Feyth leaned against the workbench, their arms crossed as they eyed Ciaran. “Your next task is to gather the materials to make a torch. We’ll need it for the underground. Without light, you won’t make it far.”

Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “What materials do I need?”

“Wood and gel,” Feyth replied. “The wood you already have, but the gel drops from slime monsters. You’ll have to fight them to get it.”

Ciaran hesitated, gripping his wooden sword tighter. “Fight monsters?”

Feyth smirked faintly. “Slimes are the weakest monsters you’ll encounter. A good way to start. I’ll show you how.”

They led Ciaran into the forest, stopping near an open glade where small, squishy creatures bounced lazily through the grass. The slimes glistened in the sunlight, their gelatinous bodies shimmering as they moved.

“Those are slimes,” Feyth said, pointing to a nearby one. “When you hit them, they’ll try to bounce at you. Watch their movements, dodge, and strike back. Go on.”

Ciaran swallowed hard and stepped forward, his wooden sword ready. The slime turned toward him, its body quivering as it hopped in his direction. His first swing was too slow, and the slime bumped into him, making him stumble back.

“Focus!” Feyth barked. “Pay attention to its rhythm!”

Ciaran steadied himself and tried again. This time, he dodged the slime’s attack and struck it squarely, slicing through its gelatinous body. The creature wobbled before bursting into a small pile of gel.

Panting, Ciaran picked up the gel and held it up to Feyth. “Got it.”

“Good,” Feyth said, nodding. “Now let’s head underground. You’ll need to mine ores, and while we’re there, we’ll craft the torch.”

They descended into a dark cave, Feyth leading the way with confident steps. The further they went, the colder and more oppressive the air became. Ciaran already had his pickaxe, a simple yet sturdy tool Feyth had pointed out earlier. It was time to put it to use. “Start mining the stone here. You’ll need to break through the layers to find the good stuff—iron, copper, and maybe even silver if we’re lucky.”

Ciaran swung the pickaxe against the stone wall, each strike sending small vibrations through his arms. Chips of stone fell to the ground, and with Feyth’s guidance, he began to unearth small veins of copper ore.

“Now,” Feyth said, gesturing to the workbench they’d set up near the entrance, “combine the wood and gel. Focus, just like you did with the sword.”

Ciaran placed the materials on the workbench and closed his eyes, imagining a torch. A faint glow enveloped the materials, and when he opened his eyes, a simple wooden torch lay before him.

“Not bad,” Feyth said, picking up the torch and lighting it. The flame cast long, flickering shadows across the cave walls. “This will do for now. Let’s go deeper.”

As they ventured further into the cave, Ciaran spotted something unusual—a wooden chest half-buried in rubble. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

Feyth approached the chest, brushing off the dirt. “It’s a chest. Survivors leave these behind when they can’t carry everything. Open it. Whatever’s inside is yours.”

Ciaran hesitated, then lifted the lid. Inside, he found several items: small red and blue bottles, and a strange golden band labeled ‘Aglet.’

“What’s this?” he asked, holding up the band.

Feyth smiled faintly. “That’s an Aglet. It’ll increase your movement speed. Wear it—you’ll need every advantage you can get. And those potions? Health and mana. Keep them close. They can save your life.”

Ciaran nodded, strapping the Aglet to his wrist and tucking the potions into his waist bag. As he took a cautious step forward, he immediately noticed something unusual. His movements felt lighter, quicker. Testing it further, he broke into a jog and then a full sprint around the cavern. His speed had noticeably increased, and he couldn’t hide his surprise.

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“It’s incredible,” he muttered, slowing to a stop. “I can really feel the difference.”

Feyth chuckled. “That’s the Aglet for you. Small enhancements like that can make a big difference in survival. Just wait until you combine it with other items.”

Ciaran nodded, excitement bubbling beneath his calm demeanor. With their haul secured, they made their way back to the surface and returned to Feyth’s shelter, the night already creeping in around them.

The next morning, Feyth didn’t waste any time. “We’re not done yet,” they said as Ciaran stretched and yawned. “Monsters aren’t the only threat. You need a place of your own—a safe haven.”

Feyth led Ciaran to an open area near the shelter. “Use the wood you gathered. Think about where you want to place the blocks, and the magic will do the rest.”

