Frank lay back on the makeshift bed, his eyes tracing the flickering dance of the flames in the small fireplace. The soft crackling of the fire filled the room, accompanied by the occasional pop of burning wood. The dog lay curled up near the hearth, its rhythmic breathing a soothing sound, accompanying the ones coming from the burning wood. Outside, the chill of Skyrim’s eternal frost whispered against the wooden walls, but inside, Frank felt a warmth—a quiet reprieve from the relentless cold of the world beyond.

His mind though, was anything but at peace.

He stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of this new life settling over him. He’d thought about Cynthia again, about Earth, about all the things he might never return to. There was a dull ache in his chest at the thought, but he pushed it aside. Survival came first. If he was stuck here, he had to figure things out.

Sitting up, Frank looked over at the small pile of items he’d gathered from the hut. A simple potato and the hunter’s knife he’d found were lying in front of him. Simple items, but they’d have to do for now. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he would need to gather more food soon. But before that, he had something else to figure out.

The inventory system.

He had felt it out there in the wilderness, that faint flicker of a menu, as if the world was offering him a glimpse of its hidden mechanics. But he hadn’t fully unlocked it yet. There had to be a way—he just needed to try harder.

“Alright,” Frank muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He focused, trying to summon the same feeling he’d had earlier by the river. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he extended his hand, imagining the menu floating just beyond his reach. Nothing happened at first—no glowing grid, no icons, no stats. Just the potato and the knife staring back at him, stubbornly refusing to disappear into the convenient, magical storage he so desperately hoped for.

“Come on… Inventory!” he said aloud, feeling a bit ridiculous but hopeful. Still nothing.

The dog lifted its head at his voice, looking at him with curiosity before returning to its comfortable spot by the fire.

Frank sighed, rubbing his temples. This wasn’t exactly a game, no matter how much he wished it were. But if there was one thing he knew from his hours in Skyrim, it was that persistence paid off. He grabbed the potato, holding it in his hand, and closed his eyes. He concentrated harder this time, focusing on the mental image of the item disappearing into an invisible menu.

A faint hum tickled the edge of his consciousness. Frank opened his eyes slowly, and to his amazement, the potato flickered out of existence—gone. Not on the ground, not in his hand, just gone.

His heart raced with excitement. “Did I just…?”

He closed his eyes again, trying to will the item back. With a slight flick of concentration, the potato reappeared in his palm. Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“It worked,” he whispered, awe filling his voice. “It actually worked.”

The realization hit him like a rush of adrenaline. There was an inventory system here—he just needed to interact with it differently. It wasn’t a button press or a quick menu screen, but something more intuitive. More real. He wasn’t just managing an inventory anymore; he was bending the world’s rules to his will.

He grabbed the knife next, repeating the process. It took a few tries—his focus wavering at times—but eventually, the blade vanished into the same ethereal space, leaving his hand empty. When he summoned it back, it appeared with the same quiet flicker of magic.

Frank laughed, unable to contain his glee. “Oh man, this is going to make life so much easier.”

But there was more to figure out. Was the Inventory able to hold an infinite number of items? He frowned, thinking back on the times he had to carry things back and forth in his old life. Old life? Thinking of his life on Earth as his old life felt weird, no matter how true that was.

Quickly dismissing those thoughts, he made a mental note to always carry a container for things—backpacks, pouches, sacks, whatever—just in case. Maybe this world had limitations, just like the game had. He stood, looking around the room for any sort of bag. After a moment, he found a small leather pouch hanging by the hearth. Grabbing it, he tried the process again, this time willing the potato into the pouch rather than into some abstract void.

And just like that, it worked, and even faster at that. The potato disappeared, and the pouch felt heavier in his hand. A connection between the item and the storage system was made. He didn’t remember this happening in the game, but he felt relieved.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself, turning the pouch over in his hands. “I need something to store stuff in. A pouch, a bag… makes sense.”

His mind raced with possibilities now. If he could manage his items like this, he could carry far more than before—provisions, weapons, even loot from dungeons when the time came. But first, he needed to gather more supplies, level up, and prepare for the journey ahead.

Frank glanced at the dog, who was watching him with a tilted head, as if wondering what all the excitement was about. “Looks like we’re going hunting, buddy.”

The dog gave a soft bark, seemingly in agreement.

Grabbing the pouch and slinging it over his shoulder, Frank headed for the door. The cold wind greeted him as he stepped outside, but it no longer felt as oppressive as before. Now, with this newfound skill, he felt empowered; and that gave him an edge.

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“Ivarstead can wait,” Frank said, glancing down at the dog. “We’ve got some leveling up to do first. Let’s gather provisions, hunt, and see if we can gain a level or two before we start that quest.”

The dog barked again, more energetic this time, and together they set off into the wilderness. The snow crunched beneath Frank’s boots as they ventured into the nearby woods, his eyes scanning the environment for anything useful—plants, animals, resources. This time, though, he didn’t feel quite as lost. Which gave him hope.

While out further down the river, Frank felt more confident than he had since arriving in this strange, frozen land. The dog trotted alongside him, its head occasionally dipping to sniff at the snow-covered ground.

But, as they ventured further down the riverbank, something shifted. A rustling sound echoed through the trees, too loud to be the wind, too sharp to be the natural movement of the wilderness.

The dog froze, ears perked and body tensing.

“What is it, boy?” Frank whispered, instinctively crouching low, recalling his countless hours in Skyrim crouching to avoid enemies. He scanned the treeline, his heart picking up speed. His hand tightened around the hunter’s knife at his side.

