The Iona Chasm was intimidating. We'd had a chance to settle into the strange forest of stone spires, and the aching sigh of the wind as it danced and whipped through the land was now familiar to our ears. The chasm itself though was another thing entirely.

We had hiked from the ridge of packed earth towards the edge of the plateau of red dirt beneath it, and now stood before a yawning scar in the earth. It was as if the gods themselves had laid waste to the land, a rent in the flesh of the world torn open by a vengeful hand.

The 'crack', as Jorge had called it – and what a fan of understatement that old man was – was nearly 300 feet wide and plunged abruptly into darkness. It wasn't magical, so far as I could tell at least, but the chasm walls narrowed as it descended, and light could only illuminate the first hundred or so feet below us. Neither of us could make out the bottom, but Nathlan suspected that it was likely thousands of feet deep.

I could see no evidence of Jorge and Vera's descent, but with their attributes they could likely survive a fall from hundreds of feet, to say nothing of their Skills. I was still coming to grips with the scale of their power, but I knew it utterly dwarfed my own. I found the thought exciting rather than intimidating, strangely.

Still though, when I looked down into the shrouded depths of the chasm, something about the weight of all that earth pressing in on either side made me shiver, and all thoughts of self-improvement were wiped from my mind.

What were Skills, attributes and levels in the face of nature's enduring majesty? Nature was king and had ways of enforcing perspective without ever speaking. The very existence of the chasm was a reminder that I walked atop not just the packed earth, but atop centuries and millennia of history that had all passed by in the face of The Iona Chasm. Nothing but dust on the wind to the enduring formation.

We skirted the chasm for a couple of miles and then looped back around to the ridgeline before returning to where we had stepped onto the plateau to begin with. Nathlan had laid his ward down, although the exact mechanics of it were far beyond me. He would pause every hundred or so feet and shift the dirt below, muttering and gesturing strangely, but I never saw him actually carve anything into permanence. I trusted him on this, though – even Jorge seemed to defer to the scholar when it came to wards.

We eventually settled on camping atop one of the smaller and thicker columns. The top was higher on one side, providing a bluff of thick rock to protect us from the ever present wind, and while on the smaller side of its brothers, the pillar was still at least thirty feet tall.

Nathlan carved some more permanent wards into the stone using a chisel and hammer, and I set about making our temporary camp from the supplies in his spatial ring. Namely, a couple of bedrolls, some dried wood for a fire, and a couple of pans. I made sure to keep anything light well secured so it wouldn't blow off, and didn't retrieve any of our food yet, since I didn't want to encourage scavengers.

"I think we should head out soon," I said into the silence as Nathlan worked. He looked up at me with an annoyed scowl on his face.

"I am a little busy at the moment," he bit out, tone acerbic.

"Sorry, I know. I just don't like the waiting, it's freaking me out a bit. Feel like I should be moving, you know?" I said, forcefully stilling the hand that was drumming against my thigh. He looked up at me again, meeting my gaze for the first time, and I saw him relax his shoulders and let out a sigh.

"I understand. It is easy to forget you lived alone in the wilderness for months. I suppose it is hard to kick those instincts, yes?" He replied before hesitating. "What is your… what should I call you, by the way?"

The question caught me off guard, and the phrasing made it clear that he was choosing his words carefully. He'd returned to carving the rock, but I could see his focus was on me and my reaction.

I chuffed a laugh, however forced it was. Near enough two weeks marching together and he still didn't know my name. Guess I'd never officially adopted one.

"I guess 'Lamb'? That's what Jorge and Vera use anyway. Unless you wanna go with 'lad', instead?" I let out a long breath and continued, "Honestly Nathlan, Lamb is a bit of a shit name really. But one is as good as any other right now. I don't know my own name, and choosing one feels too… significant, maybe? Like I'll be deciding more about who I am or want to be rather than just what people call me. I don't know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud but…"

I trailed off. Nathlan didn't say anything, giving me time to let my thoughts out without interruption. For somebody who seemed to care little for social mores, he was surprisingly sensitive to them when he wanted to be.

