Klein woke to gray dawn light and the sound of rain against his window.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. Then muscle memory kicked in—the instinct to check his phone, to calculate how many minutes until his shift started, to run through the day's survival mathematics.
His hand found empty air where his phone should have been.
Right. Dead. Reincarnated. Tertius.
Rajesh Kumar was executed yesterday afternoon.
The thought flared, a spike of pressure against the architecture of the Dampening. The guilt was there, present and permanent, but the system caught the emotional surge and compressed it into a manageable weight, filing it away where it couldn't fragment him.
[EMOTIONAL DAMPENING FIELD: 79% - Stable]
[PHYSICAL STATE: Integrity 78% (+4% overnight recovery)]
Klein sat up slowly, testing his body. The cuts on his feet had sealed completely, leaving only faint pink lines. His shoulder where he'd slammed into the ground was stiff but functional. The baseline optimization was working—healing him faster than poverty and malnutrition ever had in Manila.
He dressed in his new clothes, the canvas rough but clean against his skin. Strapped on his copper pouch—fifty pieces, five days of survival if he was careful. Grabbed his iron spear, testing its weight.
The common room downstairs smelled of cooking porridge and wet wool. A few early risers sat at tables—humans mostly, one dwarf in the corner. Their Hails cast familiar light: gold and crimson, divine and demonic, warm virtue and controlled ambition.
Klein's absence hung above his head like a void.
Some people noticed. Most ignored him. A few golden Hails dimmed as he passed, their owners' eyes tracking him with suspicion that might have been instinctive or might have been informed. News traveled fast in small settlements.
Klein ordered porridge—five copper, cheaper than last night's stew. It was gray and lumpy and tasted like nothing, but his body absorbed it gratefully.
He was halfway through when someone sat across from him.
Marcus.
The man's crimson Hail pulsed steady above his head, that same comfortable self-interest Klein recognized from yesterday. Marcus set down his own bowl and studied Klein with calculating eyes.
"You held together better than I expected," Marcus said. "Most fresh spawns who make their first hard call spend the next day either catatonic or in denial."
Klein met his gaze. "The Dampening helps."
"That it does." Marcus ate a spoonful of porridge, grimaced. "Mira's cooking hasn't improved in twenty years. Anyway, I'm here with an opportunity."
Klein waited.
"Your spiritual sensitivity," Marcus continued. "Feeling the ward posts' spatial distortion. That's a rare talent, especially in someone freshly spawned. We need people who can detect instabilities in the ward network before they fail catastrophically."
He leaned forward slightly. "I'm authorized to offer you contract work. Ward inspection. Three times weekly, you walk the perimeter and report any anomalies you sense. Twenty copper per inspection. Sixty copper weekly if you complete all three rounds."
Sixty copper weekly plus his current fifty meant a potential 110 copper by the end of the week. Minus forty for lodging and thirty for food at minimum rates meant forty copper surplus. Build a buffer. Buy better equipment eventually. Survive past the first week.
But there was a cost beyond copper.
"You're offering this because I cooperated yesterday," Klein said flatly.
Marcus didn't deny it. "You demonstrated you understand triage. That you can make necessary decisions and live with them. That makes you reliable." His expression was matter-of-fact. "I'm offering you work that matches your capabilities and pays fairly. What you did yesterday is separate. This is just pragmatism."
The Dampening compressed Klein's discomfort before it could become refusal. Marcus was right—it was pragmatic. The ward work would keep him close to Thornhaven's defenses, let him observe how the settlement functioned, and provide steady income.
And it would put him in a position where people relied on him. Where his word mattered.
Where he could fail and people would die.
Klein's hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist. He felt a tremor of panic, a familiar wave threatening to crest, but the Dampening held firm, smoothing the reaction into cold resolve before it could show on his face.
"When does it start?" Klein asked.
"Today, if you're willing. I'll walk the first round with you, show you what to look for. After that, you're on your own."
Klein finished his porridge. Fifty copper in his pouch. Five days of survival, maybe seven if he stretched it. Sixty copper weekly from ward work meant security. Meant time to acquire traits, to build capability, to escape the baseline vulnerability that killed 83% of Metamorphs in the first week.
"I'll do it," he said.
Marcus nodded. "Finish eating. Meet me at the north gate in twenty minutes."
The Perimeter
Rain misted down as Klein followed Marcus through Thornhaven's gates. The settlement's wooden walls rose twelve feet high, sharpened logs lashed together with iron-reinforced rope. Guard towers sat at each corner, manned by spawns with bows and that particular alertness of people who'd seen friends die to things that climbed walls.
