Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK

Ethan came back to himself in the terminal chamber the same way he’d left it - sword in hand, Kaia and Sundari nearby, the golden light steady and unhurried, as if no time had passed at all despite everything he’d just lived through.

”How long was I gone?” he asked, voice rough.

”Six minutes,” Kaia said, checking the readout on the terminal’s base. ”You looked like you were somewhere else, but physically you never moved.”

”Six minutes,” Ethan repeated, disbelieving. The kitchen, his mother’s voice, the vast gray emptiness, the sound of a battle he couldn’t reach - all of it had felt like considerably longer than six minutes, the particular distortion of trauma compressing and stretching time in ways that didn’t map cleanly onto a clock.

Sundari studied him carefully, her expression tight with something between relief and concern. ”You look shaken.”

”I am shaken,” Ethan admitted. ”There was an attack. On the courtyard. While I was in there.”

Kaia’s face went pale. ”Was it real?”

”I don’t know yet,” Ethan said, already moving toward the stairs, sword still gripped tight. ”I need to find out.”

He surfaced to find the courtyard in the aftermath of exactly what the trial had shown him - battered, scorched in places, medical volunteers moving between a scattering of injured defenders, but standing, intact, alive.

Suresh spotted him first, crossing the distance quickly despite visible exhaustion. ”You’re back. Are you alright?”

”I should be asking you that,” Ethan said, taking in the scene properly now - Kael tending a shallow cut along his forearm, Ren helping steady one of the refugee volunteers, Priya coordinating the last of the cleanup with the same brisk efficiency she brought to everything. ”The trial showed me this. An attack. Instance-9 hardliners, breaching the perimeter, and I couldn’t get to you. I thought-”

”We held,” Suresh said simply. ”Nobody died. A few injuries, nothing that won’t heal. We handled it.”

Ethan stood there for a long moment, the weight of the trial’s lesson settling into something he could finally hold properly, now that he was seeing the truth of it with his own eyes rather than through the Origin Engine’s constructed uncertainty.

”You handled it,” he repeated slowly. ”Without me. The whole time.”

”That’s kind of the point of building a real defense instead of just relying on one person’s power,” Priya said, joining them, wiping sweat from her brow. ”You’ve spent months making sure we had training, resources, actual structure. This is what all that was for.”

Ethan looked around at the courtyard - at Kael and Ren working together seamlessly, at Suresh’s steady coordination, at the refugee volunteers who’d stood their ground instead of fleeing, at the tea golem, of all things, rolling between the injured with what looked, unmistakably, like a jury-rigged first-aid kit strapped to its frame.

”I keep thinking I’m the only thing standing between this place and disaster,” Ethan said quietly, mostly to himself. ”Turns out that stopped being true a while ago, and I just didn’t notice.”

Suresh’s expression softened. ”That’s not a bad thing to learn, Ethan. It means we built something that survives you, not just something that depends on you.”

Ethan let that settle, something in his chest easing that he hadn’t fully realized was tight until this exact moment. ”Yeah,” he said. ”Yeah, I think that’s actually the best news I’ve had all week.”

The Instance-9 delegation’s official response came within the hour, and it arrived with considerably more weight than the earlier confrontation had carried.

Regent Halvorsen returned through the corridor herself, expression grim, flanked not by soldiers this time but by a small, subdued contingent of aides, and approached Ethan directly across the battle-scarred courtyard.

”The hardliner faction acted without my authorization,” she said, before Ethan could speak. ”I want that stated plainly, and I want you to know we’ve already begun disciplinary proceedings against everyone involved in this breach. This was not sanctioned by Instance-9’s government.”

”I believe you,” Ethan said. ”For what it’s worth.”

”It’s worth quite a lot, actually,” Halvorsen said, some of her earlier hostility giving way to something more careful, more genuinely uncertain. ”Your people held this line without loss of life against a trained military force acting in genuine bad faith. That’s not something I expected, and I owe you an apology for how I approached this situation earlier.”

”You don’t owe me anything,” Ethan said. ”You were scared for your king. I get that. I’d probably have done something similarly rash if the situation were reversed.”

Halvorsen studied him for a long moment. ”You passed the first trial. We’ve received the notification through our own channels.”

”Yeah,” Ethan said. ”About twenty minutes ago.”

”No one has passed it cleanly before,” she said. ”Not Malachar, from what our own monitoring suggests - his outcome remains unconfirmed, still pending as of this conversation. Not the Instance 12-Kesh successor, according to their own historical record. What does that mean, exactly, that you succeeded where others struggled?”

Ethan considered the question carefully, thinking back to the vast gray emptiness, to his mother’s voice, to the quiet, hard-won certainty that his people didn’t need him to be invincible, just present, just trustworthy, just honest about what he could and couldn’t control.

”I think it means I got lucky enough to build something worth trusting before I ever had to find out whether I actually trusted it,” Ethan said finally. ”That’s not a strategy. That’s just - the life I happened to build, mostly by accident, because I wanted good tea and quiet mornings more than I wanted power.”

Halvorsen’s expression shifted, something almost wistful crossing her composed features. ”That is a luxury my Instance never had the stability to build. We were too busy surviving to invest in the kind of trust you’re describing.”

”Maybe,” Ethan said carefully, ”that’s part of what your king was actually looking for, when he registered for this thing. Not power. A chance to find out if what he built could survive without him leaning on it constantly.”

Halvorsen didn’t have an immediate answer for that, but something in her expression suggested the thought had landed somewhere real.

That evening, once the courtyard had finally settled into something resembling calm, Ethan sat with the system’s quiet presence near the excavation site one more time, processing the full weight of everything the day had thrown at him.

[NOTICE: The system would like to formally log the outcome of today’s events. The subject passed the first trial. The Citadel successfully defended itself without his direct involvement. Regent Halvorsen’s confrontation resolved into something closer to mutual understanding than hostility. By any reasonable measure, today represents a genuine, significant success.]

”Feels like it, honestly,” Ethan admitted. ”First time in a while I’ve felt something close to that.”

[NOTICE: The system would like to raise two matters before the evening fully settles, both time-sensitive.]

Ethan glanced over, bracing himself out of habit. ”Go ahead.”

[First: the second trial’s countdown has already begun. The system estimates it will commence in approximately eighteen hours - considerably faster than the gap between registration and the first trial, suggesting the pacing accelerates as candidates progress.]

”Eighteen hours,” Ethan repeated. ”Barely enough time to recover from this one.”

[The system agrees this appears intentional. It would recommend using the time to rest as thoroughly as possible rather than over-preparing, given that the Anchor trial’s core lesson appeared to reward genuine, lived trust rather than strategic anticipation.]

”And the second thing?”

[NOTICE: The system has just received an update on Malachar Vess’s trial outcome, delayed until now due to processing complications the archive doesn’t fully explain.]

[His result reads, simply: ”PARTIAL PASS - CONDITION UNSTABLE.”]

Ethan felt his stomach tighten. ”What does that actually mean.”

[NOTICE: The system does not have a clean answer. What it can confirm is this — unlike the subject, Malachar Vess did not emerge from his trial the same way he entered it. His registered status within the Grinding’s own tracking system has just been updated to reflect an urgent flag the system has not seen used before.]

[DESIGNATION: ”CANDIDATE COMPROMISED - MONITORING REQUIRED.”]