Chapter 6: The First Recruit
Jin-ah Park was twenty-three minutes from her accident when Chronos first saw her.
He had driven back to the city before dawn, the F-150 smelling of damp earth and bear blood. Now he sat in a diner two blocks from her apartment, drinking coffee that tasted like burnt chemicals, watching the street through the diners greasy window.
From Silas memory: June 6, 8:14 AM. Delivery truck loses brakes at intersection of 34th and 7th. Swerves onto sidewalk. Jin-ah is there, carrying fabric samples to her internship. Truck pins her against brick wall. Crushed pelvis. She survives, but her weaving career ends before it begins. Three months later, her latent talent awakens too late to heal the nerve damage. She becomes The Weaver anyway, creating mana-infused textiles from a wheelchair, bitter at the world that broke her.
Chronos checked the time: 7:51 AM.
He left a five-dollar bill on the table, walked outside. The morning was already humid, promising another oppressive New York summer day. People flowed around him like a river around a stone. Commuters with blank faces, tourists clutching maps, the citys perpetual motion.
He positioned himself at the intersection, leaning against a newspaper box. From here, he could see both directions.
He had no elaborate plan. Just intercept. Divert. Save.
Simple.
At 8:07, she appeared.
Jin-ah Park was smaller than he had expected from Silas memories. Petite, with black hair tied in a practical bun, wearing a gray skirt and white blouse that looked like a uniform. She carried a large portfolio case and a tote bag stuffed with fabric swatches. Her expression was tired but determined. A first-generation immigrants daughter, working an unpaid internship while taking night classes. Trying to build something from nothing.
She waited for the crosswalk light, checking her phone.
Chronos approached.
Jin-ah Park?
She looked up, wary. Yes? Do I know you?
No. But you will. He kept his tone neutral, non-threatening. You are heading to the McCallister Design internship?
Her wariness deepened. How do you know that?
Because in seven minutes, a delivery truck is going to lose its brakes and pin you against that wall. He pointed to the brick facade of a bank. You will survive, but you will never walk properly again. Your weaving career ends today unless you listen to me.
Her expression cycled through confusion, fear, then anger. Is this some kind of joke? A scam? Get away from me.
She tried to step around him. The crosswalk light changed to WALK.
Chronos did not move. The truck is blue. Metro Fresh Produce on the side. License plate ends in 782. Drivers name is Frank OLeary. He had a heart attack last night but came to work anyway. The brake fluid line is leaking. He will realize it as he approaches this intersection.
Jin-ah froze. The specificity unnerved her. Who are you?
Someone who knows things. Come with me. Now.
Across the street, a blue truck turned onto 34th. Still three blocks away, but coming.
I am not going anywhere with a stranger who
Suit yourself. Chronos stepped back. But when it happens, remember I tried.
He turned and walked toward the diner.
Indecision warred on her face. She looked at the approaching truck, back at Chronos retreating back, at the crosswalk, at her watch.
The truck was two blocks away now. Growing larger.
A gut feeling, or maybe the first stirring of her latent talent, whispering danger, made her decision.
She hurried after Chronos. Wait!
He did not slow. She caught up as he reached the diners entrance.
Okay, fine! What do you want?
Inside. He held the door.
She hesitated, then entered. The diner was mostly empty now, just an old man at the counter nursing coffee.
They took the same booth Chronos had vacated minutes before. Through the window, they could see the intersection.
The blue truck approached the light. It was going too fast.
As it reached the intersection, the brake lights flashed. The truck swerved not dramatically, but enough to mount the curb. It scraped along the exact section of wall where Jin-ah would have been standing, then came to a stop halfway onto the sidewalk.
No collision. No one hurt. Just a scared-looking driver climbing out, hands shaking.
Jin-ah stared, her face pale. Oh my god.
Yes, Chronos said. Now you understand.
She turned to him, eyes wide. How did you know?
I have seen it before. Not a lie, technically. That is not important. What is important is that this was just a warning. A preview. In twenty-four days, something much worse happens to the entire world.
She shook her head, trying to process. I do not. What are you talking about?
