Damian woke up sweating bullets. It was a strange curse, to have bad dreams but never remember them. Sometimes he caught bits and pieces, but even with the [Seer’s] help, nothing concrete. Sitting up and casting off his furs, Damian tried to remember what had woken him. Something bright—and painful. The stars, maybe? A fire? The [Seer] said his dreams might be important, but Damian figured that was just her way of admitting she had no idea what was wrong with him.

  It was an auspicious day for a dream, the day before his sixteenth birthday. One day before he became an adult, when the Great Game would finally recognize his existence. A waterskin was pushed into his hands, and he drank greedily.

  “Another dream?” a voice asked softly. The others must’ve still been sleeping.

  “Stars, I think,” Damian whispered, then turned to his best friend. “Why’re you up?”

  Finn grinned at him in the dim light. “Couldn’t sleep. Keep tryna decide what class I’ll get.”

  “[Berry Picker],” Damian answered on impulse.

  Finn shoved him lightly, and Damian pushed back, but they both froze when someone else rustled in their bed. Waking the rest of the Hearth would earn them merciless complaints for the rest of the day. They’d probably get off light on account of their birthdays today... but still.

  Or maybe that would make it worse.

  Nobody else in the hearth shared a birthday; Damian and Finn were the only ones who’d go through the process together. It had always made them closer to each other, and a little more distant from everyone else. But Damian didn’t mind; they were all brothers and sisters in the end anyway. Who was to say you couldn’t have a favorite?

  “C’mon.” Finn started tugging Damian out of bed. “Let’s go berry pick—[Berry Picker].”

  Damian didn’t want to leave his warm bed, but there was nothing to do if he stayed. So he let himself be dragged along as they slipped out of the lodge and into the cold, sunless morning air. Mist clung to the ground, and if not for the bright full moon low in the sky, it would’ve been impossible to see.

  “Gods, it’s too early for this,” Damian complained.

  Finn just snorted.

  They quietly picked their way between the lodges, aiming for one in particular. The lean-to beside Mother Kelda’s lodge held the satchels, baskets, and small scythes the gatherers used when they went out. Damian preferred a satchel, Finn a basket. Moments later, they reached the edge of the village and pushed into the forest.

  It was darker beneath the trees, but the sky was beginning to lighten with dawn, and the two were used to finding their way in the dim evening light. Work ran from sundown to sunup most days, which meant most play happened in the dark. They didn’t need to be working now. In fact, they didn’t need to work at all today. But Damian and Finn liked gathering for the clan. Even without skills, they had a knack for finding the best morsels.

  Damian preferred berries; Finn was big into mushrooms. As they stumbled into a patch of hawthorn berries and began picking, Damian mulled over the enormity of the day. It didn’t feel any different. There was no magical warmth, no tingling. But by this time tomorrow, he’d have heard the voice of the Great Game and accepted the powers that came with it.

  When the first golden rays of sunlight cut through the trees, Finn stood and groaned, stretching his back. His basket was already half full of red-orange berries. “Well, I think we should take advantage of a day off. Think we can rope the hearth into the water hole?”

  “Today?” Damian asked, wiping berry-stained fingers on his satchel. “It’s too cold.”

  “Only if you’re a bitch,” Finn said, raising his eyebrows.

  Damian chewed his bottom lip, already knowing he’d get talked into freezing his bits off. “Okay, fine. But only if everyone else goes.”

  “Oh, they will,” Finn assured him.

  Of that, Damian had no doubt. Between them, Finn was far more personable. Everyone liked him. With his silver tongue and the promise of a break from late autumn gathering, the rest of their brothers and sisters would leap at the chance to escape. Even if it meant swimming in the freezing Rhun.

  From a young age Damian had learned his family was not necessarily typical for the rest of the world.

  Every year a traveling trade caravan would roll through their tiny town, and Damian and the hearth would get to play with the new kids. He distinctly remembered the first time he had to explain that every adult in Bekham was one of his parents. He’d been confused at first when the other kids said they only had one mom and dad. What were they supposed to do if their parents were gone on a hunting trip?

