A pale shimmer flickered at the edge of Barrett’s vision.

  [LEVEL UP!]

  [Congratulations, you are now Level 22!]

  The notification pulsed once, then faded into the background hum.

  Barrett reached up and tugged the stars-and-stripes bandana free, letting it hang loose around his neck. He stepped closer to the cliff’s edge and tilted his head into the wind. The air rolling off the sea was cool, washing over his sweat-soaked hair and drying the grit on his skin. For a moment, he simply stood there and breathed.

  “Hell yeah,” he muttered, a rough satisfaction curling through his chest as the new level settled into him.

  Behind him, Maku was still grinning, energized by the memory of it. “You should’ve seen their faces,” he said, gesturing animatedly. “The second they turned around and saw all those mana javelins hovering behind them. It was like a freakin’ firing squad from the heavens!”

  Barrett snorted. “Or when they whipped back to look at me and all they saw was Grimm flying off the cliff.”

  Maku barked a laugh. “Priceless.”

  “Though…” Barrett started, the word trailing off as he scratched at the back of his neck.

  Maku tilted his head. “Though what?”

  Barrett hesitated, then shook it off. “Nah. Forget it.”

  “Oh no, you don’t get to do that,” Maku said, stepping in front of him. “You can’t drop a ‘though’ and just walk away. What?”

  Barrett’s grin crept back. “You forgot the one-liner.”

  Maku froze, then dragged a hand down his face in theatrical despair. “I know.” He groaned. “I had three lined up in my head. Couldn’t decide which one hit harder. By the time they turned around, I was still debating. So I just fired.” He spread his hands. “Went for the silent avenger thing.”

  Barrett shook his head. “Yeah, well. Would’ve been cooler with the line.”

  Maku pointed at him. “Noted. Next ambush, I’m workshopping beforehand.”

  The moment hung there briefly until Grimm interrupted.

  “KRAA—KRAA!”

  Grimm circled once and then descended, wings snapping open at the last second as he landed heavily on Barrett’s shoulder. The raven’s talons dug in with familiar weight.

  “Yeah, yeah, my bad,” Barrett said, patting along the inside of his spiderweave coat for a scrap of dried meat. “I bet you’re starving after all that.”

  Grimm gave a low, expectant trill.

  Maku drifted past him and stepped to the cliff’s edge, staring out at the distant city.

  EverGreen rose from the coastline like a white crown against the horizon. Even from this distance, its outer walls gleamed in the light, towers standing tall and proud above the forest canopy. However, movement and smoke marred the brightness. Upon closer inspection, there were tiny specks along the ramparts and faint smudges of smoke rising in thin columns near the forest around it and inside the walls.

  “There’s something impressive about it,” Maku admitted quietly.

  Barrett joined him, squinting toward the distant silhouette. “You just love thick walls and towers,” he said. “You’re a fortification junkie.”

  Maku’s mouth curved. “Don’t pretend you don’t.” He nudged Barrett lightly. “I distinctly remember someone building a fortress-grade palisade around his cave.”

  Barrett grunted. “Hey, that was practical.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Barrett exhaled and glanced back toward the forest behind them, where the remnants of their ambush lay scattered. “Speaking of caves…”

  Maku turned. “We heading back?”

  “You should,” Barrett replied.

  Maku paused mid-step and narrowed his eyes. “And where are you going?”

  Barrett nodded toward EverGreen. “In there.”

  Maku looked from Barrett to the city and back again. “I can get there faster.”

  Barrett smiled faintly and rested a heavy hand on Maku’s shoulder. “I don’t doubt that for a second. But we’re trying to convince them to help us, remember? Hard to do that if we send a misfit like you to do the talking.”

  Maku laughed under his breath. “Oh, like you’re some kind of diplomat now.”

  Barrett sighed. “Okay, we’re both idiots.” He adjusted the bandana around his neck. “But I’ve paid attention to at least some of the bigger picture. Can you say the same, mister ‘press x to skip dialogue’?”

  Maku clutched at his chest as if struck. “For the record,” he said gravely, “I have a documented medical condition.”

  Barrett arched an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

  “Severe allergic reaction to extended lore dumps,” Maku replied. “It starts with eye twitching, progresses to aggressive skipping of dialogue, and if untreated—” he gestured vaguely toward his head, “—full cognitive shutdown.”

