Difficult as it may be for the peasant masses to grasp, an individual's Class can change. On one's own, this can be brought about by the natural course of progress, or in rarer cases, something more unpredictable. In such, I reference the so called "Fated Encounter." Or, as others might know it: "The Will of Gods."

For the simpler examples, I cannot help but include the evolution of a [Swordsman] into a [Swordmaster] or perhaps even a [Duelist] if the conditions are correct. For a more relatable tale, every year there is always a story of how a brave [Farmer] Class citizen survived to become a [Hunter]. Yet, the truth of the matter is far more widely spread than just those few examples. Even for a common man of the lowest birth, no matter how destitute. If someone possessing a powerful ruling Class decided to grant said unlucky soul such an honor, it would be within the power of that Ruling Class to raise them up. To gift, conditionally, both a new Class and Title, along with any number of related Skills.

I say all this, in an effort to explain that a person's destiny is never completely fixed. Be the reason a matter of the Gods, or fate, or the actions of man: there is always hope.

-A Study of the Kingdom and its People

....

"As it stands, I suspect I will be sending at least twenty of my Peace Keepers for the coming Fyrd. That's far more than I would like, and it is my expectation that each of your regions will, individually, add at least another half to that number." The Baron stated, leaning in to set his palms atop the massive round table. "Any less, and we will fall short of our obligation."

"The settlement of Resan can provide seven." A stern man replied, seated straight as he let out a long puff from a wooden pipe.

"What Class are they?" The Baron turned to him, looming presence causing the table to creak.

"Four [Archer] Class were trained with the longbow in preparation. The rest are [Hunter] Class, but failed in their attempt to meet the Guild's standards."

"Mmm... and the rest of you?"

"Nine, all combat Classes. Our militia has done well, we are prepared."

"Eight, of the same."

"Six."

"Another eight."

"That's not enough." Settling back, table groaning in agony, the Baron folded his arms. "Neriah."

"As previously discussed, we could spare an additional six Keepers at most, so long as they are willing." The [Scribe] began, careful in his wording. "Offsetting this, from the funds that would normally go to their salaries, we could divert... perhaps, rely further on the Guild to fill in the gaps left."

The conversation carried on from there.

I half listened for interesting tidbits of information, half watched for potential dangers. Which was my job, interestingly enough. As the [Lord]'s [Mage], it was expected I defend my "liege" from danger.

Not that I was taking this extremely seriously.

As if the Baron really needed to be protected from anything. That was a joke.

I would have liked a few more weeks of personal studying in the scribe rooms to expand my worldly knowledge a bit further, but Neriah caught onto my scheme a little too quickly for my liking. When he returned to check on me after-hours, he caught me red-handed with seven different books open on the table, so it was difficult to deny I'd stumbled onto the necessary Skill.

As he had a habit of doing, I soon found his expectations for what work I would be doing had been raised, yet again. The more advanced assignments came my way. Along with, thankfully, a general summary of my other expected duties in the fort, scribbled in Neriah's elegant handwriting.

It seemed a [Mage] in the service of a [Lord] was expected to be both a loyal advisor and protector. To act as a strong deterrent for any nefarious activity, by their wit and presence.

Which, I supposed, made sense. If we weren't in the presence of the Baron, and there was some little terd of a [Lord] at the table, instead, having a Mage present might be beneficial.

Though I would probably have to tactical about it, I felt reasonably sure I could set a decent majority of the room on fire (angry old men very much included) if I wanted to. And I wasn't even a real [Mage] yet.

If that wasn't a deterrent for causing trouble, I didn't know what was.

Not that I really intended to do that.

I was just extremely bored and trying to come up with scenarios that could occupy my thoughts a bit. One of the downsides to Attribute increases, as far as I could tell. I wanted to set my mental teeth into something, instead of standing still and doing nothing.

If anything, I knew the silver lining was that I got to pick up some random politics. It was at least a little interesting to get dragged along to see how everything played out. Even if I was standing behind the Baron, quite a few feet back from the table, it was difficult not to objectively wonder how I'd managed to claw my way into the social privilege to be in this room.

