Chapter 1:

I lay in my room, the darkness pressing down like a heavy blanket. The ceiling was invisible, swallowed by shadow, but my eyes searched it anyway. Why did I yell at her? It was a stupid fight—small, insignificant. Just like all the others. Sure, I was angry, but how many times had I made my point already? The yelling… that was different. Unnecessary. Cruel. She didn’t deserve it.

I shut my eyes and exhaled slowly. Sleep. I just needed sleep. My body felt leaden, drained both inside and out. But the thoughts wouldn’t let me go. They twisted and turned in my head, replaying her face, her voice, the way she flinched when I raised mine.

Then, the sound of the door creaking broke through the stillness.

I froze, keeping my eyes shut tight. Maybe if she thought I was asleep, she’d leave. Just walk away. Please, walk away.

The air shifted around me—closer, heavier. A sharp pain suddenly exploded in my chest, tearing through the quiet like a scream. My eyes snapped open.

She was standing over me, her face pale and distant, her hand still gripping the handle of the knife buried in my chest.

I tried to speak, but the words never came. My vision blurred, shrinking into nothingness.

And then, there was only darkness.

I woke up on a cold, unyielding floor. The stone beneath me was rough and damp, biting through my clothes. My head throbbed, a sharp, pulsing ache that made it hard to think. Had I passed out drunk again? No. No, wait—I gasped, clutching at my chest. My fingers searched frantically for the wound, but there was nothing. No blood. No pain.

Just a dream, I told myself. Just a nightmare.

I forced myself upright, the world tilting slightly as I moved. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and my stomach sank. I was in a cell—no, not a cell. A dungeon.

The floor beneath me was uneven, made of unpolished stone bricks. The walls on either side and the ceiling were the same, a dull gray that seemed to swallow the faint light leaking in. I turned and saw iron bars stretching from floor to ceiling, forming a door locked tightly in place. Beyond the bars, I could just make out a dark, empty corridor.

Opposite the door was another wall, this one broken by a small, barred window. It was barely large enough to stick my head through, but pale light streamed in, cold and distant. I couldn’t see much beyond it—just the faint outline of jagged peaks, like mountains cutting into a steel-colored sky.

This wasn’t the local town jail. I didn’t know where I was, but it wasn’t anywhere familiar.

I gripped the bars and yelled into the corridor. "Help!" My voice echoed, desperate and raw, bouncing off the stone walls.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then came the sound: the groan of a door opening, followed by the rhythmic clank of metal boots against stone. It was slow, deliberate, each step landing heavier than the last.

I pressed myself to the bars, straining to see down the corridor. The faint light flickered, shadows shifting in the distance, and then he emerged—a figure in full plate armor, the metal polished to a dull gleam. The visor of his helm was down, hiding his face, but his presence radiated authority and menace.

"There's been a mistake!" I shouted, gripping the bars tighter, my knuckles going pale. "I don’t know where I am!"

He didn’t respond. Instead, he closed the distance between us with a few heavy steps. Before I could speak again, he raised his gauntleted hand and slammed it down onto my left hand where it clung to the bars.

The pain was instant and blinding. My knuckles screamed as if they’d shattered, and I yanked my hand away, cradling it to my chest. "Quiet, you!" he barked, his voice low and venomous, hissing through the slats of his visor.

He didn’t wait for a response. Turning sharply, he strode back down the hall, his armor clanking with each step, until the sound faded into nothing.

I collapsed against the cold stone wall, my injured hand clutched tight to my chest. The pain was sharp, relentless, radiating up my arm with every shaky breath. My knuckles felt swollen, the skin burning where the metal gauntlet had smashed into them. I pressed my back harder against the wall, as if the unyielding surface could steady the whirlwind inside me.

My mind raced, a storm of confusion and fear. What the hell was that? Who was he? My thoughts snagged on the guard’s image—the gleaming plate armor, the hollow hiss of his voice, the weight of his strike. He hadn’t hesitated. He didn’t care who I was or what I had to say. To him, I wasn’t a person. Just… a problem to silence.

I bit down on my lip, fighting the rising sting of tears. Not from the pain—though the throbbing in my hand was nearly unbearable—but from the sheer terror of it all. Nothing made sense. The nightmare, the cell, the guard who slammed me without a second thought. Where was I? Why was I here? What did they want from me?

