He sat up slowly, his joints stiff, his mind spinning with fragments of memories. How did I end up here? Shouldn’t I be inside the house? He flexed his fingers, surprised by the vitality coursing through him, each motion carrying a renewed sense of strength.
The surreal events of the Creator Dream World loomed large in his mind. As he focused inward, his stats materialized before him in a translucent display.
- Strength: 32
- Agility: 27
- Sense: 21
- Reaction Speed: 30
- Reaction Time: 31
- Intellect: 22
- Perception: 25
- Stamina: 20
The figure’s robes billowed like tattered shadows, blending seamlessly into the darkness. Only a pair of crimson eyes glowed beneath the hood, piercing and unrelenting.
“So, the skill has awakened,” the figure murmured, their voice low and sharp, a mix of curiosity and disdain. “Monarch’s Revival… A power that defies the natural order. What will he do with it, I wonder?”
They glanced at a nearby altar, where a weathered tome rested. Its cracked leather cover pulsed faintly, as if alive, and its pages shimmered with runes that twisted and writhed unnervingly.
The figure ran their gloved fingers across its surface, summoning an image into the air. A flickering projection appeared—an ethereal figure wreathed in chains of light, breaking free amidst a crumbling battlefield.
The figure’s crimson eyes narrowed. “The balance will demand payment for such power,” they muttered. “No force this immense escapes notice. Not from me. Not from them.”
Their gaze drifted toward the direction of the village, as if their vision pierced through the layers of forest and space itself.
“Enjoy your fleeting moment of peace, child,” the figure whispered, their voice laced with malice. “For powers like yours attract predators. And when they come, you will not be ready.”
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With a flick of their wrist, the glowing runes extinguished, plunging the clearing into suffocating darkness. As the figure melted into the shadows, an unnatural chill spread through the forest, carrying the faint echo of mocking laughter.
Sam shook off the eerie sensation crawling up his spine as he stood. The morning air bit into his skin, sharp and bracing. I need to get inside before I freeze to death, he thought, rubbing his arms.
The soft creak of the door echoed as he stepped into the house. He expected to find the familiar warmth of the living room, but instead, he walked into a heavy silence. Claire and Caross stood with Isonorai, their faces pale and tear-streaked.
The moment they saw him, time seemed to freeze. Then, as if breaking free of an invisible chain, they rushed toward him.
“Sam!” Claire’s voice broke with relief as she threw her arms around him, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe. Tears streamed down her face, soaking into his shirt. “Don’t ever scare me like that again! I thought I’d lost you!”
Sam winced at her grip but didn’t pull away. The raw emotion in her voice tugged at something deep inside him.
Caross’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm and steady, though his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Take it easy for a while, son,” he said, his voice low and uneven. “We can’t afford to lose you. Not again.”
Sam nodded silently, guilt creeping up his spine as he glanced past them to Isonorai. She stood apart, her head bowed and her hands trembling. Her expression was a storm of guilt, regret, and something unspoken.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but heavy with emotion. “It’s my fault this happened.”
Sam gently pulled away from his parents and approached her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, “Don’t blame yourself. You warned me, and I didn’t listen. It’s on me.”
She shook her head violently, tears streaking down her face. “No. I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve—”
“You did everything you could,” Sam interrupted, his tone firm but kind. “I made my choice. And I survived. That’s what matters.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her lips trembling. After a moment, she nodded, though the guilt still lingered in her expression.
The days that followed were slower, marked by rest and recovery. Training resumed cautiously, with Isonorai guiding Sam through exercises focused on control rather than power.
“Steady your breathing,” she instructed one afternoon. “Magic responds to discipline, not brute force.”
Sam nodded, biting back his frustration as he carefully summoned a small flame, holding it steady in his palm.
“Good,” Isonorai said, her voice softer now. “You’re getting better.”
Even the system offered encouragement:
You have leveled up! You have reached Level 17!
Despite his progress, an unease lingered in Sam’s mind. The chill in the air seemed to grow stronger each day, seeping into his bones and making training more difficult.
Why is it so cold? he thought, staring at his hands as he rubbed them near the fire.
The answer came unexpectedly.
System Notification:
You have unlocked: Cold Resistance (Level 1).
Do you accept? Y/N
A grin spread across Sam’s face as he quickly selected “Yes.”
Cold weather won’t bother you as much now. You’re welcome, the system quipped, its tone dripping with sarcasm.
Sam chuckled. “It’s like having a snarky assistant in my head.”
One evening, as Sam sat by the fireplace, his mother approached him. Her expression was heavy with concern.
“Sam,” she began, her voice hesitant.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, setting down his mug.
“There’ve been strange reports from the village,” Claire said slowly. “Lights in the forest. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t. People are scared.”
Sam frowned, the unease he’d been feeling finally crystallizing into a tangible fear. “Do you think it’s connected to me?”
Claire sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, we can’t ignore it.”
Sam nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
As the flames crackled softly beside him, Sam stared into their shifting light, his thoughts heavy. The sorcerer, the strange lights, the unnatural chill—it all felt connected.
Whatever was coming, Sam knew he wouldn’t face it as the same person he’d been.
This time, he’d be ready.