---
Logan lifted his spoon, his hand trembling faintly. He tried to disguise it as casual, resting his elbow against the table, but his sister's sharp gaze didn't miss it.
Her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. She didn't say anything, but the silence carried weight — a wordless accusation.
'…Damn. She notices everything.'
He shoveled a mouthful of porridge, forcing down the bland, sticky mush. The honey had settled at the bottom, too thin to mask the taste. Across from him, his sister ate in measured bites, precise, almost mechanical. Her composure was unshakable — except for the faint crease between her brows whenever she glanced his way.
The little brother, meanwhile, devoured his bowl with cheerful abandon, porridge smeared across his chin. Logan chuckled. "Slow down, champ. If you choke, I don't know the Heimlich in this world."
His sister's lips twitched, just slightly, before she pressed them into a firm line.
> [Observation: Familial dynamic—protective tension. Elder sister conceals emotional strain.]
Logan's spoon clinked against the bowl. '…I said keep your notes to yourself.
> [Noted.]
He leaned back, stretching lazily, though every muscle screamed. His body was fragile, untrained — a truth that dug at his pride. But when his little brother looked up, eyes wide and bright, Logan forced a grin.
"See this, kid? This is the breakfast of champions. Eat enough of this, and you'll grow tall enough to dunk on nobles."
"What's dunk?" the boy asked, tilting his head.
Logan froze, then laughed, shaking his head. "…Never mind. Local humor. You'll get it one day."
His sister exhaled sharply, though it wasn't quite annoyance — more like she was holding something back.
'…There it is again. That crack in the ice.'
He lowered his voice, leaning across the table slightly. "You know… you don't have to carry it all alone. You've been holding this house together while I—" He gestured vaguely, smirking to soften the weight. "While I've been dying in the most glamorous way possible."
Her hand tightened on the spoon. For a moment, the mask dropped — a flicker of raw emotion in her eyes: fear, exhaustion, maybe even love she refused to show. Then it was gone, replaced by cold steel.
"…Eat your porridge," she repeated.
Logan raised his brows. "…You really need better catchphrases."
The little brother snorted into his bowl, milk spraying. Logan laughed, while his sister sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
And just like that, the tension broke — not gone, but buried beneath familiar rhythms.
---
The bowls were scraped clean, the little brother drowsy from the warmth of food. Logan ruffled his hair, sending crumbs scattering onto the table.
"Nap time, champ. Guard the house for us. If a dragon shows up, just… bark at it. Dragons hate barking."
The boy giggled, curling up on the bench. His eyes fluttered shut almost immediately.
Logan stretched, grimacing at the ache that shot down his arms. "…Alright. Errands await. And by errands, I mean walking very slowly while pretending I'm fine."
His sister was already tying her cloak at the doorway, movements precise and sharp. "We need supplies," she said, tone clipped. "You'll carry them."
Logan blinked. "…Me? With these noodle arms?"
Her eyes flicked back, unimpressed. "Consider it training."
'…She's got jokes now. Fantastic.'
He slipped into his boots, adjusting the strap of his worn satchel. The door groaned open, letting in the pale morning light. Outside, the path stretched down toward the heart of town, cobblestones uneven, weeds pushing through cracks.
The air was cool, crisp, carrying faint scents of baking bread and horse dung. Children darted through alleys, merchants set up stalls, and the hum of early trade filled the streets.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets, matching pace beside his sister. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes scanned everything, sharp and wary. Always calculating.
He glanced at her, smirking faintly. "…You know, if you keep glaring like that, people are going to think you hate the world."
"I don't hate the world," she replied. "Just most people in it."
Logan chuckled. "…I'll drink to that. Once we can actually afford something worth drinking."
They walked in silence for a while, their footsteps echoing against stone. Logan's body ached with every step, but he kept pace anyway, refusing to let her see him stumble.
> [Observation: Host concealing physical instability. Survival probability decreases if pattern continues.]
