The system, ever the harbinger of bad news and relentless self-improvement, materialized before my still half-closed eyes.
Its digital text, annoyingly cheerful for this ungodly hour, pulsed with urgent efficiency.
[New Quest Activated: Learn to Not Die Immediately. Objective: Undergo Basic Combat Training. Suggested Approach: Hit things until you improve.]
"…Right."
**
Morning in Gravelend Village arrived with its own unique symphony.
There were the chirping birds, doing their best impression of a poorly tuned orchestra.
Then, the village rooster, a creature of pure, unadulterated chaos, let out a shriek that suggested it was not only on fire but also experiencing an existential crisis.
And, of course, there was Orion.
He stood over me, watching me sleep with the intense focus of an overzealous scarecrow guarding a particularly prized crop.
"You drooled slightly," he announced, his voice brimming with a pride usually reserved for Olympic gold medalists.
"Go away," I mumbled, pulling the tattered blanket further over my face.
The village, in its infinite wisdom, had provided me with this threadbare textile, which smelled faintly of damp earth and unfulfilled dreams.
[Status Effect Applied: Morning Cringe. Duration: Until coffee, or at least until the sun decides to stop being so aggressively bright.]
I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and finally sat up.
Beside me, the system, never one to miss an opportunity to highlight my deficiencies, pinged awake with the eagerness of a caffeinated squirrel.
[Time for Training. Your stats currently fall somewhere between "pitiful" and "please log off before you permanently damage the fabric of this reality." Let's fix that. Or at least try to. We have low expectations.]
Orion, meanwhile, stood at rigid attention, stick-sword at his side, looking like a miniature knight awaiting orders.
"I prepared a training area by the forest!" he declared, holding out the stick. It was, I noted, the same stick he'd used as a sword yesterday. Its promotional value had apparently been upgraded. "Also breakfast! It's burnt bread and enthusiasm."
I groaned again, a deeper, more profound sound this time.
But, with the reluctant grace of a zombie rising from its grave, I swung my legs out from under the blanket and followed him.
Burnt bread and enthusiasm sounded about par for the course in this place.
The "training field" was, to put it kindly, optimistic.
It was really just a flat patch of grass near the edge of the forest. The trees bordering this so-called field had a peculiar habit of glitching in and out of existence every few seconds, like shy party guests who couldn't decide if they wanted to join the conversation. In the center of this glitch-prone expanse, a scarecrow-shaped training dummy flickered into place. It was wearing a sign, emblazoned with a passive-aggressive message: KICK ME, PLEASE.
Orion clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and surprisingly loud in the quiet morning.
"Begin!" he commanded, his voice brimming with the unshakeable conviction of a drill sergeant who had never actually seen combat.
I stared at the dummy. Its straw head seemed to mock me with its perfectly intact, albeit slightly lopsided, smile.
Then I stared at my weapon.
It was still the Beginner's Regret. Its hilt was worn, its blade slightly dull, and it hummed with an almost imperceptible aura of disappointment. Clearly, it had seen better days, probably in a prop department for a very low-budget fantasy film.
[Progression Mode Initiated: Combat Training. Get ready for some glorious, albeit clumsy, action!]
[Skill Unlocked: Basic Strike I. Cooldown: 1 second. Power: Not impressive. Like, really not impressive. We're talking wet noodle levels of impressive.]
[Skill Unlocked: Dodge Roll. Warning: May cause dizziness, grass stains, and the sudden realization that your spatial awareness is nonexistent.]
I took a deep breath, channeled my inner hero (which mostly manifested as mild anxiety), and swung the Beginner's Regret.
I missed. Spectacularly. The sword whistled harmlessly through the air, stirring a few blades of grass.
I swung again, putting more of my entire being into it this time.
I barely clipped the dummy's arm, sending a few stray pieces of straw fluttering to the ground.
[Damage Dealt: 3. We are so proud. No, really.]
[The dummy is not impressed. In fact, we think it just snickered.]
Orion, bless his eternally optimistic heart, cheered like I had just single-handedly defeated a pantheon of gods.
"Again! You are magnificent Mistress No! A warrior born! A true master of the blade! The dummy trembles before your might!"
"I can't feel my wrist," I groaned, the words barely audible. The Beginner's Regret was heavier than it looked, and my form was clearly that of someone attempting to swat a fly with a tree trunk.
"You're gripping it wrong," he said gently, stepping behind me. His voice softened, losing its dramatic edge. "Like this."
He reached out, his hands surprisingly delicate as he adjusted my posture. His touch was awkward, like someone trying not to break a priceless teacup with a hammer, but it was earnest. He moved my grip on the sword, subtly shifted my stance, and somehow, the sword felt less like a lead pipe and more like a tool. Despite myself, a small, unbidden smile touched my lips.
[New Buff: Encouraged. It won't last, but enjoy it. Like a fleeting moment of sunshine before the inevitable rain of despair.]
