I had been tackling the survival quest objectives for most of the day. I wouldn’t call myself a survivalist by any means, but I preferred roughing it in the wilderness over spending a night in a hotel. However, finding a decent spot to build a shelter on what I was starting to see as a tropical island was proving to be a real challenge.

  Exploring the island was part of the quest anyway, and along the way, I came across a small home that looked like it belonged in some ancient era. I couldn’t figure out what that really meant and wasn’t keen on overthinking it. History and mythology weren’t exactly my thing. I preferred Netflix retellings and documentaries over the original stories from that one guy—what was his name again? Homer? Or was it Plato? Either way, not my scene.

  The home was at a distance, and I assumed it must belong to the young woman I’d heard about. Out of respect—or maybe curiosity—I kept my distance. It was a quaint little place. A thatched roof made of palm leaves. No fancy imports, just what I assumed the island provided. It looked… simple. Rustic. And for some reason, that simplicity intrigued me.

  I had internet access, sure, but no way to search up this stuff about palm trees or the island’s geography. Social media was off the table, and forums were probably on the “what-not-to-do” list for survival advice.

  If I could just have a real conversation with her without her running away every time I got close, maybe I could learn what I needed to know. Standing there, eyeing the home with walls seemingly constructed entirely from native materials, I wondered why everything about this island felt so… untouched. Nothing here looked imported, which was unusual in a world where global trade had long since made imports a given.

  Was this place truly isolated, or was there something deeper going on?

  I shook off the curiosity creeping into my thoughts. First things first—I needed to figure out how to build a shelter before nightfall. And if I got lucky, maybe I could figure out a way to talk to her—and get some answers—without scaring her off.

  Sure! Here's a continuation that builds on your exploration and curiosity while maintaining the survival quest focus and the mystery of the young woman’s home.

  I cautiously took a few more steps forward, my eyes still fixed on the quaint home. The thatched roof swayed slightly in the breeze, a testament to the sturdiness of whatever materials were native to this island. The walls, made from what appeared to be rough-hewn stone and wood, blended seamlessly with the surrounding landscape. It was impressive, especially for a place that didn’t seem to have anything imported. The isolation of it gnawed at me—everything about this island felt… off.

  I shook my head and turned back to my original goal. My priority wasn’t learning island gossip; it was securing a place to sleep. My survival objectives reminded me that night would be creeping up faster than I wanted. I needed to gather wood, find some rocks, and figure out how to construct something resembling a shelter before darkness swallowed the light entirely.

  I glanced back at the mysterious home one more time. The window—if you could call it that—had a piece of cloth fluttering slightly. I imagined the young woman inside, going about her life in isolation. What secrets did she have? Did she even know what kind of trouble I’d found myself in? Or was she just another survivor like me, trying to carve out a life on this unforgiving island?

  Sighing, I turned away and focused on finding materials for my shelter. My fingers scraped through coarse sand, and I picked up a few sturdy branches from nearby trees that would serve as a framework. The dense foliage around me rustled softly as birds and unseen creatures moved through the shadows.

  My search for materials continued as I moved deeper into the island’s heart, the dense foliage growing thicker around me. Every rustle in the leaves or sudden movement sent a shiver down my spine, but I pushed through. My limbs were starting to ache, but survival meant keeping going, no matter how exhausted I felt.

  Finally, after gathering a good pile of branches and rocks, I decided to explore the perimeter of the cliffs on the far side of the island. The landscape here was different—rockier, with sharp edges jutting out like jagged teeth. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks below filled the air, a constant reminder of how treacherous things could get out here.

  As I hiked, I kept an eye on my stamina bar, and I was pleased that what I’d been doing today wasn’t draining me as much as I thought it would. I even managed to make a makeshift water bottle after finding a fresh water pool on the island. As I neared the top of the cliffs, I felt a change in the air. It felt… not depressing, but maybe desolate was the right word?

