1. March

  [System Initializing… Error. Unstable Connection.]

  "Wha....?"

  [System Connection Secure.]

  "The hell is this.....? Where am I? Hello? I can't see, can anyone hear me? ANYONE?"

  [Calibrating. Calibration Successful.]

  "Help! It's too dark... I... I can't breathe. HELP I CANT BREATH!"

  [Enter Name...]

  "What? NO, I need to get out."

  [Name not entered. Please provide name.]

  "Why! What is this, how is this possible? Why am I here, why me?"

  [Enter Name...]

  "I'm not going to... I won't... What the... What's happening... I don't understand."

  [System Error. Please try again.]

  "Leave me alone."

  [Enter Name...]

  "Stop."

  [Name Required to Proceed. Enter Name…]

  "I CANT!"

  [Enter Name...]

  "I don't know my name...... I don't have a name, I don't... my name..."

  A man sat alone in the dark, it was a suffocating, suppressive, hard darkness. He leans against the wall, though even that is made of shadow. The only clear thing in the dark being a series of words floating in the black nothingness, Enter name. But there lies the problem, and the reason for the man's panic and sorrow. He was without a name, without a history. Memory's make the man and this one lacked his. So he wept, in the dark. A quiet sob escapes his throat, swallowed by the emptiness, and his shoulders shake with the weight of an anguish he cannot name.

  Enter name. Enter name...

  The words echo in his mind, each one more accusatory than the last. He doesn't have a name. He can't remember anything. His identity is as blank as the void around him, and the weight of that emptiness crushes him further.He reaches for a memory, any scrap of who he was, but finds only the cold absence of self. There is nothing—no past, no future, no purpose. Just the suffocating now.

  The man remained there, alone in the suffocating dark. How long? Time had no meaning here. The shadows consumed even the passing of minutes, seconds, hours—everything bled together into a single, unbroken moment. He sat, still, with only the endless weight of the void pressing in on him.

  While he sat, he thought.

  "What is a name....? A name... is a word others refer to you as, to distinguish you from the mass. But there is no mass here, only me, alone. So what is a name...?"

  The words flashed before him again, the white letters almost begging to be interacted with, the question needing to be answered.

  "A name is....... Who you are....... but I know who I am. Well I guess I don't, but I do, what I am now is who I am and of course I want to know what I was but that is secondary to... to who I want to be... And who do I want to be?"

  As he spiraled deeper into his own uncertainty, something stirred at the edges of his mind—an image, faint at first, like a memory clawing to the surface. A cabin... smoke rising from its chimney. The warmth of a fire glowing through a window, laughter could be heard inside, the laughter of children, that image filled the man with joy.

  "I want... I need something more. I want to be happy. I want a home, to return to something real. I want warmth, laughter, a fire crackling in the hearth. A family... someone to love. I want to be loved."

  Resolved he looked back toward the text, and spoke with certainty.

  "My name is Love, for that is what I'm striving for."

  [Processing... Love. Really? That’s What You Came Up With?]

  "...Yeah? You got a problem with that?"

  [Love. Seriously? You Do Realize This Isn't a Dating Sim, Right?]

  "Excuse me..... yeah that's what I… what's a dating sim? Never mind. What's wrong with it? huh? or better yet what's wrong with you... Dickhead"

  [Out of All Possible Names, You Chose Love. Fascinating. Very Original. A True Poet.]

  "Oh, shut up."

  [Love It Is. I Guess.]

  “Well if you hate it that much th-”

  [Too Late.]

  “Oh”

  [Greetings Love Son of ???. Finalize Your Race Selection.]

  “Race? Like… I get to pick?”

  A flicker of hope sparked in his chest. Maybe this was his chance to define himself. To choose what he would become.

  [Error. Race Pre-selected, You Have Chosen. ???.]

  "Wait. What? I didn’t choose anything!"

  [Correct.]

  "Then why does it say I did?"

  [Because You Did.]

  "I— No, I didn’t! I don’t even know what the options are!"

  [Irrelevant. Race Selection Complete.]

