The dull sound of gloved fists hitting a sack filled with sand was all Elara focused on. The impact vibrated through her knuckles, up her forearms, and settled into her shoulders with a satisfying, rhythmic thud. Sweat matted her hair against her forehead, stinging her eyes, but she didn't break the cadence. Left, right, hook. Pivot. "Looking sharp, Elara," David said. The bald man leaned against the ring's corner post, his arms crossed over a chest that had seen decades of heavy lifting and sparring. He had a way of watching his students that made them feel both invincible and entirely transparent. Elara paused, her chest heaving as she wiped her brow with the back of her glove. "Just trying to keep the rust off." "You're doing more than that. I've got the local tournament circuit starting up next month," David said, nodding toward the flyer pinned to the gym's bulletin board. "I want you in the bracket. You've got the reach, and your footwork is finally catching up to your power." Elara unvelcroed her gloves with her teeth, pulling them off to reveal hand wraps stained with sweat. "I appreciate the offer, really. You know I love it but with uni starting next week I just can't." "David are you kidding me?" The outburst came from the heavy bag two rows over. Alex, a younger man whose face was perpetually flushed with either exertion or indignation, stepped away from his workout. "I've been training every day for the past two weeks and you won't let me join the locals? But you're begging her to go when she's quitting?" David didn't even look at him. He kept his eyes on Elara, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alex, I would be careful or she'll show you the reason why I wanted her to go instead of you or anybody else. Two weeks doesn't make a tournament-ready fighter." Alex scoffed, throwing a sloppy jab at the air, but he didn't move closer to Elara's station. "Medicine, right?" David asked, turning his attention back to her. "Medicine," Elara confirmed. "Somebody's got to figure out how to fix all the destroyed knees in this place. Might as well be me." She began the methodical process of unwinding her wraps. It was a choice she had wrestled with for months. There was a raw, primal satisfaction in the ring—a clarity that came from knowing exactly where your opponent was and what they intended to do to you. But clarity didn't pay the rent, and it certainly didn't provide a retirement plan. She had seen too many fighters ending their careers at thirty with nothing but a collection of concussions and a limp. Medicine was stable. It was a future that didn't rely on her ability to take a punch. The walk back to her small one-room apartment was brief, the late summer air thick with the smell of asphalt and exhaust. The apartment itself was a battlefield of cardboard boxes and discarded clothes. She navigated the mess, grabbing her uniform for the night shift. It was a transition she made daily: from the disciplined athlete at the gym to the invisible service worker at a counter. "Good day at shitty fast-food place eighty-seven, what would you like to order?" Elara's voice was a flat monotone, a practiced shield against the grease-saturated air and the neon lights of the restaurant. The man on the other side of the counter leaned in, a greasy grin spreading across his face. "I don't know, what's on the secret menu? Do you come with the combo meal?" Elara didn't blink. She didn't even look up from the register screen. "I'm afraid slavery is illegal sir but I heard the chicken nuggets tell some interesting tales. Do you want the six-piece or the ten?" The man's grin faltered, his eyes darting to the manager in the back before he cleared his throat and muttered an order for a burger. As she bagged the food, a colleague—a tall, lanky man who usually handled the fry station—leaned over. "You're out of here soon, right? Orientation is tomorrow?" "Yeah," Elara said, sliding the bag across the counter. "What was the major again? I keep forgetting." "Medicine." The man whistled, dropping a basket of fries into the bubbling oil. "Oof, that's a tough one. Didn't think you'd go that way. You seem more like a... I don't know, a 'hit people for a living' kind of person." "The goal is to stop hitting people and start billing them for it," Elara replied. She knew the road ahead was grueling. Eight years of school, minimum. Hundreds of thousands in debt. There were moments, usually around 2:00 AM when the floor was covered in spilled soda and the smell of old oil was stuck in her pores, when she wondered if she should just pivot to something easier. Biology? Nursing? But she always landed back on the same thought: if she was going to do it, she was going to go all the way. She could always change her major later if the sight of blood outside of a ring turned out to be too much. A solid ten hours of sleep after her shift had ended wasn't nearly enough, but the sunlight screaming through her thin curtains didn't care. Elara groaned, rolling off her mattress and onto the floor. Today was the day. Oakhaven Academy orientation. Getting a bus after changing her clothes at home, Elara watched the houses and streets fly by. The urban sprawl gave way to the