The twin suns bled into the horizon, their glow sinking like dying embers in an oil-slick sky. Shadows stretched long and violet across the alien terrain, swallowing the reds and golds of dusk.
Ethan crouched in the shadow of a slanted boulder, sweat cooling fast on his neck. His breaths came shallow and careful. He knew—instinctively—that once the light was gone, the world would change.
Something shimmered in the distance. At first, he thought his eyes were betraying him—an afterimage from staring at the setting suns too long. But no, it was real. A silhouette, half-formed, rising from the ground itself like smoke frozen in shape.
A structure. Or the memory of one.
It pulsed faintly in and out of existence, its jagged outline warping with every heartbeat. At times it was there, black stone spires clawing at the sky. At others, it vanished into nothing, as though it had never existed.
And as it flickered, the twin moons began to rise. One pale silver, casting cold light across the broken land. The other blood-red, its surface scored with jagged cracks, bleeding color into the sky. Together, they framed the strange apparition.
The structure seemed tethered to their ascent—its form growing clearer as the red moon climbed higher. For a moment, Ethan could swear he heard something faint carried on the still air: whispers, or the low grind of stone against stone.
His gut tightened. He didn't know if it was sanctuary, trap, or hallucination. But instinct screamed: not now. Not tonight. He forced his eyes away. He needed cover he could reach, not mysteries beyond his grasp.
Ding!
A cold tone pulsed in his vision:
[Warning: Nightfall Imminent – Environmental Hazards Increasing]
Not a suggestion. Not advice. A threat.
Ethan's gut twisted. He scanned the terrain—shallow basin pool behind him, too exposed; the flat rock and still water would glow under any moonlight this world had. Bad cover. Past a dry streambed, twisted trees bent unnaturally low, their trunks arched like crude ribs. Between two moss-slick boulders, he spotted a shallow dip in the ground—half enclosed, defensible, hidden.
It wasn't much. But it was better than nothing.
He moved fast, dagger raised in a defensive grip, the edge catching the last light as he tested the inventory system for the first time. With a thought, the chipped blade shimmered, winked out of his hand, then reappeared instantly in his grip. The system pulled it into some unseen pocket dimension—fast, weightless, immediate.
Good. At least that worked.
But his inventory was still pathetic:
Inventory:
• Stone Dagger (Primitive)
• Dirty Cloth Strip (Blood-stained)
• 1 Point
• Resolve (non-transferable)
That was all he had. And night was falling.
He crouched beside a dead sapling and got to work. The knife dulled fast, but the trees here had soft, fibrous bark that peeled in strips like wet rope. He wove them together between branches, layering a crude lattice wall between the rocks. His hands blistered, palms raw from pulling and tying. The smell of the bark clung bitterly to his nose, sticky sap gluing his fingertips.
Foliage was everywhere—broad alien leaves, red ferns, blue-veined moss. He packed them into the gaps, sealing air and sight. Each push into the wall scraped his knuckles raw, but he forced himself to continue. His shoulders trembled with the effort, but he worked until a shadowy shape took form.
Not safe. Not strong. But something.
Ding!
[Scan Shelter?]
"Yes," Ethan whispered, barely audible.
A soft green grid swept over the structure.
{Shelter Recognized
Technology Unlocked: Shelter Design I
Global Human Adoption: 4.3%
+1 Point Awarded (Regional First Builder)}
[Shelter Constructed: Primitive Lean-to]
Defensive Rating: F+
Camouflage Rating: D
Durability: Poor. Will not withstand sustained force.
Notes: Provides minimal concealment and partial cover. Efficiency drops if structure is not reinforced.
Ethan slumped back, breathing hard. F+. Not much better than nothing—but at least it wasn't nothing.
Curious, he opened his inventory next. The scattered wood, stones, and plant matter he had gathered earlier shimmered into neat stacks.
[Inventory Opened]
Wood (Unit: 5 pieces) x2
Stone (Unit: 5 pieces) x1
Plant Fiber (Unit: 5 strands) x1
Crude Dagger (Durability 92%)
Ten slots total. Each unit required at least five of the same resource to condense into one stack. He only had four slots filled now, but it was already clear—space would run out fast.
His jaw tightened. Every choice from now on would matter.
On impulse, he flicked open the global chat feed. Text scrolled across his vision in a shifting mess of languages, some familiar, some utterly alien.
{[Global] SteelFang: Anyone else see the second sun drop? What the hell kind of cycle is this?
[Global] MiraSong: Found a fruit that didn't kill me yet. Progress?
[Global] Unknown_4532: Don't bother looking for safe zones. There aren't any.
[Global] AshRoot: Stop panicking. Band together, build defenses. Numbers = survival.
[Global] VoidWalker: Numbers = bigger targets. Good luck with that.}
The light faded completely. A suffocating silence followed.
