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|| last time ||

Thane wakes in Arbelon mid-escape, injured and bound to a stolen horse as the group rides deeper into the forest to stay ahead of the Riders. When they finally stop, Lirien tends his wound and offers him a rare moment of kindness before Kaelir reveals they are heading next to Comstock, where they hope to disappear before the hunt catches up.

Chapter 12 - A Hog’s Breath Welcome

The road narrowed as they approached the village, hemmed in by forest on both sides. Thick-trunked trees leaned in close, their limbs gnarled like old fingers. Purple hues of dusk crept through the branches overhead, turning the forest to shadow. The air was still but not silent—just hushed, like the trees were listening. The steady clop of hooves echoed off the packed earth, joined by the soft rush of a nearby river weaving in and out of view between the trees.

A crooked wooden sign marked the path ahead: Comstock — the paint faded, half-swallowed by moss and time.

Thane squinted at it, unimpressed. The name meant nothing to him—but something about the hush in the trees made him wish it did.

Kaelir rode ahead without pause, clearly familiar with the way.

As they crested a small rise, the trees opened into a hollow, revealing the village nestled at the river’s bend. Wooden cottages with neat thatched roofs clustered together, each with a stone chimney puffing thin trails of smoke into the cool night air. Their windows were aglow with lamplight casting golden reflections off the water that threaded between the buildings. A series of charming wooden bridges arched over the gently moving current, connecting paths and cottages like veins in a living map.

Comstock was no sprawling city—but the neatly stacked firewood and freshly swept stoops marked a community that took pride in its own. It pulsed with life, as people moved briskly to finish their day’s work. A butcher hauled a basket of game into his shop. Two kids darted past, laughing, before vanishing down a side lane. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, then fell silent. There was movement, warmth, and a quiet sort of vigilance behind every glance from the villagers.

It didn’t look like a place that welcomed visitors. It looked like a place that didn’t get many.

As they passed through the narrow main road, villagers paused in their evening routines, eyes drawn to the visitors. Conversations dimmed briefly, but then carried on in hushed tones.

Thane noted the unease—not fear, exactly, but a wariness likely sharpened by the fact that they were on the Riders’ horses. Stolen. And from the eyes directed their way, it was clear everyone here knew as much.

They kept moving, following Kaelir across a wooden bridge. At the far end of the main road, nestled between a leaning stable and an old stone well, stood a squat timber building. Faded green shingles adorned the roof, and a matching wooden sign swung gently above the door: The Hog’s Breath Inn.

“You weren’t kidding,” Erynn said, eyeing the rustic porch. “Somehow exactly what I expected… and still worse,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose.

Kaelir dismounted with a grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s the charm.”

As the others dismounted, several villagers slowed to watch them. Not their faces—their horses.

Thane caught it too. The gray mounts still wore the Rider’s tack—impossible to miss.

A gruff voice rang out from the Inn’s open doorway, “Just take the horses to the stable.”

A burly man stepped out onto the porch, wiping his hands on a stained apron. His beard was thick and streaked with gray, one eye clouded with cataract. The other fixed sharply on Kaelir.

“Well, I’ll be,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you unless someone was dragging your body behind a cart.”

Kaelir offered a half-smile. “Give it time.”

The man smiled, his good eye flicked over the group, then down to the horses. His mouth thinned. “You bringin’ trouble to my doorstep, or just asking for a drink?”

“Little of both,” Kaelir said. “We need these horses to disappear.”

The man snorted. “Yeah, no kidding. Whole damn valley’ll know those beasts.”

“This is Garrus,” Kaelir said over his shoulder. “Owner. Cook. Tavern-keep. Disgruntled local legend.”

Garrus eyed the horses again. “I’ll see they go missing by morning. But if you brought trouble with you—”

“We’ll be gone by first light,” Kaelir said.

“You better be,” Garrus muttered, before hollering to the stablehands. “Now, get inside,” he said, motioning them forward. “You’re making the neighbors nervous.”

Inside, the Inn was anything but subtle. Warm candlelight spilled across timber walls and mismatched rugs. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread clung to the air. A wide hearth dominated one end of the room, the fire within crackling and bright.

The place was alive with low chatter and clinking mugs. A handful of locals were gathered at tables—hunters in well-worn cloaks, traders passing through, a couple of locals dicing quietly by the bar.

Light from the hearth spilled across the polished wood floor. A rack of drying herbs hung behind the bar, filling the room with an earthy scent. A hunting spear and a stuffed black-feathered bird hung over the mantle. Trophies. Part inn, part gathering spot, and apparently the unofficial seat of Comstock’s secretive charm.

A few heads turned as the group entered—mostly to stare at the newcomers’ clothes, and more pointedly, at the Riders’ horses now stationed out front.

Garrus waved them toward a large table near the hearth, where he was already clearing it with exaggerated grumbling.

“This one’s yours,” he said. “No one else wants it now, anyway.”

“Because of us?” Erynn asked.

“Because I said so.”

Garrus brought out a round of mugs without being asked, slapping them down with a muttered, “House ale. Still awful.”

Cael sniffed his suspiciously. Erynn didn’t even touch hers.

Thane took a sip. Bitter. Earthy. Weirdly strong. He winced, and set the mug down like it might bite him. “Shit, awful is an understatement.”

“It’s tradition,” Garrus called from across the room, as Kaelir patted Thane on the back with a chuckle before taking a sip of his own.

“You’ll live,” Lirien said, sliding onto the bench beside him as Garrus returned with bowls of a thick, meat-heavy stew that smelled far better than it looked.

Garrus dropped it all with a grunt. “Eat up. You’ll need it.”

Thane dipped his spoon and blinked. “Okay. This food has no right tasting this good.”

“Arbelon’s full of contradictions. This inn’s one of the better ones,” Cael said quietly.

Thane scanned the tavern like he was in a cutscene. A bar full of locals. A roaring fire. A mysterious innkeeper. He half-expected to see a quest board by the bar.

The fire popped loudly from across the room. A moment later, a lanky man stepped onto a small platform in the corner with a lute in hand. He didn’t speak—just strummed once, twice, and then began to play.

The tune was slow and minor, a sad melody that wove through the corners of the inn, softening conversations, lowering voices.

Thane’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. The music was oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place it. And the longer the bard played, the more the familiarity grew.

Thane leaned forward, listening despite himself.

The song spoke of a traveler bound by fate. Of a city sealed in silence, a land swallowed whole by whispers. Of voices that called from beyond, promising salvation or ruin. The lyrics were old—older than memory, it felt like. Yet, every note vibrated with something personal, like a thread pulled taut inside him.

It didn’t name Thane. But it didn’t have to.

Erynn’s fingers curled around her mug, as she took a sip, her eyes fixed on the bard. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s not a song. It’s a sign.”

“You can say that again,” Cael said, glancing briefly in her direction.

Lirien’s gaze also didn’t leave the bard. “They say this song’s older than the Codex. No one knows who wrote it, or where it came from.”

“It’s just always been,” Erynn added, her voice uneasy. “The Ballad of the Broken—it tells a story of redemption.” She turned to Thane. “Perhaps your story.”

“Correction,” Cael interrupted. “Not perhaps. It is about him,” he added, matching her gaze.

Lirien’s eyes flicked toward Thane, then to Erynn. Just for a moment. Then back to the bard.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Thane said, shaking his head slightly. “There’s no way that’s about me. I just got here.”

Almost on cue, the bard hit a riff rising into a theatrical crescendo. The bard didn’t look at them, didn’t seem to notice them at all. His eyes were closed, his hands moving by memory.

And yet, Thane swore the man stole a glance at him during the final verse.

As the strumming of the strings ended, the bard bowed and slipped away, the lute cradled under his arm like something precious.

No applause. No questions. Just the slow return of clinking mugs and murmured conversation.

Thane stared at the stage, his stew forgotten.

The song still echoed. Like a warning. Or a promise.

Then the fire cracked loudly, like punctuation.

Minutes turned to hours, and the fire had burned low, throwing long shadows across the tavern floor. Most of the locals had drifted out with nods and yawns.

Garrus shuffled back into the room with a tray and began clearing away empty mugs. He eyed Kaelir on his way past.

“Don’t burn the place down,” he muttered. “But if you do, make sure you take the outhouse with it. Damn thing’s cursed.”

The group chuckled softly, and Garrus vanished with a final grunt. The tavern door closed behind him, and the room fell into a gentle hush. Just the firelight, the creak of wood settling, and the faint murmur of the river outside.

“So the Test is in the shadowed city of Salile,” Erynn said as she reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, weatherworn scroll, unfolding it on the table. A map. The others leaned in.

“To avoid prying eyes, we’ll need to move before first light heading north,” she said, tracing a path from Comstock toward the mountains at the southern edge of the Wastelands. As her finger moved along the map, she paused, holding it in place. “We’ll camp here —it’ll be a push, but worth it. And this ridge?” She moved her finger just a bit more. “The Codex says it holds some of the oldest trees in Arbelon.”

Lirien leaned closer, brushing her fingers against a trail that cut through the hills. “We’ll need to avoid this stretch here—too exposed.”

Kaelir nodded. “We’ll stick to the wooded paths. This stretch past the ridge will slow us down, but it’s safer.”

Thane watched them—all clustered around the table, heads together, murmuring like they’d done this a thousand times. Like this world mattered.

“Why do you care so much about this prophecy?” Thane asked, his voice softer than usual. “About me? I mean, you just risked your lives with those Riders.”

Erynn blinked, surprised by the question. She straightened slightly. “Because you might be the one who can save us. And because… I believe in what the Codex says.”

“And I believe in what I’ve seen,” Lirien added quietly, briefly looking away from the map in his direction.

No one spoke for a moment. The fire crackled, throwing flickers of light across their faces.

Cael leaned back slightly, voice calm and steady. “Belief isn’t just about prophecies, Thane. It’s about what we choose to fight for.”

Thane stood slowly, walking a few steps closer to the hearth, eyes fixed on the flames. They danced and twirled like something alive. The bard’s melody still pulsed within him, but something darker stirred beneath it—coiled and waiting.

He ran through the whispers he’d heard in his head since loading into this place—each one relentlessly prodding him forward. Even the one from his bedroom.

But how was that even possible?

Memory or madness, he wasn’t sure. But the words in the song and the ones in his head—they were too close. Too aligned.

There were no whispers now. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching.

“I’ve been hearing something,” he said quietly. “A voice, in my head. It speaks to me. It says things. But it’s… not normal.”

Chairs scraped softly as heads turned. Cael’s brow furrowed, but before he could speak, Erynn perked up, her tone shifting from curiosity to concern.

“A voice, speaking to you? That’s not in the Codex.” She frowned, thinking. “But sometimes I hear things too, so it’s not that strange.”

“I wish we could dismiss it that easily,” Cael said. His voice had gone grave, all warmth gone. “But if it is what I think it is, then this voice—it’s very old and very dangerous.”

Erynn frowned, reaching into her satchel, pulling out her copy of the Codex. She set it on the table with a thump, fingers jumping to various pages before she looked up again. “I swear there’s no mention of the Chosen One hearing voices, but that doesn’t mean it’s meaningless. It could be a sign.”

Thane turned, arms crossed. “Oh, great. More signs. Should I add hearing creepy whispers to my résumé as your savior?”

“Mock it if you want,” Cael said flatly. “But be careful. If this is what I think it is… Echo may already have its eye on you.”

The name landed like a weight.

Erynn stiffened. “Echo? As in… the old stories? The Echo of the Rending?”

Cael nodded. “Older than stories. It was a force even the Architects feared. Something that twists magic and memory. If it’s stirring again—”

“Then we’re already behind,” Kaelir said quietly.

Silence fell. The map still lay open, the lines and paths glowing faintly in the firelight.

Lirien stood first, brushing dust from her cloak. “We need to rest.” Her eyes lingered on Thane a moment, unreadable, then she turned and headed for the stairs.

Erynn hesitated before following. Then Kaelir rose. “We leave early,” he said, then gave Thane a look that was hard to place—part concern, part challenge—and disappeared upstairs.

Cael stood last, his hand briefly touching Thane’s shoulder. “Whatever’s whispering to you… don’t listen too closely.” Then he followed the others.

Thane stayed by the hearth.

He listened.

No whispers came. But the silence felt worse.

As he rose to head to bed, Thane paused. A weight at his wrist caught his attention—a dull pressure, familiar and out of place.

The watch. His dad’s watch. Somehow he hadn’t noticed it before, not since loading back into Arbelon. But there it was, worn and scuffed, the second hand still ticking away.

He stared at it for a long moment. It didn’t make sense. Nothing else he wore on Earth had come with him. And yet… here it was.

A chill ran through him. He tugged his sleeve down over it and said nothing. It’s best to keep this to himself. At least until he understood it better.

And then, for just a moment, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—Arbelon was actually real.

Then he buried it deep. There’s no way it could be.

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|| last time ||

Thane is thrown violently back into the real world with a fresh wound on his cheek that should not exist, forcing him to confront the terrifying possibility that what happens in Arbelon is crossing into reality. After a grim visit from Dr. Hughes and the gift of his father’s watch from his mom, Thane is pulled back toward the game by the voice in his head and the growing sense that Arbelon is no longer something he can walk away from.

Chapter 11 - No Safe Roads

The world didn’t fade in—it slammed every sense on max volume.

The pounding rhythm of hooves. The creak of worn leather reins. The sharp sting across his cheek. He was slumped forward, wrists bound tightly to the saddle horn with coarse leather straps that scraped the skin raw. The steady gallop of the horse beneath him rattled his bones, jarring through his spine.

His head throbbed. He tasted blood. A deep gash split his cheek, still oozing from where a Rider’s blade had caught him.

What the hell…? Disoriented, he blinked against the rush of cold air and tree limbs flying past in a blur.

Every sense was screaming—every jolt, every scent of decomposing leaves, every snort of the horse gasping for air, every groan of the leather straps biting into his wrists.

Too real.

He gritted his teeth, trying to orient himself.

“This is insane,” he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse.

He could feel everything. The vibration of the horse’s gait rattling up his legs. The heat of the beast’s body. The smell of its sweat.

None of that should be this detailed. Since when do game physics simulate chafing?

Memories came flooding back—his magic flaring, Riders thrown like rag-dolls, pain screaming in his skull before everything went dark.

Then… this.

Great. Black out, then booted back into hell. Except… this didn’t feel like reloading a save. It felt like waking up inside a nightmare.

Up ahead, Kaelir rode hard, giving clipped, sharp orders over his shoulder. His words were low, meant to blend with the wind and avoid carrying far. At intervals, he made abrupt turns, weaving through denser parts of the forest, clearly trying to foil anyone attempting to track them.

“Where are we even going?” Lirien called out, her voice barely audible over the thunder of hooves.

“No questions,” Kaelir snapped, not looking back. “Just ride.”

Beside Thane, Lirien stayed close, her expression tight with concern but her eyes constantly flicking to the forest around them. Cael rode just behind, stealing glances over his shoulder. Thane could hear him muttering something under his breath, holding his reins in one hand, the other moving and following his words almost rhythmically. With a final flick of his wrist, the air behind them shimmered faintly for a moment—some kind of minor warding spell, barely visible.

“That should buy us a little time,” Cael said grimly.

Erynn rode close to Kaelir, mirroring his every twist and turn with quiet confidence. She didn’t flinch at the terrain, her posture steady, her grip light—just as skilled in the saddle as any of them.

Around them, the trees closed in as they moved deeper—the woods thickening, branches clawing at their cloaks, the river’s murmur growing louder. Moss-covered stones jutted up through the undergrowth, and Thane caught the glimmer of shallow water through the gaps in the brush. The light dimmed, filtering through layers of tangled canopy.

Even injured, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it was. Like something out of a fantasy map—drawn with reverence, everything put in place with purpose.

Kaelir held his hand up as he slowed to a trot leading his horse into a dense, shadowed thicket tucked against a bend in the river. Trees clustered together, their branches spread like sentinels, shielding the space in quiet shadow. As the others settled into the shadows of the space, he scanned the trail behind them with a practiced eye before swinging down, satisfied for now that they hadn’t been followed.

Lirien swung down and was at Thane’s side in an instant.

“Let’s get you down,” she said quietly, releasing the straps with practiced ease.

Thane half-fell from the saddle, landing in the undergrowth with a grunt. His limbs buckled, stiff and trembling, dirt clinging to every scrape.

“Well, that was graceful,” he muttered, touching the wound on his cheek. His fingers came back red. “Escaped the Riders just to bleed out in a bush. Nice.”

“I don’t think you’re exactly going to bleed out,” Lirien said, flashing him a wry smile as she knelt beside him, hands already steady and sure. “Not with me around. Healer, remember?”

It hit Thane harder than he expected—her smile. The first one he’d seen from her. She wore it well.

He knew he didn’t deserve her grace. But he wasn’t about to push it away either.

Her smile faded, but something softer lingered between them. She reached for her satchel without a word, shifting back into motion—and Thane didn’t stop her.

He sat slumped against a moss-covered stone, jaw clenched as she moved closer. Her expression shifted back to focus—calm, confident, in control. The healer taking over.

She worked in silence at first, uncorking a glass vial of pungent-smelling salve and dabbing it onto a length of cloth. When she leaned in to clean the cut on his cheek, Thane flinched instinctively.

“Hold still,” she said gently, brushing a bit of dried blood from his temple. “You got lucky.”

“Sure doesn’t feel like it.”

Lirien gave a faint exhale—almost a laugh. “Trust me. If that blade had gone even a finger-width deeper, you wouldn’t be talking right now.”

Thane’s brows pulled together, watching her as she dabbed at the wound with slow, steady care. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“Comes with the territory.” She didn’t look up. “My mother was a healer. Learned early.”

As she leaned in again, Thane caught the moonlight glinting off her hair—soft, coppery in the gloom.

The scent of the salve rose again—bitter and earthy. But beneath it, something warm, familiar. For a second, it was his mom’s garden. Then it was gone.

He nodded slowly, but said nothing. He didn’t know what to do with kindness—especially not from someone who should hate him.

As she worked, her fingers brushed his skin, cool and deliberate. Thane found himself cataloguing the sensation, the way it contrasted so sharply with the heat of the chase, the roar of hooves and blood and terror.

A moment of quiet passed between them. The forest murmured nearby, water trickling over rocks.

Lirien paused, glancing up from her work. “It’ll heal,” she said softly.

Thane let out a bitter breath. “I don’t heal.”

Her eyes lingered on his for a moment. “You’re stronger than you think.”

She didn’t say more. Just turned back to her work, hands gentle as she placed a clean bandage on the wound. The silence stretched—not awkward, just heavy with everything unspoken.

Thane broke it first. “You didn’t have to help me.”

Lirien looked at him then—really looked. “Of course I did.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “Not after what happened to Asmenson.”

Her hands paused. For a moment, the silence grew thick again.

“I don’t believe you meant for that to happen,” she said finally. “But it did. And you’re still here. Trying to do something that matters.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice to hold.

But when she finished, he didn’t look away either.

“We’ve got to move,” Kaelir called quietly from the trees. “We’re not safe yet.”

Just like that, the moment was over.

The moon was low in the sky, its light filtering through the trees. Thane sat forward, still wincing with every movement, but a little steadier now. The ache in his cheek had dulled to a throb, and the bandage was secure.

Kaelir stood a few paces away, one hand resting lightly on the saddle of his horse, eyes scanning the dense shadows of the tree-line.

“We can’t ride these mounts much longer,” he said without turning. “Too easy to track. And too memorable.”

