Rowan stood, letting the weight of the System granting him a skill settle over him. The golden glow that marked his advancement faded, but its significance lingered, filling him with a deep sense of satisfaction.

  His body felt tougher, his skin enhanced by what he’d been subjecting it to over the last couple of days.

  And then there was the skill.

  He felt the shift almost immediately—a subtle reinforcement of his mental fortitude, like a steel cable threading through his thoughts, holding them firm and steady.

  Rowan closed his eyes, testing it out.

  The persistent echoes of doubt and fatigue that always lingered in the back of his mind felt… quieter. More manageable.

  He took a deep breath, savoring the change for a moment before turning towards Nemir.

  He looked up, setting his blade aside. “Done?” he asked. “Go on, then. Share.”

  Nemir looked genuinely interested to hear what he’d picked, but Rowan had one more thing he needed to do.

  “Could you get everyone together? I just have to distribute my stats and I’ll join you.”

  Having everyone in the same spot would be useful for what he planned. Not to mention, Rowan didn’t really want to repeat the same conversation four separate times.

  Nemir nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “You can never go wrong with Strength,” he said, flexing his bicep.

  Rowan laughed. “I’m fine with my normal sized arms, thank you very much.”

  “Your loss,” he shrugged, entering the house and leaving him to it.

  Rowan didn’t think too hard about where to put them. He’d picked Wind as his second affinity to increase his speed, so Dexterity was out. And out of all the rest of them, Intelligence was by far the most useful to him.

  Having more mana never hurts.

  With his choice made, Rowan stood up, turning toward the house.

  The faint murmur of conversation greeted him as he stepped through the back door and into the common area. Omi, Silvia, and Nemir sat at the table while Annie leaned against the counter. Zoe was at her usual spot in the corner, engrossed in her book, her gaze briefly flicking up as he entered.

  Silvia was the first to notice him.

  “Congratulations!” she exclaimed, rushing up to Rowan and giving him a big hug.

  He laughed. “Thanks. Took long enough, didn’t it?”

  “You were actually faster than I thought you’d be,” Annie said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Managing it in less than a week is impressive.”

  Rowan smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I doubt people do it for twelve hours a day,” he nodded to Zoe. “And having a healer on hand sped it up even more.”

  She nodded back. “You are welcome.”

  Omi smirked, leaning back in his chair. “So, are you going to tell us what you picked, or do we need to beat it out of you?”

  Rowan raised his hands with a laugh. “I think I’ve had enough of that for at least a few weeks.”

  “Alright then.” Annie punched him in the shoulder. “Spill.”

  He grinned. “[Basic Crafting].”

  The room went silent, and a deeply disappointed expression passed across Silvia’s face. “You didn’t,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s… so boring!”

  Zoe tilted her head. “It is a very versatile skill,” she said, glancing at Rowan. “I approve.”

  Rowan chuckled. “Now I feel bad,” he said, glancing at Silvia with a wry smile. “I honestly thought about it, but it didn’t seem like the right choice.”

  “Good.” She let out a sigh of relief. “You’d probably pick something annoying, like alchemy, smelling up the entire house with fumes.”

  “Stop stalling and say it already,” Annie added, tapping her foot impatiently, her arms crossed.

  Rowan had thought about lying, telling them he’d chosen [Mental Fortitude] or [Mental Clarity]. Both were Initiate level skills, and it wouldn’t be surprising that he had them offered.

  Yet that didn’t sit right with him.

  Trusting someone was a decision. And it was one he’d chosen to make.

  Rowan had more than a few secrets he couldn’t share, but that didn’t mean he had to hide everything.

  He looked at Annie. “[Iron Will],” he said, a tension he didn’t even know was there draining from his shoulders.

  Her eyes widened slightly, a surprised look flashing across her face before her lips curled into a smile. “Focus, right?”

  Rowan nodded. “It seemed like it’d be the most useful.”

  “An Adept level skill for your first selection,” Nemir said thoughtfully. “That’s rare.”

  “Well, most manage it before they’re twenty,” he joked, waving off the praise. “But yeah. I’m more than satisfied.”

  It was a strange sensation. Like having a dial he could turn up or down at will, heightening or lowering the effect of the skill. But even when it wasn’t ‘on’, it felt like his baseline had grown.

  His thoughts were steady like never before, and Rowan couldn’t wait to see how much it was going to help with his casting.

  “What’s it do?” Silvia asked, clapping her hands excitedly.

  Rowan thought back and recalled the description he’d read in one skill tome or another.

