The last weeks before the new apocalypse ticked down without pause. More players died. A handful more civilians chose to face the Crucible, with only half coming out. Mason’s people found new items and gained prestige classes and new powers.

He grew his magic and practiced it like a man possessed, testing every form and combination as he raced back and forth across the planes. He tested the highest settings of the training arena and smashed them apart, disappointed at the lack of challenge. He did his best to be a husband and father.

‘A few’ weeks became two, a growing restlessness building inside him, a knowing that violence was near but unable to start it.

Like many times before he stood staring at the map in his Scout Enclave. His scouts and plethora of other civilian specialists had created an intricate web of planar targets and timing.

Since the beginning of the event timer, they’d been analyzing the skies and ‘planar energy rifts’ and making a few determinations. First of all, they believed the event wasn’t going to be a massive attack—but a series of attacks over maybe a week, then some kind of climax at the end,

Mason assumed they had it right. A seven course meal of destruction was definitely roboGod’s style. It would be more…dramatic.

The civilians had marked primary attack estimations, likely secondary attack locations, and overall hot spots of chaotic, primal objectives. It was good work, and a hell of a lot better than nothing.

But there were too many damn unknowns. Too many assumptions, even with their greater information and system clues. He knew he couldn’t trust it much—that every plan fell apart at contact with the enemy.

“Can the teleportation beacons be upgraded further, Patron?”

His key people were all with him today, and Phuong pointed at Nassau on the map.

“The more we can move between them, the larger our ‘reserve’ group, the more fluid our defense is. I would use almost any amount of points to increase that overall number.”

Mason shook his head. If only. He’d used the majority of his ridiculous number of patron points now. Mostly on beacons and defences. He’d given every smaller ‘resource’ settlement walls and some basic automated weapons or defenders. More importantly, he’d put a universal teleportation ‘receiver’ in each.

This meant his people could freely warp to them with no limitation. The only problem was getting out. The outgoing function of the non-nexus beacons was limited to one use a day. This meant defending the far flung territories was a kind of ‘minimum force necessary’ exercise, or else players would be stuck there, useless, until at least the next morning.

Communication was mostly solved, at least in the settlements. They could all message the Nexus beacons or his scouts freely. But Mason had no doubt there’d be ‘battlefield’ targets. Great trees. Maker ruins. Maybe even dungeons like the Crucible. His plan was to keep his scouts in every key location, constantly checking in.

Defending the ‘open world’ was essentially the job for a few elite teams, and Mason himself. While the majority of his people defended the settlements and Nexus’, he intended to keep a few loose, powerful groups roaming general areas, each with a mobile teleportation to warp away with a day re-charge.

But with his basically unlimited Wyrdwalk, he’d move between field locations as needed.

He was also relying on Night Eyes and his centaurs to guard both the Green Sea, and to function as another form of scout force over half the western continent. If his experience in the game had taught him anything, it was that the ‘less civilized’ continent was going to get the worst of it. They had to be ready.

“Beacons are fully upgraded,” he finally answered Phuong. “What I have left I want to keep for panic improvements. Adaptation. Any other thoughts before I wander off and pretend like there’s something else I can do?”

“No thoughts. Just a present.” Carl came in from the back with some kind of cardboard box in his hands.

Mason blinked in confusion, then inhaled and smelled the butter. Sugar. Milk. He started paying more attention and sensed a dozen people huddled somewhere outside. Oh Christ.

“You baked me a cake? Will someone please tell me what animal is giving us milk?”

Carl’s face slowly dropped as he came forward.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sylvie baked it. And in future, when you get a surprise birthday cake, you’re supposed to act surprised.”

“Oh Carl.” Mason put a hand to his cheek. “You shouldn’t have. And it’s not…I mean how in the name of God could you even…Haley has it in her profile, doesn’t she. Is it too late to stop this?”

Carl nodded with a grin and gestured some secret gesture. Basically all of Mason’s key players came pouring through a side door. There were a few party hats and what looked like mystery meat on a stick. Carl popped the cake lid to show some sloppily written text that might have been ‘Bee ready for anything’. And the image of a bee with Mason’s face.

“Because you’re a busy, busy bee. You get it? And of course the catch phrase.”

Mason shook his head, but couldn’t fight the grin.

