Lex was sitting in the darkness, waiting. The night was quiet, and the air in the cold corridor of the building was still.
He had been there for hours, unmoving, crouched with his back against the wall and his sword resting flat on his thighs. His eyes were open, but they didn't seem to see. They were glazed over, like glass left in the rain.
His mouth hung slightly open. Drool had started gathering at the corner, slipping down his chin without noticing. He didn't blink. Didn't shift. If someone had passed by, they might've thought he was dead. Or close to it.
A brain-dead man sits in silence, watching the void.
He wasn't thinking. That was the point.
Then, without warning, his eyes twitched.
"Three…" he whispered. A small spark returned to his gaze. "Two…"
He reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"…One."
His body straightened. His shoulders rolled once, as if waking up from a long nap.
"It has been exactly four hours. That should've been enough." He spoke flatly.
Because of Die to begin, Lex had always had a strange relationship with time. Waiting for a long period had turned into a kind of poison—something that ate away at you if you let it.
In the early cycles, he tried to keep himself busy by counting pebbles, planning some plans, and making fake conversations in his head to test outcomes. But it never helped.
So, eventually, he came up with something else.
He stopped thinking altogether.
Over the years, he trained himself to "deactivate," to shut it all off when he needed to wait, like flicking a switch. His body would stay still, his mind almost empty, like a computer in sleep mode.
He couldn't say when it started working, as some of his memories from his first few"restarts" were blurry. But now, it was second nature. He could drop in and out of it as easily as closing his eyes.
It wasn't a skill, not really. Just a technique to keep his sanity as high as possible, a way to wait without going insane.
Lex stretched his neck. A few cracks popped through the silence.
He glanced down at the sword in his hand, then at Mirielle. She was still out cold, curled awkwardly on her side, her breathing shallow and uneven.
The knife he'd given her was hidden under one leg, and both her feet were wrapped in the rough, makeshift bandages. Her face was tight, eyebrows drawn in like she was trapped in some bad dream.
"Wake up," he said, voice flat.
No response.
"Wake up."
Still nothing.
He let out a quiet breath, reached down, and grabbed a fistful of her hair, not gently. Her head tilted back as he pulled, exposing her neck and face to the dim hallway light.
"Wake up."
Her eyes shot open. For a second, she looked lost, disoriented. Then she saw him.
"This is my last warning," he said, his tone calm—almost bored. "Don't make me drag your half-alive body like luggage after I cut off your arms and legs. I don't want to carry dead weight."
She didn't speak. Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Just the sound of her breathing.
Then, slowly, she began to move. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up, groggy and stiff, like her body hadn't caught up to her mind yet. Her feet were still injured, but she seemed to have regained a majority of her strength.
He let go of her hair once she was upright and stood, brushing off his hands like he was done dealing with a piece of furniture.
"Good," he said simply. "From now on, we didn't go through the aspect selection. We don't even know what an aspect is. Understood?"
Mirielle's lips tightened, her jaw stiff as she processed the lie. After a few seconds, she frowned but gave a slow nod. It wasn't hard to guess why he wanted her to say that.
"From what you said, I can assume you also have one," she said quietly. "And I guess I don't really have a choice, either."
Lex didn't respond, nor did he bother to hide the fact that he had an aspect. He stared at her, waiting to see if she'd start saying anything stupid.
Luckily, she didn't want to press further about Lex's aspect. She seemed to have understood that asking would be pointless. Instead, she asked some general questions one might have.
"Aspect selection... not everyone went through it?" she asked, her voice dry, barely above a whisper.
"No. Some didn't." He didn't bother lying. There was no reason to.
She raised one eyebrow."... why?"
He stayed silent.
When she realized he wouldn't explain or perhaps simply didn't know, she exhaled through her nose and nodded again.
"So, you want us to pretend we're without aspect, that we didn't get teleported for the selection. Fine."
Lex still hadn't looked away from her, but still didn't say anything.
