Awaken Online: Ember (Tarot #1)

by Bagwell, Travis

  Yet the most noticeable difference was his legs. It was like someone had shut off a switch at his waist, leaving behind… nothing. There was no feeling at all, which felt strange given the number of hours he had spent in-game. It was startling – and a bit unnerving – how quickly his mind had adapted to a different body.

  As he pulled off the helmet, the screens of Finn’s workstation flickered into existence, giving off a harsh blue light.

  “Hello, sir. Welcome back,” Daniel spoke up, his voice echoing through the room as the hazy sapphire cloud that signaled the AI’s presence appeared nearby.

  “How long was I logged in?” Finn asked, rubbing at his face.

  “Approximately three hours,” Daniel reported.

  Finn froze, peeking at the AI between his fingers. “Say that again?”

  “You were logged into the VR hardware for a total of three hours, 16 minutes, and 38 seconds,” Daniel repeated, automatically providing more detail.

  “That can’t be right,” Finn murmured, glancing at the screens. He knew he had spent at least ten hours in-game.

  “I have double-checked my logs and confirmed the time against two different independent world clocks since I currently have access to the public network. The logged time is accurate,” Daniel confirmed.

  Finn just shook his head – still refusing to accept what the AI was saying. “Retract the shutters,” he ordered, gesturing at the panel of windows along the far wall. Daniel responded immediately, the metal grates that lined the windows tilting until Finn could see early afternoon sunlight trickling through the reinforced glass.

  “What the hell?”

  There was only one way to explain the time difference. The game must be using a form of time compression – allowing a user to experience the game at approximately three to four times the rate compared to the real world. Finn supposed it was possible. The passage of time was relatively subjective, and he knew the hardware could enhance his cognitive function enough to compensate. Yet it was still startling.

  The immediate possibilities were also incredible. A person could essentially triple their total effective lifespan if they stayed logged in. At least from their perspective. But honestly, what was the difference? If the user’s real body lived for 80 years, they could potentially experience 240-320 years in-game…

  Finn stared down at the helmet in his hands.

  “Who built you?” he said aloud.

  Finn’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard a chime from his workstation. He glanced at a nearby screen to find that a notification had popped up.

  System Notice

  Incoming video call from her Supreme Majesty Julia.

  Accept?

  Finn sighed. He assumed Julia had left a tracer somewhere that was monitoring his activity. He had almost forgotten that his daughter had been meddling with his system before he logged into the game – in fact, that had been one of the motivations for him to log in to begin with. The time dilation was throwing him off.

  “Would you like to accept the call, sir?” Daniel nudged him.

  “Yeah, sure,” Finn said, running a hand through his hair and trying to gather his fraying thoughts. Dealing with Julia could be… draining.

  A moment later, the screens condensed into a single image, his daughter making an appearance. She was lounging at her own workstation, leaning back in her chair, and gnawing on the straw sticking out of a massive Styrofoam cup. She looked up as the call connected, dropping her beverage on the desk.

  “Hey, old man,” she said, a small smirk on her lips. “So, you logged three-plus hours here in the real world and closer to a dozen in-game huh? Found something interesting, I take it?”

  “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the time compression,” Finn muttered, shaking his head. “That one kind of threw me.” He spared a glare at the screen. “You could have warned me.”

  Her smile widened. “I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” Julia waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, all of that information is available online. I bet you just didn’t bother to check. You probably took the damn headset apart and put it back together, but didn’t bother to watch a two-minute trailer…”

  Finn ground his teeth together. She had him dead to rights.

  “You didn’t, did you?” Julia asked, her eyes widening. “Wow. That must have been a trip then. Real tactile feedback. Perma-locked characters. Time compression. Enhanced learning speed—”

  “Wait, go back to that last one,” Finn interjected.

  Julia arched an eyebrow. “Well, the game enhances your memory retention and recall. As a result, it is much easier to learn new skills. You can pick up stuff quite quickly actually.”

  A few pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. Finn had noticed that it was much easier to learn Veridian – it took less time to memorize the new vocabulary, and his recall was much faster. It was uncomfortably close to accessing his memories, but he supposed that the game hadn’t quite crossed that line.

  “Why do you ask?” Julia offered, curiosity coloring her voice. “You trying to learn something in-game?”

  Finn’s attention snapped back to his daughter. “Something like that. I got dropped in some random city, and then I was… well… conscripted into the Mage Guild there.”

  Julia’s eyes widened slightly at that.

  “Basically, I’m an idiot,” Finn said. He raised a hand to forestall the joke he knew was coming, a grin already painted on his daughter’s face. “Not just because I didn’t watch the trailer first. I’m actually trying to learn the game’s spellcasting language from scratch. In two weeks…”

  Julia had been in the middle of taking another large swig of her drink and almost spit it out. She swallowed hard. “Two weeks to learn an entire language? Why didn’t you just let the game do the whole memory dump thing?”

