Later, when the lantern had burned low and Myra had finally fallen asleep, curled beneath the thin blanket, Arthur sat up in the dark.
His side still throbbed, but it felt dull now — distant.
He looked at his hand, flexed his fingers slowly.
Then he whispered:
"A.E.O.N… are you still listening?"
There was no voice.
But a soft glow bloomed in the air before him — quiet, steady.
The system panel hovered there, waiting. Familiar now. Almost... comforting.
He stared at the options. Stats. History. The faint echo of earlier power is still humming behind the interface.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for yet.
But he knew one thing:
"I need to understand you… before they come back."
The room was dark, lit only by the dying glow of the fire in the corner.
Outside, the wind scratched along the tavern walls like it was trying to find a way in.
Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, hunched forward, arms resting on his knees.
Myra was asleep across the room, her breaths soft and steady.
He exhaled.
"A.E.O.N," he whispered again. "Show me more."
A faint glow shimmered in front of him. The system answered.
He tapped through the options — Status, Map, Scan. Each one felt more real now, like it belonged to him. Like it was waiting for him to finally ask something it had known he would.
"I don't even know what you are," he muttered. "You gave me strength. Why?"
The glyph flickered.
Then — a voice.
Not out loud. Not in the room.
But in his mind. Calm. Clear. Steady.
"Because you needed it."
Arthur blinked. "You're… talking now?"
"I've always been here. You just weren't ready to hear me."
There was a long pause. He leaned forward slightly.
"What are you? A spirit? A god? Some old magic?"
"None of those. I'm not alive. But I'm not dead either. I was made — long ago. Designed to observe, assist, and evolve."
"I'm called A.E.O.N. You're my user. My partner, if you want to be."
Arthur stared at the soft light hovering between his fingers.
"Why me?"
"Because you survived."
"You bled. You broke. But you kept going. And in this world, that matters more than bloodlines or birthright."
Arthur didn't know what to say to that.
He looked over at Myra. She shifted slightly in her sleep but didn't wake.
"Will you protect her too?" he asked quietly.
"If you want me to, yes."
"But I act through you. I don't choose. You do."
Arthur nodded slowly. His throat felt tight.
"What now?"
"Now we prepare. Your body is changing. Your mind is syncing. There's more I can offer… but only if you keep moving forward."
"You're not a fighter yet. But you could become one. You're not a leader… yet."
"Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we begin."
Arthur leaned back against the wall, exhaling softly.
"Thanks," he said after a while. "For earlier."
There was no immediate reply — just a soft glow. Then, finally:
"You're welcome, Arthur."
....
New Haldris was a kingdom in name, not strength.
Once, its banners flew proudly from coast to capital — a land tied together by deep trade roads, fortress cities, and iron-blooded kings. But the wars came. Then the merchants. Then the rot.
Now, the crown was little more than a throne surrounded by whispers. The royal court sat fat and safe in their central halls, while the eastern cities like Fallowmere were left to fester. Crime, taxes, and corruption ruled more than any decree.
And to the North — across the stone-cut highlands — lay the Northlands, stood the kingdom of Varnhold, colder and crueler, but not broken.
The North was a hard country. Bitter winters. Harsh voices.
But it was united — not by nobility, but by power.
Whispers told of a dragon chained beneath the frost plains, and of a new warlord rising behind its shadow.
New Haldris was crumbling.
The North was preparing.
And in between… lived people like Arthur Greystone — forgotten, discarded, but still standing…
The sun peeked over the rooftops of Fallowmere, weak and pale. The air smelled of wet stone and soot. Another cold morning.
Arthur stretched as he stepped outside, the wooden door creaking behind him.
His side barely hurt anymore. The bruises from before had faded quicker than they should have. The wound that should've taken weeks to heal had sealed in a day.
"Healing rate: slightly elevated," A.E.O.N. had noted just before sunrise.
"Side effects of early system bonding. You are stabilizing."
He hadn't slept much. The system didn't let him.
"Now try lifting the bucket with your left arm now," A.E.O.N. had said softly in his thoughts as he trained quietly beside the old well.
Arthur obeyed.
It was heavier than it looked. A full bucket of slum water wasn't kind to weak wrists. But this time… it didn't strain. Not like yesterday.
"Minor increase in grip strength. Balance also improved. Heart rate is steady. Good."
He took a few slow steps, balancing the weight, moving around the broken stones. The system didn't give him full control or skill — not yet. But it watched, advised, nudged.
Sometimes it felt like a voice in his head. Sometimes, like a hand on his shoulder.
"If you repeat this movement sequence daily, your performance will increase steadily. I can calibrate suggestions based on your limits."
Arthur gave a quiet grunt and kept moving.
"So you're not just here to give me strength," Arthur said, after setting the bucket down.
"Correct," the voice replied calmly. "I'm here to help you grow — if you let me."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I wait."
Simple. No threats. No pressure.
Just presence.
He stood in silence for a moment. The street was still quiet. A stray dog rummaged through trash at the edge of the alley.
"How many others have you helped?"
There was a pause.
"None in a long time."
Arthur looked up at the light pushing through the clouds.
He had work to do. Brick to carry. Wood to cut. But his back didn't ache the way it used to. His legs felt lighter. His hands stronger.
And something else had settled in his chest — a kind of stillness. Not peace. Not yet.
But focus.