Chapter 14: Chapter 14: Loading
The darkness was different this time.
He knew darkness after death.
He had firsthand experience with that particular variety, the specific quality of nothing that came after a thirty-seven floor drop and the body’s final, non-negotiable opinion about the matter.
That darkness had been empty.
Absolute.
The kind of empty that didn’t have a bottom because it didn’t have anything.
This wasn’t that.
This darkness had weight and texture.
It pressed against him like deep water, not cold, not threatening, just present, aware of him the way a very large and very old thing could be aware of something small moving through it.
Alex floated.
Or something like floating. He had no body to speak of, no limbs to check, no heartbeat doing anything alarming.
Just awareness, suspended, in a dark that breathed.
’So,’ he thought. ’Not dead.’
A pause.
’Probably.’
He’d been wrong before.
Then he felt it, the warmth.
Not the frantic version from twenty minutes ago, not the runaway acceleration of mana flooding into a forming core.
The original warmth.
The door warmth.
The thing that had been sitting at the edge of his perception since infancy, watching him with the patient amusement of something that had nowhere else to be.
It was close.
Closer than it had ever been.
Alex reached toward it.
It reached back.
[ Synchronising... 0% ]
Something connected.
He couldn’t describe it better than that.
A line between two points, snapping taut, and then a process beginning that he had absolutely no control over and no framework for, something vast and systematic running through him like a census being taken of everything he was and everything he had.
[ Synchronising... 0.01% ]
’Is this,’ Alex thought, watching the number hang in the dark in front of him, ’the system?’
He turned the thought over.
Rin had described systems in approximately forty-seven different ways across as many different novels, and the common thread in all of them was that the system arrived, usually dramatically, usually with more fanfare than this, usually when the protagonist was at their lowest or their highest or facing something that required a narrative intervention.
Alex was currently unconscious on his bedroom floor.
’Close enough,’ he decided.
[ Synchronising... 1% ]
He watched the number change.
Then he waited for it to change again.
It did not change quickly.
[ Synchronising... 1.03% ]
’...Right. So we’re doing this at that pace. Good to know. That’s fine. I’ve waited for slower things than this and with less to look at while I did it, so I’m going to need this to be less dramatic about itself.’
He settled in.
[ Synchronising... 7% ]
[ Synchronising... 12% ]
[ Synchronising... 19% ]
The darkness wasn’t bad company, actually.
It didn’t ask anything of him.
It didn’t require management or careful calibration of what he showed versus what he felt.
It just held him, steady and enormous and completely indifferent to whether he was a prince or a reincarnated mafia boss or anything in between.
He found it restful.
[ Synchronising... 34% ]
’Rin,’ he thought, conversationally, to the dark, ’would be absolutely insufferable about this.’
He could picture it with painful clarity.
Rin, who had never once in his life understated anything that could be overstated, learning that his boss had died, reincarnated into a magic world, and was currently watching a system synchronisation bar tick upward in a void while his mother panicked on the other side of unconsciousness.
Rin would not have a normal reaction to this information.
Rin would have opinions.
[ Synchronising... 50% ]
Halfway.
Alex watched the number with something that was almost affection.
It was the worst progress bar he’d ever experienced, worse than every software update and ads he’d sat through in his previous life, worse than every loading screen, worse than watching paint approach dryness, but it was company.
The only moving thing in a place that had nothing else moving.
[ Synchronising... 67% ]
***
[ Synchronising... 81% ]
***
[ Synchronising... 94% ]
He could feel something building.
Not pressure this time, not the mana-flooding alarm of before, but something more like resolution.
The feeling of a sentence reaching its final word.
Of a key turning in a lock that had been waiting a very long time.
[ Synchronising... 99% ]
[ Synchronising... 99.99% ]
Alex straightened, or the awareness-that-was-him straightened, the equivalent of sitting up.
[ Synchronising... 100% ]
[ Synchronisation Complete. ]
[ System Interface Loading... ]
The darkness lit up.
