The Passing Of System

** Two Hours Earlier **

 Lucas blinked his eyes open, greeted not by the sight of the next Chosen One, but by a dense forest canopy. Disoriented, he called out to his ever-present companion, "System, where am I? We were supposed to be teleported to the next holder!"

Lucas had just emerged from a brutal battle with Leo, and the system, designed to safeguard its existence, had initiated an emergency protocol. In dire situations, when the current holder neared death, the system would expend its reserve energy to teleport them to the location of the successor. 

The system's voice crackled with concern, "We've crash-landed 2,000 years in the future. Your magical reserves were insufficient for a direct teleportation."

Lucas slumped, his voice heavy with despair, "This is rotten luck! I'm dying, and I can't find the next holder."

But a flicker of hope emerged. "There's a chance, Lucas," the system chirped. "The residual energy managed to bring us close to the future holder. My calculations indicate they're one hour south of our current location."

A sliver of hope pierced through Lucas's dejection. Yet, a bitter truth lingered, "But System, I'm barely clinging on. I don't know if I have the strength to reach them."

The system's reply held a somber note. "I understand your predicament, Lucas. But you must attempt this. Fate will decide the outcome."

With a resolute nod, Lucas pushed himself to his feet, his legs shaky but his will unyielding. He turned south, the forest canopy his only guide, and began his final trek, a desperate race against time.

** One Hour Earlier **

 An hour had bled past, each minute a relentless tug-of-war between him and exhaustion. His body, a once-proud machine, was now a sputtering engine, threatening to stall at any moment.

"Host," the system's voice, usually so crisp, crackled with urgency, "The future holder is just five minutes south! Keep pushing!" 

Lucas wanted to obey. He yearned to fulfill his duty, to pass on the mantle. But his legs, heavy with the weight of a thousand battles, refused to cooperate. With a defeated groan, he collapsed onto the unforgiving earth.

"Sorry, friend," he rasped, his voice a mere shadow of its former strength. "I can't... I can't run anymore."

He attempted to rise, a flicker of defiance sparking in his dimming eyes. But his muscles, traitors in their own right, betrayed him, sending him sprawling back down.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Looks like fate's got a cruel sense of humor, doesn't it?"

A heavy silence descended, broken only by the rasp of his shallow breaths. Guilt gnawed at him. "Useless," he whispered, the word a self-inflicted wound.

"There's no shame, my friend," the system murmured, a tinge of resignation in its tone. "We fought valiantly. We did all we could. This is where our journey ends, unfinished though it may be."

Lucas closed his eyes, accepting the inevitable. He braced himself for the suffocating embrace of darkness.

But fate, it seemed, wasn't quite done playing its hand. It was the moment destiny, in a final twist, decided to intervene. It was the moment Max stumbled upon this place, unknowingly walking into a future he could never have anticipated.

** The Incident ** 

Max and others decided to play 'Run and catch' today in the ground.

"Run and Catch" was a simple game in their poor village. One child, chosen as the runner, would get a head start, and the others would chase after them. If they caught the runner within five minutes, they won.

Today, Max, had won the coin toss and was the runner. With a grin, he darted off towards the far end of the clearing, the shouts of his friends urging him on.

Coincidentally, he ran towards the same direction Lucas was.

Lucas lay on the forest floor, hidden from the children's game. His life drained with each passing moment.

A jolt coursed through him, an whisper in his mind. "Lucas! Lucas, my friend! Fate has not abandoned us !" the system exclaimed.

Lucas blinked, his eyelids heavy. "What..." he croaked, his voice barely a rasp.

"The future holder is near!" the system declared with a surge of urgency. "One last push, Lucas! Transfer the System!"

A spark of renewed vigor flickered in Lucas's dimming eyes. He strained his neck, catching a glimpse of a figure coming towards him.

A surge of energy, fueled by desperation and a flicker of hope, coursed through Lucas one last time.

He activated his "Judgment Vision", using the last bit of energy left, and froze Max in mid-stride.

With a final surge of strength, Lucas lurched forward, his hand reaching out to touch Max's forehead.

"Hope is not dead yet!" Lucas roared, his voice a defiant echo in the clearing. "Hope is not dead yet!"

The transfer was swift, brutal even. Max crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his body overwhelmed by the sudden influx of power. A white light engulfed Lucas, and then, with a soft sigh, he was disintegrated but with a relieved face.

The other children, panting from their pursuit, stumbled into the clearing just in time to witness the final act of this strange drama. They saw Lucas vanish, leaving only an unconscious Max.

A collective gasp escaped their lips.

One small voice broke the silence, choked with tears. "Max... he's dead."

Panic surged through Devon. "I'll get help!" he cried, sprinting back towards the village, leaving the others huddled around their unconscious friend. The once lively clearing was now eerily silent, a stark reminder of fate's unpredictable twists.

Sobbing softly, the other children huddled around Max, waiting for Devon's return.

