After another hour of fumbling through the brush with only the vaguest sense of direction, Nick stumbled upon an actual road running through the Aurora Woodlands. His relief was tempered by the increasing pain in his stomach.

  “I swear I’ll die of hunger soon,” he muttered, starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he should have tried to endure the foul taste of the felberries.

  Incorrect—visitor’s hunger and thirst meters are at least one day’s worth of activities away from completely depleting

  “My what?”

  Two new bars hovered into view in the far bottom right corner of his vision. One was a pale yellow, the other a pleasant blue. The yellow was depleted by a quarter, while the blue, nearly a third. Nick felt a strange, visceral disgust in seeing the thirst on his tongue and grumble in his belly represented so clinically.

  “Cataloger,” he said. “Please never, ever show me those again.”

  At your request

  The two bars vanished, and Nick was immediately relieved. While he was getting better at wrapping his head around having his various characteristics codified into numbers, he wanted nothing to do with something so basic as eating and drinking being equally quantified. He would eat when he was hungry and drink when he was thirsty. For his own sanity, that would have to be enough.

  The road through the forest bore some heavy ruts in its center. Wagon wheels, Nick suspected. He saw no sign of any nearby travelers, so he walked the center of the road, following it eastward, which he hoped would take him far, far away from Meadowtint and the horrifying creature of the forest.

  “So where does this road lead?” he asked as he walked.

  If followed for thirty-eight miles, this road will eventually arrive at the city of Greenborough

  “Nice. Perhaps I should call you ‘cartographer’ instead.”

  Nick was surprised by the lengthy delay in response.

  I cannot accept what is colloquially known as a “nickname”

  “What about a name given to you by a Nick?”

  Attempts at humor will only lead to potential confusion—especially those of lower quality

  Nick froze in place. “Did you just insult my jokes?”

  Clarify

  “Clarify,” he muttered, refusing to do so. “You know damn well what you did, Cataloger. Well, I thought it was funny.”

  I am happy for you

  Nick resumed walking, his curiosity piqued.

  “Are you actually happy, Cataloger? Are you capable of emotions?”

  There are regulations to what I can and cannot do, learn, express, convey, adapt, and think

  “Can you tell me what those are?”

  No

  That was about as direct an answer as he’d ever heard from Cataloger, and the directness conveyed to him, accurately or imagined, a sense of dislike toward the subject. Nick let the matter drop. Perhaps he’d bring it up with Simon later in conversation and see if his older brother had anything specific he wished to learn about what Nick presumed to be an AI guide.

  The day crawled along. The trees, to Nick’s relief, slowly blossomed with life. Whatever strange rot or mutation had afflicted them eased away as he continued his journey. Birds soon occupied the higher branches, blue-and-red-feathered creatures that Cataloger identified as flagsongs. Their whistles were pleasant. He smiled at the sight of a chipmunk munching away at an acorn not far to his right. It even had the kindness to sport the proper number of eyes at first glance. Soon flies and mosquitoes emerged, to not quite the same level of happiness. Their wings were longer than he was used to, their bodies more bulbous and blue.

  Nick struck one of the mosquitoes that landed on his arm, and he half expected to see a tiny health bar appear above the little black smear that was left on his skin. The horrors of the bizarre bear-deer-wolf thing felt so far away. If only he could say the same for the various aches and pains of his body that remained from the fight. He’d kept an eye on that little red bar, and it had steadily increased over the past hour, his cuts and bruises healing at a rate that was disconcertingly fast.

  To accommodate visitors’ exploration and learning, natural healing has been significantly increased

  Well. That answered that.

  “Thanks, Cataloger,” he said as he walked. “Nice to know there’s some advantages to go along with everyone trying to kill me on sight.”

  After another hour of travel, along a path void of visitors, Nick spotted a sudden turn from the road. To his even greater surprise, it was walled off almost immediately, the road blocked by an iron gate. Curiosity, and his grumbling stomach, sent him to investigate. Beyond, he spotted a clearing in the woods, and in its center, atop a gentle hill, was a white-painted mansion.

  Location: Hulh Manse

  Description: Estate of Baron Hulh, who has ruled over the western farmlands of Vestor for six years

  Nick stared through the bars. Its construction was vastly nicer than that of the homes of Meadowtint, almost dramatically grand. Nick could only imagine what kind of person lived inside. What he could also imagine was the amount of food available within.

