*******
Before the Radiant Throne
The sergeant knelt on one knee, helm tucked beneath his arm, head bowed before the dais.
“Your Radiance,” he began, voice steady. “The acquisition was successful. Fifty subjects were located at the forest encampment.”
He paused just long enough to choose the version of the truth that would keep him alive.
“Thirty survived to receive the Gifts,” he continued. “The remaining twenty resisted or perished during pacification. They were… unsuitable.”
Upon the elevated throne sat His Illumined Majesty, Haldis
“And their point of manifestation?” the king asked.
“Incorrect, Your Radiance,” the sergeant said quickly. “Nearly six leagues east of the marked convergence zone. Well beyond the outer wards.”
That earned a reaction. Not surprise—concern.
“They were clustered around unfamiliar structures,” the sergeant continued, pressing on. “Solid, wheeled dwellings, similar in shape to the foreign wagons we have cataloged before. But these were different. Precision-crafted. Seamless joins. Materials beyond even our understanding.”
He hesitated again, then added, “The subjects themselves wore garments of unknown weave and dye, marked with repeating symbols we could not identify. My men are… unsettled. Questions are being asked that I cannot easily answer or suppress. I fear information leakage if such manifestations continue.”
Haldis folded his hands together slowly.
“Another misalignment,” he murmured. “That makes three this season.”
His gaze drifted, unfocused, as though tracing unseen lines through the air.
“Either the archmages have misread the ley currents once more,” he said, “or something on the far side is causing issues.”
His eyes returned to the sergeant, bright and assessing.
“Did any of the survivors demonstrate awareness? Magical aptitude? Resistance beyond the norm?”
“No, Your Radiance,” the sergeant replied at once. “Most were disoriented. Sluggish. Possibly intoxicated. The Gifts took hold without complication.”
A lie—smooth, practiced, and just believable enough.
“Good,” Haldis said softly.
He leaned back against the radiant throne, light glinting along the carved sigils of authority.
“Even if misplaced, fresh labor strengthens the Dominion’s works. Order is preserved through usefulness.” His tone cooled. “Still, these deviations concern me. If they continue, one will eventually slip beyond our grasp.”
The sergeant lowered his head further. “Shall we increase border patrols, Your Radiance?”
“Yes,” Haldis replied. “And triple the concealment wards along the eastern marches. If outsiders continue to arrive beyond their appointed places…” His eyes hardened. “I will not permit another incident like the last.”
He rose, light cascading from his mantle like a sunrise given form.
“The Dominion prospers only while the flow of new hands remains orderly,” he said.
“And unseen.”
The sergeant struck his fist to his chest in salute, relief and dread twisting together in his gut.
“It will be done, Your Radiance.”
*******
The guild leader introduced himself as Kaelith Valoren
He was tall and willowy, with a frame that suggested grace over brute force, though the faint scars at his collar and wrists hinted at a past that disagreed. His skin was almost porcelain, his silver hair falling just past his shoulders, always perfectly arranged. Piercing lavender eyes studied them with calm precision. He wore a black-and-crimson tunic embroidered with gold thread—expensive, immaculate, and entirely impractical for combat.
Kaelith smiled, just slightly.
“Welcome,” he said in a melodic voice that made every word sound carefully chosen, “to the Adventurers’ Guild of Elyndra.”
James clocked the name immediately.
Elyndra, Kaelith explained, was a world of five great landmasses—though he assured them the finer details would come later. He began what was very clearly a practiced speech about the age of heroes, the founding of kingdoms, the rise and fall of calamities, and the eternal balance between faith, steel, and ambition.
“…and thus, from the ashes of the Third Convergence—”
“Skip.”
Luke said it without malice, raising a hand like he was fast-forwarding a cutscene.
Kaelith paused, blinking once.
James nodded. “Yeah, sorry. We’ve played enough games and watched enough anime to know the gist. Gods happened, monsters exist, guilds matter, church probably shady?”
Jessie gasped. “Hey! I wanted to hear that part!”
She looked genuinely offended, hands clenched at her sides, eyes bright with what James privately labeled . This was going to be a problem later.
