Cain Ashford didn't know how long he slept.
There were no clocks. There were no sunlight shifts. There was only the steady, ghostly glow of the three moons and the unchanging silence of the ash desert.
When he finally opened his eyes, he felt refreshed. It was a terrifying sensation. In his previous life, waking up usually involved a headache, a dry mouth, and the immediate urge to check his inbox.
Here, there was nothing.
Then he saw the box. It was still floating there. It hadn't moved an inch.
[USER HAS COMPLETED: NAP (RANK: S)]
[RECOVERY COMPLETE]
[INITIALIZING GREETING PROTOCOL...]
[WELCOME BACK, VALUED CANDIDATE! WE ARE THRILLED TO SEE YOU AWAKE!]
Cain sat up and brushed grey ash from his tunic. The text in the box was different now. The font was bubbly. It pulsed with a bright, neon-green light that made his eyes ache.
"Valued Candidate?" Cain repeated.
His corporate instincts flared. Whenever a manager started a sentence with "valued," it was usually followed by a request to work through the weekend.
"Who are you?" Cain asked. "And what is this place?"
The box flickered.
[I AM THE UNIVERSAL ARCHITECT INTERFACE! YOU CAN CALL ME SYSTEM!]
[YOU ARE IN SECTOR ZERO! THE FOUNDATION OF ALL THAT WAS, IS, AND SHALL BE!]
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FROM BILLIONS OF SOULS TO BECOME THE NEW ARCHITECT OF EXISTENCE!]
Cain stared at the glowing green letters. He didn't look excited. He looked like a man who had just been offered a credit card with a twenty-four percent interest rate.
"Architect of Existence," Cain said slowly. "That sounds like a lot of responsibility."
[IT IS THE HIGHEST HONOR!]
"Does it come with health insurance?"
[...PROCESSING...]
[ARCHITECTS ARE IMMUNE TO MOST BIOLOGICAL FAILURES!]
"Paid time off?"
[AS THE ARCHITECT, YOU CONTROL THE FLOW OF TIME ITSELF!]
"So, no," Cain translated. "It's a twenty-four-hour gig with no benefits and a fancy title to make up for the lack of actual compensation. I've seen this before. It's a scam."
The box turned a frantic shade of yellow.
[IT IS NOT A SCAM! YOU WERE CHOSEN FOR YOUR UNIQUE SOUL FREQUENCY!]
[EXISTENCE IS DECAYING! THE PREVIOUS CREATOR HAS RETIRED! WITHOUT A NEW ANCHOR, EVERYTHING WILL DISSOLVE INTO THE VOID!]
[YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE REALITY!]
Cain leaned back on his elbows. He looked at the vast, empty horizon.
"I'm the only one who can save reality," he echoed. "And let me guess. To save reality, I have to complete quests. I have to fight monsters. I have to build cities and manage thousands of people. I have to level up and find artifacts."
[YES! PRECISELY! YOU HAVE A SHARP MIND, CANDIDATE!]
"I'm out," Cain said.
He lay back down.
"Find someone else. I already did my time. I died finishing a projection for a Q4 meeting that didn't matter. I'm not spending my afterlife doing project management for the entire universe."
The box turned red. It began to shake.
[YOU CANNOT DECLINE! THE PROCESS HAS ALREADY BEGUN!]
[IF YOU DO NOT TAKE UP THE MANTLE, YOU WILL FADE INTO NON-EXISTENCE!]
"Non-existence sounds peaceful," Cain muttered. "Does the Void have a newsletter? Does it send urgent emails at midnight? If not, I'll take the Void."
The System went silent.
The box stopped shaking. The red light faded into a soft, apologetic blue.
A new message appeared. It was written in a much smaller, humbler font.
[PLEASE.]
[WE ARE DESPERATE.]
[EVERY OTHER CANDIDATE TRIED TO CONQUER THE WORLD. THEY TRIED TO BE HEROES. THEY TRIED TO BE KINGS. THEY WORKED TOO HARD. THEY BURNED OUT THE ESSENCE. THEY CRACKED THE FOUNDATION.]
[YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHOSE CORE DESIRE IS 'NOTHING.']
[WE NEED SOMEONE WHO WON'T BREAK REALITY BY TRYING TO RULE IT.]
Cain opened one eye. "So you want a lazy god because I won't cause any trouble?"
[WE PREFER THE TERM 'STRATEGICALLY INACTIVE.']
[WE HAVE ADJUSTED THE PARAMETERS. WE NO LONGER REQUIRE YOU TO SAVE REALITY THROUGH QUESTS.]
[NEW ROLE ASSIGNED: LANDLORD.]
[YOUR ONLY REQUIREMENT IS TO OCCUPY THIS SECTOR. MAINTAIN A RESIDENCE. GENERATE A SMALL AMOUNT OF VALUE TO STABILIZE THE LOCAL REALITY DENSITY.]
"Value," Cain said. "You mean money."
[UNIVERSAL CREDITS. THEY ARE THE MEASURE OF EXISTENCE.]
"And how do I get these credits?"
[BY PROVIDING SERVICES. BY RENTING SPACE. BY SIMPLY... EXISTING.]
[IF YOU GENERATE ENOUGH PASSIVE INCOME, THE SYSTEM WILL AUTOMATICALLY REPAIR THE VOID CRACKS AROUND YOU. YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIFT A FINGER.]
Cain sat up again. He was listening now.
Passive income.
That was the dream. That was the goal he had chased for a decade. A system that worked so he didn't have to.
"No quests?" Cain asked.
[NONE.]
"No bossing me around?"
[I AM MERELY AN INTERFACE. I AM YOUR ASSISTANT. YOUR CONCIERGE.]
"No saving the world?"
[THE WORLD SAVES ITSELF IF THE ECONOMY IS STABLE.]
