Blind Chaos - Tales Beneath the Dragoneye Moons

The next day, Ranthia awoke expecting more of the same. She was wrong.

The weird event they had to stand in line for and walk through a big gate of Pyronox during was, apparently, a mass-heal event. Ranthia might have actually known that if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with finally figuring out her path that she wanted to take with her classes in her new life.

The plagues—both of them—were officially cured. And with the plagues over, life had almost immediately returned to normal for the city of Perinthus. …Or, in Ranthia’s case, everything that she had become familiar with was suddenly changed. The streets were filled with people day and night. The city market sprang back up practically overnight. Stalls sprouted where the recently cleaned streets had once been empty, laden with ripe mangos at what the hawkers insisted were bargain prices, cooked foods of all sorts, sundry household goods, and services of every stripe.

Even the brothels were open again and, apparently, business was booming.

Ranthia was briefly overwhelmed by the crowds, the noise, and just how sudden the change had been. It was yet another thing that she needed to adapt to, though in this case she knew that it was a good thing. It was just… a lot.

Though one bit of gossip that was on many tongues gave Ranthia some cheer. The word around town was that the Ranger’s [Healer]—aka that lovely young woman that saved Ranthia’s life—had been the one to solve the plagues and identify the classer that was responsible. The Rangers had ended him, which enabled the mass-heal event that put an end to the executioner’s sword at the neck of the city.

The crowds were overwhelming, but at least Ranthia’s mother loosened her grip with the plagues complete and the town returned to normalcy. She was allowed out on her own! Very possibly it was just because of her mother’s ever-increasing frustration with her questions and behavioral changes, but Ranthia was still thrilled to be given some leeway. Ostensibly she was supposed to be playing with the other children, but she instead ignored and avoided them while she trained her frail body. She ran laps around gradually larger portions of the city, she lifted whatever random clutter she managed to get some privacy with, and she performed various repetitive motions that she suspected were good training.

The nice thing about starting from nothing was that she got measurable results swiftly. Stats were increased by level gains in your class(es), the allocation of free stats, or—in this case—natural growth. 3 strength was a joke, but she had earned that extra point in strength with her own sweat and blood (and yes, in hindsight, picking up a tattered and weather-worn broken crate was an obvious splinter risk, but she hadn’t known that beforehand).

“What do you mean we’re moving?” Ranthia had been halfway out the door before her mother’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh sweetheart, I know you like your friends, but you’ll make new friends!” Her mother promised her in that saccharine tone the dratted woman used when she tried to treat Ranthia like a child.

“No, I meant… why are we moving? Where are we even going? Things like that!” Ranthia struggled to keep her tone respectful. She was often exasperated with the woman that gave birth to her body, but showing her frustration only resulted in physical abuse.

It was hard to retaliate as an all-too-fragile child, and she’d already learned that [Dodging] her mother’s wrath only escalated things.

“Oh. Well. Several of us have been talking, and we’re going to form a big convoy with other families that want out of Perinthus. The city might be on the mend, but the damage has been done. We can find and make better lives for ourselves elsewhere.” Her mother answered after she floundered for a bit. Somehow the woman continued to underestimate Ranthia, despite her best efforts to prove herself.

Ranthia couldn’t help but to notice that the woman hadn’t answered where they planned to go, but she strongly suspected that her mother wasn’t sure herself. Not that it really mattered, Ranthia barely knew anything about the world beyond Perinthus’ walls. The nation they lived within was called the Remus Republic and it had a capital—which wasn’t Perinthus—and that was where her pieced together knowledge ended.

“When?” Ranthia asked instead.

“In four days.”

Ranthia just stared at the woman. Though she quickly averted her gaze when she noticed the scowl forming on her mother’s face. That scowl promised pain, and she was still bruised from when she had—foolishly—admitted that she had already assigned her skills and refused to exchange them for the domestic ones that her mother had insisted upon. In hindsight, she really should have lied, the woman wouldn’t have been able to discern a difference between a level 6 [Cleaning] skill and Ranthia’s best unassisted efforts.

Learn and adapt, it was all Ranthia could do.

It was still frightfully short notice. How in Xaoc’s glorious name were they going to be ready to move in such a short timeframe?

