Pain. That was the first truly coherent thought that cut through the fog of arrival shock. Not the soul-deep ache of despair he knew so well, but raw, physical agony. His muscles screamed from the impact, his skin felt scoured raw, and his head throbbed with a dull, heavy beat that matched the pulse of the merciless sun overhead.
He pushed himself from the scorching sand, groaning, his limbs feeling like lead weights encased in sandpaper.
Standing was a mistake. A wave of dizziness washed over him, the impossibly blue sky tilting violently. He staggered, throwing out a hand to brace himself, only to find empty air.
The heat was a physical entity, pressing in from all sides, stealing the moisture from his lungs with every ragged breath. The runic interface, that impossible intrusion into reality, flickered insistently in his vision.
Vitality decreasing.
The words pulsed slightly, a calm, factual statement of impending doom. Panic, cold and sharp this time, tried to claw its way up his throat, but it was blunted by sheer exhaustion and disbelief. He looked down at his hands – real hands, scratched and already beginning to redden under the sun, dusted with orange sand. He was here. Wherever 'here' was. And 'here' was actively killing him.
His gaze drifted to the mote of light hovering patiently nearby. Spark. It pulsed with a soft, steady rhythm, its white light somehow cool and clean amidst the oppressive heat. It offered no answers, just a silent, luminous presence.
"Okay," he rasped, his voice cracking immediately in the dry air. Talking to himself? Or maybe to the wisp? It didn't matter. What mattered was action and he needed to act. Survival instincts, honed by thousands of hours navigating virtual threats, flickered weakly to life.
"Okay, System... Status? Details?"
He focused his intent on the runic display, specifically the [ STATUS ] line. He half-expected nothing to happen, but the runes for Condition: Weakened (Details Locked) and Stamina: Depleted (Details Locked) pulsed slightly brighter, then dimmed again. No details appeared. Locked. Of course, they were locked. Why would anything be easy?
He tried focusing on 'Vitality decreasing.'
"Define Vitality," he muttered, then tried thinking the command sharply. Nothing. He tentatively reached out a shaky hand towards the floating runic panel. His fingers passed right through the light, feeling nothing but the superheated air. Mental interface, then? Or voice? Or maybe it just didn't care about his questions yet.
Useless. For now. But the environmental warning was clear. Heat. He needed shade. He needed water.
He scanned the horizon again, shielding his eyes against the glare. Sand. Endless, rolling waves of orange-red sand, stretched further than seemed possible. The dunes rose and fell like the solidified waves of a vast, dead ocean.
Far in the distance, the heat haze distorted the air, making the horizon shimmer and dance, promising mirages, mocking any hope of finding anything solid. There were no clouds, no plants and no obvious rocks. Just sand, sun, and silence, broken only by the faint, dry whisper of wind carrying yet more heat.
Despair, familiar and cloying, threatened to pull him back under. This was pointless. A different kind of oblivion, perhaps, baked dry under an alien sun. Why fight it?
...where your wishes bloom.
The memory of those glowing runes, that impossible promise, flashed through his mind. It wasn't hope. It was... a challenge? A cosmic dare? His lips twisted in a humourless smirk.
"Yeah, right. Wish I had a cold drink. Wish I wasn't dying."
He focused on that thought, half-expecting reality to warp. Nothing. Figures. Still, the prompt had been specific. Maybe wishes weren't simple commands. Maybe they had to be earned. Or maybe it was just a very elaborate, very cruel lie.
But the question remained. And as long as the question remained, the flat certainty of oblivion he'd felt on the balcony couldn't quite take root here. He had to know.
"Alright, Spark," he said, his voice a little steadier, addressing the wisp. "You showed up. You part of this 'Forge' right? Got any bright ideas?"
Spark pulsed. It drifted slightly higher, then bobbed, once, twice, in a particular direction – towards a slight depression between two large dunes to his left. Its hum changed slightly, a higher, more insistent pitch perhaps? Or was he just projecting?
He stared at it. A silent, floating ball of light. His guide? Seemed unlikely. But… it was the only thing here that wasn't actively trying to kill him with heatstroke. And staying put meant certain death; the System had made that clear. Vitality decreasing.
"Left, huh?" He squinted in that direction. Nothing visibly different, just more sand. But it was a direction. A plan, however flimsy.
"Lead the way, then."
