Pain came first.
Not sharp pain. Not the kind that made you scream. It was dull and heavy, spread through every part of his body like wet cloth pressing down on his bones. Kael tried to breathe and felt his chest tighten, lungs burning as if they had forgotten how to work properly.
His eyes opened.
Stone filled his vision.
Rough, uneven stone, stained dark with age and moisture. It was close enough that he could see tiny cracks running through it, dirt packed into the lines, faint green growth clinging stubbornly to the edges.
He blinked once.
Twice.
The stone did not change.
This was not asphalt.
This was not concrete.
Kael sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. His throat burned. Not soreness. Not dryness. It felt scraped raw, like sandpaper dragged through flesh. He swallowed on instinct and felt nothing move.
No saliva.
His tongue felt thick and useless.
"I'm alive," he whispered.
The sound startled him.
His voice was different. Lower. Rougher. It echoed slightly off the narrow walls around him.
Kael tried to push himself up.
His arms trembled violently and gave out.
His face hit the stone again, cheek scraping against grit. The impact barely registered through the deeper ache spreading from his stomach outward. Hunger hit him all at once, not as a desire but as a command. Eat or die. Drink or die.
His body had already chosen panic.
"Okay," he muttered hoarsely. "Okay. Slow."
He lay still, breathing shallowly, letting the wave pass. His mind, at least, was clear. Too clear. Sharp in a way it had no right to be after dying.
Dying.
The memory came back in pieces. Rain. Headlights. The weightless moment just before impact.
The girl.
His jaw clenched.
"Idiot," he whispered. "Absolute idiot."
Anger flared hot and fast, cutting through the fog of pain.
I saved her. And for what.
Kael rolled onto his back with effort, staring up.
The sky above him was narrow, framed by tall buildings that leaned inward like they were listening. No neon. No streetlights. Just a pale gray stretch of overcast sky, clouds drifting slowly overhead.
He was in an alley.
Not a modern one.
The walls were stone and wood, old timber beams exposed and warped with age. The smell hit him next. Rotting refuse. Old water. Something animal underneath it all.
Kael forced himself to sit up.
His vision swam. He paused, counting breaths. One. Two. Three.
When the dizziness eased, he opened his eyes again and started cataloging.
The ground beneath him was uneven cobblestone, worn smooth in places by years of foot traffic. There were no drainage grates, just shallow grooves cut between stones where water collected. A wooden crate lay broken nearby, its boards split and gray with age. Rusted iron nails stuck out at odd angles.
No plastic. No paint. No signs of modern manufacturing.
His clothes were unfamiliar too.
A rough linen shirt hung loosely on his frame, stained dark with sweat and grime. The fabric scratched against his skin. His pants were simple, brown, tied at the waist with a cord. His boots were cracked leather, soles thin and unevenly worn.
Not a costume.
Clothes worn by someone who lived like this.
Kael looked down at his hands.
Long fingers. Clean nails, surprisingly, though the skin was pale and tight over bone. He flexed them slowly, watching how they moved. The coordination was there, but the strength was gone. Muscle memory remained, but the body had been pushed far past its limits.
Starvation.
That explained the hunger. The weakness. The way his limbs shook when he tried to move too quickly.
This body had been dying long before he arrived.
A sound reached him from the mouth of the alley.
Voices.
Kael froze.
Not fear. Focus.
He shifted slightly, angling his body so he could see without being seen. His movements were slow and deliberate, conserving energy. Every breath mattered.
Two figures passed by the alley entrance.
One was tall and broad shouldered, carrying a sack over his back. The other was shorter, lighter build.
Both were not human.
The taller one had curved horns rising from his temples, dark and smooth, curling backward slightly. His skin had a faint gray tint beneath the dirt. The shorter figure had sharp, narrow eyes with vertical pupils that caught the light even in shadow. Foxlike. Alert.
Demi-humans.
Kael did not gasp. Did not flinch.
He observed.
Their clothing matched the environment. Simple tunics. Leather straps. No metal armor. No visible weapons beyond a short blade at the taller one's waist. The way they walked suggested familiarity with the street. Locals.
Their language drifted toward him, low and rough. He did not understand the words, but he caught patterns. Rhythm. Emotion. The tone was casual, complaining perhaps. Nothing urgent.
