Archive: Prologue - Chapter 6 (Patreon)

Prologue

It was raining when I died.

Not the percussive rain of storm clouds and plot devices that leaves morning commuters soggy and irritable while young lovers make optimistic declarations of forever. Not the perplexing rain that dares manifest on sunlit days, misting from pockets of nothing in defiance of sense and evaporating before ever reaching the pavement. It was Autumn rain. A gentle pattering perfect for walking, even if you forget your umbrella. I left my umbrella at home on purpose.

I left a lot of things at home.

…

…

Fuck. I can't let myself think about that yet. Or ever. Where was I? Rain! I was remembering the rain. It was the rain that inspired me to brave my apartment stairs and get some much-needed exercise. Something, something, self-care.

Our dog tilted her head in inquisition as I wrestled with an almost-pair of novelty socks. I'd plucked two at random from the chaotic disarray that was my sock drawer, one purple and the other green. The green one had little flowers… sewed? Embroidered? There were little flowers on the green sock. Despite what I recognized as precise foot-to-sock alignment I somehow pulled them up with the heel patch annoyingly twisted and uncomfortably bunched. I suspect it was the same phenomenon that governs the quantum orientation of USB sticks and the relative position of a wall socket when trying to blindly plug something into it.

My observer's tail  helicoptered when I stood to leave. Convinced of her participation in all things at all times, she attempted to weave through my legs while I fetched my keys, her way of urging me to also fetch her lead. Like many german shepherds, she was oblivious to her size so her maneuvering almost sent me sprawling. It was an endearing effort on her part but ultimately futile. I'd taken her for a walk earlier in the day, before the rain, and didn't want to coax her into the doggy-raincoat she despised despite its necessity. This walk was for me.

"Besides," I argued to the dog who could probably-definitely not understand English, "You need to wait for your mama to get back from work."

…

…

Maybe things would have turned out differently if I took her with me. Maybe if I'd just sent a quick text to my fiancée instead of writing up a little note for the fridge in an effort to be 'adorable' my timing would have…

Maybe…

Maybe.

Maybe!

FUCK!

RAIN!

It was raining when I died. It's not an exciting detail, I get it. I wish I could remember more. I remember leaving our home and triple checking I locked the door. I remember slapping my pockets to check for my phone, my wallet, and my keys. I remember trundling down the carpeted stairs and walking away from our apartment building.

And then I died.

And I don't remember how.

And I remember the rain.

I tried to make this more interesting, more meaningful, by spouting some metaphorical nonsense about the rain, but fuck, I can only do so much. I died and instead of blissful nothingness I get this.

It's still nothingness, but it isn't blissful.

I have an unnatural, unshakable, chilling certainty that I have died.

I also have sufficient clarity of consciousness to torture myself about it.

Fuck the rain.

-

Nothing isn't like how it's often portrayed in films. It isn't some black void that I am suspended in. It's nothing, and I am inside it, which shouldn't be possible because it's nothing.

An eternity passed inside The Nothing, or maybe I'm exaggerating. There was no time, not really, just nothing. Just me and The Nothing.  By naming it 'The Nothing' I hoped to bestow some substance to my not-existence. As you might imagine, trying to make something that isn't is was ultimately futile and the cognitive equivalent of catching apple juice in a butterfly net.

Hope was denied me. I can't even entertain the possibility of The Nothing being a dream or other delusion. My ignorance regarding the specifics is irrelevant. I don't understand how I know; I just do. I died. I was deceased. I am deceased. I had ceased to be and might as well be a Python's prop parrot. My mind turns to my fiancée, my dog, and everyone else I lost. I don't want to think about them. It conjures a pain so deep that it makes itself known despite The Nothing. I don't want to think about them, but I force myself to. Fear of forgetting transcends even the pain of loss.

Object permanence was always a struggle for me, along with executive dysfunction and a whole host of other challenges I didn't realize were symptoms until I was an adult. If something was out of sight it drifted out of mind whether I liked it or not. I won't let that happen, neurodivergence be damned.

Then again, I technically no longer have a brain, so maybe it won't hamper me the way it did in life. Counterpoint: I don't have a brain, that place where memories live and occasionally get lost.

How am I still me?

The soul, I suppose. Or at the very least, a rough equivalent. Are my memories safely anchored to my soul? I'm not willing to take that chance. I don't want to forget them- forget her. So, I remember. It hurts, but I remember.

I remember our first date. I was so nervous that my palms were practically dripping with sweat. She was beautiful and we lost track of time talking about wordplay and dice. We held hands at one point, and I had forgotten about my soggy grip situation until it was too late. I was ready to die of mortification.

Her hands were sweaty too. I remember being baffled by the situation. She was so amazing, so I couldn’t help but wonder what she had to be nervous about. We shared a bashful moment of embarrassment and acceptance. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I'd already fallen in love with her that day. When you know, you know.

I remember all the little moments of our life together while we dated. She would nuzzle into my side while I read a book and watch one of her reality shows with headphones in. We didn’t always have to be doing the same thing, we just enjoyed doing them together. Sometimes our dog would rest her head on one of our legs to not feel left out.

All relationships require effort, but it never really felt like it did with her. Even when we were struggling financially or reeling from the death of a loved one, knowing that we had each other’s back made it easier to face our tomorrow.

I remember proposing. Strangely, I think I felt less nervous proposing than I did on that first date. It wasn’t scary to me, not even a little bit. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. We were walking on the beach - she loved… loves… FUCK. She loves the beach, and as we walked I got the ring ready, fell a step behind her, and took a knee. When she turned to check where I'd gotten to it was with her usual bemused expression. I had a tendency to get distracted by the scenery and lose pace with her, a tendency I shamelessly twisted to my advantage. As she realized what was actually happening, pure happiness blossomed on her face. Then she cried, but a good cry. A happy cry. I wonder if-

Something changes. A pinprick of light joins me in The Nothing. Before I can wonder how I recognize it as light without eyes or a brain the light starts to grow. Or, maybe, I'm moving towards it. I can’t tell.

Until I can. I can feel again. I feel pressure. Discomfort. Disorientation. I lose sight of the light and the pressure builds and builds until, blissfully, it's relieved. I feel the air graze my skin - which I apparently have again - and I feel so overwhelmed that I can't help myself.

I cry. I cry like a baby.

…

…

I am a baby.

What the fuc-

Chapter 1

“I remember reading books that did this thing where they began each chapter with a quote to add some interesting context to the chapter or even just author commentary. I always found it quite charming.”

~Unknown

The specifics of my rebirth were largely lost to me. Between the shock, bodily discomfort, and existential crisis I wasn’t exactly taking comprehensive notes. After the fact, I couldn’t help but compare my experience to some of the reincarnation stories I’d read during my first life. Protagonists would pop out of the womb then start pointing out fine details about their environment and having rational thoughts. Fuck. That. My eyes were glazed with blood, gunk, and God knows what else. I could barely tell up from down and newborn brains aren’t exactly well suited to Holmes-esque deductions.

