The Chamber

A gentle-yet-total disorientation was the first thing Alan registered. One moment, he was in a dying field on a broken Earth, the next, he was… here.

He opened his eyes to an environment of impossible geometry. He was standing in a cavernous space, yet there was no floor beneath his feet. He was enclosed, yet the walls were perfectly transparent, revealing an endless, star-dusted black void that stretched into infinity. It was as if he were suspended inside a flawless glass cube, a fifty-meter square of invisible floor providing a vast, open stage in the heart of deep space. The silence was absolute, a profound emptiness that was more deafening than any noise.

He took a hesitant step, his boot meeting a solid, unseen surface. It felt real, yet his mind screamed that it wasn't. What was truly strange, however, was the anomaly. On one side of the transparent chamber, a formation that looked bizarrely like jagged, crystalline rock seemed to pierce through the invisible wall, jutting a few feet into his cube. It didn't shatter the wall or create a hole; the transparent barrier simply… accommodated it, flowing around the rock as if it were water. It defied all logic. Something is off about this, he thought, a seed of unease planting itself in his mind.

A moment later, the familiar sound echoed, not in the room, but in the private space of his own consciousness.

Ding.

With it came not a pop-up window, but a deluge of information, a torrent of raw data that flooded his mind, instantly processed and understood. It was a cosmic census, a final report on the fate of humanity.

The total number of human beings left on Earth before the choice had been six million, nine hundred thousand. A paltry, tragic number, the last embers of a species that once numbered in the billions.

Of those, only 503,773 had accepted Noah’s offer.

The number struck Alan with a complex and violent storm of emotions. His first feeling was a surge of profound relief, a warmth that spread through his chest. Over half a million people. They weren't alone. He had been so focused on his own survival, on the small drama of his village, that he hadn't dared to hope for such a large number. 500,000 souls. It was enough to build cities, to form nations, to truly begin again. The human race wasn’t just a collection of scattered tribes; it was a people, and it had survived.

But hot on the heels of that relief came a crushing, leaden sorrow. He did the math in his head, the numbers stark and brutal. More than six million people were gone. They hadn't necessarily chosen the Path of Closure. The truth was likely far more tragic. Most of them, he realized, had probably refused to choose at all. They were lost to inaction. He pictured Kael, the old elder, not bravely choosing death, but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the choice at all, dismissing the sky-text and the window as a hallucination, standing his ground until the timer simply ran out.

How many millions had done the same? Paralyzed by fear, blinded by skepticism, or simply too broken by two decades of despair to recognize a genuine lifeline when it was offered. They hadn't chosen to die; they had simply failed to choose to live. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He, a survivor, was now part of an even smaller minority. He had chosen life, but in doing so, had left the vast majority of his species behind to be extinguished by their own weary inertia. It felt less like a victory and more like a profound tragedy of missed opportunity.

Finally, a chilling sense of perspective washed over him. 503,773 people, all currently in chambers just like his, being prepared for a new world. The information told him this "adaptation" would last one week, their bodies acclimating to the new environment before they were all transferred to a prepared plot of land in Joka. The sheer scale of the operation, the power of this "Noah," was terrifying. To monitor, message, and transport half a million beings from a dying dimension to a new one… it was the work of a god. And they were now, all of them, utterly at that god's mercy.

Ding.

The second chime brought with it the return of the transparent blue window, hovering obediently before him. Another surge of information entered his mind, this time less of a report and more of an instruction manual. Every person transferred would receive a "System," a personalized interface to help them understand, adapt, and survive in Joka. This window was his. And once again, the strange, ancient language written on it was perfectly, intuitively comprehensible.

The first section was a summary of his evaluation.

> [ Individual Evaluation: Alan ]

> Physiological Analysis: High compatibility with ambient Mana. Cellular structure is highly receptive to elemental influence.

> Psychological Analysis: Intelligence quotient is significantly above the human average. High aptitude for logical processing and pattern recognition.

> Conclusion: Candidate is ideally suited for the [Mage] classification.

> Natural Affinity: Fire Element (Primary).

The info dump continued, providing context. Mana was the natural energy that flowed through Joka, a force that could be manipulated by those with the compatibility. Alan was one of them. Many, he learned, were not. Those without mana compatibility lived lives much like they did on post-apocalypse Earth: farmers, craftsmen, traders, even politicians, forming the foundational bedrock of Joka's society.

