Ritual

I stepped out of my home, the cool morning air brushing against my skin as I closed the wooden door behind me. The house, made of red brick with a few cracks showing the wear of time, stood in a line of similar modest dwellings. The street was already alive with activity, filled with the sound of footsteps, the churning hum of electric buses, and the occasional clatter of metal from a nearby workshop. The inner exterior of Manchester Kingdom thrived on practicality, built and sustained by the collective efforts of those with low-level Skills that, while humble, played vital roles in our day-to-day lives.

As I walked down the narrow cobblestone path, I passed by a line of shops and vendor stalls displaying simple but innovative wares. A cobbler with the Skill of Quick Repair was deftly patching up a pair of boots, his hands moving with fluid speed as small glimmers of light stitched the leather together. Next to him, a street vendor sold compact light orbs that glowed with a soft, steady light—products of Minor Illumination, a common Skill that kept homes and streets lit at night without relying on expensive infrastructure.

The town was a blend of the old and new; tall, iron streetlamps stood alongside buzzing neon signs advertising basic holo-gadgets and energy snacks that offered a minor stamina boost. Small cars, often rusted around the edges but rigged with basic Maintenance enchantments, trundled by. These vehicles, while nowhere near as advanced as those found in the interior, were functional marvels of ingenuity crafted by the inner exterior’s craftsmen. Electric buses moved smoothly along their routes, their wheels reinforced by metalwork infused with low-level Durability spells, making them reliable if not luxurious.

I walked past a row of houses, each adorned with modest touches—a hanging plant here, a carved wooden wind chime there—tokens of the residents’ efforts to personalize their space. Children played in front of a mural painted with vibrant, albeit amateurish, images of past festivals, their shouts mixing with the occasional spark of harmless energy as they practiced basic Glow Skills. Every now and then, someone with an uncommon Skill stood out: a tailor who crafted fabric that lightly shimmered with a built-in Temperature Regulation charm or a mechanic who had a knack for tinkering with engines, making them last just a bit longer than average.

The deeper I ventured, the more I noticed the subtle shift from the purely practical to places with hints of community pride. A small public garden, maintained by volunteers using Plant Growth, displayed rows of herbs and vegetables that provided a touch of green amidst the stone and metal. The scent of blooming lavender mixed with the occasional puff of steam from food stalls offering grilled meat skewers and sizzling flatbreads.

After 35 minutes of steady walking, I reached the Pathfinders Guild. It stood taller than the surrounding buildings, a solid structure of dark granite that shimmered faintly when hit by the sunlight. While not as grand as the opulent guilds in the interior, it was a place of respect and aspiration. The building had wide glass windows, clear and strong, showing the activity within—a lobby filled with people consulting maps and documents, discussing potential paths, and sharing stories of quests both completed and failed. The double doors, carved with intricate depictions of people forging their paths with common tools and determination, welcomed all who approached.

The guild’s influence was palpable; it represented hope and guidance for the inner exterior, a bridge between the mundane and the extraordinary, where even the most common Skills were seen as stepping stones to something greater. Its walls bore plaques with names of those who had found their true calling, reminders that success wasn’t reserved for those born with power but could be earned by those who persevered.

I stood in front of the doors, taking in the buzz of the place—a mix of conversations, the rustle of parchment, and the faint, distant hum of a speaker making announcements. This building, though humble compared to its interior counterpart, was a testament to the spirit of those who sought purpose despite their limitations. With a steadying breath, I stepped forward, ready to take my next step in finding my own path.

Walking through the double doors of the Pathfinders Guild, I felt my heart race with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The grand lobby was alive with energy, filled with the murmur of voices, the shuffle of papers, and the clinking of coins as transactions were made. The room stretched wide, lined with polished stone floors that reflected the light filtering through the high, arching windows. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, simple yet elegant, casting a warm glow that highlighted the intricate carvings on the walls depicting legendary moments of discovery and triumph.

The centerpiece of the lobby was the main booth—a large, square structure at the heart of the guild, bustling with people on all sides. Each side of the booth had a counter manned by four clerks, their expressions varying from patient professionalism to fatigue as they handled the endless stream of questions and requests. Behind them, a square pillar rose up, its surface covered with intricate runes that pulsed with a subtle, rhythmic glow. Surrounding the pillar were shelves stocked with items for sale: small charms for luck, potions with labels promising energy boosts, and guidebooks for new skill users seeking advice.

