Sample Chapter

The Engineer’s Dilemma • Book One

Awakening

Chapter One

Did I fall again? Last time, at least I was home, lying on the floor, staring at the dust under the refrigerator until the dizziness passed. I remembered closing my office door, but this time, something didn’t add up. The smell was wrong, damp, alive. Moss and wet bark clogged my nose, sharp and earthy. My head throbbed like a drum. Perfect. Either I’d had a stroke at my desk, or I’d respawned in someone else’s fever dream.

Towering trees stretched high above me, their thick trunks gnarled, like ancient judges watching from on high. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in thin, golden beams, casting shifting patterns across the leaf-littered ground. Birds called to each other in the branches, while smaller creatures flitted just out of view.

I winced against the sunlight and shielded my face with my arm. I froze. This wasn’t my hand.

It was smoother, stronger, unmarred by time or injury. The twisted knuckle I earned saving my dad that summer? Gone. The wrist I cracked while mountain biking? Perfect. I flexed my fingers. No pain. No stiffness. Just an idealized version of my hand, a Photoshopped action figure limb attached to my very real panic. This wasn’t just a dream. It felt too real.

I quickly looked about the forest again, my heart drumming as memories fought to surface. I walked out of the office and locked the door. A voice? Then nothing.

What if I were in a coma? Or dead? Was this some afterlife tutorial?

Before my thoughts could spiral, a sharp rustle snapped my attention to the brush ahead. I spun. No phone. No weapon. Just me and nature’s surplus of rocks.

I grabbed the closest one, a jagged rock, and held it like a sacred relic. Excalibur, but make it mossy.

Then she crashed through the trees.

A girl, no, a young woman, stumbled into the clearing barefoot, her red hair tangled and wild. Her brown dress was torn and stained, clinging to her as if she’d just run through hell. Her eyes locked on mine: wide, terrified, pleading.

And right behind her, something straight out of a horror game.

Green skin, hunched posture, jagged knife in hand, and eyes that practically screamed “murder enthusiast.”

Goblin. Or something worse.

She tripped. Of course she did. Caught on a root and hit the ground hard, crying out.

My body moved before my brain had time to scream, “Bad idea!” I charged. Rock raised. The goblin barely had time to turn before I brought it down. Crunch. It dropped.

I stood over it, chest heaving, rock slick with something dark and warm. My hands shook as the stone slipped from my grip. My knees gave out, and I crouched beside the thing I’d just killed. Blood and moss filled my nostrils. My stomach lurched.

This wasn’t a cutscene. Then.

A soft ding sounded in my ears. The message came in a smooth, feminine voice, like a fantasy GPS. My first thought: What the hell is wrong with my brain?

“Get up,” she said quietly.

I looked up. The girl, bruised and filthy but still radiating a strange calm, touched my shoulder then quickly pulled back, as if she wasn’t sure she had permission.

“We have to go,” she said, glancing up at the trees like death might fall from the branches. “Ogres. Three of them are coming this way.”

“Yeah. Okay,” I said, numbly. “What is an Ogre?”

“Big and brown, full of teeth. I can kill one, but not three. Let’s go…”

I reached for the goblin’s knife, but it was locked in its grip. Before I could pry it loose, she was already moving, slipping into the trees. I tried to follow. No words at first. Just breath and branches and the wet slap of mud on boots. She moved with practiced urgency, weaving around tree roots and ducking under limbs I didn’t even see. She stopped dead and raised a hand. I froze. In the distance: a low, snuffling growl, wet and heavy.

She turned, whispering, “Forest crawler.”

My mouth went dry. “Worse than an Ogre?”

“They spit acid. Sometimes they mimic crying children. This way…” She turned and cut through the trees to our left with practiced ease. I didn’t reply. I just followed. I stumbled often, but kept up with her. It’s been years since I ever set foot in a forest. Now, I’m stuck in the middle of one with what appears to be Jane. To tell you the truth, I would be a terrible Tarzan.

Eventually, the path cleared, and the trees thinned into something that looked like a trail. She eased up slightly, less like a rabbit-fleeing hawk and more like a girl who’s still watching the sky.

“Watch that moss,” she warned. “It burns through boots.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “It’s alive.” From then on, every green patch was the enemy.

We reached a dirt road. Wagon tracks cut through the mud, not a single tire in sight. She finally spoke again.

“My town’s just around the bend,” she said, brushing hair from her eyes. “We’ll be safe there. Probably.”

“Probably?” I echoed, watching her for a time.

