The morning light spilled in through the slats of the barn, golden and warm. Steven groaned as he sat up, hay sticking to his cheek and the small of his back.

  “This bed sucks,” he muttered.

  Lucy stretched beside him, her blanket tangled around her legs. “You mean this luxury suite with all-natural insulation and ambient goat perfume?”

  Steven cracked a smile. “We’ve stayed in worse.”

  Lucy blinked. “Have we? Because I’m pretty sure the list of places we’ve stayed includes those tiny vacation rentals we did for family trips—and that one time we stayed in our rich cousin’s house in Malibu.”

  Steven shrugged. “Then I stand by my statement.”

  Outside, the rhythmic sound of a shovel striking dirt echoed across the farm. When they stepped out, bleary-eyed and sore, they found John already working by the pasture fence.

  “Sleep well?” he called.

  “If by sleep you mean developing a deep resentment toward straw, then yes. Deeply,” Steven said, brushing off his clothes.

  John tossed him a pair of gloves. “Good. I’ve got work needs doing.”

  They followed him toward a sagging stretch of fencing. A pile of fresh posts and tools sat nearby.

  “I can’t fix this with my tools alone,” John said. “The Interface limits what a Farmer can build or repair. Most trade classes have those restrictions unless they’re leveled high enough or working with their guild.”

  “But we’re not registered to anything,” Steven said, eyeing the tools. “No class, no Interface.”

  “Exactly. You’re not limited. You’ve got no buffs, but no caps either. So today, you’re strong-armed volunteers.”

  “So we’re so unqualified, we’re useful,” Steven muttered.

  Lucy grinned. “Finally. Our time has come.”

  They got to work. Digging post holes, pulling rotted boards, driving nails into fresh lumber. The tools were heavy, and the work slow. No glowing runes. No magical shortcuts. When Steven tried lifting one of John’s enchanted tools—a simple plow knife etched with faint glyphs—it stayed cold and inert.

  “Guess it doesn’t like me,” Steven said, turning it in his hand.

  “No Interface means no recognition,” John replied. “The tools know who they’re for.”

  They spent the afternoon patching a leaky water trough and repairing a shutter John had given up on years ago. Steven slipped twice trying to fix the coop roof. Lucy got chased by a rooster.

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  “You know,” she said, rubbing her shoulder, “we might’ve peaked back on Earth.”

  Steven wiped his forehead. “Hard to argue.”

  Later, while gathering feed near the barn, Lucy asked, “What do you think you’ll be? When we get access.”

  Steven paused. “No idea. Something useful, I hope. Something that keeps us safe.”

  Lucy smiled faintly. “You were always protective. I guess that makes sense.”

  “You?”

  She shrugged. “I still want to help people. Heal or fix. I know this place is different, but maybe that still means something.”

  “It does,” Steven said quietly. “You’re still you.”

  They carried the feed buckets in silence after that.

  At dinner, the three of them gathered around the fire again. The stew was familiar by now—chunky and rich with root vegetables and spice.

  Lucy looked up between bites. “You said we’ll get a class when we sync with the Interface. But what happens after that?”

  John leaned back in his chair. “Everyone starts with a basic class—Fighter, Healer, Builder, Scout. You’ll start at level one. From there, you train, fight, craft, or study—whatever your class needs to grow.”

  “Combat classes grow through battle?” Steven asked.

  John nodded. “War, hunting, dungeons. Fastest way to level—also the most dangerous. Non-combat types progress through dedication to their craft. A Builder has to build. A Farmer has to tend the land.”

  “And what happens if you reach a certain level?” Lucy asked.

  “Level five’s the first milestone. That’s when you specialize. A Healer might become a Cleric. A Fighter could branch into Guardian or Duelist. It depends on your stats and your experience.”

  “What if you don’t reach it?” Steven asked.

  “Then you stay basic. And basic doesn’t get you far in this world.”

  They ate quietly for a moment, letting the implications settle in.

  Lucy stirred her bowl. “You also said the Interface ties to a kingdom. Sur’s, I’m guessing?”

  “That’s right,” John said. “When you sync, you’re bound to that kingdom’s laws and structure.”

  Steven glanced up. “What does that look like here?”

  “Sur’s a kingdom with order,” John said. “King Halric’s ruled for fifteen years. He’s not flashy, but he keeps things steady. The noble houses manage the regions under him—collect taxes, handle courts, train soldiers.”

  “And the military enforces law?” Lucy asked.

  “They do,” John said. “But most of the day-to-day isn’t soldiers—it’s guilds. If you’ve got a class, there’s likely a guild for it. They train you, give you work, help you grow. Eventually, they pay you. At first? They take a cut.”

  He paused, then added, “Honestly, some guilds hold more sway than the nobles. The bigger ones—like the Blacksmiths’, the Alchemists’, the Mercenaries’—they can make or break towns. And the crown knows it.”

  “Guilds and nobles,” Steven said. “Sounds like there’s a lot of hands in the pot.”

  John chuckled. “That’s one way to put it. But if you want to survive, you’ll need to find your place in the mix.”

  That night, Steven and Lucy returned to the barn, muscles sore and clothes flecked with straw. The air was cooler than the night before. Crickets—or something like them—sang outside.

  Steven pulled the blanket up to his chin. “So. Chicken duty and mystery classes. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Lucy chuckled softly, already halfway to sleep. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

  Steven stared up at the rafters.

  For now, that was enough.