The morning sun filtered through the cracked arrow slits of the ruined watchtower, casting pale beams onto scattered crates and dust?ridden floorboards. Kael pushed aside a broken barrel and swept fallen leaves from a corner where he and Virelle had stashed dried rations and healing salves. Dawn in the tower always felt hushed—like the world held its breath before storms. He checked the notebook once more:

  

  |————— STATUS —————|

  | Level:   3

  | EXP:   0/300

  | Health:  60/75

  | Mana:   10/10

  | Strength:  5

  | Agility:  7

  | Intelligence: 9

  | Skill Points: 2

  |————— LOG —————|

  | [00:00] System Initialized.

  | [00:02] Host awakened.

  | [00:05] Objective: SURVIVE.

  | [00:35] +1 SP: survived patrol.

  | [00:40] +1 SP: defeated dire wolves.

  | [01:15] +1 SP: survived courtyard training.

  | [02:00] +1 SP: survived sword?stance lesson.

  | [02:45] +1 SP: survived midnight Order strike.

  | [04:30] +1 SP: survived watchtower defense.

  | [05:15] Level Up!

  Two unused skill points pulsed beneath the log. Kael exhaled, anticipation fluttering in his chest. Yesterday, he had grown stronger in the heat of battle; today, he would shape that strength into purpose. He closed the notebook, slung it into his coat, and stepped into the courtyard where Virelle paced beneath the archway.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, her tone soft as feathered silk. Her eyes—dark pools of resolve—studied him.

  “Ready,” Kael replied, though the knot in his stomach throbbed with unspent energy.

  Virelle nodded. “Rowan’s coming. We’ll coordinate with her and a few trusted villagers. Then we march north to Shadowfall Hollow. But first…” She raised an eyebrow. “Breakfast?”

  Kael allowed himself a small laugh—first in days. Inside, they found Jarrik already at the hearth, frying salted bacon and broken eggs in an iron skillet. The scent of sizzling meat and charred wood filled the room. A handful of villagers—two grizzled hunters, a gray?haired herbalist named Myra, and Rowan herself—greeted them with nods.

  Mistress Rowan clapped her gauntleted hand on the table. “Food’s near cold if you don’t eat, boy.” She slid a plate of eggs and bacon toward Kael. “You need your strength.”

  He ate quickly, each bite bolstering his resolve. Across the table, Myra placed a wooden bowl of porridge in front of Virelle and murmured, “Wishing you both a safe journey.” The herbalist’s lined face softened with concern. “Take these.” She handed Kael a small leather pouch. “Saltpeter for smoke bombs. And these.” She produced vials of oil infused with numbing herbs. “Can give someone pause, if splashed.”

  Kael tucked the items into his pack. “Thank you,” he said, voice husky.

  Rowan cleared her throat. “Right. Supplies loaded. Virelle, you and Kael—meet me at the stables in ten minutes. We leave at first light.”

  They finished in silence, each lost in the tension of the coming march. Outside, the wind had risen, sending tendrils of mist swirling through the courtyard.

  Under a low?hung sky, Kael and Virelle trudged down the rutted path toward Hartwood’s stable yard. The ground was sodden from last night’s rain, boots squelching in the dark. Lanterns swung on broken hinges from the thatch?roofed stalls, and the braying of restless horses echoed in the mist.

  Rowan stood beside two travelers—one a burly man in leather armor, the other a wiry youth clutching a bow. The man introduced himself as Calder, Hartwood’s de facto militia captain; the youth, Pirel, was his scout.

  “Good,” Rowan said, voice gravel?rough. “We depart now. Keep formation tight.” She handed each of them a satchel of rations and a canteen. “No magic displays until Shadowfall Hollow. The Order’s scrying is strongest near the village.”

  Kael nodded, checking the satchel’s contents: dried venison, hardtack, and a small leather?bound journal Rowan had given him. Battle tactics and survival notes, the front cover read. He ran a fingertip over it.

  They set off eastward, passing beneath Hartwood’s stone gatehouse and into the Outer Wilds. The road narrowed into a narrow track flanked by brambles, thorn vines curling across the path like skeletal fingers. Pirel led the way, torch held aloft, alert for movement. Calder brought up the rear, crossbow at ready.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The group moved at a steady pace, the sky turning from bruise?purple to ash?gray as dawn brightened. Kael matched Virelle’s stride, each step forging camaraderie. He glanced at her, the notebook burning warm under his coat. “Thank you for—”

  She cut him off with a raised hand. “We’ll talk when it’s safer.”

  He nodded, accepting her caution.

  As they skirted a stand of blackthorn, Pirel halted. He signaled with his torch, whispering, “Tracks—recent horse hooves, two mounts. Heading north.”

  Calder frowned. “Likely Order patrol. We can run or prepare. Your call, Rowan.”