My chest tightened, panic clawing at my ribs. My breath quickened, shallow and uneven. Calm down, I told myself. Don’t fall apart. Think. But how? My head still pounded from… from whatever happened before I woke up. Every thought felt slippery, impossible to hold onto. My memories were jumbled, fragmented—like a puzzle missing half its pieces.

I looked at my hand, cradled against me, trembling like a leaf. The skin was already bruising, the dull purple and angry red spreading across my knuckles. I tried to flex my fingers and immediately regretted it, the sharp spike of pain making me gasp. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the agony to fade, but it didn’t.

The room was so quiet now, almost deafening. The guard was gone, but I couldn’t stop hearing the echo of his footsteps, the metallic clang still reverberating in my skull. And his voice—that hissed command, "Quiet, you!"—still vibrated through me like a slap.

Quiet? My heart pounded harder. I shouldn’t be quiet. I need to do something. But what? The thought of yelling again made my stomach churn. What if he came back? What if next time he didn’t just slam my hand?

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled tight to my chest. My injured hand rested in my lap, cradled by my good one. My head dipped forward as I stared at the floor, trying to breathe, trying to think.

A new fear crept in, colder than the stone beneath me. This isn’t just a mistake, is it? People don’t end up in places like this by accident. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. It wasn’t some drunken night gone wrong. Whatever this was, it was deliberate. And I had no idea why. swallowed up by the oppressive silence of the cell.

I shivered, despite the warmth of panic coursing through my veins. Too far away.

I wasn’t sure whether to scream again or sink further into the darkness.

My vision blurred through tears, the salt stinging my eyes as I forced myself upright. My legs wobbled, I gritted my teeth and pushed forward. I needed to see. To understand.

The small, barred window was just out of reach, but I dragged myself toward it, my uninjured hand gripping the wall for support. Standing on my toes, I stretched as high as I could, my fingertips brushing the cold stone edge. I pressed my forehead against the bars, craning my neck to peer outside.

The view was disorienting. The window was low—just above ground level—and opened onto what seemed to be a street. The cobblestones glistened faintly, as though damp from a recent rain, but the light outside was muted, unnatural, casting everything in gray. Feet passed by—boots, shoes, even bare feet—yet none of them looked familiar. The styles were strange, almost otherworldly: thick-soled leather shoes with odd buckles, knee-high boots adorned with intricate metal plates, and even sandals fashioned from what looked like braided vines.

I blinked, trying to steady my focus, but a sharp, sudden sensation jolted through me.

Words appeared, not on the wall, not in the air, but in my vision. They floated there, glowing faintly, as though etched onto the back of my eyelids.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Welcome to Raven Awei."

The words were sharp and clear, and then, as quickly as they had come, they vanished. My balance wavered, and I nearly stumbled backward.

“What the…?” I whispered, gripping the edge of the window tighter. My heart pounded, my breath shallow and uneven.

Before I could even process what I’d seen, more words flickered into my vision, replacing the first:

"Choose your class."

The letters hovered there, bold and glowing, before they, too, disappeared.

I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears. What the fuck does that mean? My mind reeled, trying to reconcile what I had just seen. This wasn’t a dream. The pain in my hand, the cold stone beneath my feet, the distant murmur of voices outside the window—it was all too real.

And yet, the words… they were impossible. Impossible, but there.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, my fingers trembling against the stone. Choose my class? The phrase rattled in my brain, heavy with implications I couldn’t begin to understand.

I glanced back down at the feet moving past outside the window, their strange shapes and rhythms a grim reminder of how far from home I was. Wherever this was, it wasn’t anywhere I knew.

A chill ran through me. I wasn’t just in a dungeon. I was somewhere else entirely.

Three words appeared before me, floating in my vision like faint, glowing embers:

"Berserkr, Seiðmaðr, Skogrþegn."

The words were strange, jagged and unfamiliar. Below them, in small, faint lettering, was a single word: "Translate."

I blinked, my pulse quickening. The letters blurred for a moment as my mind raced. Translate? It was the only thing I recognized. I thought the word, unsure if this insane hallucination—or whatever it was—would even respond.