“Sylvie didn’t decorate this. That’s for damn sure.”

Carl looked at his cake and frowned.

“What’s wrong with it? I mean it’s not a very big fucking cake. You try fitting all that. And that’s a pretty good damn bee. I worked hard on that, you ungrateful prick.”

Then the players were all singing, and Mason took a breath and tolerated it all, trying not to show any of the emotion he felt.

What was he, twenty four? He’d honestly forgotten. He shook some hands before letting Becky shove a bite of cake in his mouth before giving him a kiss. He didn’t feel twenty-four years old. He felt like he’d had one life on earth, and another life in the great game, and that both were about the same length.

He ate his cake and smiled. He made small talk with his players and kept a hand on Becky’s back, pulling her in because he could tell she needed it.

“Real surprise is that we made to birthday,” Alex said with no expression as they took hands. Mason met his eyes and stared.

“I mean…that’s funny, Alex. You know that, right?” 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

The middle age Belarusian made no reaction whatsoever, just wandering off with his hands behind his back as he looked around the enclave. Mason looked to Phuong. The old soldier just shrugged with an amused expression.

Mason had a quick word with everyone, enjoying this little calm before the storm. They didn’t talk about the doom. They talked about old battles. Or the births of their own children, or new weapons or powers. These people had done everything he’d ever asked, and come through it. And if the world was saved in the weeks to come, it was largely going to be because of the people in that room.

Only Tommaso seemed hesitant. Like he had something to say but couldn’t find the words. Mason knew they’d had their differences and that the man had struggled in the beginning. But he’d found his way and been an asset. Mason shook his hand and smiled.

“Still alive, Tommaso. I feel like Becky deserved to lose some kind of bet.”

She perked up from beside him.

“That ain’t true. I always thought Seamus’d be dead first. And maybe Annie, because that girl’s crazy.”

“I heard that!” The Irishman tossed back some kind of alcohol as he stood with a few others. But he was all smiles, and another surprising success story. Mason had thought he’d have to kill the man early on.

“Yes.” Tommaso smiled awkwardly. “Still alive, chief. And very glad to be part of this family, ah? Very glad.”

Mason gave him another smile and a chance to say more, but they left it there. Who knew what he was feeling. No one’s reaction to the looming end of the world would have been a surprise to Mason. He thanked the other players and promised Haley would remember all their birthdays too. It got a few laughs.

There were lots of ‘busy bee’ jokes and toasts of ‘be ready for anything’ for any reason whatsoever. Then the cake was done, and the group got quiet and lost in their own thoughts, until the many eyes turned to him.

They wanted a speech, or something. And he knew the time for him to be a mid-20s ‘young adult’ old having a birthday was over. They needed the guy who jumped into a devourer’s mouth or punched a dracolich in the face. To see that their leader was fearless, in control of something uncontrollable. To tell them everything was going to be OK.

He smiled, letting them see the part of him that welcomed the end. That wanted only to face whatever this ‘Yalor’ sent so he could die in some epic, glorious doom. Then he took a breath, and remembered the mad part of himself that believed they’d win.

“This was great, but, for my next birthday, I prefer ice cream cake.”

A few grins, then a growing laughter and shaking heads, a kind of ‘this crazy kid’ return to normalcy and easing a fear of the unknown.

“Stop looking like kicked puppies,” Mason called over it like he was bored. “We’ve done the work. We’ll win the game. And whatever happens is gonna happen. At least if you die you won’t have to listen to any more crying babies.”

The laughs and jokes continued as everyone cleaned up and made for the exits. Mason went out still holding on to Becky, guiding her back to the hall for another urgent night in the sheets, and a very different kind of birthday party.

She’d been enjoying her ‘extra’ time with most of the other women being new mothers. Demi was several months pregnant now and not usually up for too much vigor. So it was usually Becky sharing him with Naya and Ayet (and sometimes Lodie), and they’d gotten used to the dynamic.

He was getting used to it, too, and looked forward to every night he spent in Nassau. Even if there were a lot of crying babies, and exhausted, cranky women.

Having them, he decided, was a lot better than not having them. Which he supposed meant he’d come a long way since the Mason who’d entered the game.

He held onto his beautiful cowgirl as she leaned into his shoulder, walking her back to their ridiculous fantasy treehouse in the warm, summer night air.