But those with mana, the "users," occupied a higher stratum. They harnessed this energy to perform incredible feats. Some, with superior physical bodies, used it to enhance their strength and speed, becoming knights capable of cleaving a house-sized boulder with a single sword strike, or swift mercenaries who moved like blurs. Others, like him, with higher intelligence, could manipulate mana externally, weaving it into spells. These were the mages, the researchers, the academy teachers. In the political sphere, mana users were the high-ranking officers and the nobility. Power in Joka, it seemed, was quite literally, power.

Given his high intelligence and potent fire affinity—one of six primary magical elements—the System suggested a path: the Battle Mage. Fire magic was renowned for its overwhelming destructive force, making its wielders highly respected and feared assets in any military.

Alan felt a thrill run through him, a stark contrast to the grim sorrow of moments before. A Mage. A Battle Mage. It sounded like something from the old world's fantasy stories, a life of power and purpose that was unimaginable just hours ago. He continued to browse the System's interface. It had two main functions. The first was to display his personal information.

> Name: Alan

> Race: Human

> Level: 1

> Strength: 7

> Vitality: 5

> Agility: 5

> Intelligence: 12

> Mana: 135

The second function was exclusive to the Adaptation Chamber: a training module. Curious, Alan opened it. It presented him with a list of basic spells he could choose to train. It was supposed to be a list, but it contained only a single entry: "Fireball."

Is this because of my fire affinity? he wondered. With no other option, he selected it.

The moment his mind confirmed the choice, a new wave of knowledge imprinted itself upon him. It wasn't like reading a book; it was as if a lifetime of experience was downloaded directly into his soul. He suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, how to feel the reservoir of energy within him—his mana—how to draw it out, guide it through his arms, and shape it with his will into a sphere of destructive flame. It feels so natural, he mused. Is this what high aptitude means?

He had to try. Following the ingrained knowledge, he extended his palm. He focused, pulling on the warm pool of energy in his core, and spoke the single word that felt right: "Fireball." A small, crackling sphere of orange flame, about the size of his fist, flickered into existence, hovering an inch above his palm. It was warm, alive, and thrumming with contained energy. His innate knowledge told him that with his current mana reserve of 135, he could cast this spell four times before depletion. He also knew his casting speed was limited to one spell every three seconds.

He cast the first fireball into the void, watching it streak away before vanishing. He cast a second, then a third. On the fourth, as the flame winked out of existence, a wave of profound fatigue crashed over him. His body was fine, but his mind felt as if it had run a marathon. It was a struggle to focus his thoughts, a heavy leaden weight pressing down on his consciousness. He sank to the unseen floor, regulating his breathing as he had learned to do after long scavenging runs.

After about ten minutes, the worst of the mental fog receded. He rested for another five, until he felt clear-headed and normal again. He called up his status window.

> Name: Alan

> Race: Human

> Level: 1

> Strength: 7

> Vitality: 5

> Agility: 5

> Intelligence: 12

> Mana: 133/135

> Skills: Fireball (E)

His mana was already almost full, regenerating slowly on its own. And there was a new line: Skills. As he focused his eyes on it, a new window appeared with more information.

> Fireball (Rank E)

> A basic attack spell of the Fire Element. Forms and projects a small sphere of flame at a target.

Rank E. The lowest rank, he presumed. But it was a start. He was ready to test the other part of the training module: simulated combat. The System explained that he could select monsters from a list, and a hologram would appear with the identical stats and abilities of its real-world counterpart. The pain from its attacks would be real, but the chamber would heal any wounds instantly.

He opened the monster list.

The first was the Jumper. It had the general shape of a rabbit, but its eyes glowed a malevolent red, and its mouth split open to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth like a shark. Its paws ended not in soft pads, but in bony fingers tipped with wicked claws. Its description highlighted its blinding speed.

The next was the Biter. It was a canine, but its fur was sparse and thin, revealing a bulldog-like physique of corded muscle. Its fangs were so long they protruded over its lower lip even when its mouth was closed.

The last was the Goblin. It was a stooped, lanky humanoid with gangly arms and legs. It had sickly green skin, long pointed ears, and a brutish, ugly face. It wore simple leather undercloths and carried a crude wooden spear. The description noted that these creatures were sentient hunters who often looted their prey, so some might be found wielding swords, axes, or even bows.