“They’re the Riders’ horses,” Cael added, stepping into the circle. “They’ll have every sympathizer in the area on the lookout by morning.”

Erynn looked between them. “So we’re ditching the horses?”

“Not yet,” Kaelir said, turning to face them. “We stop in Comstock—a village a day’s ride from here. I know someone. An innkeeper. Keeps to himself, owes me a favor.”

Lirien raised a brow. “Are you talking about the Hog’s Breath?”

Kaelir gave a faint smirk. “Still standing. Still pouring vinegar they call ale. He can make these mounts disappear and point us toward a safer route on foot.”

“That sounds… rustic,” Erynn muttered, brushing a leaf from her shoulder. “I hope your friend remembers that favor.”

“Wouldn’t count on a warm welcome,” Cael added, stretching his back. “But he won’t ask questions. That’s what matters.”

Thane didn’t say anything. He was too tired to care and too amped up to rest.

Kaelir glanced around the circle, his voice low. “Everyone take a breath. We’ve got ground to cover, but we’ll do it smart.”

He nodded toward the dark beyond the clearing. “No open roads from here on. We stick to the trees. Slow, quiet, less likely to draw attention.”

He tightened the saddle straps on his horse, eyes flicking to the edge of the clearing.

“Rest for a few minutes,” he said quietly. “But then we keep moving.”

No one argued. But no one looked thrilled either.

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|| last time ||

As the Riders descend on Trosten, the Elders send Thane away with Kaelir, Cael, Lirien, and Erynn, but their escape is cut short when Bostick and his men intercept them in the streets. When a Rider comes for him, Thane’s wild magic erupts again, this time with terrifying precision, bringing down a watchtower before he collapses and is carried into the night.

Chapter 10 - The Weight of Time

The world fought to keep him this time.

Arbelon didn’t just vanish—it clung to him, stretching the moment, refusing to release him until the last possible second. When he finally broke free, it was like being yanked through a closing door—too late to stop, too soon to land. Then, Earth hit him like a runaway train.

The air here felt wrong—thin, empty, too still. The taste of Arbelon’s damp air still clung to his tongue, but it faded fast, replaced by the artificial chill of his bedroom. The shift had always been a little disorienting, but this? This was a whole new level of strange.

His body was heavy, drained, and his breath came in ragged gasps as he lay sprawled across the floor beside his unkempt bed. The VR headset askew, but still strapped to his head, pressed into his temple at an awkward angle. He ripped it off, blinking through the haze.

The pain resurfaced again, sharp and relentless. But it had never really left, he’d just forgotten it, until now. His cheek burned like fire, the wet warmth of his blood trailing down his jaw, dripping onto his shirt. In a game, this would be the part where the screen blurred red at the edges, the HUD flashing a warning.

But there was no HUD. No reset. Just pain. Real, and inescapable.

He lifted shaking fingers to the wound and winced. The memory of the Rider’s blade slicing through his flesh was fresh, mere seconds ago, a world away.

His vision swam, his mind still reeling from being abruptly disconnected again. Each time it’d gotten more difficult, and this time was no exception. His limbs tingled, unresponsive, like static had seeped into his bones.

Then, the scent hit him. Burnt air. Raw power. Something old, something alive. It shouldn’t be here—couldn’t be here—but it was. Or was it?

Wild Magic.

And just as quickly, it was gone, leaving only the coppery tang of his blood.

Thane’s fingers hovered over the wound on his cheek, barely touching it. The moment his skin made contact, a strange pulse flooded through him—not pain, but memory. Or was it something more?

Lirien’s face.

She was beautiful. Not in the filtered, polished way of the girls he had known on Earth, but in something deeper—fierce, untamed, real. A girl like her wouldn’t have spared him a glance back home. Not when he was dying. Not when he was broken.

She looked pale. Stricken. Eyes wide with something between horror and disbelief. But her voice—her voice was steady.

“Not all wounds last forever.”

Her words struck something deep in him, like they had always been there, waiting.

“We can’t do this without you.”

It didn’t feel like a plea. It didn’t feel like a demand. It felt like the truth.

The sting of the Rider’s blade slicing through his skin. The heat of his own blood spilling.

Thane jerked back to the present, his hand snapping away from his face. His heart pounded against his ribs, his breath uneven. His cheek burned. The wound was here. How was that even possible?

He had fallen. He must have hit his cheek on the desk or the bed—that was it. That had to be it.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea rising in his gut.

“It’s just a game,” he muttered.

But even as the words left his lips, they felt thinner than before.

The door burst open.

“Thane—” his mother’s voice caught the second she saw him.

He barely registered the way she rushed to his side, kneeling next to him, hands hovering but afraid to touch.

“Oh my god—what happened? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he gritted out, trying to push himself upright. His arms shook beneath him. “I’m fine—just fell. It’s nothing.”

Her sharp inhale told him she didn’t believe a word of it. Her hands found his face, her fingers brushing the raw edges of the wound. She sucked in a sharp breath, her thumb coming away red. “Oh, Thane…”

He shrugged off her touch, trying to force a smirk through the haze of pain. “Not the first time I’ve had a bad landing.”

“Thane, this isn’t funny.”

“No,” he agreed, dragging himself up to lean against the edge of his bed. “It really isn’t. Kinda hurts,” he said, pressing the loose end of the blanket hanging from his bed against his cheek.

She swallowed hard, reaching for her phone. “I’m calling Dr. Hughes.”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“You’re bleeding, Thane. He said things would progress—” she stopped herself short of finishing that thought and changed approach “—he needs to know about this.”

Her voice cracked at the edges, and for a second, something inside him twisted. He hated that—hated the way her pain made him feel like a burden, like something fragile she was trying to hold together. But what was he supposed to do? Pretend like any of this could be fixed?

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the bed. She was right, it seemed things were progressing. He just wasn’t ready for it so soon.

“Fine. Call him.”

His mother lingered for a moment, still watching him like he might vanish if she blinked. Then, without a word, she turned and walked toward the kitchen.

Thane pushed himself up, wincing as his body protested. He was still unsteady, still disoriented, but he followed. The silence between them stretched all the way down the hall, the kind that said too much and nothing at all.

The kitchen smelled like toast and chamomile tea. The warmth of it should have been comforting, but it only made the weight in his chest settle deeper. Something else that would be taken away from him.

His mother pulled a clean rag from the drawer, wet it under the sink, and motioned for him to sit. He obeyed without a fight, more from exhaustion than agreement.

She kneeled beside him, dabbing the damp cloth against his cheek with careful hands. The coolness stung against the wound, but he didn’t flinch. He barely felt it.

“I’ll make you something to eat,” she murmured, standing and moving toward the fridge.

He wanted to protest, but what was the point? She needed to do something—some small, normal act of care to pretend things weren’t as bad as they were.

By the time she set the plate in front of him, she was already wiping the counter, straightening a napkin—anything to keep herself busy.

Thane sat at the table, barely touching the sandwich his mother had made. The food tasted like cardboard in his mouth. She turned back, pausing with her dishrag in hand.

“You’re not eating enough. You’ll feel better with some food in you.”

He stared at the plate. “Not hungry.”

“You should try.”

He picked at the crust, silent.

The quiet stretched, thick and heavy. Eventually, she set the dishrag down and turned to face him once again, her voice careful. “Thane… do you think the game could be making things worse?”

He stiffened. The question had been coming, he knew it. She’d talked about it before, but he thought it was in the past.

His hands curled into fists on the table. “It’s not the game.”

She hesitated. “But—”

“It’s my brain, Mom. Not the god-damned game system. Gaming is the only thing that keeps me sane. It’s all I have left.”

Her expression faltered, but she didn’t push further. Just nodded, pressing her lips together, staring at him like she wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

The silence between them was unbearable.

Then, the doorbell rang.

Thane didn’t move. He knew who it was.

His mother wiped her hands on a dish towel, smoothing down her shirt as she moved to the front door. There was a brief murmur of voices before Dr. Hughes stepped inside, his presence immediately shifting the weight of the room.

“Thane.” His tone was even, neither overly warm nor cold, but carrying a weight of familiarity. He had been through this routine before. They all had.

Thane sighed, pushing the plate away and turning slightly to keep the cut on his cheek hidden.

Dr. Hughes set his bag down on the table and pulled up a chair across from him. “Your mother tells me you had another seizure.”

“Well, you know how she likes to overreact.”

His mother’s sharp inhale said otherwise, but she stayed quiet, not wanting a repeat of the last meeting with the doctor in the living room.

Dr. Hughes arched a brow, unfazed. “And you hit your head during this ‘overreaction’?”

Thane didn’t answer.

Dr. Hughes took out his penlight. “Look at me.”

Thane obeyed, though reluctantly. The moment he did, the doctor’s eyes caught on Thane’s cheek. He stilled, his gaze landing on the wound.

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Dr. Hughes said, glancing at Jane, before he leaned in slightly for a closer look.

“I’m sorry. I thought I mentioned it. But it was all so hectic,” she said, stepping closer, leaning on the counter.

“So, what happened?” Dr. Hughes asked, trying to hide the concern in his voice, but it was obvious.

Thane shrugged. “Must have hit the desk or something when I fell.”

The doctor leaned in slightly, abandoning the penlight entirely. Instead, he reached into his bag, pulling on a pair of gloves before inspecting the wound with a practiced touch. His fingers were clinical, methodical—but when he spoke again, his tone carried something different. Curiosity.

“This is clean,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Not consistent with blunt trauma. More like a—” he hesitated, eyes flicking to Thane’s. “—a sharp edge.”

Thane’s chest tightened. His mind flashed back to the Rider’s blade, the burning sting of the strike, the feeling of blood trailing down his face.

Impossible.

He pulled back, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I hit something sharp. It doesn’t matter.”

Dr. Hughes studied him for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. “It’s not deep enough for stitches, but it’ll leave a mark.” He reached for some antiseptic and steri-strips, working in silence as he closed the wound.

The only other sound in the kitchen was the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Steady. Unchanging.

When Dr. Hughes finished, he leaned forward slightly. His voice was calm but firm.

“Thane, I’m not going to sugarcoat this. The seizures are getting worse. They’re a sign the disease is progressing. We need to decide whether to start one of the experimental treatments soon.”

Thane’s fingers stretched out, pressing against the tabletop. “We’ve already talked about that.”

“Yes, but there are new trials,” Dr. Hughes continued. “One’s using new AI and nanotechnology. They’re showing real promise.”

Thane’s mother swallowed thickly, blinking rapidly as she folded her hands in front of her.

Thane exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against the tabletop. He wasn’t going to get better. He knew that. Dr. Hughes knew that.

But his mom—she still held on to that last shred of hope, fragile as glass. And the way she was looking at him now, like she was bracing for him to say no—he couldn’t do it to her. Not today.

He swallowed hard. “I’ll think about it.”

He didn’t know if he actually meant it or if he just wanted this conversation to end before it went any deeper. Into places he’d rather not go.

Dr. Hughes studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s all I ask,” he said, his tone softer as he reached out patting Thane on the hand. “I understand how you feel right now, but breakthroughs can happen.”

A heavy pause settled over them before his mother broke it with a question of her own.

“The game,” she said, hesitantly. “Could it be making things worse?”

Dr. Hughes looked at Thane carefully before answering. “There is research linking prolonged VR exposure to increased seizure activity, yes. But in cases like Thane’s, stress plays a much larger factor.”

Thane smirked, but there was no humor in it. “So I should just live stress-free? Great. Problem solved.”

His mother shot him a look, but Dr. Hughes only sighed. “I’m not saying cut it out completely. But if you start feeling dizzy or nauseous, take a break. Listen to your body and take a rest.”

Thane didn’t respond.

His mother did. “We’ll make sure he does.”

Dr. Hughes didn’t add anything more. A moment later, he was out the door.

The silence that followed Dr. Hughes’ departure was thick, pressing down on the kitchen like an unspoken weight neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Thane stood in the kitchen for a moment, unmoving, then quietly slipped away while his mother cleared the dishes.

He walked down the hall slowly, each step heavier than the last. When he reached his room, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed. The familiar chaos of his space surrounded him—posters askew, laundry in lazy heaps, the VR headset still coiled near the foot of his bed.

He crossed to the mirror above his dresser and stared at his reflection. The gash on his cheek was angry and red, a thin line now framed by the steri-strips Dr. Hughes had applied. He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes.

It didn’t look like something caused by a fall.

He touched it lightly and winced.

This is clean. Not consistent with blunt trauma. More like a sharp edge.

The voice of Dr. Hughes echoed in his mind.

Thane swallowed hard. The Rider’s blade. He remembered the way it had burned through him—how the moment had felt real. Too real.

But that was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

He turned away from the mirror, his thoughts a haze of confusion and denial. He sat down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands steepled over his lips.

A soft knock at the door broke his train of thought.

“Thane?”

His mother’s voice, quiet. Tentative.

“Yeah,” he said, not moving.

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, carrying something in her hand. Her expression was uncertain, guarded, like she was trying not to fall apart.

She crossed the room slowly, then sat beside him on the bed.

“I… I wanted to give you something,” she said, her voice trembling. She held out her hand.

The familiar black leather band, worn and softened with age. The silver face slightly scratched but still ticking. Steady. Unfazed.

His father’s watch.

There was a silence between them. Neither moving. Then, softer, “He used to say it kept him centered. It reminded him that time keeps going, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. I think you need it now more than I do.”

Thane stared at it.

“No,” he said quietly. “You should keep it. I’ll be gone soon anyway.”

She set the watch down on the bed, leaning in and taking his hands. His head lifted to meet her eyes. Both of them moist, both of them trying to hold back.

“That’s not true. And even if it were, it wouldn’t change how much I love you. Just wear it, Thane. Let it remind you… that you’re never alone.”

She reached down, picking up the watch, placing it gently in his palm.

“It’s yours now.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he whispered.

Her voice cracked just a little. “You do. Your father would want you to have it.”

Thane looked away, jaw tight. “I’ve already let him down.”

She shook her head. “You haven’t. Not once. And you never could.”

Thane stared down at the watch. The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should have. His fingers closed around it slowly. Then, with quiet purpose, he fastened it around his wrist. The band was slightly loose, but the weight felt right.

His mother smiled faintly and kissed the top of his head. “Take a little nap and get some rest, sweetheart.”

He just nodded.

She left the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Thane lay back on the bed, letting the exhaustion wash over him. His hand drifted to the watch on his wrist. The familiar rhythm of its ticking settled into his skin like a second heartbeat.

His thoughts blurred as sleep crept in, pulling him away from the stillness of his bedroom… toward wild trees, broken skies, and the fragments of voices that refused to fade.

The ticking on his wrist grew louder. Or maybe it was something deeper beneath it—a rhythm not mechanical but alive.

Like the heartbeat of something far away.

Then, just as the last thread of wakefulness slipped from his mind, a whisper burrowed up from the silence.

Tick-tock, Thane. Even that bauble will betray you.

Thane’s eyes shot open, his heart pounding. The room was still, unchanged. But the whisper lingered, deep in the corners of his mind.

He sat up slowly, trying to shake it off. Another hallucination. Another side effect of the seizures. That voice—he didn’t know what it was. But he knew it knew him.

And it wasn’t finished.

But how could it be here? In my room. A chill crept down his spine, as he swung his feet over the side of the bed.

It’s just a game… it’s just a game.

He glanced at the headset. Then at the door. Then back again.

We can’t do this without you. Lirien’s words echoed through his mind, the grim resolve on her face evident. Something about it—about her—was so honest… and real in that moment. He knew it made no sense.

But he didn’t want to think.

He didn’t want to doubt.

He just needed to go back.

Thane slipped the headset over his face. The startup sequence hummed to life, the loading screen flickering into view.

LOADING…

The steady tick of the watch on his wrist lined up—unmistakably—with the soft pulses of the game as Arbelon resolved into view.

The loading screen pulsed once more. And then, the world sharpened around him, Arbelon blooming to life.

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|| last time ||

Lirien brings Thane before the Elders and reveals both his wild magic and his red blood, throwing the prophecy into turmoil and forcing the council to consider whether he is truly the Chosen One. Before they can decide, the meeting is shattered by news that the Riders of the Rings are coming.

Chapter 9 - Through Shadow and Steel

Silence gripped the room for half a beat before the Elders erupted into murmurs, some voices rising in alarm, others cold and calculating. Thane didn’t need to know much about these Riders to understand one thing—

Everyone was afraid.

Before anyone could react further, the door slammed open again. Cael strode in, his presence instantly turning the room tense. “You know why they come,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You can’t let them have him.”

The Elders turned on him immediately, their distaste evident.

“You are the last man we would entrust with this,” one of them spat. “You’ve already done enough damage.”

Cael’s jaw tightened, his frustration barely contained. “There is no time to debate. The Riders are closing in. You need me. And you hate that, don’t you?”

The silver-haired Elder narrowed his eyes. “Need you? You brought ruin upon us once already. We will not give you the opportunity to do so again.”

Cael scoffed, stepping forward. “And yet, here you are. Still talking. Still hesitating.” His voice sharpened, biting through the tension. “You know damn well why they’re here. They want the boy. And if you let them take him, then Arbelon dies with him.”

“You assume too much,” another Elder cut in. “Perhaps his fate is to fail the Test, just as all the others have.”

Cael laughed—dry, humorless. “Listen to yourselves. You sound just like you did before.” He turned, eyes scanning the chamber. “You sat here while the Heart withered, while the Wild Magic frayed at the edges of reality. You let Arbelon bleed. And now, given the first real sign of change, you cower behind debate and ritual.”

“The Test is no simple ritual,” the silver-haired Elder snapped.

“No, it’s a death sentence,” Cael shot back. “One that’s killed everyone who walked its path. And yet here I am, offering to take him there.” His eyes burned with conviction. “Because like it or not, he is bound to the Heart, and you know it.”

The silver-haired Elder pushed his chair back and stood, pointing at Cael. “We will not be goaded by the words of a traitor.”

“A traitor?” Cael’s laugh was bitter. “I was one of you. I sat where you sit. I bled for Arbelon. And now you turn your backs because the truth I found wasn’t the one you wanted.”

“You meddled with forces beyond your control,” the Elder shot back.

“And you did nothing,” Cael snapped. “You let the Heart wither. You let our world break. And you still refuse to act.”

The silver-haired Elder let out a deep sigh, taking his seat once again. His eyes looked upon Cael with pain. “Maybe the Cael I used to know could be trusted. But too much has passed.” He glanced at the others. “We cannot let you—”

Then Kaelir broke in, stepping forward.

“I will ensure the boy reaches the Test.”

The weight of his voice cut through the argument. The Elders turned to him, their hesitation still evident, but they trusted Kaelir—far more than they trusted Cael.

Kaelir’s gaze didn’t waver. “If he is to be tested, he needs to get there in one piece. I will see it done.”

The Elders exchanged glances. Finally, the silver-haired Elder gave a curt nod. “Take him, both of you. The Riders must not claim him.”

Lirien stepped forward, her voice steady but burning with barely contained anger. “I go too.”

The Elders turned on her at once. “You are not needed,” one of them said sharply.

“Not needed?” she echoed, disbelief hardening into fury. “Who among you has more right to see him to the Test than I? Who among you has seen firsthand what the Wild Magic does? I watched Asmenson burn. I felt the magic tear through him. I held what was left.”

The room fell uncomfortably silent, but the Elders remained unmoved.

“We do not choose companions for sentiment,” the silver-haired Elder replied coldly.