A somewhat forgetful old lady that lived on the next street—one not quite as dingy as their own—was acquainted with Ranthia’s mother. The woman had sent them an offer to take anything they needed from her messy old storage cellar and Ranthia was all too eager to volunteer. It got her out of the house—her mother’s mood was downright sour while they packed their belongings—and Ranthia was cautiously optimistic that there might be more equipment that she could use mixed in.

It certainly couldn’t hurt, Ranthia told herself.

Getting access to the cellar took a frustrating amount of time and repetition, the old woman had completely forgotten her offer and, for some reason, completely failed to recognize Ranthia. Then there was the whole escapade over the efforts to relocate the key to the cellar, which was the key that Ranthia had pointed out almost immediately and got firmly told that wasn’t it. Then of course the cellar door was so disused that the hinges needed some work.

Of all the terrible things Ranthia felt when she finally descended into the basement, surprise was not one of them. The basement was damp and moldy. Ruined, rotted husks that were once baskets were scattered around, along with the barely recognizable remnants of some old cloth, and quite a few things so far past ruined that Ranthia wasn’t able to recognize what they had once been.

She scowled as she picked through the refuse to the shelves in the back, not that they seemed to be any better off. Cracked and ruined clay pots were scattered about on the bottom shelf. The next shelf had collapsed and was what had broken the clay pots. The next housed only a small cask that—given the potent aroma—had once contained wine long ago, before its structure failed.

Ranthia was forced to stand on her tiptoes to see something on the next shelf. It was something metal… a pair of shears!

Ranthia smiled to herself and reached for them, happy to have found something useful…

…only to freeze in her tracks when she heard a squeaky screech.

Ranthia yanked her hand away shortly before a pair of small teeth snapped down where her fingers had been—thank you [Dodging]—and hurriedly toggled [Identify].

[Rat] came back in a juuust slightly off-white that put its level around 18. Which wasn’t much, but it was three times her own level. For a classless child—skill-bearing classless, at least—the small rodent was deadly in the extreme.

Ranthia tried to back away slowly while she slipped her hand behind herself to the small hidden bit of fabric she had crudely sewn into her tunic. The makeshift hidden holster for her precious knife.

She had barely gripped the rag that served as the handle for the knife when the rodent decided to lunge for her.

[*ding!* [Dodging] has reached level 5!]

Ranthia hopped to the side and silenced System notifications while she brought her knife out.

Her mind stilled and focused. The situation was unfair, but life never allowed one to choose their own circumstances. And there was no space for distraction while she focused on something that could kill her so easily.

She had to count on [Boosted Reflexes] to—hopefully, and that was admittedly putting a lot of hope on a level 3 skill—warn her if any other rats showed up. Her opponent was smaller, faster, and—probably—stronger than she was.

The rat leapt at her again. [Combat] told her to strike, but whatever instincts or knowledge—or however it worked—that she maintained convinced her to ignore the level 2 skill, so she instead dodged once again.

Her best option was to wait for an opportunity to inflict an ideal strike, a fatal blow. A wounded animal was even more dangerous, after all.

Of course, Ranthia’s next dodge resulted in her getting trapped in the corner.

“Damned low-level combat skills!” Ranthia hissed.

Which was unfair, it was entirely her own fault that she forgot one of the many first rules of combat in the heat of the moment: never lose track of the terrain and your position. Situational awareness was key to survival.

The rat charged.

Ranthia lunged, a maneuver born out of desperation. It was dangerous, but when your back was (in this case, literally) against the wall, it was time to throw out sensibility!

[*ding!* You have slain a [Rat] (Poison, level 18)!]

It wasn’t exactly an elegant end to the fight. Ranthia was on her knees, with her knife buried in the rodent’s back, pierced through into the packed dirt of the ground beneath it. Had she missed or the rodent lived long enough to bite her, it probably would have killed her, especially since it had the advanced element Poison.

Ranthia exhaled slowly and failed to repress the shudder that ran through her body.

Mentally, she lambasted herself for getting so scared of a rat, even as she struggled to free her knife from the carcass. The blade had a new chip in it—far from the first—but was still reasonably intact.

Ranthia wiped the knife off in the dirt, stood while she returned the knife to its hiding place, grabbed the shears, and ran out of the cellar.

It was only after she returned home that she discovered that the stupid shears that she had almost died for were rusted to the point that they were permanently seized shut.