  “You know about that?” Finn asked in surprise.

  His daughter waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure. I was in the beta. You could say I’m just a bit further along than the average player. But you’re deflecting. Why didn’t you accept the memory dump?”

  Finn rubbed at his neck, looking away. “It just makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like that the game is messing with my memory.” He didn’t really want to go into detail about his confrontation with the fire god or the memory of Rachael. At least, not right now.

  “Hmm, fair enough. The game does have a tendency to get a little personal, I suppose,” Julia said, and he saw some understanding in her eyes. He was curious about what her tutorial had been like. Yet he didn’t get a chance to ask.

  “Anyway,” Julia said, shaking off the gloomy cloud that suddenly hung over the conversation. “That timeline is going to be tight, even with the game helping you. But I’m sure you’ll figure out a way. Unless you’re losing your edge, of course.”

  It was Finn’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Speaking of which, don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did to my system. I believe I should be expecting an email soon.”

  Julia laughed. “Already on its way! And on that note, I’ll leave you to it. I have this sneaking suspicion that you already want to log back in.”

  Finn just grumbled under his breath.

  “Oh, one last thing!” Julia said before he could cut the connection. “What’s the name of your starting city?”

  “It’s called Lahab. Why?”

  “No reason. Talk to you later!” Julia said, a wide grin on her face and then the screen winked out of existence.

  Finn just stared at the empty space the screen had occupied a moment before. Why had he decided to have children again?

  Yet, despite the irritating conversation with his daughter, she had been right. Even now, he was already thinking about logging in and getting back to work. First, though, he needed to come up with a plan. He couldn’t just flail around blindly trying to learn Veridian. He only had two weeks.

  Finn pulled up another screen, and a translucent keyboard suddenly hovered
in his lap. His fingers danced across the keys as he pulled up some information on real-world language courses. He grimaced at the data that scrolled across the screen. Basic fluency in simpler languages typically took approximately 48 days – assuming he trained for 10 hours a day. More complicated languages could take up to 72 days. And Veridian definitely fell into the complicated category. So that was roughly 720 hours as a benchmark.

  His mind immediately started working through the calculations.

  He had two weeks, minus half a day. 324 hours total.

  Finn would also likely need to attend classes and undergo other training during that time. He could probably assume that would take at least 3 hours each day. 39 hours total, not counting the first day.

  Then he needed to eat and sleep in the real world. And each eight-hour sleep cycle could cost him up to 24 hours in-game due to the time compression. Over the course of four real-world days, he would lose roughly 96 hours.

  That left him with 189 in-game hours.

  Compared to the estimated 720 hours needed for basic fluency.

  Finn could feel a weight settle in his stomach. To obtain even basic fluency, he had about a fourth of the suggested time. That seemed impossible, even with the enhanced learning speed in-game.

  He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. There had to be some way to shorten that time further. He could almost sense an idea in the corner of his mind, but he couldn’t quite grasp it – the feeling elusive and hard to pin down.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, giving up. He would just have to wait for the idea to gel.

  In the meantime, maybe he could at least have the AI work on the problem in the background. “Daniel, can you please run a search of all language training programs? I’m looking for programs with the fastest average learning speed.”

  “I am already seeing that much of this software requires a paid license,” the AI replied only moments later, a screen flickering to life and listing a number of courses.

  “Then purchase them all,” Finn replied, not bothering to look at the prices. “It might not hurt for you to run through the code too – once you’ve downloaded everything. We might be able to find a few good examples and then refine from there to build our own version.” Assuming that worked, Finn would be able to keep training in the real world while he was taking care of routine tasks. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Yes, sir. I will get started right away,” Daniel replied, the blue cloud giving off a faint pulse.

  As Finn glared in frustration at the nearby screens, a familiar question nagged at him.

  Why was he struggling after this impossible, pointless goal?

  It didn’t take long to find the answer. The challenge excited him. It had been so long since he had been confronted with a problem that he wasn’t certain how to solve. And there was still that damned idea that kept circling the edges of his mind – teasing and tormenting him. He remembered that feeling. It conjured memories of his time in college, tackling complicated programming assignments. Or his initial work building the AI for Cerillion Logistics. It was as though his subconscious had already started tackling the problem and his waking mind just hadn’t quite caught up yet.

  This feeling was the precursor to that moment when everything finally “clicked.” When inspiration struck like a two-by-four to the forehead.

  Besides, his daughter’s words kept tormenting him. It was the same taunting question the game kept throwing in his face.

  Had he lost his edge?

  He honestly wasn’t sure.

  But he planned to find out.

  Chapter 8 - Magical

  Breathing heavily, Finn entered the room – only to have a few dozen pairs of eyes turn to stare at him panting in the doorway. The other students sat on familiar stone pews facing a podium on the far end of the classroom.

  “What is your name?” a stern voice carried across the room.