He took a step, then another, his boots sinking into the surprisingly fine sand. Each step was an effort, his depleted stamina making his muscles burn almost immediately. The heat was relentless, reflecting off the sand, baking him from all sides. Sweat beaded on his forehead, only to evaporate almost instantly, leaving stinging salt trails. Thirst clawed at his throat, a dry, rasping fire.
He trudged onward, forcing himself into a rhythm. Left foot, right foot. Breathe in the furnace air, and breathe out. Try not to think about Kai. Try not to think about his parents, his uncle and aunt. Try not to think about the sheer, crushing impossibility of it all. Focus on the next step. Focus on Spark, bobbing patiently a few yards ahead. Focus on the 'Wishes' prompt – not as hope, but as fuel. A reason to take the next step is just to see what happens.
Prove it.
He scanned the ground as he walked, his gamer instincts kicking in. Look for patterns. Anomalies. Different coloured sand? Exposed rock? Hardy, desiccated plants? Anything that broke the monotony. He saw… nothing. Just dunes, sculpted by winds that must blow fiercely sometimes, judging by the sharp crests.
After what felt like an eternity, maybe twenty minutes of exhausting progress, Spark pulsed again, its light flickering slightly faster. It hovered near the base of a larger dune where the shadows were marginally deeper, though still offering precious little respite. He followed its indication, collapsing into the slightly cooler sand of the shadow.
He lay there, panting, heart hammering against his ribs. The System interface flickered.
Critical stamina. Low vitality. Not good. He needed water badly. He looked at Spark.
"Thanks for the shade, I guess," he muttered.
"Any miracles on the water front?"
Spark hummed, then drifted towards a section of the dune wall within the shadow. It hovered near a patch where the sand seemed slightly darker, maybe packed harder. He crawled over, ignoring the burn of the sand on his knees. He brushed away the loose top layer. The sand beneath was indeed cooler, damper. Not wet, not by a long shot, but undeniably less desiccated than the surface.
He dug experimentally with his fingers. It was just damp sand. No hidden spring. False hope, sharp and painful, lanced through him. He slumped back against the dune wall, closing his eyes. Maybe this was it. Maybe the 'wish' was just the chance to die somewhere new.
No. That flicker of defiance sparked again, fueled by sheer contrariness as much as anything else. Not yet. There was moisture here, however faint. Why? He forced his eyes open, scanning the area more closely. Were there plants he'd missed? He looked up at the dune face. Nothing. He looked along the base. Sand, sand, more sand… then, partially buried, almost invisible until you were right on top of it – a glint of something smooth, dark, chitinous-looking.
He crawled closer, pushing sand away. It was the husk of some kind of large, beetle-like creature. Long dead, armour bleached by the sun but mostly intact, maybe six feet long. Its underside was cracked open. He peered inside. Dry, mostly hollowed out. But clinging to the inside of the carapace, particularly near the joints, were tiny, almost crystalline droplets of moisture, condensed perhaps from the morning dew or trapped within the creature's body. Not much. Barely a mouthful in total. But it was liquid.
He carefully, painstakingly, used his finger to gather the droplets, licking the precious moisture from his fingertip. It tasted slightly metallic, slightly bitter, but it was undeniably wet. His parched throat soaked it up gratefully. As he collected the last few drops, the System interface flashed again.
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He stared at the runes, stunned. Level 2? From licking bug juice? And Attribute Points? He focused on the [ STATUS ] line again. The details were still locked, but now there was a flashing sub-heading: Attribute Allocation Pending.
Okay. Okay.
This changed things, not the situation. He was still stranded, still dying of heat and thirst. But the rules. Actions had tangible rewards. Progress was possible. Essence. Advancement. Attributes. Skills. This wasn't just random survival anymore. This was a game.
He looked at the beetle husk, then at Spark, then back at the prompt. The 'wish' still felt like a distant, possibly cruel joke. But the System… the System was real. Demonstrably real. And maybe, just maybe, mastering it was the first step.
Rowan carefully gathered a few more droplets from the husk, ignoring the toxicity warning now that he knew he'd resisted it. Every drop mattered. He needed to find real water, real shelter. And he needed to figure out how to use those three attribute points.
The first small step on a path he never asked for, in a world he didn't understand, driven by a promise he couldn't possibly believe. But he was moving.