The day had finally arrived. Ranthia and her mother carried the sum of their belongings—which fit in few enough sacks that the duo managed to carry them—while they turned the corner to the gathering place for the convoy that planned to abandon Perinthus while the city recovered from the plagues.

And Ranthia immediately seized her mother’s sleeve and hissed up at her.

“I thought you said this was going to be a big convoy with lots of people!” Ranthia’s voice was urgent and distressed.

Her mother scowled at her.

“And what do you think over ten people is? Don’t you dare start being weird, not today! We have to travel with these people!” Her mother quietly snapped.

“It’s not enough! Let’s just wait for a different group or some merchants that we can travel with or something.” Ranthia argued.

Ranthia saw the blow long before it came. [Boosted Reflexes] coupled with [Combat] had noticed her mother’s arm tense up. The blow was so telegraphed that she could have easily dodged or countered it.

But she still took it. A backhand strike delivered across her cheek with enough force that it promised to bruise.

Ranthia glared at her mother unflinchingly, start to finish.

“It’s too dangerous.” Ranthia spat, once her mother was done.

“Shut up! Ever since I let that stupid girl mess with you, you haven’t been right! Just stay good and stay quiet, Amaranthia!” Her mother’s response was a bit too shrill.

People looked, but the woman ignored them and strode toward the group.

Ranthia cursed aloud and followed behind the foolishly stubborn woman.

Ranthia and her mother—the last to arrive, which proved that forenoon meant something distinctly different to Ranthia’s mother than any other being—made the group fifteen. Ranthia had briefly hoped a couple of guards that loitered nearby were escorting the group, but no, they were just… loitering. At least it wasn’t the guard that had caught her practicing with her knife the day before, he had probably figured out that she had lied about a large man with a tunic that was dyed bright red handing out knives to children near the docks. It was a stupid-on-its-face lie, but men that became guards or soldiers willingly often hunted for opportunities for glory, and that sort craved to be the one that stopped something like a conspiracy to arm children for nonspecific (and nonsensical) purposes.

It was a lie that Ranthia spun to prevent the man from telling her mother about her precious method for self-preservation. She needed the knife until she found a way to class up without her mother knowing. …Well, she still needed the knife after that too, but at least then she’d have some limited additional capacity to protect herself.

They were directed to add their belongings to one of two small non-covered wagons that were present. Wagons that were stacked haphazardly with the belongings of the group. While Ranthia and her mother untied the ropes that had lashed their bags to them and added the bags to the piles, Ranthia quietly assessed the group with [Identify].

There was a man that seemed obligated to attach “the baker” to his name every time he introduced himself—an [Artisan] that was level 67 by color—along with his two sons, the eldest of which was only a level 23 [Artisan] while the younger had yet to unlock.

The quiet one was a wispy teenage girl that looked like she had missed far too many meals—worse than Ranthia—that was a level 30 [Laborer]. She had a toddler in her arms—allegedly her sister—and had lost her parents to the plagues.

An obnoxious woman had cornered the quiet teen and was loudly bragging to her. The woman was, apparently, a former tavern wench who was convinced she was among the foremost beauties in Remus—Ranthia wasn’t even sure she was convinced that the bland woman with too much makeup was the most beautiful member of their tiny group—and planned to ‘get’ a rich husband. She was a level 54 [Laborer], which Ranthia suspected was barely decent even for someone who probably hadn’t had her 24th birthday yet.

A young teenage couple carefully kept a wagon between themselves and the obnoxious woman, they held hands and were—from what Ranthia overheard—probably betrothed to one another. [Laborer] level 32 for the female—and Ranthia suspected she was waiting to find a new job before she classed up—while her fiancé was [Laborer] level 29.

A visibly pregnant woman that looked sad and miserable was with three children, all of whom were younger than Ranthia. The woman looked older than Ranthia’s mother but was only a level 39 [Laborer]—well behind Ranthia’s mother’s level 44 [Laborer]—and seemed to just kind of tune out the world every chance she got.

The highest leveled person, such as he was, had very clearly put himself in charge of the group. A level 79 [Laborer] who had a poorly maintained axe and clothing that was positively infested with pieces of leaves and wood. He barked orders at the group that were largely ignored while everyone struggled to get underway.

Yet at long last, the group began to move and Ranthia was forced to hope for the best. They were too few—and far too low level—for true safety. It seemed the men and women intended to trust their fates to the gods.

