The third morning arrived quietly.
Too quietly.
Kael sat alone on the stone wall overlooking the waterfall, his legs dangling over the edge, his hands resting loosely in his lap.
The sun was still low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the courtyard behind him, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
The roar of the waterfall filled the silence—constant, rhythmic, almost meditative.
He'd been sitting there for nearly an hour.
Just... thinking.
Above him, the countdown timer glowed against the pale morning sky.
[23:47:09]
[23:47:08]
[23:47:07]
Twenty-four hours left.
One day.
And in that entire time—forty-eight hours of combat, strategy, survival—Kael had done nothing.
Well, not nothing.
He'd sat. He'd watched. He'd made sarcastic comments with Rylen. He'd avoided responsibility with the skill of someone who'd spent thirty years perfecting the art.
But hadn't contributed.
Hadn't tried.
He stared down at his hands and tried to figure out what he was feeling.
He had promised to make an effort.
But promises were easy in the moment.
It was the doing that was hard.
It was like those nights back on Earth—late, dark, silent—when he'd lie awake and suddenly feel inspired. Motivated. Ready to change everything. He'd plan out his entire life in his head: wake up early, exercise, read, learn, do something.
And then morning would come.
And the alarm would go off.
And he'd look at the ceiling and think: ...Ehh. Whatever.
And go back to sleep.
That feeling—that exact feeling—was what he felt now.
Except stronger.
He still wasn't sure if he cared enough to change it.
Kael exhaled slowly, tilting his head back to stare at the sky.
'What's wrong with me?'
The question had plagued him for as long as he could remember.
Even back on Earth, surrounded by wealth, comfort, opportunity—everything people claimed they needed to be happy—he'd felt nothing.
No drive. No passion. No hunger for more.
Just... emptiness.
And now, in this new world, with magic and danger and stakes that actually mattered, he'd thought maybe—maybe—things would be different.
But so far they weren't.
He was still the same.
Still empty.
Still... lazy...unmotivated.
'Is this just who I am?'
The thought was oddly comforting and deeply depressing at the same time.
Maybe this was it. Maybe there was no grand revelation waiting for him. No moment of transformation where he suddenly became the person he thought he should be.
Maybe he was just... Kael.
Lazy. Apathetic. Going through the motions because the system forced him to, but never really caring.
He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the waterfall wash over him.
'Then why did it chose me?'
◆ ◆ ◆
"Strike team! Assemble!"
Niko's voice.
Kael turned, watching as the familiar group gathered—Garrick, Vex, Kira, Mira, Torin, Elara, and three others.
Nine fighters.
The best they had.
Niko stood at the front, his blue uniform immaculate despite days of combat, his expression focused and determined.
"We've identified two more high-value targets," he said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. "We move out in five minutes. Seraphina, the base is yours."
Seraphina, standing near the flag tower, nodded once.
The strike team moved with practiced efficiency, checking weapons, reviewing strategy, preparing to leave.
And within minutes, they were gone.
Crossing the bridge.
Disappearing into the forest.
Leaving nineteen defenders behind.
Kael watched them go, a strange unease settling in his chest.
Nineteen.
He glanced at the remaining defenders—Seraphina organizing patrols, a handful of Knights sharpening weapons, a few Mages running through spell drills.
And Kael...
Kael was still sitting on the wall.
Doing nothing.
'I should move.'
'I should help.'
But his body felt heavy.
And the exhaustion—not physical, but mental, emotional—pressed down on him like a weighted blanket.
So he stayed.
Watching.
Waiting.
And hoping nothing went wrong.
◆ ◆ ◆
Thirty minutes later, something went wrong.
The first sign was the sound.
Not the roar of the waterfall—that was constant, familiar.
This was different.
A low, rumbling growl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, vibrating through the stone beneath their feet.
Kael's head snapped up, instincts he didn't know he had screaming at him.
Around the courtyard, others had noticed too.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence.
Weapons were drawn.
Seraphina's voice cut through the sudden tension. "Positions! Now!"
The defenders moved immediately, forming defensive lines near the bridge and along the walls.
And then they saw them.
Emerging from the forest—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—a writhing mass of fur, claws, and teeth.
Beasts.
