James surfaced from the dark the way a swimmer might break through ice, slowly, with resistance, lungs burning and limbs heavy, not quite believing there was air up here.

  For a long time he lay still, eyes closed, letting the world drip back into him in fragments. The cold stone beneath his cheek. The grit of dust between his teeth. A low, distant dripping somewhere in the cavern. The faint smell of ozone and crushed stone and old, stale air.

  And light.

  Not much. Just a dim, wavering glow pressing against his eyelids, like someone had hung a dying lantern above his face.

  He forced his eyes open.

  The ruined chamber stretched around him, a skeleton of a place that had once been a city square. Broken walls hunched like old shoulders. A toppled pillar lay cracked in three pieces, half-swallowed by rubble. Beyond it, there were the vague outlines of collapsed homes, low heaps of stone and packed earth that might once have housed families. Dead hearths gaped blackly in the walls, filled with dust so old it might as well have been part of the stone.

  The air felt different now. Before, the chamber had been a pressure on his skin, mana wound tight and angry around that hulking elemental. Now it was still thin and cold but no longer crushing. The wrongness had drained away, leaving behind something hollow and eerie, like the echo after a scream.

  Above his shoulder, Lumen floated.

  The familiar’s usual bright, playful radiance was gone. Instead, his light was a faint, flickering halo, barely enough to push back the darkness by a few arm lengths. His edges were fuzzy, his shape smaller than usual, as if someone had taken the idea of Lumen and smudged it.

  “Hey,” James croaked. His voice sounded like gravel dragged over stone. “You still with me?”

  Lumen gave a tiny bob, light fluttering weakly. No sarcastic quip, no lecture, no smug commentary. Just that little movement.

  James understood more from that than any words. Hero’s Benediction hadn’t only scraped him clean. It had dipped into whatever Lumen was made of as well.

  His whole body felt hollow. Mana channels that usually hummed somewhere at the edge of his awareness now felt like dry riverbeds, cracked and empty. His lungs burned when he tried a slightly deeper breath. There was an ache deep in his bones, like someone had scooped out marrow with a spoon and replaced it with glass.

  Classic mana overdraw, his exhausted brain supplied. With a side order of bad life choices.

  But he realized something else. His new ability didn’t just use his mana, but something else, something vital he couldn’t quite name. Like a piece of himself had been permanently taken.

  He let himself lie there a few moments longer, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Roots dangled from above, dry and tangled. Dust motes drifted lazily through Lumen’s dim light. Somewhere nearby, someone snored softly.

  He turned his head, slowly, carefully, because even that motion made his vision swim.

  They were all still here.

  Maude had, at some point, shifted in her sleep until she was curled almost against Bren’s side. Her hand had hooked unconsciously into his tunic, and his arm was draped protectively over her middle, knives still strapped at his belt even while he dozed. Varn lay on his back near one of the fallen walls, face slack in sleep, one hand stretched out in the direction where Irla had obviously been sitting. The stone still held the impression of where she’d leaned before exhaustion dragged her down; now she was asleep half-curled against his chest, hair a dark spill over both their shoulders.

  Rogan was propped sitting against a half-toppled pillar, chin on his chest, arms lax at his sides. Even slumped and battered, he looked like a carved statue abandoned in an old temple. Kerrin lay on an improvised bed of cloaks and packs, pale and unmoving, his injured side wrapped tight and immobilized. His ruined arm was bound to his chest, the limb at an awkward angle even under the bandages, but his breathing was slow and steady.

  The cavern felt less hostile somehow. Still vast and cold and too quiet, the weight of earth pressing on all sides, but without the taste of imminent death on his tongue. Just six exhausted villagers, one overdrawn architect, and a half-dead ball of light trying its best.

  It was almost peaceful if he ignored the pain.

  He snorted softly at the thought and immediately regretted it as his ribs complained.

  All right, James. Step one, check everyone is actually alive. Step two, figure out how screwed we are.

  He worked his hand under him, pushing himself up inch by inch until he could sit. His vision dimmed at the edges, but he rode it out, breathing shallowly until the spinning slowed.

