The next morning, pounding knocks rattled Silas’s door. He surfaced slowly, groggy and disoriented—sleep had claimed him the moment his head touched the pillow after the shower. He dragged himself upright, crossed the small room, and opened the door. Arthur, Jen, and Larry stood waiting in the hallway.

  “Guys, isn’t this a little early?” Silas muttered, eyes barely open.

  “It’s noon,” Arthur replied. “We have to check out.”

  Silas blinked, startled. “Noon?”

  Arthur explained that they had tried waking him earlier, but he hadn’t stirred. They hadn’t wanted to barge in uninvited, so they waited. Then Huni, the inn’s receptionist, informed them their time was up—checkout by noon or face eviction. She had said it with genuine regret, noting they were among the few guests who hadn’t caused trouble. And she said she wouldn’t like to do so to her first reliable customers.

  Silas nodded, catching up. He stepped back inside, gathered his belongings, and packed quickly. After a polite farewell to Huni, the group left the inn. The town’s streets, once bustling, now felt strangely empty.

  “Where did everyone go?” Silas asked.

  “Out to the grasslands,” Arthur said.

  Silas frowned. “They actually went? I figured they’d stay locked up inside the town’s walls.”

  “They learned how to access the system options,” Arthur continued. “Word spread. Some started talking—claiming if some average people could kill the pink sheep, they could survive out there too.”

  “Ah,” Silas said with a lopsided grin. “So we’ve become the shining examples of this brave new world, huh?”

  “And I heard someone last night fried a man with electric so badly he pissed himself,” Arthur added.

  All eyes slid to Silas—Jen’s, Larry’s, Arthur’s—the silent accusation hanging in the air. If anyone here had wielded electricity, it was him. They knew Silas had learned a new lightning based spell.

  “What?” Silas replied, spreading his hands in mock innocence. “Plenty of black mages out there. Could’ve been anyone.”

  “We didn’t say it was you,” Jen said, but her gaze lingered, sharp and searching, as if trying to peel back the layers of his thoughts.

  “Enough of that,” Silas said, brushing it off. “So where’s the lanky beanpole?”

  “I say we ditch him,” Larry growled, arms crossed, jaw tight with lingering resentment.

  “Tim said he’d be at the north gate at noon,” Arthur replied. “And that we’d better wake you up. If not…” He hesitated.

  “If not what?” Silas asked.

  “If not, he’s going to mess you up,” Arthur finished.

  Larry snorted. “Then ditch the coward. Better yet, we teach him a lesson and leave him behind.” The hostility in his voice crackled like distant thunder—no room for compromise.

  Silas exhaled slowly. They were all still raw, still reacting. Fighting among themselves wouldn’t get them out of this trial world alive.

  Silas just let out a small sigh.

  “Let’s finish the tavern quest first,” he said. “We can figure out the rest after.” He then turned to Larry.

  “Larry, for the quest—do you need anything before we head out? Bait? Supplies?” Silas asked.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to have some,” Larry replied, shaking his head. “But we’re burning daylight. I’d rather test the hook on this rod and see what it can do.”

  At the mere mention of fishing, Larry’s expression softened—his eyes brightening like a man glimpsing open water after too long on land. They moved toward the north gate. The streets were quieter than the night before, yet remnants of despair lingered. People slumped against walls, eyes hollow, some whispering to themselves, others staring into nothing at all. Whether they hadn’t understood the system or had simply surrendered in this new world, the result was the same: defeat before the fight had truly begun.

  “You’re late,” Tim said. That punchable face of his never really went away even after a night of rest.

  Silas studied him for a moment. The guy had always been difficult—an office climber who smiled at superiors and talked down to everyone else. Here in this strange new world, the behavior hadn’t changed. Same posture, same air of self-importance.

  But Silas just grinned and waved it off. “Let’s move,” he said. “Don’t want the tavern cat lady thinking we’re slacking.”