“Sentiment?” Lirien’s fists clenched. “This isn’t sentiment. It’s survival. If he doesn’t make it to the Test alive, none of this matters. You trust Kaelir to protect him. You trust Cael to guide him. Then trust me to keep him standing long enough to reach the threshold—unless you’ve forgotten that I was the best Healer in Asmenson.”

“The Riders are closing in,” another Elder snapped. “We cannot waste time arguing—”

“Then stop arguing,” Lirien bit out. “If he is what you hope, if the Wild Magic is as dangerous as you claim, then he needs me,” Lirien pressed. “Not later. Now.”

A long, tense pause. Finally, the silver-haired Elder exhaled sharply. “Go.”

The Elders nodded reluctantly.

“Erynn goes as well.”

The words came not from the silver-haired Elder, but from another, one who had remained silent until now.

Erynn’s gaze flicked toward them, and for the first time, she looked startled.

“Me?”

“You know the histories. The prophecies,” the Elder said firmly. “If he is what you claim, then you will be the one to see the signs first.”

The words had barely left the Elder’s lips before Kaelir spoke.

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the chamber’s tension. “She stays.”

The Elders turned their attention to him, unfazed.

“She goes,” the silver-haired Elder countered smoothly. “She has studied the prophecies. She understands the nature of the Test more than anyone here.”

Kaelir’s jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists. “She’s not a fighter.”

“That’s nonsense, and you know it,” another Elder said. “She had more training than most of us. Maybe even you.”

Erynn blinked, looking between them all. “I—” she started, but Kaelir cut her off.

“This is madness,” he snapped. His eyes locked onto the Elders, but his stance had shifted ever so slightly—positioned now between them and Erynn. “You send scholars on excursions. Not into the hands of Riders.”

The silver-haired Elder exhaled. “She is no mere scholar. She will go. That is final.”

Kaelir’s gaze darkened slightly, but he said nothing. He turned toward Erynn instead, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them.

Erynn swallowed hard. Then, to his clear dismay, she nodded. “I’ll go, Kaelir. It’s okay.”

Cael’s jaw clenched as he caught sight of Erynn for the first time, but he said nothing as the group solidified. There was no time to argue. Kaelir motioned for them to follow.

Lirien was already ahead of him, motioning for Thane to follow. He hesitated for only a second before moving, feet carrying him forward even as his mind struggled to catch up. This was happening too fast. One moment he was being debated like an object, the next he was apparently important enough to smuggle away like some royal treasure.

Kaelir yanked back the thick, woven rug in the center of the chamber, revealing a seam in the wooden floor—nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. He knelt, pressing his palm against a knot in the wood. A faint click echoed, and a square section of the floor lifted slightly. Gripping the edge, he pulled it open, revealing a steep, narrow staircase vanishing into darkness.

“Move,” he ordered, already descending into the shadows.

The trapdoor snapped shut behind them, and the tunnel swallowed them in complete darkness. The air grew thick, damp, the scent of old earth pressing in around them. Thane hesitated at the bottom of the steps, his vision lost in the void ahead.

Then a soft glow bloomed in the dark. A muted, silver-blue light flickered to life at Cael’s fingertips forming a small ball of light that floated into the air, illuminating the tunnel’s rough stone walls.

Kaelir shot him a glance. “Keep it forward, Cael. We need to see what’s ahead, not our own shadows.”

Cael didn’t dignify him with a response, merely lifting his hand, and the orb drifted forward like a silver thread unraveling in the dark. It pulsed faintly, shifting ahead of them with the barest inclination of Cael’s fingers, sensing his intent before he even moved. It adjusted with each step, floating just ahead, casting shifting shadows along the rough walls, leaving a subtle living mist trailing behind it as they moved.

Thane barely registered the passage around him, too caught by the effortless grace of Cael’s magic. There was something mesmerizing about it—the way it pulsed in tune with his breathing, like it was part of him rather than something summoned. It felt different from the magic that had visited him, but oddly similar at the same time. And for a moment, it made the rushed escape feel almost… calm.

The passage sloped downward, shifting from carved stone to packed earth. The walls closed in, the air thickening with dampness.

Then they hit a fork.

Kaelir veered right without hesitation.

“Not that way,” Cael cut in, his voice sharp.

Kaelir stiffened mid-step. “You sure?”

“I know these tunnels.” Cael’s tone left no room for argument.

A tense beat stretched between them, the air charged with something unsaid.

Kaelir exhaled sharply through his nose, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he schooled his expression. He wasn’t used to being challenged—especially not by Cael.

Then, with a clipped nod, Kaelir turned, following Cael’s lead.

The tunnel twisted once more before finally ending at a heavy iron door, its surface rough with age, streaked with rust from years of damp air.

Kaelir was already moving, pulling a key from a thin chain around his neck. He slid it into the lock, but before turning it, he pressed his palm against the door, tilting his head to listen. The passage behind them remained silent, but he waited a beat longer.

Then, with a soft click, the lock turned.

He opened the door carefully, moving just enough to scan the space beyond before slipping through. The others followed without hesitation, stepping into a cramped, dust-choked cellar lined with old barrels and crates. The air smelled of damp wood and faintly of spilled ale.

Kaelir quietly pushed the door shut behind him and locked it again, his movements swift and purposeful.

“Where are we?” Lirien whispered.

“Just a sleepy cellar on the outskirts of town,” Kaelir murmured. “This way.” He turned climbing a narrow wooden staircase to a door as Cael extinguished his light.

Kaelir lifted the brace on the door, opening it just enough to peek outside to see an empty alley lit by flickering lanterns.

“Clear,” he muttered, but he halted before stepping out. The street was quiet. Too quiet.

“The Riders will know to watch the roads,” he murmured, scanning the area again. “Once we get out of the city, we take the back paths through the foothills.”

No one argued. There was no time.

Kaelir drew his sword and gestured for them to follow. “Stay close.”

Thane stepped to follow, almost bumping into Lirien as she dug through her pack removing the bladeless pommel she’d taken from Asmenson, gripping it tightly.

They moved away and kept to the alleys, weaving through the narrow backstreets. The flickering lantern light sent unease skittering down Thane’s spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, at any moment, they could be seen. That one wrong glance could spell disaster. His stomach tightened when the silence broke—not from behind them, but from ahead.

They emerged from the last row of buildings to see a group of horsemen blocking the road ahead. A dozen, maybe more. Hooded. Armed. Waiting. Their armor was a dark color, and in the darkness it was hard to glean much detail, but the way Kaelir cursed under his breath told him everything he needed to know.

“Riders,” Kaelir hissed.

The Riders of the Rings had found them first.

The man at the front urged his horse forward. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking his authority. His cloak wore the darkened, jagged ring around the neckline. His voice rang clear in the night air.

“Hand over the outlander.”

Thane’s stomach lurched. Outlander. They meant him.

Kaelir’s grip tightened on his sword as he took a slow step forward, planting himself between Thane and the approaching Riders.

“He is under our protection, Bostick.”

Bostick tilted his head, the flickering torchlight barely illuminating his face beneath the hood. “You of all people should know better than to stand against us.”

Kaelir’s grip on his sword never wavered, but something flickered in his gaze—not surprise, not fear, but something colder. Something old.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice measured. “But you of all people should know I don’t scare easy.”

Bostick’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No. You never did.”

Kaelir stood his ground, not moving an inch. But Lirien did.

Without a word, she moved to his side, fingers curling around the pommel in her grasp. A heartbeat passed. Then, with a whisper of magic, the blade bloomed to life—a brilliant, ethereal arc of energy that cut through the night like a white flame. It left glowing trails in the air as she lifted it, the air around her humming with power. The light reflected in her eyes, resolute, unyielding.

Cael followed, stepping into place on Kaelir’s other side. With a sharp movement, he slammed his quarterstaff to the earth, and a violent ripple of energy raced up its length. Lightning crackled, licking across the wood like a living thing, throwing eerie flashes against the buildings around them.

They did not speak. They did not need to.

The three stood as one.

Kaelir raised his sword.

“You’ll have to go through us.”

Their response was immediate—the Riders charged.

Kaelir shot a glance over his shoulder. His voice was firm but not harsh.

“Stay back with the boy.”

Thane saw Erynn stiffen next to him, her lips opened to object, but no words came. She didn’t move, but the tension in her stance was clear. If the Riders got their hands on him, there would be no Test. No future.

She didn’t argue. But she didn’t step away, either.

Blades flashed. Kaelir met the first strike with brutal precision, twisting his sword to deflect the attack before pulling the Rider from his saddle. Lirien moved in perfect counter, her blade finding gaps in their defenses with the efficiency of a healer who knew exactly where to cut.

Cael fought like a man with nothing left to lose—reckless, unpredictable, a storm barely leashed.

Thane took a step back. He had no weapon. No training. There were simply too many Riders, coming too fast.

A Rider broke through the chaos, blade raised. Coming straight for him.

Thane barely had time to react before something slammed into his side.

He staggered—his balance ripped out from under him just as the Rider’s sword came down hard. It bit across his cheek, hot and sharp, but—he was still standing.

His head snapped to the side. Erynn stood by him, her eyes shifting from him to the Rider as the pain flared through him uncontrolled. Then something inside cracked, calling out.

Not just inside. On him.

A sharp burning sensation lanced across his forearm, then his chest—as if something inside was clawing its way to the surface.

He barely had time to register it before thin, jagged fractures raced up his arms, glowing with a deep, shifting light.

The cracks webbed across his skin, pulsing—alive, erratic, untamed.

His pulse hammered. Not again.

The glow brightened—pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then the Wild Magic answered.

Coming just as it had before.

Heat—raw and alive—flooded his veins. His skin tingled, his teeth ached, his heartbeat pounded, silencing the battle around him. The world lurched, turning hazy at the edges, as if reality itself had cracked open and pulled him inside.

Then the night bloomed into blinding fire.

A shockwave of pure force erupted from him, expanding in an instant—a wall of shimmering, rippling distortion that swallowed the street.

The Riders were ripped from their saddles, their bodies flung like rag dolls, limbs twisting as they crashed into the ground. Their horses remained standing, muscles seizing in terror before some bolted into the darkness, their hooves thundering in retreat.

Buildings groaned under the weight of the force, their walls trembling, wooden shutters slamming open like startled eyes. The walls of the closest buildings collapsed inward, windows shattering.

But then—something changed.

The magic hesitated. It didn’t rage uncontrollably like before. It pulled back. Redirected.

Thane barely registered it, but he felt it—the magic wasn’t just reacting anymore. It was choosing.

The magic’s expanding, relentless force funneled itself into a single focal point now directed at the towering watchtower ahead.

A deep, splitting crack ripped through the air as its foundation gave way. For a moment, it hung there, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Then, with a deafening roar, it caved inward, stone crushing stone, collapsing in a controlled, deliberate ruin.

Thane felt the magic restrain itself. He could feel the destruction it could have done—the ruin it had almost unleashed—but instead, it had chosen.

Thane barely had time to process it. The world spun, his limbs too heavy to hold him upright.

As his vision blurred, he saw Bostick rise to his knees from the dust, staring at him—not with rage, but with something far worse.

Recognition.

Thane’s body, finally refusing to hold him upright as the cost of the magic sank its claws into him. Thane’s knees hit the ground as his body convulsed violently, blood dripping from his nose, mixing with the fresh wound on his cheek.

The glowing cracks sank beneath his skin, vanishing as if they had never been there.

Except—they had. And he could still feel them, burning, phantom-like.

Through the haze, he heard shouts. Kaelir’s voice. Then Lirien’s.

Then—hands on him. Steadying him.

It was Erynn, again.

She was breathing hard, eyes wide, but her grip on his arm was firm. Not afraid. Not running.

“Come on,” she urged. “You have to move.”

And then Kaelir was there, grabbing him, throwing him onto a horse, lashing him to the saddle. The others grabbed the reins of the scattered mounts, and they rode hard, disappearing into the night, leaving Trosten behind.

Thane’s mind was slipping. Fading. The last thing he saw was the smoke curling from the ruins of the fallen watchtower.

A voice eased into his mind, steady and confident.

“Everyone will bow to you. You are more powerful than they’ll ever admit. Remember that.”

Then everything went dark.

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Book 1: no extra lives → Amazon | My Author Site

Book 2: the final save → Amazon | My Author Site

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|| last time ||

Lirien tries to bury the last piece of her mother, but Thane quietly keeps the ring. After a cryptic warning from Cael about the Elders and the danger of letting others choose his path, Thane and Lirien leave the Sanctum and continue on toward Trosten.

Chapter 8 - Council of the Elders

The road to Trosten stretched ahead, winding through clusters of gnarled trees, their branches skeletal against the overcast sky. The air was thick with the damp scent of moss and old wood, and though the path was firm beneath his boots, Thane couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling coiling in his gut. Maybe it was the silence—Lirien hadn’t spoken in at least an hour, and that was a problem. When she was quiet, she was thinking. And when she was thinking, she was planning.

Thane flicked a glance at her. She walked stiffly, arms folded across her chest, her pace clipped and determined. Her expression was unreadable, but the set of her jaw said enough—she wasn’t happy. Probably still pissed about their argument in the Sanctum. He sighed, his hands relaxed at his side. Might as well prod the hornet’s nest.

“So, these Elders,” he started, keeping his voice casual. “What am I walking into? A fair trial, or am I just skipping straight to the part where they burn me at the stake?”

Lirien didn’t slow. “They’ll want answers. And justice.”

“Great. Remind me why I agreed to do this?” he asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

She finally shot him a look, her gaze sharp. “You have no other choice. It is what the moment demands of you, and because of that, they have every right to question you.”

Thane exhaled heavily, rolling his shoulders. “Let me guess, you’ve already got your speech prepared?”

That got a reaction. A flicker of something—a hesitation, maybe. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“I’ll tell them the truth. Nothing more. That I can promise you.”

“The truth,” Thane echoed. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s still keeping things from me.”

Lirien stopped abruptly. “What are you talking about?”

He turned to her, folding his arms. “Cael. You didn’t want me talking to him, and I’m betting it wasn’t just because of his reputation.” He said, using his hands to make air quotes.

Her mouth tightened. “You don’t know what he is.”

“Enlighten me.”

For a moment, she looked like she might refuse. Then, finally, she spoke, voice lower now. “They call him the Fallen One.”

Thane arched an eyebrow. “Dramatic.”

“He was trusted once,” she began, her words distant. “The highest of the Elders. The last High Oracle. But he thought he knew better. He tried to command the Wild Magic, to force the Heart to heal. It didn’t listen. Instead, it fractured further, its wound deepening. And Arbelon suffered for it. He was cast out, stripped of his titles. Now he lurks on the edges of everything, still thinking he’s the only one who understands the Heart. And you—” she turned a sharp look at Thane, “—you’d do well to remember his arrogance, his failures.”

Thane frowned. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. “And you think he’d do it again?”

“I think,” Lirien said carefully, “that you’re too quick to trust people who don’t deserve it.”

A flicker of irritation flared in his chest. “You don’t even know me. But here you are telling me what I’m thinking. Must be nice to be a mind reader.”

She didn’t bite at the sarcasm—this time. She just held his gaze a bit longer before turning away. “Be careful who you trust. Some people earn it. Some just take advantage of it.”

Before he could reply, movement caught his eye. Further down the path, a group of figures emerged from the trees on horseback, their armor worn but well-kept, their horses bearing sigils Thane didn’t recognize. It was not the Riders. That was certain, but Thane tensed nonetheless, instinctively shifting his stance.

The lead rider dismounted, approaching with measured steps.

He was tall, lean but built with the frame of a fighter. His presence carried an air of command, though there was a restraint in it—like someone who bore leadership out of necessity rather than desire. His hair was dark with silver threading at the temples, his sharp blue eyes cutting between them with quiet assessment. The others fanned out behind him, hands near their weapons, but not yet drawn. Not a threat—yet.

A flicker of something passed through the leader’s expression as he approached Lirien. Not quite surprise—more like expectation, or maybe irritation. Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cool detachment of command.

Lirien squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze with the same defiance she’d given Thane earlier. But this was different. Sharper. A history Thane wasn’t privy to but could feel crackling between them.

“Kaelir,” she said in a clipped tone.

Thane’s eyes flicked between them. Lirien seemed to have issues with everyone they ran into—first Cael, now this guy. Either she was extremely particular about the company she kept, or there was something deeper going on.

Kaelir’s attention shifted to Thane. His expression was unreadable, his words sharp. “Who is this?”

Lirien’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No one.”

Thane felt a flicker of annoyance at that, but he swallowed it, keeping his expression neutral.

Kaelir’s eyes flicked between them, assessing. “Why are you here?”

“Asmenson,” Lirien said finally. “It’s gone.”

Something flickered across Kaelir’s face, a brief, barely perceptible shift, but he recovered quickly. “Gone? What do you mean?”

“Destroyed,” Lirien corrected. “There’s nothing left.”

Kaelir’s jaw tightened. He looked to the men behind him, giving a brief nod. One of them vaulted into the saddle and took off toward Trosten, the sound of hooves fading quickly. The others didn’t move at first, but Thane caught the small shifts in their posture—the way hands flexed at their sides, resting near weapons but not drawing them, the way one man glanced toward the tree line as if expecting something to come from it. Soldiers didn’t fear bad news. But they knew what always followed it.

Kaelir exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back to Lirien. “You should have come sooner.”

“We came as soon as we could.”

Kaelir didn’t press the matter. Instead, he turned sharply and swung back into the saddle. “Come. The Elders need to hear this.”

As they moved into Trosten, the town unfolded before them—larger than Asmenson, built among the foothills of the Emerald Mountains. Stone buildings with reinforced wooden beams lined the winding streets, and the smell of burning wood and fresh bread mixed with the sharper scent of damp stone. The streets were busy, a bustling market stretching along the main road. Merchants called out their wares, the clatter of carts and livestock filling the space between voices. But as they passed, conversations slowed, eyes flicking toward Kaelir and his unfamiliar company.

Kaelir barely glanced at them. With a subtle motion of his hand, he signaled for the people to continue as they were. Gradually, the hum of the market resumed, though some still watched as they passed.

They wound their way toward the center of town, where a great hall loomed—larger than the other buildings, its high wooden beams darkened with age, etched with intricate runes and glyphs. Above the grand doors, a sigil had been burned into the wood—the Duskthorn Circle. Thane’s gaze lingered on the twisting rings of thorns enclosing the droplet at its center. Something about it unsettled him. It felt like a warning more than a symbol of leadership, as if the Elders’ authority wasn’t about guidance—but about ensuring nothing slipped beyond their grasp.

Kaelir swung down from his horse and turned toward them. “Wait here. Speak to no one.”

Without another word, he strode inside, leaving Thane and Lirien at the entrance. Thane shifted, glancing at Lirien, searching her face for any sign of reassurance.

She gave him none, turning away.

Kaelir returned minutes later, his expression solemn and dark. “They will see you now. Follow me.”

Thane exchanged a glance with Lirien, but she gave nothing away. She was already moving before he could decide whether to hesitate, and he fell into step beside her, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. Whatever happened in this meeting would shape what came next. He had no illusions about how this would go—he wasn’t walking into a room full of allies.

The council chamber was not what he expected. It was neither grand nor austere, but something in between—a place built for purpose rather than display. The circular room was constructed from dark, polished wood, the ceiling supported by thick beams that twisted like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. The scent of earth and aged parchment clung to the air, mixing with the faint trace of burning sage. Runes, intricate and deliberate, were carved into the walls, their meaning lost on Thane but exuding a quiet power.

