The One's who Stay Awake

Lucas sat hunched, hands pressed to his forehead, tension radiating off him in uneven waves. His breath came shallow, agitated.

"Even if it's just the two of us, we can still make it. We just need a plan." His voice cracked slightly as he lifted his head to look at Lira. "You've got one?"

Lira didn't answer at first, then gave a small nod. "It's not much of a plan, but it's a step in the right direction."

She sat straighter, the clarity in her voice more solid than the chill settling in Lucas's bones.

"I was thinking—we need information. Right now, all we know is that they're trying to put us to sleep. Everything they've done so far has been to lure us into it. Food. Blankets. A warm bath to ease our bodies. A room without anything to hold our attention except the comfort of rest."

Her eyes flicked to the door, her voice lower now. Measured. "So, if there's one thing we know for sure—it's this: we can't sleep. Not unless it's absolutely necessary. And if it comes to that, we take turns. Watch each other's backs."

Lucas nodded slowly, lifting his head from his thoughts.

"I'm sure we can last three nights," Lucas added, though the words didn't sound confident.

"Alright then, how do we even gather information? The only ones here that seem to even know what's going on are Barrik and the regal-looking servant," Lucas noted.

"Simple—you answered it yourself. We need to get answers from those two. I'm not entirely sure how, but one way is to head downstairs. If any of the servants ask what we're doing, we'll just say we couldn't sleep and wanted to understand more about what's going on," Lira said.

"Going from there, I'm sure either the regal servant or Barrik will show up since we aren't doing what's expected of us. And that's where we get some real answers," Lira concluded.

Lucas nodded at her words. "Alright then—no sense waiting around. We can't just keep reacting to what they do. Let's make them come up with a new game plan."

Standing up, Lucas turned to the door, readying himself.

"So that they don't think we're working together, I'll head down first. You come down about thirty minutes after me," Lucas said, glancing back at Lira.

She studied him for a second, then gave a sharp nod. "Be careful."

"You too."

Without another word, Lucas slipped into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind him with a soft, final sound.

The corridor stretched ahead, empty and still. That same heavy silence pressed against him—thicker now, like the manor itself resented his movement. He kept his steps measured, steady, making no effort to hide them. If someone was listening, let them listen.

Walking down the stairwell, he moved with more assurance than when he had first entered the manor. Now, with a goal and a mission, Lucas felt more in control—like he could do whatever was necessary. And if there was one thing Lucas trusted, it was this: even if he couldn't remember his past, his body told him he had to figure out what was going on—and stop it.

Pushing the thoughts away, Lucas walked into the fireplace room—the same place where he had first been given a blanket and some food. Now, with more time and a clearer head, he studied the different pieces that lined the walls. A painting that looked like an older Barrik caught his eye, along with a collection of assorted items meant to decorate the space.

He moved slowly, methodically, eyes sweeping across the room, searching for anything of value—or anything out of place.

It didn't take long before he noticed a door, partly ajar, tucked into a shadowed corner he hadn't seen before.

Curiosity prickling at the back of his mind, Lucas passed through it.

The next room was smaller, narrower, and lined with shelves the lights dimmed. An unmistakable scent of old parchment thick in the air. A library. Or something close to it. Dozens of books filled the walls, their spines cracked, many buried under layers of undisturbed dust.

Strange.

There were more than enough servants in the manor—enough for every Waker, even—yet no one had spared a thought to dust the books.

'That's if the servants are even real,' Lucas thought grimly.

Moving across the books, Lucas realized that even if he didn't remember learning how to read, he could still understand the words.

'Stone and Blood: The Upbringing of Hollowrest... The Vanguard's Oath... The Mysteries of the Wakers... The Tales of General Winthorn,' he read silently, scanning the titles.

Lucas mentally marked the ones that intrigued him—or could possibly be useful later. Especially The Tales of General Winthorn.

'Why does that sound familiar?'

The thought surfaced, heavy and persistent.

Reaching out, Lucas brushed his fingers against the spine of the book, drawn by a subtle, insistent pressure in the back of his mind.

A feeling he couldn't explain—only obey.

He gripped the worn leather binding and began to ease the book from the shelf—

"Forgive me, sir," a smooth, practiced voice said behind him, slicing through the stillness.

Lucas froze; the book half-pulled from its resting place.

Slowly, he turned.

One of the manor's servants stood a few paces away—the regal one he had seen earlier.

His uniform was immaculate, trimmed with silver thread, the collar pressed sharp against his pale throat. His posture was flawless, hands folded neatly behind his back.

The man's face wore a polite smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes—or maybe it was worse than that. His eyes were neutral. Empty. Like a painting of a person rather than the real thing.

