The classroom was alive with chatter, students laughing and trading stories as they packed their bags. Desks scraped against the floor, sneakers shuffled toward the door, and the low hum of after-school plans filled the air. But in the midst of it all, one student remained motionless—head down, cheek pressed against his forearm, a thin trail of drool glistening under the flickering fluorescent lights.
The bell rang, sharp and final. Chairs screeched, voices spiked in excitement, and the classroom emptied in waves. One by one, they left. Nobody stopped. Nobody spared a glance at the boy lost in sleep.
A silence settled over the room.
Then—
"Hey."
Soft. Barely more than a whisper.
The boy stirred, a quiet groan slipping from his lips as his eyelids fluttered open. His vision blurred for a moment, adjusting to the dimming daylight outside. The classroom was empty now, except for one figure lingering near the desk—his teacher, arms crossed, staring at him with an unreadable expression.
There was no one else.
He blinked, sleep still heavy in his bones. "...Huh?"
The teacher sighed. "Class ended ten minutes ago."
The boy wiped his cheek with the back of his sleeve, feeling the dampness of drool, and let out a tired grunt. Right. He'd fallen asleep again.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he straightened, blinking away the haze of sleep. His voice came out quieter than intended. "I'm… uh… sorry."
The teacher waved off the apology with a slight shake of the head. "No need to be sorry. Didn't get enough sleep last night?"
The boy exhaled through his nose. "No… not really."
The teacher leaned against the desk, arms still crossed, studying him. "Video games?" His tone was knowing, casual—probably recalling the medieval battle royale that had just hit the market. It was all anyone had been talking about lately.
The boy hesitated. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag as he stood, shoulders stiff. "I… I haven't played any games for a little bit now."
The teacher raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Good for you," he said instead. "Video games can be bad for the mind."
There was no malice in the words, but something about the way they were said made the boy's grip tighten.
He slung his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah," he muttered, not quite agreeing, not quite disagreeing.
The conversation felt finished, but for some reason, neither of them moved.
The boy shifted on his feet, grip tightening on the strap of his bag. His throat felt dry, and for a second, it seemed like he wanted to say something else—something more. But the moment passed.
"I'm gonna leave," he muttered finally, before turning on his heel and rushing out of the room.
Mr. Dimmick watched him go, his expression unreadable. The classroom door swung shut with a soft click, leaving behind only the faint echo of hurried footsteps fading down the hallway.
"Be safe," the teacher said, though he knew the boy was already too far away to hear him.
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was the first time in weeks the kid had shown up to class. It wasn't like anyone talked about it openly, but people knew—teachers, students, the administration. The boy bounced from place to place, couch to couch, never settling, never staying. Not because of anything he'd done.
Just… life.
And that was the worst part.
Mr. Dimmick sighed, glancing at the empty desk where the boy had been moments ago. Smart kid. If things were different—if he had stability—maybe he wouldn't be sleeping through class, wouldn't be barely scraping by.
The teacher lingered for another second before finally turning back to his desk, the weight of unspoken thoughts settling in his chest.
Alex stepped out of the school and into the city's restless pulse. The streets were alive—horns blaring, people weaving through the sidewalks in tangled clusters, voices blending into an overwhelming hum. Even after a few months in New York, the crowds still made his skin crawl. Everything moved too fast, too loud, too much.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and kept walking, head low, trying to focus on the pavement beneath his feet rather than the crush of people around him.
Bzzz.
His pocket vibrated. A call.
Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the screen. The name Mom stared back at him.
He hesitated. Then, with a quiet breath, he swiped to answer.
"Alex, how was your first day?" Her voice was warm, familiar—like she was trying to sound upbeat for his sake.
"It was… fine," he said, weaving between pedestrians.
"You do anything fun?"
"Not really."
A pause. Then, "Do you remember how to get here?"
Alex swallowed. His grip on the phone tightened.
"Yeah… I remember."
"Call me if you need anything."
She was about to hang up when the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Wait."
A beat of silence. "What's wrong?"
Alex opened his mouth, then shut it again. The buildings around him all looked the same, towering and gray, stretching far beyond what felt manageable. His pulse quickened.
"I don't know the way back…"
Another pause. This time, heavier.
"Then why did you say you did?"
"I, uh… I don't know," he admitted. "I… I'm sorry."
A sigh on the other end. "I'll send you the address."
"Thank you."
