Rem bounded from the rail car and slipped between the other passengers, his satchel tapping his hip as he took the station stairs two at a time.
The air hit him at the bottom.
Smoke. Oil. Wet stone. Bodies packed close, but he threaded through without breaking stride. Voices stacked on voices. Cart wheels screaming against the street. Nothing waited its turn.
He stopped at the foot of the stairs.
Stood there longer than he meant to.
Grit shifted under his soles as he rocked his weight. A vendor shouted prices without looking at anyone. A child laughed—sharp, loud—and cut past him. Wind slid between the buildings and carried oven heat and the thick smell of cooked fat.
His chest locked up.
He drew a breath. Then another. Too shallow. He forced the next one deeper and felt it scrape on the way in.
He moved before the feeling could settle.
Oldetown pressed in fast. Stalls crowded shoulder to shoulder. People crossed his path without warning. He stepped around them without thinking, adjusting pace by inches, slipping through gaps that closed behind him. His eyes kept snapping ahead, then to the side, then back again. He moved too fast and knew it, but didn’t slow.
Food caught him first.
Glazed nuts shining under cloth. Skewers hissing over coals. Bread torn open and breathing steam. A pot of something hot enough to sting his eyes from a few steps away.
He cut toward the nearest cart and bought two meat pies.
The vendor paused, then lifted an eyebrow.
Rem took the bundle and pivoted aside. The paper was warm in his hands. Warmer than it should’ve been.
Slow down.
The thought came late and useless. He didn’t want to ruin this by finishing too fast. Not after so long.
He bit in anyway.
The crust split. Heat spilled out. Grease soaked through the paper and into his fingers. Pepper. Onion. Meat that pulled when he chewed. The taste hit hard enough to drag a sound out of him before he could stop it.
He lowered his head and kept moving, feet placing cleanly even as his shoulders stayed tight.
Around him the street flowed. Vendors calling. Wheels shrieking. Someone laughed behind him. Someone else called a name across the way, already certain of the answer.
He blew on the filling and felt the warmth bleed through the paper into his skin.
For a few breaths, nothing else reached him.
Rem slowed down.
He spoke with Groalie. With Tessel. Stopped at familiar stalls and placed orders without haggling. Ate something small standing up. Sold another batch of level four potions at Veyra’s.
Routine. Clean. Easy.
After a moment’s pause, he added the Elixir of Aether to her ledger.
No word yet. It had only been a day.
Even so.
He walked to the noodle place where he and Noah used to eat.
He took a seat at the counter. Steam curled up from the bowl and fogged his spectacles. He nudged them up the bridge of his nose and leaned closer.
The noodles were hot enough to slow him down. He ate in silence. Sipped the green tea while it cooled.
The fog crept back across the lenses.
He paused with the chopsticks hovering, then reached for the familiar place in his mind and scrolled.
Past the loud tracks meant to fill space. Past the ones he used to run to when he couldn’t sit still.
He stopped on something light.
Copper Morning by Stillweather.
Acoustic strings. A steady beat you could tap along to without thinking. A voice that stayed low and even, never asking for attention. No sharp edges. Nothing rushed.
He let it play.
The noise of the shop softened around it. Bowls clinked. Someone laughed near the door. The street kept moving outside.
He ate while the song ran.
By the time it ended, the fog on his lenses had thinned. He wiped them clean with his sleeve and set the chopsticks down.
Alone.
He looked up.
The room was full. People leaned close over their bowls. A familiar face passed behind him without stopping. No one slowed.
They hadn’t been waiting. Not for him. This was just another day.
He finished the bowl, paid, and stepped back into the street.
The rest of the morning broke into work.
Vendors. Lists. Negotiations that stayed polite. Boxes stacked and restacked. Crates lashed shut. Plants wrapped in damp cloth. A cage that shifted when he lifted it.
By the time the sun sat overhead, he was carrying more than he liked.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He circled back to the sushi stall and ordered lunch.
