The runic glow of the Advancement notification of Level 2 faded slightly, leaving the updated Status panel hanging in Rowan's vision.
Three Attribute Points. One for now useless Skill Point.
He pushed himself fully upright, testing his balance. The dizziness that had plagued him earlier seemed lessened, the crushing weight of the desert heat fractionally more bearable. The Fortitude points, however few, had demonstrably stabilised his Vitality drain. It wasn't comfort, not even close, but it was a tangible buffer against imminent death. That was something.
He focused again on the Attribute Allocation Pending prompt. The interface expanded, showing the short list of available options against the longer list of locked potentials.
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Might: [10] + (?) <--- Active
Agility: [11] + (?) <--- Active
Fortitude: [10] + (3) <--- Active (Points Spent)
Intellect: [Locked - Requires Insight]
Wisdom: [Locked - Requires Insight]
Spirit: [Locked - Requires Attunement]
Charisma: [Locked - Requires Presence]
Dexterity: [Locked - Requires Finesse]
Available Attribute Points: 0
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He noted the base values in might and Agility. Average? Below average? He had no frame of reference. The (3) next to Fortitude confirmed his allocation.
Good. He mentally tried to access the [ ARTS ] section again to use the Skill Point. Still empty. He sighed internally. No magic spells or secret techniques are learned by levelling, then. Just raw potential needing… something else. Knowledge. Training. An Art.
"Alright, a new plan, same as the old plan: survive."
He needed water. He needed real shelter. The shade of this dune was temporary; the sun was still climbing, promising hours more of its relentless assault.
He looked towards the distant, jagged line of dark rock formations. That was the only landmark, the only potential source of shade or variation in this endless ocean of sand.
He turned to the hovering wisp.
"Spark," he said, his voice raspy but firmer now.
"Those rocks. Think there's water there? Shade?" He tried gesturing, pointing, and focusing his intent along with the words.
Spark pulsed, a soft blueish tinge colouring its white light for a moment. It emitted a low, resonant hum, then zipped ahead a few yards in the direction of the rocks, hovered, and pulsed again, as if to say, 'This way.'
Progress? Maybe.
Rowan took the piece of dark, chitinous beetle carapace he'd kept, roughly shield-sized, surprisingly light but hard – and tucked it under one arm. It wasn't much, but it was something. He started walking, falling into a slow, energy-conserving rhythm, following the wisp.
The trek was brutal. The sand shifted underfoot, stealing momentum. The heat radiated upwards, making the air shimmer and distort. Mirages danced on the horizon, impossible lakes, dark shapes that resolved into a heat haze. Rowan kept his eyes mostly down, scanning the immediate path, occasionally glancing up to fix on the distant rocks and Spark's guiding light.
His mind, no longer solely consumed by immediate panic, started working, analyzing. The System, Essence, Advancement, Attributes. It was bizarrely, undeniably real.
That beetle husk… killing it (or finding it dead) hadn't yielded Essence, only analyzing its hemolymph had. Interesting. Did that mean understanding things gave Essence? Or only analyzing new substances? Or was it just a reward for the Advancement trigger? Too many variables.
...where your wishes bloom.
The prompt echoed again, less like a promise, more like a puzzle. What constituted a wish? Did intent matter? Could he wish for water? He focused, picturing cool, clear water, the feeling of it soothing his parched throat. Nothing happened. No magic spring erupted from the sand.
Of course not. Maybe the wish required... payment? Sacrifice? Or maybe it was just flavour text for a death trap. Still, it kept him moving when the sheer hopelessness of the landscape threatened to overwhelm him.
He spotted something half-buried in the sand off to his right – not rock, but a different texture. He veered towards it, Spark pausing and hovering, waiting.
It was a piece of petrified wood, dark and heavy, worn smooth by wind and time. Probably uselessly dense, but maybe… He hefted it. It had a decent weight, about the length of his forearm. He tried breaking it against his knee. Solid as a rock. Worthless as a tool? Maybe not. He kept it, tucking it into the waistband of his tattered trousers.
