Alex Kain had never been one for birthdays. Growing up in the shadow of crumbling apartment blocks and flickering streetlights, he'd learned early that celebrations were luxuries, not necessities. But tomorrow was different. Tomorrow, he turned eighteen. And in a world where eighteen meant everything, Alex couldn't shake the gnawing anxiety that clung to him like the damp chill of his unheated room.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the cracked screen of his phone. The date glowed back at him: March 14, 2030. Just past midnight. In a few hours, he'd be eligible for the teleportation—the global rite of passage that had reshaped society over the last decade. At exactly 8:00 a.m. on every eighteen-year-old's birthday, they vanished from Earth and reappeared in Eryndor, a game-like world where survival meant power, and power meant everything when you returned.
Alex had seen the news reports, the documentaries, the tearful interviews with parents who waited years for their children to come back—if they came back at all. Some returned as heroes, wielding magic or skills that made them legends. Others… didn't return. And then there were those who came back broken, their minds shattered by whatever horrors they'd faced.
He ran a hand through his messy black hair, trying to steady his breathing. I'm not like them, he told himself. I've got nothing to lose. That was true enough. Orphaned at ten, Alex had bounced between foster homes and halfway houses, learning to fend for himself in a world that didn't care. If Eryndor was a game, he'd play it better than anyone. He had to.
A notification pinged on his phone, startling him. It was a message from the government's Returnee Regulation Agency (RRA): "Teleportation imminent. Prepare for departure at 8:00 a.m. EST. Godspeed, Alex Kain."
He scoffed. Godspeed. As if divine intervention had anything to do with it. Still, the message made it real. In less than eight hours, his life would change forever.
Alex stood and paced the small room, his boots scuffing the worn carpet. He'd packed light—a habit from years of moving. A backpack leaned against the wall, stuffed with essentials: a change of clothes, a pocketknife, a few protein bars, and a faded photo of his parents. He didn't know if any of it would make the trip to Eryndor, but it made him feel prepared.
What's it like there? he wondered for the thousandth time. The returnees who spoke about it described a world of magic and monsters, where every step could be your last. But they also spoke of power—unimaginable power that could be brought back to Earth. Alex had seen the elite returnees on TV, their mansions and private jets, their influence over governments. That kind of power could change everything. For him, for the people he cared about—if there were any left.
A memory flashed: his last foster brother, Mikey, who'd turned eighteen six months ago. Mikey had been teleported and hadn't returned yet. Alex clenched his fists. I'll find you, Mikey. Wherever you are.
The night stretched on, sleep elusive. Alex lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with possibilities. What talent would he get? Everyone received one, unique to them, or so the stories went. Some were mundane—enhanced strength or agility. Others were godlike—control over elements, time, or even minds. Alex didn't care what he got, as long as it was strong enough to survive.
And to win.
The alarm blared at 7:30 a.m., jolting Alex awake. He hadn't realized he'd dozed off. His heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, the reality of the day crashing down on him. Thirty minutes. He grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed to the bathroom.
He splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror. Sharp gray eyes looked back, framed by dark circles. His face was lean, almost gaunt, a testament to years of scraping by. But there was a fire in those eyes—a determination that had kept him alive when others had given up.
"You've got this," he muttered to himself. "Whatever happens, you've got this."
At 7:55 a.m., he stood in the center of his room, the government's instructions echoing in his mind: Stand still. Do not resist the pull. The air felt thick, charged with an energy he couldn't quite place. His skin prickled, and a faint hum filled his ears.
It's happening.
At exactly 8:00 a.m., the world around him dissolved. One moment, he was in his dingy apartment; the next, he was falling through a void, weightless and disoriented. Colors swirled—blues, greens, golds—before solid ground materialized beneath his feet.
Alex stumbled, catching himself on a tree trunk. The scent of pine and earth filled his lungs, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves overhead. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. He was in a dense forest, sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts. Birds chirped, and somewhere in the distance, water trickled over rocks.
Eryndor.
For a moment, he just stood there, awestruck. It was real. He was here.
Then, a translucent screen appeared before his eyes, floating like a hologram:
Welcome to Eryndor, Alex Kain.
Talent Assigned: Skill Synthesis
Level: 1
Skills: None
Quests: None
Alex's breath caught. Skill Synthesis? What does that mean?
