Maya awoke to the sound of rushing water. She blinked her eyes open, the light from the sun filtering through the canopy of trees overhead. The world around her felt strangely vivid—the colors too bright, the air too fresh. She pushed herself up on her elbows, her senses gradually sharpening as she took in the surroundings.

  She was lying on the bank of a stream, the water sparkling as it flowed steadily past her. Tall trees surrounded her, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Everything felt serene, peaceful even, but as she sat up fully, a wave of confusion washed over her. Where am I?

  Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall how she’d ended up here, but her memories were hazy. There was a gap—a feeling of something missing, something important—but it was just out of reach.

  She looked down at herself, noting the simple, practical clothing: a rough tunic and pants, sturdy boots, and a leather belt around her waist. A small knapsack was by her side, and strapped to her thigh was a dagger in a worn leather sheath. Her fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of the dagger as she drew it out. The blade was sharp, well-maintained—she could feel the weight of it in her hand, comforting in its familiarity.

  Her eyes turned toward the stream, its water glinting in the sunlight as it meandered through the trees. A thought—or perhaps a memory—flashed in her mind: Follow the stream. She didn’t know where the idea had come from, but it felt right, instinctive. Water sources often led to civilization, or at the very least, to other people. The nagging sense that she needed to find others—though she couldn’t remember why—compelled her to move.

  She began walking, the forest growing quieter around her. As she moved, she struggled to piece together more of her fragmented memories. There was something she was supposed to be doing—some mission or goal. But each time she tried to focus on it, the thought slipped away, leaving only a frustrating emptiness.

  Time passed as she followed the stream, the forest around her growing darker with the setting sun. The trees thickened, their branches intertwining overhead, casting long shadows across the path. The air grew cooler, and with it, a sense of unease began to settle in. Shelter. She needed shelter soon.

  Just as worry began to take root, Maya spotted something in the distance. The stream curved around a large moss-covered boulder, and beyond it, she could just make out the faint outline of a dirt road. Her heart lifted. A road meant people.

  As she approached the road, however, the sight stopped her in her tracks. It was narrow, the kind of path that saw the occasional traveler or cart, but it was the overturned handcart lying on its side that immediately caught her attention. Abandoned. In a hurry.

  Her senses sharpened, and she stepped forward cautiously, her hand tightening on her dagger. There was something wrong here. The cart’s contents—sacks of grain, scattered tools—were thrown across the ground, as though they had been hastily discarded. But it was the figure lying next to the cart that caused her stomach to tighten.

  It was an older man, perhaps in his sixties, his body still and lifeless. His clothes were simple, worn by farmers or laborers, but they were stained with blood. Deep gashes marred his chest and arms, the blood pooling around him and soaking into the ground. Maya swallowed hard. This wasn’t an accident.

  She knelt beside the man, checking for any signs of life, but it was clear—he was dead. The wounds were fresh, the cuts clean and precise, as if made by a blade, suggesting an attacker who knew what they were doing. Bandits? Why kill him?

  Maya quickly scanned the area, looking for any sign of the attackers, but the road was deserted. They were gone. Still, the sight of the dead man filled her with a sense of urgency. I need to move.

  She considered her options. The road could lead to a town, but it could also attract more bandits. Still, it was her best chance of finding other people, of getting answers.

  Before leaving, she searched the cart and the man for anything useful. She found a sturdier knapsack, slightly larger than her own, and transferred her belongings into it. Realizing that whoever killed him might still be nearby, she moved off the road, sticking to the tree line where she could move quietly and keep out of sight. The setting sun stretched long shadows across the path, and she knew she needed to find shelter soon before darkness fully settled in.

  Just as she started searching for a place to rest, she saw a flickering light through the trees—a small campfire, barely visible. She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Someone’s there. But who?

  Maya crept closer, moving silently through the underbrush. As she drew near, she spotted two men sitting by the fire, talking in low voices. Their clothes were worn and dirty, their faces rough. As she listened in, snippets of their conversation made her blood run cold—jokes about how easy it had been to kill the old man and take his money.

  These are the ones who killed him.

  She glanced at the two swords leaning against a fallen log, their blades gleaming in the firelight. The men were armed, dangerous.

  Her mind raced, her pulse quickening. What should she do? Sneak past them? Wait for them to fall asleep and then deal with them? But that felt risky—if even one of them woke up, she'd be in serious trouble.

  Crouching behind a tree, the cold reality of the situation settled in. Taking them out now? Her stomach churned at the thought. She wasn’t a killer, but these men were dangerous. If she didn’t act, they might kill again.

  She tightened her grip on the dagger, preparing herself for what she had to do. It’s them or me. The thought was cold, but it was the truth. In this world, survival was everything, and she couldn’t afford to show mercy to those who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

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  Sitting quietly in the shadows, she watched the two men by the fire, passing a bottle between them. The longer she waited, the louder their voices grew. One of them stood, swaying slightly, muttering something to his companion. He turned away from the fire, stumbling toward the edge of the camp—closer to her.

  Maya held her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. She pressed herself closer to the tree, her body tense. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound. The bandit walked closer, oblivious to her presence, until he was only a few paces away. He stopped, and Maya could hear the soft tinkling of water as he relieved himself.

  Now.

  She crept around the tree, her movements silent and fluid. The bandit’s back was to her, and he was completely unaware of the danger lurking behind him. Dagger in hand, Maya took a deep breath to steady herself. Then, with one swift motion, she slashed her blade across his throat.

