Night had fallen over the countryside village of Windket, resting near the frozen ridges of the Eryndor Empire.
The wind drifted through its narrow streets and broken fences, carrying the fragrant scent of food being cooked in the houses.
And in one of those alleys, half-buried in dirt and shadow, lay a bloodied boy, unmoving and far too thin for fifteen.
His torn shirt clung to his ribs.
His body looked less like it lived and more like it refused to die.
Arlen Hale.
Blood had pooled under his cheek, seeping into the mud, while his breath came out in small, trembling clouds.
Pain flooded through him the moment he tried to open his eyes.
His vision split, one side swollen shut, the other barely slitting open enough to see flickers of faint orange light from a distant lamp.
He groaned, the sound rasping through cracked lips as he tried to push himself up, but his arms trembled and gave out, dropping him back into the dirt.
Everything throbbed: ribs, head, lungs, and everything in between.
Then, through the haze, something strange cut across his vision.
A faint white line.
Hovering at the top of his vision.
It pulsed faintly like a horizon compass with the letter N in bold white at its center.
He blinked, confused, but the mark didn't fade.
If anything, it sharpened.
"What the…" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
And even in this, half-dead and half-alive state, his mind recognized exactly what was happening.
This wasn't just another hallucination.
[Now? Really?] His thoughts echoed, hollow and bitter. [Finally?]
He had dreamt of this day ever since he could remember. Begged for it… until the day the chief killed his mother right in front of him five years ago.
And all he could do was watch.
With a groan, Arlen turned over onto his back, staring up at the thin slice of night sky visible through his swollen eyes, as he muttered through broken lips,
"Guess… happy birthday to me."
The faint wind carried the words away, leaving only the distant sound of dogs barking somewhere down the street.
And as if on cue, a cold mechanical voice resounded in his mind.
{Setup complete}
- Ding!
{Startup Rewards Unlocked}
-Ding!
{Affinity – Red Lightning (Epic) Received!}
- Ding!
{Enchantment – Recall (Epic) Received!}
"Shut up…" He spat through the bloodied teeth in sheer rage and hate, "I needed you 5 years ago! I needed this before that asshole killed my mother."
-Ding!
{Skill – Pre Cognition (Legendary) Received!}
"I said shut up!" He spat again louder this time, as tears he swore would never come again swelled in his eyes, " The only person I would've been that protagonist for is dead… because I was powerless… Because you weren't there!"
And what answered him was –
-Ding! Ding! Ding!
{Item – Healing Potion x 2 (Grade 2),
Weapon – Partisan Spear (Rare),
Currency – 100 Credits Received!}
-Ding!
{Rewards are stored in Inventory.}
"I SAID SHUT UP!" He screamed through his bloodied face, back arching despite the pain.
-Splash!
The cold hit first.
Dirty water splashed over his trembling body, soaking through the rags clinging to his skin.
"Now I'm saying shut up!" barked a rough voice.
A man stood at the mouth of the alley with an empty bucket dangling from his hand. "Stop screaming, you little shit, and get the hell out of here before I beat you myself!"
He threw the bucket aside, sending it clattering against the wall before his hand reached for a thick stick leaning nearby.
"Please… I'm sorry!" Arlen lifted his hands weakly, trying to stand up. "I'm leaving! I'm leaving…"
But his legs barely obeyed.
And yet, through trembling legs, he forced himself upright through sheer desperation.
The man didn't wait.
-Smack!
The stick cracked against his thigh with a sharp, wet thud, tearing out a silent scream through his mouth.
Adrenaline surged, and before he even realized it, Arlen was moving.
Fear drove him upright as he tried to run.
But he had barely taken a step when the man's shadow loomed behind him.
-Smack!
The second strike landed square across his back, jolting his body forward, almost sending him crashing face-first into the mud.
"Ahh!" he gasped, breath catching as agony burned down his spine.
But instinct took over.
He didn't look back.
Arlen ran limping and staggering with a pounding heart until the alley fell behind him and the night swallowed his wails.
He ran through the pain with ragged breaths, as alleys blurred around him.
His bare feet struck the uneven dirt road, crushing pebbles and broken glass hidden in the mud.
Every sharp sting from the ground shot through him, yet he didn't stop.
He kept moving, half stumbling, half limping, guided only by memory and fear.
