[Dawn of the Fourth Day - Six Days Until the Triple Solstice]

  I scratched out a long sigil across the horn of my mask, closer to finishing than ever before. Training with Kor—that Beachstrider in the Underbelly—had taken up my evenings and most of my waking hours, but just last night she'd encouraged me to rest today, to give my muscles space to breathe.

  As I rolled my shoulders, I winced at their soreness. It was cool though, because every hour or so, especially after I ate a lot of meat, a stat I didn't even know I had would increase [Strength +1]. There were others too, hidden away beneath the ordinary stats like attack and defense. Even a quick glance at my melee skill sent my heart skipping—I was only an intiate, yes, but already on the second level.

  [New Skill Level!]

  [Level 1] → [Level 2]

  [Melee Fighter (Weapon: {None}) (2) (Initiate) (67/100)]

  [New Abilities Unlocked]

  Momentum Strike: Chain attacks for increased damage (+10% per hit, up to 3 hits)

  Blade Control: -15% stamina cost for basic attacks

  [Passive Improvements]

  Attack speed +10%

  Improved striking accuracy

  Smoother attack transitions

  I scratched another sigil across the horn, excited to finish. All ingredients waited in my inventory, and I'd already earned several experience points for my masketeer skill. Almost at the next level, which meant faster crafting, especially for rare items.

  Of course, by week's end, I wouldn't be strong enough to beat that masked cultist. But maybe I could…stop him? Who said I needed to kill him to prevent the meteor shower? Worth trying—if I succeeded, would we even need the restarts?

  Only if you died, Cronia said, mist radiating from my palm.

  I cleared my throat, glancing around self-consciously.

  No need, she said. Only you can see me. Remember?

  I nodded but still scanned the other students. We worked outside today, at tables behind the guild's treasure chest building. No guildmaster present—otherwise I wouldn't dare show my face. But I needed the guild's specialized tools to speed up the process. Hopefully, when I upgraded my Maskateer skill level, I could upgrade my own instruments… Or would I need to buy better ones?

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  I watched a fellow student—a purple Tidewalker—scratch a face onto a round mask. After a moment, I blinked, looking around, realizing something. Rosamae… Where was she? We'd seen each other daily, and just last night our bond quest had progressed. She'd invited me to her house today—I'd planned to go after making progress on this mask.

  A prickling sensation had me glancing over my shoulder. Theat pale-faced Beachstrider with long black hair stared at me, watching intently. I quickly returned to my mask, heart skipping. What the hell? Why is he staring? Last week he'd barely noticed me, barely even talked, even after standing up for him. Now, this staring…

  Cronia's silvery mist floated up my arm, materializing into her high-collared form, opal eyes gleaming. “He's coming over,” she whispered.

  I straightened, sobering up, trying to mask my discomfort. But I had to glance. Sure enough, the man prowled on over with an intensity that seemed wildly out of character. He sat beside me and began carving what looked like a snarling wolf.

  We worked in silence. My back remained stiff until Gripjaw's clacking drew my attention. He sniffed the air, looking between me and the pale Beachstrider with obvious confusion.

  "That trainer in the Underbelly," the man said quietly, hands moving methodically. "I heard she's particularly brutal with her tests."

  Be careful, Cronia whispered, and she was right to say so. Kor had warned me never to reveal her unauthorized training operation.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I said carefully, pulling out sandpaper to work on the horn.

  He smiled knowingly. "No? Interesting. A friend mentioned a Beachstrider who didn't break when she ran him through." His pale, milky eyes flicked to my chest scar. "Most people don't come back after that first test."

  I glanced at Cronia, swallowing as I glanced back down at my mask. "Your…friend seems to know a lot."

  He nodded slowly. "My friends know many things. Like how the academy rejected your application three times despite your scores. Like how the merchant guild refuses to sell you higher-grade materials without permits. Like how council members and soldiers look away when you're shoved down and spit upon and—“

  "What do you want?" I interrupted sharply.

  Other students glanced over and my cheeks burned.

  The pale Beachstrider studied me. "What do I want?" he whispered. "I want to know if you're learning to fight just to protect yourself…” His voice dropped even lower. “…Or if you're ready to fight for those who can't."

  The words hit like a blow to the ribs.

  Images flashed—my father, wrongly accused and powerless; myself, unable to protect friends from bullies; NeuroSync, destroying my life one person at a time.

  Your heart rate just spiked, Cronia said as I took deep breaths. She hesitated, probably reading my thoughts, searching my past. Her eyes wide.

  My trembling hands struggled with the final sigils. Gripjaw growled but I calmed him with a stroke, not wanting another nose-tearing incident.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I managed steadily.

  He continued working on his wolf mask. "No? Then I suppose you're not interested in what happens after sunset, when the real lessons begin."

  I paused, noting his gaze on my scar again. "What do you mean? Who are you? How do you know about—"

  The Beachstrider stood, sliding a paper from his sleeve. "You'll see. If you come tonight." He paused. "Unless you're content with just…surviving."

  [New Bond Quest: Xelmir]

  [He knows more about you than he should. Does he offer opportunity…or danger?]

  [Objective: Meet at the specified location tonight]

  [Reward: +15% Bond Progress]

  [Bonus: ???]

  The paper contained instructions for arriving somewhere at the 11th chime. When I looked up, Xelmir was already stalking away, pack slung over his shoulder. Gripjaw, Cronia and I watched until he vanished down a sandy street.

  "He didn't just hear about you," Cronia whispered. "He's been watching."

  But for how long? And why? I had theories. If he worked with Kor—both Beachstriders who'd faced countless injustices—they might be gathering a team. But for what? The…cultist, perhaps? That seemed the most logical conclusion. Which is why I was skeptical.

  I let out a shuddered breath and shook out my hands, hurrying to finish the mask's final marks, disturbed yet intrigued. His words about fighting for others had struck deep—and only someone who'd faced endless hardship could speak with such conviction.

  Mind made up, I decided to pursue this bond quest. It hadn't appeared last week, for obvious reasons, and if things went wrong, Cronia could help me escape. I rushed to complete the markings, simultaneously dreading and anticipating the bell's eleventh chime.