Sylas sat on the ground, sweat dripping from his brow as the midday sun bore down on him. The scent of dust, wood, and fresh earth filled the air. The old shed creaked faintly behind him—still standing, but barely.
He wiped his hands on his tunic and stared at the warped roof. The worst part of the repairs.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Time to become a builder, I guess."
He rose and grabbed a bundle of salvaged wood he'd gathered earlier from the forest's edge. Most of it wasn't perfect—bent, cracked, or mossy—but he didn't have the luxury of choice.
[Quest Progress: "First Home"]
Cleaned: 100%
Roof Repaired: 0% → 12%
Nailing boards wasn't hard. Making them fit was. He fumbled through his work, hammering one nail crooked, then another too deep. He cursed under his breath, nearly smashing his thumb.
"You're gonna scare the birds away with all that swearing," came a voice.
Sylas turned to see a boy probably no older than thirteen watching him from the path. He had messy brown hair and carried a fishing rod over his shoulder.
Sylas squinted. "Do birds even hang around this wreck?"
"They used to. Till you moved in."
The boy grinned and walked up. "Name's Ryn. You're the new guy, huh?"
"Sylas," he replied, offering a nod. "Just trying to make this place livable."
"Looks like a chicken coop." Ryn tapped the frame with his toe. "But hey, better than nothing."
The two sat in silence for a few seconds before Ryn asked, "You from the west?"
Sylas hesitated. "...You could say that."
He didn't want to get into the reincarnation thing. Even he was still wrapping his head around it.
"Well, welcome to Haresh. Don't let Old Mira scare you. She talks like a grump but still leaves bread on doorsteps when no one's looking."
Sylas smiled faintly. "Thanks."
The boy left soon after, and Sylas returned to work. By late afternoon, his hands were sore, his back ached, and the shed roof was… still slightly crooked—but better.
A shadow fell across the ground behind him.
"Looks sturdier than it was," said a deep voice.
Sylas turned to find Garen standing there with a leather pouch.
"Thought you'd need nails," the blacksmith said, tossing the pouch to him. "Won't charge you for these. Consider it an investment."
Sylas blinked. "Why help me?"
Garen shrugged. "You're trying. Most folk don't bother fixing anything these days. They wait for someone else to do it."
There was something in the man's eyes—something that reminded Sylas of older guys he'd met in hospitals. Tired, but proud.
He looked down at the pouch. Nails. Real, solid iron. Heavy in his palm.
Not a dropped item. Not a quest reward.
A gift.
[Reputation Increased: Haresh Village +5]
[System Message: Villager Garen has acknowledged your efforts.]
[Trait Unlocked: "First Steps" – Your hands are no longer that of a patient. Manual labor is slightly more efficient.]
Sylas stood quietly for a moment, watching Garen disappear down the road.
This was more than leveling up. More than stats.
This was trust.
Earned, not granted.
As the sun dipped behind the hills, Sylas finally stood in front of the shed—now with most of the roof patched. Rain still might leak through, but not as much. It was… livable.
He stepped inside, brushing his fingers along the wooden frame. There were no windows, and the walls were thin, but the breeze smelled of grass and evening.
He sat down on a pile of hay and leaned back, staring at the unfinished ceiling.
I'm not just surviving anymore. I'm living.
He didn't have cancer anymore.
No IVs. No ticking clock. No sterile rooms.
Only sweat. Splinters. And, for the first time in years… a future.
[Quest Complete: "First Home"]
Reward: Permanent Shelter Obtained
+10 EXP | +5 Reputation | +1 Endurance
New Title Unlocked: "Wanderer with a Roof"
That night, Sylas lay on the rough floor, staring up at the patched wood above him. His body ached in ways he wasn't used to, but it was a good ache.
"I'm really here," he whispered.
Not a game.
Not a dream.
This world was real.
And it was only just beginning.