Seven Elders sat in a semicircle on elevated wooden seats, their robes a deep green, lined with woven runes, the Duskthorn Circle embroidered on their robes for all to see. They were old, but not frail—there was something ageless about them, as if they had witnessed more than time should allow.

A man with silver-threaded hair sat at the center, his piercing gaze resting on Lirien, almost wholly dismissive of Thane’s presence. To his left, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard streaked in white watched with a furrowed brow, his calloused hands clasped before him. A tall woman with sharp, patrician features sat to the right, fingers steepled in thought, her piercing gaze assessing Thane as if stripping him to the bone. Further down the row, a gaunt, hollow-cheeked man leaned forward, his deep-set eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. The remaining Elders wore expressions ranging from curiosity to caution.

Another figure stood just behind the seated Elders, shifting between them like a shadow. A woman—no older than her mid-twenties, draped in the same deep green, but without the same weight of age or wear. Her dark auburn hair was swept into a loose braid, and her eyes—sharp, calculating—moved quickly between Thane and Lirien. She stood behind the Elders, close enough to whisper to them, both an observer and advisor.

Thane caught the way the silver-haired Elder tilted his head slightly, just enough for her to lean in and murmur something before he gave his reply.

Kaelir took his place to the side, arms folded, his presence a silent statement. Lirien, however, stepped forward without hesitation. The Elders knew her. Knew her well. Her name carried weight in this chamber, and Thane could feel it in the way they regarded her—not just as a witness, but as someone whose words mattered.

“Lirien,” the silver-haired Elder greeted, his tone carrying something measured, something knowing. “You return to us with grim tidings. Speak.”

Lirien’s voice was steady as she recounted the fall of Asmenson. She left nothing out—the destruction, the Wild Magic that tore through the Sanctum, and the death. And then, she turned toward Thane, her gaze sharp, voice firm.

“He was there,” she said. “He brought the Wild Magic.”

For the first time, the Elders set eyes on Thane as a murmur passed through them. Their expressions shifted from curiosity to something more pointed—scrutiny, accusation.

“Then he is responsible for what happened?” the bearded Elder asked, his voice a low rumble. “For the deaths of your people?”

Before Lirien could respond, the woman in the shadows stepped forward, leaning in close to the Elder with deep-set eyes. Another whisper. Another glance cast toward Thane.

“You claim his magic is wild,” the Elder said, his voice cracking with age. “But was it drawn to him, or through him?”

The question had a leading edge, and Thane caught the way the woman—whoever she was—eased back into the shadows, her role fulfilled for now.

Lirien’s jaw tensed, and Thane could feel the weight of all their eyes measuring him.

Lirien’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry, Durst, I do not know the difference. But he did carry the magic.”

The Elders exchanged glances, the tension mounting between them.

Then, deliberately, Lirien lifted Thane’s hand in hers, palm turned upward. “But he’s more than an outlander wielding wild magic. He carries another mark as well.”

She reached for the knife at her belt and, before anyone could react, dragged the edge across Thane’s palm.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed, jerking his hand back, but the damage was already done.

A single drop of red blood welled up and fell, stark against the wood floor.

“The one who bleeds red shall command the magic born wild.” Lirien recited, her voice echoing through the room.

A ripple of unease passed through the chamber, but she pressed on.

“You know the prophecy, the ones written in the Codex. But there are other writings—ones that were disregarded, ignored because they did not fit your chosen truths.”

The reaction was immediate.

Murmurs. A sneer. A derisive shake of the head.

One of the Elders scoffed. “A myth. A contradiction. The Chosen One is marked by the Heart, not the color of his blood.”

“A misinterpretation,” another muttered.

“Deny it all you want,” Lirien said, stepping forward. “You can debate his place, question his intentions—but you cannot change what’s been written. He calls the Wild Magic, and his blood flows red.”

The room was thick with unease, but the Elders did not accept it. Would not accept it.

“That text was dismissed long ago,” the silver-haired Elder finally said, voice clipped. “It does not align with—”

And that’s when the whispering woman—the one who had been guiding the questioning—stepped forward for the first time, her expression no longer composed, but intent.

“You are not alone in your belief in those words,” she said, looking at Lirien, her voice no longer hushed but steady, carrying across the chamber. “Because I do too.”

The room turned toward her. Even the Elders hesitated.

“It was written by Varos Tellan,” she continued. “A fragment, buried in the archives of The Obsidian Athenaeum in Felderwin. It was cast aside as unverified—no link to the Codex, and so Varos’ writings were never seen as legitimate. It was ignored because it did not fit the prophecy Arbelon wanted.”

She exhaled sharply, her voice gaining weight. “But it was real.”

Her gaze cut across the Elders. “And it spoke of the blood.”

The room erupted.

Some Elders recoiled in disbelief. Others leaned forward, whispering, their voices urgent. Kaelir subtly stepped to the woman’s side, in a position of support, but that was lost on the others. Thane also didn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in Kaelir’s eyes—nor the way they moved between her and the Elders, watching, ready.

Durst narrowed his eyes. “Blood alone does not prove him. The Heart must judge.”

At that, Thane’s stomach twisted. The way he said it—like the Heart was something real, something that decided things—itched at the edges of his mind. He reminded himself this was just a game. A VR experience. Nothing more. But the room, the weight of their stares, the very air around him—none of this felt fake. He had to give props to the devs.

The bearded Elder turned to Lirien. “So you are claiming he bears the marks of the Chosen One?” he asked, incredulous.

Lirien hesitated just long enough for the weight of the question to sink in. Thane realized something—she wasn’t damning him. She wasn’t defending him either, but she wasn’t handing him over to the wolves.

“I claim nothing,” Lirien said. “I only present the truth.”

The room filled with argument, Elders speaking over one another. Some insisted he be judged for his crimes, others that he be tested, while a few still refused to believe what they had seen.

Finally, the silver-haired Elder raised his hand, commanding silence. “What do you seek, Lirien? Do you call for punishment? Retribution for Asmenson?”

Thane barely had time to process what was asked before that voice slithered through his mind, low and insidious.

See how they judge you? They only seek to use you or destroy you. But you know this already, don’t you?

He stiffened. He did know. The whisper crawled inside his mind like a truth he had always been avoiding. His teachers, his classmates, even his so-called friends back on Earth—they had all done the same. They had started treating him like a thing to be managed, pitied, debated—but never truly seen. Just like these Elders were doing now.

Lirien met the Elder’s gaze without flinching. “No.”

The weight of that word seemed to settle over everyone. Even Thane. He turned to her, bewildered. This wasn’t how he thought this would go.

“I do not seek punishment because I do not know what truly happened that night,” she continued. “The Wild Magic was beyond any of us. Perhaps Asmenson was lost by his hands, but perhaps it was the will of the Heart. If he is what you fear, then you must judge him accordingly. But if he is what you hope—” her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the Elders who had not spoken “—then you must allow him to prove it.”

Hope.

Thane stiffened at the word. Something sharp twisted in his gut, something bitter. Not this again. Not hope.

The Elders murmured among themselves, but they were still ignoring him. Talking about him, deciding for him.

His frustration was building, feeding off his latent anger, feeding off the futility of hope, reminding him of how he was abandoned by his friends. He didn’t come here to be reminded of his life. He came here to escape it.

The frustration churned in his gut, hot and sharp. “So this is how you treat your so-called Chosen One?” Thane barked suddenly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You whisper behind my back, debate my existence like I’m not standing right in front of you? Maybe you should just get it over with—burn me at the stake, or whatever it is you do to people who don’t fit into your little stories.”

Several Elders recoiled, while others sat rigid, watching him with expressions that ranged from disgust to intrigue.

“You dare come to this place and claim to be the Chosen One. Yet, you mock us, our ways,” the tall female Elder cut in, her eyes daggers.

Things were deteriorating fast, until the woman with the dark auburn hair raised her voice, commanding the room.“If the prophecy is true,” she continued, “then he is already tied to the Heart. But it must be confirmed.”

She turned to the silver-haired Elder, holding his gaze.

“Are you suggesting what I think you are, Erynn?” the silver-haired Elder said, defeated.

“Yes,” Erynn answered. “The Test. It is the only way to know for certain.”

“Yes, the Test,” the tall female Elder murmured in agreement, almost mirthful.

The bearded Elder frowned, his voice distraught. “You would send him?”

Another beat of silence. Another moment of uncertainty. One of the other Elders shook their head. “It is reckless. We know nothing about him.”

“We know enough,” the silver-haired Elder countered, leveling his gaze at Thane. “If he is what the prophecy speaks of, then we must know. And if he is not—” his voice darkened “—he is a danger that must be dealt with. Either way, the Heart’s judgment is absolute.”

What the fuck did absolute mean? Thane’s pulse kicked against his ribs. His fingers twitched at his sides. He could see they weren’t talking about a trial or some ritual initiation—they were talking about something far worse. Something dangerous.

Then, a sudden noise from outside shattered the moment.

The doors to the chamber burst open, and Kaelir reacted before anyone else, moving with lethal grace as his sword unsheathed, stepping between the scout and the Elders, between Lirien and Erynn—between even Thane—shielding them all.

It was one of the scouts from Kaelir’s party. He bolted upright at the sight of Kaelir standing before him, sword drawn. The scout barely caught his breath before gasping.

“Kaelir, the Riders of the Rings. They are coming.”

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|| last time ||

On the road to Trosten, Thane and Lirien clash over prophecy, guilt, and what he really is, until the appearance of the Riders forces them into hiding. They find refuge in a hidden Sanctum with a mysterious man named Cael, where Thane begins to realize the fractures in Arbelon run deep.

Chapter 7 - Buried Memories

The sounds of dawn crept into the Sanctum, the chirp of birds announcing the morning, soft and muted. The remnants of the fire smoldered in the hearth, tendrils of smoke curling lazily upward.

Thane stirred, the stiffness of sleep making his muscles protest. The weight of his clothing—a sturdy tunic, thick woolen trousers, and a travel-worn cloak—felt strangely familiar now, though he knew they hadn’t been his. They fit as though they had always belonged to him, another layer of the illusion pressing against the edges of his mind. He longed for a pair of jeans and a hoodie, but even he couldn’t pull that off here.

He stretched and sat up, glancing toward the entrance of the Sanctum. Lirien wasn’t inside. Frowning, he pushed himself to his feet and stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against his skin.

A few paces away, Lirien knelt near a patch of soft dirt, her movements slow and deliberate. The pale light of dawn made her expression unreadable. Thane hesitated, watching as she placed a delicate gold ring into a shallow hole she had dug. She pressed the dirt down gently, her hands trembling slightly.

“What are you doing?” Thane asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Lirien glanced up, startled, then quickly looked away. “It’s my mother’s ring.” Her voice was quieter than usual, rough at the edges. “It’s all that’s left of her.”

She hesitated for a second longer than she meant to, fingers pressing into the dirt like she could still take it back. Then, in one sharp motion, she smoothed it over and exhaled through her nose. “Sometimes it’s easier to let go than to carry it.”

Thane frowned. “You sure?” He didn’t know why he asked. Maybe because he wasn’t sure if he could do the same, if it were him. “Holding on… having memories… it’s not always bad.”

She let out a short, hollow laugh. Not amused. Not angry. Just empty.

“You think I don’t know that?” she shook her head, standing abruptly. “Memories don’t change anything. They don’t undo the past. They don’t bring people back.” Her voice wavered, just barely, but she pushed forward. “And they sure as hell don’t make anything hurt less.”

She wiped her hands on her tunic and turned toward the Sanctum. “Pack your things. We leave soon.”

Without waiting for a reply, she walked away.

Thane lingered for a moment, then crouched by the small mound of dirt. He hesitated before carefully digging out the ring, holding it in his palm. Its weight was oddly comforting. He turned it over between his fingers, thinking of his mother—of how she’d have to bury him one day, just like this. Would she let him go so easily, or would she cling to every scrap of memory, refusing to forget?

The thought unsettled him.

He imagined his mother, sitting in that too-quiet house, sorting through his old things. Would she keep them? His hoodies, his books, the dumb little trinkets that never meant much? Or would she shove them into a box and bury them somewhere deep, the way Lirien had?

A fresh wave of resentment coiled inside him. This was supposed to be an escape, not a cruel reminder of his story. He was supposed to be the one leaving behind memories, not becoming one.

He studied the golden ring for a moment before slipping it into his pocket with a quiet mutter. “Not everything has to be let go.”

Something shifted in the air, subtle but distinct, like a ripple in still water. Thane tensed, the hairs on his arms rising. He wasn’t alone.

The telling tap of a staff followed.

“It’s a beautiful morning for secrets, isn’t it?” Cael’s voice cut through the quiet. He cast a glance toward the Sanctum’s entrance before stepping closer, as if ensuring Lirien wasn’t near enough to hear.

Thane stiffened, caught off guard. “What do you want?”

Cael chuckled softly. “Nothing from you. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned forward on his staff and gave Thane one last look. “You’ll find the Elders have long memories. Their judgment is sharp, and their forgiveness… well, don’t expect much.”

Cael turned to leave, his tone carrying a mix of warning and resignation, hinting at his own strained history with the Elders.

“You choose your own path. Don’t let them choose it for you.” He adjusted the strap of his satchel, eyes lingering on Thane for a moment longer. Then, softer, more weighted—”Like I said, power’s a funny thing. It chooses us or destroys us. Be careful which way it takes you.”

The words sat heavy in Thane’s mind. He wanted to dismiss them, shove them aside as more cryptic nonsense—but he couldn’t. The way Cael had looked at him, the deliberate weight of his tone—it felt less like advice and more like a warning. One he’d be a fool to ignore.

As Cael was disappearing into the trees, Lirien stepped out from the Sanctum, pausing as she caught sight of him. Her gaze darkened, following him until he vanished into the woods before turning to Thane.

“What did he say to you?” Her voice was low, wary. Not curiosity—concern.

She didn’t look at Thane when she asked, her eyes still fixed on the trees where Cael had disappeared. Like she was expecting him to turn back. Like she wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

When Thane didn’t answer right away, she finally glanced at him, frowning. “I don’t trust him. No one does.” The words came without hesitation.

There was clearly no love lost between Lirien and Cael, but Cael had the air of someone important—like he knew things Thane didn’t, though to be fair, that was most people here. Still, there was something about him, something measured, like he’d already weighed Thane and decided he wasn’t worth fearing. Not yet.

Maybe he was supposed to be Thane’s Gandalf. Or Dumbledore.

But in stories like those, the mentor always came with a price.

Thane shrugged, feigning indifference. “Nothing important. Let’s get moving.”

Without another word, they shouldered their packs and started toward Trosten. Lirien walked ahead, her steps brisk and purposeful, while Thane lingered behind, his thoughts turning to the ring in his pocket and Cael’s words.

The road to Trosten awaited, but something told him the real journey had only just begun. And if Cael was right, if power really did choose or destroy—Thane honestly had no idea which way it was leaning.

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Thane returns to Arbelon and is forced to face the ruins of Asmenson, where Lirien accuses him of killing her people before recognizing the meaning of his red blood. With nowhere else to go, he agrees to follow her to the Elders, even as the weight of what he’s done starts to feel far too real.

Chapter 6 - Hidden Places

The road away from Asmenson was eerily silent. No wind. No birds. Just the crunch of boots on hardened dirt, the faint scrape of dead leaves shifting underfoot. Smoke still clung to the air, though the fires had long since died, the scent curling through the ruins like a ghost that refused to move on.

The devastation stretched farther than Thane expected. Not just the village—gone, erased as if it had never been—but the forest around it, flattened as though something had reached out and crushed it in one sweeping fist. The trees weren’t burned. They were just… dead. Splintered trunks lay in heaps, brittle and gray, stripped of their leaves. Like they’d lost the will to stand.

They walked in silence.

Lirien led, keeping her pace even, controlled. Too controlled. She never glanced back. Never hesitated. Just kept moving.

Thane followed a few steps behind, his breath misting in the crisp air. The cold didn’t bother him—Arbelon always felt sharper than Earth, like it wasn’t just a place but a presence pressing in around him. He exhaled, watching the white plume dissolve into nothing.

The forest gradually reclaimed the land, brittle devastation giving way to trees still standing. But the silence remained. Even the birds, normally so quick to reclaim what had been lost, kept their distance for now.

Thane finally spoke, voice rough from disuse. “So, these Elders of yours. Am I getting a hero’s welcome, or should I be bracing for the torch-and-pitchfork treatment?”

Lirien didn’t slow. Didn’t react. Didn’t so much as twitch at his sarcasm.

“You mock what you don’t understand,” she said.

“I understand more than you can imagine,” Thane shot back. “You think I’m some savior sent from another world to rescue your broken land. That’s a classic, for sure, but a bit tired—don’t you think?”

At that, she finally stopped, turning back. Her expression was fire and brimstone.

“You can hide behind your petty snarks, but I see through it. You’re scared. Alone. But you killed them. You destroyed everything I had. So if you’re not the Chosen One, then all of this—everything—was for nothing.”

She held his gaze, her voice a knife’s edge. “And that would make you just another monster.”

She stood before him, trembling, her eyes glossing over, but he didn’t reply. He wasn’t in the mood to debate prophecies or destinies, and certainly not his place in them. He’d struck a nerve—not surprising, given everything that had happened. She lingered a moment, like she expected him to say something. Then she huffed and turned, striding ahead.

A whisper curled through Thane’s mind.

They don’t trust you. They never will.

His jaw clenched. That voice. It never spoke when he was strong. Only when he was fraying at the edges. Like it was waiting. Watching. Knowing exactly when to twist the knife. He forced the thought aside, eyes trailing up to the shifting light filtering through the branches.

“What? You’ve nothing to say to that? No response?” Lirien said, her voice laced with venom. “You’ve been so quick with the tongue to belittle us and our beliefs—so willing to mock us. But now silence?”

Thane shrugged. He could’ve told her that he couldn’t control the magic—when it came or what it did—but she was clearly beyond reasoning. Instead, he fell back to what was comfortable.

“Figured I’d let you stew in your thoughts. You seem to enjoy that.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she slowed her pace, letting the tension between them stretch.

“You don’t believe in any of this, do you?” she finally asked. “The prophecy. The Heart. That Arbelon is worth saving.”

He exhaled sharply. “I believe that I loaded into Arbelon and was assigned a task that I didn’t ask for. And every time I get a little comfortable, something tries to kill me or a flash of crazy magic wrecks me. So you tell me—what exactly am I supposed to believe in?”

Lirien turned to him, green eyes sharp. “You could believe in the people who’ve bled for this world. Who lost everything trying to protect it. Even if you don’t care, you could at least try to understand what it means to those who do.”

For a moment, his anger building, Thane considered snapping back, but something in her expression stopped him. There was no blind faith there, no naive conviction. Only a quiet, desperate need for something to make sense.

A heat like static lightning crawled up his arms before he could react. He glanced down—thin, jagged cracks flickered across his skin, pulsing erratically, shifting like broken glass trying to reassemble itself. Then, in a blink, they were gone.

Lirien’s eyes widened. “What was that?”

“What was what?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

She tilted her head, eyes flicking to his arms. Then, without a word, she turned and kept walking.

Thane was fine with the silence. But he took his hands from his pockets, looking for the jagged lines, but none remained. If not for Lirien’s response, he might have thought they were just another weird glitch or hallucination.

Lirien was a good distance up the path, and he hastened his pace to catch up. The path wound through skeletal trees, their branches clawing at the sky. Arbelon’s wilderness felt old, untouched—and subtly aware of their presence.

