Greyfall did not welcome the living.
It tolerated them—
briefly,
cruelly.
By noon, the sun revealed everything the dark had hidden the night before.
Cracked foundations.
Collapsed stone walls.
The skeletons of buildings that once tried to exist here.
And failed.
Selyne walked slowly across the ruins, her boots crunching over dry gravel.
No birds.
No insects.
Not even weeds.
"This was a town," she said.
"Yes," Severin replied.
"Long ago."
"Why did it die?"
Severin knelt, pressing his fingers into the soil.
It crumbled.
"No water flow.
Poor land composition.
Trade routes shifted."
She looked at him.
"You sound like a report."
He closed his hand.
"That's how places die," he said.
"Quietly.
On paper."
The wind picked up, sharp and dry.
Selyne wrapped her arms around herself.
"It's colder than it looks."
"Yes."
They had food for one day.
Water for less.
Severin scanned the area again, mind racing.
Shelter.
Fire.
Water.
Basic.
Primitive.
He could build empires—
but none of that mattered
if they froze tonight.
"Let's start there," he said, pointing to a half-standing wall.
"It'll block some wind."
They worked without speaking.
Stones scraped.
Hands bled.
Progress was slow.
Selyne stumbled once.
Did not fall.
Severin noticed anyway.
"Rest," he said.
She shook her head.
"If I sit, I won't get back up."
That was honest.
By late afternoon, they had something resembling shelter.
Not a home.
Not even safety.
Just less exposure.
The system remained silent.
No prompts.
No guidance.
Severin waited.
Nothing.
He clenched his jaw.
"Say something," he muttered under his breath.
Silence.
The sun dipped.
Cold crept in fast.
Selyne sat near the wall, rubbing her hands together.
Her lips were pale.
Severin removed his cloak again.
Folded it.
Placed it near her.
Not touching.
She glanced at it.
"You'll freeze."
"I've endured worse."
She snorted weakly.
"I doubt that."
He didn't answer.
The first shiver hit her shoulders.
She tried to hide it.
Failed.
Severin stood.
"I'm finding water," he said.
"At night?" she asked sharply.
"That's stupid."
"Yes."
"And you're still doing it."
"Yes."
She grabbed his wrist.
Her hand was cold.
"Don't disappear," she said quietly.
The words surprised them both.
He nodded.
"I won't."
He walked into the ruins.
Every step reminded him how naked he was without power.
Without structure.
Without men.
Just a man.
In broken land.
With someone depending on him—
who did not trust him.
He followed instinct.
Low ground.
Old channels.
Found nothing.
Thirst scratched at his throat.
The system flickered faintly.
[ Environmental Analysis: Negative. ]
[ Water Probability: <12%. ]
[ Recommendation: Conserve Energy. ]
Useless.
He cursed softly.
Then heard it.
A sound.
Barely there.
Drip.
He followed it.
A collapsed cellar.
Half buried.
Inside—
a shallow pool of murky water.
Not clean.
But wet.
He filled what he could.
Returned.
Selyne was awake.
Watching.
"You took too long," she said.
"I found water."
Her eyes widened slightly.
He handed her the container.
She hesitated.
"You first."
"No."
"I won't drink if you don't."
He met her gaze.
Then drank.
She followed.
The water tasted of stone and rust.
But it was life.
Night fell hard.
The temperature dropped fast.
Selyne's shivering worsened.
Severin watched.
Calculated.
Rejected.
Then sat beside her.
Not touching.
The wind cut through the broken wall.
She leaned—just slightly—toward him.
Did not apologize.
Did not ask.
He stayed still.
A long time passed.
Her breathing slowed.
Sleep—
thin,
uneasy.
The system spoke suddenly.
[ Survival Condition Met: Day One. ]
[ Reward: None. ]
[ Note: Survival Is Not Progress. ]
Severin stared into the dark.
So this was it.
No gold.
No city.
No power.
Just endurance.
And the fragile weight of another human life beside him.
At dawn, Selyne woke coughing.
Her skin was warm.
Too warm.
Severin's stomach dropped.
"Don't move," he said.
"I'm fine," she lied.
She wasn't.
Fever.
Cold land.
No medicine.
The system remained silent.
And Severin realized—
If she died here,
there would be no second chance.
No kingdom.
No system.
No redemption.
Only failure.
The kind that stays dead.
The fever did not announce itself loudly.
It crept in.
