Holding up a hand in front of myself, I take a deep breath, I attempt to will into existence an orb of light. There's barely enough light for me to see by at the moemnt, with the shades down and curtains drawn, and there's no risk of the spell destroying my stuff unless something goes really wrong, so I chose this one over an attack spell.

Nothing happens in response to this attempt at exerting my will into existence, but I'm not deterred. I continue trying, focusing on manipulating my magic – which I can't sense right now – into an orb of light. Yet it continues to fail.

Trying it from another angle, I try to draw in the minute amount of light in the room, pulling it into an orb above my hand. I'm not going to let the laws of nature and physics and science and whatever stop me on my way to becoming a wizard. The Quest details made it clear that my magic and will are all that's needed, and I'm going to go for it.

A few minutes pass before success is found, a small orb of light swirling into existence above my palm. It's a faint, white light with a slight blue tone to it. At the same time it forms, the light in my room darkens just a little while this thing radiates a small amount of it. That makes sense, I guess, since it's drawing in light from all over, but isn't bright enough on its own to illuminate a large space. There's also a message in my vision.

Skill Acquired: Light Manipulation Experience: +1% Attribute Acquired: +0.001 Mana Regeneration

"Hm," I mutter.

No Quest completion. Does a manipulation Skill not count as a spell, then? No matter, I've got one part down. It seems that we gain Experience for acquiring Skills, too. Thankfully, I acquired some Mana Regeneration from that as well. I didn't have any before, and hadn't thought about how that would be bad. Perhaps we have to use magic at least once to earn some?

Examining the faint orb of light in my hand, I realize that I can sense – faintly – my own mana now. The way it's flowing out, gathering up the light. Is that because of the Skill? Or because I'm actually managing to use it?

For a minute, I play around with the light in my room, drawing in as much as I can to sustain the orb, making it seem like there's no light coming in from around the shades and curtains over my window, yet I'm able to see clearly due to the concentration of the light emitted by the orb floating above my palm.

Then my measly 20 Mana runs out and I have to stop. Because of my recovery rate, it will take me over five and a half hours to return to full. Once I do, I'll get to work on figuring out an actual, proper spell. It's time to get to work on other stuff.

Even though I can already feel my house heating up because of the summer heat, I get dressed. Underwear first, then cargo shorts. I slip a couple of throwing knives before fixing on my belt and clipping on two pocket knives. This way, if I have to run immediately, I've got at least some stuff. Next is a short-sleeve with a v-neck, then socks and sneakers. I grab my supply bag and bring it down to the kitchen.

Without power, food in the fridge and freezer will go bad soon, so I fix myself a bowl of cereal and enjoy a glass of orange juice with it before downing half of the strawberries and blueberries I bought yesterday.

My stomach full, I pull on my backpack and open up the curtains but not the shades, allowing some more light into the house, then get to work on checking my other supply bags. I keep two in every room: one is a backpack, one is a duffel bag. The duffels have some items in more quantities, as well as other items. I go through everything, removing the flashlights, radios, walkies, and batteries, gathering up all of my supplies in the center of the living room.

There are a total of seven backpacks and seven duffel bags – the bathroom, two bedrooms, the master bedroom, the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen. All of that collected, I go through the various rooms and closets and pull out the hidden stashes of money, too. In addition to the ten grand in each backpack and thirty in each duffel, I'd hidden fifty grand in each room and twenty in each closet as well. Overall, there's seven hundred and ninety grand in cash here.

Cash might not hold much value now, or it might hold plenty of value. Either way, I start dividing it up between the fourteen bags. When I finish, each bag has fifty-five grand in it, with the backpack I'm wearing containing an extra twenty grand.

Wait, no, I shouldn't do that. I pull all the money out and start changing it up again. I change it into thirty-seven grand in each of six backpacks and a hundred and twelve grand in each of five duffel bags. I add the extra eight grand to the last backpack.

I remove the clothes and throwing knives from that backpack and the two duffels without money, stuffing them into other duffels. Then, I grab the backpack and the two duffel bags without money, clothes, and throwing knives, then leave the house, making sure to lock the door behind me before I head to my neighbor the number up from me. Each property is a few acres in size, so it's a small walk to reach them. Once there, I knock on the door.

"I GOT A SHOTGUN AND I'LL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!" The familiar voice of the elderly woman who lives here yells. "DON'T THINK WHATEVER THIS SYSTEM THING IS MEANS YOU CAN COME AND ROB ME!"

Before I can speak, I see a small face in the window, peeking through a small gap in the curtain. Not enough for someone to notice unless they were looking for it, which I was. The round face of a ten-year-old boy with dark brown hair, brown eyes, and freckles on his sun-tanned cheeks. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, then a moment later, the door opens.

"Hi, Carter," Greta, the elderly woman who was just threatening me a moment later, greets me, looking around. "Come in, quickly."

She really is holding a shotgun, which is something I expected. Well, she's hiding it behind her back, out of courtesy for me. But she does have it on her.

When I first met her after buying the house next door a little more than a year and a half ago, I'd brought over a plate of cookies and she'd greeted me with the shotgun and a threat before realizing I was just offering cookies to my new neighbors. It was pretty frightening for me, who has PTSD involving guns, and it took a few weeks for me to actually talk with her and her grandson after that, despite their repeated attempts at trying.

Despite being ninety-two years old, she'll use that shotgun, too. More than one home invader has discovered that. More than one has discovered she sleeps with it, too.