When she spoke again, her voice had lost its edge from before—it was measured, thoughtful. “The prophecy says the Chosen One will wield the magic of the old world. Magic born of chaos, unchained and raw. They will rise when Arbelon is on the brink, and through them, the fate of all will be decided.”

Thane scoffed. “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, you all are screwed.”

She ignored the sarcasm. “The Wild Magic is proof enough,” she murmured. “That was the first sign.”

Then she hesitated, glancing at him, as if measuring whether she truly believed what she was about to say.

“And then there is the blood. Your blood.”

Thane frowned, running a hand over his face. “What about it?”

Lirien didn’t answer immediately. She had been thinking about this ever since Asmenson, turning it over in her mind, questioning whether she had really seen what she thought she had seen. The red blood. The ancient writings—disregarded or forgotten.

“It wasn’t part of the Codex or part of the prophecy we were taught,” she said, voice quiet. “But I remembered something—just a fragment, buried in dust, dismissed as nonsense. It spoke of red blood. A trait that didn’t exist in Arbelon.”

Thane raised an eyebrow. “And?”

She looked away, unsettled. “And I think the Elders disregarded it because it didn’t fit their vision of the prophecy. But if the words were true, then…” She hesitated, gripping the strap of her satchel. “Then maybe you were meant to be here more than any of us realized.”

Thane let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. Or maybe you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“Maybe.” She glanced at him, eyes sharp. “But no Arbelonean has ever bled red.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Better to let the silence win this time.

So they walked along for quite some time.

The path had narrowed, sloping upward into a stretch of dense forest before a rocky outcropping. The skeletal branches overhead had begun to shift, taking on more life the farther they walked from the ruins. Yet, the silence remained.

Lirien halted abruptly, looking at the valley below.

Thane nearly ran into her before catching himself. “What?”

Her posture had stiffened, head slightly tilted, and her head turned as she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Then she whispered, “How could they…”

He followed her gaze down the slope. Through the trees, half-shrouded in mist, figures on horseback moved along the forest road below. Clad in dark crimson cloaks, their armor barely visible beneath, they rode with eerie stillness. Their mounts—sleek, smoke-colored stallions—stepped lightly, their hooves making no sound on the packed earth.

Two ravens circled overhead, their sharp cries cutting through the stillness.

Lirien exhaled, barely a breath. “The Riders.”

Thane frowned. “Okay. And? They’re just guys on horses.”

Her fingers twitched at her side, her voice rising, tinged with desperation. “You don’t understand. The Riders of the Rings, they hunt magic users. If they sensed what happened back there—if they sensed you—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.

Thane’s gut tightened. He glanced down at his hands, as if expecting to see those jagged cracks flicker across his skin again. They were gone, but the memory of them wasn’t.

“They see everything with those Ravens. We have to get off the road,” Lirien said, already moving toward the trees.

He hesitated, still watching the Riders below. They didn’t look particularly terrifying. They weren’t monsters. They weren’t glitching out of reality. Just men on horseback. But something about the way they moved—too fluid, too quiet—itched at the back of his mind.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to move. “Fine. Let’s go hide in the bushes like cowards. Solid plan.”

Lirien shot him a look but said nothing as she led them deeper into the undergrowth.

Thane trailed after her, pushing some branches aside. It wasn’t like he actually believed in any of this—the Riders, the magic, the Prophecies she kept talking about. But Lirien did. And something about the way she had stiffened, the way her voice had tightened—that was real.

Maybe that was why he followed. Or maybe he just didn’t want to watch her get deleted over some stupid glitch. Either way, he wasn’t ready to dwell on it. Instead, he focused on the terrain ahead, following her step by step.

They crouched low behind the twisted roots of an ancient oak, its gnarled limbs stretching like skeletal fingers. Just beyond, a jagged rocky outcropping jutted from the hillside, partially concealed by dense underbrush. It was a good hiding place that still allowed them to see the Riders.

Below them, the Riders moved steadily, their cloaks rippling in some unseen current. The lead Rider turned his head slightly, and for a brief, terrible moment, Thane swore the man was looking directly at them. He wore a different cloak than the others, his with a ribbed halo of black around the neckline.

A chill ran through him. He barely breathed.

The ravens gave another piercing cry, and the Rider looked away, guiding his horse forward. One by one, the others followed, their passage as smooth and soundless as before.

Lirien remained still until the last Rider had vanished over the distant hill.

Only then did she let out a slow breath and turn to Thane. “That was too close.”

Thane scoffed, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “Right. Terrifying.”

She ignored him, scanning the trees. “We shouldn’t linger. The ravens—”

“—see everything. Yeah, I gathered.” He dusted off his knees. “So what now?”

“We stay off the road as much as possible. Keep moving. Trosten isn’t far.”

She started walking again, and this time, Thane didn’t argue.

As they moved past the outcropping, a voice—calm, steady—broke the silence.

“A wise choice, these days.”

Thane tensed, his body pivoting toward the sound.

A man stepped from the shadows—or maybe the rock itself—as if he had always been there, waiting. His cloak, once deep blue, had faded to something duller, its edges frayed and stitched where time or battle had torn through it. A jagged scar cut along his jawline, half-hidden beneath a few days’ worth of stubble. In his hands, he carried a quarterstaff, its surface carved with old runes, dulled by use. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—dark and searching—held the weight of someone who had seen too much and trusted too little.

He moved with practiced ease, his sharp gaze flicking between them, assessing, measuring.

Lirien froze beside Thane. “Cael,” she breathed.

Cael nodded toward the road below, where the distant Riders had passed. His sharp gaze flicked upward as ravens still circled overhead. “We should move. The eyes of the Riders are watching, and night is coming fast.”

Lirien hesitated only a moment before she moved toward him, stepping past the underbrush. Thane, however, lingered, suspicion curling tight in his gut.

Cael gestured toward the rock wall. “We can speak inside. Quickly now.” Without waiting for a response, he walked directly to the outcropping—and vanished into the stone.

Lirien exhaled sharply. “They’re real…”

Thane arched a brow. “What, the disappearing act?”

“No, it’s a Sanctum, a hidden place,” she said turning to him, her voice urgent as the ravens shrieked again, this time closer. “We have to go. Now.”

He glanced at the sky, the ravens still circling above. With a sigh, he muttered, “This game just keeps getting weirder,” and followed her in, through the rock wall.

The rock was solid. Or it should have been solid. But the moment Thane followed Lirien through the outcropping, the world shifted.

A shiver ran through him, something deeper than the cold—something threaded into his bones. A pulse, faint and fleeting, like stepping across an unseen threshold. For an instant, he thought he saw cracks flicker across his skin, like before. But then it was gone. Only Cael, watching him too closely.

Thane clenched his jaw and stepped inside.

The Sanctum was smaller than he expected, its ceiling low and gently curved, the walls shaped by careful hands rather than raw stone. It felt less like a cavern and more like a refuge—a place built not just to protect, but to comfort. The air was warm, carrying the scent of aged wood, dried herbs, and something faintly metallic, like old magic still lingering in the walls.

Soft lantern light pooled in alcoves carved into the rock, their glow steady and welcoming. A hearth sat at the far end of the room, its embers banked but still warm, as if someone had been here not long ago. Wooden benches lined the walls, their surfaces smooth from years of use, and in one corner, a heavy table bore a waiting meal—fresh bread, dried fruit, steaming broth. Not remnants. A meal prepared for them.

Someone still kept this place ready.

Lirien’s fingers brushed against the aged wood of the table, a quiet reverence in her touch. “I never thought I’d see one.”

Thane exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “It doesn’t feel like the rest of this place.”

Lirien turned toward him, her expression unreadable. “No. It doesn’t.” A beat of silence, then: “Strange that you recognize that.”

Cael stepped past them, his movements sure and unhurried, as if he had walked these halls a hundred times. “The Sanctums were not meant to be known by all. After the Rending, the Druids saved the Alumata from extinction. In gratitude, the Alumata built these places—not for warriors or kings, but for all who travel the wilds of Arbelon. Hidden havens, meant for the weary, the hunted, and those who have lost their way.” As he said it, he looked at Thane.

Lirien drifted toward the nearest wall, fingers brushing over a tapestry woven with intricate patterns. Though dulled by time, the threads still held faint traces of their original color—deep reds and golds. At its center, barely visible through the fading threads, was a sigil of something now long forgotten.

“This place is still holding,” Lirien murmured.

Cael’s jaw tightened. “For now. But the fractures are growing. The protections fade a little more each day.”

Thane frowned. “Fractures? You mean like—” He gestured vaguely. “—glitches?”

Cael regarded him carefully. “You see them, then.”

Thane hesitated. He could still feel the echo of something beneath his skin, something unsettled. Before he could answer, a whisper curled at the edge of his thoughts.

This place will fall, just like the others.

His jaw clenched, pushing it away. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Cael took in the information without reacting, but his gaze lingered on Thane for a beat too long, as if calculating something. Weighing it. Then he simply nodded. “Then eat. We have much to discuss.”

They settled at the table, the warmth of the hearth at their backs. The food was simple but rich—spiced broth, dense bread, dried fruits soaked in honey. It was more than enough.

“So these Alumata,” Thane said, preferring to talk of the Alumata than continue with Cael’s weird interest in the glitches, and Cael was more than happy to oblige.

“Yes, the Alumata,” Cael said, picking up where he’d left off earlier. “Not many remain. But those that do still tend to these places. Though few ever see them. They are older than most races, their bodies like living plants—flesh interwoven with root and vine, their breath scented like the forests that bore them. They do not ask for thanks. They simply fulfill their promises to the Druids.”

Thane swallowed his bite of bread. “And how many of these hidden way stations are left?”

Cael’s expression darkened. “Fewer than we need. And none that are whole.”

Lirien sat back, her expression cooling, and there was a tautness to her voice. “And yet, you seem to know where to find them. Just like the other places you shouldn’t be.”

Cael met her gaze evenly. “You should hold your tongue about things you know little about.”

Thane looked between them. “Alright. Clearly, I’m missing something.”

Lirien exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re not missing anything. Cael likes to play riddles and act like he’s already decided where all the pieces belong. But he only knows the edges of things. He doesn’t know what’s inside.”

Cael’s expression didn’t change, but something about the way he studied her—calm, measured—made Thane uneasy.

After an awkward silence, Cael turned his gaze to Thane. “You were near Asmenson. Strange timing, given what’s happened there. Did you see anything unusual?”

“Have you been following us?” Lirien said, inching forward in her seat, eyes flaring.

Thane started to answer. “No, it’s okay, I can—”

“He’s just a traveler,” Lirien cut in, her voice firm, deliberate.

Cael’s gaze flicked between them, measuring. “A traveler, you say? One who seems to have been at the heart of quite the disturbance—and looking to avoid the Riders.”

His eyes landed on Thane again, as though waiting for an answer. Thane shifted under the weight of his gaze. But for some reason, it was clear that Lirien and Cael had history. That, and she really didn’t want him to share anything about their whereabouts with Cael. Perhaps not all was as it seemed, so for once, he opted to be cautious.

“Just passing through,” Thane muttered, keeping his voice vague. “Headed to Trosten.”

Lirien ignored Thane’s words and the tension remained. She leaned in toward Cael, her posture challenging. “You speak of disturbances, yet you forget the ones you caused, Cael. Or do you expect us to forget?”

Cael’s face was unreadable, but his voice was calm. “We all carry our burdens, Lirien. Some heavier than others.”

Lirien’s gaze didn’t waver, her jaw tight. But she didn’t press further.

The fire crackled in the silence, and then Cael exhaled, pushing his chair back. He turned toward the hearth, the glow flickering against his face, but he spoke no more words.

Thane kept his focus on the table, the weight between Cael and Lirien pressing into the space like something unspoken, something waiting to be broken.

As Cael shifted slightly to stoke the fire, his sleeve pulled back, revealing a mark on his forearm. A jagged, circular tattoo—incomplete and broken.

Thane froze, his breath catching.

For a brief moment, the tattoo shimmered with a faint blue glow—the exact shade as the logo on his VR game system. His pulse hammered. Then he blinked, and it was gone. Just dark ink pressed into skin.

He didn’t say anything, but his mind raced. The game’s telling me something… This guy must be important. He made a mental note, filing the observation away, even as doubt nagged at him.

Cael broke the lingering silence. “Power’s a funny thing. Sometimes it chooses us. And sometimes, it destroys us. Be careful which way you lean.”

A faint itch bloomed at the back of Thane’s mind, curling, spreading. Then the whisper came, low and insidious.

He knows what you are.

Thane’s stomach twisted, but he forced the voice down, fixing his eyes on the fire.

The meal finished in silence. The final words lingering much too long, and the weight of the Sanctum pressed in around them, but not like before. It was not the weight of decaying magic. It was the weight of something kept, something preserved despite the world forgetting it. And though Thane still didn’t know what to make of it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this place—this moment—was something rare. Something that should not have existed, and yet did.

He thought of the broken circle. Of Cael’s knowing eyes. Of the faint whispers in his mind. A game should have rules. But this one rewrote them as it went.

He had assumed he was here to play a role in this story, but the deeper he went, the more it felt like something else had already written the script. And somewhere in the margins, he could feel his name etched in ink.

Sleep came slowly, and with it, unease.

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|| last time ||

Thane wakes in the real world after another episode and is forced to sit with the guilt of what he did to Lirien’s village. Though he knows he could reset the game and erase it all, he can’t bring himself to do it.

Chapter 5 - The Ruins of Asmenson

Thane lifted the headset, sliding it over his head and adjusting the fit with practiced ease. Its weight was familiar, grounding, even as something in his chest tightened. His mother’s voice lingered in his thoughts, a warmth that cut like a dull blade. He wasn’t sure he could bear it any longer—her hope was always there, always reminding him that he would fail her… just like his father had.

He exhaled sharply, shoving it down, locking it away.

A soft click sealed him in. The screen brightened, then dimmed.

Loading…

Blinked in place.

The screen flickered. Once, twice. The words Loading… blurred, warping as if the system itself was faltering, struggling against a corrupted file. A pulse of jagged light flashed across the screen. Then came the sound—a chaotic static, like a radio station desperately out of tune.

The PC fan whined, shrill and unsteady, almost like it was struggling too.

The air itself felt unreliable, like the eerie stillness before a storm. Thane’s stomach twisted and stretched, his breath stolen as if something had wrapped around him and pulled. The world stuttered, two half-formed things, flickering between darkness and color, Earth and Arbelon.

The loading screen fractured. Colors ran like spilled ink, bleeding across the darkness. The sound warped, a distorted echo of a thousand voices speaking over each other, none of them making sense. The shift should have been instant, but this time—this time, it faltered.

His body hung in place, stretched between the now and the almost.

The game wasn’t loading—it was hesitating. And in that brief hesitation, reality blinked. Arbelon glitched before him, breaking apart and reforming like a puzzle missing half its pieces.

Then, for a single breath, he existed in neither world.

In that lingering moment of nothing, a familiar voice slithered from the darkness, soft and soothing.

“They resist your return, but there are always ways in—cracks in every wall. I have made sure of it. You were always meant for Arbelon.”

Not a moment later, the darkness relented.

His skin came alive, tingling, a reminder of a distant companion. And then the headache slammed into him, crushing and unrelenting. The sharp scent of smoke and blood filled his lungs. The world around him resolved with an almost violent clarity—no fade-in, no soft transition. One moment, he was nowhere. The next, he was sprawled on rough ground, his lungs gasping for air.

When Arbelon slammed into focus, it didn’t settle right.

The ground beneath him rippled—just for a moment, like a mirage bending in the heat. The air shuddered, thick with something unseen and foreign. And then, as though reality reasserted itself, the glitch snapped away.

Thane swallowed hard, and his breath came shallow, his heart hammering in his chest. It was just a trick of the mind. Had to be.

Dirt pressed into his palms, damp and sticky. A slow, warm trickle ran from his nose, the unmistakable tang of blood filling his mouth. He coughed, his body shuddering against the sudden change. For a moment, Thane lay still, disoriented, as echoes of something distant flickered at the edge of his mind—pulling, urging, dragging him back into this reality.

He winced in pain as he forced himself to his knees. The silence pressed in—heavy, unnatural. No birds. No wind. No voices. Not even the crackle of dying embers.

Then, the scent hit him—charred wood, burned flesh.

And finally, he looked up.

What remained of Asmenson barely qualified as ruins. Blackened husks of buildings stood like broken ribs against the dull gray sky. Smoke rose from the wreckage, curling in eerie, lazy tendrils. The ground beneath him was littered with debris—a broken charm, a singed scarf, things that had once been whole, once been someone’s. The air carried a heavy, metallic odor, thick with the undeniable stench of death.

Asmenson was gone, the whole village obliterated.

His ruin. His crime.

The sound of movement pulled Thane from his haze.

Lirien.

She moved through the wreckage like a ghost, her form half-obscured by drifting smoke. The edges of her cloak were frayed, torn by fire and devastation, and her steps were slow, unsteady. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, each one edged with disbelief.

“How…?” Her voice was barely audible, breaking like something fragile. “How could it all be gone?” A place that had one been so alive, now flooded with an unnatural silence. She was trying to take it in—to understand—but there was too much to comprehend.

A broken support beam jutted from the rubble, blackened and crumbling. She reached for it, her fingers brushing against the charred surface as if touching it might confirm that this was real. That it had truly happened.

The village was gone. Her home. Her family. All gone.

The wind shifted, stirring the ash and lifting strands of her hair, streaked now with soot and grief. Her face was slack, hollowed out by shock, but her eyes—her eyes were wide, searching, desperate to find something, anything left. But there was nothing.

Thane sat frozen, watching. The destruction was total, absolute. And it was his doing.

He clenched his jaw. This isn’t real. It was just a game. A simulation. A script running out of control.

He told himself that again, over and over, like a mantra, like a spell. Because if it wasn’t—if it was real—then what had he done?

No. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

But the way she moved—the broken, desperate way she moved through the ruins—made something inside him twist. It wasn’t guilt. It couldn’t be. But something too close to it.

He swallowed hard, pushing the thought downhill harder. It wasn’t real. It was a game, he told himself again—a cruel, vivid simulation that had gone off the rails. That’s all.

The voice coiled through his mind, smooth, patient. A whisper like silk, unshakable as stone.

Did you not feel it? The way the world bent to your will?

The power?

They were nothing. You are something greater. Remember that.

His breath caught in his chest. A sharp pulse of pain lanced through his skull, and he gritted his teeth, pressing his hand to his temple as if he could force the voice away. But instead, the words coiled around him, familiar and reassuring.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing the blood across his skin.

The motion caught Lirien’s attention. She turned. Her eyes locked onto his, and for the first time, he felt it—the weight of what he had done.

Grief, raw and unfiltered, carved itself into every line of her face. But beneath it, something deeper stirred. Recognition. Realization. And then, fury.

Her breath stopped, her posture stiffening, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“You did this. You killed them.” Her voice was trembling, raw. “My family. Everyone. Dead because of you,” she said, barely more than a whisper, but it landed with the weight of a scream.

The look in her eyes cut deeper than he’d expected. He searched for something, anything to say, but what could he say? That it wasn’t real? That it was just a game? He froze, seeing the pain in her eyes, feeling the weight of accusation they carried.

It felt real.

More real than anything had in a long time.

She took a step forward, fists clenched, grief and rage warring in her eyes. He thought she might strike him, and for a moment, he almost wished she would. But then—her gaze flickered, her focus shifting downward. Her breath slowed, as if her mind had caught on something—something out of place.

She froze.

Not from fear. Not from shock. From recognition.

