He pictured the concept of mana in his mind’s eye. A river beneath his skin. A glow in his chest. A pulse in his palms. Every story he’d ever heard about magic whispered different metaphors. He tried them all.
Nothing.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, held it for a beat, then exhaled. Still nothing. No tingling sensation. No sudden clarity. No flicker of light. The HUD remained unchanged. His body, untransformed.
Elias opened one eye, peeking at the flickering fire. It popped quietly, wholly unimpressed by his inner journey. He huffed and slouched forward, running a hand through his damp hair.
"Figures," he muttered. "Of course it’s not that easy."
He picked up a twig and began idly poking the fire with it, watching embers shift and dance. Maybe the problem was him. Maybe he didn’t have the right stats, or hadn’t met the right person, or needed a tutorial NPC to show him the ropes.
Or maybe... maybe this world liked to watch him flail.
He chuckled bitterly under his breath. "Well, that makes two of us."
A gust of wind curled into the shelter, tugging at the crude wall he’d made from branches. The fire danced, briefly threatened. Elias leaned forward instinctively, shielding it with his body until the wind passed.
No magic. No guidance. No clue what he was doing.
But the fire was still burning. That, at least, was something.
He leaned back again, the rough stone of the overhang pressing into his spine as he let the fire’s warmth settle over him. For all his effort, the meditation had left him more tired than tranquil. His limbs were sore, his thoughts scattered.
The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it was falling harder now—thick drops drumming on the leaves and rocks with relentless rhythm. The sound filled the forest, hiding any other movement, any threat that might be lurking just beyond the edge of his firelight.
Elias stared into the flames, watching them twist and curl. Orange and gold danced over the sticks he’d gathered, slowly blackening them to ash. He found it hard to look away. Something about fire was hypnotic—alive in a way he couldn't quite explain.
He wanted magic to feel like that. Immediate. Powerful. Visible.
Instead, all he had were wet clothes, aching muscles, and a message from the HUD that might as well have said: Come back later.
More features will be unlocked once the task is complete.
He didn’t need to ask what task. The HUD had already told him. Kill the Goblin Chief.
A simple directive. Brutal in its clarity.
And worse? He already knew what killing a goblin felt like.
His stomach turned at the memory—the blood, the trembling aftermath, the shallow grave he’d dug with dirt-caked hands. He hadn’t even accepted Hecate’s offer to consecrate it. Power at the cost of pride. No thanks.
A sudden crack of thunder rolled through the sky, loud enough to rattle the ground beneath him. Elias flinched despite himself, glancing out toward the forest. Trees swayed in the wind, their silhouettes barely visible through the curtain of rain.
He sighed again, deeper this time. It was going to be a long night.
He reached for his shirt-wrapped bundle and unwrapped a remaining strip of fish. Cold, a little tough now—but it was food. As he chewed, he let his gaze drift back to the HUD. Still floating there, faintly glowing, a half-hearted presence like a screensaver no one had asked for.
"More features unlocked once the task is complete," he recited dryly. "Care to define ‘complete’? Or do I just have to slaughter my way through the forest hierarchy?"
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The HUD, predictably, stayed quiet.
Elias dropped his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. He wasn’t giving up. But right now, rest seemed like the most productive thing he could do.
Tomorrow, he’d try again. Or he’d find something new. Or the world would throw another problem at him, and he’d deal with it like he always did—on instinct, alone, and one step behind.
Elias stood in the upstairs hallway, barefoot, surrounded by morning light.
The house felt warm—not the dry, stale warmth of forced heat, but something gentler. Sunlight spilled through the windows, catching dust motes that drifted lazily through the air. He could hear footsteps downstairs, the quiet murmur of a television, and the familiar clatter of a coffee mug on the counter.
He descended slowly, each creaking step underfoot grounding him in the impossible peace of this moment.
At the base of the stairs, his father stood by the door, lacing his work boots, dressed in clean denim and a flannel shirt. He looked up at Elias with no trace of anger or resentment—just tired eyes and a small, genuine smile.
