I still needed to finish reading my actual messages, but that “Please select additional active abilities now” instruction was calling my name. I didn’t want the System to decide I wasn’t interested and make more decisions for me.

  Not that I was currently feeling annoyed with it. Thorn’s Edge Guardian felt like a prize.

  No, more than a prize. It felt like some mix of reward and compliment, like the System had looked at me and said, “You’re weird. That’s okay.”

  I mentally selected the little wide-eyed cartoon icon of me and opened my status screen, navigating down to the abilities section.

  First, I looked at the abilities the System had already given me.

  Passive: Verdant Sanctuary—Territory under Guardian protection develops natural defenses over time.

  I wrinkled my nose. I mean, I guess that might come in handy when I got home? Maybe it would prevent future mana-crazed squirrel incursions. Well, or worse.

  But it didn’t seem to do me much good right now, so I moved on.

  Passive: Bond Amplification—Soul-bonded companions receive significant stat bonuses and shared abilities.

  Oh, I liked that. I glanced at Zelda. She looked like she might be dreaming, little twitches in her paws. I hoped it was a good dream, one with plenty of interesting smells.

  The description of Bond Amplification didn’t offer much detail. What sort of stat bonuses? Which abilities? I guess I’d have to wait and see.

  Below those two abilities, a link read, “Ability Selection Available.”

  I mentally clicked the link, and then snorted aloud at the window that opened up. Forget the bluescreen of death—it was like the System was burrowing into my brain, trying to find the interface that would resonate with me.

  Of course it was an online shopping window. Each ability was displayed like a product listing: thumbnail icons, short descriptions, and a checkbox to select my ability of choice.

  A brief band of informational text at the top of the screen read, “Abilities become available at milestone levels. User currently has (2) selections available. Unselected abilities remain available and may be chosen at a later level.”

  Two abilities, huh?

  I scanned the options.

  Oh, this was gonna be hard.

  I had six options available to me, in two rows of three each. A tiny bar above the first row read, “Level One,” and a matching bar above the second row read, “Level Five.” I was gonna guess that a third row would appear at some future level. Maybe ten?

  I wanted them all.

  Well, okay, maybe not all of them.

  In row one, it was pretty easy to eliminate “Green Thumb—Accelerate plant growth and enhance botanical effects.”

  I could see the purpose. And honestly, as the world fell apart, it might come in really handy. I had a decently stocked cupboard. When you live miles down a dirt road in hurricane country, it’s a good idea to stay well-supplied. But if I survived the next six months, I bet I’d be planting a garden.

  Thing was, though… that was if I survived the next months. Green Thumb wasn’t focused on making it through today, tomorrow, and the next two weeks, and I kinda thought that was what I needed.

  My two remaining choices—assuming I needed to pick one Level One ability, as I assumed I did—were:

  Improvised Arsenal—Temporarily imbue ordinary objects with power, turning them into effective weapons or tools for a short duration. The item becomes Edge-Touched, gaining bonus damage or utility based on will and serendipity. Works best when used in unconventional ways or at moments of desperation.

  And:

  Wild Sanctuary—Improvise defenses in any location to claim it as your own. For a limited time, the designated area becomes resistant to intrusion. Anyone crossing the boundary is entangled or takes damage. While inside the boundary, you, your companions, and your allies heal faster, resist damage, and can sense threats. Time spent improvising determines time claimed in 1:10 ratio, i.e. ten minutes of improvising grants one hundred minutes of safety.

  I wanted them both.

  I needed them both.

  I looked down at Warden’s Edge, gritting my teeth. I loved the idea that anything could become a weapon in my hands. That said, I already had a really good weapon, one that had literally saved my life, more than once. Would any “edge-touched” weapon really compete?

  Wild Sanctuary, on the other hand… well, I could use a few more details.

  How big could it be? Could I claim this entire clearing as a sanctuary or was it going to hug a tight circle around me?

  Maybe the timing was a clue. Six minutes of improvising would give us a safe-zone—well, a relatively safe-zone—for an hour. Forty-eight minutes, eight hours. What could I build in forty-eight minutes? Maybe the size could be determined by the time and effort I put into it.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  On the other hand, maybe the safety would only be relative to how good my improvised defenses were. A few branches woven into a fence might not be worth much more than a delay, whereas an actual attempt at a lean-to might mean more protection, more healing.

  The details mattered and the description was about as helpful as a Microsoft error message.

  And yet… did I really have a choice?

  Jack was still scribbling numbers on the ground, muttering under his breath as he tried to figure out how many goblins he’d need to kill to level up. But if I could make a sanctuary for us, maybe he wouldn’t have to.

  Although maybe “heal faster” only worked if you were using a spell or potion.

  I gave an exasperated sigh, and he glanced in my direction.

  “Trouble?”

  “I want more information before I decide. Maybe some actual numbers.”

  “Yeah, not sure it works that way.” He pointed his stick at the dirt. “I did figure out the XP, though. There’s a level difference variable, a multiplier of 10% per level on top of the base XP, which looks like a standard additive. The tougher the opponent is, the more XP you get. I’m willing to bet it works the other way, too, where lower-level opponents are worth less.”

  “So how many goblins will you have to kill?”

  Jack tilted his chin in the direction of the goblin spawn point. “Of those guys?” He grimaced. “A dozen or so, I think.”

  That was a lot of goblins.

  “Can you tell if you’re healing at all just by, you know, sitting here?” I asked.

  “Really, really slowly,” Jack replied. “Maybe more endurance would help, but it looks like I’m gaining one hit point per hour or so.”

  Hit points. I didn’t roll my eyes, although I wanted to.

  “Where are you seeing that?”

  “I’ve got a HUD,” he answered.

