HeroCraft: The Enchanted Storm

[TheLKing]

HeroCraft
The Enchanted Storm
By TheLKing


✦ ✦ ✦
Where's The Tutorial?
I​

My name is Greg Veder.

I'm fourteen—well, almost fifteen, if you count the fact that my birthday's right around the corner. Anyway, I go to Winslow High, and I was a pretty normal kid in Brockton Bay until two days ago... when I "triggered."

Yeah.

And before you ask—no, I don't know what caused it.

Everyone knows that trigger events only happened to people like athletes, geniuses, etc.—people who kept pushing their limits until they surpassed some fundamental limit and triggered, gaining superpowers. But I didn't go through some dramatic, life-changing moment like you hear in the news, nor did I pass my limits. And if you're wondering, my parents aren't parahumans, either—well, I knew for a fact my mom was normal, but I couldn't be sure about my dad.


My mom said he disappeared. I wonder if-

...

So, anyways,

It was nighttime when I logged onto PHO (Parahumans Online) and somehow ended up in this debate thread about who the greatest Tinker of all time was. Now, here's the thing—everyone and their grandma was saying Dragon, because of her whole "unstoppable mech army" thing going on. But me? Nah. I'm a Hero guy.

Hero was one of the founding members of the Protectorate and The Thinker. He wasn't limited by any specialisation like the other Tinkers. The dude could build anything. If he hadn't been taken out by Siberian, there's no way Dragon's stuff would be on the same level. But no one agreed with me. And—big surprise—the debate got heated.

Then after someone said something, my mouth slipped and I said something I shouldn't have said. I didn't mean it and I regretted it the second I hit "send," but of course I got banned anyway.

Then, like two minutes later, I triggered.

Honestly, I didn't think the debate or the ban had anything to do with me triggering. It wasn't like the debate was that bad. I've been in way worse. It felt like every other pointless internet argument I've been in. And as for the ban? It wasn't even permanent. I've been temp-banned so many times already and I haven't minded them after the fifth one—which was because I called a mod stupid; the temporary ban was just abuse of power.

Anyway, you know that theory about parahumans just knowing how to use their powers instinctively?

Yeah, well… I concede it wasn't some conspiracy to hide the fact that they're manufactured.

The moment I triggered, it felt like I'd always had powers but somehow forgot about them. I just knew what I could do, and I could sorta understand how it all worked. And let me tell you, my superpower? It's weird. I guess you'd call me a changer—you know, someone who can transform—but it wasn't like the usual "I turn into stone" or some cool battle armour. Nope, the thing I turned into is what gave me all my abilities. And it was a one-way ticket. No going back.

But that wasn't even the strangest part. The real kicker? What I was turning into.

An alien.

No joke, powers told me.

I know—it's totally unbelievable. Like, I get it. Who'd think that triggering would instantly confirm that, yup, aliens are real? Wild, right? But honestly, I kinda always figured they were out there. I mean, how could they not be? The universe is massive. Earth's like one tiny grain of sand in this gigantic cosmic beach. Plus, with all that talk about parallel universes, it never really made sense to me that we'd be the only smart beings out there, right?

It's crazy how small we are when you think about it.

So, was I freaked out that I was turning into an alien?

Nah, not really.

At first, yeah, I was kind of worried. I mean, I was apparently turning into something called a !¡ꖎᔑ||ᒷ∷—whatever that means. No clue. Apparently, my powers didn't come with a handy translation guide. In my head, I was picturing this grey-skinned, big-headed alien with those massive eyes, blonde hair, and... blue eyes? Not exactly the hero look I was going for.

It was an image that would only be funny if you weren't the one turning into it. But, as luck would have it, I was not turning into that kind of alien.

So, apparently, these !¡ꖎᔑ||ᒷ∷s are shapeshifters. And get this—they have superpowers. I'm talking superstrength, durability, the whole package. It's like turning into Superman from The Superman Adventures—you know, that old, kinda underrated comic series that got cancelled.

I was like him for real for real. We were both aliens coming to our powers, living in a world full of superheroes. And yeah, just like Superman, I wanted to be a hero too.

And if he could be the symbol of hope...

I could too.

This was it. The moment I'd always dreamed about—a second chance. A shot at standing tall after being knocked down for so long. To be someone people actually looked up to, instead of the guy everyone ignored or laughed at.


It didn't matter if the road ahead was tough. From this point on, I was done being the loser I used to be. I was going to give it everything I had and never look back. This I vow.

I took a deep breath.

"And it all starts with getting that workbench."

[2]​

So um…


The wood I had planned to use couldn't be used for the workbench; the wooden planks were apparently too thin for some reason. But—I had about three hundred and thirty bucks saved up, and I do recall there was a wood shop somewhere downtown.. I think. The tough part was figuring out whether to spend all my money on the wood I needed for the workbench or keep saving it for those games I've been waiting on forever.

And for a brief, very stupid second, I thought about chopping down a tree. Then I pictured myself in some park, axe in hand, with everyone staring and probably calling the cops. Yeah, not my brightest moment.

Perhaps if I tried it at night...? Nah.

I sighed dramatically.

"Sometimes, sacrifices must be made." I was already mourning the games I wouldn't be buying anytime soon, but hey, priorities, right?

With a quick touch, all my savings disappeared into my inventory—a weird, magical storage space I could summon at will. Think of it like a pocket dimension where I can stash stuff. Right now, I've got fifty slots in there, and each one can hold up to a hundred cubic metres. Not as impressive as a full-blooded !¡ꖎᔑ||ᒷ∷'s inventory—those guys can store, like, a bajillion things as far as I could tell—but it's a work in progress.

Before I went out to buy the wood, I paused and gave it one last run-through in my head. Gotta make sure I wasn't missing something important here.

So, why exactly did I need wood? Good question. See, the !¡ꖎᔑ||ᒷ∷ were basically like super Tinkers, which, lucky me, meant I was one too. And if you're wondering how that even works, let me try to explain without sounding totally crazy. Most of their powers, including mine, came from something called an "M-field." Yeah, it sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie, and honestly, it kind of is. It lets them—us, I guess—interact with things on a metaphysical level and create all kinds of cool stuff.

But why wood? And why a workbench?

Simple.