  "Bullshit! At least tell me what I am!"

  [Race: ???]

  "That doesn’t tell me anything!"

  [Correct.]

  He clenched his fists, exhaling sharply. This system was going to drive him insane.

  "Fine. Whatever. Just load the damn status screen."

  [Status Screen Loading…]

  Suddenly a window popped up in front of him, but before he could read it another appeared in front of that.

  [New Skill Unlocked: Meditation I][Through focused thought and control of the mind, you have begun to grasp the art of stillness. The mind is a battlefield. Learn to master it, or be ruled by it.]

  “What does it do?”

  No response. Instead, the notification closed on its own, revealing the original status window.

  [Status…]

  [Name:] Love

  [Titles:] None

  [Race:] ???

  [Checkpoints:] 1

  [Attributes:]

  Strength: 1

  Agility: 1

  Endurance: 1

  Willpower: 1

  Intelligence: 1

  Charisma: 1

  [Skills:]

  (New) Meditation I

  [Passive Abilities:] None

  [Active Abilities:] None

  [??? Locked]

  “OK…. what is a checkpoint first off. And why… WHY AM I SO WEAK? These stats suck... Is this normal? Shouldn’t I at least be stronger than a dying rat?"

  [Your physique is comparable to a particularly determined earthworm.]

  "Oh, screw you…. No special anything, one skill. And its… what, sitting in silence? Yeah sounds great. Is there any way to… I don't know, get stronger?”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Another window appeared in front of him.

  [Choose Your Starting Path:]

  Path of the Blade – Strength, Combat, Survival.

  Path of the Scholar – Knowledge, Magic, Strategy.

  Path of the Shadow – Stealth, Deception, Control.

  "Oh, okay, I actually get to choose this time—"

  [Error. Path Pre-selected.]

  "Of course it is."

  [Path Selected…. Path of The Damned]

  "Path of the what now?"

  His stomach twisted. That didn't sound like a good path. That sounded like the opposite of a good path. Suddenly, the darkness shuddered. A new message appeared.

  [Path Found. Exit Ready. Proceed?]

  “Proceed where?”

  [Exit Ready. Proceed to First Checkpoint?]

  "Exit? To where—"

  The darkness swallowed him whole. The wind ripped at his skin, his stomach lurched into his throat, and he twisted wildly through the void. There was no ground, no sky—just the endless abyss and the cold words of the system.

  [Path Initiated.]

  The cool darkness whipped around him as the text flickered wildly.

  [March forward Love. Luck be with you…. Sorry]

  Sorry? His pulse spiked. The system had been mocking him just a second ago, and now it was… apologizing? That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.

  “...Sorry for what?”

  [March forward, Love. Luck be with you… Sorry.][March forward, Love. Luck be w—Luck be w—L—L—ERROR.]

  [You were not meant to be here.]

  [You were not meant to be.]

  The world was still. The grey landscape stretched far into the horizon, distant mountains clawing at the sky. Through it all, an eerie quiet—not silence, but something worse. The hushed movements of unseen things, lurking in the pits and ridges of the plain. Above, a black sky loomed as a pale sun crawled into view, spilling its sickly light over the dead world. Then, the shadows twisted. They writhed, dark tendrils ripping themselves apart—and from them, something was dragged free. A man. Pale-skinned. Brown-haired. Skinny. Nude.

  He fell, hitting the dirt hard. A gasp tore from his lips as pain jolted through his ribs. His body spasmed, lungs sucking in dry, dusty air. He flailed, wild and uncoordinated. His eyes—black, with red pupils—dilated, shrinking against the pale star above. He blinked rapidly, pupils adjusting, his breath still coming in short, uneven gasps. He had arrived. Then, he felt it.

  A prickle at the back of his neck. Slowly, he turned his head. A figure stood at the edge of the horizon. Unmoving. Featureless. Watching.

  He blinked. It was closer. A sharp breath. His pulse pounded in his skull. He blinked again. Gone. The quiet of the wasteland pressed in around him.

  And he was not alone.

