Reality re-solidified around me. One moment, I was a disembodied consciousness on the brink of a decision; the next, I was standing in the flesh, the scent of damp earth and spilled alien blood sharp in my nostrils. The world of the Glimpse was a perfect, flawless replica of the one I had just observed, a three-hour pocket of a possible future laid out before me. The five survivors were still tending to their wounds, their movements jerky with post-adrenaline fatigue, their tense conversation a low murmur.

The time for observation was over. This was the simulation. The test run.

My plan was simple and born of a deep, personal understanding of what it meant to be hunted and terrified. Power was a threat. An equal was a rival. But weakness, a specific and non-threatening kind of weakness, could be a key. I deliberately unslung my small pack, placing it on the ground in a clearing about thirty yards from them. I left my primary weapon, a simple but well-made arming sword, sheathed at my belt. With slow, deliberate movements, I stepped out from behind the veil of blue-veined ferns, my hands held open and away from my body.

It was like kicking an anthill.

"Contact!" a sharp voice — the human male's — barked.

In a split second, their weary, recovery-mode posture vanished, replaced by the hardened discipline of a unit that had survived hell. The crossbow was up, a bolt locked in place and aimed squarely at my chest. The stout warrior swung his massive war hammer off his shoulder, his stance a rock-solid foundation of power. The human male's shield was raised, the edge of his shortsword glinting just above it. The reptilian creature melted into a low crouch, its twin daggers now in its clawed hands, a predator ready to flank. Most unnerving of all, the tall, pale being didn't move so much as flow into a ready position, its strange purple eyes fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

"That's far enough," the man with the shield said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He took a half-step forward, positioning himself as the clear leader. "State your name and your purpose. Now."

"Easy," I said, my voice pitched to be as calm and non-threatening as possible. I didn't take another step. "I mean you no harm. I saw you take on that Skulker. Impressive work."

My compliment was met with stony silence. They weren't here to be flattered. The woman with the crossbow narrowed her eyes. "You saw the fight? How long have you been watching us?"

It was the first test. Admit to stalking them, and I'm a potential predator. Lie unconvincingly, and I'm an idiot.

"Long enough to know I didn't want to get in the middle of it," I answered honestly. "I was tracking it, hoping it would lead me to a water source. It found you first." I gestured with my chin towards the man's bleeding arm and the stout one's thigh. "Looks like it left you with some parting gifts. I can help with that."

A dry, skeptical laugh escaped the man. "Help? And what kind of help could a lone traveler offer, out here in the gods-forsaken muck?"

"I'm a healer," I stated simply.

The word hung in the air, thick with their disbelief. In a world defined by combat skills, brutal strength, and predatory cunning, a dedicated healer was a rare and valuable commodity — or a very, very convincing liar.

"Prove it," the man challenged, his skepticism hardening his face.

This was the linchpin of the entire encounter. I nodded slowly. "Your arm. The one with the gashes. Let me see it."

He hesitated, his eyes darting to the woman, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. He was torn between caution and the undeniable sting of his deep wounds. Out here, an infection was just a slower, more agonizing death sentence than a beast's claws.

"Chris, don't," the woman warned, her voice tight. "We don't know him."

"What have I got to lose, Paula?" the man, Chris, shot back, frustration clear in his tone. "Another layer of skin? This stuff burns like hellfire." He kept his shield up with his good arm, but cautiously extended his wounded one. "Fine. Healer. Show me."

I walked forward slowly, stopping a good five feet away. I didn't want to crowd him. I focused my will, drawing on the well of Soulfire within me. This had to be subtle, not a grand display like my Aura. I reached out a hand, palm up, and activated [Phoenix Pyre Mending].

A soft, warm, golden light coalesced in my palm, no larger than a candle flame. It didn't rage; it pulsed with a gentle, life-affirming rhythm, casting a warm glow on our faces. The air around it shimmered with a comforting heat. I saw their eyes widen, a flicker of true awe cutting through their hardened exteriors. Even the silent, pale creature, Lorian, tilted its head, its purple orbs reflecting the tiny flame with unnerving clarity.

"Hold still," I murmured. I guided the small flame with my will, letting it drift from my palm and hover over Chris' bleeding forearm.

He flinched as it approached, his muscles tensing for a burn that never came. Instead, the golden light sank into his skin. He let out a sharp, involuntary hiss, but it was one of shock, not pain. I could see the effect myself, watching his wound heal in the Glimpse. The jagged, bleeding gashes, which had been oozing dark blood, sizzled faintly. The edges of the wounds pulled together with impossible speed, the flesh knitting itself closed. The angry red inflammation receded, and in under ten seconds, all that remained were three thin, pink lines, like old, faded scars. The pain, he realized with a jolt, was completely gone.