Alan decided to start with the weakest. He selected one Claw Rabbit, setting its level to 1, matching his own. Then he started the battle simulation.

Five meters in front of him, particles of light began to coalesce. They swirled and solidified, forming the shape of the rabbit-like beast. The moment the hologram was complete, the Claw Rabbit’s red eyes locked onto him. With an explosive push, it shot forward.

Alan gasped. The five-meter distance vanished in an instant. Before he could properly aim, a searing, white-hot pain erupted across his abdomen. He cried out, stumbling back. He looked down, expecting to see his guts spilling onto the invisible floor, but there was nothing. No blood, no wound, not even a rip in his clothes. The chamber had healed him instantly, but the ghost of the agony remained, a burning memory that made his nerves scream.

The Jumper was already circling, preparing for another lightning-fast strike. Alan, panicking, thrust out his hand. "Fireball!" A sphere of flame shot out, but the creature was already gone, a blur of motion darting to the side. His fireball sailed uselessly into the void.

The battle lasted for a grueling thirty minutes. It was a humiliating dance of Alan casting sloppy fireballs and the Jumper evading with contemptuous ease, all while periodically dashing in to rake him with its claws. Each hit was a fresh jolt of agony. Finally, sweating and gasping for breath, Alan saw his chance. The creature feinted left but its trajectory was aimed right. Instead of aiming where it was, Alan cast his fireball where it was going to be.

The sphere of fire connected with the Jumper's side. There was a satisfying hiss as the hologram flickered violently and dissolved into particles of light.

[Battle Won] a new window announced.

The moment it was over, Alan’s legs gave out. He flopped onto the floor, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged heaves. The accumulated pain had left him mentally shattered. He couldn’t believe it. That was the weakest monster, and it had taken him half an hour of torture to defeat a single one. This new world was going to be harder than he ever imagined.

After resting for a full hour, he tried again. And again. He fought the Jumper until he could reliably defeat it. Then he moved on to the Biter, and finally the Goblin.

The week passed in a haze of pain, exhaustion, and slow, brutal improvement. His level remained stubbornly at 1, and his stats didn't increase by a single point. But he knew he was better. His spellcasting became smoother, his aiming more precise, his battle sense sharper. He, who had once struggled to defeat a single Level 1 Claw Rabbit, could now confidently take on two Level 2 Jumpers at once, dispatching them with practiced ease.

He was ready. The fear and uncertainty had been burned away in the crucible of simulated combat, replaced by a steely resolve and an eagerness to finally begin. He stared at the countdown timer on his System screen, his heart pounding with anticipation.

[ 00:05:00 ]

Five minutes.

[ 00:01:00 ]

One minute. He took a deep breath.

[ 00:00:10 ]

Ten seconds. He clenched his fists. Goodbye, lonely cube. Hello, Joka.

[ 00:00:03 ]

[ 00:00:02 ]

[ 00:00:01 ]

[ 00:00:00 ]

…

Nothing happened.

The countdown timer vanished from the screen, but the chamber remained. The black, star-dusted void was still there. He was still standing on the same invisible floor.

He waited. One minute. Five minutes. Ten.

Perplexed, Alan looked around his vast, transparent prison. His eyes locked onto the jagged rock formation piercing the wall. It had been a minor curiosity before, but now it seemed deeply, profoundly suspicious. He looked back at his System screen. The countdown was gone, but there were no new messages, no error reports. Just his status window, mocking him with its unchanging numbers. What was happening? What was he supposed to do?

He waited for an hour, pacing the vast expanse of the chamber, his footsteps silent on the invisible floor. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion and dawning horror. Was this a mistake? Was he forgotten? Was this another part of the adaptation? The silence, which had once been peaceful, was now a suffocating blanket of dread.

The hope he had carefully nurtured for a week, the anticipation of a new life, the pride in his hard-won progress—it all began to curdle into a familiar, acidic feeling: despair.

He had escaped a dying world only to be trapped in a box. He had been given a choice, a chance, only to have it snatched away at the final second by an apparent cosmic clerical error.

The anxiety in Alan's heart finally reached its breaking point and exploded. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat, a scream of pure, undiluted rage at the sheer injustice of it all.

“NOOOOOOO!”

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