The clerks wore the guild’s standard uniform: deep blue tunics with gold embroidery at the cuffs and collars, each paired with a simple belt cinched around the waist and dark trousers. Despite the uniformity, each clerk’s unique features stood out. One had a stern expression with sharp features, another wore glasses that perched on the bridge of her nose as she reviewed documents with a practiced eye, and one had freckles that dotted her cheeks, adding a touch of warmth to her professional demeanor.

Then my eyes landed on the clerk at the far left of the booth on my side—her. Sylvia. The girl who had been my neighbor since we were kids, the one I had secretly admired for years. My pulse quickened, and for a moment, I was rooted to the spot. Her blue hair, long and silky, cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light and shimmering with a deep, oceanic hue. Her eyes, as blue as the hair framing her face, sparkled with a kind and patient expression as she listened to the person in front of her. She had a curvy body that was modestly dressed; her tunic fit her well but was loose enough to remain professional, and she wore simple earrings that glinted whenever she moved her head.

I shuffled into her line, glancing down at my hands as I tried to calm my nerves. The line moved slowly, inching forward as the people ahead of me explained their questions, requested aid, or completed purchases. The closer I got, the tighter my chest felt. By the time I reached the counter, I could feel my palms damp with sweat.

“Hey, King,” she said with a soft smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks. Her voice was as familiar as it was soothing, carrying with it memories of shared laughter from childhood games and quiet conversations on porches at dusk.

I stood there, momentarily tongue-tied, trying to remember why I had come in the first place. My mind raced, searching for words as I took in the sight of her up close—the gentle slope of her nose, the way her eyes crinkled slightly when she smiled, the kindness radiating from her expression.

“Hi, Sylvia,” I managed, my voice low and rough. I cleared my throat. “I, um, need some guidance.”

Her smile widened, and for a moment, the noise of the guild seemed to fade. “Of course, King. What can I help you with?”

I took a deep breath, pushing away the nerves that threatened to overwhelm me, and focused on why I was here. I looked Sylvia in the eye, determined not to falter.

“I’ve finally achieved a Skill,” I said, the words feeling strange and powerful in my mouth. “I’d like to register with the guild.”

Sylvia’s blue eyes widened, a spark of surprise lighting them up. For a moment, she looked as if she didn’t believe me. “King, are you serious? I thought… I thought your family was…” She hesitated, catching herself before finishing the sentence.

“Cursed?” I offered, a slight smile tugging at my lips. The word had been whispered often enough about us, a family known for not possessing any Skills.

Sylvia’s expression softened, and she nodded slowly. “Yeah. This is amazing, King. Congratulations!” Her smile was genuine, brightening the moment. Then, a hint of worry crossed her features. “But since you’re underaged, you’ll need your mother’s approval to register.”

The warmth that had built up in my chest dissipated, leaving behind a hollow ache. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the folded, official documents that declared my adult status. My hands trembled slightly as I handed them to her.

Sylvia’s eyes darted to the papers, her brows furrowing as she read over them. Concern flickered across her face as she looked back at me. “Is everything okay at home?”

I was taken aback that she didn’t know. My voice came out quieter than I intended. “She’s gone, Sylvia. My mother… she died.”

Her eyes widened, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips. “What? King, are you serious?” The pain in her voice mirrored the ache that had become a constant companion in my chest. I nodded, unable to meet her gaze.

“Oh, King, I’m so sorry,” she said, her face twisting in grief. “I didn’t know… I’ve been working here the last few days, I haven’t even been home. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “I’m just trying to stay positive, for my siblings.”

Sylvia’s eyes glistened, but she held back, sensing that I didn’t need pity, only support. She pressed her lips together, forcing a smile back onto her face. “You’re strong, King,” she said, and the words settled on my heart like a fragile bandage.

She looked down at the documents, then back at me. “All right. Let’s get you registered.” She turned, motioning for me to follow her. I trailed behind as she led me to the back room, a space steeped in quiet reverence. At the center stood an altar made of polished stone, and above it, a podium with an intricately carved statue of 6 gods and goddesses, their faces serene and watchful.

Sylvia stopped beside the altar and turned to me. “This is where the ritual takes place,” she said, her voice low and steady. “A Pathfinder is someone who joins the guild and pursues their path. The ritual records your name, stats, and skills into the guild’s database. This is essential for emergencies, like if the kingdom is attacked or if there’s a need for specific skills in a quest.”

