It wasn't a fire.
It wasn't a war.
It wasn't even remotely cinematic.
Dylan Hayes died on the bathroom floor, facedown, half-naked, and probably bleeding from the nose.
One second he was brushing his teeth, the next — water, tile, the back of his head cracking hard enough to sound fake.
He remembered the sound.
That's what stayed with him. Not pain. Not fear.
Just the sharp, hollow crack.
Then?
Nothing.
No white light.
No tunnel.
No glowing deity with a clipboard.
Just... blackout.
And then —
A breath.
His own.
Slow. Uneven.
Like coming up from underwater.
There was weight. Dirt. Cold air on his skin. Something sharp poking his ribs.
His eyelids twitched open.
Gray sky. No, not gray — reddish. Like the color of dying embers, overcast and too clean.
No clouds. No sun. No planes. No satellites. Just... alien stillness.
His first thought wasn't panic.
It was, "This isn't my ceiling."
He lay still, eyes blinking, listening.
Wind. Dry.
Some kind of animal cry in the distance — deep and echoing.
He didn't move right away. Didn't call out. Didn't speak.
Instead, Dylan ran a mental checklist — calm, precise.
Arms? Present.
Legs? Working.
Blood? Nope.
Clothes? Uh... definitely not what he died in.
He flexed his fingers. Felt the ground: dusty, cracked.
Dried leaves. Some kind of thorny weed. No glass. No pavement.
Wherever this was, it wasn't his bathroom.
And definitely not home.
But he was alive.
Breathing.
Eyes narrowed, heart still steady, Dylan forced himself to sit up — slowly, one elbow at a time.
Something in the pit of his stomach twisted. A soft chill ran down his spine.
And that's when the first line of floating white text appeared.
No sound. No glow. Just clean, sterile text. Hovering silently in the air like it was waiting.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]
The text just hung there. Still. Floating about a meter in front of his face.
No sounds. No animation. No glow.
Just words, like a screensaver made for sociopaths.
Dylan didn't move. Not at first.
His first thought was automatic: Hallucination?
Second: AR projection?
Third: ...What the hell is happening.
The text flickered once, then continued:
[HOST IDENTIFIED: DYLAN HAYES]
[SHADOW MONARCH PROTOCOL – FULL ACCESS GRANTED]
[ALL FUNCTIONS: ACTIVE ]
His breath caught slightly — not out of fear, but recognition.
He'd seen this format before. Dozens of times.
In web novels. Dungeon fiction. Survival games.
Except this wasn't a screen.
It was just… there. Floating midair, visible only to him, no interface, no controls.
No stylized UI. No voice telling him to "rise." No flashy menu sounds.
Just cold, efficient data.
"Okay…" he muttered, voice dry, lips cracked. "Either I died and got plugged into a simulation, or the universe has really weird taste in genre."
No response. No prompt. No tutorial.
No [Would You Like A Guide?] option.
Figures.
He shifted slightly, dirt scraping his hands as he pushed up to sit fully. His head ached — not from the fall. From the re-entry. Or resurrection. Or... whatever this was.
He looked around for the first time properly.
The land was a stretch of scrubby highlands. Dry dirt. Thorns. Slopes of cracked rock leading to distant, jagged hills. The sky was still that eerie red-tint, with no sun in sight. Just ambient, unsettling light — like an eternal dusk that hadn't made up its mind.
And silence. Not the comforting kind.
He scanned the horizon. No buildings. No wires. No vehicles.
No signs of civilization.
Then, softly — in the far, far distance — a low cry. Almost avian. But too long. Too... wet.
He blinked again and muttered, "Not Earth."
The text was still hanging there. Waiting. Like a paused notification.
He slowly reached a hand toward it. Of course, it didn't respond. No haptic reaction. No motion blur. Just there.
He tried thinking the word:
Status.
The text blinked.
Then shifted into a new block of data:
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Dylan Hayes
Level: 1
Class: Shadow Monarch
HP: 100
MP: 100
Fatigue: 0
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Perception: 10
Vitality: 10
Intelligence: 10
Control: 10
Stat Points: 0
Shadows: 0 / ∞
Inventory: —
Equipment: —
Skills: —
Shadow List: Empty
Nothing stood out. Everything was default. Neutral.
He stared at the "Skills" line for a moment.
Then thought:
Show Skills.
A separate window slid into place like a new card in his vision — same sterile style.
[SKILLS]
– Scan
Scan?
He didn't try to activate it yet. Just logged it.
With his thought the window faded, dissolving into the air like mist.
No noise. No click. Just… gone.
Dylan exhaled through his nose.
This wasn't a dream. He could feel the dry wind on his face, the tiny grains of dirt clinging to his palms. The ache in his back. His own heartbeat.
Every detail was too crisp. Too heavy.
He looked down at his hands. They were still his — narrow fingers, short nails, tiny scar across his knuckle from opening a tuna can like an idiot.
