NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: The Warden's Archive
The DGC debriefing was a perfect example of boring, bland government talk.
Fluorescent lights, clipped questions, and the lingering smell of stale coffee and disinfectant.
Michael, running on adrenaline and pure, unadulterated shock, constructed his story.
He was a clever student: building a plausible lie was just another kind of problem-solving.
He'd been trying to help.
Got lucky.
The Hunter arrived just in time.
He left out the part about the blue screens, the magic potion, and the disembodied voice in his head calling him a "Scion."
They classified him as a civilian casualty, wrapped him in a trauma blanket that felt like sandpaper, and sent him home.
The silence in the DGC cruiser was heavier than any armor.
When he walked through the door of their small Brooklyn apartment, his father was waiting.
Marcus didn't yell.
He didn't rage.
He just stood in the middle of their small living room, the muted glow of the television flickering across his face, and looked at Michael.
The exhaustion in his eyes was a physical weight in the room.
This was his dad's default setting: Tired Dad Mode.
"I saw the news," Marcus said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.
"Times Square."
"They said it was a Class-3 Gate."
"I'm fine, Dad," Michael said automatically, the words a pre-recorded message he'd been playing his whole life. He couldn't quite meet his father's gaze, focusing instead on a scuff mark on the floor.
"Are you?"
Marcus took a single step closer, and the air in the room shifted.
The Tired Dad mask flickered, the signal dropping for just a fraction of a second, and the S-Rank Hunter looked out.
His eyes weren't just looking at Michael: they were scanning him, analyzing him, assessing every pixel for damage.
"No scratches?"
"No mana burns?"
"The report said a civilian engaged with an Alpha."
The words were short, clipped, tactical.
"The Hunter got there in time," Michael repeated, the lie feeling flimsy, pathetic.
"I just… distracted it."
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
Marcus's jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along the side of his face. The S-Rank was bleeding through again, a ghost at the controls.
"Distracting an Alpha Gutterfang is what gets people killed, Michael."
His voice was still quiet, but it had an edge now, sharp as a broken blade.
"It's what got…"
He stopped himself, but the name hung unspoken in the air between them, a ghost that paid no rent but took up all the space.
Elara.
His mother.
"Don't," Michael said, his own voice sharper than he intended. "Just don't."
He brushed past his father, the weight of his new secret pressing down, and locked himself in his room.
He collapsed onto his bed, his heart still a frantic drum.
"System," he whispered, feeling like a complete idiot.
As if on cue, the blue screen flickered to life.
He focused his will, a thought as simple as clicking a mouse.
Status.
[COMMAND: STATUS]
A window materialized, and Michael's gamer brain immediately kicked into overdrive, ignoring the sheer terror of the situation to focus on what really mattered.
The data.
STATUS
Name: Michael Arcana
Level: 1
Rank: Unranked (Civilian)
Title: Last Scion
HP (Health Points): 100/100
EP (Energy Points): 15/15
STATS:
Strength: 7
Agility: 9
Stamina: 8
Intelligence: 14
Sense: 11
Mana: 0
Laughably weak starting stats, he thought, a grim smirk on his face.
And a zero in Mana?
It's a completely garbage build.
I'm a baseline human with a fancy UI.
He mentally navigated to the [Skills] tab.
It was a vast, complex tree of branching abilities, all grayed out and locked.
Great.
The good stuff is behind a paywall or a level cap.
Typical.
At the very top, a single node pulsed with a faint light.
[Michaelro-Arcana: Bloodline Trait (Passive)]
Description: The ability to interface with and command the System. All other abilities stem from this root. Higher functions are currently sealed.
Sealed.
Just like his father's past.
Just like his mother's fate.
The word hung there, mocking him.
He navigated to [Quests].
The "Survive" quest was marked complete.
Below it was a new, terrifying entry.
[MAIN QUEST: THE EVER-GATE'S ECHO]
Description: Your mother, Elara, was lost during the catastrophic failure of the 'Ever-Gate' fifteen years ago. The System holds fragmented data related to the incident. Uncover the truth of what happened and find the echo she left behind.
Objective 1: Reach D-Rank.
Objective 2: ???
Objective 3: ???
Find her.
The words struck him with the force of a physical blow.
