"So anyway, I dropped the ledge on two of them and managed to collect most of their torsos before getting back onto the ridgeline – kept me going for a few days. Vera, your pebble was a life-saver by the way! I couldn't build a fire, but I just activated it super hard and managed to sizzle very thin strips of meat on it. Took ages, but it was better than raw."

I smiled as I talked, shovelling salted nuts into my mouth whenever one of them asked a question, which was near constantly at this point. Vera and Jorge bickered like children over what question I should answer next, and Nathlan would jump in every now and then seeking clarification as well, although his questions had more of an interview vibe than a fun catch up with friends.

I'd tried to summarise my whole journey in broad strokes before diving into the details, but we kept getting side tracked by various inane questions and were on our second round of drinks by now with me barely having made it past Cloven Rock. I would have been feeling the buzz already if not for my enhanced endurance, and I was grateful that the average level here must have been low enough to keep the brew fairly weak.

Jorge placed both of his elbows on the table as he leaned forwards, a hungry gleam in his eye. "So jokes aside, I know you didn't get that monstrous aura Skill from just eating a bunch of Tarkenzi's. How did you earn it?"

"Earn it? You mean, like, what did the flavour text say?" I asked, uncertain.

"Aye. What grand feats did you accomplish that the system deemed you worthy of such a majestic Skill?" I would have thought Jorge had already had a few drinks before I arrived by the way he was talking and the wild gestures he was making, if it wasn't just after midday.

"Ah, well you know, just the regular stuff I'm sure everyone gets… 'last prey the pack will ever see', 'final challenge of any hunter', 'in the shadow of titans'."

I reeled off a few of the dramatic-sounding bits from my Skill, eager to see the shock on the faces of the three veterans before me. Instead, I stared into three blank and thoroughly nonplussed faces, and my smug expression crumpled in on itself. "Does everyone actually get stuff like that said about them?" I asked plaintively.

"Honestly lad… yeah. But bear in mind most people get their first class when they come of age after a long childhood filled with Skill training and over a decade to build up accomplishments, not after only a month or so. They might get some titan equivalent – most do, there are a lot of crazy things roaming around out there – but it's often alongside their whole village or city, watching a battle from afar. The prey thing sounds promising though!"

Jorge tried to let me down gently, which I appreciated, but no matter what he said it still hurt to find out I wasn't as special as the system had made me feel. "Anyway, what sort of level are you sitting at now?" he asked.

"Twenty three."

At my reply, Nathlan swore. Jorge's gaze sharpened and a gleam entered his eye. Vera had looked up at me when I said that and then quickly across to Jorge, before trying to hide the gesture.

"Now that is interesting, Runt," Jorge said, his gaze piercing into me. "I think we might need you to start from the beginning and retell your journey properly. No interrupting 'till we get to the end."

Vera gestured to Nathlan, and he re-drew the privacy ward he'd rigged up. I didn't really know much about these people – they seemed to have a very lax hierarchy – but it was clear that the scholar deferred to his two older companions. He was a marvel with his wards though, and they clearly paid him respect in turn. Vera smiled a thank you once he was finished, and then rested a hand on his arm when he launched a barrage of questions at me that I didn't really understand, despite my god-given language comprehension.

As I settled in to tell my tale in earnest, the food arrived. Flatbreads covered in a salty spread, similar in consistency to olives but slightly earthier, garnished with leaves and some delicately chopped tomatoes, covered in spiced meat. I was aching to use the active part of Wilderness Survival Hunter to see if I'd come across any of these as yet unfamiliar plants, but the smell hit me like a charging rhino, and any academic curiosity was drowned beneath the weight of my hunger.

My palette had been altered by weeks of plain, unseasoned food and so the sudden burst of flavours nearly overwhelmed me. The intensity was staggering and from the amused look I received from Vera, I had likely zoned out in my food-induced bliss for far longer than was normal.

"Right then," Jorge said over the rim of a steaming cup of tea. "Tell us your tale properly."

"From when?" I asked.

"From the start, lad."

I paused in thought before grinning. "Well, I'd just ripped this sack off my head when I saw a bunch of ugly idiots come charging out of the bushes…"

"Right, questions."

I had finished my story, recounting my journey from the moment I was dropped off to the moment I had arrived outside the outpost, in granular detail. I'd gotten through another two drinks and was beginning to feel the effects of the mead, my words not yet slurred but my tongue definitely loosened considerably.

