Simon let out a yawn that tried—and failed—to shake the exhaustion from his bones. Morning light crept through the window, gentle beams of radiance that caressed the room and its occupant.
One of these days, I’m going to wake up and not be in pain. That’s going to be a great day.
Every muscle in his body hurt. He felt like the universe had chewed him up and spit him out. Deep aches seeped into his bones and his joints felt stiff.
With painstaking effort, Simon slowly got out of his bed at the Inn. His legs wobbled, and for a moment he considered collapsing back into the mattress and telling the world to try again tomorrow.
But he had so many questions that his small room couldn’t answer. He was pretty sure his nightstand may have an opinion. Perhaps. It had become a fantastically strange world, after all.
“Do you know anything?” He asked for the furniture.
Its only reply was a firm silence that only wood was capable of. The bundle of clothing on it kept silent as well, refusing to reveal their secrets.
Instead of continuing his conversations with inanimate objects, Simon grunted and cracked his back. Every vertebra seemed to be willing to chime in on the conversation.
He shuffled over to the room’s other wooden fixture and glimpsed himself in the polished metal mirror above it.
“Oh… shit.”
The face staring back at him looked like it had been through a blender and reassembled by a drunk. Purple blotches and yellow-green bruises painted his cheeks and there was a neat red line tracing his jaw from where that thing, whatever it was, had nicked him.
The wound had sealed, but that seemed to have been the extent of what healing potions and a night's rest could do.
He looked down at his mostly naked body, and the blotches and bruises covered him. Simon was happy with how his frame had filled out over the years of training. Unfortunately, that gave the damage to his body all the more area to hurt.
With a hiss, he reached for the towel and gently dabbed at his neck with the cool water from the basin. It helped. Sort of. Mostly in the way that doing anything felt slightly better than doing nothing.
After splashing more water across his face, he tackled today’s first challenge.
He dressed slowly, pulling the shirt over tender skin, then bracing himself for the sheer ordeal that was putting on pants. Socks were not going to happen. He could feel the bruises judging him with every tug on his pants.
By the time he was fully dressed, he felt like he’d run a marathon. A very quiet, very angry marathon through a thorn bush.
With wolves.
He limped toward the window and pulled the curtain aside. Outside, Varnholt was already in full swing. Near the window, he could see and hear the town in motion.
Slapped-together carts rolled by, pulled by people, not beasts. Stone, wood, and metal piled high. Tools clinked, shouts bounced between buildings, and the distant rhythm of a smith’s hammer rang like a heartbeat behind it all. Sparks danced in the air from a forge two streets over, smoke billowing from it and other structures.
Simon watched as the different races greeted each other and moved. Everyone seemed to be focused. Everyone seemed to have a purpose or goal.
Simon felt very out of place.
And very, very sore.
He turned away from the window with a sigh.
“Why is it that the literal, fundamental rules of the universe changed… and somehow I’m the one who still doesn’t have a calling?” he muttered to himself. “Besides being great at pissing people off?”
The room, once again, proved to be terrible at conversation.
So far, the only thing Simon had accomplished was living up to his name.
Starfall.
It sounded powerful. Mystical. Dramatic.
Instead, he was living out the literal essence of the name. Rapid descent and a sudden stop.
Starfall, indeed.
Simon shuffled to the door of his room. He had just noticed that there was a void where his stomach should be. He needed food.
Oh. Should probably check that first.
Simon paused at the door, hand on the knob, as he mentally tugged on his status.
The System responded immediately, a clean pane of light sliding into view like it was proud of itself.
—- STATUS —-
> Name: Simon Starfall
> Level: 2
> Class: Unassigned - Reach level 10 to make your choice.
> Current Condition: Fractured State
- 30% reduction to all core body attributes until healed.
- Recovery Time Remaining: 1 Days, 11 Hours, 46 Minutes.
> Stats
Body
- Endurance: 18 (12)
- Vitality: 17 (11)
- Dexterity: 20(14)
- Strength: 20(14)
Mind
- Wisdom: 8
- Intelligence: 7
Soul
- Willpower: 20
- Charisma: 7
Essence:
- Luck: 9
> Skills
>> Theodia’s Instrumental Summon (Inferior) - Growth-Class - Ravenous
Level: 0.12 / ?
Points: 3 / ?
>> Unshakeable Resilience (Unique)
>> Weaponized Repetition (Unique)
>> Reckless Retreat (Epic)
> Current Equipment
Common Clothing (Inferior)
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
——————————
He stared at the red text of his condition.
Fractured state sounded just about right. His body felt hollow, like it was missing parts of itself.
He closed the window with a tired sigh and started to turn the knob, then paused.
