Shattered Bastions

[TheManWithoutAPlan]

That brought a smile to Mr. Hark's face. "You could say that, given she married one."

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Ah, I see that returning is very much either not possible, or some people end up settling down hard. Meaning they found this world more appealing for whatever reason.

 

[Luke Dragneel]

If they are losing all that they have for a place and training in the caravan, what would they even have to train on since they would no longer have anything to train with? I could understand trading half of what they own(especially their Outworlder clothes and phones) and their time/service, but all their gear seems excessive and more like robbery dressed in fine linens.

Also, Kyle should have been named Kevin with the attitude he's been showing to both Dylan with the blood gun and the adventurer's party who clearly outclass them.

I'm guessing this land is perpetually shrouded in night, which is why the Shadow Pack sizzled in the light and why the Caravan is more lit up than a Christmas tree in colors. The carts are probably made from scavanged material from Outworlder arrivals.

 

[sperance]

If they are losing all that they have for a place and training in the caravan, what would they even have to train on since they would no longer have anything to train with? I could understand trading half of what they own(especially their Outworlder clothes and phones) and their time/service, but all their gear seems excessive and more like robbery dressed in fine linens.

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I mean, it's not like Dylan&Co. are in any position to negotiate. It's Thrain's 'offer' or going back in into the woods. Hell, if what he says about Outlander treatment is true, Thrain is probably banking on Dylan&Co. to just stick around after their tour, because why not, right? Seems like the best offer they'll get around these parts.

 

[gthesob]

If they are losing all that they have for a place and training in the caravan, what would they even have to train on since they would no longer have anything to train with? I could understand trading half of what they own(especially their Outworlder clothes and phones) and their time/service, but all their gear seems excessive and more like robbery dressed in fine linens.

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If their gear is part of their classes, they may not be transferable.

 

[Leecifer]

How much of this do you intend to post on the web? I thought you planned to get this published and earn some income off of this.

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I'll be posting the 'rough' draft here, then Stub it after it's finished, leaving the first few chapters as an 'teaser', then, if I write a sequel, do it again. It's standard practice for Original Fiction, as publishers don't like having what they're asking you to buy up for free elsewhere.

I mean, it's not like Dylan&Co. are in any position to negotiate. It's Thrain's 'offer' or going back in into the woods. Hell, if what he says about Outlander treatment is true, Thrain is probably banking on Dylan&Co. to just stick around after their tour, because why not, right? Seems like the best offer they'll get around these parts.

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Yeah, Kyle's anger isn't entirely unjustified, it's just his approach that is... Lacking.

 

[Luke Dragneel]

If their gear is part of their classes, they may not be transferable.

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That's what I am hoping to be the case.

I mean, it's not like Dylan&Co. are in any position to negotiate. It's Thrain's 'offer' or going back in into the woods. Hell, if what he says about Outlander treatment is true, Thrain is probably banking on Dylan&Co. to just stick around after their tour, because why not, right? Seems like the best offer they'll get around these parts.

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I know that, but I still feel a bit of push back(not to the same level as Kyle, but more a reasonable bid for information) from Dylan or Malik to get a better idea of what they are giving up vs what they will retain would have sufficed. Sure, you're more likely to offend, but a simple plea for understanding of how this deal will be different from being robbed or enslaved.

 

[Dragonhulk]

I'll be posting the 'rough' draft here, then Stub it after it's finished, leaving the first few chapters as an 'teaser', then, if I write a sequel, do it again. It's standard practice for Original Fiction, as publishers don't like having what they're asking you to buy up for free elsewhere.

Click to shrink...

Knew about the publisher thing, that was why I was surprised that you put more in here other than the first three chapters you did over a year ago. Glad you have a plan, and I'm enjoying it enough that I'll probably order a physical copy as long as the price is around $20 or so.

 

[vladspellbinder]

Ah, I see that returning is very much either not possible, or some people end up settling down hard. Meaning they found this world more appealing for whatever reason.

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My vibe from the very start was that their previous life was a lie slash simulation and whatever eldritch entity sent their entire graduating class to another world(s, since we don't know if all of the other 'supply crates' were also sent here or not) did so knowing they'd not be coming back and that they have nothing to return to anyways.

@Luke Dragneel, my guess is they hand everything over, nothing being 'bound' to them, and as part of the promised training are 'loaned' weapons and armor. Clothing and other such things comes as part of their 'pay' for working the caravan.
They've basically agreed to indentured servitude for a while but even that has various levels of treatment so there is every chance they will be treated fairly as long as they hold their end of the bargain.

 

[Leecifer]

Chapter Five: The Morning After

​

Sleep did not come easily.

Which, considering everything that'd happened, Dylan should've expected.

Thrain led them through the camp, as a whistle was blown from the commander, and everyone paused, before starting to move. They rapidly put things away, lifting and folding tables, the people all being a lot louder, sending looks his way, and towards his classmates.

Soon enough, they came to a long cart, more a wood and steel brick, the size of a mobile home, on three sets of large steel wheels, with five sets of finger-width dark glass strips running along its length. Thrain gestured, leading them to the back of it.

Following the shorter man, there was a door set into the wall, with a set of stairs extending up to it, which he indicated with a smile. "Take the stairs on yer right, third floor's clear. There be four beds a room, and bathrooms be at the end of the hall!"

At the pronouncement everyone looked at the man, then at the cart, which was, at most, ten feet tall, and back, causing Thrain's grin to grow.

Logan shrugged, then walked up the stairs, opened the door, and walked inside. Following him Dylan climbed the first set of stairs, and looked inside himself, at the hallway that extended twice as long as the cart was.

And then, to his right, there was a spiral staircase going up.

And also down.

Leaning back, he sent a look Thrain's way, the short man letting out a deep belly laugh.

Behind him, Malik looked inside, going, "Oh! It's like The Doctor!"

"Who?" Dylan questioned.

"Yeah!" the dark-skinned boy agreed which… didn't explain anything, but… Dylan was too tired to ask. Heading up the stairs, there was another hallway, the doors of this one decorated with ornaments, just like those of the first hallway. Up another, and the doors were bare, no sign of Logan, but, heading down the hall, a loud, long sigh came from behind one of the doors, which opened, to reveal him.

"Been holdin' that in for the last, like, hour," the stoner offered, a sink behind him, going for a fist bump, but there was no way he'd washed his hands that fast, so Dylan just gave him a nod instead.

The others followed him up, and they looked inside the doors, each room containing two sets of bunk beds, two desks, and four dressers, in two stacked pairs, just like the beds. And, hanging from the ceiling, was a blue crystal with a string attached that, when pulled, caused it to light up the space.

Looking to Anna, he realized that, for the first time there weren't any adults that were watching them, at least that way, and while they weren't gonna do that, maybe they could actually, literally, sleep togeth-

"It should be boys on one side, girls on the other!" Kristen declared, Amy nodding. The nerdy girl grabbed Annabeth's hand and dragged her to the right, and Dylan's girlfriend went along with it so… okay, that worked too.

Kyle took the first door on the left, which meant Dylan took the second, Malik following him. The pair entered their new room, which had an odd window across the back wall, only as tall as his hand, but spanning it completely.

Dropping their bags on the floor, leaving their weapons and armor on the table, the bloodstained links of his chain shirt shone almost black in the blue light from above. Turning off the crystal illuminating the space, Malik took the bed across from him, and was out like a light. Neither of them had gotten undressed, but the room was warm enough that they didn't need blankets. However, as much as Dylan wanted to go to sleep himself, hoping to wake up back in his old bed at home, he couldn't, thoughts chasing each other, not sure what had happened, what was going to happen next, anything really.

Getting up, he took a seat at the desk and looked out the window, the forest now rolling on past, constantly, just tree, after tree, after tree, the cart having started moving without him realizing it. Looking at his weapons, really looking at them, they were both intricately inscribed with flowing designs that caught and carried the eye, Dylan's exhaustion making his gaze lose focus, the patterns seeming to glow slightly, with a flow of something running along them, from him, through the axe's haft, then head, then back down into him, in a complete circuit.

The revolver, now empty, was the same, and part of him wondered if he should cut himself, just a little, to reload it, just in case, but that same knowledge that told him how to use it told him that'd be stupid, as only Fresh Blood would work.

Speaking of which, he blinked, realizing he was still in bloodstained clothing, and stood. Checking the bag, he found, as he somehow expected, another set of clothing, even if they were two sizes too big for him. He headed to the bathrooms, at the end of the hall, where Logan had come out, and wanted to shake his hand. The sound of a girl faintly crying came through the closed door to the left, barely heard over the sound of a shower running.

