I stretched and heaved a breath as white mist trailed from my lips.

  By the time I got some semblance of clarity, a week had already passed.

  The city was no longer falling apart or on the verge of ruin. Sure, people still groaned now and then. Ocasionally there would be a low rumble as the street lights buckled or a wall collapsed in. Everything still wasn't perfect, but the constant raw terror of that first night was gone, and I was sure my brain had wiped it from my memory at the earliest convenience.

  What replaced it was quieter, and somehow heavier.

  Relief trucks. Portable ward emitters. Field generators humming under tarps. The soft murmur of too many people trying to make a temporary space feel like anything except what it was.

  After the demon attack had devastated a quarter of the city, hundreds of people had nowhere to go. Knowing that they couldn't just camp out in the harsh cold, the authorities had sent out aid in large quantities.

  'Displaced Relief Region'

  That's what they called it.

  I called it the Tent City.

  It sprawled across what used to be a commuter park on the edge of the blast zone. The shockwave had knocked out half the windows on the surrounding blocks and turned a couple of older buildings into leaning stacks of rubble.

  A sigh escaped my lips.

  Though the attack was disastrous, and many had lost their lives, it had all somehow turned out fine for me. Luckily, once the incident was resolved, the rescue squads found me half unconscious, hiding out in a collapsed building. Before I knew it, I was on a stretcher and thoroughly examined from head to toe. And only when they were sure I was fine was I let go. Heck, seeing as I had no one to stay with, I'd even got one of the smaller tents near the edge of the camp, tucked under the shadow of a half-collapsed office block.

  Apparently, if you were fifteen, had no band, no registration, and no clear district tag, they filed you under "unaccompanied minor" and stuck you near the medical tents where people could keep an eye on you.

  'I can't complain, it beats freezing alone.'

  I groggily got out of my makeshift sleeping bag and put on a new pair of gloves and shoes. After I had bundled up the best I could, I slowly opened the tent's zipper. A gust of cold air brushed past my face as I looked up; the sun was still rising. A golden hue slowly crept up the horizon. Just then, my stomach grumbled.

  'Guess I know where my first stop is.'

  But before I could indulge, there was one thing I had to do. I bent down and tied my shoes into a stronger knot, then I stretched side to side to warm up. I stepped out of the tent and zipped it back up as I left towards the centre of the camp.

  "Morning, Noah!"

  I jogged past the soup line and raised a hand, trying not to suck in too much air at once.

  "Morning," I managed.

  A few heads turned as I ran by.

  Someone whistled. "He's at it again. Kid's going to wear a groove in the pavement."

  "It's good energy," an older woman said, adjusting her scarf. "Better than sitting and thinking."

  I pretended I didn't hear them and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

  The perimeter of the camp made a decent track for a morning run. Past the soup tables. Around the cluster of medical tents with their white tarps and green crosses. Along the fence, where city drones hovered above and watched the ruined blocks beyond with a quiet, tireless patience.

  Insight pulsed.

  -

  [CONDITION]

  OVERALL: 89%

  ELEVATED HEART RATE

  MUSCLE FATIGUE: MILD

  COLD STRESS: NEGLIGIBLE

  -

  [SKILL UPDATED]

  + ENDURANCE: RANK F

  "About time," I muttered between breaths. It had been insanely difficult to even get started on this skill. Though I knew it wasn't something I could neglect.

  I had done a week of this.

  Every morning before the soup line got too long, before the tent city woke properly, I dragged myself out of the thin camp cot, stretched, and ran until my vision blurred. Day one, I almost threw up halfway through the first lap. Day three, I managed two laps without stopping. By day seven, I hit three laps, but I could swear my legs had gone numb.

  'In the end, it was all worth it.'

  [ENDURANCE] was a skill I could not live without. Not when I needed everything I could get my hands on to survive.

  I slowed to a jog, then a walk, hands on my head, breathing deep until the burn eased.

