The island had swallowed him whole.
Air tasted of salt and something green—damp leaves and pine resin—when consciousness crept back. The jungle's dawn chorus had begun: an urgent clatter of unseen insects, a distant cry that might have been a bird or a monkey. Every sound set his head hammering.
His eyelids fluttered open to a canopy of emerald leaves. Sunlight filtered through in mottled patches, dancing across his dreadlocks and the scars that marred his flesh. He tried to lift his head—and bile rose in his throat. Instead he pushed up on one elbow, wincing as the world tilted around him.
Pain lanced through his neck with every breath, but he met it with stubborn resolve. Somewhere beneath the agony was the athlete he'd once been: accustomed to hits, to bruises, to pain that sharpened his focus rather than dulling it. He forced a deep breath, swallowed bile and fear alike, and swung his legs over.
The forest floor was uneven—gnarled roots and fallen fronds—but his long legs maneuvered instinctively. He pressed his palms into mossy ground and rose, spine screaming, gaze darting.
Then the golden glow returned.
Floating before his right eye, a panel of arcane symbols shimmered into view. Runes danced along its edges, and at its center, progress bars sat empty, waiting.
He blinked hard. "What…?" His throat scratched as he swallowed. "Is this real?"
The panel flared slightly, as if acknowledging his question, though no one spoke aloud. Then the same resonant voice echoed in his mind, calm and detached:
"Active Talent: Ilios (1/10)EXP: 0 / 100Next Mission: 'Establish Your Flame.'Welcome, Host. You have awakened the Ilios Gift. Complete missions to grow stronger. Your first objective: survive and ignite your spark."
Kajin staggered backward, bumping into a low-hanging vine. He grabbed it, swung to steady himself, and shook his head to clear cobwebs of doubt. "Ilios Gift… talent…" He tested his voice: harsh, unfamiliar in this silent forest. "Is this a joke?"
No laughter answered, only the jungle's living hum. He reached out and touched the glowing panel—his finger met nothing but air, yet the runes pulsed under his fingertip. A faint warmth coursed through his hand and up his arm.
A rational voice in his mind—buried beneath adrenaline—urged him to run, to hide, to figure out whether he'd gone mad. Instead, curiosity flared. He straightened, spine aching, and faced the path ahead. If that mysterious panel was real, then perhaps this entire world was real too—scarier, more dangerous, but also more filled with possibilities than dull Earth ever was.
He closed his eyes, inhaled the moist, green-scented air, and exhaled a slow, measured breath. His hand drifted to the burn on his left cheek—another reminder that life could twist on a dime. He had survived a Molotov cocktail. He had survived the snap of his own bones. He would survive this.
A low rumble in his chest matched the system's silent heartbeat. "Establish Your Flame," it had said. Ignite a spark. Prove himself worthy of Ilios' power.
Kajin squared his shoulders and advanced deeper into the jungle, each step slow but certain. The shadows thickened, vines curled at his ankles, and sunlight dimmed—but inside him, a different fire began to flicker.