Dust motes dance in the single shaft of light slicing through the grimy window. Wood groans beneath me—a narrow cot, rough-spun blanket scratching at my skin. I push up, head swimming, and blink against the dimness. The room smells like stale bread and something else… something metallic and unpleasant.
Stone walls. Bare. No decorations. Just this cot and a rickety wooden stool. A chipped basin sits in the corner, holding a murky film of water. It's small. Claustrophobic. Not exactly the hero's welcome I envisioned after, well, whatever happened. Last thing I remember… a truck. Bright lights. Then… nothing.
My hand rises, tracing the line of my jaw. It feels… different. Sharper. I run fingers through my hair and a shock runs through me as I feel the strangely silky texture. White. White hair? I don't… I don't remember having white hair.
My gaze snags on my reflection in the basin. Startled, I lean closer. The face staring back isn't mine. Lean, angular. Bright, glowing blue eyes—like looking into a nebula. It's… unsettling. Who is this guy?
A jolt. A cold surge of energy courses through my veins, making my teeth ache. And then, a voice. Not in my ears, but… in my head.
"System boot sequence initiated."
Words materialize in my vision, shimmering blue text overlaid on the dingy room. Stats. Skills. A quest log. It looks ripped straight from an RPG. This can't be happening. This has to be a dream.
"System synchronization commencing. Analyzing host compatibility… 98%… 99%… complete."
A searing pain explodes behind my eyes. Every nerve ending screams. I double over, hands clamping to my head, a strangled groan escaping my lips. It feels like my skull is splitting open, like someone's shoving shards of glass into my brain. A wave of nausea rises, hot and acrid, and I barely make it to the chipped basin before emptying the contents of my stomach.
It burns. Everything burns.
When the convulsions subside, leaving me trembling and weak, a blue panel flickers into existence before my eyes. Clean, stark, and utterly out of place in this squalid room.
[Status]
Name: Cael Ardentis
Level: 1
Rank: Novice
Gift: —
Talent: —
Attributes:
• Strength: F
• Agility: F
• Intelligence: F
• Endurance: F
• Vitality: F
• Mana: —
Cael Ardentis? That name… it feels foreign, unfamiliar. I rack my brain, searching for a flicker of recognition, a shred of memory. Nothing. Blank. Just the lingering sensation of… loss? And confusion, a thick, suffocating fog.
F. F for everything. Even Intelligence. Seriously? This has to be some kind of sick joke. I stare at the panel, rereading the stats, each letter a fresh wave of disbelief. I was… Colin Williams, a college freshman addicted to ramen and late-night anime binges. Now I'm Cael Ardentis, with stats that make a newborn kitten look formidable?
"Okay, okay," I mutter, trying to ground myself. "This is… a lot. A lot to process." A system? Stats? This is the part where I wake up, right? Except, the stale air, the rough texture of the cot, the lingering nausea… it all feels intensely real.
I push myself to my feet, legs shaky, and decide I need to see where 'Cael Ardentis' is. Maybe surroundings will jog something—anything—loose. I need information.
The hallway is narrow, dimly lit by flickering oil lamps that cast long, dancing shadows. The air hangs heavy with the same metallic tang from the room. Then I see it. A smear of crimson staining the stone floor. Dried, but unmistakably blood. My stomach twists.
I hesitate, every instinct screaming at me to turn back. But curiosity, that old, familiar driver, wins out. I continue down the hallway toward the stairwell.
As I approach the stairs, a flurry of movement catches my eye. Rats. Big, sleek, unnervingly bold rats, scurrying across the steps and disappearing into the darkness below. They don't even flinch as I approach. This place... it's falling apart.
Taking the steps carefully, each one creaking ominously under my weight, I descend into a deeper gloom. The air grows colder, damper, and the metallic scent intensifies. It's not just blood anymore, it's… iron. Rust. Decay.
Each step is a gamble. What am I walking into? What kind of place is this?
The lower level opens into a large, cavernous room. Several smaller rooms branch off from the central space. Most of them are empty, stripped bare. But a few… a few have barred windows. And inside, huddled figures. Children.
They're gaunt, pale, with hollow eyes. They stare at me with a mixture of fear and… resignation.
I stop dead, a lump forming in my throat. This isn't an orphanage. It's a prison.
"Who… who are you?" I ask, my voice raspy, barely above a whisper.
One of the children, a girl with tangled black hair, slowly raises her head. Her gaze is vacant, her lips cracked.
"You're new," she says, her voice barely audible. "They brought you in last night."
"Brought me…?"
"The Warden. He always takes the strays." She coughs, a dry, rattling sound. "Doesn't matter who you were, or what you remember. Here… you're just another mouth to feed."