  They followed the path they had taken the day before. The grassland stretched out before them, a vast sea of green rippling beneath a steady breeze. Scattered across the field, small hunting parties stalked the fleurhorns—pink, four-eyed creatures grazing peacefully, oblivious to the danger closing in.

  Groups of ten, fifteen people surrounded a single beast at a time. Overkill. The sheer numbers made the hunt easier, sure—but it also spoke to something deeper. Fear. Caution. A refusal to face the unknown without overwhelming force.

  Silas watched as another team moved in, weapons drawn. The fleurhorn bleated, startled, then tried to bolt. The hunters swarmed it, overwhelming the creature in seconds. Practical. Efficient. But there was no glory in it—just survival.

  Arguments broke out across the grassland like brushfires.

  Voices rose. Accusations flew. Then fists.

  Hungry people lost patience quickly. Tired people lost reason even faster. Desperation did the rest. Groups that had formed out of necessity now cracked under pressure—loot disputes, kill credits, who struck first, who deserved more. Survival had stripped away civility, leaving something raw and ugly beneath.

  Silas didn’t slow down. Didn’t stare. Didn’t judge. He stepped beside Jen and took her by the arm, guiding her away from the others. Not rough. But firm enough that she followed without protest.

  Arthur noticed immediately and tried to move after them.

  Larry stopped him with a hand to the shoulder.

  Arthur looked at him.

  Larry shook his head once.

  Not now.

  Tim, walking several paces behind, didn’t even bother looking up.

  “Is something wrong?” Jen asked once they were clear of the noise. Her voice trembled slightly—more from surprise than fear.

  Silas released her arm.

  “Have you used your skill point yet?”

  She blinked. “I wanted to. But you told me not to.” She crossed her arms and shot him a sideways look. “So I didn’t.”

  “Good.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  Silas ran a hand through his hair. “You know how I usually clean up your messes?”

  Her expression shifted. It wasn’t anger. It was something quieter. Something wounded.

  “This isn’t any different,” he continued. “I just need you to recite. Nothing more. Noting less.”

  Jen turned away quickly. Too quickly.

  Her shoulders tightened. She wiped at her eyes before he could see.

  “What’s wrong?” Silas asked. Noticing the sad look on Jen’s face before she turned.

  When she faced him again, the smile was back—bright, practiced, slightly crooked. She even flashed an okay sign with her fingers.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “So what’s the grand strategy?”

  Silas studied her for a second longer. This wasn’t the office. This wasn’t paperwork or missed deadlines. This was survival. It was no use to keep coddling her.

  “I’ve been thinking since yesterday,” he said finally. “You should spend your point on Summon Skeleton spell.”

  “Summon Skeleton?” Jen’s eyes widened. She shook her head immediately—hands up, palms out like she could physically block the idea. “That sounds terrifying. I can’t—”

  “Do you want to die, Jen?”

  The words cut clean and sharp.

  She blinked, stunned. “Die? Of course not.” Her voice rushed now, spilling over itself. “My mom and dad are probably waiting for me. And I told you last week—my sister just had her baby. I’m an aunt now. And Betty—my dog—she hates being left alone. One time she chewed through—”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Jen.”

  He didn’t mention the truth to Jen about her family—that wherever they were, they were likely trapped in this same nightmare. No use unraveling that thread here as it would only make it worse for Jen.

  He stepped closer and took her hand. Firm. Grounding. Not cruel—but immovable.

  He let her feel the pressure.

  “You’re clumsy,” Silas continued, not unkindly, but without sugarcoating it. “You panic. You run when things get ugly. And if you miscast something out there? If you freeze? That’s it.”

  Her jaw tightened.

  “I’m not saying that to hurt you,” he said. “I’m saying it because I don’t want to bury you in some grassland over a pink sheep.”

  He squeezed her hand once more.

  “Summon Skeleton gives you distance. It gives you protection. A body between you and whatever wants to tear you apart. You don’t have to be the hero. Let the skeleton swing the sword. Let it take the hit.”

