Chapter 7: Crafting

The stone tablet was cold in my hands, its surface smooth but unsettlingly weighty. My lighter flickered weakly in the dim underground chamber, the flame casting long, shuddering shadows on the walls. I couldn't shake the feeling that the stone wasn't just some random relic of the island's past. It felt like it was waiting—waiting for something, or someone.

I dropped it back onto the stone table, my mind racing. What was I supposed to do with it? What was it? More importantly, how was I supposed to survive down here, in this cramped, eerie hole of a room, with no clear exit and nothing but my thoughts and a few tools to keep me company?

I shook my head, pushing the anxiety aside. I needed to focus on what I could do. Right now, that meant getting out of this place before whatever unsettling energy lingered here did something... more than just raise my hair.

I backed away from the stone, glancing around the dim chamber. Nothing else seemed to hold any immediate answers. It was as if the room itself had been sealed for centuries, untouched by human hands, until my curiosity broke the seal. There had to be more to this island, more pieces of the puzzle that were slowly starting to fall into place.

But for now, I had to deal with the basics. Survival.

The island had provided me with the essentials: shelter, food, water. But it hadn't given me everything I needed to feel safe—there were still dangers lurking in the shadows, both human and animal. And more than that, I needed to make progress, to find ways to level up, to give myself the best shot at not only surviving but solving the mysteries of this godforsaken place.

I headed back toward the surface, my mind already formulating plans. The first task was obvious: I needed to improve my shelter. The cave I had found was fine for now, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn't as secure as I'd like. It was too exposed, too vulnerable to the elements and potential threats. A bigger, more fortified base was the next step.

As I walked, I toyed with the tools in my backpack. The hammer, the nails, the small fishing rod I'd crafted earlier—all things I'd use to make something stronger. But the problem was, I was going to need more materials, more supplies if I wanted to build something that would hold up over time.

The jungle, while filled with resources, was unpredictable. I'd need to be strategic.

I stopped at the crash site, rifling through the wreckage one more time, though I was beginning to feel like a scavenger. Still, I found a few more bits and pieces—metal scraps, broken wood beams, and the remains of the emergency rations. Nothing I could use immediately, but they'd be helpful for crafting later. If I could make a saw or something more intricate, I could break down the wood properly and build something durable.

As I moved deeper into the forest, I came across a fallen tree. It was thick, heavy, and had clearly been here for years. But it was perfect for what I needed. I pulled out my knife, testing the edge for sharpness, before starting to strip away the bark. I worked methodically, each slice of the blade a satisfying rhythm as I stripped away the rough exterior. After a few hours of labor, I had a pile of logs, branches, and large planks, ready for crafting.

I knew I was getting better at this. My hands were more sure, my movements more fluid. I could already feel my strength increasing with each task. It wasn't just a game of survival; it was about efficiency, learning to make do with what I had, using every bit of knowledge from my previous life as a detective. Survival wasn't just about instinct—it was about adapting, using logic, strategy.

With my newly acquired materials, I headed back to my cave shelter. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the island. The sky was streaked with vibrant oranges and purples, the last light of day fading quickly.

I started building. First, I reinforced the walls of the shelter, weaving branches and vines together to form a makeshift barricade. Then, I used the larger planks from the fallen tree to create a sturdy door, tying it with vines and nails from the toolbox. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. It was better than nothing.

The last touch was a small firepit outside the shelter. I didn't have much firewood, but I gathered what I could, stacking it in a neat pile. The fire would keep me warm at night and act as a deterrent against anything that might want to attack. Not that I wanted to stick around and find out what might come sniffing around at night. But still—it was something.

I paused for a moment, looking at the structure I'd built. It wasn't much compared to the kind of homes I was used to, but here, in this wild, untamed place, it felt like a fortress.

I sat down on a nearby rock, catching my breath. The satisfaction of having crafted something from nothing gave me a sense of pride that I hadn't expected. My hands ached, but it was a good kind of ache—the kind that came with progress. With each piece I built, I felt myself getting stronger, more capable.

I pulled out my lighter again, sparking the flame to life and holding it up to my XP tracker, which now glowed faintly in the dim light of the setting sun. Another level up. Another reward for my hard work.

Level 3 Achieved

Crafting: +10%

Agility: +5%

I smirked at the little progress bar that filled in on the screen. Leveling up wasn't just a game mechanic—it was proof that I was doing things right, that I was pushing through and improving. This wasn't just survival anymore. This was about building a future.

And for the first time since I'd crashed here, I felt a tiny flicker of hope.

It wasn't much. But it was enough to keep me going.

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire settle around me. Tomorrow, I'd explore more. There were still so many questions. So many unknowns. But tonight, I had something to build on.

I wasn't just surviving anymore.

I was adapting.