A rough hand shook Cade’s shoulder.

  He blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. The air inside the dome was warm and stale, heavy with the faint scent of earth and burnt crab.

  “Your turn,” Kyle whispered. His hair was messy, his voice hushed but edged with fatigue.

  Cade pushed himself upright and suppressed a quiet groan. “Thanks,” he muttered.

  Kyle nodded and slipped out of the dome. Cade sat for a moment, trying to get his bearings. The dark outside felt unnaturally thick. Through the doorway he could see shadows spilled in long, indistinct lines across the bog.

  Most of the others were still sleeping. Amanda curled near the wall with her arms pulled tight around herself. Nadean was dead to the world, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade even in sleep. Professor Sanders snored softly, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

  Cade exhaled. His muscles ached and every movement reminded him just how out of place he was here.

  Still, he slipped his now laceless shoes on and walked out of the dome.

  He nearly tripped over Sasesh in the darkness.

  Sasesh sat cross-legged near the dome’s entrance, still as stone. His eyes were half-lidded, hands resting on his knees, posture ramrod-straight. For a second, Cade thought he might have dozed off mid-meditation—but then his dark eyes opened and focused on Cade.

  Without a word, Sasesh rose and stepped out into the dark.

  Cade followed.

  The air outside was cold and damp. The fire had been reduced to glowing coals, and even those pulsed low beneath a blanket of ash. Mist wrapped around the trees in the distance in a slow, clinging crawl.

  They stood near the edge of the camp, beside an earthen shelf Sasesh had shaped the day before, its sloping sides slick with dew. The swamp stretched out beyond them, quiet and still.

  For a while, neither spoke.

  Then, flatly: “You didn’t have to volunteer.”

  Cade frowned, glancing at him. “What?”

  “For the watch,” Sasesh clarified. His tone was cold and precise. “You didn’t have to pretend you’re not exhausted by just trying to keep up, and we both know you’re not exactly helpful out here.”

  Cade let out a long breath. “I’m trying, Sasesh.”

  “Trying doesn’t change what you are.” Sasesh still didn’t look at him. His gaze swept the horizon. “You were an anchor in the lab. Always were. I had to carry half your workload then. Now you’re an anchor here. You drag us down.”

  Cade stiffened.

  It wasn’t the insult—it was the tone. No heat. No rage. Just quiet certainty.

  “You’re worse than a weak link,” Sasesh continued. “At least a weak link connects something. You just hang there like dead weight.”

  Cade’s mouth went dry. “That’s not—”

  Sasesh finally turned to face him, and the look in his eyes was ice. “You think gathering sticks makes up for it? You think that makes you useful? You’re another mouth to feed. Another body to protect. That’s it.”

  Cade’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

  “And while we’re on the topic—” Sasesh stepped closer, voice low, but brimming now with something more than disdain, “—stop making Amanda uncomfortable. You keep pressing her about how her healing works, even after she’s clearly given short answers. She doesn’t owe you an explanation just because you’re desperate to understand.”

  Cade blinked. “I was just curious—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Cade. You burned yourself just to see how her magic worked. What kind of psycho does that?” Sasesh’s eyes narrowed. “You think that’s normal? You think she’s going to trust you after seeing that? That’s not curiosity. That’s obsession.”

  Cade looked away.

  Sasesh didn’t let up. “And it’s not just Amanda. What the hell were you doing asking Kranti how his skills worked?” His voice rose slightly, venom curling in the words now. “You just met the guy, and you’re already asking him to spill his secrets? What kind of socially inept asshole does that? Kranti should’ve beaten you into the ground for even daring to ask. He didn’t because he’s too good a person.”

  Cade swallowed. “I was just trying to learn. I thought… if I could hear them explain it… maybe something would click in my head.”

  Sasesh stared at him, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His expression shifted—not in sympathy, but incredulity.

  “I wish you hadn’t been dragged into this,” Sasesh said, his voice tightening. “Hell, I wish you weren’t here at all. Without you, this group would be better off. Stronger. We’d actually have a chance to excel, instead of constantly worrying if you’re going to trip behind us.”

  Cade’s stomach twisted. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said softly. “I didn’t even get a core, Sasesh. I don’t know why I’m here. Even the System entity—whatever that was—didn’t seem to know.”

  Sasesh’s eyes didn’t soften. “Then maybe you should’ve stayed behind when the rest of us moved forward.”

  Cade let out a hollow laugh. “You think I haven’t thought about that every hour of every day since this started?” He met Sasesh’s glare, voice low and flat. “You’re right. I am dead weight. I’ve thought about everything you just said. And worse.”

