Jeremy was alone for the first time in his life. He took a slow breath, letting it all sink in. No siblings or parents nearby. Just him. Normally, he might have relished the freedom, the chance to do anything he wanted without anyone watching. But now, in the silence, he felt an odd mixture of excitement and uncertainty.

What should I do? he wondered, glancing toward the training room doors. There was an entire academy waiting for him to explore, but somehow, right now, this space was enough.

He felt the pull of curiosity lead him to the training room. Taking a deep breath, Jeremy turned the knob and stepped inside. The air changed immediately, cooler and filled with a faint, metallic scent. The room stretched out before him, vast and filled with an array of stations, each designed for a different type of training.

Where to start? he wondered, his eyes scanning the room. The possibilities were endless, and the thought of finally starting his years at the academy was both thrilling and overwhelming.

For now, he decided, he would let curiosity guide him.

Jeremy went over and admired the racks of polished weapons gleaming under the lighting. Swords, spears, axes, daggers, and more exotic tools of combat were meticulously arranged.

He approached the nearest rack, fingers brushing against the hilt of a longsword. The cold metal sent a shiver through him, its chill carrying an unmistakable sense of deadliness—a reminder that this was an object forged to kill. Jeremy lifted the sword from its stand, testing its weight. It was heavier than he’d expected, the balance perfect yet demanding. As he gave it a few experimental swings, he felt the strain in his arm, realizing the discipline and control this weapon would require. This was no wooden stick from his childhood games; it was something far more serious, something that required respect.

Training Longsword

Weapon

A longsword enchanted to be incapable of piercing flesh.

Body -

Not bad, he thought, but something about the sword didn’t quite click with him. Carefully, he placed it back in its slot and moved to the next rack.

A massive axe caught his attention next. Jeremy grasped the handle with both hands, marveling at its sheer size and weight. The weapon felt like raw, brutal power. But as he held it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t quite suit him. The axe felt too unwieldy for him.

Setting the axe down, Jeremy’s eyes wandered further down the rack until they landed on a spear. It was simple in design—just a long shaft with a pointed tip—but something about it drew him in. He reached out, gripping the spear’s smooth wooden handle, feeling a rush of familiarity and comfort.

Memories surfaced, unbidden but welcome. He saw himself as a child, running through the fields with Andrew and Alicia, wooden sticks in hand, pretending they were mighty warriors. The spear had always been his weapon of choice back then, an extension of his imagination and dreams. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips.

It felt right then, he mused, twirling the spear lightly in his hands. And it feels right now.

For a moment, he considered sticking with the spear, dedicating himself to mastering it. But then another thought pushed its way forward—a reminder of the amulets he wore, gifted by his parents. They were powerful, designed to enhance his abilities and potential in ways most students could only dream of.

Why limit myself? Jeremy thought, a spark of ambition igniting within him. With these amulets, I can master more than just one weapon. I can explore everything.

The idea thrilled him. He envisioned himself wielding not just the spear, but the sword, the axe, and whatever else the academy could offer. There was no need to choose a single path when he had the means to explore them all.

Placing the spear back on the rack, Jeremy took a step back, his gaze sweeping across the rows of weaponry. Each one held its own potential, its own lessons. And he was determined to learn from all of them.

“I’ll start with everything,” he murmured to himself, his confidence growing. “One by one, I’ll unlock every Skill.”

Finishing with the weapons, his gaze shifted to the far corner of the training room. There, the ambiance changed subtly. The air seemed heavier, almost suffocating with an unseen energy. A faint glow emanated from intricate runes etched into the floor, forming a large, circular magic circle. Surrounding the circle were several smaller pedestals, each adorned with a different elemental symbol—fire, water, earth, air, and more abstract forces like light and shadow.

Jeremy approached cautiously. The magic section of the training room was both alluring and intimidating. He had always been fascinated by magic—of making his enemies vanish like what his mother could do. Yet, as he stood before the glowing runes, his mother’s warning echoed sharply in his mind:

"Never train magic without supervision. Magic is fueled by your soul. Without proper guidance, it will drain you completely, killing you."

