"Holy shit..." he muttered, leaning on his warhammers, trying to add levity to the situation.
"That was epic, where in the Hells did that come from!" The cat-woman, Nyra, from what he heard her called earlier, finished for him, her tail lashing happily.
"An astute observation," rumbled the golem. “But I'm sure the beast is from around here.”
The twilight-skinned woman stepped from the shadows, eyeing Jace with curiosity. "What was that whole... misty thing, there at the end?" She gestured between him and the dead beast.
"Oh, that? Just… a skill," He deflected, still catching his breath.
The insectoid simply stated, "Efficient skill."
The cat-woman smirked, her eyes shining as they stared at him. "I'm glad you ignored me.” She looked down at her broken shield. “Or that may have gone a lot differently. What’s your name?”
"Jace," he said, straightening up from his hunched position, finally catching his breath. "And you?"
The cat woman placed her battered shield on her back and slid her dented sword into its sheath. "Name’s Nyra, Nyra Wildeheart." She gestured toward the massive golem next. "That’s Patch." Her finger moved to the insectoid. "That’s Torak." Finally, she pointed to the moon-skinned woman. "And that’s Sylas Moonrunner."
Sylas stepped closer, her pale eyes studying him like she was inspecting a rare artifact. "So, what exactly are you doing out here alone? Are you some kind of solo adventurer?"
Jace hesitated. ‘Adventurer?’ That was an interesting assumption. He didn’t want to spill the whole ‘Oh, you know, I died, woke up in a dungeon, reaped some souls, and now I’m winging it’—but he also didn’t want to weave some unmanageable web he couldn’t untangle later. "Uh… no. Just a traveler. I’m new around here."
"New around here?" Patch rumbled as he looked around, then tilted his massive head. "But… there are no 'here' parts to be new in."
Nyra and Sylas both chuckled.
"It means he is not from here," Torak clicked, his mandibles shifting. He sheathed all four of his swords in one fluid motion. "Would you like to hire us to escort you to the nearest city?"
Nyra laughed outright. "Torak, I don’t think he’s looking to hire us."
Torak tilted his head at her, perplexed. "Why not? Most travelers require protection. Logic dictates that this is the current case."
This time, Sylas let out a soft laugh, patting the insectoids' shoulder. "He just killed that behemoth. It was about to flatten at least two of us. Why would he hire someone weaker than him for protection?"
"Now, I wouldn’t go that far," Jace interjected, feeling like the conversation was running away without him.
Nyra lifted a hand, cutting off further debate. "Look, bottom line—if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be here. My health was critical. If he hadn’t butted in, we’d be dead." Her golden eyes met Jace’s, her tail flicking. "So… thanks, Jace."
Jace scratched the back of his head, feeling a little awkward under the weight of her gratitude. "Ah, don’t mention it. Heard someone in trouble, figured I should help."
Toraks all black insect-like eyes flickered. "But we did mention it. It must be said. Would you require some coins?"
Jace held up a hand. "Tell you what—just point me to the nearest town, and we’ll call it even."
Nyra grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. "Tell you? We’ll show you!" She clapped a hand on his shoulder. The weight of her gauntleted hand was heavy on his shoulder. "And hey, if we run into more boss monsters, you can save our asses again!"
Sylas smirked. "Yes, our mighty protector," she teased, giving him an exaggerated bow. “We owe you our lives.”
Torak chittered, which Jace hoped was laughter. Patch… just stood there. Silently. Unblinking.
Jace smiled. "Sounds great.”
But even as he chuckled with them, something in the back of his mind stirred. A pull, quiet but insistent. The echo of a voice that hadn’t spoken since the last soul was claimed. The weight of his core, fuller than before, heavier somehow. Watching. Waiting. He pushed the thought away, for now.
The forest stretched ahead like a living wall—gnarled trees twisted into unnatural shapes, their branches clawing at the sky. Dense underbrush blanketed the ground, muffling footfalls and making every step a gamble. Shafts of pale sunlight pierced the canopy in scattered beams, casting fractured light across the winding path.