'…Add that to your little report too, huh?' Logan thought. 'Logan Dex'Murphy — weak as hell, but too damn stubborn to stop walking.'
The system didn't answer this time. Just silence, heavy and watchful.
---
---
The market square was alive with noise. Stalls lined the cobblestone, their faded awnings flapping in the breeze, vendors shouting prices for bread, salted meat, and fabric scraps. The air carried the mingled scents of spice, hay, and too many unwashed bodies pressed together.
Logan weaved through the crowd with a lopsided grin, though each jostle sent aches racing through his arms. His sister strode beside him, gaze sharp and cutting, her presence like a blade clearing a path through the press of bodies.
Then a voice rang out above the din. Smooth, confident, carrying a lilt of mockery.
"Well, if it isn't the Dex'Murphys. I almost didn't recognize you without your… illustrious entourage."
Logan stopped, blinking once before turning. A boy stood leaning against a fruit stall, posture lazy but deliberate, like someone who knew exactly how to draw eyes without effort. His hair was a shade of pale gold, tousled just enough to look intentional. His clothes — finer than most here, though not gaudy — carried the crest of a minor noble house stitched at the collar.
Logan smirked. "…And here I thought the market smelled funny. Turns out it was just you."
The boy's grin widened, unbothered. "Ah, a sharp tongue. I'd heard you had one. Good to know rumors don't lie."
Logan tilted his head. "Rumors also say you bathe in rose water. Should I stand upwind?"
His sister shot him a sidelong glare, but the noble boy only chuckled, pushing off the stall. "Name's Alaric Veylen. Not that you asked, but I imagine you'll want to remember it. Everyone does."
Logan arched a brow. "Right. And I'm Logan Dex'Murphy — the guy you'll want to forget, but somehow never will."
Alaric's grin sharpened. "Bold claim for someone carrying firewood calluses instead of a sword."
"Hey, these hands are versatile. They can split logs, cook stew, and slap the arrogance off golden-haired brats."
The fruit vendor muttered something about "bloody nobles" and shoved past, uninterested in their duel of words.
Alaric's eyes glinted, amused. "You've got spirit, I'll grant you that. Most would bow and scrape, or at least keep quiet. You, though…" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You look like someone who doesn't know when to quit."
Logan's smirk didn't falter. "…You'd be right. Quitting's boring."
His sister exhaled softly, but Logan caught the faintest twitch of her lips — as if, despite herself, she found the exchange amusing.
Alaric straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. "The Academy entrance trials are coming up. You'll be there, won't you?"
Logan arched a brow. "…What makes you think I will?"
Alaric's grin was easy, confident. "Because if you weren't, I wouldn't bother remembering your name."
He pivoted on his heel, slipping into the crowd as smoothly as he'd appeared.
Logan watched him go, muttering under his breath. "…What a dramatic asshole. I like him already."
> [Observation: Potential ally-rival dynamic established.]
'…Took the words right out of my mouth,' Logan thought, though his smile lingered.
---
Logan grunted as the sack of grain hit his shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways. His knees buckled, and for a terrifying second he thought he might topple into the mud.
'…Goddamn. This bag feels like it's filled with bricks, not barley.'
He forced a crooked grin, straightening under the weight. "See? Easy. Light as a feather. A feather made of lead, maybe."
His sister rolled her eyes, adjusting the smaller bundle in her arms. "You're insufferable."
"Insufferably strong," Logan corrected, stumbling forward into the crowd. His arms ached, his back screamed, but he refused to show it. Not here, not in front of her.
The streets pressed tighter as merchants hawked their wares — spices sharp in the nose, fish tangling the air with salt. Logan weaved between them, each step deliberate, sweat sliding down his temple.
"Big brother," his little brother's voice rang out from behind, cheerful as ever. He trotted along beside them, clutching a small loaf of bread they'd managed to buy. "You look funny when you walk like that!"