Not loudly. Not suddenly. But terrifyingly.
The wind died. The leaves stopped rustling. The entire forest seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
A distant shriek. Metal dragged across wet stone.
Ethan froze, dagger tight in his hand. Another shriek. Closer. Branches cracked. A wet, deliberate thump. Something heavy was moving.
He pressed himself low into the shelter, body rigid. His breath rasped in his throat, but he didn't dare exhale fully. His mind screamed at him to move, but he stayed still.
Ding!
[Observation Quest Generated]
Unidentified Entity Detected
Task: Maintain Visual Contact – 2 Minutes
Reward: Species Identification
The words burned in his vision. The system wanted him to look.
Slowly, painfully, he inched toward a crack in the wall.
The shape came into view. Massive. Wrong.
It hunched low over a carcass of some six-legged, reptilian thing, its body sprawled open like wet laundry. The predator tore into it with long, serrated mandibles, pulling strips of meat free in sickening, wet sounds. Flesh slurped and tore, bones cracked like snapping branches.
The stench hit him a second later—iron-rich, putrid, hot. Ethan's throat seized. His stomach rolled violently. He clamped his teeth down hard on his tongue to stop himself from gagging.
The beast's head lifted, twitching.
For one heart-stopping moment, Ethan thought it had seen him. A long, blade-thin tongue licked the gore off its mandibles. Then it bent back down, shoving its entire muzzle into the carcass with a wet, sucking noise.
Ethan shuddered, bile stinging the back of his throat.
[Observation Progress: 8%…]
He forced his eyes wider, against instinct. Details. He needed details.
Its limbs—too many joints, too long. Its torso—armored in patches of bone and chitin. Its skin—black, but gleaming with a sheen like oil.
[Observation Progress: 26%…]
The timer was speeding up. Every feature he locked onto gave the system more data. He realized it in a rush—if he paid closer attention, he didn't just wait, he made progress.
So he focused harder. He noted the ragged scars across its ribs, the way its spine bent too far, how its tail flexed independently as if it had its own mind.
[Observation Progress: 61%…]
The creature froze. Its head turned sharply, mandibles clicking.
Ethan's blood turned to ice.
It sniffed the air. The sound was wrong, too sharp, like knives grinding. The predator jerked upright, black ichor dripping from its muzzle. For a horrible second, it faced directly toward Ethan's shelter.
The timer crawled—
[Observation Progress: 74%…]
A sharp shriek echoed from deeper in the forest. The creature whipped its head around, tense, tail lashing. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it bolted—launching into the brush with terrifying speed. Trees bent and cracked under its weight, then silence.
Ethan sagged, sweat slick down his spine. His body shook from holding still so long.
Ding!
Species Identified: Varnok Stalker
Status: Active – Hunting
Origin World: Kraal-Koth
Dimension: A-17
Technology Level: Unknown
Civilization Code: 0.27%
The red text faded. He pressed his forehead to the dirt, sucking in shallow, frantic breaths. His jaw hurt from clenching it so hard.
There was no way he could sleep now. But he couldn't waste the hours either.
He forced himself to crawl along the perimeter of the shelter, working by touch alone. Every movement had to be silent. He dared not strike flint, not even whisper a word.
His fingers brushed rough bark—snapped branch. He pulled it back inside. Then a smooth, heavy stone. Then a plant with long, fibrous strands. Each time, his heart pounded as though the stalker would return with every misplaced touch.
Piece by piece, he gathered what he could feel in the dark. Wood. Stone. Plant fiber. Damp leaves with metallic scents. His pile grew, quiet and clumsy, until his arms ached again.
Every time he worked, the trembling in his hands dulled. His breath steadied. His thoughts sharpened. But every distant shriek—every crack of a branch—sent him back into silent panic. His grip weakened, his chest burned, his mind fogged with fear.
The hours dragged, and the black sky lightened.
When the jagged ridges bled with the first pale fire of dawn, Ethan sagged inside his half-shelter, exhaustion washing over him.
Ding!
{Milestone Reached: First Night Survival (Solo)
+1 Point
Hidden Stat Unlocked: Sanity
Sanity: 7/10
Description: A measure of psychological resilience. When fear overwhelms you, Sanity decreases. Low Sanity reduces combat efficiency, slows reaction, and risks collapse.}
Ethan stared at the new line, chest tightening. So that was it. All the trembling, the fog, the weakness—his mind breaking under the strain. He'd survived, but the system was telling him he was already weaker.
He clenched his dagger tighter, jaw set. If this world was going to strip his sanity away piece by piece, then he had no choice.
He would have to work faster. Harder. Build more. Earn more.
Because if he slowed down—if he let fear keep eating at him—he wouldn't last another night.