"The wards extend fifty meters beyond the physical barrier," Marcus explained as they walked. "Twelve posts total, spaced evenly around the perimeter. Each one anchors a section of the ward network."
They approached the first post—a carved pillar of dark wood covered in glowing symbols that hurt to look at directly. The sigils pulsed with rhythmic light, and Klein felt it immediately.
The air was wrong.
Not dangerous. Just... wrong. Like reality was stretched too thin, pulled taut over a framework that didn't quite fit. It made his new soul itch in a way that had no physical analog. The Basic Observation Multiplier he'd purchased made the sensation feel slightly more detailed, more noticeable than before.
[Elf Scout observation: 6.2% → 6.3%]
Klein's observation trait activated passively, analyzing Marcus's movement patterns as he gestured at the post. The way he stepped, the efficiency of his motion. Learning, always learning.
"What do you sense?" Marcus asked.
Klein focused on the wrongness, trying to articulate it. "Pressure. Like the air is heavier near the post. And..." He reached out cautiously, not touching but extending his awareness. "There's a rhythm to it. Pulse, pause, pulse. Like a heartbeat."
"That's the mana cycle," Marcus confirmed. "Each post draws energy from a crystal core, processes it into barrier energy, then resets. The pulse you're feeling is healthy. What you're looking for is irregularity."
The first post was a clean pulse. Good. The second, the same. A rhythm began to form—walk, sense, analyze. He could feel the monotony trying to settle in, a dangerous comfort. It was the stutter at the third post that broke it, a discordant skip in the heartbeat of the wards that sent a jolt of alarm through him.
"This one," Klein said.
Marcus studied him, then approached the post himself. Pressing his hand against it with eyes closed, he swore quietly after a moment. "Crystal degradation. It's still functional but declining." He pulled out a small notebook, marking something down. "Good catch. That's exactly what we need you reporting. This post has maybe two weeks before it needs replacement. Without early warning, it could fail catastrophically during an attack."
He looked at Klein with something that might have been approval. "That's one inspection. Eleven more posts. Keep going."
The next four posts passed without incident, their clean, steady rhythm a relief after the stuttering third. But the eighth post offered a new sensation. The distortion was there, a definite wrongness, but it wasn't degrading. It felt... deliberate. A knot in the fabric of reality, pulled tight but holding firm and stable. He reported it as anomalous, and Marcus simply grunted in acknowledgment before they continued. The final four posts were blessedly clean, and Klein felt the mental strain of focused perception begin to ease as they completed the circuit.
And underneath it all, the Dampening held his guilt at manageable levels.
Rajesh Kumar had been executed yesterday. Klein had condemned him with six sentences. That weight sat permanent in his chest. But it didn't stop him from functioning. It didn't stop him from surviving.
"You're a natural at this," Marcus said as they completed the circuit. "Most people with spiritual sensitivity can feel ward distortions, but they can't articulate what they're sensing. You can. That's valuable."
He handed Klein a small crystal—clear quartz shot through with veins of blue light. "Ward inspection token. Show this to the gate guards when you're doing perimeter checks. Three times weekly minimum: morning, evening, and one random time between. Twenty copper per completed inspection, paid weekly."
Klein pocketed the crystal. "What happens if I miss an inspection?"
"You don't get paid for it. Miss two in a row, you're terminated." Marcus's expression was matter-of-fact. "This isn't punitive. The wards are life and death. We need reliability."
"Understood."
"Good. First inspection done. That's twenty copper earned. Come by my office Friday evening for payment."
Marcus turned to leave, then paused. "Klein. What you did yesterday—that wasn't easy. Don't let anyone tell you it was. But you made the call and you're still here. That matters."
He walked away, leaving Klein standing in the rain at Thornhaven's north gate.
Twenty copper earned. Fifty in his pouch. Five days of survival stretching toward seven. The mathematics of poverty remained, just with different currency.
Klein looked up at the watchtower, where a guard with a golden Hail stood watch. The man was maybe thirty, human, with the scarred hands of someone who'd done hard labor in a previous life.
Their eyes met for a moment. The guard's Hail dimmed slightly—that same instinctive warning Klein triggered in divine souls.
Then the man nodded once, acknowledging Klein's presence, and returned to his watch.
Klein walked back through the gates into Thornhaven proper.
[TRAIT OBSERVATION UPDATE]
[Elf Scout: 6.3% → 8.1%]
[Forest Ecosystem: 6% → 7.2%]
[New Observation: Ward Magic (1.3%)]
The morning's work had generated progress. Movement through the forest terrain. Environmental immersion. Exposure to magical infrastructure.
