As soon as Han got home, he slipped on his VR headset. It had cost him $3,000, but he'd never once regretted the purchase.
In the 2060s, over 30 tech giants launched next-generation VR platforms. Thanks to major breakthroughs in neuroscience and the widespread adoption of brain-computer interfaces, VR had evolved far beyond the clunky systems of the 2020s. By 2065, the virtual world was not only more vivid but, in many ways, more real than reality itself. The headset could send electrical signals directly to the nervous system—letting users feel the smoothness of silk, taste a perfectly grilled steak, and experience every physical sensation as if it were real.
"Identity verified. Welcome to Eden."Silver letters shimmered into view before Han's eyes.
This time, he found himself reborn in a pavilion overlooking a lotus pond. Golden fish glided gracefully through the water, their movements sending ripples across the surface. As Han stared into the pond, he saw his reflection—clear, still, and perfect.
In Eden's dreamlike world, Han no longer needed glasses. His face appeared fairer, younger than in reality. He wore a silk robe, light as feathers. And yet, the worries on her face were even more distinct than in the real world.
"Don't bother hiding. I know you're here too, Qin," Han said, looking toward the empty corridor across the pond.
An image shimmered into existence. Qin appeared, this time wearing a green dress.
"Why did you send that message asking me to meet you here?" Han asked.
"To do something that's not so easy in the real world," she replied.
"And what's that?"
Without another word, she stepped forward and hugged him. Her soft hair spilled over his shoulder. Han froze, startled at first—but after a brief pause, he held her tightly in return.
"You're the only person I can talk to in this world, Han."
"And you're the only one I have, Qin."
Han looked at her face—not shy, not tender, but quietly sorrowful. This wasn't some romantic confession. They weren't lovers. They simply needed each other to survive.
After all, they had no one else. No true friends. No family left to share their hearts with.
Suddenly, clouds gathered overhead, and heavy rain poured down around the pavilion. Han shut down the waterproof shield, then reached past Qin's shoulder, letting his hand feel the falling rain.
Cold, but oddly comforting.
"Those old sci-fi stories always ended with a love story at the end of the world," Han whispered. "Do you think we'll still be together when doomsday comes?"
"Maybe even after that," Qin murmured.
"What do you mean?" Han asked, startled. His vision blurred. Just before losing consciousness, he heard Qin's final word:
"Have a nice dream."
...
Han awoke on a damp stone floor.
It felt like he'd been asleep for a very long time. His memories were a haze—he couldn't recall anything clearly except his name. The room looked like something out of a history book: moss-covered stone walls, ancient and worn, like the ruins of a forgotten prison.
Leaning against a relatively clean wall, Han heard footsteps approaching—sharp and measured. From the crisp, rhythmic clicks, he could tell the person was wearing high heels.
"I've told you countless times—you can choose any slave you want, just not a human! Why are you so fascinated by that pitiful, foolish species, Jacqueline?"
Before the mother finished speaking, Han caught sight of the two figures approaching—an elven mother and daughter. Golden, silky hair. Pointed ears. Slender, graceful frames. That was Han's first impression of the elves.
The mother stood around 1.7 meters tall, her gaze filled with disgust, as if she were looking at a cockroach. The daughter's eyes, in contrast, were far more curious, but not the way one looks at a person. It was more like a child eyeing a toy she longed to have: full of wonder and excitement.
"Stop looking at him, Jacqueline. Man-slaves can't understand Standard Language. They're little more than beasts," the mother said sternly, taking her daughter's hand and attempting to pull her away from him.
But what Han said next made them both freeze.
"I understand you perfectly, Madam. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me a slave. I've never wronged you, and I'd prefer a bit of basic courtesy."
The mother stiffened. A chill ran down her spine. "That's impossible," she whispered. "Who in the realms are you? No man-slave can speak Standard that fluently—not even Amir's butler, and he can barely pronounce half the words right. Where are you from? What's your number?"
"I don't remember," Han replied. "I don't even know where I am, or how I got here. All I know is my name—Han. I don't know anything about numbers. And stop calling me a man-slave. I'm a human."
His voice rose with frustration, the edge in his tone sharper now, trying to assert himself against her disdain.
"How dare you speak to me like that!" the mother snapped.
In an instant, shards of ice formed in the air around her, hovering like deadly arrows aimed straight at him.
"Magic?" Han's mind reeled."Is this where I die?"
"Don't hurt him, Mom!" the young elf cried, stepping between them.
The ice shards slowly dissolved into the air, but the mother's glare remained fixed on Han.
"For my daughter's sake, I'll spare your life—this time." With that, she turned and led her daughter away, ignoring the girl's protests and pleading glances over her shoulder.
As their footsteps faded down the corridor, Han let out a long breath. That had been far too close.
"So... I really am a prisoner." He looked around. "But there are no bars. No locked doors. It looks like I could just walk out the same way they came in."
He reached toward the entrance—but was immediately stopped. His hand met something unseen, and pain seared through his skin like fire.
"Damn magic," he hissed, clutching his hand.
But this wasn't the time to complain. He scanned the area again. So far, he hadn't seen a single guard. Maybe they were stationed farther down the corridor—or maybe there were none at all. Why bother? If man-slaves couldn't use magic, escape probably seemed impossible to whoever ran this place.
"Dinner time, man-slave!"
The shout jolted Han back to reality. A guard had finally appeared—but it wasn't what he expected.
It was a skeleton.
Its bony feet made barely a sound on the stone floor, which explained why Han hadn't heard it coming. He flinched at first, but quickly forced himself to stay calm. The skeleton carried a crude wooden bowl filled with some kind of grayish porridge. The smell alone was enough to turn his stomach.
Han stared at the figure, frustration bubbling up inside him. He couldn't take the confusion anymore.
"Where am I? What year is it?" he demanded. "I need to know—I don't remember anything. Just my name."
The skeleton let out a dry, rattling laugh. "You're in the Bone Cavern, land of the dead. This is where man-slaves are kept until a buyer claims them. Usually around your age—seventeen, right?"
Han didn't answer.
"As for the year…" The skeleton's voice dripped with disdain. "What nonsense. Only nobles cling to such silly ideas. There is no 'year' here. No calendars. We only count the hours we work, sleep, and survive."
Han frowned. "Wait," he said quickly, stepping forward, "Bone Cavern—where is it? What is this world, exactly? I don't remember anything, not even where I came from. Please… just give me the basics."
"You're beneath the Giant Tower," the skeleton said with a smirk. "Everywhere else has long been uninhabitable—corroded by relentless acidic rain. The tower, and its underground depths, are the only refuge left for any living thing.
Many species share this place—elves, vampires, skeletons… even man-slaves like you. That's all you need to know. No more questions."
With that, the skeleton shuffled away, leaving Han standing alone in the dim light.