Trev wasn’t sure how he’d got here. An odd sensation when you’re sitting in your own dining room. His own chair felt unfamiliar beneath him, like he was borrowing someone else’s life for the evening. At some point he’d gone into a daze, swept along by the currents of the stronger, more charismatic individuals. He’d nodded when spoken to, stood when guided, agreed when expected, like driftwood pretending it had chosen the shore.

  He felt like he’d been in a fugue state, somehow dragged through a series of improbable situations to reach this moment. The only explanation was that he’d somehow caught the attention of some ancient being who’d manipulated probability into this insane moment where he, Trev Moonlight, was somehow hosting a party of people his age. The kind of people who normally orbited brighter stars.

  He really hoped his mother hadn’t got any strange ideas about their family adventures.

  He checked the walls, they were lined with trophies from the many adventures they’d gone on. Mixed among the pictures from different realms, plates with sweeping blue lines, and dozens of other little knick-knacks were a few more serious pieces of cultural bric-a-brac. Every item had a story. Every story was a potential conversation. He felt surrounded by conversational landmines. He released a sigh of relief when he saw the Trollesk Shamanic Mask and the Dusk Penance Bowl, and was a little worried to see the Wandering Islander Knife missing.

  Trev put the thoughts of ancient eldritch beings out of his mind for now, focusing on gathering his thoughts and eating his dinner. He could barely taste his dad’s cooking. Still, it brought him solace. Familiar flavours were anchors.

  He rallied as the usual silence swept over the table when his father’s food descended. The respite from the chatter gave him enough space to properly focus on the situation. To breathe, and just about manage not to activate [Silent Retreat], to escape the room. The ability thrummed at the edge of his awareness like an open door.

  "The food is incredible, your family is so talented." Bless’s compliment made him jump. The short valkyrie didn’t look like she was from one of the most influential families of the Republic. He’d expected more bodyguards and more looking down her nose at things. Instead she was eating what his mother had promised was her aunt’s favourite dish. She looked… normal. Enthusiastic. It was disorientating.

  It seemed Trev was the only one who didn’t know an Altharn regularly frequented the Moonlit Platter. Of course his parents had failed to mention that. It was basically like having royalty as regulars.

  "Thank-k you-u," he managed to stutter out. Others around the table shared similar sentiments, and Trev accepted them rather than his preferred choice of melting into an embarrassed puddle. He could feel the heat crawling up his neck anyway.

  Trev looked round the table at his guests. There was Angie, the bunny-eared beastkin who rarely stopped talking, light blonde hair falling over a pair of rabbit ears, though he’d caught glints of her teeth and they were far sharper than you’d normally expect. She was currently quiet as she munched on a Morlaine Salad, a healthy mix of greens and slices of nearly raw steak. Even her silence felt energetic, like she was coiled to speak again at any second.

  Next to her was Pilt. The dark-furred ratkin was eating with total class, taking a fastidious approach to each and every bite of the Alteran cheese board. He was talking in between bites with Loxa. The blunt dusk elf was his opposite, eating her Arachno Pasta with gusto, her manner of speech and approach to eating equally straightforward. Trev found himself cataloguing them the way he might scout a dungeon room, who moved how, who watched whom, who interrupted.

  Finally there was Oz, the angry-looking giant dwarf, the one who made Trev nervous. The air around Oz felt heavier somehow. His mother had been forced to ask him what he wanted to eat, which was mad. She had a passive ability to detect what food people most wanted, and she was D-Tier. She could even sense what people at C-Tier wanted if they relaxed their defences. But she’d got nothing from Oz. That alone made Trev wary.

  He’d politely requested the dwarven curry. He’d been especially pleased when he’d been asked to sign the waiver, a rare smile breaking out on to his face. Trev had signed as witness, hand slightly shaking.

  "That curry was amazing," Oz called out. He’d been exiled to the far end of the table thanks to the noxious fumes coming off the food. Beneath his chair his dog rested after being forced to take a seat when he wouldn’t stop going round begging for food off everyone.

  "Are you crying?" Loxa laughed.