Before he could react, a blackish gray blur lunged from the underbrush—a wolf, its snarling maw aimed straight for him. Time seemed to slow as Frank’s survival instincts kicked in. He barely managed to raise the knife before the wolf collided with him, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the snow-covered ground. Pain flared in his shoulder where the wolf’s claws had raked through his coat, but Frank grit his teeth, refusing to panic.

“Get off!” he growled, pushing back with all his strength.

The wolf snarled, snapping its jaws inches from his face. Its breath was hot and smelled of decay, a sharp contrast to the cold air. Frank slashed out with the knife, his movements wild but desperate. His heart hammered in his chest as adrenaline surged through his veins.

The dog leaped into the fray, barking and biting at the wolf’s hind legs dragging it off of Frank’s body. The distraction gave Frank the moment he needed. With a grunt, he twisted the knife upward, sinking it deep into the wolf’s side. The animal yelped in pain, its body going rigid as the life drained from it. Slowly, its weight collapsed on top of him, and Frank shoved the body aside, gasping for air.

His hands shook as he wiped the blood from the knife on his coat, trying to steady himself. The dog circled the wolf’s corpse, barking softly as if to make sure the threat was truly gone.

"Good boy," Frank panted, reaching out to pat the dog's head, though his hands were still trembling from the shock of the encounter. The weight of the wolf’s attack hung heavy on him. This, certainly, was no game. That much was clear now. If he’d been any slower, or if the dog hadn’t been there… He shuddered at the thought.

The tension in his muscles slowly eased as he took a deep breath, surveying the area to ensure there weren’t more wolves lurking nearby. When he was satisfied they were alone, he knelt beside the wolf’s body.

The familiar Skyrim instinct took over—loot. But he felt stuck. He didn’t know how to loot an animal without a prompt guiding him. It felt strange, almost disrespectful, but amidst his reluctance, a piece of glowing text appeared in front of him, and above the wolf.

[Loot? Y/N]

He gasped in surprise and wondered why didn’t this prompt appear when looting Robert’s body. He wished he could do it back then. Mentally selecting Yes, he quickly stripped the wolf of its pelt, his hands moving almost on autopilot. He once again gasped. He didn’t know how to do this. It was forced. Yes, he chopped meat to cook, but never like this. After a few moments of retrospection, the cold, wet pelt fell tightly folded on the ground and his stomach churned at the sight. Quickly enough, the wolf’s body evaporated as if it never existed, and Frank thanked whatever deity governed in this world. Talos, maybe? His thoughts trailed for a moment.

As he stood there deep in thought, gazing nowhere in particular, something unexpected happened.

[Level Up]

The sound rang in his ears, an unmistakable Skyrim notification, and for a moment, his heart leapt into his throat. The familiar whoosh of leveling up was followed by a deep, echoing voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

The world around him seemed to dim, as though reality had taken a brief pause. Frank blinked in surprise as a semi-transparent menu with points appeared before his eyes, displaying his current stats and choices for perks. His health surged, his wounds healing rapidly as the level-up process restored his body. The pain in his shoulder vanished, and Frank felt a warmth radiating through him—a quiet hum of power, like stepping into the game world all over again.

"Whoa," he whispered, trying to steady his breathing. His thoughts raced, a mix of excitement and fear. This world was as fascinating as it was real though—the danger, the pain, the adrenaline. He had to keep that in mind if he wanted to survive.

The perk menu loomed before him, offering its familiar options. Frank hovered over the available choices, his thoughts racing back to the fight. He’d nearly been caught off guard by the wolf. Stealth had always been his go-to in Skyrim, allowing him to sneak past danger or ambush his enemies. And now, with this world being so unforgiving, it seemed like the best option.

He selected the Sneak skill’s first perk: Stealth [You are now 20% harder to detect when sneaking].

As he made the choice, a quiet feeling of satisfaction washed over him. His body felt a bit lighter, his movements more fluid. The level-up process left him invigorated and stronger, both physically and mentally.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Guess I’m still a stealthy bastard," he muttered to himself, feeling the comfort of familiarity in the game mechanics.

He packed the wolf pelt into his pouch, surprised, once again, at how easily they disappeared into the inventory system. It felt strange looting like this, but the practical part of his mind reminded him that survival was key. Besides, the pelt could be sold or used later. Either way, he tried not to think too much about how he skinned the wolf.

As he turned to head back toward the hut, memories of Earth resurfaced, unbidden. He thought about his old job at the local grill, the feeling of satisfaction that came with cooking a good meal for someone. It hadn’t been glamorous, but it had been his life—simple and honest. He’d had his routines, his little moments of pride in a job well done. He hadn’t been rich, but he’d been comfortable; content even.

Now, all of that was gone. Stripped away. A pang of loss hit him, but he quickly pushed it aside. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Not here. Not in this world, where every moment seemed to bring new dangers, and survival was a constant struggle.

At that moment, Frank made a quiet vow to himself. He would find a way to make peace with this new life. It wouldn’t be the same as his old one, but he could carve out something here—a new life of his own, filled with small comforts and victories. He’d survive, he’d grow stronger, and one day, maybe, he’d find the peace and coziness he yearned for; or even a way back.

For now, though, he had a quest to focus on. The dog trotted ahead of him, and Frank followed, the weight of his new reality settling on his shoulders like a boulder. Right there and then, he imagined himself as another Sisiphus. He froze for less than a moment, as he quickly urged himself to dismiss the thought.