A sigh echoed faintly through the darkness of the damp cave. It came from a small creature, pacing restlessly, its movements betraying a peculiar frustration. The creature—a brown rat with beady black eyes and a long, thin pink tail—stopped and stared into the shadows of its confined world. The dim light from phosphorescent fungi painted the rough walls of the cavern in sickly green hues. The rat’s sharp claws scraped against the cold, damp stone, and its pointed ears twitched in irritation.

  For days, it had lived like this, not as an ordinary rat, but as something far more complex. A faint memory of another life clung to its consciousness like a fading dream—a world of flashing screens, electric lights, and games that never ended. The creature didn’t know how it had become a rat or why it was trapped in this strange dungeon, but it knew one thing: it didn’t belong here.

  Another sigh escaped its tiny body, and the rat slumped against the ground in defeat. Its memories whispered of a name it could no longer recall and a life that felt impossibly distant. Despair turned to anger, and it let out a shrill, frustrated squeak. The other rats paid no mind. They scurried about their tasks, foraging and surviving, oblivious to their peculiar kin’s plight. The rat, with its misplaced memories and unwelcome awareness, was utterly alone.

  A faint blue light flickered before its eyes. A status window appeared, translucent and glowing, like a ghostly reminder of its predicament:

  The rat glared at the window. "Great. Just what I need. A useless reminder of how pathetic I am," it muttered. Its voice, soft and faintly human, echoed in the cavern. The skills looked promising at first glance, but in practice, they were a mockery. "Hide" didn’t make the rat invisible; it only masked its presence from awakened humans who rarely entered the dungeon. "Agility" made it slightly faster—useful only for running away. "Pact" was meaningless at its low level, and "Inspect" barely offered anything beyond identifying mundane objects.

  The rat’s level cap of 5 was the ultimate insult. Even the other rats, most of whom were levels 2 or 3, were stronger. Trying to level up its skills had been a disaster. Its attempts to use "Agility" often ended with it crashing into walls. "Inspect" required far too much experience to improve. And as for "Pact," it was laughable to think it could use it effectively when it couldn’t even fend for itself.

  It scratched its head with a clawed paw. "Reincarnation is supposed to be an upgrade," it grumbled. "Where’s my overpowered skill or my destined weapon? This is just... humiliating."

  The cave suddenly grew louder. A deep, commanding squeak reverberated through the chamber, and the rat turned to see a massive figure looming in the darkness. The giant rat, the leader of their pack, emerged from the shadows, its eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. The smaller rats scurried to its side, forming a ragged procession. The reincarnated rat hesitated before falling in line, trailing at the back of the group. Survival demanded cooperation, even if it despised the role.

  The pack moved through the winding corridors of the dungeon, their tiny claws tapping against the stone floor. They passed goblins—hulking, green-skinned creatures with sharp teeth and crude weapons. The goblins paid no attention to the rats, their focus elsewhere. Monsters in the dungeon rarely fought one another unless their territories overlapped. This unspoken truce was the only reason the rats could wander freely.

  Eventually, the pack reached a curious sight: a door. Unlike the rough, natural walls of the dungeon, this door was made of metal, its surface etched with intricate patterns. The reincarnated rat had seen it before during a solitary exploration. It had tried everything to open it—pushing, pulling, even clawing—but the door hadn’t budged. Whatever lay behind it remained a mystery.

  The pack lingered near the door briefly before returning to their territory. As the rats settled into their nest, the reincarnated rat chose a secluded spot to rest. It had never felt comfortable sleeping alongside the others. They were mindless, instinct-driven. It was... not.

  Just as its eyes began to close, the ground trembled. A crack appeared in the stone floor nearby, faint but unmistakable. The rat jolted upright, staring at the fissure. The other rats ignored it, unbothered by the change. But the reincarnated rat felt a flicker of unease. It didn’t know why, but something about the crack felt significant. Shrugging off the thought, it moved to a quieter corner and lay down. Sleep came uneasily, its dreams filled with fragments of its former life.

  In another part of the world, the morning sun bathed a bustling city street. Among the throngs of people was a petite girl with short, spiky black hair and emerald eyes. Allysa Tanka walked briskly toward her school, her baggy clothes and confident stride setting her apart from the crowd. She was 15 years old and nearing a pivotal moment in her life. Awakening—the phenomenon that granted some humans extraordinary powers—was a fleeting opportunity. By 16, the chances of awakening dropped drastically.

  Allysa shoved her hands into her pockets, ignoring the clamor of the city. She didn’t expect much. Awakening was rare, and the odds weren’t in her favor. Besides, her life didn’t leave much room for daydreams. Between school, part-time jobs, and caring for her younger siblings, she barely had time to sleep.

  "Allysa!" A familiar voice called out, snapping her from her thoughts. She turned to see Sophia, her best friend and the school’s golden girl. Sophia’s radiant smile and effortless charm could disarm anyone, and for some reason, she had chosen Allysa as her confidante. Allysa greeted her with a warm smile, masking the weariness tugging at her.

  The day passed in a blur of monotony, but Allysa couldn’t shake a feeling of unease in the air. As evening approached, she walked home under the glow of streetlights, her mind heavy with thoughts of her siblings, her responsibilities, and the faint, desperate hope that something—anything—might one day change her fate or was she stuck like this forever.