"It still seems mental to me, and I try not to think about it too much 'cus I just end up going down this rabbit hole of questioning everything I know. I don't know who I am sometimes, and I just feel so lost… but then other times I have the absolute conviction that it's not this."

I gestured around vaguely at the battlefield of columnar rocks and the yawning chasm that cut through it, ending my wave at the shield and spear propped against the stone nearby.

"I wasn't a soldier. I don't know what soldiers looked like on my world, but I know I wasn't one of them. I don't know why but I'm just struck with this feeling sometimes that everything is so surreal. Like the magic and the levels and the fucking spears! It's not me!"

My voice echoed off the irregularly shaped stone spires before being snatched away by the low droning of the wind. "… whoever that was," I finished bitterly.

I felt Nathlan grab my shoulder and roughly shake me around to look at him as he spoke. "Did you like who you were?"

I hesitated at that, his words halting my pacing as much as his hand. "I… maybe? I don't remember the specifics, but the memories felt bittersweet when I had them, before – you know…" I trailed off again, but he nodded his understanding.

"Were you fulfilled, then?" He asked. "Were you satisfied with everything you had, or were you searching for something more?"

No hesitation. That was something I could answer with confidence. "No. I wanted more."

Nathlan nodded at that, hearing the stone-certain conviction in my tone.

"Jorge does not make soldiers, Lamb. That is not why Vera travels with him, nor I for that matter. I will not give you my life's story but suffice it to say that I stood to inherit a position of acclaim, and I left it behind because I did not agree with the way things were. Had I been more powerful, I could have instead stayed and changed things. Perhaps."

He gazed off into the distance for a few moments, before his eyes twitched back to pierce my own. I was reminded eerily of a hawk.

"Look," He began. "The world works in ways you do not yet understand. But I can assure you that no matter who you want to be, you will need personal power. It does not matter whether you were a soldier, or whether you knew how to wield a weapon. You will need to know now."

He moved to stand next to me and we both looked out at the view, accompanied by the mournful call of the wind.

"Each of us has experienced our lives being constrained by forces beyond our control. Each of us is searching for the power to make our own choices. Who cares who you once were? There is not a single person on this whole continent who knows who that was. Take the good, leave the bad. You said you were missing something? So go out and find it. I can guarantee that whatever it is you are looking for will be easier to find if you have control over your own destiny – and on Tsanderos, that means you need power."

We looked out over the forest of rock spires for what felt like hours.

In a testament to how awkward silence can be with somebody you don't know well, it had in actuality been less than a quarter of an hour before we both agreed to head out. Our temporary camp was secured and warded, we left a rope hanging from the top in case we needed to quickly scale it, and then we were down on the ochre dirt once again.

"Right," Nathlan said. "Before we go exploring together, we each need to know what the other is capable of. I have seen some of your training, but all I can gather from that is that you are not a match for Jorge – which is not surprising or particularly informative. I want to know what you can do in comparison to me, so that I know if I need to step in when we get in trouble."

Nathlan's tone was even, if a little clipped, and while I knew his explanation was for my benefit, it was a little tiring to hear him go on about his reasoning as if I was a naïve baby who would take offence at everything. I may have had no narrative memories, but I wasn't actually born yesterday. I still had half a brain in my head and could understand the need for a friendly spar before we went looking for danger.

"Yeah, no problem, I get it. How do you want to handle this?" I asked.

He gave me a measuring look. "No need to hold back. But we will start slow, and use training weapons. Here."

He withdrew a training spear and shield from his storage device, throwing the wooden weapons over to me. I placed my new weapons against the pillar and started some pre-fight stretching. Nathlan did likewise, before drawing his own wooden practice blade.

I hefted the shield and spear, trying to get used to their altered weight, reach and coverage. The differences weren't large, but they mattered. Nathlan gave his wooden sword some practice swings and paced around a few times as he did so. We faced each other from a few feet away, and I felt a subtle shift in the way we related to each other.

I was aware that I had supplanted him as the newest member of the group, although he was still the youngest by my guess. I had quickly overtaken him in terms of physical attributes however, and while I knew he had far more skill and experience with his weapon than I did, I was keen to see how that could measure up against raw physicality.

