Awareness crept back to Rafa in a fog of indistinct shapes and muffled sounds. A pungent stench akin to rotten eggs assaulted his nose first, followed by a heavy air filling his lungs like smog. Then, the persistent buzzing which had been background noise sharpened into the distinct crackling of fire.

Where— Rafa’s attempt to rise was gently thwarted by an arm that was both strong and reassuring. The hand pressed against his shoulder bore the marks of hard labor—calluses built from years of kneading dough and tending to ovens. Rafa's gaze followed the arm upward to meet the face of Marcos, the local baker.

Marcos stood as a pillar of his prime, his physique robust, molded not by age but by years of toil in his bakery. Lines of gentle good humor and past concerns crisscrossed his face. His hair was a dusting of gray, akin to the flour he sifted through his fingers daily. Tiredness shadowed his eyes, but they still held the warmth of the oven’s glow. At fifty, Marcos wore his years proudly, his presence lending a steadfastness to Rafa in the turmoil.

Rafa felt the world swelter around him, the air hotter than memory served, and his skin was slick with sweat. A fire crackled nearby, its heat intense, yet insufficient to account for the stifling air. As he gasped for breath, trying to adjust, a sharp slap to the back of his head, brought the world into a clear, immediate focus.

Rafa gasped, and Marcos’s voice followed, gruff yet tinged with concern. "Madre! Be gentle!"

Elena's voice cut through the haze, rough and rich from years of tobacco. "He can take it. He hurt his arms, but his head's still on straight," Her laughter followed, raspy but warm, "Besides, the niño needs to remember he's not made of glass."

Vivid memories of his crushed arm and the warm wetness of blood drenching his shirt flashed in his mind. Panic surged until he glanced down and he realized he was free of pain. His arm was intact, not even a trace of a scar marred his skin despite the blood-stained fabric of his shirt.

Rafa's eyes then shifted to Elena.

Elena's stance was unyielding, a silhouette carved from the enduring spirit of her Hispanic ancestry. Her hair, streaked with silver and black, was pulled back tightly, a few strands defiantly framing a face marked by the sun. The lines around her eyes spoke of laughter and loss, yet those same eyes, dark and perceptive, flickered with the fire of unextinguished youth. Her hands, marked by the scars and stories of decades, were steady and sure. Even at nearly sixty, her posture was that of a matadora—graceful and formidable, an unwavering force to be reckoned with.

In the background, the flicker of the campfire illuminated the small figure of little Carlos. The boy, embodying a blend of his parents' features, had a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he prodded at the flames with a scavenged plank. He was small enough that one might scoop him up when weariness took hold.

Rafa's search for the reassuring light of day came up empty. Gone were the familiar rays that pierced even the stormiest of clouds, replaced by a dense blanket of darkness. The flickering campfire cast dancing shadows along the jagged walls of rock rising like silent sentinels. These rough layers bore evidence of rapid, unnatural growth, as if in a rush to entomb the remnants of the bakery beneath a stony shroud.

Buried alive. The thought clawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel his composure.

Elena, catching Rafa's bewildered gaze, began to explain, her tone laden with gravity. “After you were taken down and Hermosa chased after me, the earth just...changed?" She paused, seemingly looking for the right words, "Rocks shot up out of the ground.” Rafa was stunned, not just by the transformation of their environment, but by the unexpected mention of Hermosa, their once-faithful rottweiler.

Suddenly, the chaos that unfolded began to piece together in his mind.

Marcos picked up where Elena left off, his voice tinged with the weariness of a man who had faced the unthinkable. “We thought about fleeing, but where? Flames were everywhere, most buildings crumbled...”

With a groan, Rafa pushed himself upright, leaning on Marcos’s steady presence as the world tilted around him. On unsteady legs, he ambled over to the fire, taking a discarded stick, and lighting one end of it. The flames took hold, casting a flickering light. “What happened to Hermosa, and has anyone found a way out?” he asked, his voice strained as he approached the stone walls that threatened to be their tomb, feeling its integrity.