They looked like wolves—if wolves had been stretched and twisted into something wrong. Their limbs were too long, their jaws too wide, their eyes glowing with a sickly yellow light that had nothing to do with intelligence and everything to do with hunger.
They moved in a pack, surging forward like a living wave, their growls blending into a cacophony of sound that drowned out even the waterfall.
"HOLD THE LINE!" Seraphina's voice was sharp, commanding, cutting through the panic.
The first beast reached the bridge.
◆ ◆ ◆
It wasn't like fighting people.
People had strategy. Tactics. Fear.
These things had none of that.
They just kept coming.
A Knight—Dren, the berserker—swung his war axe in a wide arc, cleaving through two beasts in a single strike.
Their bodies hit the ground, twitching, and dissolved into golden light.
But three more took their place immediately.
"They're not stopping!" someone shouted.
"KEEP FIGHTING!" Seraphina's blade flashed, cutting down beast after beast with brutal efficiency. Her movements were precise, economical, lethal—but even she couldn't be everywhere at once.
A Mage—Torin—raised his hands, channeling mana into a barrier that shimmered across the bridge entrance. Several beasts slammed into it, their momentum halted, their bodies crumpling.
But the barrier flickered under the strain.
Mira stepped forward, flames erupting from her hands in a roaring torrent that swept across the bridge, incinerating a dozen beasts in an instant.
The smell of burning fur filled the air.
But more kept coming.
'So many more.'
Kael stood near the wall, his head buzzing.
'Okay, I think it's time to move.'
Like he said, he only acted when he was a hundred percent sure he was screwed if he didn't, and right now no one needed to tell him how screwed he will be if the wolves get the flag.
He didn't know if the system was serious about it's penalties since he hadn't failed to complete a task yet, but he wasn't keen on finding out if he was really going to lose an arm.
"FALL BACK TO THE COURTYARD!" Seraphina's voice was hoarse but steady. "WE CAN'T HOLD THE BRIDGE!"
The defenders retreated, forming a tighter perimeter around the flag tower.
The beasts poured across the bridge like a flood, their numbers seemingly endless.
Another defender fell.
Then another.
The golden flashes of "death" were coming faster now.
Kael grabbed a sword from a nearby weapon rack—a basic blade, nothing special—and ran toward the fight.
He knew he wasn't the best at the fighting stuff, but one more hand could make a difference.
His grip was terrible.
His stance was nonexistent.
His form was a disaster.
But he didn't really care.
Right now he was fighting for his hand, and besides it's not like death was real here.
A beast lunged at him, its jaws wide, its claws extended.
Kael swung.
The blade connected—awkward, off-balance, completely wrong—but his strength made up for it.
The beast's skull caved in.
It collapsed, dissolving into light.
Kael stumbled, nearly fell, caught himself.
'Okay. I can do this.'
Another beast.
Another swing.
Another kill.
His movements were clumsy, inefficient, embarrassing—but the beasts were physically weak.
Individually, they were nothing.
It was only their numbers that made them dangerous.
And Kael, for all his lack of skill, had the strength of a Novice sigil.
Raw, unrefined, overpowering strength.
He swung again.
And again.
And again.
Each kill felt... something.
Not satisfaction, exactly.
But not emptiness either.
Around him, the battle raged on.
Seraphina was a whirlwind of steel, her blade never stopping, her expression carved from ice and fury.
Rylen had appeared from somewhere, using traps and misdirection to funnel beasts into kill zones.
But they were losing.
Slowly.
Inevitably.
Another defender fell.
Then another.
The courtyard was shrinking.
The flag tower was exposed.
And still, the beasts kept coming.
Seraphina's gaze swept across the battlefield, her mind calculating, assessing.
And then she made a decision.
"EVERYONE, TO ME!"
The remaining defenders—maybe nine now, maybe fewer—pulled back, forming a tight circle around the flag tower.
Seraphina reached up, her hand closing around the crimson banner flying above them.
She tore it down.
And tied it around her arm.
The flag—their flag—now bound to her.
"IF THEY WANT IT," she said, her voice cold and absolute, "THEY GO THROUGH ME."
The defenders rallied, their exhaustion forgotten, their fear buried under sheer determination.
And the beasts, sensing weakness, surged forward.