If my existence in The Nothing as a maybe-soul was the software, then my baby brain was the hardware. It was like running a next-gen video game on a toaster. Sure, you might get a flicker of performance but the whole thing shuts down before any meaningful progress is made. I existed in brief windows of pseudo-sapience before returning to the fugue. My early life primarily consisted of uncomfortable emotions, uncontrollable body functions and instinctively suckling the occasional nipple. Even if I did notice things, it was difficult to commit them to memory.

An accurate recount of my coping mechanisms at the time also escapes recollection. I suspect I didn't cope. It was probably a marathon panic attack now safely quarantined in the forbidden back rooms of my mind behind the Big Black Door marked 'repressed as fuck'. All I know is that I came out the other side of those early weeks and months ready to… not accept, but at least entertain the details of my new reality.

All the evidence I had suggested I was still human, but I couldn’t be certain. If reincarnation was real it meant I needed to keep an open mind. I might have been a platypus-person or something else equally fantastical for all I knew. It’s not like I had a mirror in my crib.

The people I assumed were my parents appeared human to my barely functioning baby eyes, which helped. Making out even scant details through the fog of my memories at the time was tricky, but it was enough to stave off the impending identity crisis. Their general proportions seemed about right when viewed as a blurry silhouette. There were no signs of additional limbs or horn-like growths on their heads. I felt the usual number of fingers when I was picked up and their skin didn’t feel unnaturally rough, scaly or slimy.

When they spoke to me it sounded familiar even if I didn't understand any of the words. They weren't speaking English or any language I recognized but it sounded vaguely South American. It wasn’t Spanish, but the cadence reminded me of it. It was all very human… hopefully.

I had questions, but until I was able to support the weight of my own head I concluded that my options were limited. Eventually, I was able to remain cognizant for more than 10 minutes at a time which was a big moment for me. I tried to pump my fist in celebration but my half baked nervous system decided I should jerk my leg and soil myself instead. Small victories, I guess. Those little milestones broke up the monotony of my days and I grew to eagerly anticipate them. Most of my time was spent swaddled in a crib made of dark wood. It was about as cozy as one might expect given my lack of mobility.

I might complain a lot so in fairness being a baby also had its benefits. I was able to stay swaddled in one position for hours at a time without the burgeoning lower back discomfort I’d been growing used to. Before dying if I had the audacity to sleep wrong I'd have to write off my weekend and consume a cocktail of pain relief medication. Returning to the squishy flexibility of a baby removed all those aches and pains. It didn't quite make up for the boredom though.

There was no music playing in the background, no sounds of television filtering in from another room, and since I couldn’t conjure my smartphone from across the aether I was left with precious few options to pass the time. I had a rotating cast of three grayish-white crocheted animals to keep me company. Crocheted, not knit. My fiancée made sure to educate me on the nuance of her crafting hobbies and it was paying dividends in the strangest way possible. There was a  dog, a sheep, and something I didn’t recognize. It looked like someone slapped the stumpy legs of a rhino onto the stumpier body of a grumpy toad. Cuddly as they were, crocheted animals didn't exactly make for vigorous conversation partners.

The lack of stimulation left me alone with thoughts I didn't want to have, so I did the mature thing and ignored them. Instead, I tried putting the time to good use. What were my goals? What were my plans? These were all questions I asked myself. Ultimately, what I wanted most of all was to find a way back home.

If my soul was sent here, then maybe… I let the thought trail off.

It was hard to convince myself I had any real shot at going back. Whatever had happened to me felt like it bordered on unique and was beyond anything I knew to be possible. It was like magic. Magic.

I wonder…

That inconsequential, little thought latched its claws into me. In my experience, stories that dealt with fantastical reincarnation presented magic one of two ways. The first was nebulous, infinitely varied and most likely impossible for me to test for until I was old enough to ask questions. I didn't even know where to begin, so it became Plan B. As for the second type… I could test for it straight away.

This was a test I was familiar with since I'd performed it in front of my fiancée more than once, much to her amusement. Not that I ever truly expected it to work, but I once jokingly argued with her that if I never tried then I would never know for sure. That same spark of hopeful optimism reignited as I stared intently into the middle-distance.

Status, I thought.

System Initiated

Time Until Core Skill Selection

63:13:24:16

To my literal pant-shiting surprise, a faintly transparent blue screen flickered into existence just in front of me. As I watched in stunned silence the 16 ticked down with each passing second. Organized thoughts to commemorate the discovery were beyond my grasp, but I tried my best.

Well. Fuck.

Not my finest work, but it summed up the broad strokes of how I was feeling. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

***

Pre-occupied as I was by the presence of a System screen, I failed to notice the pair of hands reaching into my crib until they hoisted me into the air. I was positioned with my head resting gently on what I had come to recognize as my mother's shoulder. She smelled familiar. Baby brains are weird. I felt the gentle rumble in her chest as she hummed a lullaby to me.

Did I need soothing?

I probably made some kind of shocked baby-noise when the screen appeared, meaning she was trying to disarm a potential baby bomb. I'd thought I'd gotten better at moderating those involuntary outbursts but sometimes instinct took over. The worst was when my response to stomach cramps was to wail like a tiny banshee. Please refer to my earlier comment on baby brains.

I could still see the System Notification floating just in front of me, seemingly unnoticed by my mother. A curl of her chestnut hair tickled my scalp as she gently walked around the room. Either infants calling up their status screens was normal enough to merit such an underreaction or she was oblivious to it. Either way, it seemed to be a non-issue.

Unless it was some kind of hallucination. Honestly, I probably accepted the reality of the situation far sooner than I should have. I was right to, but it was the most reckless choice I made in those early days. It probably had something to do with how I was feeling.

Twin emotions warred in me at the discovery of a System, like metaphorical wolves from an urban housewife's social media post. My situation had officially entered the realm of fantasy fiction, reincarnation aside. I wasn’t even sure if I was on Earth anymore. Sure, it was possible I was on Earth in the far future. Maybe the System was just the natural evolution of mobile device addiction after it burst from its weirdly throbbing, crowd-funded cocoon. It didn't really matter.

The world I knew was lost to me, probably forever. Spurred by desperation, I tucked a seed of hope deep inside myself. Magic was real, and if magic was real…

There still might be a way to get back home.

Until I learned more about my new world, I wasn't going to rule it out. I couldn't. The sorrow I'd kept tight under lock and key began to rear its head, urging me to grieve for what I refused to accept was truly gone. At the same time, I couldn't help but feel excited. This was magic. It wasn't flashy magic, but still, the part of me that used to spend weekends devouring web novels couldn't wait to explore what the System had to offer. I loathed myself for it.

Close.

I tried pushing the thought at the System window by scrunching up my baby face and willing it so. While it would be unwise to assume that my experiences with System fantasy fiction would give me an innate understanding of how this whole thing worked, I could at least draw on it to give me ideas. It may have been the word I thought or simply the desire behind it, but the screen vanished just as suddenly as it appeared. I could experiment later.

