Flashes of his past swam through his mind as he slept. Fueled by a lingering drunken stupor, he dreamed vivid scenes pulled straight from memory. Talking with Rowan about his past had stirred things he thought long buried, feelings and moments that refused to stay quiet.

  His dreams raced through those memories at high speed. Flat tires on empty roads where no one came to help. The loss of his grandpa, standing with family while friends stayed absent. Scene after scene flickered past in rapid succession.

  He hated it. Gritting his teeth, it felt as if he were an outside observer to his own life, forced to watch live replays of everything he had endured.

  The memories kept flashing till it slowed focusing on one in detail. Cold air and flashing lights, something he had seen before, unfortunately he recognized this memory within moments. This had been a night he had tried to forget many times before. His dreams on earth had gone down this road several times; he was not surprised it was happening again.

  Despite the frequency of this dream, the sting never faded. Without even looking at it, he could see mangled metal. The taste of pennies in his mouth and the blood that filled the road in quantities he did not know were possible.

  Before him stood the vehicle except instead of a car, it looked more like a piece of metal someone had made into a snowball. Debris and blood blocked the road as he approached. Lights, sirens and the screaming of family members filled the night, but none of that mattered. All he could see were the bodies and blood.

  Just like the vehicle, the dad and mom were unrecognizable, and that was not even the worst of it. He called them mom and dad for a reason. Two small kids had been in the back seat, but they were nothing more than smears on the roadway.

  The driver of the opposing vehicle was currently sitting in the back of a cop car, drunk and unhurt. This part of the memory always infuriated him. Humans could be so selfish, never thinking of how their actions could affect another person.

  He had only been on the job for 6 months at this point; wrecks weren’t common but if they happened within the park limits, they were required to respond. Training did not prepare him for this, though. He completed his job, but the feeling of grief and emptiness still lingered even after he went home for the night. No training could prepare you for a tragedy like that.

  He remembered going home that night, sitting at the kitchen table long after the house had gone quiet; his food untouched. His mind replaying the scene over and over like a broken recording.

  He tried to talk about it. First with his co-workers, but they just shrugged it off like it was another day at the office. Most didn’t even answer the phone. Those who did answer just politely agreed with him, but that offered no true form of solace. The conversations would always shift to another topic as if the other person just wanted to move on and not think about the hardship.

  “First one always rattles you.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “It is just part of the job.”

  How could anyone become so numb that this didn’t bother them. He knew they meant well, but those responses weren’t good enough for him. There was no way one could ever get used to seeing that. It was not normal.

  Even his wife felt distant. Thinking back, maybe that should have been a sign, but he had no way of knowing. She would listen, but that was about it. She always tried to change the subject, not because the story bothered her, but because she had better things to do than hear him complain.

  “It is just work Hector; I am sure this happens all the time. You cannot let one situation rule your entire life, just get over it already.”

  The memory faded as Eden came into view, the forest of his trial. A calm settled over him, easing the tightness in his chest. He saw the trees, the distant mountain, birds weaving through the canopy, animals moving freely, even a few Hogzillas crashing through the underbrush. Seeing the beauty of nature that he loved so dearly, the aura of negativity melted away almost instantly.

  A deviant he might be, but he had never felt like he fit anywhere in the old world. Here, though, he had purpose and power. He wanted to climb and explore this strange and fascinating reality. He was still in the tutorial, and the thought of leaving it one day, seeing how Earth had changed, and perhaps traveling beyond it into the greater universe stirred something deep within him.

  The vision shattered like glass, and he flinched as consciousness returned to his body. Slowly, he looked around the room, realizing he was drenched in sweat. The unfamiliar bed beneath him was soaked through; the nightmares intense enough that a faint echo of their negativity still clung to him.

  The room itself was simple. A bed no larger than a twin, but more comfortable than anything he had slept on before. After nights spent in hollowed-out trees and on the forest floor, it felt like a luxury. Despite the nightmares, he felt rested.

  He changed quickly out of his sweat-soaked clothes, pulling on a fresh set he had crafted himself. As he stepped out of the room, a strong, mouthwatering scent hit him. Eggs? Bacon? He followed the smell into the kitchen.

  Rowan stood at the stove, humming off-key to himself, wooden spoon in one hand; the other waving dramatically as if conducting an invisible orchestra. He wore a bright, ridiculous apron stretched over his robes, covered in stitched mugs, frothing barrels, and the words “World’s Okayest Brewer” splashed across the front in uneven lettering.

  Hector stopped short, staring, before a smile spread across his face.

  “Good morning, Rowan. What are you doing?”

  “Do they not have breakfast where you are from?”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  He laughed. “I just did not expect the almighty Paragon to be working the stove in such a unique way.”

  “Well lad, I may be old and ridiculously powerful, but I still like eggs and bacon after a long night of drinking.”

  “Did you say bacon?”

  “Aye, or at least something like it. Hope you are hungry.”

  The table was partially cleared; old bottles scattered about, some empty, some half-drunk. Hector pushed a few aside and sat.

  Rowan smirked. “I know. The apron adds at least ten percent to the flavor. Make sure to give your compliments to the chef.”

  Hector huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. Rowan did not comment on the dark circles under his eyes. He did not ask further questions about nightmares or ghosts from before the system. He just kept cooking, talking about nothing important, like which herbs paired best with meat and how many times he had accidentally set his kitchen on fire learning that lesson. Eventually, Rowan slid a mug across the table. Steam curled lazily from it.