  All the children of Bekham were grouped into hearths—groups of kids within about three years of age. Each hearth was raised collectively, growing up together and supporting one another until sixteen, when they joined the village proper. Damian loved every one of his brothers and sisters and couldn’t imagine having fewer. The visitor kids always thought it was weird, and Damian thought they were just as weird right back. Though he never said it to them.

  There were eleven of them in the hearth now. Once there had been seventeen, but that was right at the edge of Damian’s memory. Four had died, one had aged out. Life in the tiny village of Bekhem wasn’t harsh by frontier standards—but it wasn’t easy either. Many of them had died to the cold when they were younger, despite their mothers’ best efforts. Mother Revna said there had been more than seventeen, but Damian couldn’t remember the others. He wished he could though—he loved each and every one of his siblings.

  Damian and Finn found their hearth eating outside their lodge; barley porridge with nuts and berries mixed in. Frigg and Marn shot Damian and Finn sour looks when they saw their baskets. It was Frigg who spoke up. “Making us look bad on your big day? For shame.”

  “Blame Erik!” Finn said cheerfully, setting down his basket and clapping Frigg on the shoulder. “If it weren’t for his terrible snoring, wouldn’t’ve woken.”

  Erik protested with a muffled grumble through a mouthful of porridge. Damian’s lips twitched into a hint of a smile as he caught Frigg’s attention. “Can we make it up to you? What if we made the day a trip to the water hole?”

  “Today?” Frigg’s face scrunched up. “It’s too cold.”

  “Well, if you’d prefer berry picking or jamming or salting...” Finn mused.

  Asta rapped the table with her knuckles to get Finn’s attention. “Isn’t a matter of preference—Mother Revna won’t allow it.”

  Finn circled the table, clapping his hands on Asta’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “I’ll handle our parents if you agree to come.”

  “Despite it being freezing,” Damian chimed in cheerfully. Finn’s enthusiasm was infectious.

  “Despite it being freezing,” Finn agreed.

  The brothers and sisters of the hearth glanced around, collectively and silently agreeing that freezing their asses off swimming was still better than another day of prepping food for winter. A wave of shrugs and muttered agreement made consensus, and Finn’s smile only widened.

  “Absolutely not!” Mother Revna snapped, scowling at Finn’s beaming face. “Gods, it’s too close to winter. The fruit needs to be harvested and preserved before it rots. We have smoking, jamming, and salting to do. Harald sighted a Mikilbird nest and plans to gather a hunt. We’ll need help dressing the meat and plucking the feathers.”

  Finn lowered his chin, dialing the charm in his tone up to a sickening level. Damian knew Revna had a soft spot for him; it was the right play. “But will Harald actually go hunting today, or just spend all day organizing? Besides, we can go a little farther and bring back water for salting, so it won’t be a wasted trip.”

  Mother Revna crossed her arms, and Damian could tell her resolve was already cracking. “It’s too cold. You’ll catch your deaths.”

  “No, we won’t,” Finn said evenly. “But if you’re worried, come supervise. Your skills will keep us safe.”

  Skills—the gifts of the omniscient, ever present Great Game. The fundamental divine force that bestowed power to the people of the world, or so said Damian’s parents. There were gods, and the villagers worshipped a few of them, but the Great Game was akin to the fabric of the world itself. And it rewarded anyone who committed themselves to a trade or passion.

  Mother Revna was a [Caretaker] and one of the highest-leveled people in the village. Level 26, last Damian heard. Her level 20 capstone Skill, [Ward: Worldguard], broadly protected those under her care from environmental hazards like the cold, while soothing pain and calming emotions. The few times she’d used it on Damian, it had felt like being wrapped in warm furs, swaddled away from the world. Freezing cold air became a warm breeze. He’d even once picked up a hot coal with his bare hand and held it for several seconds before it started to burn.

  He’d been yelled at for that—probably deserved.

  “Mmm...” Revna grumbled, making Finn grovel even harder as he tried to split his face with a smile. “Fine. But only because it’s your coming of age.”

  “Yes!” Finn exclaimed, clenching his fists. Revna squinted at him, and he quickly sobered. “Er—I mean, thank you, Mother Revna. We love you, Mother Revna.”

