I was soaked to the bone—every inch of me covered in swamp water, dungeon grime, and bruises I didn’t even remember earning. My boots squelched with every step, and judging by the mildewy, mold-infested stench radiating off Garrick, I wasn’t the only one suffering.
Calla wrinkled her nose. “Okay. No. Absolutely not.”
Garrick shot her a flat look. “What?”
She gestured at all of us. “We reek. We look like we crawled out of a mass grave. If anyone even lets us into an inn like this, it’ll be out of pure pity.”
I sniffed my sleeve and immediately regretted it. “Alright, fair point.”
Thorne rolled her shoulders, wincing slightly. “We’ve got gold now. No reason to sleep in the wilds again. Let’s find an inn.”
I nearly sagged with relief. “See, this is why I like you, Thorne. You actually understand basic human needs. Like sleeping in a real bed and not dying in a ditch somewhere.”
She smirked, already leading us toward town. “Let’s not push it, Shadowborn.”
The walk was mercifully short, though we still got a few odd looks. Probably because we looked half-drowned and more than likely cursed.
By the time we reached The Wandering Hare—a well-known adventurer’s inn—I was seconds from collapsing.
The place was exactly what I’d hoped for.
Warm lamplight spilled from the windows. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread drifted out, taunting my very empty stomach. Inside, the low murmur of voices, the clinking of tankards, and the crackle of a fireplace painted a picture of everything we deserved after that hellhole of a dungeon.
I sighed, eyes half-lidded. “I think I might be in love with this place.”
Garrick grunted. “Save it for after we actually get rooms.”
Calla shot him a glare. “Oh, we’re getting rooms. I am not spending a single night with you three smelling like this.”
“Don’t look at me,” I said, holding up my hands. “I am fully in favor of not smelling like a rotting fish market.”
We stepped inside, the warmth greeting me like a comforting punhug.
A few patrons looked up, probably catching a whiff of swamp dungeon aroma, but most didn’t seem to care. Chosen weren’t exactly rare around here.
The innkeeper—a broad-shouldered woman with salt-and-pepper hair—eyed us with mild amusement.
“You lot look like you fought a lake and lost,” she said.
Garrick dropped a stack of gold on the counter. “Rooms. Four of them.”
She raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount he threw down. “I take it you want the good rooms, then?”
“Absolutely,” Calla said before anyone could argue. “And a bath.”
I tossed a few coins down for good measure. “Make that two baths. Maybe a fire to burn whatever’s still living in my boots.”
Thorne just sighed. “And food. Lots of it.”
The innkeeper chuckled, already grabbing keys. “Chosen.” She shook her head. “Never change.”
As long as I got a bed, food, and wasn’t actively being attacked, she could call me whatever she wanted.
Tonight, I was going to sleep like a baby.
By the time we were clean, warm, and seated in the common room, I was starting to feel human again.
The Wandering Hare didn’t skimp on food.
Platters of roasted meats, thick vegetable stews, freshly baked bread, and enough tankards of ale to drown a small army were set before us. The warm, rich scents practically dragged me into a food coma just by existing.
Garrick wasted no time.
He downed his first tankard of ale like it was water, setting it down with a satisfied sigh before reaching for another.
I, on the other hand, eyed my drink with mild suspicion.
I wasn’t against drinking, but I liked being fully aware of my surroundings—and considering the week I’d had, getting tipsy seemed like a great way to get murdered in my sleep.
I went for the bread instead.
Calla, watching this, grinned. “You know, for a rogue, you’re the most frugal person I’ve ever met.”
I raised an eyebrow, tearing off a piece of bread. “I’m efficient with my coin. There’s a difference.”
Thorne snorted, already halfway through her second plate. “Felix hoards gold like a dragon.”
“I hoard gold like a poor person who grew up counting every single coin,” I corrected, dunking the bread into my stew.
Calla chuckled, sipping her drink. “Fair enough. Still funny, though.”
I rolled my eyes—but the banter was nice.
It felt… normal.
For a moment, it was like we were just four travelers sharing a meal. Not Chosen. Not dungeon delvers. Not people marked for death by the system. Just friends.