Technically speaking, these were the people who ran everything. At least, locally.

"If you want me to send [Farmer] Class, I will, but we all know they'll be seen as an insult. We don't have anyone else."

"You all expect me to believe that you've reached the bottom of the barrel so easily?" The Baron growled, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle loose some dust from the ceiling. "You know better than to lie to me."

After three days of mostly peaceful bickering, much to my surprise, things were actually getting somewhat heated.

The upcoming Fyrd had been the subject for some time. Ever since I'd first shown up at the fort, months before, and becoming more and more intrusive background noise, after. At this point, though, it was taking the center stage. Logistics were being hashed out, town leaders were showing up out of, seemingly, nowhere, and the Baron was holding daily meetings to record the details of how many able-bodied men and women were getting sent to serve the Kingdom.

Which, was a considerable number. More and more people were showing up at the fort these days.

My estimation was that it was going to total out somewhere in the ballpark of two-hundred. That was including the twenty or so Peace Keepers the Baron was sending. Which meant, by my best guess, the Baron's territory was in control of sixteen to eighteen different settlements of varying sizes. Unless I was missing something and there was some sort of additional factor, like a rotation on who sent troops, or settlements that were exempt...

Ruling out the possibility of some settlements sending a single representative instead of several, was also difficult.

At any rate, I figured my numbers were something close to the truth. I knew that I could just ask, at some point, but I didn't want to cheat to get my answer.

The arguing continued, going nowhere.

Another few hours of this, was my next guess.

I let out a quiet sigh, only to catch a hard stare from Neriah. Ever the professional, the [Scribe] seemed to find my apparently lack of attention grating. Perhaps, he felt responsible for me making him look bad, but I suspected he just had a stick up his ass. One that demanded I at least pretend to pay attention to every word being thrown about.

His slight shift in attention drew in another few glances, as several men at the table took a second's worth to send an eye in my direction. Towards the quiet oddity of the room.

And there I was, hoping they had all forgotten about me...If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"I've had reports of too many monster sightings. If I am to speak plainly: we cannot hope to mount a defense if we send any more [Archer] Class. Not all of us have town walls to take refuge behind. Our people will have no defense!" Escalated to shouting now. Hand gestures, too... somewhat Italian-vibes.

"You think I don't know that?" The Baron was like a simmering bucket of oil. "I can spare another pair of [Guard] Class to station if it's such an issue, but I can't send those same men South."

"We all know your Keepers want little to do with those beasts. The Guild-"

"The Guild. Costs. Gold." The Baron spit the words back. His anger might as well have manifested into some sort of palpable aura. "Gold that we will not have in excess, should we choose not to send an adequate number. We rely on the Kingdom, as the Kingdom relies on us. I request this one final time: Do not force my hand."

Silence greeted that, adam's apples shifting in relative unity.

"Gold and kindness?"

I gasped as an arm slipped around my shoulder, and a woman's voice spoke up just a few inches from my ear.

"Is this what all the men talk about, when they're alone? I always assumed worse." The voice purred, as I realized that my dagger was missing. "Money and feelings?"

And by missing, I meant spinning about, disturbingly close to my cheek.

I had the passing realization that I might already be dead.

"I like this one, Baron." The woman leaned in a bit, the dagger in her hand settling beside my cheek. "You've been holding out on me."

"Hm..." Turning to cast a glance in my direction, the Baron let out a long huff. "You're late, Guildmaster."

"Some greeting that is." I felt the woman shift, releasing me as she all but ghosted past to the table. One second she was standing beside me, then: she was there. With a loud "thunk" my dagger dropped point down into the table.

"You're still late."

If the table had been quiet before her arrival, I noted that her presence had somehow made it worse. You could have heard a pin drop, were it not for the minor panic attack that was still thumping away loudly in my chest.

I stared at her. Or, I tried to stare at her.

The Guildmaster was a sleek woman. Dressed in black, hair pulled back, no visible weapons to speak of (ignoring my stolen dagger) yet she seemed to radiate danger. Cold, patient, as if she had a loaded crossbow pointed at everyone in the room, and she knew how to use it.

