Jason sits on the cabin step, elbows on his knees, chin on his knuckles, bow resting across his thighs. The wood beneath him creaks with each breath.
"So," Jason murmurs, "I'm in a simulation, a video game, and if I am right," he gestures, "this game is designed to speed up personal growth… right?"
He raises his head, gaze flicking toward the Ledger Keeper. The robe shifts once, ink-dark fingers catching the light, then stills.
The Ledger Keeper stands beside him. Robes like bound pages. Rectangular eyes fixed ahead.
Wind moves through the clearing, dry and restless. Leaves scrape together like whispers trading secrets.
He shuts his eyes. The forest thins, replaced by fluorescent lights and chipped desks.
"Jason, you're capable. What's holding you back?" Mrs Morello, the school principal, says, voice tight with disappointment.
Caleb's laugh cuts through the memory. "You'll figure it out, bro. Eventually."
Marcus leans back in his chair, calm, deliberate. "You're really smart, Jason. You just don't have the brains to pull it off."
Jason opens his eyes sharply. "Shut up."
The cabin returns. The dirt. The weight in his chest.
He flexes his fingers. Calluses forming already. "I wasn't lazy," he says aloud. "I just,"
Ink scratches nearby.
"Don't write that like you understand," he says, voice tightening, without looking at the Keeper.
Silence pressed closer than sound.
Another memory slips in, uninvited. Clara sits nearby in the library, long black hair falling forward as she reads. Her brown skin catches the overhead light, dark eyes focused and calm. When her sleeve brushes his wrist it is brief, grounding. Steady.
Jason swallows hard, breath catching. His shoulders slump as one hand comes up, palm pressing briefly to his forehead as if he could steady his thoughts there. He drags it down over his face, eyes fixed on the dirt.
"I messed up," he says again, voice low. "Real bad."
The bowstring hums faintly as he tightens his grip. "Okay," he says, taking a breath in, out. "Let's do this."
The words feel heavier than the bow.
The air changes. A vibration rolls through the trees, low and growing, not sound but pressure.
Jason stands slowly.
The forest leans inward. Branches still.
Something is listening back.
The map snaps alive with a violent shimmer, light tearing sideways like broken glass.
Jason flinches. "Hey, easy."
Letters burn into the air.
TEST INCOMING.
"Where?" Jason says.
The hum from before deepens, crawling into his bones. Dust lifts from the ground, circling his boots.
He raises the bow, fingers steady despite the tremor in his arms. "You could've given me a countdown."
The map pulses once. No response.
"Figures," he says. "Always vague when it matters."
He looks toward the treeline, reaches for his quiver, picks an arrow.
The string presses into his skin. He adjusts his stance, remembering the Smith's silent correction. Elbow down. Spine aligned.
"Breathe," he whispers. In. Out.
He looses. The arrow whistles through the air.
Leaves rustle and fall.
Silence.
A shadow moves at the treeline.
Jason freezes. "Nope. Don't like that."
The forest shifts. Leaves turn, not with the wind, but toward him.
He laughs under his breath. "This is the part where horror games tell you to stay calm."
Another glint flashes. Then another.
"Seriously?" Jason says.
The hum sharpens. The map flickers, symbols rearranging too fast to track.
"Rules?" he demands. "Any helpful ones?"
Ink scratches behind him.
"I swear," Jason says, teeth clenched, "if this is graded,"
A branch snaps.
He reaches for his quiver. Second arrow. Bow raised.
His pulse hammers. Sweat slides down his spine.
Eyes catch the light beyond the trees, low and advancing, paired and intent.
Jason plants his feet.
"Come on then," he breathes.
The arrow whistles through the air.