By the time the narrow lanes opened up, he was barely conscious.
Before him now stood a small, crooked shack standing on rotted wood with a roof half-collapsed and a doorway sagging like it had given up standing long ago.
He slowed before it, panting hard while sweat, grime, and blood dripped down his chin.
The faint wind whistled through the cracks in the boards, carrying the smell of wet earth and mold.
It wasn't much.
But it was his.
[Home sweet home, yeah?]
Arlen pushed the door open with a weak shoulder while it creaked in protest.
Inside, the air was damp and heavy, filled with the scent of decay.
The floor was uneven, littered with scraps of old wood, broken bowls, and torn cloth.
A single candle stub sat on a crooked table unused for the last five years.
His mother's old scarf still hung from a nail on the wall, moth-eaten and covered with dried blood, but untouched.
Arlen's breath steadied a little as he limped deeper into the dark, each step stirring small clouds of dust.
He reached a corner and crouched slowly and painfully beside a makeshift trap made from rusted wire and an old tin cup.
Inside it, a small mouse struggled faintly.
A tired smile crept across his cracked lips.
"At least I've got dinner…" he murmured, voice hoarse and trembling with both pain and the cold.
He loosened the rusted wire, freeing the small body with careful fingers.
And for a second, he just watched the little creature squeaking in his grip.
Watched it struggle pointlessly in the grasp of someone more powerful than it.
"We're one and the same, aren't we…"
But hunger outweighed pity.
And a few minutes later, thin smoke curled from the makeshift fire beside the shack.
The fire was little more than a few twigs and fading embers.
Beside him lay a small mound of stones and pebbles, worn smooth by rain and time with a thin coat of moss, and a wildflower growing from the cracks.
It wasn't much of a grave. But it was hers.
Arlen sat there in silence, his back resting against the shack's crooked wall.
In his hands was a half-burnt rat, skewered through a bent stick.
He tore off a small piece with his teeth, wincing as the movement pulled at the bruises along his jaw.
"Dinner's better than last night… but then again, it's my birthday so…" he murmured toward the grave, voice hoarse and uneven.
"Caught it myself again… The trap's still holding up too."
The wind stirred the moss and the flower, making them sway like they were listening.
He took another bite, chewing slow through pain.
Each movement sent a dull pulse up the side of his face.
Still, he smiled faintly.
"Remember when you said I'd get stronger someday?" he said softly. "I just might…"
For a moment, the world was quiet.
Just the sound of him chewing, the whisper of wind, and the flicker of dying firelight.
Then-
-Ding!
{Host's Attention Required.}
He froze for a second but didn't lift his head.
"I was thinking… maybe I'll trade some herbs tomorrow," he continued, voice steady. "If the shopkeeper doesn't throw me out again."
-Ding!
{Host's Attention Required.}
He exhaled, long and tired.
The rat's tail brushed against his wrist as he turned the stick slightly, eyes still fixed on the mound of stones.
"I know I shouldn't hold it against them… they're just scared of the chief," he said under his breath, "but I will."
He took another bite, slow and deliberate, even though his teeth ached with every chew.
-Ding!
{Host's Attention Required.}
The third chime made his eye twitch.
"Okay… fine!" he spat, dragging the words through clenched teeth.
And the sound of the night dimmed, replaced by a soft mechanical hum in his head.
A faint grid of light shimmered into view before him in pale blue lines crossing through the air, forming panels that hovered silently.
[Protocol: Chronos]
Name: Arlen Hale
Race: Human
Circuits: 2
Affinity: Time
Level: 0
XP: 0 / 100
Status: Critical: Internal Bleeding (Subdural Hematoma). Estimated time before death: ~4 hours.
Stat Points: 0
Stats:
STR: 1
AGI: 1
EDU: 1
DEX: 1
MP: 1
MP Regen: 0.1/sec
LCK: 1
Magic: None
Skills: None
Gear: Nothing of note
Credits: 100
Tabs:
[Shop] [Inventory] [Map] [Crafting]
"Internal bleeding, huh…"
He stared at the 'Status' for a long while, neither afraid nor surprised.
"Fifteen years late," he whispered, voice almost too soft to hear. "You finally showed up."
His gaze turned back toward the grave, watching the flower sway gently with the wind.
"Mom," he said quietly, "I think… things are about to get worse. But not for me."