I woke up to the end of my world. Not in the dramatic, fire-and-brimstone way, but in the quiet, insidious way where everything you thought you knew turns out to be a lie. When I opened my eyes on my 16th birthday, I was greeted with a glowing notification.

  Congratulations! You have been chosen!

  Ah, yes. Because that’s exactly what I wanted for my birthday. Not cake. Not gifts. Just an existential crisis and a countdown to potential oblivion.

  The glowing text lingered, burning itself into my already overworked, sleep-deprived brain.

  Chosen.

  That one word carried so much weight—power, responsibility, and a very high chance of dying young. I shut my eyes again. Maybe if I ignore it, it’ll go away.

  It didn’t.

  Because, apparently, the system didn’t care about my existential dread. The moment you wake up Chosen, the clock starts ticking. One week. Seven days to prepare for my first dungeon. Where I’d either prove myself worthy or die trying.

  And if I refused to enter?

  The system would take care of that for me. No pressure.

  I forced myself to sit up, my heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape before the rest of me caught on.

  My room looked exactly the same as last night—cramped, cluttered, a single flickering lightbulb overhead. But everything felt different. Like the world of Atira had tilted just slightly off its axis.

  I dragged a hand down my face, letting out a slow breath. Alright. Think.

  I had no idea how any of this worked, but the system had to have some kind of menu, right? A tutorial? A “So You’ve Been Chosen and Now You Might Die” starter guide?

  Hesitantly, I focused on the word ‘Status’ in my head, half-expecting nothing to happen.

  Instead, a translucent window blinked into existence, floating in midair.

  [Name: Felix Ravensburg]

  Class: Unassigned

  Level: 1

  Skills: None

  Abilities: None

  Dungeons Cleared: 0

  That was it? No instructions? No tutorial? Just a blank slate and an unspoken figure it out? I clenched my jaw. Before today, I was just Felix—average, broke, scraping by one day at a time. Now? Now I was something else. Not a warrior, not a hero—just a sixteen-year-old with a countdown hanging over my head and a system that expected me to walk into death like I belonged there.

  Happy birthday to me.

  The stairs creaked under my weight as I made my way down, each step feeling heavier than the last. I wasn’t sure if it was the weight of the system pressing down on me or just the fact that I knew what was waiting at the bottom of these stairs.

  The moment I stepped into the living room, I barely had time to blink before a blur of motion slammed into me from both sides.

  “Happy birthday, Felix!”

  “You’re sixteen! Do you feel older? Do you feel taller?”

  My younger siblings, Aria and Leon, latched onto me like hyperactive barnacles, their arms squeezing me tight. Aria, all wild curls and endless energy, grinned up at me, her brown eyes shining with excitement. Leon, slightly more composed but just as eager, held onto my sleeve like he was afraid I’d float away if he let go.

  For a second, I let myself sink into it—the warmth of their hugs, the way they always acted like my birthday was some grand holiday. Like nothing had changed. Like I wasn’t standing on the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.

  They were only ten. Too young to understand what today really meant. Too young to know what a Chosen even was, beyond the stories they probably heard at school. To them, this was just another birthday, another excuse for a celebration. They had no idea that for me, it was a countdown.

  And then I looked up.

  Mom stood at the back of the room, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She didn’t step forward, didn’t say a word. She just watched, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes locked onto mine, searching.

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  Waiting.

  My chest tightened. I didn’t need to say it. She already knew.

  I met her gaze and gave a single, slow nod.

  Her breath hitched. Just once. Barely audible. Then, without a sound, a single tear slipped down her cheek.

  Mom didn’t say anything as she moved to the kitchen table, but I could feel the dread of her thoughts pressing down on the room. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t soft. It was heavy, thick with things neither of us wanted to say, but both of us knew were coming.

  I sat down across from her, the wooden chair creaking under me. For a moment, she just stared at my hand resting on the table, like she was debating something. Then, with a slow breath, she reached out and took it in both of hers.

  Her hands were warm. But I could feel the slight tremble in her grip.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” she said quietly.

  My throat tightened.

  “I know.”

