Sasesh crouched beside the carcass of the Mudburrow Crayfish, nudging one of the cracked gill plates with the tip of his wand. With a sharp twist of his wrist, something snapped loose from the creature's side—a thin, tapered tube, glistening faintly with mucous sheen.

  He held it up to the light. The object was translucent and conical, a fan-like bristle array barely visible within.

  "[Inspect]," he muttered.

  Sasesh’s eyes glazed for half a second. Then he exhaled, voice flat.

  "Branchial Sieve Setae. Common item. A conical tube containing a fan of microscopic bristles from the gill chamber. Traps silt and microorganisms, purifying water enough to make it potable."

  He didn’t say anything else, but Cade was watching him closely. The slight downturn of Sasesh’s mouth. The way his fingers lingered on the item for a moment too long before tossing it over to Professor Sanders. He’d been hoping for more—a weapon, a spell crystal, something flashy. Not a glorified water filter.

  Cade caught the implication and bit back a smirk.

  "That’s actually a great first drop," Cade said aloud, stepping forward. "Clean drinking water’s one of the top survival priorities. Especially in a place like this."

  He gestured around them. The swamp pressed close on all sides—murky water, damp moss, glowing fungi clinging to tree trunks. "There’s no way any of this is drinkable. Even with Amanda’s aura, I’d bet the water here is brimming with magic-parasites or worse."

  Amanda wrinkled her nose. "That’s probably not inaccurate."

  "My [Identify] skill says the tail and claw meat are edible once cooked," Nadean added, crouching near the body. "Doesn’t say anything about status effects, but I’m not risking it without confirmation."

  She glanced over at Professor Sanders. "Want to double-check me?"

  He nodded and crouched beside her, adjusting his glasses. "[Analyze]."

  A few seconds passed. "You’re right," he confirmed. "The meat is nutrient-rich and technically edible, even raw. However, there's a high likelihood of parasitic contamination. Cooking will neutralize them."

  "We should definitely cook it then," Cade said. "Too bad all the wood here’s soaked."

  Nadean tapped her daggers together. "I’ll handle harvesting the meat. Just maybe don’t watch too closely if you’re squirmish."

  She made quick work of it—precise cuts with unnaturally practiced hands. The meat came away in thick, veined chunks, still steaming faintly from residual heat. Cade turned to the underbrush, rummaging until he found another reasonably straight stick. It was rough, damp, and a little green, but it’d do.

  He returned and held it up. "We can skewer it. I’ll carry it."

  Amanda looked skeptical. "It’s going to stink."

  "Yeah, well I stink already," Cade said with a smirk. "Might as well match."

  He helped Nadean slide the meat onto the stick like a giant shish kabob. Once secured, he slung it over his shoulder. The moment he did, he nearly winced.

  The thing was heavy.

  Much heavier than it looked.

  He gritted his teeth and bore it. No complaints. He didn’t have a class. Didn’t have a role. But if he could carry the meat, contribute in some way, then maybe they wouldn’t have to keep watching him like he’d break at any moment.

  The others were already moving. Cade adjusted the stick across his shoulder and followed.

  One step at a time.

  The next few hours passed in a blur of damp ground, buzzing insects, and brief flashes of violence.

  They trudged deeper into the wetlands, moving between raised root paths and clusters of glowing fungus. Cade stayed toward the back, meat stick slung over one shoulder, trying to keep up. Each fight they encountered was small, manageable—insects the size of small dogs, small lizards with too many eyes, even a leech that tried to ambush by falling from a tree above them.

  And each time, Cade found a new way to mess up.

  In the first fight, he tripped over a root and knocked Amanda off balance. In the second, he mistakenly startled the creature, ruining their ambush. In the third, he managed to swing a stick directly into Nadean’s path.

  She didn’t yell. None of them did. But each mistake was a quiet weight Cade added to his own shoulders.

  By the time the artificial sun began its slow descent, everyone—including Cade—had leveled again.

  Ding!

  Race: [Human – (H)] has reached Level 2.

  +1 to all stats.

  Nadean was the one who spotted the hill.

  "There," she said, pointing toward a rise in the distance. "It looks dry. Elevated. Should give us better visibility."

  The group made their way toward it, boots squelching through muddy ground. The slope was gentle, but the view from the top was clear: a wide stretch of bog, treetops, and glimmering water around them.

  Sasesh let out a tired sigh and looked around. "Give me ten minutes. I’ll make us something."

  He raised his wand and muttered under his breath. The ground trembled as soil thickened, then curved upward, forming a dome just tall enough for them all to huddle inside. A low wall circled it, chest high, with the dome entrance on one side and a small gap in the wall on the other.

  "Offset openings," Professor Sanders said, nodding. "Clever."

  "Don’t compliment me yet," Sasesh muttered. "I’m down to fumes but there’s still something it needs."

