Chapter 4: The First Step

The evening settled gently over the house, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the walls. Catherine sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her hands. They were small and delicate, her skin pale and soft. Sylvie's hands, not hers. She flexed her fingers slowly, as if testing their limits. They bore no trace of the callouses she'd once earned in her repair shop, no reminder of the life she'd lived before waking in this unfamiliar world.

Her thoughts wandered back to the status screen. It had revealed so much—skills, progress, potential—and yet left her with more questions than answers. How did it work? Why did it exist? The tinkerer spirit in her burned to figure it out, to unravel its mysteries. But the woman in her, the one who still mourned the life she'd lost, couldn't stop replaying the last moments before the accident.

Her shop had been small but hers, crammed with radios, old computers, and appliances waiting to be brought back to life. Her mother's laughter had echoed in her memories as she tinkered with broken circuits, and her sister's teasing texts had always found her, even on the busiest days. It hadn't been an easy life, but it had been hers.

And now… now she was someone else.

The sound of a wooden ladle tapping a pot pulled her from her thoughts. Dinner was ready. She slipped off the bed and joined the family at the table.

Dinner was simple—stew and bread—but Catherine found herself savoring every bite. Sylas, her new brother, sat across from her, eating with a vigor that matched his boundless energy.

"You were really going at it outside earlier," he said with a grin, crumbs clinging to his chin. "What, trying to break a speed record or something?"

"Mind your manners," Mira, their mother, chided gently, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Catherine hesitated, then smiled back. "I just wanted to see what I could do," she said, carefully choosing her words.

Mira's expression softened, and she reached across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind Catherine's ear. "I'm glad to see you up and moving, Sylvie. You've been through so much. It warms my heart to see you smile again."

The words stirred something in Catherine, a deep ache that she wasn't ready to confront. She forced herself to smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

Later that night, the house quieted, and Catherine sat by the window, staring out at the moonlit yard. The status screen hovered in her mind, a tantalizing mystery. Determined to make sense of it, she resolved to test its limits the next day.

She woke early, joining Mira to help with the laundry. At first, her hands fumbled with the rough fabric, her movements awkward and inefficient. But as she worked, something incredible happened. It was as if the world itself began to guide her hands, subtly correcting her grip and adjusting her rhythm. The work became smoother, faster, more precise.

When she checked her status later, she saw the proof:

Skill: Washing (Proficiency: 1/10).

A thrill ran through her. The system wasn't just recording her efforts—it was teaching her, shaping her movements into something better. It was like a magical form of autocorrect, fine-tuning her actions the more she practiced.

Encouraged, she spent the rest of the day experimenting. She helped Sylas with his woodworking, though she was far from a natural. Her hands remembered the precision of soldering and repairing delicate machines, but carving wood was an entirely different beast. Still, she persisted, and the system rewarded her efforts:

Skill: Carving (Proficiency: 1/10).

Even her idle observations—the way Lorelei folded laundry, the structure of their home, the patterns in the chickens' behavior—seemed to count for something.

Skill: Observation (Proficiency: 1/10).

By the end of the day, her progress was undeniable:

Name: Sylvie

Age: 8

Class: Unawakened

Skills:

• Running (Proficiency: 3/10)

• Washing (Proficiency: 2/10)

• Carving (Proficiency: 1/10)

• Observation (Proficiency: 1/10)

Each new skill filled her with a sense of accomplishment. The proficiency system was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It didn't just measure progress—it created it. With every attempt, it smoothed out inefficiencies, guiding her toward mastery.

That night, Catherine sat by the window again, the soft glow of the moonlight wrapping around her. She looked down at her hands, tracing the lines of her palms.

"I really died," she whispered, the words raw and painful. For so long, she'd avoided saying it, even thinking it. But now, she let the truth settle in. She'd died. Her old life was gone, her mother and sister lost to her forever.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she didn't wipe them away. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked out at the stars.

"I don't know why I'm here," she said softly. "But I am. And if I'm going to live this life… I'm going to do right by you, Sylvie. I'll make it a life worth living."

As the night deepened, Catherine felt the weight in her chest ease, just a little. She didn't have all the answers, but for the first time, she allowed herself to accept her fate. This was her life now—and she was ready to face it.