Logan barked a laugh, though it came out ragged. "…Funny strong, or funny stupid?"
"Both!" the boy chirped.
His sister's lips twitched again — a crack, faint but undeniable. She looked away quickly, as if hiding it.
Logan smirked despite the weight on his shoulders. '…There it is again. That little break in her mask. Worth every ache.'
The bag shifted, nearly slipping. He cursed under his breath and readjusted, muscles trembling.
> [Observation: Host nearing collapse. Probability of public humiliation: 78%.]
'…Not now, Nexus. Let me have this one.'
The system fell silent.
By the time they reached the edge of the square, Logan's breath was shallow, his body near its limit. But he kept moving, one step after another, until the crowd finally thinned.
When they stopped to rest beneath a weathered archway, his sister set down her bundle with precise care. Then, without a word, she reached out and adjusted the strap on his sack so it sat higher on his shoulder, easing the strain.
Her touch was quick, almost brusque. "Try not to die carrying grain. It would be pathetic."
Logan grinned faintly, sweat dripping down his jaw. "…Pathetic's my specialty."
But he didn't miss the way her hand lingered a fraction of a second too long before she pulled back.
---
---
The house had gone still by the time the moon climbed high. His little brother slept curled into a blanket, soft snores carrying through the thin walls. His sister's door was closed, no light seeping from beneath it.
Logan sat by the dying fire, the axe across his knees. The embers pulsed faintly, painting his pale red eyes in shades of crimson and shadow.
He turned the blade slowly, watching the glow chase along the dull edge. His arms still throbbed from carrying the grain, his shoulders tight, his palms blistered.
'…If I'm already this broken after a sack of barley, how the hell am I supposed to stand in front of monsters, nobles, or whatever this world throws at me?'
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating.
Then:
> [Trajectory analysis complete. Delay in Host progression reduces survival probability significantly.]
Logan's lips twisted into a humorless smile. "…There you are. I was almost starting to miss your bedtime stories."
> [Correction: Advisory protocol engaged, not storytelling.]
'Yeah, well, here's my correction—shove your protocols. I'm not racing to your tune.'
The system was silent for a long moment, long enough for the crackle of the fire to swallow the room.
Then:
> […You are not the first Host to resist.]
Logan froze, the words sinking in like ice water. His grip on the axe handle tightened until his knuckles whitened.
"…The hell does that mean?"
> [Statement logged. Clarification restricted.]
"Restricted?" Logan's voice rose, a whisper sharp as glass. "…What happened to the others?"
> [Data unavailable.]
'…Unavailable, or you don't want me to know?'
The embers hissed softly, one collapsing inward with a faint spark. Logan leaned forward, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.
"…Listen here. I don't care how many Hosts you've had, or how many dropped dead following your script. I'm not them. Got it?"
The silence lingered again, heavy, deliberate.
> […Acknowledged.]
The word felt like a door closing.
Logan exhaled slowly, setting the axe aside. His arms trembled faintly as he rested them on his knees, the fire's glow fading to ash.
'…Not the first, huh? Then I'll damn well make sure I'm the last.'
---
The night air was cold, sharp enough to bite the lungs. Logan's breath fogged white as he swung the axe down again.
Thud.
The blade bit clumsily into the log, sticking halfway. He yanked it free, shoulders heaving, sweat soaking through his shirt despite the chill. His hands were raw, skin already tearing from the grip.
Thud.
He winced. His arms screamed with each movement, but he raised the axe again, forcing the rhythm.
'…Come on. Just one more. One more. One goddamn more.'
Thud.
The log cracked unevenly. He leaned against the haft, chest burning. His body felt fragile — fragile in a way that made him furious. Every swing was a reminder. Every breath, a weight.
"…You'll break yourself."
The voice was soft, cold — and close.
Logan froze, turning. His sister stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, face unreadable. The moonlight washed her features pale, her long hair catching the glow like strands of silver.