Still Dylan.
But nothing else matched.
He stood, slowly, testing each leg. Balance was solid. Joints moved clean. A little sore, but not injured.
The red-tinted sky stretched over a cracked plain, with thorny shrubs, distant hills, and that weird, unnatural silence still humming in the air.
There was no city. No vehicles. No trails or footpaths.
And that growl he heard earlier?
Still out there. Waiting.
"If this is a game," Dylan muttered, brushing dust off his sleeves, "it's the kind where you spawn naked, no sword, and someone's already hunting you."
He looked around once more, then focused.
Inventory.
Nothing. Not even clothes listed. The system didn't recognize the fabric he was wearing.
He tried again.
Equipment.
Again: empty.
Scan?
The skill panel didn't need a voice command. Just the thought was enough. It hovered up.
[SKILLS]
– Scan
He didn't activate it yet.
He just stood there, watching the strange red sky shift slightly as if the clouds were alive — or maybe just very far away.
Dylan closed the window and sighed.
Whatever this place was, it was real enough to kill him again.
The system faded again, and Dylan stood in the empty silence, dust brushing at his legs.
"Shadow Monarch."
He said it out loud. Quiet. Testing the weight of it.
It didn't feel heroic. It didn't feel evil either.
It felt… clinical. Like a role assigned, not something chosen.
"Monarch of what?" he muttered. "There's no one here."
The wind blew low and dry across the cracked dirt.
He thought about asking the system another question, but there wasn't really anyone to talk to. No voice. No AI. Just a command interface without personality.
He remembered how in most novels, systems came with perks. Quests. Level-ups. Loot boxes.
This one?
It felt more like someone handed him an empty warehouse and said:
"Build."
He looked back toward the ridgeline in the far distance. The terrain dipped slightly, forming a shallow valley. Somewhere beyond that, he swore he saw movement — but it was too far to be sure. Could've been an animal. Could've been wind. Could've been something watching.
He didn't feel scared. Just... unfinished.
"Shadow Monarch," he repeated under his breath. "Cool title. Empty throne."
He turned his body toward the ridge.
The only real direction he had.
He wasn't in pain. He wasn't hungry — yet. But the longer he stood still, the more the silence itched at him.
Time to move.
He walked with slow, deliberate steps.
The cracked dirt shifted underfoot like old clay. Too dry to be desert, too sharp to be soil. Every step left a faint print — not deep, but visible enough to track.
Good to know. Bad if he wasn't alone.
"Inventory."
He thought it, not spoke it. Same result — a clean, gray-blue box blinked into existence.
[INVENTORY]
—
No backpack. No slots. No storage tabs.
Just a dash.
"Okay… so, no tutorial. No beginner gear. Not even a water bottle," he muttered.
He kept walking, eyes flicking between the terrain and the floating system interface.
Map?
Nothing.
Quests?
Still nothing.
Help?
The system remained silent. Not even a denial message.
"Cold-blooded," he said, faint smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.
He reached the top of a low rise — not quite a hill, more of a ridge with a dip behind it.
From here, he had a better view of the surroundings.
More jagged land, patches of dead vegetation, a distant sloping line of something that looked vaguely like a road — dirt-packed and flattened by repeated use.
Maybe it was a road. Maybe it still is.
He crouched down, wiping a hand across the dusty ground. Small tracks. Not boots. Clawed. Light. Could be wildlife.
He thought again.
Equipment.
[EQUIPMENT]
—
Shadow List.
[SHADOW LIST]
Empty.
He stood up again. Nothing new. Nothing given.
The title might say Shadow Monarch, but it looked more like:
"Shadow Intern – unpaid."
Still, the system responded instantly to thoughts. Efficient. Minimal.
That meant the limitations weren't in the interface — they were in him.
He wasn't locked out. He just hadn't earned access.
So earn it.
The breeze shifted.
A dry push of air rolled down the valley below him, catching the edge of his sleeves. It wasn't cold—but it wasn't warm either.
It felt filtered. Like someone forgot to texture the wind properly.
Dylan didn't move right away.
He stared at the ridgeline he'd seen earlier—the one with the half-buried shape jutting from the horizon. Like a vehicle or structure. Hard to tell.
It was the only thing here that looked even remotely unnatural.
And in a world with no signs, that was as good as a goalpost.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's see what counts as civilization around here."
He glanced back at the ground where he woke up. No crater. No markings. Just a scuffed patch of dirt and the vague memory of pain.
One last thought hit him.
System.
Is there anything you want me to do?
No response. Not even a flicker.
He smirked to himself.
"Right. I'll take that as a yes."
He adjusted his posture. Picked a path. Began walking—slow and steady, like a man tracing a blueprint only he could see.
The title "Shadow Monarch" might've been decorative.
But if there were shadows to command…
He'd find them.
Or make them.