He stared at his arm, then at me, his mouth slightly agape. The hostility in his eyes was replaced by a potent, confused mixture of awe, suspicion, and naked greed. "What… what in the seven hells was that?"

"Mana," I said, keeping my tone level. "The restorative kind. Now, what about your friend?" I looked towards the stout warrior who reminded me of dwarven species in fiction. He was staring at Chris' arm, then at me, his own wariness battling with the throbbing pain in his leg.

Chris lowered his shield a few inches. "Gror. Let him."

Gror grunted, but he didn't argue. He sat heavily on a rock, exposing the deep claw mark on his thigh. I repeated the process, mending the wound with another gentle pulse of Soulfire. The tension in the group's posture eased from a breaking point to a simple, wary tautness. The immediate threat of their injuries was gone, and my value had just skyrocketed.

But so had their suspicion.

"Alright, Healer," Chris said, his eyes sharp and analytical now. "You've bought yourself some questions. And you'll answer them. My name is Chris. This is Paula, Gror, Ssk'li," he gestured to the reptilian, "and Lorian."

"Eren," I supplied, not finding a need for a fake name in the Glimpse. "Just Eren."

"Just Eren," Paula repeated, her crossbow still held at a low ready. "You're awfully well-fed for a lone healer. And that skill… that's no Tier 2 parlor trick. We came from Nunamnir, the Extreme Acclimation Zone. We never saw anyone with an ability that clean, that powerful. Where did you get it?"

"My group," I began, launching into the cover story I had been refining in my head for days. "There were six of us. We were… strong. Our leader was a powerful warrior, but the rest of us were his support, healers, pathfinders, that sort of thing. We survived the tutorial by staying out of sight, never picking fights we couldn't win. That skill was a gift, a lucky break from the System after we managed to protect a sacred grove from a blighted creature. A one-in-a-million drop." It was a plausible lie, weaving in System mechanics they would understand.

"Your group?" Chris pressed. "Where are they now?"

I let my gaze drop, summoning a feeling of loss that wasn't entirely fake — the memory of the car crash, of awakening alone, was always just beneath the surface. "Gone," I said, my voice quiet. "We were all dumped in the same translocation point as everyone else. A week's journey from here. The initial chaos… the packs of beasts… we were ambushed by a swarm of something nasty, acidic spitters that caught us in an ambush. I was the only one who made it out."

It wasn't a convincing story if I were being honest, but it was enough — tragic, relatable. I could see a flicker of sympathy in Paula's eyes, but Chris' suspicion remained.

"A week's journey from here?" he said, his eyes narrowing. "The translocation pillars dropped us all at the same time, four days ago. How in the blazes did you get so far ahead of us? And on your own?"

This was the critical question. The one I had anticipated.

"We didn't take the main route," I explained, meeting his gaze directly. "Our pathfinder, before she died, found a different way. An old fissure, a kind of underground river tunnel that bypassed the Dead Marshes. We thought it was a shortcut. It was… but the things living down there… that's where we lost them. The acidic things. I was lucky to crawl out into the daylight two days ago. I've just been trying to get my bearings since."

The lie explained my advanced position, reinforced my tragic backstory, and even added a layer of trauma that would make them less likely to push for details. Chris chewed on it, sharing a look with Gror, who just grunted. Ssk'li, the reptilian, had remained utterly silent, his slitted eyes watching me without blinking, judging.

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"We are heading to the Kyorian stronghold," Paula stated, changing the subject. It wasn't a question at least. "Nexus Delta-7. You?"

"I heard there's a settlement there," I said, feigning ignorance. "A place to rest, get supplies. Maybe find other survivors."

"It's more than a settlement," Chris said, a cynical edge to his voice. "It's the only real power in this whole damned sector. We have an arrangement, a pre-negotiated contract with the Ironheart Vanguard. They're a major guild, sanctioned by the Empire. We did some… favors for one of their recruiters back in Nunamnir. In exchange, we get priority processing, good barracks, and a real chance at advancement."

The pieces clicked into place. This was the Kyorian control method in action. Not just a demand for loyalty, but a structured, appealing system of patronage. They didn't just herd cattle; they offered the strongest sheep a better pen and a promise of becoming wolves themselves. It was insidious, and brilliant.

"You trust them?" I asked, letting a hint of doubt enter my voice.

"Trust?" Paula scoffed. "Trust is for fools and children, Eren. We don't trust the Vanguard. We don't trust the Kyorians. But we understand them. They value power, efficiency, and results. We provide that, they provide stability. It's the best deal we're going to get in this life."