Jace walked in silence, flanked by his new companions. The earthy scent of moss and damp bark filled the air, but it did little to calm the whirlwind of questions in his head. Most were too risky to ask—too revealing. So he settled on something safer.
"So... you’re adventurers, huh?" he asked, his voice low. "How does that work? Do you just wake up one day, grab a sword, and start fighting monsters?"
Nyra scoffed, shifting the weight of her cracked shield. “If only. If it were that easy, we wouldn’t still be stuck at Bronze Rank.”
Jace quirked an eyebrow. “Bronze rank? That sounds... prestigious.”
Sylas let out a sharp laugh. “Oh yeah, super glamorous. It’s the bottom rung of the Adventurers Guild. Tin is where everyone starts, unless you're rich or stupid lucky.”
Jace absorbed the info, his gaze flicking between them. "So what comes after Tin?"
“Bronze, which is where we're at, then it's Silver, Gold, then Adamantite,” Nyra said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Mithril’s the top—those are the people who get songs written about them.”
"Huh... makes sense,” Jace muttered. “Where I’m from, we didn’t have guilds. No adventurers either. Just regular people trying to make it day to day.”
Torak’s antennae twitched, his mandibles clicking softly. “Even the most remote villages report some form of Guild presence.”
Jace shrugged, keeping his tone even. “Ours didn’t. Tiny place. Not on any maps. Fifteen people, maybe twenty. We hunted, farmed, kept to ourselves. Didn’t need outside help.”
Patch let out a low hum. “All towns have names.”
Jace didn’t like the way the golem stared at him as he said it. The silence stretched. He forced a smile and changed tracks.
“So the Guild hands out jobs? Like monster hunts and delivery stuff?”
Nyra nodded. “Pretty much. The higher your rank, the better the pay—and the higher the risk. We’re still stuck clearing pests, guarding merchants, and slaying the occasional feral beast.”
“Escorts too,” Sylas added with a grin. “The boring kind.”
Jace chuckled under his breath. “Sounds like every MMO quest log I’ve ever hated.”
They looked at him blankly. He coughed. “Never mind.”
Torak gestured ahead with one of his lower arms. “Working as a team increases survival odds. Solo adventuring is... unwise.”
“I can imagine,” Jace said, eyeing the dense woods. Every shadow looked like it might bite.
“You should apply,” Sylas said casually.
Jace blinked. “Apply?”
“To the Guild.” She shot him a wink. “You survived a dungeon most Iron ranks wouldn’t enter, and you killed a behemoth like it owed you money. You’d make waves.”
Torak nodded in agreement. “He would be an asset to any party.”
Patch simply rumbled, the low frequency vibrating through Jace’s ribs like distant thunder.
He hesitated. The warmth of their approval was a surprise—and uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell them the truth, not yet. Not about his class. Not about the way the System glitched around him. But adventuring solo? In a world like this?
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll think about it.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Part of Jace wanted desperately to say yes—to embrace this fleeting chance at something resembling friendship, something he’d lost in his previous life. But another part, wounded and wary, recoiled from the vulnerability of trusting others again.
Nyra smirked. “Just don’t think too long. This world eats the slow.”
"So, what's your class? It’s gotta be something badass if you soloed that big bastard," Sylas said, leaning in and casually draping an arm over Jace’s shoulder.
The mood shifted like a snapped bowstring.
Nyra smacked Sylas’s arm away with a scowl. “You know it’s rude to ask someone their class unless they’re registering with your team.”
Sylas danced out of reach just in time to dodge Nyra’s follow-up swat, reappearing on Jace’s other side with an overly innocent grin. “Come on, Shield Bearer. You’re just as curious as I am.”
Jace exhaled through his nose, weighing his words carefully. “I do have a class. It’s… not one anyone I knew had ever heard of. Sort of a vitality siphon.”