Part of him wanted to ignore it, to pretend he hadn't heard it, but…

But that wasn't him.

Not whatever new bit he'd picked up, but just… him.

Gently knocking on the door, to not wake the others up, he called out, "You okay?"

The crying stopped immediately, and he stood there, feeling kind of awkward, until it opened a crack, and Ivy peered out, demanding, "What do you want?"

"Uh…" he replied, realizing, in retrospect, given everything that had happened, no, no she wasn't okay, and neither were any of them. "You… sounded bad."

"And?" was her acidic response, but, looking at her, now without the makeup she always wore, she seemed… a lot less put together, and a little scared, even as she was glaring at him, which… was kinda understandable.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he finally asked, not sure himself.

And, in the awkward silence that followed, that… had probably been a stupid thing to say too.

However, after studying his expression, looking for… something, her own harsh look softened a little. "You're too good for her," the Asian girl finally stated, more to herself than him.

"What?" he questioned confused.

But she shook her head. "I. No. You can't. But… Thanks."

"You're welcome?" Dylan replied, the girl shutting the door immediately after, feeling like he had done something, but he wasn't really sure what that something had been.

Heading to the other bathroom, which despite being in a cart had both shower and toilet, somehow, he didn't bother undressing, he just emptied his pockets, turned on the water, and stepped under it, letting the warmth cascade over him, running red as it swirled down the drain, as he felt his tension, his fears, his everything swirl away as well, until it ran clear, and he shut it off, just… standing there, for a bit, he wasn't sure how long.

Stepping out, he peeled the wet clothes off, realizing he probably should've taken them off first, but… whatever. Reaching to grab the towel, he paused, as… he hadn't brought one. Fine. Whatever. Shrugging on the oversized shirt he'd gotten from the bag, struggling with the pants, he stumbled back to his room, Malik snoring slightly, falling into bed and, finally, passing out.

<SB>
​

"Hey man, wake up!"

Dylan blinked, his entire body sore, aching, and not wanting to move, as he looked over, Malik leaning over him.

"Wha?" he tried to ask, not really aware, wondering why he'd fallen asleep in class, but also why was he laying down. Did he go to the nurse's office? But why was the room swaying a lit-

…oh.

Blinking again, focusing, he took in the bunk bed he was in, the wooden room, the glowing crystal he'd assumed was a fluorescent light, and…

And he remembered.

Glancing at the window, it was still dark outside, causing him to groan.

"Dude, it's not even morning."

"You've been asleep for eleven hours," Malik told him. "Was startin' to get worried."

Frowning, Dylan grabbed his phone. It'd been about eight pm when they'd gotten to the caravan, everyone exhausted because, well, they'd all almost died, and another hour to talk to Commander Hark, getting their rooms, and settling in, and it was now… eight forty-two in the morning. Except, except even if they got moved to a different time zone, somehow, it'd been night at what should've been two in the afternoon to them, in a jet-lag way, then if it was still dark…

Was this like when you got really far north or south, where day, or night, lasted a really long time?

But then… shouldn't it be colder?

Sitting up, Dylan noticed a wooden box on the desk closest to him, an opened one on the other desk, along with silverware, showing to be a kind of lunchbox. Malik, following his gaze, replied, "Yeah, they dropped off some food! Said they'd come get us in a few hours, like, a few hours ago! It's why I woke ya up!"

"…Thanks," he replied getting up, and realizing that his clothing, which had been so baggy before, now fit him perfectly, having shrunk while he slept which… sure. Almost mechanically, he got up and took a seat, taking a second to find the small latch which held it in place before lifting it up, revealing a bunch of little compartments with different kinds of food in each.

"It's like a bento!" the other boy grinned, which, sure. "Oh, what's your [Job]?"

That made Dylan pause, because, the way he said it… it was like the way Principal West had, kinda.

"I, what?"

Malik's smile dimmed slightly. "Oh, right, you didn't meditate! Oh, and let me get you your drink!"

"Meditate?" Dylan echoed, feeling very, very lost.

"Yeah, when Mr. Rookforge dropped off breakfast, he told us to do that to figure out what we could do!" the other boy said, opening up Dylan's bag, and pulling out a canteen, the bottom sliding off to reveal it had been sitting in its own cup, which he filled with water, and, reaching into Dylan's breakfast box, grabbed a tiny cup of powder that the student had been confused by. Malik tossed the dark substance into the cup, turning the water dark brown, but also making it steam at the same time.

Offering it to Dylan, he accepted it, and, taking a sip, it was tea, kind of, but really… smokey tasting?

"Yeah," Malik continued. "Close your eyes, and think about, er, 'What ye be. What ye can do. And what path ye be treadin', laddie'," he repeated, trying to imitate the short man's gruff way of speaking.

As he looked hopefully at Dylan, the more athletic boy glanced down at his food, and asked, "Uh, can I eat first?"

"Right! Sorry!" the nerdy boy quickly apologized, adding a moment later, unable to contain himself, "I'm a [Moonblade]! Which doesn't come with powers, or anything cool, but it sounds cool, like, maybe I could go all Getsuga Tensho one day!"

"… sure," was all Dylan could respond, as he Heard the name of the [Job], the odd dipping and twisting he'd seen from the other guy now making sense, the fighting style needing a crescent shaped blade, and all about rising and falling, shifting back and forth, like the moon, but, whatever the other thing Malik had said, it had nothing to do with what he could do now.

Actually eating breakfast, it was really good, and he wished his school lunches were like this, which… right, he wasn't going to have another of those again.

He'd 'graduated'.

And now, now he had no idea what do next.

Finishing it off, he took a deep breath, and, like they did in health class, closed his eyes, focusing inwards, remembering the questions, and…

There.

He could feel it, like a crimson star inside his chest, or maybe his brain?

Either way, though he didn't know how he knew, he knew what he was.

"[Bloodshot Raider]."

He was going to fight, he was going to bleed, but, through his pain, victory.

Which was a bit more hardcore than he was really comfortable with.

But he wasn't sure he had a choice.

"Dude, that's so cool!" Malik grinned, which, well, Dylan was glad someone was having fun. Heading out in the hall, everyone's doors were open, and looking in on Anna's room, Sam, Kyle, and Bartholomew were there too.

"Hey," he greeted, the others having stopped talking as soon as he stepped inside. Anna was sitting on the lower bed to the left, so he moved to sit down next to her. "So, it's still dark outside. Is this, like, an Alaska thing?"

"We're not in Alaska!" Kristen corrected him, sounding insulted.

Putting an arm around Anna's shoulders, she leaned into him, as Dylan clarified, "Oh, yeah, but, you guys think it's something like that?"

Bartholomew shook his head, "It's not nearly cold enough for that."

"Eh, just an idea," Dylan replied. "How's everyone doing?"

Getting a chorus of answers that were all different flavors of 'Okay', he turned to Annabeth, asking, "And you?"

"I'm… hanging in there," she offered, and he nodded, leaning in for a kiss that was more like a peck on the lips, as she pulled back almost immediately, but, that was fine.

"So, anything happen?" Dylan asked everyone, glancing out the long, narrow window in this room too, but it was just… more trees, moving by.

"Heard someone fire a gun," Sam offered. "But that's it."

"Logan went downstairs," Annabeth added. "There's more people down there, and another floor above us that's empty. Everything stops once every few hours for people to move around."

Amy spoke up, "Saw someone run by, before I got to sleep."

"But we're moving at least thirty miles an hour," Kristen argued dismissively. "It's impossible to run that fast. You really expect us to believe that?"

The quiet girl wilted, as Bartholomew shot back angrily, "We're in compressed space. We cast magic with wands. Sophie and Scott got killed by werewolves! And you're still saying things are impossible!?"

"Hey! Don't talk to her that way!" Kyle rebuked, getting a thankful look from the girl.

"Or what?" the nerdy guy questioned scornfully. "We're stuck we don't know where, with people we don't know, for who knows how long. Saying anything's impossible is just stupid."

The look of hurt, then anger, on Kristen's face told Dylan that this wasn't going to go anywhere good, so he spoke up. "Bartholomew's right, but, I'm sure we're all feelin' kinda dumb, or, maybe naïve?" he questioned. "Whatever it is when you don't know what's going on."

"Ignorant?" Sam offered.

"Yeah, ignorant," Dylan nodded, even though that hadn't really been the term he was going for, but it didn't matter. "We're all pretty ignorant of how this place works, and, I don't know about you guys, but I'm pretty worried about what it is we're gonna find out. But," he hesitated, as what he was about to say…

It was horrible.

But, maybe it wasn't wrong.

