Grand Game 141: Gifts from the Fallen (Patreon)

The woman was only the first of many.

Dozens of other fallen scions followed in her wake. Some were as gracious as her in defeat, willingly offering their essence. Others fought to the bitter end, railing at me until they were entirely depleted of their energy and forcibly consumed by the wolf heralds.

With every infusion, I felt my awareness expand until my mind thrummed with energy. Some of the scions were deadlier than others, and many times—early on especially—I teetered on the edge of defeat.

But with every attack I foiled, my meditation skill grew and soon, I made my mind an impenetrable fortress, replenishing its defenses faster than it could be damaged. Safe within it, I ignored the fury of my foes as they battered at me.

The scions were always summoned individually, but halfway through the process, I felt a strange flutter at the edge of my mind, almost as if someone else was there, someone watching... and waiting.

With my mind shield up, I could not use mindsight to confirm if what I perceived was real or merely a figment of my imagination. And what with the scions’ relentless assaults and the need to focus on my own meditation, I quickly lost track of the half-sensed presence.

Eventually, the last challenger fell, causing a flurry of Game messages to scroll through my mind.

Congratulations Michael! You have rebuffed the challenges of the fallen scions and absorbed their essences, completing the fourth test, Strength of Mind. You have gained experience and reached level 72.

Your meditation has increased to level 67.

You have completed the task: Pass the First Trial. Your blood is ready to be awakened. To determine the form its awakening will take, consult the Blood Talisman.

Your spirit signature has changed.

Wolf is an ancient god and has been many things in his multiple incarnations. Oftentimes, Wolf may favor one aspect of self over the other, sometimes becoming a consummate were-fighter, other times a fearsome wolven mage.

But one thing about Wolf has always remained constant: the Prime has always been a threefold being, equally proficient at wielding psi, mana, and stamina.

You have completed the First Trial of Wolf and demonstrated your skills in the aspect of Mind. Your performance has met with Wolf’s approval, and your Wolf Mark has deepened.

You have accomplished the feat: Realize your Lineage! Requirement: Awaken one of the ancient bloodlines lying dormant within you. As the first player in centuries to assume the mantle of Wolf scion, you have been awarded the trait: Inscrutable Mind. This trait increases your Mind by: +8 ranks.

At the Adjudicator’s message, I sagged wearily in my chair, mentally exhausted by the ordeal. Finally, it is done, I thought and raised my head.

Then I froze.

I was not alone.

Standing silently in front of the throne was another spirit. A challenger? I wondered. But no, this spirit was that of an older man with graying hair and a face deeply seamed with age. The fallen scions I had faced had been mostly youths full of fire and anger, players who had failed the First Trial, I suspected.

My visitor, by contrast, had eyes both ancient and somber, shadowed by the experiences of a lifetime—or many lifetimes. His back was unbent, and in his left hand, he carried a staff that topped his own six feet of height.

I frowned at the staff. It was as ghostly as my visitor himself, but none of the scions had borne physical weapons of any kind.

What is he?

“What I am is not dead,” the spirit said. His voice reverberated through my mind, not actual words, but a form of mind speech.

My gaze grew sharp, and my hands tightened about the heralds’ skulls. How does he know what I’m—

“And no, I did not read your thoughts,” he added. “Your mind shield is quite proficient for one so young.”

Was that a hint of approval in his voice? Or something else? Either way, I didn’t care for my visitor’s patronizing words.

I itched to summon an astral blade or prepare to defend myself in some other way. The test was over, and it was no longer necessary for me to remain confined to the throne. But the spirit in front of me appeared adept with mental skills, and I dared not lower my mind shield just yet.

“WHO ARE YOU?” I asked, attempting to forcibly project my words into my visitor’s mind in the same manner he had.

The spirit winced. “Your mind speech, on the other hand, could do with a bit of training,” he murmured. He eyed me carefully. “You know you could drop the shield about your mind halfway. If you do that, your thoughts will still be protected, and you will also be able to employ your mental abilities. This is the trick all pups learn early. Unfortunately, it has limitations too. When your shield is configured so, it will not stop incoming mental assaults.”

I said nothing. I wasn’t sure I believed him, and I noticed he’d avoided my own question. Rising from the throne, I advanced on the unknown spirit, stopping less than a yard from him.

“Who are you?” I demanded again.

The spirit did not answer, studying me through lidded eyes. “The more relevant question, boy, is who are you?”

Not waiting for my response, he began to pace a slow circle about me, ignoring my clenched fists. “That you have become a scion of House Wolf is clear. But what else are you? And how did you reach this trial?”

I pivoted with the spirit, unwilling to allow him out of sight. As I did, I noticed that a wooden table had appeared some distance behind the throne. Next to it was a shining rectangle of light. The exit portal.

“If you refuse to answer me, this conversation is over,” I said harshly.

Following my gaze, the stranger spotted the open portal and came to a halt. He nodded equably. “I am Ceruvax, the last living envoy of Wolf.”

My head jerked up in surprise. I’d half expected the spirit to name himself Atiras. Still, his claim was bold enough. “You’re an envoy? Then Wolf lives?”

Ceruvax shook his head, sorrow darkening his face. “No, my Prime is no more.” His gaze flitted to my own. “But maybe the time of his return is at hand.” His expression cleared. “Now, perhaps, you will introduce yourself?”

