Chapter One: Insomnia

  I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. My own bed, in my own house, with my own dogs sprawled around me. Zelda had the pillow nearest my head, of course, while Riley was snuggled against my leg. Bear was curled into a tight ball at the foot of the bed, sulking.

  She didn’t want to be in the bedroom. Most nights, she preferred to roam. Despite the abundance of cushions and comfy dog beds in the house, her favorite spot was the rag rug by the kitchen door. But I wanted her with us tonight.

  After Hurricane Helene made landfall in Florida as a Category 4, most of the folks who’d been waiting for it had a little window of time where we got to say, okay, that wasn’t so bad. Whew. Glad it’s over.

  And then the news started coming out of North Carolina. Devastating flooding. Hundreds missing. Billions in damage. The worst disaster in the state’s history.

  I felt like I was living in that little window of time again. The moments after the disaster when the disaster didn’t seem all that bad, when ignorance was something like bliss.

  Home was... home. Apart from the dead squirrels in the front yard and the weird glowing spot in the back yard, everything seemed relatively normal. Supposedly the mana rifts would start disrupting current technologies, but I still had power, cell service, running water, and the internet.

  And no real idea what to do with any of the above.

  At some other point in my life, I would have been on the phone right away. The second I popped out of the challenge scenario, I’d have been calling my boyfriend, my husband, my dad, Jules, someone.

  But I’d broken up with my last boyfriend when I moved home to take care of my dad. My husband had been an ex for almost ten years. My dad had been dead for two. And Jules didn’t pick up.

  If she’d been closer, I would’ve kept refreshing that call over and over until I got through. But she was living in northern California, and there was nothing I could do to help her or Toby from three thousand miles away. Our call would be a good-bye. I’d try again, but I’d never cared much for good-byes.

  Meanwhile, I should’ve been doing something, right? Jack’d said we should make a plan, figure out our priorities for when we made it back to reality, but had I done so? Of course not.

  Instead, I took a shower. I fed the dogs. I opened the fridge, stared at the contents, closed it again. Then I made myself a mug of tea, changed into my favorite pajamas, and went to bed.

  Now I was paying the price. It was the middle of the night, and there was nothing to do except think about all the things I should have done.

  I probably wouldn’t have rushed to the grocery store, even if I’d been thinking straight. Sure, stocking up sounded great, but getting caught in a crowd of frantic people didn’t.

  Plus, my pantry shelves were already full. When you live in the middle of nowhere, in a climate where natural disasters are a when, not an if, it makes sense to be prepared. Assuming you have the resources, of course, which I did.

  But I could’ve worked on the house’s defenses. Maybe boarding up the windows, as if I was actually getting ready for a hurricane. Or taking stock of the non-food supplies. I knew we could eat for a good long while, but I didn’t know how much duct tape I had on hand.

  Maybe I should’ve been downloading some reading material while the internet still worked. I bet some prepper’s handbook out there could tell me exactly how to survive the next few months.

  And then there was the real issue, the one keeping me awake.

  I wasn’t superhero material. But at the moment, I was probably stronger than anyone for miles around, with a class called Thorn’s Edge Guardian.

  Should I be out there, you know, guarding people? Protecting them? Fighting the monsters that were probably trying to kill them, right this very minute?

  Obviously, if I came across a monster attacking someone, I’d jump into the fray. I felt sure of that, even though twenty-four hours ago, the thought would have been absurd. By now, though, I’d slammed enough goblins upside the head to know I wouldn’t hesitate.

  A fleeting memory of the blood spurting from the neck of that level fourteen goblin wizard made my stomach turn, but I stuffed the image away. The memories wouldn’t stop me. If I could save someone, I would. But did I have to go out looking for people to save?

  Was it my responsibility?

  The question of what I owed the world wasn’t one I’d ever asked myself before. Oh, maybe back in high school when I was young and idealistic, before my brain turned against me and started stabbing me right in the future goals and aspirations. (Metaphorically, obviously. No actual stabbing was involved.) But lofty dreams like the Peace Corps, medical school, military service, all derailed on the train of bi-polar disorder and its assorted side effects.

  Sure, I recycled, voted, paid my taxes. And I tried not to break any major laws. But I didn’t worry about “giving back” or “being of service.”

  Did I have to now? Because, honestly, it did not sound like my thing. It wasn’t that I disliked people…

  Oh, wait. I kind of did.

