"Hey, did you see they launched an A-rank reward mission?"
"What? Why the hell A? We're at war."
"No, no, it's not about that. Actually, they're looking for someone."
"What? Why the hell A just to find someone… Who launched this crazy mission?"
"Hey, keep it down — it was the DarkBlade guild leader. I think they're looking for the survivor."
"What? You're talking about that 'Survivor'?"
"Yes. Who else would I be talking about? Whoever finds them never has to set foot in this dump again."
"As if it were easy. Honestly, I think this so-called survivor is a myth."
I had returned.
The market was more alive than I remembered — or perhaps it had always been that way and I had never paid attention the way I was paying attention now. My senses were calibrated differently after days in which every detail of the environment had been survival information. People came and went with the naturalness of those who didn't face death almost every day, talking about prices and missions and rumors with the lightness of those who had stopped noticing they were alive because they had never stopped being so.
There was something in that normalcy that I needed to see. Perhaps lying under mud and cold had changed the way I saw the ordinary, making it more valuable simply for existing. Perhaps the screams that still echoed somewhere in memory made me more grateful for noise that wasn't of pain. Whatever the reason, I had sat in one of the few empty chairs and was simply watching — without an agenda, without the next step calculated. Something I rarely allowed myself, and was allowing now because the Purge had temporarily exhausted my capacity not to.
"So, everyone — has anyone found the 'Survivor' yet?" — someone said, with the tone of someone who wanted to know something but had already given up believing there would be a good answer. — "If someone had found them, they wouldn't tell you, you idiot. Forget finding this person — it's probably easier to make money killing some dragon around here."
It was funny. The market was desperately trying to find out who the "Survivor" was — a nickname I hadn't chosen and didn't like, but which had spread with the speed of information that nobody can stop. And even not liking the name, I had to admit it had been an excellent decision not to disclose mine — particularly for the simple fact that I wanted to stay well away from intrigues and the nobles' radar. The Oasis hiding the name had seemed shocking when it happened. Even more shocking now that I was being actively searched for. In the end, anonymity had become a prize in itself.
I just hadn't known that when it happened.
An A-rank mission.
For a level one human who had survived the Purge as the sole survivor of a hundred and ninety simply with the help of an Aquamarine.
"What would they think?"
I should have anticipated that, for everyone, it would make sense to consider that relevant — it was the kind of anomaly that created market value simply by existing. What didn't make immediate sense was that other humans were actively trying to find me instead of simply waiting for me to appear naturally. But then I remembered who circulated in that market — people who bought and sold information as common currency. For them, I was an anomaly that needed to be catalogued before being understood, and cataloguing before others catalogued had additional value.
I was product before person, to those who thought that way.
And in that market, there were many who thought that way.
"Castle evolution available. Do you wish to begin?"
Zeus's voice pulled me from the thought with the specific efficiency of something that hadn't been programmed to be subtle — it existed to inform, not for timing.
"Allow construction."
I stood up. There was enough rest for what needed to be done — or at least, there was enough urgency for rest to wait. The castle wouldn't wait for my nervous system's ideal state.
✦
When I left the market, finally breathing the quiet air without the noise that had given me comfort, I was able to get a good look at my territory.
Things were very different from when I had arrived in the Oasis.
Almost a year. The solidity of the territory was finally taking the shape of something that had decided to exist permanently — not just survive until the next decision. The wall had evolved to the point of maintaining soldiers at every strategic point without personnel bottlenecks — every position covered, every angle calculated. New defense towers distributed at intervals I had planned using the invasion maps studied in the previous months. What had been a newcomer's territory was taking the shape of something that could, under reasonable conditions, manage an incursion from another race without immediately collapsing.
It was an assumption I preferred not to test. But it was good to know the assumption existed.
"Master, I see you've returned. Look what I learned."