Chronos reached into his pocket, withdrew the small plastic container. Inside, the last Mana-Heart Grub pulsed with soft blue light.
Jin-ah recoiled. What is that?
Medicine. And a key. He placed it on the table between them. On June 30th, eat this. It will save your life.
You are insane.
Probably. He slid a folded note across. Read this after I leave. Then decide.
The note contained three things:
1. The address of the winery.
2. The words: Your talent is weaving, but not just cloth. You can weave reality itself. The grub will awaken it.
3. A single signature: -C
Jin-ah did not touch the note. Just stared at it as if it were a snake. Why me? Why are you doing this?
Because you have a gift that will be needed. And because I am building something. You can be part of it, or you can be crushed by what is coming.
What is coming?
The end of everything you know. Chronos stood. The grub. June 30th. Do not be in the city when it happens.
He dropped a twenty on the table. For your trouble. And your silence.
He walked out.
Jin-ah did not follow. She sat frozen, looking from the grub to the note to the truck outside where the driver was now being questioned by a cop.
Chronos did not look back. He had planted the seed. Now to see if it grew.
---
But his day was not done.
From Silas memory: After the accident, Jin-ah spends three days in the hospital. Her mother visits, brings her a traditional sewing kit. That night, Jin-ah dreams of thread that glows. When she wakes, the first symptom appears. Threads in her hospital room twitch when she is emotional.
The mother was the key.
He drove to Queens, to the modest apartment building where Mrs. Park lived. Found her tending a small container garden on the fire escape. A woman in her fifties, face lined with years of factory work and worry.
Mrs. Park?
She looked up, squinting. Yes?
I am a friend of your daughters. There has been an incident.
Her face tightened. What happened?
She is fine. But she is shaken. She will tell you a man gave her something strange. A worm. She might throw it away. Do not let her.
Mrs. Parks eyes narrowed. Who are you?
Someone who knows your daughter has a gift. The worm will help it grow.
This sounds like cult nonsense.
Perhaps. Chronos handed her an envelope. Inside: five hundred dollars in cash. For your trouble. Just. Make sure she keeps it. And on June 30th, make sure she eats it.
He turned to leave.
Wait. Mrs. Parks voice stopped him. What gift?
Chronos looked back. She sees patterns others do not. Threads that connect things. Soon, she will be able to touch those threads. To make them real.
He left her staring, the envelope in her hand feeling both like salvation and damnation.
---
Back in Manhattan, Chronos checked the time: 10:17 AM.
He had other recruits to locate, but they could wait. Marcus, the future warlord, was still managing a warehouse in Jersey. He would not be desperate enough to listen for another week, when the first mana-sickness outbreaks would make the news and his employees would start calling in sick with the glitter flu.
Kael, the ex-soldier, was still bouncing at a club, not yet disillusioned enough with civilian life to crave purpose.
Timing mattered. Too early, and they would not believe. Too late, and they would be dead or corrupted.
He returned to his apartment, his last day there, he decided. Tomorrow he would move to the winery full-time. The city was a trap waiting to spring.
As he packed his meager belongings, his phone buzzed. A message from the encrypted forum app:
RiverOfStars: I showed my wife what I can do. She is scared. Says I should see a doctor.
Chronos replied: Do not. The doctors will not understand. And soon, they will be overwhelmed. Practice in secret. Store water. Prepare to leave the city by June 25th.
RiverOfStars: Leave for where?
Anywhere with natural water and few people. Mountains. Rural areas. I will send coordinates for a safe zone soon.
RiverOfStars: Who are you? Really?
A gardener. Planting seeds before the frost.
He put the phone down. The metaphor was apt, he realized. He was gardening humanity. Selecting the viable specimens, weeding out the weak, preparing the soil for a harvest he hoped would never come.
His own talent hummed beneath his skin. He had been experimenting with permanent modifications, small efficiencies. Yesterday, he had increased his lung capacity by 8%, modified his digestive enzymes to extract 12% more nutrients from plant matter, thickened his skins outermost layer for better abrasion resistance.
Each change cost biomass, but the return on investment was positive. He was becoming. Optimized.
But he was still human. Mostly.