He set his boxes down at the edge of the counter and took the empty space they left behind. Children ran past. Someone argued over price. Someone else counted cores twice before handing them over.
He dipped a rice roll into the dark sauce and ate. The fish was clean and cold. The rice still warm.
He chewed slowly.
No one looked his way.
When he finished, he gathered his things and stepped to the side of the stall where the wall cut the noise down to a dull wash.
Only then did he open his status.
Character Status
Rembrandt de Vries
Race: Human (Enhanced)
License: Merit
Level: 4?Experience: 0 / 800
Class: Error. Not Available.
Challenge Passes: 2
Health: 1392 / 1392 (Stable)
Energy: 146 / 146 (Normal)
Focus: 180 / 180 (Clear)
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 11
Agility: 19
Vitality: 11
Intelligence: 12
Perception: 12
Essence Control: 19
Wisdom: 2
TOLERANCES
Pain: 4
Burning: 3
GENERAL SKILLS
Inspect: View system-registered item details (interface only, Thrive-enabled regions).
Swimming (Level 7): move through water more efficiently.
Freediving (Level 4): Use oxygen more efficiently underwater.
Wilderness Survival (Level 6): Reduced survival upkeep: requires less food, water, and rest to remain functional.
Primitive Toolcraft (Level 4): Tools last longer: reduced tool breakage and maintenance time.
Primitive Construction (Level 6): Structures are sturdier: shelters and workspaces resist weather and damage more effectively.
Ecology (Level 2): Higher seeding success: transplanted soil life is more likely to survive and spread.
Aquatic Biology (Level 2): Water stays usable longer: reduced chance of contamination, die-off, or runaway bloom.
Arcane Reverse Engineering (Level 5): Reduced salvage loss: recovered components are less likely to be damaged during teardown.
Arcane Construction (Level 4): Improved functional restoration: repaired and rebuilt devices work more reliably and misfire less.
Field Research (Level 6): Faster discovery: fewer experiments are needed to confirm what works.
Writing (Level 5): Instructions transfer better: readers gain higher success when following your procedures. Unlocks writing profession.
Unseen: Create a false status screen others will see if they try to gain access to it.
PROFESSIONS
Sage (Apprentice)
Type: Gathering
Some mine for gold, or hunt for rare herbs, but sages search for knowledge above all. Unravel the mysteries of the universe to progress this class. Unlocks the Wisdom attribute.
Focused Learning (Rank II): +2 to Perception and Intelligence when attempting to learn something new.
Homesteader (Apprentice)
Type: Crafting
Some build monuments for kings. Homesteaders build what lasts when no one is watching. Produce durable habitation and infrastructure.
Sheltercraft (Rank II)
Increased quality and durability of constructed shelters. Reduced risk of structural failure.
Worksite (Rank II)
+2 to efficiency when crafting or producing inside a stable workspace (table, hearth, shelter).
Hearthkeeper (Rank II)
Improved heat retention and fuel efficiency. Reduced risk of fire-related accidents in constructed living spaces.
INACTIVE PROFESSIONS
Survivalist (Novice)
Wandwright (Novice)
Author (Novice)
Alchemist (Journeyman)
TITLES
Passwright: Doubles the population-standard challenge pass allocation.
Record Holder: Union Record acknowledged; citizenship license upgraded to Merit.
Alchemical Prodigy: +15% Alchemy progression.
Chronophile: Reduced disorientation between variant time experiences.
The Hermit: +10% efficiency to solo training, crafting, and research while alone.
Cabinwright: +10% Primitive Construction efficiency for shelters/workspaces.
Firekeeper: Fuel lasts longer; reduced risk of fire failure/spread.
Wandbreaker: +10% success disassembling arcane implements; reduced misfire risk.
Wandmender: +10% success repairing/reassembling wands.
Field Scribe: +10% Writing efficiency for manuals, procedures, guides.
Solo Archivist: Journaling reduces loss of learning from failed experiments; +1 Field Research when notes exist.