"But as long as we stick together, like we did, we, we won't end up like Scott did," he declared, the others sending him offended looks, but it needed to be said. "And we need to do our best to figure out how to fight, how to protect ourselves. We did, we got armor, we fought, and we survived. Sophie didn't. She shouldn't've had to," he stated, frowning, "but… but Principal West, whoever, whatever, he was, wasn't wrong. We did what he said, and we're all still here. That's… that's not nothing."

"Are," Amy questioned, looking at him with disbelief, "are you saying they deserved to die?"

"No," he answered immediately, "but life isn't always about what you deserve. We need to deal with what we have. Which includes magic. Not sure if that's a good thing."

"How is magic not a good thing?" Sam questioned.

Dylan shrugged, patting the revolver on his hip. "Well, mine requires me to bleed enough to make a bullet. What's the cost of using a wand?"

"It makes you tired," Kristen declared.

"Yeah. But is that it?" Dylan replied. "I mean, we needed them, we all would've died if the four of you hadn't been there, but we don't know anything about how any of this works."

All four of the wand-wielders looked disturbed at that, Annabeth asking, "You think it's bad?"

"I don't know," he told his girlfriend, reassuring her, "but the three people who saved us didn't say anything, so it's nothing too bad, I'd just… not use them, until we can ask some questions. Because," he reiterated, looking to Kristen, "we don't know anything about this place. Like… why it's still dark outside."

Before anyone else could say anything, a low bong noise, like a gong rang out, and, outside, the trees started to slow down, or, really, their cart did.

"Oi, laddies and lassies, time to get yer gear!" Thrain's voice called out, and, as they left the room, he was there in the hall, waiting for them.

For a moment, Dylan glanced outside, as the cart was still moving at a good clip, then back at the man's practically stubby legs, then up at his wide grin as Thrain clearly knew what he was thinking, so he said nothing.

Which just made the short man smile wider.

Everyone gathered, waiting, until, at the sound of another gong, the man nodded and headed towards the stairs, gesturing for them to follow down, and outside, the carts having slowed, but not stopped.

However, the Caravan was practically abuzz, people running this way and that, some with bags, some carrying boxes, others running carts back and forth loaded with all sorts of things.

Malik stumbled a bit as he jumped off the stairs, and Dylan caught his arm, helping him, as Thrain started to jog forward, and they followed. They moved up past the cart they'd been in, which was not big enough on the outside, though, seeing the thin glass strips, he realized those strips were the windows they'd been looking out of, and, trying to look in, they were tinted, but he could barely make out the rooms they'd been in, just… sized for children.

Moving up the Caravan, they continued to pass carts, some on their own, some two or three abreast. Some seemed plain, others were covered in art, one with wind chimes that made no noise, while another seemed to rock back and forth with mechanical consistency. It was only after they'd passed a couple dozen that Sam asked a question that gave voice to something that'd been bugging him.

"Where are the horses?"

Looking around, she was right, as all the carts were moving, yeah, but entirely on their own.

"We got a few near the back, for the outriders that be usin' them," Thrain replied over his shoulder. "Don't see the need meself, but some swear by 'em beasties."

Which wasn't the answer she wanted, so Dylan spoke up, "I think she means how are you moving the carts?"

That got him a confused look from the local. "What, you lot use horses for that? Outlanders!" he sighed, shaking his head. "Horses? You be leavin' droppins all over the trail! And then it be gettin' in the wheels and… ugh." The man gave a theatrical shudder.

"Then what do you use instead?" Bartholomew questioned. "I don't see any exhaust, and it's too quiet to be an engine."

"We be usin' magic, of course, laddie!" the short man informed them, as if the answer was obvious.

Half of them turned to look to Kristen, who threw her hands up. "Okay! Magic! I get it!"

"Don't you be a mage, lassie?" Thrain questioned. "How do ya not know 'bout magic?"

"There's no magic from," Dylan started to respond, but part of him didn't want to say 'from Earth'. "From where we're from."

Which, somehow, got them a commiserating nod. "Ah, ya all be from a Flat Bastion? But you all got…"

"Got what?" Ivy prompted, when the man fell silent.

They jogged past a particularly large cart, the sides open, the smell of cooking drifting out of it as people unloaded boxes from within. The boxes were just like the ones breakfast had come in, stacked onto large carts, as others ran them up and down the Caravan, handing them off.

With a shrug, Thrain stated, "Well, ya all got those Comm Crystals, don't ye? Good ones, too. Can feel the mana off 'em from a dozen feet away!"

They all stared at the man, before Sam perked up, reaching into her pocket and asking, "Oh, you mean our phones?"

Nodding towards it, the local replied, "Aye, those! But ya be sayin' ya din't have any magic?"

"We…" Dylan replied, unsure, "we didn't know they were magic, I guess."

"Ah, ya don't be havin' any mana-usin' [Job]s. That be explainin' it," Thrain declared, which, looking to Annabeth, she shrugged, not having felt anything strange from them, despite using magic herself.

Soon enough, they came to an ornate cart. It was made of dark wood covered with golden trim, and while it had metal wheels so thin they seemed like they'd snap, they weren't even spinning, the carriage instead floating several inches off the ground. The side of it bore a folded-out landing which a few others were running up to and jumping atop before heading inside. Others came out of the doorway, leaping out, bearing envelopes and taking off in either direction.

Following Thrain up onto the landing, and waiting for a few others to pass, they all filed inside, finding the interior… familiar, in a way that was more than a little off-putting.

Because it looked modern.

Though bits were… off.

The floor wasn't the weird rubbery floor Miskatonic High used, it was a textured tile; the lights weren't fluorescents, it was more crystals, but in long strips that seemed the same without being quite right; and the walls were close, just not quite the right color.

Doors lined the hallway, which was also longer than it should've been, people heading in and out, while, at the end, was a closed door, with ornate golden designs on it, that seemed to… shimmer, in ways he couldn't really describe.

And, of course, that was the door Thrain headed for.

Following him, passing offices packed with cabinets, papers, and so on, people inside going over ledgers, a man with lizard scales and slit-pupiled bright red eyes idly gnawing on what looked like a pencil, they got to the end. Their short guide moved to knock on the door, but it swung open before he could, a thin, annoyed man's voice stating, "Rookforge, you're thirty-seven seconds early, as expected."

"Glad I din't disappoint," Thrain replied, gesturing the others inside, Dylan, when the others hesitated, moving first, as he stepped out of the modern hallway into a wizard's den, matching the look of the outside of the carriage, with gold leaf, dark wood, and ornate carvings everywhere. And, behind a large desk, was a man in a suit and tie, dark hair slicked back, and staring at him behind professional looking glasses that, Dylan noticed, had tiny golden symbols inset into their frames.

They all entered, having just enough room to do so, as the man who looked like he could've worked in an office, if one didn't examine him too closely, his tie covered in geometric patterns, and his black suit seeming to shimmer just like the door had, looked all of them over.

"Then we truly do have Outlanders. I don't know what the Commander was thinking, but he commands, and the rest of us have to make it work," he grumbled, and, with a flick of his wrist, and a ripple of something, several cabinets opened on their own, papers flying out to arrange themselves in front of the man, who, like Hark, and like the other two he'd been with, seemed a bit more… real than everything else, though not to the extent that the Caravan Leader had been. Another flick caused a set of measuring tapes to emerge, and fly towards Dylan.

"Do hold still, we need to get your measurements, which I'm sure will change, especially for some of you," the man ordered, sending a glance Malik's way. "Now, tell me, do you know the nature of the gear you will be turning over?"

Looking at the others, they didn't, and, when the flying bit of tape smacked him on the nose, Dylan winced and looked back forward. "Uh, no sir, we don't."

"Then you've received your onboarding briefing, at least?" the man questioned, in a tone that suggested bad things would happen if he was told no.

Thrain chuckled uncomfortably, "Ah, er, well, they seemed kinda tired, so I figured you could do it, Quill!"

"Wait, your name is Quill?" Ivy questioned, as the tape moved on from Dylan to Annabeth. "Isn't that kind of, you know, on the nose?"

The long-suffering look the man sent them wasn't really deserved, before he replied, "Thankfully, Neo-Avalon encourages general training and mixed careers, so that question won't get you killed. But, introductions. I am Vexius Quill, third in command of Neo-Avalon's Sixth Caravan, Quartermaster, Steward, Factor, and Supercargo, though, first and foremost, I am a [Calculant]."

The term explained things in ways his others hadn't, telling Dylan this was a man who lived and breathed numbers, who defined the world in equations and variables, and, by exerting his will, could change them to suit that will. As soon as they walked inside, they had been measured, evaluated, and assigned worth in a way that was both dehumanizing and inarguably fair.