  "I don’t blame him, my eyes are smarting and I’m merely downwind of it," Pilt said, though there wasn’t any venom in his voice.

  "Mine’s amazing as well. I’ve rarely had proper cave spider, we didn’t have the right caves back home."

  "I heard it tastes like a nuttier version of crab?" Pilt offered.

  "Haven’t had crab either so can’t comment," Loxa smiled.

  "Well aren’t you knowledgeable, Pilt, was it? Yes, some recipes allow substitution for crab, but my husband says it’s never the same." His mother’s voice made him jump. Somehow she’d appeared just behind him. He fought the urge to shoo her away. Trev had learned that trying to keep his mother out of his business only made her that much more intent on getting involved. He could already feel her steering the conversation like it was a carriage and he the reluctant horse.

  He was fairly certain this was a universal rule of mothers. And while he’d gained experience in deflecting her over the years, he knew he was in trouble today. She was in full hostess mode, and Lishu Moonlight would bend reality to keep her guests happy. Including him, whether he liked it or not.

  She’d arrived with a tray of drinks, passing them around the table and collecting the plates, years of experience allowing her to time her arrival perfectly to clear the table.

  "Thanks for hosting us," Bless said.

  "I’m just glad to see Trev with some company," his mother grinned. "Your aunt is always such a good guest, she’s mentioned you before. I did let her know that Trev would be in your year, though I didn’t expect you to come over. He is a good boy, but struggles to make…"

  "Mum!" The sheer embarrassment pushed him to speak. His voice cracked traitorously on the single syllable.

  "Alright, I’ll go. I’ll bring out some dessert in a few." His mother waved over her shoulder as she slipped out of the room.

  "Trev, perhaps you can tell us about your family. You have pieces from all across the realms here." The toothy rabbit woman grinned at him, longer canines flaring.

  His stomach dropped. The conversation had turned. It was pointing at him.

  "I err… Well, you know about Vitivores, right?"

  "Never met one, they were rare in our town. We learned the basics in school but I admit that was a while ago." Angie frowned. Oz and Loxa both nodded along, expressing similar sentiments. Trev paused and then explained a bit, his voice growing in confidence as he spoke about a familiar subject. Facts were safer than feelings.

  Trev explained the Vitivore form of demons, or ‘vice eaters’, were part of the founding races of the republic, yet still a small part of its overall makeup. Initially they’d been a weak heritage, limited to only dining on the vice they manifested in their formative years. Only the demons of wrath and greed tended to excel, with the occasional lust eater managing to slip up the ranks. Binding with the dungeon magic had changed their fortunes. It limited their consumption but in turn opened up their diet to normal food and, in doing so, healed their greatest flaw.

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  You are what you eat, after all.

  Eaters of wrath no longer lost themselves to endless berserker fury, eaters of sloth didn’t end up wallowing in eternal slumber, and the greed eaters were no longer being hunted to death by the banking industry.

  It didn’t heal them completely. Power does not come for free. The curse of the Vitivore is an obsession, defined by their vice. Greed eaters might not lust to hoard every gold coin, but the right demon might consider murder to get their hands on a rare bronze coin from the Second Imperium. The curse had become specific. Sharper. Personal.

  "For my dad, he’s a greed eater, and his obsession is collecting the best recipes. He built the restaurant as the only way to be certain you’ve got good recipes is by checking with others. My mother takes pride in her cultural knowledge, which helps with us being so eclectic."

  "I was impressed when she greeted us all with the proper greeting in our languages."

  "She did?" Oz asked, then paused and leant his head in his hands. "Ignore me, just realised I wasn’t paying attention."

  "Is it rude to ask what your obsession is?" Angie asked. The talkative girl had been curiously quiet so far.

  His heart kicked. There it was. The question he’d avoided for months.

  "No, but I can also not answer, which, well, it’s…" Why hadn’t he just said no? Now they’d think it was weird. He could feel himself overexplaining already.

  "It’s entirely normal not to answer. It can be very private, but asking isn’t bad. Insisting or pushing for an answer is considered the height of rudeness." Bless stepped in.

  "Ah, sorry."

