Ding.
[Safe Zone Established]
• Location: Cliffside Shelter
• Level: 0
• Passive Effect: Minor Healing (slow recovery of small wounds and fatigue within the boundary)
• Resource Ping: Detects resources within 50 meters. Cooldown: 1 hour. Range can be increased at higher levels.
• Current Structures:
– Defensive: Spiked Wall, Watch Tower
– Building: Basic Shelter
– Amenity: Fire Pit, Clay Basin
• Advancement Criteria: 1 Civilization Point, 200 units of Clay, 200 units of Stone, 200 units of Wood, 200 units of Fiber.
• Construction/Upgrade: Locked until Level 1.
The interface shifted again. A new tab labeled Safe Zone appeared, listing Defensive, Building, and Amenity structures with crisp borders. Two more tabs sat below—Level Up and Construction—but both were grayed out.
Before Ethan could absorb it, another message appeared.
[System Announcement]
"Ten Safe Zones have been established by Homo sapiens. Shelter Ranking for this species is now active."
• Rankings are determined by shelter level only.
• Population size influences resource collection but does not affect rank.
• Current Rank: Unlisted.
• Other species will unlock their own Shelter Rankings once they establish 10 Safe Zones.
Ethan lowered his head and breathed out slowly. The Safe Zone was real now, a boundary drawn against the chaos outside, proof that every blister and bruise he had earned these past days had not been meaningless. He had carved a place where he could stand, and for the first time since waking, it felt as though the world itself acknowledged his struggle.
Yet when the glow of the panel faded, the silence returned, pressing in from every side. The quiet was sharper than any claw, a constant reminder that he was alone. There were no voices to share in this small victory, no footsteps to reassure him that someone else might be watching his back. There was only him, and the shelter he had built with his own hands.
The ache of that truth settled heavy in his chest, but he forced himself to breathe deep and straighten. Loneliness was real, yes, but so was the fact that he had survived long enough to make it here. Every log in the wall, every stone in the tower, every strip of bark lashed into cordage existed because he had refused to give up. If he was still standing, it was because he had earned it.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Ethan allowed himself to feel a flicker of pride. Alone or not, he had done this, and it meant he could do more.
He opened the chat tab. Messages scrolled past in a blur, some confident, some panicked, and most carrying the edge of desperation.
[HaleFort]: Shelter at riverbend—looking for strong arms. Food and protection guaranteed.
[Ironfang]: Recruiting. Already Level 1. We need fighters.
[Mari]: Trading herbs for clay. Don't try to scam me.
[RickDale]: My shelter needs builders. I have food.
[Unknown]: Anyone? I'm alone. Please.
Ethan's eyes tracked the lines for only a few moments before he shut the panel. People were recruiting, bargaining, and begging, but none of that would keep him alive tonight. Every minute spent reading was a minute wasted when he could be gathering wood, stone, or fiber.
If he wanted his shelter to grow, he couldn't rely on chatter. He needed to work, and he needed to work fast.
He thought about the list in his Safe Zone panel—wood, stone, fiber, clay. Clay he couldn't get here, not yet. Stone was slow and punishing on the hands. Fiber was useful, but it wouldn't hold walls upright. That left wood. Abundant, solid, and the backbone of every upgrade he needed.
So he tightened his grip on the axe and set his sights on the nearest tree.
The crude blade slammed into the trunk, jarring his arms to the bone. Ten strikes split the bark, twenty dug into the heartwood, and each blow sent sweat rolling down his face and into the corners of his eyes. By the thirtieth strike, the trunk groaned, leaning under its own weight, and when Ethan stepped back, it toppled with a thunderous crack, branches splintering as it hit the earth.
He set to work stripping the limbs, chopping them away and piling them aside. Only once the last branch clattered free did the system acknowledge the effort.
[Resource Gained: Wood (12 Units)]
[Woodcutting +15 XP]
Ethan let out a slow breath, the ache in his arms sharp but bearable. At least the system rewarded persistence.
Another tree fell, and then another. By the time his hands were raw beneath their wrappings, the Safe Zone tab showed his progress in neat, unforgiving numbers:
[Safe Zone Resources]
• Wood: 24/200
• Stone: 0/200
• Clay: 0/200
• Fiber: 0/200
A start, but nothing more.
He moved to stone, prying brittle shards from the cliffside, hammering with loose rocks until chunks broke free. The jagged edges tore at his fingers, opening fresh cuts, but soon a small pile gathered at his feet.
[Resource Gained: Stone (7 Units)]
[Mining +10 XP]
Clay was another matter entirely. He dug into the dampest patches near the basin, scooping soil into his hands until his nails were black and his wrists streaked with grit. But when he checked the Safe Zone tab, the effort amounted to nothing. The lumps dried and crumbled in his palms, lacking the density he needed.
He cursed softly and wiped the mud across his thigh. Without water-rich ground, this zone would never yield enough clay. The requirement was clear: two hundred units, and he couldn't supply them from here.
That meant one thing—trade. Which meant he would need something worth offering. Not just meat, hide, and bones, but anything with real value: tools, weapons, food, or resources others couldn't easily gather.
Ethan rose, stretching the ache from his arms, and moved back toward the treeline in search of fiber. The brush was thick with tangled vines, and he worked slowly, pulling the strands free and bundling them over his shoulder.
As he bent for another knot, his eyes caught something higher on a nearby tree.