  Sasesh’s expression faltered. Just for a second. A flicker of something—uncertainty? Guilt?—passed behind his eyes.

  But Cade pressed on.

  “I didn’t want this,” he said. “I wanted a chance to start the way everyone else did. But when the core formation failed, I just wanted a chance to earn it. To prove I could stand on my own. Instead, I got dropped here. Weak, confused, and useless.”

  His voice cracked faintly. “You think I like being the one slowing everyone down?”

  Sasesh looked away, jaw tight.

  Cade’s shoulders sagged. “You don’t need to remind me what I am. I already know.”

  The wind stirred faintly through the reeds in the distance. A low, almost imperceptible rustle.

  Then, quietly, Sasesh said, “If you know all that then why don’t you just leave?”

  Cade blinked. “Because I’d die the moment I set foot out there alone.”

  “Then maybe you should die.”

  The words didn’t come with fury. They weren’t screamed or spat. They were said with the calm finality of someone who truly didn’t care.

  Cade felt the world narrow. Felt the air press in around him.

  Sasesh looked at him, expression carved from stone. “This world doesn’t want you here, Cade. If it did, it would’ve given you a core like the rest of us. But it didn’t. You were left out. Cut off. Forgotten. What does that tell you?”

  Cade shook his head. “That’s not—”

  “Not what?” Sasesh took a step forward, voice rising now. “You think this was an accident? That whatever built the System—something that rewrote the fucking laws of physics, that integrated our entire species simultaneously—just forgot to include you? Get real.”

  Cade’s stomach churned.

  “If the System can do all of this—” Sasesh gestured to the swamp, to the mist, and to the dome “—then rewriting you would’ve been easy. Giving you a core would’ve been trivial. And it didn’t. Why?”

  Cade opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Because even the System thinks you should’ve died already,” Sasesh said, voice hard. “It scanned you—every cell, every molecule—and it decided you weren’t worth the resources. You were a waste of its infinite time. You think that was random? No. It looked at you and saw nothing.”

  The words struck. Cade looked down, and for a terrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single reason Sasesh might be wrong.

  Because some part of him agreed.

  Some part of him had already whispered these thoughts. During the quiet moments when no one was looking. When everyone was laughing, joking, and reminiscing. A part of him had said the exact same thing.

  He was useless.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  But then, through the thick mire of despair, another part of him stirred.

  A spark.

  “If it’s so all-powerful,” Cade said quietly, “why wouldn’t it give everyone god-like powers from the start? Why make us fight for scraps? Why make us kill just to grow?”

  Sasesh frowned.

  “Why group people together based on proximity instead of ability? Why not sort us by potential? Why take three months to reconfigure Earth instead of doing it instantly?” Cade looked up, and there was fire in his eyes now—dim, flickering, but real. “Because the System wants something from us. It’s not perfect. It’s planning something.”

  Sasesh stared at him, unreadable.

  “Maybe it wants to push us. Maybe it wants soldiers. Survivors. Killers. But whatever it wants, it wants something. It’s not some divine being. It’s a system. It has rules. Flaws. Limits.”

  Sasesh’s jaw tightened. “Then you’re just a glitch in that system. The rest of us? We’re moving forward. We’re grinding. Getting stronger. Scraping for every drop of power like it wants. And you?” He shook his head. “You’re spitting in its face just by standing behind the rest of us, hoping we’ll cover for you.”

  The words hung in the air between them as the silence stretched on.

  Cade didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. He didn’t move. He didn’t look at Sasesh. His hands were clenched at his sides, fingers tight enough to dig crescents into his palms. But he didn’t speak.

  Sasesh stepped away first. Silent. Slow. His boots squelched against the damp ground as he walked the edge of his earthen plateau, arms crossed behind his back like a soldier on patrol.

  Cade moved in the opposite direction.

  He stopped near the old fire pit, where the coals still glowed faintly beneath the ash. He crouched, letting the heat brush his fingers as he stared into the dim orange embers, watching them flicker.

  He hated that Sasesh’s words made sense.

  Hated how they echoed the thoughts already churning in his head.

  It was only day three of the Tutorial—and already, Cade was so far behind.

  The others had clearly received stats, bonuses, maybe even more Skills with their Classes. He didn’t know the exact numbers, but he could feel the gap widening every time they moved. They weren’t just faster—they were fundamentally better.

  And their Races would level just as fast as his. Probably faster.