  “Go pack, little pup,” she ordered, and Finn bolted out of Revna’s lodge.

  Damian turned to follow but stopped when Revna grunted. From her, that was as good as being called by name. He turned back to see what she wanted.

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  “Is this what you want?” she asked, her tone much gentler with Damian. “For your coming of age?”

  “It sounds like fun,” Damian answered honestly.

  Revna approached Damian, the floorboards creaking under her weight. She was a large woman, sturdy like most of the Bekham villagers. Damian had always been a bit out of place for his slim, shorter frame—among many other things that set him apart.

  “But is it what you want?” Revna asked again.

  Damian hesitated, knowing what she was getting at. Finn was… so many things in his life. But because they shared a birthday, they inevitably ended up sharing a lot of attention. And between the two of them, Finn was always louder. It wasn’t like Damian was starved for affection, far from it. But it was fair to say Finn got his way more often than not, largely because Damian was happy to go along with the reckless adventure Finn treated life as.

  “I want to spend my coming of age with my hearth,” Damian said at last. “They’re going swimming. I might not, I get cold easily. But I still want to go.”

  Revna snorted softly, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s dark brown hair. “Then I’ll give you my skill for the day, and I’ll bring warm soup.”

  The trek to the water hole took most of the morning, and it was nearly midday by the time the twelve of them reached the village’s favored swimming spot. The entire trip, Gunnar showed off his new skill. He’d turned sixteen just under a moon cycle ago, aging out of the hearth and gaining five levels in [Wild Hunter]—his starter class. One of his skills, [Trailseer’s Glint], caused animal tracks to glow around him. Something he did just about as often as he could.

  Damian thought the novelty would’ve worn off after a month... but then again, he didn’t have skills of his own, so he couldn’t say.

  The water hole was a wide pool in the river that ran past their village, where opal lilies grew along the cliffside, roots bursting through the stone into the water. They gave the pool a faint rejuvenating quality, making swimming feel like your body was filling with boundless energy. It didn’t stop you from freezing, but it made you feel on top of the world.

  Despite her earlier reservations, Frigg stripped in two swift movements and leapt straight off the cliff, whooping all the way down. Everyone else followed her lead, just not quite as fast. Damian was the slowest of them all, shivering in the chill of late autumn as he slipped out of his pants. Suddenly warmth blossomed in his gut, spreading from his core until his whole body buzzed faintly. Damian looked toward Revna, who quickly glanced away.

  Before Damian could thank her, Finn grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the cliff edge. “C’mon, slowpoke! We’re all gonna jump together.”

  “Oh.” Damian hesitated, almost stumbling as he tried to resist Finn’s insistent pull. “I dunno about—”

  “Don’t be a baby,” Finn tutted, tugging at Damian’s shirt.

  Damian resisted a few moments longer before sighing and steadying himself. He pulled his tunic over his head and dropped it to the ground. Even naked, the brisk air felt almost comfortable thanks to Revna. He saw some of the others already shivering. The water would be warmer.

  “Okay, ready?” Finn asked as they joined the line of their brothers and sisters.

  Damian wasn’t ready. He didn’t really want to jump; he barely wanted to swim. But Finn’s excitement was practically bubbling out of him. Everyone else was shivering from the cold and vibrating with anticipation for the leap. Damian smiled, glad to be part of his large, crazy family. “Ready.”

  With Mother Revna’s skill on him and the numbing effect of the opal lilies, being in the water wasn’t so bad after all. Getting out was the terrible part. So, they stayed in as long as they could. Despite his reservations, Damian had fun swimming and splashing with his brothers and sisters, though he’d had to intervene when Erik pinched Gunnar’s buttocks to make him think something in the pool was biting him.

  Gunnar hit him so hard Erik’s nose started bleeding, but five minutes later they were both laughing about it.