Her words painted a bleak, pragmatic picture of the universe they had been forced to accept. They weren't Imperial loyalists. They were cynical realists, trying to survive in a galaxy run by a seemingly omnipotent, authoritarian power.

For another hour, I let them talk, asking careful, unassuming questions. I learned of the horrors of Nunamnir's 'culling phases.' I heard them speak of treacherous 'Cooperative Trials' and the vicious guild politics. Their stories were chillingly similar to the fears I held for Anna, confirming that her experience would have been just as brutal. I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach, but kept my face a mask of weary sympathy.

The Glimpse had been a resounding success. I had their names, their general capabilities, their immediate goal, their route, and a deep understanding of their cynical, survival-oriented mindset. I even had a viable, tested method for approaching them that would build a foundation of trust. My fabricated identity as 'Eren the Healer,' the sole survivor of a support-class group, was a perfect fit, should I decide to meet them outside the Glimpse.

The simulated interaction drew to a close. They had finished butchering the Skulker, packing the meat and hide. Chris gave me one last, long look. "You're coming with us. A healer of your skill is too valuable to leave to the whims of the forest. You'll pull your weight, you'll follow my orders, and you might just live to see the Nexus."

"I heard about a Prime System settlement in this direction," I said, feigning a weary hope. "Not the Nexus. I'm not interested in the Kyorians. I'm looking for someone. I was hoping I might find them at one of the neutral settlements."

This was the divergence. The test.

Chris' face, which had been approaching a state of grudging acceptance, hardened instantly. The air grew thick with menace. "That's a stupid, sentimental reason to walk to your death. The Prime settlements are glorified refugee camps, unprotected. The real power, the real safety, is with the Empire."

"Perhaps," I said. "But I'm not looking for a guild contract."

"That's not how this works," Chris said, his voice dropping low, losing all its previous civility. He took a step forward, his shield held high again. "An asset like you — a powerful, independent healer — doesn't just wander the woods. You are either with a faction, or you become the property of one. You're coming with us to Nexus Delta-7. The Ironheart Vanguard will pay handsomely for a healer of your caliber. This is no longer a request."

Paula raised her crossbow, the motion fluid. Gror hefted his war hammer, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. Ssk'li's daggers were once again in his hands, his body coiling. Lorian, the pale one, remained perfectly still, but the ambient energy in the air around it felt suddenly colder.

This was the answer I needed. Their pragmatism was absolute. Their morality was situational. And any valuable asset not nailed down was theirs for the taking. The Glimpse had served its purpose. Now for the post-script.

"I don't think you understand," I said, my voice changing, shedding the weary traveler persona and taking on an edge of cold, hard steel. "I declined your offer."

Chris laughed, a short, ugly bark. "And I don't think you understand the numbers. There are five of us. One of you. We can do this the easy way, or…"

He didn't get to finish. I activated [Shadow-Weave Stride].

For them, it must have been like I simply ceased to exist in one spot and appeared in another. I didn't rush them; I appeared directly behind Paula. The cold, hard edge of my sheathed sword pressed against her throat before she could even process that I was no longer in front of her.

"Drop it," I said, my voice a low whisper in her ear. Her entire body went rigid with shock. The crossbow fell from her numb fingers, clattering onto the forest floor.

The others shouted in confused rage. Chris spun around, his face a mask of disbelief. Gror roared and charged. I shoved Paula towards Chris, forcing them to untangle, and met Gror's charge. His hammer swung in a whistling arc meant to crush my skull.

It was laughably slow.

I didn't even draw my sword. I channeled a surge of raw Mana into my palm and met the face of the charging war hammer with an open hand. The resulting boom was like a thunderclap. An explosive wave of force ripped outward, sending leaves and dirt flying. The steel hammer, an object of immense weight and momentum, stopped dead as if it had hit a mountain. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. Gror's eyes widened in stunned horror, unable to comprehend the physics of what had just happened, just before the kinetic feedback shattered both of his wrists and sent him staggering backward, screaming in agony.

Ssk'li was next. He moved like a viper, lunging from my blind spot, his twin daggers aimed for my kidneys. I didn't turn. I simply stomped my foot down. The ground beneath me erupted, a localized shockwave of my Mana that threw the reptilian off his feet as if he'd been kicked by a mule. He landed hard, gasping for air.

Chris and Lorian were the only ones left. They stood frozen, their faces etched with a primal terror that went beyond simple fear of battle. This wasn't a fight. This was a culling. They were staring at a power level they couldn't even classify.

"Let's try this again," I said, the cold authority in my voice leaving no room for negotiation. "I'm going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer them. In detail. Tell me about the 'Extreme Acclimation Zone.' Tell me about the different species you encountered there. Tell me about the human population specifically. Were they all kept together? Did you meet a young woman, maybe eighteen or nineteen, skilled with a bow? Or an older man, late sixties, with knowledge of botany and history?"