  Jen searched his face. His eyes weren’t joking. They weren’t mocking. They were steady. Focused. Calculating. Protective.

  “You really think that’s my best shot?” she asked softly.

  “It’s not about what looks good,” Silas replied. “It’s about what keeps you breathing.”

  “But can you reconsider, Si?” Jen’s voice wavered. “You know I’m terrible with scary stuff. I can’t even sit through a horror movie without hiding behind a pillow, I—”

  “Jen!”

  Silas’s voice cracked across the grassland like a rifle shot.

  Everything stopped.

  Arthur froze mid-step. Larry turned. Even Tim looked over. The wind seemed to hesitate.

  Jen stared at him, eyes trembling, shoulders shaking. In all the years he’d known her—through missed deadlines, broken printers, office politics—he had never raised his voice at her. Not once. He’d always been the calm one. The fixer.

  But this wasn’t the office.

  “This isn’t back home, Jen,” Silas said. Silas said, his voice lower now but no less intense. “Out here, things change in a blink. We don’t get warnings. We don’t get second chances.” He took a step closer. “One day I might not be there to pull you out. I might be dead. Or I might decide to walk my own path.”

  The words were harsh. Deliberate.

  “For your own life,” he said, locking eyes with her, “use the spell. Use the class you chose.”

  Jen swallowed. Whatever softness remained in her expression hardened into reluctant acceptance. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Tell me how.”

  Silas exhaled through his nose, some of the fire leaving him. He walked her through it step by step—menu, skills, allocation. A simple mechanical act that felt heavier than it should have.

  A faint blue window flickered before her. The point vanished.

  Summon Skeleton unlocked.

  As they resumed walking toward the forest’s edge, Jen frowned slightly. “The incantation’s long,” she said. “Really long. Five minutes minimum.”

  Silas blinked. “Five minutes?”

  She nodded. “It takes up almost the entire window.”

  That caught him off guard.

  His own spells varied in chanting time. The quickest, Electric Jolt at four seconds after much practice. Fireball at one minutes. And Mana Armor at one minute thirty seconds. He had assumed most beginner spells would be similar.

  Five minutes.

  That was a death sentence if she was casting in the middle of combat.

  He felt a flicker of realization. He got lucky on his second offensive spell. Fast incantation, fast execution. In a fight, speed wasn’t just convenience. It was survival.

  “Go on,” Silas said. “Summon it.”

  Jen nodded, inhaled, and began the chant. The words spilled out—ancient, sharp, unfamiliar. Halfway through the second line she stumbled.

  The blue window flickered.

  The spell collapsed. She started again. Line one. Line two. Line three—

  A syllable bent the wrong way. Gone.

  Again. And again.

  By the tenth failure, her voice was trembling. By the fifteenth, Arthur had stopped pretending not to listen. By the twentieth, Silas felt the edge of his patience scraping against bone.

  But he didn’t snap. Not this time.

  “Slow down,” he said evenly. “Forget us. Forget the forest. Just chant. One word at a time.”

  She nodded and tried again.

  They reached the forest edge with no skeleton to show for it.

  The trees loomed ahead—dense, dark, branches weaving together like clasped fingers. The wind shifted as if the forest itself were breathing.

  And then everyone looked at Silas.

  Larry stood at the front, map in hand. The paper shook visibly between his fingers. He tried to hide it. Failed. Arthur avoided eye contact. Tim lingered at the back, unreadable as ever.

  Silas took them all in with a single glance. Nervous. Unsteady. Fractured.

  If something charged out of those trees right now, they would scatter like birds under gunfire.

  “Not yet,” Silas said calmly. “We’re not going in.”

  Larry blinked. “What?”

  “Until she summons it,” Silas said, nodding at Jen.

  Jen stiffened. “Si, you don’t have to worry about me. We can just—”

  “You’re the weakest link.”

