Silas woke up—not with the groggy sluggishness of someone clawing their way out of unconsciousness, but with a sudden, razor-sharp clarity that hit like a thunderclap. His eyes snapped open, and the world rushed at him all at once, bright and overwhelming. The blue sky above felt too vibrant, like it had been polished to a mirror shine. The jagged edges of broken stone around the garden cut into his vision with an almost painful precision, every detail standing out as if etched in crystal. Even the faint rustle of leaves seemed amplified, carrying an odd resonance, like whispered secrets traveling directly into his brain.
For a moment, he lay still, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. The sheer vividness of it all was overwhelming, a sensory onslaught that made his already pounding head feel like it might split in two. He squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them slowly, forcing himself to adjust to the intensity.
The garden was a disaster. Hedges that had once been neatly trimmed and symmetrical were flattened, crushed as though a giant had stormed through. The elegant stone pathways that wound through the estate were shattered, their pieces scattered like broken glass. Fallen branches, some stripped bare of leaves, littered the ground. The place that had once been a sanctuary of order and beauty now looked like it had been ravaged by an earthquake—or something far worse.
Silas frowned, sitting up slowly, each movement cautious. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his muscles ached as though he'd run a marathon while being pummeled by a truck. His body felt like it had been dragged through hell and back, but his mind… that was a different story.
His mind felt clear. Crystal clear, in fact. It was strange, jarring even, how sharply everything snapped into focus. It was like a fog he hadn't even realized was there had suddenly lifted, leaving him exposed to a world that felt uncomfortably raw.
He touched his temple, massaging it with his fingers as he replayed the fragmented memories of the night before. The energy. The blinding pain. The way it had burned through him like wildfire, chaotic and unrelenting. He remembered the light, how he'd somehow managed to direct it into his bones, into his skull. The visions of energy coursing through him came rushing back, vivid and strange.
"What the hell did I do to myself?" he muttered, his voice rough. He tried to sound casual, but the question hung heavy in the air. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
Silas shook his head, scanning his surroundings again. Everything felt… off. Not just the destruction around him, but the very air itself. The world seemed to hum with something, some invisible frequency that made his skin tingle. His senses were all over the place, like someone had cranked up the saturation and contrast of reality. It wasn't just the brightness of the sky or the sharpness of the broken stones—it was the smell of the earth, richer than it should've been, the way the breeze seemed to carry too much information, each shift of the wind distinct and layered.
Was it the energy he'd forced into his skull? That had to be it. It was the only explanation that made any sense. He groaned, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to make sense of the overwhelming vividness of it all. It wasn't just overwhelming—it was almost alien. Like his own body and the world around him weren't quite the same as they'd been the day before.
"Everything's too alive," he muttered, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the broken stone at his feet. Even that looked… sharper, somehow. Like he could see every grain of dust clinging to its surface. The thought made him uneasy. It wasn't natural. None of this was.
It was like he'd spent his entire life seeing the world through a dirty window, and now someone had thrown it open, letting in the full, unfiltered brilliance—and harshness—of reality.
Then his gaze shifted east, and his stomach dropped.
Where there had once been a towering mountain—strong, unyielding, a familiar fixture of the horizon—there was now something else entirely. A massive structure loomed in its place, its sheer size almost offensive to the senses. It thrust skyward with an imposing authority, as if it had always been there, carved from the very fabric of the earth itself. Dust and debris still lingered around its base, a ghostly veil catching the sunlight in hazy, shimmering streaks. The surrounding landscape was unrecognizable—flattened, scarred, as though the mountain had been obliterated by the wrath of a god. Silas's eyes widened as he took it all in, unblinking.
"That's… new," he whispered, his voice barely audible, his throat dry.
The sheer scale of it was mind-boggling. It wasn't just the size—it was the way it sat, defying logic, as though the destruction around it was a mere afterthought to its grand presence. The mountain hadn't simply been replaced; it had been erased, wiped clean, leaving this towering monolith in its wake. Silas felt a faint pressure in his chest, like the air itself had thickened, heavy with the presence of the structure.
As he grappled with the monumental sight, the calm, chipper voice of the system cut through his thoughts like a blade.
Welcome, human, to the fully integrated Cultivation Assist System.
Silas froze mid-thought, his entire body going rigid. "Wait… what?" He tilted his head slightly, his confusion so stark it almost felt tangible.
Optimizing AI interface to best suit host needs, the voice continued, with a faint pause that felt intentional, almost smug. I will assist you in cultivation and alert you of universe-level threats.
