The floorboards in the upstairs hallway of St. Jude's Orphanage were thick with dust and decades of peeling gray paint. Arthur spent his Tuesday afternoon scrubbing them. He didn't mind the labor; it was a rhythmic, predictable task that allowed him to monitor his internal state without distraction.
As he scrubbed the rough brush back and forth on the wood, a faint, see-through blue line seemed to hover just out of sight, teasing the corner of his eye.
[ Physical Labor: Beginner (82%) ]
As he tweaked the position of his shoulder, he engaged his core, trying to get the most out of every movement. The display on the bar fluttered, the numbers changing so slightly it was barely noticeable, but still, it was progress, a tiny step forward.
"Hey, you're at it again," someone spoke up from the doorway.
Arthur kept going, his brush moving in a smooth, steady motion, making a perfect six-inch curve. "What are you doing, Billy?" he asked, not looking up from his work.
Billy Stubbs was only ten years old, a whole year younger than Arthur. He was a skinny kid, always with a smudge of dirt on his nose, and he had this energy that just couldn't be contained - it was like he was always looking for his next adventure, even if it meant getting into trouble. As he leaned against the doorframe, he eyed Arthur with a mixture of suspicion and a kind of tired amazement, like he wasn't quite sure what to make of him.
Billy told Artie, "Come on, lighten up while you're cleaning. It's just soap and water, not a big deal. You're acting like it's the end of the world or something."
"To get better at something, you need to have a plan and really focus on it." Arthur said this while painting, and he was trying to find the best way to do it. He wanted to see how using a certain amount of pressure on the brush would help him finish the job faster. If he could do it just right, he thought he could save four whole minutes. That's four minutes he could use to read a book instead, which is a great way to spend his time.
"Alright, alright..." Billy snorted and sat on the floor, kicking his heels against the baseboard.
The air was thick with an uncomfortable silence, the only sound being the soft swish of the brush as it moved back and forth. Billy finally broke the stillness with a deep sigh, his words spilling out in a gentle, yet probing tone. "Mrs. Cole has high hopes for you, she's always telling the inspectors that you're destined for great things, that you'll make a fantastic doctor or lawyer one day." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the boy. "But to be honest, sometimes I get the feeling that you're not really with us, that your mind is somewhere else entirely." The words hung in the air, a mix of concern and curiosity, as Billy waited for a response, his gaze never leaving the boy's face.
Arthur stopped and looked at Billy, seeing the real confusion in his eyes. Arthur had been in this body for eleven years, but his mind was still carrying around memories of his old life. He remembered finishing school, having a steady job, and living a simple life. Now that he had a second chance, he didn't want to just go through the motions. He wasn't smart like the Matron thought, he was just really disciplined and focused. Arthur's past life had taught him a lot, and he was determined to make the most of this new one. He didn't want to waste it, and he was going to make sure he did everything he could to make it count. The Matron might think he's smart, but Arthur knew it was just his discipline that was getting him through. He had a lot to prove, not just to the Matron, but to himself.
'Interface'
He thought about his status, and suddenly it appeared in his mind's eye. The panel was simple and blue, with no fancy pictures or blinking messages. It just showed him the facts.
[ Progress Bars
* Concentration: Intermediate (14%)
* General Knowledge: Intermediate (37%)
* Manual Precision: Intermediate (89%)
]
When Arthur first opened his eyes in this new world five years ago, something strange had tagged along with him. He had no idea why he'd been picked for this wild ride, but as he'd settled into his second chance at life, he'd also learned to live with the system that came with it.
Figuring out how it worked was a real challenge. He had to try a bunch of different approaches to understand the way it kept track of his progress. The "Interface" - that's what he called it - monitored every skill he learned. It broke these skills down into four levels: Beginner, which was easy enough for anyone to pick up; Intermediate, where you started to get really good at something; Expert, where you'd spent years honing your craft; and Master, where it just came naturally. When he reached the Master level, a skill became second nature - he didn't have to think about it anymore, he could just do it instinctively.
"Hey, I'm right here, Billy," Arthur said softly. He didn't like standing around doing nothing, it felt like a waste of time to him.
"Come on, what's the big deal?" Billy said, fiddling with a scab on his knee. "Wasting time is just part of being a kid, right?"
Arthur spoke up, saying he never thought of himself as that type of kid.
He finished the last section of the floor. The bar for Physical Labor nudged forward. Every movement, every word, and every thought was a step toward a higher percentage. He didn't believe in "talent"—he only believed in the practice.
...
Dinner was a thin soup and a slice of dry bread. Arthur ate with the same mechanical efficiency he applied to everything else. He watched the other children—the way they spilled their water, the way they shouted over one another, the way they lived in a blur of undirected emotion. To Arthur, it looked exhausting.
After finishing his meal, Arthur headed back to the small room he shared with Eric, who was still outside in the yard. He sat down on his bed, which was pretty narrow, and pulled out a book about mechanical engineering that he had tucked away under his pillow. Then, he started reading, getting lost in the pages.
He was completely absorbed in a section about car engines when something strange happened. The air in the room felt different, like it had gotten thicker and heavier, even though the temperature stayed the same. It was as if the air had been replaced with something else, making the room feel heavy and still.
A soft, solid thump sounded against the window.
Arthur closed his book, marking the page with a finger, and got to his feet. He strolled over to the window, gazing out at the London sky, which was a dull, smoggy orange, the kind of color that seemed to suck the life out of everything. But as he stood there, his eyes landed on something that didn't quite fit with the scenery - a small, unexpected creature perched on his windowsill, looking like it had just flown in from a completely different world.
It was a snowy owl, its feathers pristine and white against the soot-stained stone. Its amber eyes were fixed on him with a terrifying, ancient intelligence. In its beak, it held a thick envelope.
Arthur lifted the latch and slid the window open. The owl just sat there, not moving a feather. Then, in a smooth motion, it hopped onto the windowsill and gently dropped a letter onto his desk, the paper making a soft rustling sound as it landed.
Arthur picked it up, and as he did, he noticed the material wasn't like any ordinary paper - it was yellowish in color and had a slightly rough texture, kind of like parchment. There was no sign of a stamp anywhere, but what caught his attention was the seal made of dark red wax, pressed with a coat of arms that featured a pretty unusual combination of animals: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake all together.
As he flipped the envelope over, he noticed his name scribbled in vibrant emerald-green ink, accompanied by the precise location of his room. Suddenly, a new bar materialized at the edge of his vision, its presence marked by a faint flicker. The bar itself was a dull gray color and remained empty, devoid of any label or identification - just a hollow line stretching out before him.
[ {???} : Beginner (0.00%) ]
Arthur gazed out at the owl, its big round eyes seeming to hold a secret. The bird let out a soft hoot, then spread its wings and took to the sky, vanishing into the darkness over London. He sank back into his chair, his eyes fixed on the red wax in front of him. But his mind was a blank - he just couldn't make sense of it. It didn't fit into any of the patterns he knew, it was like a wild card that threw everything off. He had been so sure he had all the pieces, but this one thing refused to be explained.
He broke the seal.