A tiny yawn squeaked its way out of my mouth. My mother's gentle rocking and lullaby were doing their job. Big feelings were exhausting work for a baby. I was surprised I hadn't devolved into a snot-bubbling mess but evidently the shock and conflicting emotions had pushed me full circle. It wasn't that I was at ease with the situation- far from it.

FAR from it.

I was just numb to it, at least temporarily. That type of repression probably wasn't healthy for my developing brain. Then again, if having the memories of a guy in his 30's cosmically shoehorned in there didn't turn my gray matter to mush, I suspected I'd probably be fine.

And then my mother changed me. In all the excitement I'd forgotten about all the excrement. I won't regale you with the details. You're welcome.

Just know that my mental escape at the time was the realization that, if my math was correct, I'd have to choose a Core Skill in a little over 63 days. What's a Core Skill? I was asking myself the same question. I didn't have an answer.

Chapter 2

"Epigraph! They are called epigraphs. I knew I knew the word and it was irking me that I could not remember it. To summarize, those 'top of the chapter’ things are called epigraphs."

~Unknown

Time Until Core Skill Selection

24:09:33:42

It had been almost 40 days since I first called up a System interface straight out of fantasy fiction. Real talk, the past few weeks were not my proudest. It's one thing to tell yourself not to think about painful things, but if it were that easy, therapists wouldn't be charging absurd hourly rates. The worst part? It was getting easier to cope. I was able to compartmentalize. Objectively, I knew it was a good thing, a sign of healing. Scarred, mangled healing but healing all the same. It didn't mean that the waves of guilt I felt were any less debilitating. I'd convinced myself that being less paralyzed by grief meant I was betraying the life I once had and the people I left behind.

Fortunately, being gripped by the occasional need to cry myself to sleep was standard baby behavior so hopefully I hadn't roused any undue suspicion. I was starting to piece together the language since my excursions outside the crib were growing longer and more frequent. It was an issue of exposure to vocabulary. The additional opportunities to watch my parents interact with each other beyond the baby-talk they used on me did wonders for my growing comprehension.

I wasn't bilingual in my first life. Learning a second language always felt like an impossible barrier to me. I collected an eclectic sample of words and phrases but that was the limit of my casual capabilities. This time, though, it wasn't that I wanted to learn a new language. I needed to. Even with such potent motivation I had my doubts. Fortunately, the benefits of my baby brain started to reveal themselves.

One of my fiancée’s friends had a toddler and would gab about the wisdom from her mountain of overpriced baby books. Apparently, humans have the highest capacity for learning in their early years of life. Our young brains are like little sponges, a perk I was now benefiting from despite my unique circumstances.

I still hadn't tried articulating any words and I planned to keep it that way. According to ‘the literature’, something-teen months was the average age that babies started speaking. I wasn't really paying attention when I heard about it, but I got the gist. Until my parents started staring me down and endlessly repeating their language's equivalent of 'mama' or 'dada' at me I was content to lay low.

At no point did I want to intentionally risk outing myself as a reincarnated, adult man. I couldn’t imagine that conversation ending in anything other than disaster.

"So, turns out you’ve been babying a grown ass man in his 30s and treating him like the son I probably inadvertently stole from you."

Yeah... No. Not going to happen.

I knew that relationships built on a foundation of dishonesty weren’t known for their stability, but unfiltered honesty was also problematic. I’d reevaluate when I was less dependent on my parents for survival, but I wanted to do right by them. If that meant keeping my origins a secret, so be it. If I later decided that it meant revealing myself and being chased out of their lives… Well, so be it.

***

By that point my regular descents into the newborn fugue had started tapering off. Finally, I had the time and mental resources to start noticing more about the world around me. This mostly meant that I was able to start recognizing what my parents looked like beyond being vaguely humanoid blobs. I failed to consider that I still had a baby body, however, and one detail stood out above the rest.

They were massive! Rationally, I knew they just seemed massive compared to me, but still. It's easy to forget how large the world looks when you're young. Memories of memories contrast with our adult perspectives and dull the awe of being surrounded by giants.

I confirmed my parents were human which wasn't particularly helpful in narrowing down the specifics of where or when I was. At that point I decided I would try to let the matter rest until I could get some concrete answers beyond blind speculation. The specifics paled in comparison to the harsh fact that I was displaced from the home I knew. Obsessing over fragments of inconclusive evidence would only make me feel stressed.

… more stressed.

My father's name eluded me. I'd only heard him referred to as 'love' or some rough equivalent. With the limited contextual exposure to the language I had, it was one of the few words I'd been able to confidently decipher.

There was a solidity to the man. Not the chiseled physique of someone with a workout regime, but the practical build of someone who developed muscle after years of labor. His hands felt rough, like they were calloused, but he was always gentle with me as if worried he’d accidentally break me. I felt a kinship to the man. I too was awkward when handling small children. I only grew further endeared when I observed him interacting with my mother. It was the lingering looks and spontaneous smiles they inspired in one another. Sometimes the love people share is just so obvious.

It reminded me of my fiancée and I in ways that were far too bittersweet.

Hazelnut eyes dreamed by an olive complexion regarded me softly whenever my father gingerly held me up for inspection. It struck me that his face was always cleanly shaved. Either he couldn't grow any facial hair or went through the trouble to remove it daily. His hair colour reminded me of dark chocolate and the dense strands never strayed below his shoulders. Small twigs or leaves were regularly tangled in its clutches. It would explain why such woodsy odors clung to him most of the time. I began to suspect we lived near a forest.

I'd only heard my mother's name once at that point. It was an argument of sorts that pushed my father to use it instead of their usual terms of endearment. I couldn’t understand what they were disagreeing about in any meaningful detail, but I recognized irritation when I heard it. My mother's eyes are that fickle shade of green that changes depending on the lighting, her mood, or just because. When my father used her name, they briefly flickered to a shade I have since cataloged as 'danger-green'. I had no way of knowing what ignited their argument, but it was probably one of the many stressors that a newborn can place on a relationship. Regardless, it's how I learned my mother’s name.

Tina.

Not Tina exactly. There was nuance to the pronunciation when filtered through their language but it's the closest approximation I can convey.

Names and titles are funny little things. I was still struggling to define the relationship I wanted with my new parents. I had to ask myself if I was willing to accept them as my mother and father, and not just publicly. I’d call them mom and dad as a survival tactic if I had to, even though I wouldn’t be proud of it. I wanted to know if I could accept them as family, truly and honestly. I tried not to revisit my worries about them accepting me if they found out who I really was. That was a separate concern, or so I told myself.

The issue gnawed at me and poked at still raw wounds. I still had parents in my old life and was worried I'd be betraying them by accepting new ones. My dad and I were especially close. He was a goofball who claimed Billy Joel was his favorite musician yet still regularly flubbed the lyrics when singing along and I loved him for it. As I grew older, I beamed with pride whenever a family friend said I reminded them of him.

You can imagine my surprise when, as a teenager, I found out he was technically my stepfather. After the initial shock, I decided I didn't care. My dad was my dad, plain and simple, genetics be damned.

That experience is what decided it for me, I think. It's what gave me the strength to believe that no matter what, my first parents would always be just that. Families can be complex and don't have to fit into any neat little boxes.

