Captain Roan stepped off the skiff first, boots thumping onto the Skycutter’s weathered planks. The deck swayed beneath us with that steady, familiar roll. The air was fresh again, free of the smell of dirt and smoke. Oddly I found that I missed them.

  The young man I’d seen playing dice was the first to greet us. Up close, he looked close to my age; a few years younger, with wind-tangled blond hair and the restless energy that comes from youth. He had a brown shirt which he left open, showing the world his tanned bare chest with not a single hair to show for his years. He really was young.

  “Sorry, Captain,” he said. “But, eh… the missus wants to see you. And, uh…” He winced. “She’s pissed.”

  Roan’s face went from pleasant delight to terror in the span of a heartbeat. He grabbed the kid by the coat and hauled him close. “What did she say?”

  “Roan!” a voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of the ship. The sound carried like the clap of thunder through timber. A coil of rope rattled. A lantern clinked on its hook. I felt it vibrate in my teeth.

  Roan snapped his fingers over his pipe. An electrical spark arced out and smoke lifted a moment later, curling upwards as if to escape the inescapable.

  “Tell her I’m tired from my trip and that I’ll be in the cabin—”

  “Roan!” the voice roared again, and the entire ship shuddered in response.

  “By the Dragon,” the boy muttered, eyes wide, “you’ve got to talk to your wife. Don’t involve the rest of us… sir.”

  Captain Roan released him and turned to me, desperation written plain across his face. “Torren, my lad, you’ve got to help me.” The captain, whom I had just seen carve a boss monster apart, dropped to one knee in front of me, with the entire crew as witness, and clasped my hand as if I were his last chance at mercy. “Tell her I was helping you. My wife’s got a temper, but she’s got a soft spot for you young folk.”

  “If you want my advice,” the young man said, “I wouldn’t get involved. The captain dug his own grave. Best you let him lie in it.”

  Roan glared. “Whose side are you on, Finn?”

  Finn jerked a thumb behind him. “I’m with her.”

  “Pssh. Traitor.”

  Finn gave a dismissive laugh, the sound light and practiced. He’d said that before. Probably a lot.

  Roan turned back to me, eyes pleading. “You’ll help, right?”

  “I…” I hesitated, and Roan’s expression somehow managed to get even more desperate. It was ridiculous. It was also… strangely human of him. I’d not realized that until that moment; I’d seen the captain as more than that. But there was no mistaking it… definitely human. “Yeah, sure. You were helping me, after all.”

  “Pfft,” Finn said. “That’s a mistake. But don’t worry, we’ve all made the mistake of getting between the captain and his lovely wife. You’ll see.”

  “You’ve always been a yellow-bellied sycophant, Finn,” Roan snapped.

  “And you’ve always been a good-for-nothing lazy captain, Captain,” Finn shot back, grinning.

  They stared at each other for a long moment… and then they both broke and laughed. Finn clapped Roan on the shoulder, hard enough to make the captain stumble a half-step.

  Another tremor ran through the planks.

  Roan stood, straightened, and rolled his shoulders like a man preparing to take a gut-punch. “Alright,” he said. “Best we meet fate head-on. Steel yourself, boy.”

  I swallowed. I’d watched Roan cleave a monster in two and blast its head clean off. What could he possibly be afraid of?

  Roan started toward the foredeck. I followed. Crew members watched us pass with a strange kind of reverence. Some went still. A few removed their hats. Others turned away as if they didn’t want to witness what came next.

  My stomach tightened.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea?

  I soon saw exactly why.

  With her arms crossed stood a woman who was not a woman; made of wood, dragon-like in silhouette, and alive. So alive. She was the Skycutter’s figurehead, like Pyrax on the Galeheart, but different in every way that mattered. Where Pyrax had been harsh angles and predator lines, this figure had been carved with softened curves: a dragon’s muzzle refined toward something almost human. She had an ample bust and a posture that radiated authority. Her long hair had been shaped into the wood in flowing strands, yet it moved as if it were real. It swayed with the ship’s motion, lifting in the breeze. Even the grain of her body looked deliberate. True artistry.

  My breath caught.

  Roan elbowed me in the ribs. “Hey,” he hissed, “pick your jaw up off the floor and show some respect. That’s my wife you’re ogling.”

  “Your… wife!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  “Raela,” Roan announced, stepping forward and throwing his hands up toward the sky. “Aren’t you looking lovely today?”

