Don's eyes opened.
Wooden ceiling above him. Rough-hewn beams. The smell of old beer and older wood.
Sounds filtering through thin walls—voices, footsteps, the clatter of plates and cups.
An inn.
He was in an inn.
Don sat up slowly, taking inventory. His body ached—a deep, bone-level soreness that spoke of injuries healed too fast, of mana depleted past safe limits, of a body pushed beyond its breaking point and forced to regenerate anyway.
But he was alive.
Whole.
His ribs no longer broken. His wounds closed. His mana… he checked internally… recovering slowly. Maybe thirty percent. Enough to function. Not enough to fight.
The room was small and simple. A bed, a chair, a washbasin. His clothes had been cleaned—someone's work, though he didn't know whose. His weapons were nowhere to be seen, but that didn't matter. He could create them whenever needed.
Don swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching cool wooden floorboards.
"Status Screen," he said quietly.
The display appeared before him, familiar and grounding.
╔═══════════════════════════╗
STATUS SCREEN
╚═══════════════════════════╝
Name: Don Valdruun• Age: 12• Health (HP): {10/-}• Mana (MP): {650/1000}• Stamina (STA): {22/28}• Experience (EXP): {5/1000}• Level: 4• Status Points: 5• Madness: 19%
— ATTRIBUTES —
• Strength: 23• Agility: 28• Vitality: 18• Dexterity: 18• Stamina: 18• Wisdom: 22• Magic Power: 22• Intelligence: 22• Sense: 5• Luck: 50
— TITLES & TALENTS —
• Title: Survivor of Death's Deceit
• Talent: Child of Luck -Luck +45
• Talent: #%#%#%%
— SKILLS —
• Skill 1: Immortality (Lv. 4)
Sub-Skill: Emotion Suppression (Lv. 4)
• Skill 2: Learning and Adaptation (Lv. 4)
Passive: Adept Mastery
Current Masteries: Knife (Adept), Sword (Adept)
• Skill 3: Imagination (Lv. 4)
Sub-Skill: Primitive Weapon Crafting (Lv. 4)
— ABYSS STATUS —
• Stage: 0/???
• Progress: Locked
• Entry: Available
[WARNING: DEATH INSIDE THE ABYSS IS PERMANENT]
[IMMORTALITY DOES NOT FUNCTION WITHIN THE ABYSS]
╚═══════════════════════════╝
Don stared at the Status Points line. Five points. Unallocated.
He'd burned through his mana fighting that moose. Had felt his stamina give out multiple times during the journey. His resources kept failing him at critical moments.
That needed to change.
"Distribute points," Don said quietly. "Three to Wisdom. Two to Stamina."
[DISTRIBUTING STATUS POINTS]
[WISDOM: 22 → 25]
[STAMINA: 18 → 20]
[POINTS REMAINING: 0]
He felt the change immediately—subtle but real. His mana pool deepening slightly, his body's endurance increasing by fractions that would mean everything in a prolonged fight.
[MANA: {650/1050}]
[STAMINA: {22/30}]
Better.
Not enough, never enough, but better.
Don stood, moving to the small window.
Outside, he could see Millhaven—a city larger than he'd expected, its walls strong, its streets filled with refugees and soldiers preparing for siege.
The war was here.
The invasion had begun.
And he...
"Source?" Don said quietly, knowing she would hear.
The response came immediately, warm and familiar.
[I'm here, Don.]
"Today," Don said, and something shifted in his voice—something cold and sharp and touched by the yellow glow in his right eye.
"Today I'm entering the Abyss. If the demons want war..." His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "They'll get it."
There was a pause. When the Source spoke again, her voice carried something Don hadn't heard from her before.
Worry.
[Don... are you certain? The Abyss is—]
"I'm certain," Don interrupted, his voice flat, final. "The demons are attacking. People are dying. I need to become stronger, faster, more powerful than I am now. The Abyss offers that. So I'm taking it."
[The risk—]
"I know the risk," Don said. "True death. Permanent. No second chances. I know."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, quieter, Don added: "But first, I need to speak with Princess Diana. I'll need supplies—healing potions, equipment, maybe a proper weapon. Something better than what I can create from imagination alone."
[You're planning this carefully,] the Source observed, and some of the worry eased from her voice. [That's good. That's smart.]
"I'm always planning," Don said, turning from the window. "The question is whether my plans are good enough."
He moved toward the door, then paused, one hand on the rough wood.
"Source?"
[Yes?]
"When I come out of the Abyss..." Don's jaw tightened. "If I come out... will I still be me?"
The Source's response was gentle but honest.
[I don't know, Don. The Abyss changes those who enter it. But I believe—I hope—that your core will remain. That whatever you become, you'll still be the boy who refused to give up.
Who chose to survive. Who fights not because he wants to, but because he must.]
Don nodded slowly.
Then opened the door.
And stepped out to face whatever came next.