The tunnel coughed him out somewhere that definitely wasn't the front door.
Captain Vorn had told him which way to go — follow the marked ascent shaft, keep north, "it'll lead you safely to open ground."
He had followed her instructions perfectly.
And now he was staring at what looked like the world's least-inviting postcard.
The forest he had entered weeks ago stretched miles behind him on the far slope — green, alive, full of wind and birdsong. On this side of the ridge, the world was dry and stony, the air tinged with static and the faint hum of dead veins buried beneath the surface.
"She could've sent me back through the forest," Lucas muttered, brushing dirt from his torn pajama pants. "But no — let's pick the scenic route through Apocalyptic-Wanna-Be Land. Thanks, Captain Vorn."
He kicked a rock. It rolled a few feet, cracked against another, and exploded into glittering dust.
"Perfect. Even the gravel's dramatic."
Behind him, the cave mouth glowed faintly with fading veinlight — the last breath of the Holdfast's lifeblood. Ahead stretched endless ridges, wind-carved stone, and nothing else. Not even the system had anything to say about it. He sighed, adjusted his pack, and started walking.
He wandered for days.
Every flicker of blue beneath the rock promised direction, then faded to nothing.
No markers, no people, no sound but his boots crunching on gravel and the low hum of forgotten energy far below.
The system stayed silent. No quests, no stats, no sarcastic voice reminding him how bad he was at survival. Just wind and the occasional bout of existential muttering.
At night, the stars pulsed faintly — not twinkling, but beating, like a slow rhythm in the dark. Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he thought he saw something moving between them — huge, quiet shapes, too slow to be clouds.
He told himself it was the wind. The wind with commitment issues.
By the third week, he was running out of everything except sarcasm.
His last ration brick — Nutrient-Fortified Field Meal, Revision 2.17 — claimed to be "Nutrient Dense and Flavor Forward."
It lied.
He found shelter in the ruins of an old waystation halfway up a ridge. The walls still stood; the roof mostly didn't. But the wind broke around it, and that was good enough.
He gathered vein shards from nearby rocks, arranged them in a small ring, and struck a spark. The fire came to life in eerie blue, flickering softly and humming like a living thing remembering how to breathe.
From his pack, he pulled a dented pan, a canteen, and the gray ration brick. He poured water into the pan and set it on the flame. The hiss of boiling water was the most comforting sound he'd heard in days.
"Dinner à la despair," he said, stirring slowly. "Pairs well with mild dehydration and crippling regret."
As the thick paste began to bubble, he leaned back and stared into the fire. His mind wandered.
He thought of Captain Vorn — how steady her voice had been when she'd told him to take the north passage, how her eyes had flicked away at the end, like she knew what kind of place it led to.
He couldn't even be mad at her. She'd saved him, trusted him. Still, part of him couldn't help muttering,
"Next time, Vorn, maybe less safe route and more not literal stone desert."
The fire hummed softly in response, like it agreed.
He glanced toward his pack and spotted something wedged between a coil of rope and a battered first-aid tin — a dented, dust-covered harmonica.
He picked it up slowly, thumb brushing the edge. He hadn't touched it since his days in the cell. Since Jeff's voice had called through the walls, teasing him endlessly.
"You call that music, or are you strangling air again, rookie?"
Lucas smiled faintly at the memory. The Holdfast had been miserable, but it had people. A rhythm. Noise.
Out here, there was only silence.
He turned the harmonica in his hands, the metal catching the firelight.
"Alright," he murmured. "One last encore for the dust."
He lifted it to his lips and blew a note. It came out soft, wobbly, but real. The sound lingered in the cold air longer than it should have, stretching into the night like a memory that refused to fade.
The wind stilled. The flames flickered sideways.
Then, a voice from the shadows:
"Still off-key."
Lucas froze. The harmonica slipped from his hands.
Jeff stood just beyond the firelight, hands in his coat pockets, a familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. His coat was dusty, his boots cracked, but his calm was unchanged — like the wasteland hadn't touched him at all.
"Jeff?"
"Hey, roomie."
"You're — you're alive?"
"Seems that way."
Lucas gawked. "You disappeared right before I went to the Heart's Chamber. One second you were there, the next — gone."
Jeff shrugged, stepping into the light like he'd just come back from a stroll. "Close enough. I just took an exit most people don't notice."
"An exit? You could've mentioned that before I almost died in a collapsing hallway!"
Jeff's grin widened. "Would've ruined the surprise."
Lucas threw a hand toward the horizon. "You and your surprises. Captain Vorn could've sent me back through the forest, but no — I get the luxury tour through Apocalyptic-Wanna-Be Land!"
Jeff chuckled, crouching near the fire. "Forest's crawling with monsters. She sent you the safe way."
"Safe?" Lucas poked the flames with a stick. "I've been eating ration bricks and arguing with gravel for three weeks."
Jeff smirked. "Still alive though, aren't you?"
"Barely."
The fire hummed quietly. Sparks rose into the dark like blue fireflies.
Lucas stared into the flames. "The system's been dead quiet since I left. No pop-ups. No skills. Nothing. Did I break it?"
Jeff shook his head. "Not broken — just bored."
Lucas blinked. "Bored?"
"The system reacts to what you do. It's not magic or tech — it's a guide. A translator between you and the world. It doesn't hand you power; it shows you what you're already earning. You've been walking and sulking. Not exactly headline-worthy."
"So it's like… waiting for me to do something cool?"
"Basically."
Jeff leaned back, watching the firelight dance in his eyes. "Think of it like a teacher that only speaks when you learn something. Levels, stats, item info — those are just its way of helping you understand your progress."
Lucas frowned. "So everyone has that?"
"Sort of. Most people here can sense power — they feel strength, magic, flow. But you? You get numbers, names, specifics. You see what others only guess."
Lucas thought about the times he'd known exactly how strong a monster was, or how an item's description had popped into his mind the moment he touched it.
"I've been doing that without realizing."
Jeff nodded. "Instinct. The system adapted to you."
Lucas hesitated, then looked at him curiously. "So I can use it on… anything?"
Jeff smirked. "Try it."
Lucas focused on him, thinking Identify. For a heartbeat, faint text shimmered in his vision.
[JEFF — ???]
Designation:Mentor assigned to guide the Traveler on his path.
Role:Support / Non-Combatant.
Level:N/A
Lucas blinked. "What the hell—"
Jeff's smirk deepened. "What'd it say?"
"It says you're… assigned to guide me? By the system? Level N/A?"
Jeff chuckled. "That tracks."
"You're telling me the system sent you?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it just likes dramatic timing."
"And Level N/A?"
Jeff spread his hands. "I'm a non-combatant. Always have been. I stabilize veins, patch broken nodes, handle energy flow — the unglamorous stuff. Useful, but it doesn't earn levels."
Lucas grinned. "Great. I have a personal Geek Squad member."
Jeff tilted his head. "You say that now. Wait until you need your arm un-petrified."
Lucas laughed, shaking his head. "You're definitely the least reassuring quest companion in history."
"Maybe," Jeff said, leaning back against the wall. "But I'm the only one you've got. Get some sleep, rookie. Tomorrow we'll see if the system's still watching."
The wind whispered through the ruins, low and rhythmic, like a heartbeat under the earth.