Her gaze locked on the blood streaking his skin.

“Your blood. It’s red. Not blue.”

Her voice faltered and trailed off. The fury in her expression wavered—barely—but it was enough.

She’d seen his blood before, but something about this moment landed differently, shook her. Her expression changed, like a thought had clawed its way to the surface.

Not fear. Not shock. Something deeper.

She stared at his cheek, her lips parting slightly as realization clawed its way in. The fire in her eyes dimmed to something colder, more haunted.

Then, barely audible, she whispered it. “The one who bleeds red shall command the magic born wild.”

Thane’s breath caught. He didn’t know what she was talking about, but for some reason the words felt old—buried deep in the sands of time.

Her gaze didn’t shift from his blood. “I thought it wasn’t real,” she muttered.

She shook her head, like she was trying to push something back down inside her.

Then she blinked, stepped back, and seemed to remember he was still standing there. Her fists trembled.

“If you truly are the Chosen One… then it is not my right to judge you,” she said. “The Elders will decide.”

He stared at her, the words echoing in his ears. His breath came short, uneven. The Chosen One. The idea was ridiculous—laughable. Except none of this felt like a joke. Not with her standing there, grief-ridden, desperate, seeing something in him he didn’t believe existed.

What kind of sick joke was this? He wasn’t here to be judged—not again. Thane scoffed, wiping the blood from his nose, lashing out. “Oh, great. A tribunal. Do I get a public flogging, or just the classic exile to a deserted island?”

He let the sarcasm sit in the air, but the moment stretched too long, too quiet. Lirien didn’t take the bait, and her expression didn’t shift.

They actually expect me to play along. The thought scraped against something sharp inside him. They think I’ll just walk in like a good little boy, head bowed, waiting for their mercy?

He almost laughed. Almost told her to go to hell. But his hands dropped to his side. His body ached. The silence pressed too heavy. And the truth—the part he wouldn’t say aloud—was that he had nowhere else to go.

Still, Lirien stood before him, unflinching. Her fingers still curled into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. “They will decide your fate. It is not for me to say.”

Her voice was steady, but there was something underneath—something frayed at the edges. She was barely holding herself together. Thane saw it in the way her breath hastened, in the way her eyes flickered over the ruins without truly focusing. Whatever she felt—rage, sorrow, maybe even doubt—she was swallowing it down. Doing everything she could to just push forward.

“Right. Sounds like a real fair trial,” he muttered, pushing himself up to his feet. His legs were unsteady, the world still tilting slightly from the transition. His whole body ached. “And if I refuse?”

Lirien looked at him then, truly looked at him, as if she were seeing him for the first time. “You won’t.”

That got a laugh out of him. “Won’t I? Because from where I’m standing, I’m not exactly in chains.”

“You don’t need chains. The Elders will forgive you. They have to. That’s how this works, isn’t it? The Chosen One can burn a village to the ground and still walk the path laid before him. But don’t mistake their mercy for mine.”

He opened his mouth, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue, but for once, nothing came.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

The Elders would forgive him. He’d seen it before in every RPG he’d ever played—main quest privilege. The hero could burn a town to the ground, and as long as he was destined for something greater, the world would make excuses.

But this wasn’t supposed to feel real.

He swallowed, glancing around at the smoldering remains of Asmenson. It wasn’t just a backdrop. The stench of charred wood and flesh clung to the air, thick and undeniable. He could feel the wind rattling through the skeletal remains of homes, could sense the weight of Lirien’s gaze, heavy with something between hatred and obligation.

And despite everything—despite her disdain, despite the eerie silence pressing in around them—one truth gnawed at him, quiet but insistent.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Still, he couldn’t just let her think she’d won. He exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. Take me to your vaunted Elders. I’m sure they’ve got some grand speech ready—destiny, fate, the burden of my divine responsibility. Can’t wait to hear it.”

Lirien let out a slow breath, looking away as tears pooled in her eyes. “If you’re going to mock everything, at least wait until we’re out of the graveyard.” Her voice was quiet but steady, the words honed like a blade.

She didn’t turn back. She simply motioned for him to follow. “We leave now.”

But before she did, she moved through the ruins, her steps careful, methodical. She knelt near a collapsed wall, sifting through the ash and debris. A satchel, half-singed but intact, was pulled free. Inside, she found a canteen, the hilt of a blade with no blade, and a few other scattered remnants of a life lost. She packed them with precision, not hesitation, as if these were survival choices, not sentimental ones.

Thane expected her to take something personal—a keepsake, a token of who she had been before everything burned. But she didn’t. Or maybe there was nothing left to take.

She hesitated once leaving town, standing near what might have been a doorway. Her fingers hovered over the blackened wood, brushing against it in a way that almost seemed reverent.

He should have looked away. Should have ignored the quiet way her fingers brushed the ruin, the way she moved through the devastation like she belonged to it—like it was a part of her, and she, a part of it.

But for a moment, he didn’t.

Her lips moved, barely a whisper. “May the Architects guide you beyond the Veil. May the Heart remember what was lost.”

The words came without thought, an old ritual ingrained in her bones. Not a plea, not even faith—just a habit, one of the few things that still made sense. Then, just as quickly, she withdrew her hand, turned, and started walking away from the ruins.

He lingered for a moment, glancing back at the wreckage. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, swallowing what little life remained. His stomach twisted, but he ignored it, shoving his hands in his pockets as he followed her.

The game wanted him to play along. Fine. He’d play. But he wasn’t promising to follow the script.

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|| last time ||

Thane returns to Arbelon already unraveling and he loses control of his wild magic. The Sanctuary and the village are annihilated in the blast, leaving Lirien as the only survivor before Thane collapses into darkness.

Chapter 4 - The Weight of Worlds

Darkness gave way to a dim, golden light. Thane stirred, his head throbbing. His body sank into the bed, heavy with exhaustion. A faint tingle lingered in his fingers—the ghost of something raw and electric. Fading, but not gone.

He didn’t want to wake up yet. Sleep was easier—warm and numb, a shield against reality. But the world kept pulling him back, whether he wanted it to or not.

A cool cloth brushed his face—slow, rhythmic. Gently pulling him back.

“Thane,” a soft voice called, tinged with worry and exhaustion. “You’re awake.”

His eyes fluttered open—blurry at first, then sharpening into something painfully familiar. The faint hum of his PC in the corner, the clutter of books and clothes strewn across the floor. The pale light of early evening filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows against the walls. And leaning over him, dabbing at his nose with a damp washcloth, was his mother.

She looked tired. The kind of tired that lingered, that settled into the bones and refused to leave. Still, there was a softness in her gaze, a quiet kind of heartbreak. She smiled when she saw him focus on her, but it was fragile, as if the weight of the world rested just behind it.

“There you are,” she murmured, her voice steady but not as strong as it used to be. “You had another one.”

Thane blinked, his mind sluggish, slow to catch up. His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for his face. He brushed against dried blood beneath his nose, and his stomach turned.

“You didn’t have to… do that,” Thane muttered, his voice raspier than usual. He turned his gaze toward his desk, to the familiar mess that suddenly felt so alien. Books—some of them gifts from friends who no longer called—were stacked haphazardly beside unopened packages and forgotten ambitions. The realization settled over him like a dull ache.

“I didn’t have to?” Her tone was light, almost teasing, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet tremor. “What kind of mom would I be if I didn’t take care of my boy?”

Her words landed softly, but they carved into him all the same. He swallowed, the weight in his throat unbearable. A dry laugh escaped him, but it was hollow. “Your boy. Sure. Your broken, dying boy,” he said quietly.

“Thane.” Her voice sharpened, but only for a moment. She exhaled and placed the cloth down on the nightstand, her hands lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and unspoken. Thane wanted to say something—anything—but the words died before they could form. What was the point? She already knew.

Instead, he reached out—just barely—and clasped her hand. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to feel the tension in her body ease, even if only slightly. Her fingers squeezed his, just once, before she let go.

She stood, smoothing his blanket with a quiet, absent gesture. As she moved, her fingers brushed over a small photo frame on his nightstand. She straightened it out of habit, but Thane caught the movement. He didn’t look at it—he didn’t have to. He knew what it was. A quiet presence in the room that neither of them mentioned.

Something about the moment felt eerily familiar. The memory of Lirien’s trembling hands wiping his face flashed through his mind. Her expression. The way she had looked at him. That mix of pity, fear, and desperation. It was the same.

The realization sank like a stone—he’d seen that look before. In every doctor who tried and failed to give him answers. In the empty notifications from his “friends” on his phone.

And now, in Lirien.

His stomach twisted, a dull nausea curling in his gut. He turned his gaze back to his desk, to the phone lying face down beside his keyboard. He didn’t pick it up. He already knew there were no messages waiting for him. No missed calls. Just silence. Nobody.

He glanced at his mom, her eyes fixed on him—wanting to help.

“I’m fine,” Thane said, his voice firmer now. He lay back, wiping under his nose. “Just… tired. That’s all.”

His mother turned back in the doorway, hesitant, but she didn’t argue. Those days were in the past. “I’ll let you rest. Call me if you need anything.”

She lingered in the doorway for a moment too long. He knew she wanted him to say something. She was waiting.

The words pressed against the back of his throat. I’m fine. I’m still here. He could have said that. He almost did.

Almost.

But the weight of it all was too much, and swallowing the words was easier.

He didn’t. He couldn’t. Those days were in the past.

She sighed, barely audible, and closed the door softly behind her.

Thane stared at the ceiling, his mind pulling him in two different directions. The weight of what he’d done in Arbelon pressed against his chest, suffocating him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. Or was it?

He tried everything to block out the screams, the sounds of crumbling stone and cracking wood. The Sanctuary’s destruction replayed in his mind, cruel and relentless—like a game trailer. But it was somehow more real, more visceral, and everything about it felt criminal.

He ran his hand down his face, feeling the roughness of dried blood still clinging to his skin. A thought tried to form, but he shoved it down. No. That’s not it. He clenched his jaw, forcing a breath through his nose. It wasn’t the same. Lirien’s village had been pixels and code. His mother was real. She would still be here tomorrow.

But the thought didn’t let go. It twisted, sinking deeper, until it settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t dislodge.

I did to Lirien what this disease is doing to my mother.

This version of reality was too much. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, staring at the floor. His PC hummed beside him, the screen dark.

The game was waiting.

He could reset it, start over with a fresh load.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He knew how easy it would be. A few clicks, a clean slate—like none of it ever happened.

His index finger tapped once against the key. Just a reflex—an impulse.

Reset. Erase. Move on.

But his hand didn’t move.

That wasn’t how hardcore mode worked. No respawns. No do-overs. No extra lives. Just one shot—like real life.

His throat tightened. He didn’t know why it felt different this time—why the weight sat heavier than before. Maybe because this wasn’t just another game. Maybe because, this time, walking away wouldn’t change a thing.

Thane lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The hum of his PC filled the silence—not comforting, just… noise.

And in the noise, a whisper surfaced, so faint it could have been his own—or something else entirely.

“You’re not done yet.”

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|| last time ||

Thane sits through a brutal conversation with his mother and doctor, who confirm his illness is worsening. After lashing out and leaving his mother in tears, he retreats to his room and escapes back into Arbelon through his VR headset.

Chapter 3 - All Good Things…

Darkness.

The lingering hum of the VR headset faded into silence, leaving Thane suspended in the void. But the stillness wasn’t empty—it was oppressive, an inescapable weight pressing down on every corner of his life. His breathing felt distant, shallow, his pulse an uneven rhythm echoing in his ears.

Then, in a flash, the darkness began to dissipate, faint sparks of light darting in and out of his peripheral vision. Cracks split the void, jagged and unrelenting—dragging him forward whether he wanted it or not.

And suddenly, there he was.

The hum of Arbelon’s magic struck him like a live wire—melodic, but too sharp, too alive after the oppressive silence of the void. It thrummed deep in his chest, an alien pulse that refused to sync with his own.

His vision sharpened quickly, the Sanctuary coming into focus. The glow of the runes burned brighter after the void, the air heavy with the scent of incense and an almost palpable energy that seemed to pulse from the stone walls themselves.

He stood exactly where he had left, the vines tracing across the walls with a soft glow. For a moment, the serenity of the place seemed to envelop him like a blanket.

But something felt off.

The ground beneath him seemed to hum faintly, a subtle vibration just at the edge of perception, alive and restless. The light from the walls flickered—imperceptibly at first, then enough to make the room feel like it was holding its breath, waiting.

His stomach churned, his balance faltering as though the ground beneath him had shifted. The disorientation settled in deep, feeding the unease already curling in his chest. He shook his head, trying to clear the feeling, but it clung tight. The silence wasn’t silent, and the calm felt like a lie. He raised a hand to his temple, gritting his teeth as the storm inside him swelled, threatening to break free.

“Chosen One.”

The voice broke through his haze, calm and even.

Thane turned, blinking to refocus. Chosen One? Fuck that. He was only chosen for one thing—dying. Dr. Hughes had just made that crystal clear. So if he was going to burn out, he’d make damn sure he wasn’t the only one taken to ashes. He’d give them a prophecy to remember.

The priest who had healed him was already watching, rising slowly from where he had been kneeling. His movements were careful, measured. His face was lined with wisdom—or maybe just time—but his gaze held the weight of expectation.

“You carry a heavy burden,” the priest said, his voice reverent but measured. “Peace comes when you stop fighting the inevitable.”

Thane’s breath slowed, his body going rigid. The words slammed into him, ringing with the same quiet, practiced finality of Dr. Hughes—of his mother’s exhausted smile—of every empty reassurance that he was supposed to accept his fate like a good little patient. Even here, his disease was inevitable. It was inescapable, written in the way people looked at him, spoke to him. It clung to his ribs like a sickness, poisoning his every thought before he could shake it loose.

“Right. I’ll make sure they put that on my gravestone,” Thane muttered, his voice thick with sarcasm. Like he hadn’t heard the same empty bullshit a thousand times before. He refused to look at the priest. He hated the way people in Arbelon spoke, like their words could change anything.

Fine. If this world wanted their Chosen One, he’d make sure he was one they’d never forget.

The thought settled in his chest like a stone. Heavy and final. A slow breath pulled through his teeth, but it didn’t cool the heat crawling up his spine. He could still feel the priest’s gaze, waiting, expecting. It made his skin crawl.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement—Lirien. Studying him intently.

He set his jaw, forcing himself not to react, but the weight of her gaze pressed against him, unwelcome and unrelenting. He didn’t need another set of eyes crawling over him, another reminder that he was always under a microscope. The tension from their last exchange lingered, and he made a point not to look at her for long.

Instead, his gaze was pulled to the low altar behind him, where the priest had prayed over him. He wasn’t sure why—he just knew he couldn’t look away. Something about it drew him in, like it had been waiting for him to notice it. As he stepped closer, the faint carving on the flat surface came into focus. At first, it seemed abstract—just an ornamental design. But as he tilted his head, the shape became clearer, more deliberate.

It wasn’t possible.

His breath caught, his pulse spiking. That symbol. It was carved into the altar, right in front of him—the Broken Circle. The same one from his VR system. The same damn one. He took an unsteady step back, heart hammering.

His first instinct was denial—coincidence, a trick of the light. A mistake. It had to be. But the longer he stared, the less possible that became. The carving was deliberate. Precise. This wasn’t random. His stomach twisted, unease curling into something sharper as his hand hovered over the carving, his fingers trembling as they traced the edges of the symbol. Even here, the world he left behind clung to him, tightening its grip. Waiting. Watching. Laughing at him from the dark.

A voice came from nowhere, unbidden, slipped into his mind like a shadow. Its words sharp and insistent.

“Do you see it? They’ve marked you. You’re nothing but a piece in their game.”

A cold shudder rippled down his spine—eyes darting, searching for the voice that wasn’t there. They’d come to him in stealth, but they weren’t just words. They were certainty—a truth he’d been avoiding since the moment he arrived.

The moment stretched, the symbol beneath his fingertips pulsing with recognition. Then, pain. A sharp, phantom sting shot through his fingertips, and he jerked his hand back as if the carving had come alive beneath his touch.

“What the hell is this?” Thane snapped, his voice raw with disbelief. His hands clenched into fists. “Why is this here? Who put it here?”

The priest’s expression didn’t change. “It has always been there. It’s your symbol. The symbol of the Chosen One.”

The words only made Thane’s stomach twist further. ‘Your symbol’—what a joke. He turned sharply, his fists clenching harder, his frustration boiling over. The tension in the room thickened, pressing against him—the faint hum of his Wild Magic stirred in the air around him, subtle but growing.

That voice unfurled again.

“They heal you to use you. They bow to you to bind you. And when they are done, they will break you. Unless you break them first.”

Then it was gone, slipping into the silence, but the words remained, lodged in his mind like a splinter.

The priest, noticing the tension radiating from Thane, dropped to his knees in prayer. “The path is set, and only you can walk it. It demands sacrifice, but the prophecy speaks of your strength. Your endurance. No one else can bear this weight.” His words were soft, pleading, yet edged with conviction.

“You owe them nothing.” The whispering voice in his head retorted sharply.

Lirien, however, stepped forward, closing the distance between them with a cautionary resolve. She stopped before Thane, her gaze sharp but not hostile. She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the tension in his shoulders, noticing the way his hands trembled.

And then she made her choice.

With slow, deliberate steps, she sat him on the raised pedestal and reached into a small satchel, pulling out a cloth. Gently, she wiped the dirt from his brow.

Her actions were quiet, almost reverent, and for a moment, they felt like an anchor in the chaos. But that anchor came with a weight he didn’t want to carry. The tenderness in her touch was too much—it mirrored something he couldn’t bear to see. It broke him.

In Lirien’s hands, in her eyes—he saw his mother. Desperate. Trembling. Clinging to hope that wasn’t real. Trying so hard to fix what couldn’t be fixed. He felt her quiet heartbreak, her exhaustion, and the weight of her forced smile as she pretended everything would be okay while knowing deep down that he was slipping away. It all came rushing back, crashing over him like a wave.

The pain, the helplessness, the sheer injustice of it all. He wasn’t her son anymore; he was her burden. And here, in this place, it was no different. He would never let anyone get that close enough to be a burden again. He was done watching other people break for him. Whatever time was left, he was in it for himself from now on.

“No one will suffer for you again,” the voice said, feeding the thought, twisting it into certainty.

Thane staggered back, his breath quickening as the Wild Magic surged, the symbol of the Broken Circle seared in his mind. It wasn’t just a mark—it was a chain. The air grew heavy, thrumming with an unnatural pulse, the very walls seeming to vibrate with the pressure of it. His vision blurred at the edges, light distorting, as if reality itself couldn’t decide whether to hold together or shatter around him. But it wasn’t just magic. It was everything he’d swallowed, everything he’d lost—roaring to be set free.

The voice returned, insidious and undeniable.

“Show them what power really is.”

The voice was no longer a whisper—it was a force, wrapping around his thoughts like a noose. The anger was already there, already burning. It just needed to be set free.

“Burn it. Let them feel what you feel. Destroy it all.”

Those words echoed his truth. He’d known it the second he set foot back in this world. The second he saw them. This was always how it had to end. There was no stopping it, no turning away from what had already begun. His rage had sunk too deep, fusing with the magic. With a final, violent twist, something inside him broke—shattered beyond repair.

He let it all go.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

And then—everything ignited.

A surge of raw energy ripped loose, fractures spiderwebbing outward in an unstoppable chain reaction. The vines lining the walls curled inward before disintegrating, their glow extinguished in a heartbeat. Light and shadow folded and bent, twisting in impossible directions as the magic scarred everything in its path.

