The training room was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the whirlwind that had been my life recently. Avi sat cross-legged in the center, breathing heavily, the faint scent of dust and aged wood surrounding him. Shadowfangs, his daggers, rested beside him, their sleek, dark edges glinting faintly in the dim light. He wasn't sure if it was the rigorous training or the emotional storm from earlier, but he felt... calm. A strange, unsettling calm that settled over him like a foreign presence.
It wasn't his usual state. Life lately had been a chaotic mix of adrenaline spikes and existential dread, so this rare, almost meditative moment felt alien. Like sipping what you thought was a strong cup of coffee, only to discover it was decaf—not inherently bad, just... unexpected.
Avi's gaze lingered on the daggers, their lethal beauty drawing his thoughts inward. He reached out, spinning one of them lazily between his fingers. "You know," he muttered to the stillness of the room, "normal teenagers have phones to scroll through when they need to think. Me? I've got murder sticks." The blade caught the dim light, flashing momentarily. "Very therapeutic."
He chuckled softly, but the humor faded quickly. He was stalling, and he knew it. His body ached from training, yet his mind refused to rest, cycling through the same relentless questions.
What am I doing here? Why do these daggers feel both familiar and foreign? And what's up with my blackouts and unusual battle instinct?
Frustration simmered just beneath the surface, not enough to fully ruin the moment but enough to keep him from relaxing completely. Avi exhaled slowly, forcing his focus onto the system menu that hovered faintly in front of him.
[3247 SP]
That was his SP after ranking first in the last wave, defeating the demonoid boss and killing a lot of monsters.
"Not bad for a guy who, a few weeks ago, thought 'SP' stood for soda pop," he muttered with a half-smile.
He began scrolling through the system store, skimming the endless list of items, upgrades, and gear. A better set of armor? Too expensive. Fancy boots? Still out of reach. A potion to erase how bad he was at combat? Nonexistent.
The options blurred together, and with a frustrated sigh, Avi leaned back against the wooden wall. The faint glow of the menu was oddly comforting, like the soft light of a nightlamp for someone pretending they weren't afraid of the dark. His eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, and eventually, the menu dissolved as sleep overtook him.
The vision began the way they always did: sudden and disorienting, like being thrust into someone else's life without a script or a recap. Avi found himself standing in the middle of an opulent hall, sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows, casting brilliant colors across the floor. Every inch of the room screamed wealth and power—gold-framed mirrors, intricate tapestries, and a carpet so plush it could have doubled as a bed.
Servants bustled about, maids balancing trays, knights standing at attention, and children darting around in playful chaos outside. It was a world so vibrant, so alive, yet undeniably rigid in its unspoken hierarchy. In the center of it all was a young knight, the familiar figure Avi had come to recognize in these strange dreams. Polished armor gleamed under the sunlight, each plate meticulously crafted to perfection. He knelt with measured grace before a man perched lazily on a grand throne, every movement controlled and deliberate, as if each shift of his body was dictated by an unspoken code of discipline.
The knight's ashen mahogany hair fell in soft waves around a face that was almost painfully beautiful—warm and serene, yet betraying a subtle tension beneath the surface. He looked barely eighteen, his youthful features untouched by time's wear, but his lean, runner's physique hinted at years of rigorous training and discipline. Even in his subservient stance, he exuded a quiet power, an invisible barrier that warned all who dared approach: come too close, and you'd regret it before you could draw breath.
The man before him, seated on the throne, radiated an entirely different kind of presence. His silver hair caught the light like spun moonlight, framing a face carved with cold, calculating precision. His piercing eyes glimmered faintly with amusement, but it was the kind of amusement that felt like a blade hovering just above the skin. Authority clung to him like a second skin, heavy and suffocating—a command for obedience so absolute that it silenced all but the echoes of his power.
Though their voices were muffled, their exchange was clear enough. The lord issued orders, his tone dismissive, as if what he was saying carried no weight for him but bore immense consequences for the knight. The knight, for his part, accepted them with a strained composure, his head bowed low.
As the knight rose, he moved through the halls with quiet determination. People greeted him warmly—maids curtsied, fellow knights clapped him on the shoulder, and children waved, their admiration unspoken but palpable. He returned their gestures with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, something restrained lurking beneath the surface.
Eventually, the knight reached a secluded armory, tucked away in the quieter parts of the castle. Unlike the grandeur of the upper halls, this room was simple and functional. Racks of weapons lined the walls—polished longswords, rugged axes, and spears with ornate tips. The air was thick with the scent of oil and steel.
The knight stood there for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the array of weapons. His hand reached instinctively for a longsword, its hilt adorned with intricate engravings of wings and vines. It was beautiful, a knight's weapon through and through.
But just as his fingers brushed the blade, he hesitated.
The knight's eyes flicked to another weapon on the rack: a pair of sleek daggers. They were unassuming at first glance, their blackened steel designed for practicality rather than flair. Yet there was something about them—a balance, a weight—that seemed to call to him.