The girl's words hang in the air, thick and heavy like the smell of mildew. "The Warden?" I ask, forcing the question out, each syllable a struggle. "Who's the Warden? What is this place?"
She just stares, her eyes unfocused. "He watches," she whispers, then looks away, as if afraid of being overheard. "Always watching."
"Watching what? What are you all watching for?" I press, leaning closer. I need answers, concrete details. But she just shakes her head, murmuring, "The shadows know."
Riddles. That's all I'm getting. Cryptic, useless riddles. I try again, turning to another child, a boy huddled in the corner, his face hidden in his knees. "Hey, can you tell me where we are? How did you get here?"
He doesn't even bother to look up. "Lost things find their way to Ashwood," he mumbles, his voice muffled. "Forgotten things."
"Forgotten by who?"
Silence. Just the drip, drip, drip of water echoing through the cavernous room. It's infuriating. They're deliberately avoiding me. Or maybe… maybe they just don't know. Maybe they've been broken down so much they can't even form a coherent thought.
A shadow falls over me. I whirl around, bracing for… something.
A boy stands behind me, lean and medium height, with dark hair and sharp hazel eyes that scan the room with a practiced ease. An eye patch covers the space where his left eye should be – a stark, unsettling detail. He observes the children with a weary expression before his gaze settles on me. He doesn't seem surprised to see me here, questioning them.
"They won't tell you much," he says, his voice low and steady, cutting through the oppressive silence. "They've… learned not to."
I straighten, relief flooding through me. Finally, someone who might actually talk. "Who are you?"
He offers a curt nod. "Keiran. And you must be the new arrival. Cael, right?"
How does he know my name? "Yeah, that's me. Look, I need to know what's going on. Where am I? What is this place?"
Keiran doesn't answer immediately. He glances around, as if ensuring we aren't being overheard, then gestures towards a narrow doorway. "Come on. We'll talk elsewhere."
He leads me through a maze of corridors, each one as grim and depressing as the last. The stone walls are cold to the touch, and the air grows heavier with each step. Keiran moves with a quiet confidence, navigating the labyrinthine passages as if he's been doing it his entire life.
"This is Ashwood Haven," he says, finally, as we reach a relatively empty room. It's marginally less depressing than the others. "Or, as most of us call it, the Haven." He says it with a distinct lack of warmth.
"Haven? It feels more like a prison."
Keiran's lips twitch in a wry smile. "You're not wrong. It's… complicated. Founded a long time ago, supposedly to care for orphans. But things changed. Now, it's more of a training ground."
"Training for what?"
"For the Hunters."
"Hunters?" I raise an eyebrow. "What do hunters hunt?"
"Beasts. From the Dark Forest." He gestures vaguely towards a barred window offering a glimpse of a dense, forbidding wood. "Supplies, resources… anything the Haven needs. The Hunters go out, bring it back. The stronger orphans are chosen."
He pauses, studying my reaction.
"So… orphaned kids are sent into a dangerous forest to fight monsters?"
"It's not quite like that." Keiran's tone is flat. "It's a chance to earn your keep. A way to avoid… other duties."
"Other duties?" I press, a knot forming in my stomach.
He hesitates, then says, "Let's just say not everyone gets a chance to hunt. Some are… utilized in other ways." He doesn't elaborate, and I don't want to ask. I'm beginning to dread the answer.
"How did you end up here?" I ask, trying to change the subject.
Keiran's expression darkens. He touches the empty socket where his eye used to be. "lost my parents when i was six, ashwood haven picked me up and took me in ever since."
He spends the next hour walking me through the Haven, explaining the rigid hierarchy, the strict schedule, the unspoken laws that govern life within these grey stone walls. The guards patrol constantly, their faces grim and unyielding. The lieutenants—three of them—maintain order within their assigned sections. And at the very top… the Head Enforcer. Keiran says almost no one ever sees him. He remains shrouded in mystery, a silent, ominous presence.
"Don't attract attention," Keiran advises, his voice barely a whisper. "Don't cause trouble. And definitely don't ask too many questions."
"Easy for you to say," I retort. "I just arrived. I have no idea what's going on. My head feels like it's been run over by a truck."
He gives a small, almost imperceptible smile. "You'll get used to it. Or you'll break. Most do."
We exit the main building and step into a courtyard. It's a bleak, barren space, surrounded by high walls. A handful of orphans are training with makeshift weapons—wooden swords, blunt staves—under the watchful eye of a hulking guard. The training looks brutal. Sparring pairs clash, grunts and cries echoing in the confined space.
"This is where the Hunters train," Keiran says, his gaze following a particularly vicious exchange. "It's… competitive. They push you to your limits."