To my shock, it did.

My vision shimmered, a brief flash of light like someone snapping a sheet in front of my face. The words shifted, morphed, and settled again.

"Berserker, Seer, Ranger."

I froze, the words sharp and clear in my vision. My eyes darted around the cell, searching the shadows for… something. Someone. Anything to suggest I wasn’t alone in this madness. Of course, I wasn’t. The cell was empty, the same oppressive silence pressing down on me.

The words stayed, hovering in front of me no matter how I moved. I rubbed my temples, but they didn’t go away. They seemed to follow me, waiting patiently for my response.

I exhaled, shaky and uncertain. What the hell is this?

The words loomed larger, demanding my attention. My gaze settled on the first one—"Berserker." I’d heard that word before. Some TV show or video game, maybe. Big, rage-filled men swinging axes and roaring like animals. Shirtless, usually. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Next was "Seer." That sounded familiar too. A fortune teller? Someone who saw the future? My memories were fuzzy, but I pictured cloaked figures staring into fire or tossing bones to read someone’s fate.

Finally, "Ranger." This one seemed simpler. No flashy rage or mysterious visions. A ranger was a hunter, right? Someone who could survive on their own, tracking and fighting with skill. That… didn’t seem as crazy as the others.

I shook my head and glanced around again, as if expecting someone to burst into the cell and laugh at me. Nothing. No one. Just me, the words, and the cold weight of this impossible situation.

My chest tightened. I still didn’t know where I was, what was happening, or why this was suddenly part of my life. But the words weren’t going away. They followed my every move, clear and sharp in my vision. Waiting.

I took a deep breath and focused. Okay. Let’s say this is real. My hand throbbed, a sharp reminder that pain was real enough. If this choice mattered, I wasn’t about to pick "rage monster" or "fortune teller." Survival made sense. If I was going to get out of this nightmare, I needed to be smart, fast, and self-sufficient.

"I choose Ranger," I thought, the words clear and deliberate in my mind.

As soon as the thought formed, the words glowed brighter. My vision blurred again, as if the air itself was rippling. For a moment, I felt weightless, like the world had tilted beneath me.

Then the words disappeared.

The shimmering words in my vision shifted again, blurring and reforming until they displayed something entirely new.

A list.

It looked almost like… a profile? No, not quite. More like a character sheet from one of those tabletop RPGs my cousin used to play.

At the top, in bold lettering, floated a single name:

Name: Sigvard

I blinked. "Sigvard?" I muttered aloud. My voice echoed faintly in the cell, hollow and uncertain. It sounded familiar. Too familiar. Was it my name? It felt right, like slipping on an old pair of boots, but the certainty wasn’t there. How could I forget my own name?

My throat tightened, and I shook the thought away, returning my attention to the floating words. Beneath my name was another line:

Class: Level 1 Ranger

“Level 1?” I whispered. That didn’t sound encouraging. Level 1 meant weak. Beginner. Barely capable. And Ranger? I’d chosen it, but the label felt strange, like wearing a borrowed coat that didn’t quite fit yet.

I frowned. What did being a "Ranger" even mean? Was I supposed to be a hunter now? A survivalist? Did I suddenly know how to shoot a bow or track animals? Because right now, all I knew how to do was stand here and not die.

I kept reading.

Age: 37

I exhaled sharply. “Well, thanks for reminding me,” I muttered. Thirty-seven wasn’t old, but it wasn’t young either. My knees popped when I crouched too long, and I sure as hell didn’t bounce back from injuries like I used to. I had no idea how this mattered in the context of whatever nightmare I’d stumbled into, but there it was: a number in plain, unflinching text.

The next section was a list of attributes.

Attributes:

Strength: 0

Dexterity: 0

Intelligence: 0

Endurance: 0

Charisma: 0

Unassigned Points: 30

I stared at the numbers, my chest tightening. Everything was zero. Nothing. Blank. Like I wasn’t even a person yet—just some lifeless shell waiting to be filled. Thirty points to spend, but on what?

I sighed, the weight of the decisions pressing down on me. Thirty points sounded like a lot, but I could already feel how quickly they’d disappear. Every stat seemed important in its own way. I clenched my bruised hand, the pain radiating through my fingers reminding me just how fragile I felt right now.