more manicured, historic architecture of the university district. She stepped off the bus at the gates of Silan College, the medical affiliate of the academy, and was immediately nearly tackled by a blur of blonde hair and high-pitched squealing. "Elara!" Hannah squeezed her so hard Elara's ribs groaned. "I told you not to do that," Elara wheezed, gently prying her friend off. "I know I know, I'm just so excited you know! We both made it in! Can you believe it??" Hannah's voice was shrill, attracting looks from the more somber-looking upperclassmen passing by. "We're actually here! We're going to be doctors!" "We're going to be students who look at pictures of organs for a long time," Elara corrected, though she couldn't help the small tug of a smile. The orientation was a blur of institutional efficiency. They were ushered into a grand lecture hall where deans spoke of "the noble calling" and "the weight of responsibility." By the end of the afternoon, Elara's arms were heavy with a massive stack of paperwork—syllabi, financial aid forms, campus maps, and a thick handbook of student conduct. That evening, she sat on her floor amidst her boxes, eating cold leftover curry straight from the container. She scrolled through videos on her phone—highlights of regional kickboxing matches interspersed with "Day in the Life of a Med Student" vlogs. Her life was about to become a series of very long days and very short nights. She felt a strange sense of mourning for the gym, for the simple clarity of the bag, but she pushed it down. This was the plan. She fell asleep with the light on, the medical handbook resting on her chest. Waking up to the chirping of birds and the sun shining in her face, Elara's eyes slowly opened. Only to be greeted by grass. Tall, vibrant green blades tickled her nose. She blinked, the haze of sleep suddenly replaced by a sharp, cold spike of adrenaline. This wasn't her apartment. There were no cardboard boxes. There was no smell of old curry. She sat up abruptly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was in a forest. Huge, ancient trees with silvery bark towered above her, their leaves a deep, shimmering emerald. The air was unnervingly clean, smelling of damp earth and something floral. "What the hell..." she whispered. Her voice sounded thin in the vast silence. Her mind raced through possibilities. Kidnapping? Human traffickers? She looked down at herself. She was still in her pajamas—a pair of loose cotton pants and a t-shirt. No shoes. If she had been drugged and moved, she didn't feel the lingering lethargy of a sedative. She felt... sharp. The sound of running water reached her ears. Instinctively, she moved toward it. It was a direction, at least. A stream meant a way to track her location or find a settlement. A roar shattered the peace of the woods. It wasn't a sound a lion or a bear could make. It was deeper, more resonant, carrying a metallic screech that vibrated in Elara's marrow. She froze, then dived behind the trunk of a massive tree, her back pressed against the silver bark. She peeked around the edge. In a clearing fifty yards away, a creature stood over the carcass of a deer-like animal. It was three meters long, a wingless, dragon-like horror with scales the color of dried blood. Its yellow reptile eyes scanned the perimeter as it lowered a bloody maw back into its kill. A translucent blue panel flickered into existence in Elara's field of vision, hovering right over the creature. [Wyvern lvl ??] Elara's breath hitched. She tried to pull back, to hide her head, but another window popped up directly in front of her eyes, blocking her view of the forest floor. [Congratulations! You have learned the general skill [Discern]] The world seemed to tilt. The Wyvern tore a massive chunk of flesh from its prey, the sound of snapping bone echoing through the trees. Elara's legs gave out. A wave of sheer, primal terror washed over her, a biological override that rendered her muscles useless. She sat there, paralyzed, as the blue screen informed her of her new skill. One minute. She counted the seconds in her head as her body refused to move. The Wyvern let out a low, rumbling hiss, its dragon-blood veins pulsing under its scales. It looked toward her tree, its nostrils flaring as it caught a scent. Elara felt a sudden warmth spreading through the crotch of her pajamas. The shame was distant, drowned out by the absolute certainty that she was about to die. She was a kickboxer; she knew how to fight people. She was a medical student; she knew how people died. Neither of those things helped her against a three-meter-long fire-breathing lizard. The paralysis broke. She didn't think about medicine. She didn't think about her career. She didn't think about the strange blue boxes. She turned and ran. She ran with a desperation she had never known in the ring, her bare feet slamming against the forest floor, thorns tearing at her skin as she plunged into the thicket, leaving the roar of the Wyvern behind. [System Initializing...] [Status] [Vitality: 5] [Endurance: 8] [Strength: 5] [Dexterity: 5] [Intelligence: 5] [Wisdom: 5] [Health: 50/50] [Stamina: 36/80] [Mana: 50/50] ════════════════════════════════════════