  The bandit let out a gurgled gasp, his hands instinctively going to his neck. Maya quickly wrapped her arm around his chest, lowering him gently to the ground as he bled out. His body twitched for a few moments before going still.

  Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, hands slick with blood. Her heart pounded in her ears. Wiping her hands on the man’s shirt, she quickly turned her attention to the second bandit. He was still sitting by the fire, unaware that his companion was lying dead just a few meters away. The bottle was in his hand, his gaze fixed on the flames, too drunk to notice the danger closing in.

  Moving slowly, her dagger still slick with blood, she approached the fallen tree where the bandits’ swords were propped up. Grabbing one, she tested its weight for just a moment before acting.

  Without hesitation, she lunged forward, driving the sword into the second bandit’s back.

  He let out a startled cry, dropping the bottle as he struggled to his feet. The sword remained lodged in his back, but the force of his movement yanked it from her hands. Staggering, the bandit turned to face her, his eyes wide with shock and fury.

  Frozen for a moment, she watched as he advanced, his movements slow and sluggish from the alcohol and the pain. Blood seeped from the wound in his back, and his breathing was ragged. He was still alive—still dangerous.

  With sudden strength, the bandit lunged at her. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing with all his might. Her hands flew to his wrist as she struggled to pry his fingers away, the air leaving her lungs, her vision darkening.

  She knew her strength wasn’t just in her arms—it was in her legs.

  With a surge of adrenaline, she brought her knee up, slamming it into his midsection. He grunted in pain, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free. The bandit staggered backward—straight into the fire.

  His clothes ignited, the flames starting to consume him. He thrashed about, screams echoing through the forest, but it was futile. The sword lodged in his back made it impossible for him to roll out, and within moments, he collapsed into the flames, his body going still.

  Maya stood frozen, trembling, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that pierced the night’s silence. Her hands shook as she stared at the charred remains of the bandit, her mind still reeling. What have I done?

  Two men. She had killed them. Bandits, yes, but they were still men. The weight of it pressed down on her, a heavy burden she wasn’t sure how to carry. Was it the right choice? The question echoed in her mind, but the answer remained elusive.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the faint glow of her virtual interface flicker to life. [New Skill Acquired: Stealth] [New Skill Acquired: Hunter].

  Her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at the words that hovered in front of her. They were clear, tangible, and utterly incomprehensible. She stood frozen for a moment, trying to process what was happening. Was this real? Was it some kind of hallucination?

  The interface continued to display more information.

  Name: Maya Pierce

  Level: 1

  Class: Unavailable

  Experience: 55/100 XP

  Skills: Stealth (1), Hunter (1)

  Strength: 91

  Agility: 108

  Constitution: 96

  Dexterity: 104

  Charisma: 101

  Intelligence: 106

  Wisdom: 102

  Perception: 105

  Health: 333/333

  Stamina: 284/302

  Mana: Unavailable

  The words hovered before her, their presence both strange and compelling. Her curiosity sparked, but so did an undercurrent of unease. The translucent screen hovered in her line of sight, filled with numbers, stats, and descriptions that seemed to quantify every aspect of her being. She focused on each attribute in turn, watching as brief explanations popped up beneath them. Strength, Agility, Constitution—these were more than just abstract concepts; they were the very essence of her physical and mental abilities, laid out in a way that was both fascinating and disconcerting. It was as if the world itself was dissecting her, categorizing her strengths and weaknesses with clinical precision.

  As she explored the interface, more details about her new skills, Stealth and Hunter, emerged. She realized these abilities had already shaped her actions, influenced her choices in this world. The interface, she understood, was a guide—a tool to navigate this strange reality. But it only raised more questions. Who—or what—was behind this? Why was this happening to her? And what did all of this mean for her future?

  The interface offered no answers. It just left her with more questions.

  The smell of burning flesh still lingered in the air. Maya knew she couldn’t stay here—not with the bodies lying nearby. She needed to get away, to distance herself from the camp before someone else came along.

  Maya moved swiftly through the camp, gathering anything of value. The pouch of coins the bandits had proudly boasted about earlier was now hers, tucked securely in her new knapsack. She also collected the food supplies they had carried—simple things, but enough to keep her going for a while. One of the men had a hunting knife sheathed at his side, and she attached it to her belt, grateful for the added protection it offered.

  The sword she had used to kill the second bandit remained lodged in his body, but Maya had no intention of retrieving it. The other sword, however, the one that had been propped up against the fallen tree, was still intact. She picked it up and tested its weight. It was heavier than her dagger, but sturdy. It felt solid in her grip, and she considered the possibility of using it.

  Though it wasn’t her preferred weapon, the sword could be useful. She strapped it across her back, knowing it would provide her with an additional option in case she needed it, though it wasn’t ideal for her style of combat. It might also serve as proof of her actions, should she need to explain herself to others. Or, perhaps, she could sell it or trade it for something more practical.

  With her newly gathered supplies and the sword on her back, Maya left the camp behind. She moved quickly and quietly, her footsteps light and purposeful. She didn’t glance back.

  It wasn’t long before she found a small hollow at the base of a tree, just large enough for her to curl up inside. She wrapped herself tightly in a blanket she had taken from the camp, her body still trembling from the adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

  Lying in the darkness, her mind raced. The faces of the bandits flickered in her mind, their final moments haunting her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of their blood on her hands. She had done what she had to do—she knew that—but the weight of her actions pressed heavily on her heart.

  Was this what it meant to survive? To be a warrior? Sleep came fitfully, her dreams haunted by fire and blood.