Chapter 3: Featherstep

[Name: Serayne Veyra]

[Origin: Asterra]

[Race: Base Humanoid  -  Mosaicblood]

[Biological Type: Woman]

[Level: 1]

[Strength: 2]

[Agility: 1]

[Endurance: 2]

[Spirit: 8]

[A value of 10 corresponds to the peak of natural potential for an inhabitant of Asterra in a given attribute.]

[Health Points: 20]

[Mana Points: 80]

[Talent: Featherstep  -  E]

[Magic Skill: Gathering  -  E]

[Personal profile can also be accessed via the Hearthhold crest.]

Serayne stared at the numbers for a quiet moment, then cast her eyes down at her lifeless legs with a wry, self-deprecating smirk. After five years of confinement, she hadn't expected flattering results, but seeing her physical ruin spelled out so mercilessly still stung.

Her Strength and Endurance barely registered above zero, her Agility read like an act of system charity, and only her Spirit looked decent enough to keep her from closing the interface in disgust.

One point in Agility… So dragging myself to the desk counted for something after all.

She brushed a finger over the emerald leaf on the back of her hand, testing its secondary function. To her surprise, a semi-translucent pane flickered into her field of view, displaying her stats without forcing her to lean over the console.

At least that was convenient. The last thing she wanted was to drag herself across the room every time she felt like checking whether her miserable one had crawled up to an equally pitiful two.

She didn't dwell on the numbers, however. Right beside the Talent's name sat a small unread notification icon. She selected it at once, her bitter amusement melting into tight anticipation.

[Featherstep  -  Rank E]

[Effect: Reduces the user’s effective body weight to near zero, enabling hovering and propulsion using external points of leverage.]

[Upkeep Cost: Approximately 1 MP per minute.]

Serayne read the description once, then a second time. When the reality of the words sank in, her fingers instinctively clamped onto the edge of the console.

It wasn't a promise of restored nerve endings or walking on her own two feet, but if she understood the mechanics correctly, she wouldn't need functional legs to stop dragging dead weight across the floor.

Hovering… Can I really leave the ground?

She willed the ability to activate, focusing on its name and the familiar ache for weightlessness. The shift was so instantaneous it stole the breath from her lungs.

The hard press of timber beneath her hips dissolved into nothing. The hem of her hospital gown drifted lightly against her thighs, and her body - which only moments ago had fought every effort to shift an inch - suddenly felt light enough to launch with the flick of a finger.

Pushing off the console with more force than intended, Serayne shot straight toward the rafters. Her eyes blew wide as the wooden table dropped away beneath her far faster than she could brace for.

She managed to throw an arm up just before her shoulder and palm bumped the ceiling beams. Rebounding awkwardly off the timber, she spun midair, loose hair spilling across her face and her heart hammering against her ribs as if she were fleeing for her life.

“Holy shit…” she gasped, catching the lip of a ceiling joist.

Yet instead of terror, a laugh bubbled up from her chest, rising louder and clearer until it filled the room. The floor was beneath her, but she wasn't lying on it, nor was she trapped in a wheelchair. She was truly suspended in midair.

Clinging to the timber with both hands, she steadied her sway, then pushed off toward the opposite wall with a gentler, more measured touch.

Her legs still dangled uselessly, incapable of steering or adjusting her balance, but she could reach out, arrest her momentum, pivot, and propel herself anew. That alone shattered the feeling of being trapped in a cage.

“I can move…” she breathed, her voice wavering before she broke into another laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I can actually move!”

Rank B, A, and S Talents vanished from her thoughts. Nothing bragged about in World Chat could hold a candle to the raw, liberating fact that she no longer had to scrape her clothes across splintered floorboards just to cross the room.

Featherstep might not conquer worlds, but for Serayne, it was the first thing in five agonizing years that let her inhabit her own body without drowning in bitterness and helplessness.

She glided from the wall to the console, from the console to the straw pallet and back again, grabbing edges with mounting confidence. Eventually, her gaze drifted toward the door. Curiosity flared, burning away any lingering dread of the night outside.

