Self Appraisal

I woke up to the dim morning light creeping through my window, my siblings’ small forms huddled against me, sound asleep. They’d clung to me all night, seeking comfort we’d all desperately needed. But every time I tried to close my eyes, the memory replayed—I could see my mother’s pained face, I could feel the scorching hot beam of metal as I tried to remove it from her melted skin and bone, and I could hear the sound of the debris cleaving straight through her neck. Her death was etched into my mind, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t block it out.

But as my body slowly began to awaken, another memory began to resurface, one that felt equally surreal: the fire, the heat surrounding me, the Skill that had saved me. I’d always accepted that Skills weren’t meant for people like us. Our family had always been different, one in a million without a Skill. That is ….until now. Solomon: King of Wisdom—it had awoken in my mind moments after my mother died, as I was on the verge of death, giving me the strength to survive.

It felt like a dream. Really all of it felt unreal. But it was.

My mother was gone. It was an indisputable fact, but that also meant that my skill was real too.

I had to be certain though

Drawing in a deep breath, I steadied my mind. I had only ever heard about this from others who possessed Skills, so this was uncharted territory for me. Concentrating, I spoke the word Status in my mind.

In an instant, a translucent blue screen materialized before me, shimmering with an otherworldly glow. My heart thudded against my ribs as I took in the ethereal sight. I had heard that only the user could see their status screen unless they granted permission, so even if someone else were in the room, this would remain hidden from their eyes. I studied the screen closely, a mix of awe and anticipation swirling inside me.

At the very top, in bold letters, was my name:

King Solomon.

Beneath it, a list of my stats appeared, stark and unembellished:

• Vitality: 1

• Speed: 1

• Strength: 1

• Stamina: 1

• Intelligence: 1

• Mana: 1

• Growth: 1.1

I assumed these numbers represented my physical stats in a quantified form, but I couldn’t help but wonder what these values actually signified. And that last category, growth, piqued my curiosity even more. While the other stat titles were familiar and commonly known, this growth category was completely new to me. It was intriguing, a mystery waiting to be unraveled, but without more knowledge, I knew I wouldn’t make sense of it now. I decided to push those questions aside for the time being.

My attention shifted to another word placed prominently next to status:

SKILLS.

It was in all capital letters, standing out starkly compared to everything else on the screen. I wondered if there was something significant about this particular word. Then, a thought sparked in my mind: was this display interactive? Hesitantly, I reached out and touched the transparent interface. The moment my fingertip made contact with the word SKILLS, the screen flickered and changed. I found myself staring at a detailed table.

Beneath that was another table, elaborating on the types and levels of my sub-skills. The detailed display provided a clearer picture of my abilities and their current strengths, laying out each sub-skill with precision.

I was stunned to discover that I possessed not only a rare skill but also a unique one. Unique skills were notoriously difficult to come by; even among the royal families, they were seldom seen. It was said that only 1 in 100,000 people were born with a unique skill. In the Manchester Kingdom, with its population of 8,547,000, that meant only about 85 individuals had been gifted with such an ability from birth. The thought that I could be one of them was almost unfathomable. My hand hesitated for a moment before reaching out to tap the skill, curiosity pushing me to see if I could uncover a more detailed description. The screen shifted, revealing a name glowing in brilliant white and a comprehensive explanation beneath it:

Solomon: King of Wisdom

A god-level, sentient Skill that evolves and learns alongside its user. The user’s accumulated knowledge and experiences are stored within Solomon, enabling the creation of new abilities and allowing the user to adapt and handle situations with strategic precision and efficiency.

• Sentience increases with level

• Sub-skills grow with level

• Passive: 0 mana consumption

• Requirements must be met to create new skills

A god-level skill? I released a slow, measured breath, trying to process what this meant. This wasn’t just extraordinary—it was beyond anything I could have ever imagined. I had gained not only a unique skill but one that was on the level of gods and came with its own sentience. The thought sent a chill down my spine. Could I even handle something like that? It was intimidating, almost terrifying, but beneath that fear was a flicker of anxious excitement. With an ability like this, I could change the course of my entire life.

