didn't ease his concerns. A stranger could be fooled, but a friend would notice changes, inconsistencies. Would ask questions he couldn't answer.
Play the part, Foster. Keep your head down and say little. Deflect. He could be sullen and withdrawn. Exactly what she’d expect from a beaten teenager. The less he spoke, the fewer mistakes he’d make.
A head appeared at the edge of the hayloft, silhouetted against the bright rectangle of the stable door below. Corinne was backlit, her chestnut ponytail over one shoulder and her expression shifting from determination to dismay as she took in his condition.
"Thal? By the spirits, you look like you wrestled a mosshide bear and lost!" Her voice cracked. "Was it Rufan again? Did he do this to you? What happened this time?" She tilted her head, the dismay on her face shifting into curiosity. "Hey. Say something. You're scaring me. Usually, I can't get you to shut up."
Rufan's name surprised him. She thought his father, no, Thal's father, had inflicted this. Not the elves. The assumption was so casual and certain. Of course Rufan had beaten him. When hadn't he?
Caleb forced his battered body to shift, pushing himself toward the edge of the loft. Eyes fixed on the hay rather than her concerned face, he kept his head low as he spoke.
"Corinne?"
She climbed up another step, leaning forward. "Yeah, it's me. What happened? Do you need—"
"Yeah. It's me. I'm... okay." The lie felt brittle in his mouth. But it was a necessary shield, safer than the truth. He needed to redirect, to steer toward something harmless.
His panicked need pulled something from behind the trapdoor that guarded Thal's past. He seized on the first and only viable deflection he could think of: a memory of her looking forward to yesterday. He deliberately ignored her questions, pushing the topic onto safer ground. "Your birthday," he said, the words feeling abrupt even to him. "It was yesterday, right? Happy birthday, Cor."
For a second, worry battled excitement on her face until an unstoppable grin finally broke through.
"You remembered! Yes! It was the best day ever!" Words tumbled out in an eager rush. "Mom and Dad gave me my first essence stone! I used a blue one, a good one, not a chalky old spirit stone! And when I held it… it felt so chilly, and then whoosh! It was like drinking ice-cold water on the hottest day, but in my brain! And then I did the thing Mom taught me. I just pushed it toward my thoughts, and this blue window popped up right in my face! It said my Intelligence increased by ten percent! I swear, my brain feels... zippier now. Like everything is faster. And that’s not all!"
Corinne grew more animated with each word, and as she did, her foot slipped on the ladder rung. She pitched forward with a bitten-off gasp, arms pinwheeling. Caleb lunged instinctively, hands raised to catch her, but she grabbed a support column just in time.
"Whoa, haha!" She steadied herself with a nervous laugh. "Got too excited there. But can you blame me?" She adjusted her grip and continued, eyes still bright. "The whole world feels different. It's like I can… feel people and stuff. Mom says it's called "spiritual perception," and it lets you sense a person's aura. Dad says the real breakthrough trials to get to the deeper tiers are supposed to be super hard and painful, but just Awakening wasn't too bad! Can you believe it?"
Corinne's question about Awakening pulled at something in Caleb's head. Her enthusiasm and the wonder of discovery were so reminiscent. The hayloft blurred around him as Thalorin's memory unlocked, as vivid as the day it formed.
Sunlight through leaves. The scent of damp earth and blooming silverbell flowers. His hands, smaller, younger and childlike, carefully holding a plant stem while his mother's gentle green fingers guided him.
"See how the leaves grow in groups of three? That's how you know it's safe. Groups of four mean poison." Meriel spoke with a flowing, musical quality. Her moss-green eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.
But young Thal wasn't interested in herbs today. The words burst out petulantly: "But when can I get my stone? Galen got his and he says his Vox screen shows everything! It's not fair!"
His mother sighed, sitting back on her heels. The shadows of the trees exposed the faint luminescence of the tiny fungi threaded through her auburn hair, an old Mycari tradition she still maintained.
"The Dominion calls it Vox, but it is the World Soul, Thalorin." Her correction was soft but firm. "And the World Soul is always watching. It can leave a mark on you when you achieve something, like a footprint in the mud. But seeing your status screen is… different. The difference between walking alongside someone and having a conversation. And to have a conversation your soul must first have a voice."
She picked up a smooth river stone, cupping it in her palm. "We wait until sixteen because the body and soul must be ready. To absorb a stone before then... it is like pouring wine into an unbaked clay cup. It cannot hold the power that gives your soul its essence. The spirit can degrade, your potential forever stunted. It is a cruel lesson that reality teaches to those who think they can outsmart it."