They passed without looking into the alley.
Kael exhaled slowly through his nose.
"This is not Earth," he said quietly.
Not a hallucination either. Hunger could cause confusion, but not shared consistency. Not physical continuity. Not independent actors behaving without regard to him.
Fantasy.
The word surfaced unbidden, dragged up from memories of long nights and cheap takeout, screens glowing with worlds that followed their own rules. Swords. Magic. Mana. Systems.
He laughed once, dry and humorless, then immediately regretted it as his throat burned again.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Anger surged back, hotter this time.
"This is your fault," he snapped at empty air. "You better have lived."
The image of the girl flashed again, followed by the truck, the impact.
Kael clenched his fists until his hands shook.
Cursing her felt wrong. Unfair. And yet the words spilled out anyway, driven by fear and pain and the raw injustice of it all.
"I died saving you and I woke up starving in a gutter," he rasped. "What kind of trade is that."
His stomach cramped violently, cutting off the rest of the thought. He doubled over, gasping, hands clutching his abdomen as his vision darkened at the edges.
Too much emotion. Too much movement.
He forced himself to breathe again.
Observation. Control.
He leaned back against the wall, letting the cold stone support him, and closed his eyes for a moment.
Then something changed.
It was subtle at first. A pressure behind his eyes. Not pain. Not dizziness. Like something adjusting its focus.
Kael opened his eyes.
Blue light hovered in front of him.
Flat. Clean. Perfectly rectangular.
Text scrolled into existence, crisp and sharp despite the dim alley.
[Kernel-null loading.]
Kael stared.
Did not speak.
Did not reach for it.
He waited.
The loading indicator moved slowly, deliberately. Not flashy. Not dramatic.
Kael's mind raced.
hallucination was a known and common phenomenon during extreme dehydration and starvation. The brain filled in patterns. Created order when they did not exist.
But hallucinations did not remain stable when ignored.
This did.
He shifted his gaze slightly.
The blue screen remained fixed relative to his vision, not the environment.
He closed one eye.
It remained.
He closed both eyes.
It vanished.
He opened them again.
It returned.
"Not a dream," he murmured.
[The loading completed.]
New text appeared.
[Initialization complete.]
[Core function unlocked.]
[Ability : Access Toggle.]
[Granted]
Description followed, simple and direct.
[Unlock or disable basic accessible states within range.]
Kael swallowed, throat burning.
He needed proof.
Not hope. Not belief. Proof.
His eyes dropped to his own body.
Specifically, to his left boot.
The leather strap that secured it was tied poorly, fingers having lacked the strength to pull it tight. The knot was uneven, half slipping already. He had noticed it earlier without consciously registering why.
He focused.
Not on the boot itself, but on the idea behind it.
Fastened. Unfastened.
Locked. Unlocked.
The knot loosened.
The strap slid free and fell against the cobblestone with a faint sound.
Kael froze.
He did not move for several seconds.
His heart began to beat faster, not from excitement, but from fear.
"That wasn't imagination," he whispered.
He tightened the strap again with shaking fingers, tying the knot carefully this time. He could feel how weak his hands were, how little strength remained in them.
Once more, he focused.
The knot came undone.
Cleanly. Precisely. As if invisible fingers had followed the exact path required to release it without force.
Kael exhaled slowly.
New text appeared.
[Further functions will unlock under extreme necessity.]
[Assistance will be granted when earned.]
[The System will only give suggestions and the host is not required to follow them or pay it any mind]
[No direct intervention.]
Kael let out a shaky breath.
Not unlimited power. Not salvation.
A tool.
The final message appeared.
[Primary suggestion.]
[Acquire food and water.]
Kael leaned his head back against the wall and laughed quietly, the sound cracked and rough.
"Of course," he said. "Of course that's the first task."
His laughter faded quickly, replaced by resolve.
Food meant people.
People meant risk.
But staying here meant death.
Kael opened his eyes and looked toward the mouth of the alley again.
He took in everything. Foot traffic patterns. Sounds. Smells. The way light shifted across the stone. The absence of guards. The presence of refuse.
This alley was ignored.
That meant survival would not come to him.
He would have to go to it.
Slowly, painfully, Kael pushed himself to his feet.
His legs shook, but he stayed upright.
"One step at a time," he whispered.
And then he moved.