I had a new father, but it didn't mean I was losing my old one.

I had a new mother, but it didn't mean I was losing my old one.

… and I had a new name. I didn't usually make a habit of referring to myself in the third person, so it had been a while since I considered my old name. Even now, I think I'll keep it to myself as a secret treasure, something for the people waiting for me somewhere beyond distance. You get the new name.

My name is Will.

Chapter 3

"By all accounts, epigraphs should probably be written after a chapter; a sort of literary fruit to top the sweetbread. If they are written first then they might not even make sense in the context of the chapter, right?"

~Unknown

Time Until Core Skill Selection

21:14:31:42

Three weeks before I had to select a Core Skill I spent the morning battling boredom by studying the wooden beams supporting my room’s arched ceiling. There was no smooth plaster or light fixture in sight, but sunlight gently filtering in through the paned glass window gave the room a soft luminescence. There were many odd inconsistencies with the technology in the house and I hadn’t yet been able to reconcile them. There was sophisticated glass but no light bulbs. There were household items seemingly made with machine levels of precision, but no indoor plumbing. I assumed it had something to do with Skills and tried not to dwell on it.

Since I was starting to achieve a measure of equilibrium between my body and mind, I had plenty of time to think. I had too much time to think, hence my intense fascination with ceiling arches. I'd moved beyond my humble beginnings of celebrating an uninterrupted 15 minutes of cognizance. I was even sleeping through the night. This cognitive triumph also gave me plenty of time to focus on my System notification, still unchanged except for the steady ticking down of the timer it displayed.

In my first life I read dozens of stories that featured a System of some description. I was initially hopeful that my knowledge of how these things worked in fiction would give me an advantage. My efforts to mentally prod at the System for additional details or some kind of help function were, disappointingly, met with failure. No matter what odd combination of words or phrases I tried, all I could do was open and close the screen. There was no early allocation of stat points or skill points, no System-bestowed titles, nothing. Just the timer. It was vexing.

I hadn't been keeping a perfect count of the passage of time since I was born - those early weeks were still a blur - but I concluded that by the time the counter reached zero I'd be close to 6-months-old.

That is, of course, assuming months are still 30ish days.

If the System functioned the same for everyone it meant babies were presented with what sounded like an incredibly important decision while potentially marinating in a sullied diaper. It made no sense. That was the first time I realized I didn't know if anyone else even had a System. There was too much I didn't know.

I tried to focus on what I did know. I knew Core Skills were a thing and that I would have to select one. I also deduced that if there were Core Skills then, presumably, there were other types of skills. It wasn't much, but it was something.

I could only hope that the process of selecting a Core Skill would be when a unique opportunity presented itself to me. Unless everyone was born with memories of their past lives…

Whoever said ignorance is bliss was full of-

I was pulled away from my musings by the sound of my mother’s footsteps on the wooden floorboards as she entered my room. It wasn't difficult to tell them apart from my father's. The solidity of his frame was echoed, sometimes literally, in his footsteps. Compared to that, the gentle steps of my mother made it seem like she was gliding instead of walking.

"... Will… time… Baxter," my mother was happily chirping at me as she scooped me out of the crib. I still only understood every other word, but it was odd she mentioned Baxter while taking me out of the bedroom. Baxter was the name of a crocheted dog that regularly accompanied me in my crib and a quick scan of the room as we departed revealed him sitting on his little side table.

My mother was wearing a sturdy pair of pants and thick boots which was an outfit I'd come to associate with whatever she did for a living. It was only recently she'd started working again and only for small periods of time while my father watched over me. Having a baby was a universally disruptive practice, it seemed.

What is this smell and why is it so familiar?

There was a distinct smell that clung to her work clothes that I had difficulty identifying. It was earthy and wet and yet somehow neither.

We reached the living room and passed by the rocking chair we usually settled into without pausing. My heart rate began to speed up as a pulse of excitement raced through me. I didn't want to get my hopes up but couldn't help craning my neck to confirm our destination. It was the front door! It was finally happening! We were going outside! With deft hands my mother positioned me so that my head was on her shoulder while her free hand opened the door.

***

My mother helpfully paused in the open doorway before turning me so that I could see our front yard. A gravel path wove through well maintained vegetable gardens, but I didn't recognize any of the produce. I'd later learn that there were rough equivalents for all the vegetables I was familiar with. Their potatoes grew on a vine and looked kind of like orange bananas, for example.

We did live near a forest! In the near distance I could see the edge of a vibrant pine forest. It stretched to either side as far as I could see, and I could just make out the occasional stump along its border. Before I could finish appreciating the vista my mother spun me back around. Her loving giggle suggested I looked as awestruck as I felt. I wasn't sure if she was indulging me or herself but I could tell she was enjoying introducing her baby to the world.

She stepped onto the path but veered to the right, heading around the house. The forest was not our destination. I was sure I'd have an opportunity to explore it eventually. I inhaled deeply and savored the crisp morning air.

Next to the house was a large shed piled high with logs and cuts of wood in various states of preparation. One stack had been cut into long planks, possibly for construction. Another stack was piled high with the branches that had been stripped from fallen trees, but I had no idea what purpose they served. Most of the wood looked like the kind found in lean-tos next to rustic cabins for use in a wood stove or small fireplace. The sheer quantity of it all went beyond what I imagined an ordinary household would need for private use. Off to one side I spied a large stump with an axe embedded into it. The axe was a vicious looking thing with a broad head, leather-wrapped handle and large spike protruding from its butt. Hilarious as that thought was, it didn’t look like a woodchopping axe. It looked like a people-chopping axe. Maybe it was a cultural thing. Regardless, I began to suspect I had figured out what my father's profession was.

If he's not some kind of lumberjack, I'll eat the hat I don't have.

There were two paths behind our house. One trailed over a small rise in the landscape so I couldn't see where it led. The other path, the one my mother took, led to a paddock with a suspiciously clear pond at its center. A barrier of piled stones rimmed the perimeter serving as a rudimentary fence. Dozens of small wooden structures sat in neat lines off to one side of the enclosed space. Another shed, presumably for storage, stood just outside the fence, off the path and close to the gate.

I immediately knew what it was. The dozens of gray, furry shapes excitedly running up to the fence to greet my mother were unmistakable. The smell clinging to my mother’s clothes suddenly made sense to me. This was a kennel.

Dogs!

“... Baxter, Will?” My mother’s question caused a mental puzzle piece to slide into place.

Dogs… Baxter… Baxta, maybe? It means dog, or dogs, or both. That checks out.

The realization made me feel more than a little foolish, but I was too thrilled by the presence of doggos to dwell on it for more than a moment.

I knew that, as a baby, my sense of perspective was warped. Like looking into the side mirror of a car, things usually appeared larger than I logically knew them to be. That was not the case with these dogs. They really were massive. Their short, shaggy fur reminded me of Irish Wolfhounds but the largest among them stood a full head and shoulder above the breed I was familiar with. The comparatively smaller dogs had the oversized paws and ears of puppies still in their first couple of years. They outnumbered the adults by a fair margin and were adorable as they were intimidating.