The clearing, once filled with the carefree laughter of children, now held a heavy silence, punctuated only by sniffles and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

Max, unknowingly, now held the key to a legacy – a legacy born of sacrifice and a flicker of hope, breathed into existence with the last words of a dying man.

** The Present **

William's chest tightened as he listened to Devon's frantic words. Michael's heart echoed the sentiment, a beat skipping in his chest. "What are you saying?" Michael demanded, his voice laced with urgency. "What happened?"

Devon, his face pale and etched with worry, stammered out a response, "Mysterious man...touched Max's forehead...disappeared..."

Sensing the urgency, Michael barked out a question, "Tell me where Max is! Now!"

Tears welled up in Devon's eyes as he replied, "He's in the village playground. I rushed towards the village and the other children are with him."

Without hesitation, Michael bolted towards the playground, leaving William behind. The five-kilometer distance seemed to shrink beneath his feet as he sprinted, fueled by adrenaline and fear.

Upon reaching the playground, he found two children crying and a boy desperately trying to lift an unconscious Max.

Relief washed over Michael as he saw a faint pulse still thrumming beneath Max's skin, though his forehead burned with an unnatural heat.

"He'll be alright," Michael reassured the children, his voice firm despite the worry gnawing at him. "I'm taking him to the village quickly. You should head back too."

The children, their faces tear-streaked, nodded silently. With renewed determination, Michael hoisted Max onto his shoulder and sprinted back towards the village.

News of Max's condition had spread like wildfire, drawing a crowd to William's house.

Michael gently laid Max on a bed as the villagers looked on with trepidation. William, a former adventurer and the village's only healer, hurriedly examined Max.

Despite his knowledge of medicine, William found no visible injuries or signs of illness. He shared a dejected look with Michael, both at a loss.

"I do not have any medical knowledge," Michael confessed apologetically.

William, defeated for the moment, requested a wet cloth. He placed it on Max's forehead and settled into a chair beside the bed, a silent vigil against the unknown.

Michael, unable to bear the tense atmosphere, stepped outside to address the worried villagers. "Max is unconscious, but he's alive," he announced. "William is doing everything he can. Please return to your homes; it's getting late."

The villagers, though anxious, found some solace in Michael's words. They offered their help if needed, a gesture Michael acknowledged with a grateful nod.

News of Max's predicament had reached Mary as well. She rushed to William's house, her heart pounding with fear.

Finding Michael at the gate, she bombarded him with questions, demanding to know what had happened. Michael filled her in on the details, his voice heavy with worry. Mary wasted no time in joining Max's side.

Michael, seeing his distress, gently led Devon to another room, urging him to get some rest.

"When will he recover?" Mary pleaded, her voice trembling as she looked at William. "Please do something, anything!"

William, his face etched with worry, replied, "I've tried everything I know, but I can't diagnose the problem. His pulse is steady, but he shows no other reactions. There's nothing physically wrong with him."

Michael, who had re-entered the room unnoticed, spoke up, his voice resolute. "We can't just sit here! If we don't know what's wrong, we need to take him to the city."

Mary, desperate for a solution, offered a silent nod of agreement.

William, however, countered with a heavy heart, "It's night time. We're not strong enough to navigate the forest in the dark. Let's wait until morning. If Max doesn't wake up by then, we'll take him to Pulkit City. You, Michael, go get Drake and tell him to prepare the horse cart."

The journey to Pulkit City traversed the perilous outskirts of the forest, safe only during daylight hours. At night, ferocious beasts roamed free, making travel a gamble.

Drake, the sole owner of a horse cart in the village, was often sought after by villagers seeking passage to the city.

Michael, tasked with securing the cart, reached Drake's house only to find a locked door. A neighbor informed him that Drake had left for the city two days prior.

Dejected, Michael returned to William's house, his face etched with disappointment.

William, upon seeing his glum expression, inquired, "What happened?"

Michael, his voice heavy with disappointment, reported, "Drake left for the city two days ago."

William sighed, a deep rumble escaping his chest. "Seems luck isn't on our side tonight."

A spark of determination flickered in Michael's eyes. "No need to worry. I'll take Max to the city myself, on foot."

William nodded and replied, " I'm coming with you."

Michael offered a resolute nod.

The three of them settled in for a long night. Mary selflessly took on the task of changing the wet cloth on Max's forehead whenever it dried.

** Two Hours Later **

The weight of the situation pressed down on William. He suggested to Michael, "You should get some rest. We'll need our strength for tomorrow."

"Alright, I'll sleep for a while," Michael agreed. "Wake me up in three hours so you can rest too."

William nodded, and Michael settled down on the floor in the same room, trying to catch some sleep. Mary, a sentinel by Max's bedside, remained awake, her vigil unwavering.

** One Hour Later **

Time crawled by, and Max showed no signs of regaining consciousness. William and Mary's worry deepened with each passing hour.

Unbeknownst to them, within the stillness of the room, a strange transformation was taking place within Max.