NightFall

The twin suns dipped toward the horizon like dying embers in an oil-slick sky.

Ethan Reyes crouched in the shadow of a slanted boulder, sweat cooling fast on his neck. The strange forest around him dimmed by degrees, violet and black shadows swallowing the reds of dusk. Soon, it would be full dark.

He still had no shelter.

The system pinged in his vision, calm and cold:

[System Notice: Nightfall Imminent – Environmental Hazards Increasing]

His gut twisted. That wasn't a warning—it was a threat.

He looked back toward the basin pool. Too exposed. The flat rock and shallow water made a good landmark, but it would light up like a beacon under moonlight—or whatever this world had instead.

He scanned the terrain. Trees gnarled and twisted together just past a dry streambed. A few were bent unnaturally low, their trunks curved like arches. Between two mossy boulders, he saw a shallow dip—half-enclosed, shadowed, defensible.

It would have to do.

No tarp. No rope. No tools but the primitive knife he'd carved earlier—a chipped stone edge lashed to a stick with a strip of his own shirt. His inventory was still pathetically empty:

Inventory:

Stone Knife (Primitive)Dirty Cloth Strip (Blood-stained)1 PointResolve (non-transferable) 

He crouched beside a dead sapling and got to work.

The knife dulled fast, but the trees here had soft, fibrous bark that peeled like wet rope. He stripped what he could and began layering it between sticks, weaving a crude lattice wall to brace between the rocks. Foliage was everywhere—broad leaves, red ferns, blue-veined moss—and he packed it in to fill gaps.

Time blurred. His hands ached, shoulders burning from constant motion. More than once he caught himself glancing over his shoulder, waiting for another gray creature to screech from the brush.

When the shelter took shape—crude, barely hip-high, but enclosed—he triggered the system manually:

[Scan Shelter?]

Yes

A pulse spread through his vision, and a soft green grid passed over the structure.

Shelter Recognized

Technology Unlocked: Shelter Design I

Global Human Adoption: 4.3%

+1 Point Awarded (Regional First Builder)

Ethan let out a breath. The shelter wouldn't hold off a beast—but it might fool one that hunted by sight. More importantly, it felt like something. A foothold. A claim.

He opened the Status Panel again:

Points: 2

Civilization Code: 100% (Homo sapien)

He was contributing. Humanity was still at 100%, though the chat messages from earlier painted a grimmer picture.

He sat in the shelter's mouth and checked the Chat Tab.

[CrimsonFox]: I made a lean-to using fern mats. Holds heat okay.

[IronFist23]: What's the temp drop where you are? I'm freezing.

[Fieldwalker]: Nightfall = danger. Get low. Build fast. Stay quiet.

[StoneKing]: I swear I heard breathing outside. Not human.

[CrimsonFox]: Nobody has tools. We all started with nothing. Don't trust voices.

[Fieldwalker]: Shelter built. Knife still holding. Region 55, east woods.

[IronFist23]: Anyone got fire yet?

[Fieldwalker]: Tomorrow. Priorities were cover and water.

He paused before typing again:

[Fieldwalker]: Stay alive.

Then he closed the chat. Talking helped, but it didn't change the cold.

As the last sliver of sun vanished behind jagged ridgelines, the forest changed.

It wasn't immediate. It wasn't loud.

But it was terrifying.

The silence grew too perfect. The wind stopped. Even the leaves refused to rustle. A stillness settled over the land like a breath held too long.

Then came the first sound—a distant shriek, like claws on wet metal.

Ethan froze inside his shelter, blade in hand.

Another shriek. Closer.

The crack of branches. A wet thump.

He edged back further into the lean-to, keeping his body low. His shelter wasn't secure—it wouldn't stop claws or teeth—but it might confuse eyes or noses.

That's when the system whispered again:

[UNIDENTIFIED ENTITY NEARBY]

Species: Varnok Stalker

Status: Hunting

Origin World: Kraal-Koth

Dimension: A-17

Technology Level: Unknown

Civilization Code: 0.27%

The message glowed faint red before fading.

He gritted his teeth. There was no image. No diagram. Just that name—Varnok Stalker—and that one word: Hunting.

It was close.

Something moved beyond the trees—slow, deliberate. A shadow glided over the brush, twice the size of a man. No footsteps, just the swish of foliage brushing against something big and fluid.

It paused. Right outside.

Ethan didn't move. Didn't blink.

His body screamed at him to breathe, but he held still.

Minutes passed.

Then, without warning, the presence faded. The weight lifted.

[Entity Departed]

He exhaled a quiet gasp, sweat soaking the back of his shirt.

It was gone. For now.

The system pinged again—more softly this time.

Milestone Reached: First Night Survival (Solo)

+1 Point

+1 Hidden Stat Unlocked: Nerve

He opened the Status Panel.

Nerve: 4/10

Description: A measure of mental resilience. High Nerve improves clarity, reduces panic in danger, and unlocks special interaction options under extreme stress.

So not everything was visible from the start. Some stats were earned by surviving, by enduring.

"Good," he whispered. "I'll take that."

He checked the Technology Tree again.

Fire Creation – Locked

Water Filtration – 0.3%

Tool Refinement – 0.2%

Basic Trapping – 0.1%

The percentages were low. That made sense. Most of humanity was probably still hiding, still trying to not die on their first night. But someone out there had made fire. Or boiled water. Or built a trap.

He stared at the Fire Creation node. He could unlock it right now, spend a point, and gain instant understanding. But he hesitated.

"Not yet," he murmured. "I need to earn it. Learn it."

He wanted the muscle memory, the process—just like the knife, just like the shelter. Unlocking with points gave knowledge, yes. But manual unlocks gave foundation.

Besides, the points might be more valuable later. He'd survived one night. But there would be hundreds more.

Eventually, he lay back inside the lean-to, one hand on his knife, eyes scanning the shadows. The world didn't sleep—but he had to. Even if only for an hour.

The system dimmed in his vision.

Outside, the stalkers prowled, the trees whispered, and the stars above weren't stars at all—just cold eyes watching a thousand species scramble to survive.