I felt nothing. No sensation, no weight, no temperature. My body vanished. Yet, somehow, I was still conscious. Aware. Thinking. I was adrift in a boundless void, with no sense of direction or understanding of what had transpired.

Had I died? Had I failed?

Panic bubbled up inside me, clawing at my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. My thoughts spiralled, my sense of self fraying at the edges, but before it could seize me, a presence made itself known. It entered my consciousness not through sound, for I had no ears to hear, but as if it had always been there, waiting to be discovered.

"Welcome, traveller," the voice boomed, its tone instantly familiar—the same unearthly voice that had buzzed through my radio. As before, the gender remained a mystery. It had an eerie, otherworldly resonance, as though it echoed from a distant place beyond time, carrying both warmth and an unsettling detachment. The voice surrounded me, close yet distant, familiar yet unattainable. The tone was unlike anything I had ever heard, timeless and otherworldly. "You have crossed the threshold into a new realm. Before you can proceed, you must select a class."

Class? What did that mean? I attempted to reply, to speak, but lacked the mouth, the breath, the means to form words. I felt as if someone had taken away all physicality from me, leaving me with only pure consciousness floating in this strange void. Somehow, the voice understood my confusion.

“A class defines your abilities, your strengths, and your role in this world.” The voice washed over me like warm water. “Based on your life experiences and some random choices, we offer you the following options.”

Words and images, shimmering in the nothingness, emerged before me in the dark void.

Survivor: Skilled in adapting to harsh environments and finding resources in unlikely places.

Guardian: Protector of the weak, with enhanced strength and defensive abilities.

Scout: Expert in stealth and reconnaissance, able to navigate treacherous terrain.

Medic: Talented in treating injuries and illnesses, helping both body and mind.

Rancher: Skilled at raising plants and taking care of animals.

I stared at the glowing words and ethereal figures before me, their light throbbing in the darkness. Each class was represented by a translucent form that shifted and moved with purpose—a Survivor deftly crafting tools from scattered debris, a Guardian standing firm with protective stance shielding others behind them, a Scout moving silently through shadowy terrain while marking safe passages, a Medic tending to the wounded with gentle, practiced hands, and a Rancher nurturing crops and calming distressed animals with a reassuring touch.

The figures performed their endless demonstrations as the words beneath them shimmered, casting a faint, ethereal glow that seemed to seep into the surrounding darkness. Each spectral form told a story of survival and hope in this harsh new world—not through mystical powers, but through practical skills and unwavering determination.

The letters and images pulsed in unison, and I could almost feel the energy radiating from them, like a gentle hum vibrating through my consciousness. I tried to make sense of what was happening. A class selection? This felt like a video game, a tabletop RPG—surreal, but real. I knew I had to choose, but as I considered each option, watching their spectral demonstrations of vital skills, frustration built up inside me.

Survivor. That sounded practical, considering what I had gone through, living off the land and scrounging to survive in the desolate world I had left behind. Was I truly eager to continue that? Living a lonely, scavenging existence in another place seemed a little different from what I'd already experienced. Condemned to endure the same pattern, would I be forced to survive but never experience life in its entirety?

Guardian. The idea of being strong, of protecting others, had some appeal. But I wasn’t a fighter. I wasn't some heroic figure who could stand on the front lines, shielding the weak. It sounded like a path that would demand constant social interaction, something I wasn’t ready to commit to.

Scout. The skills of a Scout—stealth, reconnaissance—sounded useful, especially in a dangerous new world. But it also sounded like a military role, constantly on the move, navigating treacherous terrain and, once again, playing a part in some greater mission or conflict. I was unsure about wanting that.

Medic. Healers mend physical and mental wounds. I admired their strength to help others, but couldn't picture myself in that role. The constant socializing and responsibility for others' well-being felt overwhelming.

Rancher. I liked animals—back home on the farm, taking care of them had been one of the few things that brought me peace. But raising plants and tending livestock for the rest of my life? It didn't feel like me. It didn’t feel like the future I wanted.

Music was absent from all these options, the ultimate frustration.

Anger and disappointment welled up inside me. After all my endurance, only roles and boxes remained? Where was my true path, my passions? In this world, my music, my lifeline, had no meaning.

"No," I thought, the silence echoing. "These roles misrepresent me.

A pause descended, the silence stretching without end. The voice had gone silent. Had I made a mistake? Would they cast me back into the dying world I had left behind, rejecting me for daring to refuse the options presented to me?

However, unexpectedly, the voice came back. This time, its tone hinted at curiosity, as if my words had caught its attention.

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“Ah. You seek passion’s path. Few ask for more. Most accept their given choices. You dare differently.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time since this strange process began, I felt a glimmer of hope.

"Indeed, there is such a class, though it is less commonly chosen. Allow me to present: The Bard."

A new figure materialized before me, its ethereal form shimmering with an energy distinct from the others. This spectral Bard stood with quiet confidence, a guitar slung across its back. Its translucent form shifted between scenes—performing in grand halls before adorning nobles; music bringing tears to the eyes of hardened warriors; playing in humble taverns where weary travelers found solace in the stories of distant lands; entertaining children in village squares as their parents forgot their troubles for precious moments. Each scene showed how the Bard's music touched something profound in its listeners, transforming ordinary moments into memorable experiences.

As I watched, the ethereal Bard showed its mastery over emotions—bringing raucous laughter with a comedic tale, drawing tears with a tragic ballad, inspiring courage with an epic saga. In royal courts, its songs preserved histories and celebrated great deeds. In common gatherings, its music united communities, turning strangers into friends through shared experiences. Its presence carried the weight of centuries of storytelling tradition, showing how a skilled Bard could touch hearts and change minds with nothing more than words and melody.

