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I woke alone

Artifact Intent​

  • Story role: Day Opening for Day 1. Establishes the MC's body, kit, and sensorium. Anchors the diegetic register the rest of Day 1 inherits.
  • Playable-lore position: ruin -> clue step; the MC themselves is the first clue. Triggers the survive thread and seeds the Journal as a recurring surface.
  • What this artifact must not claim: any cosmological explanation for arrival; any named anchor or named cosmological state; any visible divine mark; any narrator voice that knows more than the MC.

Narrative Surface Notes​

  • Artifact shape: handwritten diary entry. Short paragraphs, breath cuts, sentences that trail.
  • Player-facing uncertainty: the MC does not know where they are, how they got there, or why their body feels wrong. The MC does not interpret; the MC observes.
  • Journal or objective linkage: surfaces in the Journal as the opening Day 1 entry; the act0.survive.get-up objective is the immediate next step.

Body Draft​

I woke alone.

The light is wrong for noon. Too low. Or I am wrong about the time. My hand hurts when I close it. Knuckles. Cold ground.

What the fuck. Where is this.

I sat up slow because the ribs did not want it. No blood on my shirt. Nothing torn. The pack is still on the strap across my chest like I lay down with it. I did not lie down with it. I do not remember lying down.

Inventory while it is in front of me. One tin pot, dented. A coil of twine, short. The knife with the chipped edge — still in the sheath. A bandage, the one with the smell, half-used. Flint. Two strips of jerky. A water skin, near empty. Wool I keep meaning to mend.

No phone. Of course no phone.

I checked my skin for marks. The way you do when you wake and the world has slipped. Nothing. A bruise on the forearm that could be from anything. No cuts that explain the headache. No signature on me. I do not know why I wrote that — "no signature on me" — but I wrote it and I am leaving it.

The trees here look like trees. The moss looked like English moss, but greener, and it grew up the stones in a pattern I did not recognise. The stones are old. I do not know what kind of old yet.

The air is quieter than it should be. Like a room after someone has stopped talking.

I am going to stand up. I am going to find water before I do anything else.

Playable Consequences​

  • Immediate consequence: act0.survive.get-up resolves; act0.survive.find-water opens as the next directive.
  • Follow-up clue, mission, site, or world-state change: Journal accepts diary entries on this thread; later entries chain off this opening.
  • Related branch or linear continuation: linear; the next entry is act0-day1-water-first.

Review Notes​

  • Open questions: the placeholder name for the failing anchor is left absent on purpose; later entries continue to use "the old stones" descriptive form.
  • Canon-delta follow-up: none. The MC's no-mark and Earth-origin facts are already hard canon in gl-mc-corebound.md and gl-mc-earthborn-backgrounds.md.
  • Audit carry-forward: the ## Voice Readback heading is a provisional surface name. If a later story-layer wave commits a different heading (e.g. ## Audio Readback), retrofit all Day-1 entries together.

Voice Readback​

I woke alone.

The light was wrong for noon. Too low, or I was wrong about the time. My hand hurt when I closed it. Knuckles. Cold ground.

I sat up slowly because my ribs did not want it. There was no blood on my shirt. Nothing was torn. The pack was still on the strap across my chest, as if I had lain down with it. I had not lain down with it. I did not remember lying down.

I took inventory while it was in front of me. One tin pot, dented. A short coil of twine. The knife with the chipped edge, still in its sheath. A half-used bandage, the one with the smell. Flint. Two strips of jerky. A water skin, almost empty. Wool I kept meaning to mend.

No phone, of course.

I checked my skin for marks. The way you do when you wake and the world has slipped. There was nothing. A bruise on the forearm that could have come from anything. No cuts to explain the headache. No signature on me.

The trees there looked like trees. The moss looked like English moss, but greener, and it grew up the stones in a pattern I did not recognise. The stones were old. I did not know what kind of old yet.

The air was quieter than it should have been. Like a room after someone has stopped talking.

I was going to stand up. I was going to find water before I did anything else.