Lena left the infirmary a few hours later. Even after his near-death experience, the academy remained in its usual state, training future Resonators to defend humanity.

As always, it wasn’t something that could be abruptly halted because of an accident, especially when that accident involved someone without a system.

No one knew what had caused the first portals to open, but humanity and the other races beyond knew one thing: they were a blessing in disguise. They allowed humanity to gather more resources from the permanent portals, while the races beyond could forge alliances and fight their own share of beasts, making use of humanity’s sheer population advantage.

A symbiotic relationship.

And for Damon, he dreamed of finally entering a portal himself. Of finally seeing what lay on the other side instead of only reading about it in textbooks. He knew the basics: they were other worlds with different physics, magics, and forms of organic life.

Some could be basic dungeons, and some could be entire worlds. And depending on the portal’s state... could become another permanent world for humanity to traverse in.

But that really wasn’t enough to satisfy someone’s curiosity.

Especially after Damon had come face-to-face with an elf. For him, that curiosity only grew stronger.

But for now, he just lay on the infirmary bed.

Rest, eat, sleep, and study once Lena returns with her notes from the day’s lessons. She was helpful, if a little too eager for Damon’s taste.

***

The first day stuck in bed wasn’t much of an issue. He spent it watching a little TV, finishing every meal the infirmary gave him, and listening as Lena stopped by to keep him updated on academy events and assignments.

One piece of news, in particular, mattered more than all the rest.

He had been given three more months to prove himself before he would be required to sign the transfer document.

According to Lena, the professor had apparently shown him mercy because of his heroics and decided to give him a chance. That, along with his surprisingly impressive durability, had left quite an impression.

***

The second day was harder.

Not because of the pain, the doctors had given him enough medication to dull the worst of it, but because of the waiting.

Damon had never been good at waiting.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his fingers twitching toward his system screen every few minutes like a nervous tic. Each time, the same golden text greeted him.

[TASK PROGRESS: 0%]

Seventy-two hours. He still had another forty-eight before he could even start.

"Stupid system," he muttered.

"You say something?"

Damon turned his head. A nurse was changing the IV bag beside his bed, a middle-aged woman with streaks of gray in her hair and the calm, practiced efficiency of someone who’d seen far worse than a single Banshee victim.

"Just talking to myself."

"Mm. Well, stop. You need to rest, and you’ve got two more days of that. Doctor’s orders."

She fixed him with a look that reminded him of Professor Harlow, the one professor who’d never pitied him but had also never let him get away with anything.

"You’re lucky to be alive, young man. Don’t waste it by being impatient."

She left before he could argue.

Damon exhaled, his breath hissing through his teeth. She was right, of course. He knew she was right.

But knowing and feeling were two very different things.

He pulled up his system again, more out of habit than hope. The golden text shimmered, steady and warm. It still felt foreign, seeing that color instead of the cold, mocking blue.

[SOVEREIGN] - LOCKED

The word pulsed faintly, as if it were alive. As if it were waiting, too.

"What exactly is a Sovereign?" he murmured.

The system didn’t answer. It rarely did.

It was a system designed to help strengthen mortals, not a fully accessible bestiary that offered information about everything else in the world. If it were, places like the academy wouldn’t be nearly as popular.

"A Sovereign, huh...? That’s different," he muttered.

Most combat classes were straightforward. Slayer, Paladin, Berserker. They had clear roles and clear paths of progression.

But this? This sounded like something else entirely.

Damon let the screen fade and closed his eyes. His body still ached, a deep, bone-level exhaustion that no amount of sleep seemed to fix. The doctors said it was a side effect of the death wail; his system had somehow absorbed the worst of it, but the residual energy was taking time to dissipate.

’At least I’m alive,’ he thought. ’At least I have a chance.’

It was more than he’d had a week ago.

***

Lena arrived in the evening, as she had the day before, with a stack of notes and a cup of something that smelled marginally better than infirmary coffee.

"Herbal tea," she said, pressing it into his hands. "From the alchemy lab. It’s supposed to speed up recovery, but honestly, it just tastes nice."

"Thanks." Damon took a sip. It did taste nice. Floral, with a hint of something citrusy. "What’s on the agenda today?"

"Advanced Tactical Formations, and a guest lecture from the Elf Enclave on cross-species breeding compatibility."

Damon perked up at that last one. "Seriously, that’s a topic?"