The sight resonated with something deep inside me, calling to both who I was and who I needed to become. This was more than music; it was about building relationships, nurturing heritage, and using song to brighten difficult times.

"The Bard holds a revered position in our society. They are the keepers of our stories, the voices of our history, the hearts of our celebrations. Through their performances, they can lift spirits in times of hardship, calm tensions in moments of strife, and unite people in shared emotion. While other classes might fight with weapons or heal with medicines, the Bard's power lies in their ability to touch souls and transform moments through the universal language of music."

My mind raced with possibilities. The Bard class seemed to align with my deepest passion—music had always been my escape, my way of expressing myself when words failed. The idea of wielding melody as something more, as a force that could shape reality, made my heart race with excitement.

But then that familiar anxiety crept in. The way this world viewed Bards—as performers, entertainers, always in the spotlight—made my stomach twist into knots. I'd always dreamed of being a musician, but my social anxiety had kept me playing alone in my room, or in quiet corners where no one could hear. The thought of performing in crowded taverns, of being the centre of attention, sent a wave of panic through me.

I could take the safer route, choose the Survivor class. It would let me stay in the shadows, rely on myself like I always had. But something about that felt wrong, like turning my back on my true self.

A thought sparked: Why accept their Bard definition? New worlds need new rules. Maybe I could forge my path, reshape what it meant to be a Bard. Instead of playing for crowded taverns, I could create music for the world itself—for empty forests and silent mountains, for anyone who heard it from afar. I could use my music to affect change without putting myself at the centre of attention.

Memories of playing guitar under the stars flooded my mind—the music silencing the night, offering solace when nothing else did. Music rang true, guiding me forward. Its tranquillity could shape this world—my way.

The Bard wasn't just a class—it offered the chance to finally become who I'd always dreamed of being, but on my own terms. Old traditions await change. I could create something new, something that worked with my nature rather than against it.

"System? Wait - can I ask you something first?"

"Yes, Brendan?"

I took a deep breath. "Why did you save Earth? Why did you bring me—and others—here?"

A pause followed, and when the voice returned, it carried a hint of sadness. "I knew your planet was dying, Brendan. The virus, the environmental collapse, the wars—it was all leading to an inevitable end. I used all of my energy to open portals across the planet, trying to save as much of humanity as I could. But I could only keep the portals open for a couple of days."

The weight of this information pressed down on my shoulders. "Could you do it again?" I asked, a flicker of hope in my voice. "Could you save more people?"

"No, Most of humanity died in the first wave. The survivors hide in bunkers, but they're only prolonging the inevitable. The virus has evolved - it found a home in wildlife, turning every living creature into an unwitting carrier. They spread it without ever falling ill themselves. The world you remember, Brendan... it doesn't exist anymore."

I felt my knees weaken, and I sank to the ground, overwhelmed by the finality of it all. My past world and people vanished.

But the system wasn't finished. Its voice sharpened. "Brendan, the humanity I saved—including you—I may call upon for help in the future. Your skills, your determination, your ability to adapt—these will be crucial in the times to come."

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. Despite the crushing weight of what I'd just learned, I felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you, system, for saving those that you could," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

As I processed everything, my mind drifted back to the choice before me. Music could heal souls in this mysterious world—connecting, inspiring.

"I choose the Bard," I thought firmly, my mind clear with the decision.

"The path of the Bard is not an easy one," the voice responded, its tone calm and steady. "But it holds great potential for those with the passion and dedication to master it. Are you certain this is the class you wish to pursue?"

I didn’t hesitate. "Yes, I’m certain."

"So be it," the voice replied.

The world pulsed clearer. Colours appeared more vibrant, sounds more crisp. My body felt... different. Altered in some fundamental way I couldn't quite grasp, not stronger or weaker, but different. It felt as though every fiber of my being had unraveled and then rewoven, creating a tapestry both familiar and foreign.

I flexed my fingers, rolled my shoulders, and took a deep breath. Everything worked as it should, and yet nothing felt quite the same. My muscles responded with a balanced efficiency I hadn't known before. My mind felt liberated from the biases of my previous strengths and weaknesses.

Standing there, basking in this strange sensation of renewal, a peculiar thought struck me: I felt profoundly average. Not disappointingly, but in a state of perfect equilibrium. I was reborn, a clean slate ready for growth and development.

As my senses adjusted to this new reality, the landscape materialized around me. I stood in the middle of a vast, rolling field, the grass beneath me soft and green, swaying in the breeze. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue, dotted with clouds that drifted across the horizon. In the distance, I could see towering mountains, their peaks capped with snow, and beyond them, a forest so thick and dark that it seemed to swallow the horizon.

The air was crisp and clean, filled with the sounds of birds singing and leaves rustling in the wind. Peace and serenity pervaded, a stark contrast to the world I'd abandoned. I could hear the distant trickle of a stream, the rustling of small creatures moving through the grass, and somewhere far off, the echo of a howl that sent a shiver down my spine.

For a moment, I just stood there, breathing in the unfamiliar air, feeling the weight of my new reality settling in around me. I had made it. I had crossed the threshold into this new realm, and now the journey began.

I reached down and touched the grass, feeling its softness between my fingers, the scent of earth rising with it. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a reminder that I was here, alive. A mix of relief and wonder washed over me, grounding me in this new reality. Finally, I connected—rooted to reality. Power surged through me, undeniable. I could feel it, a hum just beneath the surface, waiting for me to tap into it, to let it flow through me. Music had always been my refuge, my escape from the harshness of life, and now it was my weapon, my gift, my magic.

I had chosen the path of the Bard, and now I would see where that path would lead me. It was time to begin my journey, one note at a time, one melody after another, until my music became a part of this new world, as much as it was a part of me.