  “Moron.” Barrett snorted, eyes drifting back to EverGreen.

  “Besides,” he said more quietly, “there’s someone in there I need to find.”

  The wind shifted, catching in his hair and snapping his coat out behind him like a battle-worn banner.

  “And I’m hoping,” Barrett added under his breath, “that they’re still alive.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  —Lance—

  Lance stood high upon EverGreen’s white battlements and looked down at the dark tide gathering beyond the tree line.

  What had once been forest was now splintered and scarred. Trees fell in steady intervals beneath crude axes. Fires burned in disciplined rows. Tents multiplied with each passing hour, spreading like a stain across the earth. Thousands of figures moved in organized currents below, their banners snapping in the wind as siege lines began to take shape.

  The war had always felt far away. Now the streets below choked with refugees, their panic swelling like a tide against the white city’s walls. Families pressed together in the mud, clutching what few possessions they could carry. EverGreen’s strongest mages lined the battlements, their cloaks snapping in the rising wind, faces grim. They braced for a defense that could not hold.

  “Nervous?”

  The voice came from behind him.

  Lance jumped. He spun around, hand instinctively dropping toward a weapon.

  Daria stood there, arms folded, watching him with a faint, amused smile. She had dark hair and olive skin, and looked about his age, though there was a quiet gravity in her expression that made her seem older. She was a mage, one from a royal family, and a prestigious Second World. Like him, she was a warper.

  “No way,” Lance said quickly, forcing a grin back onto his face. “By the time those dumb orcs finish building siege gear, we’ll already be sailing off on ships. Problem solved.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “You sure about that?”

  He shrugged as if the question were trivial.

  “As long as I’m here,” he added with a wink, “they’re not getting anywhere near my princess.”

  Daria laughed, the sound brief but genuine.

  “You’re so interesting,” she said, curling her dark hair in her fingers. “You Fifth Worlders really have no sense of how things work here. It’s kind of adorable.”

  Lance groaned. “Can you not call me that? It sounds like a slur.”

  Her smile softened. “Sorry. It’s not meant that way. It’s just classification. On Gateway, things are… organized. It’s difficult to get so many people from different worlds working on the same team.”

  “Yeah, well,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow, “how come I’m one of the strongest people here if I’m such a ‘Fifth Worlder’?”

  She huffed a quiet laugh. “Beats me. It’s practically unheard of for anyone outside a First or Second World to warp into the inner part of the island.”

  Lance’s grin widened. “Remind me where you warped in?”

  Daria rolled her dark eyes. “Outer island.”

  He leaned closer. “That’s what I thought.”

  She punched his arm lightly.

  “Ow!” he exaggerated, clutching the spot. “Careful. You’ve gotta treat inner warpers with respect. There aren’t many of us left.”

  Her expression dimmed at that.

  Lowering her voice, she asked, “How did you survive the orc onslaught?”

  Lance let out a breath and turned back toward the horizon. “We’re tougher than we look.”

  “No offense,” she said carefully, “but the only other group that made it through had Amelia and Elric.”

  Lance’s jaw tightened slightly.

  “We had our own badasses,” he replied, quieter now.

  His gaze drifted back to the army forming below.

  It was larger than before and still growing. A proper siege.

  “Damn,” Lance muttered. “They’re going to have us surrounded and cut off soon.”

  Daria studied him. “You worried about your friends?”

  He nodded once. “They better hurry.”

  She stepped back and pointed toward the central keep. “You better hurry. Doesn’t fighter training start soon?”

  He started to turn, but she lifted a hand to stop him.

  “One more thing,” she added, her tone losing its teasing edge. “Stop antagonizing Andross.”

  Lance rolled his eyes.

  “I’m serious,” she said, stepping closer now, voice low but firm. “Not everyone finds your ignorance charming.”

  Lance opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Fine.”

  Without another word, he vaulted over the low stone barrier and dropped onto the stairwell landing below, boots slamming against the steps as he caught himself and took off down the spiral.

  A black bird that had been perched quietly along the rail exploded into the air in a flurry of wings, startled by his descent.

  Lance didn’t notice.

  He was already running.