I could ride them like a horse.

Not that I knew how to ride a horse, but I felt the sentiment held strong all the same. I glanced between the dogs and the waist-high fence of piled stones that surrounded the paddock. I could not fathom it being sufficient to keep the dogs contained, even the pups. The adults could have leapt over it with almost no difficulty. Yet despite their apparent excitement none of them crossed the barrier. I was missing something.

The kennel was far enough away from the main house that, unless the dogs were constantly barking, it wouldn't disturb the occupants. As we approached the gate some of the dogs began to whine with anticipation and my mother shot me a worried glance. I figured she was concerned the dogs might spook me and prompt a fit of crying. I did my best to appear unbothered by making happy baby noises. It worked. She smiled widely at my reaction and shifted me to her hip to free up an arm. She raised her hand, forming it into a sort of ‘C'-shaped hand signal.

Silence.

Close to thirty dogs stopped what they were doing and gave my mother – Tina – their full attention. At that moment it didn’t feel right to define her by her relation to me. This was her domain. She said something to the dogs in a tone that brook no argument and since I was still struggling with basic words the shorthand for her commands was lost on me. The dogs understood her though. As one, they moved to an open area of grass and arranged themselves into two equal lines before sitting. They sat still and exuded a quiet dignity with few exceptions. Some of the smaller pups occasionally got distracted but a neighboring adult would quickly correct them. It looked like they were lining up for inspection, the kind of thing you’d see at a military boot camp.

What in the actual shit, I thought.

It went beyond what should be possible. Dogs could be taught obedience, sure, but what I was seeing was something else entirely. I tilted my head to look up at my mother and saw she was looking back down at me. The wonder in my eyes must have been evident because her smile quirked into a smug smirk. I didn’t begrudge her for it. I’d be smug too.

“Time to meet the dogs, Will.”

It was one of the first full sentences I understood. At the time I made some guesses based on context clues, but I guessed correctly. Tina was officially a badass and I was abso-freakin-lutely ready to meet the dogs.

Chapter 4

"As humans, inventing complex connections where none exist comes naturally to us. Especially socially. The personification of Beasts is my favorite example of this phenomenon. Even seasoned Slayers describe impossible grudges held by creatures incapable of such thoughts... The fact that they are sometimes right is the exception which proves the rule."

~Unknown

It was difficult to get a good look at any one dog while they were pressed together like a living, shaggy blanket. That was before Tina casually organized them into orderly lines, a display I was still reeling from. As we walked through the open gate I had an opportunity to study the dogs as individuals. One of them initially caught my eye because it sat between the lines instead of in them. It was easily the largest dog in the kennel and possibly the largest dog I’d ever seen. Tina was heading straight for them, still resting me on her hip. At a guess, it sat atop whatever hierarchy had been established and understandably so. I couldn’t take my eyes off them and would have sworn they were staring at me just as intently. It wasn’t just their size that grabbed my attention, though. There was a faint shimmer to their fur where the light caught it. It reminded me of-

Is that dog's fur made of metal?

I rapidly blinked my eyes to clear them. The fur still looked like metal. I tried rationalizing the situation. If that dog’s fur was solid metal I would have heard it clinking like dollar store wind chimes. I normally loved serendipity, but when a gentle breeze silently played through the still shimmering strands in response to my thought… I was not appreciative. No matter how I looked at it, that dog’s fur still had a metallic sheen to it. It looked like organic steel wool without the manufactured tonal uniformity.

We crossed the final few steps to stand opposite the creature I started to doubt was actually a dog. The top of its head lined up with the bottom of Tina’s chin which left me having to crane my neck upwards from my perch on her hip. That dog could have snatched me up in its jaws and made a valiant attempt at swallowing me whole if it were so inclined. When it tilted its head towards me I saw a literal flash of teeth.

Okay, that dog’s chompers are definitely made of metal.

Every canine in that canine’s mouth looked like they’d been coated in polished steel. Despite the objective danger such a terrifying animal presented, I wasn’t afraid. I could feel a steady heartbeat through my contact with Tina. She wasn’t worried at all. Based on the way the dogs were behaving, I was inclined to trust her judgment. Deep down I just knew I was safe with her. It was a warm feeling.

“Will, this is Vigil,” Tina said sweetly.

The realization that I had learned the name of a probably-metal dog before learning the name of my father tickled me. I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It came out as one of those heartwarming baby giggles and I heard Tina stifle a small chuckle of her own.

“... he likes you, Vigil.” I gathered Tina was talking to the dog even though I missed the start of her sentence.

Talking to dogs like they were people was a habit I developed in my first life. I felt a connection to Tina when I heard her do the same. It reminded me of how I used to talk to my dog. Sometimes one of her pointed, doggy looks conveyed an entire conversation’s worth of mischief. A shudder threatened to rack my body as the memory stirred emotions that had been lying dormant for days. Thoughts of home were still too tender. I drew on every ounce of stoicism I could to keep my emotions in check.

If I start crying she might take me away from the dogs. I don’t want that. Not now.

In response to Tina’s words, Vigil grumbled in the way only big dogs can. I heard a repetitive thunk, thunk, thunk as their tail started to wag. Each thunk was accompanied by a small shower of earth and a steadily growing divot like someone was wailing on the ground with a golf club. Vigil’s apparent happiness at my approval was a balm to the spirit. I forced a small smile. Metal or not, a good doggo was a good doggo. The hurt I was feeling didn't magically go away, but I got a handle on it. I could be sad later.

I started making grabby hands towards Vigil. I wasn't technically able to talk yet, but some signals were universal and my curiosity demanded satiation. Tina seemed happy to oblige my childish desires and held me out enough that I could reach the mass of metallic fur. My tiny fingers wove into the strands and I gave the best little squeeze I could muster. It felt like… fur. It felt like regular old dog fur.

Well, that wasn't what I was expecting.

Asking about Vigil’s unique constitution skyrocketed up my list of priority questions. I had a hunch this all linked back to the System but I wasn’t going to be satisfied until I knew the details. I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to ask about this stuff without setting off alarm bells.

We were at the kennel for well over an hour while Tina took the time to introduce me to each of the dogs. Most didn’t seem out of the ordinary by the standards I was familiar with, but there were a couple of exceptions. None were as obvious in their strangeness as Vigil, but the presence of a metallic dog made me pay close enough attention to spot it.

Trunkle had short hair along their snout instead of the usual shaggy gray. In a few places the hair receded entirely to reveal small cavities that resembled nostrils. Vix had an extra tail and I initially mistook her for one of the younger dogs. Unlike the pups, Vix had the proportions of an adult despite her smaller size. She was more lithe than her kennel mates in a way that seemed irregular for the breed. The only pattern I could identify was that none of the younger dogs appeared different in the same way some of the adults did.

