A pinprick of awareness pierced the suffocating blackness. Zuberi's consciousness flickered, a dying ember fanned by an unseen wind. He was falling, or perhaps rising, suspended in a void where direction had no meaning. The searing pain that had consumed him moments before was a dull, distant throb, overshadowed by a bizarre, wrenching sensation, as if his very atoms were being unmade and rewoven. There was no sound, no light, only a profound disorientation and the feeling of immense, irresistible forces pulling him apart and together simultaneously, while a soothing warmth spread through his limbs.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the sensation ceased. The metallic taint in the air gave way to the familiar, damp earth scent of the cave they had left that morning. The oppressive dread vanished, lifted like a physical weight. Zuberi found himself sitting on the hard-packed earth of the cave floor, the memory of his throbbing aches the only reminder that the preceding events had been real. He tilted his head right, then left, rotated his shoulders—surprised to find no pain.
Disorientation wrestled with a sense of relief. He looked around. Lisa sat nearby, eyes wide. The strain had eased from her face, though shock was still there. Hanz leaned against the cave wall, his expression unreadable, his hand clutching his weapon. Eli, clung to Shifty, looking around with wide, fearful eyes, though the terror that had gripped him in the amphitheater was gone. Shifty, ever enigmatic, puffed out and shook her feathers, multicolored eyes fixed on the figure who now stood in the center of the cave, the blue-tinged light from the entrance casting strange shadows around her.
They were back in their cave. The fire around which they had broken their fast confirmed to Zuberi this was not a different cave. Just like that, someone or something had healed their wounds and brought them to their starting point. In a fraction of a second.
"What… what just happened?" Hanz finally managed, his voice rough.
The being's gaze swept over them, her expression unreadable. "A change of venue—more conducive to conversation. The amphitheater's air was rather fraught." Her voice was calm, melodious, yet carried an undeniable undercurrent of ancient power.
Zuberi, pushing himself to his feet, his body feeling light and whole, studied her. "Who… what are you?" he asked, the question burning since her first appearance.
The creature inclined her head. "I am Root. I am one of the guides of this world, First Avatar of the System."
"The System?" Lisa echoed, her voice barely a whisper, though it held a new clarity. "The thing that showed me the amphitheater?"
"Indeed," Root confirmed. "Doomhaven, this world you find yourselves in, operates under a set of complex rules, protocols, and energy flows that we refer to as the System. It governs much of what you have experienced, and what you will experience."
"Governs?" Hanz scoffed, though his skepticism was tinged with a new uncertainty. "You mean it's all a game? Some kind of sick experiment?"
Root's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "A game, an experiment—perhaps. Or a crucible, a place of testing and transformation. Perspective often depends on the participant. Even entities like myself, who have dedicated lifetimes to its study and operate within its currents, cannot fully grasp the System's ultimate architecture or final objectives. Its designs are vast, its consciousness perhaps unknowable in its entirety. We perceive only the patterns relevant to our functions."
"Why us?" Zuberi pressed, his mind racing. He focused on the flood of questions. This figure, Root, seemed to hold the answers they desperately needed. "Why were we brought here?"
"You were chosen," Root said. "Selected by the System for your potential. Each of you possesses unique attributes, resonances that made you suitable candidates for the current cycle of trials."
"Chosen?" Hanz's tone was a growling bark. He pushed himself from the wall, standing straight, showing no sign of his previous injury. "For what? To be thrown to monsters? To fight for our lives in some twisted arena?"
Zuberi's eyes narrowed, searching Root's impassive face for deceit. A part of him, the pragmatic, cynical part, screamed that this was impossible, a hallucination born of exhaustion and trauma. But he could not explain Hanz's instant healing from fatal wounds or the teleportation—no more than he could explain that word he had never come across, but now knew to mean instant travel across great distances.
"Chosen, yes," Root said, repeating herself. Her features had not changed, but there was now a warning edge in her voice as much as her silver gaze. "It may not always appear as such, especially in the beginning," Root continued, a softness entering her already placid voice. "But the System is fair. For every trial you pass, every day you survive, you will receive in equal, if not superior measure."
"The Dreadwraith—that was a trial?" Lisa asked, her voice trembling.
"One of many," Root confirmed. "Doomhaven is a world of trials. Each is designed to test different aspects of your being—your strength, your will, your intellect, your capacity for growth. And, of course, your ability to harness the System's energies, resources, or magic, as you might call it."
Zuberi thought of the way time seemed to bend and stretch around him. Lisa's terrifying glimpses of the future. Hanz and the shadows that obeyed his will. The strange connection Eli shared with others, especially Shifty, and that boosting effect that had already made a difference twice out of the two battles they had shared. He thought Shifty's beams that could melt rock and cut through a silverback's hide. Magic. It was as good a word as any for the inexplicable powers they had discovered within themselves.
Lisa frowned, her head tilted. "Root," she began, her voice hesitant, "May I call you Root?"
A frown appeared on Root's gray face. "It is the name I just gave you," she said.