Then Garrick leaned back, crossing his arms. “So. Since we’re stuck traveling together for a while… might as well get to know each other.”
I internally winced.
Conversations like that? Not really my thing.
Thankfully, Garrick didn’t leave it hanging long.
“I trained to be a soldier before all this,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Back home, conscription starts early. I was fifteen and already swinging a warhammer in drills.”
Calla raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why you fight like a front-liner. You were already getting tossed into formations.”
He nodded. “The day I got marked as Chosen, my instructor told me it made sense. Said I was already halfway there.”
There was something heavy in his tone—like the memory didn’t sit right. But he didn’t elaborate.
And no one pushed.
He took a sip of ale, then added, “Level 24, by the way.”
I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”
He smirked. “Warden class. Tanking’s what I do.”
Calla scoffed. “Subtle.”
“Not bragging,” he said, still smirking. “Just setting expectations.”
Calla leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I was a student. Before all this.”
I squinted. “A real one?”
She gave me an unimpressed look. “Yes, Felix. A real one. Top of my class. I liked history—especially magical theory and ancient languages. I used to spend hours in the archives just to avoid dealing with people.”
She nodded at the staff resting beside her.
“So when I got Chosen,” she continued, “magic wasn’t just something I had to learn—it was something I already understood the structure of. It wasn’t even a question what path I’d take.”
She took another sip, then added, “Level 21. Acolyte. Though I like to think of myself as a scholar with better aim.”
Garrick chuckled low in his throat. “Smart.”
I had to agree.
She wasn’t just casting spells—she was building on everything she already knew. She didn’t chase power blindly. She followed logic. Strategy.
She chose magic because it fit.
Because it made sense.
Thorne, sitting across from me, turned her eyes my way.
“Felix,” she said. “What about you?”
I stiffened.
My grip tightened slightly around my mug.
There it was.
That inevitable moment when people ask about the part of my life I don’t talk about.
I shrugged, forcing a casual grin. “Oh, you know. Nothing exciting.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly.
She caught that.
Garrick didn’t seem to care, already moving on to his next drink.
Calla raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push.
Thorne, though?
She let it go.
For now.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
I cleared my throat, deciding it was a good time to check something else entirely.
I pulled up my status window.
Felix Ravensburg – Level 19
I stared.
“…Huh.”
Thorne caught the shift in my expression. “What?”
I hesitated. “I, uh… hadn’t checked my level in a while.”
Calla tilted her head. “And?”
“I’m… level 19.”
Thorne immediately perked up. “What?!”
I blinked at her sudden outrage. “Uh?”
“You’re ahead of me now?!” she demanded, eyes narrowing. “I’m only level 18!”
I grinned. “Guess I’m just naturally talented.”
She punched my arm.
Hard.
“Ow,” I muttered, rubbing the spot. “That was completely unnecessary.”
“That was justice.”
Calla laughed, and Garrick just shook his head. “Better keep up, Thorne.”
Thorne grumbled, stabbing her fork into a piece of meat. “I swear, if you hit 20 before me, I’m shoving you into the next spike pit we find.”
I smirked. “Love the friendly encouragement.”
As the conversation drifted into easier topics—half-mocking jokes and exaggerated retellings of the day’s chaos—I felt myself easing up.
This was new.
Not just the food or the fire or the full stomach, but the people. The feeling.
Knowing I wasn’t alone in this. I wasn’t just scrambling through the system, wide-eyed and hoping not to die.
I had a team.
People who’d fought beside me. Watched my back. Laughed at my bad jokes and called me out when I was full of it.
And sitting there, listening to them trade stories and bicker over who landed the final blow, I felt something shift.
I didn’t know what came next.
Didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have all the answers.
But for the first time?
It didn’t feel like the future was mine to face alone.
And honestly?
That felt kind of good.
The night was winding down, the plates mostly empty, the warmth of a good meal and a better fight behind us.
For once, I wasn’t thinking about Cassian, the System, or how I might get murdered in my sleep.
