It had been a day since 1765 entered the Silent Forest. As he walked among the gray trees, he began to understand the origin of its name. There was no sound in the area. No birds, no insects, not even the rustling of branches under the steps of small animals. Only the faint howl of the wind brushing the leaves dared to break the absolute stillness.
1765 was fatigued and starving. His stomach growled desperately as he wandered aimlessly, searching for anything edible. The emptiness in his belly made him clumsy; his movements were sluggish, and his mind began to fog. Meanwhile, deep within his consciousness, S.I.L.A.S. continued analyzing the surroundings.
"Analyzing…" the voice echoed in his mind with its precise, mechanical tone. "An anomalous electromagnetic frequency has been detected on this planet. The energy appears to be present in every corner of the world, enveloping the environment homogeneously."
1765 frowned, not fully understanding. He didn't have the strength to question S.I.L.A.S., but the words resonated in his mind as if they were important.
"Comparing with stored records…" the AI continued. "No similar frequency has been detected on any of the planets in the database. This energy not only exists in the environment but certain individuals appear to interact with it in specific ways."
1765 remembered the guards, the fat man, and the sorcerer who had launched fireballs. Was it referring to them?
"Some individuals exhibit resonance with this frequency, synchronizing with it. These people seem to possess special abilities and a greater capacity for manipulating energy. This phenomenon was observed in the guards and the man with the staff. In contrast, other individuals show no synchronization with the frequency. You and the other miners belong to this second group."
1765 blinked. He didn't completely understand S.I.L.A.S.'s explanation, but he sensed that this distinction was important.
"The Silent Forest presents an additional anomaly," the AI continued. "A global frequency attraction has been detected in this area. It is as though this place absorbs the world's energy, concentrating and neutralizing it. The trees appear to function as conduits, extracting this energy from the environment. However…"
There was a brief pause before S.I.L.A.S. concluded its analysis:
"Unlike other elements on this planet, the energy in your forehead was not immediately absorbed. Interaction with the forest suggests this location acts as a filtration point for the frequency, eliminating certain emissions while retaining others. More information is required to understand the exact process."
1765 paused, looking around uneasily. He didn't understand much of what S.I.L.A.S. had said, but he didn't like the idea that the forest might be rejecting him in some way. He felt like an intruder in a place where he didn't belong.
However, his thoughts were soon eclipsed by a more pressing need: food.
A whole day had passed without finding anything to eat. Despite his fatigue, the apparent lack of danger had given him a sliver of confidence. He walked without worrying about anything except satisfying his hunger, oblivious to any other threats that might lurk in the depths of the Silent Forest.
As 1765 continued and S.I.L.A.S. carried out its tireless analysis in his mind, he suddenly spotted what appeared to be a juicy fruit hanging from one of the trees. Its color was a deep red with golden streaks that seemed to glow faintly under the light. Its skin had a texture similar to an apple, but its shape was slightly oval, as though designed to be irresistibly enticing.
Without much thought, 1765 decided that this would be his next meal. The tree was tall, but thanks to the optimization of his body, he had no trouble climbing it. As he ascended, he noticed that the wood was strangely hard, far more resistant than he had expected from an ordinary tree. But his goal was clear. In a matter of seconds, he plucked the fruit and climbed back down.
Holding it in his hands, he examined it cautiously. It smelled pleasant. It looked fresh and ripe.
"Warning," S.I.L.A.S. intervened. "An electromagnetic anomaly is emanating from the fruit. Consumption is not recommended without further analysis."
1765 frowned. He didn't fully understand what S.I.L.A.S. meant, but he was far too hungry to worry about details. Ignoring the warning, he brought the fruit to his mouth and took a bite.
The taste was sweet and juicy, flooding his dry throat with immediate relief. One bite became a second, then a third. His hunger was too great, and he devoured the fruit without stopping.
"Excess energy detected," S.I.L.A.S. announced. "Potential anomaly in the digestive system. Risk of metabolic overload. Optimizing cellular efficiency to mitigate adverse effects."
1765 ignored the warnings and continued eating until his hunger was satisfied. However, as soon as he swallowed the last bite, a sharp pain coursed through his body.
His muscles tensed suddenly. A burning sensation erupted from his abdomen, spreading up through his chest like liquid fire. His bones began to ache, as though being stretched from within.
1765 collapsed to his knees, his body trembling. His vision blurred, and he felt his skin burning. Every fiber of his being seemed to twist, every joint cracked with inhuman pain.
Then, his body began to change.
His limbs subtly lengthened, his muscles grew firmer. His skin seemed to tighten, strengthening, while his breathing became labored. A burst of heat flared along his spine, and his back convulsed with a violent spasm.
The pain finally started to subside. His body, which had burned as if being incinerated from the inside out, gradually began to relax. 1765 lay on the ground, drenched in sweat, his breathing still labored from enduring the torment he had just experienced.