I nodded, absorbing her words. She continued, “The ritual is simple. Just stand before the altar and repeat these words: ‘I, King Solomon, seek the true path before me. In dedication to the gods, I pledge my Skills and my spirit to this guild. May my path be true, and my purpose found.’”

I stepped forward, the weight of the moment pressing against my chest. Facing the statue, I drew in a steadying breath and repeated the words Sylvia had said. “I, King Solomon, seek the true path before me. In dedication to the gods, I pledge my Skills and my spirit to this guild. May my path be true, and my purpose found.”

As the final word left my lips, a warm light enveloped me, emanating from the altar and illuminating the statue above. A scroll materialized in the air before me, slowly unrolling with a soft, parchment-like rustle. Sylvia and I both leaned in to read it. My name was etched at the top, followed by my stats and listed Skills: Adaptive Survivor and Fire Resistance.

But something was missing. The “Growth” category was absent, and my most significant Skills—God of Wisdom and Supernatural Awareness—weren’t there. A wave of disappointment washed over me, settling like a heavy stone in my chest. Without those Skills showing up on the scroll, all the questions I’d come with—the ones that burned inside me—would go unanswered. I swallowed hard, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

Sylvia glanced up at me, eyes searching. “Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

I managed a strained smile and nodded. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

She held my gaze for a moment, as if trying to see past the mask I’d put up. Finally, she nodded, her smile returning, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Great. Welcome to the Pathfinders, King.”

I let out a slow breath, the scroll still glowing faintly in front of me. The questions I’d wanted to ask—about my rare Skills, about what this all meant—would have to wait. The weight of uncertainty settled deeper, and I clenched my fists at my sides. For now, I’d have to keep my frustration to myself.

I shifted my weight, still disappointed but deciding that I would ask what questions I could while I had Sylvia’s attention. “I still have some questions,” I said, glancing at her. “Can you tell me how to upgrade my stats and skills?”

Sylvia nodded, her blue eyes lighting up with a helpful spark. “Of course. To upgrade your stats, you need to complete real-life tasks that align with that particular class. For example, if you want to increase your Strength, you need to engage in physical training or workouts. The intensity of the training determines how much your stat increases. If you want to boost Intelligence, reading complex books or studying difficult subjects will help. The higher the level of the book or the more rigorous the training, the more points you’ll gain.”

She paused, making sure I was following before continuing. “However, as you reach higher levels, the rate at which you can level up will slow down. It becomes harder to progress as you improve. Lastly, when you upgrade your overall level, you’re awarded six skill points that you can allocate as you see fit. Skills, on the other hand, are a bit different. They upgrade through use. The more you use a skill, the more experience you gain, and eventually, it will upgrade on its own, unlocking new traits and abilities.”

I nodded, absorbing the information. “Overall level? I don’t have one listed.”

“That’s because you just completed the ritual,” Sylvia said, her voice patient and kind. “People don’t get an overall level until they join the guild. It’s sort of a reward for becoming a Pathfinder. To upgrade your overall level, you simply need to check the specific requirements and complete them. This allows you to progress at your own pace, rather than wandering around aimlessly trying to figure out how to get stronger.”

“That’s… good to know,” I said, a spark of hope flickering in my chest. “Is there any sort of scaling for these levels so I can understand how strong I am compared to others?”

Sylvia tilted her head slightly. “There isn’t a specific scaling system for overall levels, but there is one for your stats. Here.” She handed me a sheet labeled “Scaling of Levels.” “You can look it over later to get an idea of how your stats measure up.”

I took the sheet, feeling the weight of it in my hand. It was a tangible reminder that, for the first time, I had some control over my path. Sylvia’s expression shifted from informative to something more formal as she gestured toward an adjacent room.

“Come with me,” she said, leading me into a smaller room where a secretary was seated at a computer, fingers tapping away at the keys. Sylvia approached her and asked, “Is King’s license ready?”

The secretary looked up, adjusted her glasses, and nodded. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a sleek ID card, handing it over to Sylvia.

Sylvia took the card and turned to me, her expression serious but kind. “Before I give this to you, King, there are some rules you need to understand.” She glanced down at the ID before continuing, “First, you’re responsible for any damages or problems you cause outside of official missions. While on missions we will do our best to support you and cover all related damages. Second, you must treat other Pathfinders with respect, both inside and outside the guild as well as the clerks and customers who make requests. Lastly, you need to finish any current missions or objectives you’re on before pursuing a different path. It’s essential for keeping order and ensuring everyone’s safety.”

