Did I fall again? The last time it happened, at least I was at home, lying on the floor staring at the dust under the refrigerator until the dizziness passed. I remembered closing my office door, but this time, something didn’t add up. The smell was wrong, damp, alive. Moss and wet bark clogged my nose, sharp and earthy. My head throbbed like a drum. Perfect. Either I’d had a stroke at my desk or I’d respawned in someone else’s fever dream.

  Towering trees stretched high above me, their thick trunks gnarled, like ancient judges watching from on high. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in thin, golden beams, casting shifting patterns across the leaf-littered ground. Birds called to each other in the branches, while smaller creatures flitted just out of view.

  I winced against the sunlight and shielded my face with my arm. I froze.

  This wasn’t my hand.

  It was smoother, stronger, unmarred by time or injury. The twisted knuckle I earned saving my dad that summer? Gone. The wrist I cracked while mountain biking? Perfect. I flexed my fingers. No pain. No stiffness. Just an idealized version of my hand, a Photoshopped action figure limb attached to my very real panic.

  This wasn’t just a dream. It felt too real.

  I quickly looked about the forest again, my heart drumming as memories fought to surface. I walked out of the office and locked the door. A voice? Then nothing.

  What if I were in a coma? Or dead? Was this some afterlife tutorial?

  Before my thoughts could spiral, a sharp rustle snapped my attention to the brush ahead. I spun. No phone. No weapon. Just me and nature’s surplus of rocks.

  I grabbed the closest one, a jagged rock, and held it like a sacred relic. Excalibur, but make it mossy.

  Then she crashed through the trees.

  A girl, no, a young woman, stumbled into the clearing barefoot, her red hair tangled and wild. Her brown dress was torn and stained, clinging to her as if she’d just run through hell. Her eyes locked on mine: wide, terrified, pleading.

  And right behind her, something straight out of a horror game.

  Green skin, hunched posture, jagged knife in hand, and eyes that practically screamed “murder enthusiast.”

  Goblin. Or something worse.

  She tripped. (Of course she did.) Caught on a root and hit the ground hard, crying out.

  My body moved before my brain had time to scream, ‘Bad idea!’ I charged. Rock raised. The goblin barely had time to turn before I brought it down.

  Crunch. It dropped.

  I stood over it, chest heaving, rock slick with something dark and warm. My hands shook as the stone slipped from my grip. My knees gave out, and I crouched beside the thing I’d just killed. Blood and moss filled my nostrils. My stomach lurched.

  This wasn’t a cutscene. Then.

  [Congratulations]

  [85 XP Class ??? Awarded]

  [New Class achieved – ??? Level 1]

  [DING]

  [Level Up – Class ??? – Level 2]

  94 XP Until Next Level

  A soft ding sounded in my ears. The message came in a smooth, feminine voice, like a fantasy GPS. My first thought: What the hell is wrong with my brain?

  “Get up,” she said quietly.

  I looked up. The girl, bruised and filthy but still radiating a strange calm, touched my shoulder then quickly pulled back, as if she wasn’t sure she had permission.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “We have to go,” she said, glancing up at the trees like death might fall from the branches. “Ogres. Three of them are coming this way.”

  “Yeah. Okay,” I said, numbly. “What is an Ogre?”

  “Big and brown, full of teeth. I can kill one, but not three. Let’s go…”

  I reached for the goblin’s knife, but it was locked in its grip. Before I could pry it loose, she was already moving, slipping into the trees.

  I followed.

  No words at first. Just breath and branches and the wet slap of mud on boots. She moved with practiced urgency, weaving around tree roots and ducking under limbs I didn’t even see. She stopped dead and raised a hand.

  I froze.

  In the distance: a low, snuffling growl, wet and heavy.

  She turned, whispering, “Forest crawler.”

  My mouth went dry. “Worse than an Ogre?”

  “They spit acid. Sometimes they mimic crying children.”

  I didn’t reply. I just followed.

  Eventually, the path cleared, and the trees thinned into something that looked like a trail. She eased up slightly, less like a rabbit-fleeing hawk, more like a girl who’s still watching the sky.

  “Watch that moss,” she warned. “It burns through boots.”

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “It’s alive.”

  From then on, every green patch was the enemy.

