Chapter 22: Preparations

  Over the next few days, Cole played leader in the settlement. He finally got a quiet moment to look at the notification that had been blinking at the edge of his vision since the warehouse siege, and what he saw made his stomach tighten.

  TITLE PROGRESSION: HALO TOUCHED

  TITLE STAGE: II

  EFFECT: MINOR CONCEALMENT FROM ANALYZE SKILLS

  BLACK HALO MAGIC PROGRESSION: +1

  Cole stared at it for a second longer than he meant to. Minor concealment sounded small on paper. Almost harmless. But after everything Faelen had warned him about, after hearing how people could look at you and learn too much, it felt like a hand settling on his shoulder. A quiet warning he could not unhear.

  Interest perked despite the fatigue, Cole pulled up his character sheet. It had been a moment since he’d looked at it.

  Name: Cole Rourke

  Race: Human

  PROGRESSION:

  Title: Black Halo (Mythic)

  Title Stage: II (Halo-Touched)

  Class: Wizard (Locked by Title)

  Level: 5

  ATTRIBUTES:

  Authority: 5 (Active)

  Strength: Locked

  Dexterity: Locked

  Constitution: Locked

  Mind: Locked

  Willpower: Locked

  Allocation Rule: All future attribute points must be assigned to Authority (Title Constraint)

  SKILLS:

  Magic Branch: Black Halo Magic (Tier I access)

  Black Halo Magic: Rank 2

  Profession: Black Halo Alchemy

  Black Halo Alchemy: Novice Rank 1

  SPELLS (Tier I):

  [Black Halo Lance]: Rank 1

  [Ashen Aegis]: Rank 0

  [Edict: Disarm]: Rank 0

  [Edict: Null Hymn]: Rank 1

  [Choir of Verdict]: Rank 0

  SYSTEM RECORDS:

  War-Deed: War-Proof Complete (Pre-Convergence Victory)

  Record: Dungeon Rift Cleared (Tier II)

  Record: Unique Weapons Trial Passed (Chose Faelen)

  He could see the shape of it now. The numbers didn’t lie. He was progressing. There was something exhilarating about watching his power, what he could do, be quantified in such a clean way.

  And something chilling, too.

  Because none of it felt like him.

  He still wasn’t sure what his class ultimately did. Almost everything he’d done so far was attached to his title, as if the Ethereal had slapped a label on his soul and said, This is what you are now. This is what you get.

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  He let the sheet fade and looked around the warehouse office he’d been given, the small space smelling like dust and old paper. The settlement hadn’t been attacked in the week that followed, and Cole found people increasingly looking to him.

  This was a problem.

  He didn’t want to be their leader. He didn’t want their eyes. He didn’t want their hope. At some point he would need to leave. Nathan was out there somewhere, and the photo of his son in his pocket reminded him every time his hand brushed it. He had considered putting the photo in the storage space his staff provided.

  He couldn’t do it.

  The picture wasn’t just a reminder. It was a tether. A small, stubborn thing that made him feel like he still had a life to go back to, even if he didn’t know where that life was anymore. It brought him comfort, and it kept him honest about why he kept moving.

  So instead of making decisions, he pushed people toward Seth, Naomi, or Alina. Let them argue. Let them vote. Let them carry the weight.

  To them, he gave advice. He pointed at obvious holes, asked obvious questions, and forced them to say their plans out loud.

  They’d started to change things anyway. A group of people, men mostly, trained with makeshift weapons in the yard, sweating in the cold. They practiced thrusts and footwork and forming a line. It looked crude, but it was better than fear.

  There were indeed a few smiths in the settlement who had some talent. One even knew how to make swords. To Cole’s shock, they were able to cobble together weapons out of random bits of metal. Rebar hammered into spearheads. Steel cut from shelving and ground down. Scrap welded into something that almost looked like a blade.

  Some of the pieces were truly exceptional.

  Armor was a different story. Most of what they managed were bracers and a few crude forearm guards, things you could strap on without real tools or real material. Anything that covered the chest, anything that took a real beating, that required more than desperation and hope.

  Cole didn’t say that out loud. People had enough to feel bad about.

  By the time Seth told him about the supply run, Cole didn’t hesitate. A local police station wasn’t far. There might be weapons there. Maybe ammo. Maybe supplies that mattered more than bullets did. The armory beneath it was the real prize.

  Seth’s group had a couple of guns, but not much ammo. Even a few boxes would shift the math for the next wave.

  Cole found himself talking to the men who were going with him. Four of them. Four sets of eyes watching his hands, his staff, his calm. Four men pretending they weren’t scared.

  They had spears and knives. One had a hatchet tucked into his belt like he was going camping.

  “Last chance to back out,” Cole warned. “This will be dangerous.”

  A man looked up. He was a quiet man, or so Cole thought. Built like a brick house, with a mane of dark hair going silver. Crow’s feet sat at the corners of his blue eyes. The full beard gave him a gruff look, but his shirt had an anime character on it, bright and ridiculous against the end of the world. Blue jeans. Black work boots.

  “We’re in,” the man said. “Need to do something.”

  Cole nodded. He respected that more than bravado. More than speeches.

  “Okay. Let’s start with introductions. I’m Cole.”

  “Caleb Harlowe,” the quiet man said.

  “Richard Mayoras,” another man added. Closed-cropped black hair. Upturned nose. A jean jacket over a white shirt.

  “Stephen Wright,” a younger man supplied after Richard. His hair was wild and frizzy, slightly red. Green eyes that kept flicking to Cole’s staff. Flannel, dark jeans, regular shoes.

  “Brent Smith,” the darker-skinned man said. Brown eyes, soft, and a face that reminded Cole of a young bulldog, stubborn and solid. A faint scar on his cheek. Simple clothes and boots.

  Cole let the names settle. Names mattered. If you were going to bleed beside someone, you should at least know what to call them.

  “Alright,” Cole said. “We’re headed for the police station nearby. Try to stick near me.”

  They all nodded.

  Then they left through the gate.

  It didn’t take long for them to be attacked.