  She squeezed my hand, just a little. “Your father… he passed his trial with flying colors. He was strong. Confident. He thought—” Her voice wavered, and she stopped, pressing her lips together like she was trying to swallow the words. “He thought he had it all figured out.”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t know much about my dad. He died when mom was pregnant with the twins. I was only five. And Mom never talked about him—at least, not like this.

  “He started doing dungeon dives regularly,” she continued. “Kept getting stronger. Kept pushing further. And then one day…” She exhaled shakily. “He didn’t come back.”

  I could feel the tension in her hands now, the way her fingers curled around mine just a little tighter.

  “They never even found his body,” she whispered. “No one could tell me what happened. Just that the dungeon had closed, with him still inside. That was it.” She blinked, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I waited. I waited so long, hoping maybe… maybe he’d find a way back.” She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “But that’s not how this world works, is it?”

  I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? That I’d be careful? That I wouldn’t make the same mistakes? That I wouldn’t disappear like he did?

  They’d be empty words.

  Because I was a Chosen now. And whether I liked it or not, my path was already set.

  Mom let out a slow, shuddering breath. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to be like him.”

  I hesitated. Looked down at our joined hands.

  “I don’t want to die, Mom,” I admitted. “But I don’t think I get a choice.”

  Her grip tightened, like she could somehow anchor me here, keep me safe just by holding on. But she didn’t argue. She didn’t tell me I was wrong. Because we both knew the truth.

  I was Chosen.

  And the clock was already ticking.

  Mom sighed, her thumb brushing absently over the back of my hand, like she was trying to memorize the feel of it before I was gone. Not that she’d say it out loud.

  “If you’re going to do this,” she said finally, “then you need to be ready.”

  I nodded slowly. “I was planning to—”

  “No,” she cut me off, her grip tightening. “Not just planning. Doing. Starting today.” She leaned in slightly, her eyes sharp, her voice steady. “You have one week, Felix. Seven days. You have to make them count.”

  I swallowed hard. “I know.”

  “Do you?” she pressed. “Do you know how the trials work? What kind of enemies you’ll be up against? What traps you might face? What the system can actually do to help you?”

  I opened my mouth—then closed it again.

  Because the answer was no.

  I had no idea how any of this worked.

  Mom sighed, shaking her head. “Then you need to learn. Fast.” She hesitated for a moment, then added, “The archives here in Casanaro might not be the biggest, but they should have something you can use—records from past Chosen, accounts of their trials. If you’re lucky, you might even find a few strategy guides written by survivors.”

  “Right.” I sighed, my mind already spinning. The archives. That made sense. Chosen had been around for generations—if I could dig up reports from people who had already been through the Proving Grounds, I might get an idea of what I was walking into.

  “But books won’t be enough,” Mom continued. “You need to talk to someone. Someone who’s been through it. A Chosen who survived.” She paused, her eyes flashing toward the window, distant for a moment. Then she looked back at me. “What about your old school friend… what was his name? Marcus? Or maybe even Ryn from next door? Someone has to be able to tell you what to expect.”

  I frowned. “You think they’ll just tell me?”

  She gave me a pointed look. “That depends on how you ask.”

  Fair enough. Chosen weren’t exactly known for their generosity, but maybe if I found the right person, I could get something.

  “You also need to learn how to use the system,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I don’t… I don’t know how it works, Felix. I never have. But your father used to mention things—words like menu, interface, skills. It wasn’t like he had a teacher showing him, either. He figured it out as he went. You’ll have to do the same.”

  I nodded slowly. “So… archives, track down someone who’s been through it, and figure out the system.”

  Mom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And combat.”

  The word sent a jolt through me.

  I was not a fighter. I didn’t know how to throw a proper punch, let alone take on whatever nightmare the system was planning to throw at me.

  “You don’t have to be strong,” Mom said, reading the tension in my shoulders. “Not yet. But you have to be smart. You have to be fast. And most of all? You have to be ready for a fight.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. No pressure or anything.”

  Mom’s lips twitched, just slightly. The closest thing to a smile I’d seen from her all morning. “You’ll figure it out.”

  I wanted to believe that.

  Really, I did.

  But as I sat there with my siblings’ laughter echoing from the other room, and the system menu still hovering in the corner of my vision, I couldn’t shake the feeling that no amount of research was going to prepare me for what was coming.

  And yet, I didn’t have a choice.

  Seven days.

  The countdown had already started.