  "No worries. I errm." Trev flushed.

  "Don’t worry about it. Thanks for having us, Trev. I was worried about how the night would go. I didn’t want to just stay at Noxarcer, but I worried going somewhere casual in town would have the ‘Starers’, as Oz called them, trying to hunt me down." Bless exhaled.

  "I also appreciate that I won’t have to make excuses tomorrow when my ‘friends’ ask where I was last night and why I didn’t invite them," Pilt nodded.

  "The dynasty stuff still confuses me. Like, I get that it’s all super complex family ties, who knows whose grandad did what, but it just seems like it’s a massive hassle," Loxa groaned. Trev couldn’t help but agree. Social stuff was already hard enough without extra levels.

  "A massive hassle is an understatement. However, it also does come with a lot of benefits." Pilt sat back and sipped his drink. "The biggest problem is not knowing what people’s motives are. I could be here entirely to spy on behalf of my family. I could’ve been told to get as close to Bless as possible."

  "I’d like to think we can suss people out like that pretty clearly. I mean, the Starers were pretty obvious."

  "Either they want in, or their families do. Most of them aren’t that obvious. I want to trust people and they say, hey, how about come along to my small party, it’ll be a quiet evening. And it starts that way and yet somehow more and more people just happen to drop by, and they all want to talk to me or somehow know someone I barely care about but think that gives them the right to try and force their way into my social circle and…" Bless was nearly shouting before Angie patted her on the shoulder.

  With that, she deflated.

  Trev couldn’t imagine that kind of life. He’d rather throw himself into the Nether. Talking to people was already exhausting, let alone worrying that everyone might want even more of his time. He struggled just to manage the few in front of him.

  "I’m glad you came here, my family just wants people to enjoy their food." He didn’t realise he’d spoken until the words came out of his mouth. Honest words slipping out before he could stop them.

  "I think your mum expects you to make friends," Bless said.

  "She just… it’s not…" He began to panic. He’d already been accused of being a Starer once this evening.

  "Don’t worry, I can tell that’s just normal mum energy." Bless smiled. "She’s fine, and my aunt did mention you to me actually, though I didn’t realise until we were here. She said she had a friend in the city whose son I should consider adding to the group."

  Trev made a strangled noise. He was both horrified by his mother’s brazenness and deeply impressed in a way that was deeply unfair.

  "Can we talk about teaming up now? I mean, I wasn’t going to say it but it’s kind of hard not to think it," Loxa chimed in.

  "Is it just you two, or does your town of Greywater teach you how to be this blunt?" Pilt snarked across the table.

  "Actually, now I think about it, the whole town is basically an ex-military commune, so we’re all pretty direct. You wouldn’t believe some of the insults old soldiers can whip out."

  "Well, you both seem very laid-back in mixed company. I know that Noxarcer encourages us to ignore station, but I think most struggle to embrace it as thoroughly as you two."

  "Is that a dig? Because it feels like a compliment to me." Loxa grinned over her drink.

  "I’d also like to talk about making a group. I’ve been trying to stay quiet as I have so much to say." Angie piped up, her voice loud before she caught herself, blushing as the room turned to look at her.

  "Isn’t that you most of the time though?" Oz pointed out. Trev worried it might have been an insult. His scowl and general aura made it feel like he was ready to start punching. The girl, though, laughed. Trev relaxed a fraction. He wasn’t aware Oz could joke.

  "You’ve heard nothing yet. That’s just idle chatter. I say this so you appreciate how much I’m holding back and so you can properly prepare."

  "I’ll be honest, I do want to form a team, but I also want you to understand my main goal is to have people who are competent and nice to be around. This isn’t some Altharn magic that’s picked you. I don’t want you thinking you have to live up to some imaginary idea of being in a team with me." Bless chimed in.

  Trev nearly choked. Was she actually suggesting he join her team?

  "Bold of you to assume you’re my top priority. My main goal is being on a team with Oz." Loxa laughed from across the table. She then reached down and petted Chops.

  "You what?" Oz frowned, and Trev realised that his default scowl was nothing compared to the aggressive crease of confusion that formed on his face. He looked like he was about to headbutt someone.