"However," Quill continued, "in many Bastions, trades are hereditary. The Smiths smith, the Webers weave, and Ganakas could work here. That said, Outlanders don't have last names, but don't worry, most Orphans don't, so that won't be unusual."

"What? We have last names," Dylan argued, the others agreeing.

Lifting a single, pencil-thin brow, the number-wizard remarked, "Oh, the records are incorrect. Very well. What is your full name, Outlander?"

"It's Dylan," he answered easily. "Dylan…" he trailed off, the word, at the tip of his tongue, sticking to it. He knew his name. He wrote it all the time. At the top of every homework assignment, in the heading of every paper, over and over and over again. He could see it, right there, 'Dylan ___'.

"What the hell," Kyle swore, turning to glare at the man in front of them. "I, what'd you do to us?"

"I just met you, Outlander," Quill noted. "Though, do have your little existential crises quietly, if you must. As I was saying, your gear. Wait, Thrain did you at least tell them about [Job]s?"

"How can they not be knowin' 'bout [Job]s?" the short man questioned.

Giving the Trackrunner a disbelieving look, the well-dressed caravaner sighed, and pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Because they're Outlanders you dunder-headed Dwarf. They are, simultaneously, more unlearned than any child, yet knowledgeable in things the likes of which you or I would struggle to comprehend!"

Thrain frowned, "Like what?"

Turning to the rest of them, Quill questioned, "What is the mitochondria?"

"The powerhouse of the cell," they all answered, almost in unison.

The short man looked askance, "Like, the mana-battery in a jail?"

"No, the cells in your body," Bartholomew corrected.

Looking down at himself, Thrain stated, "But I don't be havin' a prison in me body. Except maybe me gullet, from which no drink can escape!"

"Just… stop talking," Quill ordered, turning towards the rest of them. "Alright, I'll work with Vey to set up a lesson plan. For now, your [Job] is who you are, formed by your actions, your will, and your striving to become more. You can have more than one, and most, thankfully, do. They grant skill and ability in order to better be who you wish to be and, wherever Outlanders come from, it blocks the formation of such, somehow. There are seven ranks, technically eight, and when you experience a breakthrough, you jump from the peak of your previous rank to the lowest level of the next."

Waving a hand, a blackboard pulled itself out of the wall, turning to face them, as faintly glowing chalk lifted up and started writing.

"The ranks are thus. First is Clay, which grants a slight boost, enough to do so somewhat, and avoid the worst mistakes," the mage detailed. "Then there is Lead, which, according to the records, would make someone a 'professional', though by what standards I cannot say. What we consider to be professional is Iron, like Mr. Rookforge, though I will note that denotes ability, not temperament."

"Ah, ya be sayin' the nicest things," Thrain grinned.

"If you consider that to be nice, you truly have abysmal standards," Quill remarked. "Past Iron is Bronze, like myself. You may think, hopped up on new power, you are quite the force. Together, you may, if he was being particularly foolish, overpower your guide. Someone like myself would not break stride as we break you. Past us are Silvers, like Commander Hark. With any luck, you will not meet another Silver until we have returned home."

"Is gold next?" Kristen asked.

"Indeed. Do note, however, that the gap between ranks grows with each one. The difference between Golds and Silvers, is closer to the difference between you all, and myself," the Calculant informed them. "And after them, are Diamonds."

The suited man fell silent, Dylan asking, "And they're the strongest?"

"They are, technically," Quill stated. "If you meet a Diamond, imagine rolling a die. On a six you lose, utterly, completely, and without even the slightest hope of victory."

"… And one through five?" Ivy questioned.

With a one-shouldered shrug, the man replied, "Then they are no danger whatsoever. However, Diamonds are never alone."

"So, we're, uh, Clay?" Malik put forward.

"No, you're Lead, and that's the issue," Quill stated. "Outlanders progress quickly, achieving in mere years what takes others decades, and your equipment further enhances such things. That is why you shall be permitted to maintain ownership of them until we are to arrive, at which point they must be confiscated, and locked away, for to be sheltered is one thing, but Miskonite gear in the hands of one who displays unusual naivete? Even if you were truly from a Bastion, none would care, you would be branded Outlander regardless."

Three gongs rang out from outside, the sound muffled, yet still clearly audible.

"Of course," the quartermaster remarked, reading their expressions, "do not worry, as you are, there is, quite literally, nothing you could currently do to help."

Kyle took a threatening step forward, "Screw you, we're not weak! And if what we've got's so great, we're keeping it!"

As Quill went utterly still, Dylan took a half step to the side, putting Annabeth behind him, quickly stating, "Uh, I'm still giving my stuff up. Should we get it now?"

Kyle shot Dylan a disgusted look, before turning back to the math wizard, and Dylan got the horrible feeling that, while he'd heard the man's [Job], all Kyle had gotten was 'nerd'. "Screw that, I'm a [Champion]! If you want my stuff, you'll have to-AAAAAHHH!"

Whatever threat Kyle was going to make, after declaring his [Job], one about fighting at the front and leading others into battle, it was lost as, with a slight twitch of his fingers, Quill set the boy on fire.

And they were ghostly flames, light green, and flickering in patterns that didn't make sense, but while the others stared, Dylan felt himself moving, trying to get to the other boy and help put out the fire, though he didn't know how.

"Don't."

The command from the Calculant was absolute, and he felt his joints lock into place, unable to do more than twitch, as Kyle screamed, as his skin… was fine?

It took a moment for him to realize, but while the other athlete was on fire, he wasn't actually burning, and there wasn't any smell to it at all either.

The flames only lasted a few seconds more before, with a snap of the quartermaster's fingers, they vanished, almost folding into themselves, gone as if they never existed, except for Kyle, on the ground, hyperventilating.

Quill, meanwhile, was ice cold in his wrath. "Listen well, Boy. You made a deal. You will honor that deal. If I had my way, we would have sent a team to shadow you until you all died, then gathered your gear, because you represent an unplanned for risk, one that I am having to rebalance our entire trip around. Hark is right, in that you, one day, might be worth the investment, and he is the Commander, not me, and certainly not you. Only the Strong can afford to be merciful, while the Weak get no vote. And right now, Outlander, you are very, very Weak."

With a wave of his hand, the air in front of the Calculant rippled with eye-searing patterns that drew the gaze like fractal knives, and he stated, "Be grateful Hark is allowing you that advantage for the next fortnight, and understand that, no matter how impressive your Primary [Job] may sound, it is merely a skillset, and there will always be one who counters it, as only the Gods are truly free of such things. Now stop your snivelling, stand, and respect your betters. I removed the damage of the flame, though I left the agony of the burn, but it ended when I cancelled out the equation, and whatever you still feel is all in your head. Well, that and the muscle cramps."

Letting out a long breath, the man's Presence faded, and the measuring tape flew back into its resting place from where it'd been behind Logan, the papers in front of him now filled with writing. "Your new loadouts will be crafted, and worked Miskonite will be included, enough to still give you a slight boost, the same as will be distributed to the others. You will be assigned minders, and are not to leave the Caravan, unless specifically directed to, even in Bastions. Especially in Bastions. If you out yourself as an Outlander, and in doing so bring harm to the Caravan, I will make sure to balance that account. Do you lot of sagacious simpletons understand me?"

"Yes?" Dylan replied, unsure.

That was not the correct answer, as in response Quill questioned, "Are you asking me or telling me?"

""Yes!"" they chorused, even if Kyle did so through gritted teeth.

"Good. Now, with any luck, I won't need to speak with you again," the Quartermaster directed, taking a seat at his desk and looking over the papers, waving them idly towards the door.

They left, heading down the too-familiar hallway, though, as they reached the exit, they thankfully noted that it was no longer night.

The caravan was still moving, if slowly, but they must've been in there longer than Dylan thought to have it already be full day. Regardless, stepping out into the brightness, and looking up, Dylan was relieved the night was finally over, as, while it was overcast, he could still feel the sun through the clouds.

No, not sun.

Suns.

Because while there was a white light above them, there was also a green one, and a yellow one, and a blue one that was slowly shifting red that seemed to not be a single point but a long line, the clouds below it colored, before they all washed together in the appearance of normality, when it was anything but.

Staring at it, a sense of terrible vertigo overtook Dylan, who felt completely unbalanced, as nausea rose in his throat, and he stumbled, before he had to look away, fall to his knees, and vomit, nor was he the only one. The light of the day, of the days, was too hot on his skin, not burning, but feeling almost like something worse was slowly happening.

