The far side of the island wasn’t all that different from where Max had started. Same glistening shorelines. Same chirping bugs. Same deceptively serene jungle, where death might lurk behind any bush. But there was something quieter about this side. Not peaceful—just still. Like the whole forest was holding its breath.

  Max trekked along the treeline, scanning the beach ahead when something caught his eye. A hut. Rough-hewn and small, nestled near the surf like it had grown out of the sand itself. It looked old—too old to have been built recently, but somehow untouched by the wind or salt air.

  He froze. Not even taking a single breath.

  Nobody else was supposed to be here.

  Max’s heart thudded once, then steadied. Slowly, silently, he inched forward through the underbrush toward the hut. He’d barely taken three steps when a calm voice spoke just to his left.

  “Well, it’s about time. You took your sweet time finding this place.”

  Max spun, fireball forming in his palm. But there was no threat—only a man, maybe in his forties, standing half in shadow near the trees. He wore simple clothes, looked vaguely amused, and—Max blinked—wasn’t actually there.

  The man shimmered faintly. Not like an illusion, more like a memory being played back. Yet Max’s instincts didn’t scream danger. They didn’t scream anything.

  “You’re… not real,” Max said slowly.

  “Correct. I’m an Aura Image,” the figure replied. “More specifically, a projection left behind by a B-Grade System Administrator. You can call me Veyrin.”

  “Why are you here?” Max asked, warily lowering his hand.

  “Because you are.”

  Max raised an eyebrow.

  Veyrin chuckled. “You’re the reason I’m even able to activate here. Not everyone gets a visitor like me. Only those with what we call… anomalies. And you, Max Elion, are quite the anomaly.”

  He stepped forward, not disturbing the leaves underfoot.

  “You’ve probably noticed you’re different. Faster growth. Broader skill access. Unusual compatibility with spell types. That’s because you’re what the system classifies as a *Tricore Variant*.”

  Max tilted his head. “Meaning?”

  “Most integrated individuals form a single Core when their world awakens. A small portion—about ten percent—form *dual* cores, allowing them to wield two distinct energy paths. They gain stats at twice the rate of a standard integration.”

  “And me?”

  “You belong to the 1% of that ten percent. A Tricore. You gain three times the stats, potentially access all three Core paths, and—most importantly—you can endure exposure to multiversal forces long before your body is supposed to handle them.”

  Max blinked. “You’re saying I can… leave this world?”

  “Eventually. Travelers like you are rare, Max. Normally, someone needs to reach Tier 3—C-grade—before their body can survive trans-planar movement. You’ll be able to manage it at high Tier 5 or low Tier 4. Maybe even earlier, depending on how you develop.”

  Max stared at him, thoughts racing. “How many Travelers are there?”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “I can’t say.”

  “Who built the System?”

  “I definitely can’t say.”

  “Can’t or wont”

  “A little of both if I’m being honest”

  “Are there other worlds like mine? Other tutorials?”

  Veyrin smiled. “Yes. But how many, and where, and what they contain? That’s beyond your current clearance.”

  Max frowned. “Why tell me anything at all then, why not just let me continue wondering what the hell is going on?”

  “Because you deserve to know *why* you feel different. Why the world responds to you like it does. And because you’ll be a threat to certain entities far sooner than expected. Knowing you’re not crazy may save your life later.”

  The projection started to flicker.

  “Wait,” Max said quickly. “So what do I do next?”

  Veyrin’s form stabilized long enough to give him a final look.

  “Trust your instincts. Keep growing. And remember: the System rewards progress—but it *notices* anomalies. You’re on its radar now, Max. Whether that’s a good thing or not… remains to be seen.”

  With that, the image dissipated into mist and vanished.

  Max stood alone on the beach, the waves gently lapping at the sand. Sun still bright in the sky.

  He turned to the hut—silent, still, and now somehow emptier than before.

  “Well,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of his gear. “Guess I’ll keep moving.”

  But now… with a lot more questions than answers.

  Far away from the island, beyond Max’s perception, a shimmer of light reformed in the control room. Veyrin—now fully materialized—stepped out of the projection node, his robes settling as if gravity had finally reclaimed him. No longer just an echo, the man now radiated the unmistakable aura of a true B-grade entity.

  Gemly, seated at a terminal nearby, didn’t look up from his console. “Was that wise?”

  The mage known as Veyrin, titled The Arcanist of Bound Realms, brushed a bit of ethereal dust from his sleeve. “I gave him context. Nothing more. A little knowledge to steady his footing.”

  Gemly finally turned, brow heavy with concern. “He’s an anomaly. And you just confirmed it to him.”

  Veyrin looked back at the fading shimmer of his projection node. “He would have found out eventually. Better he hears it from us than from the wrong source.”

  “Still,” Gemly muttered, “if the Primordial Accord catches wind of this...”

  Veyrin’s lips tightened at the name.

  The Primordial Accord. The architects of the System. Ancient. Rigid. Unforgiving. They viewed the System not as a tool, but as a sacred law—and they despised anything that deviated from their perfect design. Anomalies, like Max, were more than mistakes in their eyes. They were heresies that needed to be erased from the multiverse.

  “They hate irregularities,” Gemly continued. “Despise them almost as much as the Undead.”

  Veyrin’s voice lowered. “Then let’s hope they never find out he exists.”

  The lights of the control room dimmed slightly, as if the System itself was listening.