A blaze of light. That was the first thing. Then the screens—dozens of them—materialized out of nowhere in front of everyone. And beneath it all came the sound. An ungodly roar, as if the very world was being torn apart at the seams.

Then came the screaming. Gods, the screaming. It was everywhere, constant and deafening.

I turned to my left, barely able to register what was happening, and what I saw still haunts my dreams.

A grotesque creature—something that looked as if it had clawed its way straight out of hell—was lumbering toward a young woman. She was just as lost as I was, frozen in confusion, still trying to make sense of the madness erupting around us.

I opened my mouth to shout a warning, but the sound caught in my throat. Too late.

It latched onto her, its jaws biting down. The scream that followed was like nothing I'd ever heard. It wasn't just pain—it was pure, unfiltered terror.

I watched, helpless, as it tore into her, gnawing through flesh with a sickening sound, ripping her apart piece by piece until the screaming stopped.

And I ran. Gods, I ran. I don't know how far I made it, only that something—some unseen force—compelled me to look back.

I wish I hadn't.

The woman… she stood. Slowly. Flesh torn and dangling, whole sections of her body missing. And then she let out a guttural roar so loud, so raw, it felt like it pierced into my skull and rattled my bones.

And then she charged. Straight into another man nearby.

The cycle began again and another scream.

I turned and ran once more. This time until my lungs burned and my legs gave out. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. Not after what I saw.

"Holy shit," Colm muttered, eyes wide as he flipped through the pages, each one more gripping than the last. He couldn't tear his gaze away—the vivid descriptions pulled him in, painting a scene so raw and intense it felt like he was living it himself.

The story continued, picking up with Dorian, seeking refuge in an abandoned house, his breath ragged from running.

I'd never made it this far out of the city before. Too rural for my tastes. But it felt like the safest bet.

For the first time, I had a moment to breathe. To think. I finally checked the notifications that had appeared—they were filled with nonsense that made my head spin. Something about mana being introduced into the world... something about an unprecedented event that shattered the laws of physics and turned everything we once believed upside down.

And then it offered me power.

Real power.

The choices were wild. Each one sounded more absurd—and more tempting—than the last. But one… one of them resonated with me. It called to something deep in me. So I chose.

The moment I did, it was like fire ignited in my veins. Prickles of energy raced through my body, setting every nerve alight. I could see the power—tangible, electric—and it didn't feel real. But it was mine. And with it, I burned those monsters to ash.

My days after that settled into a cycle—survive, find people, build a camp. Rinse and repeat. We did well, all things considered, and I killed more of those creatures than I ever thought possible.

It didn't take long to realize not everyone was given a class like mine, but people still manifested powers—air, poison, water, even raw force. A few focused on gear and weapons, and we started calling them Crafters. Their abilities were incredible. I managed to get my hands on a solid setup—armor layered with enchantments and a weapon that bonded to me, unlocking a powerful ability I still rely on to this day.

But, as with all things, that peace didn't last.

The infection got into our camp. Not from negligence—not from someone being stupid or letting their guard down. No… it was something far worse. Something faster, smarter, deadlier than anything I'd seen before. It swept through like a tide of death, cutting down everyone in its path.

I barely escaped with my life.

After that, I went solo. I didn't want to draw attention—not to myself, and definitely not to whatever that thing was.

I got stronger. So strong that most undead couldn't even get close to me without being incinerated. Everything that dared to approach got burned.

During that time alone, I learned a lot—not just about survival, but about myself. And more importantly, about the Echoes.

They appeared randomly and disappeared just as unpredictably. Most were fleeting, but a few… a few seemed to stabilize. I kept running into them more and more. It was a dumb idea at first, but I went through them more often than others I came across had. But it wasn't until I killed a boss at the end of one and it dropped something that had a tier on the Analyze result.

That made me realize something. Everything had a tier. Creatures. Items. Echoes. Even us.

And the system? It didn't say a damned thing about it.

I'd wondered for a while why I seemed stronger than others around my level—why some enemies felt impossible, while others fell like nothing. That knowledge shifted everything.

Let's just say, it made me realize how insanely lucky I'd been.

I must've stumbled into fights with creatures either my tier or lower. Except for that one undead… that one was different.

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After that, I told everyone I came across. Some thought I was lying. Others called me mad. But a few—gods bless them—they listened. I needed them to listen. I was furious, ranting like a lunatic about how broken the system was. For a while, I probably was mad.

It wasn't until I met Jerry Lorn that I finally started to calm down.

Jerry… that man was something else. Shrouded in mystery and wrapped—literally—in shadows. He brought me back to myself.

He was strong. Not just in power, but in presence. In so many ways, he became a rival. And through that rivalry, we pushed each other—helped each other reach new heights neither of us could've found alone.

Colm exhaled, leaning back in his chair after the latest stretch of intense reading. "Interesting… there's a connection between Dorian and Jerry," he muttered, eyebrows knitting together. I've never even heard of Dorian before. If he's still alive—and anywhere near as strong as Jerry feels—then he must be a real powerhouse.