"Lookin' up durin' the day?" Thrain questioned, as everyone was very, very sick. "Quill was right, you Outlanders really don't know nuthin'."



AN: As always, the next four chapters can be found on Patreon and Subscribestar. Once again, I look forward to your feedback as I write this, with the caveat that, when this is published, Book 1 will be stubbed (everything past chapter 3 removed) to comply with publishing requirements.

 

[Stevil]

Geez Kyle you didnt learn a damn thing. Im almost dissapointed the lesson was just pain. He is bound to do something extremely stupid.

 

[vladspellbinder]

Dylan constantly thinking about a normal day-night cycle, while being understanding of other things, got super annoying really fast so hopefully that is out of his system.

And Kyle continue to be a problem. Sadly he can't just be subtracted from the equation.

Control over The Numbers is really strong. I'm sure there's some limitation to it that he isn't overpowered but even what we've seen makes it one of the stronger versions of things.

Thanks for the chapter. Continued hate for Kyle, hope he dies soon.

 

[sperance]

It's interesting how Kyle got a job designed for leaders, yet he will need a lot of growing up for it to matter.

 

[Luke Dragneel]

I am getting a really bad feeling that Anna is cucking Dylan, particularly with Kyle and the girls either suspect or know. It would explain Anna's actions/reactions whenever Dylan tries to show affection for her when Kyle is around.

 

[KingOuma]

I am getting a really bad feeling that Anna is cucking Dylan, particularly with Kyle and the girls either suspect or know. It would explain Anna's actions/reactions whenever Dylan tries to show affection for her when Kyle is around.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, i read the same. Also, not surprised. Leecifer has certain beats in his stories when his speaks about his MCs past that make this sound a reliable assumption.

 

[vladspellbinder]

I am getting a really bad feeling that Anna is cucking Dylan, particularly with Kyle and the girls either suspect or know. It would explain Anna's actions/reactions whenever Dylan tries to show affection for her when Kyle is around.

Click to shrink...

I've not gotten any cucking vibes but it's pretty obvious to me she's not into him any more and just hasn't broken up with him yet and he's too dense to get it. Well, distracted by the whole "other world" thing AND a bit dense. But come on Dylan, it is painfully obvious she's not into you any more and you need to realize that.

 

[Leecifer]

Chapter Six: Back to School

​

Soon enough they were done being violently ill, Thrain having waved someone over to get them water, to wash the taste of sick out of their mouths, all while they very carefully didn't look up. Meanwhile, the carts rolled past them, but had, in the distance, started to gather.

"What is that?" Ivy asked their guide, pointing up at the sky, which continued to glow colors which were… not correct, to say the least. Colors that hadn't been there during the night.

"That be the Veil," the short man informed them. "It be the ceiling of the Farweald, source o' Monsters, and worse, but ya need not worry 'bout that for a while."

"But, what's beyond it?" Bartholomew questioned.

The Trackrunner shrugged. "No clue! Monsters? Ne'er heard o' anyone goin' through it an' comin' back. Not that I can see why anybody sane would wanna get closer, but ya always get some looneys."

"But, what about space?" Kristen questioned.

Stretching his arms wide, the local said, "Oh, there be plenty o' space in the Farweald. It ain't the close-weald, after all!"

It took Dylan a moment to translate, "No, she means Outer Space."

That confused Thrain, "Ya mean like, out of the Bastions? That be the Farweald. Or is this one of those 'might anaconda' things, like Quill said?"

"It's probably like mitochondria, yeah," the student agreed. "So, where are we going now? And, can we get out of this heat?" Because, while the nausea had faded, no longer staring at the sky which was Wrong, the light on his skin was… uncomfortable.

"Heat? Ah, the Veil-Light. Right," the short man nodded. "Follow along, everyone. With Daybreak, we be stoppin' ta get some rest, and get ready. The shift be safe enough, 'less you go chargin' forward as some of the worst beasties be cranky when they be first wakin' up."

They fell in behind Thrain, as he led them forward, only a couple-minute jog, each of the short man's steps carrying him a bit further than it looked like they should've, before they got to where the carts were gathering, the 'castle' cart already set up in the center of the formation.

As before, many carts were opening up, sides lifting to create awnings which were swiftly shading the area between them. Dylan and the others were led to a set of tables, near the castle-cart, which were being unfolded, canopy tents quickly erected that had no sides, only wide tops which also blocked the light of the… suns.

Because they had to be suns.

Right?

"Matron Vey be with ya lot soon," Thrain told them. "I'll be seeyin' ya lot later!"

And then, turning on his heel, the short man moved, practically streaking away between the carts in seconds, the ground he passed over shimmering for a moment before returning to normal.

"Oh," Kristen remarked faintly, "I guess they were running around while the Caravan was moving."

Left on their own, they took seats on the picnic tables that'd been set up, the smooth wood a lot better than the ones Dylan remembered from before, not a splinter in sight, as everyone was quiet, some taking out their phones, some just staring down at their hands, everyone making sure not to look up.

Sitting next to Annabeth, he put his arm around her, asking, "How are you?"

The look she sent him was incredulous, as she pulled away slightly. "How do you think?"

He paused, thinking about that, before answering, "Stressed but managing?"

His girlfriend just stared at him for a moment, before she laughed, once, and nodded, turning to look forward while leaning into him, replying, "I, yeah. Guess I am."

"Same," he agreed, casting his gaze around, as the locals moved about, not with the hurried speed they had while the Caravan was slow-rolling, but almost like they were tired?

For several long minutes, he just sat there, holding his girlfriend, who just sat there with him, before, glancing over, he saw Malik standing at the edge of the seating area, poking a finger out into the light, then pulling it back, then out again, and back again, frowning at his hand.

That… seemed like it might be important, so, giving Annabeth one last squeeze, he let go of her and stood up, heading over to the other guy, asking, "What's up?"

"It's… wrong," the dark-skinned boy stated, which didn't explain anything.

"Wrong how?" Dylan questioned. Copying the other boy's movements, he confirmed that, yes, as soon as he put his hand in the 'Veil-Light', he felt the same warmth that was almost itchy, quickly pulling his arm back.

Malik struggled to put into words what he was thinking, settling on, "The shade's too shadey."

Staring at the other guy for a second, Dylan finally echoed, "'Too shadey'?"

"Yeah," the nerd, but in a different way that Bartholomew was a nerd, agreed. "Like, put your hand in it, but, like, focus on where it's shadey."

Shrugging, and doing exactly as directed, he paused because…

"See!" Malik insisted.

Pulling his hand mostly back into the shade, then out into the light again, Dylan slowly noticed, as it wasn't like how being in the sun normally worked, but almost like sticking your hand in water, but sideways. Not like a shower, because that sprayed, and the Veil-Light… didn't, but, extending his arm again, there was a tangible difference between what was in the light, and what wasn't, that… wasn't how shade worked. Normally it got brighter, and hotter, the less you were covered, but here it was like a light-switch, or a binary, either 'in the light' or 'not in the light' with no in-between.

"It's too shadey," he agreed, Malik grinning broadly in return.

Another two deep gongs, sounding from the nearby castle-cart, made them both jump, and turn, as the top of the cart that Dylan had spotted before shook, then started to extend. Higher and higher, the pylon went, each section fully extending before it locked in place, and then the next bit hidden in sight was revealed, until-

"It's like the one we had," Ivy remarked, and he tried not to jump, not having heard her approach, or maybe he was just too focused.

Looking at the top section, which had unfolded, almost like a flower, he had to agree, "Yeah, but it's… different."

Because, at the center, like a gemstone stamen, was another of the crystals which had been at the center of their gear rack, only this one was glowing gold, and, as it started to rotate, the inside of the metal 'petals' that'd unfolded from it were slowly covered in golden runes.

Whatever it was, the entire structure started to rotate, faster and faster, not quite whirring, but, as it did so, the golden light from it seemed to almost congeal above metal flower, before spreading out over their heads in a gel-like dome, and, following it, while catching sight of the clouds above them, and the lights behind that gaseous ceiling, made him a bit nauseous once again, as soon as the golden light spread past them, that feeling of gut-deep Wrongness faded.

Instead, it just seemed… odd. The bile that'd been rising in his throat dropped back down to his stomach, and his hand, which had been in the Veil-Light, cooled. Still warm, but more like actual sunlight should've made it, the soft warmth of an overcast day, not the harsh, UV filled glare of high noon.

And, around them, the locals seemed to relax, the lethargy they had fading as they moved about with a bit more energy, and the low murmur of conversations starting to pick up as well.