Three days into the journey, Ranthia was convinced she would still see Perinthus if she climbed a tree. The pace was far worse than merely sedate. The wagons were pulled by stubborn donkeys instead of horses, but the real slowdown was the people. The baker and the teen couple each owned one of the wagons and they had decided for the group that the wagons were for everyone to put their belongings and luggage in, so no one got the ‘unfair’ advantage of riding in the wagons. Not even the smallest children were allowed to ride, and the entire group walked. The donkeys were led on foot, and the group moved—glacially—in a shapeless blob around the wagons.

The group not only moved slowly, but they also stopped constantly for breaks and settled in nice and early on the side of the road to camp every evening. And yet, most of their number complained about the pace—somehow—being too fast and hard! Ranthia’s hopes for actual privacy during the journey were dashed, but she still made use of the breaks to duck out of immediate sight while she practiced with her knife. The physical labor, coupled with her training, helped her to slowly gain additional natural stat points, though Ranthia doubted with the pace that was set that she had any shot at natural points in speed.

As with most things in life, everything went from perfectly mundane to shit with almost zero notice.

One moment, the group ambled on as it had for days. The 6-year-old girl—from the sad, widowed mother—was, as usual, making an effort to befriend Ranthia. Ranthia was ignoring the little chatterbox, just as always.

The next, the teen boy—from the young couple—put his foot down and their weirdly peaceful journey changed irrevocably.

Ranthia’s eye—probably guided by [Boosted Reflexes]—was drawn forward when the boy seemed to trip.

He had stepped on a snake that had blended in with the dust of the road while it sunned itself. The movement that caught Ranthia’s attention was his reaction to the snakebite that he received in his leg.

But the snake’s malevolent vengeance wasn’t done, it seemed. The thing coiled, then outright launched itself through the air. Out of malice, the venomous noperope had decided to go for the child that delusionally expected friendship with Ranthia.

Ranthia had just enough warning to grab her knife and draw it from its hiding place. There was no time for [Identify], there was no time to try to turn and shove the child clear of the attack. All Ranthia could do was interpose her knife in the snake’s trajectory and put her hopes in her level 8 [Combat] and [Knives] skills, as they coached an adjustment in the angle of her knife.

The serpent’s mouth was open, its fangs were bared and ready to plunge into young flesh.

The knife perfectly slipped under the fangs and caught the snake between its jaws.

[*ding!* You have slain a [Snake] (Poison, level 39)!]

The snake bisected along the knife’s edge halfway down its body before its momentum bled off.

In the aftermath, Ranthia nearly dropped the knife while she reeled from the shock—both mental and physical—of what had just happened. Level 39. The damned thing’s fangs stopped just short of the little girl’s throat. It had all happened so fast. And it was more luck than skill that Ranthia had even managed to interpose her knife so perfectly!

With an opponent at that level, with that speed, Ranthia could have ended up dead oh-so-easily. If it had managed to dodge her blade or had higher vitality, there would have been nothing she could have done; she wasn’t even confident her knife would have survived the impact had she not woven it beneath the snake’s fangs. It was a simple snake that likely could have slain everyone in the caravan with ease, despite a few of the adults—none of which possessed a single combat class—technically out leveling it.

And it was, in many ways, one of the least of the hazards that potentially faced the group. Predatory beasts, monsters, dinosaurs, and worse were out there.

Had things played out even slightly differently, Ranthia knew, without a doubt, that she would have died before she had even accomplished a single thing!

The group came to a chaotic stop, with more than a few screams and a healthy amount of raw panic. Ranthia was so absorbed in her thoughts—and okay, yes, more than a little shellshocked—that she hadn’t even thought to stow her knife. Her mother saw it, and Ranthia saw the moment that the woman saw it. That was a problem for later though, since the group was focused on the teenage boy that had already collapsed and the dead snake. Or, at least, that’s where everyone’s focus went once people realized the danger was over.

The group collapsed inward as everyone rushed toward either the collapsed boy or Ranthia. The 6-year-old—that Ranthia probably should have learned the name of—bawled in her mother’s arms. Sticky, gross gratitude was offered to Ranthia from the girl’s younger sister while she leaked from her eyes and her nose and generally tried to get that disgusting mess everywhere that she could manage. Others in the group still panicked, just to be safe. The brave axe-wielding [Laborer] loudly promised the others that the snake must have been weak if a girl could kill it, even as the teenage boy’s flesh discolored from the venom.