Trapped in here, with no way out. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows deepening despite the fire behind him.

As Rafa tensed, preparing to search for an exit, Marcos’s firm grip anchored him once again. The presence of the Vasquez family staved off the rising panic within him, as funnily enough, did the limited view of their prison.

“Take it easy, niño. Hermosa didn’t make it. The fall was too much,” Elena’s voice carried the finality of the news as she drew near, her maternal instinct radiating comfort. She coaxed Rafa to sit back down by the fire. “Just focus for a moment.”

We’re buried alive. The words echoed in Rafa’s mind, a relentless whisper that threatened to spiral into full-blown despair. He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself in the reality of the here and now. Until, resigning himself to her guidance, Rafa stilled, knowing better than to defy Elena in her domain.

Suddenly, his vision was captured by a screen, its message resounding in his mind with an undeniable clarity.

Terraformation Commencing…

Attention, stalwart survivors of the initial cataclysm!

As we speak, those of exceptional potential are being honed in specialized zones. Yet, the System ensures that every survivor has the opportunity to thrive.

Your domain has been shielded from the primary wave's devastation. It now undergoes a profound transformation, assimilating the volatile essences of Heat and Fire. Prepare for the emergence of new terrains, formidable creatures, and untold riches.

A grand Regional Quest has been activated. Forge alliances, establish dominance, and conquer the evolving land. Accumulate treasures, vanquish beasts. Every act of valor shall be rewarded with Survivor Points.

These points may be exchanged at the System Hubs within any established faction for an array of valuable resources, enhancing your journey through the paths of cultivation. Celebrate, Survivors, for the System extends to all the chance to ascend!

Rafa’s mouth opened to form a question after the last word echoed in his head, the first syllable barely escaping his lips before Elena's hand was upon his arm, urging silence with a gentle but firm pressure. "Wait, niño."

Soon after, another screen materialized.

Objective Completed

Well done, cultivator. You've shown great potential. By killing a beast two steps above you, you’ll be awarded a choice of a cultivation manual.

Cultivation Manual Selection

Earthbound Titan

Draw upon the silent might of ancient giants, bolstering your body’s endurance and strength. Embody the resilience of stone and earth.

Blazeheart Way

Ignite your inner fire, allowing its fierce blaze to consume weakness and radiate unyielding power. Become one with the inferno.

Tempest’s Breath

Harness the capricious spirits of storm and gale, turning the tempest's fury into your breath and the lightning’s strike into your will.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Veins of the Mountain

Merge with the mountain's enduring spirit, your fortitude becoming as impregnable as the ageless rocks themselves.

Rafa stood still, his gaze distant as he grappled with the flood of information. Faint impressions of books flicked through his mind with each manual the screen showed. Thoughts of his family, the possibility of reunion and rebuilding flickered in his mind like uncertain flames.

“Did—” Rafa turned to Elena, the person who did most of the work on taking down Hermosa, his question was barely formed when Elena interjected.

“Yes, I saw all those screens, heard the madness too,” she confirmed with a no-nonsense nod. She gestured toward Carlos, who was absorbed in poking at the fire. “Carlos says it's like those games he plays. Choosing a class, fighting monsters, or 'farming' for 'XP'—it's the language of this online generation.”

Carlos looked up, his youthful features cast in the warm glow of the fire, a budding enthusiasm evident in his wide eyes. "Es como un juego grande, mamá," he chimed in, his voice carrying the conviction of youthful certainty. "All we have to do is level up, then kill bigger monsters to level up more!"

Rafa hesitated as he searched for the right words."Did... Did you choose a 'class'?" he asked Elena. While not well-versed in the digital world, he had enough tabletop gaming experience to find the terminology somewhat familiar.

Elena nodded, her expression a mix of confusion and resolve. "Immortality this, swords and magic that. I got one called [Feral Spirit]." She glanced at Marcos as if seeking confirmation that she wasn’t losing her mind. "It spoke of 'harnessing the inner beast'. Seemed like the least outlandish one."