I was trying to keep my excitement from showing though, as I didn't want this to turn into a peacocking contest to see who was better. I knew my place – bottom of the rung – and I was happy to stay there for a while, soaking up experience and knowledge from those who had both to spare.

I was a little concerned that he would take this personally, given his prickly nature and possible background. I hadn't seen much evidence of entitlement yet, and given he'd apparently opted to forfeit whatever inheritance was his to claim in order to slum it with Jorge and Vera, I would assume he had a solid head on his shoulders, but you never knew. Especially with young men.

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If this became a competition where he felt he had to prove himself and put me in my place, it'd sour our relationship from the start. That seemed harsh as I barely knew him, but I didn't know if I would have been able to take a blow to my pride when I was younger as easily as I would now.

Of course, my pride had taken quite the beating since I arrived in this new world, so perhaps it was less age and time and more experience that mattered. I quickly shook the thoughts from my head as I strayed far too close to my recently lost memories, and refocused on the man in front of me.

A man I would not think to describe as lanky anymore. His long limbs now seemed to promise a reach I couldn't match, and his usual closed-in, almost surly posture had filled out. He stood straight, shoulders squared and chin high and I realised that while I'd always thought of him as tall, it was only now that felt smaller than him.

I rolled my neck, clanging my spear haft against my shield in a signal that I'd unconsciously adopted to show my readiness, and settled into position.

"Stay away from the eyes, and pull your strikes before you make contact, please. I do not want a broken leg from an over-eager sweep."

The tone was commanding, imperious even, and I caught myself nodding my head in acknowledgement before I'd really registered his words. Despite the 'please' at end, it was clearly a demand, not a request. It hit me then that the overbearing parents Jorge had mentioned, and the 'position of acclaim' Nathlan himself had spoken of earlier, was probably a tactful way of saying that this man was likely heir to a large principality or even throne.

Given the feudal-seeming nature of this world so far – judging by the names, at least – it was entirely possible that he'd been groomed since birth to lead armies and command cities. Who I'd originally thought to have been a gangly scholar was more likely to be an ex-prince of some far off kingdom.

Before I could continue my thoughts, he stepped forward to meet me.

He moved with small, fast steps. I tried to keep in mind Jorge's lessons – to watch the hips, shoulders and legs of a swordsman primarily, with your shield raised – but a rapid shuffle from Nathlan obscured my reading of his movements, and a wooden point was glancing off the side of my leading calf before I could adjust.

I hopped back and nodded to concede the strike before closing in with my own offense. I knew he was far more skilled and experienced than me, so I tried to use my physicality to shut down his options. I had a longer reach thanks to my spear and could afford to bear some of his strikes with my shield while pining him in, or so I thought.

I jabbed out with a few probing strikes at his guard, alternating the angle of each strike and hoping to keep his focus on my spear point as I hemmed him in.

He deflected the first few before stepping forwards into a parry, driving my spear out of alignment and lunging inside my reach. I tried to use my shield to bash him backwards but was forced to raise it instead to intercept a high slash towards my head. As soon my shield rose into position I felt a point dig into my ribs, and huffed out a laugh at the move. Jorge had warned me about obscuring my vision with the shield a dozen times already, but the reflex to protect my head still had me overcompensating.

We reset again, and I stayed defensive this time, spear set against the rim of my shield and my centre of balance lowered, ready to move. Nathlan paced back and forth a few times, seemingly open and unbothered. I noticed that he was just outside of my range though, and while his sword was pointed at the floor, its tip stayed between us, no matter which direction his body faced.

I moved with him, keeping my shield between us and the spear level at shoulder height. A few more pacing steps and then his sword flicked out at me. My enhanced perception and cognition allowed me to just about track the point as it clacked against the centre of my shield, and I tried to settle back into my stance.

More probing strikes followed, all centred on the middle of my shield, clearly trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Each flick of his wrist caused me to flinch, spend effort to hyperfocus on the trajectory of his sword and brace my shield in preparation. I knew that this was an effort to exhaust my reactions, and equally knew that as soon as I started to ignore some of the jabs, a few would fly out aimed not at my shield, but my head or feet or hands.