Resting on the coffee table in here is a backpack and a duffel bag, both with what look like supplies hastily thrown together.

The kid I saw in the window is sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of red shorts and red-and-black sneakers, no shirt to hide his tanned, muscular frame. Not the kid-muscular kind, but the kind that says the kid can pack a serious punch, which he can. Greta's made sure the grandson she's raised since he was born can perform martial arts, and Logan practices for at least an hour and a half at least twice a day. He's strong and fit, and he's also often put-off by the fact that his grandma always gets to the invaders first. I can sometimes hear him practicing out back to improve his skills further than any ten-year-old should, and Logan's taken responsibility as the man of the house recently.

These bags shouldn't be too heavy for him, despite what they contain. With how strong he is and how much stamina he has, he can probably carry them for a few hours without needing to rest.

"Logan, here," I drop the bags on the ground. "Put these on and tell me if you think you can carry these for awhile."

Nodding, the kid hops off the couch and sets down the gun I hadn't noticed he was holding, before he pulls on the backpack and slings the duffels over his shoulders, properly crossing them. After walking back and forth across the living room a few times, he nods.

"Good," I say. "Greta – these are emergency supply bags. They've got food, water, some medical supplies, matches, knives, and some other supplies in them. No bullets, you know how I am with guns. Considering where we live, things are probably going to start to get dangerous. If you're leaving, pack your own bullets and money, then get moving before the crazies show up. Be mindful of the weight, and don't be afraid to ditch the gallons of water or cans of food if you need to lighten them up."

"You had bags ready?" Greta asks.

"Just in case I ever needed to run away," I tell her. "If you two stay here, make sure to keep these bags close. Logan, you play video games enough, you've figured things out?"

He nods to me. The reason I know he plays video games often, despite living with an elderly grandmother, is because he often comes over to my place to play. It's not that he doesn't have a system here – he has several – it's that he enjoys two-player games just as much as he enjoys single-player games, so we spend a fair bit of time playing together.

I'm not a fan of multiplayer games, but as long as he leaves the gun at home, I don't mind it too much. Having company from time to time is nice despite everything, and he often brings his grandma's cookies over as payment. They're damn good cookies.

"Alright," I tell Logan. "If you two stay here, be careful. There won't be power to the pumps for the sewer or the water system, so don't expect more water to come in or waste to continue flushing away – it'll probably end up backing up on you. Make sure you and your grandma are safe. You'll understand the System better than her since you have experience with games. At least, I'm hoping you will."

Logan nods, then walks over to the couch and picks up the gun before looking at me. A moment later, a message appears in my vision.

[Logan Smith (Original)] Due to the willful handling of a firearm, all Energies, Traits, and Skills are currently disabled and will remain so for five minutes after releasing it. This timer will compound onto any remaining time from such a penalty already in place.

So the System limits firearm usage, then? It probably won't be long before guns are phased out of use almost entirely. The disabling probably doesn't disable things that are properly trained – so Logan probably hasn't lost his ability to use martial arts, even if he has the Skill for it. Instead, it's probably referring to Skills that are System-granted or require some sort of Activation.

Depending on how easy it is to raise one's toughness and speed, guns may become quickly become outdated for any form of attack.

"Alright," I say, then look at Greta. "Are you two planning on fleeing? I noticed you were packing already."

"We are," she answers. "I've got a nephew a few hours' drive away. Logan and I are going to head there, though the trip might take some time. I want to make sure Logan is safe above anything."

"Alright," I say. "Stay safe, too. You may be strong, Greta, but don't forget you're not as strong as you used to be. Don't push yourself for Logan's sake, he's a capable kid."

"I know," she says. "Thanks for the supplies, Carter. I suppose it makes sense you'd have emergency run bags packed already. Bet you had 'em in every room of your house, along with cash stashes."

"You know me," I say as a message appears in my vision and a boy tackles me, wrapping his arms around me in a hug.

[From [Logan Smith]] I'll miss you. Be safe, Carter. Don't let the bad guys hurt you.

"Same to you, Logan," I wrap an arm around him, murmuring quietly so that Greta can't hear me. "I'd offer to take you under my wing, but I don't think I can handle that. Besides, you need to make sure your grandma makes it to her nephew's safely. Otherwise, she may just get more Traits and Levels than you."

Despite her readiness to use that shotgun at any time, Greta is getting up there in age. I know Logan's concerned about her as well. That's part of why he gets miffed whenever she takes care of a home invader first. Honestly, I'm worried the trip might be too much for her. It's over a hundred miles, and they'll be traveling by foot, probably.

While there's some concern for Logan, too, it's not as great. He can fight, and I'm not one of those people who say that age is the only thing that matters for fighting ability. The kid can take on two of his three sensei at the martial arts dojo he attends and win. When they're not holding back. Natural talent, mindset, and dedication to training means a lot, too.

A few moments pass, then a message appears in my vision.

[From [Logan Smith]] I'm scared. But I'll be brave and strong. I don't want Granny to get hurt because of this.

"Good," I murmur back to him. "Goodbye, Logan."

[From [Logan Smith]] Bye. Stay safe, Carter. It was nice being friends with you. Maybe we'll see each other again one day.

"Maybe," I murmur, then we release and I ruffle his hair before looking at Greta. "Goodbye, Greta, and be safe."

"You as well, Carter," she says.

Logan gives me one more goodbye hug, then I head back home.