Progenitor's Burden

Sinclair awoke to a throbbing headache and the sensation that his bones were on the verge of crumbling. A yell escaped him, as he clumsily tumbled from his bed onto the chilly wooden floor. As Heroti and Kafor had planned, the noise remained unheard; Sinclair's farmhouse sat on the town's periphery, quite some distance away from its nearest neighbors, ensuring his yell—and the subsequent muffled groan from the jarringly cold contact with the floor—would not be commented on by anyone.

"I am never drinking again. What on earth happened last night?" he murmured, racking his brain for any recollection of the evening's events. It wasn't the first time he'd woken bewildered, devoid of memories from the night before, but this was spectacularly awful.

The slow realization that he had not gone drinking the previous night dawned on him. Curling up into a ball, he fervently wished for the pain to simmer down. "This is worse than when that asshole horse kicked me in the balls at summer camp. It's like that but—everywhere. Urgh." His chest felt unbearably tight, and Sinclair began rolling on the floor in a desperate attempt to find something—anything—that would relieve the pain. "Am I having a heart attack?"

"Come on... move," Sinclair whispered to himself, mentally willing his body to do what it was told. His stubbornness was a trait he wore like a badge of honor. Sure, Sinclair wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed regarding academic knowledge, but he had a natural knack for connecting with people. He excelled in solving puzzles and was driven by an insatiable curiosity that often bordered on recklessness. He often mused that if he were a cat, he might've burned through all nine lives by now, given his penchant for diving headfirst into perilous situations.

His younger years—not that these were that long past—had been particularly adventurous, with his then-tiny, resilient frame diving headfirst into all sorts of mischief. Between testing the limits of 'how things work' and 'what makes things explode', young Sinclair had been a walking calamity. His childhood had been one of recurrent childhood illnesses combined with self-inflicted 'adventure related' injuries; his parents often half-jokingly referred to his suffering "Sinclair Syndrome", blaming it for their prematurely graying hair.

Now he was 24 and had defied expectations to hit a towering 6 foot 4 inches. Nor had he remained skinny: the discovery of a natural talent for rugby had developed his width as much as his height. None of that was much use as Sinclair found himself on the floor, feeling as if every past injury and ailment had resurfaced, uniting in a cruel symphony of pain.

Placing one large hand on the floor next to his bald head, a nod to his family's curse of premature hair loss, he pushed down hard until he managed to leverage himself into a seated position next to his bed. He leant his back against the bed frame, legs splayed out in front of him and glanced in the mirror; even slumped on the floor, he looked like one of his Norse ancestors, who were big, bald and bearded. Carefully, he started to take stock and make sure there was no actual injury.

"Hmm… everything's still there, nothing's torn, no blood, no broken bones; I can't find anything wrong with me. Muttering to himself, Sinclair prepared to rise to his feet. "Where's that damn Tylenol?"

After gulping down the painkillers, Sinclair gathered a fresh set of clothes, dropped them onto the bed, and wandered off to have a quick shower. He had been planning to spend this week's vacation relaxing on a beautiful beach, enjoying serene sunsets with his girlfriend of three years. Instead, she'd oh-so-kindly informed him that she'd decided she wanted to start seeing her 'work-husband' instead, good-bye, so-long, and thanks-for-all-the-fish. Sure, their relationship had been on rocky ground for some time, and perhaps this had been inevitable, but that didn't mean he was ready for it now; her decision stung!

Now, as the reality of the situation set in, he pondered on how to salvage his vacation. The reservation was non-refundable and he didn't want it to go to waste, so why not invite his closest buddies to go with him instead?

Lost in this whirlpool of thoughts, he stepped into the spacious, recently-tiled shower—a testament to his aptitude for DIY. His father, Bruce, had a favorite phrase: "If you're not going to be rich, you better be resourceful." Sinclair lived by that philosophy, and he had an unusually versatile set of skills. His curiosity meant he was always eager to learn something new... until another interesting project caught his eye. He was, in essence, perhaps less of a cat, and more of a raven, easily distracted by shiny things.

As he exited the steaming shower, tendrils of mist swirled around him, immediately fogging up the mirror. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the condensation on the glass, and revealed an unexpected sight that had been hidden by his bedclothes previously.

Covering his chest was a series of unfamiliar markings. Intricate and beautiful, the designs formed a web of delicate lines and precise dots, looking like nothing less than a star-chart had been embedded into his skin. The comparison was slightly painful, given his familiarity with the skies largely extended to bemusement at watching his ex-girlfriend, Sharon, identify constellations on their night-time walks; as far as he was concerned, where she could see a constellation, he saw... dots.