It was a common tactic for dealing with defensive shield-bearers according to Jorge, and unfortunately it was common because it was so effective. Or it would have been against another opponent. Despite our similar levels, I had a rare combat class to Nathlan's support class, and I received probably double the attributes per level that he did. I only slightly edged him out in agility and cognition by the feel of it – more so the former – but I had a significant advantage in endurance and so while he could load up my central nervous system with anticipation of each strike, I would tire slower than he would.

He came to the same conclusion after a few more teasing strikes, and suddenly he lunged. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't just my endurance attribute that outranked his. My enhanced perception allowed me to notice the moment he placed more weight onto his back leg, and by the time he was launching off of it, I was aware of the danger and already reacting.

His form was perfect – his leading leg floated only a whisper off the floor before planting down hard to take the weight of his thrust. His arm extended and his sword sped towards my neck, just above the protective domain of my shield. I had no doubt that I would be done for if I only had the perception and cognition to give me early warning. A heartbeat of time might help a prepared swordsman, but I was inexperienced and the weapons I held still felt like clunky bits of wood to me rather than extensions of my limbs.

Fortunately for me, I had an advantage in every single attribute, including strength. I didn't need to brace perfectly to absorb the blow, as I could shrug it off with ease. I didn't need to have the optimum angle of deflection, or solid footing to disperse the force of the blow through my legs and into the ground. I took the thrust on the top of my shield as I leaned back at the waist, but rather than being knocked off my feet, I managed to keep them under me as I back-peddled, absorbing the force of the thrust through my upper body instead.

Nathlan straightened and shrugged, unable to take advantage of the move, but satisfied to be safe from retaliation. I did feel a little bad, that his years of dedicated training could be nearly cancelled out by a few weeks of desperate levelling, but we all had our advantages. He'd worked for his skill, no doubt about that, but I had bled and faced death a dozen times over already for my levels, and I wasn't going to feel too guilty for using whatever advantages I did have.

I rolled my shoulders before setting my stance again, and Nathlan actually grinned as he raised his sword. "I am heartened to see that you are a good match for me. It gets difficult losing to Jorge and Vera repeatedly. Come then, Lamb. Show me what you have learned."

The howling of the wind, once a low whisper at the edges of our hearing, had grown gradually over the course of our spar. By the time we'd taken sufficient measure of each other, it was a mournful moaning that required us to raise our voices to be heard if we stood more than a few feet away from one another.

I returned the now-drained waterskin to Nathlan for depositing in his storage device and asked a question as I did so.

"So, what's up with the noise here? I get that it's tied to the wind, but it almost doesn't feel natural."

He shook his head as he belted on his scabbard and re-tied his long hair into a tail from where it had shaken loose in our spar. "That is because it is not natural, in a sense. These stone pillars might be naturally formed, but do you see the damage to them?"

He pointed at a jagged hole in the side of a nearby pillar, as if a giant had scooped a handful of rock out and hurled it around indiscriminately.

"From what little I know – and it is little, I know almost nothing about the Wandering States in anything but a macro scale – there was a battle between very high level individuals here. 3rd or 4th tiers, at least within the triple digits in level. The wind likely would echo strangely regardless due to the stone forest, but with the gaps, and particularly the spires with holes through the middle, it almost sounds like whispering and moaning, does it not?

"There are a number of local superstitions around the chasm itself; 'The voice on the wind' or 'the call of the void', as it is often known. Given Jorge's caution regarding the chasm, I would be inclined to give some of those stories at least some merit."

I mulled it over, finding it all too easy to imagine what sorts of beliefs could spring up over the generations about a place like this. "Do people come here often? Is it a sacred place?"

Nathlan cocked his head to the side in thought before replying. "Not that I am aware of. Again though, that does not mean it is not true. Jorge does not tend to exaggerate threat levels though, so I imagine there are fewer who leave than arrive. We need to stay on guard, although he did seem to think we could handle anything that stays up here on the surface. We should start spiralling out from our camp, and see if we find anything interesting."

