For the foreseeable future, Don would have to ration his only spell.

Which was frustrating, but it mostly made him curious about the spell itself. Depending on the nature of it, he might be able to glean something about the world. Was magic a tool of the trade here... or a weapon by another name? There was a door in his mind, one that tantalized him. It was eager to be opened. It wanted to be free— he’d never even known the door existed, but suddenly he was certain he could open it.

Eagerly, he read the last section of his Status. The myriad possibilities condensed into a single, brutal truth.

The one thing he hadn’t expected was for the spell to be useless.

Spells (1/4):

[Splash] Lv.1 {Forgettable}

Cost: 1~20 MP

Cooldown: 8 seconds

Conjure water. Every 1 MP spent adds another gallon to the base quantity.

Don stared blankly at the text. It stubbornly refused to turn into anything else.

Mechanically, he stood, dusted his pajamas off, and began to walk in a random direction.

Okay, in [Splash’s] defense, it’s not exactly useless. I could turn a water wheel. I could keep myself hydrated. Depending on how much MP I put into it, I might be able to knock someone over. Depending on where it’s Conjured, I could make someone slip.

It’s just...

It wasn’t flashy.

But it’s practical. And say, couldn’t I fill a Goblet with this, once I find one? I could keep [Cup of Plenty] overflowing even if I slosh and spill some water during my travels. Work on my balance and my spell-casting, all at once! Plus, a Wizard should start at the basics before worrying about fireballs. Don’t want to blow my own face off.

Don, in fact, quickly talked himself into liking the spell. Ideas crawled out of the woodwork. There was architecture in his brain he didn’t even know could feel excitement, and it was thrumming.

Speaking of projectile attacks, if I conjured a boatload of water between us, they’d have a hard time reaching me!

Don paced through the woods at a rapid clip. Then he paused.

Don looked around. Really looked at the grove he was stumbling through. There was a massive trail cut through the grass behind him, obvious in the knee-high frondose greenery. Everything was wet with dew. Distant bugs made noises that he’d never heard in his life. It caught up with him then. In fact, it slammed into his mind like a freight train.

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Another world.

Don was overcome with wonder. He traipsed over cracked logs and past clovers with eleven leaves. The sun hung high overhead and sent the canopy glimmering.

What was the planet’s name? Esol?

There was nothing as stereotypical as a second sun. Don told himself he would’ve noticed that immediately. But the sky was a lush olive color with only hints of blue. He leaned against a wart-encrusted tree and... felt reverent.

Just for me.

Me and 77 others.

That thought was a kick in the pants. Other people were stranded here, and according to the thing that called him Potentate—he decided to name it the Guide—he was one of the least among them. In the sudden breeze, the hair on Don’s bare arms stood up.

Reality piled onto him all at once.

He was alone in the woods with a limited supply of stamina and zero food. He had no blanket, just pajama pants that were quickly becoming soaked in dew and leaves. He could do magic... but only ten gallons’ worth. And he was wearing a T-shirt; his arms were fully exposed.

In a normal stranding, he should hold tight and wait for rescue. But he was who-knows-how-far from anyone who would notice he was missing. At least one planet away.

Don shivered. No, he needed to get to a settlement—if those existed. If he couldn’t find one after traveling for two days, he’d just have to settle down and find a way to live off the land.

He continued through the alien forest. Now he moved like he was at work. Gotta pace myself.

Before all of this, Don had been in charge of stocking the shelves at a grocery store. It wasn't glamorous, but it took most of his attention plus all of his strength each day.

Maybe that was why he’d begun with Focus at G-2 and Physique at G-2. Though Don had no earthly idea why Energy was even higher. Most days, he came home and hit his mattress like a sack of flour.

Hypothesis: heavy exertion increases the four stats.

The Guide called him ‘magically gifted’. That must’ve been rare—roughly ten in a billion, if it was to be believed. But what about ‘magically above average’? Could everyone increase their four stats... just not as effectively? After all, if the goal was just to have a high aggregate status, every athlete would have been taken already.

And of course people couldn’t tell when they were close to that threshold. No one saw the numbers until it was too late.

You put me here to seed this place with magical tradition, but I’m woefully uninformed! I don’t even know how I count as magical in the first place!

Don ripped at a green stalk, tearing it up in his hands until it was tiny shreds. He uprooted a whole plant next, tossing it into its siblings with a wordless yell.

Something hissed at him. Don whirled to the source.

Standing there between the fronds was a hunched, ratlike biped. Its gray hair stood on end. Its jaws were open in a warning cry that was more whisper than wail; Don realized it had two sharp rows of teeth, and immediately wanted nothing to do with the creature.

Gibbering gently, apologetically, Don began to shuffle away. Not directly back—he was afraid of activating whatever predatory instincts the manrat had. The words came out of Don’s mouth in a steady, polite stream.

“Look I’m very sorry about disturbing your rest I had no idea anyone was here you know but I’ll just be going now thank you very much-”

The jaws opened wider in a rising shriek. Don stopped moving.

It rushed him, all swirling claws and fevered eyes.