The corridor felt shorter the second time.
Maybe it was Elara's ward still clinging to my bones. Maybe it was Leon's pace—measured, never more than I could handle, never less than the Council would accept. Or maybe it was just that my head finally had something to do besides panic.
I watched everything.
The faint shift in color where one stone block had been replaced after a crack. The way the sigils near doorways glowed a little brighter when someone passed under them. The tired lines at the corner of Graymark's mouth as he walked ahead, muttering to himself and tapping at his tablet.
They turned a corner.
The air changed.
Less incense. Less sharp metal. More… open.
A draft slid down the corridor from up ahead, cool and carrying something that made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with Arcane Collapse.
Outside.
"Careful," Elara murmured. "There are steps at the end."
Leon's hand shifted on my arm, guiding me without needing to drag.
The corridor opened.
Light hit me like a spell.
Not the flat, controlled glow of mana-lamps, but sunlight—clear, high, stretching over a rectangular courtyard walled by stone and banners. The sky spread above it, impossible and enormous and so blue it made my eyes sting.
I stopped.
Not because I meant to.
Because my body forgot how to move for a moment.
The courtyard was alive.
Armored figures moved across packed earth, their boots kicking up dust. Wooden dummies stood in a neat row along one side, their surfaces scarred by countless strikes. Arrows thudded into straw targets at the far end, each impact a small, precise sound.
Voices layered over each other.
"Shield higher!""Breathe between strikes, not during!""Again!"
The smells hit next.
Sweat. Oil. Dust. Leather. The faint iron tang of weapons freshly sharpened.
The sky watched it all.
It was bigger than any loading screen had ever shown.
"Art?" Leon's voice, low at my side.
"I'm fine," I lied.
My hands were trembling.
Not from pain this time.
From the sudden, overwhelming feeling that I had stepped into a place I'd only ever seen with half my senses before. Like hearing a song you loved for years, and realizing that, until now, you'd only heard it through a wall.
"First time outside," Elara said softly.
I nodded.
She didn't rush me.
Neither did Leon.
If Graymark was impatient, he hid it well.
"Take a breath," Elara said.
I did.
Air filled my lungs, cool and sharp. Not the recycled, slightly stale air of my old room, or the filtered stillness of the lab. This was full of dust and effort and something that felt like promise.
A shout cut across the courtyard.
"Captain Vaelor!"
A woman jogged toward us, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of a wrist. Her red hair was braided close to her head, a few strands already escaping. Plain training armor, leather reinforced with metal at the shoulders, sword at her hip.
She stopped short when she saw me.
Her eyes flicked from my too-pale face to my unsteady stance, to the circle of space Elara's presence carved out around us.
"So this is him," she said. "The Council's new puzzle."
Leon's jaw twitched in what might have been amusement.
"Riss," he said. "This is Art. Art, Riss. Gold-rank trainee. Tries to keep the rest from getting themselves killed."
"Tries," she repeated. She gave me a brief, assessing look. Not cruel. Sharp. "You stand better than the rumors suggested."
"I've been out of bed for… what, an hour?" I said. "I'm doing my best."
Her mouth twitched.
"Then keep doing that," she said. "We've got more than enough fools who do their worst."
"Riss," Leon said mildly.
She raised both hands in surrender and stepped back.
Other eyes were on us now.
Training slowed, then resumed in a more self-conscious rhythm. Some knights pretended not to look. Others watched openly, glares and curiosity mixing in equal parts.
I felt it.
A prickle along my skin, amplified by that trait the System had gifted me: He Who Loves the Dominion. It seemed determined to make sure I felt everything this world threw at me.
"Do not let them burrow into your ribs," Elara murmured, voice low enough that only I heard. "They are only people."
I nodded.
If I stared at all of them at once, I would drown.
So I didn't.
I picked one.
Near the archery targets, a woman in light armor adjusted her bowstring. Her hair was pulled back into a severe braid, but a few wisps had escaped to frame her face. Her brow was furrowed, tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth as she focused.
She noticed me looking.
Our eyes met.
For a heartbeat, emotion flashed across her face—startled, wary. Then something like stubbornness settled in.
She nocked an arrow, drew, and let fly.
The shaft hit just outside the painted circle she'd aimed for.
She made a face.
My lips curved before I could stop them.
She blinked at the faint smile. Then, as if annoyed at herself for caring, she turned back to her target.
Leon nudged my shoulder gently.
"Walk," he said. "We're not here to stand and be stared at."
"Yet," Riss muttered from somewhere behind him.