  The words landed hard. No cushion. No apology.

  “And from the looks of us,” Silas continued, sweeping his gaze across the group, “none of these fine gentlemen are lining up to die for you.”

  Silence.

  Arthur looked away. Larry stared at the dirt. Tim didn’t object. The truth hung there.

  Jen’s face flushed. Hurt flashed across her eyes—but she didn’t argue. Because she knew. They all did. This wasn’t cruelty. It was survival.

  “Again,” Silas said.

  Jen lifted her chin and began the chant once more. The words came slower this time.

  Measured.

  Careful.

  Failure.

  Restart.

  Failure.

  Restart.

  The repetition grated on nerves. Even Larry sighed once under his breath. Arthur shifted his weight impatiently. But Jen kept going.

  “I did it!” Jen gasped.

  The air in front of her shimmered.

  Foreign letters—jagged, ancient, alive—spiraled into formation in dim violet light. Symbols folded over one another like machinery locking into place. The group stood frozen, breath held.

  Smoke burst outward in a tight plume, rolling low across the ground before thinning like morning mist.

  When it cleared, a skeleton stood upright where the glyphs had burned.

  Tall. Still. Empty eye sockets ignited with bright purple flame. It turned its skull toward Jen.

  She yelped and nearly jumped out of her boots.

  Silas watched her carefully. Her shoulders trembled. Her feet shuffled backward instinctively, like prey stepping away from a predator it had accidentally summoned.

  He placed a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

  “That skeleton is yours,” he said evenly. “It answers to you. So don’t be an idiot and start fearing your own weapon.”

  Jen turned toward him, eyes glistening, throat tight. “But, Si—” The rest of the words refused to come out.

  “Think of it as a pet,” Silas continued. “Like your dog. Only this one doesn’t chew furniture. And it doesn’t bite the owner.”

  A weak, shaky breath escaped her.

  “Good,” Silas said. “We move.”

  He stepped forward, taking point. Larry moved beside him, gripping the map like it was a lifeline.

  Behind them walked Jen, her skeleton keeping silent pace at her side. She maintained a cautious distance from it, as if afraid it might suddenly remember it was made of nightmares.

  Arthur followed close behind her, sword drawn, head swiveling left and right. Every snapped twig earned a flinch.

  Tim took the rear. One hand in his pocket. The other resting lightly on his dagger. Not guarding the flank—no, Silas saw it clearly. Tim was positioned for escape. If something lunged from the trees, he’d be the first to break formation.

  Noted.

  Silas let his gaze sweep the forest ahead. The canopy swallowed sunlight in thick layers. Shadows pooled between trunks. The air cooled several degrees the moment they crossed beneath the branches.

  His grip tightened around the twig wand.

  The forest swallowed them whole.

  The canopy above was thick—layer upon layer of interlocking branches and broad leaves that strangled the sunlight into thin green shafts. What little light survived dripped down in scattered beams, illuminating drifting motes of dust like suspended stars.

  The air was cooler here.

  Heavier.

  Alive.

  Somewhere in the undergrowth, tiny creatures scurried. Insects chirred in uneven rhythm. The scent of damp soil and crushed leaves filled their lungs—rich, organic, almost intoxicating in its purity. It would have been refreshing under different circumstances.

  Then he stopped.

  A rustle.

  Right side. Ten o’clock. Close.

  His lips were already moving.

  The incantation rolled out under his breath—sharp, controlled. Four seconds. No wasted syllables.

  At the tip of his twig wand, a tight ring of electric-blue energy coiled into existence with a faint crackle.

  Behind him, the group stiffened.

  Arthur’s blade lifted.

  Larry sucked in a breath.

  Jen’s skeleton shifted its weight with a dry click of bone.

  Tim… adjusted his stance backward.

  The bush exploded outward.

  Something leapt.

  Arthur nearly bolted.

  Jen gasped.

  But Silas held his ground.

