Oliver sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his mind a storm of thoughts. He tried to give no attention to the beheaded guards. The reaper's revelation echoed within him.

  Death had given him a headstart.

  From what he’d seen with Hunter, Zaisy, and Lord Heron, it only took a slight prod to push them out of their slumber. Not to mention, Elstina, the Malarite Crown, and many of the elves were already sentient. When had it happened to him? Had he not suffered before waking on the reaper’s table?

  He took a deep breath, feeling the flow of magic coursing through his veins. The time for restraint had passed. He focused his energy, envisioning the shield. Without the swordstaff, the flow coursed untamed.

  "Astral Shield!" he summoned, thrusting his hands forward.

  A brilliant dome of cosmic energy materialized around him. The walls of the chamber groaned under the pressure. He let loose the Celestial Burst and expected to die. The blast ripped a gaping hole in the side of the Tower of Leaves, debris cascading into the gardens below.

  He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the enormity of the explosion. It must have been like a gun, where the barrel contains and directs the force. The stones tumbled in the air hundreds of feet above the ground.

  Unbeknownst to him, the elves had some lab or explosives above. He knew this because a second explosion rocked the tower, releasing a plume of fire. From the ruptured levels poured a fountain of burning sludge. The viscous liquid spilled over balconies and down staircases, corroding everything it touched.

  Panic erupted within the tower. Elves and servants scrambled to escape—cries of alarm melding cries of pain. The air was thick with black smoke.

  Oliver stepped through the shattered remains of his cell into the corridor, the floor trembling beneath his feet when giant stones landed.

  Flames licked at tapestries and wooden beams, casting dancing shadows. Would the whole tower come crashing down?

  "Oliver!" a voice shouted from down the hall.

  Hunter sprinted toward him, a mixture of relief and urgency etched on his face. Soot smudged his forehead. “We’re under attack.”

  "It was me. I’m leaving," Oliver said.

  Hunter’s eyes went wide when he realized it wasn’t a joke. "I know where they stashed your swordstaff."

  "Lead the way.”

  They reached a storage room filled with weapons and odds and ends but didn’t see his weapon.

  However, a large chest sat near the door. Hunter produced a set of lockpicks from his sleeve. "Always come prepared," he said and set to work on the tumblers. Within, they found the swordstaff buried under a pile of expensive clothes, weapons, and jewelry.

  Oliver waited for Hunter to pocket a few valuables before returning to the rent in the tower.

  Outside, they emerged and had to shield their eyes from the daylight. People lay injured in the garden. Men and elves flowed out of the tower and looked up at its teetering height, though the structure gave no sign of tipping.

  They slipped into the shadows, making their way through the city streets. Bells rang nonstop, and legions of city guards rushed down the streets on foot and horseback.

  They arrived at the guild hall. Usually, a few tables held a dozen or two members, but it was cleared out.

  Lord Heron spotted him and waved him upstairs. “You can’t be here. The elves have the whole city looking for you. I have no idea how you made it this far carrying that swordstaff. Anyway, what the hell did you do?”

  "I escaped." Oliver gathered his belongings. He wrapped the swordstaff in a blanket. He threw a cloak on and relaced his boots.

  "Before you go, have Cosima cut your hair."

  Oliver picked up the bundle and tried it slung over a shoulder. It would have to do.

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  Staharad sat in the corner room, grunting as he trimmed toenails with a knife. He looked up, “Good to see you. It seems you’ve stepped on an ant hill.”

  Lord Heron hovered by the open door. Elstina ducked under his arm and ran forward. She grabbed Oliver in a hug. “I thought she was going to kill you.”

  Oliver stood dumbfounded, shocked that this beautiful girl was squeezed against him, before wrapping his arms around her. “I think she would have done anything but kill me.” He withdrew from the embrace and stood by the window. "There’s a man named Coda who comes to kill us all. Well, not you Staharad, but all the NPCs like us. I need you guys to wake up as many as possible. Sentience will give them greater abilities to fight back."

  Staharad held the injured shoulder and joined Oliver to stare at the street. “The bundle on your back, telling us to prepare, where are you going?”

  “I’m headed north. I have an idea.”