  As if the motion rippled through the group, others began to stir.

  Bren blinked awake first, tensing instinctively when he saw the cavern, then relaxing when he realized they hadn’t been ambushed in their sleep. He looked down at Maude in surprise and then carefully eased his arm away, face going slightly red even through the grime.

  Maude’s eyes fluttered open as his warmth shifted. She focused on him, then on the hall, then on James. Her expression ran through confusion, alarm, then slow dawning memory. She swallowed, sat up, and winced as bruised muscles protested.

  “Ow,” she muttered, then amended, “Ow… again.”

  “That seems to be our theme,” James rasped.

  Irla stirred next, as if drawn by some invisible thread that tugged her awake whenever someone breathed too fast. She pushed up on one arm, hair falling in her face, eyes blinking blearily. When she saw the group sitting, moving, breathing, something in her shoulders eased.

  “Everyone… still with us?” she asked, voice hoarse.

  “For certain values of ‘with’,” James said. “Bleeding? Breathing? Dead?”

  Rogan gave a low groan that might have been a laugh. “Breathing,” he rumbled, forcing himself a little straighter against the pillar. “Not sure about the rest.”

  Kerrin did not answer, but his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. Varn made a soft sound and shifted, arm tightening reflexively around Irla as if afraid she would disappear if he let go.

  James let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They had done it. Against ridiculous odds and a walking avalanche made of metal and stone and rage, they were all still here.

  Barely, but still counted.

  Of course, the system chose that moment to smack him in the face.

  A cascade of translucent blue filled his vision, floating in front of the cracked ceiling. For a heartbeat he stared dumbly, brain too fogged to interpret it, then the words sharpened into focus.

  Level Up!

  You have reached Level 26.

  Below that, more lines flickered into existence, neat and emotionless.

  Mana Armament has increased to Level 14.

  Mana Resonance has increased to Level 9.

  “Oh,” James said faintly, because eloquence was for people who weren’t currently held together by stubbornness and divine stupidity.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He read the notifications again, slower this time, making sure his eyes weren’t lying. Level twenty-six. Four whole levels above where he’d started this ridiculous crawl underground. His mana skills jumping like they had hitchhiked on the back of a collapsing elemental.

  “Well,” he said. “That explains why I feel like someone used my insides as kindling.”

  “What is it?” Irla asked, dragging herself closer on hands and knees until she could look at his face. “More… damage?”

  “Levels,” James said. He swallowed, tried to get enough spit in his mouth to speak properly. “We all should check. The big rock bastard was level twenty-seven. System seems to think that counts for something.”

  Rogan made a soft sound that might have been disbelief. Bren blinked, then focused as his own invisible screens apparently popped up. Maude straightened fully, eyes going wide as she stared at something only she could see. Even Irla’s gaze unfocused for a moment, attention turning inward.

  James opened his attribute window with a thought. The familiar spread of numbers greeted him, slightly altered now.

  He pushed the twenty new points where he needed them most. Vitality, to help his body not crumple if someone sneezed in his direction. Willpower and Intelligence, to deepen his mana pool and control. Dexterity, because shaping weapons from magic and then tripping over his own feet would be a stupid way to die.

  Name: James Wright

  Race: Human (Outworlder)

  Class: Mana Architect (Lv. 26)

  Profession: Chieftain

  Titles: Summoned Savior, Strainwoven

  Familiar: Lumen (Bound)

  Attributes:

  Strength – 8

  Dexterity – 22

  Perception – 12

  Willpower – 31

  Intelligence – 30

  Vitality – 30

  Charisma – 45

  As the points settled, he felt a faint, almost ghostly sense of his body rebalancing. Nothing dramatic. No instant burst of power. Just a slightly easier breath, a marginally steadier beat to his heart, the barest smoothing of the raw ache in his channels.

  Across from him, Maude let out a squeak.

  “I... oh,” she said, then clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes enormous. After a moment she lowered it slowly. “I… got a profession,” she said, voice trembling between pride and disappointment. “Not a class. But still. Warrior. Apprentice Warrior, I mean. It says… it says Warrior – Apprentice.”