A moment later, his phone buzzed again—this time with a message. The address appeared on the screen. Alex tapped it, letting the maps feature load. A blue line stretched across the screen, guiding him home.
Or, at least, to where home was for now.
He exhaled, staring at the glowing screen in his palm before stuffing the phone back into his pocket. Then, adjusting his bag again, he followed the path.
Alex followed the map's glowing blue line until it led him underground. The subway station was dim, lit by flickering overhead lights that cast long, restless shadows against the concrete walls. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, metal, and something vaguely damp. People milled about, some standing near the edge of the platform, others scrolling through their phones, lost in their own worlds.
He didn't bother finding a bench. Instead, he sank down against a cold, graffiti-stained wall, stretching his legs out and letting his bag rest beside him. The ache of the day settled into his bones, but he ignored it.
Pulling out his phone, he tapped open a novel.
He'd read this one hundreds of times—front to back, back to front. He could probably recite entire passages if he wanted to. It wasn't the best story, not compared to the ones that had taken the internet by storm.
But none of that mattered.
Because for some reason, he always came back to this one.
The story followed a boy from a small, forgotten village in a world teeming with demons, orcs, dwarves, and elves—races that had long fought for dominance. One day, the demons came, razing everything to the ground. His parents died screaming, their blood soaking into the dirt. But for some reason, the demons let him live.
A cruel mercy.
Left with nothing but the ashes of his home, the boy was granted a system. It would guide him, mold him into a hero, someone strong enough to slay the demons and save the world.
Alex stared at the words on his screen, his thumb hovering over the text.
It wasn't just the story that drew him in. It was him—the boy, the way he never crumbled, never stopped moving forward despite everything. Despite the loneliness. Despite the uncertainty.
Alex had always looked up to him.
After all, their backstories weren't so different.
A gust of wind rushed through the station, signaling the train's arrival. Alex sighed, locked his phone, and pushed himself to his feet.
Alex strolled over to the train getting in and standing using a pole for support.
Alex could never forget the day his parents died.
It wasn't just a memory—it was the memory. The first one he ever had.
Preschool. Sitting in a too-big chair outside the principal's office, legs swinging above the floor, confused at why they'd pulled him out of class. Then the door opened, and a woman he barely knew knelt down to his level, voice trembling as she spoke. Even she had trouble getting the words out.
A semi-truck. The driver fell asleep behind the wheel. Swerved into the next lane. Head-on collision.
Both killed on impact.
He was too young to understand it then, but he remembered the way the room had felt—smaller, like the walls were pressing in on him. Someone hugged him. Someone else murmured empty words meant to soothe, but they barely reached his ears.
At least it had been instant. At least they hadn't suffered.
That's what he told himself.
Alex exhaled and dragged his gaze back to his phone, opening his contacts. His thumb hovered over one name.
Mom.
He stared at the screen for a moment. It was strange, seeing that name again. He'd met the woman a few days ago, but it didn't matter. It didn't hurt to pretend.
It was nice having messages pop up with Mom in the notification bar—even if they weren't real.
"Get off me!"
A sharp voice yanked him out of his thoughts.
Across the train, a middle-aged man jerked his shoulder away, glaring at the teenager slumped against him. The kid blinked awake, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"S—Sorry," the teenager mumbled, sitting up straight.
The man scoffed. "You better be."
The apology should've been the end of it. But the teenager's expression twisted, his exhaustion giving way to anger.
"What did you just say?" he snapped, shoulders tensing.
Just like that, the air shifted—sharp, brittle, like a match was about to be struck.
Alex sighed through his nose and turned away, tuning them out. He tapped his screen, pulling his novel back up.
The argument faded into background noise. Yelling, muttered insults, the distant sound of the train rattling over tracks.
Alex stepped off the subway and into the cool evening air. The city felt different at this hour—calmer, but not quiet. The hum of distant traffic, the occasional honk, the murmur of passing conversations—it all blended together into something oddly familiar.
Following the GPS, he navigated the streets until he reached an apartment building. It was nicer than most places he'd stayed in before, with clean brickwork and a lobby that didn't reek of old carpet or cigarette smoke. He pushed open the door, took the stairs two at a time, and stopped at 735.
His hand hovered over the doorbell for a second before he pressed it.
Footsteps approached from the other side. A lock clicked. The door swung open, revealing Lauren.
She looked like someone straight out of a magazine—casually stylish without trying. Her black hair was streaked with pink highlights, the color framing her face in a way that made her glasses seem like the perfect accessory rather than an afterthought.
