Jason woke up because something was wrong with the ground.
Not danger. Not fear. Just… wrong.
Stone pressed against his cheek, cold and uneven, the kind that didn't belong indoors. For a few seconds he didn't open his eyes, half-expecting the sensation to correct itself the way bad dreams sometimes did if you stayed still long enough.
It didn't.
He inhaled. The air smelled dry, faintly earthy, with a trace of old dust that tickled his throat. When he finally opened his eyes, the world above him was unfamiliar in a way that didn't feel surreal just incorrect.
Broken stone arched overhead. Not collapsed recently, but worn down over time. Roots hung from cracks like veins exposed to open air. Light filtered through uneven gaps, pale and indirect.
Jason stared.
Then he sat up.
His body responded immediately. No dizziness, no pain, no stiffness beyond a mild ache in his neck. That, more than the strange surroundings, unsettled him. He had fallen asleep he was sure of that but whatever had happened afterward hadn't left the marks it should have.
He pushed himself to his feet and brushed dust from his clothes.
The jacket wasn't his.
He froze mid-motion.
It fit him well ,too well. Dark fabric, heavier than what he usually wore, reinforced at the elbows and shoulders. Worn, but carefully maintained. Underneath it, the rest of his clothes were unfamiliar too. Practical. Plain.
His own were gone.
Jason stood there for a long moment, breathing slowly, letting the panic crest and fall without grabbing onto it. He had learned, years ago, that fear was loud but not always useful.
"Okay," he muttered. His voice echoed faintly. "Okay."
He stepped toward the edge of the ruined structure and looked out.
A city lay below.
Not a ruin. Not abandoned. Alive.
Stone buildings crowded together in uneven rows, some old and weathered, others clearly repaired or built atop older foundations. Narrow streets twisted between them, busy with foot traffic. Smoke curled upward from cooking fires. Voices overlapped in a dozen tones arguing, laughing, calling out prices.
No one was looking at him.
That was the strangest part.
Jason waited for the delayed reaction for someone to shout, point, question why a stranger stood in a half-collapsed ruin overlooking the city.
Nothing happened.
People passed beneath him with the confidence of routine, absorbed in their own lives. Whatever this place was, it wasn't waiting for him.
That realization steadied him.
He stayed where he was for several minutes, watching. Learning small things. The way people dressed layered fabrics, muted colors. The way they moved alert but not afraid. Guards existed, but they weren't everywhere. Whatever order ruled this city, it wasn't fragile.
Eventually, hunger made itself impossible to ignore.
Jason descended.
The streets were narrower than they looked from above. Close enough that passing carts forced pedestrians to press against walls. The smells were stronger here ,oil, grain, sweat, damp stone.
Language hit him next.
It wasn't his. Not exactly. The sounds were unfamiliar, but close enough that context bridged the gaps. He caught fragments. Prices. Directions. Casual insults.
Jason slowed his pace and listened more than he moved.
A food stall caught his attention-flatbread sizzling on a hot surface, brushed with oil and something sharp-smelling. His stomach twisted painfully.
He stepped forward and pointed, then held up two fingers without thinking.
The vendor looked at him expectantly.
Jason reached into his pockets.
Nothing.
No wallet. No coins. No comforting outline of anything familiar.
The vendor's expression shifted ,not angry, not hostile, just closed. He shook his head and turned away, already calling out to the next customer.
Jason stepped back immediately, hands raised in a gesture that translated easily enough. Apology. Mistake.
He moved on, heat creeping up his neck.
So. Currency mattered. And he didn't have any.
That knowledge shaped the rest of the afternoon.
Jason watched exchanges carefully. Small metal discs changed hands most often, some stamped, some worn smooth. Larger coins appeared rarely, treated with care. No paper. No credit. No charity.
He followed the flow of the city toward the river, where heavier work tended to gather. Warehouses. Barges. Men and women unloading crates, hauling nets, repairing hulls.
Jason lingered at the edge of one such warehouse, waiting.
When a foreman shouted for more hands, Jason stepped forward and mimed lifting.
The man looked him over skeptically. Jason didn't argue. He simply waited.
Eventually, the foreman jerked his chin toward a stack of crates.
Jason grabbed one and lifted.
It was heavier than it looked. Rough wood bit into his palms. He adjusted instinctively, shifted his stance, and carried it where he was told.
The work was simple. Repetitive. Honest.
After the first hour, his arms burned.
After the second, they burned less than they should have.
That registered dimly, filed away beneath more immediate concerns like fatigue and hunger.
By the time the foreman waved him off, the sun was dipping low. The man pressed two small coins into Jason's palm without ceremony.
Payment.
Jason closed his fingers around them, nodded, and stepped away before anyone could change their mind.
He sat by the river afterward, legs dangling over the edge, watching the water darken with the fading light. His hands shook ,not from weakness, but from everything finally catching up.
Only then did he notice the other thing.
It wasn't a voice. It didn't announce itself.
It was more like realizing you'd been squinting and finally relaxed your eyes.
Information surfaced.
Not in front of him. Not floating in the air.
Inside.
Jason focused, experimentally.
Status
Level: 1
Physical Capacity: 1
Endurance: 1
Coordination: 1
No explanation. No suggestions. No blinking indicators.
Just numbers.
Jason stared at the river for a long time after that.
"Figures," he said quietly, though he wasn't sure who he was talking to.
The numbers didn't change. They didn't react to his attention.
They simply existed.
Night came quickly.
The city didn't grow dangerous with darkness, but it did grow colder. Jason followed lantern light and common sense until he found himself near a modest inn-two stories, stone base with wooden upper floors, warm light spilling from its windows.
He hesitated at the door.
Then he went in.
The warmth hit him first. Then the smell of stew. Then conversation, low and tired rather than loud.
An older man stood behind the counter, wiping a mug with a cloth that had seen better years. His hair was grey, his posture slightly stooped but solid. He looked up as Jason entered.
"Evening," the man said, eyes sharp but not unkind.
Jason hesitated, then nodded. "Evening."
The words came easily enough.
The man's gaze flicked to Jason's clothes, his empty hands, the way he stood alert but contained.
"You look like you've had a long day," the man said.
Jason exhaled slowly. "That's one way to put it."
A woman emerged from the back room then, older than the man by a few years, her expression practical and assessing. She took in Jason in a glance.
"You working?" she asked.
"Yes," Jason said immediately. "Today. By the river."
That earned him a nod.
The man exchanged a look with her. Silent communication, practiced and efficient.
"You've got coin?" the woman asked.
Jason placed the two small discs on the counter without flourish.
The man examined them, then pushed one back toward Jason. "Room's cheap tonight. Supper included."
Jason blinked. "I.. "
"You can pay the rest tomorrow," the woman said, already turning away. "If you work."
It wasn't charity.
It was a calculation.
Jason nodded. "Thank you."
As he turned toward the stairs, he caught a glimpse of someone seated near the hearth a girl about his age, dark hair pulled back loosely, a book open on her lap. She glanced up briefly, eyes curious rather than suspicious, then returned to her reading.
Their gazes met for less than a second.
Nothing dramatic passed between them.
But the moment stayed.
Jason climbed the stairs and lay down on the narrow bed, exhaustion finally winning.
As sleep claimed him, the numbers remained quietly unchanged.
And somewhere beneath the city, old stone waited.