  Once they were done, they shivered back into their clothes, brought to the water’s edge by an amused Mother Revna. After a quick meal which did indeed include hot soup thanks to another of Mother Revna’s skills, they trekked farther down the river until they reached the shore, where Finn filled one of the village’s enchanted waterskins to fulfill the “usefulness” portion of their trip. Damian, for his part, inhaled the salt air and gazed out over the gray-green ocean. In the distance, he spotted a ship. A longship by the looks of it. For just a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be a [Storm Sailor], braving wind and rain and lightning to explore the world.

  But... then he dismissed the idea. There were no [Storm Sailors] in Bekham. Still, it was his family he loved, more than any dream of wrestling storms. Soon after, Finn broke him from his idle thoughts, trying to hose him with freezing seawater from the enchanted waterskin. Damian retreated to Mother Revna, whom Finn dared not risk getting wet.

  By the time they made it home, the day was darkening, and if not for the gloomy gray overcast, the sun would’ve been just beginning to set behind the tall pines surrounding Bekham. Damian went with Finn to drop off the waterskin to Father Garm so the water could be boiled down and the salt harvested. Then they were both headed to the same place: the [Seer].

  Bekham didn’t have a [Village Head] like some other villages Damian had heard about. It was too small for a council of elders, and everyone respected each other enough to make communal decisions. Damian didn’t know any other way, but his parents had told him most places had a [Lord] or a [Knight] who owned the land. Technically, they were on owned land too. It was just so far from anything, and they were so small that nobody cared.

  All this to say, Bekham had no central power structure. But if anything came close, it would be the [Seer]. She was the highest-leveled person in the village—over level 30—and her unique class let her glimpse the future, so the entire village relied on her for advice.

  Her accuracy wasn’t great, in Damian’s observation. He suspected she played it up a bit, not that he’d ever say so. Still, there was no reason not to heed her advice, or at least take it into consideration. Every young man and woman coming of age visited the [Seer], so she could tell them what she thought the future might hold.

  At the center of the village stood her lodge, the largest and most expensively adorned of them all. Inside, it was plush with furs and carved wooden totems. A fire burned in the center, giving off no smoke and a pleasant scent, no doubt the work of someone’s skill. The [Seer] herself had gray hair and was wrapped head to toe in dozens of furs stitched into a single flowing garment, hunched and leaning heavily on a walking stick. Her eyes were a striking blue, and her face was wrinkled yet hardened, as though she’d looked terrible things in the eye and never flinched.

  Damian had never heard anyone call her anything but the [Seer].

  “Come, come,” she beckoned, gesturing them closer to the fire. Damian glanced at Finn, who marched forward without a care in the world. Mother Revna nudged Damian before he followed, slightly more trepidatious.

  He was cautious of the old woman. Not because he felt in danger, but because he didn’t like how she made him feel. He felt seen—like a bug beneath a bird’s gaze. Scrutinized. Normally, he could go without attention easily. Finn was so loud, so bright, and always by his side. Damian was more than happy to live in his best friend’s shadow.

  “Sit!” the [Seer] commanded, and both boys sat almost unbidden as the force of her aura pressed down on them. She was high-level enough to have an aura skill, the only one in the village. Damian wasn’t sure exactly what an aura could do, but his parents had told him they did all sorts of things depending on what kind of [Aura] it was. “Mm. My favorite time of year—my favorite readings, you know? Rarely elsewise do I get to cast my gaze so far ahead. Let me think… your names are Finn, and… Damian, yes?”

  Both Damian and Finn nodded dumbly. Damian became acutely aware of the [Seer’s] aura pressing around him. It was distinctly uncomfortable, like being watched from a hundred different angles. It made him want to obey, to hide, but only if she allowed it. This was exactly why he didn’t like being around her, but now it was even worse because for the first time ever he was the focus of her attention.

  This was the part Damian had least looked forward to about coming of age. Luckily, after this came a night of feasting and celebration. That, at least, Damian would enjoy. And, of course—though he’d never admit it aloud as it was considered bad luck to ask things of the Great Game—getting his first class would be cool too.

  “Well, I shouldn’t waste your time. You should be celebrating!” The [Seer] clapped her hands and reached into a pouch at her belt. A bag of holding, one of maybe ten in the entire village, a precious magical artifact. She crooked a gnarled finger at Damian. “I’ll begin with you, boy.”