Vigil shadowed us while we did the rounds. I couldn’t be certain if all the dogs were thrilled by my presence or just cowed by Vigil and Tina, but seeing the puppies do excited butt wiggles was adorable all the same. Tiredness crept up on me and I yawned before I could catch myself. All the excitement must have tired me out and my growing body demanded a nap. Tina helped me wave goodbye to the dogs as we left the kennel and I was asleep before we made it back to the house.

***

I had a new roommate. Vigil slept next to my crib most nights and accompanied Tina to the kennel during the day. Emboldened by the success of our first outing, Tina also felt increasingly confident in taking me with her which I was happy to encourage with well timed baby laughs. I needed to get out of the house more. It wouldn’t have been practical for Tina to work with one arm occupied by a baby all day which I worried would limit my time with her. I was a big fan of her solution. Vigil would lay down on a soft patch of grass and I’d be propped up against him. It gave me a regular reminder that his fur was surprisingly soft despite its metallic appearance. My initial concerns that I’d slump like a ragdoll without additional support were unfounded. The usually futile efforts I’d made to sit up in my crib evidently helped me build sufficient baby muscle to remain upright. Small victories. Some of the younger dogs occasionally tried to approach us but were deterred by a low growl that rumbled from deep within Vigil’s chest. It was probably for the best. I didn’t want to be accidentally squished by an enthusiastic puppy twice my size.

Watching Tina work was a great way to spend the weeks leading up to my Core Skill selection but I couldn’t help but feel I was missing something. Most of what I saw was regular maintenance of the kennel. Sometimes Tina would undergo basic obedience training with the younger dogs which I recognized despite the language barrier. It was how I first inferred the word for ‘sit’. Still, I couldn’t reconcile the routine with the size, quality, and quantity of the dogs around me.

What is their purpose?

I hadn’t seen any sign of neighbors. Either we were self-sufficient hermits or part of a thinly spread community. If we were surrounded by farms and farmers then I could see it making sense that Tina bred working dogs. I also considered the possibility that they were livestock guardians, dogs bred to square up with anything desperate enough to prey on farm animals. Vigil seemed like the kind of dog that could make a predator buy a pair of pants just so they could shit them.

I remained perplexed until the afternoon I saw my father hauling what could be best described as a large rickshaw loaded with supplies. I recognized the barrels of lightly brined meat Tina pulled from to feed the dogs. I was under the impression that too much salt wasn’t good for dogs, but clearly she knew something I didn’t. My father arrived from the path that disappeared over the rise and paused to wave at us. Clearly, we were getting supplies from somewhere and that somewhere was close enough to reach in less than a day of travel. Until I learned otherwise, my farming community theory seemed the most likely. Still…

How was he able to make the journey without straight up dying?!

Those wagon wheels were weighed down enough to leave furrows in furrows as they groaned from the burden. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t just that my father was hauling the goods; I’d seen footage of strongmen pulling ridiculously heavy things before, but they did it over short distances and jumped in ice baths immediately afterwards. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. It had to be System related. Inspired, I pulled up the familiar notification.

Time Until Core Skill Selection

01:08:13:21

In less than two days, I’d get some answers. In less than two days, I’d get to choose a Core Skill. I’d prepared as much as I could. I had a plan. I was ready.

…

I was wrong.

Chapter 5

“Gods dammit, I just spilled my drink all over the manuscript. Can I fix- nope, it is fucked. Don’t any of you dare tell anyone about this. I will end you.”

~Unknown

The last day of my System countdown was illuminating as it was stressful. Muted muttering roused me from the light sleep I was only able to claim after a night of excited tossing and turning. I’d barely finished blinking myself awake when my parents came into focus, looming over me like proud gargoyles. They cheered in response to my stirring. It wasn’t a particularly vigorous or spontaneous cheer, but the partially rehearsed cheer adults used around children that bordered on sarcasm. Tina scooped me into her arms and showered me with tiny kisses and I heard a large shape start to move below me. I craned my neck and saw Vigil who had raised his head to inspect the noise. I almost giggled. His squinted eyes and disorganized ears made it clear he was entirely unimpressed by the intrusion. He grumbled before settling back down with a huff.

“Oh hush,” Tina jokingly scolded before she shared a laugh with my father who also noticed Vigil’s incredulous expression. Sprawled out as he was, Vigil took up most of the floor space which must have made navigating to the crib without disturbing him in the first place a delicate process.

The timing of the sudden, weirdly celebratory break in our routine aligned too closely with my Core Skill selection to be a coincidence. It was like some kind of birthday-

A System Day

It was like some kind of System Day, a way to celebrate that a baby was going to get their Core Skill. I couldn’t be certain but, unless something happened to suggest otherwise, it made the most sense. It meant the countdown was consistent for everyone and my parents had been marking the days.

How could they possibly know that it’s the same for everyone, though? Does their society have a way to easily check a person’s status like some kind of… I don’t know, like an inspection skill?

Cautiously, I called my System notification up.

Time Until Core Skill Selection

00:17:24:33

Neither of my parents reacted as the screen materialized in front of me. They couldn’t see it. There’d be no point in pretending they couldn’t in front of a baby who didn’t know any better… Honestly, I was a baby who didn’t know any better, even with the whole reincarnation situation. Maybe they could see my screen and acting casual was a superstitious thing. Or maybe in just over 17 hours I was going to glow blue and burp rainbows as Core Skill Selection descended upon me.

I tried willing the seconds to pass faster. It didn’t work. Impatience at my ignorance pestered me and every second felt like an hour. Begrudgingly, I accepted that watching the screen all day would be torture, so I willed it to close. My ambient irritation must have inspired a pout because I heard Tina’s delighted giggle moments before she started squeezing my chubby little baby cheeks. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Evidently she thought grumpy babies were adorable.

“I don’t think Will likes that, Love.” Thankfully, my father must have noticed my look of displeasure at the treatment. His tone seemed more amused than chiding but I still appreciated that he’d intervene on my behalf.

Tina gave a snappy rebuttal that I didn’t quite catch and cackled as she sped us to the main room of the house, a sort of kitchen-dining-living room combo. I heard the rumble of my father’s chuckle chase after us and he was close behind it. I allowed myself a small smile. It was hard to stay grumpy when surrounded by Tina’s aura of wimsy. Besides, I decided that if it really was my ‘System Day’ then I should at least try to enjoy it.

It’s either that or let the anticipation drive me insane.

Apart from spending the day together as a family, there were a couple of events that stood out as celebratory. My personal favorite was the food. Specifically, I was given regular food for the first time. Never before had mushy purple paste that tasted vaguely of carrots reached such culinary heights! I could only hope the trend would continue. My regular feedings were getting harder to repress the more my brain developed.

Shortly after the meal, Tina sat on the ground with me in her lap. When I leaned back against her it was with the dazed comfort of the recently full. Such was my contentment that I barely noticed when her fingers gently wrapped around my wrists. I started to clap. It was an anticipatory clap, the kind you’d hear at a sporting event. Tina was marionetting me like a clumsy puppet but I decided to let it continue without causing a fuss. What can I say? The food put me in a cooperative mood. Tina started chanting something at my father who obliged whatever the request was by producing twelve wooden coins from a pouch tied to his belt. He organized the coins on the floor in an even line and Tina leaned me forward to get a look at them. Each one had a simple image seemingly hand carved into its face.