Morgana and Livina seemed different from when they had seen me arrive days ago — completely broken, exhausted in a way that went beyond physical, the kind of tiredness that stays in the eyes even after the body has rested. The relief from then had given way to something closer to normalcy, and there was something in that transition that I also needed — the confirmation that there was a state beyond emergency that was possible to inhabit.
Livina produced a flask, aimed at a tree over three hundred meters away with the specific concentration of someone who had practiced that gesture until the gesture stopped being a gesture and became an extension, placed the flask on her tail and threw it with a precision I hadn't seen before — the flask shattered exactly at the point she had aimed, without deviation, without the margin of error that existed in any ability still being learned.
"Congratulations. Now you can throw Greek fire with precision, without breaking the glass before impact. That's going to be very important for our protection."
Livina was happy with a simple and immediate happiness, the kind that didn't calculate whether it was appropriate to show — there was something refreshing in that, a way of feeling that hadn't learned to filter itself. Morgana, beside her, seemed self-conscious with the naturalness of something that was aware of its own limitation and hadn't yet made peace with it. I knew the reason. No weapon beyond the ballista seemed to work in her hands with the same naturalness — the precision and skill disappeared the moment she tried to hold any instrument that wasn't ranged and wasn't her own weapon. Perhaps the Oasis limiting something that went beyond personal choice. Perhaps simply lack of practice in a body that had been built for something else. But the result was that she fell behind in that specific aspect, and I could see it weighed on her in a way she didn't verbalize.
"Don't worry, Morgana. At the end of the day, you are the best healer in the human kingdom. I don't need you to be the best sharpshooter too."
A brief smile — the kind that appeared quickly and disappeared quickly, as though she hadn't authorized it but hadn't managed to prevent it either. Then a firm face again, with the resolution of something that had decided sentimentalism was a luxury to be controlled.
"Lord, I promise I will try everything until I find a way to be more useful. I want to be on the battlefield — not behind it."
I smiled.
"Everything in its own time."
✦
Today was a special day.
I had finally gathered enough material to evolve the castle — it hadn't been quick, it had required the kind of patience one learns when the shortcut simply doesn't exist, and each material had cost more than the previous because the castle knew what was being built and the system knew that I knew. The Purge had frozen all material gathering during my absence — which I hadn't calculated, but understood to be the fair trade: nothing came in, but nothing was destroyed while I was away. What mattered was that all necessary constructions were completed at their maximum level, and the only remaining bottleneck was the castle itself.
But no longer.
"Zeus. How long until construction is complete?"
[ Calculating… 98 hours. ]
A significant period — but expected. The castle at level three was the goal of every newcomer, because that was where the real possibilities began to open up — the point where the available options expanded in a way large enough that the following decisions carried different weight than the previous ones. And above all, it was there that the Portal construction became available — the structure that allowed the Oasis to sync with Earth and, finally, allowed me to return.
I had chosen not to focus on raising the castle level before the Purge — the Portal only became available after it anyway, so there was no rush. The choice had cost me more days than most newcomers spent, but it allowed me to level all other constructions to the maximum before evolving the castle. Long-term gain in exchange for short-term cost — a trade most avoided because most rushed to the castle as soon as they could, as it was the fastest way to leave that place.
Understandable. But in my opinion, it was a mistake — you were only pushing the problem forward, to a moment when you would be less prepared to face it than you were now.
Of course it had been a difficult choice — sometimes I caught myself mentally flying toward what would come when I finally returned. The new possibilities for my life. And beyond them, my home. My sister. My car. Everything I had left behind and which had been waiting with the patience of one who had no other option.
Before I lost myself in that future place, Morgana drew my attention.
"Master. I think it's over."
I looked where her eyes were directed.
Beside the castle, two chests had finally unlocked — appearing with the suddenness of things the system revealed when it had decided the moment was right, without warning, without transition.
"Finally. I thought it would never happen."