She glanced at me. “Better odds than out here. Most monsters don’t venture too close. Unless you do something stupid.”

“Did you do something?”

“Not this time…” she said with a grin. She introduced herself a moment later: Seraphina. She had that energy cats get after they knock something over, guilty but defensive.

“I was collecting herbs. For dinner.” Her voice softened, eyes downcast.

It didn’t sound like the whole truth, but I noticed her arms. Goosebumps. Without thinking, I slipped off my jacket and handed it to her.

She hesitated. “This is too nice. I’ll ruin it.”

“It’s fine. Not like I dressed for a goblin-slaying show.”

She actually giggled, an honest, light sound that cut through the gloom. As she wrapped the jacket around herself, the motion was casual and practiced, the way someone donned armor without thinking of it as such.

“Besides,” she added, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “that goblin wasn’t chasing us. It was running from the ogres.” She glanced back down the path, utterly unconcerned. “Goblins are more of a nuisance than a threat, like squirrels with knives.” She flexed her fingers once, almost absently, and I noticed how relaxed her stance was, balanced, ready, with her weight centered. Not frightened. Not even tense.

“Most people are terrified of them,” she went on, shrugging. “I’ve never understood why. They scatter if you show them you’re not worth the trouble.” A beat passed before her brow furrowed. “Though… what’s a show?”

I blinked. “You don’t. Oh. Right. New place.”

We exchanged a few more moments like that, laser bards, entertainment with screens, me being bad at explanations, until I finally asked:

“So, after I brained that goblin, I heard a voice say something about ‘leveling up.’ Is that normal?”

She stopped. Really stopped. Her brow furrowed.

“You’ve never heard the Goddess?”

I shook my head. But she did sound familiar. But from where?

She lifted her hand. A blue glow formed, hovering above her palm like a floating hologram.

“Are those good numbers?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Decent. Most of us don’t train. Hover around five or six. Everyone was shocked when I was born with high charisma.” She hesitated. “Thirty’s about as high as humans can push an ability, or really anything. When you have a skill or class that levels, you’re considered a master. But there are rare stories of people breaking that limit and achieving much higher. That comes with the Gods’ blessings. But those are just myths. You should know all of this already.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process it. Game logic. Magic stats. Talking about intelligence like it was bench press weight. Sure.

“It sounds familiar… What’s this one, SP?” I pointed to a line.

“Stamina,” she said. “If it hits zero, you collapse just like my older sister did about five years ago. She healed our dad too much once. Slept for two days.” She smiled as if it were a fond annoyance. “Okay, your turn. Let’s see yours.”

I hesitated. “I don’t think I have one.”

She moved closer as the cool forest air thinned between us. Seraphina was slightly shorter than I was, and when I looked down, she slipped her hand into mine, gently pressing her palm against mine.

Her skin was warm and steady. The roughness of her calluses spoke of manual labor, yet her touch was gentle and almost protective. She smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wild herbs, grounding and familiar in a world where nothing else felt the same.

It had been so long since I’d felt another’s warmth. Too long. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe it in and forget the strangeness of where I was. Her smile caught me, not soft or fragile, but strong enough to hold me there, and I lost myself in it.

A tingling started in my hand, like a soft current under the skin. Then, the blue light flared between us. A panel appeared. Seraphina stared. Her breath hitched. Not fear. Not awe. Something deeper. She stepped back.

“That’s not possible.”

I looked down. The numbers flickered like static, intelligence, strength, even the class line dissolving into symbols I didn’t recognize.

“What are you?” she whispered.

Her fingers slipped from mine slowly, almost unwillingly, as if her body hadn’t decided whether to pull back or lean in. Her eyes scanned the flickering display above my palm, where glowing lines of text twisted and reformed like unstable code trying to make sense of something that didn’t belong.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she whispered, her brow furrowing as her eyes darted across the display. “Your stats… they don’t list a class. It doesn’t even say ‘Human.’ You’re…” She swallowed, her voice thin. “You’re broken.” The words struck harder than I expected. Broken. What are you?

I stared at the flickering data, the way it warped and glitched like a machine trying to solve an equation with no answer.

“What am I?” I whispered back, the question hollow in my chest. Then, softer, with a crack in my voice: “I’m just a guy.”

Her breath caught. She stumbled a step back as if distance might shield her. “That can’t be real.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong? What’s broken?” My voice rose, sharper than I meant.

She shook her head, eyes wide. “They’re only in stories. Ghosts. People with no classes.” She snapped her gaze up to mine, panic flooding her voice. “First off, hide that. Now. Just close your hand!”