He blinked once. Then again. "Universe-level threats?" he repeated slowly, his voice cracking as the words hung in the air. "What the hell does that mean? Universe-level threats?!"
The system, proving itself to be the pinnacle of helpfulness, decided to leave his perfectly reasonable questions unanswered.
"Of course," Silas muttered, dragging his fingers down his face. "Just throw that out there and leave me hanging. Awesome."
The silence stretched for an agonizing moment, giving him just enough time to fume before the system chimed in again, its tone unbothered by his frustration.
Recommendation: locate a mini-pagoda. Cultivating in a structured environment will provide vital benefits. Two are within your current proximity.
"Pagodas?" Silas repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "What the hell are—"
Before he could finish the thought, the system interrupted again, this time with a tone that could only be described as casually dismissive.
By the way, mini-pagodas are one-time use, first come first serve. Remember, this is your future. No pressure or anything.
Silas's jaw slackened as he stared off into the middle distance, his brain grinding to a halt. "No pressure or anything?" he echoed, his voice climbing in pitch. "Really? That's what we're going with?"
The system, naturally, didn't respond.
"Fantastic," he muttered, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the colossal structure on the horizon. Dust still swirled at its base like a restless specter, a haunting reminder of the mountain it had replaced. Everything about this screamed problem. And now, on top of that, there were apparently mini-pagodas to find, threats on a universal scale to worry about, and some cryptic system AI that had the bedside manner of a stand-up comedian.
He sighed, deeply and dramatically, as if that would somehow force the chaos of the morning to make sense. "This is my life now, huh?"
"Great," Silas muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just what I needed—a life coach with a terrible sense of humor."
He rubbed his temples, half-expecting the action to somehow peel back the layers of absurdity his life had become. Why was the system acting so… bizarre? It was supposed to be some advanced, otherworldly AI, yet it sounded like it had a side hustle writing bad stand-up comedy. "What's next? Motivational posters? Maybe a little hang in there kitten while the universe collapses?"
Before he could spiral further into his own thoughts, a sudden, intense flash of light snapped his attention westward. Silas froze, his eyes locking onto a green beam that erupted into the sky. It was impossibly bright, cutting through the clouds like some kind of divine signal flare. The beam lingered, unwavering, painting the horizon with an eerie emerald hue.
"What the hell is that?" Silas said aloud, his body immediately tensing. His mind raced, half-expecting the system to drop another cryptic one-liner.
The pagoda, the system responded smoothly, its tone far too nonchalant for Silas's liking.
Silas's brow furrowed as he stared at the glowing beam. "Right. Of course, it's the pagoda," he said, his voice laced with irritation. "Then why didn't you light it up for me earlier?"
You didn't ask me to light the way, the system replied, sounding infuriatingly casual, as though Silas's exasperation was completely unwarranted. But do keep in mind, you're not the only person—or thing—that can see the beam. Good luck, and keep that head on a swivel!
Silas blinked, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the system's words. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, staring at the ground for a moment before looking back at the beam. "What even is this? Did I sign up for some cosmic prank show without realizing it?"
The system, in its infinite unhelpfulness, said nothing more. The silence was almost worse than its attempts at humor.
"Of course," Silas said to himself, his voice dripping with resignation. "Why would I get a straight answer? That would be too easy, wouldn't it?" He let out a long, frustrated sigh, his breath clouding slightly in the crisp air. Shaking his head, he pushed himself to his feet. His legs wobbled for a moment, but they held firm. The sharpness of his senses hadn't faded; every sound, every movement in his periphery seemed magnified, like the world had been dialed up to an intensity he wasn't entirely comfortable with.
As he straightened, Silas took one last look at the beam in the distance. Its light remained steady, unwavering, a beacon that seemed to mock him with its sheer brilliance. He had no idea what awaited him there, but one thing was clear: if he stayed here, he'd only get more questions with fewer answers.
"Fine," he grumbled, brushing dirt from his clothes. "Let's get this over with."
With a determined glare in the beam's direction, Silas began walking westward. Each step felt heavier than it should have, weighed down by the sheer insanity of the past day—or however long it had been. His senses remained hyper-aware, every rustling leaf and distant sound sending a jolt of tension through him.
As the beam loomed larger in his view, he muttered to himself, "Keep my head on a swivel, huh? Great advice, really helpful. Thanks for that."
The system remained silent, which, he realized with some irritation, was likely by design.