“Morning, kid.”
Elias nodded, too stunned to speak.
His father reached for his keys, then paused. He stepped closer and placed a hand on Elias’s shoulder—warm, solid. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, his voice low, easy. “Take care of your mom, alright?”
Then he left, the door closing gently behind him.
Elias stood still, the kiss lingering like warmth from the sun. His chest ached—but not with pain. With longing.
“Sweetheart?” came a familiar voice from the kitchen.
He turned.
His mother stood at the stove, stirring something on the burner. She looked up and smiled as he entered the room—really smiled. The circles under her eyes were gone. Her skin glowed with color, her posture strong, alive.
“Did you sleep okay?”
He couldn’t answer. His throat tightened, and the tears came before he could stop them—soft at first, then shaking his shoulders as he collapsed into the nearest kitchen chair.
His mother was beside him in an instant. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t press. She just wrapped her arms around him, held him close, rocked him like she used to when the world was too much.
“Oh, baby,” she whispered, stroking his hair. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
He sobbed against her shoulder, her sweater dampening with tears. She didn’t speak again, didn’t try to make it better. She just stayed with him, warm and real.
After a while, when the tears slowed, she pulled back gently, brushing his hair from his face.
“You’re so strong, Elias,” she said softly—not with awe, but with comfort. “You don’t always have to be. But you are.”
He nodded, unable to speak, just staring at her—trying to memorize everything. The lines around her eyes when she smiled. The scent of her shampoo. The soft hum she always made under her breath when cooking.
“Come have breakfast,” she said, ruffling his hair again. “We’ve got a good day ahead.”
And for just a moment, Elias let himself believe it.
He hugged her one more time, tighter than he ever had in life. “I love you,” he whispered, fiercely, desperately.
“I love you too,” she murmured against his hair. “Always.”
The light grew warmer. Brighter. The kitchen slowly dissolved into gold.
He woke with damp eyes and a steady breath, lying beside the low glow of the campfire.
And in his chest—where guilt had once twisted and fear had clawed—there was only one thing now.
Resolve.
The HUD flickered softly into view, unprompted. No chime, no announcement—just quiet acknowledgment.
New Trait Unlocked: Resolve I
When anchored by purpose, your will becomes your shield.
-
Resistance to fear-based effects increased.
-
+5 to Mental Fortitude.
Elias sat up slowly, the morning light filtering through the trees beyond the overhang. The rain had stopped. The forest was quiet. Waiting.
He wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks and whispered, “For her.”
Then he stood.
The morning mist clung low to the forest floor as Elias stepped out from under the rocky overhang. The storm had passed, leaving the world drenched but hushed, as if holding its breath.
Each footstep was careful, deliberate. He moved like a shadow between the trees, spear in hand, eyes scanning the ground for signs of passage. He didn’t know exactly where the Goblin Chief might be, but if the scouts had reached this far, the nest wouldn’t be too distant.
A patch of disturbed earth caught his eye—deep impressions in the mud, not from deer or wild boar. Toes curled inward. Sharp, narrow heels. Goblin.
He crouched beside the tracks, brushing aside wet leaves. Several prints. And old blood, smeared faintly on a nearby rock. Not fresh, but recent enough.
They were moving in groups now.
He rose and followed the trail, each step a quiet echo of the resolve burning beneath his ribs.
Not for vengeance. Not for XP or loot.
For his mother.
He remembered her arms around him. Her voice. Her warmth. The dream lingered like a lantern in his mind, warding off the dark.
Branches snapped in the distance.
Elias froze.
He lowered himself behind a thick tangle of ferns, heart steady. His eyes narrowed.
Voices.
Not words—guttural, chattering—goblin speech.
He crept closer, each movement practiced now, quiet. He reached the edge of a shallow ridge and peered down.
Three goblins huddled around a makeshift camp—no fire, just raw meat and scavenged scraps. One of them bore crude paint smeared across its face. A scout or a runner, maybe.
Elias didn’t move yet. He watched.
Waited.
Think like a hunter, he told himself. Not a hero.