The city of Duskfall was a place where shadows lingered, even during the day. Narrow streets twisted and turned, hemmed in by crooked buildings with darkened windows, and an ever-present murk seemed to cling to the air. The smell of damp earth and the acrid stench of unwashed bodies filled the narrow alleys, and the people, gaunt and tired, moved like ghosts, shuffling through their bleak existence.

Ethan Ray crouched low behind a stack of splintered crates, his eyes locked on a vendor's stall just a few paces ahead. His stomach churned painfully, the gnawing hunger making it hard to focus on anything else. The vendor was busy, his back turned as he argued with a customer, and Ethan knew it was now or never.

He moved with practiced precision, darting forward on quiet feet. His fingers closed around a small loaf of bread, and he slipped it beneath his ragged shirt before backing away just as silently. The vendor didn't even flinch. A small victory, but one that made the edges of Ethan's lips twitch upward for the briefest moment.

Ethan ducked back into the narrow alley, slipping between two buildings, and found a shadowy nook to eat. He tore into the bread, his eyes scanning the street for any sign of trouble. In Duskfall, being careless meant losing whatever little you had—or worse. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

He finished the bread quickly, but his hunger barely waned. He leaned back against the damp wall, trying to ignore the ache in his stomach, and closed his eyes. The fog in his mind seemed to shift whenever he was still like this, a feeling like something was just out of reach, some part of himself he couldn't quite grasp.

The memories were always elusive. He had flashes sometimes—images of a forest, the sound of steel clashing, the scent of blood in the air—but they were fragmented, slipping away whenever he tried to focus on them. It was like looking through a shattered mirror, pieces missing, edges sharp enough to cut. He couldn't remember who he was or where he had come from, only that he was here now, struggling to survive in a world that felt both foreign and familiar.

A sudden noise snapped him from his thoughts—the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching, and not the casual kind. Ethan tensed, his eyes narrowing as he glanced towards the mouth of the alley. Three figures appeared, their faces shadowed beneath tattered hoods, moving with purpose.

"Oi, street rat!" one of them called, his voice dripping with malice. "Think you can just steal from our turf without paying a toll?"

Ethan's eyes darted to the side, searching for an escape route, but the alley was a dead end. He was cornered. The three thugs moved closer, and Ethan felt the cold steel of fear slip into his gut, but he forced it down. Fear was useless now.

"I don't want any trouble," he said, his voice calm, almost casual, as he straightened up. His eyes flicked to their hands—no weapons visible, just fists. He could work with that.

The first thug lunged, a sloppy move driven by arrogance. Ethan sidestepped, his body moving instinctively, and he lashed out with a quick jab to the man's side. The thug stumbled, cursing, and Ethan used the moment to duck under the arm of the second one, slipping behind him.

He grabbed a loose piece of wood from the ground and swung it at the third thug, who had just begun to close in. The wood connected with a dull thud, and the man fell back with a grunt, clutching his arm. Ethan's heart pounded, his senses sharpening as adrenaline coursed through him. He felt alive in these moments, more than at any other time.

But the thugs weren't done. The first thug, recovered now, snarled and lunged at Ethan again. This time, Ethan wasn't quick enough. A fist caught him square in the ribs, sending a sharp pain through his side. He stumbled, and before he could recover, the other two were on him.

Blow after blow rained down on him. He fought back as best he could, but he was outnumbered, and his strength was waning. A fist slammed into his stomach, driving the air from his lungs, and he doubled over, gasping. Another hit caught him across the face, and his vision blurred, the world around him spinning.

They beat him relentlessly, fists and feet pounding into his body until he could barely stand. Pain exploded in his ribs, his legs, his back. He felt his knees give way, collapsing to the ground as the thugs continued their assault. He tried to protect his head, curling in on himself, but it was no use. The pain was overwhelming, each blow driving him further into darkness.

Somewhere in the haze of pain, he heard their voices—mocking, taunting. They laughed as they kicked him, their words a blur in his ears. He felt something crack—maybe a rib, maybe more—but he couldn't tell. All he knew was the pain, and the cold, and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blows stopped. Ethan lay on the ground, barely conscious, his body a broken mess. The thugs muttered something about "teaching him a lesson" before they turned and walked away, their laughter echoing down the alley as they left him there, battered and bleeding.

Ethan lay still, his breath coming in ragged gasps, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his body. He could feel the warmth of his own blood trickling down his face, pooling beneath him. His vision was dim, the edges darkening, but he fought to stay awake. He couldn't afford to pass out here—not in a place like this.

As the adrenaline began to fade, something strange happened. A voice—calm, mechanical, and entirely foreign—sounded in his mind.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Status screen available. Access status?"

Ethan's mind struggled to focus. The pain was overwhelming, but the voice was insistent. He forced his eyes open, blinking away the blood and grime, and looked around. The alley was empty now, the thugs long gone. He was alone.

"Access status?"

With nothing left to lose, Ethan closed his eyes and focused, willing whatever this was to show itself. And then, as if responding to his thoughts, a translucent screen appeared before him, floating in the air.