  Elstina gazed at the floor in thought and shook her head. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, “Oliver said. “My life has prepared me to do this alone. And my magic is powerful but deadly to those around me.” He introduced Hunter to Lord Heron. “This man can blow away any of your stealth tests.”

  The room broke into a conversation and then an argument, Oliver could hear as he crossed the building to get his hair cut. He pushed open the door. Again!

  Cosima stepped out of the tub. Water rivulets streamed down the voluptuous curves of her body. She turned her head to look at him from over her shoulder.

  His words came out all at once. “I’m leaving. I just wanted to get my hair cut goodbye.”

  “Get in here,” she said and draped a sheer cloth over herself. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

  He explained, and her frown deepened.

  “And you didn’t think to ask me to accompany you?”

  He offered a smile. "I appreciate that, truly. But this is a path I have to walk myself. Your focus should be on preparing Credola for what's to come."

  As she cut his hair, her breasts swung like a pendulum in front of his face. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he touched one.

  “I didn’t know you were a pervert.”

  That was stupid. The only woman he feared more than Cosima was Elstina’s mother.

  The back of his neck felt cool after the haircut. He said his goodbyes and tried to slip away before anyone forced him to bring them.

  Lord Heron caught him on the way out. "You made a good decision. There is no greater weakness than surrounding yourself with those you care about. If you have a battle coming, you want them as far away as possible."

  Oliver had never noticed how hard Lord Heron’s eyes looked. The man had seen some shit. "Thank you."

  Robert followed him to the porch. "Sure, you don’t want a horse?"

  "I don’t know the first thing about horses."

  After leaving Credola, Oliver took a break when he spotted the ruins of a castle. The farmhouses around it were suspiciously made of the same stone, as they likely took the blocks for their foundations. From a crumbled wall, he looked at the road that wound like a ribbon up the foothills and over Malum Pass. Somewhere in the march of mountains to the east stood Staharad’s tower. To the west, a braid of rivers met the sea.

  As the day wore on, the terrain became more rugged. The hills’ rocky skeletons jutted from the soil, and the path narrowed between embankments. Oliver used the swordstaff as a walking stick.

  The gravel crunched loudly under his feet as he neared the top of the pass. It was so quiet this high up. He wanted to crest the rise before dark but couldn’t take another step. A chill wind pulled at his cloak. Perhaps he should have stayed the night at a lower elevation.

  Near a gnarled tree, he found a spot a little ways off the path. He lay next to a campfire pit and started slipping into dreams but kept kicking awake. A few hours of sleep would be enough, if he could only get it.

  A net woven of thick ropes dropped from above, entangling him. He struggled, but it wrapped around him tightly.

  "Well, well, what have we here?" a man with a remarkably evil set of features said. He had ears like a bat but otherwise appeared human.

  Three men emerged from the dark, their faces obscured by scarves and hoods. They were armed with clubs, daggers, and a sword.

  "Look at that weapon," one said. “He must be rich. Should we ransom him?”

  Oliver struggled. "Let me go."

  One of the men laughed harshly. "Feisty one, aren't you? You'll fetch a good price."

  "Careful with that weapon," the leader ordered.

  They carried him to a prison wagon waiting on the path. A man and woman peered through the bars.

  Oliver was unceremoniously tossed into the wagon with them. The door slammed and locked. He looked at the other prisoners. The woman didn’t look at him. The man studied the kidnappers.

  He tested a few bars as the two horses jolted the wagon forward. On the plus side, they headed over the pass.

  The wagon titled around bends. As it hit steep rises, the four brigands shouted encouragement to the beasts. The moonlight gave a view of the danger below and illuminated the vistas at the crest.

  A new land came into view. A silvery body lay ahead in the distance. The road sounded wet.

  The man studied Oliver. “You seem calm.”

  Oliver looked up from his display. The time crystal mission still showed active. He was level two now. Supposedly, the destruction caused or the lives he’d ended gave him experience. “I guess I am. They’re saving me a lot of walking.”

  The wagon rocked, and the horses whinnied and struggled. The wheels worked their way into the mud. Oliver grabbed the bars at the corner to get a better look and found one of the iron bars loose.