Helios wakes from a dream where the ancient Forest of Razar—the oldest and most sacred place in the kingdom—crowned him as its protector and showed him a future of legendary power.

Then he opens his eyes to nothing. No system. No powers. Just a weak, ordinary boy in a world that doesn't need saving.

But the dream felt more real than life itself. So Helios decides to chase it anyway.

For five years, he tries to become the guardian he saw in his vision. He trains his frail body, throws himself into protecting people,  attempts to defend the helpless. And he fails. Catastrophically. The merchants he guards get robbed. Villages burn. Forest creatures flee or attack him. He becomes the kingdom's joke—the delusional boy who thinks he's chosen when fate clearly disagrees.

But Helios won't stop, not because he has proof—it is because he has faith.

Then comes his worst failure yet. In a moment of selfless sacrifice that nearly kills him, he finally hears it—a whisper. A single leaf glows. Words flicker before vanishing: *"Prove yourself worthy. Dreams are not given—they are built."*

The system exists. It was always watching. But it demands something no other power requires: that its chosen earn their strength through character forged in failure.

Now Helios faces impossible quests designed for someone far stronger. Protect without combat skills. Heal without magic. Earn trust from those who want nothing to do with him. He fails most of them. But unknown to him, every attempt plants seeds for something greater.

Meanwhile, the kingdom faces real threats: ancient evils stirring in the deep forest, political schemes that threaten the sacred pact between civilization and nature, and other system users who have gained their power instantly—and look down on him with contempt.

They don't understand what he's becoming. They received power as a gift. However, he is different. He’s forging his way through blood and unshakeable faith.

When the Forest Protector System finally awakens fully, it reveals the truth: the dream never showed his future. It showed what he could become if he earned it.

Every failure was a lesson. Every humiliation is a test. Every moment he chose belief over evidence was building something greater than any instant power could achieve.

The Forest didn't choose Helios because he was strong.

It chose him because he refused to break.

Now, as the kingdom's greatest threats emerge, Helios must claim the destiny he spent years earning. Not as a boy with a dream, but as the Protector he was always meant to become—forged in darkness and suffering, believing in light.

The question was never whether the dream was real.

The question was whether he could make it real.

At the Baileys' one always seemed to be getting one's hands on the very strings that guided the world. You heard legislation projected to affect this "type" and that; statistics marched by you with sin and shame and injustice and misery reduced to quite manageable percentages, you found men who were to frame or amend bills in grave and intimate exchange with Bailey's omniscience, you heard Altiora canvassing approaching resignations and possible appointments that might make or mar a revolution in administrative methods, and doing it with a vigorous directness that manifestly swayed the decision; and you felt you were in a sort of signal box with levers all about you, and the world outside there, albeit a little dark and mysterious beyond the window, running on its lines in ready obedience to these unhesitating lights, true and steady to trim termini.


Chapter 140 - Seth