The rich scent of garlic, herbs, and something Steven couldn't quite place filled John’s house as he stirred the stew. The warmth from the fire crept into the corners of the room, and for the first time since waking in the field, Steven felt a sliver of calm.

  Lucy came in a few minutes later, hair damp, face pale but clean. She looked better—less dazed, more grounded.

  John handed her a bowl and ladled out another for Steven. Then he pulled up a chair for himself.

  “Eat up,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.”

  The back door creaked open. Lucy stepped inside, wrapped in a simple cotton dress several sizes too big—sleeves rolled and hem tied to keep from dragging. Her hair hung in damp curls, and though her face was pale, the bleeding had stopped. She gave Steven a tired smile.

  “You look like a medieval librarian,” he said.

  “Better than a bloody mess,” she replied, settling into the chair beside him.

  John chuckled. “Good as new. Stew’s is done. Go ahead and swap out, Steven.”

  Steven stood, gave Lucy a small nod, and slipped outside. The water in the tub was still warm. He washed quickly, scrubbing away blood, dirt, and the ache of a day spent running for their lives. The bruises from the bites still throbbed faintly, but the stinging had faded.

  When he came back in—now dressed in a plain shirt and rough linen trousers—

  They sat down at the table together. The stew was simple: root vegetables, soft beans, and some kind of meat that resembled beef. It was the best thing Steven had tasted in years—or at least, since his life had stopped making any sense.

  “So,” Steven said between bites, “this Interface thing… How does it actually work?”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Still can’t access it, huh?”

  Steven shook his head. “Not even a flicker.”

  John sat back. “Well, you already know you need a sync crystal to access it. Usually in a town—hall, market, or square. Once you touch one, the Interface connects with you. From then on, it’s just there. You don’t see it all the time—it responds when you think about it. It’s personal.”

  “So like… a profile?” Lucy asked.

  “Kinda. You can check your health, class, stats. Even skills you’ve picked up over time. Every person’s Interface is a little different depending on what kind of class they’ve got.”

  Lucy tilted her head. “Classes?.”

  “Everyone gets a basic one after syncing. The Interface chooses for you—based on who you are. Your strengths, mindset, behavior. Nobody really knows how it works, but it’s... accurate. Sometimes scarily so.”

  Steven leaned forward. “And we’re just floating under the radar because we never touched one of these crystals?”

  “Right,” John said. “No crystal, no sync. No class, no access to most tools or magical systems. You’re basically invisible to the Interface right now. It’s rare, but it happens—usually with kids born off the grid, or in places so remote there’s no town nearby.”

  Lucy set her bowl down. “But we’re adults.”

  John nodded slowly. “Exactly. That’s what makes your case so strange. You don’t just ‘miss’ syncing unless something’s seriously wrong. Or… you’re not from here.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Steven gave him a look.

  John didn’t press, but he continued. “Once you’re synced, your Interface is tied to a kingdom. You choose allegiance—or it chooses you, depending on the context. That connection governs how your Interface responds to law.”

  “You mentioned that before,” Lucy said carefully. “But what does that actually mean?”

  John shrugged. “Each kingdom has its own laws. When you swear loyalty, your Interface is bound to their system. Break a law and get caught? The courts can authorize punishments. Temporary or permanent stat reductions. Locked skills. Even resets. The severity depends on the crime and your status.”

  Steven blinked. “You’re saying the legal system can literally… make you worse at everything?”

  “Yeah. And people take that very seriously. You spend years building a skill or leveling a class—losing that progress hurts more than prison time.”

  Lucy sat back. “That’s terrifying.”

  “It’s also why there’s order. People don’t want to lose years of work. Even nobles tread carefully. Some punishments don’t wear off.”

  They ate in silence for a bit, the weight of that settling in.

  Steven finally broke it. “You said most people join guilds, right?”

  “Eventually,” John nodded. “Once you’ve got a class, a guild helps you train and specialize. They give you access to better equipment, job postings, contracts. Most take a cut, especially early on. But if you want to grow, they’re the way.”

  “What about you?” Lucy asked. “You’re a farmer. Are you in one?”

  “I was. I still get guild messages through the Interface. But I work independently now. The farm’s been in my wife’s family for generations.”

  He paused, staring into the fire. The silence stretched.

  Steven didn’t interrupt.

  John cleared his throat after a moment. “She passed. Few years back. Fever. I tried everything, but we couldn’t afford a top-tier Healer.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lucy said softly.

  John gave a tired smile. “Thanks. Been managing things solo ever since.”

  A quiet filled the room again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Real.

  Eventually, John stood and cleared the bowls. “You two can sleep in the east barn. Clean straw, good roof, and I’ll toss you some blankets. It’s not fancy, but it’ll keep you warm.”

  Steven nodded. “We’re really grateful.”

  “Just help with a few chores. That’s all I ask.”

  The barn was dim, but dry. John had laid out wool blankets and a small lantern. Steven and Lucy curled up under the loft, still sore but finally safe.

  For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence was soft—muffled by straw and the occasional creak of wood as the wind stirred outside.

  Then Lucy whispered, “Do you think they made it?”

  Steven turned his head. “Who?”

  “Mom. Dad. Anyone.” Her voice was small in the dark. “The world ended, Steven. What if they’re gone?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

  Lucy shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter. “I keep seeing Mom’s face. When everything went black. I was going to say something and... then we were here.”

  “I know,” Steven said quietly. “Same.”

  They lay still for a moment.

  “Do you think this is... after?” she asked. “Like, are we the only ones who survived?”

  “I don’t know,” Steven said again. “I’ve run through a hundred versions in my head. But none of them explain how we’re alive, let alone here.”

  Lucy didn’t respond.

  Steven waited a few seconds, then glanced over.

  She was asleep.

  He stared up at the rafters again, trying to slow the thudding of thoughts in his skull. The field. The bugs. The Interface. Runes that made water boil. A system that knew who you were before you did.

  It wasn’t just that Earth was gone.

  It was that nothing they knew mattered here. No degrees. No phone numbers. No job titles. No safety nets.

  Just the two of them, in the middle of a world that didn’t know they existed.

  Steven closed his eyes and tried not to think about the last time he saw his parents. The flicker of the TV. The lights going out. The firelight. The way everything stopped.

  We should’ve died, he thought. But we didn’t.

  He didn’t know why. Or what that meant.

  But tomorrow, they'd start finding out.