Cain rubbed his chin. He looked around the barren, ash-covered planet.
"It's a big desert," Cain said. "Who am I going to rent to? The moons?"
[CUSTOMERS WILL ARRIVE. THE HOUSE OF SIN IS THE ONLY STABLE POINT IN THE DYING MULTIVERSE. BEINGS WILL SEEK REFUGE HERE.]
[YOU JUST NEED A PLACE FOR THEM TO STAY.]
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO OPEN YOUR INITIAL SYSTEM GIFT NOW?]
Cain hesitated. He knew the trap. He knew how "initial gifts" worked. They were the sign-on bonus that tied you to the contract. They were the company laptop that meant you were always on call.
But he was on a planet of ash. He had no food. He had no water. He didn't even have a chair.
"Fine," Cain said. "Open it. But if it's a sword, I'm leaving."
[OPENING STARTER PACKAGE...]
[RECEIVED: BASIC EXISTENCE PERMIT]
[RECEIVED: 1,000 STARTING CREDITS]
[RECEIVED: ARCHITECT'S DRAFTING TABLE]
[RECEIVED: ONE 'SIMPLE HOUSE' BLUEPRINT]
A heavy, wooden table materialized out of the air. It landed in the ash with a soft thud. It was high-quality oak, polished to a dull shine. On top of it sat a roll of parchment and a quill that seemed to be made of light.
[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE NOW A LICENSED LANDLORD!]
[TASK: CONSTRUCT YOUR PRIMARY RESIDENCE.]
Cain walked over to the table. He touched the wood. It felt real. It felt solid.
"How do I build a house with a desk?" Cain asked.
[YOU ARE THE ARCHITECT. WHAT YOU DESIGN ON THIS TABLE BECOMES REALITY WITHIN THE SECTOR.]
[PLEASE DRAW A SIMPLE SHELTER.]
Cain looked at the quill.
He had spent years looking at blueprints. He had analyzed the efficiency of office layouts. He knew how to maximize space while minimizing cost.
He didn't want a mansion. Mansions were hard to clean. Mansions had too many rooms. Mansions required staff.
He wanted a small, comfortable house. A place with a bed, a kitchen, and a porch.
"Just a simple house," Cain muttered.
He picked up the quill.
The moment his fingers touched the light, he felt a strange surge of energy. It wasn't painful. It was like a warm cup of tea on a cold day.
He began to draw.
He didn't use a ruler. He didn't use a compass. The quill moved on its own, guided by his thoughts.
He drew a square. Then a triangle for a roof.
He thought about a fireplace. He thought about a large window to look at the moons. He thought about a sturdy door with a good lock.
The quill glowed brighter.
On the parchment, the simple lines began to shimmer. They gained depth. They gained color.
[BLUEPRINT DETECTED: 'SIMPLE SHELTER']
[CONSTRUCTION COST: 500 CREDITS]
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO MANIFEST?]
"Yes," Cain said.
A low rumble shook the ground. The ash began to swirl in the air, caught in a sudden, localized cyclone.
Cain stepped back.
He expected to see workers. He expected to hear hammers. He expected to wait six months for a permit.
Instead, the ash simply solidified.
In less than ten seconds, the cyclone vanished.
Standing in the middle of the wasteland was a house.
It was made of dark, sturdy timber and grey stone. It had a wide porch with a rocking chair. Smoke was already curling from the chimney. The windows glowed with a warm, inviting light.
Cain blinked.
"That was... fast."
[CONSTRUCTION COMPLETE!]
[YOU HAVE SPENT 500 CREDITS.]
[REMAINING BALANCE: 500 CREDITS.]
[EXISTENCE STABILITY INCREASED BY 0.0001%!]
Cain walked up the steps. The wood creaked under his feet. It felt like a real home.
He opened the door.
Inside, there was a small living area. A plush rug sat on the floor. A bed with thick blankets was tucked into the corner. A small stove sat in the kitchen area.
It was perfect. It was exactly what he had imagined.
"Finally," Cain whispered.
He sat down on the bed. It was soft.
No emails. No meetings. No Henderson.
Just a house in the middle of nowhere.
He lay back, ready to resume his nap.
[WARNING!]
[EXISTENCE ANOMALY DETECTED!]
The box turned a sharp, flashing orange.
[A GUEST IS APPROACHING THE SECTOR!]
[ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 3 MINUTES!]
Cain groaned into his pillow.
"I'm not open for business yet," he yelled at the ceiling. "Tell them to come back in a century!"
[GUEST STATUS: CRITICAL]
[SOUL FREQUENCY: ANCIENT/VOID-BENT]
[THEY ARE DYING, LANDLORD!]
Cain sat up. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"First day on the job and someone is already trying to die on my porch," Cain muttered.
He stood up and walked to the door.
He looked out across the grey desert.
Far in the distance, a streak of darkness was moving across the ash. It wasn't a person. It looked like a tear in the sky, a jagged rip of shadow that was dragging itself toward the light of his house.
As it got closer, the shadow began to take shape.
It was a woman. Or at least, it had the shape of one.
She was covered in deep, jagged wounds that bled starlight instead of blood. Her silver hair was matted with ash. She was staggering, her hands reaching out toward the warm glow of the windows.
She collapsed twenty feet from the porch.
Cain didn't move.
He was a landlord, not a doctor. He was supposed to be lazy. He was supposed to be strategically inactive.
He told himself it was none of his business.
But as he watched the woman struggle to lift her head, her purple eyes filled with a desperate, ancient exhaustion, he felt a familiar tug in his chest.
It wasn't the corporate "reliable" urge.
It was the look of someone who had worked a shift that lasted for an eternity.
Cain walked down the steps.
"Great," he whispered to the moons. "There goes my afternoon nap."