"What the... those weren't there last night, right? But they look like aged scar tissue." Sinclair poked and prodded at the marks, white and slightly raised, continuing, "they're definitely fresh. I think I'd better take a trip to the clini—". As he finished the sentence, his vision began to blur and a sharp pain lanced through his chest. His breath hitched and the cold floor rushed towards him.

The last thing he thought before blackness took him was the surprisingly banal, "I hadn't made the bed yet". His body convulsed, twice, then went limp.

*****

Heroti looked on with bated breath as the process started. "Here we go," she thought to herself. "No turning back now".

Scan complete

Consuming template

ERROR - Consumption failed

Error log captured

Continue with the process, Yes/No?

Selection automatically made, continuing

Assigning stats and abilities per new Subroutine Koraline

Assignment complete

Awakening... failed

Automatically retrying

Awakening successful

Error log captured, send to Architect, Yes/Yes?

Error log sent

Heroti's eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. The unexpected data packet sent to the Architect was a red flag she hadn't anticipated. A protocol of that level was meant to be reserved for catastrophic events or vital information exchanges. But this... this was different.

Pushing aside her immediate concerns, she prioritized the task at hand. Monitoring the subject—Sinclair—was crucial. Anomalies, no matter how minuscule, could have ramifications on a much larger scale. While there was a contingency plan to restart the test if it failed, the implications of such an action were not lost on her.

However, something else had unexpectedly piqued the majority of her interest. This planet was... beyond unusual. While scanning the planet, Kafor and Heroti had discovered a broken and shattered node system where there should have been nothing. The discovery of an existing nexus node layout was unprecedented. The scanners were picking up a faint, almost imperceptible energy signature, but the mere presence of that suggested either prior intervention or an ancient power source yet to be unearthed.

Heroti was intrigued. Had another entity or system tampered with this planet before? And if so, to what end? The stakes had just been raised, whether she wanted them to or not.

*****

"W—why can't I move? What's happening?" Sinclair's mind was racing as he grappled with a situation he could never have anticipated. Despite feeling like he had just awoken, the grogginess of waking from a long sleep was absent. Instead, he felt an odd detachment, as if floating in an endless void, separated from his body. "Am I dead? Is this what a coma feels like? What... what if I'm trapped in my own mind?" Sinclair could feel panic setting in and tried to control his breathing. It didn't help his fear any where he realized he couldn't hear his own breaths.

In the periphery of his consciousness, he had the vague sense of being watched. He strained to focus, attempting to hone in on the sensation, but the direction remained elusive—like trying to pinpoint a whisper carried by the wind.

Gradually, from the depths of the void, a distant glimmer of light began to approach, growing brighter and more defined with each passing moment. As it drew nearer, it took on the form of a luminous screen, eventually coming close enough that Sinclair could read the disconcerting information upon it.

Name: Sinclair Hagerson

Race: Human

Level: 0

Rank: F

Path: None

Class: [blank]

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Health: 160

Mana: 140

Stamina: 160

Strength: 20

Agility: 15

Constitution: 16

Intelligence: 14

Willpower: 19

Endurance: 16

Luck: 21

Available Points: 0

New Title: Midgard's Progenitor
Description: As the first of your kind on planet Midgard, you have been granted the esteemed title of Midgard's Progenitor. In your role, you are expected to lead and shape the destiny of your kind and the world they inhabit, embodying the responsibilities of a true leader.

Effects:

Grants +5 to all Base Attributes

Provides direct access to the Universal Market

Gives access to the Dimensional Training world

Grants Skill

: Yggdrasil's Authority

New Skill: Yggdrasil's Authority (Legendary)
Description: As the torchbearer of a new human epoch, you possess the commanding presence of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, itself. This ability allows you to exert unparalleled authority and guidance. When activated, you emanate an aura of profound leadership, bolstering the morale and skills of any ally within a 100-meter radius. Your presence inspires them, granting a +5 bonus to all stats.

This skill can be activated once every 24 hours

Effects:

Grants +5 to all Base Attributes

Increases moral 7%

Decreases negative status effects 15%

New Ability: Skald's Tongue (Rare)

Description: You are bestowed with a divine ability reminiscent of Odin's wisdom. This power allows the bearer to comprehend and converse fluently in any language, including those long consigned to the annals of history as 'dead languages'.

Blessing: Error, no new blessings available.

New Quest: Midgard's Crucible

Do you wish to enter Midgard's Crucible? Yes/No?

Sinclair furrowed his brow as he absorbed the peculiar information displayed before him. His voice was a blend of frustration and bewilderment as he mumbled to himself. "Level 0? Rank F? What is this, a video game?"