Close enough to the truth—without dropping the word Soulreaver. He doubted “soul devouring abomination” would earn him a warm welcome.
Sylas’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, spooky. I love it. What does it do?”
He forced a relaxed shrug. “It lets me drain strength and vitality from enemies. I get tougher mid-fight, harder to take down. Helped with the behemoth.”
Patch tilted his head. “Giant bear… bull?”
“The behemoth,” Sylas clarified with a chuckle, once again resting her arm on Jace’s shoulder like it belonged there.
Torak’s mandibles clicked thoughtfully. “That would explain how you withstood its blows. Impressive for one unranked.”
Nyra’s tail flicked behind her, but she gave a small nod. “Honestly? That’s pretty damn useful. Wish I could do something like that. Would make tanking easier.”
Jace glanced her way, offering a faint smile. “I mean, your team’s alive. That’s the job, right?”
Nyra looked away quickly, ears twitching as a pink hue crept into her cheeks.
Sylas wasted no time twisting the blade. “Aw, look at that. Sweet words from our glorious protector.”
Jace smirked, turning the tables. “What about you all? Sylas said you’re a Shield Bearer?”
Nyra recovered fast, posture straightening. “Class is called Defender. I specialize in damage mitigation, crowd control, and being the chew toy while my team does the real damage.”
Sylas grinned. “Spellblade here—a bit of magic, a bit of melee. Best of both worlds.”
Torak placed a clawed hand over his chest. “Bladewarden. Four weapons. No waiting.”
Jace blinked. “You dual-wield… four?”
“All four arms,” Torak said with a hint of pride. “Efficient.”
Patch’s voice rumbled from behind. “Mender.”
Jace turned. “Wait—you’re the healer?”
Patch gave a slow nod.
Jace shook his head. “Didn’t see that coming.”
The golem said nothing more, but his silence was... oddly comforting now.
They walked on, the forest shifting into dusk. Orange light flickered between the leaves, painting everything in golds and deep shadows. The air smelled of pine and old bark, the forest alive with birdsong and the distant rustle of creatures moving unseen.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Jace felt… calm.
The quiet was broken as Nyra spoke up, her voice softer than before. “So… what’s your plan once we get to town?”
Jace sighed. “Honestly? No clue. Fresh start. Might look into the Guild, see what it takes to get registered. Better than breaking my back in a field.”
Sylas elbowed him. “Better than being monster chow. You should join our team.”
Jace blinked. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Why not?” she said with a grin. “You fight like you’ve done this your whole life. You think on your feet. Plus, you didn’t hesitate to throw down with that behemoth.”
She nodded toward Nyra. “Not that our lovely tank isn’t amazing, but it’s hard to shout strategies while getting clawed in the face.”
Nyra groaned. “One time.”
Torak nodded. “Strategic balance is critical.”
Patch just let out a low hum, but Jace felt it in his bones.
He ran a hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to say yes. But another part—the cautious, broken part—held back. Trust didn’t come easy anymore. Relying on people didn’t come easily.
Still… maybe.
Maybe this was a start.
They walked on in silence, the sky bleeding toward twilight. Jace watched the fading light paint the world in quiet color and thought, for just a moment, that maybe-just maybe-this strange, broken new life had something worth holding onto.
“Well,” Nyra said, lifting her gaze from the dirt path. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she glanced at Jace. “I think you’ll have the pick of any party you want.” Her voice was light, teasing—but there was something warm in it too. As she grinned, the tips of her sharp canines caught the fading sunlight.
“We’ve been through worse,” Sylas added with a dry laugh, brushing a leaf from her shoulder like it carried the weight of old mistakes.
Nyra’s eyes gleamed as she looked back at Jace. “Like the time we took a contract to clear out a wolf pack. Seemed easy enough—until someone”—she gave Patch a side-eye—“got a little too enthusiastic with their healing spells.”
Jace arched his brow. “Too enthusiastic... with healing?”