I moved on to the next section, hoping for answers—or at least a clue to what I was supposed to do next.

Skills and Abilities: None

My stomach sank. None. Not even one? No hidden talent? No secret power? I was a blank slate, apparently, with no tools or tricks to get myself out of this mess.

“Great,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Finally, I reached the last part.

Equipment: None

Of course. No weapons. No tools. Nothing but my bare hands—and one of those wasn’t even in working condition anymore, thanks to the guard. I glanced at the swollen knuckles of my left hand and winced.

I let out a long, unsteady breath. The glowing words in my vision hovered patiently, as if mocking me with their simplicity. It all looked so clean, so straightforward, but nothing about this situation made sense. Why was this here? Who—or what—was tracking me like this? And why did it feel so… final?

“Alright, Sigvard,” I muttered to myself, tasting the name again. “You’ve got a name, a class, and thirty points. Let’s figure this out.”

I stared at the floating numbers again. Thirty points. Five stats.

Normally, in the few RPGs I’d played, you started with some kind of baseline. Strength would already have a number if you were a warrior, or Intelligence would get a boost if you were a mage. But here? Nothing. Just flat zeroes staring back at me.

It was unnerving, like being told I was nothing until I decided what I was. And I didn’t like it.

I rubbed my chin, my bruised knuckles brushing my jaw as I thought. Strength. That’s what I used to go for in games. Big, muscle-bound builds with two-handed weapons or the heaviest armor I could find. If I could carry a sword taller than me, I was happy.

But now? I glanced down at my arms. They weren’t weak, but they weren’t exactly the arms of some unstoppable barbarian either. Carrying around that much weight in real life? Swinging some massive weapon over and over? It sounded exhausting. And besides, I’d picked Ranger. That didn’t really fit the image of a meathead smashing things with a club.

I shifted my focus. Dexterity. That made sense for a Ranger, right? Quick hands. Steady aim. If I was going to have to use a bow—or throw knives, or… whatever Rangers did—Dexterity seemed like the way to go.

Intelligence. I wasn’t sure about this one. In games, Intelligence usually meant magic or spells. Was that going to be a thing here? Or did it mean something else—like how smart I was in general, or how quickly I could figure out what was going on? I couldn’t decide if I needed it or not.

Endurance. This one hit closer to home. My legs already felt shaky from standing on my toes just to see out the window. What if I had to run? Or fight for hours? Endurance was probably more important than I wanted to admit.

And then there was Charisma. I snorted softly. I didn’t know who I was supposed to charm down here—unless that guard wanted to come back and have a polite conversation—but still, I couldn’t completely ignore it. In the games I’d played, Charisma wasn’t just about sweet-talking people. It could mean leadership, or convincing someone not to kill you. Both sounded useful.

The numbers floated in front of me, glowing faintly. No matter how much I moved my head or closed my eyes, they stayed, waiting for me to decide.

"Alright," I muttered. "Let’s keep it simple."

I took a deep breath and made my decision. I spread the points evenly across the board—six in each. It wasn’t fancy, but it was balanced. I’d figure out what I needed more of later. For now, this gave me a fighting chance without locking me into anything.

Sigvard’s New Stats:

* Strength: 6

* Dexterity: 6

* Intelligence: 6

* Endurance: 6

* Charisma: 6

* Unassigned Points: 0

The numbers shifted and glowed brighter for a moment, as if acknowledging my choice. Then, just like before, they disappeared.

I exhaled slowly, my shoulders sinking with relief. The empty silence of the cell pressed in on me again, but at least the strange list wasn’t staring me down anymore.

I flexed my fingers, testing how I felt. Nothing was different, as far as I could tell. I wasn’t suddenly faster, or stronger, or smarter. But maybe that wasn’t how this worked. Maybe it was something I’d notice later.

For now, I was just glad the numbers were gone. Whatever this was—game, vision, hallucination—it wasn’t giving me much guidance. I’d made my choice, but what came next?

I pushed off the wall, still clutching my aching hand. “Alright, Sigvard,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re a Level 1 Ranger now. Time to figure out what the hell that means.”