Klein's Metamorphor nature was doing what it was designed to do: observe, catalog, absorb. He just needed to survive long enough for it to matter.
The Marketplace
Klein spent the rest of the morning exploring Thornhaven's central area.
The settlement was larger than it had seemed from his cell—maybe 300 souls total, spread across residential buildings, workshops, and a central marketplace. The market was just a dirt square with wooden stalls, but it was alive with activity.
He moved through it systematically, his mind a running ledger. A child—no older than seven, a first-wave survivor by the look of her worn clothes—laughed as she chased a scruffy, cat-like creature between the stalls. For a brief second, the sound cut through his cold calculations, a reminder of something other than pure survival. He pushed it aside and refocused.
His current fifty copper plus the twenty he'd earned meant seventy total. Minus forty for tonight's lodging and another five for porridge tomorrow morning meant twenty-five remaining. It was a buffer of almost nothing. He passed the weaponsmith's stall, his eyes lingering on a quality short sword priced at 120 copper—two full weeks of ward inspections, an impossible luxury. Even a basic knife, a desperate backup, was 30 copper, more than he had left. The cost of safety was steep.
He needed more income sources.
"Fresh spawn?"
Klein turned. A dwarf woman stood at a nearby stall, her golden Hail bright above her head. She was maybe four and a half feet tall, with the kind of shoulders that came from a lifetime of physical labor. Her hands were scarred, covered in old burns.
"Recent," Klein confirmed.
"Weaponsmith," she said, gesturing at her stall of knives, short swords, and spear tips. "Name's Brunhilde. I do repairs, fifteen copper for minor work, thirty for major. You need anything fixed?"
Klein checked his spear. The tip was solid, the shaft intact. "Not yet. But I'll remember."
"Do that." Brunhilde studied him with sharp eyes. "You're the Neutral. The one who..." She paused. "Helped with the verification yesterday."
Klein's grip tightened on his spear. "News travels fast."
"Small settlement." Her expression was unreadable. "Rajesh was a good man. Probably innocent."
"Probably," Klein agreed.
"But probably isn't certainty." Brunhilde's golden Hail pulsed steadily. "And Aldric couldn't afford to be wrong. So he made the call, and you gave him the justification he needed." She paused. "I'm not saying it was right. I'm saying I understand why it happened."
She turned back to her stall, organizing her wares. "Come by if you need repairs. I don't judge people for surviving. I've made my own compromises."
Klein moved on, but the interaction stayed with him. Brunhilde's words had been matter-of-fact, without condemnation or forgiveness. Just acknowledgment.
Welcome to Tertius. It's all triage, all the time.
Continuing through the market, he catalogued other resources. A human merchant was selling mana crystals—small, common-grade ones—for fifty copper each. Klein overheard another spawn scoff at the price. ""Fifty copper? That's five silver for that little thing? Robbery." ... Klein filed the information away: ten copper to one silver. The currency of this world was just as unforgiving as his last. An elf woman offered map services, priced for groups, not individuals. A Demonic-Hailed human's alchemy stall was filled with healing potions, all priced for emergencies he couldn't yet afford to have.
He was cataloguing a stall selling leather goods when someone crashed into him from behind.
Klein stumbled forward, his spear clattering to the ground. He spun, instincts from Manila kicking in—check for pickpockets, assess the threat, don't let them crowd you.
A young woman stood there, maybe early twenties, human, with bright red hair and a crimson Hail that pulsed with barely contained energy. She was grinning, completely unrepentant.
"Sorry! Wasn't watching where I—oh." Her grin faded as she looked up at Klein's head. "You're the one with no Hail."
Klein retrieved his spear, checking his copper pouch instinctively. Still there. "And you're the one who needs to watch where she's running."
"Fair." She stuck out her hand. "Lyra. Sorry about that, I tend to make things... chaotic. Just ask the guys over at the east workshop."
Klein didn't take her hand immediately, studying her. Lyra's crimson Hail was bright, energetic, completely different from Marcus's controlled self-interest. He finally accepted the handshake.
"Klein. Metamorphor. Fresh spawn. Specializing in not dying."
Lyra laughed—genuine, bright, the kind of laugh that seemed impossible in a world with 83% Metamorphor mortality rates. "Not dying is a great specialization. Underrated, honestly."
She tilted her head, studying him with open curiosity that Klein found slightly unsettling. "So what's it like? Being Neutral? Do you feel different from the rest of us?"
"I have an Emotional Dampening Field that keeps me from falling apart," Klein said flatly. "Beyond that, I'm still figuring it out."