"This section," the servant said, voice smooth and formal, "is reserved for the Master's use only."

Lucas let the book slide back into place with a soft thunk.

"Sorry," he said, keeping his tone light, almost apologetic. "Didn't realize."

"No offense taken," the servant replied, inclining his head slightly. "Curiosity is an admirable trait among Wakers. But some curiosities... are better left unattended."

"If you are restless, might I suggest the sitting room? A warmer fire and a quieter mind often go hand in hand," the servant added, gesturing back toward the main hall with a slow, almost mechanical grace.

Lucas hesitated just long enough to show a sliver of reluctance—then nodded and stepped away from the shelves.

The servant waited without moving, expression frozen in that same perfect neutrality, until Lucas passed him.

Only then did they both move—silent and careful—as the door whispered shut behind them.

And back on the shelf, The Tales of General Winthorn remained untouched.

For now.

Walking back toward the sitting room with the servant gliding silently beside him, Lucas turned over his options.

There had to be a way to draw some information out of the man—and fortunately, he had just the thing.

"Say," Lucas started casually, letting a small, strained laugh slip through, "I never did catch your name.

And I'd tell you mine, but... well, I don't remember it, you see."

The servant—still wearing that neutral, too-perfect smile—inclined his head slightly, as if indulging a child.

"How rude of me," he said smoothly. "I should have introduced myself earlier.

My name is Adolf."

Adolf's smile widened, just a shade too much, the edges straining against the polite mask he wore.

"And while I do not know your name," he added, "nor do you, do not be alarmed.

Once the System arrives, you will remember."

His voice held that sure attitude—that the System was not a possibility, but an inevitability.

Lucas kept his expression light, even let a small chuckle slip out. "System, huh? Sounds like a big deal."

Adolf's smile didn't waver. "It is not something to fear. It is simply... the natural order. You will find it quite intuitive once it awakens."

Lucas tilted his head slightly, feigning curiosity. "Is it... some kind of machine? Something built into this place?"

Adolf's eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight, the closest thing to real emotion Lucas had seen from him yet.

"No," Adolf said smoothly. "The System is not a machine. It is a reflection. A mental framework born of necessity. Every creature, every being—man, dog, beast—carries its touch, though few understand its full reach."

Lucas blinked slowly, heart beating harder against his ribs.

Not physical. Mental.

Even animals have it.

"And what does it... actually do?" Lucas asked, pitching his voice into the perfect tone of innocent confusion.

Adolf's smile, if possible, grew even more patient—like a teacher humoring a particularly slow student.

"The System grants structure," he said. "It will assign you a Class, shaped by the life you lived before arriving here—whether you remember that life or not."

'Maybe will find some answers to our past with the system?' Lucas hopefuly thinks.

"The Class is merely the first step," Adolf continued, his tone drifting into something almost reverent. "It also presents a record—a list of your strengths, your aptitudes, your abilities. Some call them stats. A crude word, but fitting enough."

Lucas nodded slowly, as if taking it all in for the first time.

"So it's like... a guide?" he asked.

"In a sense," Adolf said smoothly. "The System shows you who you are—or rather, who you were—and gives you a path to follow in this new life."

He paused then, tilting his head slightly, the firelight casting faint, unnatural shadows across his pale face.

"There are deeper nuances, of course. Subtleties not captured by mere numbers or titles. But such things are better learned through experience."

Lucas caught the edge in that last word—experience—and the unspoken warning beneath it.

Adolf straightened slightly, hands still folded neatly behind his back.

"For now," he said, "you should rest. When the System awakens, you will find your place soon enough."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," Lucas said, letting a tired smile slip onto his face. "But right now, I just want to learn more about what's going on."

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing around the sitting room like a restless man desperate for grounding.

"While I appreciate that the System is supposed to help me remember my past... I really need to know if I left anything—or anyone—behind. What if I had a wife? Kids?"

He laughed, but it came out hollow. "Not knowing if I had any of those things is really driving me crazy. So... I hope it's not improper for me to stay awake a little longer and try to sort some of this out."

Lucas let the words hang, sincere but raw, forcing a human vulnerability into the space between them.

Adolf's smile didn't falter.

If anything, it became softer—more understanding—but in that way that felt practiced, rehearsed. Like he was offering sympathy from the pages of a book he had never truly read.

"Your feelings are natural," Adolf said, voice smooth. "Loss is the soil from which new roots grow.

And rest assured, when the System awakens, it will answer far more than you expect."

He stepped back slightly, giving Lucas a shallow bow, as if granting permission rather than understanding.

"You are welcome to remain by the fire, sir. Reflection is... encouraged."

Lucas nodded, keeping his face grateful, even as unease gnawed quietly under his ribs.