The last thing he remembered was screeching tires and a blinding light.
Then nothing.
No pain. No sound. No thought. Just a long, weightless fall into silence.
And then, breath. Cold, wet air filled tiny lungs. Limbs flailed against a scratchy wool cloth. The cry that followed was weak, confused, and very human.
He was alive again.
But he wasn't where he had been.
His name in his old world had been Ethan, or maybe Tyler, or maybe something else. The memories bled at the edges, fading fast. Whatever name he once had belonged to a boy who had crossed the street at the wrong time and lost a battle with a truck. That boy was gone.
The one who remained came into this new world in a straw cradle, inside a crumbling wooden shack that barely stood against the wind.
He was born into poverty.
His new mother was young and already tired. His father was older, bitter, and absent more often than present. There were too many children already. Too many mouths for too little bread. His new siblings resented him before he could even walk, and when he did, they tripped him and took what little he had. They named him Thane, not out of love, but because it was easy to shout.
There was no warmth in his home. Not in the hearth, not in the bed, not in the eyes of the people who should have cared.
He learned not to cry. Crying earned nothing.
He learned not to ask for food. Asking got him less.
He learned that the world gave nothing freely, and what it did give, it took back with interest.
Still, he survived.
He followed the older children into the woods to gather roots and herbs. He learned to hide when beasts came near. He learned to run, to climb, and to steal because if he didn't, he wouldn't eat. His muscles grew lean and wiry. His eyes stayed sharp. But his presence? Always quiet, always small. He became good at disappearing.
By five, Thane was more a shadow than a son.
Then came the famine.
Winter had overstayed its welcome, and the land had stopped giving. The stores were empty. The chickens had stopped laying. His mother wept at night, and his father didn't come home at all.
The children were lined up one morning. Seven in total. His mother's eyes were swollen, and her voice shook as she named each one aloud.
When she reached Thane, she paused.
And didn't continue.
Later that day, his oldest brother took him by the hand and said they were going to the village.
Thane followed.
He didn't cry when they passed the village and kept walking.
He didn't speak when the trees grew thick and the sun began to disappear behind the moss-covered canopy.
He didn't resist when they reached the cave mouth and his brother said, "Wait here. I'll come back soon."
He watched his brother disappear into the trees.
He waited.
The cave breathed cold air and smelled of blood and rot. It whispered things he didn't understand. The sun disappeared completely.
And still, he waited.
When the hunger came, it was familiar. When the cold crept in, he knew it well. When he finally curled into himself and let the darkness wrap around him, it felt more like home than the shack he'd been raised in.
He didn't cry.
He didn't ask why.
He only watched the dark, and listened.
Hours passed. Or days. Time had no meaning here. Hunger sharpened into a steady throb. Sleep came in short bursts. He chewed moss from the walls. He drank dripping water. He breathed slowly, like he was hiding.
Then he heard something.
It wasn't his brother.
The sound was wrong—too light, too fast. Claws clicking. Bones scraping. Breathless movement just outside the edge of vision.
Thane moved backward, deeper into the cave. He didn't know why. Instinct, maybe. The way a mouse knows to flee before a hawk even screams.
A shape crawled into view. Low to the ground. Pale. Wrong.
It looked like a wolf once, maybe. But now its fur was missing, its eyes were sunken, and its jaw dangled too wide.
Thane held his breath.
The beast stopped.
Then it sniffed the air.
Then it turned toward him.
He ran.
Bare feet slapped against stone. He didn't know where he was going. The tunnel twisted and dipped, narrow in places, wide in others. The walls pulsed with veins of glowing fungus, just enough to show the jagged rocks waiting to trip him. He scraped his shoulder on a sharp edge. Blood. Pain.
The thing behind him howled.
He didn't look back.
He ran until he couldn't breathe. Then he stumbled. Fell. Rolled.
He hit the ground hard, and the world flickered.
Then, for the first time since entering the dungeon, something not of this world stirred.
It was not a sound.
It was not a light.
It was a presence.
Then a soft blue glow bloomed in front of his eyes.
Words—not spoken, but imprinted—appeared in his mind like fire etched into fog.
[Initializing Status Protocol…][Dimensional Signature Detected: Foreign][Status Interface Bound to Subject: Thane][Innate Talent Detected: Law of Absolute Repetition][Vital Sign Alert: Critical State][Auto-Defense Protocol: Engaged]
A warmth radiated from his chest.
He blinked.
The dungeon beast leapt at him.
The warmth surged.
A flame—tiny, barely more than a spark—shot outward from Thane's hand. It struck the beast in the chest. The creature howled, staggered, and burst into blue fire.
Thane fell to the floor, panting.
The fire died. Silence returned.
And in its place, the glow of a single, floating screen—visible only to him.
[STATUS]
🧍 Name: Thane🧬 Race: Human🌍 Origin: Unknown Plane❤️ Vitality: 4💪 Strength: 3⚡ Agility: 5🧠 Intelligence: 6🔥 Mana: 2 (10/20)🔁 Passive: Law of Absolute Repetition(Active)🎒 Skills: [Firebolt – Untrained] (Mana Cost: 10)📈 Level: 1🧪 EXP: 14 / 100
[Passive Ability – Law of Absolute Repetition]
"One who repeats an action endlessly shall master it. One who masters endlessly shall reshape the world."
Thane stared at the screen, his body trembling.
He didn't understand it.
But something inside him did.
He had been abandoned. Left to die.
He was still breathing.
And the dungeon was watching.