Her innocence vanished in an instant, replaced by a raw, desperate edge, as if cornered and fighting the urge to run. I curled my fingers into a fist. The display folded in on itself, curling like burning parchment until nothing remained. Seraphina’s lips parted, her breathing shallow as she stared at the empty air where it had been.

“This is beyond me,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“I don’t understand,” I said, and the truth of it sank like a stone in my gut.

She turned away and paced, hands fisting at her sides like she was holding something dangerous inside. Then she stopped, fixing me with a sharp, steady look.

“Listen carefully,” she said. “Don’t display that status again. Not to anyone. Not unless I tell you to. Just say that you’re from another village in the south.”

“Why?” I blinked, confused.

“Because if they see it, if they see you, they’ll think I brought you here on purpose.” Her jaw clenched. “And they won’t care what the truth is.”

“But I didn’t.”

“It won’t matter,” she cut in. “You don’t have a class. You don’t even have a race. That makes you wrong. And wrong things scare people. Scared people lash out.” She looked away again. “At you. And at me. And my family.”

She didn’t sound afraid for herself. She sounded tired, like someone who had been here before.

“There’s someone I trust at the church,” she said. “She might be able to help. But it’s too late now. The gates will be locked. We’ll go tomorrow.” She took a step into the shadows between the trees. Her voice softened.

“I gave up everything to be here.” Her gaze lingered on the dirt path ahead. “Didn’t you have your Awakening? At eighteen? It’s supposed to show you who you are, your name, race, stats, and your potential.” I nodded slowly.

She didn’t look back. “Mine was supposed to be my escape. The village celebrated it. When I turned eighteen, I waited to receive my class. My chance to join a guild, make something of myself, and leave this town. But I got this lousy Villager class. It’s less than trash.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Just that. And a prophecy. Like a consolation prize.”

I swallowed. “What did the prophecy say?”

Her body stiffened, and her expression grew inward. “That I’d meet someone in the glen. Someone who could help us. Help me,” She stared into the dark trees. “But prophecies lie. Or at best, are just twisted words.”

“Could that person still be coming?” I offered. “Maybe…”

She cut me off with a glance. “No. It’s too late today, and you’re broken.”

Hearing that still hurt, especially coming from her. We left the clearing in silence.

She moved like the forest made room for her. Graceful. Balanced. Each step is carefully chosen. I crunched through leaves behind her like I was trying to summon every predator in a ten-mile radius.

Her back was straight, her steps precise. She belonged here. I didn’t.

And yet, the forest didn’t reject me. The air was crisp, infused with the scent of pine and a subtle floral aroma. My body felt lighter and stronger, as if I’d shed thirty years of wear overnight. But my mind hadn’t caught up. I was a stranger in a familiar shell, carrying fear I didn’t know how to express.

“You said ‘us’,” I said quietly.

She didn’t turn. Her voice was tight. “The kingdom. The prophecy said someone with a lost class would appear. That it would wake the old world, bring demons. Shift the balance.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out brittle, hollow. “Cheerful stuff.”

“Depends which side you’re on,” she murmured, still staring at the dirt.

I shook my head. “As you said, I have no class, so I’m not that person. Why are you so frustrated with me?”

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly and heavily. “I’m not…” She stopped herself, then let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I wasted so many days waiting for nothing. As I said, prophecies lie. I’m angrier at myself, not at you.”

She scuffed her boot through the gravel, nudging small stones aside, eyes fixed on the road as if it might offer her answers. Then she looked up at me again. For just a moment, the confidence slipped, leaving something more vulnerable behind it, raw, unguarded.

“I have an idea,” she said quietly. “But first… at least let me give you a warm meal and a place to sleep tonight.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “That is, if my brother actually cleaned the room like he promised.”

She hesitated, then added, “If anyone asks, tell them you saved me when the goblin attacked. People don’t like knowing how close the wild really is.”

“So,” I said carefully, “no ogres? No killer plants? And no chance you’re secretly Xena in disguise?”

She blinked. “Who’s Xena?”

I paused, searching for the right words. “A… very capable warrior woman from my home. Extremely good at violence.”

She snorted softly. “I’m not a warrior. Just a villager who reads too much.” Then, more seriously, “Remember, your class and title define your limits. Mine places me at the bottom of everything.” She glanced at me sidelong. “But you? You don’t have one at all. That makes us an interesting pair.”

“If I understand this right,” I said slowly, “status is like a résumé. It shows what you are, not who you could become. What about skills?”

