Rem stared at the ceiling, beams steady above him, light panels glowing soft and even. If he kept his gaze fixed there, on that patch of ordinary, life almost felt unchanged. Almost.

  But his eyes would not stay put. They slid down, catching on the reminders. His schoolbag slouched beneath the desk, classes canceled with no return in sight. The clothes he’d worn during the accident perched on the dresser, folded like evidence. The transport chair waited near the closet, silent and patient.

  And above him, the square hovered. Translucent. Pale blue. Unreal.

  He let it vanish with a breath. Called it back. It flared at the foot of his bed, a presence he dragged toward himself inch by inch. The effort tightened his arms, sweat prickling at his hairline, breath turning shallow. When it finally floated above him, he reached. His fingers slipped through emptiness. Nothing.

  “Remy!”

  The door crashed wide. Saskia spilled in, arms full of gear. He flinched, lost hold, and the square blinked out.

  “Got you some starter gear.” She dumped the bundle on his bed. “Up. Tomas will walk you through the first run, then you two can head for the square.”

  She leaned close, eyes scanning his face. “Tell me you picked something you actually wanted?”

  “My choices were limited.” His voice carried tightness as he pushed free of the blankets. “Maybe if I level it it’ll be decent. Right now? Feels pretty lame.”

  Her look softened, though she lingered. “As long as you enjoy it, that’s what matters.”

  “Give me space. I’ll gear up.” His hands worked through the pile until they found utility trousers, stiff and awkward.

  Saskia smiled, backing toward the door.

  “Saskia.”

  She paused, hands tucked behind her back. “Yeah?”

  “What level are you? That even okay to ask?”

  “It’s fine for me. Don’t go asking strangers.” Pride flickered in her tone. “I’m level three. Tomas too, though he’s almost four. Mom and Dad are twos. They do challenges together.” A moment’s tightness crossed her lips before she grinned again. “Now get dressed. We’ve got a comeback to plan, little bro.”

  He hadn’t grasped how much the Arrival had reshaped his family until he stood at the dining table, starter gear spread out, listening to them debate the best ways to kill slimes. They sounded casual, as if this was dinner talk now.

  Tomas set a weapon before him: a level one war hammer. A wooden haft with a head of two faces, one a thick axe blade, the other a blunt hammer. Heavy, awkward, but solid. Rem distilled their advice into two rules: swing with the hammer side for maximum damage, and never cut the slimes.

  “Hand-made?” Rem asked, running a thumb along the haft.

  “Has to be,” Tomas said. “Factory stuff blinks out at the arch. Thrive only lets in what’s forged, stitched, or carved by hand.”

  His father nodded. “Fairness clause, apparently.”

  “Same for everything,” his mother added. “No composites, no printed gear. Leather, wood, iron hoops. Stuff made the old ways pass.”

  Other items were simpler but no less important: a first aid kit, a canteen, food for a day. The kit was for emergencies, not every scrape. The canteen should stay full, just in case. The water inside the challenge was safe. The food was rations, not comfort: eat only when your strength failed.

  Last came a small flask of red liquid, corked tight. Healing accelerant, though everyone called it healer. Rule was clear. Last resort only.

  He did not know the cost, but it could not have been cheap. A twist of guilt curled in his chest at the thought of lying to them.

  “Thank you.” The smile he gave was thin, but his hands moved with care, packing the leather satchel piece by piece. He would not fail on the first challenge. He could not.

  “We’ve all done the first challenge,” his brother said, grinning. “I just wish I’d thought to bring a sandwich my first time.”

  Rem tucked the boxed lunch carefully inside, then slid the healer into an inner pocket. He looked around the table at them all. His mother’s calm steadiness. Saskia’s restless energy. Tomas’s certainty. His father’s doubt. Each pressed in on him, shaping their advice into laws carved deep. They lived in him whether he wanted it or not.

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  “All right,” he said, hefting the hammer. “Do I just carry this?”

  “No.” Tomas guided the haft through a loop on the satchel strap. “See? Built for it.”

  Geared up, carrying their lessons and their faith, Rem felt fear and resolve twist together in his chest. Ready or not, it was his turn.

  “You sure you won’t reconsider? A team would be glad to have you.” His mother’s hand brushed hair from his forehead, her green eyes searching.

  “And have them watch me trip over my first crafting attempts?” He caught her hand, held it a moment. His smile was small but steady.

  “I’m just going to practice my skills,” he lied.

  The first challenge could be abandoned at any time. It was meant to teach, not punish. Still, the thought pressed sharp against him: if he could not even manage this, what chance did he have at all?

  “He’ll be fine, darling.” His father’s arms folded around her shoulders, grin warm. “Now you better get going before she walks you there like it’s your first day of school.”

  Rem hitched his satchel high and followed Tomas into the corridor.

  The thirty-seventh floor opened into a common atrium draped with climbing vines and hanging orchards. Air sweet with citrus. Children darted between benches where elders sat beside caretaking drones. On another day this might have been ordinary. Today the air thrummed. Families clustered, voices low, eyes fixed on the lifts.