Marcos interjected with a thoughtful nod, "It’s all a bit strange, but we have to adapt, sí? Maybe this 'System' is giving us a chance to survive?" He looked at Carlos, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And who better to understand it than our little gamer here?"

Carlos beamed with pride, "I told you, Papá, it’s just like a game. We can do this!"

Elena shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips despite the tension. "Ay, niño, if this is a game, it's the most dangerous one we've ever played."

Taking a grounding breath, Rafa tried organizing a list of questions, hoping they could help him choose his 'class'. He bombarded Elenar with questions, receiving mostly shrugs in response. Yet, he pieced together that upon selecting a 'class,' he would be granted a special ability and then be flooded with an extensive understanding of what Elena referred to as Ether.

Feeling a newfound sense of calm, Rafa attempted to stand once more, only to be gently but firmly held in place by Marcos. They locked eyes, and a silent query passed between them. Rafa's nod was all the assurance Marcos needed to release his steadying grip, allowing Rafa to pick up the still-smoldering stick.

“I need to take a look around first, see if there's a way out or…” The rest of his sentence was left to hang ominously in the smoky air.

"Just be careful, niño," Elena warned, settling herself near the fire, adopting a meditative stance. Carlos was drawn to her stillness like a moth to a flame, clambering around her.

Rafa watched the familiar dynamic between mother and son, feeling a pang of nostalgia mixed with a sense of duty. With a determined sigh, he recognized the inadequacy of his small 'torch' and gathered a clutch of broken planks and wood fragments, fashioning a larger, more effective beacon.

"Take your time, niño. We'll be here," Marcos reassured him, his voice steady and calming, a rock amidst the chaos.

The wood creaked under his weight as Rafa stepped past the doorless doorway.

In the heavy darkness, even the stillness seemed alive, the only breaks in silence being the crackle of the fire and Carlos's persistent chatter. Yet, a strange thumping echoed through the stone walls, a sinister heartbeat that threatened to overwhelm Rafa's senses.

Marcos watched Rafa closely, his experienced eyes catching the slight tremor in Rafa's hands and the quickened pace of his breath. He recognized the signs of rising panic, a look he'd seen many times in the bakery during emergencies or tense situations. Marcos's brow furrowed with concern, but he remained silent for now.

The limited circle of light from his torch revealed shifting shapes at the edge of his vision—shadows skittered and loomed, as if ready to pounce the moment his vigilance waned. He had barely cleared the doorway when his breath grew labored. Breathe in, breathe out, he silently coached himself, striving for calm.

"This is just a large elevator. There's a way out. It's not a tomb." Rafa repeated the mantra, but with each step toward the stairs, the oppressive feel of the stone walls closed in, transforming into sinister bars in his mind's eye.

The comparison was far from comforting; an elevator could trap just as easily as a tomb. The air grew thicker with each of Rafa's spiraling thoughts, each breath becoming more constricting than the last.

Remember what Abuela taught you. Rafa squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the simple exercises his grandmother had taught him to ward off fear. Count to ten. Inhale one, exhale two... But his counting faltered when the walls vibrated, small chunks of jagged rock falling near his feet. Breaths came in short, ragged gasps, No, focus! He forced himself to start again. Inhale one, exhale two...

The memory of Abuela's gentle voice and her stories about facing fears as a young girl in the old country came to him. She had once told him about a time she had to hide in a tiny cellar during a storm, her calm and resilience were an inspiration. If she could do it as a little girl, so can I, Rafa thought, but the oppressive darkness around him was relentless.

As Rafa's breathing shallowed further and his heart pounded against his ribs, an unexpected touch on his shoulder sent him reeling, his knees buckling as a cold shock shot down his spine. For a moment, the world went dark and he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. Then, a light slap on his cheek brought him back, accompanied by a firm grip on his torch.