  “Shut it,” the figurehead seethed. The words weren’t just heard; they vibrated through the bow, through the rope, and the planks. “Oh, you may be the captain, Roan, but you’re still mine. Mine!” Her eyes narrowed, and the air seemed to tighten around them. “And when something of mine goes off to a dangerous place like an island without so much as a word, well, what’s a woman to do but worry?” She leaned forward slightly, wood creaking. “And you know how much I hate to worry.”

  “It couldn’t be helped, love,” Roan said, all charm and panic-stricken. “You see, we saved a poor lad from certain doom, and I had some business—”

  “What is everyone looking at?” Raela snapped.

  The crew, who had stopped to stare at the scene, scattered back to their tasks like ants. Ropes jumped in hands. Deckwork resumed. Nobody wanted to be caught out of place, but I could still feel the prying eyes of the stolen glances they shot our way.

  Raela’s gaze returned to Roan, and for an instant her eyes seemed to glow gold. “None of what you say excuses your not speaking to me first, but we’ll discuss this in-depth later, Roan.”

  Then her sharp dragon eyes slid to me.

  “Now then,” she asked, “who are you?”

  “T-T—” My tongue snagged. My throat suddenly felt tight. Words failed me. By the clouds, my legs almost failed me. They felt like heated rubber.

  “Come now,” Raela said, words long and drawn… seductive.

  My heart hammered in my chest at her every word.

  Roan noticed and grumbled a curse under his breath.

  “Don’t be shy,” she continued. “Come closer so that I may look at you.”

  Roan sputtered. “Now, wait a minute,” he protested. “I know that tone. You need to wait until—”

  “Wait?” Raela repeated, mocking the man’s attempt at authority. “I need do no such thing.” Her smile sharpened. “You are the captain, yes—but I represent Skyreach itself. And since you do not take heed of my feelings, I will take no heed of yours.”

  Roan removed his white-feathered hat and pressed it against his heart. “Sorry, lad,” he said, eyes going soft. “I tried.”

  “Step forward,” Raela commanded. It wasn’t a request. “Let me get a closer look at you.”

  I stepped back instinctively. “Maybe another time—”

  Raela lunged like a viper out of old stories, wood groaning, and caught me with clawed hands. She was larger than an average woman, but not by much; yet close enough that the strength behind her grip felt wrong. Impossible. She hauled me in as if I weighed nothing at all.

  Up close, I could see the careful craft of her: the soft curvature of her shape, the way her features blended dragon and woman. Where Pyrax’s wooden claws had been sharp and hard, Raela’s hands were carved with an almost gentle elegance; until her nails made that illusion a lie. Those tips were razor-sharp and dangerous.

  “Pyrax,” she muttered under her breath.

  That’s when I noticed that she did breathe. What sort of wood needed to breathe?

  “How did you—”

  Roan’s voice cut in. “On this ship, lad, nothing escapes Raela.” He gave me a look that was half apology, half warning. “And brace yourself. Things are about to get weird.”

  “How could they get weirder—”

  Raela’s claws slid through my hair, then down my neck. The touch was intimate and threatening at the same time. I felt the sharpness of her nails drag across my skin; light enough not to cut, but deliberate enough to remind me she could. On a whim, I knew she could tear me open like wet paper.

  “So you wish to join the Skycutter, do you?” she asked. “Does fear still your tongue?”

  I forced my shoulders back. Forced my voice steady. “Yes,” I said. “I wish to join the crew.”

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  “Well then,” Roan said, “that should be fine for today—”

  Raela unfurled her massive wings, which had been folded behind her, and with one beat she sent a shockwave of air across the deck.

  It slammed Roan and threw him backward. He hit the base of the foremast with a thud, pipe tumbling from his hand. The contents of it scattered across the planks, and the wind snatched them away in a gust.

  Roan groaned. “Now look what you’ve done—”

  Raela pinned him with a dagger-like stare.

  Roan raised both hands in mock defeat, then wisely shut up.

  “Now then,” Raela said, turning back to me. “Will you pledge yourself before me, your captain, and the crew? Here? Now?”

  “Yes,” I replied, surprised at how quickly the word came.

  Raela smiled, and even the sharpness of her teeth looked feminine. “Then bow,” she said, “and offer something of yourself to me. Someone give the boy a knife.”

  Finn strolled past as if he were simply waiting for the moment and dropped a knife. It sank into the deck boards with a solid thunk.

  Raela shot him a dangerous glare.

  Finn mouthed a silent apology and kept walking.

  “A piece of myself?” I asked, staring at the knife.

  “Aye,” Raela replied. “So that we know the depth of your commitment.”

  Silence fell. The crew stopped working again. Hands pausing on ropes, eyes angling toward the bow. The wind hissed through the rigging, punctuating the silence.

