The camp came together slowly.

  Not because anyone was dragging their feet—quite the opposite. Everyone was exhausted from the adrenaline wearing off after the fight, but they moved with purpose. The dead crab loomed in the background like a monument to the two groups coming together to work as one.

  Cade watched the others begin to settle, then quietly turned and slipped into the trees.

  No one noticed.

  He didn’t have a class. He had no spells to cast or weapons to swing but he could gather firewood. He could at least do that.

  The bog wasn’t as swampy deeper into the brush. Still humid, still wet, but not ankle-deep in water like the clearing had been. Cade picked his way carefully over roots and stones, eyes scanning the undergrowth for anything dry enough to burn.

  He had a decent bundle going when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

  He turned. Kyle stood a few feet away, bow slung across his back and a quiver hung off of his hip. His expression was unreadable, his hood still casting shadows across his face.

  “You always wander off alone?” Kyle asked.

  Cade straightened, adjusting the bundle under his arm. “Didn’t think anyone would care.”

  “You’re not exactly hard to notice,” Kyle replied. “You didn’t help during the fight.”

  The words weren’t accusing. Not cruel. Just blunt and factual. Cade winced anyway.

  “I couldn’t,” he said, forcing himself to meet Kyle’s eyes. “I—don’t have a core.”

  Kyle’s head tilted slightly.

  “No class. No profession. Nothing,” Cade continued, because he might as well own it. They were going to find out sometime anyway. “Even the System entity didn’t know why I was sent here. One minute it thought I was supposed to be in a different Tutorial, one for people like me where the automatic core formation failed. The next thing I knew it said I’d end up in a different Tutorial, one for people with cores. Then it just wished me luck and off I went.”

  Kyle stared at him for a moment longer, then gave a short exhale through his nose. “That sucks.”

  Cade blinked. “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to say? It sounds like it wasn’t your fault.” Kyle shrugged. “Still probably a bad idea to be out here alone, though. You’re an easy target if something finds you.”

  “I figured I could at least collect firewood,” Cade muttered. “Try to help.”

  Kyle gave a small nod, stepping past him to inspect a patch of dry bark along a tree’s base. “Good attitude. Most people would just sit on their hands and cry about their bad luck.”

  They didn’t talk much after that. Just worked. Quiet and efficient. Cade tried to keep pace with Kyle, who moved through the trees like a shadow, spotting good wood long before Cade’s eyes could pick it out.

  After a while, Cade’s arms were full, his torn up shirt damp with sweat, and Kyle gave a small jerk of his chin toward camp.

  Without a word, they headed back together through the fog-dappled trees.

  By the time Cade and Kyle made it back to the clearing, the camp had transformed.

  A raised plateau of dry, packed earth now sat where the soggy marsh had been, elevated just enough to keep the waterline at bay. It was wide enough for a fire, space to sit, and even stretch out if you weren’t picky. Sasesh sat slumped on a stone outcrop nearby, his wand lying across his lap. He looked utterly drained—pale, sweaty, dark circles under his eyes.

  Cade slowed as he took it in, jaw tight.

  Sasesh had done that. Alone, probably. And it had to have cost him.

  “Damn,” Kyle muttered behind him, clearly impressed despite himself. “That earth mage is pretty strong, huh.”

  Cade nodded and they continued walking towards the newly raised plateau.

  The rest of Bryan’s group looked equally amazed. They were already on the dry ground, unpacking what little they had and staring at the raised platform like it was a miracle.

  Cade dropped his bundle of wood near the center. “Sasesh really went all out again.”

  “He’s pushing himself too hard,” Amanda said from nearby, clearly worried as she watched Sasesh rub at his temples. “He needs to slow down.”

  “He won’t,” Cade murmured.

  The wood he and Kyle collected was dry, or at least dry enough. Still, he needed more than just kindling and sticks—something solid to build the fire on. He turned to Bryan, who was currently talking to Kranti.

  “Hey, Bryan,” Cade called out. “You think you could help cut a few flat pieces of wood from the thicker branches? We’ll need a flat base to start the fire.”

  Bryan raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Sure?”

  With a few practiced swings of his short sword, Bryan split some flatter pieces from the driest, most solid sections of their haul. Cade thanked him, then knelt down and began setting up the bowdrill using his last shoelace.

  Professor Sanders appeared beside him, curious. “Doing that again? I suppose it did work well last time.”

  Cade nodded. “Would you mind using it? I’m, uh, not exactly the fastest at it.”

  Bryan gave him a confused look. “If you know how to use it, why not do it yourself?”

  Cade forced a casual shrug. “Professor Sanders has a better feel for it than I do. I don’t want to screw it up and waste the lace.”

  That was only partly true. He just didn’t want to spend half an hour fumbling around only to fail to light the fire—not in front of this many people.