  Rowan conferred with Virelle in hushed tones. Kael felt a lump in his throat. Patrols meant battle—and the scouts moved swiftly.

  “We can outmaneuver them through Shadowfall Hollow,” Rowan decided. “We maintain pace but prepare defense. Kael, ready your Barrier.”

  He nodded, thumb brushing the notebook’s lock. Sheathing her dagger, Virelle produced the obsidian?etched dagger she’d reclaimed. “Watch your left flank,” she said. “They’ll try to hit the rear.”

  Kael slipped behind a fallen pine, silent as a ghost. When the patrol crested a ridge—a trio of black?clad horsemen—Kael watched them pass, unaware of the group hidden in the underbrush. He flicked the notebook open: CAST Detect.

  The edges of his vision glowed, highlighting four faint pulses ahead—one at the patrol’s flank. A scout had dismounted. Kael exhaled and closed the menu.

  “Move,” Virelle whispered. They slipped past the patrol at a careful distance, closing the gap to the creek where the grasses grew thigh?high.

  After an hour, the path opened into a ring of ancient oak trees. At the center lay a yawning fissure—Shadowfall Hollow—ragged stones forming steps into darkness. Moss?cloaked columns flanked the entrance, carved with half?forgotten runes that glowed faintly when Kael drew near.

  Rowan halted the group. “This is it. We set up camp here. Supplies down the steps; rest above.”

  Calder nudged Pirel forward. “Scout ahead, mark traps or threats. Kael, Barrier on standby.”

  The group descended. The air inside was cool and still, carrying the smell of earth and decay. At the bottom, they found a vaulted chamber: collapsed arches, piles of rubble cleared by fallen columns, and pockets of mildew?stained masonry.

  Kael’s breath caught. This hollow offered space enough for twenty—or more—to huddle by a fire. A small underground stream trickled along the wall. Rowan pointed to a niche in the far stone: “We clear that and burn torches. You and Virelle gather flat stones for a cooking hearth.”

  Kael set to work, the hush broken only by clinking stone and soft murmurs. The day waned as they carved living quarters: one alcove for storage, another for the heat of a fire pit. Myra arranged her satchels of herbs where the damp would not spoil them. Pirel positioned a lookout post at the stair’s head, rigging tripwire alarms from Myra’s mortar?and?pestle kit.

  That evening, a fire crackled in the Hollow’s heart. Virelle sat cross?legged, teaching Kael to focus mana into finer threads—tendrils of light that danced above his palm.

  “Try weaving the Barrier’s energy,” she instructed. “Smaller, directional shields can deflect arrows or shrapnel.”

  Kael nodded and concentrated. At first, his attempts wavered—flashes of blue that fizzled into damped motes. Rowan watched from behind a stack of crates, brow arched.

  He inhaled, recalling the pang of last night’s intrusion. With it, a surge of determination: I will protect this place. He refocused, exhaling in steady rhythm. Light gathered at his fingertips, coalescing into a narrow band. He swept his hand across the air; the barrier ribbon snapped upward, slicing through the flame dancing on the firewood and extinguishing one torch. Sparks showered, but the ribbon remained solid.

  A cheer rose as the group stared in amazement. Even Rowan’s lips quirked upward. “Well done,” she said. “That will save us.”

  Kal’s chest swelled as confidence bloomed. The barrier skill, once a reaction, had become a tool. Tomorrow, he would practice Flash Step—or Detect deeper secrets of the system.

  Long after the others drifted to uneasy sleep, Kael lingered by the dying embers. Virelle joined him, eyes reflecting the firelight.

  “You’ve grown,” she said softly.

  Kael offered a small smile. “Thanks to you—and them.”

  She met his gaze. “I’ve been pushing you. But there’s something more. The system…some call it a gift, others a curse. I know a legend: a host who unlocked a hidden quest, one that could topple the Order. But it demands sacrifice.”

  Kael’s heart thudded. “A hidden quest?”

  Virelle nodded, voice tragic. “Long ago, a system bearer united the fractured kingdoms—but at the cost of his humanity. Legends say he became a living rune, part of the world’s magic. The Order hunts such power.”

  He swallowed, thoughts racing. “So that’s why they’re relentless.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We will find out. But first, rest. Tomorrow, we prepare the Hollow—and you must choose your next skill.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Flash Step can save your life. Detect can save ours.”

  Kael nodded, dawn?blue eyes bright in the firelight. “I’ll choose wisely.”

  As he lay on his cot, the embers’ glow settled to ashes. He stared at the cave’s vaulted ceiling, mind swirling with questions: of hidden quests, legends of living runes, and Virelle’s warning. Beneath it all, a single vow burned: he would master his power, protect these people, and defy the Obsidian Order—no matter the cost.

  With that promise, exhaustion claimed him—and dreams of a world remade by fire and light.