He signals to everyone to return to their seats and waits for them to be settled. Sinclair stood up, drawing the room’s focus with a measured ease. "If I may have your attention," he began, his voice steady. "I need to consult with Odin for a moment. Please, bear with me."

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his thoughts. The room watched in silence, aware of the gravity of a mortal communing with a god. A minute passed, and then he opened his eyes, a slight furrow in his brow.

"I've spoken with Odin," Sinclair said, addressing the room. "He won't join us today. His presence is... powerful. It can be unsettling for those not used to the... direct attention of a god he informed me."

Murmurs skittered across the room as Sinclair continued. "He's given me another task—a Myrkr to hunt. It's not urgent, but it must be done."

"A Myrkr? Here?" one of the council members whispered, his voice a mixture of fear and fascination.

"Not nearby, and not an immediate threat," Sinclair reassured them. "It exists in isolation. We have time. We also should be expecting the other humans that were sent off to tutorials returning soon."

"When are they returning?" another asked, her tone laced with the anxiety of the impending return of so many people they weren't ready for yet.

"Three days," Sinclair responded with confidence. "Odin says we should prepare. He'll provide more information later."

There was a collective intake of breath. The room felt smaller, the air charged with the weight of his words. Sinclair’s friends and family remained unflustered amidst the tension, their trust in Sinclair's leadership unwavering.

Sinclair surveyed the room, meeting the eyes of his companions and the new allies alike. "We have a lot to accomplish but I have faith we will come through this together. Look at everything that has already been achieved."

Eliondor's brow was furrowed, a mix of incredulity and concern evident in his voice. "You have direct access to Odin and can just call upon him? That is quite difficult for us to comprehend."

Sinclair met Eliondor's gaze, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I know it's perplexing," he admitted, his tone earnest. "And truthfully, it's just as bewildering for me. But this isn't some fleeting dream that I'll awaken from. It's the reality we live in, and it seems I must adapt and embrace it."

Around the room, the Beastkin chiefs exchanged knowing glances, their expressions solemn yet resolute. They nodded in silent agreement, a testament to their own journeys of accepting the stark truths of their world and striving to forge ahead amidst uncertainty.

Sinclair stood at the head of the room, surveying his attentive audience with a commanding presence. "Let's take stock of our infrastructure," he began, the strategy clear in his tone. "Currently, we possess one barn, one shed, five barracks, my residence, and this town hall. For the time being, those who can't be accommodated in the barracks will stay here. We’ll need to remedy this situation promptly, looking to erect at least six more living quarters."

A collective awareness of their resource deficiency hung in the air. Sinclair addressed it head-on. "As of this moment, we’re critically low on materials. Timber is something I can gather swiftly, but we're notably lacking in stone and metal. After this assembly, I'll be felling trees from here to the portal in a direct line. I'll need teams to follow for limbing and transporting the lumber back here. Our immediate goal is to fortify Wolf's Run—envisage another ring of defense enclosing our town. The mathematics of it can be sorted out later, but let's prepare for a significant influx of several thousand, even though such numbers may not be imminent. Growth is certain, and we will not be found wanting when it comes."

He paused, his next words heavy with import. "Now, onto a matter of a bigger scale—the planet’s tier will be ascending from F to E today. It appears to have regressed significantly upon its arrival here and must reclaim its former status. I’m unsure of the exact implications, but rest assured, the upgrade will commence following the conclusion of our meeting."

The room buzzed with the low hum of astonished whispers, as Sinclair’s announcement settled among them like a stone cast into still waters, the ripples of implication spreading far and wide.

"Beyond these walls, you'll find two new boards: one for quests, another for job listings. I’ve populated both with numerous tasks and positions—anyone is free to accept these provided they fulfill the specified requirements. We're in urgent need of skilled labor: blacksmiths, leatherworkers, carpenters, and more. Evaluate your people, identify those with the aptitude for these roles, and assign them accordingly," Sinclair instructed, his voice carrying the weight of leadership.

Elric, hesitant at first, raised his hand to capture Sinclair’s attention. Acknowledged with a nod, he ventured, "I’ll dispatch a request for non-perishable goods and any supplies that can be spared. We’ll sort out the compensation later, though I assure you it’ll be more favorable than the rates at the marketplace."

Relief washed over Sinclair, lightening the load on his mind. "Your initiative is greatly appreciated. Convey my gratitude to the City Lord for her support," he responded warmly.

His gaze then shifted to Hrondir, and he addressed the village representative with a proposal laden with gravity. "You stand independent of my domain, but I wish to amend that. I extend an offer for you to join the council, to have a voice for your village within our fold. Self-governance remains with you, but in times of need, we would stand united—your call is ours, and ours is yours. The potential for growth in this partnership is vast. Will you accept?"