I was more human than !¡ꖎᔑ||ᒷ∷, and somehow that meant I needed a workbench to unlock all the cool metaphysical stuff they could do. Don't ask me how it works. I was still trying to wrap my brain around it too. But that all still meant that I needed some wood to create a workbench, which would let me craft myself some wooden armour. As for why I was making wooden armour?

Why wooden armour?

Well, that's easy. I had nothing else.

Right as I was about to head out the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Then it hit me like a brick. I couldn't be the one to buy the wood. I mean, imagine: some random kid buys a bunch of wood, and then, boom, a hero with wooden armour shows up the next day. Suspicious much? Any Thinker would figure it out in no time.

That meant I—or more specifically—Greg Veder, couldn't be the one to visit that woodshop. But what if they didn't recognise me?

I rummaged through my closet, tossing aside old shirts, mismatched socks, and random junk I hadn't seen in years. Somewhere buried in there, I had to have something that could pass as a decent disguise. After a few minutes of intense digging, I found a black hoodie stuffed in the back corner. Not bad. It was a bit wrinkled, but it wasn't like this was going to be my actual costume.

I yanked the hoodie over my head, the hood dropping low enough to cover most of my face. Not bad.

Then I found an old black mouth cover. You know, the kind people wear when they either want to look edgy or make it obvious they're hiding something. I slipped it on, covering the bottom half of my face. It smelt faintly like detergent. But at least it helped hide my identity better—maybe.

I kept digging through my closet and found some fingerless gloves. Seriously, why did I even own these? Eh, whatever. They totally added to the look, so on they went. Then I grabbed some dark jeans, threw on my scuffed-up sneakers, and to really seal the deal, I pulled out these sunglasses I found buried under a pile of old comic books. Okay, maybe it looked a bit over the top, but who knows? There might be some super nosy Thinker out there who could read my identity just by looking into my eyes or something.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but puff my chest out a little, trying to look a bit more heroic. The hood was up, shadowing my eyes just enough to give me that mysterious vibe, and the mouth mask did make it harder to recognise me.

"Alright," I took a sharp breath. "This is it. You're basically a superhero now."

I flashed a grin to myself—though my mouth mask hid it. With a final nod to my reflection, I felt ready.

"Let's go get some wood!"

---

Inspired by The Terrarian (By Dawnk41) and Bringing a Pickaxe to a Power Fight (Akallas von Aerok).

Current HP: ♥️
LV: 0
EXP: ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Achievements Earned in This Chapter:

Taking Inventory

Open your inventory! +1 Accessory Slot

First Meal

Find something edible and consume it to satiate your hunger! +8% Food Satiation

Check My Surroundings

Become more familiar with your surroundings by looking around +8% Perception

Newbie Traveler I & II

Travel 10 Meters! +1 Travel Speed
Travel 100 Meters! +2 Travel Speed

Newbie Connoisseur I

Experience 3 different kinds of food! +3% Food Satiation

Hello SufficientVelocity! Just came to drop this off, if there are any mistakes—please, let me know.

I'd like to hear any criticism any of you may have because I wish to improve!

 

[TheLKing]

Before this Chapter Begins, I want to take a moment to express gratitude for my first Patreon member: 8thKnightofKeys!

The first step is always the most important step, it signifies the beginning! I hope that with every step I take and every supporter I gain, I'll be able to grow in both my writing skills and the consistency of my releases.

Anyways, if you want to support me or access a few chapters before their release, check out my Patreon. That's all thank you!

✦ ✦ ✦
Wood Is Just the Start
II​

I thought jogging downtown wouldn't be that difficult. The last time me and my mom went there was at most a ten— maybe fifteen-minute drive from our house and the car wasn't moving that fast. I was wrong about it not being difficult.

"I'm- huff- going to- huff- die."

Yeah, I was pretty much dying. My legs slowed down on their own while I struggled not to fall down. My lungs were on fire as I gulped in as much air as possible.

It sucked.

One.

But it made sense. I've always been a scrawny kid since I was little, and that hasn't changed yet. The most exercise I've ever done before was in PE class, and we didn't do much there besides some stretches, light exercises, and the occasional games on friday. But after that, Coach Dirk, our PE teacher, would usually just take out the ball cart from the storage room and then let us do whatever we wanted. It was basically a free period.


Two.

Coach Dirk, if you wanted to know, was apparently once an olympic runner and he turned twenty-six years old a couple weeks back. Honestly though? For someone whose apparently twenty-six, I found it odd that his head's as barren as a desert and.. well, I wouldn't call him fat—but he definitely wasn't who you'd imagine as a former olympic runner. I liked him though, probably the best coach I've ever had, even if it irked me whenever he'd ask if I wanted to play with the other kids. I've refused like a million times already, but he'd always ask the next week about a different sport or in a different manner.

Three.

Maybe he knew I wasn't being honest—that I did want to play and be part of a team. It wasn't gonna happen though; I've never been good at sports, and the last time in basketball showed me just how wide the difference had become. But out of all the bad moments, the worst was after one of my teammates, Mike—I think—passed me the ball.


It wasn't long before I tripped on my own two feet, letting the other team steal the ball and scoring a three-pointer.


My jaw tightened.

Four.

It was utterly embarrassing—having someone believe you could do it and then just utterly failing in front of everyone. Fuck, not just that, but I just had to tell everyone in class how I utterly failed-

I took a deep breath-

Five.

-and closed my eyes for a brief moment. The cool wind and fresh air felt nice.

"But that isn't the case anymore," I sighed with a smirk.

Six.

In just a mere six seconds, I felt even better than I did before.

How many powers does that mean I have now? Six? And this one is pretty darn useful. Not only that, while a bit hard to notice before, it's gotten easier and I'm definitely faster than before.

"With these powers," I could already imagine it. "I'm going to stand on top of the world!"

Oops, didn't mean to shout that out-

[4]​

Slowly catching my breath, I looked around.

"Has it always been this.. bad?"

I've seen the city plenty of times, yet for some reason it looked worse than how I remembered it. The city was a mess; the walls had small cracks that damaged the infrastructure of the buildings, there was graffiti and gang tags past corners, the pavement was uneven and damaged, the—

"Okay, how have I not noticed?"

This might have been the first time I actually stepped foot in the city, but it wasn't like I hadn't looked out the window. Was I really not paying attention? I mean- maybe I wasn't paying attention?

"Whatever, I should look for the woodshop before my mom comes home." I tried to ignore how uneven everything was and focus on what I was here for: "Buy some wood, go home, build my armour, and become a hero." I told myself.