They led me toward the far side of the courtyard, where a stretch of open ground had fewer trainees. The earth here bore the marks of many drills: footprints, scuffed circles, the occasional scorched patch where someone had misjudged a spell.
Graymark stepped ahead and set his tablet on a waist-high stone block.
"Here will do," he said. "We have wards layered beneath this section. If anything goes wrong, we may only lose a limb instead of the entire annex."
"Elliot." Elara's tone again.
He spared her a glance. "I will be careful," he said. "Mostly for my own sake. I like my limbs where they are."
Leon guided me into the center of a faint circle etched into the ground. Up close, I recognized the pattern—a training array, more about measuring than containing. Some part of my brain, the part that had memorized in-game tooltips about mana flow, whispered details I didn't say out loud.
"Stand there," Graymark said. "Comfortably. Or as close to it as you can manage."
Comfortable.
Right.
I planted my feet, shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent the way every tutorial ever had drilled into me. My body remembered some things even if this one was new.
Leon took a step back, close enough to reach me if I fell, far enough not to crowd.
Elara stood at the edge of the circle, staff grounded, eyes half-closed.
Graymark tapped his tablet.
"All right," he said. "We begin with the simplest thing. Art, call up a small amount of mana. Enough to feel. Not enough to show off."
The urge to comment on "showing off" died on my tongue.
I nodded.
In the game, mana had been a bar at the edge of the screen, a number that went down when you pressed a key and refilled when you waited. Abstract.
Here, it lived under my skin.
I closed my eyes.
Not all the way. Just enough to dim the courtyard, to make the world narrow to breath and pulse.
In.
Out.
I reached inward.
Mana answered.
It didn't rush; that would have been too kind. It stirred, a warmth in my chest, threaded through with something that wasn't exactly heat. A pressure, maybe, or a brightness that wanted somewhere to go.
Carefully—as if handling glass—I directed it down my arm, toward my right hand.
My fingers tingled.
Light gathered there.
Faint, pale, just barely visible in the morning sun. It didn't shape itself into anything fancy; no spellform, no element. Just raw mana, called and held.
[ MANA USE: Minimal ]–5 MPChannel strain: +3%
"Good," Elara murmured. "Hold it. Do not push."
I held.
The warmth in my hand grew heavier, like carrying a bowl filled too close to the brim. If I moved wrong, it would spill.
Pain prickled along my wrist, a reminder of the cracks in my channels.
I exhaled slowly.
Then, gently, I let the mana flow back.
The light faded.
The ache eased, but didn't vanish.
Graymark's stylus scratched across glass.
"Channels respond. Fine control present," he said. "Minimal visible leakage."
"Visible," Riss repeated under her breath.
Elara opened her eyes fully. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like my arm took a deep breath it didn't know how to exhale," I said.
Her lips quirked. "That is… close enough to the truth."
"We'll try a simple spell next," Graymark said. "Light. Easiest of all schools. If you can't manage that without collapsing, we adjust expectations."
Light.
Basic spell. Lowest tier. In the game, you got it in the first hour and forgot it existed after you learned bigger explosions.
Here, it could kill me if I pushed too far.
I nodded again.
"Focus on your palm," Elara instructed. "Picture the smallest flame you have ever seen. Not fire that burns a house—fire that lights a single candle. Call the mana to your hand, but do not force it. Invite."
Invite.
The word helped.
I followed the same path as before, this time with shape in mind—a single point, not a flood.
Mana obeyed.
The tingle in my fingers grew. A pinprick of light appeared in my palm.
It wasn't impressive.
If anything, it looked almost embarrassed to exist—flickering, no bigger than the nail of my thumb. But it held. It was mine.
[ SPELL CAST – "Glow" ]Cost: –8 MPChannel strain: +7%
Effect: A small point of light.Efficiency: High (for current condition).
The courtyard quieted.
The sounds of training faded to the background as more eyes turned toward the faint light in my hand.
Riss tilted her head, expression unreadable.
The archer I'd watched earlier paused in the act of drawing her bow, gaze flicking to my palm, then to my face.
Leon watched too, eyes intent.
"Enough," Elara said after a few heartbeats. "Release it."
I exhaled and let the shape go.
The light went out.
Mana settled back into my chest, protesting a little but not screaming.
My knees didn't buckle.
That felt like a victory.
Graymark hummed.
"Very good," he said. "Now walk."
I blinked. "Walk?"
"Across the circle. Without tripping," he said. "People with your condition sometimes move like drunkards after channelling. I'd like to know whether you'll spear your own feet on the first march."