  He knelt, hands spread, and pressed his palms to the dirt inside the dome. The floor rippled, compacting and smoothing beneath them until the mud was as firm as concrete.

  "No surprises from below," he said, standing up slowly.

  His eyes glazed over for a moment and he smirked.

  "Level up," he announced. "Class level. Looks like you can gain experience outside of combat by utilizing your class."

  Cade glanced at him, making a mental note.

  The others began unpacking supplies. Cade wandered off briefly, eyes scanning the underbrush for anything usable. Eventually, he found it—a thin, brittle tree, long dead and stripped of bark by age and weather.

  Dry wood.

  He didn’t get much. Just enough to fill his arms.

  Back at camp, the group clustered inside the dome.

  "Now we just need a fire," Amanda said, rubbing her arms to brush off the oncoming chill of night. "Any bright ideas?"

  Nadean snorted. "Really, Amanda? Fire puns now? What, are you trying to spark some conversation?"

  Professor Sanders chuckled lightly. "One more pun like that and I might combust from secondhand embarrassment."

  "Actually," Cade said. "My dad taught me a few tricks."

  He crouched down and pulled a shoelace from his sneaker.

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  "We’ll need a flat surface. Nadean, can you split one of those pieces of wood with your dagger?"

  "Sure thing."

  A few quick strikes later, and she handed him a slab of flat dry wood.

  Cade fashioned a bowdrill with the lace, a branch, and the driest wood he could find. He demonstrated the motion once, then began the grinding.

  Nothing happened.

  He tried again.

  Still nothing.

  His palms stung. Sweat dripped. He cursed under his breath. He kept grinding the bowdrill for what felt like forever but it refused to make an ember. The wood smoked once, but it immediately halted when he stopped moving back and forth. His arms ached, and the shoelace was starting to fray.

  Then he paused.

  "Professor," he said. "Mind giving it a shot? Your passive skill might help."

  Sasesh arched a brow. "You’re really redefining ‘burnout,’ aren’t you?"

  Cade ignored him.

  Professor Sanders took the drill, adjusted his grip, and began, clearly following Cade's example.

  The first few attempts mirrored Cade’s—slipping, awkward, slow. But then something changed.

  His motions became smoother. More efficient. The spindle spun faster and faster as heat built.

  A spark. A burst of flame and suddenly the wooden slab caught.

  "Whoa!" Professor Sanders yelped, flinching back.

  The bowdrill—and Cade’s shoelace—went up with the blaze.

  "You okay?" Cade asked.

  Professor Sanders nodded, waving smoke from his face. "Fine. Just startled."

  The group stared at the fire for a beat.

  Then Nadean whooped. "We have fire!"

  Cade grinned, feeding kindling into the base.

  They cooked the crayfish meat slowly, rotating it over the flames. The smell was rich and a little foul, but it was food. Real food.

  Cade took a bite.

  It was gritty. Muddy. Like biting into the swamp.

  But he didn’t complain. It was the first thing he’d eaten since yesterday. He’d skipped breakfast that morning after waking up late and rushing straight to the lab.

  "Hey," he said between bites. "Anyone check their Tutorial Score yet?"

  That drew attention. Eyes glazed as each party member pulled up their respective System screens.

  Cade did the same.

  Tutorial Score: N/A

  He frowned. It made sense, but it still sucked. He didn’t have a class. No profession. No job to do. How could he earn points for something that didn’t exist?

  The others murmured among themselves, but no one shared details.

  Cade’s tone was quiet, almost resigned. "Mine just says N/A. I guess the System couldn’t even be bothered to assign me a Tutorial Score, which seems about par for the course so far."

  The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward—it was heavy. No one looked at him. No one said a word, they just kept slowly chewing their muddy tasting crayfish meat.

  Cade exhaled slowly. He understood. They had already shared more than most would. Secrets were going to happen.

  He chewed another bite of meat and stared into the fire. What would he even choose, if the System gave him the chance? The possibilities were endless but right now, he just needed to survive.

  After a long, crackling pause beside the fire, Sasesh cleared his throat, his voice slicing through the quiet like a knife. “We need a watch schedule.”

  No one argued. The fire’s warmth did little to soften the chill settling in but it was better than nothing.

  “Professor Sanders should sleep,” Amanda said gently. “He’s not exactly spry, no offense professor.”

  Professor Sanders opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and adjusted his glasses instead.

  “And I’ll need full mana if someone wakes up missing a limb,” Amanda added, a weak attempt at humor that didn’t quite land.

  Nadean cracked her knuckles. “I’ll take the first watch. I’m still wired anyway.”

  Sasesh shrugged. “I’m always up before dawn. I’ll take the last.”

  Cade raised his hand before anyone else could speak. “Middle shift’s fine by me. I’ll do it.”

  A beat of hesitation flickered through the group.