Which was probably why I didn’t see it coming.
“Alright, Shadowborn,” Garrick said, flexing his fingers. “You any good with those daggers, or do you just twirl them around to look impressive?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, nodding toward the far wall, where an old circular wooden plaque hung crookedly above a stack of barrels.
“Knife-throwing contest,” he said. “Let’s see if you can actually hit a target.”
I stared at him. Then at the makeshift target. Then back at him.
“Oh, buddy,” I said, shaking my head. “You have no idea what you just started.”
Thorne smirked, leaning back in her chair. “This is gonna be fun.”
I stood, already twirling a dagger between my fingers. “Alright, big guy. You first.”
Garrick rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on the knife Calla had slid across the table. He took a moment, lined up the shot—then hurled it.
It hit the target. Off-center.
Decent, but not perfect.
I didn’t say anything.
Yet.
Garrick smiled. “Alright. Your turn.”
I stepped forward, spun one of my Venomfang daggers once around my fingers, then let it fly.
Thunk.
Dead center.
Garrick stared.
I smirked.
Thorne let out a low whistle and took a sip of her drink. “Show-off.”
Garrick rolled his eyes. “Beginner’s luck.”
“Sure,” I said, watching as the dagger blinked back to my belt. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Thorne went next—her dagger landed just shy of the center ring. Respectable.
Calla followed, muttering something about never being good at bar games. Her throw veered off hard and buried itself in the far edge of the target board.
She stared at it.
We stared at her.
Calla sighed. “Well. That’s humiliating.”
I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “Guess that means you’re covering dinner and breakfast.”
She groaned. “Ugh, really?”
“Hey,” I said, shrugging. “Those were the rules.”
Grumbling under her breath, Calla reached into her cloak, pulled out a small coin pouch, and tossed it onto the table with a clink. “Fine. But next time we play for something that doesn’t involve me subsidizing your calorie intake.”
Thorne raised her cup. “I don’t know. Toast tastes better when someone else pays for it.”
Garrick chuckled, lifting his drink in salute. “To losers with terrible aim.”
Calla shot him a look, but there was a hint of a smile behind it.
The common room had settled into a comfortable late-night quiet—the loudest drinkers had stumbled upstairs, the musicians had packed up, and the fire had burned down to a low, steady glow.
Calla had retired first, claiming she needed “at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep or she’d start hexing people on instinct. Personally, I think she was still a bit embarrassed that I called her out earlier.”
Garrick lasted a bit longer, but after his eighth ale, he finally stretched, cracked his neck, and muttered something about needing to be “less hungover than usual” when we left for Maldon.
That left me and Thorne.
Sitting in comfortable silence, still nursing the last of our drinks.
I wasn’t tired yet.
Not really.
Even after the long day, even after the Sunken Sanctum, there was something about quiet moments like this that kept me grounded.
I glanced at Thorne.
She sat casually, one arm resting on the back of her chair, the other absently turning her empty mug between her fingers.
For once, she didn’t look on guard.
Not tense. Not scanning the exits like she expected a fight to break out.
Just… calm.
Which was probably why I spoke before I could stop myself.
“Still adjusting to this whole team thing.”
Thorne glanced at me. “Yeah?”
I shrugged, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve always been more of a solo act. Used to figuring things out myself, keeping to myself. Now? It’s…” I hesitated, searching for the right word.
Strange.
Good.
Dangerous.
“Different,” I settled on.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I get that.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You?”
She smirked. “What, think I was always this charming and sociable?”
I snorted. “Absolutely not. I just assumed you were born already rolling your eyes at people.”
Thorne smirked, but didn’t deny it.
She leaned back, looking like she was considering her words. “I used to run dungeons alone. For a long time. Before Garrick and Calla.”
I frowned. “Why?”
She tilted her head slightly, like she was deciding how much to say. “Fewer people to rely on means fewer people to lose.”
Her tone was casual.
But the weight behind it wasn’t.
I didn’t press.
I didn’t have to.
Because I understood exactly what she meant.