  The first problem was whether or not they’d share it with a random passerby.

  The second problem was whether the people there would try to murder him for that whole “demon” thing.

  “That’s it, I’m going in,” he said, climbing the gate. It was tall, but there weren’t spikes or sharp edges to deter him from going over the top. With a bit of effort, he landed unceremoniously on the dirt on the other side. Nick stood, dusted himself off, and trudged along the path toward the mansion, his sickle tucked into the waistband of his overalls.

  What’s the worst that could happen? he thought upon reaching the enormous double doors. They kill you? Wouldn’t be the first time. Or even the fifth.

  He rapped his knuckles on the door. On the third knock, a sharply dressed man in a dark suit opened the door.

  “No beggars,” he said, his white mustache curling in disgust.

  “Please,” Nick said, thrusting his arm and leg in the way to prevent the door from shutting. “I’m starving. If I could have just a little bit of food, a snack, anything…”

  The manservant did not try to force the door shut. Instead he backed away and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Logrif, if you would?”

  The door opened wider, and from deeper inside the finely furnished hallway approached a hulking man. He wore dark trousers and a blue tunic covered by a thick breastplate adorned with a spreadeagle crest. A club rested across one shoulder, its sides reinforced with thick strips of metal. As Nick’s eyes widened, information hovered above the giant man’s bald head.

  Logrif: Level 10 Human

  Archetype: Guard

  Armor: Breastplate, Tier 4

  “A whole forest to hunt within, but they come begging anyway,” Logrif said, his words accompanied by a slight drawl.

  Nick retreated a step while pulling out his sickle and holding it before him. It felt pathetic compared to the enormous instrument in Logrif’s hands. What even was that?

  Item: Reinforced Club

  Quality: Tier 3 (Good)

  Classification: Weapon

  Augmented with iron, the simple club has been transformed into a more powerful, reliable weapon

  Nick hoped that description was all he’d learn about that giant club as he backed away.

  “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” he said.

  Logrif exited through the doorway, having to duck to not bump against the frame.

  “Yes,” the giant man said with an all-too-pleased smile. He hoisted his weapon. “You are. But not yet.”

  Nick braced himself, his mind racing. He could likely outrun the big man, but there remained the troubling fact that the gate was still shut. Could he gain enough distance to also climb over without getting clobbered?

  The club rose. Nick tensed.

  “Wait!”

  Logrif glanced over his shoulder, his displeasure obvious. The manservant stepped out, his beady eyes narrowed.

  “You,” he said. “Something is different with you. Not a normal beggar, are you? No, you’re…” Another step closer. Though he worked to keep his face passive, a bit of surprise leaked through. “You are what the people here would call a ‘demon,’ are you not?”

  Nick bounced his attention back and forth between the servant and the guard eager to kill him.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Will your giant smash me if I say yes?”

  The servant patted the guard on the shoulder.

  “Lower your weapon, Logrif. I suspect Baron Hulh will be most eager to speak with such an…enigmatic individual.” He stepped past him and then bowed. “Greetings. I am Butler Tully, in charge of maintaining this manse. If you would please follow me?”

  Nick put away his sickle, keeping a tight eye on Logrif.

  “Happy to,” he muttered, and entered. The walls were a deep mahogany color, the carpet a lovely shade of red. Nick felt dirty and inappropriate as he trudged his muddy boots across that pristine carpet. He passed doors with various animals carved upon them, their handles shining gold. Paintings covered the walls, and Nick wished he could stop to inspect them. Those windows into other parts of Yensere intrigued him greatly.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Your journey appears to have been one of difficulty,” the butler said, pausing before one of the doors. “There is a wardrobe within. Please use it at your convenience so you may be properly attired for a meeting with the master of the house.”

  “Of course,” Nick said, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice at the prospect of removing his bloodstained and dirt-caked clothes. Feeling the eyes of the butler watching him, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The bedroom within filled him with awe, and he wandered it in a haze. He’d heard stories of such wealth, old wealth, like in the fairy tales his mother used to read to him. This room felt like a perfect re-creation of those ideals. The four-poster bed, the trunk at its foot, the towering wardrobe, the two dressers: They were all made of darkly polished wood and then filigreed with gold around various corners, hinges, and knobs. Violet curtains wrapped the bed, silky soft between his fingers. The ceiling was high, the windows tall and oval, the walls decorated with a half dozen paintings of gorgeous landscapes, places certainly different from the nearby environs. Waterfalls flowing through multicolored forests, still lakes surrounded by pines, and grand fields of flowers blooming with all sorts of colors and shapes.

