The Origin Protocol

The village of Greenglade slept uneasily beneath the bruised violet sky. Orin Voss stood alone in the square, the echoes of laughter and hope from earlier fading into the hush of midnight. The rift's glow pulsed overhead, casting long, shifting shadows across the rooftops. Orin's system window hovered at the edge of his vision, its soft light a constant companion.

He took a slow breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. The peace of the evening felt fragile, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Orin glanced at the well where he and Mira had finished their race. He could still hear her laughter, see the spark of mischief in her eyes. But beneath that memory, a question lingered—how had she kept up with him? Was it just adrenaline, or was the rift changing more than he realized?

He shook off the thought and made his way back to the apothecary. Master Harlan was waiting for him, sitting by the window with a candle and a battered journal.

"Couldn't sleep?" Harlan asked, not looking up from his notes.

Orin shook his head. "Too much on my mind."

Harlan closed the journal and set it aside. "You're not the only one. I've been watching the village. People are changing, Orin. Not just you. I see it in the way they move, the way they heal. Even Bram seems younger these days."

Orin hesitated. "Do you think it's the rift?"

Harlan nodded slowly. "I do. But whatever it's doing, it's subtle. You're the only one with that… system. But the rest of us? We're not the same as we were."

Orin sat beside him, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "I'll keep an eye on it. If anything gets worse, I'll let you know."

"Good," Harlan said, his voice gentle. "And Orin? Don't carry it all alone."

Orin managed a tired smile. "I'll try."

He climbed the stairs to his small room and lay awake, listening to the village settle into uneasy sleep. The rift's glow seeped through the shutters, painting the walls in shifting patterns. Orin closed his eyes, but sleep was slow to come.

When dawn finally broke, it brought with it a sense of urgency. The air was thick with anticipation, and the village moved with a quiet determination. Orin dressed quickly and joined the others in the square, where Mira was already organizing the morning's work.

"Sleep well?" she asked, handing him a mug of tea.

He shook his head. "Not really. You?"

She shrugged. "I kept thinking about the rift. And about what comes next."

Orin sipped his tea, watching the villagers gather. There was a new energy in the air—nervous, but also hopeful. Even Old Bram seemed more focused, barking orders as he directed the younger men to reinforce the barricades.

Orin's system window flickered.

[Quest: Final Preparations]

[Objective: Check defenses, scout the rift's edge, and ensure all villagers are accounted for.]

[Reward: Skill Upgrade, Clue Unlocked]

He set to work, moving from group to group. He helped Mira's father sharpen blades, checked the supplies with Joren, and walked the perimeter with Tomas and Lysa. As they worked, Orin noticed small things—Lysa lifting a heavy crate with ease, Tomas spotting a loose plank in the barricade before anyone else.

"Nice catch," Orin said, clapping Tomas on the shoulder.

Tomas grinned, a little embarrassed. "Just paying attention, I guess."

Orin nodded, but the thought lingered. The rift's influence was everywhere, subtle but undeniable.

As the sun climbed higher, Orin led a final training session in the square. The villagers moved with a confidence that surprised him, their stances strong, their strikes precise. Mira demonstrated a new defensive maneuver, her movements fluid and sure.

During a break, Joren tossed a stick to Lysa, who caught it without looking, her hand snapping out just in time. The group laughed, and Lysa grinned, tossing the stick back.

"Show-off," Joren teased Lysa.

Lysa winked. "Just lucky, I guess."

Orin watched her, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. He'd always known Lysa was quick, but lately, she seemed… sharper. He shook off the thought, focusing on the task at hand.

After training, Orin made his way to the chapel, where Master Harlan was tending to the wounded. The old apothecary looked up as Orin entered, his eyes tired but alert.

"How are they?" Orin asked, nodding to the villagers resting on makeshift beds.

"Better than expected," Harlan replied. "Some of these wounds should have taken days to heal, but they're closing up faster than I've ever seen."

Orin raised an eyebrow. "You think it's the rift?"

Harlan shrugged. "I don't know. But I've lived through enough strange times to know when something's off."

Orin nodded, filing the information away. He checked on the wounded, offering words of encouragement. One of the younger women, Lysa, smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed with health.

"Thank you, Orin," she said. "I feel stronger already."

He smiled, but a thread of unease tugged at him. The rift was changing things—he could feel it.

Outside, the sky was streaked with violet. Orin found Mira by the well, filling buckets for the kitchen.

"Everything all right?" she asked, handing him a bucket.

He hesitated. "Have you noticed anything… strange? People healing faster, moving quicker?"

Mira considered, then shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe we're just getting used to living on the edge."

Orin nodded, not entirely convinced. He decided to keep an eye on things, just in case.

The afternoon was spent reinforcing the barricades and checking supplies. Orin worked alongside the villagers, offering advice and encouragement. He noticed that even the older men seemed more energetic, their movements less stiff than usual.

At one point, Old Bram lifted a heavy crate with a grunt, carrying it farther than Orin would have expected. Bram set it down, wiped his brow, and caught Orin staring.

"What? Never seen an old man work before?" Bram grumbled.

Orin smiled, shaking his head. "Not like that."

Bram snorted. "Maybe you're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve."

The comment lingered in Orin's mind as he moved on. The rift's influence was spreading, but only he had the system—only he saw the windows, the quests, the stats. Whatever was happening, it was different for him.

As evening approached, the village gathered for a final meal before the next wave. The mood was tense but hopeful. Children played near the fire, their laughter a welcome sound. Mira's father played his flute, and the villagers sang a song of courage and unity.

Orin sat with his friends, listening to their stories and dreams. Joren talked about rebuilding the bakery, Lysa spoke of planting new crops, and Tomas shared a joke that made everyone laugh.

For a moment, the rift was forgotten.

After dinner, Orin slipped away, making his way to the edge of the village. He stood beneath the rift, staring up at the swirling violet light. The shadowed cloth in his pocket felt heavier than ever.

He pulled it out, studying the strange patterns. As he watched, the cloth seemed to shift, the symbols rearranging themselves into new shapes. Orin frowned, trying to make sense of it.

A sudden chill ran down his spine. He turned, half-expecting to see the cloaked figure from before. But the village was silent, the only movement the gentle sway of the trees.

He tucked the cloth away and made his way back to the square. Mira was waiting for him, her eyes bright in the firelight.

"Ready for tomorrow?" she asked.

He nodded, though he wasn't sure he was.

They walked together through the quiet village, checking the barricades one last time. Orin noticed that even the youngest children seemed more alert, their eyes sharp in the darkness.

As they parted for the night, Mira paused, looking back at him.

"Whatever happens, Orin… don't forget who you are."

He smiled, her words echoing in his mind as he climbed the stairs to his room above the apothecary.

His system window appeared, glowing softly in the darkness.

[Quest Progress: 100% - Final Preparations Complete]

[Warning: Rift energy at maximum. Next wave imminent.]

Orin lay awake, listening to the village settle into uneasy sleep. The rift was changing everything—everyone. But only he had the system. Only he could see the path ahead.

Tomorrow, the storm would break. But tonight, there was hope.