Helga went on without being asked. Perhaps she simply needed to talk to someone outside of her group, or perhaps the alcohol had made her more receptive.

"In truth, I was a tourist from outside the Velia Region. I was in Gravenport to visit Creamont when the apocalypse struck." Her voice lost some of its humor. "I Wanted to see the old cathedral there. I never made it."

She stared into the fire. The flames reflected in her eyes, making them look almost silver.

"My husband and kids died during the cataclysm."

Reidar heard the weight behind those words.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she said, her voice hollow. "Being sorry doesn't bring 'em back. It just means you feel bad, and I don't care how you feel." She looked up with her fjord-blue eyes. She clearly remembered everything.

"It was swift at least. Better than what happened to most people." She took another drink.

"The hotel collapsed. I was in the bathroom and got tossed out of the window while taking a piss. I fell into the hotel's pool and survived. I can't explain how it happened, so please don't ask. They were in the living room when the ceiling came down, and then the rest of the building."

Reidar didn't know what to say to that. He'd heard similar stories from other survivors. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone had a tragedy. The apocalypse was democratic in its cruelty.

"What made you stay in Gravenport?" he asked after a moment. "To the point you built a group there?"

Helga was silent for several seconds. She rolled the flask between her palms, watching the liquid inside slosh back and forth.

"I chose to remain in Gravenport because there was nowhere else to go. After I buried my family, I walked out into the streets and found something ugly trying to eat a neighbor's corpse. I killed it with a piece of rebar. Then I killed another. And another."

She looked up at Reidar. "People saw that. Survivors who were hiding in basements and attics. They came out and asked me to help them. I did. People... people just started following me. I guess they figured it was safer to stand behind the crazy woman with the big hammer rather than dying of starvation inside not-so-safe buildings. Then, more people came. Before I knew it, I had a group."

She grinned again, though there was less humor in it this time. "Maybe it was because I'm pretty."

Reidar looked at her properly for the first time. She was tall, easily six feet, broad-shouldered, and muscular with a hunter's lean physique.

Thick ash-blonde braids streaked with silver were pinned back with salvaged scrap metal clasps.

Her eyes were the color of the winter fjords. She also had ritualistic knotwork tattoos peeking above her collar and a permanent icy squint that made her look ever unimpressed with everything around her.

Her skin showed the wear of someone who spent most of their time outdoors, windburned with a Nordic complexion, faded sunspots, and that jagged scar across her left cheekbone.

She wasn't delicate. But in the firelight, with her face set in that challenging smirk... pretty wasn't the wrong word to use to describe her.

But he doubted people followed her because of that, although there could have been a few who did. The real reason must have been that she was strong.

People gravitated toward strength in times of crisis. They needed someone who could keep them alive, and Helga clearly fit that role.

Reidar must have stared for far too long at that more than half-exposed skin, because Helga noticed how Reidar looked at her. She laughed. "See something you like, summoner? Want to take a bite?"

He sighed and ignored her tease. "I doubt they followed you for your looks," Reidar said. "Your strength, maybe. You have a trait, don't you?"

Helga's grin faded into something more thoughtful. She nodded. "How did you notice?"

"Your strength in the camp, when my knights pinned you down... it wasn't normal. Besides, you're abnormally high-levelled. I assume people at high levels all have traits."

That was mostly true. Not everyone had one. Traits were rare even among high-level survivors. But the truly powerful ones, the leaders and champions, almost always had something extra that set them apart from the rest.

With those words, Reidar also implied he believed Aldric had a trait.

"And Aldric... that light show he pulled with the spear during the fight against the Elder Thorn-Lasher. That's a trait, too."

Helga nodded and got suddenly serious. "You're sharp. Not just a puppet master after all." She paused. "Yeah, we both have them. Most of the high-level bastards do. Aldric's power… is… complicated. The man's got two people rattling around in his skull. There's Aldric, the shiny, noble Sunwarden. Then there's Lorian. The other one. He surfaces when Aldric is stressed, angry, or scared."

She took another drink and settled back against the log, getting comfortable for what was clearly going to be a long explanation.

"The Aldric personality, the dashing and knightly one, can funnel power from the stars to unleash variants of skills he owns with energy from them. Especially the sun, since it's closer. It makes his attacks blindingly bright and ridiculously hot. Lorian is the opposite. He channels energy from the planet he's on, in this case, Earth, affecting his skills so they take traits from the planet. Rock. Soil. Gravity, creatures… whatever… but not energy as in Aldric's case."

"The dashing spearman has explosively devastating offensive attacks, like the ones he used against the Elder Thorn-Lasher. They were so strong they basically bridged the level gap between him and the monster. Lorian have different powers, to the point they are the opposite of Aldric's. His skills aren't as flashy, but they're... worse. More diverse, more leaning on the utility side. He can make the ground swallow you or turn a simple spell into a curse. Aldric is a bomb. Lorian is a plague."

"And yours?" Reidar asked.

Helga's expression shifted. She looked almost proud.

"Mine?" Helga tapped her chest. "Mine's simpler. The system calls it Emotional Metamorphosis. It's passive, apparently. Could you imagine me being passive?" She laughed.

"Well, of course… In some situations I mig—"

"Helga, stop making sex jokes, please."

"You are no fun," she teased. "My feelings affect my attributes, essentially. My emotions act as a direct conduit, surging power into one of the four attributes. The intensity of the emotion dictates the magnitude of the boost, which can get pretty high."

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