Protagonist: Arya
Morning sunlight filtered through the canopy like a waterfall of gold, warm and gentle, far too peaceful for a place branded with a number as ominous as District 666. Arya blinked awake to the soft glow slipping into her wooden dwelling, her body still heavy with exhaustion from days of tension and nonstop vigilance. She had spent the night curled on a makeshift bed of straw—crude, uneven, and scratchy, yet somehow the most comfortable thing she'd laid on since the day everything changed.
Her mind felt clearer now, and the hunger gnawing at her stomach had settled. The small self-heating meal she'd devoured last night still lingered on her tongue, a memory of chili and beef tallow she hadn't tasted in years. Five years of hospital food had numbed her sense of flavor; one bite of that hotpot had brought her nearly to tears.
The moment she sat up, however, the familiar anxiety returned. She gently tapped her leg, confirming it wouldn't respond—her lower limbs had no strength, no stability, and certainly no grace. It was the first thing she had to check every morning and the biggest reason she guarded her Talent so fiercely.
She took a breath and activated Lightform Glide, her basic flight technique. A faint shimmer wrapped around her, weightlessness filling her limbs like cold mist. The Talent didn't make her soar like a hero from a fantasy tale—it made her float, almost like drifting underwater or moving through zero gravity. Graceful? Hardly. Her legs hung limp beneath her every time, stiff as dead branches. If anyone saw that, she might not survive the humiliation.
Physical death is acceptable. Social death is not, Arya reminded herself with solemn determination.
She tapped the world channel closed on her screen, grabbed the half-eaten sausage she'd saved, and pushed open her shelter door.
The outside world was… astonishing.
Her shelter was nestled inside a colossal tree, its trunk so wide she felt like an insect by comparison. The narrow entrance to her home was perched twenty-plus meters above the ground, almost invisible from below. Morning dew sparkled across the leaves like scattered stars. A gentle stream flowed beneath, carrying glints of reflected light with each ripple. Towering trees rose all around her, their branches weaving together like a living cathedral.
Despite the danger such beauty implied, Arya found herself smiling. Living in a tree-house this high was strangely thrilling—like having a secret hideout reserved only for her.
But then a practical question snapped her out of it.
How do people without flight talents get up here?
There were no stairs. No ladders. Just vines draping the trunk like natural ropes.
Curious, Arya drifted around the trunk and examined them. The vines were thick, sturdy, and numerous enough that a regular person could probably climb—slowly, with effort, and a good dose of fear. She plucked one with her Gathering Weave ability. A cluster of vines snapped off with surprising force and tumbled all the way down, landing with a heavy thump.
Gathering magic was crude work. It didn't store items automatically or sort things neatly. Instead, she had to physically pick up the materials, haul them inside, and place them on the exchange screen in her shelter. Primitive and inconvenient, but necessary. The world system required specific materials for shelter upgrades, and based on what she'd seen in the regional chat last night, her situation wasn't the worst.
But it wasn't the best either.
Inside, she placed the harvested vines onto the glowing square on the exchange podium. The moment they touched the surface, the vines dissolved into light, vanishing as the system absorbed them.
A list popped up:
Tree Hollow Shelter — Level 2 Upgrade Requirements
Wood × 2500
Stone × 100
Vines × 500
E-Rank Demon Core × 10
It was quite a lot. Too much, honestly. But based on the chatter from other survivors, the type of shelter you obtained on day one dictated the materials required. Caves needed stone. Burrows needed soil. Houses needed wood.
Tree hollows? Apparently, they needed everything.
Arya sighed and flopped onto her straw bed, letting her body fall limp the way it always did after she deactivated her Talent. She stared at the smooth, wooden ceiling of her tiny home.
Her magic capacity was embarrassingly limited—just enough for basic flight and a handful of gathering spells each day. Worse, she had to ration a chunk of that magic for emergencies. If something dangerous appeared near her tree… she needed the ability to flee instantly.
The world channel last night had been full of panicked residents discovering that basic spells cost 20 magic points. Many only had 30 or 40 total. One poor man claimed he had just 1 point in Spirit and only 10 magic reserve total.
She'd nearly choked laughing at that.
Even so, the chat had also served as a grim reminder: not everyone here was built for survival. And if the shelter protections strengthened with each upgrade, that meant the dangers outside were only going to escalate.
Her stomach tightened.
But she pushed the fear aside.
Surviving one day at a time. That's enough for now.
After resting for a moment, Arya rose, rubbed her eyes, and prepared to survey the forest more properly this time. She wrapped herself in Lightform Glide again, allowing the weightless sensation to pull her upward and out through the doorway.
From this vantage point, she could see further into the forest—past the shimmering stream, beyond the sea of leaves. The air was crisp and full of earthy scents. She floated a few meters away from the trunk, savoring the warmth of the morning sun.
This forest is beautiful… almost too beautiful.
Yet she knew better than to trust pretty scenery here.
She circled her giant tree home once more, examining potential climbing routes, weak branches, and spots where monsters might lurk. The vines she'd cut earlier left a noticeable gap. That troubled her. If someone tried to climb her tree, they might start noticing unnatural patterns.
That wouldn't do.
Even if no one used the vines, her privacy mattered. Her dignity mattered.
She didn't need strangers discovering her shelter—or worse, witnessing her flying with limp legs dangling like a broken puppet.
So she made a decision.
She would continue removing vines along the lower section of the trunk. The fewer footholds available, the safer she felt. Even if someone could climb, she didn't want to make it easy.
With a deep breath, she gathered more vines, letting each bundle crash to the ground. Then she drifted down, collected them, and returned them to the exchange platform. The repetitive motion lulled her into a calm rhythm.
But while she worked, she couldn't help thinking about the other survivors.
Some were planning trades. Some were forming groups. Some had already found compatible work partners—a lumberjack paired with a miner, a farmer with a crafter.
Arya, however, was alone.
She didn't dislike solitude, but she knew isolation could be deadly in this world. Being unable to walk also limited her ability to escape or fight. Her Talent was excellent for travel and scouting, but useless in combat unless she got creative.
Maybe I should observe people from a distance, she thought.
Find out who's trustworthy. Who's dangerous. Who's too curious for their own good.
For now, though, she didn't want to engage in the world channel. She didn't want to leave traces or draw attention.
She wanted the world to believe she was ordinary—just another low-tier survivor trying to get by.
Only once she was stronger would she reveal a sliver of her truth.
Hours passed as she harvested, sorted, and organized her materials. When she finally finished, she floated outside again, letting the breeze brush against her face. A few small creatures scurried in the underbrush below—nothing threatening yet.
The peacefulness was deceptive.
Her shelter upgrade required Demon Cores. Monsters with cores didn't just appear out of nowhere. She'd need to explore, scout, and one day hunt or scavenge from others' kills.
A chill crawled down her spine.
The world wasn't going to stay calm.
But standing there, suspended above the forest floor, Arya felt a small spark ignite in her chest.
Courage.
She wasn't strong yet.
She wasn't fully prepared.
But she was alive, awake, and thinking clearly for the first time in days.
Her tree-home was secure.
Her supplies were stocked.
She had a plan forming.
And as the morning sun brightened the whole clearing, Arya whispered to herself:
"One day at a time. Today, I survive. Tomorrow… I thrive."