Further on, he found a patch of ground littered with sharp-edged flakes of what looked like obsidian or flint. Volcanic glass? Here? It seemed unlikely, but the shards were undeniably sharp. He carefully gathered a few, wrapping them in a piece of fabric torn from his already ruined shirt sleeve. He could use them as Crude knives or maybe arrowheads if he ever found wood for a bow and something for fletching and string. Potential. More potential than the useless Skill Point, anyway.
He stopped to rest in the minimal shade of a taller dune crest, his breathing harsh. He pulled out the petrified wood and one of the larger obsidian flakes.
Kneeling in the sand, he tried using the sharp edge of the obsidian to scrape and shape the wood. It was slow, laborious work. The wood was incredibly hard, and the obsidian, while sharp, threatened to crumble in his grip. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. His hands grew clumsy with fatigue.
After ten minutes of frustrating effort, he'd managed little more than scratching the surface and wearing down the obsidian flake. He needed better tools, better materials, and probably an Art related to woodworking or something.
He tossed the wood aside in disgust but pocketed the obsidian shard again. Even a sharp rock was better than nothing. The System didn't even acknowledge the effort with a single mote of Essence. Apparently, failed crafting wasn't worth much.
Rowan pushed on, the rock formations noticeably closer now. He could make out individual spurs, deep shadows, and the texture of the stone. It looked like sandstone mostly, carved by millennia of wind. Spark zipped ahead, its light pulsing with that faster rhythm he now associated with… something different. Warning? Interest?
As they reached the broken ground at the base of the ridge, the air felt fractionally cooler, the silence deeper, broken only by the sighing wind funnelling between the rocks. Spark hovered near a narrow opening between two large boulders, its light flickering urgently, emitting a low, warbling hum.
Rowan slowed, his hand instinctively gripping the piece of beetle carapace. He scanned the area, eyes narrowed against the glare reflecting off the rock faces. He listened intently.
Nothing but wind.
He crept forward, peering cautiously around the boulder Spark indicated. It was something that could only be described as someone's deepest horror.
Coiled in the shade beneath a small overhang was a creature, unlike anything he'd ever seen. It resembled a lizard, perhaps, but scaled up to the size of a large dog, maybe four feet long excluding the tail. Its hide wasn't scales, but tough, leathery skin the colour of sand and rust, providing excellent camouflage against the rocks.
Its head was wedge-shaped, with multiple dark, unblinking eyes set above powerful jaws. But its most striking features were its legs – disproportionately large and muscular, ending in broad, shovel-like claws, clearly designed for digging through the sand at speed, and the rows of jagged, obsidian-like spurs running along its spine and tail. It was currently tearing at a small, desiccated carcass, its movements quick and jerky.
A Sand Ripper, the System helpfully supplied in runic text floating near the creature, along with a simple threat assessment:
[Threat Level: Low-Medium (Warning: High Agility, Vicious Bite)].
Low-Medium. Great. What could have been better than this abomination?is abomination It hadn't noticed him yet. He could try to back away, find a different path into the rocks…
Too late. Its head snapped up, multiple eyes fixing directly on him. It dropped the carcass, let out a low, guttural hiss, and lowered its body, powerful legs tensing. It was going to charge.
There was no time to think or for finesse. Just a raw reaction. Rowan yanked the piece of petrified wood from his waistband – heavy, clumsy, but solid. As the Sand Ripper launched itself forward with startling speed, a blur of rust and claws, Rowan didn't try to dodge sideways. He knew his non-existent Agility of 11 wasn't going to outpace that thing.
Instead, he braced himself, held the beetle's carapace low like a crude shield with his left arm, and swung the heavy wood downwards with all his might in a desperate, two-handed blow aimed at the creature's charging head.
There was a sickening thud as wood met leathery skull. The Ripper stumbled, its charge broken, letting out an infuriated screech. But the wood didn't crack the skull. Rowan felt a jolt run up his arms. The Ripper shook its head, seemingly more stunned and angered than seriously injured. Before Rowan could recover for another swing, it lunged again, jaws snapping.