  The tent city stirred around me, waking up. Kids chased each other between the soup lines. Tired adults queued for food, holding mismatched cups and bowls. Volunteers in city vests hauled crates from supply trucks. Somewhere close by, someone cursed as they tripped over a pallet edge. Awakened patrol squads walked the perimeter in pairs, bands on their wrists glowing faintly when they passed under the pylons.

  'I never saw those two who had saved me again.' I sighed. Part of me hoped that they'd made it through that demon attack. But there was just no way for me to know.

  I continued to jog to the centre of the area till I reached the soup kitchen, which was a cluster of collapsible tables under a tarp. Big vats sat on heaters, steaming clouds of warmth into the air.

  I cut back into the camp and joined the end of the line.

  "Rough one today, huh?" the guy in front of me asked as he saw me panting.

  "Less rough than last week," I said.

  "That's the spirit."

  We shuffled forward together.

  "Kid, you're going to outrun the rations if you keep burning through calories like that," someone said behind me.

  I glanced back.

  An old woman wrapped in three blankets and a coat that might have been older than I was. She'd given me a cracked mug on day two when she saw me staring at the soup with empty hands.

  I cut in quickly. "Just trying to keep warm."

  She snorted. "You could try sitting by a heater like a normal person." But despite her words, I saw her lips curl into a smile. There was a strange kindness in her eyes.

  I gave her a wry smile back. "I will try it next time. Save me a spot."

  "Hm? No one's saving you a spot, boy." The woman chuckled.

  You could tell a lot about a place by how it handled boredom.

  Some people sat and stared. Some argued. Some found petty things to fight over. Most here filled the gaps with little rituals. Card games. Shared stories. Watching the patrols come and go like it was a show. They folded me into it without asking too many questions.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Next!" a volunteer called.

  I took a dented tin bowl and held it out. The woman ladling soup into it smiled automatically, but I could tell it was a professional smile frayed around the edges.

  "Morning, Noah," she said. "Still running?"

  "Doing what I can." I smiled in response.

  "Ambitious," she said, filling the bowl. "Don't pass out on our flooring. We only have so many medics."

  "I'll do my best."

  I stepped aside and found a spot on an overturned crate near one of the heaters. Warmth licked at my legs, making the skin under my soaked socks prickle. The soup tasted better than anything I'd eaten in days, even if it was mostly water and root vegetables.

  Around me, conversations overlapped.

  "...the Academy admissions are opening this fall. I heard they're already hiring workers to prepare the testing grounds."

  "...my cousin's band glitched during the blast, they had to re-print it..."

  "...demons that far inside Third District, can you imagine..."

  The word Academy came up more often than I'd expected.

  One of the academy's outer facilities was close enough that their medical cadets had been among the first on scene.

  I hadn't seen them that first night. I hadn't seen much of anything beyond the inside of the camp.

  I stayed quiet, soup cooling in my hands. As time passed, I finished the last of the soup and stood, stretching until my ribs complained. For now, my focus was on keeping active, or rather do anything but sinking back into my thoughts. I truly believed that as long as I tired myself out every day, perhaps my nights would pass more easily.

  Yet every time I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes, my brain tried to sink back into delusion. That it was all just a bad nightmare. If I was tired enough, it skipped all that and even hallucinated a dream that I was back in my room.

  Some nights, those dreams didn't let me sleep at all. Like a veiled regret gnawing at my subconscious.

  When the bowl was empty, I licked the last film of soup from the edge, dropped it into the collection crate, and headed toward the far eastern side of the tent city.

  -

  The eastern side of Tent City was three streets away.

  This small corner street had survived the blast more or less intact. On the corner was a bakery, with front windows cracked but not shattered. I'd found the place on day three, wandering farther than I should have. The smell of warm bread and wisps of hot air had hooked me mid-step and dragged me like a leash.

  "Closed," a voice had grumbled the first time I tried the door.

  "I uh-" I'd started, stomach growling loudly enough to betray me.

  The door had opened then, and an old man peered out at me. White hair, face like creased paper and forearms perpetually dusted with flour. He'd given me one look and spotted the camp tag around my wrist.

  "Hungry?" he'd asked.