  We reached a dirt road. Wagon tracks cut through the mud, not a single tire in sight. She finally spoke again.

  “My town’s just around the bend,” she said, brushing hair from her eyes. “We’ll be safe there. Probably.”

  “Probably?” I echoed, watching her for a time.

  She glanced at me. “Better odds than out here. Most monsters don’t venture too close. Unless you do something stupid.”

  “Did you do something?”

  “Not this time…” she said with a grin. She introduced herself a moment later: Seraphina. She had that energy cats get after they knock something over, guilty but defensive.

  “I was collecting herbs. For dinner.” Her voice softened, eyes downcast.

  It didn’t sound like the whole truth, but I noticed her arms. Goosebumps. Without thinking, I slipped off my jacket and handed it to her.

  She hesitated. “This is too nice. I’ll ruin it.”

  “It’s fine. Not like I dressed for a goblin-slaying show.”

  She actually giggled, an honest, light sound that cut through the gloom. As she wrapped the jacket around herself, the motion was casual and practiced, the way someone donned armor without thinking of it as such.

  “Besides,” she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “that goblin wasn’t chasing us. It was running from the ogres.” She glanced back down the path, utterly unconcerned. “Goblins are more of a nuisance than a threat, like squirrels with knives.” She flexed her fingers once, almost absently, and I noticed how relaxed her stance was, balanced, ready, with her weight centered. Not frightened. Not even tense.

  “Most people are terrified of them,” she went on, shrugging. “I’ve never understood why. They scatter if you show them you’re not worth the trouble.” A beat passed before her brow furrowed. “Though… what’s a show?”

  I blinked. “You don’t. Oh. Right. New place.”

  We exchanged a few more moments like that, laser bards, entertainment with screens, me being bad at explanations, until I finally asked:

  “So, after I brained that goblin, I heard a voice say something about ‘leveling up.’ Is that normal?”

  She stopped. Really stopped. Her brow furrowed.

  “You’ve never heard the Goddess?”

  I shook my head. But she did sound familiar. But from where?

  She lifted her hand. A blue glow formed, hovering above her palm like a floating hologram.

  [Seraphina Adwell]

  Race: Human

  Status: Unmarried

  Title: None.

  Age: 18

  Class: Villager 5

  Strength: 6

  Intelligence: 10

  Wisdom: 7

  Agility: 6

  Charisma: 8

  HP: 120/120

  MP: 100/100

  SP: 100/100

  Skills:

  Leatherwork Lvl 2

  Cooking Lvl 10

  Passive Traits:

  None.

  “Are those good numbers?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Decent. Most of us don’t train. Hover around five or six.” She hesitated. “I heard thirty’s about as high as anyone can push an ability. When you have a skill at that level, you’re considered a master. But there are rare stories of people breaking that limit and achieving much higher. That comes with the Gods’ blessings. You should know all of this already.”

  I nodded slowly, trying to process it. Game logic. Magic stats. Talking about intelligence like it was bench press weight. Sure.

  “It sounds familiar… What’s SP?”

  “Stamina,” she said. “If it hits zero, you collapse like my older sister. She healed our dad too much once. Slept for two days.”

  She smiled as if it were a fond annoyance.

  “Okay, your turn. Let’s see yours.”

  I hesitated. “I don’t think I have one.”

  She moved closer as the cool forest air thinned between us. Seraphina was slightly shorter than I was, and when I looked down, she slipped her hand into mine, gently pressing her palm against mine.

  Her skin was warm and steady. The roughness of her calluses spoke of manual labor, yet her touch was gentle and almost protective. She smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wild herbs, grounding and familiar in a world where nothing else felt the same.

  It had been so long since I’d felt another’s warmth. Too long. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe it in and forget the strangeness of where I was. Her smile caught me, not soft or fragile, but strong enough to hold me there, and I lost myself in it.

  A tingling started in my hand, like a soft current under the skin. Then, the blue light flared between us. A panel appeared. Seraphina stared. Her breath hitched. Not fear. Not awe. Something deeper. She stepped back.

  “That’s not possible.”

  I looked down. The numbers flickered like static, intelligence, strength, even the class line dissolving into symbols I didn’t recognize.

  [David Allen Robertson]

  [ERROR: Class Undefined]

  [Analyzing…]

  “What are you?” she whispered.