He flipped to the next page, continuing to scan through the journal, eyes tracing over fragmented entries detailing Dorian's experiences inside various Echoes. One in particular caught his attention.

Dusk Caverns.

Colm's brows lifted. I know that one.

Apparently, Dorian and Jerry had tackled it early on, tearing through it in record time. Colm couldn't help but grin. "Makes me think they probably earned the sprinter achievement," he said under his breath, half amused, half impressed.

The entries continued, jumping between Echoes—some freezing, some molten, others warped in bizarre ways. Dorian documented the wildly different environments with sharp detail, and while many were dangerous, none seemed to compare to the nightmare of that early undead encounter. It lingered like a shadow over everything else he described.

But then, one entry shifted in tone.

A word that made his eyes lock onto the page, heart skipping slightly.

Quests.

His breath caught as he leaned forward, suddenly far more alert. Luke mentioned that once… and now here it is again.

Colm's fingers tightened around the journal's edge as he kept reading, eyes glued to every line.

After ninety days passed, we received a notification—something I initially brushed aside, too focused on simply surviving. It read: Congratulations on passing the Integration Period. Everyone got a reward.

From what I gathered, the rewards varied—tailored to each individual based on their needs, circumstances, or potential. But regardless of the specifics, one thing was consistent: they were immensely helpful.

I won't go into detail about mine. It was… personal. Deeply so. But I will say this—it didn't just help me survive. It helped me thrive.

And that reward? It opened my eyes. To potential. To ambition.

To Quests.

I became obsessed, nearly unhinged again, chasing that same exhilarating high I'd felt when the system gave me that reward. I wanted more.

So I chased it.

There were still two quests the system had issued during the Integration Period—universal objectives, given to everyone. I made it my mission to complete them.

I don't know how long it took. Days? Weeks? Maybe longer. But eventually, I did it. I completed both. And afterward, when I finally looked in the mirror, I felt a deep pang of shame.

I'd left Jerry, Ves, and Lira behind. Abandoned them to pursue this thrill.

The rewards had been incredible—life-changing, even—but the time I'd lost? So much can change in a short amount of time in this world. I question if it really worth it?

I still don't know.

Eventually, I made my way back to Brimwhistle—a place we once called home. But what I found left me speechless.

Ruins.

The entire place was in shambles. Crumbling buildings, scorched earth. We'd been doing so well... I nearly collapsed on the spot, convinced I was too late. That everyone I cared about was dead and gone.

I stumbled to the city hall, only to find it decimated. But amidst the wreckage, I saw something—faint, but deliberate.

Runes, etched into the ground, sealed tight with magic. I still don't know how he managed it. But it wasn't the runes that shook me.

It was the message.

A single word, scrawled in blood across the floor: North.

That was all I needed.

I ran. For hours. Never stopping. My legs burned, lungs screamed—but I didn't stop.

And eventually… I found them.

Brimhope. Jerry, Ves, Lira.

They were alive. Furious with me, rightfully so—but alive. And despite everything, they were glad to see me.

After things settled, Jerry told me what happened while I was gone. The attack. Clayfell. The strike they were planning.

He spoke of the undead. Of a figure he called the Paragon.

I didn't understand the weight of that title—not then. But I would.

And so we planned. We trained.

And when the time came…

We marched on Clayfell.

With a quiet thud, Colm closed the book and exhaled. "Clayfell? I didn't see that mentioned in the other book. Is it somehow related to Starfell?" he muttered, eyes lingering on the cover. "Ves and Lira—two more wrapped in mystery. Maybe just as strong as Jerry?" He shook his head overwhelmed and exhilarated all at once. "There's still so much to explore… so much I don't know."

He glanced around the library, letting the quiet hum of the place settle over him. Holding the book in his hands, he gave it a small, appreciative tap. "This was incredible. I hope there's another volume," he said, standing up and stretching the stiffness from his limbs.

Carefully, he returned the books to the same shelf Emma had pulled them from, taking note of the placement. As he finished tidying up, he glanced at the time on his HUD.

There's still a lot I need to learn, he thought. But I don't want to just hole up here forever. I need to keep moving, stay active—but I'm definitely making this a habit. I'll come back, keep digging, keep growing.

He made a mental note for his next visit: Find the next volume of Dorian's journal… maybe something more specific about Brimhope, too.

Luke told me to keep a low profile, Colm thought, and I've completely ignored that for the rush of getting stronger.

He sighed, a shadow crossing his face. I don't want to disregard him… but I also don't want to stop.

His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, heavy with unspoken memories. If I stop again, I don't know if I'll be able to start back up. I can't let that happen—not ever again. He pushed the thought aside, swallowing the sting of it.

But if I'm going to keep moving forward, he resolved, I need to be smarter about it. I'll be back here and I will learn exactly why and how I can be more careful.

Nodding to himself, he felt a small but meaningful sense of clarity settle over him. I'm starting to understand this world—piece by piece.

With renewed purpose, Colm turned and made his way toward the guild's designated lodging to let the knowledge sink in as he got situated.

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