He shuddered, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. His mother had always been serious, but when it came to magic, her tone had been one of stern caution, even fear. She’d told him stories of young, prodigious individuals who’d overestimated their control, only to be consumed by the very power they sought to wield.

Jeremy stepped closer to one of the pedestals. The flames of the fire pedestal seemed to dance, flickering as if alive. He reached out, his hand hovering just above it. The warmth radiating from it was tempting, the idea of summoning fire from his own soul thrilling.

I could try... The thought flickered in his mind, tempting him. Just a small spell. Something simple.

But then, he clenched his fist and pulled his hand back. No, he thought firmly. Not here. Not alone.

He turned away from the pedestal, crossing his arms as he paced around the magic circle. The training room’s silence was broken only by the soft hum of the runes, a constant reminder of the latent power waiting to be unleashed.

Still, the allure of magic was undeniable. It wasn’t just about power; it was about understanding and mastering forces beyond the physical realm. The thought of shaping reality, bending the elements to his will, stirred something deep within him.

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Taking a deep breath, Jeremy stepped back from the magic circle. Magic will come later, he resolved.

He turned his attention back to the rest of the training room. There were other areas to explore, other skills to hone. For now, the mysteries of magic would wait. He would respect his mother’s wisdom and focus on what he could safely master.

He sighed, letting the tension drain as he moved toward the far side of the training room where the crafting area awaited.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The metallic hum of the magic section gave way to the softer, homelier ambiance of the crafting area. It was a well-organized space, filled with everything from woodworking tools to alchemical equipment. But what caught Jeremy’s eye most was the kitchen setup—a compact yet fully equipped culinary station, gleaming under the gentle overhead lights.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since Eldoria. The thought of food made his mouth water, but there was no prepared meal waiting for him. Instead, he found himself staring at an impressively well-stocked pantry. Shelves seemingly enchanted to preserve its contents were packed with vegetables, herbs, spices, and everything he could imagine, making his fingers itch to try cooking.

While Jeremy could easily head to the academy’s canteen for food or even have a meal delivered by staff, he figured he might as well try cooking now that he was finally alone. The idea of making something himself had a certain appeal, especially with the freedom to experiment.

Jeremy rubbed his hands together, a spark of excitement flickering in his chest. Why not? he thought. Let’s see what I can do.

He scanned the shelves, settling on familiar ingredients that brought back memories of his mother’s cooking. Maybe he could try to make her vegetable and herb stew—a hearty dish she’d whip up on cold nights.

Taking onions, carrots, potatoes, and a bundle of herbs from the shelves, he set them on the counter, recalling how she’d chop and stir with practiced ease, the smell of simmering broth filling the kitchen. Gripping the knife, he took a steadying breath, feeling a hint of nervous excitement. How hard could it be? he thought, hoping to capture even a little of her warmth in the dish.

With a confident grip on the knife, he began slicing. The first few cuts were clumsy; the onion rolled awkwardly, nearly escaping the board. Undeterred, Jeremy adjusted his grip and tried again. Slowly, the pieces began to resemble barely uniform slices, though not without the occasional cut of his finger—quickly remedied with a cloth.

Next, he recalled how his mother would start her stew. He poured oil into a pot and set it over the stove, adding chopped onions and garlic in the process. He continued chopping the rest of the vegetables as he watched the pot, leveraging his Multitasking. , letting him seamlessly switch his attention between chopping and the sizzling sounds of onions and garlic cooking in the pot beside him.

Steadying his grip, he fell into a rhythm. The knife moved more confidently, the vegetables taking shape in uniform slices with a surprising ease. Meanwhile, the aroma of the onions and garlic tugged at his memories of home. He smiled. Maybe this would work out fine.

A few minutes later, he tossed in the vegetables and stirred the pot, just like he saw her do countless of times. He tried to let the vegetables cook gently, softening, but as the minutes went, he grew impatient. He turned up the heat, hoping to speed things along.