The cynical gamer persona dissolved, leaving only the boy who was obsessed with the missing piece of his life.
For fifteen years, she had been a ghost, a forbidden topic, a source of pain he wasn't allowed to touch.
Now, a machine in his head was giving him a quest to find her.
Hope, sharp and painful, pierced through his carefully constructed cynicism.
His hands were shaking.
He explored the last tab, labeled with an intricate symbol.
[LEGACY ARCHIVE]
He tried to open it.
[ACCESS DENIED. USER RANK INSUFFICIENT.]
[WARNING: CORRUPTED DATA PACKET DETECTED...EXECUTING SUB-ROUTINE...]
A new voice echoed in his mind.
It wasn't the cold, robotic text of the System.
This one was warm, ancient, and tinged with an odd, weary amusement.
"Well now, it's been a long time since anyone knocked on this door."
"And a child, no less."
"The last of Elara's line."
"How wonderfully tragic."
A new window popped up, this one with an ornate, golden border.
"Who are you?" Michael thought, his mind racing.
"I am a fragment."
"A warden, if you will."
"The System is the engine, but I am the ghost in its machine."
"The System… what is it?"
"It is the Michaelro-Arcana Interface."
"A tool of immense power left behind by your maternal ancestors."
"It rewrites the user's reality according to a set of ancient rules."
"Levels, skills, quests... these are just simplified translations your modern mind can process."
The Warden.
This was the legendary NPC who explained the game's lore.
"The quest... it says I need to reach D-Rank."
"How?"
"By doing what Hunters do, of course," the Warden's voice hummed.
"You must hunt."
"You must absorb Raw Mana from monsters slain within a Gate."
"You must temper your soul in combat and forge a Mana Core."
Michael's heart sank.
The one thing his father would never allow.
"There is a safer way to begin," the Warden offered.
"A training ground."
"The Simulation Chamber."
"It will not grant you Raw Mana, but it will teach you how to fight."
The tutorial zone.
Okay, I can work with that.
[SIMULATION CHAMBER UNLOCKED]
[ENTER?]
He focused his will on 'ENTER'.
The world dissolved.
His bedroom vanished, replaced by a vast, white, empty grid that stretched to an infinite horizon.
[ENTERING SIMULATION 1-1: BASIC COMBAT TUTORIAL]
[ENEMY: LV. 1 SIM-SLIME]
A blob of shimmering, gelatinous code coalesced in front of him.
It jiggled pathetically.
"Your first opponent," the Warden said dryly.
"Try not to be too embarrassed when it defeats you."
Michael scoffed and charged.
He was, in fact, deeply embarrassed when it defeated him.
He spent what felt like hours grinding against the slime, dying a dozen painless but humiliating virtual deaths before he finally won.
[SIM-SLIME DEFEATED. 1 EXP GAINED.]
...
[You have gathered enough experience!]
[LEVEL UP! YOU ARE NOW LEVEL 2!]
[All stats +1. You have gained 3 unassigned Stat Points.]
[Open Status Screen to assign points?] [Y/N]
He leveled up, his stats increasing by a minuscule amount.
He pushed on, fighting virtual Gutterfangs, giant rats, things he'd only seen on the news.
He was getting better.
Faster.
But after what felt like two days of non-stop training, he hit a progression wall: a hulking Sim-Bear he couldn't even scratch.
"You have reached your Synchronization Threshold," the Warden explained gently.
"Your body and the System are out of sync."
"Simulations can only teach you the motions."
"To truly grow, you need real-world data."
"You need to absorb a genuine Mana Signature."
Classic game design.
He exited the simulation, his body aching despite only forty-five minutes having passed in his room.
He knew what he had to do.
He had to enter a Gate.
He had to hunt for real.
He had to defy his father and walk the same path that had swallowed his mother whole.
It was insane.
It was suicide.
As he stared at the ceiling, lost in the terrifying gravity of his new reality, a new notification pinged silently on his HUD, glowing with an urgent red border.
[URGENT QUEST: LOW-RANK GATE MANIFESTED]
[THREAT LEVEL: F]
[LOCATION: ABANDONED CITY HALL SUBWAY STATION. 2.3 MILES FROM CURRENT POSITION.]
[TIME UNTIL COLLAPSE: 58:34]