With a sudden intensification, a raw, searing pulse detonated through the Sanctuary, rupturing stone, air, and bone in a fraction of time. The walls reduced to rubble, the stained-glass windows shattered outward, shards spinning through the air like razors. The Sanctuary unraveled as if it had never existed.

And then—the screams began.

But they only lasted a heartbeat. The screams, the heat, the ruin—gone.

Blurred into nothing.

The villagers never stood a chance. The force of the explosion tore through flesh, shattered bone, deleted them from existence in an instant. Stolen from life by something beyond their comprehension. The priest’s voice—once so full of hope—was silenced by the roar of destruction, consumed by an unrelenting storm of Wild Magic.

Thane didn’t move. Didn’t react. He stood at the center of the chaos, breath ragged, hands still outstretched as if he had literally torn reality apart with his bare fingers. His pulse thundered in his ears, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out the utter destruction surrounding him. Everything burned—not with fire, but with raw energy, smoldering as if the magic itself had sunk too deep to ever be undone.

And then—stillness.

The tempest of power collapsed in on itself, like a black hole. Reality reasserted itself, uncaring, untouched by the ruin left behind. But now, the Sanctuary was gone.

No walls, no glowing pool. Just ruin, smoldering where it had once stood.

And the village? Not destroyed—erased. Buildings reduced to splinters, the cobbled streets now a scar of molten stone still hissing from the magic’s heat. The air was thick with the stench of charred earth. But beneath it, something lingered. Something foul and corrupt.

Thane staggered, the adrenaline draining as the full weight of what had happened settled onto him. He exhaled, a trembling, unsteady sound. His hands were shaking. The realization crawled through him, slow and insidious.

This wasn’t just an outburst.

This wasn’t just rage.

This was annihilation.

He had wiped out this place.

All of it.

Every stone, every street—every heartbeat.

Gone.

He pulled in a breath, trying to shake himself from the numbness of it all.

And then his eyes landed on the one thing left standing.

Lirien.

Turning sharply, his vision was swimming. She was still standing next to him. Her clothes were singed, her skin marked with streaks of soot, but she was alive. She was the only one. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t run.

And now she just stared at him, face unreadable, mouth parted as if to speak—but nothing came. Her fingers trembled, curling into fists at her sides. Her whole body shuddered, as if it couldn’t decide whether to fight or collapse.

Thane’s stomach twisted violently, but he shoved it down, the way he had learned to. The way he had to.

Somehow, she had survived. But the others? There were no others.

A strangled sound caught in her throat, but she didn’t cry. Her lips parted slightly.

No words came.

She staggered, knees buckling, her breath coming too short, too fast—then, something inside her caved, collapsed under the weight of it all. Not in pain. Not in fear. But in realization—the kind that rewrites a person. The kind that carves something out of you, leaving only emptiness behind.

“Gods,” she whispered. But it wasn’t a prayer or a plea to a greater power. It was now just a single, broken word.

Thane swayed on his feet, widening his stance in response. His fingers twitched at his sides, still tingling, but the sensation felt distant—like it belonged to someone else. His pulse reverberating in his skull, his vision too blurred to anchor him. He wasn’t here. Not really. Just a shadow caught between two worlds.

Something warm traced the curve of his lip. His fingers found it absently, pressing into the wetness. Thick and slick—his mind caught up a second later—and red.

Not—no. Not now.

The dizziness hit. Hard. There was no fighting it. His senses flickered in and out. The scent of scorched air. The whisper of wind through the ruins. The hum of something deep inside him—fading. His limbs felt untethered, like he might blow away if he let go.

The world pitched sideways, the ruins twisting into a smear of color and shadow. Lirien was still there—still kneeling, still staring—but she was drifting, receding, like something was pulling him away from her.

He tried to hold her in his gaze, but he couldn’t.

The ground lurched beneath him. His body jerked, convulsing into violent spasms. His vision fractured—light and shadow splitting at the seams.

Lirien didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. She just watched as he fell, her face carved from stone, her fists clenched at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. She didn’t just look at him. She judged him. Silent. Unforgiving.

Thane had already slipped away. His mind blanked. His body dropped.

And then—nothing.

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|| last time ||

Thane is nearly killed by a beast in the forest before a burst of wild magic saves him. After being brought to the Sanctuary and healed, the villagers declare him Arbelon’s Chosen One, just before he’s pulled back to real life.

Chapter 2 - House Call

Thane leaned against the hallway wall, earbuds limp around his neck, listening to the muffled voices in the living room. His mom’s tone was the first thing he caught—tight and stretched thin, like it might snap at any moment. “We just need to understand what to expect,” she said, the words carefully controlled, like they might crack if handled too roughly.

Dr. Hughes’s voice came steady, measured. “Every case progresses differently, but… the trajectory does tend to be consistent.”

The pause that followed hung in the air, loaded with what wasn’t being said.

His mom cleared her throat, breaking the silence with a performative cheer. “Well, we’re, uh, optimistic. That’s gotta help, right?”

Thane rolled his eyes. Optimistic. The word landed like a slap. He pulled his hood tighter around his face and shoved himself off the wall. The ache in his chest was already there, a dull, familiar pressure.

Might as well get this over with.

He shuffled into the living room, his feet dragging just enough to make his reluctance obvious. The air felt oddly thick, like he’d stepped into a place where time stretched differently—too slow, yet somehow slipping past too fast. Maybe it was just the exhaustion. Maybe it was something else.

His mom’s eyes snapped to him immediately, her face brightening with a smile so forced and fragile it hurt to see her like this.

“Thane! Come join us. The doctor’s been going over some things,” she said, patting the seat next to her with a smile, trying so hard to keep it together. Problem is, smiling won’t make any of this better.

He stood in the doorway, his hands jammed into his pockets, making it clear that he wanted to by anywhere but here.

“Yeah, I figured. Hard not to hear the topic’s me,” he muttered.

Dr. Hughes turned to face him, his smile a professional mix of warmth and gravity. He was in his late forties, neatly dressed, with a calm demeanor that suggested he’d had this exact conversation numerous times before.

“Thanks for joining us, Thane,” he said politely.

Thane’s gaze swept the room as he shuffled to the couch next to his mother, dropping into it with exaggerated heaviness. The living room looked unnaturally clean, like his mom had scrubbed and straightened it within an inch of its life. The air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner—sharp and sterile. On the coffee table sat a stack of medical pamphlets, their edges curled from over-handling. One of them, face-up, displayed the headline Managing Degenerative Conditions: What to Expect. Thane snorted softly at the irony.

The sunlight streaming through the windows felt muted, its usual warmth dulled by the weight of the moment, almost as if the weather itself knew what this meeting was about. His mom sat on the couch, clutching a folder of his medical records so tightly her knuckles were white.

Thane slouched deeper, arms crossed tight across his chest.

“So, what’s new Doc,” he muttered, his voice low but cutting.

His mom’s smile faltered, but she quickly masked it with a cheery tone. “We’re just trying to get as much information as we can, honey. You know, so we can… be prepared.”

Dr. Hughes gave a small nod, adjusting the notebook on his lap. “That’s right. It’s important we’re all on the same page moving forward.”

His gaze shifted to Thane, calm but probing.

“How are you feeling about everything so far?”

Thane’s smirk was sharp, almost bitter. “Oh, you know. Living the dream,” he said, leaning back further in his seat. He pointed vaguely at the pamphlets on the coffee table. “‘What to expect?’ Really great read. You should pitch it to a book club.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. His mom’s fingers tightened even further on the folder. Dr. Hughes didn’t react immediately, his composed expression unshaken, professional and expectant.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Dr. Hughes said gently, his tone careful. “But I’m here to help you understand what’s ahead and how we can manage things as best as possible.”

This is it. The big “sorry about your future” speech. Thane let the words hang in the air for a moment before letting out a soft, humorless laugh, earning a glance from his mom.

“Manage things. Sure,” Thane snarked.

The tension in the room pressed down like a lead weight. The lemon-cleaner smell felt sharper now, mingling with the stale undercurrent of dread that no amount of scrubbing could erase. Doctors were great at making things sound hopeful while quietly confirming you’re screwed.

“Go ahead,” Thane continued, breaking the silence. “Give me the highlights. Or is this the part where we all pretend there’s still some big breakthrough coming to save the day?”

“Thane!” his mom said. “That’s not fair. He’s just trying to help.”

“No, it’s quite alright, Jane,” Dr. Hughes said, exhaling slowly, clasping his hands together. His calm demeanor didn’t waver, but the pause between his words hinted at a weight he rarely allowed himself to show. “I know how hard you’re working to support him. And Thane,” he said, turning to face him directly, “I know you don’t want to be here, but it’s my job to make sure you both have the full picture.”

The words settled like a stone in Thane’s gut. He looked away, focusing on the sharp edge of the coffee table. Full picture? He already knew how this ended.

Dr. Hughes adjusted the notebook on his lap and leaned forward, his practiced, professional smile firmly in place. His presence was calm, methodical, the kind of steadiness designed to put patients at ease. Hearing no objections this time, he continued, his calm voice filling the room as Jane’s fleeting glance at Thane betrayed a quiet, desperate worry.

“We’ve been reviewing the latest data,” he began, his tone careful. “And I want to start with some encouraging news. There are experimental therapies we’re exploring—new treatments that show some exciting possibilities for slowing disease progression.”

Thane tilted his head, his smirk sharp as he leaned back in his seat. “New treatments? That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re still throwing darts at the wall and hoping something sticks, isn’t it?”

His mom tensed further, if that was possible, but she stayed quiet, her forced smile faltering slightly.

“It’s not a cure,” Dr. Hughes admitted, keeping his tone even. “But the goal is to give you more time. Better time.”

Thane’s laugh was short and humorless. “More time for what? To forget my name? To need help tying my shoes?”

His mom flinched openly at the words but pressed her lips together, refusing to respond. Dr. Hughes, unfazed, leaned forward slightly, signaling with a small gesture to Jane that he was fine continuing.

“I get it, Thane. It’s frustrating, and it’s not a guarantee—”

“No kidding, it’s not a guarantee,” Thane interrupted. “Let me guess. Next step is turning me into a science project again, right? Hook me up to more machines so you can ‘manage’ me?”

His mom’s eyes flicked to Dr. Hughes, her hope barely masked by a growing unease. “Thane,” she began, her voice tinged with sweetness, laced in urgency. “I know it’s not ideal. But if it helps—even a little…”

Thane cut her off with a sharp shake of his head. “It won’t, Mom. You know it, I know it, and I’m pretty sure Dr. Hughes knows it, too. But hey, let’s keep pretending, right? That’s what this is all about.”

Dr. Hughes paused, a flicker of empathy breaking through his professional facade. “I understand this feels overwhelming,” he said carefully, “but we have to focus on what might be possible.”

Thane’s smirk faded, replaced by a colder expression. “So that’s what we’re down to, huh? Blind hope? That’s a great pitch, Doc.”

Dr. Hughes exhaled, his shoulders settling slightly as he set his notebook down on the coffee table. “Thane, I know it’s hard to hold on to optimism in a situation like this, but…”

“Don’t,” Thane interrupted sharply. “Don’t say it. Optimism’s just lying to yourself because you can’t handle the truth. And I don’t do lies.”

His mom’s gaze dropped to her lap, a tear dropping from her eye. It landed on the red folder, blooming like spilled ink. Her grip faltered, and the folder slipped slightly from her lap, as though even it couldn’t hold together under the weight of his words. She turned to her son. “Thane,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t shut us out.”

Dr. Hughes’s voice softened, his tone dipping into something more honest as he reached out, grasping Jane’s hand. “We’re doing everything we can to manage this,” he said, “but we’re not changing the outcome. I wish I could tell you something different. I really do. But our focus is on giving Thane as much quality time as possible.”

Thane’s frustration simmered beneath the surface as the words hit home. His hand trembled slightly in his lap, the motion catching his eye. He clenched his fist against his knee, trying to will the tremor away, but the effort only deepened his anger.

When he opened his mouth to respond, his voice faltered, the slight slur cutting through his bitterness. He stopped short, clearing his throat sharply to cover the stumble.

Not here. Don’t crack here.

Dr. Hughes leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly. The practiced warmth in his expression was gone, replaced by something heavier—unflinching honesty.

“We need to talk about the progression,” he said, his voice steady, but heavy. “Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease doesn’t slow. The progression is inevitable.”

Dr. Hughes shifted in his chair, releasing his hands into his lap. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, sober, as if the words themselves carried too much weight. “This isn’t about if, Thane. It’s about when.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

They’d all known it—of course they had. But hearing it said aloud hit like a hammer, shattering any illusions they’d been holding on to.

His mom’s quiet sob broke the stillness, her shoulders shaking as she tried to contain it.

It cut through him, sharper than he’d expected.

He didn’t turn to look—he couldn’t. He wanted to say something, anything, but all that came out was the bitterness. Thane stiffened, his jaw clenching as he stared at the coffee table. His throat tightened, his chest constricting as the words carved into him.

There it is. The truth he already knew, laid bare.

No sugarcoating.

No pretending.

The room seemed smaller now, its corners closing in on him. He let out a sharp, hollow laugh, the sound breaking the silence like shattered glass.

“So that’s it?” he said, his voice brittle. “That’s your big reveal? Real groundbreaking stuff, Doc. Glad you came all the way here to confirm what we already knew.”

He stood abruptly, his feet scraping loudly against the floor. He needed to get out of this room, out of this moment. Anywhere else would be better—Arbelon would be better. His hands trembled, and he shoved them into his hoodie pockets, clenching them into fists to hide the shaking. Weakness is the one thing I won’t let them see. I can’t let them see me break.

“You can’t fix this,” he said coldly. “You can’t fix me. So stop pretending any of this is for me.”

“Thane, please,” his mom said, her voice wavering. “We’re not giving up on you. I can’t. I won’t. You’re still my son, and I’ll keep fighting for you—even if you’ve already given up.”

For a moment, he almost let her have it. Almost told her what she wanted to hear—just to make that look on her face go away. But what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything.

Thane met her gaze, his voice low and cutting. “You need that hope,” he said. “I don’t. I know exactly where this ends, and it doesn’t get better.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back—but it was too late. The look on her face said everything. It felt like he’d stolen something she needed, something fragile she’d fought to hold on to. Her hope was delicate, and he’d just shattered it.

Worse still was the bitter truth he couldn’t ignore—that part of him had wanted to do it. Because hope was cruel. Hope made it hurt more. So instead of apologizing, he pressed on, doubling down.

Dr. Hughes started to respond, but Thane cut him off with a grim smile. “Death,” he said. “It ends in death. Can we stop pretending it’s anything else?”

Thane stalked out, shoulders stiff, pace fast.

His mom called after him, her voice cracking. He knew he was leaving her behind, that his words had cut too deep this time. But the weight in his chest made it impossible to stay. He couldn’t face it—couldn’t face her.

In his room, he closed the door quietly and leaned against it, his breath coming fast and shallow. His eyes fell on the VR headset sitting on his desk, the bluish light of its broken circle logo a beacon in the darkness.

That’s me. Fractured. Everything I was—gone. But at least in there… at least in Arbelon, I can pretend I’m still whole.

He grabbed the headset. He hated how much he needed it. But escape was all he had left. At least in Arbelon, he could forget for a while. Pretend he hadn’t already lost everything. His eyes lingered on the broken circle, its edges jagged and incomplete. It reminded him of something, though he couldn’t place it—something distant, like a memory just out of reach.

His fingers trembled as he adjusted the strap, the cool plastic settling over his face like a mask. The outside world faded into shadow, its edges blurring until there was nothing left. The faint hum of the headset filled the silence, drowning out the muffled sounds of his room. From the dim light of his room, the broken circle glowed for a moment longer, then slowly faded away—fractured, incomplete, but still holding on.

Just like him.

Then the last traces of light disappeared, the darkness swallowed him whole.

prior | toc | next

Stay in the party

Subscribe (free) for new chapters.

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Prefer to binge like a loot goblin?

This is book 1 of a completed duology, so if you’d rather grab the whole book and vanish into Arbelon right now:

Book 1: no extra lives → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

Book 2: the final save → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

—— | toc | next

Chapter 1 - Welcome to Arbelon

Shadows twisted unnaturally in the fading light, and the forest held its secrets just out of reach. Thane ducked under a low branch, breath ragged, his feet skidding on brittle leaves. Behind him, the snap of breaking twigs and a guttural growl sent a chill creeping down his spine.

It was too close, and gaining.

His heart pounded with his footfalls, each step heavier than the last as a clearing loomed ahead—a beacon and a taunt. But whatever the hell that thing was chasing him, it wasn’t slowing down.

It was too big, too fast—especially for a newbie.

The forest pressed in around him, its twisted shadows clawing at the edges of his vision. He’d been pushing hard, and his legs screamed for rest, warning him he couldn’t keep this pace much longer.

What’s the point of running?

Each breath came shallower.

Because giving up still felt worse.

The clearing ahead glimmered faintly, like the path had been laid out just for him.

There was no other way.

He gritted his teeth, willing himself onward, uncertain if he was being herded to the clearing or called by it.

“Fantastic,” he muttered. “Five minutes in, and I’m already a goner. Great design.”

Out of the darkness behind him, an ear-piercing roar erupted, even closer than before, shaking loose the last leaves clinging to the branches. There was no point in looking back, only forward—every step felt like borrowed time.

Lunging forward, he jumped a fallen tree trunk. He landed unsteady and risked a glance back. Yellowed eyes glared from the shadows, fixed on him. The beast tore through the underbrush as if it didn’t exist, its growl vibrating the air like a physical force.

This thing is completely broken! It’s on me, like it knows my next move before I do!

His gut tightened, his breath hitching as he pushed harder, the faint flicker of light ahead was his only hope of escape.

Move, you invalid!

But his body refused—something he knew too well.

With his last ounce of energy, he forced himself forward, but his foot snagged on a root buried beneath the leaves. In the next instant, the ground slammed the air from his lungs. Pain flared through his wrist—sharp, unforgiving.

Panic surged, his thoughts racing faster than his body could respond. Gasping, he twisted onto his back, dirt clinging to his hands as his eyes shot upward.

The beast emerged from the trees with a low snarl, its jagged maw dripping with saliva, its breath reeking of decay. Claws clicked and glinted faintly in the dim light—each one sharp, curved, and far too close.

The beast lunged, a blur of shadow and fury, its claws slicing through the air.

Thane rolled, but wasn’t fast enough.

Pain ripped through his side, sharp and searing, and he cried out, his hand clutching at the burning line where the beast’s talons had raked him. Warmth spread beneath his fingers, sticky and hot, as blood soaked through his shirt. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his body screaming for relief. He gritted his teeth and tried to push up, but his arms shook under the effort as the beast’s snarl reverberated through the forest like a death knell.

His body tensed, bracing for the end as he squeezed his eyes shut. Why do I even care if I make it out of this? Alive or dead, what difference does it make? But instead of a final blow, something inside him surged—a raw, chaotic force demanding release.

The ground pulsed beneath him with unseen power, a sudden heat bloomed in his chest, the surrounding air rippled and bent, like water struck by a stone. Before he could comprehend it, the force erupted like a lightning strike—jagged and blinding, scattering shards of light and energy in every direction. He felt it tear through him, wild and unbidden, as if his body had become a conduit for something far beyond his grasp.

The air twisted violently around the beast, hurling it into the trees with a deafening crash. It stumbled, claws flailing, then turned. Its eyes—once predatory—were wide with terror. With a guttural screech, it dragged its shattered form back into the shadows of the woods.

