The cave yawned before them, immense and jagged, swallowing the pale light of the desert. Its walls stretched high, fractured stone jutting at impossible angles, shadows twisting unnaturally along the ground. Unlike the narrow gap Michael had imagined, this cave could have housed dozens—or even hundreds.
Some groups reached the entrance, faces pale and gasping, weapons raised, scanning for threats. They hesitated only briefly before plunging into the darkness, swallowed by the cavern. Behind them, a few stragglers stumbled, dragging their feet through broken sand and crystalline debris. Panic slowed them, forcing sharp turns and sudden halts.
Michael noted them quietly, observing without intent to intervene as he's bright blonde hair swayed vastly contradicted by his empty dark eye's his facials beautiful aroused a feature aroused a few as the faint light dance on him.
For a brief moment all attention fell on him as people entering the cave time after time , though truly brief as other things began to swell up.
Then amidst the sudden crowd he saw her.
The woman from the desert—moving with the same sharp precision he remembered, even amid chaos. Her scarlet eyes scanned the crowd, assessing, calculating, avoiding the careless ones. For a heartbeat, Michael allowed himself to register her presence. Not admiration. Observation. Survival.
The others continued filing in, some branching off down narrower tunnels that split from the main chamber. The cave seemed endless, twisting in ways that disoriented even the most composed survivors. Every step echoed in uneven rhythms, amplified by the cavern's high ceilings.
Michael pressed himself against a jagged rock wall and slowed his breathing. The cold instinct from the desert still lingered—his senses sharp, his mind focused—but the chaos inside the cave brought a different tension. It wasn't pursuit anymore.
It was uncertainty.
And then it appeared.
Runes.
Not carved into the stone, not etched in the sand—floating, glowing faintly around each person. Each survivor saw a different set, unique to themselves: shapes, symbols, numbers, lines of light wrapping subtly around their form. Michael's eyes widened just enough to catch glimpses of his own, twisting and shifting, illuminating faintly in rhythm with his pulse.
It didn't speak. Yet everyone understood its meaning immediately.
The runes were the system—the guide, the observer, the silent adjudicator of this world.
The others reacted differently. Some froze, eyes wide in disbelief, mouths opening and closing without words. Others staggered back, tripping over stone as if the sight itself was physical weight. Panic rippled again, but Michael's instincts remained sharp.
He didn't flinch.
He observed.
He noted.
The woman's runes flickered with subtle intensity, drawing his eye once more. She moved through the incoming survivors with deliberate, confident steps, a faint smile of recognition—either at the system or at survival itself. He didn't care which. Utility mattered more than sentiment.
Then the runes shifted. Light bent around them as if the system itself had taken a breath. The tension that had suffocated the cave—the fear of creatures, the chaos of panicked humans—dissipated instantly, replaced by a strange, heavy presence.
The system welcomed them.
Not with words, not with sound. Its presence was a quiet pulse, subtle but undeniable, pressing into the mind like cold water. Michael could feel it settling across the cavern, brushing against every individual differently. The survivors paused, listening, feeling, unsure. It was not guidance. It was observation. A reminder.
And with that calm came something else.
Fear.
Different from before. Deeper. Patient. Watching. Not immediate, not frantic, but eternal, quiet, and absolute. Every survivor felt it in their chest, crawling along their spine. The system did not kill, did not command, did not speak—but it reminded them, in the faintest way, that nothing in this world was simple.
Nothing was safe.
Michael adjusted his grip on the sword, jaw tight, eyes scanning the crowd and the cave's shadowed corners. Even with the immediate threat gone, he could feel the pulse of danger threading through the air. His instincts whispered that the runes were not mercy. They were an observation. A test. And nothing about tests was ever easy.
The woman stepped closer to the shadows where he pressed himself, eyes flicking to his form briefly. Michael did not move. He didn't acknowledge her. He didn't need to. Recognition was enough. Shared awareness of the system's presence was a fragile bond—but bonds were dangerous. Trust even more so.
Outside, the desert continued its silent war. Clicking, screams, and movement reminded them that the creatures still roamed, hunting, patient, relentless. Inside, the survivors adjusted to the strange new equilibrium of the cave, the runes' soft light casting long, dancing shadows on fractured stone.
Michael exhaled slowly, tasting the metallic tang of dried blood on his lips. Survival had brought him here. Observation had kept him alive. And now… the system had appeared, silent and indifferent, forcing him to realize that the desert was only the beginning.
He stared into the darkness ahead.
The runes shimmered faintly, pulsing in rhythm with an unseen heart.
And the cave—temporary haven though it was—felt less safe than it had a moment ago.
He stared deeply into his rune as he began to strangely understand what it behold
Seeker : Michael
True name: ...
Vestige: King's authority
Attributes: crown of thorns , ..., dark thought, unworthy,
Seeker path: dominance
Path core: ???
Seeker rank: fractured
Relics: Old sword
He knew one thing for sure this was some kind of representation of he current overview. He noted that, he could understand certain runes with easy while some true concentrated focus and would simply not translate, but what stuck him most was the ruin vestige and attributes.
It seems to be some kind of unique trait or ability.
While concentrating hard on the rune it seems to change expanding further into it
Vestige: King's authority
The King his the highest form of authority he who beneath the king most follow as that his will
Attribute: crown of thorns
He bear the punishment for his sin and now bear the burdens for what ever he rules
????
Dark thought
Cloud by the voice of insane
Unworthy
For his sin he now bear the ......