  A rather-severe woman was looking at him, her expression expectant. Brilliant sapphire robes made of rich silk were wrapped around her lithe frame, the cloth not quite enough to cover the tattoos that spiraled up from her wrists and twisted around the base of her neck. Her skin was a dark auburn, and black hair flowed down her back.

  His instructor then.

  “Uh, Finn,” he managed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the combined scrutiny. “Is the first class for beginning mages?”

  “It is. Although, it started five minutes ago,” the instructor replied tersely.

  “I’m sorry, I had a little trouble finding the place,” Finn murmured.

  A skeptical eyebrow. “Indeed. Take a seat.” The teacher waved at the pews.

  Finn’s eyes skimmed the stone benches until he spotted Kyyle near the back, an empty spot resting beside him. He quickly slid into place, sharing a look with the other novice mage.

  “For those of you who may have missed it, my name is Magus Lamia.” She spared a pointed expression at Finn at this remark. “This is also a learning opportunity. Your position within the guild is tenuous. By design, this is intended to ensure that you do not become complacent. Only your dedication and punctuality will maintain your position here, and the alternative is… not ideal.”

  Finn grimaced, feeling his cheeks heat slightly – both at the unwanted attention and the implied threat. He had often heard his peers mention that they wish they could go back to high school and college – to experience those periods in their lives through the lens of greater experience. They would go on and on about how they would do things differently. Take more chances. How they would be immune to the pressure of their peers.

  That was pure, unmitigated bullshit.

  School just sucked, no matter how you sliced it. Sticking humans in an enclosed environment and forcing them to interact just bred drama and judgment. That position was only reinforced by the smirks he was receiving from some of the other adult students. He abruptly decided that anyone who claimed they were somehow immune to the judgment of other people was either insane or a sociopath – or possibly both.

  “Where have you been?” Kyyle whispered.

  Finn shot the gangly youth a harried look. “Just studying in the library. I may have done something stupid yesterday,” he replied under his breath. That was the understatement of the year. Finn had completely lost track of time while trying to cram as much of this magic language into his head as possible. He had been at it for hours.

  He noticed Lamia’s gaze flit across the pair, and Finn’s mouth snapped shut. He’d already failed horribly at the one task that Abbad had given him – to stay below the radar. No need to make it worse.

  “I see some of you are anxious to get started,” the stern woman observed. “So, let us begin.”

  She took a deep breath. “You will all be taking your initial classes together for the first two weeks, after which you will be divided into classes better befitting your affinity and talents.” She paused. “Assuming, of course, that you pass your initial classes. Many students never make it to the duels, and I suspect there will be missing faces in the coming weeks.”

  Lamia let this sink in, her eyes skimming the class.

  “Yet we may as well attempt to train you. There are two primary components to casting a spell: summoning and manipulating your mana and reciting the requisite incantation for the spell in question. Today, we will be focusing on the first step.

  “But before we launch into the lesson itself, I suspect you will require some background regarding your gifts,” Lamia continued. “You have each been tested and found to have a relatively high affinity for a certain school of magic. Like any skill or trait, that affinity can be cultivated by acting in a way that is consistent with your school of magic.”

  A confused murmur rippled through the group of students and Lamia arched an eyebrow. Finn wasn’t particularly surprised, having been prepared by Abbad’s impromptu lecture the day before.

  “Several of you appear lost, so let me elaborate,” Lamia said, not able to entirel
y remove the exasperation from her voice. “Each school of magic is tied to a certain trait. These traits are as follows.”

  The woman’s fingers swept across the top of the podium, and a screen flickered to life behind her, flashing with multicolored lights. Finn suspected that the display used the same technology he had seen in the main hall – crystals embedded into the stone wall which acted as makeshift pixels. However, he hadn’t realized the displays were so malleable or common.

  Lamia’s hands darted across the top of the podium, and the display shifted, showing six rows, naming the affinity and the corresponding trait.

  Fire: Passion

  Earth: Peace

  Air: Happiness

  Water: Acceptance

  Light: Confidence

  Dark: Desire

  “So, if we’re happy, we’re better at air magic?” one of the students asked, skepticism practically dripping from his voice. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.

  Lamia cocked her head at the student. “I would appreciate you raising your hand to indicate a question,” she snapped. The student’s eyes widened slightly, but he gave a curt nod in response, which at least made Finn feel a little less stupid for arriving late.

  She’s just a lovely person, got it.

  “It isn’t quite that simple,” Lamia replied. “You would need to act in a way to foster happiness. Many air mages believe that this involves living in the moment, and some even go so far as to let fortune decide their actions – using dice or a coin toss to make decisions. Others take this a bit too far, succumbing to hedonistic distractions.” A grimace flitted across her face. “Suffice it to say, there is rarely one definitive approach.

  “Either way, these affinities are important, as they indicate the level of control that you are able to exhibit over your own mana.” Her eyes skimmed the crowd. “Which leads us to today’s lesson. The first step to casting is to learn to summon and control your mana. This is a skill referred to as Mana Mastery.