I woke to warmth.
Not the harsh, choking heat of battle, or the sticky swelter of sweat-soaked exhaustion, but real warmth. Morning sunlight filtered through slats in the wooden ceiling above me, painting slow-moving golden lines across the stone floor.
For a moment, I didn't move.
My body ached. Deep. In the bones. Muscles tugged with every breath. There was a heaviness in my limbs like I'd slept in wet sand—but I was alive.
The last thing I remembered was being led into the longhouse by Lina, my arm half-useless, shoulder torn and half-bandaged, kids still whispering behind us.
I sat up slowly.
The room was small but clean. Timber walls. A stone hearth. A rough-woven blanket had been thrown over me. My boots rested neatly by the door. Someone had left a jug of water beside the bed, and I didn't hesitate—drained half of it in one go.
Then I heard it.
A soft chime. Familiar now.
[System Interface: Online]
Status: Stable
Bloodline Sync: 5.3%
New Trait Registered: Minor Battle Endurance
Another chime followed.
Stat Increase Confirmed.
Strength: 14 → 17
Durability: 12 → 15
Agility: 13 → 17
Intelligence: 11 → 14
Willpower: 18 → 21
+3 overall.
I exhaled. "Guess getting half-killed has its perks."
"Guess I've still got a ways to go," I muttered, swiping the air to open my system menu.
[Name: Mark Jackson]
Race: Human (Altered)
Bloodline: Draconis – Space Variant (Suppressed)
Level: 3
HP: 100%
Stamina: 82%
Mana: 100%
[Attributes]
Strength: 21
Durability: 19
Agility: 15
Intelligence: 12
Willpower: 19
Mana: 20
Bloodline Sync: 5.3%
Passive Traits: Spatial Resistance I, Minor Battle Endurance
Active Skills: Dragon Enhancement (partially-Locked),
There was a prompt blinking beside "Dragon Enhancement."
[Skill Status – partially-Locked]
Requires: Bloodline Sync 10%, (can only be activated during high stress moments)
I frowned. "What, do I need to jump into a volcano?"
But still , I felt a little more in control. A little stronger. A little more like a threat.
I brought up the gauntlet interface next.
[Item: unnamed Gauntlets]
Grade: Unranked (Bound)
Status: Dormant
Material Composition: ???
Functionality:
– Adaptive Growth
Charge: 48%
Skill Unlocked: Nova Break
Type: Active
Charge Threshold: 60% minimum energy capacity
Description:
Channeling raw kinetic force through the user's gauntlets, Nova Break unleashes a single, explosive strike empowered by draconic energy. Upon activation, the gauntlets surge with crackling violet and black energy. The moment of impact creates a burst akin to a collapsing star — crushing force, radiant shockwave, and brief distortion of the air itself. (Note: only in strongest state)
• Deals massive blunt damage in a focused area.
• Creates a shockwave that knocks back nearby enemies.
• If Bloodline Sync is above 10%, additional burning void residue may linger at the point of impact, causing short-term environmental effects .
• May temporarily numb the user's arm if overused at low resonance.
Notes: Gauntlets respond to stress, bloodline resonance, and kinetic impact. Appear to evolve with user progress.
I summoned them, and flexed my fingers. They responded like skin now. The first time I'd summoned them, they'd felt cold, foreign. Now… they felt like part of me.
After dismissing them, I rose, wincing slightly as my shoulder twinged.
Outside the window, I heard voices. Hammer on metal. Children laughing. Firewood being split. The sounds of a living place.
I stepped out of the longhouse and into the village proper.
Morning in Pinebarrow was unlike anything I'd ever seen.
Not modern. Not even medieval. This wasn't fantasy as drawn in books. This was life—mud paths, twisting smoke trails, children chasing each other between goat pens. Garden plots tilled by hand. Furs drying on thick ropes.
The village was small, but it buzzed with the kind of energy only survival brings. People nodded as I passed—cautious, curious, but not unkind.
One older woman, knotted hair tied with blue cloth, squinted at me and said, "You the outsider?"
I blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Mark."
She nodded and went back to peeling roots like I'd just passed a quiz.
I wandered, taking it in.
10 MINUTES LATER~
Lina was sitting by the well.
Not like someone waiting for company. More like someone who didn't mind being alone. Her staff leaned against the stones beside her, and her silver-gray hair was pulled back into a loose knot that glinted in the late morning sun. Her boots were muddy. Her sleeves rolled. She looked like she'd already done half a day's work.
I stepped over, moving slowly, still stiff from yesterday's fight. She looked over when she heard me approach but didn't stand.
"You made it out of bed," she said.
"Barely." I rubbed at my shoulder. "Feels like I went twelve rounds with a bull."
Lina gave the faintest smirk and tossed me a waterskin. I caught it, took a few gulps.
Then, quieter, I asked, "You got a second?"