"Is there anything specific we're actually looking for? Bones, ruins, creatures, etc." I spoke idly as we began to walk, looking around at the contrasting landscape – reddish dirt mixing with granite spires in a strong juxtaposition – and so it took me a few heartbeats to realise Nathlan had stopped moving. I turned back to look at him, but he spoke as soon as our eyes met.

"I have not seen any bones at all yet. Have you?" I thought about it before shaking my head. I wasn't sure why that was unusual though, and so after a few moments I rolled my hand in a gesture asking him to go on.

"We have walked a few miles already, and there is no grass or other vegetation covering the floor. I would have expected to see a few tiny slivers of bone every now and then, but there has been nothing. We have seen rodents and rabbits and other little creatures flitting about between the pillars, but no bones?"

I shrugged again, playing devil's advocate. "Maybe whatever predators here drag the kills back to their nests before they eat? Maybe the bones get routinely washed away over the edge of the chasm by flash-floods – the ground is dry enough that I doubt it can absorb much in one go. Maybe there are just fewer animals here than normal? Would make sense with the lack of vegetation – no easily available food source for small herbivores would ripple up the food chain and prevent a stable predator population from taking root. Maybe it's not such a surprise."

He shook his head, vehemently disagreeing with me. "No, none of that fits. There should be small corpses around everywhere, built up over generations. The plateau is not sloped, so outside of the monsoon season in a few weeks, we would not expect many flash floods. Certainly not enough to wash the area completely clean. There should also be plenty of prey – I've seen five vultures already in only a few miles. They have huge territories and require large amounts of carrion to sustain, and they often leave the corpses where they find them once they are finished with their meal."

I shrugged and starting walking again, Nathlan reluctantly trailing after me. "So what do you think the likely explanation is, oh great scholar?"

He shot me a look at that, and I winked, trying to bring some levity back into the atmosphere. It seemed to slide right off him though, as he just muttered under his breath before telling me to keep my eyes peeled.

And I did. Despite my jovial attitude, he had me slightly rattled. Bones missing from a plateau overlooking a creepy chasm? Yeah, there was probably something horrible going on. A cult of cannibals hiding in tunnels beneath the earth, waiting to sneak out at night and snatch us up? Large predators that swallowed entire animals whole? Insect swarms that left no trace of their victims, even down to the bones? Maybe the dead rose from their tombs at night, reanimated by the eery wind and driven to hunt for new hosts.

"Hey, Nathlan – is necromancy a thing here?" I asked tentatively.

He looked over at me with a measuring gaze, almost suspicious. "Not formally. It has long been considered impossible to raise something back to true life. There are various ways to reanimate dead tissue though, if that is what you mean? But nothing that can recreate a semblance of life."

"Right… so if I was to see a skeleton walking around, what would be the cause of that?" My voice had dropped to a half-whisper and my footsteps had slowed to a crawl. Nathlan nearly bumped into me, only stopping an inch behind me, busy as he'd been looking around for signs of bone anywhere to confirm his worry.

"Well, at first I would doubt your eyes, but I suppose it is possible. There is an entire family of fungi throughout the southern half of the continent that can take possession of certain animals. It is a fascinating subject, actually, but the point is that it is not inconceivable that they could mutate in the presence of heavy magic or alchemical treatment to control bone tissue. But it is unlikely out here – the Wandering States are by no means a hub of advancement, magical or otherwise. Not to mention that there would doubtless be a complete loss of fine motor control. These fungi usually work by hijacking a host's nervous system, which skeletons notably lack, for obvious reasons.

"So in conclusion; no, that would not work. If you saw a walking skeleton, I would tell you to look again." He moved out from behind me, stepped to the side and looked over at me. "What prompted that question?"

I just raised my arm and pointed towards the shambling figure a few hundred feet away, partially obscured by one of the stone pillars, but making its way out from behind it and into our view.

"It was the moving skeleton, holding an axe and staring right at me that made me ask, Nathlan. Would you like to look again for me, mate?" I said, readying my weapon.

"Oh," was his only reply.

He took a step back and drew his sword.

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