  I stared at the knife. Then I glanced at Roan.

  He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He chewed on the stem of his pipe, suddenly fascinated by the deck as he ran his hand across the base of the foremast.

  A piece of me... She was asking for a sacrifice of flesh.

  My mind spun with questions. What would they do if I refused? Would they hate me? Would they throw me off the ship after all? Would Roan’s “welcome” vanish like his pipe-smoke the moment I disappointed him?

  And the worst part was this: I didn’t want them to hate me. I didn’t want to leave.

  For the first time, I had to admit the truth I’d been dodging; this was what I wanted. It’s what I had always wanted:

  Acceptance.

  I grabbed the knife, set my left hand on the deck with my pinky extended, and slashed down in one fluid, unending motion.

  Raela caught my wrist.

  Roan let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “What are you doing, lad?” Raela asked, her shock trembling through the planks. “All I’m asking for is a bit of blood, not your whole bloody finger.”

  She released me.

  “I… wait, what?” Heat flooded my face.

  The crew exploded into gallows laughter.

  “He was really going to do it,” a woman shouted, delighted.

  “He’s got some balls on him, that’s for sure,” a man echoed.

  I stared at Roan. He gave me a derisive shrug.

  My face burned hotter. Jaw clenched, I slit a small line into my palm and held it out. “Here,” I said, cutting through the chatter.

  The laughter died in a moment.

  Raela reached out and, with the very tip of her wooden claw, dipped into the blood pooling in my palm. Then she bent down. Her wooden form was surprisingly flexible, moving with a womanly grace.

  She began scribbling on the planks.

  Only then did I notice the marks already there. There were dozens of them, written in old red stains beneath the figurehead. Names? All of them. They layered over one another like scribbled history.

  With a flick of her claw, Raela straightened. “And done.”

  Power surged through me.

  My knees hit the deck before I could stop them. The world tilted.

  Ah, Raela said inside my head. There you are. We are connected now.

  It was so loud I clapped my hands over my ears, but it didn’t muffle anything. Her voice wasn’t so much a sound, but a presence.

  That won’t do you much good. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.

  As if she willed it, those last words softened. They still rang out in my mind, but they no longer sounded like a shout. I slowly lowered my hands, breathing hard.

  Raela lifted her chin and used her real voice again. “You are one of us now,” she announced. “A Skycutter. Let us celebrate. Let us feast. Let us—”

  “Wait!” a crewmember called out from the crowd. “What class is he?”

  “Yeah,” another voice chimed in. “Read him.”

  “Oh, fuck yeah,” someone else said. “Anyone taking bets?”

  “I’ve got XP Cores on him being a brawler,” a man shouted.

  “Brawler?” a woman scoffed. “Nah, look how scrawny he is. Definitely a caster. I’ll match you.”

  Shouting broke out. Arguments, wagers, and grinning faces. Smaller Echo Cores changed hands like coins, clicking softly as they changed hands over and over again.

  Raela looked down at me knowingly, lips curling into a sickly smile that promised pain yet to come.

  My breath caught. Dread crawled up my spine.

  I took a step back. “Maybe we should think about this—”

  Something wooden cracked me on the forehead.

  It didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like anything at all.

  But the world went dark. Black. I saw nothing and felt nothing. For a terrified second I wondered if I’d gone blind. If I’d died—

  No. Not dead.

  I felt myself falling.

  Falling…

  Falling…

  And then I hit the ground.

  ***

  I sucked in a breath. It burned my lungs.

  Good. Pain meant I was still alive. I rubbed my sore forehead. For better or worse, anyway.

  I pushed myself up and stared around at my surroundings… or rather, the lack of them. I stood in emptiness. Nothingness. Dark in every direction. I looked out and felt nothing at all staring back.

  Had I been thrown from the ship? Was this purgatory? Hell?

  Hardly, Raela said in my mind.

  “Where am I?” I asked, voice echoing into the void.

  Think it to me.

  Where… am… I…

  Is thinking hard for you, young one? It isn’t difficult. Slow and steady now.

  I sighed through my nose. Where am I?

  Better, Raela replied. And you are on the ship. Your body, at least. I see you now. You are safe—er, scratch that. They are drawing something on your face. It looks like… male genitalia?

  … Great.

  I agree. Crude. Don’t worry, the hooligans will catch extra duty for that little stunt.

  So why am I here? Wherever here is?

  Suddenly my mind flooded with emotions and memories that weren’t mine. Flashes of laughter, grief, and rage swirled in my head like a storm. I tried to grasp onto one, but it slipped from my fingers like the grainy strands of a dream.

