It was, in fact, a very long ten minutes.
Ten uninterrupted minutes of lying in the street, trying not to focus on the deeply unpleasant sensation of skin that had recently reconsidered its relationship with structural integrity.
When my internal clock finally ticks over, I excavate an uncommon stamina potion and an equally uncommon health potion from my storage ring and drink both without ceremony.
They taste like ash.
I don’t bother checking the numbers.
If I can stand, they worked.
I stand.
Starfire flares briefly, washing over me in a controlled pulse and incinerating the blood, ash, and assorted dragon biology clinging to my person. The alley beside me was fortunate enough to avoid becoming aggressively red during the explosion, so I relocate there immediately.
Then I collapse.
Gracefully? No.
Effectively.
I curl onto my side and fall asleep before my brain can even attempt to process the notifications waiting patiently for my attention.
I will deal with those later.
…
…
When I wake, the sun is already sinking beneath the horizon, the sky bleeding from gold to violet as the city settles into something resembling night.
First things first: damage assessment.
I slip into the nearest half-collapsed building and strip without ceremony. No point being modest in front of shattered masonry.
I examine myself.
Then I grimace.
Starting with my legs.
They are healed.
Technically.
The skin below my knees is pale to the point of artificiality, unnaturally smooth and faintly glossy, as if it has forgotten how to be skin. Lines of scar tissue branch across my calves in thin, bleached patterns, jagged and deliberate, like lightning frozen mid-strike.
I flex.
Functionality: intact.
Aesthetics: debatable.
My feet and ankles fared better, likely due to my boots absorbing at least some of the blast. The skin there is only lightly discolored, faint mottling where the worst heat licked through.
My thighs are untouched.
Thank you, tail.
Next, the shoulder that wasn’t covered.
It mirrors the legs in tone—too pale, too smooth—but lacks the branching scars. Instead, the skin is simply… wrong. Slightly lighter than the surrounding area, as if someone replaced it with a near-perfect replica that forgot warmth.
My right arm follows the same pattern.
Healed.
Incomplete.
And finally, my torso.
Completely restored. No discoloration. No residual tightness. No trace of trauma.
I exhale slowly.
All things considered, this is significantly better than what similar burns would have resulted in on Earth. Vitality and magical healing are doing admirable work.
Still.
My perfection has acquired… annotations.
I am displeased.
…
Whatever.
I'm sure there will be a solution once I reach Asteria. Magical worlds tend to specialize in unreasonable cosmetic miracles.
I tilt my head thoughtfully.
Ah.
Of course.
I will simply ask the Terminally Online Star.
Surely someone who spends eternity observing mortals has encountered a “remove catastrophic dragon burn scarring” thread at least once.
Although… a permanent mental note is now engraved directly onto my frontal lobe, never to be forgotten.
Do not attempt to bait out a dragon breath again.
They are emphatically not a joke.
If not for Older Sister’s warning, I might have actually been reduced to a carbonized smear of unidentifiable Foxkin.
Or possibly just… gone.
Considering the output of that attack, vaporization feels like a reasonable alternative outcome.
I shrug.
It worked out.
Technically.
Injury assessment complete, I begin dressing again.
Or, more accurately, I begin replacing what the explosion so rudely removed.
Tragically, my ultra-comfortable underwear did not survive the thermal experience.
Which means that beneath the shirt and shorts—
I have been entirely commando.
That is… suboptimal.
I extend a hand. Starlight gathers and condenses, weaving itself into fresh undergarments, followed shortly by a new pair of boots and socks.
Functional.
Comfortable.
…
Extremely rainbow.
Annoying.
At least starlight fabric remains objectively pleasant against the skin.
Eight out of ten.
Fully clothed once more, I form a new hair tie and gather my inconveniently long hair back into a looped ponytail, securing it neatly at the base of my tail.
Combat-ready.
Presentable.
Minimally offended by my color palette.
I do briefly frown at the sensation of fabric against newly healed skin.
It isn’t painful.
It’s… incorrect.
That’s the only word that fits.
Touch feels muted and overamplified at the same time. Temperature doesn’t register cleanly. Pressure arrives half a second late. It’s like my nerves are translating through a damaged connection—signal degraded, resolution lowered.
I flex my calves.
The feedback is wrong.
A thin wave of nausea rolls through me.
I ignore it.