  And as I began to crest the hill, I paused, as the sun bleach matted hair of the woman rose up. Like she had just stood up. I hesitated, I had gained main skills today, but nothing helped my charisma. This honestly felt awkward and I was torn between approaching her and going back to where I left my shelter materials. Logically, I should go back and build my shelter, food could wait until tomorrow since I had water.

  But as I examined her, not that matted long hair helped me read her body language, I sort of agreed with the air the cliffside about the desolation, but she just looked lonely, and reflecting back to trying to meet her on the beach, that was fight or flight instinct I saw.

  “Notice you have gained the skill: Insightful observation level two. You have managed to gain insight on human body language coinciding with their emotion. Leveling this skill will help you better interpret subtle cues of body language, tone, and facial expressions.”

  I tensed. I still wasn’t used to system boxes randomly popping up in my vision. Before I could close the notification about my new skill, another system box materialized.

  “Notice: Unlocking Insightful Observation has granted you the Perception attribute. Your understanding of your surroundings and ability to notice finer details have improved. Level this attribute to further hone your awareness.

  Notice: You have leveled up. You are now Level 3, and your attributes have been updated. Please consult your character sheet to review your stats.”

  Only three notifications this time. That was… manageable. But the sudden appearance of a new attribute worried me. Did it mean I had been that oblivious before? I should’ve realized something so basic much sooner.

  Self-reflection would have to wait. Right now, my attention was drawn back to the woman ahead of me. The awkwardness of just standing there, staring at her back, was starting to gnaw at me. With the mounting weight of my social anxiety urging me to do something, I forced myself to act.

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  I stole a deep breath, summoning what little courage I could muster, and took a step forward.

  Before I could call out to her, she turned. Our eyes locked for the briefest of moments before a startled gasp escaped her lips.

  Time seemed to slow.

  She stumbled.

  And then, to my horror, she fell.

  Adrenaline surged through me. My body moved before I could think, feet pounding against the uneven ground as I sprinted toward the cliff's edge. Sliding to my knees, I peered over the precipice, a knot of fear tightening in my stomach.

  The world spun around me as vertigo threatened to take hold. Below, the vast expanse of ocean churned mercilessly, waves crashing against the rocks. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs as I scanned the cliffside, desperate to catch a glimpse of her—clinging to a ledge, caught by some miraculous stroke of luck.

  Nothing.

  Cold dread seeped into my bones.

  "Where is she?"

  The question echoed in my mind, though I didn’t dare say it aloud.

  Maybe I was hallucinating? After all, I did almost drown today—surely that kind of trauma could mess with my head, right? But then again... would the system reward me with a level-up for observing a hallucination?

  Just as I tried to rationalize it, a new system box appeared, snapping into view with a cheerful chime that felt far too mocking for the moment.

  “Notice: You have gained the skill Denial. You possess a remarkable ability to internally convince yourself of alternate truths. Further levels in this skill will allow you to avoid harsh realities with increased efficiency.”

  I groaned, rubbing a hand down my face. "Great," I muttered, the sarcasm lacing my tone. "The system thinks I'm delusional and in denial. Lovely."

  “Warning.” Another box appeared in my vision, “ Due to the psychological nature of denial, Denial can make a great shield from immediate mental harm. Don’t let denial be an all consuming, unbreakable shield. If the negative side of denial is utilized too frequently, your sense of reality will distort. Excessive reliance on this skill may also blind you to critical truths or opportunities. Balance is key.

  Tip: utilize the systems connection to the internet to learn….”

  I closed the tip and all other system boxes without thinking or finishing reading them.

  Still, the absurdity of it all didn’t erase the cold sweat beading on my skin. I couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. I leaned further over the edge, scanning every jagged rock, every twisted branch, and every ripple in the ocean below, hoping—praying—to find some trace of her.

  But there was nothing.

  I numbly got up, careful with my footing, as I was certain, water below or not, a fall from this height would kill me. And I didn’t want to think, I wanted to sleep. I could almost feel the adrenaline leaving my body.

  Sleep would allow me to process the events of today. Or maybe if I woke up I would be back at the hotel? There was serious doubt with that. Walking back to the area where I was going to build my shelter, the events of today, since I woke up coughing up half the ocean, were too lucid for me to be asleep somewhere.