He finished packing: clothes, the laptop, Silas coin collection might be useful for trade, basic tools. Everything else was disposable.
As he zipped the last bag, a notification appeared:
Pre-Descent Quest Complete!
· Acquire 3 biological templates 7/3 ✓
· Secure 10kg biomass 229/10 ✓
· Claim territory 1/1 ✓
Rewards:
· +200 Territory Credits
· +1 Advanced Template Slot for rare/legendary templates
· Talent Progress: +5%
· New Quest Available: First Followers
First Followers Quest
· Recruit 3 individuals with latent or awakened talents
· Establish communication network between them
· Secure territory for 10+ people
· Time Limit: 14 days
· Reward: Territory Expansion, Network Blueprint
Chronos accepted.
His credits now totaled 270. The advanced template slot was intriguing. Meant there were templates beyond the ordinary. Mythical creatures? Alien biology? He would find out.
His talent progress now stood at 7%. Slow, but growing.
He did one last sweep of the apartment. In the bathroom cabinet, he found Silas prescription medications. Anti-anxiety pills, sleep aids. The crutches of a man who could not face his memories.
Chronos flushed them. He needed no chemical courage.
As he turned to leave, his enhanced hearing caught something from the apartment below.
A wet, rattling cough. Followed by a sound like tearing cloth.
He went still.
Silas memory: Mrs. Henderson in 3B. Early mana-sickness. Dies June 8. Rises as Shamble-Rot June 9. Kills her cat, then her neighbor when he checks on her.
It was starting earlier this time. The ley line convergence at the winery, his own awakening, the ritual. Maybe he was accelerating the timeline.
He considered intervening. But Mrs. Henderson was eighty-seven, with advanced dementia. Even if he cured the mana-sickness, she would just die of something else before the Descent. And curing it would require revealing his abilities.
Cold calculus: not worth the risk.
He left the apartment, locked the door behind him. Did not look back.
In the hallway, the cough came again, followed by a weak cry. Help. Someone.
Chronos kept walking.
Mercy was a luxury he could not afford. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
---
He drove back to the winery, the city shrinking in his rearview mirror. He would return for supplies, for recruits, but this was no longer his home.
Home was now two hundred acres of land with a magical tree and a bears blood in its soil.
When he arrived, something had changed.
The Guardian Tree had grown. Not just taller. Its branches now spread wider, casting deeper shadow. Silver veins in its bark pulsed slowly, like a resting heartbeat.
At its base, flowers had bloomed. Small, blue blossoms that glowed faintly in the daylight.
Territory Update: Guardian Tree Maturing
Effect: Monster repulsion radius increased to 100m
New Effect: Mana concentration +10% within territory
Good. The core he had fed it was bearing fruit.
He spent the afternoon working. Using his adapted rat claws, he dug a trench around the perimeter where the fence had collapsed entirely. Not deep. Just a foot. But it would slow anything that tried to cross.
He reinforced the barn doors with planks from the shed. Installed the solar panels he had bought, connecting them to the houses newly awakened electrical system.
By dusk, he was sweating, covered in dirt, biomass ticking down from the sustained partial transformations.
Biomass: 229.02 → 221.34kg
A cost. But the territory was taking shape.
He cooked dinner over a fire. More meat, more conversion. Then he checked the forum from his laptop, using a satellite hotspot he had set up.
Jin-ah had not posted. But RiverOfStars had:
I have decided to trust you. My wife and I are packing. We will leave the city June 20th. Where should we go?
Chronos sent coordinates for a state park north of the winery. Camp here. I will find you after the change.
One follower. Voluntary, distant, but a start.
He lay in the manors main room on a bedroll, listening to the night sounds. Owls. Crickets. The wind through the grapevines.
No traffic. No sirens. No hum of a city that did not yet know it was dying.
He dreamed of threads.
Silver threads connecting points on a map. Jin-ah holding one end. RiverOfStars another. Marcus, Kael, others he had not met yet. All leading back to him, to this land, to the oak tree that was now a nexus.
In the dream, he pulled the threads taut.
The world changed shape.
He woke with the dawn, the dream lingering like a promise.
Or a warning.