Young Thal's frustration pulsed through the memory. Caleb experienced it from his grown-up perspective, absorbing every saved detail.
The boy's frown softened as Meriel brushed his cheek with her thumb, her gentle touch and patient words unwinding the knot of his disappointment. Thal leaned into her hand, the fight going out of him all at once.
Goodness, she was his world. Just like Evelynn was mine.
Thal's loss became a mirror, reflecting Caleb's own. Two fellows, one grown and one forever young, who had lost the women who anchored them. His grief doubled, tripled, became something too large for a single heart to hold.
The memory released him, and the hayloft rushed back. Horses whinnied, hay scratched. Corinne shifted from excitement to concern at his prolonged silence. Only a heartbeat had passed in real time, but Caleb felt aged by the experience.
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A silent moment of pure wonder sliced through the grief as he forced himself to consider what she'd revealed. Auras people could feel. A World Soul that communed with those it watched. Fantasy made real, explained with a mother's simple patience teaching her child. The analyst in him buzzed with the discovery of reality's new rules. But the awe stuttered as deeper implications came to the fore.
Rufan had never given Thal his coming-of-age stone. The man's behavior was selfish and cruel. The boy had already passed his sixteenth birthday, a milestone completely ignored by his father. Worse, Rufan had always found and stolen any coin Thal managed to save for a stone of his own, plundering it to pay for another bottle. Rufan had stripped his birthright away systematically, an act that went far beyond simple denial. Fresh guilt and anger washed over Caleb. He was living in a body that should have had its own chance at life, a chance Rufan had deliberately destroyed.
His fists clenched, the skin stretched thin over his knuckles. Jack was thirteen, three years younger than Thal. The thought of anyone laying a finger on his son, stealing from him, systematically ruining his future... raw fury ignited in Caleb's heart.
That bastard.
The need for more answers began to override his caution, and Caleb looked directly at Corinne for the first time, meeting her hazel eyes.
"Could you show me your status screen? Your actual one?"
Corinne raised her eyebrows. "My status? Why would you—" Understanding dawned across her face, followed by a flash of anger. "He never even taught you how, did he? That drunk loser..."
She shifted on the ladder, balancing carefully, then closed her eyes. A moment later, the air in front of her distorted. A translucent blue panel materialized, floating between them with elegant silver text:
STATUS
NAME: Corinne Hearthsong
RACE: Human
TIER: F (Low-Blue)
PRIMARY ATTRIBUTES
| VIT | 0.00% | F |
| STR | 0.00% | F |
| AGI | 0.00% | F |
| END | 0.00% | F |
| INT | 10.00% | F |
| WIL | 0.00% | F |
| WIS | 0.00% | F |
"See?" She beamed with pride. "Ten percent in Intelligence already! Mom said that most only start with five."
Caleb stared at the unbelievable sight. The concept he'd just grasped had become a real panel suspended before him. Some corner of his brain, the one that had endured UI design sessions, registered the sleek edges and refined silver typeface. The display surpassed any tech he'd encountered, yet seemed organic. An actual stat window. Good grief. He pushed down the returning awe. That could wait. At this moment he needed more data.
"Thank you." Caleb studied the screen intently, [Savant of the Mind] cataloging every detail. "How did you make it visible? To me, I mean?"
"Oh, it's easy!" Corinne dismissed the screen. "You just... will it? Like when you want to see your own status, you think 'Status' really hard. But to show someone else, you think about them seeing it too. Intent matters more than technique. That's what Dad says anyway." Her smile faltered. "You've never even tried, have you? Because you've never had a stone to Awaken with."
She looked at him with a new kind of sympathy, her face open with it. "It makes sense now. Your aura… it feels so quiet. Almost like a room with no one in it. And kind of… grey? The guest children's auras feel similar."
Her words sparked more memories, and images flooded through him, each one crystal clear. Thal's sixteenth birthday two months back, hauling water and chopping wood while Rufan pissed away coins on ale. Kids getting their stones in quiet rituals, surrounded by mothers and fathers glowing with pride. The empty feeling in Thal's heart, peering from dark corners at what he'd never have.
Caleb shook off the emotions and refocused on the now.
Status.
Nothing happened. Caleb pushed harder, visualizing the screen Corinne had shown.
Status. Character sheet. Show me something!
Still nothing. Just dusty air and Corinne's sympathetic look.