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself.
"All this for my shining talent of walking."
"Walking away from danger is a valuable talent," Leon said. "Do as he says."
I stepped.
The earth felt a little less steady under my boots now, but whether that was the spell or the attention, I couldn't tell.
One step.
Another.
My balance wobbled at the third, and Leon's hand twitched, instinct ready to catch me, but I righted myself.
I made it to the edge of the circle and back.
My chest hurt, but not more than before.
[ CONDITION ]VIT strain: ModerateBalance: Acceptable
Graymark scribbled more notes.
"Good enough for basic deployment," he said. "With restrictions. No extended channeling. No high-output spells. No—"
"No heroics," Elara finished.
He inclined his head. "That too."
A murmur spread through the onlookers.
"So it really works," someone whispered. "The lab made a mage out of glass."
"At least glass can cut if it breaks," another muttered.
I heard them.
SEN trait made sure of that.
It would be easy to flinch, to look away, to pretend I didn't understand.
Instead, I turned.
I let my gaze sweep over the courtyard, not challenging, not submissive. Just… present.
Faces.
Scars.
Dirt smeared on foreheads.
Sweat running down temples.
Every one of them a story the game had never bothered to tell.
My eyes caught on a boy near the edge—a little younger than me, slim, his armor slightly too big for his frame. He clutched a spear in hands that weren't quite steady.
He looked at me like I might explode.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, everything else faded.
He looked scared.
I knew that feeling too well.
I smiled.
Small. Not forced.
His grip tightened on the spear.
His shoulders dropped half an inch.
He looked away, but the terror in his face softened to something more manageable.
The System stirred.
[ MICRO INTERACTION – "Shared Fear" ]Emotional Feedback: Stabilized (Minor).
Trait He Who Loves the Dominion: Resonance +1.
"Interesting," Graymark murmured.
I glanced at him.
"You do realize you're being watched," he said. "Most people in your position would stare at the ground."
"I've stared at the ground enough," I said quietly. "I want to see where I'm walking now."
He snorted softly. "Fair enough."
Leon stepped closer, attention momentarily off the tablet.
"You've seen the annex," he said. "You've shown you can stand and not set yourself on fire immediately. That will satisfy the Council for the moment. They'll want more later, but later is not now."
"Later," I echoed.
Later meant missions. Villages. Ashen stains.
Blood.
"Will they call me today?" I asked.
"Not if I can help it," Elara said.
Graymark shrugged one shoulder. "Possibly tomorrow. They have other things to fight about before adding you to the list. Politics moves slower than contagion."
"Good," Leon said. "Then I want him in the barracks."
Graymark blinked. "Already?"
"Better he learns how to sleep around other people now," Leon said. "If he's going to be under my command, he should be near my squad, not locked in a room full of sigils."
Elara opened her mouth.
Leon looked at her.
"If the Council objects," he said calmly, "they can put him back in a box themselves."
Her lips pressed together.
Then she sighed.
"The warding in the East Wing is not as strong as here," she said. "But it is not absent. If you hold your rites around him, I can anchor a secondary line."
Leon inclined his head. "I would appreciate that."
Graymark shrugged, already half-absorbed in his notes. "As long as he is brought back for examinations when I ask, do what you like with him between."
"Very gracious," Riss muttered.
His eyes flicked to her. "That was not permission to break him."
"I don't break things I might need," she said.
Her gaze slid to me.
"We going, then?" she asked Leon.
"Yes," Leon said. "Form up."
Riss fell into step easily. I saw movement at the edges of the courtyard—others watching, whispering.
As we walked toward the barracks building on the far side, I glanced back once.
The sky watched us leave.
It felt like stepping out of one kind of light into another.
Inside, the barracks smelled as it had in the game and not like it at all—sweat and wool and something like soup.
Wooden bunks lined the long room, some neatly made, others a mess of blankets. Personal items hung from hooks: charms, bits of mail, a polished stone tied with string.
Conversations stuttered as we entered.
Riss didn't slow.
"Make room," she called. "The Captain's bringing home a new stray."
A few chuckles. A few frowns.
Leon gave her a look that was half warning, half resigned fondness.
"This way," he said to me.
He led me toward an empty bunk near the middle of the room, against the wall. Above it, another bed—occupied by a pile of blankets that moved as someone rolled over.
As we approached, a head popped over the side.
Short dark hair. Wide eyes. Ink on fingertips.
"Captain?" the boy said. "Oh. Um. That was today."
"Jonas," Leon said. "This is Art. He'll be assigned here for now. You and Lira will make sure he receives basic gear that doesn't fall apart the first time it rains."