Ranthia sorely doubted that anyone was reassured by such a ridiculous display of sexism.

Sense finally prevailed and bags and belongings were shuffled around to make space in one of the wagons, and the teenager was loaded onto it by the adults. He would be fine with rest, the adults lied. Ranthia’s mother was busy in a hopeless effort to distract the boy’s betrothed, which created an opportunity.

That had been too damned close, Ranthia needed to be at least a little more than she was. No one else took the danger they were in seriously. She refused to entrust her survival to incompetence!

“I need to rest.” Ranthia whispered to the nearby adults while she climbed into the wagon next to the teen boy. She moved before anyone thought to stop her.

She was done with permission and playing the part of a child.

Ranthia settled in as best she could—no one had really intended space for two when they shifted luggage for the poisoned boy—while she reviewed her status.

[Name: Ranthia]

[Species: Human]

[Age: 8]

[Mana: 100/100]

[Mana Regen Rate: 63]

[Stats:]

[Free Stats: 0]

[Strength: 5]

[Dexterity: 13]

[Vitality: 5]

[Speed: 6]

[Mana: 10]

[Mana Regeneration: 10]

[Magic Power: 6]

[Magic Control: 6]

[Class 1: [Child of Pallos – Water (8)] +]

[Class skills not available for initial classes]

[Class 2: Locked]

[Class 3: Locked]

[General Skills:]

[Identify: 8]

[Combat: 8]

[Knives: 8]

[Dodging: 7]

[Boosted Reflexes: 8]

[Fast Learner: 7]

[Meditate: 8]

[Cute: 5]

Ranthia would have preferred to wait until she got the rest of her skills up to level 8, but life wasn’t conducive to waiting, it seemed. She needed power.

There was a temptation—a strong one—to abandon her plans and take a [Warrior] class that provided her greater immediate capabilities… but no. Ranthia refused to burn her future for a bit more safety in the moment.

It was time to become a Light [Mage]. When she reached level 64, she would gain her second class and use it to become a Metal [Mage].

She could only rely on herself for her survival. So, it was time for her to take the first step to the Mirror [Mage] class she envisioned.

Ranthia triggered her first class up of her life and fell into the world within.

Every being on Pallos had their own world within, at least as far as Ranthia knew. Some said it was the shape of their soul, some claimed it was the mind’s best efforts to grasp the shape of the System, and others likely had their own explanations. There was always a guide as well, a faux persona that assisted people with their class ups. For Ranthia, she just considered the place to be ‘the world within’ and it was strangely familiar, despite being unrecognizable.

The instant she allowed herself to toggle the class up and entered the world within, Ranthia was immediately inside a relatively small room that connected to a narrow, long corridor where short swords were hung, racked, and stored. It was an armory, and she knew it as such, not that she had ever seen one before, at least not in this lifetime. The path further into the corridor was blocked by a counter and, behind that counter, stood an older version of Ranthia garbed in a vaguely military style of what seemed to be holy vestments of Xaoc.

The older Ranthia, her guide, nodded to her younger self in greeting. The woman was of indeterminate age and Ranthia would have been hard pressed to describe her to anyone else. She just was… Ranthia, as an adult.

“You have come.” The guide pronounced. The woman’s stance was formal, and her tone of voice was mostly formal, though tinged with a hint of amusement.

Ranthia nodded to the woman—to herself, arguably—before she allowed herself to be distracted briefly while she eyed the swords that waited beyond the counter. Each blade represented a class option, though many represented classes that were closed to her; classes she had either failed to meet the minimum requirements for or were too far removed from who she was.

The mechanisms of how things worked was unsurprisingly intuitive, given this was her own world within herself. She instinctively knew that the color of the wrap on the grip denoted the class quality, while the stone—cut with facets in the shape of the symbol of the five gods—of the pommel indicated the element. Most wraps were grey—the color of a class she failed to meet the requirements for—but there were a variety of whites and reds in a myriad of shades, along with a few oranges and a single dull yellow.

Then, in a place of honor—yet sealed within a metal display case—rested a solitary blade with its hilt wrapped in blue, the path of the [Paladin] she could never be again. It was to be respected and venerated, but not a blade she would ever be allowed to carry. Oddly, she was reassured to see it there, nonetheless. It was nice to know that she still had a sufficient connection with Xaoc to qualify for the class, even if she was forever unable to take it.