How much of what they use is stuff scavenged from people like us? Dylan wondered, thinking of the crystal in the device over their heads. Looking about, though, no, while that bit was made of the same staff-crystal-thing they had, searching around for the same blue metal that they all wore, he didn't see any. More than that, the clothing the Dylan and the others wore was made of a different style, like high-end hiking gear, while the locals wore a mix of different types, but most of them seemed like regular clothing instead of the almost-uniforms the students were all wearing, each one with the Miskatonic High crest on their chests.

However, thinking about it, the large cloaks that'd been packed in all of their backpacks made a lot more sense now.

"So, we wait, I guess," he offered, the other two nodding, as he walked back to Annabeth.

His girlfriend glanced at him, and asked, "What did she say?" When he paused, confused, she rolled her eyes and said, "Ivy."

"Oh, just that whatever made the dome is made from the same thing that made the light that held off the werewolves," he explained. "Er, not-werewolves. The monsters."

"Dome?" Annabeth questioned, and he pointed, as it came down and enclosed the circled-up carts completely. "Oh."

And then she turned back to her phone, and her book.

Left on his own, he considered doing the same, the Library App they'd had to download for school having a lot of stuff they'd never used in class, but instead he took out his revolver. It was still empty, and he studied it, trying to get the same sense of it he had with his axe, when he was exhausted, and thought he saw more to it than he could easily see.

He'd say it was silly to do so, but they were in a fantasy caravan, under a magic shield, under a sky that didn't seem like a sky.

The grip was inscribed, making a texture that was easy to grip, which he guessed was good when it was slick with his blood. Except the patterns continued up the rest of his gun, a spiraling design down the barrel which, even with it unloaded, he made sure not to point at anyone. He remembered his Phys Ed classes with Mr. Johansen, and so he definitely didn't look directly down the barrel himself, but, at an angle. Doing so, the rifling inside wasn't gently curving lines either, but squiggly enough that it almost looked like writing.

And, letting out a deep breath, forcing his eyes to unfocus, it, too, shimmered with not-colors that he couldn't really describe, the same sort of thing that Thrain had left in his path.

Magic gun is magic, got it, he thought, with a chuckle, trying to follow the flow back and forth from himself, but he couldn't quite make it out. Then, as soon as he tried to focus on it, well, he wasn't keeping his eyes unfocused anymore, was he, so he immediately lost it.

"Thank you all for waiting," a woman's voice called out, with the same 'more real than real' quality that Hark and Quill's voices had possessed, "but Daybreak is a vital time."

Looking up, it was the woman who had stood beside Hark last night, in the same red metal breastplate over orange and yellow robes as before, giving the impression of fire made of fabric and steel. Her olive-brown skin seemed tanned, as she held herself high, appearing to look down her nose at them, a nose which was the type you saw in the history books on old coins. Her black hair was streaked with ashy grey, though he could've sworn he saw a glimmer of orange there too, as she swept by him to the center of their tables.

"Gather round, children," the woman commanded, "I am Matron Tamsa Vey, 2nd​ in command of Neo-Avalon Caravan Six, and [Hearthflame Priestess]."

Once again, the word carried meaning, of a soft blaze that warmed and protected, the complete opposite of Quill's harsh not-fire. Hers was one that healed, one that nourished, and one that helped put someone at peace.

And her words did seem to be doing just that, everyone visibly relaxing, Dylan himself feeling some of the tension between his shoulders, a tension he didn't even realize he had, loosening, though… why was it?

He didn't know this woman, and, while they had agreed to work for Hark, they were completely in the dark, so why was he relaxing?

Stiffening slightly, bracing himself against… whatever that was, he wasn't sure, but he thought the woman's eyes might've flicked his way. He couldn't tell for sure as she was already moving to one of the other tables, but sitting on the table itself, so she could look down at them all at once.

"Now, from what I understand," she stated, voice less present somehow, "you are all from such a large Bastion that you do not even know what Bastions are?"

"We're not from a 'bastion'," Kristen corrected. "We're from Earth."

"Yes, the Earth Bastion," Vey nodded. "Very good. Now, first of all, while looking up to the false sky of a Bastion is fine, looking upon the lit Veil directly is not good."

"Yeah, kinda noticed that when we all started puking our guts out," Bartholomew remarked. "What's behind the clouds, anyways?"

Smiling like a kindergarten teacher, the woman stated, "Not even the Gods know, only nothing good. Now, do you know what Bastions are?"

Dylan felt like he should be annoyed at the woman's tone, but he found he wasn't, for reasons he couldn't explain, which, ironically, made him annoyed. "We obviously don't," he responded, and, again, her eyes flicked to him, just for a moment, a hint of firelight reflected in them, even though there weren't any flames nearby.

"Very well. The Farweald is… inhospitable," the 'Priestess' explained. "Not because of the monsters, though they are a danger, but because of the Day. For the longer it continues, the more inhospitable it becomes. And, without an Anchor," she stated, gesturing up towards the spinning crystal, now out of sight because of the tents they were under, "should the Day last too long, you shall surely perish."

"What do you mean, 'if it lasts too long,'" Kristen questioned. "You make it sound like a day's longer than a day."

Tilting her head to the side, Vey inquired, "How many hours are there in your 'day'?"

"Twenty-four," the girl responded.

"Technically, between eight and sixteen, depending on the time of year," Bartholomew corrected, to Kristen's annoyance. "The rest is night."

"Ah, you mean a cycle," the older woman realized. "Yes, standard Bastions keep to such patterns, those that have seasons. Do not refer to cycles as days, children, lest you reveal your true origins."

Dylan made a mental note, nodding, and asking, trying to pronounce what he oddly heard as a capital d, "Then, how long is a… Day?"

From Vey's smile, he'd done it correctly, though her tone was still chiding, "Another question not to ask. Days can last any amount of time. Once, I saw one that lasted only a handful of hours. Another lasted two months, though we were safely within a Bastion for it. When we emerged, nothing had survived, not even the Monsters, which normally begin descending after six straight cycles of Day."

Sam glanced upwards, asking, "Then, could this, uh, day be that bad?"

"It could be," the woman agreed. "However, such things are rare, and we have enough charge to weather a Day up to twenty cycles long, if we are careful in how we use it, and such a thing is, on the routes we travel, a once in a century occurrence. It takes a fortnight of Day for true inimical conditions, and if needed we will be close enough to New Agartha to rush there, take refuge, and recharge our Anchor for the next leg of our trip."

"Routes?" the drama-club girl inquired. "I thought it was just the one. That's what we agreed to."

It was Ivy who answered, "No, the maps they had out, it was all lines and dots. Like constellations. With symbols by them."

"Ah, good eye," Vey praised, the Asian girl starting to sit up straighter, before pausing and frowning. "Yes, we travel overland, but certain allied Bastions are connected via Gates, which lets us cross hundreds, or even thousands, of miles in an instant. Our Caravan, like all others, chains those together to make our route. From New Agartha, we Gate Gondolin, then travel to Thule, then Cockaigne, then Norumbega, Gating to Ryūgū-jō, and onwards from there."

"But," Kristen argued, "if you can just 'Gate' places, why not Gate everywhere?"

"Oh, child," the woman almost cooed, "Because where trade can travel without pause, so may troops."

"This isn't America," Dylan realized.

"Maybe more like the warring states period?" Malik suggested, before frowning. "No, those were all connected. Oh, like Suikoden!"

Everyone stared at him, including Vey.

The dark-skinned boy wilted, "Oh, um, though, not really, as that was about hero units, and an evil empire, and, uh, there isn't an evil empire, is there?"

"There are several, but we will steer clear of them," the older woman noted.

"How is it like Suikoden?" Dylan questioned.

"It, it really isn't," Malik tried to defer, but, at Dylan's prompting look, he explained, "Um, because they're isolated, and there's monsters and stuff, you can have places kinda nearby that hate each other, but they can't conquer each other, 'cause if you were moving troops they'd run into monsters, and then there's, uh, Day. Are Anchors expensive?"

"Extraordinarily so," Vey agreed. "Is this a story from your Bastion? I have heard that Outlanders have a great deal of them. So many that they don't know them all."

With a wave of his hand, Kyle stated, "He's just a geek. So, uh, what's New-Agartha like?"

"They specialize in mining and metalworking, which means they will appreciate our fabrics, dyes, spices, and Farweald harvests," the woman noted. "As a first location to go as an Outlander, you could do worse, though you also certainly could do better, which is why you must hide your nature. Speaking of which, has Quill informed you of the nature of [Job]s?"