He reached for the daggers, testing their grip. They felt natural, like an extension of his hands. Fast, precise, deadly. These weren't the weapons of a knight, though. They were the tools of someone who fought in the shadows, someone who relied on speed and cunning rather than honor and tradition.
The knight stared at the weapons in his hands, his jaw tightening. The sword symbolized duty, the role he was expected to play. The daggers? They were something else entirely—freedom, maybe. Or perhaps defiance.
With a heavy sigh, he sheathed the daggers at his sides.
Unseen by him, Avi continued to observed, wondering silently what turmoil gripped the knight's thoughts.
The scene shifted suddenly, transitioning to a dense forest. The air was cool and damp, filled with the smell of moss and earth. Sunlight peeked through the canopy, scattering like shards of glass. The knight stood there, fully armored and armed, in front of a glowing portal surrounded by an energy barrier. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
And then it appeared.
A bear stepped out of the shadows, but this wasn't an ordinary woodland creature. It was massive, larger than the one Avi and his friends had fought before. Its fur shimmered with a rainbow-like sheen, its spikes in its back glinting like obsidian knives. Its eyes, glowing with an eerie, intelligent light, locked onto the knight.
And then the bear's gazed seem to shift towards Avi.
The knight didn't notice. He drew his daggers, and the two charged at each other. The clash was... beautiful, in the way a life-and-death struggle can be. The knight's movements were sharp, precise, every strike calculated. The bear moved with the grace of something far too large to be that fast, its every swipe deliberate, as if it knew how far to push without killing.
This wasn't a fight; it was a test.
The knight hesitated after a particularly close exchange, his chest heaving. The bear stopped too, standing tall and regal, watching him with those glowing eyes.
And then they spoke.
Not in words Avi can understand, but in a way that carried meaning. The knight's tone was low, apologetic, his head bowed. The bear rumbled in response, its voice deep and resonant, like thunder rolling across a mountain.
The Avi pieced together what he witnessed. The knight had been sent to kill the guardian. His lord claimed it was a threat to the people. But the knight knew that was a lie. This bear wasn't a monster; it was a protector, guarding the forest and everything in it.
The bear rumbled again, stepping closer. Then, to the knight's shock, it reared up and snapped off one of the spikes on its back. The sound was awful—like breaking bone. The jagged piece fell to the ground, glowing faintly.
The knight stared at it, his hands trembling as he picked it up. His face crumpled, guilt pouring out of him like water from a broken dam.
No! Don't do it! Don't just take that and walk away like everything's fine, Avi wanted to shout, but the knight didn't hear him.
He bowed deeply to the bear, who responded with a slow nod before turning and disappearing into the shadows.
The vision shifted to a castle courtyard. The knight returned to cheers and applause, a suffocating scene. Banners waved, children laughed, villagers clapped him on the back, and the crowd screamed his name.
And he smiled. He smiled, even though every step screamed, This isn't right.
Inside, he knelt before the lord, presenting the spike like a trophy. The lord's face lit up with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. For a moment, his mask slipped, revealing something else—disappointment.
The knight left, but Avi's presence lingered, watching as the lord held the spike. The lord's voice came through, cold and sharp as ice.
"Too bad he didn't die. Sooner or later, I'll have to kill him myself."
Avi's blood boiled.
You smug, manipulative—!
The scene dissolved before Avi could finish the thought, yanking him back to reality.
Avi woke up gasping, his chest heaving as if he had just fought that bear himself. His hands gripped the daggers at his sides, their cold edges digging into his palms. The faint glow of the system menu blared in his face, but it was just background noise compared to the storm raging inside him.
That shit. That manipulative, power-hungry bastard. He hadn't just sent the knight on a suicide mission—he had orchestrated it, preying on the knight's loyalty and twisting it into a leash.
And the bear. That colossal, majestic guardian. It had understood the knight's plight, seen his chains, and still chose to suffer. A creature of honor, brought low by the selfish machinations of a man who didn't deserve it.
Avi's fists tightened around the daggers. This wasn't just a dream—it was something more, too vivid and raw to dismiss.
The sound of endless pings pulled him back, but his heart was already pounding for another reason.
[Ken Magnum: Avi, I'm sorry. I don't think I'll be able to protect everyone.]
Ken.
The message hit him like a blow, each word a spike of dread. Images of Ken, Emily, and the others flashed through his mind. His friends. The people who had stood by him when he had nothing.
And now they were in danger.
The daggers seemed to grow heavier in his hands, almost pulling him forward. His legs moved on their own, every step driven by the desperate need to reach them. To see them safe.
The world blurred as he tore through the halls, past players who turned to stare. Their whispers were static in his ears, drowned out by the thundering of his heart.
Somewhere between the dream and the present, the lines had blurred. The betrayal of the lord, the self-sacrifice of the bear, the knight's silent anguish—it all piled into the now, into Avi's fear and fury.
His friends needed him.
And he wouldn't let them down.
Even if it meant cutting down anyone who stood in his way.