"Hi, Mrs. Lauren," Alex said.
She clicked her tongue. "Sweetie, you don't have to ring the doorbell. You live here now. And stop with this 'Mrs.' stuff."
Alex shifted on his feet. "Sorry…"
"There it is again." She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. "I've lost count of how many times you've apologized since you got here."
"Oh… uh… yeah. I'll try to stop."
Lauren sighed, shaking her head with a smile. "Come on, stop standing in the hallway like a lost puppy. Get inside."
Alex nodded and stepped in, toeing off his shoes and placing them neatly by the door before slinging his bag onto a chair near the entrance.
The apartment was nice.
Not in an overly fancy way, but it felt like a home—warm, lived-in. The furniture actually matched, the walls weren't bare, and there were little touches everywhere—books stacked on the coffee table, a blanket draped over the couch, a soft glow from the kitchen light spilling into the living room.
It was probably one of the best places he'd ever stayed.
He knew better than to expect anything permanent, but for once, he'd caught a break.
Lauren and Nick had taken him in as foster parents, and they weren't just going through the motions. They were kind. Lauren had even taken the whole week off work to stay home with him. She'd probably used some of her vacation days for it, but it wasn't about that.
It was the thought that counted.
And Alex wasn't sure what to do with that.
Nobody had ever done something like that for him before. It was a new feeling—one he wasn't sure how to process.
"Stop standing there and come in," Lauren said, arms crossed as she watched him linger in the doorway.
"Sorry," Alex muttered automatically.
Lauren let out a slow breath. "Alex."
He winced. "…I'll try harder."
"Good." Her expression softened. "Now, go sit on the couch. Nick'll be home soon, and we'll start dinner."
Alex nodded and made his way over, sinking into the couch. It was firm but comfortable, the kind of furniture people actually took care of. He stared at the blank TV screen, his fingers idly pressing into the cushion.
A few minutes later, Lauren walked over, grabbed the remote, and powered it on. The screen flickered to life with the familiar logo of The History Channel.
Of course.
Nick—the other half of this whole foster parent thing—was obsessed with history. Lauren had mentioned it a few times, saying he could spend hours watching documentaries on ancient civilizations, military campaigns, and obscure royal bloodlines.
Lauren tossed the remote at him. Alex barely caught it in time.
"You can change the channel if you want," she said.
"Thank you…" Alex murmured, setting the remote down on the end table. He wasn't going to touch it. Didn't want to mess with anything.
The TV droned on.
"King Henry is known for his wives, but what many don't know is his fascinating lineage, which spans back hundreds of years…"
Alex's fingers twitched.
Lineage.
The word sat heavy in his chest.
He never knew much about his own. His mom had cut ties with her entire side of the family long before he was born—never spoke about them, never gave a reason. His father's side was even smaller. No siblings, no extended family. Just his grandparents, both long gone.
His grandfather had died from ALS—Lou Gehrig's Disease. A genetic death sentence. His grandma passed from breast cancer shortly after Alex was born.
That left him.
Alone since he was four.
Alex exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the couch. The narrator on the TV continued droning on about royal bloodlines, but his mind was already somewhere else.
…
Lauren glanced at Alex, her heart sinking a little.
He barely moved—just sat there, staring at the TV like it was background noise to whatever was really going through his head. His hands stayed clasped in his lap, his shoulders tense even though he was supposed to be relaxing. It was like he was here but not here, floating just beneath the surface of the moment.
She and Nick had given him space, hoping he'd settle in on his own terms. But in the past few days, he'd spent almost all of his time in his room, only coming out when absolutely necessary—to grab food, use the bathroom, maybe drink some water before retreating again.
He was quiet. Withdrawn. Always on edge in a way that wasn't immediately obvious, but she could feel it, like a hum of static in the air around him.
It wasn't hard to understand why.
The first time she heard his story, she had to walk away for a minute. Orphaned at four. That alone had been hard enough to stomach. But then came the rest.
Bouncing from home to home, never staying long. Sometimes the families just couldn't take care of him anymore. Other times, they simply chose not to. Some decided fostering wasn't for them. Some moved on. And the last one…
Lauren swallowed.
The last foster parent had died—a mugging gone wrong.
And just like that, Alex had been on his own again.
No home, no safety net. Just drifting between shelters, sleeping in places no kid should ever have to sleep, surviving off whatever scraps of kindness the world had left to offer. That lasted over a month.
Now, he was here.