  Forge your mind into an unbreakable bastion. Resist mental intrusions, maintain focus under duress, and push through fear or despair. Iron Will bolsters your mental defenses, granting clarity of thought and determination that is difficult to shatter. In times of crisis, this skill keeps you steadfast where others falter.

  The team listened intently, offering suggestions on how he could use it and reminiscing about their own first skill selections.

  It was easy to get caught up in the relaxed atmosphere. Rowan could have spent hours like this, talking to them about advancement, be it with spell or skill.

  But first, there was something else he needed to do.

  He closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to start. It wasn’t the gifts themselves that troubled him—it was what they represented.

  These items came from a past he hadn’t fully explained to them, from a legacy far older than most knew. And yet, he had to share them. If one of them died because of his secrecy, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

  “I have something for all of you,” Rowan said, his voice steady. “As a thank you for all the help.”

  Silvia’s eyes lit up. “Gifts?”

  “Yes,” Rowan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Gifts.”

  He summoned the first item.

  A greatsword taller than him—forged from hardened darksteel—appeared in his hand, nearly toppling him over. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light of the room, its surface unadorned.

  At a glance, it looked like a weapon a newly minted adventurer would wield. Basic in its appearance. But it had come from the Vault, and it wouldn’t have had a place there if it wasn’t deserved.

  Nemir frowned as Rowan handed the sword to him, trying not to grunt from the effort.

  Maybe I really should have picked Strength, he thought, watching his reaction.

  Nemir hesitated. “I appreciate the thought,” he said slowly. “But my sword is already more than sufficient.”

  “Scan it,” Rowan said, feeling confident he’d approve.

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  It was easy to pinpoint the exact moment he did so. Nemir’s eyes widened in surprise, his grip tightening around the hilt.

  “I…” he trailed off.

  The others quickly followed suit, scanning the sword in turn. Each one reacting with the same mixture of awe and confusion.

  “Where in all the hells did you get a weapon like this?” Annie asked, leaning forward. “Three enchantments?” She shook her head, looking at him with a curious expression. “That’s a weapon suited for a high Silver-ranked adventurer, maybe higher.”

  Rowan nodded. “That’s the idea.”

  Nemir ran a hand along the blade’s edge, his fingers tracing the intricate metalwork. “I have nothing to repay you with,” he said softly.

  Rowan rolled his eyes. “Repay me by not getting your head chopped off by a goblin, or a pissed-off Silver-rank. How about that?”

  Nemir chuckled. “Aye. I can do that.”

  “Besides, this is me repaying you,” Rowan pointed out. “It’s a closed circle.”

  Nemir swung the sword around experimentally, marveling at the balance. His movements were sharp and quick, precise in a way only years of dedicated training could accomplish. “It’s… incredible.”

  “Hey,” Omi yelped, ducking as the blade whooshed past his head. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

  Nemir grinned, clearly delighted with his new weapon.

  He carefully set it down, nodding towards Rowan. “Thank you, Jamis. Truly.”

  Rowan held his tongue. Suddenly feeling an ache in his chest.

  Here he was, claiming these people as his own, as his friends. Yet none of them even knew his name.

  That’s something I’ll keep to myself. At least for now.

  Giving them gear wasn’t comparable to actually revealing who he was.

  Rowan was operating under the assumption that someone was looking for him. Or if there wasn’t, that there certainly will be sooner or later. His name was best kept close to the chest. For his safety, and theirs.

  “Don’t mention it,” he replied instead, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. “The stronger you are, the less likely I am to have my arm chewed off.”

  Silvia’s hands shot up. “Do you have more? Please tell me you have more!”

  Rowan laughed, standing up from his chair and moving the furniture aside to make room for the rest of it. The group watched him with curious expressions, their eagerness palpable.

  He started summoning more items from the Vault, each piece carefully chosen for the person it was meant for. Rowan had spent hours combing through the horde of weapons, armors, and accessories it held, looking for the right item for each of them.

  A gleaming set of silver armor appeared next. Along with a pair of gauntlets lined with sleek black leather.

  The room fell silent, the armor gleaming as the light from the fireplace hit it.

  “That’s… wow,” Annie muttered softly, eyeing the armor.

  “Wait your turn,” Rowan smiled, summoning Omi’s gear next.

  He didn’t give them time to question it. They could do that once all of them saw what he’d picked out.

  Omi’s eyes widened. He stepped closer, picking up the daggers and twirling them between his fingers with practiced ease.

  He grinned. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

  The rogue discarded his treasured boots without so much as a glance, pulling on the new ones like they might disappear if he hesitated.