The hunger wasn’t just there; it was growing. The gnawing emptiness seemed to be growing in volume. It was hunger, but it was also something more. His body was exploring his stomach and was frustrated and then seemed to begin to reach other places. An awful feeling.
“Man. Those potions don’t mess around.” He grumbled. “Living is great, but having your body eat itself alive is not something I ever want to repeat.”
He took another deep breath, then finally turned the knob.
The hallway beyond was quiet, lit by amber lantern light and the smell of fresh bread from somewhere downstairs. His legs protested with every step, but he shuffled forward towards the sweet, sweet smell of food.
The stairs were… ‘fun’.
Simon descended them, one hand trailing the wall just in case his legs decided that working was overrated.
The inn common room was quiet.
Empty tables, unlit sconces, chairs neatly tucked in. The hearth was warm but low, throwing lazy shadows across the wooden floor. No bustle, no morning chatter, no clattering of mugs or barking orders.
Just one man behind the bar.
Middle-aged, maybe older—human, with a lined face and salt-threaded stubble. He was wiping down a mug with a cloth with practiced ease. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, arms corded and steady. Not a blacksmith’s bulk, but work-worn hands.
He looked up at the descending Simon.
“About time you woke up. I was going to give you another hour before I stomped up there and dragged you out,” the man’s deep voice boomed.
Simon blinked at him, halfway down the stairs and already regretting every joint in his body.
“...Good morning to you too,” he muttered.
The man set the mug down with a solid thunk and gestured toward the bar.
“You look like shit, but at least I didn’t have to carry you down here.”
“I still wouldn’t say no to that,” Simon replied with another wincing step.
“Bah, you’re already halfway there. I’ll get you some food while you take your sweet time,” the barkeep said with a grin, slipping through a door in the back.
Simon made it to the bar one slow, deliberate step at a time and finally slumped onto a stool.
A few minutes later, the barkeep returned, appearing from the same door frame with a tray balanced in one hand. He slid it in front of Simon like a man who’d done it a thousand times.
Steam curled up from the stew, thick, hearty, and fragrant. Big chunks of root tuber things floated between strips of seared meat, the broth dark and rich with spice and fat. It smelled like it had been cooking for hours. The mug beside it was filled with clear, cold water.
Simon blinked at it like he wasn’t sure whether to eat it or bow to it.
The barkeep didn’t sit, just watched him. A cloth and mug had magically appeared in his hands and he was already in the process of wiping it.
Simon picked up the spoon, gave the stew a slow stir, and then took a slow bite.
He closed his eyes and let the flavors melt into his mouth.
“... Okay,” he said, mouth still half-full. “That’s fantastic. I needed this.”
The barkeep grinned at him.
“Flavor’s good, yeah? I bet you’ll love it even more when you hear where the meat’s from.”
Simon opened one eye warily. “…That sounds like a trap.”
The barkeep grinned even wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Aurora hopper meat.”
Simon grinned back at him with a vicious look.
“Yes, yes, that does make this even better.”
He started shoveling the stew down, interrupted by long draws of ice cold water.
“So you’re Simon, right?” The barkeep asked, moving to the next mug with the same steady rhythm.
Where do the mugs keep coming from?
Even before the system, bartenders always seemed to have some type of mug magic.
Simon didn’t answer right away. He took a drink, then set the cup down carefully.
His memories of the night before were fuzzy. He knew Brian and Jorik had brought him here, talked with someone, then put him in that bed. But that was about all he could remember.
“Yeah, that’s me,” he said finally. “I’ll be honest, if I met you last night, I really don’t remember your name. "
The barkeep smiled at him. “I heard you showed up basically drunk. I’m Cyrus.”
He set the freshly cleaned mug aside and grabbed another from behind him.
Simon frowned as he peered around the man. The shelf had nothing on it.
“You would’ve met my wife. Tall, stern, red hair braided back like she’s preparing for war? That was Mira. She also would have been threatening to gut Jorik for bringing half dead people in.” He chuckled. “Having people die in your beds is bad for business.”
Simon took a few more bites of his stew, carefully staring at the mug in Cyrus’s hands.
“Nice to meet you,” he said after swallowing. “No, don't remember her.”
Cyrus chuckled. “That’s probably for the best. Mira remembers you. She will be pleased to hear you didn’t die in the night.”
Simon scooped up a chunk of tuber. “So far, that's about all I’m good at in this new world.”
Cyrus gave a soft grunt, swapping mugs. “Not a bad talent in these times. You are what, two for two? Just keep that record going and everything should work out for you.”
Simon took another sip of water and frowned intensely at the man.