  At the lobby, Rem paused at the glass railing, staring down. The central shaft dropped dizzyingly. Cabins slid past on magnetic tracks, glowing faint blue. He had ridden them all his life, but only now did he wonder. What algorithms kept billions of riders balanced daily? What equations let the cars pass each other without falter? The thought tugged at him. Every system hid a pattern, and patterns could be solved.

  The lift arrived. Inside, Tomas struck conversation with a boy he knew. Rem stayed quiet, watching.

  A girl cradled a carved staff, lips moving in whispers. Was it spellcraft or just nerves? A boy barely ten gripped a short sword so tight his knuckles whitened, his mother’s hand steady on his shoulder. An older man in work-stained coveralls carried only a plain satchel, his face unreadable. Each of them a puzzle Rem wanted to pull apart.

  The lift dropped. Floor numbers ticked past. His chest stayed tight, but curiosity was pushing, steady and insistent.

  The transit concourse opened with the smell of ozone and oil, rail pods gliding in rhythm. He pressed close to the window as theirs slipped free.

  Zwolle streamed by in layers. Brick warehouses remade into housing. Glass rises connected by skybridges like threads of a web. Vertical gardens climbing towers, mosaics of green and gold against steel. Bikes crowding racks near the stations even as air trams whispered overhead. The city had changed, but it still held its bones. Old and alive together.

  A chime flickered in his vision. An incoming call. Noah’s avatar grinned wide and easy, though his grey eyes betrayed nerves.

  “Rem. Look at you all geared up – last I saw you, you were in a bed with tubes sticking out – You on your way?”

  “Yeah. Almost there.” Rem smiled, angling his head so Tomas would not notice.

  “As long as you don’t come back with a broken shoulder blade, you’ll be better than me.” Noise crackled behind Noah’s voice. “Anyway, I just talked to Eva. She heard school might start again. Official UOW curriculum. We’ll be in the same class again.”

  Rem’s mouth twitched. “That’d be good.” Easy enough words, though memory pressed hard: classrooms he had begun strong in, only to drift out, the weight of not measuring up. He pushed it aside. Curiosity clung, though. What would a new curriculum look like? What answers might be waiting there?

  “Well good luck. When you’re done we’ll celebrate.”

  Rem smiled despite himself. “Luck’s not much use if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Rem. You’re the smartest person I know.”

  Rem sighed, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need to get out more.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re also the dumbest person I know.”

  Rem laughed at that.

  “It’s good to see you again Rem.” Noah smiled - in his casual easy going way.

  “It’s good to be seen.”

  The call winked away, leaving only his own reflection in the glass.

  The pod slowed into the central station. The crowd spilled down escalators, voices rising.

  The square was alive with sound.

  Vendors crowded the edges, stalls half-built but busy. Signs marked tables where people haggled over unfamiliar items. Food carts hissed with steam, fried batter and roasted fish carrying through the air. It felt like an old-world village nested inside the glass and steel of the city center.

  Smithies rang on portable anvils, sparks catching in the wind. A cooper set iron hoops on fresh staves, raising buckets by hand. A glassblower turned molten gather on a pipe, bellows stoking the heat. Weavers shuttled threads across narrow looms. A tanner scraped hides. No rifles. No drones. No stamped alloy. Only wood, leather, and iron, shaped by human hands.

  Groups gathered in clusters. Some teams laughed too loud, weapons clattering against new armor. Others whispered in tight circles, eyes fixed on the arch. Children darted, carrying news of clears and failures, every rumor adding to the buzz.

  A cheer erupted near the edge. A girl, flushed and grinning, stepped from the arch, fist high. Strangers clapped her back, pressed food into her hands. A boy followed minutes later, limping, satchel half-empty, friends holding him up. The crowd parted for him with reverence, not pity. Even failure marked him as changed.

  Rem’s satchel strap bit into his shoulder. His hammer clinked against its loop. But the fear that had weighed him earlier drowned beneath the surge of questions. How did the arch select its tests? Why did handmade objects pass its threshold? What lay inside the rules? Each answer would lead to another. The thought thrilled him.

  The arch rose at the plaza’s heart, stone blocks smooth, glyphs etched deep. Within its span, a storm of light churned, pale and luminous, clouds rolling in a hidden sky. Glow spilled across the square, shining in eager eyes.

  Rem stepped forward. The crowd’s noise thinned until only his breath pulsed in his ears. He crossed beneath. Light wrapped him in static and heat, prickling against his skin.

  A prompt snapped into view:

  [SYSTEM INTERFACE — TRANSPORT MENU]

  Available Destinations:

  ? Storage Locker (Ref: LOC-ST/001)

  ? Challenge Level 1 — Passes Remaining: 1 (Ref: CH-001/DAILY)

  Rem chose Challenge One. The glow surged. The world blinked away.