Looking around, I tried to recall where exactly the store was while looking for anything I recognised. Then I saw a street sign to the far left, "Oak St." I remembered that it was the street horizontally across from where the store was located, perhaps around eighty blocks diagonal-

"Blocks?" I don't know why I thought that when I meant metres.

I shook my head and began making my way.



Through the tint of my glasses, I stared at the dark-stained sign above with the big words, "Wilson's," with little words "woodworking lumberyard" beneath. I was definitely at the right place, but as I looked back down toward the woodshop… it just didn't look like how I remembered it. The paint on the walls was peeling all over, revealing cracked concrete, the small parking lot had large dents and the lines were faded; there were also gang tags on the side of the store; and everything had this weird greenish-dark tint. I honestly would've thought it was abandoned if not for the cracked glass door with the "open" sign.


"What the heck happened?" It looked practically brand new two or three years ago and was pretty popular, how did it change so fast? Three years wasn't that long right?

Heading over and opening the door, the first thing that hit me was the smell of moist wood with something weird mixed in, it wasn't necessarily bad but it had a strange odour. The second was the old man resting his arms on the counter, looking at me with narrow eyes like I was someone suspicious.

Was I suspicious?

At most I was wearing a black hoodie with the hood on, a face mask, and tinted glasses. It might've not been the best disguise but I was confident no one would've guessed my identity from this purchase… I hope. Though I guess it did make me look like a r- oh, ohhh… that makes sense.

I extended my hands out, "I'm not here to rob you!"

The face mask muffled my voice but I think he heard me cause he no longer looked at me like I was about to commit a crime.

"Relax kid," I knew it. "I knew the moment you looked down at your jacket."

For real? Dang.

"So what's a kid like you coming here for?" His brow raised inquisitively and I may have panicked a little—

"Wood working-" was the first thing that came to mind. And it wasn't as if I could take it back so I continued, "I- I uh wanted to try.." Think Greg, think!

"Woodworking?" I wasn't sure if he was muttering to himself or questioning me, but at that moment I remembered this cool wooden action figure of Eidolon I once saw a couple months ago down in- no time to get sidetracked, Greg!

"Yeah! I wanted to try and make action figures of heroes, ya know?" I said cool-y.

The old man's look softened, replaced by a hint of a smile. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest as he considered my words. "Action figures, huh? I wouldn't have guessed." He gave me this… weird look, real strange. "Not many kids nowadays are interested in making something with their own hands."

I nodded, trying to be as totally-not-suspicious at all as possible. "Yeah, I uh..just thought it would be fun to make something with my own hands, you know?" I suddenly recalled something, "Plus, there aren't a lot of good action figures out there for some of the heroes I like."

The old man chuckled. "You've got a point there. Most of the ones they sell in the market these days are all plastic junk. But making action figures from wood… that takes real skill and patience."

His words stirred something inside me—I couldn't exactly place what it was that I felt, perhaps just relief that he wasn't kicking me out for looking like a wannabe criminal? My eyes wandered to the side and noticed a block of ironwood, which I hadn't expected to find here in Brockton Bay because of a lack of imports in wood. It was around maybe two (2) cubic feet which was a shame since I needed a whole lot more but it would've made better th-

"So,-"

"Huh?" I got sidetracked again, but how did I- no, not the time.

"-you've got a specific project in mind?" the old man asked.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, improvising on the spot. "I was thinking of starting with something simple, like a figure of... I don't know, maybe Gallant. You know, since I think it'd be easier to detail his armour since it's mostly symmetrical shapes, you know?" I wasn't even sure if what I was saying was true or not, but at least it didn't sound stupid.

"Hmm, I guess." The old man nodded thoughtfully, then looked back at me. "So have you figured out what kind of wood you want?"

Hahaha, oh boy have I.

"Oak," was the result of my countless hours—well it was actually two but…yeah—of research in finding out what I could afford and how hard they were. "I wanted something that wouldn't get a dent if I accidentally dropped it… you know?"

The old man nodded, "I can understand that." He looked around a bit and—

Wait, would my powers work on already processed wood? It didn't work on the previous and I assumed it was a size issue but what if it was because I needed raw materials-

"If you foll-" "Lumber-" We both paused.

…

"I uh.." My mouth opened on its own. "I uh.. want lumber to get some practice," Me and my big mouth, it doesn't sound believable at all! I need to think of something else- "-and I heard it was.. cheaper?"

The old man's gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his expression was indiscernible. I swallowed hard, nervous at the awkward silence. But then, he suddenly wheezed and then it turned into.. laughing?

"Hahaha!"

What's happening?

"You're a funny kid," his laughter settled down into just a small smile. "You kind of remind me of someone," his eyes seemed to haze for a moment before his smile faded a bit.

"Well," the old man breathed a heavy sigh. "You're not wrong," his smile seemed to rise back to normal, yet I could tell it seemed a bit forced. "Lumber is cheaper, and if you're serious about woodworking, starting from raw materials isn't a bad idea. It'll teach you more about the craft—how the wood behaves, how it can be shaped and moulded." He turned and began walking towards the back of the store. "Come on, I'll show you what we've got."

I followed him and wondered if something had happened to him, but in the end I didn't say anything. Instead, as we walked, I glanced around at the various stacks of wood that lined the aisles. Some were rough and unfinished, while others had been cut into neat planks, ready for crafting. The smell of sawdust hung heavy in the air, mingling with the scent of the moist wood.

"So, you said you wanted oak, right?" the old man asked as he led me to a section of the store where large, rough-hewn logs were stacked. "Oak's a good choice. It's strong, durable, and can hold up well under pressure. But it's also a bit harder to work with than softer woods like pine or basswood."

I nodded, I had done enough research online to understand. "Yeah, I've read that oak is pretty sturdy."

The old man gave a small smile. "It is. But you'll need the right tools to work with it. Do you have a good set of carving tools?"

I hesitated for a moment before answering. "Uh, not really. I was-" I didn't have carving tools, but I couldn't just say that I intended to use my powers right? "-my dad has some tools in the garage so I thought of using those.."

One of his eyebrows raised, "I'm assuming they aren't carving tools?"

"Not.. particularly.." Not at all.