  Bren’s head snapped toward her, surprise and delight easing some of the shadows in his face. “That’s... Maude, that’s big,” he said. “That’s… that’s huge.”

  She nodded quickly, cheeks flushing, then squinted at her notifications.

  “I also got skills,” she murmured. “Three of them. Footwork… Warrior’s Instinct… and Guard Break. Just the first level but…” She looked up, eyes shining despite the grime and fatigue. “It’s real. I’m… actually on the path now.”

  James caught the flicker of something else in her eyes too. A faint, unspoken wish that it had been a grand, glittering class instead. Something with fancy light effects and dramatic names.

  He knew that feeling intimately.

  “Professions are good,” he said quietly. “Professions are the bedrock. Classes are flashy, sure, but they don’t build the world. Warriors do. Builders do. Farmers and healers and people who keep standing up even when they’re terrified. This is a solid start, Maude. A damn good one.”

  Her shoulders loosened. “Yes, Chieftain,” she said, and then smiled properly. “I’ll make you proud.”

  “You already have,” he said, and meant it.

  Bren cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I hit level fifteen. And I got a new skill. Evasive Momentum. Says I get a boost to speed and balance after dodging an attack.” He gave a small, crooked grin. “Feels about right. That’s all I remember doing back there. Running around like a scared rabbit and pretending it was a plan.”

  Rogan snorted softly. “You kept me alive,” he said. “That’s more than most plans accomplish.”

  Irla’s eyes were unfocused again, reading. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost reverent.

  “I reached level twenty-one,” she said. “Lifeweaver, Level 21.” Her fingers twitched, as if they remembered the pattern of a spell even when she was too exhausted to cast it. “I gained a new skill as well. Not a class ability. Just… a general skill. Vigor Thread. It lets me weave a strand of mana into someone’s body to support their stamina. Help them recover faster. It won’t save anyone on its own, but...” She shook her head, eyes soft. “It will help. Especially when we have workers, hunters, fighters pushing themselves too hard.”

  “So… everyone,” James said dryly.

  Her mouth quirked. “Yes. Everyone.”

  Rogan finally tore his gaze from the air in front of him. “Level twenty-four,” he said, still sounding like he didn’t quite believe it. “Radiant Warden.” He said the words cautiously, as if afraid they might vanish if he spoke them too loudly. “I have Sunshard Bastion now. That’s… that thing with the shields.” He grimaced. “And a new skill. Battle Mastery. I think it’s… knowing how not to get everyone killed.”

  “That seems appropriately on-brand,” James said. “Congratulations on being terrifying.”

  Rogan huffed something that might have been a laugh, but his eyes were unsettled. Being turned briefly into a walking sun and smashing a mountain must be a lot to process for someone who still thought of himself first and foremost as a man with a spear.

  Kerrin, still unconscious, obviously didn’t share his notifications, but Irla with her class that allowed her to sense someone’s level when she healed them, had checked his level earlier and now voiced it.

  “He’s twenty-two now,” she said, hand hovering over his ruined arm without touching. “No new skills, but… a great jump in strength nonetheless. The system counted his part of the battle.”

  “Good,” James said. “He deserves that much.”

  He looked at Varn then. The other man had woken during the conversation, dark eyes opened to narrow slits, watching silently. At the mention of levels, his gaze flicked away, a guilt he clearly thought he was hiding tightening his jaw.

  “What about you?” James asked gently. “You get anything?”

  Varn swallowed. “Metal Sense increased,” he said finally, voice low. “I only gained a single level. I… wasn’t exactly fighting. Just trying not to die.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Seems about right.”

  “That’s enough level talk,” Irla said suddenly, sharper than usual. She shifted until she was sitting fully and turned to Varn, expression darkening. “You can explain yourself now.”

  Varn flinched like she had slapped him harder than any enemy.

  “I... Irla...”

  “No,” she said, and for once her soft voice held an edge capable of cutting stone. “No excuses. You left at dawn. You didn’t tell me where you were going. You’ve been disappearing for days. Then I find a hole in the ground and hear you screaming at the bottom of it. Start talking.”