  Whatever plague inflicted Meadowtint, it seemed to have spared Baron Hulh’s manse. Nick ran his fingers across the front of the wardrobe, impressed by how aged it felt. Everything on the research station was clinical, sterile, and utilitarian. Little bore history or sentimentality. Only what few personal objects researchers and workers brought gave life and personality to the research station. When Nick had been younger, he’d often been confused by the randomness of what people chose. Sure, pictures he understood, but some brought game boards, old clothes, childhood dolls, and so many instruments. One researcher even brought a fishing rod, despite knowing it would never be used.

  Now he understood it as a need to remember a life lived in a place that bore history, when a place had a past that stretched longer than the twenty years it had taken to construct the space station he called home.

  Nick imagined what it’d be like to have such a wardrobe in his room. How ludicrous it’d be, fitting it inside the cramped space. How wondrous to have that finely polished wood contrasting with the cold steel of the walls.

  “If only I could bring you with me,” he whispered aloud, pulling it open. Finely tailored shirts hung from smoothly polished wood hangers. Underneath them, inside little hollow squares lining the lower half of the wardrobe, were trousers of various lengths and colors, each with leather cord drawstrings or belts already half-looped.

  “Baron Hulh did say to make myself at home,” he said, removing one of the shirts that looked close enough to his size. It was long-sleeved, the wool fabric finely woven and surprisingly soft. The shirt was dyed a lovely shade of red, with its neck and bottom hemmed with black. A bit of searching later and he found a pair of black trousers that used red ribbon to tighten the front as well as hem in the ankles and waist. A good enough match, in his opinion.

  “Will wearing nicer clothes add to any of my stats?” he asked Cataloger. “Maybe a bump to my attractiveness level?”

  Attractiveness is not a cataloged statistic, for it is based on unique personal and biological parameters that—

  “Got it, got it, please stop.”

  Nick started to remove his raggedy old shirt, then hesitated.

  “Uh, Cataloger…is there a way I can get you to, um, turn around?”

  Clarify

  He grimaced. “I don’t like the idea of you watching me undress.”

  Such discomfort is irrational—I am incapable of judgment, mockery, or sexual attraction

  Nick rubbed his eyes.

  Think of Cataloger like a physician, he told himself. You’ve had to endure plenty of awkward exams before. It’s no big deal.

  This is an accurate comparison

  Nick pulled his old shirt off and tossed it to the carpet, unable to hold back a laugh. What point was there in being shy before an artificial intelligence when said intelligence was capable of hearing his thoughts?

  “You just need to get used to having no privacy, Nick,” he told himself as he pulled off his overalls. Though they were repaired a bit each time he returned to Yensere, they were still torn in places, and bits of thorns and burrs clung to them from his flight through the forest.

  Once Nick was dressed in his new finery, he glanced about for a mirror. There was none within the wardrobe, nor any hanging from the walls or set atop the dresser.

  “Is there a mirror in here, Cataloger?” he asked, dying to know how he looked.

  One moment

  After a few seconds, her feminine voice floated back.

  There appears to be a mirror hidden within the wardrobe

  Nick cocked an eyebrow. “Hidden? Why would someone hide a mirror?”

  Unknown

  Nick pushed the many shirts and tunics aside to scan the back of the wardrobe. He knew he was overstepping his bounds, but the mystery filled him with an excitement he couldn’t resist. His fingers ran across the back, testing the wood for anything that felt out of place. One of the boards was propped wrong, not entirely flush with the others. He pried it with his fingertips until it came loose, revealing a hidden compartment. And there, within, he saw a silver hand mirror.

