The System did not celebrate.
It did not chime, shimmer, or unfold with ceremony. There was no swelling music in Kael's chest, no rush of warmth through his veins, no sense of arrival.
There was only a window.
Kael stood just off the main road of the Crossway Ward, beneath the shadow of a shuttered grain store, and focused his intent with the same practiced calm he had used hundreds of times before.
Class Selection.
The world did not change.
A translucent pane formed in his vision, thin and precise, its borders clean to the point of severity. Kael waited for the next layer. The ritual prompt. The branching paths. The beginning of the thing that would define him.
Nothing followed.
The pane contracted, lines compressing as if the System had reconsidered the effort of speaking at all.
Then a single notice appeared.
> NOTICE
Class Quest unavailable.
Eligibility incomplete.
Kael blinked once.
He did not move. He did not curse. He simply stared at the words until they settled into place, refusing to rearrange themselves into something more reasonable.
Eligibility incomplete.
That was all.
No flashing warning. No explanation. No list of requirements he had failed to meet. Just a procedural denial, delivered with the same tone the System used to report inventory limits or failed skill activations.
Kael dismissed the notice and immediately reissued the command.
Again.
And again.
Each time, the response was identical. No delay. No variance. The System was not confused. It was not lagging. It was executing a rule.
He pulled up his Status Window, scanning it with a hunter's habit of looking for irregularities.
Level: 10
Tier: 0
Class: Unassigned
His attributes sat exactly where they had been minutes earlier. Every number frozen, as if nailed into place.
Kael exhaled slowly.
So Level Ten was not a key.
It was a checkpoint.
---
The walk home took longer than usual.
Not because the distance had changed, but because Kael noticed things he normally filtered out. The way people glanced at him and then away. The faint tension in the air around guild halls as newly advanced hunters gathered, voices sharp with expectation. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed too loudly, already imagining the prestige of a class they had not yet earned.
Kael passed them without slowing.
His home stood at the edge of the ward, a squat, stone-built structure with a footprint too large for one person. It had been designed with margins. Extra rooms. Storage space that assumed growth.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The air was cool and still, carrying the faint, clean scent of stone and old wood. Everything was where it should be. Maintained. Orderly. The house was not neglected.
It was under-occupied.
Kael set his satchel down and removed his boots, placing them neatly beside the wall. The habit had formed years ago, back when more footsteps had echoed through the space. He did not pause to reflect on that. He never did.
He moved through the lower floor, checking nothing in particular. The cooking space could have handled three people without crowding. The table had four chairs. Only one showed signs of regular use.
Upstairs, doors remained closed. Kael did not open them.
He ate a simple meal. Measured portions. No indulgence. Enough fuel to sustain effort, nothing more. When he finished, he cleared the space near the hearth and rolled his shoulders.
If the System required more, then he would provide it.
---
He began with preparation rather than strain.
Stretching first. Slow, deliberate movements, each one controlled to the edge of tension without crossing into damage. Kael had learned early that the System noticed waste. Sloppy effort produced sloppy results.
He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, letting his heart rate rise gradually.
Then bodyweight drills. Push and pull. Balance and controlled collapse. Movements refined by years of labor in the Pits, where efficiency was survival and exhaustion was expensive.
The faint pressure of System tracking settled around him, subtle but unmistakable.
Good.
Minutes passed.
Kael stopped and checked his Status Window.
Nothing had changed.
He frowned slightly and resumed.
He adjusted angles. Reduced unnecessary motion. Increased control. If brute effort was insufficient, refinement might trigger recognition.
Sweat gathered along his spine. His breathing deepened. His muscles warmed, then burned.
Another check.
Still nothing.
Kael's expression did not shift, but something tightened behind his eyes. He continued anyway, extending the session beyond what he would normally consider optimal.
The System continued to observe.
It did not reward.
By the time he stopped, his muscles trembled with controlled fatigue. He stood still, breathing slowly, allowing the burn to settle into ache.
The numbers remained fixed.
This was not normal.
Before Level Ten, effort had always yielded something. A fractional increase. A slow crawl upward. The System had never been generous, but it had been consistent.
Now it was silent.
Kael washed, ate again, and drank water until the dull edge of dehydration retreated. When he lay down to sleep, it was not in defeat.
It was preparation.
---
Morning arrived with pale light and distant noise.
Kael rose immediately.
Today would not allow ambiguity.
He ate quickly and began again, this time without moderation. The sessions were longer. The intensity higher. Breaks were calculated to restore function, not comfort.
He isolated himself completely, closing doors, ignoring the sounds of the city beyond his walls. This was not training for growth.
It was testing a boundary.
Hours passed.
His muscles screamed. His joints protested. Pain sharpened and then dulled as his body adapted to the abuse.
At midday, he stopped long enough to check his Status Window.
No XP.
No stat increase.
No feedback of any kind.
Kael stared at the unmoving numbers and felt something unfamiliar creep into his chest. Not panic. Not anger.
Disbelief.
Others would have gained something by now. Even those less disciplined than him. Even those who trained poorly, inefficiently, carelessly.
The System rewarded persistence.
Except when it didn't.
He resumed anyway.
The afternoon blurred into controlled exertion and recovery cycles. He monitored his limits carefully. This was not self-destruction. Injury would only reduce available stimulus.
By evening, he stood alone in the center of the room, chest rising and falling, every muscle alive with fatigue.
He did not collapse.
He did not curse.
He simply stopped.
Not because his body could not continue, but because his mind had reached a conclusion.
Standard training no longer worked.
It had before Level Ten. Reliably. Predictably.
Now it did not.
This was not punishment. Not error. Not favoritism.
It was a gate.
A wall designed to halt those who assumed effort alone was enough.
Kael wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled once, slowly.
If the System required greater stimulus, then acceptable methods had been exhausted.
Which meant escalation.
---
The city had shifted by the time he left his home. Evening lights flickered to life. Voices grew sharper. Somewhere, contracts were being signed and futures imagined.
Kael moved through it without urgency.
The path toward the old watch post felt deliberate, each step an acknowledgement of the choice he had already made. He was not seeking comfort. He was not seeking permission.
He was seeking a solution.
The stone structure stood exactly where it always had, its edges softened by time. Moss clung to the lower walls. A single chair sat outside, angled toward the fading light.
The Old Man occupied it.
He looked exactly the same as he had the day before. As he always did.
Kael stopped a respectful distance away.
"I hit the wall," he said.
The Old Man studied him for a long moment, gaze sharp and unreadable. Then he nodded once.
"So," he replied. "You did."
No surprise. No disappointment. Just confirmation.
Kael remained standing.
The choice had been made.