The whispers of his tribe stirred him from sleep.
As his eyes blinked open, dozens of faces surrounded him faces marked with worry, despair, and barely-suppressed rage. The firelight flickered across their weathered skin, illuminating the weight of a burden too long carried.
They were speaking in low voices about the latest summons from the Great Race—another conscription, another war. Another march into death.
Their numbers had already thinned. Too many fathers, sons, and brothers had not returned. And now, they were being asked again.
Suddenly, the murmuring stopped.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward—his breath steady, his eyes heavy with resolve. The chieftain, worn by years of battle and sacrifice.
He looked around at the gathered tribe, then turned to the young man sitting beside him.
His voice was calm. Final.
"We will answer the call. As we always have."
He placed a firm hand on the young man's shoulder.
"But you—you will stay."
The firelight caught in the old man's eyes.
"From this day, you are the flame bearer. The new leader of our people. We go to our deaths so you won't have to. Protect them. Guide them. And if the world forgets us—let our fire still burn in you."
The weight of the tribe's future passed in that moment—not with ceremony, but with silence.
The young man, wide-eyed and breathless, could only nod… as the warriors of his people prepared for the march they would not return from.
A week passed in quiet urgency. Preparations were made with solemn hands and heavy hearts.
Then the day came.
The chieftain, his father, stood at the head of the procession—red flaming hair catching the wind like the last light of a dying sun. Behind him, every able-bodied adult of the tribe followed, each gripping a crude stone weapon, their resolve etched deep into their scarred faces.
They did not look back.
Their march was silent, but the world around them was not.
Sobs and broken cries filled the air. Children clung to their mothers. Young warriors cursed the heavens. Others simply stared, as if frozen by the sound of parting.
He stood among them—Torya, now the tribe's leader. Still and wordless, his gaze locked on his father's broad back growing smaller with every step.
It had only been a week since he awoke in this strange and brutal world. The memory of his former life—a quiet college student with dreams that now felt hollow—was beginning to blur. But the weight of this new life had already settled firmly on his shoulders.
This world was dangerous. Vast. Terrifying. But also undeniably beautiful.
His chest tightened. Inside, he was panicking—every part of him screamed that he wasn't ready, that he couldn't lead, couldn't protect. But he didn't let it show. He couldn't.
Not now.
He turned to his people—grieving, frightened, leaderless. And in that moment, he buried his fear, even if only for a little while.
"We endure," he whispered, though no one heard it but himself.
And so began the first step of the ember that would become a flame.
As the words left his lips, something stirred—deep and ancient.
A roar, like a flame inhaling the sky, echoed in his mind. Not a sound his ears could catch, but one that rattled through his bones. His eyes darted around, scanning the mourners, the wind-blown grasses, the smoky trail of the departing warriors—
But all he saw were his people. No fire. No sound. Just silence.
Then, a voice—clear and resonant, neither male nor female, but filled with quiet certainty:
"The flame within has been lit. You have awakened the Ember System."
And suddenly, it appeared.
A panel of hovering embers and molten light burst into view before him, framed by slithering patterns of obsidian and bronze, like flickers of serpentine flame twisting through the borders. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, as though watching him back.
He stared, heart hammering.
[ EMBER SYSTEM: USER STATUS ]
Name: Torya
Age: 18
Race: Emberkin (Mortal)
Bloodline: none
Talent: none
Racial Trait:none
The panel pulse once more, lines of light tracing new shapes beneath the first.
"You are the first of your world. The flame does not choose lightly."
"Who are you? What are you?" he asked in a hushed voice, his mind spinning as he tried to grasp the source of the voice. His gaze drifted until it fell upon the panel shimmering before him.
"I am the spirit of the system bestowed upon you, Torya," the voice replied—calm, emotionless, almost mechanical.
He didn't answer immediately. His attention was consumed by the words glowing on the panel: his name, his race, his bloodline. The realization struck him like a spark. He had read of this exact scenario in countless novels from his past life.
"A spirit, huh…" His thoughts steadied, the chaos in his mind slowly giving way to clarity. "Do you have a name?"
"I do not. Please, host, grant me one you prefer."
"Then… Nova," he said firmly after a pause. "From this moment on, that shall be your name."
His eyes fell back onto the glowing panel.
"Why is it showing that I have no bloodline, no talent, no racial trait? Are my people truly so weak… so poor?" With each question, the small flame of joy in his heart flickered and began to die out.
"Yes," Nova answered, her voice cold and unfeeling. "The Emberkin are a feeble race—merely a minor branch of humanity. Born near an active volcano, they carry only red flaming hair, slightly sturdier bodies, and a faint resistance to heat. Beyond that, they have nothing."
The words crushed him, the weight of despair sinking deep into his chest.
But before his despair could fully consume him, Nova's voice cut through the silence.
