Darkness. Damp, musty air filled my lungs as I stirred awake.
My eyes blinked open slowly, struggling to adjust to the dim light filtering through cracks in the wooden walls. The ceiling above me was slanted and cobwebbed, as if the place hadn't seen a broom in years. The stale scent of rotting leaves and damp wood lingered around me.
'Where... am I?'
I sat up with a jolt, panic blooming in my chest. My hands trembled as they gripped the rough, uneven cot I had apparently been lying on. There were no windows in the room—just a crude wooden door, slightly ajar, letting in a thin sliver of gray morning light.
"This… this isn't home."
My voice came out hoarse and small, and even speaking aloud felt foreign.
I stood, unsteady, and stumbled toward the door. The creaking floorboards groaned under my weight. Outside was a dense, overgrown forest. Moss-covered trees stretched into the sky, their twisted branches blotting out most of the light. No sounds of cars. No hum of electricity. No signal on my nonexistent phone.
I took a shaky breath.
'This has to be a dream. Maybe I hit my head. Maybe I'm in a coma. Maybe—'
I forced myself to stop thinking before I spiraled further.
Instead, I looked down at my body.
Smaller. Thinner. My arms and legs were scrawny, and my clothes were plain—just a long tunic and some worn boots. I felt younger. I was younger.
I stumbled back inside and dropped onto the cot, burying my face in my hands.
'Okay. Think, Jake. Think.'
I didn't remember how I got here. One moment I was walking home from school—complaining about an overdue project—and the next… black. Just black.
I stayed like that for what felt like hours, the only sounds the faint rustle of wind outside and the occasional groan of the old house shifting.
Eventually, the panic simmered into a cold, dull acceptance.
'This is real. Or it's real enough that pretending it's not won't help.'
Then, it happened.
A sudden light, faint but unmistakable, shimmered in front of my eyes. I blinked.
A screen—not a hologram, not a projection. Just there, like someone had pasted it into reality.
And it read:
༺═════════════════༻
Name: Yesha (Jake)
Age: 12
Title: Saint
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Strength: F
Agility: F
Holy Power: F - (SSS) Locked
Aether: F - (SSS) Locked
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Skills: [Heal] [Bless]
༺═════════════════༻
I stared at it.
'What… is this? A game?'
I reached out instinctively, half-expecting my hand to pass through it—but instead, it responded to my intent, shimmering slightly as if it acknowledged my touch.
"Holy Power… Aether…? Locked?"
My voice cracked at the edges. This wasn't just a dream. This was something else. A system. A new world.
And my name… Yesha?
It wasn't just Jake anymore. Somehow, it felt like my name now. Familiar and foreign all at once.
Saint.
I didn't know what that title meant yet, but the word alone weighed heavily in my chest.
I had questions—too many to count—but for now, I had two things I could hold onto: I was Yesha, age twelve, and I had [Heal] and [Bless] as skills.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
My gaze lingered on the glowing screen as it slowly faded, dissolving into the air like mist. No sound. No button to press. Just... gone.
'So that's it? A screen that tells me I'm a "Saint" and that I suck at everything but have some godly potential locked away?'
I let out a dry, humorless laugh.
'Fantastic.'
I leaned back against the wall, my breathing finally steadying. And that's when the memory hit me.
A flash.
Screeching tires.
Screams.
Shattered glass.
The blinding headlights that shouldn't have been there.
And the boy—maybe eight or nine years old—frozen on the crosswalk.
He wasn't going to make it.
I remembered the scream that left my throat as I shoved him out of the way. The world turned into a blur of pain and metal and sound.
Then... nothing.
Silence.
Darkness.
And finally, that voice.
A voice I couldn't forget even if I tried.
["You have chosen selflessness in the moment of death. The world has need of a Saint. You shall be born again as Yesha."]
It hadn't felt like a dream back then either.
'So I… really died.'
I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. My body felt cold, not from the weather but from the realization crawling over my skin like ice. Twelve years old. A new name. A new world. And some divine-sounding purpose that I hadn't agreed to.
'Who the hell makes decisions like that for people?'
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
But then—
A sound.
It came from the woods beyond the house. A low, guttural growl that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
My breath caught.
Another sound followed. A dragging scrape. Heavy, deliberate. Like claws across bark. Then the snapping of twigs—multiple—like something big was moving just outside.
'No. No no no—what the hell is that?'
I scrambled toward the door and slowly pushed it shut, the hinges shrieking in protest. I winced.
Too loud.
More sounds. A growl, louder this time. Closer.
And something that almost sounded like panting. Hot, wet breaths.
I dropped to the floor and crawled to the edge of the window slit. Through the gap, I saw nothing—only shadows between the trees.
And then… a shape.
Eyes. Red like embers.
There were at least three of them, lurking at the edge of the clearing. Loping, skeletal frames covered in patchy, dark fur. Fangs glinting between snarling jaws.
'Wolves? No. Not wolves. Not normal.'
They were wrong. Twisted. One of them had spines running down its back. Another limped, dragging a malformed leg. The third was massive—taller than a man, its ribs visible beneath its flesh.
And they were heading this way.
My heart thudded against my ribs like it wanted out.
'Do something. Do something. Anything!'
I clenched my fists, desperately trying to will the status screen back into view.
"Come on. Please. I need to—"
༺═════════════════༻
Skills: [Heal] [Bless]
༺═════════════════༻
It appeared again. Still the same. Just two skills. No weapons. No combat abilities.
And that's when the reality settled in.
'Right... I'm a Saint.'
Support class.
No offense.
No real defense.
A healer. A buffer.
That's what the title meant. Even without a tutorial, I knew it.
My skills weren't useless, not in the right party—but alone?
'They might as well be.'
The door creaked.
One of the beasts had pressed its weight against it.
I had seconds.
I glanced around the tiny shack, spotting a broken table leg nearby. I snatched it up. It was barely heavier than a stick, but it was something.
Then, another memory came. The warmth in that voice before I woke up. The way it had said I was needed. That I had power—locked, yes, but maybe not forever.
I held my breath and whispered, "Bless."
Nothing happened.
The beasts growled again. The door began to crack.
I gritted my teeth and tried again, this time louder. "Bless!"
Nothing happened.
I held my breath this time and whispered, "Bless."
Nothing happened.
The beasts growled again. The door began to crack.
Confused, I tried again, louder this time. "Bless!"
Still nothing.
No warmth. No surge. Not even a flicker of light.
'What...?'
Then it clicked.
I couldn't feel the skill activating—because it wasn't.
I wasn't the target.
'Wait... I can't use it on myself?'
I stared at my hands, trembling slightly. The realization hit like a slap across the face.
'Of course. I'm a Saint. A support. These skills—Heal, Bless—they're meant for others. Not me.'
A cruel, bitter laugh almost slipped past my lips.
'So I'm completely useless. In a world that wants me dead. With monsters at the door.'
Another crack. The door shuddered, and a low, snarling growl rumbled through the wood.
I had seconds.
Just me. A flimsy stick. No offensive skills. No buffs.
And three monsters outside hungry for blood.
This was how it was going to start.
No glorious awakening.
No overpowered cheat.
Just me. And a decision.
Run.
Hide.
Fight.
Whatever I chose next...
Would decide if I'd live long enough to be more than just a name on a forgotten screen.