If I can move, I can see what’s out there… Just a quick look.

Getting the door open turned into an awkward tussle. On her first tug, her weightless body drifted toward the handle instead of swinging the door inward. Bracing one palm firmly against the frame, she tried again with more leverage, finally easing the wooden panel open to peer outside.

A wave of cool night air brushed her face, rich with the scent of damp bark and crushed foliage. The darkness beyond was thick and heavy; at first, all she could make out was a narrow wooden ledge and a thick, jagged bough jutting out beside the entrance.

Only after her eyes adjusted did she trace the massive outlines of surrounding branches, the breadth of a colossal trunk, and the distant canopy rustling far below.

The Hearthhold wasn't resting on the ground.

It was carved directly into a giant tree.

Common sense warned her to shut the door and stay put - she had no idea how high up she was, let alone what prowled the forest below. But the intoxicating rush of newfound freedom overpowered her caution.

Gripping the broken branch near the threshold, she edged along its length and craned her neck, trying to pierce the gloom. Down below, partially veiled by leaves, a faint greenish glimmer caught her eye.

The glow was soft and subdued, yet unmistakable. The system’s announcement about supply crates echoed in her mind, and her stomach clenched in an empty, painful knot.

Water… If there’s even a single bottle down there…

Unable to simply fly by thought alone, she navigated branch by branch, giving herself small shoves and catching the next handhold before drift took her off course.

As she neared the undergrowth, she dialed back the skill's intensity, letting her mass pull her down until her knees settled softly in the dirt beside a compact container glowing with dull green luminescence.

It was roughly forty centimeters long, compact enough to cradle under an arm. Serayne placed her hands on the lid, hope swelling in her chest.

When she lifted it, she quickly realized her personal weightlessness didn't extend to external objects, though the crate was thankfully light enough to manage.

She pulled it close to secure her grip when a low, drawn-out howl drifted through the dark. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Snapping her head around, she locked eyes with a pair of glowing green orbs in the brush, followed by another pair hovering at the same height a few paces back.

She couldn't discern their shapes - only lean, predatory shadows prowling through the silhouettes of the undergrowth - but the system's grave warnings came rushing back with razor-sharp clarity.

“Oh, no…” she whispered. Clamping the crate against her ribs with one arm, she planted her free hand against the mossy ground and launched herself upward toward the nearest low-hanging branch.

The added dead weight made the ascent clumsy, stripping away the effortless grace she had enjoyed inside the cabin, but she hooked her fingers over the bark and hauled herself up, refusing to drop her prize.

Only when she cleared the brush line did she dare look back down. Seeing the eyes still tracking her through the leaves, she let out a tight, shaky smirk, desperate to convince herself she had the upper hand.

“Go ahead, try it…” she muttered under her breath, though she quickly clamped her mouth shut, realizing that taunting unknown predators in pitch-black woods was asking for trouble.

Her ascent back up the trunk was slow and cautious. She caught hold of branch after branch, pausing against the bark whenever the strain in her fingers grew too fierce, until she finally spotted the warm lantern light spilling from the open doorway.

The broken branch guided her home. Hauling herself and the crate over the threshold, she kicked the door shut and pressed her back against the solid timber, breathing hard.

Once inside, Serayne lowered herself gently onto the straw pallet and let the Talent fade. The familiar, crushing weight of her paralyzed limbs settled over her once more - though this time, it no longer felt like a permanent sentence.

Her shoulders burned, her throat was parched, and her heart still fluttered from the scare, but every ache evaporated the moment she pried open the crate's latches.

Inside rested a five-hundred-and-fifty-milliliter bottle of water, a commercial self-heating meal kit, a vacuum-sealed sausage weighing around two hundred grams, and a neatly folded white dress.

Serayne stared at the stash in disbelief, terrified that moving too fast might cause the hallucination to vanish. Then she grabbed the water and twisted off the cap with trembling fingers.