His gaze remained fixed on the text, his unease growing with each line he read. "Path: None. Class: Blank."

He paused, attempting to make sense of the surreal situation. "Health, Mana, Stamina... These sound like RPG stats. But why? Why is all of this... about me?" His voice echoed softly.

The information continued to swirl in his mind, leaving ripples of confusion. He couldn't help but notice the distinctly Norse mythology-inspired names. "Skald's Tongue. Where is all of this coming from?"

Sinclair found his thoughts racing to comprehend the bewildering information. "I must've had some sort of stroke, and this is some twisted afterlife," he mused, his words echoing in the surreal space. He tried to shake his head, but his physical form felt distant and intangible. The screen dominated his vision, its enigmatic contents challenging his every assumption.

The idea that he had become a character in a video game felt preposterous, yet the evidence was in front of him. He could accept this new reality or resist it. Sinclair had never been one to succumb to panic; instead, he preferred to roll with life's more unpredictable punches. Perhaps this was just the next chapter in the grand tapestry of his existence. Or perhaps he was crazy. "Yeah, probably crazy. They say talking to yourself is the first sign."

Determinedly, he scrutinized the screen, methodically dissecting each entry it presented. While the stats were relatively straightforward, the traits, skills, abilities, and blessings posed an intricate puzzle, and he loved puzzles. As his mind delved deeper into the riddle, an intense pressure began to build behind his eyes, a growing sense of urgency demanding his attention.

Abruptly, another message appeared before his eyes.

New Skill: Valkyrie's Gaze (Rare)

Description: This skill traces its lineage to the ancient tale of Mímir, the wise being who guarded the Well of Wisdom beneath the roots of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Mímir's knowledge and foresight were unmatched, and it is said that he possessed a unique ability to perceive the world's true nature.

Effects:

You can

Analyze

items and people for further information

There is a small probability of discovering crafting recipes or blueprints when using

Analyze.

Note: As you acquired this skill before completing the tutorial, its rarity and power have been upgraded. Valkyrie's Gaze bestows upon you the ability to peer beyond the surface of items, unraveling their intricate purposes and learning how to unlock their hidden potential.

As Sinclair finished reading the prompt, his surroundings gradually solidified, back into his bathroom, and feeling returned to his body. Haltingly, he ran his hands over his scalp and down his face, feeling a lingering sense of bewilderment as he tried to make sense of what had transpired. He was tempted to dismiss the entire experience as some strange hallucination, but the intricacy of the experience defied all logical explanations.

Lying on the bathroom floor, his thoughts raced. Could he control all of this, whatever it was, with his thoughts? Inside his head he said, "Status", half-expecting nothing to happen, but the screen returned immediately.

A mix of incredulity and excitement surged within him. He chuckled, the sound carrying a hint of nervousness. "This is a dream. It's too vivid to be a dream. It can't be a dream. But it has to be a dream, right?" His thoughts continued to run in circles before his attention was once again grabbed by the floating screen.

His gaze fixed on the screen, Sinclair pondered the significance of whatever he'd sensed watching him earlier. Could it—whatever 'it' was—be responsible for granting him these abilities? And why him? Such questions weighed heavily on his mind as he prepared to go on with the rest of his day, as if his entire sense of normality hadn't been entirely—permanently—shattered. "For now, why don't I just explore this... whatever this is, one step at a time?"

Attempting to stand, Sinclair was shocked as he shot a foot into the air, landing heavily on his hip with a dull thump. "Guess those stats aren't just numbers," he grumbled, "and a plus five boost isn't trivial." With far more caution, Sinclair gently pushed himself to a seated position.

Once again looking at himself in the mirror, Sinclair noted more changes than just his newfound scarring. What small amount of body fat that remained on him after years of rugby had vanished overnight. His stomach, previously flat but not exactly defined, had passed 'six-pack' and turned into a full-blown 'eight-pack'. "Woah. If I could bottle and sell whatever happened to me last night, I'd be richer than… I cannot think of a single rich person right now."

Carefully, the new progenitor rose to his feet. The world felt... different. It wasn't just that he could sense a vast increase in his physical strength; it was an elevated level of energy and vitality. It was like a combination of the exhilarating rush from a strong cup of coffee, the afterglow of a satisfying meal, and the initial buzz from a sip of top-tier craft beer, with none of the downsides.

"Some wardrobe changes were in order," he mused, slipping into comfy loungewear. As he stepped out of his bedroom, his stomach let out a series of loud, persistent grumbles. It might as well have been shouting, "feed me, NOW!" Heading down the hall into the kitchen, he found himself ducking as he stepped over the lintel from one room to the other. "Have I grown taller? A mystery for later, I guess."