The two chests had distinct forms — and distinct in ways that went beyond size. The first carried an elaborate orange of expensive appearance — the kind of gold that wasn't just color but was a communication of value, that said from a distance that what was inside had been calibrated to impress. Honestly, I believed that chest alone, its standard size notwithstanding, could be sold for astronomical prices to collectors who had stopped worrying about the contents and had started worrying about the rarity of the wrapping.
But it was the second that took your breath away.
Small compared to the first — no larger than a music box — of intense red, with a design outlining the entire surface. Not stamped, not painted. Engraved — with the depth of something that had been made to last far beyond any reasonable expectation.
A dragon.
I knew, even having never seen one, what those creatures were capable of. In the Oasis, dragons were the creatures that governed everything and were feared by all — not through exaggeration or legend built over generations until it lost contact with its origin, but through verifiable fact that any Lord with enough experience had learned to respect with the specificity that real respect carries. It was an inconvenient and immutable truth, the kind that doesn't improve with time.
The two boxes were the prize for not just having survived, but also for having completed the mission given by the Oasis — a double achievement that the system had recognized with a double reward, each wrapped differently as though it had wanted to communicate that they were distinct categories of result.
Unfortunately, they came with a time restriction — which forced me to wait a few days before opening them, the impatience existing as a permanent background data point while the timer ran. But finally the moment had come.
"Where do you think I should start?"
"Red." "Orange."
Livina and Morgana spoke at the same time — with the involuntary synchronicity of those who had arrived at opposite conclusions by the same process, and which made the doubt exactly what it had been before the question.
"Well. I always preferred saving the most intense for last."
I advanced toward the orange. The chest seemed to perceive my approach with the sensitivity of an object that had been built to recognize its recipient — the golden glow intensified gradually as I approached, as though waking from a state of waiting that had lasted longer than expected. When I finally got close enough, it opened by itself.
Inside, just a piece of paper.
My smile began to grow before I finished reading — recognition arrived before the complete reading, as happened with things you had waited for long enough to develop a sense for them. I knew what that paper was before finishing understanding what was written — the format, the texture slightly different from common paper, the way it folded differently, the kind of information it contained.
"Lord, what's in there?"
Livina and Morgana were still at a distance when they asked, reluctant to approach something that had belonged to him before belonging to them — an instinctive respect I hadn't asked for and which touched me in a way I wasn't ready to articulate. When they saw my expression, they ran to get closer without further hesitation.
"Wait — is this what I think it is?"
"Yes, Livina." — I said. — "It's a Construction Blueprint."
Every Construction Blueprint was at minimum Rare — and the reason was simple, the rarity being a direct consequence of the nature of the item: each blueprint differed from the standard available to any other Lord, and in the vast majority of cases they were constructions with functions that existed nowhere else, the kind of thing the standard catalogue hadn't imagined because nobody had commissioned it to be imagined.
Humans had had very few opportunities to acquire such an item — and the strongest known was Epic, belonging to one of the most powerful families in humanity. It wasn't incoherent to say that much of that power had come almost entirely from the use of that blueprint — it had been the multiplier that had transformed reasonable advantage into irresistible dominance. Beyond that case, there were other known examples: a Rare construction blueprint for aquatic creatures, sold to the Aquamarines for a fortune larger than an entire planet could generate in hundreds of years. And another, little known, that allowed recruiting common and rare Oasis creatures at an unknown price. In all cases, the result had been disproportionate wealth or power for the holder — the kind of disproportionate that changed what was possible for an entire race, not just an individual.
"But what does it build?"
Morgana was so eager she had stopped trying to hide it — it made sense, few races had ever had access to something like this, and for her specifically there was something symbolic about being present at the moment it happened.
"Zeus. Analyze this Construction Blueprint."