"That's not right," Corinne whispered, indignation flashing in her eyes. "Everyone knows parents save up for years. It's their duty. Even the poorest families... they all find a way."
A tremor ran through him, and his hands dug into the hay, straw snapping between his fingers. In this world, a parent denying their child an Awakening stone was sabotage, deliberately crippling their future. Through Thal's memories, he felt the shame of walking through the village, hollow and un-Awakened while others displayed their status with casual pride.
"It's fine," he lied. "It doesn't matter now."
"Of course it matters! Without a stone, you can't—"
"Hey, this is a weird question, but... does Vox, like... talk to people? Or give them powers or anything?"
Her head tilted like a confused puppy. "Talk to people? No way." She laughed incredulously. "Where'd you hear that? Vox doesn't do anything. It's just... there. It kind of keeps score, is all. That means you still have to practice to get good at things. It won't just hand you something for free. Only rich kids get things for free…" she finished with a frown.
Because it spoke to me, Caleb thought. Because it gave me choices and powers it apparently shouldn't have.
His mind whiplashed, constantly trying to process one revelation after another. The voice in the white space, the one that had given him his three Soul Impartments, had likely been Vox. This… World Soul. But according to both Meriel's patient teaching and Corinne's casual certainty, Vox didn't work that way. It was passive, a cosmic accountant that tracked but didn't interfere. What had happened to him shouldn't have been possible.
The confirmation sent ice through his veins. He was an anomaly, a secret that could be dangerous if discovered. In a world where literal personal power existed, being different might make him valuable. Or a target.
Corinne turned from his face to his injuries and her expression hardened, her jaw set in a way that reminded him of Katie when she'd decided something needed fixing.
"Look, Thal, you can't go back there. You can't let him keep doing this."
She gripped the ladder with one hand, lifting the other up toward him. "We need extra help in the kitchen. Dad's always complaining about it. Come with me. I'll talk to Mom right now. You can start today."
The words didn't fully register at first. Caleb stared at her offered hand, small and work-roughened. Then at her face, set with a determination that seemed too serious on her youthful features.
"Please?"
The single word struck something deep within him. Someone was offering actual help. A job meant food, shelter, and safety. Everything his panicked thoughts had been yearning for since he'd awakened here.
"Really?" The whisper escaped before he could stop it. For a moment, the mask of the sullen teenager fell away, and his face was that of a drowning man seeing a rescue line. "You'd... you'd do that? For me?"
Corinne held her hand out steadily, waiting. The simplicity of the gesture had a visceral impact on Caleb. He fought down a sudden lump in his throat that had nothing to do with Rufan's bruises.
When was the last time someone offered to help me as a simple kindness?
The question worked through decades of corporate maneuvering, of carefully calculated relationships where every favor came with an invoice. Even his friendships back home had calcified into obligations. Golf games he didn't want to play, dinner parties where everyone compared promotion trajectories and vacation homes. This girl, barely older than Katie, was showing more genuine compassion than he'd witnessed in years.
Here he sat, a grown man in a young man's body, paralyzed while a teenager took charge. Corinne’s approach was direct and unflinching. She saw a problem and acted to solve it. The contrast to his own passive drift through life in recent years stung worse than the cuts on his face.
Forty years old and I'm being rescued by a child.
His hand trembled as he reached for hers. When their fingers touched, Corinne gripped his hand firmly, calluses from inn work rough against his palm. She pulled, helping him toward the ladder, and the contact anchored him to something solid in this surreal nightmare.
"Of course I'd help," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We're friends, aren't we? Friends help each other. Besides, Mom's been complaining about needing someone reliable for weeks. You show up on time, work hard, and keep the kitchen clean. She'll love you. And you'll be safe here, with us."
Safe. When did safety become a luxury? In his old life, it had been a given. Suburban house, steady job. Comfort in a predictable routine. Now it was a gift, offered freely by someone who owed him nothing.
"I don't..." His voice cracked, and he had to swallow hard before continuing. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Corinne started backward down the ladder, still holding his hand to guide him. "Just come on. We'll get you cleaned up first. Can't have you seeing Mom looking like that. She's particular about appearances when it comes to staff."
The practical details grounded him. A job interview. He could handle that. He'd sat through dozens, though usually on the other side of the desk. The framework offered structure in the chaos.
As his feet found the ladder rungs, muscles protesting every movement, Caleb raced ahead. A job meant income. Income meant eventual independence. Independence meant—
"Wait." The word slipped out before he could stop it. "What about Rufan?"