The first thing Sylas noticed was the silence. Not the sterile, humming silence of a hospital room but a warm, living stillness. The gentle chirping of birds. The rustle of wind brushing past old wooden beams. The faint creaking of rafters above his head.
He blinked, eyes adjusting to slivers of sunlight peeking through gaps in a barn roof. Dust floated in the golden light like snowflakes in slow motion.
He sat up slowly, the stiffness in his muscles unfamiliar but not painful. That alone made his heart skip.
Pain. There was none. No nausea. No wires. No tightness in his chest. No screaming headaches drilling through his skull.
His hand shot to his head. Smooth. Hair.
"...No way," he whispered.
He scrambled to his feet, staggering a bit. The hay-strewn floor crunched under his bare soles. He took in the scene—stacked crates, hay bales, rusted farming tools and slowly turned toward the wide barn doors, left slightly ajar.
A breeze slipped in, carrying the scent of fresh earth and smoke.
And with it, something else.
[Welcome to Falandra, Sylas.]
[Location: Haresh Village | Time: Morning | Weather: Clear Skies]
A translucent interface shimmered into view. Unlike the sterile white hospital monitors he was used to, this glowed softly in a natural hue—almost as if the world itself was speaking.
Sylas stared, wide-eyed. "I'm in… a game?" he muttered.
Then shook his head. No, this wasn't VR. This wasn't a dream either. He could feel everything. The scratch of straw on his ankles. The cool wood beneath his fingers. The faint hunger gnawing at his stomach.
Everything felt… real.
I'm alive. The thought hit him again, and he laughed under his breath. Really alive.
[Objective: Assess Your Surroundings.]
"Alright," he said aloud. "Let's do that."
He pushed open the barn doors, stepping into blinding morning light.
The village was modest. Thatched-roof cottages dotted the landscape, smoke curling from chimneys. A few chickens pecked in the grass nearby, while a boy chased a wayward goat across the dirt path, yelling something in a language Sylas instinctively understood.
The scent of baking bread drifted from one cottage, mixed with woodsmoke and something earthy. Villagers moved about with purpose—carrying baskets, leading donkeys, tending small garden plots.
And no one was looking at him.
Not in fear. Not in curiosity. They were just… living.
It hit him harder than expected.
They're real. They're not programmed.
His throat tightened. In his final days, he'd been surrounded by machines, not people. Here, everything felt raw, present, vibrant.
He wasn't floating in a sterile white void anymore. He was standing on soil.
[System Update: First Quest Available]
[Quest: "Helping Hands"]
Description: Garen needs firewood chopped and brought to his home.
Reward: 10 copper coins
Objective: Gather 10 pieces of wood.
Status: Not Accepted
"A quest?" Sylas blinked. It floated gently beside his view, not intrusive. "Guess this is my tutorial, huh?"
"Talking to yourself already?" a deep voice interrupted from nearby.
Sylas startled slightly and turned.
A broad-shouldered man with a sun-darkened face and thick, calloused hands stood a few feet away, leaning on a heavy walking stick. He wore a worn linen tunic and carried the relaxed confidence of someone who knew the land well.
"Don't worry," the man said, grinning. "We all do it in the mornings."
Sylas cleared his throat. "Uh… yeah. Just a habit."
The man nodded and stepped forward, eyes scanning him up and down.
"You new in Haresh?"
"You could say that." Sylas scratched the back of his head.
"Lost your shoes too, I see."
Sylas laughed awkwardly. "Long story."
"Don't doubt it," the man said, offering a hand. "Name's Garen. I run the grain mill down the path. You lookin' for work?"
Sylas hesitated.
This man—he wasn't acting like a quest-giver. He wasn't spouting scripted lines. He was just a guy offering help.
"I could do a job," Sylas admitted. "And probably some food."
Garen's grin widened. "Well then, you're in luck. I was just about to ask someone to chop wood. You up for it?"
Sylas nodded.
"Good. You'll find an axe behind the barn. Chop ten logs and carry them to the back of my house. I'll get you some stew and ten coppers to go with it."
Ten copper. It didn't sound like much, but it was more than he had.
[Quest Accepted: Helping Hands]
The moment he accepted, a quiet chime echoed in his ears—light, almost musical.
He turned the corner of the barn and spotted the axe leaning against the wall. It was worn but solid. He hefted it, testing the weight.
Not too heavy. Not too sharp either.
"Okay," he muttered. "Chop wood. How hard can it be?"
Fifteen minutes later, he was sweating, sore, and mildly humiliated.
"Okay," he panted, staring at the half-split log on the stump. "Harder than I thought."
He swung again. The axe thudded in and stuck halfway. Gritting his teeth, he yanked it free and tried again.
Thunk.
This time, the wood cracked clean in two.
"Yes!" he grinned. "Take that, tree corpse."
As he kept chopping, something settled inside him. The rhythm. The motion. The ache in his arms. It was… grounding.
He wasn't lying in a bed waiting for death anymore. He was sweating in the sun, chopping firewood, earning his keep. And weirdly, it felt good.
[Progress: 7/10 Logs Collected]
By the time he'd finished the tenth log, he was covered in sweat and dust. His palms were red and sore. His stomach growled loud enough to scare a chicken nearby.
He stacked the logs in his arms and staggered down the path toward Garen's home, which turned out to be a cozy stone cottage tucked near a small garden.
The older man opened the door before Sylas even knocked.
"Well look at you," Garen said, nodding approvingly. "Didn't think a lad with those arms could finish all ten."
"I nearly didn't," Sylas grinned, dropping the wood.
Garen tossed him a small pouch that clinked softly.
[Quest Completed: Helping Hands]
[Reward: 10 Copper Coins Earned]
[New Objective: Find Shelter or Build One]
"You'll need a place to sleep," Garen said, as if reading his mind. "The barn's not much, but you're welcome to it another night or two. Or" he added, rubbing his chin, "if you're serious about staying, maybe talk to old Mira. She's got a spare shed. Needs fixing, but it'd be yours."
Sylas blinked. "You'd really let me stay?"
Garen shrugged. "You work hard, you get a roof. That's how it works here."
No lecture. No suspicion. Just straightforward kindness.
Back in Japan, everything had been red tape and silence. Here, it was sweat and simple words.
And oddly enough… it felt more real than anything he'd ever known.
As he sat on a bench outside Garen's house with a bowl of thick vegetable stew in his hands, Sylas finally let himself breathe.
The sun was warm. The food was hot. His muscles ached in a way that proved they worked.
He had ten copper in his pocket. A place to sleep. A new name.
And for the first time in a long, long while, something he hadn't felt in years flickered in his chest.
Hope.
[Side Quest Unlocked: "Mira's Shed"]
[Objective: Repair the shed and claim it as your home.]
Sylas leaned back against the cottage wall, eyes closing for a moment as he smiled to himself.
"I'm not dying anymore," he whispered.
"I'm finally living."