Determined to fully understand my capabilities, I exited back to the table of skills, eager to review each one in detail. I clicked on my second main skill, wanting to ensure I grasped its full potential:

Adaptive Survivor

A skill designed to create support buff skills tailored to the user’s current situation.

• Passive: 0 mana consumption

• Requirements must be met to create new skills

• Sub-skills level up alongside the main skill

• The variety of buff types increases as the skill levels up

With skills like these in my arsenal, I felt both an overwhelming sense of responsibility and a glimmer of hope. This was only the beginning, and I needed to know everything if I was to wield them wisely.

As I continued exploring, I found myself in awe once more. It was almost too much to believe that I had stumbled upon not just one, but two skills capable of creating other skills. This meant that as long as I met the necessary conditions, I could accumulate more and more abilities and even tailor my pursuit to specific skills as I gained more knowledge and understanding.

With newfound excitement coursing through me, I pressed forward. Shifting my focus to the sub-skills, I selected the first one, a rare ability. The description appeared:

Supernatural Awareness: A skill that harnesses supernatural senses to enhance the analysis of your surroundings.

Its description was more concise than the others, but what truly caught my attention was an additional column labeled Traits. Supernatural Awareness was unique, being the only skill with traits—and not just one, but three of them. I expanded the traits section to read the detailed explanations:

360-Degree Senses: Grants the ability to detect anything within a certain radius from all directions, eliminating blind spots.

Detail Detection: Enables the user to observe and pinpoint the smallest, most intricate details of an area or scene.

Pattern Recognition: Allows the user to identify and memorize the patterns of both living and non-living entities, from their movements and behavioral tendencies to the subtle rhythms of a heartbeat and more.

These traits alone made Supernatural Awareness a powerful tool, one that promised an unparalleled edge in both perception and understanding of my environment.

I thought back to the day before when I escaped the fire. Alongside my fire resistance, it was this Skill that had kept me alive. In that moment, I hadn’t fully understood what was happening—I was too consumed by the need to survive—but in hindsight, everything had become crystal clear. I could see it all vividly: the way the flames shifted and crackled, their movements almost calculated, the splintering debris collapsing in slow motion, and the faint whisper of air currents weaving through the burning building. That heightened awareness had guided my every step, allowing me to navigate the chaos and emerge unscathed, even without possessing any offensive power. It was clear, even now, that this ability would be one of my greatest assets.

My other Skill, fire resistance, was more straightforward. It offered a 15 percent resistance to flames, a modest but lifesaving edge. And though it could be leveled up, the question gnawed at me: how?

Every Skill was categorized by type and level, all starting at level 1, with the potential to be strengthened incrementally to enhance their effectiveness. But I felt like a newborn stumbling into a vast, untamed jungle, clueless and vulnerable. One misstep could bring unwanted attention, and I’d heard stories—whispers of kidnappers wielding necromantic abilities, preying on those who couldn’t control their powers. These necromancers would turn their victims into soldiers, raising the dead and unlocking their latent abilities, making the reanimated corpses far stronger than they had ever been in life. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I had no idea just how powerful I truly was, but I knew one thing for certain: if anyone ever got their hands on a god-tier Skill like mine, it would spell catastrophe for countless innocent people. And I couldn’t bear the idea of putting Jay or Jelissa in that kind of danger.

Then, the government officials words from the night before echoed in my mind, jolting me into action. I shot out of bed and frantically searched through the mess of papers scattered across my desk and floor. After a few tense minutes of rifling through the chaos, my fingers finally brushed against the documents I’d signed, tucked beneath a haphazard stack of other pages.

I realized then how much I had overcomplicated the process. I had assumed I’d need to find some random person, perhaps a teacher, to guide me through it, but that wasn’t necessary at all. All it took was bringing this signed form to the Pathfinder Guild to register and secure a license. Once there, I could ask every question that had been burning in my mind. It was a solid plan, simple and promising.