  In my numb state, I managed to figure out how to get the notifications to stop randomly popping up in front me, I was getting a headache, I was lethargic… and probably a whole bunch of other things.

  I looked up at the sky as the stars came out with the sun fully set, I didn’t have it in me to enjoy a stargazing moment without light pollution. I did note that there didn’t seem to be any predators, I could probably sleep out in the open and be perfectly safe.

  Was that practical, no. Did I currently care, not really. Maybe I would care when I woke up in the morning. And it was with these thoughts, I made it back to where I thought would make a good area for me to build a shelter, and fell asleep on the cold hard ground.

  I opened my eyes to an endless void. Stars shimmered to my left and right, above and below, stretching into infinity. For a moment, the vastness stole my breath—it was beautiful, serene. But then pain flickered at my feet, sharp and biting. I glanced down to find myself barefoot, standing on a path of shattered glass. Each fragment glinted with starlight, their jagged edges catching faint flashes of color.

  Despite the pain, I stepped forward. What else was there to do? The crunch of glass beneath my feet echoed unnaturally, loud and jarring against the void’s silence. At first, each step sent stabs of pain through me, but gradually, the sensation dulled until I barely noticed it. The faint chill of a breeze brushed against my skin, raising goosebumps, but I pressed on, curiosity driving me.

  A flicker of light caught my eye, pulling my gaze downward. The glass shimmered, and an image burst to life, projecting upward like an old movie reel riddled with glitches. The scene twisted and distorted, as though an invisible hand struggled to stabilize it. A towering figure loomed in the projection, its proportions almost grotesque, though I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion of perspective or something more. Beside it, much smaller but no less significant, stood another figure—human-like, but vague and indistinct.

  The larger figure bent forward, its form trembling under some unseen burden. Its voice, deep and resonant like the groaning of mountains, rumbled through the void.

  “Daughter, your choice will define us all. Do not let them sway you with their silver tongues.”

  I shivered, the weight of the voice pressing against my chest. There was something primal in its tone, ancient and unyielding. The figure turned, and its eyes—an unnatural blend of turquoise and shifting blue—met mine. For a fleeting moment, I swore it saw me, truly saw me, as though I wasn’t just an observer but part of this strange vision. The intensity of the gaze rooted me in place, my breath caught in my throat.

  Then, the image blinked out, shattered like a fragile pane of glass. I staggered forward, the crunch of shards beneath me sharper now, cutting into my soles. The wind that had once whispered against my skin was gone, replaced by an oppressive stillness. My steps faltered as the void around me darkened, clouds swirling in the distance. A thunderstorm brewed, static crackling in the air and prickling against my skin.

  A bolt of lightning struck the path ahead, its impact throwing me backward. I landed hard, the shards slicing into my hands and legs as I scrambled to sit up. Blood dripped in thin lines, crimson against the silver-glass ground. Before me, another flicker of light erupted, and a new scene unfolded.

  This one was calmer, almost idyllic. A young woman sat in a meadow, weaving crowns from wildflowers. Her hair, braided into shoulder-length plaits, glistened black in the sunlight. She hummed a soft tune, a melody so familiar it sent a pang of nostalgia through me, though I couldn’t place it.

  Then, static rippled across the image as a man stepped into view. His appearance was striking—lean, with the beginnings of a sculpted physique that spoke of discipline and strength. His long, dark hair was tied back in a single braid, reaching the middle of his back. Clean-shaven, his features were sharp and chiseled, the kind you’d expect to see gracing the cover of a glossy magazine. His attire—a toga, if I had to guess—was out of place, a relic of some forgotten era.

  The woman stiffened as he approached, her posture rigid, her hands faltering in their work. His eyes glowed a piercing yellow as he spoke, his voice smooth yet commanding.

  “Not making a choice is still a choice, daughter of Atlas. The tide of war does not wait for the indecisive.”

  The static intensified, distorting the image. Before I could process the scene, a blinding light engulfed everything, the brilliance searing against my vision. Then, darkness.