The morning light spilled over the rooftops, painting the thatched houses of the village gold. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, mingling with the scent of bread baking somewhere nearby. The village square bustled with life — merchants shouting prices for fresh produce, children laughing as they chased a stray chicken, blacksmiths hammering iron on their forges.
Ronan stood at the edge of the fountain, watching it all with narrowed eyes.
This is too real.
Every sound, every smell, every flicker of motion around him was so tangible it made his heart ache. In Eternum Online, the Tutorial Village had always been static — background noise, cardboard NPCs, scripted quests. But here? It was alive. The innkeeper scolded her son for skipping chores. A drunk staggered out of the tavern, muttering about lost coin. The cobblestones were uneven, worn from countless feet.
Ronan almost felt like an intruder in a world that wasn't meant to be touched.
"Traveler!"
Her voice was light, like wind chimes.
Lyra Dawnwind crossed the square with a basket in her arms. Sunlight caught her hair, turning it to strands of gold. She was smiling, just as he remembered her from the game, but there was something different now — warmth in her eyes, a softness that wasn't possible for an NPC.
She stopped in front of him and gasped at the wolf pelts over his shoulder. "You… actually survived?"
Ronan gave her a crooked grin, though his muscles ached from the fight. "What, did you bet against me?"
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to scold him, but instead she sighed and reached into her basket. "You should rest. Here, take these." She handed him a bundle of herbs. "They'll ease the pain."
He took them cautiously. In the game, the quest would have ended with a handful of coins and some generic dialogue. Thank you, brave adventurer. Please take this reward. But this? This wasn't scripted.
"…Why are you helping me?" he asked.
Lyra blinked, as though surprised by the question. "Because you're hurt. Isn't that reason enough?"
Her tone was so natural it unsettled him. He had to remind himself — she wasn't supposed to be real. She was supposed to be lines of code, an NPC designed to hand out quests. And yet, when she crouched to check the cuts on his arm, her touch was warm, careful, almost tender.
"…You're awfully kind for an NPC," Ronan muttered before he could stop himself.
She froze. "NPC?"
His heart skipped a beat. Too careless. "…It's nothing. Just a slip of the tongue."
Lyra's brows furrowed. For a second, it looked like she might press him — but then she let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You speak strangely, traveler. But… thank you for helping the village. Truly."
She handed him a small pouch of coins. "This is all we can spare."
Ronan accepted it, staring at the glimmer of copper coins in his palm. The reward was pathetic compared to the effort, but that wasn't the point. The point was that it felt real. The metal was cold. The weight tugged at his fingers.
"Ronan."
He blinked. "…What?"
She smiled. "I don't want to just call you traveler forever. What is your name?"
For a moment, he hesitated. Back in the game, his IGN — Vale — had been infamous, feared by rivals and respected by guilds. But here, this wasn't just a username. This was his life.
"…Ronan," he said finally.
Her smile widened. "Then thank you, Ronan. I'll remember that."
Something about the way she said it made his chest tighten. NPCs weren't supposed to remember.
And as he turned to leave, her words echoed in his head:
"I'll remember."
That night, as Ronan lay in the inn bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the unease in his chest.
If Lyra can remember things outside her script… then what else can she do?
He gripped the hilt of his rusty sword beside the bed.
This wasn't a tutorial. This wasn't a safe zone.
It was a living world. And he was already running out of time.