Rowan threw himself backwards, tumbling into the sand, dropping the wood. The carapace shield took the brunt of a claw strike, sharp obsidian spurs scraping loudly across the chitin, leaving deep gouges but miraculously not shattering it. He scrambled away on instinct, sand flying. The Ripper was fast, recovering instantly, preparing to pounce on him while he was down.
Think! Calm! The internal command cut through the panic. He was on his back, exposed. The creature loomed over. Spark zipped erratically near the Ripper's head, its light flashing brightly, emitting a high-pitched whine – a desperate, tiny distraction.
It worked. For a split second, one of the Ripper's eyes flickered towards the annoying light. That was all Rowan needed. His eyes darted, assessing the sharp rocks nearby. The dropped piece of petrified wood just out of reach. His hand closed on loose sand.
As the Ripper lunged, jaws agape, Rowan flung the handful of sand directly into its multiple eyes. The creature shrieked, recoiling, shaking its head violently, momentarily blinded. Rowan didn't waste the opening. He surged to his feet, ignoring the pain, lunged past the creature, and grabbed the heavy petrified wood again.
The Ripper cleared its eyes just as Rowan turned, raising the makeshift club. It charged again, faster this time, tail whipping, claws extended. Rowan didn't try to meet it head-on. He sidestepped at the last moment – his meagre Agility boost perhaps making the fractional difference – letting the creature's momentum carry it slightly past him. As it shot by, he brought the petrified wood down with every ounce of strength he possessed onto the back of its skull, where the neck joined the spine.
There was a wet, cracking sound this time, sickeningly final. The Sand Ripper spasmed violently, its legs kicking, then collapsed in a heap, shuddering before falling still.
Silence descended again, broken only by Rowan's ragged breathing and the frantic pulsing of Spark nearby. He stood over the creature, the makeshift club still raised, adrenaline making him tremble. He'd done it. His first real kill. Not a virtual enemy. Not a bug husk. A living, breathing predator. Well, not anymore. It felt… necessary. Brutal. And strangely… clarifying.
The System interface lit up.
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Sand Ripper [Lvl:4](Threat Level: Low-Medium) Defeated!
Essence Absorbed: +45
Advancement Progress: 45 / 50 Essence -> Lvl 3
Combat Art [Basic Brawling] Proficiency Increased.
Combat Art [Improvised Weapon] Proficiency Increased.
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Almost Level 3. He stared at the notifications, then at the dead creature. He needed to check it for resources, didn't he? Gamer logic warred with revulsion. He forced himself to approach, using the sharp obsidian flake he still had to cautiously examine the carcass.
The System offered basic info as he focused:
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[Sand Ripper Hide: Durable, Heat Resistant (Poor Quality)],
[Sand Ripper Claws: Natural Obsidian, Sharp but Brittle],
[Sand Ripper Meat: Edible (Requires Thorough Cooking)].
[+5 Essence]
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Resources. Valuable resources. He spent the next painful minutes crudely harvesting what he could – prying off a couple of the largest claws, sawing off a section of the tough hide with the obsidian flake. It was messy, grim work, leaving him covered in sand and gore, but necessary.
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Advancement Level 2 -> Level 3!
Available Points: Attrib 3 / Skill 1
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Finally, Level up! Well, at least the harvesting was worth more than the effort.
Nearby, he saw the dark opening in the rock face he'd noticed earlier. A small cave, maybe shallow, but definitely shelter. He dragged the harvested materials and his meagre belongings – the carapace shield, the petrified wood club, the obsidian flakes – towards it.
He collapsed just inside the entrance, the cool stone leaching the oppressive heat from his back. Spark drifted in after him, settling near the roof, casting a soft glow. Rowan checked his Status again. Vitality was lower from the fight, but stable. Stamina depleted. But he was alive. He had shelter. He had resources. He had gained Essence, almost another level.
He leaned his head back against the rock, closing his eyes, utterly exhausted but grimly satisfied. The desert hadn't killed him. The Ripper hadn't killed him. He looked at the memory of the 'wish' prompt in his memory. It still felt insane. But maybe, just maybe, surviving was the first step to making any wish possible. He had a place to rest, for now. Tomorrow, the struggle would continue.