Gray shut the door behind him with a faint click, the sound muted by the hum of rain still pressing against the windows outside. For a moment, he leaned against it, his chest rising and falling in quiet breaths. Then his eyes swept over the room.
It was small, much smaller than he expected from such a grand building, but it did the job. A single bed rested near the far wall, sheets folded crisply, the blanket a dull gray that reminded him of hospital cloth. Beside it stood a narrow window, its glass blurred with streaks of water, the outside world reduced to little more than shadows bending under rain. A desk and chair stood opposite, their surface bare except for a single, sleek computer monitor that seemed to hum faintly even though it wasn't on. The walls were plain, smooth stone softened by pale white paint, and the air smelled faintly of polish and damp wood.
But what drew his attention immediately wasn't the bed or the desk. On the right side of the room, half-recessed into the wall, was… a pod.
Gray blinked, his body tensing as he stepped closer. The smooth surface gleamed under the dim ceiling light, its edges lined with faint seams that pulsed with a cold blue glow. It looked too advanced, too strange—like something pulled from another age entirely. His first thought was of the ship, of the pod he had been forced into before everything began. This was nearly identical. Sleek, sterile, alien.
"What the hell…" he muttered under his breath. His stomach twisted uneasily. Whatever it was meant for, he didn't like it. Not one bit.
Forcing himself to look away, Gray's gaze landed on the desk again. There, resting in the center like it had been placed with purpose, lay a wristband. Sleek black, polished so smooth it reflected the light. Unlike the other bands he had seen strapped to the wrists of his peers, this one seemed… different. More refined. Almost alive in its design.
Gray swallowed hard, his unease shifting into a flicker of excitement. He stepped forward quickly, reaching out and grabbing it. It was colder than he expected, the chill biting into his skin. His chest tightened with a strange mix of fear and thrill. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and pressed the band against his wrist.
With a mechanical hiss, it unfolded. Thin segments twisted and curled, locking into place with sharp clicks until it wrapped snugly around him.
The faint hum grew louder, and then—
[Synchronizing…]
[Synchronization Complete!]
***
[Name: Gray]
[Rank: Marked]
[Strain: Wither]
[Passive Trait: Unawakened]
[Skills: Two]
[Affinity: Darkness]
[Evolution Threshold: 64%]
[Corruption: 19%]
[Relics: One]
***
Gray's eyes widened. His lips parted in disbelief as he whispered, "What… what the fu—"
Before he could finish, a sharp notification flashed, his wristband pulsing faintly.
[Warning: Corruption Levels Rising.]
The words silenced him instantly. He stood there, his breath caught in his throat, heart hammering as the warning flickered once more before fading. His head swam. Slowly, he shook it, forcing his mind to focus.
He went through the screen piece by piece.
First—his Evolution Threshold. His eyes locked on the number. Sixty-four. A massive jump. His jaw tightened as memories returned. The last battle in Glacierfang. The sheer weight of it, the suffocating chill, the fight that had nearly broken him. It made sense now. That had been the hardest fight of his life, and it had paid back in kind. His threshold surged forward. A reward carved from suffering.
But then his brow furrowed. The number itself flickered, dimming in and out, as though the band struggled to display it. Was it broken already? Had he damaged it somehow just by existing? He almost laughed at the thought, though the unease in his chest only deepened.
He moved on.
[Corruption: 19%.]
The number alone made his stomach lurch. It had been 7 not long ago. Now more than doubled. Not good. Not good at all.
Gray closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back.'Where? When? How?' The memory came quickly. When he had been cornered. When he had forced himself to draw on raw, unfiltered Vyre straight from the ice. That had to be it. That was when his veins had burned, when his insides had screamed. He hadn't had a choice. He hadn't.
But choice or not, the price was clear. And it was climbing. Another reason, one more nail in the coffin, warning him away from the Wither Vyre that had become his lifeline. Dangerous, cursed… but powerful. So powerful he couldn't ignore it.
Finally, he reached the last entry.
[Relics: One.]
Gray's chest tightened, excitement returning. This was new. Entirely new. He inhaled sharply and focused. The words expanded slowly, then snapped open.
[Relics: Apple of the Waning Dawn]
Gray's eyes nearly bulged. He knew that name. Of course he knew it.
