Cyrilian Might

Ian slowly made his way through the forest, trailing behind Flynn, who kept darting ahead only to look back and wait for him to catch up. As he walked, Ian took in his surroundings. Nothing here seemed out of the ordinary. The trees—mostly maple and oak—were the same as those back home. The temperature was cooler, but nothing unexpected for an Indiana autumn.

If it weren’t for that giant bird from earlier, Ian might have been fooled into thinking he was still in the woods behind his house. It felt just like one of his usual nature walks with Flynn, except for the eerie absence of a sun in the sky. He glanced upward, catching sight of more of those massive birds circling high above. Albatrosses? Here? No way...

Ian raised a hand to motion Flynn to stop. A few feet away, he spotted a downed tree and headed toward it, waving Flynn over to join him. The dog trotted back, nuzzling against Ian’s legs as he gave Flynn a good rustle behind the ears.

Ian sighed, thinking out loud, “What are we going to do, boy? I’m getting hungry, so I know you’ve got to be too. And we both need water soon.”

At the word hungry, Flynn’s ears perked up, and he let out a soft whimper, resting his head on Ian’s knee. Ian chuckled. "Yeah, I thought so."

Memories flooded his mind—running through the woods as a kid, swimming in creeks, hunting and fishing with his dad. He thought back to camping trips with his family, where they’d always pack more food than they could ever eat. Man, that would be nice right about now. He muttered the words aloud, and Flynn lifted his head as if to agree.

Flynn wandered over to a nearby tree, lifting his leg to relieve himself. Ian laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. I kind of have to go too, buddy.” He found his own tree, and as he unfastened his pants, a strange thought struck him. Why am I even wearing pants? On his usual walks, he only wore them to keep the bugs off. But now that he thought about it, there hadn’t been a single bug buzzing around.

As he finished, Ian turned and noticed something just beyond the fallen log. There, in a small cluster, were mushrooms—cone-shaped with a spongy texture on top. Ian’s eyes widened in recognition.

“No way...” He quickly zipped up his pants and rushed over, Flynn bounding after him excitedly. Ian knelt down, plucking one of the mushrooms.

System (Andrew): Forage Proficiency gained.

A screen blinked into view.

Proficiencies

Forage: F Grade

Level: 1

Experience: 1/10

“Whoa,” Ian muttered, reaching for more. He looked back at the screen.

Proficiencies

Forage: F Grade

Level: 2

Experience: 14/30

Proficiency skill acquired: Identify.

Proficiency Skills

Identify: F Grade

(Passive) – Automatically identify common fauna in your surroundings.

Ian’s gaze shifted back to the mushrooms cradled in his now dirt-streaked blue shirt. Another message popped up, hovering above the cluster.

Morel Mushroom – Common

Crafting ingredient

(Insert description of habitat)

Ian frowned slightly, unsure. “I’m not sure if you can eat this, Flynn,” he said, looking down at his dog. “We should probably cook them first... just in case.”

He glanced back at the log, then carefully stuffed the mushrooms into the hollowed-out section of the trunk for safekeeping. “Since there’s no bugs to be seen, these should be good here. Let’s try to find some water.”

Ian looked around, trying to spot anything significant on the trees, but everything seemed identical. How haven’t I noticed that before? Frustrated, he began tearing his shirt into ribbons, gathering sticks and tying the fabric to the ends.

System (Andrew): Crafting Proficiency gained.

A screen blinked into view.

Proficiencies

Crafting: F Grade

Level: 1

Experience: 1/10

“Is there any benefit to raising these levels?” Ian muttered. He thought back to the RPGs he’d played with Andrew, where characters leveled up and earned new skills. There was always a glimpse of what lay ahead—blacked-out options teasing future abilities. I’ll keep pushing this tutorial. Let’s see how far I can go.

He looked at his newly crafted stick, and like the mushrooms, a message appeared above it.

Trail Marker – Common

Crafted by Ian Doyle

Used to find your way, or lead others to you.

Market: 1 token

“That’s interesting. Where’s this market?” Ian wondered aloud. Another screen flashed next to the others.

System Market

He noticed three tabs: Buy, Sell, Auction. Curious, he mentally clicked on Buy, but the screen flashed red before returning to normal. He tried the other tabs, but each gave him the same result. “Okay, maybe I’ll get access later.”

With his trail markers ready, Ian decided to make use of them. He had enough shirt to craft 19 additional markers, saving only a sleeve to wrap around his head and keep his long hair back. “Alright,” he said, pointing in a direction, “we’ll walk this way.”

Flynn spun in a circle, excited by the prospect of another walk. Chuckling to himself, Ian led the way, placing a trail marker every fifty paces. After six markers, Flynn suddenly dashed ahead at full speed.

Ian’s heart leapt. “Stay!” he called, but Flynn kept running, barking furiously.

Panic set in as Ian sprinted after him, his stomach sinking with every step. “Flynn!” he shouted, gasping for breath as the barking grew louder. Rounding a tree, he finally saw his dog standing at the entrance of a large cave—at least twenty feet wide—his body tense, head lowered, growling and barking.

Ian rushed forward. “Flynn, come here!” Flynn turned, tail low, and ran back to Ian’s side, still growling as he stared at the cave.

Ian knelt beside Flynn, running a hand through the dog’s fur. “What’s gotten into you? What is it?”

A deep, guttural growl echoed from within the cave, sending a chill down Ian’s spine. The air around the cave felt cooler, a stark contrast to the calm warmth of the forest. He squinted into the darkness, but the cave revealed nothing—just an inky void.

Suddenly, a notification blinked into existence before him.

Tutorial Quest Accepted: Eliminate Bjorn.

Ian’s pulse quickened as he stared at the words. Bjorn? What was that supposed to mean? His mind raced through possibilities—a person, an animal, something worse? He didn’t like the ambiguity.

Taking a cautious step back, Ian tightened his grip on Flynn’s collar. “What’s a Bjorn?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. Flynn’s growls softened, but the dog stayed alert, eyes locked on the cave’s entrance.