When Konrad had said he needed to pick some things up from the Bazaar, Damian had thought about just using [Focused Mind] and muscling through it. But on the way there, he’d realized he was much too exhausted from the day to deal with the deluge of skills. He felt awkward asking if he could wait outside, but Konrad had been more than understanding.

  The only problem was that there weren’t too many places to loiter casually.

  He ended up having a half pint of mead at a table on the side of the street at a brewery near the entrance to the Bazaar. It was relatively cheap, tasted of berries, and wasn’t super strong. All in all, it served as a lovely excuse for him to sit and wait and people-watch. Across the street was a shrine to Marduk, and Damian watched the people who stopped to offer prayers. They were young and old, dressed in rags and fine silks, with seemingly no common thread between them.

  Damian thought it was all bullshit. This city was run under Marduk's law—his supposed holy Word. But there were drug houses, [Beggars], and orphanages that beat the children given up by those who couldn’t care for them. How could this all be holy? And how could anyone pray to a god like that, hoping for benediction or favor?

  Konrad was gone for almost two hours, long enough for Damian to just start to get nervous. He was in the middle of debating a third half pint when Konrad put a hand on Damian’s shoulder, and he nearly leapt straight out of his seat and onto the table in fright. At least Konrad looked a little guilty as he pulled his hand back.

  “Sorry. You ready?”

  “Fucking moon and stars,” Damian swore, straightening his tunic. “I am now.”

  “Good, let’s go,” Konrad said, taking the lead back to his lodgings. By the time they made it back, it was midafternoon.

  As they stepped in, Konrad sighed, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that day was kind of shit, huh? Guess I’ll finish dinner.”

  “Can I help?” Damian asked.

  “In a bit,” Konrad said, guiding Damian to one of the two chairs in the room and sitting him down. “You good?”

  “Er, yeah. Today was just... a lot,” Damian admitted. “Gave me a lot of context about... you, I guess.”

  Konrad gave him a small, weary smile. “Told you I’m not who you’re looking for. But you stuck around anyway—for some fucking reason.”

  Without thinking, Damian blurted the first joke that came to mind. “Stayed for the food. You’re a good chef, and the street food upsets my stomach.”

  “Hah.” Konrad chuckled, lips quirking into something closer to a real smile. “Glad I don’t disappoint. Speaking of which...”

  Konrad stood and went back to the counter, picking up the dough that had definitely rested for too long, and started rolling it out again. Damian grabbed his bag and began checking through his things. The room peeked over his shoulder, even though you couldn’t see into a bag of holding. He didn’t think he’d lost anything last night, but it occurred to him he couldn’t really remember everything well, and it was probably worth checking. Recent events had proven he was a bit more na?ve and foolish than he’d thought.

  Why had he agreed to take the Saint’s Breath in the first place? Because he’d thought it would somehow make Konrad take him seriously. In hindsight, that was dumb as rocks. Now, with more context, he realized how much he’d assumed about Konrad; about what he thought, what he felt. He’d made it all about himself, never even considering there might’ve been some very important context for why Konrad was the way he was. And Konrad wasn’t a bad person; that much he was now certain of.

  Which made Damian feel... exceptionally stupid.

  Then Damian realized that must’ve been why the [Doctor] had known his name—it must’ve been the same [Doctor] who’d told him he was sick.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” Damian said around a lump in his throat.

  Konrad looked over while separating the dough into thin, flour-dusted noodles. He studied Damian for a moment, tilting his head as though puzzling over something vexing. “What for?”

  Damian glanced down at his hands, avoided his gaze, and picked at one of his nails. “I made a lot of unfair assumptions about you. I was… I judged you, and I’m sorry.”

  A short silence stretched, and Damian’s heart sank. Konrad was probably about to tell him he was right. Then Konrad chuckled. Damian’s head snapped up, a flicker of anger bubbling at the reaction to his genuine apology—but Konrad cut through it immediately.