  —

  Lance ran hard through the lower streets of EverGreen, weaving between refugees, supply carts, and lines of militia hauling crates of supplies toward the walls. The city that had once felt bright and orderly now felt compressed, its narrow avenues choked with urgency.

  He cut through a narrow passage and emerged into the inner courtyard. It was a wide, flagstoned square that had been hastily cleared and requisitioned as a training ground. Barricades lined the edges. Weapons racks stood in uneven rows.

  Lance slowed as he stepped into the center.

  The groups had already been formed.

  Two rough formations stood beneath the looming shadow of the central keep. The stronger fighters—those who had warped into the inner part of the island—stood together in one cluster. Mixed among them were a few higher-level First and Second worlders who had warped in on the outer island.

  The second group stood farther back and contained whoever was left.

  “You’re late, Fifth Worlder.”

  The voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip.

  Lance turned toward it.

  A tall, bald man with a blue tribal tattoo on one side of his face stood at the front of the formations, arms folded behind his back. His presence alone seemed to command the space.

  “Get in your group.”

  “Sorry,” Lance muttered, lowering his head just enough to avoid further attention, and made his way toward the stronger cluster.

  As he approached, he felt the weight of their eyes and barely concealed contempt.

  Most of them were First or Second Worlders. He had learned quickly what that meant. Nobility. Lineage. Almost every warper he’d met from those worlds carried themselves like they’d been raised in castles and trained from birth.

  And then there was him.

  A gamer from Earth.

  He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up standing among them.

  “Arrogant Fifth World filth,” a voice spat.

  Lance didn’t have to look to know who it was.

  Andross stood a few paces away, black hair falling neatly around a face that would have been handsome if not for the cold edge in his brilliant green eyes. He spoke just loudly enough for the nearby boys to hear.

  “Thinks he’s too good for training.”

  Lance exhaled slowly, feeling the irritation flare before he could stop it.

  “Not too good to teach you a lesson, Andross,” he shot back.

  The words were out before he could catch them.

  He winced internally. It had been—what? Three minutes since Daria had warned him not to provoke the guy?

  He couldn’t help it.

  Some part of him almost enjoyed it. He wondered, not for the first time, if maybe a little of that other man’s reckless confidence had rubbed off on him. His patriotic, hyper-masculine mentor…

  Andross’s gaze sharpened, the air around him seeming to cool by a degree.

  “I have been more than lenient with you, Fifth Worlder,” Andross said, voice low but edged with steel. “My patience is running thin.”

  “Let’s all lower the temperature,” came another voice, calm and measured.

  An older blonde man stepped slightly forward—Fred. His expression was easy, almost pleasant, but Lance could see the tension in the lines around his eyes.

  “We can’t afford to do the orcs’ work for them,” Fred continued.

  Then, to Lance’s surprise, Fred dipped his head slightly toward Andross.

  “My apologies, Andross. The youth of our world lack an understanding of hierarchy. I will see to correcting that.”

  The words hit Lance like a splash of cold water.

  Andross studied them both for a moment, then nodded once. “See that you do.”

  He turned away.

  Lance leaned slightly toward Fred, jabbing him lightly in the ribs so no one else would notice. “Totally uncool, Fred.”

  Fred didn’t look at him. “You need to be careful,” he whispered back. “This isn’t a game.”

  “Barrett wouldn’t bow to that bozo,” Lance muttered.

  Fred’s jaw tightened. “And where is he right now?”

  That landed harder than Lance expected.

  “Group One!” the bald instructor barked. “Do we have a problem?”

  “No, sir!” the group answered in unison.

  The instructor’s gaze swept over them, lingering just a fraction longer on Lance and Andross. Then he nodded once.

  “No drills today,” he said. “It’s a sparring day.”

  A ripple moved through the formation with grins and low cheers of anticipation.

  The instructor paced slowly in front of them, boots echoing on stone. Then he stopped.

  His eyes settled on Lance.

  A thin, wicked grin stretched across his lips.

  “First up! How about Lance versus…” He let the pause linger deliberately, scanning the line. “…Andross.”

  For a moment, the courtyard seemed to quiet.

  Lance blinked.

  He glanced sideways at Fred, who met his eyes with something close to concern.