  Not as individuals, usually, but as a whole? People were exhausting. Dealing with them might not be hard labor in a penal colony, but cruel and unusual punishment? Yeah, sometimes.

  That said, people were gonna die. People probably were dying right this very minute. And while I didn’t want to make small talk with them, I’d rather they stayed alive so I could avoid it guilt-free.

  I knew I couldn’t save everyone, though. I probably couldn’t even save enough to make a difference. Eight billion people in the world and the System would only save us if 7,999,000,000 died. The numbers were unfathomable.

  I tried to do some basic math in my head, just looking for a way to visualize the numbers. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, twenty-four hours in a day. If people were seconds, a day’s worth would be a pittance, less than a hundred thousand. A month would be well over two million. A year, thirty-two million or so.

  If one human being died every second, it would be literal centuries before we reached that final million.

  System Chelsea hadn’t mentioned a time limit on our deaths, but for almost eight billion people to die in, say, the next ten years, we would have to be dying at the rate of… I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to do the math in my head… twenty-five people every second? Fifteen hundred a minute? Could that be right?

  I tried to double-check my math, but it was pointless. Whatever the number was, it was too big. Obviously, any person I saved would be grateful. I wasn’t going to let the futility deter me from helping if I could.

  But instead of wandering around central Florida looking for people in need of rescuing, it would make a lot more sense for me to tackle the problem at its root—the rifts spewing monsters and mana on our planet.

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  How convenient that System Chelsea had given me a rift in my backyard.

  It was almost like she’d known.

  I sighed and rolled over, burying my face in Zelda’s fur and trying not to kick Bear. I scootched back, so Riley was still against my leg, just on the other side, and took a few deep breaths.

  What had System Chelsea said? Something like, for local populations, tame rifts were beneficial and overflow events disruptive? So I guess my goal was to prevent overflow events, whatever they were, and keep the rift tame.

  I almost choked on a laugh, before stifling it in my pillow. That laugh had a definite edge of hysteria and I knew I couldn’t give in to that feeling. It would lead too easily to panic.

  And there was nothing to panic about. Millions of people were probably panicking right now, all across the world, with plenty of reason, but I was already a [Thorn’s Edge Guardian - Level 10].

  In fact, I could probably become a [Thorn’s Edge Guardian - Level 11] if I felt like it. Or maybe even higher. I’d killed a lot of goblins at the end of the scenario, without paying any attention to my notifications.

  Maybe my insomnia made it a good time to look at all those things I hadn’t considered before? With a thought, my status sheet opened up.

  Name: Olivia Thorne

  Title(s): First Defender, Preliminary Challenger Level 2 - Top 1%, Rift Keeper

  Species: Human

  Class: Thorn’s Edge Guardian

  Level: 10

  Condition: Optimal – Bond Enhanced

  Status: n/a

  Affiliations: Soul bonded – Zelda

  The first thing I noticed was the titles. First Defender had been there for a while, but Preliminary Challenger Level 2 – Top 1% was new, and so was Rift Keeper.

  I looked at them long enough for a tooltip to open.

  Back when it was just First Defender, I hadn’t realized the titles would have tooltips. Who needed an explanation for a title?

  Turns out I did.

  My First Defender title said:

  First Defender—Granted in recognition of early active engagement following System integration. You were among the first million Earth inhabitants to successfully neutralize a mana-afflicted entity. Congratulations! You didn’t wait to be told what to do—you just did it.

  Title Bonus: +3 Serendipity

  I stared at that bonus number for a minute. Jack had been pleased with his initial Serendipity score. I think he’d said it was 5. But my original Serendipity stat was 3. Then the System had added points to it in my forced “adaptive attribute allocation,” bringing it up to 10.

  But if the First Defender title had added three points to my Serendipity, then my original Serendipity stat had been zero.

  Honestly, that explained so much about my life.

  Zelda gave a sleepy whuffle on the pillow next to me, and I touched the tips of my fingers to her warm back.

  Okay. It didn’t explain everything about my life. But it explained a lot.

  I moved on to the next title: Preliminary Challenger Level 2 - Top 1%.

  Top 1%? Seriously? That was… well, it probably said more about the incompetence of the rest of humanity than it did about my own strengths. But I couldn’t help feeling a little flicker of pride, although I suppressed the smile that went with it.

  I waited, eyes on the title, until the tooltip popped up.