Ciaran frowned, skeptical, but obeyed. He placed his hand on the waist bag, imagining the wooden blocks appearing in his hand. One by one, they materialized. He pictured a wall, then a roof. The blocks floated into place, locking together seamlessly. Slowly but surely, a small wooden shelter began to take shape.

Feyth observed with a satisfied nod. “Not bad. But there’s more to a shelter than just walls and a roof. For it to be a proper haven, you’ll need a door, walls to fill the gaps, and furniture like a table and chair. Let’s get to it.”

Feyth walked Ciaran through the steps, starting with the wooden door. “First, gather more wood and place it on the workbench. Imagine a sturdy door, one that can keep out intruders.”

Ciaran followed the instructions, and with a faint glow, a wooden door appeared on the bench. He marveled at how the crafting system worked but quickly moved on to the next task under Feyth’s guidance.

“For the walls,” Feyth said, “use the leftover wood. Picture it covering the gaps in your shelter. This will keep out the wind and smaller creatures.”

Piece by piece, Ciaran crafted and placed wooden walls, sealing the shelter completely.

“Now for a table and chair,” Feyth continued. “These are basic necessities. Same process as before: imagine their shape and function.”

With Feyth’s help, Ciaran created a wooden table and chair, placing them neatly inside the shelter.

“And finally, a light source,” Feyth said, handing Ciaran the gel and wood again. “You already know how to make a torch. Place one inside the shelter to keep it lit at night.”

As the torch’s warm glow filled the small space, Feyth stepped back and assessed the work. “This is what makes a shelter suitable. It’s not just about safety—it’s about having a space that supports you.”

By the time the sun set, Ciaran stood before his finished shelter, a simple but sturdy structure that would keep him safe for the night.

As the stars appeared, Feyth called Ciaran back to the main shelter. Their expression was grave. “We need to talk.”

Ciaran sat by the fire, listening intently as Feyth began to speak. “There’s something you need to know. In fourteen days, the Blood Moon will rise.”

“The Blood Moon?” Ciaran repeated, his stomach sinking.

Feyth nodded. “It’s a phenomenon that began after the invaders came to Terralune. On that night, the moon turns red, and the monsters grow stronger. Zombies evolve, new creatures rise from the graves, and others emerge from the bottom of the ocean, and they don’t stop until everything living is destroyed. However, the Blood Moon only affects the surface, leaving the underground layers relatively untouched. But as quickly as it rises, the Blood Moon disappears with the dawn, leaving survivors a brief respite before the cycle begins anew.”

Ciaran’s grip tightened on his sword. “How do we prepare?”

“By getting stronger,” Feyth said simply. “We gather resources, craft better tools, and build stronger defenses. Surviving the Blood Moon isn’t easy, but it’s possible if you’re ready.”

Ciaran paused for a moment and asked, "You mentioned the Blood Moon affects only the surface. What do you mean by layers?"

Feyth raised an eyebrow, then nodded, as if deciding how much to explain. "This world has five layers," they began. "The highest is Space, followed by the Surface, then the Underground, and the Cavern Layer."

Ciaran tilted his head. "You said five, but that's only four."

Feyth’s expression turned unreadable. "It’s not the time for you to know about the fifth layer yet," they said curtly. "Focus on surviving what’s ahead."

Ciaran nodded, determination hardening his gaze. He didn’t know if he was ready, but he would do everything he could to prepare. The Blood Moon was coming, and he wasn’t about to face it unprepared.

—

The following morning, Ciaran woke up to an unsettling surprise. As sunlight streamed through the gaps in his shelter, he stretched, feeling a brief sense of calm. But when he turned around, his heart nearly stopped. A stranger was standing inside his shelter, casually examining the walls and furniture.

Ciaran instinctively grabbed his wooden sword, pointing it toward the intruder. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he demanded.

The stranger, a tall man with a scruffy beard and a mischievous grin, turned to face him. “This shelter is nice,” the man said nonchalantly. “I’ll move into this shelter.”

Ciaran blinked, utterly baffled. “What? No, this is mine! You can’t just take it!”

The man chuckled, leaning against the wooden table. “You’re new here, aren’t you? This world doesn’t work the way you think. Nice things don’t stay unclaimed for long. Better get used to it.”