The copper coins felt unfamiliar in Kieran's hand.
Old. Worn. Tangible in a way digital numbers never were. One of them had a lion's head etched into it, the kind that might've roared once in a forgotten empire. Another had a flower curling like fire across its surface.
Each one had weight.
And weight, Kieran thought, always mattered.
He tucked the coins into a small pouch, tied it to the inside of his coat, and leaned back against the market's well. Children played tag nearby, their bare feet slapping cobblestone. A young man herded a trio of goats through the street, shouting in a language Kieran couldn't quite follow.
Everything in Briarfield moved at a rhythm. Slower than his old world. More deliberate.
And here he was—a foreign soul in borrowed skin—watching like a quiet storm building on the horizon.
He'd spent the last hour observing.
No magic flaring in the streets. No floating carriages or flying swords. But now and then, he'd catch a flicker: someone lighting a lantern with their palm, a farmer casually lifting a sack heavier than he had any right to. Nothing flashy. Just integrated.
Magic here breathes, he thought. It doesn't shout.
The tailor had mentioned Valeborne was about two days east—closer if you had a horse, or faster legs than most. Kieran had neither of those. But he had the System, and more importantly, time.
Ten days before the academy entrance exams.
That was enough.
First, though, he needed more than dry bread and borrowed clothing.
Kieran headed toward a small tavern near the market's edge—"The Hollow Acorn." The wooden sign hung slightly crooked, and a sleepy mutt dozed beneath it. The smell of stew drifted from inside, rich with herbs and something earthy.
He pushed the door open, triggering a chime of mismatched bells.
The place was half-empty. A few old men hunched over a game of carved tiles in the corner. A couple in travel leathers sat near the hearth, quietly eating. The barkeep, a broad woman with sleeves rolled to her elbows, looked up and gave a nod.
"Room's two copper a night. Meal's one."
"I'll take the meal," Kieran said, offering a faint smile. "And a question or two, if that's allowed."
She raised a brow, but slid a bowl of steaming stew his way anyway.
"You're not from around here."
"New to this part of the world," he said truthfully.
She snorted. "Aren't we all?"
He took a seat by the window, spoon in hand, stew steaming in his face.
It was good. Earthy root vegetables, wild grains, something like rabbit. It filled his stomach and warmed his chest, and he realized he hadn't eaten anything warm since transmigrating.
He watched the people. Listened. Picked up fragments.
"…heard there was a rogue beast near the southern trail…"
"…that alchemist's apprentice set her own hair on fire again…"
"…the Academy's letting in unaffiliateds this year—first time in a decade…"
That last one caught his attention again.
He waited a moment, then approached the table of two travelers by the fire. One was polishing a dagger. The other had a scar running down his cheek and wore a ring of tarnished silver.
"Excuse me," Kieran said, polite and calm. "You mentioned the Academy trials?"
The scarred one looked up, squinting. "Aye. Planning to try?"
Kieran gave a half-shrug. "Curious, more than anything. What's it like?"
"Depends who you ask," the dagger polisher said. "If you've coin and a house name, it's a ceremony. If you're like us—well, it's a gamble."
"They say anyone can enter this year," Kieran said.
"They say that," the scarred one replied. "But 'anyone' still needs to prove worth. They won't waste time on driftwood."
Kieran nodded. "Thank you."
He turned to leave but paused.
"Any chance you know of a caravan heading toward Valeborne?"
The two looked at each other.
"Rhaen's lot might be leaving tomorrow. Old trade group. They stop by the west road at dawn."
"Appreciated."
Back in his rented room upstairs, Kieran finally let the calm expression slip.
He sank onto the straw mattress and let out a long, tired sigh.
This world felt more real with every passing hour. Every piece of food. Every look from a stranger. Every drop of coin.
No narrative hand is guiding me, he thought. There are no cutscenes. No tutorial. Just this… and the System.
"System," he whispered.
Online.
"Status."
[Kieran Drayke]– Race: Human (?)– Age: 17 (Reconstructed)– Class: None– Title: Transmigrant, System Bearer
Strength: 10 | Agility: 12 | Intelligence: 15Perception: 16 | Endurance: 11 | Willpower: 20
Still the same. But understanding was growing.
He focused again.
"Scan function—range?"
Current passive scan radius: 3 meters. Active scan burst: 10 meters.
"And herbs I found earlier?"
Stored. Would you like a list?
"Later."
He lay back, arms folded behind his head.
The entrance exam gives me a door. The Academy gives me cover. But I'll need more than a test score to shape what comes next.
His mind returned to the functions he couldn't yet use:
– Recruitment– Base Building– Crafting
Tools. Frameworks. Foundations.
He was being asked to build something from nothing. And for that, he needed more than just strength.
He needed people.
Not just anyone—but those like him. Outsiders. Discarded. Hidden talents buried under neglect or stigma.
Orphans, maybe. Girls who've been written off. The kind no one sees coming.
He didn't know yet how he'd find them.
But the thought lodged itself in his chest like a seed.
The next morning, Kieran rose before the sun.
He washed his face with water from a shared basin, dressed in the cleaner of his two shirts, adjusted his coat, and strapped his coin pouch tight.
Out by the west road, a small caravan had gathered—two wagons, a pair of oxen, and five travelers drinking morning tea by a fire.
One of them, a wiry woman with gray streaks in her braid, raised an eyebrow as he approached.
"You look like someone heading east."
"I am."
"Valeborne?"
"Yes."
"Got coin?"
He showed her the pouch. She shook it. Nodded.
"Sit up front. Don't get sick. We don't stop for weak stomachs."
The cart rattled down the dirt road as the sun rose behind them.
Trees gave way to hills. Hills to fields. The air smelled of dew and distant firewood.
Kieran sat beside the driver, quietly watching the horizon grow brighter.
The System's hum beneath his skin kept time with the wheels.
Ten days until the entrance exam.
Two days of travel.
And a plan slowly unfolding behind his silver eyes.