The images reminded me of the pictographs you’d see on old-timey store signs. I couldn’t decipher all of them, but they probably had some kind of cultural significance.

That one looks kind of like an anvil and… is that one a cow, or something?

I turned my head to look up at Tina who had started watching me expectantly. Something about the situation felt familiar and had the ring of superstition to it.

Ohh, okay, I think I know what this is.

I scanned the collection of coins again. One had three weapons intersecting each other; an axe, sword, and spear. My father used an axe so I reasoned they’d probably find it adorable if I picked it. I squirmed in Tina’s grasp and grabbed at the coin. A repeat of the earlier cheer that I was expecting for ‘choosing my future’ didn’t come. Just the opposite. It got eerily quiet. My mother’s gentle grip on me tightened, not enough to hurt, but it was uncomfortable. She loosened up almost immediately but something had rattled her. I looked up at my father. His eyes were downcast and his hands were balled into fists.

Did I do something wrong?

Tina coughed pointedly and my father finally noticed me staring at him. A forced smile covered his concern and he began to politely clap for my tiny accomplishment. The actions of adults at baby parties were one big performance. I knew it and was guilty of it in my first life, but I let my worried excitement cloud my mind to it. As children, we sometimes forget that our parents have their own lives, desires, worries and regrets. Even though I knew better that time around I still stumbled into a fuck up. My father had some baggage.

The rest of the day passed by without incident. My parents packed away the coins and subjected me to the catalog of vaguely familiar baby activities they knew. I played along and laughed at every not-peekaboo, but I couldn’t get that harrowed expression out of my head. It’s like I said, the actions of adults at baby parties are one big performance.

***

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:25:21

My eyes watered as I watched the System Window. Nervous anxiety threatened disaster if I peeled my gaze away and somehow missed the moment the last second passed. It was late and I had to struggle to stay awake. Sleep was a primal need and my infantile body wasn’t used to resisting it. I knew academically that sleep and rest were important for a baby so most days I just surrendered to the urge. Sleep was a good way to pass the time. Thinking that I could just stave it off when I needed to was arrogant. I’d flown too close to the sleepy Sun.

I embraced the panic. I embraced the anxiety. I tried to fuel it without letting it cloud my judgment. It was the only thing keeping me awake. I’d taken a nap earlier in the day, shortly after the game with the wooden coins. Evidently, it wasn’t enough. I needed a second nap, but when I started feeling the allure of slumber and saw my System countdown still had hours remaining I didn’t trust that I’d wake up in time.

Part of me, the sleepy part, argued that I should just wait until morning. I could give in to sleep and approach the Core Skill Selection with a well rested mind. If it weren’t for the events of my System Day, I might have listened to it. The incident with the wooden coins held me back.

Why have a superstitious game like that in the first place?

It had been nagging at me. The System Window clearly said ‘Core Skill Selection’ which, to me, implied some kind of choice. Choice and superstition didn’t always mix well in my experience. In my younger… er… my first younger years, I’d avoided a handful of second dates with women who tried to justify poor choices as a symptom of the position of the stars. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed something, even though it was right there in plain Engl-

Wait, why the fuck is my System in English?

I let my mind spiral around the countless possible answers to countless possible questions as the timer in my System Window ticked ever downwards. So far, my experience with System literature was proving about as useful as grundle-flavored toothpaste. Just because I knew how things might play out in the broadest of all possible strokes didn’t exactly amount to much when I had to live it.

***

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:01:01

One minute left. One minute left. One minute left.

My heart rate started to rise as that final minute digit turned into a zero. I could only hope I’d get some kind of second wind before the seconds followed suit. I was exhausted so I tried shaking my limbs out. It was a risky move, the movement would ultimately tire me out even more but I didn’t need to plan for a marathon. I just needed to get my blood pumping and hold on for a little while longer.

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:00:30

There was less than half a minute left until I’d finally get some answers. I risked a quick glance through the bars of my crib. I didn’t see any sign of my parents who’d already turned in for the night, so it seemed unlikely they knew the specifics of my timer beyond the day it was due to expire. A sleeping Vigil stirred briefly from his place next to my crib. I returned my focus to the System.

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:00:10

Any second now.

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:00:05

Almost there!

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:00:01

Here we go!

Time Until Core Skill Selection

0:00:00:00

Prepare for Core Skill Selection

Chapter 6

“I often wonder if I would have turned out differently if I did not have my Core Skill. I know the mere suggestion could ignite a dozen different philosophical debates, but please do try to restrain yourselves. You should know by now I get ponderous when I’m drunk.”

~Unknown

Core Skill Selection

Please choose a Core Skill.

Your Core Skill will be the foundation of your advancement within The System.

If you fail to make a choice then a Core Skill will be randomly assigned to you.

0:00:10:00

That was it. There was no additional information regarding what advancement in the System pertained. There was no list of available Core Skills. There wasn’t even an example of what a skill was. It was just a poorly explained instruction and a warning. The latter was both vindicating and terrifying.

On one hand, forcing myself to stay awake was the right choice. If I slept through the night I would have failed to choose a Core Skill and awoke with one assigned for me, presumably like every normal six month old baby. On the other hand…

I only have 10 minutes?!

Tiredness was temporarily banished when freshly renewed, steroid guzzling panic gripped me as I watched the seconds tick down. I’d planned to poke and prod at the System before making a decision. I’d planned to learn as much about it as I could while I tried to devise the best possible choice. I thought I’d have time! I lost almost a whole minute trying to frantically decide what my priorities should be. I even tried willing the timer to pause with the same face-scrunching intensity as the first time I willed the System to close all those months ago. It didn’t work.

0:00:09:12

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. Think. Let’s try the long shot first.

I wanted a way to return home. Since there was no list of Skills I could only assume I had to ask for one. If that didn’t work then… well… maybe I’d get lucky with the randomly assigned Core Skill. I tried thinking of Earth. I pictured it the way I’d seen it in satellite images. I brought to mind the model of the solar system I’d learned about when I was nine. I mentally zoomed in, past the atmosphere and through the clouds, letting the details of my imagination blur until I was back in my apartment, back to my old self, and giving my fiancée a fiercely intense hug. I envisioned myself leaving where I was and returning to where I was meant to be.

That. I want that. Is that a skill? I mentally begged the System.

My bloodshot eyes widened. I wasn’t expecting the answer I got.

…

…

…

No records of chosen Skill.

…

…

…

Skill is theoretically possible.

Would you like to choose Unnamed Skill as your Core Skill?

WARNING: Without prerequisite Skills, Unnamed Skill cannot be properly utilized.

0:00:08:27

I almost said yes. I wanted to say yes. I wanted so badly to say yes. I told myself that even if I couldn’t properly utilize the Skill that maybe I could somehow teach it to someone else- someone with the prerequisite Skills, whatever they might be. I tried to ask The System what they were. No response.

I wanted to say yes… but I couldn’t.