The prospect sparked a fervent enthusiasm within Hrondir. He could barely contain the swell of pride at the prospect of allying with the revered Wolf Lord. With a broad grin, he proclaimed, "To march under your banner is an honor of the highest order. We accept wholeheartedly." Beside him, Bjorn echoed the sentiment with an affirming nod, sharing in the evident jubilation.

Sinclair swept his gaze over the gathered faces, noting their varied expressions of anticipation and uncertainty. "I've said my piece, and now there's much to tackle. Before we disperse, are there any questions or concerns?" His voice echoed with the finality of a leader ready to take action.

Eliondor rose to his feet, his hand hesitantly raised. Recognized with a nod, he voiced his uncertainty, "We find ourselves in unfamiliar territory, not by Odin's hand but by circumstance. We've barely been here a day. What is our place in this?"

A puzzled frown briefly crossed Sinclair's features. "My intention was to integrate you as part of our community. Did I not make that clear? You have suffered much, yet here you are, and I've heard nothing but good of your people. I presumed to count you among our citizens."

The realization dawned upon Eliondor. This wasn't mere refuge; Sinclair was extending them a place in a society, a home. Despite the shadows of their past pursuits by the nefarious Orcs, they were not merely survivors to Sinclair but a valued part of his burgeoning domain.

"We've long been accustomed to self-reliance, and no words can express our gratitude for your sanctuary," Eliondor said, the swell of emotion evident in his tone. "We pledge our allegiance to serve Wolf's Run and stand with you, grateful to call this place our home."

Sinclair's smile was heartfelt as he replied, "You're not just residents; you're family now, and always welcome here. Let's look forward to calling this place 'home' together."

With a final nod to the assembly, he imparted, "If there's anything you need, reach out to me, or to my parents if I'm not available." As he spoke, his fingers had deftly set up a group chat on his device, including his family, ensuring they would remain connected and informed as they attended to their respective responsibilities.

Sinclair had always been one for straightforward approaches, so it made sense when he began referring to his friends and his family collectively as just 'family'. It was easier and, in many ways, it was the truth. After the meeting dispersed, he shot a quick message to his family, a term he now used inclusively, asking them to stay behind as the other attendees excitedly checked out the new boards outside.

The air was alive with the sound of footsteps and murmurs as people claimed quests and discussed the various jobs posted. His family waited, understanding that Sinclair had more to share, details that weren't meant for the larger group's ears.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Once they were alone, Sinclair spoke up. "Alright, let's switch to a group chat. It’s better for privacy, and there’s a lot you need to hear that isn’t for public ears."

In the safety of their private chat, Sinclair began to unravel the intricacies of his situation.

**Sinclair:** "The mark on me—it's a cultivation system symbol. It's old, really old. It's from an experiment the system hasn't used in ages. Odin's looking into it for me. From what I gather, it's similar to those cultivation systems from Eastern traditions."

**Ed:** "Man, you always find the most bizarre things. I don't even know what to say to that. Good luck, I guess?"

**Bruce:** "But is it... safe?"

**Sinclair:** "As far as I can tell, yes. When I activated the Meridians in my feet, the benefits were immediate and tangible. I plan to unlock the ones in my knees next, bright and early."

**Amelia:** "You're planning to leave again already? You've just returned."

**Sinclair:** "It's just how things have to be for a bit, Mom. I've got to close these anomalies while you and everyone else build up this place and integrate the new folks."

**Rose:** "This thing with the planet leveling up—it's weird timing, isn't it? Just after you've gone through your own upgrade."

**Sinclair:** "Weird is one word for it. When that seed core was implanted in me, it linked me to Midgard. That’s another thing Odin's trying to figure out. The experience points you all need to level up were in the hundreds of thousands, but for me? It took millions. It seems that Midgard's progression is now somehow tied to my own."

Sinclair looks at them as they digest the information. It is a lot to take in. He again is being put forth like a guenie pig and it makes them nervoius what all he is going through. And he loves them all the more for it.

**Sinclair** "Alright. I am going to return to my room while you guys spread out to help around here. I am going to kick off the upgrade. I will take Chewy with me. Ed can relay information to Leia for you and she can send anything to me that is needed in case he needs to get my attention. I have no idea what this going to be like."

As they absorbed Sinclair's revelations, his family offered nods and words of assurance. Affectionate embraces were exchanged, and with each parting hug, a silent promise was made to support one another. With the meeting adjourned, everyone dispersed to their respective tasks, while Sinclair made his way to his quarters, craving a brief respite.

He had convinced himself that a quick shower and a mere ten minutes of lying down would suffice to refresh his mind. After days of relentless activity and near-death experiences, a short break seemed like a reasonable indulgence.