  Sorry, Raela said. It’s always tricky with the new ones. Now tell me: what do you see?

  What do I see? I replied. Nothing!

  Are you sure?

  Yes, I’m sure—

  I blinked. The darkness disappeared. And in its wake…

  Light!

  A white room appeared around me, empty and clean. The floor had a soft bounce beneath my feet. Padding covered all four walls, and the ceiling as well. A padded room.

  Good, Raela said. Now tell me what you see to your left.

  I turned. A chest sat there all alone. It was identical to the one the boss had left behind on the island after Roan had killed it.

  Open it.

  I stepped closer, leaned down, and pushed it open. The lid snapped back easily, unlike the chest on the island. Inside was a glittering treasure trove of Echo Cores in every color, light pulsing within each.

  Are you going to tell me what we’re doing? I asked.

  This is a test, Raela replied. While your body is on the ship, your mind is within mine. Here, I can test your abilities; to see how best you fight. Do you know of the various classes?

  Some, I admitted. We used to talk about the constables. Those who ascended to become more. Those who survived and came back stronger. They returned with certain powers. Everyone knows that much. Let’s see… there is brawler, speedster, enfeebler—

  Yes, yes, Raela replied. You know a few. You understand the idea. These classes are a rudimentary way to see which Echo Cores you take to best. You can use any core you’re able to, but attunement matters. That being said: we’re here to test your class. If you’d be so kind, pick up a red core.

  I reached in, found a red one, and lifted it. It was cool against my skin, glass-smooth, untold power humming just beneath the surface.

  Do you feel anything?

  Just like on the island, I felt something waiting within the orb.

  A bit, I replied.

  Then try to use it.

  In front of me, a small creature appeared. It was short, with a long crooked nose, bat-like ears, and gnarled teeth. A jagged dagger glinted in its hand.

  My heart stopped.

  Don’t be frightened.

  But—

  It’s merely a figment of my imagination.

  But this thing… Is it real?

  More or less, Raela replied. Or should I say, goblins do exist, but not this one. Now go on: use the core and strike it.

  Aren’t these supposed to be implanted in my skin?

  Socketed, Raela corrected. And they don’t have to be, but your attunement is greater if they are. Now stop stalling.

  I remembered how I’d used the first Echo I had held. I drew in power and felt it surge through me. I stepped forward and threw a punch at the creature’s face—

  Nothing.

  The creature didn’t react at all.

  Wait a moment, Raela said. Ah. Yes. That isn’t an attribute Echo. It’s a skill Echo. Here:

  A box popped into vision.

  Ground Slam (Lvl 1): Brawler Echo Core — Slam the ground with a blunt weapon or fist to create fissures. Can be linked with elemental Echoes for various effects.

  What was that?

  I felt Raela’s pride sharpen. It is the System. Namely, my System. Through it, I can show you information: enemies, items, just about anything I know. Much more efficient than spoken word, right?

  I shrugged. None of this felt real enough for confidence.

  Now give it another shot.

  I stared at the creature, stepped forward, and punched the ground just in front of its feet.

  A thin crack split the padding. Air hissed from the seam. The fissure raced under the goblin, then faded, leaving only superficial tearing in the fabric.

  Was that good?

  Did it kill the goblin?

  I… no.

  Then it wasn’t good. Try another.

  Over and over, I tried. I used a yellow Echo and my feet moved at speeds I never thought possible; right into an adjacent wall, which I hit hard enough to rattle my teeth. I used a purple core and pain lanced behind my eyes until I thought my skull would split open. I tried an off-white core and nothing happened at all.

  Eventually, I found a core that swirled with multiple colors, but more curious than that was the black shape inside, shaped like a claw.

  Interesting, Raela mused. Give it a try.

  I held it up.

  Claw of the Cockatrice (Lvl 1): Changer Echo Core — Transform your hand or hands into that of a deadly Cockatrice. Gains increased durability, damage, and Poison 1 on claw strikes.

  There was no point asking if any of this made sense anymore.

  I stepped forward and embraced the Echo.

  Light flashed.

  When it faded, my hand was no longer my own.

  Vibrant scales of blues and greens, covered where my hand had been. Four powerful black nails curved from my finger tips like knives. I stared, stunned, flexing slowly.

  Attack! Raela commanded.

  I stepped forward and swiped.

  Hot blood splattered my face. Flesh hung like tattered rope between my clawed fingers. Where the goblin had been, there was only a mess of meat.

  I stood there, breathing hard, heart hammering, staring at what I’d done. And somewhere behind my shock, I felt it:

  Raela’s satisfaction

  I name thee… Changer.