But soon, a smell rose from the pot—a reminder of why patience mattered. The vegetables at the bottom had started to burn.

“Damn,” Jeremy muttered, pulling the pot off the stove. He scraped the burnt chunks of the bottom of the pot and started over, determined to get it right.

This time, he kept the heat low and stirred more frequently. The steps were familiar, his movements a little bit smoother. When the vegetables finally softened without burning, he added water and salt, watching as the pot began to resemble broth. Still, as he tasted it, he realized something was missing—the flavor was nothing compared to his mother’s.

Jeremy sighed. Cooking isn’t as easy Mom made it look. Reaching back into the pantry, he grabbed a few herbs and added them slowly to the stew. Another aroma began to fill the air, and this time, it was close to what he remembered.

After letting it cook down, he took a sip. The taste wasn’t perfect—slightly watery, the vegetables a little bit too firm—but it was closer to the meal his mother used to make. A small sense of pride swelled in his chest. Not bad for a first try.

Encouraged, he continued, adding more herbs and a pinch of salt, letting each adjustment bring him closer to the taste that he remembered vividly in his mind. Hours passed in a blur of trial and error, and by the end, Jeremy was starving. He sat down with a bowl of vegetable and herb stew that looked and smelled almost like his mother’s.

Tasting a spoonful, he smiled. The flavors were earthy and warm, the broth simple yet satisfying. It wasn’t quite hers, but it was close enough to feel like home—a taste he hadn’t realized he missed so much.

As he leaned back on his chair, the satisfaction gave way to loneliness. His mind drifted to the kitchen back home, his mother stirring the pot while Alicia watched, her giggles filling the room, a warmth he realized he had taken for granted.

The silence of the training room enveloped him in its emptiness. This was nothing like home. There was no laughter here, no comfort. Just him, alone with his thoughts. He tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat, but it wouldn’t go away. The grief he’d buried for days finally clawed its way to the surface.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. He hoped to maintain control, but it was no use. Another tear followed, then another. He began to shake, the weight of everything crashing over him—Alicia’s death, his mother leaving, the forced happiness he’d tried to muster as trained with Andrew and his father.

He buried his face in his hands, the sobs breaking free. The ache in his heart, dulled by days of forced focus, was unbearable now. He hadn’t let himself feel it. He hadn’t allowed himself time to mourn, to accept the fact that Alicia was gone forever.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice choked. “Why did she have to die? Why did Mom have to leave? I only wanted us to be happy forever.” His words trailed off into a cry, his grief pouring out, unrestrained. In his mind, he could still hear Alicia’s laugh, see the twinkle in her bright eyes, and savor the final smile she gave him that morning.

Jeremy’s hands shook as he tried to breathe, his chest heaving with the weight of missed moments, and lost family. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to be brave, but in this moment, he couldn’t. All he felt was the terrible emptiness in his life.

Finally, as his sobs subsided, he stared up at the ceiling, exhausted. The room was silent once more, but it was a different kind of silence—heavy, and strangely cathartic.

Skill Unlocked: Cooking

Cooking - Basic

Level -/10 - 100 essence

Convert ingredients into flavors greater than the sum of its parts.

The work of the hand, the whisper of flame, the rhythm of preparation.

Mind -

The notification felt strangely empty. Jeremy managed a faint, tired smile. He had done it—through persistence and experimentation, he had not only fed himself but also unlocked a new Skill. It was different from his training with his father. Quieter, more personal, but no less meaningful.

As the last spoonful of stew warmed him from the inside, Jeremy’s thoughts turned to tomorrow. The official orientation, the true beginning of his academy journey was just around the corner.

He imagined the grand hall filled with students from every corner of humanity. He thought of his father’s words from back in Eldoria—that people would do whatever he wanted, that friends and even enemies would bend to his will if he asked them to. He had the power to shape his academy life as he pleased. But how much of it would feel real?