When he looked up, he noticed something strange. His clothes no longer hung loosely. Just hours ago, the garments he had been given in the mine—though dirty and worn—had clearly been too big for his small frame. Now, they seemed to fit him perfectly.
He touched his arms and legs, feeling how his muscles were firmer, more defined. His stomach no longer growled with hunger, replaced by a faint warmth inside, as though the fruit's energy was still circulating within him.
"The pain was caused by increased cellular activity induced to counteract the energy overload," S.I.L.A.S. explained, its mechanical tone unchanging. "As a result, mild accelerated growth occurred."
1765 blinked, unable to fully grasp what had just happened to him.
"The fruit you consumed contained an abnormally high level of energy," S.I.L.A.S. continued. "Had your metabolism functioned normally, the excess energy could have caused severe damage or even organ failure. To prevent such an outcome, I optimized cellular efficiency, channeling the excess energy into physical development. In the future, such consumption should be accompanied by intense physical activity to mitigate risks and utilize the energy more effectively."
1765 didn't know how to respond. His body still trembled slightly, but the pain had disappeared. In its place was a strange sensation: not only did he feel different, but he also felt stronger. His mind struggled to process what S.I.L.A.S. was saying, but his instincts told him something fundamental had changed within him.
He stood slowly, leaning against a nearby tree trunk. His legs felt stable, his posture firmer. His hands clenched into fists, testing the newfound strength that seemed to surge through his body.
Filled with energy, 1765 sat down and fixed his gaze on a nearby tree. For the first time in his life, he could ask himself: What now? He was free, but he had never thought about freedom. He had never imagined that he, a slave child born in a mine, could live outside the chains that bound him.
The forest's silence felt all-encompassing, but in his mind, S.I.L.A.S. responded with its precise mechanical tone:
"It is recommended that the host prioritize survival. Then, integration into a society is advised. According to human behavioral records, Homo sapiens is a social species that depends on contact with others for optimal development."
1765 listened silently as S.I.L.A.S. continued:
"However, integration alone is insufficient. It is recommended that the host establish a position of power within the existing social structure. Based on the standards of the Interstellar Confederation for Civilizational Development and the Galactic Cultural Proliferation Directives, a civilization must meet specific criteria of organization, technology, and stability to be considered viable long-term. It is advised that the host begin developing a self-sufficient community and progress toward establishing an efficient social model in accordance with galactic parameters."
1765 frowned, confused. He didn't fully understand what S.I.L.A.S. was talking about, but one word in particular stuck in his mind: power.
He had never had power over anything. He had no right to decide his life, his future. But now, for the first time, perhaps he had the chance to change that.
The problem was… where to start?
Time passed slowly. 1765 ventured deeper and deeper into the Silent Forest. Luckily, he could meet his nutritional needs with the fruits of the trees, and there were streams to drink from and maintain some cleanliness. However, he had to keep his body in constant motion. The consumption of the strange fruit could threaten his life if he didn't, so he began performing exercises under S.I.L.A.S.'s guidance.
These exercises were unlike any physical activities done in this world. They didn't focus on swords or magic, as was customary in society beyond the mine. Instead, they were systematic movements designed to strengthen his body evenly, improve his endurance, and optimize his physical capabilities. To 1765, who had never known life beyond the mine, this type of training was entirely foreign, but he embraced it without question.
The training continued, and soon 1765 was practicing combat techniques. S.I.L.A.S.'s knowledge encompassed extremely efficient styles devoid of unnecessary flair. They weren't flashy or impressive but were designed for a single purpose: victory. Every technique, every movement was calculated to be lethal with the least amount of effort. There were no flourishes or showy maneuvers, just brutal effectiveness.
He had only seen warriors fight once, against the monster, but thanks to S.I.L.A.S., he could replay that moment over and over in his mind. He realized that the warriors had fought with numerous strategic flaws. They could have defeated the creature in just a few moves, even without the sorcerer.
The days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months. If not for S.I.L.A.S.'s counting, 1765 wouldn't have realized that an entire year had passed in the forest. During that time, he explored every corner of his new home. As he had suspected, there was no other life in the Silent Forest besides the strange gray trees. No animals, no other plants growing. Just the same trees with their incredibly resilient wood and sharp, rigid leaves.
But while the forest provided safety, food, and isolation, he couldn't stay there forever. Sometimes, the temptation to remain was strong, but S.I.L.A.S. reminded him that prolonged isolation wasn't beneficial for his mental health.
Thus, 1765 began making excursions outside the forest.
Today was one of those excursions. This time, he exited through the southern edge, where the Silent Forest met another woodland. The contrast was striking. On one side, gray trees and a gloomy atmosphere. On the other, a vibrant landscape full of green and life. Sounds filled the air: the rustling of wind through the leaves, the chirping of birds, and the whisper of small animals moving through the underbrush.