Instead, I step out through a jagged hole in the wall rather than using the door, because it is objectively more dramatic.
And marginally less effort.
The sun slips fully beneath the horizon as I emerge, and the stars blink into existence overhead.
Except—
It’s different.
No chatter.
No layered whispers.
No overlapping commentary.
Just silence.
Older Sister speaks first.
Her voice is frantic—sharp with fear in a way I have never heard before.
“Darling!? Are you alright?!”
I give her my most reassuring smile.
“I am perfectly fine. ’Tis but a scratch.”
The joke lands with all the grace of a brick.
The tension remains.
So I pivot.
“By the way, Terminally Online Star—hypothetically—how accessible are scar removal options on Asteria?”
I gesture vaguely toward my legs.
“I find myself somewhat dissatisfied with the current aesthetic.”
That is a monumental understatement.
He lost.
And yet I am the one inconvenienced.
Unacceptable.
The star lets out a weak, almost shaky chuckle before responding, her tone far softer than usual.
“Yes. You can find a biomancer. They’re fairly common. You shouldn’t have difficulty locating one once the Tutorial concludes.”
“Wonderful. That is deeply reassuring.”
I am uncomfortable.
Extremely so.
Not because of the scars.
Not because of the lingering nausea.
Because of the way they are speaking to me.
The softness.
The careful spacing of their words.
The quiet weight beneath them.
It feels… unfamiliar.
Like I missed a rule somewhere.
I do not quite understand what I am meant to do with it.
So I do nothing.
Even I know that commenting on it would only make whatever this is worse.
So I continue smiling.
And I continue speaking, careful and measured, allowing none of it to leak.
Every smile calibrated.
Every word selected.
Every movement of my body shaped toward reassurance.
I am fine.
That is the message.
My tail, traitorous as ever—
Refuses to move.
No sway.
No flick.
No lazy curl of amusement.
Just complete, unnatural stillness.
It hangs behind me like it belongs to someone else.
Annoying.
After a long, long time, the tension overhead thins, the stars slipping cautiously back toward something resembling their usual noise.
I excuse myself with practiced ease.
“Alright, alright, I’m going to go read my fifteen million notifications before they unionize.”
And finally, I turn my attention toward the System windows that have been patiently stacking themselves for the past few hours of talking.
First things first.
Status window.
I would very much like to see how absurdly my numbers have inflated after gaining seven levels in a single fight.
Or eight, if we count the local ecosystem’s enthusiastic participation in my earlier fire-related activities.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Lyn
Health: 1099 / 1100
Stamina: 7386 / 7500
Race: Starborne Foxkin (Level 44) [Tier 1]
Class: Astral Duelist (Level 44) [Tier 1]
Aspect: Star
Traits: [Starborn] [Atrocity]
Titles: [Dragonslayer]
Stats
Vitality: 110 [+10]
Strength: 256 [+23]
Dexterity: 750 [+68]
Perception: 602 (+5) [+54]
Charisma: 11 [+1]
Free Points: 84
Class Skills (7/8):
[Horizon Slash (Rare)]
[Stellar Finesse (Uncommon)]
[Improved Dash (Uncommon)]
[Astral Step (Uncommon)]
[Starline Thrust (Uncommon)]
[Celestial Momentum (Epic)]
[Severing Arc (Rare)]
General Skills (7/8):
[Inspect (Common)]
[Running (Rare)]
[Evasive Footwork (Uncommon)]
[Astral Manipulation (Epic)]
[Volatile Rune Crafting (Rare)]
[Blazing Star Dance (Epic)]
[Guiding Star Dance (Rare)]
Racial Skills:
Cosmic Perception
Silent Star
Special Skills:
[Arcana: Garden of Eternal Midnight]
[Universal Translation]
[Slipstream]
[Peripheral Continuity]
Tutorial Points: 167496
Tutorial Countdown: 45 days, 16 hours, 23 minutes
Skill Selection Available
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I stare at the numbers for a moment.
Well.
That is certainly… something.
Seven levels.
One dragon.
Minimal vaporization.
Acceptable exchange rate.
My base stats have jumped dramatically, and I now possess an entirely new line of bonus modifiers.
Quick calculation.
Ten percent across the board.
Which means my Charisma has officially reached eleven.
An astounding triumph for diplomacy everywhere.
