The screen shifted with a hum, like a whispering breath from the void. From the shadows, a glowing interface materialized. A massive, slowly rotating sphere hovered mid-screen, hovering in a cradle of light. It pulsed gently, like a living thing.
A dozen smaller spheres circled it like moons, each labeled with gleaming text: WORLD 02: Vortexia, WORLD 03: Shael'nar, WORLD 04: Igne Terra, and so on. But every single one of them—aside from the center—was dimmed out, wrapped in shimmering digital chains, locks pulsing faintly red.
A notification blinked beneath the menu:
[More worlds will unlock as your Divine Level increases. You are currently Level 0.]
[Your trial begins with the First World.]
The only active world was the central one. Larger, bolder, and brighter than the rest. A name hovered above it in radiant gold:
WORLD 01: ELYSIA
It spun slowly, and I leaned closer.
"Huh..."
Elysia wasn't what I expected.
The planet looked almost Earth-like at first glance. Green continents sprawled across sapphire oceans. Bright clouds floated lazily over rich landscapes. But as it rotated—as the other side came into view—I saw something else.
Half of it was dead.
I mean wilted. The continents on that side were ashen, dry, and cracked like burnt paper. Rivers had turned black. Mountains crumbled into spires of dust. It was like someone had sucked the life out of half the planet and then left it to rot.
I blinked. "Well. That's not ominous at all."
Was that supposed to be a game mechanic? A lore teaser? A glitch?
Whatever it was, it made Elysia feel less like a tutorial map and more like someone's last SOS message.
Still, everything about it screamed explore me. Which, in fairness, was probably the point.
The detail was insane. I could zoom in and see cities carved into cliff sides, golden towers surrounded by floating rings, dark forests that twisted inward like mazes. Ruins. Bridges made of light. Craters with glowing crystal spires. Even the stars in the background twinkled with uncanny realism.
Whoever made this app? Obsessed. Probably underpaid. Absolutely my kind of nerd.
A button pulsed beneath Elysia:
ENTER FIRST WORLD
I should've paused.
But of course I tapped it.
The moment my thumb hit the screen, a ripple shot through the interface.
A deep tone rang out—not a beep or ding, but an actual note, like someone had struck a massive tuning fork directly in my skull. The colors twisted. My vision doubled.
Then came the nausea.
Not the kind you get on a rollercoaster. No. This was that deep, stomach-twisting, soul-spinning nausea you feel when your body is convinced gravity no longer applies.
"W-wait, is this part of the animation or am I dying?"
The world bent. Not just the digital world. My world. My living room skewed sideways. The coffee table leaned like it was being sucked toward the phone. My toes tingled. My jaw went numb.
"Okay, okay, you win! I won't tap weird glowing planets without reading the terms and conditions!"
But the phone didn't care.
Light poured out of it, blinding. The screen melted—no, stretched outward. Not like a glitch. Like a breach. A digital rift carved right into the air in front of me.
My couch disappeared.
Or maybe I did.
There was no up. No down. Just motion. Colors. Sound. A thousand whispers in languages I couldn't understand. Golden runes spun past me like stars.
Then—
Nothing.
Silence. Darkness. Like blinking in reverse.
A soft wind brushed past. And in the blackness, something distant emerged.
A smell. Cold air. Damp earth. Burned wood?
Then a feeling. Weight.
And just before the world could fully snap into place—
It cut to black.