She nodded once.
I sat down on the edge of the well across from her. For a moment, we just listened—hooves in the distance, the rasp of someone sharpening a blade, kids shouting near the fence line. Pinebarrow lived around us, a rhythm I hadn't learned yet.
"I've been trying to figure out where I fit in all this," I finally said. "This village. I don't exactly blend in."
She didn't reply immediately. Just turned her gaze toward the horizon, watching the tree line where the forest lapped against the edge of the village.
"No one really does, at first," she said. "Pinebarrow isn't a place you come to on purpose. It's a place that catches you on the way to somewhere else."
I frowned. "So what does that make me? Dead weight?"
Her gray eyes flicked back to mine. "Yes it does" But, just for now
"For now," I repeated. "So, what then? Do I… farm? Hunt?"
"You heal," she said plainly. "You listen. You learn. You don't get to skip to the good part. Power means nothing without foundation. Otherwise, you're just another idiot with a subpar punch."
I thought back to the fight with the Verdant Stalkers. The way I'd flailed through it The gauntlets did most of the work.
"You're not wrong," I muttered.
She stood then, brushing dirt from her trousers.
"If you're staying," she said, "you'll help with whatever's needed. Chopping wood, mending fences, carrying water. We don't care what you are. We care what you do."
"And if I'm not staying?"
Lina turned to look at me fully now, and something sharp flashed behind her expression. Not cruelty. Not threat. Just clarity.
"Then you'd better figure out what you're running toward." She said before walking away.
I took a deep breath and shoved my hands into my trousers pockets. The ache in my shoulder pulsed again, reminding me this wasn't just another sunrise. This was day two of being alive in a world I didn't understand.
I followed Lina along the dirt path that curled past the eastern edge of Pinebarrow, where the forest leaned close and the hearth smoke grew thin. The morning air echoed with activity: the rhythmic thumping of logs on chopping blocks, women at work washing moss-fruit in shallow wooden bowls, a dozen goats grazing near the fence.
Lina started walking towards a well-worn shed fronting the steps of a cottage. A trimmed pine pasted with dried hollyhock pressed against the corner, bright against early light.When we reached it, the door was already wide open. Smoke drifted out in lazy spirals. The clang of metal on metal echoed like a heartbeat.
Inside stood a man whose presence filled the room like smoke fills lungs.
He was old, clearly—but not weak. Mr. Drake looked like a boulder someone had decided to wrap in muscle and soot. His skin was a deep, weather-worn brown, veins like rope coiling down his forearms. His beard was thick and white.
He turned slowly as we entered, eyes sharp despite the years.
"So," he said, voice deep and gravel-edged. "This the one who fought off a pack of stalkers with half a shoulder and no brains?"
"Don't flatter him," Lina said dryly. "He got lucky."
Drake studied me like a man sizing up a raw ingot. "Luck ain't nothing to spit at. Still, he's better have got more than that in him."
"He's green, but he's got grit. He needs to understand what real work feels like." Lina said
Then she turned to me. "After you're done here, come to the west edge of the village. There's something we need to talk about ."
Before I could ask what, she was already heading out. Her staff tapped once on the wooden floor before vanishing behind the smoke-hung doorframe.
Drake grunted and gestured to a leather apron hanging nearby. "Put that on. If you're gonna be dead weight, at least sweat while you're at it."
⸻
I didn't know how much time passed. Drake didn't speak often—just pointed, grunted, or raised an eyebrow like that was enough to tell you what you did wrong.
Turns out it was.
I hammered, held, twisted, shaped. My arms burned. My shoulder ached. But I didn't stop. The weight of the tools, the heat of the forge, the endless repetition of swing and adjust and swing again—it was brutal, but honest. The kind of pain that didn't lie.
When we finished, Drake nodded once.
"You didn't cry," he said. "That's something."
"Thanks," I wheezed.
He gave a common hmmph, the kind that felt like it had been used 100 times today. "Get going, boy. She's not one to wait long."
⸻
I found Lina exactly where she said she'd be—on the west edge of Pinebarrow, near a moss-covered trail that led into the thicker woods. She stood beside a ring of flat stones, staff at her back, arms crossed.
"You're late," she said without turning.
"Had to earn my keep," I said, trying not to limp.
Lina nodded once, then tilted her head toward the stones. "We train here. Not just for battle. For understanding."
I stepped into the ring and took a breath. The air felt different. Heavier. It hummed with something old.
"What now?"
She raised a hand and pointed to the center stone. "Sit. I'm going to teach you about the Nine Realms of Power."
Nine?
She didn't wait for questions. "There are tiers to strength here. Everything you felt back there—against those stalkers—was the first rung. You're in the Mortal Realm. So is most of this village."
Her voice turned clinical. Measured. "There are nine realms total, each broken into three sub-levels. Mortal. Awakening. Ascendant. Transcendent. And so on."