A surge of excitement coursed through me, and guilt immediately followed in its wake. My mother had just been killed; I should be consumed by grief, drowning in sorrow. But what good would succumbing to despair do? Letting myself spiral into darkness would only fuel those destructive feelings, dragging me—and by extension, my family—further down. No, now was the time to rise above, to be stronger for them. And now, with this newfound chance, how could I not feel a spark of hope? The shadows might loom now, but I knew they wouldn’t last forever. Someday, I’d stand in the glow of comfort, soaking in the warmth of peace and the quiet joy that comes with it.

I stood up and made my way toward the kitchen. It was 6:45, and with the kids needing to be on the bus by 7:30, time was ticking. Since they were still fast asleep, I decided to get a head start on breakfast. The house felt heavy with silence, and I knew that when they woke up, the air would be thick with tension. My hope was that a warm meal might ease them, even just a little, and bring a small bit of comfort to the morning.

I grabbed a carton of eggs and set to work, cracking them swiftly and whisking them into a bowl. The stillness of the house was oppressive, pressing down on me like a weight. I kept my hands busy, the rhythmic motions meant to distract me from the somber atmosphere, but I could feel my resolve slipping, the optimism I’d tried to hold onto beginning to wane. I shifted my focus to the eggs sizzling in the pan, watching as the whites slowly solidified and bubbled at the edges. The sizzle filled the silence of the house, a sound almost too loud in this empty, aching quiet. I glanced at the hallway, listening for any sign that Jay or Jelissa were stirring. Nothing. I sighed and flipped the eggs over with more force than needed, trying to drown out the knot in my chest.

“Just keep going, King,” I muttered under my breath, a mantra that felt both reassuring and hollow.

A soft creak and the shuffle of small feet on the floorboards caught my ear. I turned my head to see Jelissa, her dark curls wild and tangled, hugging her stuffed rabbit so tightly it looked like it might burst at the seams. She looked up at me, eyes swollen from tears she’d shed the night before. Behind her, Jay appeared, quieter than usual, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. They looked so small, so fragile. My chest tightened.

“Morning,” I said, trying for a smile. It didn’t reach my eyes; I knew that, but it was the best I could do.

“Morning,” Jelissa whispered back, sliding into her seat at the table. Jay just nodded and sat beside her.

I set the plates down and sat across from them. The clinking of forks was the only sound. I watched as they picked at their food, both of them barely eating. I needed to say something, anything..

“So,” I started, clearing my throat, “any idea what’s for lunch at school today?” The question hung in the air, lifeless. Jay glanced at me, his dark eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place—something too old for a twelve-year-old. Jelissa just pushed her eggs around on her plate, the rabbit still clutched in one hand.

“Right… well, make sure you eat what you can, okay? Need your strength.” I tried to inject some cheer into my tone, but it was like trying to patch a broken dam with paper. The silence won again.

They finished eating, barely touching their food. I got up and helped them with their bags, giving Jay an extra pat on the shoulder and tucking a stray curl behind Jelissa’s ear. She looked up at me, a flicker of something that might have been hope or just exhaustion passing through her eyes.

“Try to have a good day, alright?” My voice cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. Jay nodded without looking at me, and Jelissa’s tiny voice whispered a barely audible, “Okay.”

I watched them as they stepped onto the school bus, waving as the doors closed and it pulled away. I stayed there until it disappeared down the road, a strange emptiness filling the space it left behind.

I turned back to the house, the place that now felt like an echo of what it used to be. I stood there in the doorway for a moment, eyes drifting to the old picture on the wall—Mom holding all three of us, her smile brighter than any sun. It was a photo from simpler times, before Skills and death and responsibilities that felt too heavy for my shoulders.

“Miss you, Mom,” I whispered, the ache in my chest flaring up like an ember caught in the wind. I clenched my jaw, forcing it down, forcing myself to move. I had things to do, answers to find.

With one last look, I turned and stepped out, closing the door behind me. The world outside felt vast, unforgiving, but I squared my shoulders and started toward the Pathfinder Guild. Today, I’d start understanding this new Skill, this piece of Mom’s legacy that now pulsed inside me like a lifeline.

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