The morning mist clung to the trees like a ghost refusing to let go. Damp leaves whispered under Daelen's feet as he followed Sylen deeper into the forest, the sting of his wound dulled but ever present. Sleep had come like a thief in the night, brief and shallow, and now the weight of his revelation pressed on him heavier than ever.
This world... this damn world is a story.
And in that story, he had no name.
No destiny.
No purpose—except to die.
But screw that.
Every time his foot touched the earth, he felt it—raw intent. His own. Like the start of a rhythm, building with every stubborn heartbeat. He wasn't meant to be here, yet here he stood.
Sylen glanced back at him. "You've been quiet. Still dizzy from the blood loss?"
Daelen snorted. "Trying not to think too hard. Gets messy."
She offered a smirk. "You're lucky I found you when I did. Beasts around here aren't picky eaters."
"Lucky, huh?" Daelen muttered. "Feels more like I rolled a one and didn't die."
Sylen chuckled but didn't press further. They reached a small ridge overlooking a ruined watchtower, long devoured by vines and time. Crumbled stone and mossy rubble, forgotten by all except the occasional traveler looking for shelter.
"We'll stay here a bit," Sylen said. "You need more rest, and I need to fletch new arrows."
Daelen nodded. His muscles ached with every movement, but it wasn't just the pain that made him sit down under the shade of a broken pillar.
It was the knowledge.
The memory of that old webnovel from his past life—it wasn't vivid, not yet. But the bones of it lingered. He remembered the names of sects. The flow of arcs. The rise of the protagonist. The betrayals. The trials.
And more importantly...
He remembered how people like him were treated.
The nobodies.
The cannon fodder.
The ones who existed to make the real hero look better.
"I'm not doing that again," Daelen whispered to no one.
He stared at his hands—still shaking slightly from the fight. The way he moved in that moment… the instincts, the rhythm—it hadn't been his alone.
There was something else.
Buried inside him.
Something... waiting.
"You've got the look of someone deciding if they want to fight fate," Sylen said without looking up from her arrows.
Daelen chuckled dryly. "I'm trying to decide if I can punch it in the face."
"Good. Wouldn't trust someone who just rolls over."
A silence passed between them, filled only by the rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs. Then Sylen asked, "What's your name?"
The question hit harder than it should've.
Daelen opened his mouth.
Paused.
And for a moment... he couldn't remember.
His real name. The one from Earth. The one buried under this new flesh, this forged identity.
"...Daelen," he said at last.
Sylen raised a brow. "Just Daelen?"
He nodded. "That's all I've got."
Sylen tied off a bundle of arrows. "Then that's all you need."
He let the silence hang for a bit. Then: "Why are you out here alone?"
She paused. Her fingers froze mid-tie.
"My village is gone," she said after a moment. "Bandits. Not the ones you fought. Worse. I've been tracking pieces of them ever since."
Daelen looked at her, really looked this time. The way her jaw tensed. The way her fingers curled around the shaft of an arrow like it was the only thing holding her together.
"Guess we're both leftovers," he said.
Sylen didn't smile. But she didn't deny it.
The two sat in the quiet shade of the ruins as the sun climbed higher, bleeding golden light through the trees.
Daelen let his head fall back and exhaled slowly.
There was no system giving him quests. No divine voice whispering tips in his ear. No plot armor.
Just grit. Pain. And the echo of a forgotten name.
If he was going to survive, he'd have to start making moves. Learn. Train. Grow.
Temper the body, still the mind, and forge intent into every motion.
That mantra drifted into his thoughts again, unbidden. Not just words, but a truth that felt older than the world itself.
He would make it his own.
And then?
He'd carve a path even the gods would flinch from.
No fate for the nameless?
Then he'd give himself a name the world couldn't ignore.