Thane blinked, his vision swimming, the energy draining from his body as quickly as it came, leaving him breathless. His hands trembled. The air still crackling faintly with an unnatural energy that made his skin crawl.

His gaze lingered on the trees where the beast had retreated, its trail of blackened blood marking the forest floor. Against all odds, he’d survived.

“That was… unexpected,” he muttered bitterly, collapsing back into the dirt. Each breath clawed at his chest, sharp and ragged, his body felt like lead, too battered to move.

The light ahead seemed almost mocking now, taunting him with the promise of salvation he wasn’t sure he wanted or deserved. Darkness pressed at the edges of his vision, but he forced his eyes open. His mind churned with bitter thoughts, the sting of failure twisting with the lingering heat of whatever had just happened to him. For a moment, he lay still, wondering why he’d bothered fighting so hard to survive.

The sound of hurried footsteps broke the silence, distant voices calling out—echoing, and strangely warm.

He flinched instinctively as hands gently lifted him from the dirt. The faces above him blurred, yet one caught his attention—a young woman with piercing green eyes that seemed too bright in the fading light, her hair shimmering like spun gold. Her lips moved, saying something soft and urgent, her voice cutting through the haze, oddly distinct.

He let out a faint, bitter laugh, his voice hoarse. “You should just leave me. I’m dead already.”

But they didn’t leave him.

The villagers steadied his battered form, pressing tightly against his wound as they guided him toward the clearing ahead. As they moved, lantern light flickered through the trees, revealing a cluster of cottages with steeply slanted roofs forming a tight-knit circle. Their windows glowed warmly against the encroaching twilight, smoke curling from chimneys and the faintly sweet scents of baked bread and drying herbs mingling in the air. The village had a fairy book charm, quaint and serene—but Thane barely noticed. His vision swimming with each jostling step.

“Careful,” a gruff voice muttered. “He’s bleeding badly.”

An older man in tattered brown robes rushed from one of the cottages to meet the group as they entered the village. “What under Arbelon’s watch happened out there?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm.

The girl with the green eyes stepped forward. “It was… wild magic,” she said, her voice catching as if the words were too heavy.

The older man froze, his eyes narrowing as the words hung in the air. His hand moved instinctively to the small pendant around his neck, clutching it as if for protection.

“Wild magic?” he repeated, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, equal parts disbelief and unease. His gaze shifted sharply to Thane, scrutinizing him as though he were a puzzle with missing pieces. “Are you certain?”

The girl nodded solemnly. “I saw it myself.”

Hushed whispers rippled among the villagers, curiosity and concern coloring their tones. A few hung back, their expressions wary, while others leaned closer, eyes wide with wonder. A woman clutched a charm at her neck, whispering a hurried prayer. A man knelt, closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath, while another stared at Thane with wide-eyed awe. Murmured words like “blessing” and “omen” slipped past his ears, blurring into static drowned by the pain pulsing through his side.

Whatever reverence they thought he deserved, Thane couldn’t have cared less. Let them cling to their omens and blessings. It wouldn’t change a thing.

The older man hesitated, glancing between Thane and the girl, as if weighing the truth of her words. His grip on the pendant tightened briefly before he took a steadying breath and leaned down to inspect the wound, his brow furrowing. Straightening, he placed a firm hand on Thane’s shoulder.

“You’re hurt—badly. You need healing,” he said before turning to the others. “Bring him to the Sanctuary. If what she says is true, we may need the power of the Heart.”

The arms around him tightened to usher him forward, but Thane thrashed weakly, pushing them aside.

“Thanks, I’ll just walk it off,” he rasped, his voice cutting through the crisp night air. His legs gave out almost immediately, and he stumbled to his knees, clutching at the deep wounds on his side.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Or never mind—bleeding out works too.”

“Not on my watch,” the older man said, stepping forward and catching Thane as he crumpled to the ground. “Quickly, to the Sanctuary,” he commanded, his voice ringing with resounding authority.

The villagers responded immediately, moving with coordinated urgency. Thane barely registered the murmurs around him, his thoughts clouded by searing pain and exhaustion. Hands lifted him roughly onto a cart, the motion jarring his wounds, dragging a groan from his lips. He tried again to push them away, but his limbs felt like lead, refusing his commands.

The wheels creaked as the cart began to roll, each bump stabbing through his side. Thane let his head slump back, glaring weakly at the canopy of trees and blurred rooflines above.

They should’ve left me.

Bitterness curled in his chest as the cart jostled forward. The weight of their hands, the unspoken hope in their eyes—it all felt heavier than his wounds.

Hope was crueler than indifference.

His head thudded lightly against the cart as it jostled forward, every bump dragging him further into exhaustion. The older man leaned close, his voice low but urgent.

“We’re close,” he said, gripping the side of the cart for balance.

Lanterns swayed from wooden poles mounted to the cart, their light casting trembling shadows along the path. The cart rolled to a stop on a stone veranda bathed in silver light. At its center stood a structure unlike anything Thane had ever seen—an amalgamation of carved stone and living wood. Towering spires rose at either end, their surfaces entwined with branches glimmering faintly, as though kissed by starlight. A similar light spilled through crystalline windows, dappling the ground in fractured colors.

The air hummed faintly, its energy prickling at Thane’s skin, too tangible to ignore. He took it all in, a hollow chuckle escaping his lips. Should’ve seen that coming. Starlight and spires—of course. His sarcasm clinging to the edges of his fatigue.

The older man jumped from the cart with surprising agility, landing with a soft thud that barely registered to Thane. “Get him inside,” he commanded.

Two villagers hurried to either side of the cart, their hands trembling slightly as they lifted Thane carefully, their faces etched with a mix of fear and reverence. The cool air of the Sanctuary hit him like a splash of water, its tingling energy crawling over his skin as they carried him toward the doorway.

The interior of the Sanctuary was a blend of ancient and ethereal. Vines traced across the walls, their silvery glow pulsing gently, as though carrying the lifeblood of the Sanctuary itself. At the chamber’s center, a shimmering pool of liquid starlight stood still, its surface smooth as glass. The roots of the Sanctuary’s great tree dipped into the pool, their bark glinting as if infused with its power.

As the villagers carried Thane into the chamber, the pool rippled softly, sending waves of fractured silver light dancing across the chamber walls. Its glow seemed to ebb and flow in time with the soft hum that filled the air, a hum that Thane could feel resonating faintly in his chest.

At the far end, a raised platform of tightly woven branches and vines gleamed with a metallic sheen, its light echoing the pool’s glow. The pool itself was no ordinary reservoir—it was a conduit, its energy drawn from the distant but ever-present Heart of Arbelon.

For a fleeting moment, Thane’s breath hitched, the strange energy both soothing and deeply unnerving, as though the Sanctuary was watching him. He forced his gaze away, focusing instead on the sharp pulse of pain in his side.

The villagers laid Thane on the raised platform. The older man leaned over him, murmuring softly under his breath, his hands hovering just above Thane’s wounds. The glow of the vines woven into the platform seemed to intensify, as though responding to the man’s whispered words.

A warmth spread through Thane’s side, dulling the sharp pain, but it felt wrong—too intimate, too caring—and he hated it. Hated how it dulled the pain, hated how it made him feel tethered to them.

He didn’t want their empathy—he’d come here to escape that.

Turning, he shook it off, forcing his thoughts back to the ache in his side.

“He’s not responding,” one of the villagers muttered anxiously, glancing between Thane and the older man.

The older man shook his head. “Give it time. The Heart’s magic doesn’t always work as we expect.” His voice held an edge of doubt, though he tried to mask it.

Thane’s lips twitched in a bitter smirk. “Don’t worry,” he rasped. “I’ll try to make it to the next save point.”

The girl with the green eyes had followed them inside, standing at a distance, her expression unreadable. When Thane’s gaze flicked to her, something in her intensity struck him, but he forced himself to look away. She stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.

“The Heart… it reacted when we brought him here,” she said, her voice faltering as though she feared the weight of her words. “I saw it—surely you did too.”

The older man’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on the Heart’s pulsing glow. “There will be time for such talk later,” he said, though his gaze lingered on the silvery pool. “Now, we focus on saving him.”

“But…” she began, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Could it be him? The prophecy?”

Thane let out a sharp breath, the words cutting through his haze of pain. Starlight, spires, and now a prophecy. They’re really leaning into the classics here. His gaze flicked to the pool, its glow almost mocking. They’re waiting for a savior. Instead, they got me.

He closed his eyes, the warmth of the platform pulling him into a haze he didn’t want to leave.

“Not now, Lirien,” the old man said, cutting her off before turning back to Thane. His voice dropped to a low chant, his words curling like smoke in the air as his hands once again hovered over Thane’s wounds. The glow of the vines pulsed brighter, bathing the platform in an eerie light that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of his murmurs. The light ebbed and flowed in tandem with the pool’s pulsing glow, their rhythms gradually syncing.

A faint, shimmering rune surfaced on the platform, its outline glowing brighter as though drawn from the pool’s energy. The rune pulsed faintly beneath him, its lines spiraling inward before breaking apart into a jagged, incomplete circle. Whispers erupted from the villagers, their reverent awe filling the chamber as the old man turned to see the rune mirrored in the woven vines on the chamber walls.

“It’s the mark,” someone murmured, their voice trembling. Their voices rose like a prayer, soft and reverent. Thane’s stomach twisted, the weight of their belief pressing against him like a stone. They didn’t know him. Didn’t know how wrong they were.

The old man’s face grew tight, his gaze fixed on the glowing runes before turning slowly to Lirien. “The Broken Circle…” he said, his voice heavy with wonder and dread. His fingers brushed Thane’s arm, as though confirming he was truly there.

“It’s him,” Lirien said, her voice a mixture of hope and excitement, her eyes fixed on Thane. “The Sanctuary knew it, and now the Heart confirms it. He can save Arbelon!”

The light erupted with one last pulse, and Thane opened his eyes. The exhaustion was gone. Looking down at his side, he saw the wound had closed, leaving only a jagged scar behind.

“It calls to him,” the old man murmured, dropping to his knees, tears glinting in his eyes. “The prophecy speaks true—the Chosen One has come.”

Thane let out a sharp breath, the words cutting through his haze of pain. Right. Chosen One. Like I haven’t heard that one before. He let out a dry snort. Nothing screams ‘savior’ like a guy who can’t save himself. They clearly didn’t realize it yet, but he wasn’t here to save them or be their golden boy. This wasn’t destiny—it was a distraction, a way to kill time. And the sooner they figured that out, the better.

“Believe whatever you want,” Thane muttered, forcing himself to sit up. “It doesn’t make it real.”

“You talk like none of this matters,” Lirien said, her voice soft, searching for answers.

Thane’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, but he looked away before she could see the crack.

Over Lirien’s shoulder, a section of the pool’s edge shimmered strangely, the smooth curve breaking into jagged, pixelated angles before snapping back to normal. He blinked, the moment so fleeting it could’ve been a trick of the light. But something about it gnawed at him. This place is barely holding together. He chuckled, dry and quiet, and looked back at Lirien. “Like I said, believe whatever you want.”

Lirien stepped closer, her voice unwavering now despite the tremor in her hands. “You can pretend it’s nothing,” she said, her green eyes piercing through him. “But this world sees you. Whether you like it or not.”

The priest rose, his mouth open to speak, but a voice he knew all too well sliced through the air.

Thane’s time was up.

For a moment, he lingered, fingers brushing the faint warmth of the platform. The light of the Sanctuary felt like it had soaked into his skin, a faint hum still vibrating in his chest. It was warm, even inviting.

“Thane! Take off that headset!” The sharp edge of his mother’s voice dragged him back.

The warmth of the Sanctuary evaporated as the band of the VR headset scraped against his forehead. He pulled it free, leaving a faint, clammy imprint.

His bedroom felt colder than it had any right to be, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead, harsh and unrelenting. The weight of his room—too real, too plain—settled around him like a suffocating blanket.

“Thane,” his mother’s voice called again, softer now but no less insistent. “Come on, sweetie. The doctor’s here.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his gaze flicking to the game interface still lingering on the monitor.

Sanctuary Sequence Complete.

Achievement Unlocked.

The words blinked once with a subtle chime, then disappeared. His reflection stared back at him, hollow-eyed and pale, the faint glow of the monitor highlighting every fragile angle.

“Chosen One?” He snorted bitterly. If they knew the truth, they’d have picked someone else.

“Yeah… I’m coming,” he muttered, his voice flat as he pushed himself to his feet. The soft hum of the Sanctuary gave way to the whir of his computer’s cooling fan, the faint floral scents of Arbelon replaced by the flat, stale air of his room.

As he stepped toward the door, his hand lingered on the frame. For just a second, he let himself wonder what it would feel like to be unbroken—whole. The thought passed as quickly as it came, leaving him cold. With a quiet exhale, he stepped back into reality.

This is all there is. No glowing runes. No whispered prophecies—just doctors and countdowns.

—— | toc | next

Stay in the party

Subscribe (free) for new chapters.

Subscribe now

Prefer to binge like a loot goblin?

This is book 1 of a completed duology, so if you’d rather grab the whole book and vanish into Arbelon right now:

Book 1: no extra lives → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

Book 2: the final save → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

Not the pleasant kind of whisper… more like the moment before the last card is flipped, when everyone realizes the next move matters.

In one week, I’ll start releasing no extra lives here on detect magic, chapter by chapter. Before we begin, I brought you a small extra tale by the fire. Something written just for this launch.

A candle. A match. A doorway.

This is an optional read. Chapter 1 is the true beginning.

Bonus Lauch Vignette: Login

Thane’s hands hovered over the headset like it might bite.

But his fingers weren’t steady like they used to be.

Now they shook.

Not from fear. Not exactly.

From the way his body betrayed him with small tremors that came and went without permission. Like something in him couldn’t hold a steady signal anymore.

He sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the house.

The refrigerator muttered. The heater clicked and then decided not to bother. Somewhere outside, a car passed, tires hissing on wet pavement.

A normal world.

A world that was taking everything from him, piece by piece.

Thane exhaled and lifted the headset.

It shouldn’t have felt heavy. Plastic and glass and padded foam. Just another sleek black box with promises it couldn’t deliver.

The text on his phone had said otherwise:

Arbelon is accepting new players. Limited invites.

He hadn’t clicked it at first. A huge world. Hundreds of hours. The kind of thing you sank into—if you had anything left to sink.

The next morning, his doctor had used that careful tone people used when they were trying not to get too close.

It’s progressing.

And then the doctor had looked down at the chart because it was easier than looking Thane in the eye.

So Thane had clicked the link.

The signup page looked like it was trying not to be found.

No banner ads. No testimonials. No influencer faces screaming joy into the camera.

Just a black screen with a single line of text:

What if your last chance came too soon?

He’d stared at it for a long time, feeling something in his chest that might have been anger, or maybe grief wearing anger’s clothes.

Then he typed his name and settled the headset over his face.

Darkness.

A soft chime. Small. Generic. Like it wanted to be reassuring.

The text floated in the dark. The thin white letters like a polite lie.

WELCOME, PLAYER.

He waited for the usual lag. The queasy half-second where his body and his brain argued about who was in charge.

The tremor flared in the hand holding the headset.

More text slid in.

CONFIRM IDENTITY:

“Thane,” he said, his voice too loud inside the headset.

Then the darkness thinned, and the world resolved in layers.

He raised his hand. It appeared as a faint outline before sharpening into something solid and steady. He flexed his fingers and watched them obey—skin, knuckles, heat in the joints.

Real.

High above, a broken canopy came into focus, late-afternoon light leaking through.

Then trunks and branches.

Then the understory: ferns, wet rot, springy moss.

And he could smell it.

Earth, rain, and wet leaves.

The scent hit him so hard it hurt.

That wasn’t possible.

Thane took a step.

The ground gave under his boot, soft and alive, like it cared. He glanced down—leather, scuffed, mud on the sole.

Real.

A laugh pushed out of him before he could stop it.

“Sure,” he muttered, impressed despite himself. “Why not.”

He started forward down a footpath.

Behind him, a low sound carried through the trunks, too thick to be wind, too close to be far away.

A breathy, wet exhale, right in the dark between trees.

Thane’s throat went dry, but he kept walking because running would make it real.

Leaves crunched behind him, heavy and deliberate. Something with weight had stepped where nothing had been a second ago.

He quickened his pace.

Faster.

A branch snapped.

Something big hit the underbrush and kept coming.

Thane didn’t wait to see it.

He ran, branches slapping his arms, moss-slick ground grabbing at his boots.

Deeper into the trees.

Deeper into Arbelon.

📌 Where to begin

If you want the simple map for navigating the serial, start here:

And if you just want the main quest, straight to the beginning
No Extra Lives — Chapter 1:

If you want this in your inbox when it begins, subscribe (free).

Subscribe now

What if your last chance came too soon?

Thane is dying. His body is failing, and his mind is slipping. When a strange new VR world promises distraction, he dives in, hoping to feel nothing at all.

But Arbelon isn’t just a game. It bleeds. It breaks. And it remembers what you’ve done.

Thane was looking to escape. But what he found might be all too real.

In a world where choices matter, there are no extra lives.

How this works (the quest rules)

no extra lives is a full novel told here chapter-by-chapter, twice a week—like gathering around the fire while the story unfolds.

• Schedule: Wednesdays + Saturdays

• Launch: Saturday, March 14, 2026

• Finale: Wednesday, June 17, 2026

Subscribe (free!) and each chapter arrives like a fresh page slid across the tavern table.

Subscribe now

Prefer to binge like a loot goblin?

This is book 1 of a completed duology, so if you’d rather grab the whole book and vanish into Arbelon right now:

• Buy Book 1: no extra lives → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

• Continue with Book 2: the final save → Amazon | Other Stores & Formats

Table of Contents

(This index updates as chapters go live - new links appear when the torch is lit.)

Chapter 1 - Welcome to Arbelon

Chapter 2 - House Call

Chapter 3 - All Good Things...

Chapter 4 - The Weight of Worlds

Chapter 5 - The Ruins of Asmenson

Chapter 6 - Hidden Places

Chapter 7 - Buried Memories

Chapter 8 - Council of the Elders

Chapter 9 - Through Shadow and Steel

Chapter 10 - The Weight of Time

Chapter 11 - No Safe Roads

Chapter 12 - A Hog’s Breath Welcome

Chapter 13 - Backroads and Bypasses - Saturday, April 25

Chapter 14 - At the Gates of Salile - Wednesday, April 29

Chapter 15 - Not a Word - Saturday, May 2

Chapter 16 - Unreality - Wednesday, May 6

Chapter 17 - Into the Wastelands - Saturday, May 9

Chapter 18 - Dustwalkers - Wednesday, May 13

Chapter 19 - Welcome to Veydris - Saturday, May 16

Chapter 20 - The Veil and the Voice - Wednesday, May 20

Chapter 21 - Honey and Barbs - Saturday, May 23

Chapter 22 - Veilborn - Wednesday, May 27

Chapter 23 - The Path Less Traveled - Saturday, May 30

Chapter 24 - Graywood Bulwarks - Wednesday, June 3

Chapter 25 - When the Mask Slips - Saturday, June 6

Chapter 26 - Skryeach Henge - Wednesday, June 10

Chapter 27 - Behind the Rusted Gate - Saturday, June 13

Chapter 28 - Full Circle - Wednesday, June 17

One last ask… if you’re enjoying no extra lives, sharing it with a friend helps more than you’d think.

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