Physique: Son of the Forest

  A body woven with the quiet magic of ancient groves. Leaves whisper at the bearer’s approach, sensing the pulse of old spirits within. Beneath the forest canopy, life energy returns to them as naturally as rivers returning to the sea. Wounds mend as if guided by patient, unseen hands. Creatures of branch and soil recognize the bearer as kin of the primordial woods, and the forest itself bends in subtle ways—shifting light, softening danger, offering guidance like a timeless guardian.

  Enhances natural regeneration of resources when surrounded by nature. Grants heightened perception when embracing the Forest of Old.

  Well, that was… unexpected.

  If this system really awarded me such a Physique, I would’ve felt something before now. And if it were common, people would be bragging about it. No one is. That means this is rare… maybe dangerously rare.

  And I know exactly what would happen if I told anyone—people would dissect me like some curiosity laid out on a cold table. No thanks.

  For now, I’ll keep quiet. Maybe I can test it tomorrow at the club; that forest is one of the last true primeval woods left, preserved only because our grandparents willed it to us.

  While Arin and his family meditated and prepared for tomorrow’s gathering, the rest of the world was anything but calm.

  There had already been unease and scattered panic, but mass denial had softened the blow—until the global press conferences ended. Reality finally hit.

  The first riots came from the stock brokers. Every major exchange across the world was shut down for seven days to prevent a catastrophic crash. Only the New York Stock Exchange opened—and closed again within thirty minutes, as everything slammed past its daily limits, mostly deep in the red.

  Then came the outrage from American citizens, realizing their treasured Second Amendment meant nothing if their weapons couldn’t defend them from what the system demanded. The army had to be deployed just to keep order.

  And it wasn’t just the United States. Across the globe, unrest ignited in streets, towns, and villages. Fear, anger, helplessness—mixing violently with the knowledge that in a year, people would be forced to fight or be reduced, in their eyes, to slaves.

  But not everyone panicked. Some… were thrilled. Convinced this was their era to rise in a world ruled by strength. Whether they would become forces of good, agents of chaos, or something in between—time would tell.

  The next morning, Arin woke to a strange sensation—his body felt sharpened, alive. No groggy haze, no reluctance to leave bed. Descending the stairs, he heard his family already discussing their own changes.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Johnny, I’ll admit,” Dad said, rubbing his temples, “this extra energy messed up my internal clock. I woke an hour early. Not all sunshine and rainbows.”

  “We don’t all have clocks as accurate as yours,” Johnny chuckled dryly. “Most people probably won’t even notice.”

  “Good morning, Arin,” Mom called. “Sit down—pancakes are almost ready. If you hold the door open, Tilly should be able to smell them and come crashing down.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  He opened the door—and right on cue, Tilly thundered down the stairs, yelling “PANCAKES!” so loudly Arin winced. She shot past him and claimed his seat before he even blinked.

  As Arin took another chair and breakfast was served, Dad cleared his throat.

  “Okay. I spoke with everyone yesterday about the club meeting. Everyone can attend today, so we’re heading to the clubhouse after we eat. Johnny, Tilly—you talked to Grandpa and Grandma yesterday, right?”

  “They said they’ll meet us there.”

  They biked into the forest, and Arin felt something stirring within him—an awakening, the forest’s breath brushing against his own. The leaves whispered faintly, acknowledging him. Stamina trickled back into his body with every inhale. Caught in the strange new resonance of his Physique, he didn’t notice they’d arrived until Tom’s father greeted them.

  “Hey! Last ones here—even your parents beat you, Theun, you slowpoke.”

  “I can’t help that we live the farthest away,” he muttered. “Let’s go inside. We need to discuss what we’re willing to teach the government—and what we expect in return.”

  After a rather heated discussion, Arin’s grandfather stepped forward.

  “All right, to summarize: we’ll teach them standard medieval war-archery—not our improved techniques. In exchange, we want the forest guaranteed to remain in our family for at least three more generations, with no taxes. Correct?”

  A unified “Yes” echoed through the room.

  “And at maximum,” Grandpa continued, voice sharpening, “we want the government to finally force those bastards in Clanton to stop trying to take our forest. Their excuse of turning it into a country club is nonsense. They still hold a grudge over what our great-grandparents revealed about their collaboration during the war—they hid the evidence with money and drowned out our accusations. They’ve never forgiven us, and we’ve never forgiven them.

  “The only reason they haven’t taken the forest by force is because they know there are over a hundred truly skilled archers here. They value their lives too much. So they try slowly, through bureaucrats.”

  Arin raised a hand, voice tense.

  “Speaking of them… Grandpa, one of their men is here now. With around a thousand others. And they don’t look friendly.”