Chapter 2: The Game Begins
by SlivvoMorning light filtered through the trees, waking Jordan from his restless slumber. His body ached, his muscles sore from sleeping on the ground, but he had survived the night. He sat up, stretching stiff limbs, and took a deep breath. The forest, once intimidating in the dark, felt a little less threatening in daylight.
Keep moving. Find answers. That was the plan.
Jordan kicked dirt over the remnants of his fire, making sure it was completely extinguished, then gathered his few belongings. The path ahead was uncertain, but determination sparked in his chest.
He wasn’t going to roll over and let this world swallow him.
As he walked, Jordan started noticing details he had missed before. Small tracks pressed into the dirt—rabbit tracks. Food. His stomach grumbled at the thought. He followed them until he found a burrow.
Perfect.
He got to work, fashioning a simple trap from twigs and vine. His hands moved with surprising ease, muscle memory piecing together fragments of knowledge from survival shows and old lessons.
Ding!
A notification window blinked into existence in his vision:
You have learned the skill: Tracking.
Through concentration, you can now track creatures small and large. At Level 1, you have a 1% chance to identify the creature, a 1% chance to estimate the track’s age, and can follow tracks made within the last 20 minutes.
Jordan froze.
He blinked, but the text remained—floating in front of him like a transparent screen.
What the actual hell?
His heartbeat quickened. Was he hallucinating? Had someone drugged him before dropping him into some medieval reenactment? No. This was real. He reached out instinctively, but his fingers passed through the glowing text. After a few moments, it flickered and vanished.
Jordan exhaled sharply. This was a game. Or something close to it.
And he was a player.
After setting his trap, Jordan made his way to the stream for water. He cupped a handful and drank deeply, bracing for the worst.
Nothing. No stomach cramps, no immediate regrets.
“If I tried this back home, I’d be shitting my guts out with Montezuma’s revenge,” he muttered. “Probably not as bad as those sugar-free gummy bears, though.” He chuckled dryly. The absurdity of his situation wasn’t lost on him.
On his way back, his trap had sprung.
A rabbit struggled, its movements frantic. Jordan hesitated. The animal’s eyes darted around in panic.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, ending its life swiftly.
Ding!
You have slain a Level 1 Forest Rabbit.
Experience gained: 5 XP.
45 XP to next level.
Jordan stared. Not just at the notification—but at the bluntness of it. No remorse. No hesitation. Just a game mechanic tracking his kills.
This is really happening.
He took the rabbit back to camp, gutted it, and roasted the meat over a fresh fire. As the smell filled the air, a thought hit him.
If this world works like a game… do I have a status screen?
A familiar prompt flickered into view.
Status
| Name: | Undecided |
|---|---|
| Level: | 1 |
| Race: | Human |
| Alignment: | Neutral |
| Experience to Next Level: | 45 XP |
| Attributes | Value |
|---|---|
| Health | 100/100 |
| Mana | 100/100 |
| Stamina | 100/100 |
| Agility | 10 |
| Dexterity | 10 |
| Intelligence | 10 |
| Wisdom | 10 |
| Strength | 10 |
| Constitution | 10 |
| Endurance | 10 |
| Skills | Level |
|---|---|
| Tracking | 1 (12%) |
Humans are the generalists of Elaria. Each level grants 5 attribute points, freely allocated. Unlike most races, humans can shift between law and chaos.
Jordan blinked. His name was listed as Undecided.
Weird.
As if reading his thoughts, the game prompted him:
Would you like to set your character name to “Jordan”?
Warning: To know a creature’s true name is to have dominion over their will.
Jordan felt a wave of dread.
NO.
The prompt vanished.
He thought for a moment, testing names. Nothing felt right—until one did.
Sorin.
The name he always used in games.
Would you like to change your name to “Sorin”?
Yes.
Your character name is now Sorin.
Warning: Once set, your character name cannot be changed.
Sorin exhaled. This world was Elaria. And whether he liked it or not, he was part of it.
As the sun rose, Sorin made his way back to the city gates.
Unlike yesterday, a line had formed outside. Travelers murmured about bandits on the southern roads.
A short, rotund merchant glanced at him. “Haven’t seen you before.”
Sorin nodded. “New in town.”
“Word of advice—watch your back. Thieves love fresh faces.”
Sorin appreciated the warning. He reached the front, where Jeffers and Moffie were checking travelers.
Jeffers grinned. “Ah, it’s you again. Looking a bit more civilized.”
“Thanks for the tip about the stream.”
The guards waved him through. But Sorin froze.
Jeffers had used his name.
He hadn’t given it.
Inside, the city buzzed with life. Vendors hawked goods, blacksmiths hammered steel, and the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air.
Sorin needed money.
A weapons vendor offered him a sword for three silvers and two coppers. Sorin had nothing.
“Any other way I can earn it?”
“The tavern’s always hiring. Otherwise, you’ll need to join a guild—but that’s years of commitment.”
Sorin headed to the tavern.
Beyorjn, the owner, gave him a once-over. “Looking for work?”
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”
“Good. You’ll be filling mugs, running food, and keeping the place clean. If you impress people, they might tip.”
Sorin got to work.
The tavern was chaotic. Dwarves drank loudly. Elves muttered insults. A bar fight nearly broke out—until Sorin stepped in.
Later, a scarred adventurer caught him eavesdropping.
“Interested in adventuring?” she asked, amused.
Sorin smiled. “Maybe.”
By nightfall, Sorin had earned a silver, a few coppers, and a meal. More than he had that morning.
As he lay down to sleep, he realized something.
This world had rules.
And if he played by them?
He might actually stand a chance.
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