Morning came slowly on Terra-0689.

  Not gently—but steadily.

  The amber sky dimmed into something closer to bronze as the distant sun climbed higher, its light heavier than what Michael remembered from Earth.

  Gravity pressed down on everything, not painfully, but insistently, like the world wanted to remind them where they were.

  The survivors had made camp near a shallow rock basin, sheltered from the wind by jagged stone outcroppings. No dungeon walls. No screaming systems. Just open land stretching endlessly in all directions. Occasionally, they noticed shapes in the distance—massive silhouettes moving against the horizon, low and deliberate. No one suggested getting closer.

  And silence.

  Too much silence.

  Michael sat near the edge of the camp, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the unfamiliar soil beneath his boots. Dark, mineral-rich, faintly warm—as if the ground itself retained heat long after night passed.

  His head still felt… crowded.

  Not loud. Just occupied.

  Kevin hadn’t spoken since the relocation.

  That alone worried him.

  Behind him, Nathan exhaled sharply as he lowered himself onto a rock. “So,” he said, breaking the quiet, “we’re alive. Again.”

  Michael huffed softly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I am surprised,” Nathan replied. “We got thrown out of reality. That’s usually a one-way trip.”

  A few of the others chuckled weakly. Tired laughter. The kind that came after fear had nowhere left to go.

  Reinhardt stood a short distance away, examining the horizon through a scope, rifle resting against his shoulder. “No immediate threats,” he said. “At least none large enough to announce themselves.”

  “That’s reassuring,” someone muttered.

  Michael stood.

  The movement drew more attention than he expected. A few heads turned. People watched him carefully now—like he might glitch again if they blinked too hard.

  He ignored it.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I’m going to make food,” he said simply.

  That got reactions.

  “Food?” Sarah blinked. “You mean… like, actual food?”

  Michael nodded. “We need something warm.”

  “And edible,” Nathan added.

  Michael glanced at him. “Preferably.”

  He moved toward the supply packs—what little had survived relocation—along with scavenged ingredients from the plains earlier that morning. Thick, fibrous root-bulbs. A slab of dark-red meat harvested from a fallen grazer-like creature. Mineral crystals shaved thin.

  Terra-0689 ingredients.

  Michael knelt beside a portable heat unit, adjusting the flame until it burned low and steady. His hands moved with practiced ease, grounding him in something familiar.

  Cooking always did.

  As he worked, memories surfaced unbidden.

  A cramped kitchen. A flickering stove. His step mother standing behind him, correcting his grip on a knife. His step father scoffing—but eating everything anyway.

  Ten years of survival training.

  Ten years of learning how not to die.

  And somehow—how to cook.

  He sliced the root-bulbs carefully, letting them soak in heated water until they softened and released a faint, smoky aroma. The meat followed—seared first, then broken down slowly. Mineral shavings went in last, dissolving into glowing embers that tinted the stew a deep, ember-orange.

  The scent spread quickly.

  It was rich. Savory. Warm in a way that reached past hunger.

  Conversation died down as people noticed.

  “…That smells insane,” someone whispered.

  Nathan sniffed exaggeratedly. “Okay. I take it back. I would absolutely survive a reality collapse again for this.”

  Michael almost smiled.

  He stirred slowly, feeling the weight in his chest ease just a fraction.

  You’re calmer, Kevin’s voice murmured at last.

  Michael froze—just for a second.

  There you are, he replied internally.

  {I was never gone,} Kevin said. {Just… observing.}

  Michael exhaled quietly. "You scared them yesterday."

  A pause.

  {I scared you}, Kevin corrected. {That matters more.}

  Michael didn’t respond. He focused on the stew instead, ladling it into metal cups once it thickened enough to cling to the spoon.

  “One at a time,” he said, standing. “It’s strong.”

  Nathan took the first sip.

  Then blinked.

  Then took another.

  “…What is this?”

  Michael shrugged. “Something I used to make. Back when food was the only thing that made sense.”

  Nathan let out a low laugh. “Figures.”

  The others followed. One by one, shoulders relaxed. Breathing steadied. Someone sat down instead of standing guard for once.

  Sarah wiped her mouth, eyes glistening faintly. “I didn’t realize how cold I was until now.”

  Michael handed her another cup. “Eat slow.”

  As the group settled, Reinhardt finally lowered his scope and approached, accepting a portion without comment. He tasted it, paused, then nodded once.

  “Effective,” he said.

  That was high praise.

  Michael sat near the fire at last, bowl in his hands. The stew radiated warmth, seeping into his fingers, his chest, the tight knot behind his ribs.

  For the first time since the dungeon—

  He felt present.

  The sky above Terra-0689 stretched endlessly, unfamiliar but real. No alerts. No collapsing sectors. Just survival.

  Kevin spoke again, quieter now.

  {You anchor people}, he said. {Not with power. With routine.}

  "I know and... I'm sorry... I didn't trust you... " Michael admitted internally.

  Kevin didn't respond.

  Michael stared into the fire. That doesn’t stop what’s coming.

  No, Kevin agreed. But it helps them stand when it arrives.

  Michael took another bite. Ashfire Stew—his stepfather used to call it.

  Food that burned going down—but kept you alive afterward.

  As the survivors ate and rested beneath the heavy sky, Michael allowed himself something rare.

  Not hope.

  Just calm.

  For now, that was enough.