  Silvia looked like she was about to explode, so Rowan did her next.

  She whooped in excitement, rushing up to grab the bow, cradling it in her arms. “This… this is mine?” she asked, glancing at Rowan with a hopeful expression. “All of this?”

  Rowan nodded, unable to keep the smile off his face. “All yours.”

  The group descended on the gear, each of them inspecting their new equipment with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. Omi twirled his daggers in the air, testing their weight, while Nemir adjusted the straps of his new armor, checking the movement.

  Rowan watched them, a warmth enveloping him.

  These weren’t just tools—they were lifelines. Something to give his friends the edge they would need if things went wrong.

  Besides Nemir, none of them were on the cusp of advancing. But with these items, he had a feeling even a Silver-rank would have trouble matching them. And against goblins, they would carve a bloody swathe.

  As the others admired their gifts, Rowan turned his attention to Annie. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching him with an expectant smile.

  “Yes?” he asked, his lips quirking upwards.

  She clenched and unclenched her fingers. “Gimme.”

  Rowan laughed. “Sorry, I’m all out,” he shrugged. “I assumed aunty Quinea was going to outfit you.”

  She punched him in the arm. “Aunty Quinea would run you through if she heard you call her that,” she smiled. “But I might be persuaded not to rat you out. For a bribe.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” he said, summoning her gear.

  She took in the spear’s sleek design, her hand closing around the shaft.

  Annie twirled it around, a grin spreading across her face. “Now this… this I like.”

  Rowan left them to it, turning to the last member of their team.

  Zoe hadn’t been with them for long. And he’d call her more of a curious acquaintance than a friend. But she helped him out. Probably even more than the rest of them. It was only fair he gave her something too.

  “I noticed you didn’t have a staff,” he said, and a heartbeat later summoned one to his hand. “I’m not sure if that’s by choice or circumstance, but either way, I’d like for you to have this. As a thank you for all the bruises you so valiantly kept at bay.”

  Besides the potions, the Vault didn’t have a wide assortment of healing items. At least not at such a low rank. There were bound to be some stored away in the five other chambers, but Rowan didn’t have access to those.

  The staff didn’t actually have any healing properties. It just amplified them slightly. Focused them into something stronger. To use it, you needed to be a healer in the first place, something that made it useless to him. But luckily for Rowan, there was one right in front of him.

  Zoe frowned, closing her book and setting it aside. She eyed the staff for a moment, pursing her lips in thought before finally reaching out, carefully grasping it in her hands.

  “I am not sure what to say,” she confessed, looking both grateful and hesitant at the same time. “I gave you healing freely. You do not need to compensate me for it.”

  Rowan shook his head. “I know,” he smiled. “But I want to.”

  Zoe took a few seconds to process his answer.

  Then, a small smile appeared on her face. She nodded slowly, tracing the grains along the staff. “Thank you for the thoughtful gift,” she finally said.

  Zoe spent a moment observing her new staff before glancing up at him. “I would like to speak to you about something.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow, surprised but curious. “Sure thing,” he answered, looking at the rest of the team as they tested their new equipment, chatting excitedly amongst themselves.

  “In private, if you will.”

  Rowan frowned, not sure what she was going for. “Umm, okay?”

  But Zoe didn’t elaborate. She picked up her book and set the staff against her chair, starting to read again.

  Rowan watched her for a moment, and when she didn’t say anything further, he shrugged and sat down. If it was something private, he wouldn’t press. And right now, he had something else to focus on.

  I outfitted them in the best gear I could, he thought, watching in amusement as Omi showed off his daggers to an uninterested Silvia. Can’t really do much more.

  Nemir was the first to settle down. He set the sword across his knees, looking resplendent in his gleaming armor.

  Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, Rowan couldn’t help but sigh.

  “Go ahead,” he said, trying not to shift in his seat.

  He’d known that pulling out a veritable armory would lead to this. He just hoped they were satisfied with what few answers he could give them.

  Rowan felt the weight of everyone’s gazes on him. The questions, unspoken yet heavy, hanging in the air like a storm cloud about to break.

  “Where did all this come from?” he asked, taking in the sheer scale of what Rowan gave them. “These aren’t just some nice trinkets… This is serious gear.”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  Silvia, who’d been running her fingers across the string of her new bow, set it down.

  “Yeah,” she added. “This kind of stuff… It's rare. There aren’t any enchanters—or smiths—in the region capable of making items like these. Let alone in Litwick.”

  A sigh escaped his lips. He couldn’t tell them the whole truth, but he could tell them something.

  Rowan opened his mouth and started talking.