My voice was calm, but the pressure of my aura, a fraction of the [Aura of Cindered Dominion]'s passive spiritual weight leaking out, was crushing them. Chris' face was white as a sheet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He finally understood. They hadn't found a valuable asset. They had poked a sleeping bear.

In the surreal, time-stopped reality of the Glimpse, Chris swallowed hard, the tough-survivor persona completely shattered. "Alright," he rasped, his eyes flicking from Gror, who was cradling his broken wrists, to me. "Alright, whatever you want."

I let the pressure of my aura recede slightly, allowing them to breathe. "Let's start with Nunamnir. You called it an 'Extreme Acclimation Zone.' Describe it."

Paula, her face pale, began to speak, her voice trembling. "It… it was hell. They threw thousands of us in. The first few months were just… culling. Starvation, dehydration trials, monster waves in enclosed biodomes. Designed to see who would break, who would die, and who was worth a damn."

Chris picked up the thread, his voice rough. "After that, it was the 'Cooperative Integration Trials.' Forced teamwork. They'd put different species in a combat simulation with a single objective and limited resources. You learned to work together fast, or you learned to backstab even faster. The Overseers watched it all, taking notes. Rewarding treachery sometimes, just to see what would happen."

This lined up chillingly with my worst fears about Anna's potential experience. It was a factory for producing paranoid, efficient killers.

"The humans," I said, my voice hardening. "Were they all kept in the same blocks?"

"No," Chris said immediately, shaking his head. "Never. They split everyone up. Families, ethnic groups, planetary cohorts… all shattered. I only ever saw a few dozen other humans at any given time in my assigned zone. The Kyorians made sure no single species could form a large enough, cohesive group to be a threat."

A cold dread coiled in my gut, but I pushed it down. This was valuable, if grim, intelligence. It explained that finding Anna or my grandfather would potentially be like searching for a single grain of sand on an endless beach.

"Think," I pressed, my gaze intense. "A young woman. About eighteen or nineteen. Exceptionally skilled with a bow. Or an older man, late sixties, bookish, loves tinkering and crafting."

They all exchanged quick, fearful glances, desperately searching their memories. It was Paula who answered, her voice laced with genuine regret. "There were thousands of people, coming and going… so many faces. I… I saw a few good archers… I don't know... I never learned their names. As for an old man… anyone that age who wasn't a fighter… they would have chosen an artisan route. I'm sorry."

Her apology felt sincere, a moment of shared humanity in the face of my overwhelming power. It was the answer I expected, but it still hit like a stone. They didn't know them. The lead was cold.

"Alright," I said, shifting my line of questioning. My real goal in this Glimpse wasn't finding them directly, but building a believable cover story. "Tell me about the social structure. The guilds."

Chris seemed relieved by the change in topic. "Dozens. The big ones in our cohorts were the Ironheart Vanguard, all discipline and steel. The Artificer's Cog, for tech-heads. The Shadow Weavers, for spies and assassins. They were always recruiting, always looking for an edge. They're the real power under the Kyorians."

"And what's a common backstory?" I asked. "What kind of person makes it through without joining a guild?"

"Lone wolves," Paula supplied. "Or small, tight fireteams like us. People who are too stubborn, too paranoid, or have a unique skill they want to leverage for themselves. People who say they lost their team in the initial chaos are a dime a dozen. No one would question that story."

Perfect. They had just handed me the key elements for my legend. Sole survivor. Possessor of a rare, non-combat skill. A believable reason for being alone and unaffiliated. I now had enough material to construct a persona that would withstand the scrutiny of a settlement full of cynical, traumatized survivors.

My objective for this Glimpse was complete. I had their tactical capabilities, their moral flexibility, and a tested method of interaction — both gentle and aggressive. Most importantly, I had a working knowledge of the brutal world they had just left, a "memory" of Nunamnir that I could now draw upon.

The simulated interaction drew to its end. I held their terrified gazes for one last moment. I saw their calculations, their dawning understanding that they had tried to press-gang a force of nature. It was an invaluable lesson.

My consciousness detached, pulling back from the fabricated reality of the Glimpse. The world dissolved, the entire three-hour event — the healing, the intimidation, the interrogation — compressing into a silent, instantaneous memory. I was back in my own body, hidden in the ferns, the real survivors still panting, completely unaware of the terrifying future that had just played out in my mind.

Not a second had passed. The path forward was no longer a question. It was a detailed schematic, illuminated by the harsh, controlled light of a glimpse into their broken trust.

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