And she wanted this to be different. She needed it to be different.
But Alex… Alex was avoiding them. Not in an obvious way—he wasn't cold or rude—but he kept to himself like he was trying to disappear into the walls.
Like if he wasn't seen, then maybe they wouldn't remember he was there.
Maybe if he stayed quiet, if he didn't take up too much space, they wouldn't get tired of him.
Wouldn't decide they'd had enough.
Wouldn't send him away.
Lauren exhaled slowly, watching him from the corner of her eye.
She wasn't going to let that happen.
Not this time.
The door creaked open, pulling Lauren from her thoughts. A man stepped inside—a little over six feet tall, with blonde hair that swept to the side in a way that looked effortless, and a build that spoke to regular workouts. His presence was casual but commanding, like he'd just stepped in from a long day of work and was settling into something familiar.
"Hey, Lauren, how was your day?" Nick asked, kicking off his shoes by the door and tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair.
"Kinda boring, but I managed," she replied, her voice light but distracted.
…
Alex couldn't help but listen to the exchange, a small knot tightening in his stomach.
'I forgot to ask her about her day' he thought.
She'd asked about his. Why hadn't he asked about hers? He hadn't meant to be rude, but it felt rude now. He hadn't even thought about it.
"Hey, buddy, how's it going?" Nick's voice cut through his thoughts, and Alex glanced up, finding him leaning against the couch, his gaze drifting over to the TV.
"I'm good. You?" Alex responded quickly, making sure to ask about his day.
"Busy, but I made it through." Nick grinned, picking up on the shift. "The History Channel, huh? King Henry! Did you know his dad was the first Tudor king of England?"
"Tudor?" Alex asked, his curiosity piqued despite himself.
"Yeah. The Tudor dynasty ruled England from 1485 to 1603," Nick explained, his voice light with enthusiasm.
"Interesting," Alex murmured.
It wasn't exactly riveting stuff, but these small, easy conversations were like breathing air after being submerged underwater for too long. No pressure, no expectations. Just people talking. Nick's passion for history was genuine, and the more Alex listened, the more he realized how rare it was to see someone so... invested. It was kind of contagious.
Before the conversation could carry on, Lauren's voice broke in from the kitchen. "Sorry to interrupt, but dinner's ready. Nick, go change."
"What did you make?" Nick called back, already heading toward the bedroom.
"Spaghetti," Lauren replied, her tone softening.
"Sweet!" Nick's voice echoed back, and then the sound of a door clicking shut followed as he disappeared.
Alex stood up, following Lauren into the kitchen, where she handed him a plate. He scooped a generous serving of noodles onto it, drizzling the sauce carefully over the top. The kitchen smelled warm and inviting, like home should. He felt a flicker of something—comfort, maybe. It wasn't permanent, not yet. But it was a start.
Sitting down at the table, he stared at his plate for a moment. Spaghetti. Simple, but filling. Something about it felt safe.
Nick came out of the bedroom and grabbed a plate, settling into the chair across from Alex. Lauren followed, sitting between the two of them at the edge of the table. The easy rhythm of family life, something Alex hadn't really known, settled over the room as they dug into their dinner.
"You do anything at school today?" Nick asked, glancing up from his plate with an eyebrow raised.
"Not really," Alex said, his voice quiet but not defensive. Just… matter-of-fact.
"On your first day back, you did nothing at all?" Nick pressed, as if trying to get him to admit something.
"Well, I got to my first class," Alex started slowly, "which was a welding class. The teacher played a video on welding for the whole period. Then I had mythology, where I just did some busywork about Zeus. After that was weight training, where I followed what the teacher put up on the board. Then lunch. And finally math, where I kind of… fell asleep."
Nick chuckled lightly, the sound warm but teasing. "Well, it seems like you did a lot today."
"Yeah, I guess I did." Alex mused, taking a bite of his spaghetti. The conversation shifted naturally as Lauren and Nick took over, their voices a comforting hum in the background. They talked about the city, the world, and—inevitably—money. Alex listened without truly engaging. It wasn't that he wasn't interested. He just felt... out of place in those conversations. Like he wasn't quite part of it yet.
The new family settled in for the night. Lauren sat in her chair, scrolling through videos on her phone. Nick sprawled out on the couch, flipping through TV channels, and Alex... well, Alex sat in the quiet corner of the couch, his phone in hand, the glow of the screen illuminating his face as he read his novel. The words on the screen were familiar, the story comforting in its consistency. It wasn't the best novel, but it was his favorite. He'd read it over and over again—like an old friend he could always return to.
