Chapter 1 — The Day the World Looked Back
Kael Morvain was halfway through splitting a log when the axe stopped.
Not slowed. Not deflected.
Stopped.
The blade hung in the air a finger's width above the wood, vibrating faintly, as if it had struck something invisible and solid. Kael frowned, tightening his grip. His arms burned. Sweat ran down his neck.
"Don't do this now," he muttered.
He pushed.
The axe didn't move.
A strange quiet settled over the forest. The usual background noise—birds, wind through leaves, distant insects—thinned until it felt staged, like sound played too softly in a room meant for more people.
Kael let go.
The axe fell. The log remained unmarked.
He took a step back, heart racing. "Alright," he said to no one. "That's new."
Then it hit him.
Not pain. Not fear.
Awareness.
The sensation crawled over his skin, heavy and deliberate, like being examined from every direction at once. Kael's breath caught. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, but there was nowhere to go. The forest felt sealed.
The pressure lingered… then faded.
Kael exhaled shakily and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "You're tired," he told himself. "Hungry. Seeing things."
He bent to retrieve the axe.
Words appeared in front of his eyes.
Flat. Colorless. Perfectly legible.
> ASCENSION CYCLE — INITIALIZATION
Kael stared.
The letters didn't glow. They didn't float like magic from the stories. They were simply there, as undeniable as a wall in front of his face.
He waved a hand through them.
Nothing.
"This is a joke," he said. His voice sounded too loud. "Someone's messing with me."
The words changed.
> WORLD STATUS: BELOW REQUIRED THRESHOLD
ADAPTATION REQUIRED
Kael's stomach tightened. He didn't know why those sentences scared him—but they did. Deeply. Instinctively.
"Adapt to what?" he asked.
The forest darkened.
Light didn't fade so much as it withdrew, as if the world itself were stepping back. Shadows sharpened. The air thickened again, heavier than before.
More text appeared.
> SUBJECT IDENTIFIED: KAEL MORVAIN
"No," Kael said immediately. "No, you don't get to know that."
> IDENTITY CONFIRMED
ORIGIN TRACE: INCOMPLETE
His pulse spiked. "Incomplete how?"
The ground trembled.
Not violently—rhythmically. A slow, massive pulse, like something enormous shifting its weight far below the soil.
Kael's thoughts raced. Old rumors surfaced, half-remembered stories told in taverns by men who drank too much and believed too easily. Tales of worlds that didn't end—they advanced. And of people who couldn't keep up.
> CASUALTY PROJECTION: 86.9%
Kael swallowed. "Casualties… are people."
> CLARIFICATION: IRRELEVANT
Anger flared, sudden and hot. "You don't get to decide that."
The pressure slammed down again, harder this time. Kael dropped to one knee with a grunt, palms scraping against ground that felt strangely smooth, almost unfinished.
> SUBJECT RESISTANCE: NOTED
SURVIVABILITY: BELOW MINIMUM
Kael laughed weakly. "That figures."
He forced himself upright, legs shaking. If this thing—system, god, whatever it was—expected him to beg, it would be disappointed.
"Do it," he said. "Whatever you're planning."
There was a pause.
A real one.
Then:
> ANOMALOUS VARIABLE DETECTED
ALTERNATIVE UTILIZATION POSSIBLE
Kael's breath caught. "Utilization?"
The forest around him began to shift. Trees slid aside without sound. The slope of the land subtly changed. In the distance, something large moved, snapping wood like kindling.
> TRIAL OF ADAPTATION — ASSIGNED
The ground split open beneath Kael's feet.
He had just enough time to realize this wasn't a metaphor before the earth gave way and darkness rose to meet him.