  I raised my eyebrows at him, not bothering to say, “Could you please speak English?” I knew he’d get the message. He’d already heard it a few too many times from me, during the long hours when he explained how he thought the System and multiverse worked.

  “It stands for heads-up display. Works like the countdown timer. Just ask the System.”

  System, I thought, could you please show me my hit points?

  The Apple Fitness activity rings popped up in the left-hand corner of my vision, on the opposite side of the countdown timer and survivor count.

  I did not curse aloud. I’m proud of myself for that, to be honest.

  It was bad enough that my phone had spent years judging me for failing to close my rings. Now my magical brain interface was going to do the same? Fantastic.

  I focused in on the rings. The interior ring was full. The outside ring was about 90% full. I concentrated on it, and numbers popped into view.

  XP: 2365/2700.

  Okay, so that meant that I was reasonably close to hitting level 6.

  The interior ring, when examined closely, was hit points. I had 74 of them. That seemed okay. At least I was at 74 out of 74, showing that I was currently in perfect health. I was willing to accept that as good news.

  Back to my abilities.

  If Jack was slowly regenerating hit points, then it was plausible that my Wild Sanctuary ability would increase the speed of that slow regeneration. That made picking it a no-brainer.

  I wished we had an axe, so we could really chop down some branches, make our little improvised nest an actual shelter, but I’d spend as long as necessary moving branches around if I had to, doing my best to make something out of nothing.

  We’d heal him up and then… okay, we’d figure out that ‘then’ when we got there.

  Meanwhile, I had three more abilities to look at, the ones from Level Five.

  Verdant Reprisal was a familiar friend. The description read:

  Verdant Reprisal—When you or an ally are attacked within your zone of control, thorns lash out automatically at the attacker. Can also be triggered manually for a powerful burst of area damage.

  Absolutely, I wanted it.

  Except… my shovel already had it. Did I really need it? Sure, someday I might want to use another weapon than a shovel, or someday I might not have my shovel available, but today, here and now, my shovel could make Verdant Reprisal work. I didn’t have to take it as an ability.

  I mean, if I could have all of them, I absolutely would have. But I couldn’t. One choice, that was all I got.

  The second option was:

  Threshold Ward—Define a physical boundary, and while remaining behind the boundary, enemies are hindered, damage is reduced, or attacks rebound. The effect is stronger at the edge: standing on the line is the safest place of all. The boundary can be created with anything at hand, and the stronger the intent and emotional investment, the more potent the effect. Strengthens with will and resilience. - “A line in the dirt is still a line, if you’re willing to stand on it.”

  I loved it.

  Absolutely.

  I wanted it, and in fact, I wanted to go back into my past with it.

  I wanted to have it when my ex-husband was still in my life.

  I wanted to have it when I was in high school.

  I so, so, so wished I could have it for that brief stint in jail that still gave me nightmares. Ninety days is pretty close to eternity, you know.

  But.

  I didn’t want it as much as I wanted the next ability.

  Pack Instinct—When a soul-bonded creature is threatened, instantly teleport to within 5ft of them or pull them to within 5ft of you. Useable once per bonded creature per hour.

  My throat went tight. To be able to be there the instant Z needed me? After spending half the day terrified she’d die while I was away fighting goblins?

  Yep.

  Honestly, it was a no-brainer. Okay, maybe that verdant reprisal ability could kill my enemies faster and yeah, that threshold skill sounded awesome, but it wasn’t even a question.

  I selected Pack Instinct, and I hit the Buy Now button.

  Nothing noticeable happened. But I knew the abilities were mine now. It was just a feeling. Like muscle memory for muscles I’d never moved. I could feel Pack Instinct sitting in the back of my mind, waiting.

  And I knew the wild sanctuary was mine, too. I looked around the clearing. Somehow I needed to “improvise defenses to claim an area as my own.” If I had logs, maybe I could build a log cabin? I didn’t. There were a few loose branches, some leaves, but I had no idea how I was going to turn them into a sanctuary.

  Maybe I could do something with dirt? I did, after all, have a working shovel.

  “So,” Jack said, looking up from his mathematical dirt scratches. “What’d you end up with? What’s your class?”

  I felt surprisingly shy about the name of my class, but I told him anyway. “Thorn’s Edge Guardian.”

  “Guardian?” He laughed, genuine delight lighting up his face. “That’s awesome. You’re a tank.”

  I bristled.

  “No, no, it’s great,” he said quickly, apparently not oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature. “You’re a tank.”

  I bristled some more. “I am not a tank.”

  Look, I was not, in any way, sensitive about my weight. I didn’t need to be. But I am female, and I’m pretty sure no woman on the planet wants to be told she’s a “tank.”

  Square and heavy? Built like military equipment? Keep your crass weight observations to yourself, please and thank you.

  “No, no, it’s not…” Jack said. “Look, tanks are the most important role in any group. You protect everyone else. You’re the one who stands between the damage and the people who can’t take it.”

  I stared at him. “Are you... is this more gamerspeak?”

  “Yeah!” His enthusiasm was impressive, considering half his face still looked like hamburger. “In games, you’ve got different roles, right? DPS—that’s damage per second, the people who kill things fast. Support, who heal and buff. And tanks, who absorb damage and control the battlefield. Guardians are classic tanks.”

  “So when you say I’m a tank, you mean...”

  “I mean you’re the person who stands in front and says ‘you want them, you go through me first.’” Jack’s voice went softer, more serious. “That doesn’t feel wrong. I’m not oblivious to the fact that I’d be back in the real world right now if you hadn’t decided otherwise.”

  Oh.

  Well, when he put it like that...

  “You could have warned me you were talking nerd,” I muttered, but the edge was gone from my voice.