Ranthia drew the wooden training sword that represented her current class and gently set it on the counter. Once that was done, she nodded to her guide and smiled with a confidence that she definitely didn’t feel.

This was it, she would either truly begin her journey down her chosen path of survival or hit a major stumbling block. In theory, she supposed that she should be able to recover, even if she had no good classes in the direction she planned this time around. But her planned class build was a slow path forward, even at best. In the worst case, there was a real risk that she might end up trapped as a dependent until the level 768 class up, which wasn’t a valid option.

If this class up and her next both went poorly, she’d basically be forced to abandon her plans and seek out some alternative path.

So, yes, she was more than a little nervous.

“You know our goal, give me the class that takes us furthest on that path.” Ranthia requested with a tone that almost, sort of, managed to hide just how dreadfully electrified her nerves felt.

The guide bowed formally and swept up the wooden training sword. It was stashed in a basket with zero fanfare before the adult version of Ranthia journeyed back among the stored weaponry. The woman—Ranthia stole the opportunity to admire her future self, she wasn’t half bad—paused often as she examined various swords visually. A rare few were lifted to be examined, before they were returned to their rack. The guide always kept a respectful distance from the blade with the blue-wrapped hilt, of course. It was a monument to what they could never be, nothing more.

At length the guide returned with a blade with a hilt wrapped in pale red. She offered it hilt-first to her younger self with a confident nod. Ranthia reverently took the blade and silently absorbed its story.

[Magissistant – Light]. Your magic abilities are still limited, but you’re still quite small. Fortunately for you, sometimes mages need someone that can assist them with their own work. Less than a proper apprentice, you’ll never conjure your own light… so seize what is around you. Shape your destiny. +2 Mana, +2 Mana Regeneration, +1 Magic Power, +1 Magic Control per level.

It was more or less perfect. The class was weaker than a traditional [Apprentice Mage] class would be, though to be fair Ranthia fell short of the typical requirements for [Apprentice Mage] since she had failed to get all four of her magic stats to level 10. The loss of [Light Conjuration] was annoying, but as the class pointed out there was—at least usually—light around that could be seized. Intuitively she knew that the class would have basically no offensive capability, but with some time and effort it promised to be an almost perfect first step toward her plans.

Ranthia was flooded with relief. She gripped the blade tightly by its hilt, as if worried that some implausible and unprecedented issue would arise, and some force would try to take the blade from her. It was the most precious object she had ever held in her short new life, never mind the fact that it was just a representation of the potential within her and thus wasn’t actually an object.

“I’ll take it. Happily. …I’ve got to ask though, what’s the yellow one back there?” Path assured, Ranthia allowed herself to spare a moment to indulge in curiosity.

“[Small Serpent Slayer – Wood]. A warrior class specialized and wholly focused on killing small snakes. You would be able to punch up significantly above your level, but only against snakes.” Her guide replied automatically, with a hint of a smirk.

That was… pretty bad. Ultra narrow focuses typically had no future and, even with her limited and eclectic knowledge set, she somehow felt like killing every single snake in an area was harmful. It just wasn’t a good class, which made it far easier to pass on the high stats it had to offer without regret.

The moment Ranthia concluded her introspection about [Small Serpent Slayer], her guide spoke up.

“…I do have to ask, are you certain you want to continue the path you planned? A broader [Warrior] tagged class like one of the red ones focused around using knives in combat would give you a better chance to survive your current journey. There are also [Mage] classes that could actually deal damage.”

Ranthia knew that her alternate self had only mentioned it because Ranthia’s own heart was still a bit uncertain. Her path was risky, but…

Ranthia sighed and, with an effort of will, crushed her uncertainty mercilessly.

“There is no sense in crippling my plans and my future to gain an advantage in the short term.” Ranthia reminded herself aloud.

“May those words not grace our funeral pyre,” her guide replied.

Ranthia was less than amused and glared at her guide. Yes, she was aware that this was her own inner self, but she could do without scathing commentary from herself!

“Until next time then.” Guide and true self nodded to one another.

With that, Ranthia sheathed her new class and turned to leave the realm within. She was ready to face reality, with the first step on her true journey in hand.