Kaelith studied them for a long moment… then laughed. A quiet, genuine sound.
“Very well,” he said. “The abbreviated version it is.”
Kaelith continued. “In Elyndra, most people awaken to their stats around fifteen years of age—our coming-of-age. This is done through a Church or other holy site, followed by entry into some kind of sanctified chamber.”
Inside the chamber, he explained, the individual receives a Slate
James noticed then that nearly everyone he had seen up to this point wore one on their hip, secured in leather cases. It explained a lot. Literacy rates. Organization. Infrastructure.
“Wait,” Christine said slowly. “Our phones…”
James pulled his phone out, as all the phones in the room started letting off alert notifications. Signal bars showed in the top corner for a quick moment. Before they could react, the screens went black.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
SYSTEM UPDATE IN PROGRESS
All of them yelped in unison.
The phones rebooted, screens reforming into something sleeker, unfamiliar and an entirely new OS system booted up the same on each phone despite them all having different makes and models. menus layered with symbols and text that they could not understand but looked familiar in a way James couldn’t explain appeared on the phones. Hairline cracks on the kids' phones from repeated drops and misuse repaired themselves as they held them in their hands.
Kaelith’s eyebrows rose. “Fascinating.”
The devices displayed text in English or a language that resembled that, OS system initialized> Slate 2.0.>Fully synchronized>Registered.
After syncing, the real shocks hit. As Kaelith looked over their devices, he noted the differences he saw from the norm. They had access to information than most natives. Far more. The biggest thing he noticed was state allocation was wide open, they could just choose how mana redefined their physical forms.
Skills—thousands of them—spread outward in a vast grid, zooming and scrolling far beyond any skill grid they had seen in any game. The ones they couldn’t use yet were grayed out, the text present but indistinct, like words seen through fog. Still there. Still .
And somehow, they understood them, the words. Not perfectly, not instinctively—but the knowledge existed in their minds the way school lessons did after years of repetition. Facts without experience. Theory without muscle memory. It simply .
“There are no classes,” Luke said, awe creeping into his voice.
“Correct,” Kaelith replied. “Is that unusual where you are from?”
“No,” James said slowly, “but it’s… kind of the norm in situations like this.”
Kaelith studied him for a moment. “Interesting,” he said, and left it at that.
Everyone began at level one—but additional levels had already been applied, calculated from the total years each of them had lived.
Then James’s Slate chimed.
Then Christine’s slate chimed.
Then again.
James frowned as his own chimed once more.
Then again.
And again.
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED
Boot Camp Graduate
ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED
Service With a Smile
Christine leaned over his shoulder, squinting at his list even as her own grew.
“…Did the system just roast you?”
Luke didn’t bother looking up from his own slate.
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “That tracks.”
The chimes didn’t stop.
Years of work, stress, survival, parenting, and responsibility—everything they had endured and accomplished—converted themselves into stats, skills, and bonus points. Notifications continued to roll in for most of the family, a handful for the kids, but for both parents it became a steady stream that lasted nearly thirty seconds.
Too many to read properly.
Some were tied to nothing more than —getting up every day, adapting, enduring. Others referenced past jobs, odd skill sets, half-forgotten responsibilities. It felt uncomfortably like having your life spelled out like a résumé then reviewed by some faceless corporate drone, then providing live feedback on the value of their lives.
With each achievement, information followed.
Definitions. Principles. Techniques.
Not muscle memory. Not instinct.
Just knowledge—fully formed and already understood, like facts they had always known but never consciously learned.
Enough of it that dull headaches began to form, a pressure behind the eyes that made James and Christine exchange uneasy glances.
Things they had assumed wouldn’t matter in another world—jobs, side skills, small acts of endurance—were being quietly repurposed into something that might keep them alive.
And the system showed no sign of being finished.
“It’s only information,” James muttered, rubbing his temple. “but it still leaves a lot, kind of hurts.”
Which, somehow, felt both reassuring—and terrifying.
Kaelith did not speak while the notifications continued.
He stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture flawless, expression calm—but his eyes had sharpened. Lavender irises flicked briefly between James and Christine, tracking the steady cadence of chimes with growing precision.
One achievement was common. Two, even three, not unheard of.
This was something else.
Thirty seconds passed.
Then a few more.
Kaelith’s gaze drifted, just for a moment, to the surrounding meeting room. Almost like he was checking to make sure they were not being watched by anyone he had forgotten about.
When the final chime faded, Kaelith exhaled—quietly, controlled, but not quite unnoticed.
“That is… remarkable,” he said at last.
James glanced up. “Good remarkable, or ‘we broke something’ remarkable?”
Kaelith’s lips curved into a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I have overseen this guild and the occasional awakening for nearly two decades,” he said. “War veterans. Master craftsmen. Survivors of calamities. I have never been present for an awakening that produced that volume of achievements.”
Christine frowned. “Is that bad?”
“No,” Kaelith replied smoothly. Then, after the briefest pause, “It is unprecedented.”
His eyes lingered on their phones again.
“The System typically rewards specialization,” he continued. “Depth over breadth. Lives of focused purpose.” He tilted his head slightly. “Yours appear to have been… comprehensive.”
James snorted. “That’s one way to describe it.” he said as he took a look at his profile on the phone
Kaelith did not smile this time.
“Be aware,” he said carefully, lowering his voice, “that people will notice. Not immediately. Not loudly. But patterns like this do not remain unseen for long.”
He straightened, composure settling back into place like a mask.
“You have not done anything wrong,” he added. “But you are something rare.”
James exchanged a look with Christine.
Rare had a way of attracting attention.
And attention, in this world, already felt dangerous.
“I’m sure I don’t have to ask,” James said, lowering his voice, “but could we keep what happened between us? I’d prefer we don’t draw attention from anyone unsavory—or anyone who might try to take advantage.”
Kaelith studied him for a long moment.
Not the numbers. Not the Slate.
“You do not strike me as na?ve,” Kaelith said finally. “That is… reassuring.”
He reached up and lightly tapped his own Slate. The motion was casual, but deliberate.
“What occurred here will be recorded only at the highest levels within the guild,” he continued. “You're now registered with the guild, I can better monitor and control this way.” His eyes flicked briefly to Christine, then back to James. “No counts. No comparative notes. No annotations.”
James exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “I appreciate that.”
“There is, however, a limit to my discretion,” Kaelith added, tone calm but firm. “The System itself is autonomous, it was created by mana. While I can control information within the guild I can’t control what information others are able to obtain.”
“Fair,” James said. “We weren’t planning on making waves.”
Kaelith inclined his head. “Good.”
After a brief pause, he added, more quietly, “Understand this: secrecy is not something you are . It is something you .”
Christine nodded. “Then we’ll be careful.”
Kaelith allowed himself a thin, genuine smile this time.
“That,” he said, “is all I can reasonably ask.”
He clapped his hands, and another figure stepped into the room, like he had been waiting for a call—this man was impossible to miss.
Where Kaelith was elegant, this man was mass. Broad-shouldered, thickly scarred, with armor that had been repaired so many times it barely resembled its original form. He looked like someone who had survived things that wanted him very dead and failed repeatedly.
“This is Garron,” Kaelith said. “He will assist with your… onboarding.”
Garron grunted in greeting and began issuing them basic starter gear—nothing fancy, but sturdy, well-maintained, and sized correctly with unnerving speed. Packs, boots, light armor, utility tools, even some basic weapons. A small array of daggers, swords and other medieval tools of war littered the table in the room, the kids immediately jumped in and started calling dibs on things. The kind of setup James recognized immediately. James noticed a fairly nice bag to one side, his inner DM screaming at him the bag making as little of a scene as possible only checking it later once they had stopped paying attention, his hunch paying off as he did a small fist pump .
He stepped back, trying to look like someone who wanted to belong.
“Now,” he continued, voice returning to a neutral cadence, “shall we proceed as though today were merely… unusual, rather than historic?”
James smirked faintly. “I’d prefer that.”
Kaelith gestured toward the Room’s exit.
“Then welcome to ,” he said.