She forced herself to take measured sips, fighting the desperate urge to chug the entire bottle, before pressing the cool plastic against her cheek. Only then did it truly hit her how desperately she had needed something so basic.

Water, food, and dry clothes… Everything I needed.

Unfolding the dress, she inspected its simple cut. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn't have looked twice at it, but after hours in damp, clinging hospital scrubs, it looked like sheer luxury.

The fabric was thin and the stitching cheap; near the collar hung a retail tag printed with a familiar promotional slogan: Three for Ten. Serayne's brow furrowed.

She checked the meal kit, then the water label. Both bore standard commercial branding and manufacturing details, printed exactly as they were back on Asterra.

“So they abducted us and picked up groceries on the way out…” she murmured, rolling the cardboard tag between her fingers before setting the garment aside with a quiet sigh. “Whatever. Doesn't matter where it came from, so long as it works.”

Following the printed instructions, she measured water into the heating pack of the meal kit and set the rest of the bottle within arm's reach.

She decided to save the sausage for tomorrow; after tonight's exertion, she would need calories later, though the sheer sight of food tested her resolve while the meal heated.

As steam began curling from the container, Serayne leaned back against the wall. With the adrenaline subsiding, the memory of those glowing green eyes returned, sending a cold shiver down her spine despite the warmth radiating from the hot meal.

The reckless reality of what she had just done settled in: she had ventured out into an alien forest in the dead of night, unarmed, barely grasping how her Talent functioned, and without even checking her mana reserves.

Five years waiting to move, and the second I can, I practically offer myself up as a midnight snack… 

Brilliant start, girl.

The grace period didn't mean the woods were barren, and escaping an attack didn't mean she had been safe. Had she lost her grip or run out of mana on the climb up, she would have plummeted straight into their jaws.

Then again, without that gamble, she would still be shivering in the dark without a drop of water. She couldn't write it off as pure idiocy, but she certainly couldn't afford to be that reckless again.

Glancing at the empty crate, she tried to anchor her wandering thoughts and remembered the console's appraisal function.

If it can identify items, let’s see what it makes of this.

Activating Featherstep once more, she carefully guided herself across the room, using the furniture to keep steady, and placed the crate atop the right-hand panel. The display responded instantly, pulling her focus away from cheap retail tags.

[Supply Crate  -  Rank E]

[Stasis Field Duration: 43,200 minutes.]

[Effect: Items stored within remain preserved in the exact state they were placed.]

[Note: Upon expiration of the effect, stored contents will resume normal decay and spoilage. Monitor remaining duration and item condition.]

Serayne ran the math in her head, converting the minutes to days, and looked at the box with newfound respect. This wasn't just a container for loose junk; it was a preservation chest.

Thirty days… I can stockpile food without worrying about it rotting by tomorrow.

It didn't solve all her supply problems, but the ability to preserve perishables was invaluable. She promptly retrieved the vacuum-sealed sausage and tucked it inside.

Nudging the crate into a convenient corner, she floated back to the pallet and canceled Featherstep to conserve mana while the meal finished cooking.

In the warm amber glow of the lantern, the room felt far more hospitable than it had half an hour ago. Listening to the quiet hiss of the heating pack, Serayne began piecing together her reality.

No one had promised a way back to Asterra. The world outside was crawling with monsters, and every sunrise would demand physical effort her body hadn't endured in years. Yet for the first time in an eternity, it didn't feel like a death sentence.

She had shelter, food, and a Talent that gave her back her agency. She didn't know the best way to utilize it all yet, but she was going to figure it out.

There was no home waiting for her on Asterra, no mothers to run back to and share this impossible miracle with. But that didn't mean the past was erased.

She still remembered the name Halverin, the signatures on the legal settlements, and Yvera’s tearful voice swearing family would never abandon her. Now that she was no longer powerless, those memories carried a very different weight.

Serayne looked down at the emerald leaf etched into her skin and slowly curled her fingers into a fist, a steely resolve taking root beneath the lingering exhaustion.

First, I survive… And if any of you ended up here too, do me a favor and don't die before I track you down.