  The few times they’d fought, Cade had barely participated. He stumbled through the cicada swarm but likely only received credit because they attacked him, he couldn’t do anything to fight them off.

  The System’s rules were clear, no participation, no experience.

  Even when he did try to help, he got in the way. Missed his throws. Alerted enemies. Made mistakes that could’ve gotten someone else hurt.

  He didn’t want to be the reason they failed. Didn’t want to be the excuse that cost one of them their lives.

  But what could he do?

  He wasn’t a healer like Amanda. He couldn’t tank like Bryan. He didn’t deal damage like Nadean, Kranti, or Kyle.

  The only thing he might’ve been good at was observing—but even that niche was already filled. Professor Sanders had a Skill that let him analyze battlefield data in real time, allowing him to find weaknesses and call them out. Cade couldn’t even cast [Inspect], let alone contribute tactically.

  He couldn’t identify plants so he couldn’t even forage effectively.

  He was useless.

  A shadow behind the group, desperately clinging to relevance. Hiding in the warmth of people far more capable than him.

  Cade closed his eyes. Sasesh hadn’t told him anything new. He had just said it all out loud and now Cade couldn’t unhear it.

  He sat in silence for a long time.

  The faint glow of the dying fire cast soft light across his face, making the moisture in his eyes glimmer faintly. The mist was thinning now, and the first pale traces of dawn bled across the sky, mixing gray and dull violet above the swamp.

  Somewhere behind him, Sasesh paced the perimeter of his raised earth platform. The faint squelch of his boots came and went like a metronome.

  Cade stared at the embers until the ache in his chest dulled into something heavier—something solid. His thoughts kept circling back, again and again, to Sasesh’s words.

  Then why don’t you just leave?

  Cade didn’t belong here. He knew it. Everyone else knew it. Staying only made it worse—for him and for them. They were strong, and they’d keep getting stronger. He was barely surviving.

  Cade let out a shaky breath and stood.

  He looked over toward Sasesh, who was still standing guard near the edge of the plateau, his silhouette sharp against the swamp. Cade’s legs felt numb as he crossed the short distance and stopped a few feet away.

  Sasesh noticed him but didn’t turn. “What do you want now?”

  Cade didn’t answer right away. He just sank down to sit beside him, legs crossed, arms resting loosely over his knees. The earth beneath him was cool. For a moment, the two of them just stared out into the bog, watching the soft reflection of the waning moon ripple across the stagnant pools.

  Finally, Cade spoke.

  “Before all this happened,” he said quietly, “I was miserable.”

  Sasesh’s expression didn’t change.

  “I hated my life,” Cade continued. “Hated the work. Hated the lab. I spent years working toward something I thought mattered, but when I got there, it just… didn’t. I felt stuck. Like if I quit, all those years of effort would’ve been wasted. But if I stayed, I’d drown.”

  Sasesh said nothing, but his jaw flexed slightly.

  Cade gave a humorless laugh. “You know what I hated most, though?”

  Sasesh looked over at him, silent.

  “Myself,” Cade said. “I hated that no matter how hard I tried, I could never keep up. Not with my sisters growing up, not in school, not in grad work—and definitely not with you. You were always faster, sharper, better. I tried, but it never mattered. It was like paddling upstream with a toothpick.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Sure, I graduated. Got the postdoc. But I’ve always wondered if my committee passed me just to keep their graduation stats clean. Like my only real success was a charity for them.”

  Sasesh’s eyes flicked away.

  “When I joined Professor Sanders’ lab,” Cade went on, “I thought maybe it’d be different. A fresh start. And for a while, it was fun. That competition we had—trying to outdo each other with results—that kept me going. But then it got clearer and clearer that I wasn’t even in your league.”

  He smiled faintly, but it was brittle. “After a while, the pressure just broke me. The failures, the exhaustion, the burnout. I stopped pushing as hard. I stopped caring. I started hiding from people. From myself.”

  He looked down, fingers curling against his knees. “I used to spend hours online reading about stories like this—about awakenings, magic, and systems. Whole worlds where people could start over, where effort actually mattered.” He laughed softly. “I used to wish it would happen to me. I thought maybe if I got a second chance, I’d finally get it right.”

  Cade’s eyes flicked up toward the pale morning light. “Guess I got my wish. But I still failed.”

  For a while, there was only the soft whisper of wind moving through the reeds.

  Then Cade said, “I’m sorry, Sasesh.”

  That made Sasesh turn to look at him fully, brow creased.