I allow myself a solemn nod.
As for what granted that tidy little universal buff…
I have a very good guess.
But I will politely refrain from acknowledging it until Inspect confirms the obvious.
Dramatic timing matters.
Speaking of which—
Time to review everything I acquired from the most violent afternoon of my life.
We begin, as all civilized beings should, with the least interesting development.
My rune crafting upgrade.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Volatile Rune Crafting (Rare)
A specialized discipline of rune manipulation focused on unstable mana structures and controlled detonation. This skill typically manifests following the creation of a significantly hazardous rune configuration.
(Passive) Grants System assistance when designing both stable and unstable runic configurations.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I can practically feel the System’s judgment radiating from that skill.
In my defense, it worked.
Exceptionally well.
In that moment, I make a solemn vow.
From this day forward, I shall always carry at least one catastrophically unstable runic weapon in my storage.
Purely as a precautionary measure.
Just in case.
That said… the upgrade itself isn’t particularly dramatic.
Expected.
Next:
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Peripheral Continuity]
A high-level neural processing adaptation unlocked through extreme Perception.
(Passive) Eliminates focal prioritization within the visual system, allowing the user to process their entire field of vision simultaneously at consistent clarity. Prevents attentional tunneling, information drop-off at the visual periphery, and processing delay when shifting focus between stimuli.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Ah.
So that’s what felt strange.
Now that it’s been articulated for me, I can detect the difference.
There’s no shift when I move my focus. No subtle blur. No prioritization. Everything is equally sharp, equally present.
All at once.
For a human, this would be absurdly overpowered.
For me?
Becoming a Foxkin already granted enhanced peripheral vision, so the jump is… less dramatic.
Tragic.
I had hoped for at least a mild epiphany moment.
Still.
Another passive added to the list.
And anyone who has ever touched an RPG knows exactly how much dopamine a clean new skill line produces.
Alright.
Next.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Blazing Star Dance (Epic)]
A self-created combat art developed by the User Lyn. Blending fluid footwork with controlled Starfire manifestation, this style transforms continuous movement into a lethal dance of burning motes and precise strikes. Each step leaves behind drifting fragments of starfire that linger briefly in the air, shaping the battlefield and compounding offensive pressure. The Dance grows more effective as motion is maintained and transitions remain uninterrupted.
(Passive) Increases the effectiveness of all established techniques within Lyn’s evolving dance by 30%.
First Step — Rending Starfire LineA foundational technique of the Blazing Star Dance. Execute a linear thrust infused with concentrated Starfire, carving a burning trajectory through the target’s position and leaving a brief rift of searing flame in its wake.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
My tail comes back to life just long enough to deliver a single, dignified wag.
Now that is a skill.
Dramatic description.
Newly forged technique.
And the unmistakable beginnings of a future wall of increasingly unhinged text.
Everything one could possibly desire from a foundational combat art.
Ten out of ten.
Excellent work, System.
As much as I would love to admire it further, there are still three inspections remaining.
One of which is particularly… noteworthy.
I will save that for last.
Therefore—
Next.
The choice of “least interesting” is debatable, but I already suspect what this one entails.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Dragonslayer]
Awarded for the legendary feat of slaying a True Dragon of the same tier.
Effects:
• Increases all base stats by 10%
• Grants Slayer’s Presence, projecting an aura of subdued dominance that weakens the resolve of lesser creatures
• Reduces the effectiveness of fear, suppression, and presence-based effects imposed by higher-tier entities
Intimidation effects can be toggled.
This Title is publicly visible upon inspection.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Figured.
There’s the ten percent.
Clean. Efficient. Appreciated.
Slayer’s Presence, however…
That one is interesting.
The question is—
How does one toggle intimidation?
The answer arrives before the thought fully forms.
The aura activates.
Ah.
So it is will-based.
Like opening a status window.
The shift is immediate.
The air thickens, not physically, but perceptually—as if something invisible has settled into place. The space around me bends ever so slightly inward, my presence pressing outward like a weight dropped onto taut fabric.
Dust stirs.
The ambient noise of the ruined city dampens.
Not silence.
Just… suppression.
Pressure without violence.
I deactivate it.
The world exhales.
I nod once, very scientifically.
Yes.
This will absolutely be abused later.
My ears perk, subtle but distinct, apparently satisfied with the development.
Good.
