Prologue

The constant noise of the plane's engines was steady, almost soothing. I shifted in my seat, the thin, blanket wraped around my legs. My eyes, focused on the see of clouds on the window, shifted to the book in my hands. But my eyes weren't focusing on the words anymore. Instead, my thoughts were somewhere else, drifting back to that mid-August day—the day everything changed.

Well, I guess I should start from the beginning. Or at least, somewhere close. My name's Gabriel, but everyone just calls me Gabs. Nice to meet you, I guess.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Change. The big kind, the kind you don't see coming until it slams into you like a truck. Growing up in the countryside of Brazil, with its endless fields and slow afternoons, I used to dream. You know, the kind of dreams people tell you to let go of because "that's not how the real world works." I wanted to be someone—someone important, someone whose name people actually knew. I wanted to shine.

My thumb traced the frayed edge of the book's page, a nervous rhythm I couldn't seem to stop. The tiny window beside me framed a world that felt impossibly distant—clouds stretched endlessly below, their soft, pillowy expanse glowing faintly in the afternoon sun. My reflection hovered faint in the glass, a ghost of myself. I shifted in the stiff airplane seat, the armrest digging into my side as I leaned closer to the window, trying to ground myself in the present. But my mind kept drifting, tugged backward like a kite in the wind.

I pressed my forehead against the cool pane, my breath fogging a small patch of the glass. My chest felt tight as I recalled those days. I flexed my fingers around the book in my lap, the worn cover creasing under my grip. I hadn't realized how hard I was holding it.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, but the past rushed in like a flood: the tin roof rattling in the wind, the metallic scent of rain leaking through cracks in the ceiling, the sound of my parents' hushed voices late at night, talking about bills they couldn't pay. I forced myself to exhale slowly, releasing the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Opening my eyes again, I stared out at the endless expanse of clouds. They looked so peaceful, so impossibly perfect, like nothing bad could ever happen up here. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was teetering on the edge of something fragile, something that could break if I thought about it too hard—if I said it out loud.

My thumb brushed the edge of the page again, slower this time, as if the movement alone could smooth out the restless energy buzzing under my skin. I leaned back into the seat, trying to look relaxed, like I belonged here. Like this was normal. My gaze drifted out over the horizon, the clouds stretching endlessly below, and for a moment, the weight in my chest loosened. Just slightly. It was real. It had to be.

That August, I wasn't anyone special. Just a guy with big dreams and no map to get there. Just another kid from nowhere, trying to outrun the odds. But the system—it didn't just show me the way; it forced me to take it. Every step, every choice, every moment, like it was daring me to give up. And I almost did. More times than I'd like to admit.

But here I am now. Business class. On a flight to Hollywood, of all places. I could laugh just thinking about it. Hollywood. Me. If the kid under that tin roof could see me now, he'd probably think I'd lost my damn mind. Maybe I have. It's funny how life works, isn't it? But we'll get to that part.

First, let me tell you how it all began.

At first, I thought it was just my imagination. A glitch in my brain, some cruel trick from the universe. What else could it have been? A screen—an actual screen—floating in front of me, clear as day, asking if I wanted a chance to make my dreams come true. It sounds ridiculous, right? You're probably thinking I was sleep-deprived or losing it entirely. Believe me, I thought the same thing.

I brushed it off, of course. I mean, what kind of sane person wouldn't? I figured I was hallucinating. Stress, maybe. Or lack of sleep. But the thing was... it didn't go away. No matter how many times I blinked, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, it just stayed there. Waiting.

And that's when the doubt crept in. Not about the screen—no, that was real, no matter how much I wanted to pretend it wasn't. The doubt was about me. About whether I was the kind of person who could even take that chance. I mean, who was I kidding? A kid from nowhere, trying to play in the big leagues? It was insane.

The seatbelt sign pinged, snapping me out of my thoughts. The plane began its descent, and the familiar knot of nerves tightened in my stomach. Even now, after everything I'd accomplished, that feeling never went away. It was the price of this life, I supposed—always walking the tightrope between excitement and terror.