"Then I don't think they'd be of much help in carving a model for a hero-" He paused for a moment before walking off to the side and out of side behind the corner. "Carpentry tools aren't very suitable in creating-" from out of the corner, he came back with some thin rope and clear plastic bags. "Models, especially miniature ones because they just aren't good at detailing."

It honestly made sense, except for the fact that I wasn't actually thinking of making wooden models—they were cool and I was kinda interested, but I wanted to be a hero, not a craftsman.

"Maybe but.. I.." Why is talking so difficult? Why can't people just use text?

I watched as he tied up the wooden logs and wrapped them up with the large plastic bag. Unsure if he could pick them up, I went up to the logs.

"Oh, I got it." I wrapped my hands around them and lifted them up from the shelves—they were really heavy.

"Let m-"

"No, no, no- I got it." I could feel my arms ache in pain, but the rush of strength flowing through them only made me more excited.



As the old man rang up my purchases, he glanced at me again, his expression softer this time. "You know, I've seen a lot of kids come and go from this shop over the years. Most of them don't stick with it. Woodworking takes patience, dedication, and a lot of trial and error. But something tells me you've got what it takes."

His words caught me off guard, and I felt a warmth in my chest that I hadn't expected. "Thanks," I muttered, feeling a little embarrassed but also genuinely touched. "I'll do my best."

He handed me the bag with my tools and I took hold of the lumber. "That's all anyone can ask for. Good luck, kid. And don't be afraid to come back if you have any questions or need more supplies."

I nodded, gripping around the stack of oak tightly. "I will. Thanks again."

I walked out the door, careful to not hit anything on the way o– oh, I have an inventory.

"Phew, I almost forgot I had an inventory." I chuckled and walked off toward a nearby alleyway across the street. Thankfully, it seemed that there wasn't much driving going on in this part of the city. As I walked, lugging the logs, I couldn't help but imagine it—the armour I would craft, the skills I would hone, and the day when I would finally be able to stand tall, not just as Greg the scrawny kid, but a hero everyone looked up to.

(5)​

Thank God, my mom hadn't come home yet. It would've been fairly awkward trying to explain where I had been and answering the million other questions, she probably would've asked me.

In the garage, I scanned my inventory, my mind wandering on the one slot that held 18 Oak Logs. It still felt surreal, like something straight out of a video game, and I still half expected a tutorial screen to pop up in front of me. Maybe it was because of me that my powers took some inspiration from video games?

"Right… do I just…" I muttered, scratching my head. The whole situation felt totally bizarre, but I focused hard and pictured those logs filling one of the slots in my 4 by 4 crafting space. To my surprise, it worked.

Displayed on the "output" slot, was a block of wood—72 of them to be exact. Definitely a lot more than I expected.

I focused hard, thinking, "accept." Suddenly, poof, 64 blocks just filled one of my inventory slots like it was no big deal, and with the rest in another.

"Huh." A limit of 64?

Then, with just a thought, this tiny, perfect wooden cube materialised midair, floating just above my hands totally ignoring gravity. I blinked, a bit baffled.

"That... doesn't make sense," I muttered, staring at the cube like it was about to sprout wings or something—not that it would. How was I doing this? My mind raced, it wasn't being formed nor was connected through my "M-field", so it was completely bizarre and yet... I couldn't stop the grin growing on my face.

It's totally awesome.

---

Inspired by The Terrarian (By Dawnk41) and Bringing a Pickaxe to a Power Fight (Akallas von Aerok).

Current HP: ♥️♥️
LV: 0
EXP: ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Achievements Earned in This Chapter:

First Steps

Craft Something! Anything!

First Meal

Deal with your first trade! +10% Charisma

Fun Fact: He's Bri'sh and likes his bo'oh' o wa'er

Now there's a reason he's British. Can y'all guess? HAHAHA CUZ IM COOKING SOMETHING RN! Just wait till Chapter 14!
If you notice anything off or etc. just tell me ^^

 

[TheLKing]

✦ ✦ ✦
Sneaking Not So Stealthily
III​

I stared at the clock, watching the second hand drag its way around.

Seven o'clock.

Right on time. Mom would be home any minute, and the kitchen was way too quiet for how antsy I felt. My eyes darted over to the little white box on the counter—blueberry fruit cake, her favourite. I'd bought it on the way home and spent the last of my allowance on it, hoping to surprise her after her long shift at the hospital.

I tried not to pace, but my feet had other ideas. The only sound in the house was the ticking of that stupid clock, each tick somehow making time move even slower. Every little noise made me glance at the window. Any second now...

And there it was—her car pulling into the driveway, right on cue. My heart did this little excited flip. I quickly shut the curtains and went over to stand in front of the cake, listening as the front door opened with its familiar creak. Perfect timing. Like always.

The door creaked open, and in walked Mom, her keys jingling as she tossed them onto the counter. She looked more worn out than usual. Her blonde hair, usually pulled back in a neat ponytail, was a bit frizzy around the edges, and her brown eyes had that same tired-but-still-warm glow.

Mom worked long shifts at St. Mary's Hospital, a place that ran on caffeine and chaos. Being a nurse there wasn't easy—especially in a city with three major gangs and a bunch of smaller ones always keeping the ER busy. I'd hear her talk about how she'd barely sit down before another emergency would roll in. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, fights—the usual for her, though it still freaked me out sometimes.

I knew she carried a lot of weight on her shoulders, more than she'd ever admit. But no matter how rough her day had been, she always gave me a smile when she came through that door—tired, yes, but never too tired for me.

"Hey, kiddo," she said, her voice soft but full of that familiar warmth. "How was your day?"

"Good," I replied, trying to hide my excitement. The cake could wait a minute. "How was yours?"

She sighed, the kind of sigh that said, "Where do I even begin?" but shrugged it off.

"Same old, same old. The ER was packed again—gang-related stuff mostly. But we got through it." She pulled off her jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair. "Dr. Park had to pull a double shift again... poor guy didn't get to see the sun today."

I could tell she was exhausted. Being a nurse at St. Mary's was like playing a never-ending game of triage, deciding who needed care the most, and who could wait. I didn't envy her job. I mean, I had my own problems, sure, but at least mine didn't involve saving lives on a daily basis—at least not yet. I hoped that when I got the whole hero-thing going, I'd lessen the work for my mom and those in the same field.

"Well, I have something that might make your day a little better."

Unable to hold it in any longer. I grabbed the cake box from behind me, holding it up like it was a trophy. "Surprise! Blueberry fruit cake!"

