Hector woke early, excitement already coursing through his body before his eyes had fully opened. Sleep had come easily the night before, but it had been shallow, restless, filled with anticipation rather than fear but today felt different. Today was the day he tested what he had become.

  He gathered his gear in practiced silence, checking straps and pouches out of habit more than necessity. Once finished, he climbed down from the tree he had slept in, boots hitting the forest floor with a soft thud. The morning air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of moss, earth, and distant water. Before moving on, he needed answers.

  Using a Wampus Cat claw, he made a shallow cut along his upper arm. Blood welled immediately, bright against his skin. He activated Emergency Heal, watching the familiar green light spread across his body in a steady wave. The wound closed smoothly, skin knitting together as if it had never been there, leaving only faint warmth behind.

  “Baseline confirmed,” he muttered.

  He cut himself again, this time, he clenched his fist and activated Hands of Triage, striking his own arm with clear intent to heal. The effect was immediate and shocking. The energy did not flow like Emergency Heal. It did not spread outward or blanket his body. It punched inward, sharp and focused, rippling from the point of contact in a concentrated surge. It was rougher, but far more precise. Where Emergency Heal felt like an aura responding to damage, Hands of Triage felt like a deliberate strike, a choice enforced in an instant. Unfortunately, he had misjudged the output.

  POP.

  Pain exploded through his arm. Hector gasped as he dropped to one knee, staring in disbelief at the clean entrance and exit wound torn straight through his flesh. Blood spilled freely, dripping onto the leaves below him.

  “Okay,” he wheezed. “Too much.”

  There was no panic, as he loaded healing intent into his fist, he slammed it directly into the injury. Green light surged violently through the wound, flesh sealing rapidly from the inside out. Within seconds, the hole was gone, leaving only raw tenderness and a dull ache behind. He flexed his arm slowly, testing out the mobility.

  “I must be absolutely mental,” he said.

  A notification blinked into view.

  [Hands of Triage has reached Level 2]

  Hector stared at it for a long moment, then he started laughing. The sound echoed through the trees, wild and unrestrained, cutting through the quiet of the forest.

  “This is insane.”

  Curiosity surged, as he stepped toward a nearby tree, its bark scarred by old claw marks and age. He loaded Hands of Triage with healing intent and struck. The damaged bark smoothed instantly beneath his fist. New growth surged outward, a small but healthy branch sprouting where the wound had been.

  “Plant life counts,” he noted.

  He struck again, this time with killing intent. A fist sized crater punched deep into the trunk, wood splintering inward. He followed immediately with a healing strike. The tree did more than just repair itself. Two thick new branches burst forth, stronger and denser than before, leaves unfurling with unnatural speed.

  “It feels like I am not human anymore,” he murmured. “Like I can decide what lives and what dies.”

  The thought sent a thrill through him. Before moving on, he pulled up his core information.

  [Mortal Core Status]

  Core: Mortal Core

  State: Altered

  Aspect: Unidentified

  The words still gave him a feeling of unease; he had no idea if this was good or bad.

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  “Maybe Analyze needs to get stronger,” he said quietly.

  With no reason to linger, Hector checked his supplies. Four water bladders were full. Enough to travel farther than ever before, farther than he would have dared previously. In the distance, a mountain rose above the forest canopy. Different from the green slopes surrounding it, like something that did not belong. It would take days to reach. He stood there for a long moment, staring at it. His life had ended under a truck; he had saved someone else and nearly paid for it with everything.

  “I don’t regret any of it, but I would kill for some human interaction right about now.”

  He shook his head.

  “No. I have always done things alone.”

  Before leaving, an idea struck him. He funneled healing energy into the soles of his feet and jumped, releasing it explosively. His scream tore from his throat as the forest blurred beneath him, wind roaring past his ears. A heartbeat later, a thunderous impact followed as he slammed face first into the tree he had slept in the night before, sliding down in a heap. After a brief meditation, he healed and laughed again, chest aching.