Jorge had clearly noticed, as he spoke again quickly before the others could reply. "Let's get some more pastries to wash some of that mead down before we start, aye?"

I nodded along happily, pulling out the coin pouch I'd looted and emptying its contents onto the thick oak table we were seated around. "That's it, all my material wealth and possessions. Other than the razor I guess, I'm keeping that one."

I gave a cheeky wink to Jorge as I said it, and he just chuckled and shrugged. "You're right welcome to it, Runt. Keep that pitiful excuse for a beard out of my sight and I'll call it a fair trade. But no, keep your money, tonight's on me. We got you tangled in a mess, and we'll be getting you back out before we're square. Besides, I've a proposition for you tomorrow and I want to make a good impression first."

He wandered over to the bar to speak to Jacklin about the food and some more drinks, and the others looked expectantly at me. I opened my mouth, but Vera held a hand up to forestall me. "No point repeating everything a second time when he gets back, just wait a moment."

Her smile took any sting out of the words, and so I just sat back happily, the hearty food and warm drink filling me with a contentment I hadn't felt in months. No need to watch my back, no cold weather or driving wind to ruin my mood. Just soft lighting, lovely smells, and friends to talk to.

Though that wasn't strictly true, was it? I'd known these people collectively for a few hours. Why did I feel such an affinity, then? Such a desperate longing? Part of it could be chalked up to having not interacted with real, living people in a few months, but…

I ran a hand over my short hair and sighed again. I liked the longer look but the blood and grime that had coated my hair had matted it into a disgusting mess and I'd ended up cutting most of it off. I was no barber, and likely looked a little silly, but since there was a distinct lack of mirrors at this outpost, I hadn't really noticed yet.

I frowned, feeling my thoughts stagger around drunkenly from one topic to the next. What had I been focused on? I looked over to see Vera and Nathlan chatting quietly, and remembered. Perhaps it wasn't surprising that I felt so close to them – they were literally the only people I knew in this world, after all. But why were they treating me like an old friend? Where had this faux-comradery come from?

"Right, me first!" Jorge exclaimed, plopping himself back in the rickety wooden chair next to me and jumping into the conversation. "Your aura Skill; what's it called, what level, and how does it compare to your other Skills?"

The questions were driven from my mind by the avalanche of questions, and I blinked to clear my head for a moment. Once I'd caught up, I answered. "Indomitable Prey, level 5. I'm not sure how to answer the last question though. Do you mean like thematically, or in my visualisation of it?"

"That's an impressive sounding Skill name, I'll give you that. 'Course, the system has always had a slight flair for the dramatic, but you do have to earn it, so who am I to argue?" Jorge responded. "Good level too for how recently you said you got it. Not too surprising given how much you used it around The Breach, but still…"

He trailed off in thought, and I picked on the moment to ask my own question in return. "You implied earlier that it was surprising to have such a low 'spirit drain' for the Skill. What do you mean?"

My voice had started rising with uncertainty around the new term I'd heard earlier, and it made me realise that after only a few days of referring to my core and mana system, the nomenclature had stuck and become almost second nature. Using new terms just felt wrong somehow.

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"We'll get to that," he assured me. "But first, I can see that you're uncomfortable with spirit as a term. What do you prefer?"

The question caught me off-guard. "I… uh. I've been using 'mana'. Why? I'll go with whatever term you all use. Don't let me set the tone here – I've got no idea what I'm doing," I said with a forced chuckle.

My frank admittance made Jorge smile. "Because lad, the language we use to describe our soul is important. I said yesterday it doesn't matter what word you use, it's all the same. What I didn't mention was that there's a reason why every culture has their own way of talking about this stuff.

"It's because the way we interact with our inner selves, our 'mana system' to borrow your phrase, fits with the way we visualise it. You've clearly built a visual representation of your inner soul – you wouldn't be able to compare the drain effects efficiently otherwise – and this representation will stay with you. Its enduring, and very difficult to change. The representation you choose will be reflected in the language you use to talk about it, hence why you don't like using the word 'spirit'."

"But that makes no sense!" I replied. "Why can you talk about it so easily? Why do words matter? I'm not even speaking my own language so I'm clearly not responsible for picking out the right words anyway."