  The professor didn’t question it. He crouched down and took the bowdrill, placing it properly and working the motion with care. This time, he was ready when the kindling flared. He let go right as the spark caught, jerking his hands back with a small grin.

  The fire sputtered to life.

  A collective cheer rose from the group, but it was mostly directed at the fire itself, or maybe Professor Sanders. Bryan clapped the professor on the shoulder with a booming, “Well done,” but didn’t say a word to Cade.

  Cade watched his last shoelace curl and blacken in the flame, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

  Worth it.

  As the group started gathering around the growing fire, Kranti plopped down next to Cade with a grin, handing him a roughly cleaned piece of crab meat skewered on a broken branch. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said. “This thing’s more protein than I’ve eaten in a month.”

  “Thanks,” Cade said, accepting it gratefully.

  The two sat in companionable silence as the sky slowly darkened above them, the fire crackling steady between them, the scent of smoke and crab drifting through the clearing.

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  Kranti tore into his roasted crab leg segment like a man who hadn’t eaten in days—grinning, cracking shell, and making a mess of it. Cade watched with faint amusement as he picked at his own piece.

  “So,” Cade said between chews, “you and Sasesh seem close. You two know each other before all this?”

  Kranti’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. Me and Sasesh go way back. We trained together for a bit before the System but he stopped coming to the gym a few months after he got into his postdoc. Didn’t think I’d see him again, honestly.”

  “That’s actually kind of awesome,” Cade said. “I worked with him. Before the Tutorial. Same lab.”

  Kranti froze mid-bite, eyebrows raising. “Wait—are you Cade Whitehollow?”

  Cade blinked. “Uh. Yeah?”

  Kranti laughed softly, leaning back. “Hah. Okay. That explains a lot.”

  Cade frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”

  Kranti shook his head, suddenly evasive. “Nothing, man. I just heard the name before. Didn’t connect the dots until now.”

  Cade studied him, trying to read the tone, but Kranti looked away, pretending to poke at the fire with a stick. Cade let it drop.

  “So,” he said after a pause, forcing the conversation into safer territory, “doesn’t punching armored crabs hurt? I mean, no offense, but why did you choose to use your bare fists?”

  Kranti chuckled, flexing his knuckles. The skin there was red and rough, but not broken. “Hurts like hell. But I’m used to it and the System helps out quite a bit. I used to do bare-knuckle boxing before all this so choosing my class was a no brainer.”

  Cade blinked. “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious. Broke more fingers than I can count, but you learn where to hit—and how.” He raised a fist and mimed a quick jab, the motion so precise it barely disturbed the air. “You don’t swing for show. You put your weight behind it, hit smart, not hard.”

  “That’s impressive,” Cade said honestly. “I’d probably shatter my hand just trying to punch one of those legs.”

  Kranti laughed again. “Yeah, don’t try it.”

  The conversation drifted for a bit—small talk, bits about how strange the swamp smelled, how the crab meat was weirdly sweet. Cade felt himself relaxing. Kranti was easy to talk to, easy to like.

  Then Cade’s curiosity slipped in again.

  “So, when you fight,” he began carefully, “does it feel different when you use a skill? Like, do you feel it drain your stamina or something?”

  Kranti tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

  Cade hesitated. “You’ve got stamina, right? We all do. I’m trying to figure out how it actually feels to use it. Like, what happens inside the body when a skill draws from it?”

  Kranti’s grin faltered slightly. The mood shifted. “Why you asking? Don’t you have any skills yet?”

  Cade shrugged. “Just trying to understand how different skills work.”

  Kranti was quiet for a beat. Then, more serious than before, he said, “Look, man. You’ll get one that uses stamina eventually. The System wouldn’t give you stamina if it wasn’t meant to be used. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to.”

  “But I still want to understand how it feels,” Cade replied. “What’s it like when you activate something? Do you feel a pull? A—”

  Kranti cut him off with a nervous chuckle. “You really think too much, man.”

  Cade blinked, caught off guard.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Kranti added quickly. “I respect that you’re trying to learn. I just don’t really think about it. I punch and it works. That’s enough for me.”

  “Right,” Cade said, forcing a small nod.

  Kranti smiled again, but it was thinner now. He stood, brushing dirt from his pants. “Gonna check in with Sasesh, make sure he’s not passing out again from pushing himself too hard. Good talk, though.”

  And just like that, he was gone, heading toward the far side of the camp where Sasesh sat half-slumped.

  Cade watched him go, his chest tight with frustration.

  He hadn’t meant to ruin it.

  You did it again, his thoughts whispered. Just like with Amanda. You made it weird.

  He sighed, staring into the fire as it popped and hissed. Why didn’t anyone want to talk about how things worked? Didn’t they care? If he had a class, he’d be tearing it apart, figuring out every mechanic, every pattern, every movement of stamina or mana that made the skill work. But everyone else just seemed to use what they were given and didn’t question the why or how.

  He clenched his jaw.