Marcos had been watching Rafa closely, his concern growing with every faltering step the younger man took. He knew Rafa's bravado was a fragile mask, barely holding back the tide of panic. Sensing the moment Rafa crossed the threshold, Marcos had quietly gathered a bundle of sticks, ready to follow if needed. Now, seeing Rafa's reaction, he knew his instincts were right.

"Calm down niño. scared of the dark?" Marcos's voice was a mix of concern and gentle chiding.

Flushed with embarrassment, Rafa tried to rise, his pride stung, "No!" The word burst from him, echoing off the stone walls, louder than he intended. He coughed, attempting to collect himself. "I just... don't like closed places."

Marcos responded with a light pat on the back, his voice soft, "Claustrophobia?" The word hung in the air, but Rafa was quick to dismiss it, his voice taut with denial. "Of course not. I just don't like being trapped without a way out."

Stay calm. Focus on the now, he repeated internally, remembering his father's advice during a childhood cave exploration. 'Always find your bearings, and don't let the darkness fool you into thinking there's no escape.'

Without challenging Rafa’s claim, Marcos simply nodded. “Of course, who likes that? But two sets of eyes are better than one. We’ll cover more ground together,” he suggested pragmatically. Prepared for the task, Marcos held up a bundle of sticks and wood in his free hand and lit it from Rafa’s torch, creating a second beacon to pierce the enveloping darkness.

They moved towards the stairs, their combined torches casting flickering shadows on the rough, stone walls. Each step they took seemed like a thunderclap against the total silence.

After reaching the stairs, Rafa placed a cautious foot on the first step, which groaned in protest. “Easy does it,” he whispered, his voice barely louder than the crackling of the torches. Marcos followed, each step slow and deliberate.

About halfway down, one of the steps gave way with a sudden snap, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Rafa's heart leaped into his throat as he instinctively grabbed the railing, his knuckles going white. Marcos steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

The rest of the descent was a nerve-wracking ordeal, each step threatening to collapse beneath them until they finally reached the bottom.

In the center of the bakery, the glowing meteorite sat nestled in its crater, which seemed deeper than when Rafa ran past it. The soft, eerie light it emitted cast long shadows across the ruined interior, creating a small, surreal oasis of light in the vast darkness.

Rafa and Marcos paused, their torches lowered as they took in the enormity of their surroundings. The darkness seemed to stretch infinitely, the stone walls rising like they sought to keep it from escaping.

The flickering light of their torches and the meteorite cast shifting patterns on the walls, the interplay of light and shadow adding to the surreal atmosphere. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood and sulfur, a constant reminder of the destruction that had befallen their world.

“Look at this place,” Rafa murmured, his voice tinged with awe and despair. “It’s like we’re trapped in some kind of nightmare.”

Marcos nodded silently, his gaze fixed on the glowing meteorite. The light reflected off his face, highlighting the lines etched by years of hard work and worry. “We’ll find a way out, niño,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We have to.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, absorbing the reality of their situation. The weight of the darkness and the stony enclosure pressed down on them, but the small circle of light from the meteorite and their torches provided a fragile sense of hope.

“We need to keep moving,” Marcos said finally, breaking the silence. “There has to be an exit somewhere.”

Rafa took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice firmer. “Let’s find a way out of this place.”

They began to move cautiously, their torches casting flickering pools of light over the collapsed remains of the bakery. The once-familiar layout was now a chaotic jumble of debris and shadows. Broken beams jutted out at odd angles, and piles of rubble created treacherous paths through what used to be the seating area.

As they picked their way through the wreckage, the faint glow of the meteorite provided a steady point of reference. The front of the bakery, where the entrance had once welcomed customers, now opened into a darkness spreading into infinity.

Their torches barely reached the charred remains of the cloth shop on the other side of the street. There was a subtle smell of blood below the ash and dust floating in the air. Their prison took much more than the rumble bakery.

“We should circle the stone wall, and see if there’s a way out,” Marcos suggested after seeing the scope of their situation, his voice steady but cautious. “We don’t know how big this area is, but we need to start somewhere.”