The first thing Sylas realized was the quietness. Not the cold, buzzing quiet of a hospital ward but a warm, vital stillness. The soft chirping of birds. The sound of wind rustling against old wooden beams. The soft creaking of rafters overhead.
He opened his eyes, adjusting to slivers of sunlight cutting through holes in a barn roof. Dust drifted in the golden light like snowflakes moving slowly.
He slowly sat up, the tightness in his muscles strange but not hurting. That alone caused his heart to skip.
Pain. None. No nausea. No wires. No pressure in his chest. No yowling headaches boring through his head.
His hand flew to his head. Smooth. Hair.
".No way," he whispered.
He got to his feet, tottering slightly. The hay-swept floor crunched beneath his bare feet. He drank in the vista—hay-bales stacked in a corner, rusted tools and farming implements lying about, slowly turned his eyes toward the broad barn doors, left fractionally ajar.
A wind came in, scented with the smell of wet earth and smoke.
And on its back.
[Welcome to Falandra, Sylas.]
[Location: Haresh Village | Time: Morning | Weather: Clear Skies]
An ethereal interface glowed into sight. Not the cold white hospital screens he was accustomed to, this glowed with a soft, natural color—almost as if the planet itself were alive and talking to him.
Sylas gazed, open-mouthed. "I'm in… a game?" he whispered.
Then shook his head. No, this wasn't VR. This wasn't a dream either. He could feel everything. The scratch of straw on his ankles. The cool wood beneath his fingers. The faint hunger gnawing at his stomach.
Everything felt… real.
I'm alive. The thought hit him again, and he laughed under his breath. Really alive.
[Objective: Assess Your Surroundings.]
"Alright," he said out loud. "Let's do that."
He pushed open the barn doors, stepping into blinding morning light.
The village was modest. Thatched-roof cottages dotted the Smoke curled from chimneys, and homes with thatched roofs were scattered over the countryside. While a child chased a straggling goat across the dirt walk and yelled something in a language Sylas understood immediately, a few birds pecked in the neighboring grass.
The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from one hut, combined with woodsmoke and something muddy. Villagers went about their business—trudging with baskets, leading burros, caring for tiny gardens.
And nobody was glancing at him.
Not out of fear. Not out of interest. They were simply. existing.
It hit him harder than he'd anticipated.
They're real. They're not programed.
His throat closed up. In his last days, he'd been lying under machines, not human faces. Here, all was raw, immediate, alive.
He wasn't suspended in a cold white emptiness anymore. He was walking on earth.
[System Update: First Quest Available]
[Quest: "Helping Hands"]
Description: Garen requires firewood to be chopped and delivered to his house.
Reward: 10 copper coins
Objective: Collect 10 pieces of wood.
Status: Not Accepted
"A quest?" Sylas blinked. It hovered quietly to the side of his perception, not obtrusive. "Guess this is my tutorial, huh?"
"Talking to yourself already?" a deep voice cut in from close by.
Sylas jumped a little and turned.
Several steps behind, supported by a sturdy walking staff, was a broad man with coarse, callused hands and sunburned face. He spread out the confidence of a person who was familiar with the surrounding and had a tunic linen shirt.
"Don't worry," the man said with smile. "We all do it in the mornings."
Sylas cleared his throat. "Uh… yeah. Just a habit."
The man nodded and moved forward, eyes raking him up and down.
"New in Haresh?"
"Something like that." Sylas rubbed the back of his head.
"Lost your shoes as well, I see."
Sylas awkwardly chuckled. "Long story."
"Bet your boots," the man said, holding out a hand. "I'm Garen. I operate the grain mill down the trail. You seeking work?"
Sylas delayed.
This man—he wasn't behaving like a quest-giver. He wasn't reciting lines. He was simply a fellow providing assistance.
"I might be able to do a task," Sylas acknowledged. "And likely some food."
Garen smiled bigger. "Well then, you're in luck. I was just going to offer someone a task to chop wood. You in?"
Sylas nodded.
"Good. You'll see an axe in the back of the barn. Cut ten logs and bring them to the rear of my home. I'll have you some stew and ten coppers to eat with it."
Ten copper. It didn't sound like much, but it was better than what he had.
[Quest Accepted: Helping Hands]
As soon as he accepted, there was a soft chime that sounded in his ears—light, almost a song.
He rounded the corner of the barn and saw the axe leaning against the wall. It was old but sturdy. Hefted it, feeling the weight.
Not too heavy. Not too sharp, either.
"Okay," he grumbled. "Cut wood. How hard can it be?"
Fifteen minutes later, he was sweating, bruised, and mildly embarrassed.
"Okay," he panted, looking at the half-split log on the stump. "Harder than I thought."
He swung again. The axe bounced in and remained lodged halfway. Gritting his teeth, he pulled it free and tried again.
Thunk.
This time the wood split clean in two.
"Yes!" he smiled. "Take that!."
As he continued chopping, something settled within him. The rhythm. The motion. The sting in his arms. It was… grounding.
He wasn't lying in a hospital bed waiting to die anymore. He was sweating in the sun, cutting wood, making his own way. And strangely, it felt fine.
[Progress: 7/10 Logs Collected]
He was drenched in dust and perspiring as he finished the ninth log. He had blisters and red palms. There was a growl in his stomach so loud it may have frightened a passing chicken.
Carrying the logs in his arms, he laid out over to Garen's house, a nice stone cottage located in a little garden. The door was opened by the elderly guy before Sylas could even knock.
"Far look at you," Garen said, nodding in approval. "Didn't think a boy with those arms could complete all ten."
"I almost didn't," Sylas grinned, unloading the wood.
Garen threw him a small pouch that clinked gently.
[Quest Completed: Helping Hands]
[Reward: 10 Copper Coins Earned]
[New Objective: Find Shelter or Build One]
"You'll have somewhere to sleep," Garen said, as if guessing what he was thinking. "The barn's not great, but you're welcome to it another night or two. Or" he scratched his chin, "if you're serious about staying, perhaps speak to old Mira. She has a spare shed. Needs repair, but it'd be yours."
Sylas blinked. "You'd really let me stay?"
Garen shrugged. "You work hard, you get a roof. That's how it works here."
No lecture. No suspicion. Just plain kindness.
In Japan, it had all been red tape and silence. Here, it was sweat and plain words.
And strangely enough… it felt more real than anything he'd ever known.
And so, as he sat on a bench in front of Garen's house with a bowl of steaming vegetable stew in his lap, Sylas at last allowed himself to exhale.
The sun was hot. The meal was warm. His muscles burned in a manner that demonstrated they functioned.
He had ten copper in his pocket. Somewhere to rest. A new name.
And for the first time in a very long, very long time, something he hadn't experienced in years sparked in his chest.
Hope.
[Side Quest Unlocked: "Mira's Shed"]
[Objective: Fix up the shed and make it your home.]
Sylas slumped back against the wall of the cottage, eyes closing momentarily as he grinned to himself.
"I'm not dying anymore,"
he whispered softly.
"I'm finally living."