Her eyes lit up, the tiredness fading just a bit. "You got this? With your allowance?"

"Yup," I grinned. "Figured you'd like a little treat after saving the world."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You didn't have to, but thank you. This is exactly what I needed." She walked over and gave me a quick hug, squeezing me tight like she always did when she was really touched by something.

We sat down at the kitchen table, and I cut a couple of slices. The room was quiet, but not in an awkward way—just peaceful. We both took a few bites, savouring the sweet, familiar taste.

"So, anything exciting happen at work?"

She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of water before answering. "Well, there was a big mess in the ER today. Some guy came in with a gunshot wound, claiming he 'didn't know who shot him.' Sure. Like we haven't heard that one a million times before."

"What, did he shoot himself?"

She laughed. "No, but the guy was definitely covering for someone. You could see it all over his face. It's never dull in the ER, I'll give you that."

I shook my head, half amused, half worried. "That sounds intense."

She shrugged, giving me that tired smile again. "It's all part of the job, I guess. But hey, at least I've got cake now."

"So," she said, taking a bite of the cake, "how's school going? Keeping up with your work?"

"Yeah," I mumbled through a mouthful. "It's going okay. Got a test coming up in maths, but it shouldn't be too hard."

She gave me that look—you know, the one that says, Really? And yeah, I wasn't exactly a maths whiz. I mean, but it wasn't because maths was hard or anything. It was just... boring. So boring that staring at the ceiling sometimes felt more productive than having to sit and do complicated problems I would never see again outside of school.

"Greg, I'm serious," she said, narrowing her eyes but with a small smile pulling at her lips.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Maths just isn't exciting, y'know? No dragons, no quests—just numbers."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe if you paid attention, you'd find it more exciting. Solving a problem can be like... slaying a dragon."

"Yeah, but where's the treasure at the end? You never hear stories about heroes who conquered algebra."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You might be surprised. Some people think math is the treasure."

"Yeah, well, those people have some pretty weird treasure maps." I stabbed at my cake, imagining equations as little monsters I had to battle. "But hey, I'll try harder. Promise."

She gave me another look, this one softer. "That's all I ask, Greg."

Hopefully the maths test wouldn't be too long, else I might just fall asleep in class.

"And your friends? You hanging out with them?"

I felt that familiar knot twist in my stomach. Lying to my mom was right up there with maths homework on my "least favourite things to do" list, but what was I supposed to say? No, I'm the awkward kid no one talks to, and I usually spend lunch alone pretending to text people? Yeah, not exactly the way to go. So instead, I forced a grin and blurted, "Yeah, totally. Just the usual group."

She smiled and nodded, completely buying it, which only made me feel worse. "That's great, Greg. I'm really glad you're finding your people."

Finding my people. Sure, if by "people" she meant the pixels in my video games. But I wasn't about to burst her bubble. She already had enough to deal with between work and everything else. And, let's face it, it's not like she needed to know her son was basically the poster child for social awkwardness.

We ate a little more, and for a while, it was just nice. You know, normal. Then she glanced at the clock and sighed. "Alright, kiddo, I think it's time for bed."

I groaned, but more out of habit than actual resistance. "Fine, fine. But you gotta admit, that cake was pretty great."

She laughed, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "It was perfect. Thanks, Greg. You're a good kid, you know that?"

"Yeah, I try." I smirked.

As I headed up the stairs, I couldn't help but feel pretty good about myself. I mean, sure, things were weird with these new powers and everything, but at least tonight, things felt kind of… normal. Well, as normal as they ever got in Brockton Bay.



(6)



Back in my room, I flopped onto the bed with a soft thud, the mattress sinking beneath my weight. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, wrapping myself in its familiar warmth. As I closed my eyes, I couldn't help but shiver in excitement—imagining myself standing over the city, the wind whipping through my hair as I looked down to the street below and saying something cool like, "I shall protect this city!"

Except... yeah, that sounded way lamer out loud than it did in my head.

I groaned, flipping over to my side. There had to be better catchphrases out there, right? Something less cringey? I'd workshop it later. But for now, my brain was buzzing with thoughts about my powers—the weirdness of how they worked, specifically when I was crafting. It was like using that Blender software we'd mess around with in computer class, where you could shape and mould 3D models with a few clicks. Only, this was on a whole different level.
The moment I touched the crafting table, it was like a switch flipped in my brain. I could visualise the space—a three-by-three grid, exactly. Don't ask me how I knew the dimensions; I just did. And when I started placing the wood from my inventory on the grid, I felt like I was holding all the tools on the table and could use them to shape the block the way I wanted. Like my hands and mind were working in sync, using the tools and moulding the material with an ease I couldn't explain.

But that wasn't all. As I worked on shaping the blocks into armour, more ideas started popping into my head—blueprints for all sorts of furniture, statues, fences, weapons, and even tools I'd never seen before. It was like my brain had its own crafting menu. Maybe this is how Tinkers feel, I thought, imagining all the possibilities. My mind buzzed with excitement, but I had to rein it in.

Before I could dive too deep into that rabbit hole, I heard footsteps. Panic shot through me. Mom. Instinctively, I yanked the blanket over my head, pretending to be asleep. The last thing I needed was her figuring out I was still awake, plotting my late-night escape.

Sure enough, she peeked into my room. I could hear her muttering under her breath, "Looks like he's sleeping." My heart raced, like I'd been caught in the act of something way worse than just pretending to be asleep. I stayed as still as a statue, listening to her soft footsteps fade as she made her way to her room.

When her door clicked shut, I finally let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. That was close.

"Now, I just gotta wait till she falls asleep," I whispered to myself.

So I waited. And waited. And waited till the house was dead quiet now—no fridge humming, no cars outside, just the faint ticking of the clock. Should I...? I thought, debating whether or not my mom had finally fallen asleep or not. Then on whether or not this was a good idea. One wrong move—one creaky floorboard—and I'd be busted, grounded for a week, minimum. But I was too far in now. I had to see this through.

Moving as slow as humanly possible, I peeled back the blanket, inch by inch, until I was free. Then I carefully sat up, placing my feet on the floor. I froze. No sound. Good. I rose to a crouch, tiptoeing across the room, expertly avoiding the floorboard by my bed that screamed like a banshee whenever it was stepped on. I had the layout memorised by now—years of practice.

The door, though? That was going to be the real problem.