At first it looked like a warped branch, the bark twisted into unnatural angles. But then one of the shapes shifted. A long, spindly leg flexed against the trunk. Jagged thorn-like ridges lined its body, blending seamlessly with the tree's texture.
The creature lay plastered along the bark, its narrow frame stretched flat, every limb folded close. Its scaled hide mimicked the wood so well that he wondered how many times he had walked past trees just like it without noticing. Its head rested low, mouth hanging open just enough for him to see barbed teeth glisten faintly in the dim light.
Ethan froze, barely daring to breathe.
He forced his eyes to stay locked on it, the system humming faintly at the edge of his vision.
[Scanning in progress… 00:58]
[Scanning in progress… 01:42]
Every second stretched into a lifetime. His chest tightened, sweat crawling down his temple, heart hammering so hard it felt like it might shake the tree itself.
Ding.
[Scan Complete: Thornhide Strider]
• Size: 1.1 m shoulder height
• Diet: Carnivore – ambush predator
• Behavior: Camouflages as bark, leaps onto prey from trees
• Resources: Hide, Meat, Bones, Thorn Plates (rare)
The panel flickered away, but the creature was already shifting. Its head tilted toward him, tongue flicking out to taste the air. The ridges along its back rippled faintly.
Ethan's stomach knotted as realization struck. The sweat rolling down his skin carried more than salt—it carried fear, and the predator had smelled it.
With a wet hiss, the thing uncoiled from the trunk in a single fluid motion.
The hunt had already begun.
The Strider launched from the trunk, its long legs propelling it forward in a blur. Ethan barely got the spear up before the weight slammed into him, driving him back into the dirt. Thorn ridges scraped his arm as claws dug for purchase, their edges sharp enough to tear shallow furrows through his shirt and skin.
He gritted his teeth and shoved upward, the spearpoint pressing into its belly. The weapon bit through the smoother scales, drawing a hiss that reverberated deep in the creature's chest. But the Strider didn't recoil—it pressed harder, its body thrashing, jagged growths cutting into his arms as though he were wrestling a bundle of barbed wire.
The shaft groaned under the strain. Then, with a sharp crack, it snapped in two.
Panic surged. The Strider's head dipped low, its mouth splitting wider than seemed possible, barbed teeth closing just shy of his shoulder. The stink of rot and iron filled his nostrils. Ethan's hand scrabbled across the dirt until his fingers closed around the broken half of the spear, the stone tip still lashed tight.
The Strider lunged again, jaws gaping for his throat. Ethan drove the fragment upward, the jagged point punching into the soft flesh beneath its jaw. Hot blood spilled over his hands, slicking the wood. The predator shrieked and convulsed, its legs hammering the ground, thorn ridges raking his side as it thrashed with wild desperation.
Ethan roared back, twisting the broken spearhead and forcing it deeper. Every muscle screamed in protest as he fought against its weight. The Strider's claws tore shallow trenches across his thigh, its tail whipped his ribs, but still he shoved harder.
The barbed teeth clashed together inches from his face, snapping with enough force to splinter wood. He turned his head aside, breath ragged, as he pushed until the stone edge tore through something vital.
At last the thrashing slowed. The predator twitched once more, legs spasming in uneven rhythm, then sagged heavily against him. Its amber eyes dimmed, the ridges along its body going still.
Ethan shoved it aside, collapsing onto his back, chest heaving. His arms stung with a dozen shallow cuts, and the broken spear fragment dripped steadily onto the dirt beside him.
System Notifications[Creature Defeated: Thornhide Strider]
[Civilization Code +0.0264]
[Corpse Analysis Complete]
• Augmentation Chance: 0.002% – Poison Resistance (Lv.5)
Ethan staggered to his feet, every muscle burning, and forced his shaking hands to grip the Strider's tail. The system prompt flickered faintly at the edge of his vision, recognizing the intact corpse.
[Inventory Eligible: Thornhide Strider Corpse]
[Store Item? Y/N]
His heart eased a fraction. At least this one fit. If it hadn't, he would have been forced to strip it here, carving off anything rare before scavengers closed in. But luck was on his side.
"Yeah," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Get in there."
The body dissolved into faint motes of light, vanishing from the dirt as the inventory confirmed the addition. The stench vanished with it, leaving only the tacky blood drying on his arms and the ache grinding into his ribs.
Ethan glanced once more at the spot where it had fallen, then turned toward the cliffside. For now, he had what he needed—and he was still alive.
Inside the Safe Zone, the faint warmth of its passive healing dulled the sting of his cuts. Ethan collapsed by the firepit, his back pressed to the rough wall, the broken spearhead lying across his lap.
His inventory shimmered at the edge of his vision:
[Inventory]
• Raptor Corpse
• Thornhide Strider Corpse
Two kills. Two battles he had nearly lost. Both waiting to be butchered, their resources still locked away until he had the strength and time to strip them down.
The Safe Zone tab updated when he focused:
[Safe Zone Resources]
• Wood: 42/200
• Stone: 13/200
• Fiber: 8/200
• Clay: 0/200
• Civilization Code: 0.0921
Ethan blinked at the number. The raptor's fractional code. The Strider's code. Together, almost a tenth of what he needed to advance.
For a moment, exhaustion gave way to something else—pride, small but real. He had bled for every scrap, and the system had recorded it.
Still, the work wasn't over. Tomorrow he would butcher. Tomorrow he would trade. And tomorrow he would start again.
The fire crackled softly, the walls held, and Ethan closed his eyes with the knowledge that for at least one night more, he had survived.