The sun had risen high in the morning to warm Sylas's face as he woke up in a stack of hay within the barn. His muscles felt sore from laboring yesterday, and his hands were crimson with new calluses that weren't there yesterday. A long way from hospital sheets and IV tubes.
He sat up, rubbing his neck, hearing the muffled hum of village life beyond. Roosters crowed. A cart creaked by the barn. Someone laughed somewhere in the distance.
His copper coins clinked quietly in a pouch strapped to his belt. He had money. He had food. He was alive.
Yet something nagged at the fringes of his mind.
Is this truly a game world? Or is it something else?
He stood, pushing straw from his tunic, and stepped into sunlight. The sky was a bright, infinite blue—not that artificial digital stuff with repeating patterns. Real.
[Quest Reminder: "Mira's Shed"]
[Objective: Talk to Mira about the shed.]
The text of the system hovered tidily in his view, sharp and distinct. But even that was different today. Not like a UI on a monitor screen. It had. presence.
He took a breath and walked the mud path into the village.
Haresh was awakening. A bucket of water, carried by a man, sat beside the well. A woman swept the sidewalk in front of her door humming a quiet song. Kids played tag by the bakery, laughing loudly in the street.
They weren't NPCs.
Sylas moved slowly, observing them.
That carrot-scraper girl outside her porch was freckled and grumbling under her breath about the weather. That elderly man sleeping against a tree was sporting worn-out boots, one with a patch made of another shade of leather. Details. Flaws.
These were not extras.
These were individuals.
He walked past a stall where a woman was selling eggs. She nodded briefly at him, not like a program logging proximity—like someone who'd had a life prior to his arrival and would continue to have one afterward.
His chest contracted.
This is real.
He spotted Mira by the edge of the village—an elderly woman with her hair pulled back and a frayed green shawl. She was cutting herbs outside her dwelling when he stopped.
"Morning," she stated without raising her head. "You're the one sleeping in Garen's barn."
"Yeah, that's me," replied Sylas, scratching the back of his neck. "He said you might have a shed that requires repairs?"
Mira eventually looked up, squinting. "That old thing? It's just holding on. Floor's twisted, roof's leaking, and the door won't close more than halfway."
"I don't care," Sylas said. "If I can fix it up, would you allow me to use it?"
She looked at him for a moment. Then, to his astonishment, nodded.
"You do the work. You keep it. I have no use for it."
[New Quest: "First Home"]
Description: Fix up Mira's dilapidated shed to make it habitable.
Objective:
•Sanitize the interior
•Repair the roof
•Patch the floor
Reward: Permanent Shelter, +5 Reputation (Village)
Status: In Progress
The shed stood just behind Mira's garden, half-hidden beneath ivy and moss. It was smaller than he had anticipated—more like a storage hut—but it did have walls, a roof (just barely), and potential.
He shoved the leaning door open. Dust burst in the air. Cobwebs dangled from the rafters. A shattered chair occupied the corner, and one side of the floor creaked.
"Well," Sylas grumbled, entering. "It's terrible. But it's mine."
He worked for an hour removing rubble, throwing broken boards and pulling out scrounged buckets. Sweat dripped down his neck. His arms protested again.
It's like establishing a base in a survival game, he reminded himself. One mission at a time.
But the idea no longer comforted him.
Because the lacerations on his palms hurt. The perspiration did not disappear with a stamina gauge. And when he bumped his toe on a warped floorboard, it bloody well hurt.
This was not a simulation.
This was not a tutorial.
This was life.
Later, sitting outside the shed sipping water Mira had brought him, Sylas gazed at his hands.
He reversed them slowly. The lines. The dirt beneath his fingernails. The dried blood from a splinter.
All of this body was real.
Not like VR.
Not like a dream.
"I died," he told himself softly.
He recalled the heart monitor going flat. The cold emptiness. The suffocating regret.
He curled his fists.
And now I'm here. Breathing. Moving. Beginning anew.
The computer beeped softly in the periphery of his eye.
[Progress Update: "First Home" – Cleaned: 100% | Repairs: 0%]
He leaned forward and got up. No more acting as if this was a game anymore.
No more acting as if this world were not real.
If this is his second opportunity… he was going to build something with this.
From nothing.
From the ground.
From the wood that he cut down and the money that he gained.
Not for glory. Not for fame.
But because he finally could.