I scan the courtyard, noticing the worn, patched-up clothing of the orphans, the hollow look in their eyes. They move with a grim determination, but there's no joy, no enthusiasm. Just a desperate struggle to survive.
"What about skills?" I ask. "Do they teach you magic or anything?"
"Some," Keiran replies. "Basic combat skills mostly, and rudimentary healing. A few are chosen for… advanced training. But that's rare."
"You mentioned advanced training. What kind of things do they teach?"
He hesitates again, his eyes flitting around the courtyard. "nothing you should concern yourself with"
"Is it related to the forest?"
"Everything is related to the forest."
I grin, stepping closer, my curiosity piqued. "Alright, alright, mister mysterious. What about you?"
Keiran stiffens. "What about me?"
"You tried out to be a Hunter, you failed, you've been stuck here ever since. What happened to your eye?"
He bristles, his jaw tight. "An accident."
"An accident? Fighting what?"
"It doesn't matter," he snaps, turning away. "It was a long time ago. I don't talk about it."
I hold up my hands, backing off. "Okay, okay, easy. I didn't mean to pry." I observe him, noticing the tight set of his shoulders. There's a pain locked away beneath his calm facade.
He looks back, his expression softening slightly. "Just… let it be. Focus on surviving. That's all that matters here."
Keiran's jaw is still clenched as he surveys the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the sparring orphans with a practiced eye. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, just stands there, radiating a quiet tension. Then, a scuffle breaks out near the far wall. Two boys, bigger than the others, are cornering a smaller one, shoving him around and snatching at his meager rations.
"Damn it," Keiran mutters under his breath. He pushes off the wall and strides towards the commotion, his movements purposeful and swift. "Hey! Break it up!"
I use the distraction to actually look around. This isn't an orphanage. It's a stone cage. The courtyard is a tangle of dirt and grime, littered with broken training tools and discarded scraps of food. The stone walls are stained with moss and what looks suspiciously like dried blood. The air is pungent with the smell of sweat, dust, and something… metallic. Like old iron.
The orphans milling about aren't children at play. They're little soldiers, hardened by hardship. Their clothes are patched and threadbare, their faces gaunt and etched with exhaustion. Several bear fresh bruises, scrapes, and gashes—poorly bandaged with dirty rags. No one seems to care.
I watch as Keiran intervenes in the bullying. His voice isn't loud, but it carries an authority that stops the two aggressors in their tracks. He doesn't raise his hand, doesn't even look angry. Just… disappointed.
"What's going on here?" he asks, his voice flat.
The bigger boys mumble something about the smaller one stealing their food. Keiran doesn't buy it. "Give it back. And you two, ten laps around the courtyard. Now."
The boys grumble but obey, reluctantly handing over the stolen ration and starting their punishment. Keiran turns to the smaller boy, crouching down to meet his eye level.
"You alright?"
The boy nods, his eyes fixed on the ground. He's trembling. "Yes, sir."
Keiran gives him a curt nod. "Get back to training."
The boy scurries away, avoiding eye contact. Keiran stands, his expression grim. The whole scene feels… wrong. Brisk, efficient, but utterly devoid of compassion.
I shift my gaze to the guards. They're stationed at strategic points around the courtyard, their arms crossed, their faces impassive. They aren't intervening. Aren't trying to prevent the fights. They're just… observing. Enforcers, not caregivers. A subtle distinction, but it speaks volumes. They don't break up fights unless they escalate, only stepping in when it threatens order, not the children themselves.
This isn't a place built to nurture. It's a place built to control. A penitentiary masquerading as a sanctuary. The realization hits me with a sickening lurch.
I thought I'd been given a second chance. A new life, a chance to actually live the adventures I'd only read about. But if I'm trapped in this hellhole, if this is all there is…
No.
I refuse to accept that. I didn't get hit by a truck to end up as a glorified slave in a stone fortress. I deserve more than this. I will have more than this.
If I want to experience the magic, the dungeons, the freedom I've always dreamed of, I need to get out of here. I need to escape Ashwood Haven.
And to escape, I need information. I need to know the layout of this place, the patrol routes, the weaknesses in the security. I need to understand how things work, who's in charge, and what opportunities might exist.
Suddenly, a blue window flickers into view.
[New Quest!]
[Quest Name: Unseen Paths]
[Objective: Explore Ashwood Haven and gather information relevant to escape.]
[Rewards: 50 XP, + 5 intelegence, + 2 Agility, Unlock Talent]
[Penalty for Failure: loss of system]
[Time: 1 week]
I blink, staring at the quest details. A new talent? maybe I can get something useful. But first, I need to actually do the quest.
To be continued…..