  "Yes,"

  He snorted, shoved half a loaf into my hands, and said, "You can pay me back with labour. Come back tomorrow, morning."

  'I guess that was the start of something unexpected,' I chuckled and pushed the door open.

  "You are late," Marin mumbled without turning his back.

  He was at the counter, arms deep in a huge bowl of dough.

  "I could have died of old age already."

  "It is still morning," I said. "Barely."

  "For a baker, morning is two hours before the sun comes up," he said. "Not when you are done running in circles like a rabid dog. Wash your hands."

  He jabbed his chin toward the tiny sink in the corner.

  I sighed

  "Properly too. Customers won't eat the bread if it's dirty."

  "What customers? Half the block is torn down." I asked, scrubbing my fingers properly this time.

  "Hah." Marin grunted, "I've got a reputation. Best bread in this part of town."

  "There isn't even another bakery around here." I clicked my tongue.

  "Quiet!" Marin barked, kneading the dough harder this time.

  I silently shook my head and patted my hands dry on a towel.

  Marin turned and shoved a box of tomatoes towards me.

  "Diced, small." He scoffed.

  "Relax," I grunted and set the heavy box down on the counter. I picked out a dull knife from the kitchen drawers and carefully got to work. Just as I wedged the knife into the first tomato, Marin clicked his tongue again.

  "Apron." He sternly reminded and continued his kneading.

  I rolled my eyes, grabbed a small apron and tied it around my waist. "Why do you even have one this size? It'd never fit you."

  Marin went quiet. But he had a habit of going silent, so I paid it no mind.

  I splashed a handful of water onto the knife and wiped its edge. With a clean stroke, I began to dice.

  A few minutes passed, and I'd diced two. But as I reached for the third, Marin croaked.

  "Had a grandson," he said. "Ran off to the front lines three years ago. Hasn't written. Either dead or too busy being brave to remember old men."

  His voice was resigned. A little bitter.

  I flinched. My eyes slowly widened as I glanced at his back.

  For a second, I could swear I'd seen him stiffen. As if he'd sensed my gaze. But he didn't say a word more.

  "I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I didn't know."

  "Bah. If he is dead, he is dead. If he is not, he is an idiot who will come back missing a few limbs and complain that stairs are too hard." Marin wiped his hands on his apron and handed me a tray.

  "Put these in."

  The tray was full of shaped loaves waiting for their turn in the oven. Heavier than they looked. I took them into the back as carefully as I could. Working in the bakery was, in a strange turn of events, the one thing I looked forward to the most. Morning runs, soup, bakery, then odd jobs back in the camp. Carrying crates. Helping set up more tents. Running messages between medics and supply points.

  I had built a routine and tried to grab onto anything I could. Part of me knew it was just an effort to contain my panic. But in a sense, I was also slowly starting to build my own life in this world. Brick by brick, albeit slowly.

  [SKILL UPDATED]

  Knife Work: RANK F

  My lips curled into a smile as I almost chuckled.

  "Stop smiling at the wall," Marin grunted again. "You look stupid."

  "Just thinking," I said.

  "Don't strain yourself with what you can't do." He shook his head and slapped the dough down with a satisfying thump.

  "So," he said, squinting at me as I slid the tray into the oven, "have you remembered where you are from yet, Noah-boy?"

  "No," I had told Marin my story at the start.

  The official version was simple. Woke up at a bus stop. No memory of anything before. People were already used to strange stories. Mine was still on the tamer side.

  "Mm," Marin grunted. "Maybe you got lost and hit your head. Would explain your empty stares."

  "That seems unlikely." I rolled my eyes.

  He shrugged. "Whatever you say, boy. But there's one thing I don't get." Marin flipped the dough over once more, slowly spreading it into a flat, thin square.

  "Why try? All this running, all this work, what are you trying to do?"

  I paused for just a fraction of a second.

  "I've got nothing else to do. Gotta spend time somehow." I shrugged.

  "Liar. I've seen how you run." He turned back to the dough. "You run like someone trying to catch a train that will not wait."