  "What was that?..." His voice felt small, swallowed by the dead air. "Where am I?..."

  Silence.

  He swallowed, trying to ignore the weight pressing at the back of his skull. A prickle of unease ran down his spine.

  "...System?" His voice wavered. "Why aren’t you answering?"

  Nothing.

  The wind didn't blow. The dirt didn't shift. The world held its breath. The wasteland stretches endlessly—cracked, uneven ground, ridges and pits that look almost like scars in the earth. The air is dry, but there’s no wind. The quiet isn’t just an absence of noise—it feels wrong. The pale sun doesn’t give warmth. It just hangs there, casting long, jagged shadows.

  Where am I? What was that figure? Why isn’t the system responding? I’m weak, naked, unarmed. I need clothes, food, water. Shelter.

  Love looked down at his hands. Thin. Pale. Unfamiliar. They didn’t feel like his—but they were. His. A strange flush of pride welled in his chest. His first belonging, his first certainty in this place—his body. No memories, no past, but this was his. Fingers ran through short-cropped hair, traced the sharp angles of a face he couldn’t see. But he felt it. It was real. He was real. A laugh bubbled up, unbidden. It burst from his lips—sharp, breathless, alive.

  And it echoed. Across the empty land.

  And echoed.

  And echoed.

  The sound made Love draw back slightly, his body instinctively shrinking in on itself. His frame bent forward, arms wrapping around himself. The echo stretched out, stretching further and further, fading but never stopping. It was terrifying. The emptiness around him swallowed it, but still, the sound refused to end. It just got quieter. Fainter. Fading into the void. Eventually, it was gone. Completely. But Love couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was still listening.

  Idiot. Shut up,This is obviously some spooky shit, and now you’ve let everything around know where you are. Damn.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his fingers trembling. His eyes scanned the horizon. Nothing seemed significant. The ground he stood on looked just like any other patch of grey dirt. A random spot in the wasteland. Love mentally assigned names to the directions. To the north, the jagged peaks of distant mountains. To the east, the barren stretch of the wasteland, endless and devoid of life. To the south, the land sloped downward, an incline he could barely make out in the low light. And to the west, the hilly area, darker, more jagged.

  Well… what the hell am I supposed to do? Where… do… I… go?

  His mind raced back to the words the system had given him

  —March forward… Luck something something. Well forward is north and the mountains are north. It's something. It has to be something. But there is more to this. The system is my only connection, my only hope, even if it is silent right now, for some reason.

  “I’m gonna call you Sy,” he muttered aloud. He swallowed, then added, “If you can hear me, Sy… Please, answer me.”

  He waited.

  Silence.

  “All right then,” Love mumbled to himself, forcing a breath out. “I guess I’m on my own for now. Which is fine… I’m fine.”

  He paused, taking a deep breath, before stepping forward. As his foot hit the grey soil, he felt something grow inside of him—certainty, maybe. Or maybe it was just the simple act of moving, of doing something. Taking control. Another step. With each movement, the sense of purpose grew. Maybe it was because north was the right choice—or maybe it was just the relief of making a decision and acting on it.

  The ground was rough and sharp, its jagged edges cutting into his skin, but Love didn’t mind. It was a sensation, and that was something—something real. His eyes were wide open, absorbing the world with the awe of a newborn. Every rock, every shift in the color of the lifeless landscape, it all imprinted itself on his mind. Every detail felt significant, like he was marking his place in a world that, until now, had been blank. A quick glance behind him revealed the footsteps he had left, and a smile tugged at his lips once more. Love began to experiment with his pace—short steps, long ones, hops, bounds, skips, and jumps. Until, without realizing it, he was running. The dust billowed up around him in a grey cloud, swirling as his feet pounded against the earth. He ran faster, the wind whipping against his face, the strain in his legs only making him push himself further. Sweat formed on his brow, but he didn’t slow. His feet burned, his muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored them. He just kept running. Ahead, a rock jutted out from the ground, firm and unmoving. With a determined leap, Love almost cleared it—but his left foot clipped the edge, sending him tumbling into the dirt. A giggle escaped him, a sound of pure, unfiltered joy, as he rolled into the earth.

