The crisp wind flanked him as he walked. He paused, letting out steam puffs that hung for a moment before disappearing. His thoughts were quieter now, though the vow he had made earlier still echoed in the back of his mind. Make the most of this life. Find peace. Survive.

It was easier said than done. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t sought out a grand adventure. But now that he was here, he had no choice but to push forward. One step at a time, just like in the game he once loved, except there was no quit button here.

As his shoes crunched in the snow, he noticed a faint glow in the corner of his vision. He froze, eyes flicking toward the familiar notification.

[One-Handed: Increased to 16.]

The message floated there for a moment before he dismissed it. Frank blinked, his pulse quickening. He hadn’t even noticed the reason he leveled-up until now. In Skyrim, it would’ve been just another stat boost, but here, the implications were much heavier. He wasn’t just improving a skill; he was ensuring his survival.

The memory of the wolf encounter was still fresh in his mind. That fight had been close. He only now realized that he had increased his Health instinctively afterward, a leftover habit from the game, and it had helped—he could feel it in his bones and in his muscles.

“Right,” Frank muttered, shaking off the tension that had begun to settle over him. He reached down, giving the wolfhound a quick pat on the head. The dog huffed softly, its amber eyes glancing up at him as if to say, We’re ready. Let’s keep moving.

Frank smiled faintly.

Together, they ventured further along the riverbank, the scent of pine and wet earth filling the crisp air. The forest stretched out before them, the snow-dusted ground shimmering under patches of sunlight that filtered through the trees. In the distance, the small hut Frank had claimed as his own sat nestled against the landscape like a forgotten relic of civilization. It wasn’t much, but it was a shelter.

The farther they walked, the more familiar the land began to feel. The trees, with the few remaining red-tinted leaves, seemed to welcome him, their branches waved at them urged by the wind.

The sound of rushing water guided them closer to the river’s edge. Up ahead, the thinning tree line opened up into a small clearing, and Frank’s heart skipped a beat. A herd of deer grazed quietly by the few grassy patches, their brown coats blending into the snowy landscape, making them look almost ethereal in the sunlight.

Instinctively, Frank crouched low, signaling for the wolfhound to stay. His heart raced, a thrill rising in his chest. This was the perfect chance to test his newly acquired Stealth perk.

Frank steadied his breath, gripping the knife at his side. His palms were sweaty despite the cold. “Alright, let’s see if we’ve still got it,” he whispered, as he moved silently through the underbrush.

But it didn’t take long for reality to set in. A brittle branch cracked under his boot, the sound like a gunshot in the stillness. Every deer’s head snapped up in unison, ears twitching, eyes wide. Frank cursed under his breath, freezing in place.

He glanced at his wolfhound, who remained perfectly still, waiting for his next move. Frank nodded once, signaling with a sharp gesture. The dog darted forward, moving through the snow like a shadow, cutting off the deer’s escape toward the road.

Frank crept forward again, more cautiously this time, his body tense with focus. The pounding of his heart was deafening in his ears as he closed the distance between him and his prey.

With a swift motion, Frank lunged, knife in hand. The deer scattered, but the wolfhound was faster, intercepting one of the smaller ones. Frank sprinted after them, the cold air burning in his lungs. His hand tightened around the knife’s hilt as he closed in. In one fluid, to his astonishment, motion, he struck.

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The deer collapsed with a thud, its dark eyes wide with fear before the light faded from them. Frank stood over the animal, chest heaving as adrenaline surged through his veins.

“Gotcha,” he whispered, kneeling beside the deer. This time, his hands worked automatically as he began to loot the animal, and just like before, the system took over. A neat notification appeared before his eyes.

[Deer Pelt (1) Added.]

[Venison (1) Added.]

Frank chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Well, at least the system’s consistent,” he muttered, glancing down at the cheerful wolfhound. “I take you like venison.”

The dog gave a soft huff, its tail wagging slightly.

Frank wiped the sweat from his brow, the absurdity of it all making him laugh. The world was so real, yet the system still worked like clockwork, blending fantasy and reality in ways he hadn’t expected. He stood, stretching his muscles. “Alright, boy. Let’s head home.”

Together, they made their way back through the forest, the light of the setting sun accompanying their steps over the snowy landscape. The familiar sight of the hut came into view. “Sanctuary,” Frank said.

He smiled as he approached, the warmth of the fire and the promise of a meal waited for him. One step at a time, he was figuring this out. This wasn’t just about surviving or playing hero. It was about living.

And for the first time, Frank felt like he belonged.

The fire flickered steadily in the hearth, casting a warm, amber glow across the small hut. Frank stretched his legs, feeling the satisfying ache from the day’s hunt, his muscles unwinding. His wolfhound, belly full and content, had dozed off by the fire, its soft snores mingling with the crackling of wood. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, the world beyond the door a peaceful contrast to the struggles of the day.

Frank’s gaze drifted around the hut as he tidied absentmindedly. Then, something on a crooked shelf caught his eye—a small, worn book, half-buried beneath dust. Curious, he pulled it free, brushing away the grime to reveal the faded title.

“Horker Attacks,” he read aloud, a hint of surprise in his voice. The title tugged at a thread of nostalgia. A flood of memories from his days playing Skyrim rushed back—the game’s lore, scattered in the form of books you’d stumble upon in forgotten dungeons and inns. This was one of those books, a tale of hunters facing off against the strange creatures on the frozen shores of Skyrim. It had been little more than background flavor back then, but now, holding it here… it felt oddly significant.

Settling back down by the fire, Frank flipped through the brittle pages, finding the familiar, gritty tales of hunters and their prey. He paused at one passage—a hunter cornered by a horker, unprepared, outnumbered. Yet the hunter kept calm, waiting for the perfect moment before striking back.

“Stay calm…” Frank muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips. It was simple advice, but it resonated with him deeply now. Back in the game, staying calm had been easy—death was just a reload screen away—he only had to remember to save from time to time. But here, every moment felt significant. Each decision felt like it carried the weight of the world. He thought back to the hunt earlier in the day—the adrenaline, the raw intensity, how his hands had trembled as he gripped the knife. Yet somehow, he’d kept his cool, just like the hunter in the story.

This world feels like one of those old tales, Frank mused, turning the page. The hunters in the book had faced danger head-on, just as he did now. Their stories were now his reality, lessons written in adventure and blood.

The fire crackled, and Frank glanced at the wolfhound, twitching in its sleep. A quiet chuckle escaped him before his eyes returned to the page, immersing himself once again in the familiar rhythm of the stories that had shaped so many of his past adventures.

As night deepened, the warmth of the fire gradually began to lull Frank into a state of deep relaxation. The flames flickered softly, casting wavering shadows on the rough wooden walls of the hut, while his wolfhound shifted closer to the hearth.

Frank set the book aside, a wave of contentment washing over him. The day had been long, full of challenges. But in this moment, all of that felt far away. Here, in the warmth of the firelight, with the weight of the day behind him, he could finally exhale.

He then leaned back against the hay mattress, closing his eyes, letting the warmth soak into his bones. The fire crackled again, its warmth enveloping him like a comforting blanket. Frank shifted, finding a more comfortable position as the day’s exhaustion settled over him. His eyelids grew heavy, the weight of the day finally catching up.

The last sound he heard before slipping into a dreamless sleep was the steady breathing of the wolfhound beside him, a quiet, constant rhythm that matched the peaceful beat of his own heart.

The fire continued to burn gently, while outside, the wind howled through each crevice and tree. And for the first time since arriving, Frank didn’t dream of Cynthia or his life on Earth.