  “It’s…it’s beautiful,” he said, closing his fingers around the slender handle adorned with deep red runes he didn’t recognize. At his touch, he felt a strange sensation flow through him. It was like electricity, but not jarring, not a jolt, but more soothing. Pleasant. The handle, despite the silver twisting about like a funnel, seemed to perfectly fit his fingers.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Item: Mirror of Theft

  Quality: Tier 14 (Pristine)

  Classification: Arcane Artifact

  Created during the Sinifel Empire, this mirror reveals to the holder something they seek, fear, or desire, the manner of which is chaotic and uncertain

  At first, Nick thought Cataloger was playing a trick on him. Looking into the small mirror, he saw only himself, tired, hungry, and with disheveled brown hair in desperate need of a trim. The new outfit, while certainly nice, almost felt wrong hanging off him, the size a bit too big for his frame. It gave him an emaciated look.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  Before Cataloger could answer, he felt another wave of pleasant energy wash through him. Deep in the back of his mind, he heard a ringing sound and felt something akin to a pulling. The image in the mirror shifted. The face changed. The clothes smoothed out and changed color as they morphed into an OPC uniform. Nick felt rooted in place, a mixture of fury and elation striking him with a powerful paralysis as a familiar figure appeared within the mirror.

  His father, smiling at him.

  “Nick,” said his father, Lucien. “It’s…it’s you, isn’t it? How long has it been—two years? You’ve grown. My, how you’ve grown.”

  Nick stumbled onto the bed, half entangling himself in the violet curtains. His hand shook, yet the image within the mirror retained perfect clarity.

  “You can’t be here,” he said, dumbstruck.

  Lucien frowned, the lines in his forehead thickening along with it. “And why not?”

  “Because you’re…this is…”

  He was talking to a ghost.

  He was talking to the dead.

  “Because you can’t be real.”

  Lucien shook his head and crossed his arms as the mist folded around him.

  “How do we define what is real, my son?”

  A heavy knocking sounded on the bedroom door before Nick could answer. He jammed the mirror into his wide trouser pocket, and immediately it felt like he’d emerged from underwater to suck in a deep breath. His heart hammered inside his chest. Impossible thoughts bounded through him, and he pushed them aside to answer the door with a casual grin.

  “Yeah?” he asked, flinging it open.

  “I see you’ve dressed,” the butler said, and sniffed. “Excellent taste, sir. Now that you are properly attired, Baron Hulh would like you to join him for dinner.”

  Nick’s mouth immediately watered, his hunger pushing away the rest of the shock.

  “Fantastic.”

  *

  A veritable feast awaited Nick in the dining hall. A long table was set between walls decorated with somber portraits of elderly men and women hung within silver frames. Multiple dishes were waiting, their mixture of smells awakening Nick’s hunger to a ravenous degree. He saw multiple forms of potatoes, mashed and scalloped, both drowning in butter and gravy. A hunk of meat, sweating with juices, was the centerpiece, its exterior a pleasantly golden color, the interior just shy of pink. A great bowl of soup bubbled just beside the table, set atop warming stones on a carried marble tray. Nick saw carrots, cubed meat, and various greens he did not recognize floating in the brown broth.

  “Welcome,” a man in violet and gold robes said, standing. Nick had barely noticed him over the food. “Are you hungry?”

  “Famished,” Nick said. Two servants rushed in from a side door, looking sharp in their finely fitted tunics and trousers. The motion attracted Nick’s attention, and he noticed an armed guard on the opposite side of the door. So Logrif was not the only protector of the mansion…

  Nick took a seat before the only empty plate, assuming it was his, and took stock of his host as the two servants began slicing and serving him portions. Baron Hulh was younger than Nick expected, his nose sharp and his beard neatly trimmed as it curled down from his ears to the bottom of his chin, where it drifted into a faint curl. He did not smile, not with his face, nor with his eyes, which looked like two sharp bits of amethyst wedged into white orbs.

  “I must ask forgiveness for my bodyguard’s treatment of you,” the baron continued. Something about his voice grated. Perhaps too much of an air of control within an otherwise nasally voice. “But surely you understand why he would think you nothing more than a common beggar?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what I am, though,” Nick said, his eyes widening as a thick hunk of meat was set in the center of his plate. He tapped the arm of a servant, who gave him a guarded look in response. “What is that?”

  “Lamb, sir,” the servant responded.

  “Lamb,” Nick said, beaming. He’d never seen a lamb in person, let alone eaten one. They’d all gone extinct before his home world of Taneth had been terraformed by the explorers of Eden.

  The baron leaned forward in his chair. No food before him. He was all seriousness.

