Brrr, Cold. It burrowed deeper into his bones than the sodden autumn mud in the Elder's field. Selyuk drove his shovel into the frozen earth, grunting habitually under the weight of exhaustion. His back shot through with a familiar, dull ache. Another failed harvest, another hungry winter for him.
The village behind him was drowning in the grey twilight – sagging wooden houses, crooked old fences, and pitiful wisps of smoke curling from the chimneys.
His whole world – the world of an orphan abandoned on the doorstep, an eternal farmhand whose greatest luck was not to die over the winter. Even the attempt to flee to the city had turned into Fate's spit in his face, leaving him waking up in a ditch with empty pockets, no family, no future. Only the field, the shovel, and the sullen sky.
The sky... Suddenly, it jerked. Not thunder, not lightning, but a tear appeared. As if someone had ripped the sky apart with bare hands. Black-purple cracks, like tentacles, crawled across the heavens with a deafening BOOOMM that shook everything, as if the very planet had reared up. Selyuk, throwing aside the shovel with stiff hands, covered his head. The entire planet trembled as the rift appeared.
Screams from the people in the village! The wild bellowing of cattle, the crack of splintering trees. And then, another force began to act – gravity pulling towards something. Instinctively raising his head, he suddenly saw it, five paces away: a black spiral, devouring light, dust, and stones. The edges of the gate blazed with a poisonous green radiance, impossible to look at directly. His mind flooded with the certainty of death and a futile urge to flee.
The black hole began pulling harder, an irresistible force seized his body and dragged him towards the vortex. Selyuk dug his fingers into the frozen earth, but it was no use: his nails broke and tore free with the dirt. Useless.
"What the hell?!" – his last words before the portal's roar swallowed him. The last thing he saw was the Elder of the village's face, twisted by pure terror, in a window. Then came blackness, cold that seared his bones, and the sensation of an eternal fall into the abyss.
Smell returned first. The stench of rotting flesh, choking pollen, the damp reek of moisture and trees. A gulp of air seared his lungs like fire. Selyuk groaned, trying to open his eyes and get his bearings.
Seeing the sky, he froze, breath caught as if by a noose.
A sky, but not his village sky, sullen and grey. This one was a poisonous turquoise, streaked with cracks and blood-scarlet clouds. The sun wasn't visible, yet a blinding, merciless light poured from everywhere, reflecting off gigantic green leaves looming overhead. Was he lying in grass? Stems as thick as his arms and tall as a small house rose around him, forming an impenetrable wall.
"Where am I?" – a hoarse whisper scraped from his parched throat. The last moments, the memories – the sky tearing apart, the black portal like a wormhole, the feeling of DEATH.
A sharp pain stabbed his temples, acute, drilling. A voice without a source, without emotion, hammered directly into his skull:
Welcome to the Dunge
on: Ancient Khovs.
Outer Participant. Level: 1
Solo Clearance initiated. Gates closing.
Warning: Participant death deactivates Gate Limiters.
Status Access granted.
The words pierced his consciousness like a scythe splitting a field. Clearance, Gates Closing, Limiters? He didn't know the exact terms, but the picture forming was ghastly and clear: if he died here, the Gates would open. For something terrible. Cold sweat, sticky and vile, trickled down his back beneath his worn shirt. He didn't give a damn about the village, but for himself... death here was the absolute end.
"Status." (He rasped the word, swallowing the last lump of saliva born of fear.)
Before his eyes, visually blurring the giant leaf above him, knowledge arose – not a window, not letters. Just sudden understanding, as if he'd always known it:
Name: Selyuk
Life: Full
Strength: 4 -Like a guy hauling sacks, nothing more.
Dexterity: 5 -Hands break from scythes and shovels, not battle.
Endurance: 6 -Knows the price of long labor, not running.
Mind: 5 -Average
Instinct: 5 -Sees which way the wind blows.
Luck: 1- Spit of Fate. Misfortune.
Gift/Ability: Adaptation – Body learns to endure pain, poison, blows, etc. (Slowly)
Gift/Ability: Survival – Senses water, food, danger; endures hunger, thirst; wounds close. Will to live.
Luck 1? Spit of Fate? Selyuk gave a bitter smirk. It was all true. His gaze stuck to the Gifts: Adaptation and Survival? Body learns to endure? How? Sense danger? Where is it? The answer didn't come from within, but from the right – a sudden, dry rustle, followed by a muffled yet vicious hiss that froze the blood in his veins.