"The system can change that."
His eyes widened, the dying flame in his chest flickering back to life.
"You have a chance," Nova continued, her tone steady and absolute. "An opportunity to awaken a bloodline, to gain a talent, and to forge a racial trait. This gift exists only because you are bound to the system."
She paused, letting the words settle before her voice sharpened like steel.
"Remember this: if you perish, all of it will vanish. The system lives and dies with you. You are its core—its axis. Everything revolves around you."
Before he could speak, the air rippled and shimmered with light. Slowly, an ancient construct emerged from the void—a towering mechanism of bronze and crystal, etched with runes that pulsed like living fire. At its side rested a single lever, simple yet heavy with destiny.
"This is your chance," Nova said, her voice echoing with a weight beyond mortality. "Pull the lever, and the system shall weave your fate—bloodline, talent, and trait, chosen by the threads of the unknown."
He gazed upon it, breath caught in his throat. Closing his eyes, he calmed the storm within, summoning all the resolve he could muster. When they opened again, a quiet fire burned in their depths.
His hand pressed against the cold metal, and with one solemn motion, he drew the lever down.
The construct awakened. Runes blazed to life, wheels of light turning within the crystal core. A low hum filled the air, not mechanical, but resonant—like a choir of unseen voices singing a hymn older than time. With every passing heartbeat, the brilliance deepened, and the weight of destiny grew heavier upon him.
The construct spun, its runes blazing brighter with every turn. He could do nothing but watch, breath caught in his throat, until at last the motion slowed… and stopped.
The crystal core pulsed, and words of light unfolded before his eyes, etched into the air like divine decree.
[Bloodline: Smoldering Ember]
A fragile flame, yet unyielding. Though weak compared to the bloodlines of old, its glow never fades. Grants resilience and the ability to recover more swiftly from fatigue and wounds. The ember endures where greater fires turn to ash.
His chest tightened. It was no mighty inheritance, no legendary gift. And yet… it was a flame that refused to die.
The panel shifted, revealing the next line.
[Talent: Bond of the Flame]
The fire in your heart stirs those around you. Allies who fight or work by your side will find their spirits strengthened, their wills steadied, and their courage burning brighter. You are not a lone flame—you are the spark that unites many.
His eyes trembled as he read the words. Not a talent of destruction, but of guidance—something greater than himself.
Finally, the construct revealed the last truth.
[Racial Trait: Shared Warmth]
Among Emberkin, the fire of life is never borne alone. When together, your kind can withstand cold nights, harsh storms, and the weight of hunger. Bonds grow stronger in hardship, and unity is your hidden strength.
The glow slowly faded, leaving him in silence.
For a moment, his heart wavered. These were not powers that made him mighty in battle. No grand transformation awaited him here. But as he looked at the words, something stirred within—a quiet certainty.
Weak though they were, these gifts carried the promise of survival, of hope, of unity.
And for the first time… he felt the faint spark of a future worth fighting for.
A long, deep breath escaped him as he lowered himself to the ground. The words of the panel lingered in his mind. It was a beginning—small, humble, but real. A good start. Yet he knew more than anyone that nothing had truly changed. Strength would not be handed to him; he would have to seize it with sweat, pain, and time.
When his gaze lifted again, it fell upon his people. Some still wept quietly for the warriors who would never return. Others sat in silence, their eyes hollow yet hardened, as though bracing themselves for the cruelties yet to come.
The world, he realized, was larger than he had ever imagined—and far more merciless. That truth pressed heavily on his chest. But beneath the weight of fear and despair, something else burned quietly within him.
A purpose.
That night, he called the tribe together in the vast cavern they called home, its walls lit dimly by the glow of smoldering torches. The air was heavy with grief and exhaustion, yet every gaze turned toward him.
Torya rose, shoulders squared though his frame still carried the youth of inexperience. When he spoke, his voice was steady—firm, carrying a gravity that felt far beyond his years.
As his eyes swept across the tear-streaked faces of his tribe, a thought tugged at him—should he reveal the strange gift the system had granted him? Perhaps it would give them hope. But just as quickly, he crushed the idea. In a world this dangerous, words spoken carelessly could invite ruin. Some truths were not yet meant to be shared.
"We must hunt tomorrow," Torya declared, his voice steady despite the heaviness in his chest. "Game grows scarce, and our stores have dwindled since the warriors departed. We will also search for wild plants and roots wherever they can be found. I will lead the young hunters into the forest."
A murmur rippled through the gathered tribe. A few of the adult women exchanged uneasy glances, worry flickering in their eyes. But faced with empty stores and hungry mouths, there was no alternative. One by one, they gave reluctant nods, the weight of necessity pressing them into agreement.
In that moment, Torya felt the burden settle fully upon his shoulders—not just his own survival, but the survival of everyone gathered before him.