However, the moment his head touched the pillow, his exhaustion overtook him completely. What was meant to be a brief pause stretched into four hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep. When he awoke with a start, he found Chewy, his steadfast companion, slumbering peacefully beside him.

A twinge of self-reproach flickered through his mind as he registered the lost time. He was tempted to chastise himself for this unplanned lapse in his rigorous schedule, but he resisted the urge. Criticism would only squander more precious moments.

Acknowledging the necessity of rest, he shook off the remnants of sleep and focused on the tasks ahead. His body had enforced the break it required, and he conceded that in the grand scheme of things, these few hours were a small price to pay for the renewed energy he now felt. There was much to do, and Sinclair was ready to tackle it head-on.

Sinclair, still shaking off the fog of his unexpected slumber, moved to pull up the Midgard menu. A flashing banner caught his eye—a prompt to upgrade the realm. He hesitated for a moment, then with a deep breath, selected 'OK' and steeled himself for the unknown.

Contrary to his expectations, the transition commenced not with a cacophony but with a disquieting hush. There were no rending sounds, no quaking earth or tumultuous skies—just a silence that seemed too still.

Suddenly, the ground beneath him seemed to vanish, and Sinclair found himself hurtling into the void that had first greeted him upon his return to Midgard. Suspended in the abyss, surrounded by an omnipresent glow, he felt an eerie calm.

His gaze searched the void, and beneath—or perhaps above—him, he noticed a speck of light. Orientation lost its meaning here, but the light grew rapidly, surging toward him with increasing clarity.

Fear clutched at Sinclair as he braced for an impact he was certain would come; instead, the collision never happened. Momentum arrested, he was unceremoniously deposited onto solid ground, right at the feet of a vision of splendor—a woman of unparalleled beauty. She stood with a grace that defied the ordinariness of their surroundings, her skin holding the warm glow of the sun, and her eyes a shade of blue that outshone the skies.

But it wasn't just her appearance that captivated him. There was a palpable presence, an invisible yet undeniable force that seemed to connect them. It was not a connection of the flesh but of the spirit, a bond that bridged the gap between their very souls. This unseen tether was frightening yet exhilarating, akin to the precarious thrill that accompanies the beginning of every profound journey into the unknown.

"Hello, Sinclair. It seems we have matters to attend to. Do not keep me waiting like this again, or I will ensure you regret it," the imposingly beautiful woman stated flatly. Sinclair attempted to glean more information about her through his skills, but his efforts were in vain.

"Your attempts are futile here. This is a realm that exists between worlds. Why did you delay my upgrade?" Her tone, laden with annoyance, left Sinclair uneasy. Her commanding presence suggested immense power, and the clues hinted that she might be Midgard incarnate—or its embodiment.

"Wait... Midgard? You're a person?" Sinclair's words stumbled out as he made an effort to rise.

His attempt to stand, however, was thwarted by a swift motion from her, sending him back to the ground. "I am Jörd, and you should have recognized me when you bound our fates together!"

Sinclair was internally grappling with confusion. He hadn't knowingly bound anyone or anything to himself. As his linguistic skills translated her name to 'Earth', realization dawned upon him—she was indeed the personification of the planet.

"I apologize, Jörd. This was not my intention. I wasn't aware of binding you. It must have happened inadvertently when I received the world seed. I assure you, there was no conscious effort on my part."

Her stern expression softened slightly as she processed his words. "You carry a world seed within you? That cannot be—such seeds consume their hosts, using the acquired knowledge to assimilate the planet."

To corroborate his claim, Sinclair carefully opened his shirt, revealing the intricate constellation of marks and lines that had manifested on his skin following the implantation of the seed.

Sinclair's expression conveyed a blend of bewilderment and resolve as he spoke, "I can't explain why this has occurred, but it appears we're united in this venture. Could you clarify what you meant by 'waiting too long'?"

Jörd exhaled sharply, a mix of exasperation and urgency in her voice. "You received the notification for my upgrade and repeatedly disregarded it. For reasons unknown to me, I cannot initiate the upgrade on my own, and I have a multitude of tasks that require attention instead of lingering for you!" Her gaze bore into him with a renewed intensity.

Acknowledging the importance of not delaying the entity upon which his world depended, Sinclair made a mental note to prioritize such notifications in the future. Perhaps, he pondered, Jörd could shed light on the implications of this upgrade for him.

"So, what's the next step in this process?" he inquired, hoping to understand more.

Jörd spoke with a nonchalance that belied the significance of her words. "The planet is currently redistributing resources and manifesting new locales. Advancing from an F to an E grade isn't monumental, but you should anticipate an approximate 20% increase in planetary mass. This expansion encompasses resources, plant life, and wildlife."