  His body was covered in small cuts and marks from the fall, but Love didn’t mind. As he lay there, chest heaving with deep breaths, legs and arms sprawled out against the grey ground, he felt a strange sense of freedom. It was the first time he had truly felt alive since waking. And then, he made his first mistake.

  Succumbing to the elation, Love called out in a loud, deep voice, “WOOOOOOO!”

  The echoes bounced back to him, ringing through the empty wasteland. But this time, something else responded, distant but unmistakable. From across the land—soft, hollow, and eerily identical—a voice returned, “WOOOOOOO!” Love froze. His eyes darted toward the west, where the dark hills blocked his view, the sound coming from somewhere beyond. His pulse quickened. There was no wind, no movement—just the eerie, chilling repetition of his own voice. He swallowed hard and then, driven by an impulse, he called out again, louder this time:

  “WHO’S THERE?”

  The wasteland held its breath for a moment—then, the same voice returned, mocking him, perfectly:

  “WHO’S THERE?”

  Love’s heart pounded in his chest. It was his voice. But it wasn’t.

  His body tensed, and the sense of joy was replaced by a creeping unease. Something—someone—was out there, copying him, mirroring him, but with no answer. No explanation. Love slowly pushed himself to his feet, his legs trembling from the rush of his earlier sprint, the momentum of his own exhilaration fading. As he stood at full height, his gaze instinctively turned toward the distant hills, his eyes scanning the shadowed ridges. That’s when he saw it. At the edge of the nearest hill, a figure appeared.

  It was far, distant, almost imperceptible against the grey backdrop. At first, it seemed like nothing more than an illusion—a trick of the light or the shadows—but then it moved. Slowly, impossibly slow, its silhouette shifting in the pale light.

  Love’s breath caught. The figure—its posture, its outline—looked almost like him. The same slender build, the same height. Even the dark outline of hair seemed too familiar. But it wasn’t him. The figure’s form was darker, the shadows around it too thick, too deep to make out any real detail. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the land’s shadows distorting it. Still, the eerie similarity clawed at his chest. Love squinted, trying to make sense of the movement. It didn’t advance, but it didn’t retreat either. It just stood there, staring back at him. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, sinking back behind the hill.

  Love’s pulse hammered in his throat. That thing, that shadow, looked like it was watching him. Slowly he bent down, grabbing a stone from the dust. Waiting. Love’s grip tightened around the rock, its rough surface digging into his palm. The cold stone was solid, something he could control in this world that had otherwise left him at the mercy of the unknown. His breath came in shallow bursts, a mix of nervousness and determination, but the longer he stood, the more the stillness pressed in on him.

  No more hesitation.

  With a quiet exhale, Love took his first step toward the hills. The world felt unforgiving—the air stagnant, oppressive, as though even nature itself held its breath. Every footfall seemed to echo louder in his ears, the dry earth beneath his feet grinding with every movement. He dared not turn back. As his feet carried him forward, the rock in his hand felt heavier, though he wasn’t sure if it was the weight of the stone or the weight of the situation itself. The hills loomed closer now. They were jagged and uneven, a perfect hiding place for whatever—or whoever—was on the other side. His mind raced.

  Was it really just a shadow? Or was it a person, a reflection, a copy of him—his past self, or something else altogether? The more he thought, the more the uncertainty gnawed at him. He couldn’t afford to be weak, not now, not in this place. Another step. Another.

  The ground seemed to stretch, expanding the distance between him and the hills. But still, Love pressed on. The sharp rock dug into his fingers, each pulse reminding him of his own heartbeat, a small comfort in the eerie silence. Then, he saw it again. It was further now, barely visible behind the curve of another hill, just out of reach.

  It’s running.... It’s fleeing from me.

  A grin spread across Love’s face, sharp and wild, like a predator catching sight of its prey. The thrill of the chase surged through him, and with it came a dark hunger. He moved forward, quickening his pace.

  No hesitation. I'm going to kill this bitch.