As the plane touched down and taxied to the gate, I tucked my book into my bag, straightened my jacket, and took a deep breath. The low murmur of the flight attendants faded into the buzz of anticipation humming in my chest. I could already feel it—the crowd.

The door hissed open, and the sound hit me like a tidal wave. Screams. Shrieks. The kind of noise that vibrated through your bones and made your ears ring. Cameras flashed like strobe lights, blinding and relentless, their bursts painting the jet bridge in sharp, white light.

"GABRIEL! GABS! OH MY GOD, IT'S HIM!"

"GABRIEL, OVER HERE!"

"SIGN MY POSTER, PLEASE!"

I hadn't even stepped out yet, and they were already losing it. My name was everywhere—on signs held high above their heads, in the chants that rippled through the crowd, on everyone's lips.

When I finally stepped into view, the reaction was instant and overwhelming. The screams reached a fever pitch, a wall of sound that slammed into me like a physical force. Fans surged against the barriers, arms stretching out as if they could pull me closer through sheer will.

"GABRIEL! LOOK THIS WAY!"

"GABS, CAN I GET A SELFIE?"

"PLEASE! JUST ONE PICTURE!"

Hands clawed at the air, fingers clutching at posters, notebooks, and pens. A girl near the front burst into tears the moment she caught sight of me, her sobs audible even over the chaos. Another fan, wild-eyed and desperate, waved a handmade sign that read "MARRY ME, GABS!" in glittering letters.

Security struggled to hold the line as the crowd pushed forward, the metal barricades groaning under the weight of their enthusiasm. Someone's hand brushed my sleeve, and I instinctively stepped back, only to hear a chorus of disappointed cries.

"GABRIEL, PLEASE! JUST ONE AUTOGRAPH!"

"YOU'RE MY HERO, GABS!"

The flashes kept coming, faster and brighter, the paparazzi shouting over the fans in a chaotic frenzy.

"GABRIEL! GABRIEL, IS IT TRUE YOU'RE DATING LANA?"

"IS IT TRUE YOU'RE SIGNING ON FOR THE NEXT BLOCKBUSTER?"

"GABRIEL, LOOK HERE! GABRIEL!"

For a second, I froze, the intensity of it all threatening to overwhelm me. It was pure chaos, charged with their energy, their adoration, their desperation. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once. My heart pounded in my chest, and I fought the urge to turn around and bolt back onto the plane. That's when I saw Roberto, my manager, cutting through the chaos like a shark in a suit. He was grinning, calm as ever, like this was just another day at the office.

"You ready for this, Gabs?" he asked, his voice cutting through the noise as he clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Always." I replied, forcing a smile. My voice was steady, but my hands were clammy, my pulse racing like a runaway train.

With a nod, Roberto signaled to the security team, and they parted the crowd just enough for me to step forward. The fans screamed even louder, if that was possible, their voices a deafening roar in my ears.

I moved through the chaos with practiced ease, every step calculated, every smile perfectly measured. The cameras flashed in rapid-fire bursts, their lenses capturing every angle, every expression. A girl threw a bouquet of roses over the barricade, and I caught it instinctively, earning a fresh wave of screams.

"Thank you!" I mouthed to her, and she collapsed into her friend's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Hands reached for me from every direction, some brushing against my jacket, others grabbing at empty air. A man shoved a pen and a photo toward me, and I paused just long enough to scrawl my signature before security ushered me forward.

The crowd surged again, the barriers rattling ominously, but I kept moving, my smile never faltering. The art of looking calm, collected, untouchable—it was something the system had taught me well. But beneath the polished exterior, my chest was tight, my hands tingling with adrenaline.

As I climbed into the waiting car, the screams followed me, muffled but still deafening, like an echo I couldn't escape. I sank into the leather seat, the bouquet of roses resting lightly on my lap, their scent filling the small space. It was sweet, almost cloying, but calming, too—like a balm trying to soothe the raw edges of my nerves.

The driver pulled away, and the chaos of the airport began to dissolve into the background, the flashes of cameras fading into the rhythm of passing streetlights. The silence should have been comforting, but it wasn't. It never was.

