Jack approached the nearest temple, its red-brick fa?ade glowing in the midday sun. Two Anubian guards lounged by the carved wooden doors, one scratching beneath his jackal helm while the other stifled a yawn. Their spears leaned against the doorframe.

  The temple was dedicated to Demeter, the Goddess of the harvest, fertility, and the earth. Red brick, rare and costly, spoke of wealth and divine favour. In Lundun, only temples, important city buildings, and noble estates dared such opulence. Common homes wore the muted colours of sandstone and timber, pulled from local quarries and nearby forests. Their only embellishments were exposed copper and brass aether conduits connecting the property to the grid.

  The wood carvings on the temple doors depicted Demeter with a smile on her carved lips. The Goddess was amid fields of golden wheat and apples tumbling from overflowing baskets.

  Jack’s gaze drifted to the Goddess’ chest, where two ripe watermelons were cupped in her arms. He blinked, then snorted. “Demeter must have a sense of humour. Or the craftsman had a death wish and a thing for melons.”

  He stood before the beautifully carved doors while considering whether the temple of Nemesis would be more fitting. Vengeance, retribution, and balance felt closer to his truth than fertility and grain. In his old life, he’d prayed to Nemesis more times than he could remember. Begged her for justice and revenge, but the Goddess never answered. The Viscount survived, and Jack died.

  In truth, it didn’t matter which temple he visited; they all had a Choosing Stone, and he’d only be there for a few minutes.

  As he stepped inside the temple, the divine presence of Demeter washed over him like a warm autumn breeze, filling him with a comforting vitality. Jack paused, closed his eyes and took a moment to bask in Demeter’s embrace; he felt more alive than ever. The scent of ripe apples and grain filled the air. High above, songbirds flitted through the rafters, their delicate melodies forming a sacred chorus that echoed through the vaulted space.

  All sixteen-year-olds would choose their first class, which would start at level 0, Novice. After reaching the level 25 milestone, they’d get to choose either an upgrade to apprentice or a new level 0 novice class. Depending on the class and the individual, this could take anywhere from a little over four years to over a decade. Simple combat classes like warrior and archer were the fastest levelling, while the mage classes were the slowest and required extensive understanding of the class.

  Jack recalled with a smile how, before he’d even had breakfast, he’d rushed to one of Hermes’ temples and shoved his palm against the Choosing Stone. He chose Novice Scribe and ran home to celebrate.

  He paused in front of the Choosing Stone and took a deep breath before placing his hand on it. Like the first time he did this, it glowed blue, and he was presented with a list of classes to choose from. His eyes widened.

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  When he was sixteen, he’d been presented with sixteen options: Administrator, Artist, Cartographer, Cook, Draughtsman, Historian, Housekeeper, Librarian, Linguist, Mage, Maid, Mathematician, Researcher, Scholar, Student, and, of course, Scribe.

  All predictable, given his background and studies. Even at nineteen, after reaching level 25, he’d only been offered a handful of new Novice choices: Bard, Dancer, Jeweller, and Poet.

  As a teenager, Jack had never touched a weapon in that lifetime—letter openers didn’t count—so no combat classes were offered. Now, however, the list was extensive. He could choose from over fifty classes. He’d never heard of any sixteen-year-old having so many options.

  [Class Selection Screen-Internal View]

  [Available classes: Student, Maid, Artist, Housekeeper, Researcher, Cook, Administrator, Scribe, Draughtsman, Librarian, Linguist, Mathematician, Scholar, Historian, Mage, Cartographer, Dancer, Jeweller, Poet, Bard, Blood Mage, Explorer, Beggar, Thief, Labourer, Actor, Woodsman, Carpenter, Tailor, Negotiator, Merchant, Farmer, Baker, Stable Hand, Horseman, Wanderer, Ice Mage, Fire Mage, Earth Mage, Priest, Architect, Outcast, Priest of Nemesis, Time Mage, Trapsmith, Brewmeister, Herbologist, Alchemist, Hunter, Swordsman, Warrior, Spearman, Hermit, Archer, Scout, Ranger, Blacksmith, Knight, Infiltrator, Tracker, Spy, Assassin, Rogue, Poisoner, Inquisitor, Priest of Demeter.]

  Not only was the list extensive, but scribe was stricken out. His affinities had also shifted.

  [Affinities Screen-Internal View]

  [Fate 71%

  Time 62%

  Void 55%

  Divine 44%

  Arcane 43%

  Chaos 37%

  Death 34%

  Light 32%

  Earth 25%

  Darkness 25%

  Sound 21%

  Healing 21%

  Psychic 20%

  Blood 18%

  Fire 16%

  Metal 15%

  Space 15%

  Ice 14%

  Air 13%

  Luck 13%

  Water 11%

  Poison 10%

  Lightning 9%

  Nature 8%

  Gravity 3%]

  His breath caught. “No. That can’t be right. By the Gods, what’s happening?” Jack was in shock. For a moment, he considered whether the System was broken, but dismissed the idea. No, the System couldn’t be wrong. It was made by the Gods; wasn’t it perfect?

  Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he realised he couldn’t select scribe. “Why? But. I…” He took a deep breath to calm his rising panic. Why have my affinities changed so much? There are so many classes; I’ve not trained for any… The realisation hit mid-thought. He had trained for many of these classes in his first life, but it was after he’d chosen Apprentice Scribe at level 25.

  He’d begged for food when his body was still broken from the fire. Worked as a labourer on a farm for a few months to earn coin. Brewed beer. Mended clothing. Practised with a bow, a sword, and a spear. Repaired tools. Inscribed mage spells onto scrolls, leading him to study various schools of magic. He’d scouted and tracked people and animals.

  The list of classes was a roadmap to Jack’s past life. Classes were listed in the order they were unlocked, and some of the earlier entries linked back to his time with Jasmin. Dancer, jeweller, poet, and bard; all related to his efforts courting her.

  He flushed bright red at the memory of crafting her a silver earring for her birthday; the gift was paired with a cheesy poem about her smile. She’d loved it, but the workmanship was so poor it snapped in half within weeks.

  I should become a Novice Jeweller and make her a proper earring. Jack smiled at the silly notion and all the options before him, until his eyes widened again. Maybe I can still get revenge, not as a scribe, but something more lethal.