[ Analyzing… ] [ Finding result… ] [ Legendary Blueprint. ] [ Griffin Aerie. ] [ Construction period: 4,380 hours. ]
The period alone was daunting — over six months of construction, the kind of investment that required not just resources but the decision that this was the path and no deviation would be permitted during the process. But given what that construction would require in terms of materials and process, it made sense that it would be above anything normal. Certain things needed time not from inefficiency but by nature.
What left me still was the name — and the level. Legendary was a classification that on its own was outside any known calculation for human constructions — there were Rares, there were known Epics, and Legendary was the category that existed in theory and not in practice, that appeared in discussions about what would be possible if certain conditions were met. But the name was something I knew what it was and didn't believe it was possible to have.
"Zeus. Could you confirm whether this construction is related to Griffins as they are known?"
[ 100% compatibility. ]
"What's happening, Lord?"
My mind was trying to understand the direct implication of what was in my hands — not just the item, but what the item meant in terms of what would become possible when the construction was complete. Honestly, I didn't know if it was possible at the level I was imagining. But the compatibility was one hundred percent, and one hundred percent left no room for alternative interpretation.
"Griffins."
Morgana and Livina went pale — with the simultaneity of those who had arrived at the same conclusion by the same path and had found the same result at the end.
They, like me, knew what it was. It wasn't the strongest creature in the Oasis — not even close, there were creatures that would make a Griffin seem small. But its greatest advantage placed it in a category of its own, because in the Oasis few creatures had the capacity to fly, and those that did occupied fewer than five pages of the entire creature catalogue — a number so small that each entry on those pages represented not just a creature but a shift in the equation of any conflict involving that territory.
Among them, the Griffin. Half feline, half eagle, giant and wild — and above all, capable of flying with the naturalness of something that had been designed for it and not merely adapted.
"This is unbelievable." — Morgana said, euphoric in a way she rarely showed, the habitual restraint yielding to something closer to what she actually felt. — "How many races control the skies?"
"Two."
I knew it off the top of my head — I had memorized the catalogue with the specificity of someone who had understood that information was advantage before understanding what to do with it. The simple fact of controlling the skies already placed a race among the top twenty in the Oasis — such was the rarity of that dominance, the difference it created in any conflict, the advantage of angle and vision and mobility that had no land equivalent.
"Three. With you."
Livina had a point — said with the simplicity of someone who had arrived at the conclusion and decided it deserved to be said without ornament.
I would be next — when I got there. But I still needed to understand how that construction would work, what it would require, and how to make it viable within the time available for making things viable. Four thousand three hundred and eighty hours was more than six months. And the material needed for something like that probably didn't exist in my current territory — it would need to be sought, bought, extracted from places I hadn't yet visited.
"Zeus. Register the construction in the database and begin calculating the necessary materials as soon as possible."
"Understood… Adding to the database and analyzing construction."
The market and the Colosseum would be necessary — it was in those places that I would probably obtain the money or raw materials to accelerate the process, and each of them had risks that needed to be calculated before any move. But first there was still the second chest.
"Hold this, Morgana. There's still one left."
I handed the orange chest to Morgana and advanced toward the red one — which, unlike the first, didn't open as I approached. It stayed there, motionless, with a glow that wasn't inviting but was intense, like something that had decided that opening required more than proximity.
The two stepped back as I advanced toward the little box — instinctively, without me asking, the kind of retreat that happens when the body recognizes something before the mind articulates what it recognized. Honestly, even if there were a common stone inside, I would be happy — just thinking about controlling the sky I already felt my body tingle, a mixture of anxiety and desire and greed that I couldn't fully separate but didn't want to, because separating would mean diminishing and I needed all that intensity to continue.
The box fit in the palm of my hand with the precision of something made for that specific hand. Up close, it was oak combined with some wood I didn't recognize — denser, with a different texture, the kind of material that communicated an origin outside the common catalogue. And the dragon design was burned into the surface with a precision that communicated intent and not decoration, each line existing for a reason and not for aesthetics.
"Come on. What do you have for me?"
I opened it.