I reached for the handle, hand sweating, and twisted it excruciatingly slow, praying to every deity I could think of that the door wouldn't make a sound.

Of course, it creaked.

The faintest, most traitorous creak echoed through the hallway, and my heart jumped into my throat. I froze mid-turn, holding my breath. My entire body was tensed like a coiled spring, waiting for the sound of her footsteps.

Nothing. Thank God.

Biting my lips, I twisted the handle a little more and slowly—painfully slowly—pulled the door open. Every millimetre feeling like torture. Then the door let out a groan and I winced like I'd been physically punched. This was it. This was where my life ended.

But... still no movement from her room. No lights flickering on. No footsteps marching down the hallway.
I gritted my teeth and pulled it open just enough to squeeze through. Barely a gap wide enough for me to slip out sideways, but it was going to have to do. I pressed my back against the doorframe and slid out like I was squeezing through a secret passageway in some spy movie.

Once I was through, I gently pushed the door back into place, but it gave one last, cruel creak. I froze. Please don't wake up, please don't wake up, I thought, heart racing so hard I was sure she'd hear it.

My eyes darted to mom's door, expecting the door to open at any moment. But thankfully, it hadn't opened. I let out a shaky breath, finally daring to relax. Somehow, I had survived.

Once I closed the door behind me, I took a moment to catch my breath. Stage one: complete. Now onto the stairs. They were a minefield of creaky steps, but I knew the trick—stick to the edges. Slowly, I crept down, step by step, avoiding the bottom two that groaned like they were about to collapse under my weight.

Finally, I made it to the front door. My hand hovered over the lock and then I had this last lingering doubt. Was this really a good idea? And yeah, Mom would probably kill me if she found out.

I thought of what I've already done already and the armour and tools I had already made, before taking a deep breath.

No turning back now, Greg.

Twisting the lock as quietly as I could, I slowly opened the door, wincing as the hinges gave a slight creak. And in a couple seconds, I squeezed through the gap.

Outside, the cool night air hit me like a wave. I glanced back at the house. No lights. No sounds. I made it. I actually made it. A grin spread across my face as I quietly closed the door behind me.

The night air felt incredible. Cool, crisp, and full of possibilities. I couldn't help but whisper a victorious, "Raaahhh!" under my breath, fist-pumping like I'd just completed some epic mission.


With the secret key hidden under the porch mat, I locked the door behind me. It's hero time. I grinned to myself and slipped into the shadows, heart racing, ready for whatever adventure the night had in store.

---

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Click to shrink...

What do you guys think of this chapter?

And for those who have knowledge on either Minecraft or Terraria, how strong do you think Steve and Terraria are?
Whether Base Stats or Maxed out. And would they solo the Bay?

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[TheLKing]

✦ ✦ ✦
First Day as a Hero, Yeah...
IV​

I stood on the rooftop of an old, rundown apartment building, staring out at the city spread beneath me like a glittering maze. The streets were a web of lights and shadows, a mix of late-night cars and the occasional person wandering home. Up here, though, it felt like I was a part of something bigger. The wind whipped past me, tugging at my hoodie, and I took a deep breath, trying to act cool. Like a hero.

Yeah, okay. Maybe it wasn't quite like how I imagined it in my head. No cape. No dramatic lightning striking behind me. But it was still pretty awesome.

The city looked so... alive from up here. Busy, like a hundred things were happening all at once.

I had been up here for a while now, checking my inventory in my head constantly—making sure everything was in place. Wooden armour? Check. I had it but the reason why it wasn't on me was because I had equipped them in my "armour space" which existed in a different plane—which was pretty bonkers not gonna lie. But apparently, it still gave me its protection in some… metaphysical way or something. What? I may be a hero nerd, but everyone knows comics and those "science of powers" were made up smartly.

Aside from that, there was my sword, pickaxe, and axe, all stashed safely in my inventory. I wasn't sure why I needed them all at once, but it felt like some deep instinct, something pulling me to do it. The second I equipped them, I felt a surge of energy—like I just achieved something great and was being rewarded?

Actually... Could there be achievements? If my dad's an alien, and his people can mess with reality, maybe he threw in some kind of rewards system. Dragons have bloodlines that pass on power, right? Maybe it's like that.

Wait, no—focus! I couldn't afford to get distracted right now. Reassess everything and confirm that you're ready—follow the How to be a prepared hero guide!

"Alright," I muttered to myself, pacing a little. "I've got practically infinite stamina, decent regeneration, and powers that keep getting stronger." Sounds pretty awesome, right? But let's be real—I still haven't noticed any significant increase in strength. I was more athletic but probably not much more than some kid who played soccer twice a week. Sure, I had a great stamina recovery buff, but it didn't exactly mean I was ready to leap tall buildings or punch through walls. The only real advantage I had? I wasn't gonna get tired anytime soon.

I mentally pulled up my inventory, the icons flashing in my mind's eye. My sword, my tools, all neatly stored. "If I factor in my gear... maybe I've got a shot." My voice dipped lower. "At least I hope so."

I stopped pacing, rubbing the back of my neck. There was a difference between feeling invincible and actually being invincible. I could run for miles, maybe even outlast most people, but that didn't make me Alexandria—or bulletproof, for that matter. Maybe, I hadn't tested if I was or not, and I hoped I didn't have to.

I mean, guns weren't common in fights, right? At least not in the stories I'd heard. Something about gang honour and them not being so effective. Then again, I wasn't about to stake my life on a code of honour. If someone did pull a gun? Well, I was pretty sure my regeneration wasn't fast enough to patch up a bullet wound. That wasn't a test I was eager to run.

"Yeah, so, no pressure," I muttered to myself, glancing at my sword. Still unused. I'd been so eager that I hadn't had the time to actually practise with it. I tried to convince myself I'd be fine—I had stamina for days, regeneration that could fix me up—but there was more to fighting than just not getting tired.

It wasn't just about running around in circles until the other guy passed out from exhaustion. It was about what I could do with all these powers. I wasn't Alexandira, and I sure as heck wasn't Superman. I was also probably lacking in experience too. But with my current tools? Maybe I could hold my own.

I looked down at the streets once more, my legs dangling over the edge of the building, waiting for something to happen. The city buzzed beneath me—cars zooming by, people rushing about, and the usual background noise of distant horns and chatter. For a second, it seemed normal. No supervillains, no raging monsters, no crime in sight. Just another regular night.