Selyne's skin burned beneath Severin's fingers when he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
Too hot.
Too fast.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she murmured.
Severin forced his voice to remain steady.
"You're overheating."
She scoffed weakly.
"You always exaggerate."
Then she tried to sit up—
and failed.
Her body sagged back against the stone.
Severin caught her shoulders instinctively.
The contact was brief.
Necessary.
Her breath hitched.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't hover like I'm—"
Like I'm dying.
He released her immediately.
"I need to keep you awake," he said.
"If you sleep now, the cold will drag you under."
"I'm tired," she murmured.
"So tired."
The words scared him more than the fever.
He scanned the ruins again.
No herbs.
No cloth.
No firewood that wasn't half-rotted.
His mind ran calculations automatically—
resources, probabilities, timelines—
and found nothing useful.
This wasn't an economy.
This was a body fighting to stay alive.
The system flickered faintly, almost reluctantly.
[ Medical Assistance: Unavailable. ]
[ Suggestion: Maintain Core Temperature. ]
That was it.
No miracle.
No formula.
No blueprint.
Just warmth.
Severin swallowed.
He removed his gloves.
Then his outer tunic.
Folded them carefully.
Laid them over her.
She frowned weakly.
"You're… stupid," she said.
"You'll freeze."
"Later," he replied.
"You're first."
She tried to push the fabric away.
"Don't waste—"
He caught her wrist.
Not forceful.
Just firm enough to stop her shaking hand.
"This isn't charity," he said quietly.
"It's strategy."
She laughed—a thin, breathless sound.
"You talk about everything like it's a plan."
He didn't answer.
Because this wasn't.
The wind howled louder as night deepened.
Cold seeped through stone, bone, memory.
Selyne's breathing became uneven.
Her lips moved.
At first, Severin thought she was praying.
Then he realized—
she was speaking names.
Not his.
Not anyone he knew.
Fragments.
Broken syllables.
Sounds shaped by another life.
His chest tightened.
"You're safe," he said softly.
"Stay with me."
She turned her head slightly.
Her brow furrowed.
"Why… do you always look like you're apologizing?" she murmured.
The question struck harder than accusation.
He closed his eyes.
"I am," he whispered.
She didn't hear him.
Her body trembled again—
this time from cold.
The fireless night stretched endlessly.
Severin paced in short intervals, stamping his feet to keep circulation alive.
Then returned.
Checked her breathing.
Adjusted the cloth.
Again.
Again.
Hours passed.
At some point, exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts.
The ruins around them faded.
The wind sounded like traffic.
Stone like steel.
For a moment—
he was back there.
Metal screaming.
Glass exploding.
Her hand slipping from his grasp.
"No," he muttered sharply.
He forced himself back.
This was different.
She was still breathing.
Barely.
The system spoke again, quieter than before.
[ Emotional Anchor at Risk. ]
[ Long-Term Outcome: Undefined. ]
Undefined.
That word chilled him more than the cold.
Just before dawn, her fever broke suddenly.
Not gently.
Violently.
Her body convulsed.
She gasped.
Her nails dug into the ground.
Severin dropped to his knees beside her.
"Selyne," he said urgently.
"Look at me."
Her eyes flew open.
For a split second—
they were clear.
Terrified.
Recognizing.
She grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't let me go," she whispered.
Not accusatory.
Not angry.
Afraid.
He froze.
Then answered honestly.
"I won't," he said.
Not forever.
Not as a promise.
Just now.
Her grip loosened.
Her breathing steadied—slowly, painfully.
The fever retreated,
leaving weakness in its wake.
By the time the sky lightened,
Selyne was unconscious again—
but alive.
Severin collapsed against the wall beside her.
His body shook.
From cold.
From delayed fear.
The system chimed once more.
[ Survival Condition: Day One Extended. ]
[ Health Status (Selyne Rowan): Stabilized (Temporary). ]
[ Warning: Relapse Risk High. ]
No reward.
But she lived.
That was enough.
When the sun finally rose fully over Greyfall,
it revealed Severin Kaelros exactly as he was—
knees drawn up,
arms wrapped around himself,
eyes red with exhaustion—
a former prince
who had traded crowns
for the fragile, terrifying privilege
of keeping one woman breathing
for another day.
And for the first time since transmigration,
he understood the true cost of survival.
It was not gold.
Not power.
Not cities.
It was staying awake
when everything inside you begged to sleep.