Morning came without ceremony.
Kairav woke before the bell, body stiff and aching in places he hadn't known could ache. His hands throbbed beneath rough cloth wraps. When he flexed his fingers, pain answered immediately—sharp, warning him not to pretend yesterday hadn't happened.
It was enough to tell him he was still alive.
Around him, the settlement stirred slowly. Workers rose in silence, movements practiced, efficient. Some washed their faces with cold water. Others simply stood for a moment, eyes half closed, gathering what little strength the night had returned.
No one complained.
Complaints did not feed you.
Kairav stepped outside. The air was colder than he expected. For a few seconds, it was clean—free of quarry dust. It felt like a gift the world would soon take back.
He rolled his shoulders, testing his muscles. They felt like stone wrapped in rope. His mind, however, was clear.
He had survived one day.
That wasn't victory.It was permission.
The bell rang.
The settlement flowed toward the quarry road like a slow river of exhaustion. Kairav joined them.
The scarred man was there at the tool rack, as if he never moved from that spot. His gaze swept over the crowd, stopping on Kairav's bandaged hands.
"You came back," the scarred man said.
"Yes."
A pause.
Then the man nodded once. "Good. That means yesterday didn't break you."
He stepped aside.
That, in this world, was approval.
Kairav took his pickaxe again. The handle felt rougher today. Or perhaps his palms were simply more honest now. He walked to his previous section and stood before the rock face.
He did not swing immediately.
He watched.
He studied the pattern of cracks other workers had made. He noted how some men wasted strength—big swings, loud impacts, poor angles. Their bodies would pay for it later.
Kairav lifted the pickaxe and began.
This time, each strike was smaller. Shorter. More precise.
The stone chipped cleaner. The dust burst was tighter. He controlled his breathing, exhaling on impact, inhaling only when his body demanded it.
Efficiency over ego.
The work was still punishment, but he made it less expensive.
Hours passed.
The sun rose and pressed heat onto the quarry like a heavy hand. Sweat soaked his clothes. Dust clung to his skin again. His arms trembled, but less. His body remembered.
Hunger returned.
It was sharper today because the body understood what was coming. He felt the hollow pull in his stomach, the slight dizziness behind the eyes. The temptation to slow down rose like a soft voice.
He ignored it.
He swung.
Nearby, someone collapsed.
A worker dropped to his knees mid-swing, the pickaxe slipping from his grip. He tried to stand, failed, and fell sideways onto gravel. His chest rose and fell quickly. His eyes were unfocused.
No blood. No injury.
Just exhaustion.
For a moment, work around him slowed.
Then it resumed.
No one ran to him. No one called his name. A few stared, expressionless, then returned to stone like the sight was ordinary.
Because it was.
The scarred man walked over. He looked down at the collapsed worker, then turned and motioned to two others.
"Move him," he said. "If he wakes before dusk, he works. If he doesn't—"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
The worker was dragged away like a sack of broken tools.
Kairav's jaw tightened, but he kept swinging.
This world did not reward emotion.
Emotion wasted energy.
A shimmer appeared at the edge of his vision.
[Observation Logged]Adaptation: Ongoing
Kairav didn't stop.
So it was watching again.
Not helping. Not guiding.
Measuring.
He wondered how many had been measured before him. How many had failed without anyone noticing.
The sun began to descend.
Bodies around him moved slower now. Some men coughed harshly, lungs filled with stone dust. Others leaned on their tools between swings, stealing breaths like stolen coins.
Kairav's arms felt heavy.
His wrists screamed.
His fingers were numb.
But his mind remained clear—because pain was honest. It didn't lie. It didn't pretend you were safe.
By the time dusk arrived, the quarry's rhythm faltered.
The scarred man returned with food tokens, tossing pouches one by one. When he reached Kairav, he paused longer than before.
His eyes traveled over Kairav's stance, the stone pile beside him, the way his breathing stayed controlled.
"You learn fast," the man said.
"I have to," Kairav replied.
The scarred man snorted. "No. You choose to."
That sentence sank deeper than it should have.
Choose.
In his previous life, he had waited for permission. Waited for fairness. Waited for someone to notice effort.
Here, waiting was death.
The man tossed the pouch and moved on.
Night settled.
Kairav sat near the edge of the settlement, eating slowly. The food was bland, barely warm, but it filled the stomach enough to dull the pain. Around him, workers ate in silence, too tired for speech.
He looked at the sky.
Stars were sharper here, brighter. There was no city glow, no comforting illusion. Only distance and cold.
Across the square, Rivan watched him from shadows near a wall.
Kairav noticed him without turning his head.
After a moment, Rivan approached.
"You didn't quit," Rivan said.
"No."
Rivan's mouth lifted slightly, not quite a smile. "Most do. Or they pretend until they can't."
Kairav swallowed and asked the question that mattered. "Why are you still here?"
Rivan shrugged. "Because someone has to notice who lasts."
Kairav studied him. Rivan didn't look strong. He didn't look like a warrior. Yet he walked like someone who understood survival.
Rivan leaned closer, voice lower. "This place isn't only a graveyard. It's a filter."
Kairav's eyes narrowed. "A filter for what?"
Rivan didn't answer directly. He looked past Kairav—toward the darker parts of the settlement, where people avoided standing.
"People disappear," Rivan said. "Not by death. By selection."
Kairav felt a calm chill in his chest.
Selection.
The system shimmered again, brief and quiet.
[Behavior Pattern Detected]Endurance Recognized
Kairav stared into the darkness beyond the walls.
So this was how it worked.
Not through sudden miracles.Not through heroic rescue.
But through those who endured long enough to be noticed.
He tightened his grip on the food pouch until his knuckles whitened.
If selection was coming—
Then he would be ready to judge it, not beg from it.