"Yes, sir," Jonas said, voice squeaking just a little at the end.
He slid down from the top bunk, nearly tangling himself in his own blanket, caught himself at the last second, and straightened with an awkward salute.
I liked him immediately.
"Hi," I said.
"Hello," he said quickly. Then, flushing, added, "I mean—welcome. Sir. Um. Not 'sir', you're not—" He shut his mouth with audible effort.
My lips twitched.
"Art is fine," I said. "I'm not even sure what I am yet. 'Sir' feels too complicated."
Some of the tension leaked out of his shoulders.
Riss snorted.
From somewhere further down the row, a voice called, "You bringing lab ghosts in now, Captain?"
Leon's gaze flicked over.
A man lounged on a bunk, armor half-off, boots up on a trunk. He had close-cropped hair and a scar along his jaw that tugged his mouth permanently into a faint smirk.
"If this is a ghost, he's heavier than he looks," Leon said. "Harrow, you can complain later. For now, check your satchel. We're out tomorrow."
Harrow blinked.
"Tomorrow?" he repeated.
Leon nodded once. "Briefing at second bell. For now, rest, clean, and let Jonas show Art where not to trip over loose boards."
My heart thudded.
Tomorrow.
The world, apparently, did not intend to give me a long grace period.
[ QUEST UPDATED – "First Deployment" ]Briefing: Second bell, Day 2.Location: Lower Annex, West Wing.
Note: Preparation time limited.
I sat on the bunk Leon indicated.
The frame creaked under my weight.
The mattress was thin, stuffed with something that crunched faintly when I pressed my hand into it. It smelled of soap and sunlight and the faint ghost of whoever had slept here before.
I traced the grain of the wood with my fingers.
My chest felt too full again.
Not with mana.
With everything.
Fear. Curiosity. A warmth I didn't have words for yet.
Jonas hovered nearby, clutching a folded bundle of cloth.
"Here," he said, thrusting it toward me. "Uniform. Um. Light armor. And there's a trunk under the bed for whatever else they give you."
"Thank you," I said.
He nodded vigorously, then hesitated.
"You… really came from under the lab, right?" he blurted. "From the deep chambers?"
Riss made a warning noise.
Leon watched without intervening.
I met Jonas's eyes.
"Yes," I said. "I did."
"What is it like down there?" he asked. "Is it… cold? Do you… remember it?"
His questions were not the ones I'd expected.
I thought of metal slabs. Tanks. Sigils humming different notes. Graymark's ink stains. Elara's tired eyes.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I remember it."
"What is it like?" he repeated.
I thought.
"It's…" I searched for a word that wouldn't terrify him. "Heavy," I said. "The air. The light. The way people look at you. Like they're waiting for something to go wrong. Like every breath might be the last one they want you to take."
Jonas swallowed.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't—"
"It's better here," I added, cutting him off gently.
He blinked.
"It's loud," I said. "Smelly. People trip over their own boots. The sky is enormous. And no one has tried to carve me open yet. That's an improvement."
A laugh burst out of him, startled and unpolished.
It spread.
Harrow snorted. Riss shook her head, but her mouth curved.
Something in the room shifted.
Not much.
Just enough.
The System flickered.
[ AMBIENT MOOD: Shifted ]Tension: Slightly reduced.
He Who Loves the Dominion: Resonance +1.
Leon's gaze met mine from across the room.
There was something like approval there, buried under the usual soldier's caution.
He nodded once.
I exhaled.
Later, when the room quieted and the lamps dimmed and I lay staring at the underside of the bunk above, my mind ran through possible futures at a pace my body could never match.
Tomorrow.
Ashen seep.
Squad.
Prince watching from a distance I couldn't see.
No save file.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket up.
My hand brushed something small and round under my pillow.
I fumbled for it.
The plain wooden token Elara had slipped me earlier.
I curled my fingers around it.
Its edges dug into my palm, anchor-sharp.
"I'll try," I whispered into the dark. "I'll keep as many of you as I can."
The ceiling didn't answer.
The System did.
Softly, like a promise.
[ PERSONAL VOW REINFORCED ]"As long as I breathe, I will not let this world die the way it did on my screen."
Story Weight: Increased.
Outside, beyond stone and banners and wards, the world turned toward dawn.
Day 2 of Realmode waited, teeth hidden, patience thin.
And somewhere, at the edge of the map I thought I knew, a patch of black earth pulsed a little faster, as if it, too, had heard that someone new had stepped into the story.