This wasn't a dream. This was my life now. I should be used to it by now—the cameras, the screaming fans, the endless attention. But no matter how much time passed, it always felt like a lie. Like I didn't deserve any of it.

Because I didn't.

I cheated my way to the top. The thought sat heavy in my chest, an ache I could never quite shake. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw it. Every time someone called me talented, brilliant, a star—I felt it. That gnawing, whispering truth. It wasn't me. It was it.

And as if summoned by my guilt, the translucent screen appeared. It materialized in front of me, sudden and silent, its edges faintly glowing. The world outside the car blurred into irrelevance, unnoticed by the sea of people who had no idea what had just invaded my space. The familiar words hovered mid-air, stark and taunting:

[A new quest has been found. Do you want to accept it?]

My heart stuttered. My breath caught. It had been years—years—since the system had given me a quest. I thought it was done with me, that I'd finally paid my dues. And yet here it was, as vivid and impossible as the first day it appeared.

I kept my face calm, my smile still plastered on from the airport chaos, but inside, a storm was brewing. The system had been my guide, my partner, my secret weapon. It had propelled me to heights I never could have reached on my own. And yet, every step I climbed with its help made the ground beneath me feel less stable.

I wanted to accept. I always did. That was the problem.

"Yes..." I whispered under my breath, barely loud enough for the system to register.

Nothing happened.

The words didn't vanish. The screen didn't fade. Instead, it flickered, its glow intensifying like it was... waiting.

"Yes, I accept it." I said again, louder this time, my voice cracking at the edges. My pulse quickened. Still nothing.

The screen hovered, its light growing sharper, brighter, until it seemed to press against me, suffocating in its silence.

"I SAID YES!" My voice cracked, sharp and desperate now. "I accept it!"

That's when it hit me.

The world lurched, tilting violently, as if the ground beneath the car had been ripped away. My vision blurred, the dim glow of the car interior twisting into streaks of light. The bouquet of roses tumbled from my lap, petals scattering like bloodstains across the floor.

The deafening cheers of the crowd outside morphed into a distant roar, then a muffled hum, as though I'd been plunged underwater. The air thickened, heavy and unbreathable. My chest tightened with a sharp, unbearable pressure, like something was trying to crush me from the inside out.

And then the pressure shifted.

It wasn't just in my chest—it was everywhere. A sensation like invisible hands, gripping, pulling, demanding. My mind reeled as the screen flickered again, its glow piercing through the haze of my vision.

"Gabriel?" Roberto's voice cut through the haze, distant but laced with panic. "Gabs, are you okay?"

I staggered, my knees buckling on the steps of the plane. My hand shot out, gripping the railing for support, but my strength was slipping away. Roberto's face, once calm and confident, was now twisted in alarm.

The crowd gasped, a collective sound that seemed to ripple across the tarmac. Some people screamed. Paparazzi froze mid-shot, their cameras momentarily forgotten. Then, like a wave breaking, chaos erupted. Flashbulbs popped erratically, fans cried out in confusion, and security guards surged forward, unsure whether to reach for me or hold back the panicking crowd.

"Gabriel!" Roberto was by my side in an instant, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to steady me. "Stay with me. Hey! Someone call for help!"

The sharpness in my chest became unbearable, like a searing weight crushing down on my ribs. My legs gave out completely, and I fell, the world tilting as I crumpled to the ground. The cool metal of the stairs bit into my back, but I barely registered it. Faces swam above me—Roberto's terrified eyes, the security team shouting into radios, the horrified expressions of fans peering over the barriers.

The last thing I saw was the sky—vivid, endless blue. It dimmed, edges turning dark as if someone was painting over it with shadows. The noise around me—the gasps, the screams—faded until there was only silence.

Was this it? Was this how it all ended?

When I opened my eyes, everything was white. Endless, blinding white, like I'd stepped into a void. No ground beneath my feet, no walls around me, just… nothing. My breath came fast and shallow as I stumbled forward, expecting to feel something solid. But there was nothing.