  A rabbit landed in the clearing.

  Small. White. Soft.

  And from its forehead sprouted a slender unicorn-like horn.

  It twitched its nose, black eyes wide and innocent. Aside from the horn, it looked like something you’d see in a child’s storybook.

  “No!” Jen blurted, reaching forward instinctively. “It’s just—”

  The electric jolt left Silas’s wand before she finished the sentence.

  The electric crack snapped through the clearing.

  The horned rabbit squealed—a high, startled sound—before its body seized mid-hop. It flipped onto its back, legs stiff, a thin ribbon of smoke curling from singed fur.

  The smell hit a second later.

  Burnt hair.

  Silence followed.

  Larry stared.

  Arthur stared.

  Jen stared hardest of all.

  Their expressions asked the question none of them voiced.

  What is wrong with you?

  Silas didn’t explain.

  Didn’t justify.

  Didn’t apologize.

  He stepped past the fallen creature and caught Larry lightly by the arm, urging him forward.

  “Keep moving,” he said flatly.

  Behind them, the skeleton clacked forward obediently. Jen hesitated a second longer, then followed.

  They encountered more of the horned rabbits deeper inside. Each time, the reaction was the same—brief surprise, a flicker of hesitation.

  Each time, Silas eliminated the threat without pause.

  Their pace remained slow. Measured. Every footstep deliberate.

  Then came something different.

  A fel rat.

  It slithered from behind a rotting log—long, sinewy, its fangs too large for its narrow skull. Its eyes burned with feral hunger.

  The memory flashed through Silas’s mind—the last one of its kind nearly tearing him open.

  The fel rat lunged.

  Silas lunged with it.

  His boots tore across the forest floor as his lips moved in a tight, controlled murmur. No wasted breath. No hesitation.

  Four seconds.

  The rat sprang, jaws wide enough to split a wrist in half.

  At the last possible instant, Silas thrust the wand forward like a dagger.

  The electric jolt detonated point-blank.

  Blue light flared between them.

  The rat shrieked midair as electricity ripped through its wiry body. Silas twisted and rolled to the side, hitting the ground hard but already moving. The creature slammed into the dirt where he had stood, convulsing violently.

  The smell hit next.

  Burnt fur.

  The rat writhed, claws gouging lines into the soil as current coursed through it. Its body jerked once more—

  Then went still.

  Silas rose calmly, brushing dirt from his sleeve. He approached the carcass, studying it with a cool, clinical gaze. No scrambling. No panic. No desperate flailing like last time.

  One spell.

  Knockout.

  A clean execution.

  A faint smile tugged at his lips.

  Yes, he was a glass cannon—high output, low tolerance for mistakes. One solid hit could still break him. But firepower solved problems quickly. And in this world, speed often mattered more than durability.

  But he did saw a problem though. Silas replayed the fight in his head. The rat had been fast—too fast. If he’d been a second slower, those fangs would’ve torn into him again. And that was just a rat. What about something bigger? Stronger? Built to hunt? Raw power had carried him so far, but the margin was razor-thin. A glass cannon worked—until it didn’t. For the first time, he considered balance.

  Behind him, the others exhaled almost in unison.

  They moved forward again.

  Through thickets. Over exposed roots. Past the occasional horned rabbit—each dispatched efficiently. Another fel rat fell the same way. Silas handled them all, keeping the danger contained before it could spread to the group.

  Then Larry stopped.

  “There,” he whispered.

  Through the trees ahead, light shimmered differently. Brighter. Open. They pushed through the last line of trunks and stepped into a clearing. The forest fell away like curtains parting for a stage reveal.

  A pristine lake lay before them, its surface smooth as polished glass. Sunlight poured unobstructed onto the water, scattering silver reflections across gentle ripples. The air felt lighter here. Cleaner.

  For the first time since entering the woods, the tension in Larry’s shoulders broke.

  He grinned wide, raising both fists overhead.

  “We’re here!”