A flush tinted Lisa's cheeks as she hurried. "Something has been… puzzling me. There are words that we all seem to converge on as if they were a part of our common lexicon." She paused and glanced first at her brother then at Zuberi, before she turned back to Root. "Words like wraithlings, rhinoceraptor, Praevidentia, and more." She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "It's as if the words were… given to us. Is that also the System?"
Root nodded slowly. "A keen observation, Lisa. Indeed. The System facilitates understanding through various means. One such is the harmonization of essential concepts and nomenclature. When a phenomenon, an ability, or a significant entity is defined or recognized by one, that understanding, that name, often resonates and becomes a shared cognitive anchor for those connected to the same event or power. It streamlines comprehension and interaction within critical contexts."
Zuberi seized on this. "Is this why we can understand each other," he asked, gesturing between himself, Hanz, Eli, and Lisa, then, as if an afterthought, including Root. "I know my people's tongue, and I've learned one other besides that." He paused, choosing his words carefully, unwilling to trigger the assault of memories. "But I'm not fluent enough for this depth of conversation, even if that language happened to be yours. And sometimes, words or concepts—like interface or nexus—they surface in my mind with full comprehension." He composed himself, realizing his tempo had picked up near the end. He met Root's silvery stare, noting the light slant of her black pupils. "And from there, it's as if I've always known them."
Root regarded him. "Another facet of the System's integration protocol for new arrivals. It strives to establish a baseline of communication and comprehension to ensure participants can navigate and interact. Consider it a translation matrix, constantly refining itself. If you pay close attention, Zuberi, you might notice that your own speech patterns, initially perhaps more formal or archaic to their ears, have been subtly smoothing, aligning. As you acclimate and your connection to the System strengthens—as you gain power—more complex information can be shared, more seamlessly integrated. Attempting to impart too much, too soon, to a consciousness not yet attuned or resilient enough… the results would be detrimental." She paused, her gaze distant for a heartbeat. "Catastrophic, even. A mind can simply… unravel. Poof, as some might say."
"These abilities… they are part of the System?" he asked, trying to piece together the cosmic puzzle Root was laying out.
"They are one way for you to interface with it," Root explained. "The System provides the framework, the raw energy. Your innate potential, your experiences, your very being, shape how that energy manifests." Root's gaze settled on Zuberi. "For instance, Zuberi, your connection was unusually potent from your arrival—a rarity." She then paused and her head dipped, the change so minute Zuberi was certain no one but him had noticed. Then her nose wrinkled, and she looked up. "Some might term it a divine spark. Remember that. It will matter." She added a smile, followed by another barely perceptible dip of hear head.
Zuberi frowned, unsure of what to make of that. "What about that place we went to. Is it something everyone experiences?"
Root's lips stretched into a contented smile, as if happy Zuberi had asked that question. "Each citizen applicant visits their place of power, when ready." She pursed her lips, and look at everyone in turn. "It helps each applicant recognize and begin to cultivate their Place of Power—a personal nexus where your inner self resonates most strongly with the System, allowing for focused growth, understanding, and manifestation of your unique abilities. These are deeply personal, shaped by your essence." She let her words sink in, then when no one made to speak, she turned her gaze to Hanz, who was observing her with his characteristic skepticism.
"Hanz," she said, the young man squaring his shoulders before he faced her. "With your mind attuned to structured systems and interfaces, it's no surprise that you perceive your Place of Power as something familiar—a heads up display, a console, through which you navigate complex data streams and command your magic with calculated precision. Such a construct is not uncommon for those who seek order and direct control."
Root then looked at Lisa. "And Lisa, your Celestial Garden is where your abilities find the clearest expression, surrounded by the flowing currents of probability you are learning to navigate."
Her gaze softened as she looked at Eli. "For young Eli, your Place of Power will likely be one a place of comfort where you once felt safe, if not loved. Somewhere you can safely explore the emotional tethers that bind beings. Heart Haven, is it?"
She did not wait for a reply before she turned, again, to Zuberi. "Your own Den of Power, Zuberi, with its primordial energies and vistas of time, is where your magics and spark find their anchor."
Zuberi, along with his companions, absorbed the information in silence. "What about raw strength? How do we become more powerful, grow these abilities?"
Root nodded, approval evident in her posture, her gaze sweeping over them. "A pertinent question. The magic you wield is but one expression of the System's energies. There are myriad forms—elemental, shadow, light, temporal, psychic, vitalic, and more esoteric paths. Growth is achieved through understanding, application, and the overcoming of trials. While the System does not always present a simple ladder of tiers in the way ordered minds might prefer, there are discernible thresholds of power. Pushing your abilities, especially within your Place of Power or during duress, deepens your connection and unlocks new facets or greater magnitudes of your gift. The trials themselves are often designed to force such breakthroughs. Continued survival and mastery will lead to what you might recognize as advancements, though the exact nature of these progressions can be as unique as the individual."
Zuberi listened intently, mind flashing back to the vivid, overwhelming experience—the raw energy, the feeling of being connected to something ancient and vast.
"So," Hanz, who had been uncharacteristically silent, said. "No chance that whole thing was just a cool dream about the next release of my favorite game?"
Hanz looked up with a tiny smile on his face, and for some reason, Zuberi realized in that moment, that Hanz was not the man he had viewed him to be—but a child whom life had forced to grow too soon.