  “No tricks, just something warm. I think you will like it.”

  Hector wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the heat seep in.

  “…Thanks,” he said quietly.

  Rowan shrugged. “Everyone deserves breakfast after a rough night.”

  Hector really looked at him then. For the first time since the dream, the weight in his chest eased. Breakfast disappeared quickly, and it was delicious. He was not sure what animal the meat and eggs came from, but the flavor was unmistakably real. Washing it down with the warm drink, he let out a long sigh as relief spread through him. Was that coffee? No, the taste was off, but it definitely gave him coffee vibes.

  “So, what is the plan for today? You talked a lot about helping me gain control of my power. Figured there was no time like the present.”

  A wide grin spread across Rowan’s face, the kind that usually meant trouble of the educational variety.

  “Oh, we are absolutely not calling it a plan. Plans imply I know exactly how this ends. I have found most things are in life are more fun without plans, we are not the Order.”

  He reached beneath the stove and pulled out a squat ceramic bottle sealed with copper-colored wax. The surface was warm, faint condensation clinging to it despite the heat of the kitchen.

  “This is closer to an experiment. I haven’t found anyone willing to try it yet honestly. I cannot wait to see what happens.”

  Hector eyed it warily. “That sounds less reassuring...”

  Rowan laughed. “It should, anything worth doing usually is.”

  “Despite my jovial nature and charming looks, I am not stupid, I have been paying attention. Not just to what you can do, but how you do it.”

  “I hit things, sometimes I heal them sometimes even both. I don’t think I am all that difficult to figure out.” Hector said.

  “Yes, and that right there is the problem. You may appear simple Hector, but that doesn’t mean you are. Appearances are deceiving most of the time. You do not just cast. You route everything through your body. Intent, healing, Overheal, when you fight you channel your skills through your body before striking. I have seen you wrap your entire body in healing magic. I use a wand and staff, but you are different. Up till now the only weapon you have used is your body.”

  “They work,” Hector said with a shrug.

  “Oh, absolutely, but that is what worries me.”

  He tapped Hector’s forearm lightly.

  “You are making your flesh act as a regulator it was never designed to be. Every fight, your body absorbs backlash meant for systems you have not grown accustomed to yet.”

  “So what? I take it easier? So far that has not even been an option, I either fight or die. Dying is not on my current to-do list.”

  Rowan snorted. “If that were an option, you would not be you. You don’t need to stop doing what you are doing; you simply need to refine the process. You need a body that understands what you are asking for. That is at least a good starting point, a foundation if you would”

  “And is that what that drink is for?”

  Rowan’s grin turned crooked. “It wakes up the parts of you that have been quietly screaming to keep up. This baby has the ability to unlock latent potential, but that is where it gets complicated. It doesn’t simply hand you a skill, it is a little more...colorful then that.”

  He tapped the bottle.

  “This forces adaptation. If something latent exists within your soul, something meant to bridge flesh and power, this gives it permission to surface.”

  “And if there is not?”

  Rowan shrugged. “Then you get violently uncomfortable and nothing happens. Probably get the shits for a few days to, but that may happen regardless.”

  “It sounds...unpredictable...” Hector said.

  “Oh, wildly, but whatever comes of it will fit you.”

  “And the risks?”

  “It will hurt, not permanent damage, but it will not be pleasant. You are essentially altering the very foundation of your body. Power gains like this are typically painful and get used to it. If you plan to climb to the top, which you should, this is just step one.”

  Hector exhaled slowly.

  “And after?”

  “After that, we train together. At this stage I won’t be able to teach you much, nor should I. The best teacher in life is experience. If I simply handed you all the answers, your foundations would be weak. Yes, I have shared a great deal with you, but most of this is stuff young babes within the universe learn early, nothing groundbreaking yet.”

  He picked up the bottle and stared at it. Was Rowan truly doing what was best for him? One day ago, he didn’t even know he existed, and now he was hanging out and taking advice from him like they had known each other for years. Was this manipulation of some sort? A trick? Hector shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. If Rowan had wanted to hurt or kill him, there was nothing he could do to stop him. While he didn’t grasp the scope of a Paragon, he knew it was above him.

  Plus, Rowan wasn’t wrong when he said he needed more control; that would translate to more power. Something he desperately needed for his return to Eden. Looking at the bottle, he resolved himself. He needed power, and this was an opportunity he may never get again.

  “When do we start?”

  “After breakfast settles, your stomach will thank me for that later.”

  He paused. “Also, you are going to hate me.”

  “Is that going to be a reoccurring theme? I feel like I should be concerned.”

  Rowan laughed in response.

  Several hours later after breakfast had settled, they were back in the field. He sat cross-legged at the center of a glyph Rowan had drawn into the earth. Watching its creation had been mesmerizing. Plants grew, turning metallic; ice burned like tiny suns. Rowan’s powers were nothing like anything Hector had seen.

  Only then did Hector notice what Rowan was wearing. A simple, well-worn shirt. Across the front: Results May Vary. Hector huffed a laugh.

  “Where are you getting these absurd shirts from? You a tailor too?”

  “I can't reveal all my secrets just yet; the air of mystery is part of my personality. Alright are you ready?”

  Hector shook his head, then popped the cork and chugged the brew down in several gulps.

  “Wow, I was going to give you pointers. You should brace yourself. It is about to get very painful.”

  “Wait, what pointers?!”

  Pain detonated inside him as Rowan’s laughter echoed across the field.

  “Here we go!”