“…Okay, but seriously, where are the mugs coming from?”
Cyrus didn’t look up. He just grabbed the next mug—seemingly from nowhere—and started wiping it down like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“Storage,” he said casually.
Simon tilted his head. “I can see the shelf, Cyrus. There’s nothing on it.”
“Not that storage,” Cyrus replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.
Simon stared at him. Cyrus wiped. Somewhere, a faint creak echoed from the old wood of the inn, just the building settling… probably.
After a long silence, Simon narrowed his eyes.
“Are you a wizard?”
Cyrus looked up at him. “What’s a wizard?”
“You know… wears robes.. Magic powers. Bit eccentric.”
Simon gestured vaguely with his spoon. “Answers questions with questions.”
Cyrus gave him a strange look, which shifted into one of dawning comprehension.
“Oh—you mean like Brian!”
Simon froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth.
“...No—well, yes, but I’m talking about you.”
Cyrus nodded sagely, grabbing another mug from somewhere. “Yeah, Brian’s definitely a wizard. Talks in loops, makes weird glowing things, disappears into his lab for days, forgets to eat. Total wizard.”
“Hold on.. So you do know what a wizard is.”
Cyrus didn’t even pause. “I said, ‘What's a wizard?’ Not that I don’t know what one is.”
Simon gave him a long, level stare. “That’s the same thing.”
Cyrus just shrugged.
“Speaking of Brian, you should go see him. I did promise him that I would send you his way when you woke up.” Cyrus shook his head. “Daft idiot was going to wait here for you to wake up. Mira told him he wasn’t allowed to sleep in the tavern and would have to pay for a room. He was pulling out money when she shooed him away.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yup.” Cyrus replied. Then, more pointedly: “Also, you should pay him back for the tab here. We like the crazy man. Wouldn’t do to take advantage of his kindness.”
Simon sighed and rubbed the side of his face. “Right. Yeah. Of course. Quick question. What do people use here to pay for things?”
Cyrus blinked. “You mean you don’t know?”aethra crystals,
Simon just looked at him.
Cyrus gave a thoughtful grunt and reached below the counter. After a moment of rummaging, he tossed a small, smooth shard onto the counter.
Simon caught it reflexively. It gleamed faintly, translucent with a gentle inner blue glow, like starlight caught in quartz.
“Aethra Crystals” Cyrus said simply. “Useful things. Can be used for magic, forging, fuel, who knows what else. That one is pale blue, not much in it.”
Simon turned it over in his fingers. “Feels nice.”
“Means it’s still got energy. If it’s clear but still warm, you’ve got a condensed crystal. That’s a hundred of those pale ones pressed into one. The glow darkens with charge. A hundred deep blue? That’ll get you a green, and so on.” He shrugged. “I’ve only seen a green one once. Brian was messing with it when he and Kaelalin were eating here.”
He rolled his eyes at the memory.
“Honestly, that man is a bit dumb sometimes. Here he is holding a treasure trove of wealth and he drops it in his stew”
Simon shook his head. “Sounds about right.”
“Should have seen it,” Cyrus said, gesturing like he was reenacting the drop. “Plop. Didn’t even notice until Kaelalin nearly stabbed him.”
Simon nodded as he scraped the last bite from his bowl and downed it. He handed the crystal back to Cyrus and slowly stood.
“I should really get going to talk to those two.”
Cyrus took the crystal and it vanished into his hands. “Aye, you should. Let them know Mira’s still interested in that ‘indoor plumbing’ they talked about. You know, when they have time.”
“Oh, a shower would have been great,” Simon muttered, only realizing how much he missed it once the words were out.
Cyrus chuckled. “Yeah, that's about what every Earth-born says when I bring it up. Definitely an upgrade we are going to need once the tunnel is done.”
Simon paused his shuffle to the door. “Earth-born?”
Cyrus was already pulling another mug from somewhere. “Yeah, you lot. Only a couple of you in town, but from what Brian says, there’s a whole lot of you somewhere in this new world.”
Simon squinted at the mug, then at the grinning Cyrus.
“I'll add that to my list of questions to ask him about.”
“Well? Get to it,” Cyrus replied, gesturing with the mug like it was a baton. “And come on back when you get yourself some crystal. Preferably the kind you can spend.”
Simon chuckled under his breath and gave a mock salute.
He turned to the tavern door and opened it. A gust of morning air greeted him. Crisp, clean, and filled with the clatter and murmur of Varnholt. The warmth of the hearth faded behind him, replaced by the steady buzz of a still unfamiliar world.
Time to find a wizard.
—— ? ——
— AUTHOR NOTICE —
~TheBusyBard
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