  “Are you kidding? You made a lot of perfectly fair assumptions about me. And you’re the first person in forever to treat me like a real person.” Konrad dropped the noodles into a pot of boiling water, swirling them with a fork. “The orphanage treated me like an animal, the [Watchmen] treated me like a criminal, and the [Doctors] treat me like a specimen. That means—well, it doesn’t matter. The point is, you treat me like I still have a life ahead of me. And I… kind of like that, even if you’re wrong.”

  Damian’s throat tightened.

  Konrad hesitated, then shrugged and carried the pot to one of the basins to drain the noodles. “If anything, I owe you an apology. I should’ve told you from the start I wasn’t worth your time. Honestly, y’know... but like I said, I like the way you talk to me like I’m worth something.”

  “You are worth something,” Damian managed finally. He huffed, balling a fist. “You’re not dead yet—so stop acting like it.”

  “See, that’s what I like about you,” Konrad said. Though he was turned away, Damian could hear the smile in his voice.

  In two quick steps, Damian crossed the space between them and smacked him on the back of the head. Konrad yelped, nearly dropping the pot before catching it and the noodles. The room chuckled. Spinning on his heel, Konrad glowered at him.

  “What was that for?”

  “Stop it!” Damian shouted. “You’re still doing it! If you like feeling like you have a future, then fucking act like it. We live in a world with magic, alchemy, and levels, and—maybe there’s a cure for you. Maybe your class will cure you. You don’t know that it won’t.”

  Konrad rubbed the back of his head, brows knitting into a deep furrow. “Uh, no, it really is—”

  “Then do something!” Damian shouted, giving Konrad a light shove. He barely swayed. “Moon and sun and stars, you’re just giving up. You’re not even trying. You can give up, get high, and die alone, or you can fucking do something about it. You don’t think I wanted to give up? You don’t think I wanted to lie down and die after watching everyone I knew get ripped apart by a monster? I want to help you, Konrad. You can do something. You’re smart, charismatic, and strong. Please—just find some reason to try.”

  Damian huffed, locking eyes with Konrad, his blond hair falling into Damian’s face. They stood there, staring each other down, Damian silently daring him to say something else stupid so he could keep yelling. It felt good to yell. Then, slowly, a mischievous grin spread across Konrad’s face.

  “I really like eating noodles,” Konrad said. “I think I want to keep doing that for a long time.”

  “What?” Damian asked, then blew a strand of Konrad’s hair out of his face.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Konrad shrugged. “That’s as good a reason to try as any, no? Let me finish these noodles, and I’ll tell you about this stupid quest I got.”

  At first, Damian was too stunned to react. Then he chortled and stepped back, realizing he’d been cornering Konrad against the wall.

  “You could also, like, want to keep helping the kids at the orphanage,” Damian teased.

  Konrad sighed. “That’s a good reason too, I guess. Probably better than noodles.”

  “Mmm, noodles are pretty good,” Damian argued, playing along.

  When Konrad asked for help with the sauce, Damian joined him, chopping vegetables and meat. As he passed the ingredients over, Konrad added them to an oiled pot, stir-frying them together. Damian had no idea what spices he was using, but by the time it was done and Konrad offered him a taste, the sauce was thick, rich, savory, and just a little spicy.

  When the noodles were added and the mix tossed, they came out coated in a glossy layer of thick brown sauce. Splitting it evenly, they filled three bowls—one for each of them and the room. Sitting at the table, Damian took a bite and grunted in appreciation. The noodles were chewy, the sauce fantastic, and suddenly he wished he’d spent more time learning to cook. It had never held his interest. Back in Bekham, only a few people cooked for the whole village. It was easier that way.

  “Okay, so I got the quest when I leveled up,” Konrad said through a mouthful of noodles.

  Damian swallowed a bite he really should’ve chewed longer, winced, and set his fork down.

  Konrad snorted but kept going. “Said I’m supposed to find some stave called the Miraculous Seven Star Stave. Sounds like a crazy magic artifact to me. Thoughts?”