She had guessed Lex's intent. If others thought they didn't have aspects, it would make them look harmless. Unimportant. People with powers wouldn't reveal them unless they had a reason to.
Only idiots showed their hand right away.
"... What is your name?" she asked,
"Lex."
I am Mirielle. I wouldn't say it is a pleasure meeting you, though..."
"We wasted enough time," Lex said, ignoring her comment.
With a stone face, she said, "I am still hurt, I can't exactly move long distance-"
She frowned as soon as she saw it.
That smile.
Wide, gentle, the kind of look someone might give a child after a nightmare. His tone was just as warm—too warm.
"It's gonna be alright, Mirielle. I'm here. I can carry you," he said, like he genuinely meant it.
It didn't match anything else about him. Not his voice from before. Not the way he had yanked her up by the hair. Not the emptiness behind his eyes.
She didn't reply. Her gaze flicked away as if she hadn't seen it at all.
Fake. Completely fake. Yet, if she didn't see how Lex acted before, she would have almost believed this.
She didn't understand why he would pretend, yet, and she didn't want to ask. Maybe it was practice, or maybe he thought it would make her more cooperative.
Perhaps he was just messing with her or trying to play the "nice guy stereotype". Whatever the reason, it made her stomach turn.
But she let him lift her anyway.
His arms were cold. Not the temperature, just… coldly functional. She felt he picked her up like someone might carry a sack of clothes, without care for comfort or dignity. Just making it easier to move.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, not out of trust, but because she was too tired to hold it up.
As the light of the sun rose, they left the building.
The streets were empty, and the air was cold. They passed multiple collapsed buildings. Rubble and debris littered the roads, and the sidewalks were cracked and uneven.
Strangely enough, they could see people moving in the distance—small groups, sometimes larger ones, walking down the street.
Everyone was armed.
There were clubs, knives, axes, even a few swords. Some held weapons in their hands, while others carried them over their shoulders.
However, they seemed too busy scavenging to notice the two.
Most of the shops had been looted, and the windows were broken. The doors were kicked in, and the insides were ransacked.
They passed a corner store. The door had been ripped off its hinges and thrown aside. The shelves were bare, and the floor was covered in shattered glass.
A few people were inside, digging through the debris.
"Where are we going? Can you tell me?" Mirielle asked as they passed them.
He replied with the kindest, most patient voice, "I'm taking you to a safe place."
Upon hearing his disgusting tone, she frowned but didn't speak.
'I need a plan to escape this psycho,' she thought, her fingers twitching slightly against his arm as if the thought alone made her want to run.
But before she could go any deeper into her thoughts, something flew past her line of sight.
It was small—barely the size of her hand. Its wings were made of flickering orange flame, and it glowed faintly as it hovered a few feet away, almost like it was studying them. It had no legs, just a thin, tapered body that shimmered with heat and tiny arms that hung motionless at its sides.
She blinked hard, not sure if she was imagining it before pointing the small creature with her finger. "What is that?"
Lex followed her finger and tilted his head, pretending to examine it. "… I don't know?"
He lied without blinking. Of course, he knew what it was.
They were called Wicks.
Silent, floating, and useless in a fight. But they weren't meant for combat anyway.
Instead, they were the eyes and ears of those from the deeper floors— players from floors below Earth. They were observation tools bought from merchants at absurd prices. Although they were harmless, they were annoying.
Players from the lower floors had no way of interfering in the tutorial. But nothing said you couldn't watch.
As for why deeper players would do that, they usually belonged to one of the categories.
Sometimes, it was just independent players. They'd buy a few Wicks, send them up, and search for talent—people with good Aspects, good instincts, or players with great items.
If they found someone promising, they'd try to make contact. They'd offer support—usually a loan, coins, or items. In return, the person would owe them, slowly paying them back as they grew stronger, like investors scouting early.
Other times, it wasn't just one player. It was species or groups. Entire unions trying to prep a floor for assimilation—that was a different story entirely.
The wick glared at them for a few seconds before flying away- Lex, with an impossibly quick movement, caught it.