My system chimed in.
[New Knowledge Acquired: Realms of Power]
Power in Nytherra is not linear. It evolves in realms—each more unfathomable than the last. Your journey has only just begun.
⸻
1. Mortal Realm (Levels 1–15)
The realm of the ordinary. Most will never move beyond it.
• Low Tier (Lv 1–5) – Instinct-driven, untrained. Survival over style.
• Mid Tier (Lv 6–10) – Skills form. Stamina increases. A few gain minor edge.
• High Tier (Lv 11–15) – Fully trained. Foes become prey. Faint sparks of greater potential begin to flicker.
⸻
2. Awakened Realm (Levels 16–30)
Essence awakens. The body begins to harmonize with energy.
• Low Tier (Lv 16–20) – Internal energy manifests. Aura may be sensed faintly.
• Mid Tier (Lv 21–25) – Magic and technique align. Affinities take shape.
• High Tier (Lv 26–30) – The self crystallizes. Traits become weapons. Signature techniques begin to form.
⸻
3. Ascendant Realm (Levels 31–50)
The physical and spiritual self align. Combat becomes artistry.
• Low Tier (Lv 31–36) – Power multiplies. Body withstands magic and force.
• Mid Tier (Lv 37–43) – Technique becomes doctrine. Mana molds the battlefield.
• High Tier (Lv 44–50) – Movements are like poetry. A single warrior can sway a war's tide.
⸻
4. Transcendent Realm (Levels 51–70)
The warrior steps beyond the human. Combat becomes legend.
• Low Tier (Lv 51–56) – Spirit echoes in every strike. Elements obey partially.
• Mid Tier (Lv 57–63) – Pressure alone stifles lesser beings. Terrain reshapes underfoot.
• High Tier (Lv 64–70) – Thought, motion, and intent fuse. May alter space in moments of fury.
⸻
5. Mythic Realm (Levels 71–90)
Living myths. Power becomes destiny.
• Low Tier (Lv 71–76) – Wounds that should kill don't. Presence inspires worship or terror.
• Mid Tier (Lv 77–83) – Battlefields become stageplays of creation and ruin.
• High Tier (Lv 84–90) – Singular forces of destruction or salvation. Mountains shift in their path.
⸻
6. Primordial Realm (Levels 91–110)
Power reverts to its source. Identity fuses with raw elemental truth.
• Low Tier (Lv 91–96) – The body blurs into phenomenon. Speech warps the world.
• Mid Tier (Lv 97–103) – Control
• High Tier (Lv 104–110) – Existence itself becomes fluid. One step may shatter a sky.
⸻
7. Eternal Realm (Levels 111–130)
Soul, body, and will become indistinguishable. Immortality is forged.
• Low Tier (Lv 111–116) – Lives outside of time. May glimpse alternate futures.
• Mid Tier (Lv 117–123) – Lawbenders. Space and cause respond to presence.
• High Tier (Lv 124–130) – Commands are laws. Concepts themselves yield.
⸻
8. Divine Realm (Levels 131–150)
The divine walk. They do not obey the world—they shape it.
• Low Tier (Lv 131–136) – Create storms by breathing. Shape souls with intent.
• Mid Tier (Lv 137–143) – Planar creation. Rule over natural laws.
• High Tier (Lv 144–150) – Powers indistinct from deities. Legacies shape epochs.
⸻
9. Unknown Realm (???)
There are no records. No paths. Only silence and anomaly.
• Entry into this realm is uncharted.
• Reality may unravel or stabilize based on belief.
⸻
[System Note]
• Your Current Level: 3
• Current Realm: Mortal Realm – Low Tier
• Bloodline Sync: 5.3%
• Next Threshold (Realm Shift): Level 16 – Awakened Realm
Then she stepped forward and handed me something small and metallic—a polished, rune-inscribed disc no larger than my palm.
"Hold it," she said. "Focus on the center."
The moment I did, I felt something shift in my chest. A pull. Like gravity folding in on itself. The disc lit with soft silver, then deepened to violet-black.
[Affinity Test Complete.]
Affinity: Space
Sub-Affinity: Gravity
"…Huh."
Lina raised an eyebrow. "That's rare."
"Rare how?"
She stepped back, giving me space. "Space is a rare affinity. Not flashy. Not easy. But if mastered… it bends the battlefield to your will."
"And gravity?"
"It compliments it. Gives you weight. Control. Anchor or crush. Most people never awaken one affinity. You've got two."
I stared at the disc still glowing faintly in my hand.
So I had something. A path. Not just brute force. Something to train. To grow.
Lina must've seen the storm in my mind because she added, "This doesn't make you special."
I looked up at her. "So what now?"
"Now you work," she said. "Until you're strong enough to survive this place. And when you're done with that?"
She turned, eyes narrowing as she looked toward the horizon.