KAEL

The world was not as the ancients remembered it. There were no open skies, no infinite seas, not even a sun to warm the skin. All of that belonged to legends, to the stories grandparents told children before bed. Reality—the only one that mattered—was the System.

The System was everything. It was life itself.

From the moment you were born, your stats appeared floating before you, a constant reminder of your place in the world. Strength, Agility, Intelligence, Charisma… Each number defined who you were and what you could achieve. The privileged were born with high stats, destined to be heroes, leaders, or magnates. Common citizens had average numbers, enough to work, start a family, and live a peaceful life. And then there were the outcasts, like Kael, with stats so low they barely allowed them to survive.

Kael lived in the Lower Districts, a forgotten zone where houses were little more than shacks stacked upon one another and the air smelled of burning. Here, the outcasts fought to earn a few credits, repairing scrap or selling whatever they could on the black market. Kael was one of them. For as long as he could remember, he had lived among broken circuits and cracked screens, trying to fix what others threw away.

But Kael was different. He wasn't content with just surviving. He dreamed of something more, though he didn't know exactly what. Maybe it was the way the heroes looked at him from their posters, with their gleaming armor and perfect smiles. Or maybe it was the way the outcasts whispered in the corners, wondering if the System was truly fair.

Kael opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was his stat screen, floating in the air as always. It was part of his life, like breathing or blinking. He checked it mechanically, not expecting any changes.

Name: Kael Arvid

Age: 21 years

Class: Outcast

Strength: 4

Agility: 5

Intelligence: 7

Charisma: 3

Credits: 12

Nothing had changed. Or almost nothing. His credits had dropped from 15 to 12. Again. Kael sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Twelve credits were worth nothing. Not enough to eat properly, nor to pay for the air filter repair that had been broken for weeks. And much less to buy the circuits he needed to fix his old computer.

He got up from his bed—a worn-out, deflated mattress in the corner of the room he shared with his sister, Lira. She was still asleep, wrapped in a tattered blanket, her breathing calm and steady. Kael watched her for a moment, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach that always appeared when he thought about her. Lira was 17, but she looked younger, fragile, as if the world could break her at any moment.

Kael was the opposite. Tall, thin but muscular from physical labor, with messy black hair that always fell over his eyes. He had a scar on his left cheek, a souvenir from a fight with a thug in the Lower Districts. His eyes, a cold gray, reflected a mix of exhaustion and determination. He wasn't handsome or charismatic, but he had something that made people respect him. Or at least, not mess with him.

He dressed quickly: worn-out pants, an old shirt, and boots with tattered soles. Then he walked to the small kitchen—if it could even be called that—a corner with a portable stove and a rusty sink. He prepared some tea with the last leaves they had left and set a cup beside Lira for when she woke up.

As he sipped his tea, Kael looked out the window. The Lower Districts stretched before him—a landscape of shacks, hanging cables, and garbage-filled streets. In the distance, the gleaming towers of the Privileged rose toward the sky, a constant reminder of everything he didn't have.

Kael hated the Privileged, but more than anything, he hated the Heroes. Those perfect beings, with their sky-high stats and shining armor, who were supposed to protect society but in reality only served their own interests. The most hated of all was Darian Voss, the hero who had executed his parents.

Kael remembered that day as if it were yesterday. He was 12 years old. The Guardians stormed into his house, accusing his parents of exploiting the System. There was no trial, no evidence. Only Darian Voss, with his gleaming sword and cold smile, pronouncing the sentence. "For the good of the System," he had said before ending their lives.

Since then, Kael had sworn that one day, he would make Darian pay. But how? He was just an Outcast, with pathetic stats and no chance of rising in the System.

Lira woke up as Kael finished his tea.

—Good morning —she murmured, rubbing her eyes.

—Good morning —Kael replied, forcing a smile. —There's tea for you.

Lira nodded and sat on the edge of the mattress, wrapping herself in the blanket. She was smaller than Kael, with their mother's brown hair and green eyes. She had a sharp intelligence, but her Charisma was even lower than Kael's, which made her an easy target for bullies.

—What are you doing today?— Lira asked, taking the tea cup.

—I'm going to the Scrapyard —Kael replied. —I need to find some circuits to fix the computer.

Lira nodded, but Kael noticed the worry in her eyes. The Scrapyard wasn't a safe place, especially for someone like him, with such low stats. But they had no other choice.

—Be careful —Lira said, and Kael nodded.

Before leaving, Kael checked his stat screen one last time. Nothing had changed. It never did.