  The elderly woman tossed something into the fire at the room’s center, and Damian flinched as it roared up, threatening to scorch the roof a dozen feet above. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, he just hadn’t expected it to be so sudden and close. Finn didn’t flinch, his eyes widening with wonder as shapes began to form in the rising plume of smoke. The [Seer] squinted at the smoke, reaching up with her walking stick to poke at some of the shapes. Damian recovered, brushing off his tunic and hoping his flinch hadn’t looked too embarrassing.

  When he looked at the shapes, he didn’t really see much. A sword, an orb, maybe a skull? That sounded bad, but he’d seen worse when the [Seer] had done readings before. She tended toward the dramatic. Finn nudged him. “Looks kinda badass.”

  “Hush,” Damian chided, a flicker of anxiety beginning to build in his chest.

  Nearly one member of every hearth was told their destiny lay beyond Bekham; that to truly reach their potential, they needed to leave. Damian didn’t want that, he’d never wanted that. He’d never considered that the [Seer] might tell him it was best for him to leave. But what if she did?

  After a moment, too long for Damian, the [Seer] sighed, and the smoke began to disperse. Her striking eyes fell on Damian, and he couldn’t read what lay behind them. “Your future... is foggy, boy. I do not know what the stars hold in store for you.”

  Without thinking, Damian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  “Do not think this speaks ill of you,” the [Seer] assured, mistaking Damian’s relief for disappointment. “Sometimes the greatest stories are the most uncertain.”

  “No,” Damian said a little too quickly. “I—I’m not disappointed. Thank you, for the reading I mean.”

  The [Seer] nodded at him, then turned to Finn. “And now you, young one.”

  Finn’s slack-jawed face straightened into his usual grin, and he leaned forward in anticipation. Once again, she reached into her bag and cast something into the fire. This time, the flames turned a brilliant gold, blindingly bright, as everyone in the room cried out and turned away.

  Blinking away the fire’s afterimages, Damian looked back at the smoke—it was a brilliant white, so pure it seemed to glow. A figure emerged from the smoke, a man, with a spear in one hand and beautiful wings sprouting from his back. Even though it must’ve been conjured by a skill, the apparition alone made Damian want to weep and bow down. It was... beautiful.

  “Boy!” the [Seer] urged. “When is your calling time? Can you feel the Game within you? You must sleep at once! You are called to greatness, the likes of which I’ve never seen before!”

  Damian thought that explanation was pretty useless. Even he could tell that whatever Finn’s supposed future was, it was glorious. His best friend was stammering, struggling to find words. “I—I don’t know. I think I was born before sunset?”

  “Here.” She crossed the fire pit, smoke already fading, and thrust a glass bottle into Finn’s hands. A glass bottle? Those were rare in the village, the kind of thing you could only get from the yearly trade caravan. “Drink this, boy. It will cast you into brief slumber.”

  Finn hesitated, and the [Seer] yanked the cork off herself, practically shoving the bottle’s open mouth between his lips.

  “Wait—” Mother Revna protested, but the [Seer] waved her staff, and she froze.

  Finn drank the draught, and an instant later his eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto the floor. Damian shouted in alarm, surging to his friend’s side. Finn seemed fine, but the [Seer’s] suddenness and intensity scared him.

  “What’d you do that for?” he demanded, anger rising as he turned to the [Seer].

  “Because,” she hissed. “The Game, it has plans for him. Plans unlike anything we’ve ever—”

  Finn bolted upright with a scream, eyes wide like he’d just seen a ghost. Damian flinched, then scrambled in front of him, taking his face in his hands. “Finn? Finn! Are you okay?”

  Mother Revna wasn’t far behind, and this time the [Seer] didn’t intervene.

  He blinked at Damian, coming to his senses. Cautiously, he nodded. Then his gaze turned to the [Seer], and he swallowed hard. What had the Game said to him?

  “So, boy?” she prompted. “What did the Game give you?”

  Finn’s eyes flicked to Damian, then back to the [Seer]. When he spoke, his voice was cautious, as though he didn’t quite believe the words himself. “My—my first class. [The Chosen One], level 10.”