Sylas snorted, already grinning. “We’re neck-deep in fur and fangs, trying not to die, and Patch here drops a full heal on the wolf. It went from limping to leaping in half a second.”
As Nyra laughed at Sylas’ exaggerated storytelling, Jace felt a distant ache, like remembering laughter from a dream. He had laughed like this before, in another lifetime—another world. He quickly pushed the thought away, unwilling to risk shattering the fragile peace he was beginning to feel.
“It charged straight for me. I’m pretty sure it thought Patch was part of the pack after that.” Nyra’s laughter was still going as she tried to talk.
Jace turned to Patch, incredulous. “How do you even do that?”
Patch, ever unreadable, answered in his even tone. “My targeting protocols have since been recalibrated.”
Sylas rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure, they have.”
“It has been confirmed,” Patch intoned with a perfectly flat delivery. Jace glanced at him and could’ve sworn he saw a faint flicker of amusement in the subtle glow of his rune-inscribed eyes—or maybe it was just his imagination.
Jace chuckled, wiping a hand across his face. “Alright, Patch. Your turn.”
Patch nodded once. The runes along his arms pulsed faintly. “Torak was once struck with a temporary blindness debuff. He mistook Sylas for an enemy combatant.”
Jace looked over in disbelief. “Wait. You actually fought her?”
Torak let out a quiet chitter. “I was… momentarily disoriented.”
Sylas cackled. “You chased me halfway across the battlefield! Swinging those blades like I’d stolen your hatchlings.”
“It was an understandable mistake,” Torak replied with zero irony.
“It was a disaster!” Nyra laughed. “The actual enemies just stood there watching. I think even they were confused!”
Jace bent forward, wheezing with laughter. “Oh, that’s beautiful.”
Sylas grinned wickedly and clapped her hands. “Alright, alright. My turn.”
Nyra groaned. “Gods, not the swamp story again…”
Torak said nothing, but Patch let out what might’ve been a knowing hum.
Sylas ignored them. “We’re clearing out a swamp bandit camp. I shadow-step behind the leader, ready to end it clean.”
Jace nodded. “So far, so good.”
Sylas raised a hand. “Except, I misjudge my step and land in the biggest, foulest, slimiest pile of swamp shit this side of the continent.”
Jace choked on a laugh. “No!”
Nyra was grinning now. “Oh yeah. She tried to pretend it didn’t happen, but we all heard the splat.”
Torak added, “The scent lingered for hours.”
Patch nodded solemnly. “The enemy was distracted.”
Sylas threw her arms out. “Tactically effective.”
Jace wiped tears from his eyes. “Alright, you win. That’s incredible.”
Laughter echoed between them as they walked. The tension that once hung in the air had faded, replaced by camaraderie and shared stories.
After a while, Nyra turned toward Jace again, her expression thoughtful. “So, mystery man… What was your home like? You said a bit, but I want to know more.”
Jace hesitated, gaze flicking to the trees. The wind stirred the branches, casting shifting shadows across the trail. “Not much to tell. Quiet place. Small. Mostly families, just trying to get by. No guilds. No mercs. No map marker.”
Nyra tilted her head, studying him like a curious cat. “No guards? No contracts at all?”
He shook his head. “Handled everything ourselves.”
Torak clicked thoughtfully. “Impractical. But self-reliance is commendable.”
Sylas perked up. “So… no taxes? No guards? Sounds like a dream for someone with entrepreneurial ambitions.”
Nyra rolled her eyes. “You mean criminal.”
Sylas raised a finger dramatically, a wicked gleam in her pale eyes. “I prefer an unsupervised merchant of chaos.”
Jace smirked, tilting his head to look at her sidelong. “And what exactly do you sell?”
Sylas tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes flicking toward the dusky sky. “I dabble.”
“She picks pockets,” Nyra muttered dryly, her tail swishing through the crisp, cool air with faint amusement.