But, of course, "regular" didn't mean safe. Not in Brockton Bay at least.

After a couple minutes of waiting, something caught my eye. Down below, tucked in the shadows of a sketchy alleyway, I spotted them—three guys, huddled close, passing around small bags of… something. Probably drugs. Definitely the kind of situation that set off all kinds of warning bells in my head. My gut practically screamed, Bad idea. Turn around. Go home.

But hey, I didn't sneak out and play rooftop vigilante just to sit around and watch the stars. Where's the fun in that?

I leaned forward, squinting to get a better look. Yeah, no doubt about it, they were up to no good. One of them glanced around cautiously, probably making sure no one was watching. Too late for that, buddy.

I stood up, took a deep breath, and mentally summoned my sword. In an instant, it materialised in my hand—sharp, solid, and… felt kind of awkward. Yeah, I wasn't exactly sure if I was holding it right. But at least it felt right, like it was decent.

"Alright, Greg," I whispered, psyching myself up. "Time to do something heroic." Or incredibly dumb.

I grinned, "Let's see how this goes."

Without giving myself a chance to second-guess, I jumped off the roof. In my head, it was going to be a perfect superhero landing—you know, the kind you see in movies. In reality? I hit the ground behind a row of dumpsters with all the grace of a falling brick.

"Oww," I groaned, wincing as I scrambled to my feet. Not exactly my most heroic moment, but hey, at least I didn't eat pavement. Baby steps, right?

Brushing off the dust, I crouched low and tried to sneak through the alleyway like some kind of ninja. I hoped my hoodie helped with that. "Okay, just gotta find them again," I whispered, scanning the dark streets ahead.

My heart pounded in my chest, and I couldn't tell if it was from the adrenaline of the jump or the fact that I was about to face actual drug dealers. Probably both. And just as I was getting into position, I caught a glimpse of the three guys again—still up to no good, still unaware of me.

I can do this, I thought, gripping my sword a little tighter. I've got armour on, I've got this.

Now, I just had to figure out how not to totally mess it up.



Peeking around the corner, I spotted them. Three guys—definitely Merchants. Their ragged clothes, twitchy movements, and the general 'I do drugs, and I'll hit you for them' vibe were a dead giveaway. One of them was messing with a small bag of something white—probably drugs—while the other two stood around like they were waiting for trouble to happen.

"Alright, Greg," I whispered, trying to psych myself up. "You've got this. Armour, sword... you're all set. Just be cool."

I stepped out of the shadows, sword in hand, already regretting every life choice that brought me to this point. "Hey!" I called out, trying to sound tough but mostly sounding like a kid who had no idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, was pretty accurate. The guy with the baggie stopped, turning around slowly, like I'd just interrupted his day's most important business. He sized me up with a look that screamed, Who's this idiot? "Who the hell are you?" he growled, eyes narrowing.

Good question. I froze for a second, trying to come up with something cool—something heroic. Cool name, cool name…

Nothing.

"Doesn't matter!" I finally said, sounding way less confident than I'd hoped. "You should leave before things get messy." Yeah, really intimidating, Greg.

The guy squinted at me, like I was some kind of joke he wasn't sure he should laugh at or punch. "You serious, kid?" He glanced at his buddies, who looked just as unimpressed. I felt the weight of my sword in my hand, but even with the grip tight, it didn't feel as comforting as I'd hoped.

Super stamina, regeneration—yeah, I had powers, but my heart was racing. "Dead serious," I said, forcing myself to straighten up and step forward. "You're messing with the wrong guy."

The wiry dude off to the side snickered, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh yeah? And what're you gonna do about it? Cut us with your stick?"

"Stick?" I swallowed, feeling my heart jump into my throat. "It's a sword."

He just rolled his eyes, and for a second, I almost wanted to give up and slink away. But then I thought about what it'd feel like to walk away now. I'd never live it down—not in my own head, at least.

"I'll give you one last chance," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "Walk away, or I'll show you just how sharp this 'stick' really is."

That's when the biggest of the group, a guy built like a human tank, let out a snort—like I'd just delivered the punchline to the worst joke ever. "You some kinda Cape, kid?" His hand dipped under his jacket, and I had a pretty good idea it wasn't to pull out his phone. "Think you can just stroll in here and play hero?"

He grinned, showing off yellowed teeth. "Well, I think you're some dumb ass playing pretend."

"Uh…" I opened my mouth, searching for some kind of clever comeback, but my brain had apparently checked out. Before I could even think, Big Guy lunged at me with a knife.

Instinct kicked in, and I barely dodged, heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. My sword suddenly felt about ten pounds heavier than it should, and when I swung it, it was more like flailing than actual swordplay. The blade clipped his arm, but instead of going down like a normal person, he snarled and came at me again, knife slashing like he was swatting a fly. I stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet.

This was way harder than I thought.

And, of course, that's when the other two thugs decided to join the party. One of them swung a rusty pipe at my face, and I ducked just in time, feeling the wind from the swing nearly knock my head off. I tried to counter with my sword, but the guy was way faster than I expected, stepping back like this was a game of tag and I was "it."

That was when the other guy hit me from the side. I didn't have the time to even wince before I had to duck below the big dude swinging his fist, only to receive a painful blow to my back.

Panic started rising in my chest. My wooden armour? Yeah, it helped—sort of. Every blow felt like they were wrapped in thin pillows and dispersed, but it still hurt, which is still very much not pleasant. I knew wasn't invincible. I didn't have a lick of combat. And these guys? They had probably been into fights before. Every punch, every kick, every hit sent me reeling. I was losing ground fast.

Then one of them grabbed me from behind. I felt his arms lock around mine– Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. The other guy was already lining up a punch to my gut. I twisted, pure panic, and somehow managed to throw the guy off, but it wasn't pretty. I was stumbling, my legs feeling like jelly, and I started swinging my sword like a maniac, just hoping to scare them off for a second—just one more second.

This is not how it goes in the movies, I thought, my heart pounding in my throat. Why is this so much harder?!

"You sure this kid's not a cape?" One of them muttered, his eyes darting to me like I was a circus freak on display.

"He fights like a chump," another one sneered, launching himself at me like he had a grudge to settle. I tried to dodge, but I wasn't quick enough. The knife grazed my arm, sending a sharp jolt of pain through me that felt like I'd stuck my hand in a blender.