The apple. The same glowing fruit that godlike being had given him. The apple that had brought him back from death itself. His hand clenched into a fist as the memory slammed into him.
He focused on the words and suddenly they expanded, revealing something he didn't expect.
[The Apple of the Waning Dawn, said to have fallen from the heavens at the breaking of the First Dawn. Its golden skin never withers, its core brimming with the essence of lost vitality, and its strength so important that kingdoms fought ages for it . Legends claim it grants life where death has already taken root, though no hand has ever truly mastered its power.]
Gray stared at the words, his pulse quickening. To think the strange fruit that had revived him, the very thing he had bitten into, was something out of legend. It felt...fake.
His mind raced with possibilities. If it really held vitality strong enough to defy death, then why couldn't he use it now? Why was it locked away, nothing more than a name on his wristband? Furthermore, the description gave him more confusion than answers. Kingdoms fought over it? When? Where?
"It says that it fell from...heaven. Is it the same heaven that Oculus was hunting for? Possibly..."
The curiosity gnawed at him, but beneath it was fear—fear of what it meant to carry something so impossibly rare, something others would kill him for without hesitation.
A groan slipped from his lips, his frustration boiling over. He dismissed the screen, his temples throbbing.
He needed answers. Desperately. Maybe a library. Maybe hidden records. Somewhere in this place, there had to be something that could explain the meaning behind this so-called relic. But no one could know. Not yet. He wasn't about to parade this in front of strangers who might rip it from him or worse.
Gray rubbed his face, sighing. His body ached for rest, but he remembered the man's words. Something about the computer. Reluctantly, he pulled out the chair and sat. Trying to calm his nerves.
The desk was smooth under his fingertips, the grain of the wood polished flat. The monitor lit up the moment he muttered, "How does this even—"
It flickered to life with a soft glow, making him flinch.
The screen showed strange symbols, neat lines of color arranged in boxes. Gray frowned. He didn't know what half of it meant. It was… advanced. Alien.
His gaze caught on a red icon in the corner. Hesitant, he reached out and pressed it with his finger. To his surprise, the screen changed instantly, opening into a new interface.
Words sprawled across the surface:
"Hello, Gray! Welcome to the Royal Kaelith Academy and Sanctuary interface. As you know, in the future you will undergo expeditions and missions. To prepare you, you may select essential fields of knowledge and skill training. This is optional, but recommended."
Gray tilted his head. So this was their way of teaching. He leaned closer, scanning the list of subjects.
History. Geography. Combat—split into close-range, far-range, and affinity/Vyre combat. Gray glanced further down. Monster Analogy. Corruption Theory. Radiance theory and Strain Theory. Survivalist Essentials. Tales and Myths. Literature. Dozens of others, too many to care about.
He tapped his finger lightly against the desk, considering. They allowed up to ten. He doubted he would bother with that many.
Survivalist Essentials, that one made sense. He needed every edge he could get. He clicked it. History? Maybe knowing the history of the hell hole he was trapped in could save him in the future. He clicked it. Combat, close-range, obvious. Vyre and affinity based combat—he sighed but selected it too. He needed to understand the magic side of things, no matter how strange it felt. Monster Analogy caught his eye, and he clicked that as well. Finally, his hand hovered before settling on Corruption Theory. If there was even a chance it could explain what was happening to him, he needed it.
The rest felt useless. Tales? Literature? Pointless distractions. He shook his head.
Once done, he noticed a small sun-shaped symbol near the edge of the screen. Curious, he touched it, and the monitor went dark instantly.
"Figures," he muttered.
Rising from the chair, he wandered over to the window. The rain hadn't stopped. It streamed down in heavy sheets, obscuring the cracked glow of the distant sun hidden behind storm clouds. The world outside looked drowned, colorless.
Gray pressed his hand lightly against the cold glass, his reflection staring back at him with tired, gray eyes. He exhaled slowly, stepping away.
Finally, he crossed the room, collapsed onto the bed, and pulled the blanket over himself. The mattress was firm, the pillow almost too stiff, but exhaustion claimed him anyway. His mind still buzzed with relics, corruption, and thresholds, but the weight of the day pressed harder.
His eyes slid shut.
Sleep took him.