Over the next grueling hour, I trained. Strike. Roll. Miss. Strike again. My body protested with every clumsy movement. My muscles screamed. My dignity wavered. Orion, meanwhile, provided a constant stream of encouragement, sometimes helpful, sometimes baffling.
"Remember, Mistress No, the stick is merely an extension of your indomitable spirit!"
"Yes, Orion. It's also making my shoulder ache."
We practiced the dodge roll, which mostly involved me flailing on the ground and accumulating impressive grass stains. I learned that Basic Strike was indeed basic, and my not impressive power rating was entirely accurate.
But slowly, painstakingly, I started to connect.
The thud of the sword against the dummy became more frequent, less pathetic. My swings found their mark with increasing regularity.
Finally, with a grunt of effort and a desperate prayer to the gaming gods, I landed a critical hit.
The Beginner's Regret connected with a satisfying thwack, and the dummy's head, to my utter astonishment, popped right off. It bounced twice on the grass like a particularly sad volleyball before rolling to a stop.
[Skill Leveled Up: Basic Strike I → Basic Strike II. Congratulations. You are now "Slightly Less Embarrassing." We're talking from "complete novice" to "barely competent." It's progress!]
We collapsed in the grass afterward, side by side, both utterly exhausted. Orion looked like he'd run a marathon, despite doing nothing but cheer. I felt like I'd been run over by a very slow, very determined tractor.
The sun, thankfully, was still high, which meant I hadn't been training for an entire day, merely a very long, very painful hour.
That night, the air grew cool, and the stars, which flickered with minor bugs and occasionally rearranged themselves into surprisingly expressive emojis, began to pepper the darkening sky. We built a small campfire near the village square. The crackle of the flames provided a soothing counterpoint to the distant, intermittent glithes of the forest.
Orion, in a surprising display of domesticity, managed to procure marshmallows. I didn't even know this world had marshmallows. I also didn't ask where he got them. Or why they hissed and spat when cooked over the fire, resembling something closer to angry, sugary alien eggs than fluffy white treats.
"Today was good," Orion said, poking the fire with a stick that had no business being on fire itself, considering it was already being used for marshmallow cremation. "You didn't accidentally hit yourself this time."
"I consider that progress," I replied, carefully inspecting my own charred marshmallow, which now resembled a charcoal briquette with a faint sugary crust.
We fell quiet for a while, the silence settling comfortably between us. The fire crackled, spitting embers into the night. The village, beyond the immediate glow of our fire, was mostly still, its leaning buildings casting long, distorted shadows.
Orion suddenly spoke, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. It was almost… vulnerable.
"When I was in the well," he began, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames, "I used to watch the kids in the village run around. They always had someone to chase them. A mother. A father. Someone who called them home."
I glanced at him. The firelight reflected in his eyes, making them glow a soft, molten gold. He wasn't looking at me, but out into the darkness, as if conjuring images from his memories.
"I used to hope I'd have… home too," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "So I made a wish. Every night. Into the well."
"What kind of wish?" I asked, my voice equally quiet.
I felt a strange pull, a desire to understand this strange, earnest boy who had become my accidental shadow.
"That I could have parents," he said simply. He smiled then, but it wasn't his usual bright, eager grin. It was the kind of smile people wear when they are trying, desperately, not to cry. A fragile thing, laced with a quiet ache. "Or… at least someone who wouldn't leave me behind."
I felt a lump rise in my throat, unexpected and unwelcome. The cynical part of me, the part that had been carefully cultivated over years of disappointment, wanted to shrug it off. But the small, softer part, the part that had started to crack open since arriving here, refused.
"You're not in the well anymore," I said quietly, the words feeling inadequate but true.
"I know," he said, and this time, his smile was a little brighter, a little less strained. He finally turned his gaze from the fire to me. "And now I have you. My Mistress of the Well."
"Don't call me that," I said automatically, but the protest lacked its usual bite.
"Sorry," he responded, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Mistress No."
I groaned. It was a familiar sound, a sign of my complete and utter surrender to his endearing stubbornness.
He beamed.
[New Bond Formed: Orion (Loyal Companion). Affection Level: Mildly Overwhelming. Be warned, he might try to knit you a sweater out of his enthusiasm.]
[You have unlocked Shared XP. All EXP earned will be boosted slightly while Orion is in your party. Also, he will narrate it with dramatic flair. Expect fireworks and possibly a marching band.]
[Current Party Status: Stable. Surprisingly Wholesome. And possibly on the verge of adopting a very large, very enthusiastic golden retriever in human form.]
We stayed by the fire a little longer, the night deepening around us. I let the silence stretch, letting it grow. It wasn't heavy anymore. It felt warm. Familiar. It felt… safe.
Maybe not home. Not yet. But something close. Something that, against all odds, was beginning to feel like it might just be worth sticking around for.