I tried to poke as many holes in the theory as I could. While I could get on board with the idea of my core, mana system, Skills, levels, soul and whatever else would have been crazy to me only a few months ago, deterministic language was apparently a step too far. Well done brain, +1 for arbitrary stances.

Jorge held up both hands placatingly. "Easy, easy, we'll get to that. I can talk about this for days without issue because my soul is steady as a rock. I have been playing this game for a while, Runt, and my foundations are stable. You've only just started building the representation of your soul a few days ago – it's unsteady, flimsy, and not very resistant to outside interference yet. The more time you spend reinforcing that representation by using it to guide your mana and grow your Skills, the stronger your soul becomes. But right now, using a new heap of words is introducing new concepts to your soul and it's trying to alter itself to fit them.

"Normally its simple for people. They grow up speaking a single language, experiencing the beliefs of a single culture, and their souls are shaped by that experience. By the time they hit level 15 and earn a class, their soul is already stable, and their foundations are built. They expect to see their Skills represented as their culture teaches.

"For example, for the river-runners of the southern deltas, Skills appear as roots entwining one another and creating a great mangrove, with mana being the great rivers and streams that feed the mangrove forests. They use different words to describe the representation as well, of course, but no need to complicate things."

I nodded slowly at that, considering how my prior beliefs may have shaped my understanding of the soul, and followed it to the next issue. "I don't believe in souls."

I was met with three blank stares again before Nathlan turned to the others and said, "Well pack it in, team, he's an idiot." Vera nodded, adding "He hid it better than most, I'll give him that."

Jorge didn't seem to disagree, just raising a questioning eyebrow at me.

I hastened to explain in the face of the ridicule levelled at me. "I mean, obviously, I'm not disputing that something's going on here, what with the whole God-Touched and the levels and such, but I don't believe in the concept of a spiritual soul existing outside of the body and… Now that I'm saying all of this, I'm wondering why I'm surprised since I don't really remember anything about myself and my life before this and…"

I trailed off, staring into the middle-distance as a dawning realisation tried to creep its way to the front of my mind, but Jorge cut me off. "You're saying that a soul ain't something you believed in, lad? Why is that relevant?"

I shook my head, feeling the strange haze dissipate as I focused on his words. "If I didn't believe in souls, how were those cultural beliefs expressing themselves in my soul now? Isn't that a bit paradoxical?"

I felt quite proud of myself, seeing their expressions turn from baffled at my stupidity to curious by the end.

Nathlan cleared his throat and spoke up. "I can answer that. It is a fairly simple question but one with a lot of background. The theories relating to the particulars of cultural expression of the soul are tied inextricably with the prevailing work on cultural transmission by Nathlan the Ancient. I gather you are not familiar with any of that work so I will give a brief run through–"

Jorge chose that moment to jump in once again, leaning over the table to give Nathlan a friendly pat on the shoulder while speaking over him, "I think we're getting a little off-track. Anyhow, to answer–"

I chose to act as the deliverance of justice on behalf of Nathlan, and interrupted Jorge right back.

"Did he just cite himself?"

"What?" Jorge and Nathlan asked at the same time, sharing bemused looks with one another across the table. Vera caught on quicker and stifled a laugh, and that seemed to clue Jorge in.

"Ah! No, Nathlan the Ancient is one of the foremost scholars on Tsanderos. Our friend here," Jorge said, gesturing at Nathlan, "is simply the victim of parents putting a mite too much pressure on a young lad."

Nathlan shook his head at that description but didn't protest it either.

Jorge clapped his hands together to get us back on track. "Right! So, we can't answer your question without giving you a few years of grounded education in the history of modern Tsanderosian philosophy. Why don't you just tell us about your soul representation, and that might give us a few hints?"

It was a sensible request and while Jorge clearly intended the first part to be a joke, the thought of learning about what philosophy an entirely new world could come up with was actually quite interesting to me. A layman's perspective at least – I had no desire to trawl through dry and dusty treatises all referencing each other in a circular cascade of academic repetition.

I activated Heart of the Hills and spent a few moments centring myself, falling back into the dark abyss of my soul before I answered his question.

"I see my core as a void, an empty space with no discernible edges. But I can still feel how large it is. It fills with a silver light but I can't see where that comes from, only that it is ceaselessly bubbling up from the bottom of the void. If I focus, I can expand my view. My core becomes a small pinprick of light, with constellations above representing my Skills. They are linked by dim lines outlining their shape, and the shape corresponds with the Skill. But it's in ways I can't describe. I can recognise Heart of the Hills as a whirling pattern of lights, but when I focus on it, I realise that none of the lights are moving.