Seedbearer: Reduced die-off of transplanted organisms.
No Stranger to Pain: Tolerance interface enabled. Pain effects reduced.
TRAITS
Augmented
Type: Growth / Enhancement
You gained 10+ total stat points in a single level, where ≥ 50% of the gains were derived from external sources. Your body has adapted to unnatural growth.
Augmentation Assimilation:
Enhancement consumables grant +5% increased permanent stat value (rounded down).
Metabolic Hardening:
Gain +10% resistance to augmentation-related negative effects (toxicity, fatigue backlash, internal strain).
Stabilized Conversion (1/level):
If augmentation contributed to your level-up stat gains, gain +1 additional stat point to the stat most increased by augmentation during that level.
PATHS
Path of the Unseen: Create false status; conceal capabilities; cannot reveal hidden truths.
Yesterday.
He smiled at the word before he could stop himself.
Fourteen stat points. Nine skills. Eleven titles. Five professions. One trait. A new attribute. A new interface that tracked how much pain he could ignore.
He read the numbers again, slower this time.
It might have crushed him. The silence. The sameness. The days folding in on themselves with nothing to break them but work and sleep and hunger.
It hadn’t.
He let the status scroll back up and stopped on Sage.
A gathering profession. One that rewarded learning instead of extraction. Progress earned through understanding rather than accumulation.
He lingered there.
He couldn’t have chosen a better fit if he’d tried.
The system message surfaced in his memory, unprompted.
For your continued persistence in the face of inscrutable realities you have unlocked the Sage profession. You gather knowledge like some gather coin.
Make your knowledge work for you and you will be rewarded.
He exhaled through his nose and closed the window.
His checklist waited.
Potions sold. Supplies purchased. Orders placed. The manuscript for volume three left with his sister. Deliveries picked up.
Almost everything.
That word again.
The weight of his packs dug into his shoulders as he crossed to the archway. He shifted the load twice, nearly losing control of his stacked boxes, before it was balanced enough to step through the arch. He stepped inside his locker and set everything down more carefully than he needed to.
He stood there a moment longer than necessary.
Then he started sorting.
The things he’d regretted not bringing yesterday.
The dreamcatcher.
Level three. While worn, it stored the last dream and allowed recall.
The formation flags.
Level three. Concentrated essence within a marked area.
The Headbinding of Insight.
Level three. Made famous by the Eternal Order of Insight. A blindfold meant to train essence perception by denying sight.
Titan’s Core.
Level three. Pulsed once per day, granting temporary strength.
The Gloamhollow Tome.
Level three. Pages blank until read at dusk.
He turned each over in his hands. Tested the weight. The feel. Tried not to run too far ahead of himself.
These would take time. Attention. Mistakes.
Good.
There were weapons he could bring. Techniques he could practice. Skills he could earn. He set those thoughts aside. Eventually.
This was what he wanted to work on now.
He organized the locker by habit, placing his wands together, duplication gear beside them, everything else squared away until it looked right.
When it was finished, he still didn’t move.
He willed essence into his ring.
A window opened. Darkness.
Night at his cabin.
He’d placed this pane there deliberately so he could check the time before stepping through. He didn’t want to arrive in the middle of the night and bunker down in the cave again.
He waited.
Ten seconds passed before the darkness thinned. Light crept in. Climbed. He watched until it peaked and began to fade.
Still daylight.
Good.
He closed the window, then fed essence to his ring so he could redraw the pane. He put it right in front of his shelf where he’d put all his critical items. That’s what he wanted. Everything important within arms reach at all times.
His movements stayed steady, but he kept counting under his breath as he worked.
The pain was still there. Dull. Present. A reminder rather than a threat.
It didn’t make him stop.
Twenty.
He lifted his pack and headed for the glyph.
He slowed as he reached it. Just a fraction.
Thirty-two.
He placed his palm on the plate and stepped through, leaving the world behind.
