Alph bypassed his usual evening stroll through the winding streets of Val Karok, leaving the tang of forge smoke and damp stone to the world outside. He remained in his room, ignoring the rumpled sheets of his untouched cot. Instead, he settled onto the cold floor, crossing his legs and straightening his spine. Closing his eyes, he let his breath become steady and deliberate, sinking into the quiet rhythm of meditation.

  The Mind Garden unfolded around him.

  The Shaper was ever-present, its form unseen, its voice a whisper of wind. "You have been restless, little spark. Your constellation trembles."

  Alph let out a sharp breath, "Wait, what?"

  "The Slayer node burns brighter than the others. It pulses. It hungers." The Shaper’s presence rippled, curiosity threading through its tone. "Something has stirred it. Something beyond mere violence."

  Alph clenched his fists, then forced them open. He recounted the past few days.

  The Shaper hummed, a sound like a struck anvil cooling. "Ah. This explains much. The node is not merely a tool; it is a hunger. And it is growing."

  Alph scowled. "Growing?"

  "Dominance is a natural state for strong nodes. Slayer is Tier 1, the highest among your cluster. The others, Thief, Druid, Fighter linger at Tier 0, weak and undeveloped. Hunter has reached the same height, true, but it alone cannot contest Slayer's influence." The Shaper’s voice sharpened, almost eager. "You must have felt its influence, did you not? The urge to hunt. To end. To punish."

  A cold weight settled in Alph’s chest. He recognized it now as he replayed the events; his mind remembered the exhilaration he felt after he taught that cutpurse and his accomplices a lesson in the alleyway, and the thrill that followed when he outmaneuvered Nylessa and Pavel's bodyguard.

  "It will worsen," the Shaper said, not unkindly. "The Slayer node will shape your instincts, your thoughts. It will demand satisfaction. And if left unchecked, you will become it's slave."

  Alph exhaled through his nose. "So what do I do?"

  The Shaper’s laughter chimed like a hundred tiny bells. "Oh, little spark. You can balance it." Its form shifted, stretching toward the dimmer nodes in his constellation. "Upgrade the others. Tier 0 to Tier 1. Give them weight. Give them voice."

  Alph’s fingers twitched, the solution clicking into place like a well-fitted gear. "Right. But how? Who’d teach me without asking questions?"

  The Shaper’s voice curled around him, amused. "Did you not say you struck a bargain with a rogue? One who moves in shadows, who deals in blades and blood?"

  Alph’s breath hitched. Nylessa.

  "She could show you the path, she should be a Tier 2 Shadow Rogue from your description of her." the Shaper murmured.

  A smirk touched Alph's mouth as the next steps clicked into place. "Okay, and the Fighter node? That's easy enough. The fighting pits are packed with brawlers; I just watch them, figure out their moves, and adapt."

  "Yes." The Shaper’s approval hummed through the garden. "Fighter is brute force wrapped in discipline. Copy the forms. Steal the techniques. Your body already knows how to move."

  Alph nodded, then hesitated. "Druid’s the problem. No one here practices it openly. Not in a city of steel and smoke."

  "Mmm." The Shaper’s presence flickered, thoughtful. "But you already hold the foundation. You lack only the understanding of higher level." A pause. "Your world has hoards of knowledge, does it not? Stone halls filled with scrolls and tomes? Seek them. The answers are written."

  Alph’s eyes snapped open.

  The library.

  Western District had one, where scholars and runewrights pored over brittle texts. If druidic lore existed in this city, it’d be there.

  He exhaled, tension uncoiling. A plan. A real one.

  The Shaper’s voice softened, almost fond. "Balance, little spark. That is the key. Feed them all. Starve none." Its tone shifted, sharper. "Or the Slayer will consume you."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Thank you, I will surely find a way,” Alph nodded. He shifted his attention to the Apprentice Crafter, the singular node standing outside the constellation.

  Noticing the shift in his attention, The Shaper asks, "What is your plan regarding this, little spark? There are only 1 other common node you can activate at this point without needing a master's guidance which is Bard's Tier 0. Mage & Arcane Squire is impossible due to your shattered mana core."

  Alph winced, the hollow ache in his chest returned for a breath at the mention of the shattered mana core. "I am thinking, there might be variant Tier 0 professions out there that are more obscure. If I could know their properties and deduce the requirements, I could ignite them to form my second constellation."

  His gaze drifted to the endless expanse, "The library, that's what we call the knowledge hoard you mentioned, might house information regarding them. I might need your help in locating the nodes in here once I learn the details."