Before he could ponder further, a voice echoed in his mind—calm, mechanical, like an AI from a video game.
"Greetings, player. I am the System. You have been granted the talent 'Skill Synthesis,' allowing you to combine any skills you learn or acquire into new, unique abilities. Use this power wisely."
Alex's eyes widened. Combine skills? That sounded… overpowered. A grin tugged at his lips. Maybe he'd gotten lucky after all.
But first, he needed to understand the basics. He focused on the status screen, willing it to expand. More information appeared:
Health: 100/100
Mana: 50/50
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Intelligence: 12
Skills: None
Inventory: Backpack (Earth items detected—unauthorized. Items will be confiscated upon return to Earth.)
Alex frowned. So I can't bring stuff back. Figures. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he needed to survive.
He took a step forward, leaves crunching underfoot. The forest seemed peaceful, but he knew better. If this was anything like the games he'd played, danger lurked everywhere.
As if on cue, a low growl rumbled from the underbrush. Alex froze, his hand instinctively reaching for his pocketknife. A wolf emerged, its fur matted and eyes glowing with hunger. It was larger than any wolf he'd seen on Earth, easily the size of a small bear.
Shit.
The wolf snarled, baring its fangs. Alex's heart raced. He had no skills, no weapons beyond a flimsy knife. But he wasn't going down without a fight.
He gripped the knife tightly, crouching into a defensive stance. The wolf lunged, and Alex dodged to the side, slashing at its flank. The blade barely nicked the beast, drawing a thin line of blood. The wolf yelped, more annoyed than injured, and turned to face him again.
Think, Alex. Think.
Then he remembered: the System mentioned skills. Maybe there was a starter skill or something. Desperately, he focused on the status screen, willing it to show him options.
A new window popped up:
Available Starter Skills:
1. Basic Swordsmanship
2. Fireball
3. Heal Minor Wounds
Wait, I can choose one? But the System had said his talent was Skill Synthesis. Did that mean…?
The wolf charged again, cutting his thoughts short. Alex dove to the ground, rolling away as the beast's claws tore through the air where he'd been standing.
I need something now!
Impulsively, he selected Basic Swordsmanship. A surge of knowledge flooded his mind—stances, grips, strikes. It was as if he'd trained for years. His body moved on instinct, and he slashed upward, catching the wolf across the chest. This time, the cut was deeper, and the wolf howled in pain.
But it wasn't enough. The wolf retaliated, snapping its jaws perilously close to Alex's arm. He stumbled back, panic rising.
Then it hit him: Skill Synthesis. If he could combine skills…
But he only had one skill. Unless…
Wait, the System said "any skills you learn or acquire." Did that include skills from others or from the environment?
A wild idea formed. The wolf—was it using a skill? He focused on the beast, and to his surprise, a small tag appeared above its head: Skill: Savage Bite
Can I… copy that?
The System's voice returned: "Skill Synthesis allows you to combine skills you have learned. To acquire new skills, you must observe or defeat enemies using them."
Observe or defeat. He'd have to survive this fight first.
The wolf lunged again, and Alex sidestepped, channeling his newfound swordsmanship. He struck again, this time aiming for the legs. The wolf stumbled, blood matting its fur.
Just a little more.
With a final, desperate lunge, Alex drove the knife into the wolf's neck. The beast let out a gurgling whimper and collapsed, its body going still.
Panting, Alex stepped back, adrenaline coursing through him. A notification flashed:
Congratulations! You have defeated your first enemy.
Experience Gained: 50 XP
Level Up! You are now Level 2.
New Skill Acquired: Savage Bite (from observation)
Alex's eyes widened. I can acquire skills by observing enemies? That changed everything.
But before he could celebrate, a distant roar echoed through the forest, deep and menacing. The ground trembled slightly, and birds scattered from the trees.
Alex swallowed hard, gripping his bloodied knife. Whatever that was, it was much bigger than a wolf.
He glanced at his status screen, now showing Level 2 and two skills: Basic Swordsmanship and Savage Bite. A new option glowed: Synthesize Skills?
A grin spread across his face. Maybe he wasn't so unprepared after all.
But as the roar sounded again, closer this time, Alex knew his journey had only just begun.