"What the—?" My voice echoed unnaturally in the void, thin and fragile, as though the emptiness itself swallowed sound. Panic clawed at my chest. "Where am I? What's going on? I didn't—"

The system's voice cut through, calm and mechanical, yet somehow suffocating in its presence. It wasn't just a voice—it was everywhere, pressing down on me, filling the emptiness.

"Congratulations on accepting your first mandatory quest. It is time to fulfill your potential in the world where it truly matters."

I froze. The words hung in the air, absurd and incomprehensible. "Congratulation?" My voice cracked, anger bubbling beneath my confusion. "What do you mean congratulation? I didn't agree to this!"

"Your acceptance was explicit." the system replied, its tone unflinching.

"No!" I yelled, my words shaking, desperate. "I didn't know what I was agreeing to! I thought it was just another quest—another job! Not this—whatever this is! Send me back!"

The system's tone remained detached, as if my protests were nothing more than background noise. "When you accepted the system, you were informed of the terms. You were told there would come a time when payment would be required. That time is now."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My mind reeled, flashes of the past breaking through the haze.

"A gift." the system had said the day it first appeared, its voice so smooth, so convincing. "A chance to make your dreams come true. But remember, every gift has its price. One day, you will be required to pay."

I had brushed it off back then, too hungry for success to care. I hadn't believed it—not really. I thought it was just some strange quirk of the system, like a video game mechanic meant to add drama. I never thought it would come to this.

My knees buckled, though there was no ground to fall onto. My body—or whatever I had left of it—trembled. "You… you can't be serious." I whispered, my voice breaking. "You're saying I'm paying now? You're taking everything from me?"

"You have already recieved more than you could ever pay for." the system replied, its tone sharp now, almost reprimanding. "For years, you reaped the rewards of my guidance. You rose from obscurity to stardom, gaining skills, wealth, and fame beyond what your natural abilities could achieve. Did you think that would come without consequence?"

I clenched my fists, fury and disbelief coursing through me. "I worked for that! I put in the effort—you didn't give me everything!"

"You worked, yes." the system agreed, its tone eerily calm. "But every success was calculated, every challenge carefully tailored to push you forward. You followed my guidance. You used my tools. Without me, you would still be a nameless actor, struggling to pay rent under a tin roof. Do not delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Deep down, I knew it was right. Every time I hit a wall, the system had been there to hand me the solution. Every time I felt lost, it had given me the exact skill I needed. It had been my secret weapon, my invisible crutch.

But now it was here to collect.

"My… my life." I stammered, my voice trembling. "You killed me."

"Your death was a natural consequence of biological exhaustion." the system replied, its tone devoid of empathy. "The timing was synchronized with your acceptance of this quest. You were never meant to refuse. Your existence in that world has concluded."

I stared into the void, my breath coming in shallow gasps. "You… you planned this. From the beginning, you planned this."

"Of course," the system said simply. "Every step of your journey was designed to prepare you for this moment. Your achievements in your previous world were not wasted. They have shaped you into a tool capable of fulfilling your true purpose. Now, it is time to pay the price for what you were given."

"Pay the price?" I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the endless emptiness. "You call this payment? You call this fair? You lied to me! You used me!"

The system's glow seemed to pulse, faintly flickering in the void. "You were not lied to. You were warned. You chose to ignore the terms in your desperation to succeed. That was your decision. The system operates beyond notions of fairness or morality. It operates on purpose and potential. Your potential is greater than you realize. This is why you were chosen."

"Chosen for what?" I snapped, my voice breaking under the weight of my anger and fear. "What is this 'mission' that's so important it cost me my life?"

The void rippled, and a new screen materialized before me, its light cold and unfeeling.

[Mission: Change the world into something better.]

I stared at the words, disbelief and fury warring within me. My hands shook as I read them again and again, the meaning sinking in like a blade.

"Change the world?" I whispered, my voice cracking. "That's the mission? That's why you killed me? You dragged me out of my life, out of everything I built, for this? Some vague, impossible task?"

"The task is not impossible." the system replied, its tone resolute. "It is merely difficult. You have been given the tools. You will be given the opportunity. Whether you succeed or fail is up to you."