  "I agree," Angie piped up.

  "What do you two know that I don’t?" Pilt asked. Trev nodded in agreement.

  "Well, I’ve seen him fight before he had his class. His runes made our teacher cry, and his dad holds the record for the number of kills via trap in a twenty-four-hour period, and passed down most of that knowledge."

  "Those pillocks I fought in town were just average."

  "Average for Greywater. Everyone was military, Oz. Everyone knew how to fight, and you used to fight like five guys at once."

  "Oz’s class makes him a perfect Champion. It seems to have high offence and durability, he’s resistant to poisons and mental attacks as we saw earlier. Plus he has fear and aggression abilities to draw attention. It’s basically the kind of build people would kill for. No offence, Bless. I know your family normally like the…"

  "None taken. I’m aiming for Mage Champion. My aunt also insisted I try and get on a team with him."

  "Well, Oz is our centre. He is incredibly durable, seems resistant to mind-affecting abilities, has a powerful familiar, is remarkably combat capable. He’s also a good, hardworking person."

  "Thanks."

  "Why don’t we go round and state what kind of class we have, as much detail as you feel comfortable with, and our preferred position?"

  "I’ll go first then. I’m Angie, my class is [Battle Catalyst], I’m aiming for Overseer, which my class synergises perfectly with. My abilities allow me to store mana types so I can lend power in battle. I also can track and observe people to understand more about them and then share that understanding to give team-mates a buff to attack or defence against an opponent."

  "I’ll go next. I’m Pilt, I got [Contagion Medic] as a class. My powers make healing illnesses that can spread among the team easier. Though I can spread diseases as well to attack. It should come as no surprise I’m aiming for the Healer role."

  "Loxa is the name, response is the game. I’m quick, my class is [Shadow Dancer]. It sounds like I should be Ranger, but it is a Responder role, I swear. See, it’s all about moving quickly and evasion, not stealth. I literally have a power called [Momentum Strike], which makes me do extra damage based on how much my body is moving. It’s so cool."

  "Bless, I think you’ve all got my family name by now. I got ‘Armoured Mage.’ I’m aiming for the Mage Champion role. The class is working with my racial armour skills to allow me to create complex spells out of my armour. I could do it before, but now my armour is becoming my spellbook. It’s so exciting."

  All eyes turned to Trev. His pulse roared in his ears.

  "I got [Ghost Scout]. It makes me very hard to notice, and I do more damage to people who don’t notice me. I really want to be a Ranger. I don’t do much damage, but I can reposition and I’m good with… alchemy." He didn’t mention how good he was with alchemy, or what he specialised in. That tended to worry people.

  All eyes turned to the last one in the room.

  "Fine, I’m Oz, and this glutton here is Chops. A while back I wanted to be a Ranger, but I can’t compare to Trev’s skill. Plus, as you heard from Angie, my class really doesn’t want me to go in that direction. I’ll be a Combat Champion. My class is, well, it’s just…"

  Trev found himself leaning forward despite himself.

  "You don’t have to say," Angie spoke up. She looked worried. In response Oz snorted and let out a bitter chuckle.

  "I kind of do. My powers are thematic. It would be ignoring the griffon in the room if I hid it. My class is [Delinquent]."

  "Damn, it got you good!" Loxa laughed.

  "It’s also only one word, an oddity," Pilt frowned.

  "It also gains more power from looking like a ‘hoodlum’ and causing fear or rage. But it gave me Chops, so I can’t be too angry."

  "Was that why you looked so… err… aggressive when we first met?" Bless asked. Trev hadn’t caught that particular detail, but now he wanted to hear more.

  "A bit. I did also remember I was going out to fight," Oz explained. Trev frowned at that. What was Oz expecting to fight, and why?

  "I think that makes us a solid team. It’s a solid mix." Angie paused. "Initial teams only stick for a few weeks, right? And then we can change, so if it doesn’t work out…"

  "Don’t think like that. We’re going to kick all sorts of arse!" Loxa roared.

  "Now what do we call ourselves?"