This was really, really bad.

Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, I heard a sound that sent ice racing down my spine—I could feel my brain scramble at its familiarity.

"Enough!" The big guy barked, his voice booming like a thunderstorm, pulling out a pistol that glinted menacingly in the dim alleylight. The others backed off, grinning like they'd just cornered a cornered cat.

I froze, my eyes glued to the barrel of the gun pointing right at me. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free. Panic clawed at my throat, making it hard to breathe. I wasn't bulletproof—my armour could take a beating, but a gun? Sh-

BANG!

The shot rang out, echoing through the alley like a thunderclap, and I swear it felt like a freaking truck just slammed into my side. I gasped, the world tilting as I stumbled backward, my heart racing like it was trying to escape my chest. My hand shot to my side, expecting to feel warm blood seeping through my shirt—thankfully, I didn't feel anything flowing out of me, just a hole in my hoodie.

I'm alive?

The big guy stared at me, his eyes wide and disbelieving, as if he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. "What the hell...?"

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to stand tall, even though every muscle in my body screamed at me to collapse. "Yeah, surprise," I muttered, trying to inject a coolness into my voice that I definitely didn't feel. "I'm still here."

Panic clawed at my throat as the thugs exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure if they should bolt or pull the trigger again. My mind raced—what if they shot me again? I tightened my grip on the sword, knuckles white as I took a shaky step forward, my legs trembling like jelly beneath me. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, but I couldn't show them that.

"Your move," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady, even though my insides were churning like a stormy sea.

The big guy cursed under his breath, glancing back at his buddies, and then, just like that, he bolted down the alley, his friends scrambling after him like frightened rats. I stood there, wide-eyed and breathless, wondering if I had really just survived that.

Every nerve in my body was on high alert, my side throbbing as if I'd just been punched by a gorilla. But I was alive. And, technically, I'd won.

A breath I didn't even realise I was holding whooshed out of me, and I winced as the pain crashed over me like a wave. "I did it," I whispered, half in disbelief, my hands shaking. I slumped against the wall, groaning. Being a hero hurt a lot more than I ever thought it would, and my heart wouldn't stop racing. But... it felt good.

---

Greg's First Fight!

Leave your theories, expectations, and thoughts! I want to know what you guys thought about this chapter
If you notice any mistakes or similar, do tell me! I won't be mad, I promise! I appreciate any critiques and grammar checks!
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[TheLKing]

✦ ✦ ✦

The Winding Paths
Prologue​

May Contain Spoilers

Click to shrink...

"Are you sure?" the man in the corner asked, his voice low but carrying easily over the murmurs in the room. He wasn't the loudest, but he didn't need to be.

The woman at the head of the table gave a firm nod. "She's sure. The paths are shifting."

The man seated at the centre leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he processed the news. "It's not a trigger event, then?" There was a crack in his usually calm voice, the concern slipping through.

"Not this time," the woman standing nearby replied, crossing her arms. "We'd have seen the signs if it was."

The quiet woman, who had stayed back until now, stepped forward. Her eyes swept the room, as if she could already see where this conversation was going. "It started two days ago. At first, it was subtle—barely noticeable. Now, the changes are more frequent and its influence is steadily growing."

"And where is it all leading?" the man in the corner asked, his eyebrow arching.

Her response was blunt, almost too simple. "Brockton Bay."

That one name hit the room like a hammer. Everyone seemed to pause, the weight of it settling in.

The man seated at the centre sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "What kind of changes are we talking about?"

"They're small," the quiet woman said, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. "But they're not random. It's as though the paths are... uncertain."

"Uncertain about what?" the standing woman asked, voice sharper now, her patience clearly thinning.

"If I knew that," the quiet woman said, with the hint of a smile, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. They were used to having answers. Not today.

"How close?" the man in the corner finally asked, his tone softer now, almost cautious.

"Close enough," the quiet woman replied, her gaze settling on the map in front of them.

"We've been monitoring Brockton Bay for years," the man at the centre said, glancing at the others. "Coil's been our focus there. He's been trying to consolidate his power. Could this be tied to his project?"

The woman at the head of the table tapped her chin thoughtfully. "His project was our test case, yes. He's been consolidating power for months now. But this—" she paused, eyes narrowing, "—this isn't in line with what we expected. Something's changed."

"If it's not one of our plans," the standing woman said, her arms still rigid across her chest, "then we're going in blind. So what's the next move?"

"We increase surveillance," the woman at the head of the table said without missing a beat. "Focus all attention on the city. We need to know exactly what's happening before the paths become unreliable."

The words hung in the air, sinking in slowly. For a moment, no one spoke. Unreliable? That wasn't supposed to be possible—not for her. Her paths were what they dedicated everything to follow. If her paths were slipping, what hope did they have?

The man in the centre shifted uneasily, his fingers drumming against the table. "Unreliable?" he repeated, his voice low, almost disbelieving. "Are you saying we can't trust the paths?"

The quiet woman's gaze remained steady, but there was something in her eyes—something she rarely allowed herself to show. "The paths are... changing. I can still follow them, but adjustments are having to be made to maintain the path. They're not as certain as they've always been. Not anymore."

A silence fell over the room, heavier than before. The standing woman's arms uncrossed as she shot a glance toward the head of the table. "So what are we supposed to do if she can't even see the future clearly? We've built everything around this."

The man in the corner leaned forward, his calm façade cracking just slightly. "How long do we have until they become useless?"

The quiet woman didn't answer right away. She looked down at her hands, then back at the map. "It's not an exact science. They haven't failed yet, but they're... fragmenting. I don't know how long we have."

A cold realisation washed over the room. The implications were undeniable. If the one person they relied on to guide them through every crisis was losing her grip on the future, then what did that mean for the rest of them?

"We can't afford to lose this," the man in the centre said, his voice strained. "Not now. Not when we've done so much."

"And yet here we are," the standing woman replied, her voice sharp with a frustration they all felt but couldn't express. "If her paths are slipping, we're running blind."

The man in the corner sat back, his eyes narrowed. "Then we tighten our control. Watch for any deviations. And if the paths start to fail completely..." He trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air.

"Then we adapt," the woman at the head of the table finished quietly. But even she didn't sound as certain as usual. Because deep down, they all knew the truth—they were playing a game where they couldn't afford to lose, and their greatest advantage was slipping away.