I wanted to scream, to rip the screen apart, to demand my life back. But there was no life to go back to. My chest heaved as I stared into the void, the weight of my reality pressing down on me.

"You took everything from me." I whispered, my voice raw.

"And I gave you everything in return." the system said, its tone final. "The balance is maintained. Now, fulfill your purpose."

The system's voice remained steady. "The parameters of success are flexible. Your choices will define the outcome. Your talents, skills, and experience are tools. Use them wisely."

I wanted to scream, to argue, to demand answers, but the white void around me began to shift. It twisted and warped, shapes forming like brushstrokes on a blank canvas. Trees grew out of the nothingness, their trunks thick and ancient, their leaves whispering in a breeze I couldn't feel. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the mossy ground in patches of gold.

The system's voice returned, stark and clinical, its tone as final as a judge's gavel.

"Welcome to the world of Eryndor. Your quest begins now."

I stood there, frozen, my thoughts too tangled to register the words at first. Eryndor? What the hell was Eryndor? My mind was still stuck on the screen's command: Change the world into something better. What did that even mean? The world was already peaceful, wasn't it? Was I supposed to become president? A revolutionary? None of it made sense.

Then, I felt it.

The wind. Cool and crisp, brushing against my skin like a whisper. My hair shifted with it, strands tickling my forehead. My body—my body. I hadn't even noticed it before, but I could feel it now. Solid. Real. I flexed my fingers, the smooth glide of muscle and bone foreign and strange. I ran a hand across my chest, down my arms, marveling at the sensation. After the suffocating void, the simple act of feeling was overwhelming.

But something was off.

This wasn't my body.

I turned my hands over, palms up, staring at them like they belonged to someone else. My fingers were long and elegant, my skin impossibly pale—almost ghostly, like I'd never seen the sun. I reached up to touch my face, my fingertips brushing over high cheekbones and a sharp jawline that didn't feel familiar.

The sound of water caught my attention, soft and steady, somewhere nearby. A river. I stumbled toward it, my legs stiff and awkward, like I was relearning how to move. The trees parted to reveal a shimmering lake, its surface glassy and still, reflecting the emerald canopy of the forest above.

I dropped to my knees at the edge of the water, leaning over to see myself.

The face staring back at me wasn't mine.

Slicked-back black hair framed a face that was sharp, striking, almost inhuman in its perfection. Gleaming blue eyes stared back at me, bright and unnerving, like they could see straight through the reflection. My skin was pale—too pale, like porcelain—but it was flawless, smooth as marble.

I reached out to touch the water, and the reflection rippled, distorting the image of this stranger's face. But the ripples couldn't erase the truth. It was still me. Somehow.

I leaned back, staring at my hands again, my breath coming in shallow gasps. This wasn't just a new body—it was a beautiful body, the kind you'd see on a magazine cover or in a fantasy movie. And that made it worse.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "What the hell did you do to me?" I growled, my voice trembling. "This isn't me. You had no right—"

The system didn't answer. The silence was deafening, broken only by the soft rustle of the wind through the trees and the distant murmur of the river.

I pushed myself to my feet, my legs shaking beneath me. The forest stretched out in every direction, impossibly vibrant, like something out of a dream. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the mossy ground. Birds I didn't recognize called to each other in the distance, their songs strange and hauntingly beautiful.

It was peaceful. Untouched. And yet, it felt suffocating.

"Where am I?" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "What is this place?"

I took a shaky step forward, then another, my movements awkward and stiff. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their trunks wrapped in vines that glowed faintly in the light. Everything about this place was surreal, otherworldly. But I wasn't ready to believe it yet.

I couldn't be.

My jaw tightened as I fought to steady my breathing. "You threw me into this without a choice," I said, my voice louder now, defiant. "Fine. But if you think I'm going to do this on your terms, you're wrong. I don't care what you've planned—I'll find my own way."

The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of earth and pine. I stood there, staring into the endless expanse of the forest, my fists clenched at my sides. Somewhere deep inside, fear twisted like a knot, but I pushed it down. I didn't know where I was, or why I was here, or what the system expected of me.

But I wasn't going to let it control me. Not anymore.