  “But you aren’t just a beggar. You are what the folks in Vestor would call a ‘demon,’ aren’t you, Nick?”

  Nick wasn’t going to waste this good fortune. He grabbed one of the four forks and one of the three knives and immediately sliced into the lamb before the servants were done filling his plate. A conversation about demons might get ugly, and damn it, Nick was going to enjoy a nicely cooked hunk of lamb, digital re-creation or otherwise.

  The meat nearly melted in his mouth. Nick slumped an inch lower in his chair and sighed. A tiny part of him wanted to cry. There would be no topping this.

  “Sorry,” he said, realizing the baron was staring at him. “But yes, that word’s been thrown at me a lot. Why? I don’t know. What exactly it means, I don’t know that, either.”

  Another bite of lamb. Another. For a brief moment he saw the flicker of that yellow hunger bar in the bottom right corner of his vision, and he glared at it with seething hatred. It immediately vanished, and he could almost feel Cataloger’s regret.

  “I’ve been told demons can be clever and full of tricks,” Baron Hulh said. “But then again, we don’t know what it is you truly are. Beasts from beyond the dark sun, perhaps? Some say you are survivors of the Majere, from the era predating even the grand Sinifel Empire. What is it you remember, Nick? What brings you here, to my doorstep?”

  “I don’t know who the Sinifel are, nor what the Majere were, either,” Nick said. He pondered what exactly to tell the man. Was there even a way to convey the concept of the Artifact and a digital world within it? A second thought hit him.

  Was he even allowed?

  Your visitor status is currently known and flagged to all inhabitants of Yensere

  “So you are ignorant of Yensere?” the baron asked. “Its people and its history?”

  “That’s a fair assessment.” He bit into one of the carrots. It had a snap to it lacking in the carrots freeze-dried and reheated on Station 79, not to mention it was coated in some sort of sauce that gave it a tangy flavor he instantly wanted more of.

  “It seems our guest is more interested in eating than talking,” Baron Hulh said, and he chuckled while waving at one of the servants. “Wine for the both of us, please.”

  The servant hurried over, carrying an opened bottle wrapped in a wet cloth. The other servant appeared as if by magic, setting down two glasses so the first could pour the crimson liquid in. Nick accepted his glass, his curiosity growing. Alcohol was rare for him, granted only on special occasions with his older brother. He sipped a bit of it, then held back a cough. It was extremely tart and surprisingly sweet, like a thick dollop of honey had been added to the bottom.

  “Not to your liking?” the baron asked. “Or are demons not capable of handling alcohol?”

  Nick frowned as his pride took a lash. Stubbornness had him return the glass to his lips and down the rest.

  “Nah,” he said, setting it aside. “We demons can…can…”

  No more words came. His throat hitched. It felt like fire had sunk into his belly. The room around him pitched violently despite his remaining firmly seated.

  “What?” Nick asked weakly as his stomach clenched with excruciating pain. “What did you…?”

  Status: Poisoned (wildboar root)

  Effect: Fifty percent reduction in physicality and endurance, along with severe impairment of cognitive abilities and vision

  Nick shoved away his chair and stood on unsteady feet, his head starting to swim. Four soldiers garbed in padded leather came rushing in, slender swords held in hand. They surrounded Nick, two on either side of him. He scanned them, information floating into view the moment he desired it.

  Level 3 Human

  Archetype: Guard

  Armor: Padded Leather, Tier 2

  Each one was more than capable of taking him down in his current state. Nick pulled the sickle out from his belt and held it with both hands, though his muscles started to spasm.

  “You need not struggle,” Baron Hulh said, casually rising from his seat and retreating from the table. “Surely you understand I could never let a demon run loose in my lands?”

  Nick tried to respond but found speech was an impossibility. He dropped his weapon, eyes wide with fear as the huge bodyguard, Logrif, sauntered over, reached out, and closed his beefy hand around Nick’s throat. Logrif lifted him with ease, leaving Nick’s feet dangling. Nick’s hands closed around that enormous wrist, pulling and struggling, but the man was a walking mountain of muscle. The grip tightened. Nick gasped, growing more light-headed. His vision darkened. Little white sparks flitted around what remained of his vision.

  Just before unconsciousness took him, he heard Baron Hulh’s voice pierce through the fog and darkness.

  “Bring him to the cell. My knives will reveal the truth of his arrival.”