Jay blinked.
Sunlight warmed his skin. Not the cold, artificial hue of a simulated system sky—but real, imperfect sunlight. It streamed in through a cracked window, hitting motes of dust that danced lazily above a wooden desk.
He sat up, groggy, the sheets tangled around him.
No interface blinked into existence.
No floating stat bubbles.
No mission log.
No system voice whispering objectives.
Just… quiet.
He touched his forehead instinctively. Nothing. Not even a single glowing notification.
"It's gone," he muttered. "The System's… really gone."
He looked around.
A modest room—stone walls, rustic furniture, handwoven curtains. A real room. Not a prefab dorm rendered by code. Books on the shelves weren't sorted by algorithmic learning progression. One had a cracked spine. Another had an old coffee stain on the cover.
Jay exhaled, half in relief, half in disorientation.
Was this peace?
Or was it just the eye of a storm?
He stumbled outside.