For the first time in a year, 1765 saw a world teeming with life before his eyes.
He moved cautiously through the new forest, his heightened senses capturing every detail of his surroundings. Everything was clearer to him. His vision, hearing, and perception of the environment… every shadow, every sound, every small movement in the underbrush was analyzed in fractions of a second. Every snapping branch beneath his foot echoed in his mind like a warning, a sign of potential danger.
The forest pulsed with life. Birds fluttered through the treetops, insects buzzed in the air, and the sound of small animals scampering through the underbrush mixed with the murmur of the wind. Yet, amid all those sounds, an anomaly made itself known.
Something was stalking him.
He froze instantly, his body tense, his breathing halted. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it—a weight in the air, a calculating presence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His instincts, sharpened by months of training and survival, screamed that he wasn't alone.
Without a second thought, he assumed a defensive stance. In one fluid, precise motion, his hands slid to his waist, drawing two dark wooden daggers honed to a deadly edge. These were no ordinary weapons; they were tools he had painstakingly crafted during his time in the Silent Forest. The wood from the gray trees had a peculiar property—it absorbed mana from its surroundings, draining the energy of any living being it wounded. With effort and patience, he had managed to carve a few rudimentary weapons, including a pair of throwing daggers.
Every muscle in his body was primed. His stance was firm, his feet barely touched the ground as he leaned slightly forward, ready to react. The training S.I.L.A.S. had drilled into him resonated in his mind, mapping out every possible scenario, every move to make depending on the threat.
The forest's silence deepened.
A sound tore through the air—not the snapping of branches or the whisper of wind, but something deeper, resonant, like the growl of a predator emerging from the shadows.
Then, it appeared.
A nightmare beast stepped out from the undergrowth. It wasn't just a large feline but a creature from another world. Its hide was a mix of fur and irregular bony plates that covered its back like natural armor. Its snout was adorned with exposed fangs, and small bony appendages resembling blades extended from its spine. Its eyes, glowing orbs of venomous yellow, locked onto its prey.
The monster didn't roar or charge immediately. Its gaze reflected the intelligence of an experienced predator, analyzing its target, measuring its response.
1765 didn't retreat. He didn't let fear cloud his judgment. His breathing remained steady, his grip on the daggers firm. He waited.
The beast attacked.
A claw swiped through the air with brutal speed. 1765 leaned back, narrowly dodging by mere centimeters. At the same moment, his arm moved with surgical precision, throwing one of his daggers toward the creature's neck. The blade sank into its flesh, and the effect was immediate. The wood drained some of the beast's mana, weakening it slightly.
But it wasn't enough.
The predator roared, shaking its massive head to dislodge the dagger. Its second attack was a charge, aiming to crush him with its weight. 1765 reacted calmly. He didn't leap backward dramatically, nor did he make unnecessary movements. Instead, he slid under the attack, feeling the creature's heat as it passed over him. With a flick of his wrist, he drove one of his daggers into the monster's side.
The beast growled, spinning on itself with lightning speed. 1765 barely released the dagger before the creature tried to tear into him with its jaws. He rolled to the side and was back on his feet in a fraction of a second. His movements were calculated, his energy spent only on what was strictly necessary.
The monster took a few steps back, its breathing deep and labored. Dark blood dripped from its wounds. They weren't fatal, but they were enough to weaken it little by little.
For the first time, the beast hesitated.
1765 noticed. He wasn't a brutal warrior, nor someone who fought for spectacle. Every action had a purpose. And now, his purpose was to end this.
He moved first. A feint, a distraction with his remaining dagger. The beast responded with a swipe of its claws, but 1765 was no longer there. Sliding beneath his enemy, he retrieved the dagger lodged in its side and, in a single precise motion, drove it into the creature's throat.
The feline let out a choked roar. Its body convulsed, its paws clawing at the earth desperately. However, it didn't fall. It staggered, its breathing ragged, its eyes filled with both fury and fear. It knew it was losing, that its strength was draining with each passing second.
With a frustrated growl, the beast leapt backward, retreating from 1765. Its muscles tensed one last time before it turned on its paws and disappeared into the trees, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
1765 stood motionless, watching the direction in which the creature had fled. He didn't attempt to pursue it. There was no need. He had proven his strength and survived. That was enough.
His breathing was steady, barely accelerated. His daggers dripped with blood, his clothes speckled with traces of the fight. There were no victory cries, no exaggerated relief.
Only the silence of the forest returning to its original state, as though the battle had never happened.
1765 exhaled. Cleaning his weapons on the grass, he looked at the trail of blood left by the beast with a strange sensation. It wasn't fear, nor amazement… but certainty.
He had changed. He was no longer the same boy who had emerged from the mine.
And this world, though it didn't know it yet, was about to meet him.