  Preliminary Challenger Level 2 - Top 1%—You rose to the occasion of Earth’s first challenge, and then you kept on rising. As a marginal viability candidate, the scenario was an opportunity for you to gain experience, levels, improved stats, and a taste of potential rewards, so you’d have a fighting chance (and some motivation) on your return home. But you not only survived, you succeeded.

  Nice work. Seriously.

  Title Bonus: +10% to all stats.

  Huh. That sounded like the System had expected me to die. I wasn’t sure whether I should be annoyed by that or not. I mean if you’d asked me ahead of time how I was going to do in a battle against a bunch of real-life goblins, I would have laughed at you, so it’s not like the System was wrong. But still…

  Frowning, I mentally tapped the Companion pane icon on my HUD to check Zelda’s status. She had the title, too. I waited for the tooltip to open up.

  Preliminary Challenger Level 2 - Top 1%—Technically, you weren’t invited to this challenge scenario, but since all the humans would’ve died without you, let’s give the credit where it’s due: to you. You were the MVP, the superstar, the bona fide Best Girl. Good job, you good girl!

  Title Bonus: +10% to all stats.

  I didn’t laugh, but only because I didn’t want to wake up the dogs. I just couldn’t hate the System as much as I felt like I should. Every time I tried, it did something like that.

  Zelda had another title in her list, too. World First Packmate. I checked out the tooltip.

  World First Packmate — You're not the leader of the pack, and you never wanted to be. But you understand, instinctively, that what’s good for the pack is good for you. When the System offered you a reward, you didn’t choose a treat. You chose your pack. And you decided that your pack was the pack of all dogs.

  Although not an endangered species, because of your actions, all dogs now qualify for Sanctuary access.

  I hoped they had a lot of kibble ready. And some good comfy dog beds, plenty of chews, a vet or three on staff… I took a deep breath and stopped myself from spiraling into concern about whether the multiverse—the folks that brought you today’s apocalypse—could handle an influx of dogs. Obviously, they’d have plenty of magic to help them out.

  Turning back to my own status sheet, I checked out my last title. This was the big one, the one that mattered. The one that was going to shape my future, like it or not.

  Rift Keeper—Throughout the multiverse, rifts pose both existential threats and transformative opportunities. Most individuals avoid them. Some challenge them, entering them to fight back incursions and search for resources. And then there are the rift keepers. These unique individuals have abilities that allow them to observe, interact with, and eventually stabilize local rift environments. Based on your performance in Challenge Scenario #004328, a rift has been assigned to your location, and basic access tools have been enabled.

  Further privileges may unlock with responsible usage, demonstrated aptitude, or multiversal catastrophe.

  Good luck. You’re gonna need it.

  And that didn’t sound ominous at all, did it?

  I don’t know how long I stared at the last lines of the Rift Keeper description, thinking about multiversal catastrophes and luck, before I finally sighed and closed the tooltip.

  Flopping onto my back, I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t see. I guess I should be grateful that the system had forcibly added +10 to my Serendipity stat. That was more or less the same thing as luck, right?

  In fact, if luck was what was going to keep us alive, maybe I should put all those free points I’d been hoarding into Serendipity?

  I opened up the attributes section of my status sheet. I’d advanced to Level 10 while I was sitting in a tree with a sprained ankle, hiding from the acid-spitting stalker. Needless to say, I had not carefully considered my stats at the time. I’d been too busy trying to remember to breathe.

  They looked a little different than I remembered, though.

  Physical

  Strength - 5 (+10%) = 6

  Agility - 5 (+10%) = 6

  Endurance - 5 (+10%) = 6

  Mental

  Intelligence - 5 (+10%) = 6

  Perception - 22 (+10%) = 24

  Resilience - 16 (+10%) = 18

  X-Factor

  Presence - 3 (+10%) = 3

  Serendipity - 10 (+10%) = 11

  Will - 22 (+10%) = 24

  Free: 3

  So the System rounded up. That was nice.

  All of my physical stats would need another five points before the percentage boost added a point, but if I put those three free points in either Perception or Will, I’d actually get another point from the boost because of the rounding. That sort of made it seem like the smart move—why turn down a free point, right? But did I really need more Perception or Will?

  I tapped away from the attributes pane and into the notifications.

  Man, I really had killed a lot of goblins. I scrolled. I yawned. I scrolled some more. So many goblins. My eyelids fluttered closed. Just for a second. I’d rest them for a second, and then…

  I woke up to the feel of sunlight on the bed and the sound of something crashing downstairs.