The forest was quiet after the wolf died.
Not the quiet of peace, but the quiet of a held breath. From the fallen beast, threads of silver light unwound themselves—drifting, searching—until each found one of the four hunters. The hunters absorbed the light with a slight shiver, a subtle straightening of their spines. A transaction complete.
"Clean kill," grunted the man with the axe. "Even split."
I stared at my empty hands. No light came to me.
The archer, a woman with eyes like flint, watched me. "First time seeing shard absorption?"
I nodded.
The leader, a broad swordsman, cleaned his blade. "We're heading to Greyhaven. A safe zone. You can follow."
The alternative was the darkening woods. "I will," I said.
We hadn't gone far when the spearman of the group stopped. "We should form a temporary party. For the system's protection." He turned to me. "Can you open your status window? Just will it."
I focused inward. There was nothing there—no screen, no numbers, no gentle hum of an interface. "I don't have one."
All movement ceased. Four faces turned to me, not with hostility, but with pure, uncomprehending shock.
"It appears the moment you're summoned," the spearman said. "The Voice explains it. Everyone gets it."
"*Everyone*," the woman affirmed.
They tried to help, suggesting commands. Nothing happened. The silence stretched.
"…That's not possible," the swordsman murmured. I was now an anomaly.
As we walked, he fell into step beside me. "Gillian," he offered. "You're weaponless."
"Yes."
"Then don't just clutch that blade like a stick." His instruction was curt but not unkind. He demonstrated a basic stance: feet planted, weight centered, a short thrust. "Your center is your anchor. Lose it, and you die."
My body copied the movements with an eerie, fluid precision. The grip felt right. The stance felt solid.
Gillian watched, his stern expression softening a fraction. "Not bad. You learn fast."
The lesson ended with shrieks.
Goblins burst from the bracken—three of them, small and vicious, armed with rust and malice. The party reacted, a whirl of practiced violence.
One peeled off and charged me, a rusted dagger aimed at my gut.
*Step back. Centre. Thrust.*
I moved. The borrowed short sword sank into leathery flesh. The goblin fell, its shriek cut short. Its body dissolved into a single, pea-sized shard of murky green. It hit the forest floor with a faint *click*.
And it stayed.
It didn't float. It didn't seek me out. It just lay there, an inert crystal.
The other goblins were dead. The party stared at the shard at my feet.
"A solo kill," the woman said, her voice low. "The shard is yours. You should have absorbed it immediately."
I waited. Felt nothing. Slowly, I bent and picked it up. It was cold and strangely heavy, vibrating with a faint, captured energy. A physical object, not dissolving light.
The spearman shook his head. "This is beyond strange."
***
Greyhaven's walls appeared through the trees—high, grey, and warded. A palpable sense of calm radiated from the stone, pushing the forest's dread back.
"Monsters won't cross the line," Gillian said, nodding at the gate.
Inside was a bustle of safety: the smell of smithies and bread, the sound of voices and trade. It was jarringly normal.
"Find the Guild Master," the archer told me as they prepared to disperse. "Old Albert. If there's a record of something like you—a summoned with no status, who can't absorb shards—he'll know."
Gillian gave a final nod. "Good luck."
Then I was alone, just another stranger in the muddy lane.
I took out the goblin's shard, rolling it in my palm. It absorbed no light, gave no warmth. A trophy that proved nothing, yet proved everything.
No status. No absorption. An error in the system.
But the cold, solid weight in my hand was real. I was real.
I pocketed the shard, its presence a strange comfort, and walked into the noise of the safe town, in search of a man who knew about impossible things.