Sinclair couldn't help but voice his concerns, although he risked sounding unappreciative or petulant. "I don't mean to seem ungrateful or complain, but how does any of this benefit me personally? All I've noticed is a drastic rise in the experience points required for leveling up." He hoped there might be a positive aspect he was overlooking.

For a moment, a storm seemed to brew behind Jörd's eyes, the threat of her ire palpable. But then, collecting herself, she considered his perspective. "It's a fair question," she began, her tone now laced with a trace of patience.

"I can bestow upon you a boon—a gift of sorts, which you might call a blessing. However, I require your oath that you will not delay my needs in the future," Jörd declared, her tone infused with an unyielding determination.

"I'll ensure that your upgrades take precedence, provided I'm not engaged in battle. It's unreasonable to expect me to abandon a fight to attend to notifications," Sinclair reasoned, to which Jörd nodded in agreement, as though the exception should have been self-evident.

"Very well, I accept your terms," Sinclair affirmed. At his consent, Jörd reached out, her fingers gently grazing his forehead. A surge of notifications bombarded his senses, but he resolved to review them later. A sensation of departure crept over him, indicating his imminent return to his own realm.

Jörd's voice softened, a hint of melancholy touching her eyes. "Thank you, Sinclair. The path we tread is complex. Upon your return, we shall communicate, albeit in a limited capacity. I will entrust you with quests—missions of priority that will aid the well-being of our shared planet. I implore you to approach these tasks with earnestness for our collective benefit."

The force drawing him back intensified, and as Sinclair transitioned back to his corporeal existence, he realized he had gleaned little in the way of tangible information. With a resigned exhale, he surrendered to the pull, finding himself once again in the familiar confines of his room, now bustling with the presence of his concerned comrades.

Sinclair surveyed the anxious expressions etched on the faces surrounding him and let out a light chuckle. "Judging by the sea of worry I'm waking up to, I must have indulged in quite the extended slumber. What's the harm in a prolonged nap?" he quipped, easing himself upright and stretching his limbs languidly. Amelia, his mother, edged closer, perching delicately on the side of his bed.

"You've been unconscious for two full days, Sinclair. I think we've ventured well beyond the realm of a 'nap'," Amelia replied, her tone laced with a mixture of relief and concern.

At her words, Sinclair snapped to attention, his posture rigid. A solitary finger raised in a silent request for pause as he registered the glaring red alerts populating his vision—a clear indicator of the magnitude of events that had transpired during his prolonged absence from consciousness.

System Message - Emergency Quest

Myrkr Found!

There is a Myrkr in the Salt Mines of Thorsgild. Eradicate it and any of its creations you find. It is sending out waves of creatures to the nearest towns and villages.

Rewards

Experience

Item

Gold

Accept Y/Y

Sinclair's mind churned with unease. The Myrkr must have advanced in the two days he was dormant. Looking to his parents, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and urgency, he asked, "Where are the others?" Though he posed the question aloud, a sinking sensation had already taken root, his instincts whispering their likely fate.

"Odin arrived, puzzled by your uncharacteristic silence. He seemed unable to fully discern your presence. Once the situation was clear, he enlisted the others on a quest to thwart the encroaching monsters until you could be roused," his mother explained, her tone even, betraying none of the chaos that surely reigned beyond their walls.

That revelation spawned a monstrosity of guilt inside Sinclair. His comrades were out there, facing unknown horrors, compensating for his absence. There was nothing he could have done differently, yet that did little to soothe his conscience.

"And Chewy and Leia?" His voice broke slightly as he scanned the room, his allies' absence a palpable void.

"They accompanied them to assist," his father said, his voice steady yet etched with an unspoken concern.

Frustration built within him, a heat that seemed to resonate with the room's air. Sinclair swung his legs over the bed's edge and stood with determination. It wasn't just anger at the situation—it was a fury at the system, at himself, at the unyielding currents of fate that seemed to conspire to keep him from acting.

With a rapidity born of necessity, he uttered a terse apology to his parents and activated the quest from his menu.

He landed with a thud in the midst of chaos incarnate. His senses were immediately bombarded with the sounds of battle—the clashing of steel, the screams of the wounded, the thunderous booms of explosive magic. The air was thick with the stench of smoke and blood, a haze that veiled the devastation spread before him. In the distance, fire painted the sky with orange and red hues, a canvas of destruction illuminated by violent flashes from ongoing combat.

A primal roar escaped Sinclair's lips, invoking the Visage of the Wolf. This was no mere call of the wild; it was a thunderous outcry imbued with his vehement disdain for the invaders, a sonorous wave that bore the weight of his fury and desire for retribution. With his roar still hanging in the tumultuous air, Sinclair surged forward, each stride an embodiment of the rage that fueled him, his eyes set unwaveringly on the nexus of the battle.