Kristen held up a hand, stating, when Vey nodded her way. "He said they're what we try and be, and that we can have multiple ones, but he didn't really explain what they were."

"Of course he didn't," the older woman noted with fond, if haughty, exasperation. "All that man thinks of is variables, not people. To be honest, young lady, no one knows what [Job]s truly are, but it is generally agreed upon that they are one's desires made manifest. When one wishes to be something, when they strive for it, they achieve that wish, and are granted the [Job] which best reflects that which they have done. Hmm," Vey noted, crossing her arms over her breastplate, tapping her lips. "Perhaps we should all go around and announce our [Job]s?"

"Uh, how do we know which one we have?" Sam asked, unsure.

"Meditate, like Mrs. Waldron taught us," Dylan directed. "It should be there."

The other girl nodded, closing her eyes, opening them a moment later. "Oh! I'm a… [Arcing Runeweaver]?"

"Wait," Bartholomew replied, "Why are you a Runeweaver, when I'm a Runescribe?" He paused, "Wait, why didn't I do the thing?"

"One's [Job] must be stated in full," their instructor gently informed him.

The boy nodded, "Oh, uh, sure, I'm a [Pyre Runescribe]. Kristen, what are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the girl replied reflexively.

Dylan cleared his throat, "Um, I think we all do? That's why we're doing this?"

The willowy girl froze, before reddening slightly. "Oh. Then, I'm a [Glacial Runewright]."

Turning towards Annabeth, Vey motioned for her to speak, his girlfriend hesitating, before offering, "[Zephyr Runeshaper]."

"But," Kristen argued, "if we all used Wands, why do we all have different jobs. And I don't mean the elements!" she quickly added, as Bartholomew opened his mouth to respond.

"That is a question, isn't it?" the local woman inquired, leaning back, in a way that said 'I'm not going to tell you'.

Dylan thought about what he heard, turning to his girlfriend, asking, "What's your job, er, [Job] again?" having to think about the concept, not the word, to say it 'right'.

Hearing hers, he turned to Sam, pointing at her, having her repeat it, then the other two, then, pausing, Sam again, and Bartholomew a third time.

"Someone has an idea," Vey remarked.

"You…" he started to say, before turning back to Annabeth, asking, "can I borrow your wand?"

"But, we don't know the cost," she argued.

"Right!" he nodded, turning to the local. "Does using wands cost more than just magic or mana, or whatever?"

The woman, who, now that she was studying him directly, seemed to weigh him with a gaze that shimmered with the hint of a glow, as opposed to Hark's shining golden eyes, stated, "If you overuse it, it will cost stamina, perhaps even your life should you try a great working you are unprepared for. However, that is a danger for those who learn from others, not themselves."

Dylan nodded again, "Okay, yeah, guessed that, but is there any other side effect of using it?"

Lifting her hand, a small flame bloomed in her cupped palm, "Greater skill, and deeper reserves."

Which wasn't what he was asking for, and, he realized, she knew that too. Ask Thrain. And maybe Quill, he decided, looking back to Annabeth, who still hesitated, Sam calling out, "Catch, Dylan" and tossing him her Wand, underhanded, which he carefully caught.

"Thanks," he smiled, standing and stepping away from the others, wincing at the feel of the light, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it was unfiltered. Hesitating, wondering if he was about to look like an idiot in front of everyone, he focused on a bit of ground, thinking about what he'd seen, and, unfocusing, tried to get a feel of the energy which ran through it, just like it did his weapons. Putting himself in the right mindset, he tried to 'write' a rune, like those he'd seen Sam make before, using the golden crystal like a stylus. While it wasn't easy, he did make a little bit of a shape as everyone watched, which-

CRACK!

Sent a small bolt out, striking the grass.

"Wahoo!" Malik cheered, as several of the locals around them, still working at various tasks, stopped what they were doing to look at him, a few of them even clapping.

Bartholomew, meanwhile, crossed his arms, remarking, "It isn't that impressive, I can do it too," while Kyle frowned.

"Okay," Dylan said, keeping his focus on his task, as he shifted his grip on the rod, and didn't 'scribe' it, but tried to 'shape' it instead, not making something which made the attack, but used the Wand to kind of… drag the energy into place, kind of like kneading dough in Home-Ec, to make a proper loaf without a visible seam, and-

KRrrzzzz!

A small ball of lightning was formed, which hit the ground and bounced, heading up, only for a bolt of warm yellow-orange fire to strike it, subsuming it completely before burning itself out.

And then Dylan staggered, as the tiredness hit, as another bit of fire was sent towards him from the woman, and he stumbled back, trying to dodge, but it stopped right in front of him, and just… burned, calmly, as he felt his fatigue slowly burn away too.

"Thanks," he nodded to their instructor, walking back under the tents, the filtered Light from above, as before, felt like it was pressing down on him until it suddenly wasn't. He moved to Sam, handing the girl her wand back, before heading to sit next to his girlfriend.

"You can thank me with what you've learned," Vey noted.

"Did you get another Job?" Malik questioned excitedly.

Dylan shook his head. "No, but, uh, I figured it out. Sam, do you sew?"

"Have to make costumes somehow," the drama-club girl replied.

"Right, so, you, uh, sewed the rune you made. So, Runeweaver," he explained, guessing a little, but he seemed right. "Bart, you-"

"It's Bartholomew," the boy corrected, annoyed.

"Right, sorry, that's… a lot," Dylan apologized. "You wrote your rune. Annabeth, you shaped it. And, Kristen, you, uh, planned it correctly?"

The nerdy girl's brow knit, before she went, "Oh, no, not 'right', wright. Like a shipwright makes ships."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," he nodded. "I got planning, but not, uh, the word exactly."

Vey added, "And that will often occur, where the meaning one takes from a [Job] is more important than the title itself. Though the title is important. Your leader is correct, however, in that while you four all had the same tool, it was how you used it which was important."

"He's not the leader," Kyle argued. "I am. I'm the [Champion]!"

The older woman regarded him, then looked at the others, before reassuring the taller boy in tones that were almost condescending. "That you are, dearie. The rest of you?"

Logan offered, "[Sentinel]," the word layered with defensive meaning, lacking in the offensive aggression that Kyle's [Job] carried.

"[Moonblade]!" Malik offered, getting a slightly surprised yet encouraging nod from Vey.

Ivy frowned, almost spitting out, "[Huntress]," which didn't make a lot of sense, as hitting things where they were vulnerable at range seemed like a good skill to have, though it also explained how she'd snuck up on him like she did. He wasn't sure how stealthy she'd been when they'd been surrounded by shadow wolves, but maybe firing at the monsters from behind them counted?

Val, as people looked her way, jerked her chin forward, declaring, "[Furyborn]." It was a word that spoke of a deep anger, but held tightly, not being swept away on it, but directing it narrowly. The [Job] wasn't describing a mindless berserker but more like… a really pissed off pressure washer, except instead of fluid she used fighting.

And then it was Dylan's turn, as he thought of the bit of condensed knowledge and skill that sat within him, stating, "And I'm a [Bloodshot Raider]."

At his statement Sam flinched, Ivy's head snapped over to stare at him, while Logan just lifted an eyebrow, for reasons Dylan didn't really understand.

The older woman, meanwhile, gave him a knowing look, though, again, what she knew he wasn't sure, as she remarked, "How interesting."

"Aren't raiders bad people?" Amy questioned.

"Definitely not Champions, that's for sure," Kyle smirked.

Vey nodded the other boy's way, "While you are technically correct, young man, young lady, you are incorrect. [Job] titles carry no moral weight, and, as our young raider discovered, are more descriptive of one's approach than their intent. A Champion rallies, a Raider strikes. It means that, in a group, one would better rally troops, while the other would better slay foes. Should the two fight, individually, all else being equal, the Champion will fall, while the Raider, while likely injured, shall certainly not lose."

Kyle clearly didn't like that, while Dylan nodded as, thinking about it, he had been more focused on relieving pressure for Val and Malik to get their feet under them by attacking the things that went after them, than by helping them directly. "So," he inquired, "are [Job]s shaped by your thoughts?"

"To a degree," the woman replied, "but it is one's actions that truly matter. You were focused on yourself when you were fighting, were you not?"

"Yeah, what I could do, to fight the monsters, to protect my friends," he agreed. "Though I wasn't able to do anything but just fight whatever was in front of me until the job, er, Clicked into place."

"And thus you received one which was about yourself," Vey declared. "However, if you continue to use it in ways that are not solitary, when you gain enough experience, when you refine it enough, and it becomes Iron, you will likely not remain a Raider."

"Oh, is that how you get multiple jobs?" Malik asked. "You get new ones down the chain?"