I hesitated, then seeing no harm in it, I told him, “I’m Michael.”

“Michael,” Ceruvax repeated. “Just Michael? No last name?”

I nodded.

“You are not a native of the Forever Kingdom, then,” Ceruvax said, rubbing his chin. “You were summoned here?”

I nodded again, growing more perplexed. How had he figured that out from just my name?

“That explains your ignorance,” he murmured, speaking more to himself than to me. “And why I did not sense you earlier.” He turned back to me. “Which Power called you?”

I folded my arms, ignoring his question. “Why does me being an outsider surprise you?” I asked, fielding my own question. “I thought most players came from outside the Forever Kingdom?”

A smile flitted across the envoy’s face. “Very few players choose to walk the path that you have, and those that do are invariably ones whose family traditions still recall the ancient ways.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but before I could do so, Ceruvax stopped me. “Please, hold your questions for now. I’ve much to tell you, and there is little time.” His gaze turned inward. “Already, they hunt me.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who hunted him, but I bit back the question. If the self-proclaimed envoy wished to provide me with information, I was not about to stop him, no matter how much I may doubt his identity. “Go on.”

Ceruvax nodded gratefully. “As I told you, I’m the last envoy of Wolf. Ages ago, the new Powers imprisoned me in one of the dungeons they control in Nexus. For the last few hundred years, it has been my home.” He smiled grimly. “Much to the Powers’ disappointment, I’ve proved too powerful for their players to kill.” His grin grew feral. “That has not stopped them from trying, though.”

The envoy resumed his pacing. “When the ritual of infusion began, I was surprised.” He chuckled. “That’s putting it mildly. It has been a long time since anyone has attempted these tests. I sensed the summoning and came here and found you: a young player, still half-formed.”

“Half-formed?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Ceruvax nodded. “You have yet to choose your third Class, and considering your ignorance, that is to the good.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it with a snap.

“I’m guessing you started with some form of generic rogue Class and perhaps a simple psionic Class?” he asked, his gaze passing over me in frank assessment.

I wouldn’t have quite described my Classes that way, but choosing not to argue, I nodded simply in response.

Ceruvax turned away and continued his pacing. “There is no getting around it: your first two Classes were badly chosen.”

The envoy was facing away from me, so he missed what I thought of that pronouncement.

“But a mindstalker,” he mused, “you didn’t do half-bad by managing to achieve that bi-blend. And there is hope still that you can achieve a strong incarnation of Wolf.” He swung back to me and scowled. “And make no mistake, considering the forces arrayed against you, you will need to be mighty indeed. Strength, however, is not easily obtained. If you wish to become truly powerful, you must risk much. Are you ready to do that?”

I held his eyes and said nothing. My actions to get here alone spoke to my willingness.

Seeming to read the answer in my gaze, Ceruvax nodded grudgingly. “What do you know about Wolf?” he asked.

“Little,” I admitted.

The spirit sighed. “That’s not unexpected, I suppose, but I’d hoped otherwise. There is too much to share at the moment, but what is most relevant for now is that to stay on the path of Wolf, your third Class must be mana-based.”

Seeing my confusion, he explained further, “Over the course of his many lives, Wolf has taken many forms, but in every incarnation, three aspects have always defined the Prime: mind, body, and magic. To be a true Wolf, you must be able to wield all three. Thankfully, you have already covered two of those aspects with your initial Class selections.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “What does it mean for a Class to be mana-based?”

“It must contain an element of magic,” Ceruvax clarified. “A single magic or faith-based skill will suffice. It does not have to be entirely magic in nature.”

That seemed simple enough to achieve.

“But I would caution you against selecting just any magic Class.” Ceruvax’s expression twisted in disgust. “Or buying one through a merchant. The best Classes are the ones no one sells and those you will only find in a dungeon. Unfortunately, the best dungeons to search are also amongst the most dangerous—for you in particular.”

“Which ones are those?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

“The dungeons of Nexus,” Ceruvax replied. “Their original purpose was to test scions and provide them with appropriate Classes. The new Powers have put a stop to that now, though. And nowhere else is the concentration of new Powers and their sworn greater than in Nexus.” His gaze turned serious. “If you go there, you will risk death—or worse.” He paused, seeming to wait on my response.

“I will consider it,” I replied noncommittally.

The envoy sighed. “Good enough, I suppose. And you will see, too, once you inspect the Blood Talisman, that there are ways to minimize the danger. Speaking of your bloodline, I’d advise—”

Ceruvax broke off suddenly, his entire being stilling and his face twisting in a snarl.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.

The envoy’s gaze jerked to me, and I almost stepped back in shock.

Ever so slowly, Ceruvax’s face was changing. His eyes were turning yellow, and his teeth were growing into fangs. And was it just my imagination, or was his nose lengthening into a snout too?

“The hunters are here,” the envoy replied. “We are out of time. I must go. If you ever journey to Nexus, seek me out in one of its dungeons.” He bared his lips in a distinctly lupine smile. “If you dare.” His spirit began to dissipate, growing more ethereal with every passing moment.

“Wait! What about my bloodline? Can’t you tell—”

“Goodbye, scion,” Ceruvax broke in. “And good luck. I hope we meet again.”

With that, he was gone.