The Invisible Edge

​

"I'm telling you, there was something else in mine," the voice cut through the plaza noise, sharp with frustration.

 

Riley stopped mid-step.

 

"Like a hidden path or something. I went down into this place—bright turquoise grass, loads of beasts just standing there, not attacking, not doing anything."

 

Riley's breath caught. The grove. He knew exactly what this player was describing.

 

"I thought it was bait," the player continued, his tone tightening. "So I grabbed a weapon, figured I'd clear it out before it turned on me."

 

A pause, then: "The second I touched it, everything aggro'd. Didn't even last ten seconds. Next thing I know, I'm back at the start and the path's gone. Just gone."

 

Riley's mind flashed back—the stillness of that hidden place, the weapons laid out like a test, the choice he'd made that this player hadn't. The path had been fragile. A single decision. And this player had failed it.

 

Which meant Riley might be the only one who hadn't.

 

---

 

Players had been returning to Verdant Hollow in uneven waves, appearing across the open plaza and the winding paths that branched away from it, each arrival carrying a different kind of energy that made the space feel alive in a way it hadn't before. Some stepped forward immediately, their movements sharp and certain, as though whatever they had experienced inside the trial had already settled into something usable, something they understood. Weapons appeared in their hands without hesitation, summoned as naturally as breathing, their stances adjusting instinctively as they tested weight, reach, balance, already thinking ahead to how they would fight.

 

Others were slower. More uncertain. They stood where they spawned, shifting slightly as they tested movement, raising their hands, lowering them again, repeating small actions as though trying to understand what had changed and what hadn't. A few opened and closed their fists repeatedly, others stepped forward and back in short, measured movements, adjusting to a system that clearly wasn't behaving the way they had expected.

 

The plaza had filled with sound quickly after that. Conversations formed in loose clusters, people comparing what they had seen, what they had done, trying to piece together how the trials had worked without anything ever being explained directly. There was no announcement, no system broadcast revealing classes or outcomes, just fragments of information shared between players who were all trying to understand the same thing from different angles.

 

Riley had stepped into it without drawing attention, his pace steady, his focus outward rather than on himself, because this wasn't something he needed to force. It would come to him. He'd passed one group where a player was testing a heavy weapon, swinging it in controlled arcs, clearly pleased with the way it moved, while another nearby tried to trigger something repeatedly with no visible result, frustration building each time nothing happened. Further ahead, someone laughed as a small burst of fire flickered into existence above their palm before disappearing again, the reaction drawing a mix of interest and irritation from the people around them.

 

It was all small. All incomplete. But it was enough.

 

And that's when he'd heard it. The conversation about the grove.

 

---

 

Riley moved closer now, careful not to draw attention, listening as a few people reacted to the player's story. Some with interest, others with quiet skepticism, the conversation splitting slightly as opinions formed. But it didn't hold for long. Without anything solid to anchor it, it drifted, written off as either exaggeration or a bad call made under pressure.

 

Riley didn't react. He didn't need to. Because he already knew.

 

The grove. The stillness. The weapons. The way everything had changed the moment he picked one up. It lined up too cleanly to ignore. This hadn't just been hidden. It had been fragile. A single decision. That was all it took. And once it was gone—it stayed gone.

 

Riley exhaled quietly, letting that settle without reacting outwardly, because there was no reason to draw attention to something no one else had confirmed yet. If anything, the way the conversation had faded made it clearer how easily it could be missed, not just in the trial itself, but afterwards as well.

 

He glanced down briefly, half-expecting something about himself to feel different, to stand out in a way that matched what he now understood he had gained. Nothing did. No visible change. No obvious sign. Just the same steady presence he had before.

 

Which, somehow, made it feel even more significant.

 

---

 

When he found Aria and Sofia, it wasn't through any system marker or prompt, but simply by recognizing them within the movement of the plaza, both of them already adjusting in ways that made their choices clear without needing to say a word.

 

Aria came first, carrying two daggers. Her posture had shifted into something more deliberate, her movements tighter, faster, testing angles and positioning as though she was already mapping out how she would fight, how she would close distance, how she would control it once she did. There was no hesitation in her, only refinement, like she had stepped into something that matched her perfectly.

 

Sofia was different. She had a staff in her hand, and she was calmer. She stood slightly apart, her focus internal rather than outward, small flickers of pale blue forming and fading around her hands as she tested the flow of her mana, adjusting it carefully rather than pushing it, already showing signs of range and sustain rather than raw output.

 

They didn't need to explain it. It was obvious what classes they had received.

 

Riley watched them for a moment, not comparing himself in any direct way, but recognizing the difference all the same. They had gained something immediate. Something visible. Something that translated cleanly into action.

 

What he had—wasn't like that.

 

It didn't sit in the same space. It didn't feel like something you tested in the middle of a plaza, or something you demonstrated in front of other people to prove what you had gained.

 

It felt… conditional.

 

Riley let out a slow breath, his focus settling properly for the first time since leaving the trial. Because if that was true—then this wasn't something he showed. It was something he waited for. And when the time came—it would matter more than anything else here.

 

He glanced up at the sky. Still bright. Midday sun streaming through the canopy above.

 

The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd gained something powerful—maybe the most powerful thing anyone here had received—and right now, in broad daylight, he was probably the weakest person in this plaza.

 

"Riley!" Aria's voice pulled him back. She was gesturing him over, daggers already spinning casually in her hands. "Come on, we're talking about forming up for the first zone push."

 

He started toward them, keeping his expression neutral, his movements unremarkable.

 

Because the moment anyone figured out what he actually was—the moment they realized he was vulnerable for half of every day—he wouldn't just be a target.

 

He'd be the easiest kill in Verdant hollow.

 

And right now, with the sun still high overhead, he had absolutely no way to defend himself.