  Bren and Maude both looked away, suddenly very interested in a particular crack in the floor. Rogan’s gaze slid toward the far wall. James stayed where he was, letting the words hang between the two of them without trying to soften them.

  Varn stared at his hands. They were scraped raw, dirt ground into the skin, nails broken. The hands of a man who had dug desperately at rock with nothing but stubbornness and fingers.

  “I got a skill,” he said finally, voice rough. “After… after the bear. After you and the Chieftain patched me together. A few days later. Metal Sense. Said I could feel metals underground, if I focused.” He forced a humorless little grin. “Didn’t seem like much. Not compared to warriors and healers and chiefs who make buildings from light.”

  Irla’s eyes gentled slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Varn continued. “I didn’t know how. I felt useless. Everyone else was… helping. Building. Guarding. Growing. I could barely carry a log without Marla or someone yelling at me to rest. And then this skill shows up that just… whispers that there’s metal somewhere far away.” His hands tightened into fists. “I thought it was the system mocking me.”

  “So you decided to follow it alone,” James said quietly.

  Varn nodded once. “I went east,” he said. “First just to see. To get away from the clearing and everyone’s pitying looks. The feeling grew stronger, the farther I went. Pulled me to that hill. When I touched the ground there, it was like my bones rang. There’s metal under there, deep and rich. I knew it the way you know when you’re hungry.” He laughed weakly. “I thought… if I could find it, bring proof back, maybe… maybe it would matter. Maybe I would matter.”

  Irla made a small, pained sound.

  “I didn’t have tools,” Varn said, shoulders hunching. “So I tore up branches and used stones. Dug until my hands bled. Went back the next day. And the next. I told Irla I was… just walking. Clearing my head. I didn’t want her to stop me. Then yesterday the ground gave way. I fell into the tunnels.” He swallowed hard. “I hit the bottom. Couldn’t climb back up. The things down here… those monsters… they came when they smelled blood. I’ve been… dodging them ever since. Trying to follow the vein. I thought if I could at least find the heart of it before I died…”

  His voice cracked on the last words.

  Irla stared at him, tears bright in her eyes. “You idiot,” she whispered. “You brave, stubborn idiot. You could have died down here and no one would have even known why.”

  “I know,” he said, hoarse. “That’s the worst part.”

  She made a small noise, halfway between a sob and a laugh, and then she was moving, crawling awkwardly across the stone until she could reach him. She grabbed his tunic with both hands and hauled herself up, and he flinched as if expecting another verbal blow.

  Instead, she kissed him.

  It was clumsy. They were both tired and filthy and shaking from exhaustion. Her nose bumped his, and their teeth clicked together awkwardly. But her hands were firm on his jaw, and his own hands, after a moment of stunned paralysis, rose to her shoulders as if afraid she’d vanish.

  Bren pretended very hard to be adjusting his knife sheaths. Maude stared resolutely at the ceiling, cheeks flushed. Rogan looked away with a small smile tucked into his beard. James just watched, something warm and aching unfurling in his chest.

  When Irla finally pulled back, Varn looked like someone had hit him with a healing spell and a hammer at once.

  “You idiot,” she said again, voice thick. “You already mattered. Before some stupid skill. Before metal in the ground. You mattered when you dragged firewood with a stitched-up side and when you held Pebble so Marla could stir the stew and when you sat with the wounded who couldn’t sleep. You mattered when you didn’t leave when everything went to hell. You don’t have to dig your way to death to prove it.”

  Varn swallowed hard, eyes wet. “I just… wanted to be worth your time,” he said softly.

  Irla closed her eyes briefly, then leaned their foreheads together. “You are,” she whispered. “You always were.”

  The silence that followed was gentle rather than awkward.

  “Well,” James said eventually, because someone had to break it before Bren melted into a puddle of embarrassed sweetness. “On the bright side, your terrible life choices did lead us to a very valuable, very dangerous metal-rich ruin. So that’s something.”

  Varn let out a shaky laugh. “You’re welcome, Chieftain,” he said.

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