There’s no guarantee that I would be able to teach the skill to someone else without being able to use it myself. Even if I could, why would anyone believe what I have to say about it or want to invest in helping me? Is there even anyone else out there with the skill prerequisites? Can I really risk everything on such a long shot?

The answer was no. The words from the earlier notification still rang in my mind. A person’s Core Skill was the foundation of their advancement in The System. If I were to bet everything on this unusable skill and lost… I’d be stuck forever. It was like a knife wound to the heart. I felt so close and yet so infinitely far away.

0:00:07:19

I was also wasting time. I mentally selected ‘no’ and the Unnamed Skill notification vanished. It was gone, but not forgotten. The Skill was possible and that’s all I needed to know. The problem was I had no idea what other types of Skill were possible.

What should I use as a baseline?

I conceived a long list of possible Skills to investigate during my countless hours of bored ceiling gazing. That list needed to be culled, and fast, so I decided on something physical and easily observable. I imagined myself fighting and drew on half-remembered memories of action movies to inject the scene with an outlandish and probably unrealistic display of martial prowess. I was punching, kicking and dishing out the occasional headbutt to a host of phantom opponents. The system responded to my unspoken desire.

Would you like to choose Weapons [Unarmed] as your Core Skill?

0:00:06:33

There was a Skill for unarmed combat that apparently fell under the broader category of being a weapons Skill. I could work with that, but I needed to see how far it could go. It would be my one chance to do so and could impact what might be the biggest decision of my new life. I declined the skill. When I tried again I thought about fighting with my fists, a sword, a spear, an axe, and every weapon I could conceive. One of my phantom foes was even felled by a pencil through their eye.

I want a Skill for all weapons. I want Weapons [All], I thought at The System while trying to picture the formatting of the skill based on what I’d seen so far. The System responded even faster that time.

Would you like to choose Weapons [All] as your Core Skill?

0:00:06:04

There wasn’t any mention of skill prerequisites. If I took that skill I would… I still didn’t know what would happen. Would I immediately become an expert with anything I decided to use as a weapon? Would I just have a greater capacity to learn? Either way, it did mean that whatever the unnamed Skill I turned down was, it was apparently more complex than becoming versed in literally all weapons.

I’m still not happy about it, but I definitely think I made the right call.

It also meant that Skills could be broad or specialized. I could make some guesses as to what that meant but I had more important things to spend my time on.

I’ll give myself until the timer hits five minutes to experiment but then I need to hustle. Just how specialized can a Skill get?

I imagined myself fighting unarmed again, except this time all I did was throw punches.

Would you like to choose Weapons [Punch] as your Core Skill?

0:00:05:33

All I did was throw punches with my right hand.

Would you like to choose Weapons [Punch, Right-Handed] as your Core Skill?

0:00:05:21

Holy shit, really? Ummm…

All I did was throw punches with my right hand… while it was raining.

…

No records of chosen Skill.

…

Skill is theoretically possible.

Would you like to choose Weapons [Punch, Right-Handed, Wet Weather] as your Core Skill?

0:00:05:03

I was partially relieved to see that no one else had ever been saddled with such an oddly specific Core Skill. Surely a deeper specialization in a Skill had to confer some type of advantage. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would bother with them otherwise. That wasn’t my problem though, my problem was that my second theoretically possible skill had a name.

Why the fuck aren’t you also unnamed?

It was a sign of my barely restrained exhaustion at the time that I didn’t see a problem with harassing a hypothetical Skill. There were a few possibilities that came to mind as to why that first Skill was unnamed and I didn’t like any of them. I cursed myself for getting distracted.

Focus. Focus. Focus!

0:00:04:36

I needed a Skill that would set me on the path to get back to Earth. My immediate thought was to see if Skills for magic were available. Either I needed to transcend time or transcend alternate dimensions… or both. Surely the unnamed Skill had to be magical in nature.

Unless it’s an application of crazily advanced science.

A sick feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. Whatever Skill I needed was so advanced The System stated that - as I was - I’d be more capable of gaining universal weapon proficiency than being able to comprehend it. Magic. Science. Both. I was getting ahead of myself. The skill was possible. I told myself that knowledge was enough… but I had to be realistic.

I wasn’t anything special.

Being reincarnated didn’t change that, not really. Something special happened to me, which was different. I was a guy who barely passed his junior year of physics. I was a guy with a blackbelt in procrastination who’d get hyper fixated on a hobby and then abandon it a few weeks later. How could I honestly try to convince myself I was a guy who would unlock the mysteries of time and space? I couldn’t. I needed something to give me an edge.

0:00:03:29

I compared myself to fictional protagonists. It wasn’t wise. I knew it was a dumb idea to seek advice from fantasy novels, but it was all I had. I was desperate. What did they have that I didn’t? What made them heroes? The first thing to come to mind was luck. Unbelievable, reality-defying, author-bestowed luck.

Fuck it.

I prodded at my System Screen and asked for luck.

Would you like to choose Luck as your Core Skill?

0:00:02:48

Well. Fuck. If being lucky is a Skill then this thing must be able to get pretty esoteric.

I wasted precious seconds on the distracting thought. I considered taking Luck as my Core Skill. Visions of casinos and unlikely chance encounters briefly tickled the borders of my imagination. I was quick to dismiss them. The Luck Skill would probably be useful, but I doubted it’d infuse me with absurd levels of good fortune straight away. It might have, but I needed something less uncertain.

What else is there? McGuffin? No. Legendary mentor? No. I also doubt being secretly half-dragon or some other Chosen One shit is a Skill.

I didn’t even bother checking with The System to see if it was. I probably should have, but I was running out of time. I was frustrated by the situation and getting impatient.

0:00:01:39

The power of friendship? That might work.

Even if I couldn’t learn the Skill myself, having someone else send me home could work. I’d just need to find someone capable of doing it and convince them to devote their lives to helping me. It felt wrong even as I thought it, but it was enough for The System.

Would you like to choose Manipulation [Social] as your Core Skill?

0:00:00:57

Yeah. No.

I wanted to get home, but not like that. It didn’t stop me from acknowledging how powerful - how terrifying - a Skill like that could be. Especially if Tina’s Skill with dogs was any indicator to how its advancement might go. I’d have to look into ways to protect myself.

FUCK FUCK FUCK. Later! Core Skill! Choose! Now!

One last thing came to mind. I wished it had been the first thing. It was the thing that made heroes stand out from the masses. It was what separated the exceptional from the mundane. It went beyond the realms of fiction. Some of the greatest men and women of history achieved success after countless failures, setbacks, and hardship. It was their ability to keep trying, no matter the difficulty or delay, that set them apart. It was something I knew I lacked, at least in my first life, and it was something that maybe, just maybe, The System might be able to give me in my new one. So I asked.

Would you like to choose Perseverance as your Core Skill?

0:00:00:16

There it was. Perseverance. Getting home was going to be arduous at best and my track record suggested I didn’t have what it took to do it. I needed perseverance if I was going to do this. I needed perseverance if I was ever going to hold my fiancée again.

All I had to do was say yes.

So I did.