She was also difficult to look at.

Not because she was unattractive, but because my eyes were sliding off her. Like slipping on oil, it was as if I couldn't quite fix on her person. As if I could look around the edges of her, at best.

I knew it had to be a Skill, but try as I might, I couldn't rationalize how the hell it worked.

"Where were you? Your letter said you'd be arriving days ago." The Baron asked, not bothering to look at all. Instead, he eyed the dagger wedged in his table. The others did much the same, while looking like they had also forgotten how to breathe.

"Monsters to slay, people to manage... you know how it is, Baron."

"Aye..." He nodded slowly. "We were just discussing the Fyrd."

"How many more men do you need?" She smiled (or I thought I saw her smile) as she looked over the table. "The Guild is not so heartless. As an organization, we would never skirt such an important duty."

She hugged the line there, and I wasn't sure if I detected sarcasm.

For all the times I'd heard the Guild brought up prior to this, though, the men seated there seemed to have had their tongues tied. The one with the pipe looked like he was about to choke on it.

None of them were even trying to look at her.

Actually, maybe they were, but it was clear to me that they were failing at it.

"Nine." The Baron answered, making quick eye contact with Neriah, who quickly nodded in response. "Nine will do."

"Mmm... Make it eleven." The Guildmaster replied, cooly. "Half are already here. The rest will arrive once their hunts complete."

"How generous." The Baron's teeth sounded like metal grinding. Paired with an expression that seemed...

Well, it was much like someone who noticed a coin on the ground, but when they went to pick it up, they stepped in shit. Then, maybe found the coin was a nickel instead of a quarter. Or a seagull just swooped down and stole it, whatever it was.

Torn.

That's it.

I'll settle with torn between two emotions, but rapidly tipping the scale towards one of them.

"Most excellent, we are all in agreement." Neriah, thankfully, seemed to interpret the situation and took lead before the Baron went one way or the other. "I have the necessary scrolls completed, if you would all just come this way-"

An easy exit, my long-awaited cue.

I tried to join him. I really did.

Half a step was as far as I got.

"So, what do we have here?" Just like that, the Guildmaster was back. The face that was probably rather pretty, if I could just manage to keep my eyes on it, barely an inch from my own. "You've found something interesting."

"You can't recruit my [Mage], if that's what you're wondering." The Baron growled. "John's in my service."

"I would never." She scoffed.

"You know better than to lie."

"Do I?" I was fairly certain that the Guildmaster's lip curled at that. "A [Mage] though? With no Class..."

"Don't let that fool you, the lad burned my beard off when we met." The Baron rubbed at his chin. "Like wildfire, it was."

"Quite the gift, but you know, there aren't many [Mage] these days carrying blades." Her brown eyes... no, green... no... black? Whatever they were, they had gotten dangerously close. It felt as though they were peering into my soul. "Or come from the Empire, for that matter."

I felt as if I were being stared down by a hungry tiger.

A hungry tiger with a dagger.

"John's no secret." The Baron stated. "I've got plans for him."

"Is that so?" She asked. "What of the Empire's plans for him?"

"From what I hear, they've got far more important things to concern themselves with these days."

"You do like to gamble..." With a flash of silver, I felt my dagger drop back into place, settled cleanly into the sheath on my hip. But she didn't step away. "He's a little young and well-groomed for a [Mage], don't you think? No gray from his chin to his feet. No wrinkles, either." She leaned in, as I fought for my focus, finally locking it in place. "Well, I'll be damned." Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You can see me, can't you, John?"

I could.

Somehow.

If I so much as blinked, I knew I'd lose track and have to start all over, though.

"Don't tell me you're interested?" The Baron snorted. "Stop teasing the lad."

"I can't say I'm not." She answered. "In fact, I'm very interested."

"HA!" The Baron let out a loud bark of a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure the lad's courted disaster enough to know he'd best avoid your lot."

"I have no doubt." Guildmaster retreated, and I caught a sly smile. "But, sometimes men like that get a taste for it."

Ah.

Well, the conversation had taken an unexpected direction. Obviously, I was being toyed with a bit, but I'll admit: I was conflicted.