Her expression brightened slightly, interest overcoming caution. “Skills measure proficiency within your class. Some you’re born with, like cooking or leatherwork, in my case. Others come from skill scrolls.” She grimaced. “Those are expensive. Not as common as people make them out to be. Scrolls are not meant for people like us.” She sighed, then shrugged. “So my path is simple. Cooking. Sewing satchels. Raising children. That’s it.” A pause. “Boring, isn’t it?”

She met my gaze then, something sharper in her eyes. “But you, David Robertson? You’re empty. No class. No restrictions.” Her smile returned, slower this time. “As I said, I know someone we should speak to in a few days, maybe tomorrow. We might get some answers then…” She tilted her head. “Any questions?”

I blinked, torn between relief and confusion by the sudden shift. Yet the warmth in her smile lingered, echoing the one I’d seen in the forest.

“Let’s go then.” She turned, motioning me to follow, her braid swinging against her back as she started down the road again.

The forest began to thin, giving way to faint trails, first animal tracks, then the deeper grooves of wagon ruts pressed into the earth over generations. As we walked, I toyed with the trick Seraphina had explained. Summoning the panel. Dismissing it. Summoning it again.

At first, it felt impossible, like trying to remember the shape of a dream. But now it was easier, almost instinctive. I stretched out my right hand, palm up, and a faint shimmer rippled into place. When I made a fist, it disappeared. When I opened my hand, it reappeared.

I frowned. What if orientation mattered? I twisted my hand sideways and willed it into position, keeping it in the same place and at the same angle, ignoring my wrist entirely. Palm-down? Same thing. The panel had its own rules, and they weren’t mine.

“Seraphina,” I called, peering at the strange glow on my skin. “Have you ever tried opening your panel underwater?”

She stopped dead, her red hair swinging as she turned. The look she gave me could have melted stone. “Under what?”

“Under the water?” I repeated, a little sheepishly.

Her glare sharpened. “That panel is a gift from the gods. And you want to go splashing it in a pond like a lantern?”

“I mean… yeah? Kind of. Don’t you ever wonder?”

“No.” She stomped forward, muttering under her breath.

I grinned, jogging to catch up. “Alright, fine. But what about at night? Ever use it as a night-light?”

Her only answer was the snap of her boots on the path.

We crossed a wooden bridge, its boards creaking under our weight. Below, a slow stream wound between mossy stones. I leaned over the rail, watching the water glint in the sunlight, already imagining the panel glowing beneath the surface. The face in the water was mine, but not the one I remembered.

Gone were the creases and gray. The tired eyes. The thinning hair. What looked back at me seemed fifty years younger, confused yet incredibly healthy. My old, broken nose? Fixed. The weight of that realization sank like a stone. Was this real? A second chance? Or just an elaborate dream I hadn’t woken from? Seraphina grabbed my sleeve, pulling me away from the railing so we could continue our journey.

We crested a hill, and the village came into view, Brakenreach, as she called the town. It was more like a small city than a town or a village. It sat like a massive stone coin on the land, with thick, weathered circular walls, broken only by a wide southern gate where the road spilled into golden fields. The bastions along the walls made it look like a fortress first, a town second, clearly built more for survival than for beauty. From afar, the clustered rooftops within looked like red-brown tiles pressed tightly together, all beneath the watchful shadow of the keep at the center.

“Welcome to Brakenreach,” she gestured to the walled village. “The halfway waystation to the capital. A place for people like me to be left behind…” she said as she looked at the village.

Smoke curled from the chimneys, mingling with the scents of bread, iron, and livestock drifting over the walls. Beyond the stone circle, farmland spread in every direction, its patchwork of yellows and greens revealing the town’s lifeblood. The southern approach was open and sunlit, but on the northern side, the wild pressed close. There, a vast forest stretched from the town’s edge to the foothills of the distant mountains. From the battlements, the canopy must have looked like a rolling sea of green, its depths brimming with promise and danger.

Brakenreach was a frontier stronghold: a place where farmers, traders, and smiths struggled to make a living under the watchful eyes of soldiers and behind stone walls, markets echoed with noise by day, and the gates were locked tight at night. Civilization within, wilderness outside. And between the two, only the courage of those willing to call Brakenreach home.

She walked ahead, her posture taut. The breeze caught her dress, lifting the hem just slightly as the fabric rippled over her legs. It wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was natural, and somehow made it harder not to look. Focus.

