The forest stretched endlessly before him — trees rising like ancient towers, their branches tangled in a green sky that refused to clear. Every direction looked the same, and every breeze carried that same earthy dampness that clung to his skin and wrapped around his thoughts. There was no road. No path. Just Veigar, his dagger, and the constant hum of a world that didn't care if he existed.
Eventually, he stopped walking.
And for the first time since arriving in Aetherion, he let himself simply stand still.
No panic. No plan. Just silence.
He closed his eyes, exhaling long and slow, the breath catching slightly in his throat as if something inside him was resisting release. When he opened them again, he wasn't looking at the trees anymore, but at the clearing behind him — and the five boars he had killed.
"You know what... you're right, System," he muttered, his voice barely louder than the leaves brushing above. "I thought I missed home. Earth. My routines. My comfort zone... But looking at where I'm standing right now…" — he chuckled, light and surprised — "I don't think I do anymore."
His hands were still stained with blood. His clothes were torn and smudged with ash and dirt. Yet for some reason, he didn't feel miserable. He felt grounded. Whole.
"Even dirty and covered in boar guts, I think I'm... good," he said, eyes fixed on the fallen beasts, their bodies cooling beneath the shade.
There was no answer at first — only the distant creaking of bark and the occasional cry of a bird too far to identify.
Then—
[Do you want to return the plate?]
Veigar raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a dry smile.
"Yes, System. You can take it back. No need to deliver porcelain from the divine realm anymore," he said, wiping his hands on a patch of moss and standing a bit straighter. "I think it's time I stop pretending this is temporary. I have to accept this world, not wait for someone to send me back."
He closed his eyes again and nodded slowly, as if sealing a pact with himself.
"This... this is what people call resolve, right?" he whispered inwardly, letting the words sink deeper than thought. And as the silence wrapped around him again, he noticed something: a warmth in his chest, steady and subtle. A certainty.
He felt stronger and calm like never before.
[Sure, Veigar]
A pause followed — not uncomfortable, just patient.
Then:
[Want something to cheer you up?]
His eyes opened.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Absolutely. I'm a human, after all," he said, raising his arms slightly. "Hit me with that sweet dopamine. Don't hold back."
The forest didn't move. The wind stayed still. Yet something shifted — a pulse beneath the surface, like the world itself was listening.
[You're really unique...]
Veigar grinned.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Now come on, don't leave me hanging. Gimme something cool."
[Focus on the mana you've accumulated.]
He didn't need further encouragement.
"Alright," he muttered, already dropping into a cross-legged position on the grass. "Let's do this."
[Feel the mana drifting around your body. Pull it together and bring it forward, between your hands, as if you were holding something]
He obeyed without question. His eyes closed. His breathing slowed.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
The noise around him faded. The leaves rustled more softly. The air seemed to thicken, filled with a faint vibration that danced along his skin and filled his lungs with something more than oxygen — something alive.
He sat motionless, feeling the energy stir within. Slowly, the pulse intensified — not loud, not sudden — just a gentle rhythm, like waves lapping against the shore of his soul. He could feel the mana settling between his palms, swirling there like liquid heat.
[Now, let that mana flow outward. But as it exits, heat it.]
He followed the instructions. His body obeyed instinctively now, no hesitation. The warmth began to shift — it moved from a passive glow to something active, something that wanted out.
His hands began to tingle, then burn — not painfully, but like he was sitting too close to a campfire on a freezing night.
"Feels like… hot air," he whispered, eyes still shut.
[Your left hand is gasoline. Your right, a lighter.]
[You must divide your mana. Part of it becomes fuel. The other becomes the spark.]
He furrowed his brow, concentrating harder.
Fuel.
Ignition.
He visualized it — a roaring inferno compacted into his grip. He imagined breath on kindling. Sparks flying onto oil. He fed that thought with mana.
And then—
FWOOOSH.
A burst of fire erupted from between his hands, not a tame flicker but a wild surge, like a flamethrower had belched defiance into the air. The heat slammed into his face. The sound echoed through the trees. Birds screamed and scattered.
"WOAH—WOAH!"
He tumbled backward, scrambling on elbows and heels, barely stopping himself from rolling down a slope. The flame vanished into the canopy, leaving behind a scorch mark on a branch overhead and Veigar's wide, stunned eyes.
His hands smoked lightly. His palms stung. But they were intact.
"Did I just—?"
[You did. You can't control the shape yet, but congratulations. You've cast your first fire.]
Veigar stared at his fingers.
"…That was awesome."
There was a pause.
Then:
[You may now prepare your dinner.]
He burst into laughter, loud and honest, his voice bouncing off the trees.
"Thank you, System. Sincerely."
He got to work — gathering dry leaves and snapping branches from nearby bushes, arranging them into a fire pit the way he'd seen in survival videos he never thought he'd actually need. This time, when he summoned mana, it came easily. His left hand warmed. His right sparked. The moment they touched the wood, flames bloomed naturally.
No panic.
Just control.
The fire crackled.
The meat sizzled.
And Veigar, battered and grinning, chewed slowly, savoring each bite like it was a feast prepared by royal chefs. He leaned back, hands behind his head, and watched the stars take shape above him.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he didn't feel like a fraud.
He felt… capable.
And maybe, just maybe, a little proud.