《The rise of Skrathar.》


 System integration.

    Chief Roran sat at his desk in his office, the room bathed in the soft, warm glow of a lantern whose light cast gentle shadows across the wooden walls, while the scent of parchment and ink mingled with the earthy aroma of the surrounding forest. Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, its breath carrying the soft rustling of leaves.


    A man of middle age, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a calm demeanor, Chief Roran had spent many years serving his people. An old map of the region was pinned to the wall, along with a carved wooden statue of a deer that sat on the shelf, and a collection of hand-bound books that chronicled the village''s history.


    Roran leaned back in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his mug. The warmth of the tea inside was comforting, but his mind was far from the present moment. He thought of the northern village and its leaders and the promise they had made regarding the Virethra tree. It was a rare and valuable resource, one that had taken years of negotiation to secure. He had no doubt that the agreement would bring prosperity to his people, but it still confused him as to how they could let go of such a valuable tree like that.


    Although the cost was only three of their cattle and 20 pieces of Zorvith, the price for acquiring the tree was still surprisingly low, especially considering its true value. He''d almost thought it was a scam, but a quick check of the tree revealed that it was legitimate.


    His gaze drifted to the map pinned on the wall. The region was vast, and while the agreement was a step forward, there was no telling if the northern village would betray him if things took a turn for the worse. He had lived long enough to know that peace was never a thing that was guaranteed.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    It would have been manageable if it were just the northern village, but the other surrounding settlements brought their own set of migraines. To make matters worse, the King was an arrogant fool and didn''t care at all about the fighting between the villages. As long as he received the resources from both sides, he cared little for the bloodshed that fueled his wealth.


    Roran set down his mug and stood, walking over to the closet he had in his office before pulling open the heavy wooden door, revealing the neatly arranged contents inside. His hand brushed past the old tomes and dusty scrolls he had in the closet before settling on a weathered leather satchel that felt oddly warm to the touch, grabbing its handles before pulling it out of the closet.


    As he walked over to his desk and placed the satchel down, he was about to open it when a sudden knock at the door stopped him from doing so.


    ¡°Come in,¡±


    The door groaned on its hinges as a young messenger slipped inside, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. A strained smile tugged at her lips as she straightened, her eyes bright with excitement. ¡°Chief Roran,¡± she panted, ¡°the caravan from the northern village has arrived. They¡¯ve brought the tree, just as they promised.¡±


    ¡°Good. Prepare the hall for their arrival. I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡±


    The messenger bowed once more before leaving, and the room was left filled with the soft rustling of parchment and the distant sounds of the wind. Roran took a deep breath to collect himself, then placed the satchel beneath his desk. He grabbed his scarf, draped it around his neck, and turned to leave.


    But something strange happened.


    [ Initializing integration of {Skrathar} into the universal inbuilt world system. Please remain calm as we assess and synchronize your status. {Skrathar} will be enhanced and expanded to accommodate The Axiom Core, allowing the system to establish its foundation and take root seamlessly. ]


    { Welcome to the multiverse, Skrathar. The gods have been awaiting for your arrival. }


    ¡°What?¡± was all he managed to say before his vision went dark.


    End¡­

 The aftermath: 1

    Roran had always been a wanderer, a man who preferred the quiet of the forest trails to the noise of the towns. It was on one of these trails that he first encountered the boy.


    The lad was no older than fifteen, his clothes tattered and his face gaunt with hunger. He flinched at every sound around him, his dark eyes darting like a cornered animal. Roran recognized the signs immediately; the boy was a runaway, and not just from a harsh home. The rusted iron collar around his neck and the lotus mark on his face practically marked him as a slave.


    He remembered how his heart twisted at the sight of the poor boy. He had no love for the laws of the land, especially those that allowed one man to own another. Quietly, he knelt and held out a piece of bread.


    The boy briefly hesitated for a moment, his thin frame trembling as he looked up at his face and down at the bread, before snatching the bread from his hand and devouring it like a starving wolf.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Roran asked softly.


    ¡°Ryn,¡± the boy whispered, his voice hoarse, probably because he hadn''t drunk any water.


    Over the next few days, Roran nursed the boy back to health, sharing his meager supplies and teaching him how to navigate the forest. Ryn was sharp and quick to learn, and fiercely determined. He spoke little of his past, but Roman didn¡¯t press. He knew enough to guess the horrors Ryn had endured.


    As the days turned into weeks, Roran found himself growing attached to the boy. He saw in Ryn a reflection of his younger self; he was practically a son to him, someone who refused to be broken by the world. For the first time in years, Roran felt a sense of purpose.


    Like he was a father¡­..


    But peace was fleeting.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Hey, I''m Ryn¡¯s owner, Have you seen him anywhere around here?¡±


    His owner had been searching for him the entire time. She looked to be a very nice lady, but the way Ryn was acting when he saw the woman said it all.


    ¡°Umm¡ª¡± but before he could say anything Ryn ran for it.


    And that was a mistake.


    He couldn''t do anything as they dragged them away, the woman thanking him all the while. He didn''t want to put his village at risk of a war with a noble; the woman was clearly from a very wealthy household, and the king would not take lightly to anyone, of all people, getting into a fight with one of his most valuable occupants. So he could only turn his face away as Ryn pleaded for him to do something.


    "Please, do something!¡±


    ¡°HELP ME!¡±


    ================


    When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the sky, framed by the jagged remnants of what had once been his roof. The familiar walls of his office were no more, now replaced by the broken shards of wood and debris scattered across the ash-covered earth beneath him.


    Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he attempted to move, his limbs stiff and uncooperative, as if the very act of moving were a foreign concept to his body. Pain shot through his joints as he tried to push himself up, his body protesting the effort as though it had forgotten how to function.


    Eventually, after a while, he forced himself upright, feeling a sharp jolt of pain lancing through his ribs as a mouthful of blood fell from his mouth, coating his trembling hands in blood. The metallic taste lingered as his vision swam, and the loose scarf around his neck slipped free, fluttering to the ground in a singed, frayed heap.


    Attempting to move was even more difficult, evidenced by the fact that his feet felt like lead, dragging against the ground with every step he took. He swayed, nearly collapsing, but managed to steady himself by planting his foot firmly against the floor before bracing himself against what remained of a wall.


    "What in the gods'' name...?" he could only mutter, his voice sounding hoarse from the lack of water as he attempted to get a better look at his surroundings.


    Everything around him lay in ruins. At first, he had believed it was only his office that had been destroyed, but after scrambling up a small hill of rocks and scattered debris, the view that greeted him was both breathtaking and terrible.


    The village was in ruins, with wooden houses reduced to splintered debris scattered across the ground. The border walls in the distance were torn apart, and the once-pristine cobblestone streets he''d been so proud of were now buried beneath layers of soot and debris.


    He staggered down the hill, his legs barely able to support him as he moved through the wreckage. Scattered items littered the ground, some of them half-buried in dirt and debris alongside a few half-buried dead carcasses. After a while, his foot caught on a broken cart, and he nearly collapsed, catching himself just in the nick of time before he could fall to the ground.


    "Is anyone alive?" he called out, "Can anyone hear me!?¡±


    He was about to continue walking when something at the edge of his vision caught his attention, it was a faint glow, subtle enough to be overlooked by most. But he wasn¡¯t the type to ignore things like that.


    ¡°What is that?¡¯¡¯


    End.