  “That’s... not much to go on,” Damian said cautiously.

  “It’s not!” Konrad agreed cheerfully. “Luckily, it gave me a location. Bad news, the location’s the Gilly Swamp.”

  Konrad looked like he expected a reaction, but Damian had no idea what the Gilly Swamp was, so he just blinked.

  “Right—yeoman. The Gilly Swamp’s a deadzone. It’s about two hundred miles southwest of here, crawling with some of the nastiest monsters and undead on the continent.” Konrad pushed his noodles around with his fork. “So you can understand why I’m not exactly jumping at the chance to go muck-wading with skeletons.”

  “Mm,” Damian grumbled. “And I’m guessing the swamp’s huge? It didn’t give you anything more specific?”

  They paused to let the room chuckle.

  “Oh, it did. Upon the knoll where the green flame burns everlasting, delve the crypt of a saint long dead, and bring the finger of death to the saint’s brow.” Konrad paused for another noisy bite of noodles, then shrugged. “I figure a hill with a burning green flame can’t be that hard to find. But it’s still a big swamp. And, you know, skeletons.”

  “Right.” Damian frowned. “What if we hired some [Adventurers]?”

  Konrad smirked. “Oh? You holding out on me, rich boy? Because I can’t afford that.”

  Damian shrugged. “Well, if we promise them everything in the crypt except the stave, they might go for it. I dunno—how often does the Great Game even hand out quests? Seems like that’d draw some attention.”

  For a moment, Konrad just sat there, frozen. Then he blinked, frowning. “That’s... not a bad idea.”

  “I have them from time to time.”

  “Yeah. But can we take a step back?” Konrad asked. “I’m still not convinced this is worth it—for you, I mean. I know you’re ready for this, but I’m your second [Chosen One], right? Maybe it’s strategically smarter to just let me die and find one without an expiration date. And, hell, maybe one with a better class while you’re at it.”

  Damian could’ve sworn even the room agreed with Konrad, but he shook the thought away. “That’s bullshit. The Great Game gave you that class; it must’ve had a reason. Look, tell me about it.”

  Konrad hesitated. It was a bold ask from Damian; most people kept their classes and skills secret. It was personal, almost sacred. But at this point, Damian figured it was small potatoes. Konrad seemed to agree.

  “Level 28 [Chosen Alchemical Hedonist]. I’ve got [Call To Revel] as my level 20 capstone, and my level 10 [A Good High] turned into [Through Pleasure, Power] when the class consolidated. Haven’t tested that one much. I figure it boosts me if I’m under the influence, and something about it makes Saint’s Breath what it is. But, y’know… all this kinda requires…”

  “Drugs?” Damian offered, shrugging. “I’ve heard of stranger classes. What about [Ecstatic Purpose]? That one looked strong—you got a bunch of strangers to move like they’d trained together.”

  Konrad shifted, uncomfortable. “Yeah... but it only works when people are chasing pleasure, far as I can tell. They have to want to do it, and enjoy it. Not exactly ideal for crypt delving.”

  A memory of Mother Revna made Damian smile. He’d been on dish duty, washing plates beside her with rags. After a few, she sighed, stretching her back and pointing at the remaining stack.

  “[Cleanse Apparel],” she muttered.

  The dishes were instantly spotless.

  Damian gawped at her, and she snorted. “What?”

  “Those aren’t clothes,” Damian said, stating the obvious.

  “Says who?” Mother Revna asked, one eyebrow arched. “While you’re using it, a dish could be an accessory, and an accessory is part of your attire, isn’t it?”

  That was an extreme stretch of the definition of—well, basically every word in that sentence—and Damian blinked in confusion. But it had worked, so... “I... guess?”

  Mother Revna laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll let you in on a secret: skills are open to interpretation. Sometimes it’s all in how you frame it. Use that, and you’ll get a lot more out of them.”