  The Shaper chuckled low, its voice resonating through the endless space of Alph's mind. Where before it had been flat and instructive, now it brimmed with ancient, almost giddy excitement.

  "Always, little Spark," it said. "Such an interesting and novel idea you harbor."

  A thrill shot through Alph's chest, cold and sharp. The rules were never meant to be broken; only bent.

  "Seek what you wish," the Shaper continued. "I will lend my perception to help you locate those exotic nodes here in the expanse."

  "I long to witness the unprecedented sight," it declared, savoring the sheer impossibility. "Two fully formed constellations."

  Alph opened his eyes, his awareness sliding back into the present as he left the Mind Garden. The sun hung low outside his window, bronze light streaming across the floorboards. He hadn't lost much time after all.

  He pushed himself off the cot, the wooden frame groaning under him. The whole chat with the Shaper still bounced around in his head as he snatched his cloak from the peg and hooked it closed at his neck. The familiar, rough fabric felt like a shield settling over his shoulders. Alph dug his coin pouch out of the cupboard, gave it a quick, heavy check in his hand, and then tucked it deep into an inside pocket.

  The stairs creaked when he went down. Down in the main hall, Varrick was bent over the workbench; his thick fingers were busy tying up the finished pickaxes into tight bundles, ready for delivery. The dwarf looked up as Alph walked over, and his eyes immediately narrowed when he spotted the cloak.

  Varrick grunted, the sound somewhere between disapproval and resignation. "Out again?"

  "Just for a few hours," Alph said, adjusting his collar. "Need to clear my head after all that hammerwork. I promise I won't be late this time."

  Varrick's beard twitched, but he simply turned back to his task, hands moving with practiced efficiency. "See that ya aren't."

  The evening atmosphere enveloped Alph as he emerged, crisp and smelling distinctly of burnt coal. The Grimforge neighborhood thrummed with the commotion of quitting time; assistants were dragging heavy pails of water for the next day's cooling tubs, craftsmen were bolting the workshop doors, and veteran smiths were clustered near the alleys to share their miseries concerning their painful muscles.

  Alph kept his pace casual but purposeful as he walked the twisting streets. The district gradually gave way to wider avenues as he entered the northern section of Val Karok. Here, the city transformed. Bright lanterns hung from brass poles, casting pools of amber light across cobblestones. Music spilled from tavern doors. Laughter punctuated the constant hum of conversation.

  The entertainment district teemed with bodies. Humans towered over dwarven locals, their faces flushed with drink and excitement. Dwarves moved in boisterous groups, gold and silver gleaming at their throats and wrists. Alph slipped between them, another shadow in the growing dusk.

  A patrol of city guards passed nearby, their numbers notably larger than usual. Dwarves in chainmail, hands resting on weapon hilts, eyes scrutinizing the crowd with unusual intent.

  Alph turned his face away, keeping his movements smooth and unremarkable. The increased security couldn't be coincidence—not after yesterday's events at Duskryn Manor. He listened to fragments of conversation as he passed.

  "…noble murdered right in his own home…"

  "…offering silver for information…"

  A cold satisfaction settled in his chest. They were hunting shadows, but they had no description to match against his face. No witness to point a finger. Just the bloody aftermath and whispers of an assassin.

  The crowd thickened as Alph approached a wide plaza dominated by an oval structure of stone and iron. The Fighters Pit rose before him, torches blazing along its outer wall. Roars erupted from within as spectators reacted to some unseen combat.

  Alph joined the line at the entrance, coin already in hand. Here, in this crucible of violence, he'd find what he needed, techniques of a Tier 1 Fighter.

  Observe, learn, practice. Core tenants of any profession that involved martial focus. He is here to take the first step, only, instead of observing the instructor or a master, he would be observing the Tier 1 Fighters in the arena.

  The interior assaulted him with a wall of noise and heavy heat. Rough-hewn stone tiers were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, a heaving mass of spectators reeking of stale ale, sweat, and aggressive anticipation. Below, the sand was already stained dark. The crowd screamed for violence, pounding their fists against the iron-reinforced railings until dust drifted from the ceiling.

  Alph paused, steadying himself against the sensory overload. The spectacle triggered a memory from his old life. But the metallic tang rising from the pit was no special effect.

  Spartacus, was it? The tale of a roman gladiator turned rebel or something.

  The memory felt distant, already fading. Give it another two or three years, and I might start forgetting my past life. He turned the thought over, he chuckled low under the cloak, the sound bitter in his ears.

  A genuine sadness settled in his chest, heavy and real, right underneath the bitter laugh, even as the crowd's roar swelled up around him.