The lone gate guard stood leaning against his halberd, then just waved us through. He didn’t even speak. As we passed by him and through the gates, the buildings were rough but solid, with pale clay walls, hand-hewn beams, and thatched roofs that probably leaked sideways. Most homes lacked chimneys. There were no windows. No wiring. No pipes. There was a song I remembered as a kid, something like… No telephone, no lights, no motor car, something about Robinson Crusoe, and it’s as primitive as can be.

“God,” I muttered. “It’s like walking into a Renaissance fair run by people who’ve never heard of plumbing.”

Seraphina shot me a confused look. “What’s a Renaissance?”

“Long story.”

Villagers began to notice us. A woman carrying a woven basket stopped in her tracks. A child paused mid-play and stared, mouth agape. No hostility, just the wide-eyed caution you see when something doesn’t seem right.

In the village square, a stone well stood in the center, framed by a wooden winch and rope. Tattered notices clung to a board nearby, some scrawled in angry red.

“Public quests?” I asked, squinting. “Do I need to roll a die?”

Seraphina didn’t look at me. “Those are bounty notices.”

“Oh. So murder flyers.”

To our left, smoke curled from the chimney of a small tavern. Another building filled with barrels was clearly a cooper’s shop. Genuine handmade tools rested outside, worn, well-used, and respected.

Then a scent hit me, rich, metallic, earthy. The smell of a forge.

I turned my head and saw it: an open-beamed structure near the square’s edge. The glow of fire. The rhythm of hammer on steel. My feet moved without permission. Inside, a blacksmith hammered at the anvil, thick arms swinging with practiced, if tired, precision. Sparks flew with each impact. I felt something stir.

“This sound, this smell,” I murmured. “This reminds me of home.”

Seraphina laid a hand on my arm. “We’re going that way,” she said, gesturing in the opposite direction. I didn’t move. I didn’t want her hand to leave.

“You’re burning too cold,” I said aloud. The blacksmith paused and turned.

“What?”

“You have clinker in your base. It’s blocking the airflow. You’re losing heat. And your hammer arc’s too shallow; you’re wasting force on every swing.”

He stared at me with disdain. “And you are?”

“David. Son of a smith. Trained since I could lift a hammer.” I said, offering my hand. The man grunted and went back to work, but I saw him adjust his grip. Behind me, footsteps approached with the slow confidence of someone who owned the ground they walked on.

The woman who stopped before us looked to be in her late forties. Her hair was a crown of silver threaded into tight braids, her posture iron-straight, her eyes even sharper. She didn’t just see me; she measured, weighed, and filed me away in the space of a heartbeat.

“You came back,” she said to Seraphina. Her tone wasn’t warm, wasn’t welcoming. It was the kind of voice I’d heard before from privileged supervisors and gatekeepers, a statement sharpened into a judgment.

Seraphina didn’t smile. “Just passing through, Elen.”

The woman, Elen, whom Seraphina had called, let her gaze slide from Seraphina to me. The scrutiny tightened, like a vise.

“That prophecy still chasing you?”

“Not now,” Seraphina said, her voice clipped.

Elen’s gaze fixed on me. I felt it like a spear point pressing against my chest. “And he is?”

“Trouble,” Seraphina said flatly.

“Ouch,” I muttered, lifting a hand to my heart. “Standing right here, you know.”

Elen didn’t so much as blink. “What’s your class, outsider?”

I hesitated, then plastered on my cheesiest grin. “Outsider? I’m hurt. Back home, at least, I was a blacksmith.”

She grunted a sound that carried the weight of disbelief. “We’ll see. Also, Seraphina, you still owe me for Aldo’s treatments.” Without saying another word, she turned on her heel and walked away, with the crowd instinctively parting before her.

From behind Seraphina, I noticed the blacksmith wipe his hands and approach us. “Name’s Garron. You seem to know what you’re talking about. Come by tomorrow. I’ve got work for you. I open early. We’ll see if you really know what you’re talking about and if you’re any good.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“Don’t waste my time.”

Seraphina nudged me as we moved down the street. “He didn’t throw a hammer at you. That’s high praise.”

I leaned in close, lowering my voice. “How many people know about your prophecy? From the way that woman spoke, it sounded like half the town does.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Besides you and the one person we need to talk to tomorrow, no one. Everyone else knows I have a prophecy. That includes my family. Not the details. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Silence lingered between us for a few steps. Then I offered a crooked smile. “Remember, outsider. Outside of me, now Garron, and that charming Elen, who would I tell?”

Her eyes flicked sideways, suspicious, then softened. A laugh escaped, quick and real, spilling into the air until I echoed it. For a moment, the weight of prophecies and watchful eyes lifted, leaving only us walking and laughing in the late-afternoon sun.