"Dampening Field?" Lyra's eyes lit up with academic interest. "That's fascinating. Is it automatic or do you have to actively maintain it? What's the psychological architecture? Can you—"
"Lyra!" A voice called from across the market. "Stop harassing the new spawn and get back to your studies!"
"That's my mentor," Lyra said, completely unbothered. "I should go before he threatens to turn me into a toad again." She started to leave, then turned back. "Hey, if you ever want company while not dying, I'm usually at the eastern training ground in the afternoons. It gets boring practicing magic alone."
She jogged off before Klein could respond, leaving him standing with his spear and the vague sense that he'd just met someone who operated on completely different social rules than he did.
[New Observation: Demonic Mage (2.1%)]
The notification was unsurprising. Lyra's presence had been... distinct. Klein filed the information away and continued his survey of the marketplace.
By midday, he had a comprehensive understanding of Thornhaven's economy and his position in it. The math was as simple as it was brutal: he was poor, unskilled in combat, and surviving on contract work that required a rare talent.
The ward inspections would keep him fed and housed. But anything beyond that—better equipment, trait acceleration, emergency reserves—required additional income.
There was no other way. He had to hunt.
The Planning
Klein returned to his room at the inn and spread his resources on the small table.
Fifty copper in his pouch.
One iron spear—quality adequate, reach advantage, no training in its use.
Clean clothes, leather boots, waterskin.
Ward inspection token—twenty copper per check, three weekly.
And ten Potential Points remaining in his reserve.
Klein pulled up his status.
[NEUTRAL SYSTEM: STATUS CHECK]
PHYSICAL STATE
Integrity: 78%
Stamina: 74%
MENTAL STATE
Dampening Efficiency: 79%
BALANCE METER
Current: 46.0% Divine / 54.0% Demonic
Status: Acceptable deviation maintained
RACE: METAMORPHOR
Classification: Adaptive Entity
Current Traits: None acquired
Trait Library: 0/∞
SYSTEM UPGRADES:
Basic Observation Multiplier [ACQUIRED]
TRAIT OBSERVATION PROGRESS:
Elf Scout (8.1%) - Movement optimization, spatial awareness
Stalker (11%) - Predatory instincts, threat assessment
Forest Ecosystem (7.2%) - Environmental adaptation
Ward Magic (1.3%) - Magical infrastructure perception
Demonic Mage (2.1%) - Entropy manipulation theory
POTENTIAL POINTS: 10 PP
He stared at the numbers. Elf Scout: 8.1%. The percentage wasn't just tracking a skill; it represented a piece of Synel, of an entirely different race, being woven into the fabric of his own soul. For a moment, the sheer strangeness of it threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed the thought away. It didn't matter what he was becoming, so long as it was something that survived.
Stalker was highest at 11%. If he could push it to 80% fast enough, he could use the Trait Integration Efficiency upgrade (12 PP) to access it early.
But he only had 10 PP. Two points short.
He needed more achievements or he needed to hunt.
Hunting meant combat. Combat meant risk. Risk meant potentially dying on day two of his new existence.
But staying in Thornhaven meant slow progression. Safe, but slow.
Klein thought about the Stalkers he'd fought—seven of them, coordinated pack hunters with active camouflage. He'd barely survived, and only because Synel had intervened.
Fighting one alone would be suicide.
Fighting one with preparation might be survivable.
Klein pulled out the small notebook Marcus had given him during the ward inspection. Started writing.
STALKER ANALYSIS:
- Pack hunters, minimum 3-7 individuals
- Active camouflage, color-shifting hide
- Four eyes, wide skull, quadrupedal
- Intelligent enough for tactics
- Drops 2 mana crystals each (200 silver value local, 300 continental)
KLEIN'S CURRENT CAPABILITY:
- Zero combat training
- Iron spear, adequate quality
- Baseline physical conditioning
- Elf Scout 8.1% (improving spatial awareness)
- Stalker 11% (minimal threat assessment boost)
SURVIVAL PROBABILITY IF ENGAGING:
[EVALUATOR ANALYSIS: Single Stalker, prepared ambush: 23% survival]
[EVALUATOR ANALYSIS: Stalker pack encounter: <3% survival]
The Evaluator's assessment was cold and clear. Klein couldn't fight Stalkers effectively yet. Not alone. Not without training.
But there were other options.
Klein remembered yesterday's journey—the forest full of threats, but not all of them pack hunters. There had been signs of other creatures. Smaller prey.
He needed to talk to Synel.
The Scout
Klein found Synel in the common room that evening, eating stew and studying a hand-drawn map. The elf's golden Hail cast warm light across his sharp features.
"Klein." Synel gestured to the empty chair across from him. "How's your first full day treating you?"