"Anyway, they are all similar except my aura skill. That is enormous, orders of magnitude bigger, and I have to zoom out again to see it. It dominates the galaxy of my soul and shrouds all below it."

I was running out of breath by the end, talking too fast and not pausing for breath, too excited to get to the end of the description. I could tell I wasn't at the end, even – there was so much more to say! – but a slight twinge in my chest was enough to wrench my mind back to the present from wherever it had been trying to escape to.

Jorge clapped me on the shoulder while I shivered. "Don't worry about it. In these early days, the very act of talking about your soul is enough to shake the foundations. You'll find it strengthens things, shakes out the dust and lets you see the fault-lines. You can then work on shoring up those weaknesses later on."

Vera nodded at that and leaned forward to interject. "Also don't worry about getting pretentious. The system is at play with your soul and there tends to be a bit of leakage into the words you use. See what we mean about the way you talk being linked?"

I did, and as I rubbed a palm over my breastbone in an unconscious desire to ease the ache in my chest, I allowed the ideas I'd just heard flow through my mind. Jorge interrupted the reflection by pointing out the second part of the answer to the question I had already forgotten.

"It's a pathbound Skill, I reckon."

"What?" I asked in confusion.

"Your aura Skill, it's pathbound." At my blank look he ploughed on, "The reason it's got such a low mana cost despite being inordinately powerful – it's bound to your soul in a way your other Skills aren't, and so is less costly to activate and keep running."

I sighed in response and said in a tone of defeat; "Whatever man, I don't care anymore. I've got a soul and my words are magic, Skills are yesterday's news."

Jorge looked stunned at my apparent lack of interest, and the others seemed to find his surprise amusing.

The light slowly faded from the world outside, sinking the tavern into a brooding half-light, with the flicker of candles dancing across tables and the harsher glare of a deep crimson light emanating from above the bar completing the mood. My curiosity was sluggish and slow to rise given the constant revelations over the last few hours though, and so I didn't have the energy to question what supplied that magical glow.

Food was consumed and drinks were poured and finished in quick succession as I fielded questions from all three of them. Eventually they lost their enthusiasm along with the receding sunlight, and their postures gradually relaxed more and more. Formerly straight-backed Vera had slumped her shoulders forwards, planting her elbows on the table and nursing a mug of Ale. Nathlan had finished the carafe of wine and was running his finger around the edge of his glass absentmindedly, creating a delicate ringing note with each rotation. Jorge seemed to be holding up the best, but he signalled the end of the discussion by leaning back and yawning.

"Oh no, my friends!" I called in triumph. "It's my turn now."

I grinned evilly at them as I received a round of groans in return. They were all tired from too much food, mead, wine and spirits – the drinks had gotten progressively stronger as the interrogation flowed on – but none more so than me.

My right eye was drooping, trying to wink constantly in a fit of pique at being kept working long past its designated bedtime. But I was a grown man, with questions of my own, and I intended to get answers.

Jorge slumped back in his chair. "Fair's fair," he muttered in defeat. "But honestly lad, wouldn't you prefer to do this in the morning? I've booked a room for you already, and none of us are going anywhere."

The thought of a bed – a real, honest to god bed, with pillows and a thick blanket – was more than my feeble human mind could take. My conviction, propped up as it was by mead and matchsticks, crumpled immediately in the face of the comfort on offer.

"Yeah," I sighed. "A bed does sound good."

I yawned, stretching out as I leaned back in my own chair. "I want a promise though. Any questions I want answered, yeah?"

Jorge nodded tiredly and we retired separately to our rooms. Mine was paid for by Jorge without any chance for me to object, and he told me he would wake me in the morning. He had a proposition for me, I was reminded, and apparently I needed new clothes too.

As I stripped out of my ragged apparel before hopping into the luxuriously clean bed – feathered mattress and thin cotton sheets – I had to admit that he was right. The pile of clothes on the floor was literally unrecognisable as distinct items of clothing and looked more like a mop made of rag-tag cloth strips.

My eyes were dropping as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I drifted off with the thought that it was odd I knew so little about the three people I had shared the night with, and probably far more odd for them to know so little about me in turn. In fact, it was pretty weird that none of them had even asked any basic details about me at all.

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