  Maybe they didn’t need to understand. They already had power, but Cade didn’t, he only had questions.

  The fire crackled softly, and he poked at the embers, feeling smaller than ever.

  By the time the sun began to dip below the canopy, the smell of roasted crab filled the air.

  Sasesh had expanded the plateau and shaped two shallow domes on top—a pair of hardened earthen shelters large enough to comfortably fit five people each. They were crude, but they held their shape. A dry place to sleep, elevated just above the muck.

  The newcomers were awestruck. Kyle and Miriam inspected the shelters from multiple angles, even tapping the hardened walls as if testing for stability. John called it a miracle. Kranti clapped Sasesh on the shoulder with a proud grin that made the mage wince visibly. Even Bryan had murmured something about “engineering genius” under his breath.

  Cade kept his distance from the attention, content to let Sasesh soak it in. He deserved the praise. He looked completely drained—skin pale and glistening with sweat, his hands trembling faintly.

  The rest of the group sat around the fire that Cade had helped make possible, though no one said as much. It burned steadily now, casting a warm orange light that flickered across tired faces and bent shoulders.

  Dinner was simple but hearty: roasted crab, carved from the legs of the giant beast and skewered over the fire. Nadean and Miriam had worked together to strip it down earlier, both covered in greenish ichor by the time they were done but laughing like they’d just won a prize at the state fair.

  Conversation meandered between bites. Someone joked about never eating seafood again. Another asked if crabs in the real world screamed when you cooked them. That turned into a story about a trip to Maine. Then about someone’s weird cousin. Then about missing lemon and hot sauce.

  Cade chewed in silence, sitting near the edge of the firelight. He didn’t mind listening, but every story about “back home” struck him as wrong. Not because they weren’t real. But because they didn’t matter anymore.

  They should’ve been talking about what the System wanted from them. What the Tutorial’s rules were and how to maximize their Tutorial Score. About how to improve and how to level.

  Not about cookouts from the past.

  He glanced around. Bryan was laughing at something Kyle had muttered under his breath. Nadean was halfway into an animated retelling of a botched sparring match between her and Miriam, both of them gesturing with fragments of the crab’s legs as if they were rapiers. Amanda looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen her, her face soft in the firelight.

  Then Nadean asked, “How’d you guys get so good at fighting together already? You’ve only been here a day, right? Your group moves like you’ve been training together for months.”

  Bryan chuckled, setting down his cleaned-off shell. “We actually knew each other before all this. We were regulars at the same gym. All hit the same lunch slot. Sparring, circuits, lifting. It adds up.” He glanced at each of his group in turn. “The first couple fights were rough. Took a while to figure out how to move in sync, especially with Kyle pulling aggro every five seconds.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

  “But after a few skirmishes, it clicked,” Bryan continued. “Not perfect, but we know each other’s rhythm. That helps more than you'd think.”

  Nadean nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Our group…” she paused for a second and then continued “...we’re still figuring it out.”

  That earned a few small laughs, even from Sasesh.

  Time passed slowly. The group shifted from storytelling to fatigue, the fire crackling steadily as the swamp’s chorus resumed beyond the safe circle of light. Darkness had fully claimed the bog, thick and heavy, draped in distant croaks and chirping wings.

  As the conversation faded naturally, Sasesh stood up with a grunt. “Same as last night,” he said. “Three watches. This time we have enough people for two per shift so no one is alone.”

  “I’ll take first,” Nadean and Miriam said at the exact same moment. They turned to each other and laughed.

  Kranti stretched. “Middle shift for me.”

  Kyle raised his hand. “Same.”

  Then Cade quietly spoke.

  “I’ll take the last watch.”

  The silence after that felt heavier than it should’ve. No one said anything for a long moment.

  Sasesh turned to him, unreadable. “I’ll take it with you.”

  Cade frowned. “You sure? You’ve used a lot of mana today. You should rest.”

  “I took the last watch last night and still had enough to fight today and do all of this. I’ll manage.” His voice was clipped, no room for argument.

  Cade hesitated, then gave a nod. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

  Sasesh didn’t respond right away. As he turned back toward the shelter, Cade thought he heard him mutter under his breath, “Not like you could keep watch on your own anyway.”

  Cade stiffened but he didn’t say anything. He just stood slowly and made his way to the second dome, leaving the glow of the fire behind.

  Inside, the air was surprisingly dry, the sound of the bog muffled by the thick walls. Cade found a spot near the edge and lay down, his tattered clothes clinging to his skin. His feet were somehow still damp. The warmth from the fire barely reached this far.

  He stared at the dark ceiling, trying not to think about how quiet the others had been when he volunteered or what Sasesh had said.

  It was becoming more and more obvious that he didn’t really fit in here.

  But he couldn’t leave. Even if he wanted to, he’d be dead within hours without the others.

  He was stuck—unwanted, unnecessary, and stuck.

  Cade closed his eyes and tried to sleep.