"No," Root said. "It was you embracing Doomhaven." She paused. "And now that all of you have found your places of power, the journey truly begins."
Zuberi watched Eli, whose eyes were wide and fixed on Root. The boy listened intently, his expression a mixture of fear and wonder. Though Zuberi couldn't know what Eli understood of Root's complex words about Systems and trials, he saw that Eli seemed to grasp the calm, reassuring tone. Eli mirrored Shifty's calm demeanor, appearing to find a fragile sense of safety in the creature's presence and Root's quiet power. Zuberi hoped the concepts of potential and growth, offered the boy some slivers of hope in the overwhelming darkness.
Hanz shifted, his skepticism warring with a growing, grudging curiosity. "All right, fine," he grumbled. "Let's say I buy this System nonsense for a second. What is the point of it all? These trials, this System. Is there an end goal? Do we get to go home?" He spat the last word, the longing and bitterness a contrast that puzzled Zuberi.
Root's expression softened, a flicker of something akin to sympathy in her ancient eyes. "Home," she mused, but did not expand. "As for the end goal—that is something you must discover for yourselves. The path through Doomhaven is one of revelation, both of the world around you and the worlds within. Each trial overcome, each piece of knowledge gained, brings you closer to understanding your purpose here."
"And if we fail?" Zuberi asked, his voice grim, the dreaded weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders. By now, it appeared a foregone conclusion that he was the leader. To lead, whether he wanted to or not, he needed concrete answers, a plan. "What happens if we cannot overcome these trials? If we cannot understand our purpose?"
"Failure is an outcome," Root said, her voice devoid of judgment yet carrying the cold finality of natural law. "The System is not without peril, but it is also a place of immense potential, growth, and evolution."
Zuberi looked at his companions. They were alert, their previous exhaustion and wounds gone. They had faced death, despair, and horrors beyond their imagining, and they had survived. They had grown. He thought of his own newfound understanding of his abilities, the way they had worked together to defeat the Dreadwraith. There was a truth in Root's words, however unsettling the implications. They were not just victims; they were participants.
"Do you know anything about something called Nihil's Spire," Lisa said, eyes distant as if seeing beyond the cave walls. "In one of my dreams or visions, whatever, it felt important. Is that our next destination?"
Root nodded. "Nihil's Spire is indeed your ultimate goal in this realm," she began, but then a subtle frown creased her brow, a flicker of something akin to surprise in her ancient eyes. She paused, looking inward for a moment. "Directives can… shift. This is something I must verify with the System."
Zuberi's eyes narrowed. "Verify? You speak with the System, then? As one might speak with another person?"
Root turned her gaze to him, the brief flicker of unease gone, replaced by her usual inscrutable calm. "The System is not a person, Zuberi. Nor a pet, nor even a god in the way your peoples might conceive of such. It is… vast. An interconnected consciousness, a set of fundamental laws, an engine of creation and trial—its totality borders on the incomprehensible, even for us. Communication is a crude word for the interaction. But yes," she conceded, "we Avatars each possess our own methods to interpret its currents, to receive its directives, to… commune with its core programming, if you will."
Zuberi opened his mouth, having many more questions to ask, but he met Root's eye, and his words died on his lips.
"However," Root continued, her tone shifting slightly, becoming more direct, "before you can truly contemplate the journey to the Spire, there is an immediate task. There is an artifact I require you to retrieve. It's called the Fire Gem, and you will recognize it when you see it. Its current location is deep within the Silk Canyons. Not far from here."
Hanz snorted. "A fetch quest? Really? Now? We just got out of one nightmare."
"Why this Fire Gem?" Zuberi asked, ignoring Hanz's theatrics. "What is its significance?"
Root offered a hint of her enigmatic smile. "Its significance is manifold. For now, know that securing it is crucial for your continued path, and perhaps for mine. Once you have obtained it, I will meet with you again. Further explanations will be provided then. Consider this your next immediate trial, a precursor to the greater journey."
"And you? Will you be guiding us?" Zuberi asked, hoping for a tangible ally in this bewildering new reality.
Root's smile returned. "I will observe—from afar. I will, at times, provide context. Clarification. But the choices, the actions, the consequences—those are yours alone. The System values agency."
Shifty, who had remained silent and still throughout Root's explanation, let out a low, rumbling purr, her eyes never leaving Root. There was a subtle shift in her posture, a relaxation that suggested a familiarity with the concepts Root was describing, perhaps even with Root herself. Zuberi made a mental note of it, but chose not to comment.
Root, in turn, stared back at Shifty with a knowing smirk gradually spreading across her lips. "Indeed, some understand more intuitively than others, do they not, Child of Doomhaven?"
When no one reacted to her cryptic comment, Root paused, her gaze sweeping over them once more, lingering for a moment on each face. "Rest now. You have earned it. When you are ready, a path will make itself known."
And with that, unceremoniously, no flash of light, no dissolving of form, she vanished, as if she had only ever been a figment of their collective imagination.
Hanz let out a dry, humorless snort. "Damn!" He said, raising his eyebrows, and shaking his head. "Batman ain't got shit on her."