Shackles of Survival

The last of the beast's cries echoed through the dense forest as it crashed to the ground, sending a wave of dust and broken foliage in every direction. Its body writhed in the final throes of life before finally lying still.

Connor and Jacob, bound together at the side, sagged to their knees, their bodies shaking beneath the strain of agony and fatigue. They breathed in ragged breaths, and open wounds spilled blood. With their enchantment exhausted, the glistening chains that had held the beast in place flickered and then vanished into thin air. The battle was over— but at a cost.

Connor's eyes, half-lidded, flickered between clarity and darkness. His head lolled to the side, bumping against Jacob's shoulder. Jacob was still conscious, but barely—his hand tightly gripped his brother's, holding on for both of them.

A flash of red caught Connor's blurry gaze—something severed, something wrong.

Where once their leg had been, now there was only a torn stump, and the other leg lay in a pool of blood on the jungle floor, disconnected from them, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

Connor stared, mind unable to fully process what he was seeing. A gory symbol of their loss—their shared limb, gone.

Suddenly, a sharp ding cut through the silence.

Ding!

You have leveled up!

Ding!

You have leveled up!

Ding!

You have leveled up!

Ding!

You have leveled up!

The words flashed before Connor's fading vision like some cruel joke. Before he could even react, darkness swallowed his mind, and he slumped fully against Jacob as their shared body collapsed.

Adventurers rushed toward them, shouting, but by the time they arrived, Connor and Jacob were already unconscious—their minds slipping into an endless void.

A fire flared gently beneath the shadows of tall trees somewhere else in the bush. Five figures sat around it, their words low and their faces tired.

A guy said, "You've been keeping an eye on them for three days straight," as he turned to face the woman resting against a tree with her arms crossed and her anxious, alert gaze. "Relax, Aria. That's an order."

Aria said nothing, her coat draped loosely around her, a damp cloth in hand. Her gaze never left the twins' still form beneath the tree, where they lay propped together, pale and unmoving.

Another man, more casual but grim, added, "You think they're gonna make it? We lost good people to that beast. Maybe helping them was a mistake."

A heavy silence fell over the camp.

For seven days, this routine continued—night turning to day, and day to night. Still, the twins did not stir.

Until—

"Hey! They're waking up!" a voice called out suddenly, snapping the group to attention.

Connor's head pounded as he slowly regained consciousness, every nerve screaming in pain. His body felt like it had been trampled by a stampede, and the weight of Jacob's head still resting against his shoulder reminded him of their connection.

He groaned, and Jacob stirred as well, muttering something incoherent in his sleep.

"Easy now," a woman's voice said gently. Aria knelt beside them, her blond hair tied back in a messy braid, her battered armor glinting faintly in the sunlight that filtered through the canopy. "You're both lucky to be alive."

Connor winced, trying to sit up, but pain lanced through his side—and through Jacob as well, the shared agony making them both gasp.

"The—leg," Connor rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Aria's face darkened. "It's gone," she said quietly, looking away.

Jacob groaned, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, there was only confusion—and then a small, delirious grin crept onto his face. "Connor… we leveled up," Jacob whispered, almost as if in a dream. "So many times…"

Aria blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Leveled up? Really?"

Connor turned his head sharply toward his twin, disbelief and anger rising. "Jacob, what the hell are you talking about?" he snapped, though his voice was hoarse.

Jacob, with an odd gleam in his eyes, said softly, "Just think 'Menu,' Connor. It'll pop up, trust me."

Connor stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Are you serious right now? We've lost a leg, Jacob! Our leg! What's the point of leveling up if we can't even stand?"

Jacob's grin faltered, but he met Connor's gaze with quiet determination. "I know," he murmured. "But we're not done yet. We can't be. We survive. Like always."

Connor clenched his fists, feeling tears prick at the edges of his eyes. His body trembled—not just from the pain but from the sheer weight of helplessness.

Then, beside him, Jacob whispered a single word:

"Menu."

Connor watched in disbelief as a faint blue glow appeared in front of Jacob—a system screen, floating in the air.

Jacob Orwin

Race: Human

Class: Summoner (Level 5)

Field of Discipline: Unassigned

Soul Abilities: Soul Flame Eternal Link

Bloodline Ability: (Locked)

Skills

{Imprint (Common)}

{Identify (Common)}

Stats

Strength (STR): +5

Dexterity (DEX): +5

Intelligence (INT): +5

Wisdom (WIS): +5

Defense (DEF): +5

Luck (LUK): +5

Speed (SPD): +5

Charisma (CHA): +5

Endurance (END): +5

Perception (PER): +5

Vitality (VIT): +5

"Sweet…" Jacob whispered, a soft grin forming again.

Connor blinked at the glowing screen, then glared at Jacob. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jacob looked at him, calm. "You can see it too, right? I told you."

Connor shook his head in disbelief. Everything was falling apart, and yet Jacob acted like it was nothing. But… maybe it wasn't nothing. Maybe this was a way out—a way to survive.

Still, the fear lingered.

As he looked around at the camp, Connor couldn't help but wonder: what if these people abandoned them now? Left them behind because they were crippled?

Suddenly, an unfamiliar sensation rushed through him, and before he could stop himself, a notification appeared:

Skill Activation: {Identify}

Above each adventurer, names flickered into view:

Lyle Prophet, a flamboyant blond man with sharp eyes.

Ari Prophet, the slim, quiet girl, clearly Lyle's sister.

Ramsey Neville, the towering man with bandaged fists.

Finn Michealson, distant and aloof.

Markus Oakland, the loudest of the group, spinning a sword with reckless flair.

Connor's breath caught as he realized the truth of their situation—they were completely at these strangers' mercy.

His hand twitched toward Jacob's, squeezing tighter as he stared at the space where their leg used to be.

"I'm not ready to die," Connor whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Jacob, hearing him, whispered back: "Then we don't."

Their fight was far from over.