"Apparently, it’s starting to become quite a problem in recent years, according to the professor." Lena settled into her chair, pulling out a notebook. "The elf from before was actually the guest lecturer."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm. Wanted to know if the ’idiot child who stole her arrows’ was still alive." Lena’s lips twitched. "I think that’s her way of showing concern."

"So? What do I need to know for when I’m back?"

Lena’s expression flickered. Just for a moment. Something between worry and relief.

"You’re really going to try again? After everything?"

"I have to."

He didn’t mention the system. Not yet. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Lena; she’d proven herself more than anyone else in the academy, but the golden text still felt fragile, like something that could shatter if he spoke it aloud.

"I’ve got three months. I’m not wasting them."

Lena studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded, flipping open her notebook.

"Alright. Guess I’ll skip some of the other stuff and go straight towards the fundamentals."

***

The third day was the worst.

Not because of the pain. The pain had faded to a dull throb, manageable with the medication the nurses kept pushing on him every six hours. His body was healing faster than expected, though no one could explain why.

No, the third day was the worst because Damon could feel the hours crawling by.

He’d already watched everything worth watching on the infirmary’s television. He’d already reread Lena’s notes twice, memorizing formations he couldn’t use and tactics he couldn’t apply. He’d already counted the ceiling tiles so many times that the number was burned into his memory.

One hundred and forty-seven. With three cracked ones near the corner.

"Twenty-four hours," he muttered to himself, fingers drumming against the thin infirmary blanket. "Twenty-four more hours."

His system screen flickered to life without prompting, the golden text steady and patient.

[TASK PROGRESS: 0%]

[RECOMMENDED: CONTINUE RESTING. HOST BODY IS STILL IN RECOVERY.]

"I know." Damon swiped the screen away, irritated by its calm. "You’ve told me that twelve times now."

Even now that his system had finally started functioning normally, it still opened on its own without prompting. Just because he had finally been chosen by his system didn’t mean it would stop annoying him, it seems.

But that didn’t matter to him right now...

Because now he just had to survive one more day of doing nothing.

The morning crawled by. Then the afternoon.

Damon tried to nap through most of it, but his body wasn’t cooperating. It was restless, thrumming with an energy that felt foreign after two years of lethargy.

Something was different. He could feel it.

Maybe it was the residual energy from the Banshee’s death wail, finally dissipating. Maybe it was the system, subtly priming his body for the task ahead. Maybe it was just the simple fact that he had a goal now.

Whatever it was, it made lying still feel impossible.

"You look like you’re about to vibrate through the mattress."

Damon turned his head. Lena stood in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand and two cups balanced in the other. She’d gotten better at sneaking in non-infirmary food over the past few days.

"They’re releasing you tomorrow morning, right?" she asked.

"That’s what the doctor said."

"Good. Because I’m not sure how much longer I can keep sneaking food here."

"You’re a lifesaver."

"Yeah, well." She settled into her chair, the same one she’d occupied every evening for three days. "Consider it payback. Even though I still think what you did was stupid."

"You’ve mentioned that."

"And I’ll keep mentioning it until it sticks."

Damon unwrapped the sandwich. Ham, cheese, and something that might have been lettuce. It was the best thing he’d tasted in days.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the faint crackle of spell discharge from the training grounds.

The academy hadn’t stopped. It never did.

"Hey, Damon?"

"Yeah?"

Lena was staring at her cup, her fingers tracing the rim. "What are you going to do if it doesn’t work?"

The question hung in the air.

Damon knew what she meant. Three months. Another chance. But if his system stayed dormant, if the golden text was just a fluke, if he ended up right back where he started—

"Then I sign the papers," he said quietly. "And I find another way."

He didn’t tell her about the Sovereign class. About the task. About the golden screen that promised him a future he’d stopped letting himself imagine.

But some of it must have shown on his face, because Lena tilted her head and studied him with those sharp, puffy eyes.

"You’re hiding something."

"What?"

"You’ve got that look. The same one you had when you were first forced into our support group."

Damon took another bite of his sandwich. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Uh-huh."

Lena didn’t push, though. That was one of the things he appreciated about her. She knew when to let things go.

"Fine. Keep your secrets. But if you almost die again, I’m installing a camera on you."

Lena stayed until the nurses kicked her out, citing visiting hours and the need for their patient to actually rest. She left behind her notes from the day’s lecture and a half-empty cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago.

Damon watched the door close behind her, then turned his gaze to the ceiling.

One hundred and forty-seven tiles. Three cracked.

Tomorrow, he’d stop counting tiles. Tomorrow, he’d start working. Tomorrow, everything would finally change after years of nothing.