***
[ System Interface ]
[ Name : Alexander Abyss ]
[ Race : Human ]
[ Bloodline : Evolvari ]
[ Aspect : (Unawakened) ]
[ Aspect Rank : None ]
[ Level : 0 ]
[ Experience Points : 0/10 ]
[ Attributes ]
[ Strength : 10 ]
[ Agility : 10 ]
[ Vitality : 10 ]
[ Magic : 30 ]
[ Will : 90 ]
[ Attribute Points : 0 ]
[ Special Points Pool : 0 ]
[ Skills : Mana Absorption ]
***
Alex stared at it.
’...Wo wo wo wo.’
He read it again, slower.
The way you read something a second time not because you didn’t understand it but because understanding it properly required more than one pass.
Name and age, straightforward. Race — human, fine, consistent with everything he’d observed. Bloodline —
Evolvari.
He turned that word over.
It meant nothing to him.
Nothing from this life, nothing from the last one, nothing from any of Rin’s extensive catalogue of fictional systems.
A bloodline name he’d never encountered, sitting there in the interface with the casual confidence of something that had always been true.
He filed it. High priority. Return to later.
Aspect — unawakened. Aspect Rank — none. So there was something there, something the interface acknowledged as a category, but it hadn’t activated yet.
Something to be earned or triggered or stumbled into.
Level zero. Clean slate. A fully playable profile from the beginning, which meant the implication was clear, he was meant to level it.
Strength, Agility, Vitality, all at ten.
Baseline? He had no reference point for whether that was good or poor for a five-year-old in this world, but baseline was the word that came to mind.
Magic — thirty.
He paused on that one.
’Thirty,’ he thought, because saying it in his head felt like a different kind of reading than just seeing it.
’Against a baseline of ten. Before I’ve trained a day. Before I’ve used a single resource the palace has to offer.’
The others were ten.
Magic was thirty.
Three times higher, before he’d done anything deliberate to develop it, before training or resources or any of the advantages his position in this palace theoretically afforded him.
Whatever the Mana Core formation had done, it hadn’t just unlocked a skill, it had registered in the interface as a tripling of his magic attribute from what he could only assume was a default.
He sat with that for a moment.
He found that he didn’t have a clean word for what he was feeling about it.
Will — ninety.
He looked at that number for a long moment.
Ninety.
Against tens and thirties.
An outlier by every measure, enormous by any reasonable reading of the scale, sitting there in the interface without explanation or context.
He thought about Antonio Moretti on a rooftop.
He thought about everything that had come after.
He thought about what it cost, specifically, to live an entire life the way that man had lived it, and then die, and then wake up in an infant’s body and keep going without a single day of genuine despair.
Not because despair hadn’t existed as an option. It had.
He’d been aware of it the way you’re aware of a door.
He just hadn’t opened it.
Not once.
Not in any of the years that had followed, not in the moments of helplessness that came with being small in a body that couldn’t yet do what he needed it to do, not in the stretches of waiting where patience was the only available tool.
He’d kept going because stopping was a choice and he had never, in either life, been the kind of person who made that one.
He’d never needed to name that quality. It hadn’t required a name.
You just kept going because you did. That was the whole of it.
’...Yeah,’ he thought quietly. ’Fair enough.’
Ninety.
He supposed that was about right.
Attribute Points — zero, nothing to spend yet. Special Points Pool — zero, same. Skills — Mana Absorption, singular, which explained everything that had just happened to his bedroom door.
He considered the interface as a whole.
Level zero.
No aspect.
No attribute points.
A magic stat three times anyone’s baseline and a will stat that read like a joke or a scar, depending on how you looked at it.
And one skill that had just blown the hinges off solid oak and iron.
’Not bad,’ he decided. ’For a starting hand. Not bad at all, actually. There are worse things to begin with than a tripled magic stat and a will score that looks like a clerical error. I’ve played worse opening hands than this and won.’
Then his eyes drifted back to the Aspect field.
Unawakened.
The word sat there with a specific quality he recognised the quality of a door that was closed but not locked, not finished, not done.
A category with content behind it, waiting.
’How do I—’ he began, in the way of someone thinking out loud in an empty void.
The interface answered before he finished the question.
[ Awakening Aspect... ]
The darkness shifted.
Like something very old had opened its eyes.
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