The boy's fingers knotted in his collar, yanking the fabric tight against his throat. Eryx didn't fight it. Instead, he dropped his shoulders, settled his weight onto his heels, and just let the kid's bravado do all the heavy lifting. Up close, he caught the stale tang of old bread and cheap tobacco on the guy's breath.
He didn't get a chance to speak anyway. The sky had been threatening it all morning, and now it finally let go. Rain came down in thick, heavy sheets, instantly turning the packed dirt into slick mud. It pooled in the cracks between the cobblestones, ran in rivulets down the warped wood of the training rig, and blurred the courtyard into a wash of gray stone and cold water.
"You deaf, disposal?" the lead kid muttered, giving his collar another sharp jerk. "Jacket. Now. Or we'll just peel it off you."
Eryx kept his gaze fixed on the guy's boots. Scuffed leather, planted wide for balance, but the ground was already giving out. Water pooled in the shallow dips, mud slicked the edges, and traction was vanishing by the second.
"Already told you," Eryx said, keeping his voice low and steady. "I haven't got anything to give."
"Then we'll take the shoes."
The other two moved in, boots squelching as they closed the distance. Their breathing was loud, ragged, the kind of heavy panting that came from trying to look intimidating rather than actually being a threat.
His pulse didn't jump. If anything, it settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Three of them. Ground's slick. Broken bench about two meters to the left. The main exit was cut off by the downpour and a stone wall. No weapons, no formal training—just gravity and poor decision-making. The assessment rolled through his head before he'd even consciously processed it.
Then, quiet as always, the overlay appeared:
*[Basic Survival Instinct: Active.]*
*[Environmental hazard detected. Surface friction: Critical.]*
*[Recommendation: Use terrain. Do not engage.]*
It wasn't a voice or a command. Just a line of text hovering at the edge of his vision, calm and utterly detached.
The lead kid lost his patience and yanked hard. Eryx didn't fight the pull. He stepped into it, let his center of gravity tip forward, and waited for the wet fabric to slip just enough. The boy's grip loosened for a fraction of a second, and that was all he needed. Eryx dropped his shoulder, twisted his hips, and let his boots slide out from under him.
His right foot caught the edge of a puddle, and he went down. Mud and cold water slapped his face, but instead of bracing against it, he let the fall carry him into a roll. His shoulder clipped the wet stone, the impact rattling his teeth, but his body automatically tucked and shifted to absorb the blow. He hit the ground, rolled once, and pushed himself up onto one knee.
Behind him, the lead kid cursed as his own momentum betrayed him. His boot hit the exact same slick patch, and he went sprawling, arms pinwheeling. One of his friends lunged to grab him, missed, and they crashed into each other in a tangle of limbs and wet fabric, grunting over the drumming rain.
Eryx didn't stick around to watch. He moved.
As he pushed off, his left knee slammed into the edge of a broken stone bench. Pain shot up his leg—sharp and immediate—until the dampening field caught it halfway, softening what should've been a cracked kneecap into a heavy, manageable throb. He didn't pause. He planted his palm on the wet edge of the bench, used it to swing his weight sideways, and slipped past the stumbling mess.
A hand clamped onto his sleeve. Fingers dug into the soaked cloth, trying to anchor him. Instead of yanking away, Eryx stepped into the grab, letting the kid's own momentum throw him off balance. He twisted his wrist inside the grip, sliding his arm free with a motion that felt less like practiced technique and more like pure, frantic instinct. Then he was clear.
Rain plastered his shirt to his back, and the mud tried to suck his boots off with every step. His left ankle caught on a half-buried rock, twisting sharply. For a split second, the pain broke through the dampening field—a white-hot flash that made him bite down hard on a curse before the system smoothed it back into a dull ache. He didn't stop.
"Get him!" someone shouted from behind, voice cracking over the rain.
Boots splashed after him, but they were heavy, uncoordinated, and slipping nearly as much as he was. Eryx didn't look back. He cut left, weaving between the wooden training posts, and ducked under a low-hanging rope, using the narrow gap to break their line of sight. His lungs burned, and his stamina was draining faster than the downpour. Every step felt like dragging wet concrete.
He finally hit the far edge of the yard. A narrow service archway sat half-hidden in the shadows, tight, dark, and completely unmonitored. He slipped through it, shoulders scraping the damp stone, mud streaking his uniform. He didn't slow down until the heavy splashing and shouted curses faded into the muffled drum of the rain.
Only then did he let himself stop. He slid down the outer wall until he hit the damp stone, pulling his knees to his chest and letting his back rest against the cold brick. His breath came in ragged, wet pulls. His left ankle pulsed with every heartbeat, and a fresh bruise was already blooming along his ribs where he'd caught the bench. His uniform was soaked through, mud caked his forearms, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. It wasn't fear. It was just exhaustion—the sudden, violent tax his body had just paid.
He closed his eyes and let the rain wash over his face, feeling the cold seep down to his bones.
*[Survival Confirmed.]*
*[Trait Locked: Environmental Exploitation.]*
*[EXP +12.]*
*[Desync: 1%.]*
The notifications appeared clean and clinical, completely unbothered, as if they hadn't just logged him scrambling through the mud like a stray dog.
Eryx let out a long, shuddering breath that plumed white in the damp air. *Twelve experience points,* he thought. *For almost getting mugged in a downpour. I should be invoicing them for therapy.*
He pressed two fingers against his left ankle. It was already swelling, the tendons pulling tight. Not broken, just sprained. He'd walk on it. He'd limp. He'd make it work. That was the whole point.
Outside the archway, the rain kept falling, steady and relentless. It washed the mud from the courtyard stones and rinsed the dried blood from his knuckles, leaving everything quiet and cold. He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. They were still trembling, scraped and raw, but they worked. He was still here.
*[System Calibration: Stable.]*
*[Anomaly Resonance: 0.5%.]*
*[Warning: Desync threshold approaching monitoring limits.]*
He didn't bother asking what it meant. He already knew. The system wasn't just tracking whether he lived or died. It was measuring something else entirely—something the academy had no way of seeing, and something he couldn't quite feel yet.
He pushed himself up off the stone, ignoring the sharp protest in his ankle, and leaned against the wall until his weight settled properly. He took a slow breath, let the pain and the fatigue register, then deliberately filed them away for later.
He needed food. Dry clothes. And, ideally, he needed to figure out what "Environmental Exploitation" actually meant before it got him killed next time. But first, he just needed to move.
He pushed off the wall and took a step. Then another. Each one sent a fresh jolt up his left leg, but he adjusted his stride, shifted his weight to his right, and found a rhythm that worked well enough. The rain showed no sign of letting up. The courtyard stayed behind him, and the academy stretched out ahead, vast and completely indifferent.
He walked anyway.
High above, a shadow shifted against the gray sky on a distant balcony. Just for a second. Someone was watching—not judging, not interfering, just recording. Eryx didn't notice. He just kept moving, leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the wet stone. His steps grew slower, his breath heavier, but he didn't stop. He couldn't afford to.
Somewhere in the back of his skull, the system hummed. Quiet. Patient. Waiting for the next push.
And the rain kept falling.