I nodded, taking in the weight of the responsibility that came with being a registered Pathfinder. Sylvia handed me my new ID, and I stared at it for a moment, a mix of pride and uncertainty swirling in my chest. This was real. My path was beginning, even if it wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined it. I clenched the ID slightly, feeling its cool surface press against my fingers.

Sylvia’s voice drew my attention back to her as she turned to face me, her expression softening. “Before we move on, King, there’s something important you need to understand,” she said, her tone both reassuring and serious. “It’s the ranking system, which is essential for navigating this world. Rankings range from E class to S class, with E being the lowest and S the highest. Each rank represents your overall power, skill set, and potential.”

Sylvia gestured to the glowing diagram on the podium, which displayed a tiered pyramid with the ranks clearly labeled: E, D, C, B, A, and S at the top. “E rank is special,” she explained, her eyes meeting mine. “It’s where most beginners start, particularly those with non-offensive or undeveloped skills. It serves as a foundation, a starting point to build upon as you grow and adapt.”

I felt a mix of emotions rise in my chest—relief that I finally understood my place and a twinge of frustration at being at the lowest rung of the ladder. Sylvia must have seen it on my face because her gaze softened even more.

“Because your current rank is E,” she continued, “you won’t be able to choose a path just yet. All paths require at least one offensive skill, and as of now, you don’t possess one. But don’t be discouraged,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Even some of the most formidable figures started as E rank. What matters is how you use what you have and work toward developing stronger skills.”

I nodded, trying to keep my disappointment hidden. “So what options do I have?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

“For now,” Sylvia said, “you’ll need to choose a job until you gain an offensive skill. The ritual will show the job opportunities that align with your current skills.”

I waited as she showed me the list of jobs I qualified for, each one appearing on a small screen embedded in the podium.

“The jobs offered to you are: Fire Squadron Temp, Librarian Assistant, Item Retrieval Quest, Blacksmith’s Assistant, and Intern at the Botanical Research Facility,” Sylvia said, watching me closely for a reaction.

I scanned the list, considering each option. “Can I try all of them at some point?”

Sylvia’s smile grew. “Yes, you can spend as much time as you like at each job, but remember, you must complete your current duties before moving on to the next.”

“Thanks, Sylvia,” I said, feeling a hint of excitement return. “I’ll start with the Fire Squadron. I figure that being near flames might help me upgrade my Fire Resistance.”

Her eyes sparkled with approval. “That’s a great choice, King. It’s challenging, but it’ll be worth it. I will get you signed up promptly. If you want you can make your way there after leaving to get started or if you have other things to do then it can wait.”

I felt a surge of gratitude dole through me. I was prepared to go now. The quicker I got started the better

“One last thing,” she added with a playful tone. “If you lose your ID, there will be a small fee for a replacement, so try to keep it safe.”

I chuckled nervously. “Got it.”

I definitely had to make sure not to lose it. I don’t have the money to pay any fees.

After we finished up I gathered myself and said my goodbyes, turning toward the exit to head out .

Sylvia hesitated for a moment before speaking again, her voice softer now. “King, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to come by later tonight to see how your day went and help out around the house.”

My heart leapt into my throat. Sylvia coming over to my house? My mind raced back to the times we played as kids or shared moments when our parents talked, but this felt different. Publicly, she’d never really shown interest in spending time with me like this.

“I-I can handle it,” I stammered, shifting uncomfortably. “But I appreciate it.”

Before she could respond, I turned and walked out, my heart still pounding in my chest. I pushed through the double doors and felt the warm air of the afternoon on my face, my mind spinning with confusion and an unfamiliar feeling that I couldn’t quite place.

...************************************************...

As King left the guild, Sylvia’s smile faded into a worried frown. She watched him hurry away, his posture tense and uncertain. Her fingers drummed lightly against the counter as she thought back to the hesitant way he had answered. It wasn’t like him to brush her off so quickly.

With a quiet sigh, she decided she’d stop by his house anyway. She was worried about him—more than she’d realized until that moment. The weight of grief, responsibility, and his sudden rise into an unfamiliar world could overwhelm anyone. And even if he said he could handle it, she wasn’t going to let him go through it alone.

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