The room hummed with the soft sounds of evening: the distant murmur of the TV, the gentle tapping of Lauren's fingers on her screen, and the steady swiping of Alex's finger as he turned the pages of his novel. It felt... normal. And for the first time in a long while, normal didn't feel like a bad thing.
Before long, the time to sleep snuck up on them.
"Good night, Alex," Lauren said, her voice soft as she turned off the lights in the house.
"Night, buddy," Nick added, his voice warm and steady.
"Night..." Alex replied quietly, his words almost a whisper, but they carried more weight than he intended. He felt something stir in him—a flicker of something he wasn't used to.
Alex walked into his room, shutting the door behind him. It was a quiet, simple thing, but for him, it felt like an action full of meaning. He was alone, but not lonely.
That was nice, he thought as he climbed into his bed. The mattress, though humble, cradled him in a way no bed had in years. It was a strange, almost foreign comfort. He pulled out his phone again, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his face as he continued reading. The words wrapped around him like a familiar blanket.
As the minutes passed, sleep crept closer. Slowly, Alex placed his phone on the charger, turned onto his side, and closed his eyes. The hum of the house outside his room felt steady. Safe.
And for the first time in... well, years, Alex went to bed feeling comfortable. Comfortable in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. The kind of comfortable that made him believe maybe tomorrow could be a little better than today.
Alex's eyes snapped open, his heart thundering in his chest as the heat of the room pressed in on him like a suffocating weight. The stench of smoke burned his nostrils, sharp and acrid, and the flickering glow of flames cast dancing shadows on the walls of the bedroom. He blinked, confusion clouding his mind as his gaze swept over the room, now consumed by fire.
"What the…?"
The inferno crept along the edges of the room, licking at the walls, curling around the furniture like some malevolent force. The air felt thick, heavy with the heat and the scent of burning wood. The heat pressed against him from all sides, sharp and invasive, like the room itself was a living thing, trying to suffocate him in its fiery embrace. How had he not woken up from this? How was he not choking from the smoke?
The sound of the fire was deafening—crackling, popping, the furious roar of flames eating up everything they could reach. He could hear the wood splintering, the sound of his own pulse beating wildly in his ears, and then—a loud crash.
Alex's head whipped upward, his eyes widening in shock as the floor above him gave way with a deafening roar. He could see it all happening in slow motion, the heavy weight of the ceiling crashing down toward him like some massive, unstoppable force.
No!
Time seemed to stretch as the beams above collapsed, the heavy debris falling straight toward him. He could feel the heat intensifying, the flames getting closer, curling around the edges of the falling debris. His instincts screamed at him to move, to get up, to run. But there was no time.
The floor above groaned and cracked, the weight of it unbearable, and with an earsplitting crash, the ceiling shattered, sending debris crashing down toward him, the roar of flames and the destruction swallowing everything in its wake. The last thing Alex saw before the weight of the world caved in on him was the floor above him coming down in a brutal, unforgiving crush.
Everything went dark.
…
Alex jolted upright, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body drenched in sweat. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, the phantom heat of the fire still clinging to his skin. He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply.
"It was just a dream…" he muttered, his voice hoarse, like he'd inhaled smoke. His shoulders slumped slightly as he tried to steady his breathing.
But something was wrong.
The room was… off.
The sheets beneath his fingers were rougher than what he was used to. The air smelled different, carrying a faint scent of something unfamiliar. The walls, the ceiling—none of it looked right. His belongings were nowhere in sight. The creaking of wood beneath his shifting weight was different from the floor he knew.
His stomach twisted.
This isn't my room.
He looked down. The clothes on his body weren't his either. A loose-fitting shirt and pants, made of coarse material he didn't recognize, replaced the ones he had gone to bed in.
What the hell is going on?
His fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His breathing picked up again. He forced himself to stay calm, to think, to rationalize—but nothing made sense.
"Am I still dreaming?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the world seemed to shift.
A flicker of light. A sharp ping—not a sound, but a sensation, like something pressing against the inside of his skull. Then, suddenly, something appeared before his eyes.
Floating. Clear, yet solid. An interface of some kind, glowing faintly in the dim room.
===Status===
Name: Maximus Augustus
Rank: F
Strength: F
Agility: G
Stamina: F
Mana Capacity: G+
Intelligence: G
Luck: E
Charm: E