  “Needs work.”

  The journey toward the mountain had begun. Along the way, Hector fought constantly. Thunder Snakes with crackling wings that split the air, full grown Hogzillas that tested his endurance. Forest Sprites that nearly overwhelmed him with speed alone. The sprites were the worst, small, fast, and relentless. They forced him to learn precision. One clean strike to a vital point was all he got before they scattered and reengaged. Hands of Triage proved invaluable. Anything struck without killing intent and precision failed. Each fight sharpened his control, forcing him to think less about power and more about placement.

  By the time he was done he had collapsed against a rock to catch his breath, his body trembled with exhaustion and triumph. System notifications flooded his vision.

  [Hector has reached Level 18]

  [Hands of Triage is now Level 10]

  [Combat Assessment is now Level 18]

  [Emergency Heal is now Level 25]

  [Analyze is now Level 15]

  He spent his stat points immediately, trusting instinct over hesitation.

  Strength: 30

  Agility: 20

  Endurance: 33

  Vitality: 20

  Intellect: 30

  Spirit: 30

  Perception: 8

  “Thirty across the board,” he muttered. “Mostly.”

  That night, Hector found an abandoned cave. He lit a fire and cooked Jackalope meat, savoring the familiar taste. Wrapped in his pelt, he leaned back against the stone, the warmth slowly seeping into his bones. Tomorrow, the mountain awaited, and whatever came after. As sleep finally claimed him, the forest faded away, and he dreamed.

  At first there were voices. Two of them. Shouting his name, raw with panic, begging for help. The sound pulled him forward before he could resist as the world snapped into focus. A forest fully ablaze, heat rolling in crushing waves. Trees burned like matchsticks as embers filled the air, stinging his eyes and throat. At the center of it all stood a house, half swallowed by flames, roof sagging, walls blackened and cracking.

  His chest tightened, this event had broken him the first time, he knew second time would be no different. The family had been saved, that he remembered clearly. He remembered pulling the children free, coughing, shaking, but alive. But their mother…

  She lay on the ground, skin burned, breathing shallow and uneven. He was kneeling beside her, hands moving automatically, emergency triage in the middle of a wildfire. He remembered knowing, even then, that there was nothing he could do. He didn't have the proper tools and unfortunately, he was out of time and miracles. The children screamed when they realized their mother was not getting back up. The sound clawed into him, just as it had back then. Chills crawled down his arms.

  “If only I had these powers back then…”

  The nightmare did not stop there though. He had seen fire take many lives during his career. Faces blurred together, patients he could not save, injuries too severe, moments where effort and hope were not enough. Before the Apocalypse, those faces haunted his sleep so often that he learned to fear going to bed at all.

  The scene shifted again.

  When he had been at his lowest, when the weight of it all finally cracked him, his wife had left. Betrayal layered on top of grief, he had been all alone, with no one to rely on.

  A white flash burned across his vision. When it cleared, he was no longer inside his body. He was watching. Floating above a familiar room, he saw himself step through the front door. He heard raised voices, then a door slammed and he watched himself walk away. The memory hollowed him out. Every failure pressed down on him at once. Memories of past failures and lost lives continued to flood his mind, they were like a scar on his mind that he could not get rid of.

  “Stop!” he screamed.

  Cold sweat soaked his body as the dream tightened its grip and one final scene appeared.

  A small cabin, quiet and isolated, with him sitting alone inside, long after everything had fallen apart. He saw himself sitting there, no noise, just quiet reflection as he had wondered where his life had gone wrong. After everything he had given, one truth remained unchanged. He was always alone, which had always been true. No one was there for him when he needed it most, even though he gave his all for those he cared about. His spirit burned with the need to help others, but no one had ever stayed to help him. The weight of it crushed down until he could barely breathe.

  His scream tore free, raw and desperate.

  “Why is it always me?”

  He woke gasping as he felt sweat coating his body.

  [The Pantheon Observes]

  [One within the Pantheon observes]