  “I’m sorry for how things went in the lab. For making you pick up my slack. For quitting when it got hard. For letting you down. You didn’t deserve that.” He swallowed. “I know it’s too late to apologize, but you were right about one thing—I forced you to carry more than you should’ve had to.”

  Sasesh’s mouth opened slightly, as if to respond, but no words came out.

  Cade went on, voice low but steady now. “An apology doesn’t change anything, though. What matters is doing something. Taking action.”

  He stood. His legs trembled a bit, but his voice didn’t.

  “I’m leaving.”

  Sasesh’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

  “I’m leaving the group,” Cade said again, his voice calm and steady now. “You were right. I don’t belong here and I don’t want to keep dragging everyone down. I don’t want to live off pity or fake encouragement. Maybe I’ll die out there—probably will—but at least it’ll be on my own terms.”

  Sasesh stared at him, expression unreadable. The early dawn light caught in his eyes, making his brown eyes gleam faintly.

  Cade continued, “When the others wake up, tell them I left for my own reasons. Tell them not to follow. Say I wanted to find my own path in the Tutorial. Maybe one day, we’ll meet again.”

  He took a step back, glancing once more at the dome behind them—the faint hum of sleeping breaths from inside, the gentle rise and fall of peaceful chests.

  These people were better off without him.

  Cade looked back at Sasesh. “Good luck, Sasesh. And thank you for saying what you did. It hurt, but it needed to be said.”

  Then, before Sasesh could respond, Cade turned and walked toward the treeline.

  His boots made almost no sound as they pressed into the wet earth. Within moments, the mist and the trees swallowed him whole.

  Sasesh watched Cade vanish from sight.

  The trees swallowed him quickly. Not even a silhouette remained.

  Sasesh could still see clearly, even in the dark. His improved perception from [Stonebound Sentry] allowed him to see in low light better than any pre-System human. But the trees were dense and the fog within the woods too thick to penetrate. Even with all his upgrades, Cade was gone.

  Good.

  Sasesh exhaled slowly and sat back against the edge of his plateau.

  His hands rested over his knees. For the first time since the Tutorial began, he felt a strange hollowness in his chest. Not regret. He wouldn’t call it that. Cade had made his choice. Sasesh had simply spoken the truth aloud. Someone had to.

  Still, the weight of it sat heavy on his shoulders. When the others woke up, what was he supposed to say?

  Tell them I left for my own reasons.

  Cade’s words echoed in his head. It was a lie. But it was also easier. Cleaner. Cade had spared them the dramatics. He’d wanted the weight of his departure to be his alone.

  Sasesh could respect that, at least.

  He stood and resumed his walk along the edge of the plateau. The perimeter sloped gently into the muddy earth around them, elevated just enough to discourage the local fauna from casually stumbling in. It had taken effort to raise, but shaping earth was becoming second nature to him now. The mana cost was negligible and the structure remained intact even after the spell ended.

  He ran a hand across the earthen wall as he walked, feeling the grain, the dampness, the subtle connection of mana that still tethered the platform to his core. He let his senses drift, extending through the plateau and into the ground beneath. He’d learned that trick the night before while on watch.

  This morning, it whispered of movement on the south side. Two faint disturbances. No voices. No gear clink. Just the slight compression of footfalls in soft mud.

  He turned sharply, eyes scanning the gloom, but he saw nothing.

  Still, he trusted his magic.

  Sasesh gripped his wand, dropped to one knee, and pulsed mana into the ground. The spell flared silently. Earth shifted—and collapsed.

  A pit opened five meters ahead and a wet thud echoed up from below.

  Sasesh approached the pit's edge, wand at the ready.

  Two men crouched at the bottom, eyes wide and unblinking, blood-matted hair clinging to their foreheads. Their leather armor was cracked and stained. The fall hadn’t broken them. They landed low, like predators. Blades already in hand.

  Rogues. Quick and quiet.

  They came here to ambush him while the others slept. Who knows what they would have done if they were successful.

  Sasesh didn’t speak. He watched them. Studied them.

  They looked human—at least on the outside. But their eyes were glassy. Smiles crooked. Feral. The Tutorial had already started grinding away whatever humanity they’d once had.

  How long had they been hunting? How many people had they killed already?

  He looked back toward the misty treeline, where Cade had disappeared minutes before. The idiot was probably already lost—or dead. And if not, he would be soon.

  But this? This was a gift.

  These two would provide a tidy explanation for Cade’s sudden departure.

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  tomorrow at 11:03 AM EST.