Instinctively, Jace checked his belt pouch, fingers brushing the worn leather reassuringly. “Noted.”
Sylas grinned widely, her teeth catching the dimming light as it filtered between the tree branches overhead. “Relax. If I had stolen from you, you wouldn’t even know it. I pride myself on professionalism. Besides, your dignity would still be… mostly intact.”
Torak’s mandibles clicked, deadpan as always. “She is skilled. But impulsive.”
Sylas let out a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to her chest in exaggerated offense. “Impulsive?!”
“You shadow-stepped into feces,” Torak replied without missing a beat, his four arms folded in front of him with serene calm.
Jace burst out laughing again, the sound echoing warmly off the surrounding trees, while even Nyra cracked a grin, shaking her head. “He’s got you there.”
Sylas huffed indignantly, brushing a stray lock of silver hair behind her ear. “Fine. Laugh it up. But I’m not the one who spends every meal polishing their swords.”
Jace glanced over at Torak, raising an eyebrow in genuine curiosity. “Do you actually have a philosophy for swordplay?”
Torak lifted his chin, his posture impossibly straight, even as the uneven forest path crunched beneath their boots. “A blade is an extension of will. It should not react—it should dictate. Intent guides steel. Mastery is measured in control.”
Jace blinked, genuinely impressed by the seriousness of Torak’s tone. “Alright, then what kind of weapon would suit me?”
Torak studied him briefly, his multi-faceted eyes glittering in the fading light, antennae twitching thoughtfully. “You move aggressively. With weight behind your strikes. A hammer, perhaps. Something brutal. You rely on force to command the flow of battle.”
Jace nodded slowly, feeling the suggestion resonate in his bones. “I like the sound of that.”
As the group pressed onward, the sky dipped toward twilight, golden hues deepening slowly into rich violets and shadowy blues. The cool air whispered softly through the towering pines around them, carrying with it the earthy scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. Shadows stretched longer, the underbrush darkening to shades of indigo beneath their feet, while crickets began a rhythmic chorus from the unseen brush nearby.
The sounds of laughter gradually softened into a companionable silence, broken only by the soft crunch of boots against gravel and dirt. For a moment, the world felt incredibly simple and astonishingly real. No monsters, no dungeons, no overwhelming darkness—just the calm assurance of friends at his side.
And for Jace, it felt safe. Genuinely safe.
He considered Torak’s advice for another thoughtful moment, his lips curling into a faint but genuine grin. “Not bad. I do like hitting things really hard.”
Torak gave a single approving nod, the gesture small but meaningful, as if that answer alone had solidified his place among them. Around them, the forest breathed softly in the gathering dusk, cocooning their little group in a comforting embrace of twilight and quiet camaraderie.
Their conversation meandered, easing into the rhythm of well-worn trails and worn-out bodies. They traded insights on tactics, discussed the merits of different weapon types, and debated the best way to dismember a troll. Nyra launched into a surprisingly passionate rant about shield stances—her voice firm, her tail twitching with emphasis—while Sylas kept interrupting with exaggerated groans and sarcastic quips. Even Patch, usually the silent sentinel, offered a surprisingly in-depth breakdown on mana efficiency during battlefield healing, his gravelly voice oddly soothing despite the complexity of his explanation.
Time blurred. The light faded.
Will Torak figure out sarcasm?
Will Sylas finally admit she’s been stealing everyone’s socks?
Will Patch recalibrate his healing spells before he resurrects another squirrel?
feelings, friendship, and possibly group trust exercises.
Can Jace keep his secrets buried, or will they claw their way out like a cursed necro-hamster on espresso?
Chapter 14: "We’re Not a Team, We’re a Trauma Bond!"
Follow, Favorite, and Rate, or I’ll unleash Patch’s healing beam on your enemies... and maybe your houseplants.
Harmony of the Fallen!!!!!!!!!!
So what exactly just happened in this chapter? (Asking for a friend. And by friend, we mean Jace’s emotional stability.)