The local shook her head, "No, when one evolves, it intensifies and becomes deeper. You develop new [Job]s by doing things not in line with any [Job] you currently possess. I am a Bronze [Hearthflame Priestess], however I am also an Iron rank [Polyglot], Lead rank in [Arbalestier], as well as [Laundress]."

"You do your own laundry?" Annabeth questioned with a frown.

With a slight smirk, the woman stated, "Certain dyes require careful handling, young lady. As you work for the Caravan, you will pick up additional [Job]s. Even once you are divested of most of your Miskonite gear, what you will achieve will be nothing short of miraculous, but it is a trait that will bring you bane as well as boon. By the time we reach our next destination, you will all likely have a half-dozen different [Job]s of your own, though most will be of Clay rank, given we shall not be training you by putting a gun to your head, despite the kinds of performances such things can produce."

"Like, what kind of Jobs?" Ivy questioned. "Because I'd rather not dig latrines. Again."

With a wave of her hand, Vey asked, in turn, "Do you see any latrines, young lady? No, likely tomorrow you shall learn something far more important. Magic."

"But, we already know how to use magic," Kristen argued, getting an amused chuckle from the older woman. "What?"

With a wave of her hand, one which trailed swirling embers, catching the eye of a couple people from a nearby cart, who turned to watch, the Priestess directed, "Then show me your Magic." When the nerdy girl reached for her wand, the woman's voice was harsher, "I said show me your Magic, young woman, not use a tool which pulls it from you."

"I," the willowy girl hesitated, the words coming out haltingly, "I can't?"

"Then you know nothing of Magic," Vey stated simply.

"Wait!" Malik shouted, surging to his feet, and, though he hesitated when everyone turned to look at him, he continued, "so, so we all have magic? Wait, that's how Dyl, er, Dylan could use it without a magic Job! Dude, we all have magic!" he remarked with wonder.

"Dylan?" the local questioned, and the dark-skinned boy pointed his way. "Ah, the Raider. His [Job] is Magical, Moonblade. It is just a deeper, more visceral magic than those who deal in runes."

"The way you say Job," Ivy pointed out. "It's, it's different than the way he does," she jerked a thumb towards Malik. "But…" turning to Dylan, she continued, "you said it like she does. Why?"

Vey smiled placidly, "Because he understands, Huntress, and you do not. Perhaps you should ask him?"

"Or you could figure it out yourself," Annabeth countered, frowning.

Logan meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, muttering "Job. Job. Joooob. Jb. [Sentinel]. Sentinel. [Sentinel]. [Job]," before sitting up straight. "[Job]! Oh, uh, don't think of it like a job, like what you do. But, like, how a Doctor doesn't just do Doctor stuff, they are a Doctor! Or a Pilot. Not someone who might sell you some stuff, but, like, a Dealer!"

The Asian girl thought about that, glancing down, before declaring, "Jo- No. [Job]. Huh."

"Hmm, Outlanders are quick," Vey laughed, though she covered her mouth with a hand to do so. "Yes. [Job]s are identity. Though beware, for while you are not your [Job], at first, the higher your Rank, the more it will pull upon you to act in accordance with it. Other [Jobs] can provide conflicting pulls, but, should one only possess a single identity, it very well might consume you utterly."

"So we need to diversify," Dylan nodded.

"As you say," the woman agreed. "And, once you can truly use Magic, can cultivate it and express it, you can begin to contribute."

Sam smiled, "Oh, are we going to animate brooms or something?" As the others looked at her, she shrunk a bit, adding, "What? I like Disney!"

"This is a whole new world," Dylan agreed, getting a surprised giggle from the girl, who slapped her hands over her mouth and reddened in embarrassment, as Annabeth gave him an unamused look.

"You shall learn whichever style best suits you," their instructor informed them. "However, it will be something that allows you to charge Mana Crystals, which powers a great deal of what we use."

Kristen brightened, "Oh, so we can make the shield last longer?"

"No," Vey disagreed. "Our Temporary Anchor can only be recharged by being in the presence of a True Anchor, by being brought within a Bastion."

"True Anchor?" Bartholomew questioned. "What's that? Is it a bigger crystal."

"A… bigger crystal?" the Priestess questioned, deeply amused. "No, True Anchors are nothing of the sort."

Kyle frowned, when she fell silent, and demanded, "Then stop playing with us and tell us what a True Anchor is!"

The woman smiled, teeth gleaming white and eyes glimmering a faint orange in the shade of the tent, robes glimmering in the shadows.

"The Gods, of course."




AN: As always, the next four chapters can be found on Patreon and Subscribestar. Once again, I look forward to your feedback as I write this, with the caveat that, when this is published, Book 1 will be stubbed (everything past chapter 3 removed) to comply with publishing requirements.

 

[sperance]

I can't help but notice how Vey hasn't bothered to learn any of their names.

 

[Luke Dragneel]

I can't help but notice how Vey hasn't bothered to learn any of their names.

Click to shrink...

Probably because of a combination of her not deeming them worthy of remembering their names and because their Jobs are a better expression of their identities than their names are.

I also think that the diversity of Jobs, so long as they are careful, will provide them with an excellent way to stabilize their core identities.

 

[TheManWithoutAPlan]

"[Bloodshot Raider]."

He was going to fight, he was going to bleed, but, through his pain, victory.

Click to shrink...

Oh, I bet that there is discrimination about the Jobs. And that one will not be seen well.

Vey nodded the other boy's way, "While you are technically correct, young man, young lady, you are incorrect. [Job] titles carry no moral weight, and, as our young raider discovered, are more descriptive of one's approach than their intent. A Champion rallies, a Raider strikes. It means that, in a group, one would better rally troops, while the other would better slay foes. Should the two fight, individually, all else being equal, the Champion will fall, while the Raider, while likely injured, shall certainly not lose."

Click to shrink...

Whelp, there isn't big discrimination, but there is still descrimination, especially amoung the fellow outworlders that may have taken his job differently than the locals.

 

[vladspellbinder]

I really hope someone other than Dylan gets to work out some things about their new world before he does and get to have their own moment or telling the others how something works. It is sort of feeling like the other graduates are just there to make Dylan look cool.

Also getting real tired of the fact they are not on Earth anymore not getting through their thick heads. No they don't have to be Suns. Yes a Day can last however long it wants. Open your minds to your new reality instead of just assuming things will work how they did on Earth.

Sorry for being so negative but this story is just hitting so many Tropes in just the wrong way for me that I'm not really enjoying it, and I normally really enjoy your work. It's not that it's an original fiction, I love original fiction and wish we had more of it around on this site. It's just, we're getting pretty close to The Seven Deadly Words for me with this group so the dynamics need to change for me to care.
Maybe it's just to early in things and I need to give it three or so more chapters.

I just hope something clicks soon so I can go back to enjoying the fic. I really enjoyed it to start with but seeing all these Tropes played straight and not played with is dragging it down for me. I wish I could be more articulate in my reasoning but I just don't have the proper words right now, maybe if I just let it mull in the background I'll find some better words to explain my feelings.

Thanks for the chapter.

 

[Leecifer]

I really hope someone other than Dylan gets to work out some things about their new world before he does and get to have their own moment or telling the others how something works. It is sort of feeling like the other graduates are just there to make Dylan look cool.

Also getting real tired of the fact they are not on Earth anymore not getting through their thick heads. No they don't have to be Suns. Yes a Day can last however long it wants. Open your minds to your new reality instead of just assuming things will work how they did on Earth.

Sorry for being so negative but this story is just hitting so many Tropes in just the wrong way for me that I'm not really enjoying it, and I normally really enjoy your work. It's not that it's an original fiction, I love original fiction and wish we had more of it around on this site. It's just, we're getting pretty close to The Seven Deadly Words for me with this group so the dynamics need to change for me to care.
Maybe it's just to early in things and I need to give it three or so more chapters.

I just hope something clicks soon so I can go back to enjoying the fic. I really enjoyed it to start with but seeing all these Tropes played straight and not played with is dragging it down for me. I wish I could be more articulate in my reasoning but I just don't have the proper words right now, maybe if I just let it mull in the background I'll find some better words to explain my feelings.

Thanks for the chapter.

Click to shrink...

So, I mean this honestly, but which Tropes am I playing too straight that are bothering you, because I think I'm breaking as many, if not more, that I'm using normally, and all stories have some tropes in them, as there's so many it's impossible to tell a story without any, as attempting to do is also, ironically, a trope.

 

[Velk]

Tropes are ultimately just tools used to make a story. There is no good or bad Trope, just how good the execution of them.