That leaves the two most interesting acquisitions.
It is obvious which one I will inspect last.
Which means it is time to determine exactly what ‘Atrocity’ I have apparently committed.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Atrocity]
A soul has been permanently erased by your actions, preventing all forms of rebirth, recycling, or restoration.
Such outcomes are strongly discouraged.
This trait cannot be removed.
No effects.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Ah.
That is… concerning.
Moderately.
It appears the soul-burning aspect of my starfire was less metaphorical than previously assumed.
I suppose that explains the aggressively crimson notification.
I shrug.
He did attempt to incinerate me repeatedly.
Still.
Permanent erasure feels… excessive.
In my defense, I was not provided with a warning label.
Well.
Aside from the very clear, instinctive sense that something irreversible was occurring.
But that hardly counts.
Curiosity is a valid scientific motivator.
I tilt my head upward.
“Hypothetically speaking,” I begin, “if one were to acquire a trait titled ‘Atrocity’ due to mild soul incineration, should one be concerned about systemic retaliation?”
Older Sister answers immediately.
“A soul-destruction trait? No. The System won’t act against you,” she says, steady despite the content of my question. “Systems like this remain functional precisely because they are impartial. The moment they begin punishing moral outcomes, they destabilize themselves.”
That makes sense.
I briefly consider what sort of chaos would be unleashed as a result of the sudden destabilization of a planetary System construct, then file that thought under Future Problems.
“You don’t think I am… a bad person?” I ask, tone deliberately light. “For sending someone into permanent nonexistence?”
There is a pause.
Then—
“…No?” she replies, sounding faintly confused. “We do not particularly concern ourselves with anyone but you, darling.”
Ah.
That is—
Embarrassing.
I look away slightly.
My tail, traitor that it is, gives one entirely inappropriate, enthusiastic sway.
I can feel the faintest warmth creeping into my face.
Unacceptable.
I redirect my attention immediately.
Specifically, toward the skill that decided sequential order was optional and placed itself at the top of my special skills list.
As it should be.
Time to inspect the real prize.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Arcana: Garden of Eternal Midnight]
A crystallization of the User Lyn’s identity.
Within its domain, reality yields to her design.
The world is overwritten by a moonless firmament of endless stars. Thorned vines of living starlight coil across the earth, and black dahlias bloom in silent constellations. No sun rises here. No dawn intrudes. This is a sky that belongs to her alone.
While active, the Garden imposes the following alterations upon reality:
Midnight’s Gravity
The Garden centers upon its creator.
Space itself develops a gravitational bias toward Lyn, as though she were the dominant celestial body within the domain. Escape is not prevented by barrier or wall, but by mass and momentum; only those capable of overcoming her pull may depart.
Starlit Thorns
The vines of the Garden respond directly to Lyn’s will.
They may restrain, sever, pierce, or ignite at command. When suffused with Starfire, they burn with soul-searing intensity. Their reach and density increase as the Garden stabilizes.
Sovereign Starlight
All light within the Garden falls under Lyn’s influence.
She may bend, scatter, and shape it into convincing illusions independent of direct sight. Perception subtly warps in her favor; attacks against her suffer minor distortion and misalignment.
Sable Thrones
Black dahlias bloom throughout the Garden, each one a throne upon which Midnight rests.
These blossoms anchor the Arcana to reality, stabilizing its dominion. Their destruction weakens the Garden’s hold, and sufficient loss may collapse it entirely. Sable Thrones regenerate over time, or more swiftly through flawless execution of Lyn’s Dance—whether in perfect strike, parry, or evasion.
All things that enter must choose: bloom beneath her stars… or be consumed by them.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Yes.
This.
This is it.
My tail achieves enlightenment.
My ears follow shortly after.
Even the formatting changed.
It abandoned the tidy utilitarian lines of normal skills and ascended into something that looks like it should be etched into stone tablets and guarded by cultists.
Dust kicks up behind me as my tail flicks—decisive, and far too enthusiastic for my dignity.
For once, I entirely agree with it.
The fight was messy.
I got burned.
I may have committed a minor metaphysical violation.
But this?
This is worth it.
Infinity out of ten.
Still.
For all its grandeur, it is currently just immaculate prose glowing politely on a blue interface.
I grin, wide, bright and entirely unrepentant.
Time to see what my world can actually do.