  Back in the present, Damian applied the same logic. “What about [Swordmasters] or [Fighters] or whatever? They like fighting, right? So wouldn’t your skill count if you got them to enjoy smashing skeletons?”

  Damian could see the gears turning in Konrad’s head as he mulled it over, and the room chimed in to compliment Damian on his creativity.

  “Thank you,” Damian said smugly.

  Konrad furrowed his brow, blinking before shrugging hesitantly. “I suppose that could work. I could pivot into combat drugs, make it a decent support class. A weird [Alchemist], sure.”

  “Yeah,” Damian agreed, trying to hype him up. He stood and gathered their empty dishes, suddenly inspired to clean them by the memory.

  He still felt like he hadn’t eaten enough, though Konrad had made plenty for both of them. For a moment, that struck him as odd, but the thought slipped away just as quickly. While Damian washed, Konrad started musing aloud.

  “We could always post an official quest with the adventurer’s guild. They verify things with a truth stone, so that’d give us some credibility. And I’ve got enough money squirreled away to buy some basic gear. This could... maybe work.”

  Damian set the dishes down, practically vibrating with energy. “It can! No—it will! Look, I know you don’t feel great about your odds, but we may as well try, right? Worst case, we die anyway. Best case, you live, we get the magic stave, finish your quest, and then—”

  It hit like a punch to the gut when Damian realized that was where his plan stopped. And then what? Kill a god? There had to be more steps between “finish the quest” and “kill a god.” But what? His thoughts screeched to a halt as the enormity of it all sank in. The room offered him a tankard of water, and he took it gratefully, gulping it down.

  “Then we look into Nephret,” Konrad said. “And the other gods. We’ll talk to some [Paladins] or [Priests], figure out what really happened. I’ve never heard of a god just wiping out a village—unless they’d done something to deserve it. Or... Gnaw, I guess.”

  Damian shivered. Gnaw—the god of hunger—was a strange one he’d heard little about in Bekham. It was said that even speaking his name drew him, and famine, a little closer, so the villagers avoided mentioning him at all. Now, Damian wished he knew more. He made a quiet promise to find some books on the gods. Stars knew their churches would be more than happy to hand him a few.

  “Right.” Damian nodded. “I think it’s best if we get moving. I don’t know how Nephret found us so fast, but you’re not dead yet, so clearly there are limits. It stands to reason that if we’re on the move, we’ll be harder to find, right?”

  The room seemed to agree with Damian.

  “True…” Konrad said slowly. “But that’s also a point against posting a Guild quest. It’d draw too much attention and give away where we’re headed.”

  “Oh.” Damian shivered as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He rubbed his arm, trying to calm the sudden spike of anxiety. “That’s true.”

  A moment of silence passed before Konrad frowned. “Hey... does something feel off to you?”

  “Yeah, I was just about to say,” Damian said. [Dangersense: The Chosen One] began to tickle his mind with a shallow warning. “It feels... weird. Like we’re being watched?”

  Konrad froze, then rose slowly from his chair. His eyes swept the room, and Damian followed, but there was nothing—just the three of them. They were on the third floor; no one could’ve peeked through the window. Konrad’s face had gone pale and ashy. “Damian, I think we need to leave.”

  “What?” Damian asked, his anxiety ratcheting up.

  “Now, Damian. Grab your stuff, we’re—”

  “Ah,” said a cool, smooth voice. “Interesting—you noticed me.”

  Damian and Konrad jumped back from the table. An old man sat there now, in a chair that hadn’t existed a moment ago. His skin was the color of honeyed sand and his head was bald, but he had a short, gray goatee. Despite the simple robe he wore, his presence filled the air. Then Damian realized he hadn’t appeared at all. He’d been there the entire time. He’d eaten their food, joined their conversation... and Damian hadn’t noticed. Not once. How the fuck was that even possible?

  “Marduk,” Konrad whispered.

  “The one and only,” Marduk agreed, standing and brushing off his robes. “We should talk.”