Awakening in the Unknown

Darkness.

It was thick, suffocating. Not the peaceful kind of sleep, not the drifting unconsciousness of exhaustion. This was something heavier, deeper—like ink seeping into parchment, staining beyond repair.

Then came the pain.

A slow, creeping throb that started in his chest and spread outward, tendrils of agony latching onto every inch of his body. His ribs burned as if they had been cracked open and put back together the wrong way. His limbs felt leaden, his muscles stiff. His head pulsed with dull, rhythmic pain, a war drum pounding in the distance.

He tried to breathe. It hurt.

Was he dead?

The thought came sluggishly, drifting through his fractured consciousness. No… this wasn't death. If it were, the pain wouldn't be this real.

With great effort, Liam forced his eyes open.

Dim, golden light filtered through cracks in a wooden ceiling, fractured beams casting long, jagged shadows across the room. The air was thick with the scent of dried herbs, damp wood, and something faintly metallic—blood.

His blood.

Instinctively, his fingers twitched, reaching for the weight of his brush—but it wasn't there. Panic surged through his chest like a bolt of lightning, overriding the pain for a brief moment.

Where was it?

Before he could move, a voice cut through the silence.

"You're finally awake."

Liam turned his head, every motion an effort. A sharp spike of pain shot through his ribs, forcing a choked gasp from his lips.

Iris sat beside him, slouched forward on a wooden stool, her arms crossed. The exhaustion was clear in her expression—dark circles under her eyes, a fading bruise on her cheek. Her cloak was torn, her boots scuffed and covered in dried mud.

Yet, despite the weariness, there was relief in her gaze.

Liam swallowed, his throat dry. His voice barely rasped out, "How long?"

Iris exhaled, rubbing her temples. "Three days."

Three.

Liam's thoughts scrambled. Three whole days?

"I thought you were dead when we pulled you out," she continued. "You weren't breathing for a while. Scared the shit out of me."

His mind flickered with fragmented memories—Cain, the Executioner. The fight. Stat Fusion. The ink chains. The overwhelming force of power he had never tapped into before.

And then… nothing.

His chest tightened. "Where's my brush?"

Iris sighed, reaching into a bundle beside her. She pulled out the familiar artifact, its surface smooth and untouched despite everything it had been through. She set it beside him.

"Safe," she muttered. "Not that you were in any condition to use it."

Liam exhaled sharply. Even though he hadn't been holding it, he still felt connected to it—just… off. Like a limb that had fallen asleep, tingling with strange numbness.

"What happened?" he asked.

Iris leaned back, crossing her legs. "After you collapsed, Cain almost took your head off. But then… he stopped. His sword just hung there in mid-air, like something held him back."

Liam frowned. "He let us go?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly. He looked at you, then said, 'The Architect's path has only just begun.' And then he left. The enforcers didn't question him, so I grabbed you and ran before anyone changed their minds."

The Architect's path…

Liam clenched his fists. That wasn't just random. Cain had known something.

His thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of a wooden door. A woman entered the room, carrying a wooden tray with a steaming bowl of soup.

She wasn't young—strands of gray wove through her dark hair, which was tied back in a loose braid. Her eyes were sharp, observant, the kind that had seen too much and stopped expecting good things.

"You'll need to eat," she said, setting the tray down beside him. "I don't waste time on dead men."

Liam blinked. "And you are…?"

"Ileana," the woman answered simply. "Your friend here convinced me you were worth saving."

Iris scoffed. "More like threatened you."

Ileana snorted. "Same thing."

Liam almost smiled, but the weight of everything pressed down on him. His body screamed for rest, but his mind refused to be still.

Slowly, he reached for the bowl. His fingers trembled, weak from days without movement. The first sip of broth was warm, settling uneasily in his stomach.

And then—he felt it.

Something inside him stirred, deep and unfamiliar. Not just physically—deeper.

His breath hitched.

Stat Fusion.

That last moment before blacking out… he had felt something more than just raw power. Like his body was trying to reshape itself.

His fingers twitched. He opened his status window.

🔹 [Status Window] 🔹

Name: Liam Carter

Class: Architect (Unranked)

Level: 18

HP: 120/600

MP: 20/340

Strength: 28

Dexterity: 30

Intelligence: 36

Vitality: 30

Luck: 10

Attack Power: 65

Defense: 42

Speed: 32

Experience: 1,500/9,200

🔹 [New Trait Unlocked: ???] 🔹

Liam's fingers tightened around the spoon.

Something had changed.

He had barely begun to grasp the power of his class, yet the system was already pushing him forward.

And Cain had known.

The Executioner had spared him—not out of mercy, but because he understood something Liam did not.

A chill ran down Liam's spine.

The Architect's path…

What did it truly mean?

To be continued…