  “I’ll just keep watch,” Cade said quickly, “I don’t need a class to watch out for anything coming our way.”

  Amanda gave him a soft look, tired but sincere. “Just wake us if anything happens.”

  “Promise.”

  With nothing left to say, the group disbanded one by one, retreating into their makeshift dome.

  The earth beneath them was uneven, damp, and smelled faintly of mold but Cade barely noticed.

  Sleep took him fast.

  A gentle nudge stirred him from the depths of sleep—fingertips brushing his shoulder with surprising care.

  “Hey,” Nadean whispered. “Your turn.”

  Cade blinked, sluggish and disoriented. For a moment, he didn’t understand where he was but then the damp, mossy air hit him. The faint tang of woodsmoke. The low crackle of dying embers. The dome. That’s right, he was in the Tutorial.

  He pushed himself upright with a quiet groan, limbs stiff, mind slow to catch up. Nadean had already melted into her place in the shelter without another word. Cade rose, careful not to disturb the others, and stepped into the night.

  He made his way to the wall entrance and settled near the base of the wall, the night sounds wrapping around him like a wet blanket—frogs croaking in uneven rhythm, insects buzzing just out of sight, distant ripples slapping against waterlogged roots.

  The moon hung low and silver above the wetlands, casting soft light over the glistening trees and still pools. The perimeter wall stood tall behind him—Sasesh’s handiwork, rough but sturdy.

  Nothing moved in the clearing. No danger. No signs of life but his own.

  With nothing else to do, he pulled up his status screen.

  STATUS

  Name: Cade Whitehollow

  Age: 26

  Race: [Human (H) – lvl 2]

  Health Points (HP): 80 / 80

  Stamina Points (SP): 45 / 70

  Mana Points (MP): 80 / 80

  Statistics:

  Strength: 7

  Dexterity: 6

  Endurance: 7

  Vitality: 8

  Wisdom: 5

  Intelligence: 8

  Willpower: 12

  Titles:

  None

  Quests:

  None

  He frowned at his stamina. 45 out of 70. He hadn’t used any active skills—hell, he didn’t have any. So the only explanation had to be exhaustion. Just existing here was enough to drain his stamina. It had probably been lower before his nap. Sleep must have helped restore some. He made a mental note to check again after his next sleep—see how much it really restored.

  His gaze slid down the list. Two levels gained since arriving. Two points to every stat. A neat, balanced boost. On paper, he was better now—stronger, smarter, tougher. But it didn’t feel any different.

  No sudden burst of energy. No clarity of mind. He was still the guy barely keeping up.

  Maybe the changes were too small to notice. He wondered if he’d feel it at ten points. Twenty.

  His eyes caught on the “(H)” beside his race again. Human. Probably. But maybe not, maybe it stood for a rank, like a grade that could be upgraded.

  Did other people have letters? He’d ask tomorrow—assuming he made it that far.

  A soft crunch behind him made Cade tense instinctively but the silhouette that stepped into the moonlight was familiar. Amanda. Her hair was a little mussed from sleep, her expression unreadable in the silver glow.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Cade let out a quiet exhale and gave a small nod. “It’s okay. Everything alright?”

  She eased down beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  “Sorry if I disturbed you,” he offered, glancing sideways.

  “You didn’t.” She looked out past the perimeter wall, where the wetlands stretched into the dark.

  Silence fell between them, broken only by the quiet hiss of the dying fire and the slow churn of insects beyond the dome.

  Then, after a long beat, Amanda spoke again.

  “I keep thinking about them. My husband. My little boy. He turns six next week.”

  “The System entity, it said they’d be okay. I wanted to believe it. I do believe it. Most of the time.” Her voice wavered, hands tightening around her legs. “But then we get attacked by something that crawled straight out of a nightmare and my belief feels fragile.”

  She paused, blinking hard. “My husband was at work. My son was in school. If this whole thing grouped us by proximity, then…”

  Her words trailed off.

  Cade didn’t need her to finish. The concern twinged with fear sat heavy in the air between them.

  Moonlight caught the shine of a tear slipping down her cheek.

  He waited, counting the seconds that passed.

  When the silence stretched thin and he was sure she wasn’t going to say anymore, he finally spoke. “I can’t tell you where they are. Or what this System is really doing. But if they’re out there then the best thing you can do for them is survive. Get stronger. Be ready for whatever’s next because this is just the Tutorial, who knows what life is going to be like afterwards.”

  Amanda swallowed, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. I can’t control where they are. I can only control what I do here.”

  “Exactly.” Cade looked at her, his voice steadier than he felt. “And whatever you need—I’ve got your back.”

  That pulled a small, sad smile from her.

  Another moment passed.

  Then Cade glanced back at Amanda. “When you heal someone—what’s that like? What does it feel like?”

  Amanda blinked, caught off guard by the shift in subject.

  But after a second, her gaze softened. And she began to answer.