The Guildmaster was either surpressing her Skill, or I'd finally figured out how to focus through it. So, now that I could see her, I could say with confidence that she wasn't bad on eyes. Well, until I blinked, and ruined everything.

But, conflicted and suicidal are two very different things.

No, I could have been on a dry spell equivilant to the Sahara desert, but I had the suspicion that I'd be safer to try my luck asking Karen to bed, or maybe going out in the woods looking for more wolves. From the impression the Guildmaster gave me, the woman was a different sort of dangerous. One that was just as lethal- if not more lethal, than the Baron.

This was the kind of person I classified as "avoid."

So, I took my out.

Bowing my respects, be it by the Baron's intervention, or mercy, I finally found my exit. Leaving the room in a brisk walk (that wasn't a run, but certainly wanted to be) I took to the hall, where I then located Neriah in short order to help him finalize the necessary paperwork in the normal, relative-safety, of the scribe rooms.

From there, I'll admit: the day was relatively normal.

Surprisingly so, in fact. There wasn't much actual work to be done in any urgent sense. With Neriah occupied by several people of importance within the fort, I had nothing that was directly keeping me from a quick meal and further review of the many, many, books I had access to. Besides, hiding away in a room that no one else would ever bother to go and look into was my safest course of action in a time when the fort was seemingly crawling with unknown variables. Laying low was the smartest choice.

Or, at least, that was the excuse I gave myself.

The false comfort of a lie. The kind we like to tell ourselves, if only to make us feel better about things we can't change.

Even in the calm of the room, the scents of dust, and paper, and ink: the chill running down my spine still hadn't gone away. There it remained, even hours after that encounter. Settled in, tied together with the subtle pressure of eyes watching.

I knew what it meant.

Ever since [Hide Presence] had increased a bit, I could feel those from time to time. Never in a very distracting way, but in a sense that tied with whether or not I was hidden. As I was rarely hidden, just going about the fort doing my normal routine, it wasn't something I focused on.

But it was something I couldn't help but notice, especially when I was alone.

By default, when you're alone, you're hidden. If no one is watching, no one can see you. In this, there's a sense of familiarity, and I had grown to the expectation of feeling that confirmation. Knowing I was out of sight, out of mind...

Instead I was getting a prickling pressure of watching eyes.

Eyes, that never left.

As casually as I could, I tried to seek them out, of course.

I dropped a book when I was alone in the hall, just to pick it up and sneak a glance behind me.

When I was eating dinner, wedged in the corner, by the counter...

But I couldn't see them.

Only sense them.

Returning after my meal, reading alone in the scribe room I'd come to think of as a place of refuge: it was back. I had that sensation: as if someone was standing right behind me. As if someone were reading over my shoulder.

They were there.

Beyond any doubt, they were right there-

But as I got up, putting a book back on the shelf to switch with another: I was alone.

Even though I knew, that was very, very, far from the truth.

Following.

Everywhere I went, they were following me.

The feeling only got worse when I flared [Hide Presence] to full burn as I rounded a corner, heading up the stairs from the kitchen in a sudden effort to break the line of sight.

Oh, that just made it worse.

In that instant, I knew I had fucked up. As badly as anyone can ever hope to fuck up. It only took a second, and the pressure of watching eyes was infinitely worse.

I felt as if someone were only a foot away from me. As if they were all but breathing down my neck. As if the action of using [Hide Presence] had only spurred on my pursuer.

I quickly squashed that skill and decided that had been a horrible, horrible mistake.

But there was nothing I could do about it.

No, the feeling didn't fade unti I shut my door behind me, and lay down in my bunk. Then, and only then, did it fade.

I was so happy, I could have cried.

"The sooner this Fyrd business is done, the better." I muttered to myself, turning over to sleep.

There, I remained. Still, silent, breathing as regular as I could ever hope to convincingly fake.

Not sleeping, of course.

No, just pretending as best I could that I didn't feel those same eyes return, watching me from my window.

The Guildmaster had not lied.

She was interested.

She was very interested.

And I was terrified.