Driven primarily by the imminent threat of a hunger-induced rebellion—his stomach leading the charge to take control from his brain and go on an all-consuming binge. Flinging open the fridge, he skipped scanning its contents and just indiscriminately grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on. As he devoured his makeshift 'feast' (or 'disgusting melange of high calorie, heart-attack-inducing junk'), Sinclair's mind raced with questions and concerns. What prompted this sudden transformation? Is there some omnipotent being watching me and just feeling whimsical, or is there actually a reason for all this? And who else has been affected? Looking down at his plate, he added a final thought: and who is going to subsidize my meals if this is how much I eat now?

Munching on his eighteenth slice of cold-cut turkey, Sinclair pondered the enormity of the situation. If he wasn't alone, and the rest of the world had changed overnight, the implications for the planet's food supply were staggering. As he bit into a slightly too soggy pickle—at least his twentieth—he envisioned a world of transformed individuals with insatiable appetites. Whole farms would vanish overnight. People would start eating each other. I might even have to eat lentils.

Letting out a light chuckle at the absurdity of his internal monologue, Sinclair decided to park those concerns for later. For now, the mix of pickles, meat and pre-boiled eggs—not to mention the bread, the apples, and three types of cheese—was... er... problematic.

Ten minutes later, Sinclair paced back and forth, mumbling to himself and trying to sort through the flurry of thoughts and emotions storming inside. "All right, Sinclair, think this through. One step at a time."

He flexed his arm, examining the way his veins stood out against the newfound definition in his muscles. "First off, how have these changes in stats affected my body? I can see the physical changes, but what else has shifted under the surface? Speed, reflexes, agility?"

Stopping momentarily, he closed his eyes and focused, trying to summon the screen he had seen earlier. "What else can I access? What if I... " loud rumble from his stomach interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, for the love of... right, I definitely need more food. Lots, and lots of food. Ideally, cheap food."

Making the herculean feat of ignoring his hunger, he continued to ponder out loud. "If this works like a game, there are going to be ways to min-max it. Maybe even exploits. How do I game the system? Are there loopholes, shortcuts, hidden abilities to unlock? And again, who else was affected?"

Sinclair's thoughts drifted to his friends. He'd shared countless adventures with them, but nothing like this. "Should I even tell them what's happened? Would they believe me? Would they think I'm crazy? Am I crazy? Work's been hard with all the new contracts, plus Sharon cheated on me. And now I have superpowers, or something like that."

"Are there any other screens or interfaces I can access?" He mentally prompted Skills, Inventory and Map , along with every other vaguely relevant term he could think of from his favorite games. Each attempt was met with varied success, but soon he had uncovered more details about the way the system seemed to work.

Along with Status, he could pull up screens with Inventory, Skills and Paths. "I need one of those yellow 'For Dummies,' guidebooks from the store."

It's going to be a real puzzle working out if I can game the system without a Help screen, but I won't lie to myself, this is really exciting. Can I train new skills? Improve them? Evolve them? Combine them in ways the system doesn't expect?

Sinclair mentally called up the Inventory screen. Before him materialized an image reminiscent of the Vitruvian Man, accompanied by adjacent boxes corresponding to each region of his body Slots for items, I presume. With a focused gaze, Sinclair mentally selected his shirt and sweatpants

New Item: T-Shirt (Common): No bonuses

New Item: Sweatpants (Common): No bonuses

"Well, that provides some clarity, at least," he mused aloud. He needed to find objects with distinct attributes to test this identification skill properly. "Maybe the tutorial phase will introduce more intriguing items to examine," he pondered.

There was one more feature left to explore: the Universal Market.

Accessing Universal Market

Error: access not granted

Please complete tutorial to access the Universal Market

Goodbye

Looks like patience is the name of the game for now. Frustrated, Sinclair spoke out loud. "Oh so helpful, thank you so much." Wait, hang on, can I buy a lightsaber? Frustrated by the failure to access the Market, Sinclair reverted to a screen he knew was accessible: Paths.

Error: no path available

Warning: Paths are neither found nor chosen. Your path is who you are. It is who you become.

Note: Will you follow the path of the Monarch and lead your subjects to greatness, or will you choose the path of the Deadly Nightshade and delve into the Deeps? The only important thing is that you be true to your Path.

Falling off that Path will result in a fate worse than death.

Well, that's not worrying at all.

Sinclair, prompted by the messages, took the time to think about who he was. He felt he was kind to people, supported those in need, and could be firm when necessary. Time would tell what his Path was, and he was excited to get there.

Finally, he spoke out loud once more. "Well, if I can't do anything more with those screens, I want to see what benefits I've already got. I think I'll go hit the weights. "