Status

Name: Ethan Ray

Level: 1

Magic: None

Health: 5/100

Mana: 0/0

Stats:

Vitality: 10

Strength: 7

Intelligence: 12

Toughness: 8

Endurance: 10

Agility: 13

Free points: 10

Skills: None

Professions: None

Ethan blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The numbers meant little to him, but the words—Health, Strength, Intelligence—they were familiar in a way he couldn't explain. His name, too, was there, though it felt foreign, like a label that didn't quite fit.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the screen, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stood there, breathing heavily, his mind racing. Whatever this was, it was real, and it might just be the key to surviving in a place like Duskfall.

As night began to fall, Ethan moved deeper into the shadows, dragging himself along the ground until he found a place to rest for the night. He leaned back, closing his eyes, the strange screen still vivid in his mind. But who was he really?

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The night in Duskfall was a cold one. The wind howled through the narrow streets, carrying with it the distant sounds of arguments, laughter, and the occasional scream. Ethan shivered, pulling his threadbare cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had found a small, secluded corner between two abandoned buildings where the wind couldn't reach him directly. It wasn't much, but it was enough for the night.

His body ached from the beating, and every breath sent a sharp pain through his ribs. He needed rest, but sleep was elusive. His mind kept drifting back to the strange screen that had appeared before him. Status. It was as if he was part of some twisted game, but there was no one to explain the rules. He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, but the questions refused to leave him.

Ethan clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had to know. He had to remember.

Hours passed, and Ethan finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his dreams filled with fragmented images. He saw flashes of a campfire, men dressed in armor, and the glint of weapons under the moonlight. There was shouting, the clash of steel, and then—nothing. Darkness swallowed everything, leaving him with a feeling of loss so profound it almost took his breath away.

When he woke, dawn was just beginning to break over the city, the dim light casting long shadows across the alley. Ethan pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his ribs protested. He needed to move. Staying in one place too long was dangerous, and he had no intention of being found by the thugs again.

As he made his way through the streets, he noticed the people of Duskfall beginning their day. Vendors were setting up their stalls, their faces lined with exhaustion. Children ran barefoot through the streets, their laughter a stark contrast to the bleakness of their surroundings. Ethan's eyes lingered on them for a moment before he turned away. He had no time for anyone else. He could barely take care of himself.

He moved towards the outskirts of the city, where the buildings were more spread out and the alleys less crowded. There was an old, abandoned warehouse he had found a few days ago—a place where he could lay low for a while and figure out what to do next. As he approached, he noticed something unusual. The door, which had been hanging loosely on its hinges, was now slightly ajar. Someone had been here.

Ethan hesitated, his senses on high alert. He crept closer, his footsteps silent on the cobblestone path. He peered through the gap in the door, his eyes scanning the dim interior. The warehouse was empty, save for a few broken crates and scattered debris. But there, in the corner, he saw movement—a figure, small and huddled, wrapped in a worn blanket.

A child. A girl, no older than ten, her eyes wide with fear as she looked at him. Ethan sighed inwardly. He didn't need this. He didn't need more complications. But as he looked at her, he saw the same fear he had felt so many times before—the fear of being alone, of having nowhere to go, no one to trust.

He stepped inside, his movements slow and deliberate. The girl flinched, pressing herself further into the corner. Ethan raised his hands, trying to show he wasn't a threat.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice softer than before. "I just need a place to rest. You can stay. I won't bother you."

The girl watched him warily, her eyes never leaving his face. Ethan moved to the opposite side of the room, sinking down against the wall. He could feel her gaze on him, but he ignored it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He had bigger problems to deal with, but for now, he needed to recover. He needed to figure out what this Status meant and how it could help him.

Silence settled over the warehouse, broken only by the distant sounds of the waking city. Ethan opened his eyes, staring at the empty air in front of him. He focused, willing the screen to appear once more. Slowly, the translucent display flickered into view, the words and numbers unchanged from the night before.

He had 10 free points. He didn't know how to use them, but he knew they were important. If he was going to survive, if he was going to find out who he was and what had happened to him, he needed to get stronger. He needed to understand this power, whatever it was.

He stared at the Strength stat, then at Vitality. He hesitated, then thought, Add 5 points to Vitality.

The screen flickered, and the number beside Vitality changed from 10 to 15, giving him 150 health in total. A warmth spread through his body, the pain in his ribs lessening slightly. Ethan's eyes widened. This was real. He could feel it.

He added the remaining 5 points to Strength, feeling a surge of energy course through his muscles. He clenched his fists, a determined look settling on his face. Whatever this was, it was his now, and he would use it to survive.

The girl in the corner watched him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Ethan glanced at her, then back at the screen before it vanished once more. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—he wasn't going to be a victim anymore. He was going to fight, to grow stronger, and to uncover the truth of who he was.

And no one, not the thugs, not the city of Duskfall, and not even the ghosts of his past, was going to stop him.