"Surviving." Klein sat. "Marcus hired me for ward inspection. First round completed this morning."
"Ward work?" Synel's eyebrows rose. "That's good money for a fresh spawn. You must have impressed him."
Or demonstrated reliability by condemning an innocent man.
Klein pushed the thought aside. "I need information. About the forest. Specifically about prey that isn't Stalkers."
Synel studied him. "You're thinking about hunting."
"I need trait observation progress. Combat experience. Mana crystals." Klein kept his voice level. "But I'm not stupid enough to fight Stalkers alone. What else is out there?"
Synel pulled out his map, spreading it on the table. It showed Thornhaven at the center, surrounded by marked territories and annotations in flowing script.
"Within two kilometers of the settlement: Rabbucks. Harmless unless cornered. Fast, decent meat, no crystal drops." He pointed to another area. "Ironbark Beetles. Size of your fist, tough carapace, minor threat in swarms. Drop small crystals—maybe 20 silver value."
He continued. "Forest Cats. Solitary ambush predators. Dangerous if they catch you unaware, but manageable with preparation. Drop 50-silver crystals."
"How dangerous?" Klein asked.
"They're faster than you, stronger than you, and they hunt from trees. But they're not intelligent like Stalkers—just instinctive predators." Synel met his eyes. "If you can control the engagement, maybe 40% survival chance. If it ambushes you, 10%."
Forty percent was better than three percent.
"Where do I find them?" Klein asked.
"East sector, near the stream you drank from yesterday. Forest Cats patrol the water sources." Synel paused. "Klein. You've been spawned for less than two days. Most fresh spawns don't hunt alone for weeks."
"Most fresh spawns die in the first week."
"Fair point." Synel pulled out a second piece of paper, sketching quickly. "Forest Cat basics: They hunt by scent and sound. They'll circle their prey, testing for weakness. If you can wound one significantly in the first exchange, they'll usually retreat—they're risk-averse hunters."
He handed Klein the sketch. "Aim for the eyes or throat. The hide is tough but not armored. And for fuck's sake, don't hunt at night. That's their territory."
Klein studied the drawing. The Forest Cat looked like a panther crossed with something reptilian—sleek body, powerful limbs, elongated skull with too many teeth.
"Thank you," Klein said.
"Don't thank me until you survive." Synel returned to his map. "And Klein? Take rope. If you go down, at least make them work for it. Traps are how humans survive against faster predators."
The Purchase
After eating porridge, Klein had forty-five copper remaining. He spent thirty at the marketplace before it closed.
Fifty feet of rope: 15 copper
Basic knife (backup weapon): 10 copper
Extra rations (1 day): 5 copper
That left him with fifteen copper. Not enough for the forty-copper private room.
Klein found Marcus in his office, a small room above the trading post filled with ledgers and maps.
"I need an advance on tomorrow's ward inspection," Klein said without preamble.
Marcus looked up from his paperwork. "You just did one this morning."
"I know. I'm asking for twenty-five copper tonight against tomorrow's check. I'll complete it on schedule. You can dock the payment if I don't."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, studying Klein. "What's the copper for?"
"Lodging. I spent my buffer on hunting supplies."
"You're going hunting." It wasn't a question. "Day two of your new existence, and you're already gambling with your life."
"Staying weak is a worse gamble."
Marcus was silent for a moment, then pulled out a small lockbox and counted out twenty-five copper coins. "Tomorrow's inspection. If you miss it, you're terminated and you owe me this back."
"Understood."
Klein took the coins and left. His fifteen copper plus the advance gave him exactly forty. He paid Mira for his room, his pouch now empty.
He lay down on his bed with his rope coiled beside him, his new knife on the table, his iron spear within reach.
Tomorrow he'd walk the ward perimeter in the morning. Complete his contracted work. Earn his copper.
And then he'd go into the forest and try not to die fighting a Forest Cat.
The mathematics of survival hadn't changed. Just the currency.
Klein closed his eyes and let the Dampening compress his anxiety into manageable structure.
[EMOTIONAL DAMPENING FIELD: 81% - Stable]
Somewhere in the settlement, people were probably talking about him. The Neutral spawn who'd condemned Rajesh. The anomaly with no Hail. The fresh spawn stupid or desperate enough to hunt alone.
Let them talk.
Klein had survived Manila's slums for six years. Had survived death, divine judgment, and the Void Hunters' attention. Had survived making the worst choice of his new life and still functioning the next day.
He'd survive tomorrow too.
Or he wouldn't.
Either way, the ledger would keep growing.
Klein slept, and dreamed of scales that would never balance.