She studied me, expression unreadable. “Look, Felix. You seem like a smart guy. So here’s some advice—”
I sighed. “Oh great. Unsolicited wisdom. Can’t wait.”
Her lips twitched. But when she spoke, her voice was steady.
“Don’t get too attached.”
I blinked.
She tapped her fingers against the mug, eyes flicking to the dying fire. “People die all the time in this life. Doesn’t matter how strong you are, how careful you think you’re being. One mistake. One bad roll of the dice. That’s it.”
I didn’t say anything.
Because she was right.
Rez and Maria were proof of that.
I could’ve argued. Could’ve pointed out that even if we kept our distance—even if we stayed cautious—it wouldn’t change the fact that we needed people.
That I liked this group more than I wanted to admit.
But instead, I just nodded.
“Noted,” I muttered.
Thorne didn’t push it.
She just exhaled, stood, and stretched—rolling out the last bit of tension in her shoulders.
“Get some sleep, Shadowborn,” she said, giving me a look as she grabbed her things. “Tomorrow’s another long day.”
I watched her go, sitting there a little longer, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire.
I wasn’t good at trusting people.
Wasn’t good at relying on anyone but myself.
But the longer I stayed with this group, the more I realized—
I already was.
And that?
That was probably the most dangerous thing of all.
I shut the door to my room behind me. The quiet settled in instantly.
It should’ve felt comforting—being alone, finally having space to think.
But after spending the whole night with the others, something about the silence felt… empty.
I leaned against the door for a moment, rubbing the back of my neck, rolling out the stiffness from the day.
I was tired. Exhausted, even.
But I wasn’t ready to sleep. Not yet.
Instead, I crossed the room and sank onto the bed, stretching my legs out in front of me.
The mattress was actually pretty soft. The sheets smelled clean. The air was warm, scented faintly with old wood and candle wax.
It had been a long time since I’d had anything close to this level of comfort. My room back home wasn’t exactly what you’d call luxurious. We couldn’t afford things we didn’t absolutely need.
I let my head tip back against the wall, eyes drifting up to the wooden ceiling beams.
And thats when it really sunk in… I had money.
Real money. Not just pocket change or a few gold pieces scraped together from odd jobs—actual wealth.
Enough to get better gear.
Enough to eat well every day.
Enough that I wasn’t just surviving anymore.
And that felt dangerous.
Not like Cassian-dangerous.
Not like dungeon-dangerous.
But in the way that made you wonder if you were getting too comfortable.
If you were starting to forget where you came from.
I ran my fingers over the hilts of my new daggers, feeling the faint, lingering energy of the Venomfang Twins under my touch.
I had power now.
I was Stronger. Faster.
I’d fought through a dungeon alongside a real team and actually pulled my weight.
And the crazy part?
I wanted to do it again.
I let out a slow breath.
That was what unsettled me the most.
When I first woke up as Chosen—when the system threw me into the Proving Grounds—I thought it was a curse.
I thought I’d been handed a death sentence.
But now?
I frowned, gripping the edge of the blanket, fingers pressing into the fabric.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
I finally had company after all these years.
Thorne. Garrick. Calla.
They weren’t just allies anymore.
They felt like… something more. Friends, maybe?
Calla—sharp-witted and always two steps ahead in every conversation.
She called me out on my bullshit, scammed me out of a dinner bet, and still backed me up in every fight.
Garrick—built like a mountain, but with the patience of a tired babysitter.
The kind of guy who could crush an undead knight with a warhammer and then argue about the best way to cook steak.
And Thorne…
She didn’t talk much. Didn’t give much away.
But there was something about her. Something solid.
The way she watched everyone. How she read a room before stepping in.
How she fought—with brutal, practiced efficiency.
And the weirdest part?
They treated me like I belonged.
Not like an outsider.
Not like dead weight.
Like I was part of the team.
That was new.
And I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
I sighed, rubbing at my tired eyes.
Being a Chosen was dangerous. It was brutal.
You either got stronger or you died horribly, and I’d been clawing my way forward just to stay alive.
But now?
Now I wasn’t just doing this for survival.
Now…
I wanted this.