"…Shouldn't you be asleep?" Logan rasped, straightening. His voice came out half-cough, half-laugh.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Shouldn't you?"
He grinned, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "…I'm special. Big brothers don't get bedtimes."
Her expression didn't shift, but her gaze flicked once — to his trembling arms, to the raw skin of his hands. A tiny crease tugged at her brow.
"…You're going to ruin yourself before the exam," she said finally, the cold edge softening by a fraction.
Logan rested the axe head against the dirt, leaning on it like a cane. "…If I can't swing this damn thing without shaking, I don't deserve to even show up."
Silence stretched. The night hummed with cicadas. His sister's lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes lingered, longer than they should have.
"…Idiot," she muttered.
Logan smirked. "…Yeah. Your idiot, though."
For the faintest second, the mask cracked — her mouth twitching, her eyes catching something almost vulnerable. Then it was gone, shuttered as quickly as it came.
She turned sharply, stepping back inside. "Don't stay out long."
The door closed with a soft thud.
Logan let out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, staring up at the stars. His arms ached, his palms stung, his body felt like it might collapse…
But a small, crooked smile tugged at his lips anyway.
'…First step taken. A thousand more to go.'
He lifted the axe again.
---
The axe slipped from Logan's hands, hitting the dirt with a dull thud. His chest heaved, his body quivering as sweat dripped into his eyes. His knees nearly gave way, but he forced himself upright.
'…That's it. I'm done. No more tonight.'
He stumbled back toward the stump, sinking onto it. His hands trembled violently, his skin raw and stinging.
Then—
> [Authorization granted.]
A faint chime echoed in his head, cold and crystalline. Before his eyes, the night shimmered — as if the air itself bent. Then a translucent panel bloomed into existence, pale letters burning faintly against the dark.
---
[Status Window – Logan Dex'Murphy]
Race: Human (Unawakened)
Age: 17
Rank: Novice (Level 1/9)
STR: D-
AGI: D
VIT: D-
INT: C
WIL: C
CHARM: C+
Luck: ???
Traits:
[Big Brother's Burden] – ???
[Fragment of ???] – ???
[Unyielding Embers] – Locked
---
Logan blinked, leaning forward. "…C+ charm?"
"Guess I'm handsome enough to make the girls swoon after all."
> [Correction: Charm represents more than appearance. Host is currently average-looking, with unremarkable musculature and a fragile frame.]
Logan scowled. "…Gee, thanks for the confidence boost."
The system ignored him, light rearranging.
> [New Quest's Generated]
---
Quest: [Fourteen Days of Fire]
Duration: 14 Days
Objective: Complete daily training tasks set by Nyx Nexus.
Failure: Permanent -1 to all stats.
Reward: +1 to all Traits, Minor Essence Crystal, ???
Quest: [First Step into the Dark]
Duration: 20 Days (Before Academy Entrance)
Objective: Clear a [Beginner's Dungeon] within the allocated time
Failure: [Penalty undisclosed]
Reward: Elemental Awakening (First Element), Essence Cores (Monetary Value), ???
---
The panel faded slowly, letters dissolving into the night.
Logan stared at the empty air, lips twitching. "…Training plan and a death trap dungeon. Great. Exactly what I needed."
> [Advisory: Refusal results in penalties. Compliance accelerates growth exponentially.]
"…You really know how to sell it, don't you?" He rubbed his face with both hands, chuckling weakly. Then, lowering them, his eyes hardened.
'…Traits with question marks, a dungeon, and only twenty days until the academy. Looks like you're not giving me a choice.'
The system's tone was calm, detached.
> [Correction: Host always has a choice. Survive, or don't.]
Logan smirked despite himself. "…Then I'll survive. And I'll take more than just survival while I'm at it."
The fire beside him hissed, collapsing into gray ash. Above, the stars seemed sharper, colder, as if listening.
---