  I didn't answer.

  He let the silence stretch while he shaped a loaf, hands moving with practised ease.

  "You listen a lot," he said after a while. "In the line. In here. Out there." He jerked his head toward the camp. "I am sure you've heard the talk about the Academy?"

  It wasn't really a question.

  "Yes," I said.

  "What do you think?"

  "I think," I said slowly, "that if I stay as I am, I will die the next time something like that attack happens."

  Marin snorted. "You and half this city."

  He pushed a finished loaf aside and looked at me properly.

  "You are an Awakened, aren't you?" he said. "No band, but I know you are. I've got an eye for that. I discovered my own grandson's awakening before he did."

  I didn't reply. I didn't feel the need to.

  "Join the academy, boy. It's the best thing you'll do. You're a bit weak, but that place will help you." Marin heaved a breath.

  "I know that already," I said.

  I knew everything about the academy; heck, that's where the tutorial for the game was. Every player in 'Advent' started there till they finished the game's main campaign. Which is why I was sure I wasn't ready. The Academy wasn't an easy place. It had all sorts of twists and turns. All the missions I completed were difficult and required the utmost effort. Heck, there were even times I died in the academy, at least then I could restart.

  But right now? I only had one shot.

  "Hm." He grunted, non-committal. "You are fifteen, yes?"

  "Yeah." At least this body was fifteen.

  He shook his head. "When I was fifteen, it was a simpler time. I stole apples and chased girls. You run until you wheeze and come help an old man bake some bread."

  Marin continued, "You listen. You file away. You stare when the awakened walk past, like you are trying to see under their skin."

  He tapped his temple with a knuckle.

  "Times are hard now. And try as you might, your thoughts betray you. Whatever lives in there, Noah-boy, it will not let you knead dough for the rest of your life like me. So." He scooped out another portion of dough.

  "Either you go to the Academy and learn to use your powers, or you let your thoughts wander and eat you alive."

  "Like I said. I'm not sure I'm ready. " I sighed, "Isn't there an entrance test? I overheard that from some awakened down here."

  Marin gave a short laugh. "There is. You're right, the academy doesn't just accept any bumbling fool. My grandson tried thrice, failed the tests each time. That's why he ended up running to the awakened corps at the border that little bastard."

  "So what? You think you'll fail?" Marin chuckled.

  "I am sure as hell not passing easily, can't even lift a box of these." I slapped the box of tomatoes.

  He cackled and turned away, signalling the lecture was over.

  I swallowed and busied myself with trays.

  "What would you do," I asked curiously, "if your grandson came back from the frontline?"

  Marin paused.

  "Asked him why he did not bring bread from the outside," he said after a moment. "Then hit him with a rolling pin for making his grandmother worry, if she were still alive."

  "That's a lot of love," I said.

  "It is what he deserves," he replied. "Now stop talking and help me before the dough over-proofs."

  We worked in silence after that.

  By the time I headed back to the camp, my arms ached, and my clothes were dusted in flour. The sun had clawed its way higher behind the clouds. Ward pylons hummed softly as I ducked under the perimeter, the shimmer of their field brushing my skin. By night, the tents glowed softly from within, little patches of light under the heavy sky.

  I lay on my cot, blanket pulled up to my chin, listening to voices through the thin canvas.

  My eyes narrowed as I whispered to myself.

  [Insight]

  -

  [NAME]

  NOAH REED

  [STATS]

  Strength: F

  Agility: F

  Constitution: F

  Intelligence: E

  Perception: E

  Charisma: F

  [VITALS]

  Vitality: F

  Stamina: F

  Mana: F

  [GIFTS]

  INSIGHT: RANK EX

  HERO: RANK F (DORMANT)

  [SKILLS]

  ENDURANCE: Rank F

  Knife Work: Rank F

  -

  It wasn't impressive. But I'd started building a set of skills at least. At least it was better than a week ago. I had yet to improve any of my stats, but that would take me time.

  I exhaled slowly, let the faint text fade, and stared at the dark canvas roof until my eyes finally gave up.