Part 1: The Tavern's Haze
Greg's eyelids fluttered open to the dim flicker of lantern light, his head pounding like he'd chugged a keg of cheap beer the night before. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale, roasted meat, and something faintly smell of metallic blood? No, that couldn't be right. He blinked, trying to shake off the fog in his brain. Last thing he remembered was slipping into that sleek gaming capsule at the beta test center, the hum of machinery lulling him into the virtual world. "Eternal Realms," they called it. A cutting-edge RPG where you could live out fantasies as heroes, villains, or whatever floated your boat.
He'd picked the priest class on a whim. Easy mode, right? Heal some wounds, chant a few prayers, level up without breaking a sweat. No sword-swinging heroics or sneaky assassin bullshit for him. Just holy light and buffs. But as he sat up on the creaky wooden bench, the world around him felt... too real. The grain of the table under his palms was rough, splintered. The chatter of patrons, burly men in leather armor, a few scantily clad barmaids weaving through the crowd echoed with authentic grit. And his body? It ached in places he didn't know could ache.
"System menu," Greg muttered under his breath, waving his hand like he'd seen in the tutorials. Nothing. No holographic interface, no logout button. "Log out. Exit game. Fuck, emergency eject!" His voice rose a notch, drawing a sideways glance from a grizzled dwarf nursing a tankard nearby. Panic bubbled in his chest. This wasn't right. Was the capsule malfunctioning? Or... shit, was he trapped?
He scanned the tavern, a rustic dive called "The Weary Wanderer" according to the sign swinging outside the foggy window. Candles sputtered on wrought-iron holders, casting long shadows that danced like they had a mind of their own. That's when he saw it or rather, it. Up on the ceiling, clinging like a grotesque spider, was a translucent figure. A man, or what was left of one. his body was twisted, clad in tattered rags, but his head... gone. Just a ragged stump where the neck ended, oozing ethereal mist that dripped upward, defying gravity.
Greg's stomach lurched. "What the hell...?" He rubbed his eyes, but the apparition didn't vanish. It shifted slightly, as if sensing his gaze, its headless form tilting in curiosity. A chill raced down his spine, colder than any VR feedback he'd ever felt. As a priest, was this some class perk? Seeing ghosts? The game description hadn't mentioned anything about supernatural horror. This was supposed to be a fantasy adventure, not a goddamn jump-scare simulator.
Heart hammering, Greg pushed back from the table, his simple white robes priest starter gear swishing against the floorboards. He needed answers. Fast. Before whatever that thing was decided to drop down for a chat.
Part 2: Ghosts in the Daylight
Greg continues to stare at the headless ghost on the ceiling. It hung there like a bad dream. He looked around the tavern. The dwarf nearby drank his beer without a care. A barmaid laughed with some men at another table. No one glanced up. No one screamed or ran. "Hey," Greg said to the dwarf. "Do you see that thing up there?"
The dwarf turned, his bushy beard full of foam. "What thing? The spider webs? Aye, this place needs a clean." He chuckled and went back to his drink.
Greg's heart sank. No one else could see it. The ghost was real to him, but invisible to them. Was this his priestly power? Seeing dead people? He needed help. A church might have answers. Priests in games always hung out there.
He stood up and walked to the bar. "Excuse me," he said to the bartender, a big man with scars on his arms. "Where's the nearest church?"
The bartender wiped a glass. "Church? You mean the Temple of Light? Down the street, turn left at the market square. Can't miss it, lad. You look like you need a prayer or two." He grinned, showing yellow teeth.
Greg nodded and hurried out. The door creaked as he stepped into the busy street. The sun was bright, but a cold wind hit him. People rushed by, merchants with carts, kids playing, guards in shiny armor. But then he saw them. Ghosts everywhere.
A thin spirit floated near a fruit stand, its hands reaching for apples it could never touch. Another one, an old woman, whispered to a young girl who didn't hear. Greg rubbed his eyes. This was too much.
He kept walking toward the church. On the way, he spotted a tough adventurer. The man looked like a veteran, with a sword on his back and scars all over. Two ghosts followed him. One was a warrior in broken armor, nodding like a friend. The other was a shadowy figure, glaring with hate. They stuck close, like silent guards.
Then Greg saw a merchant. The man smiled wide, selling cloth to a crowd. He looked kind, with a neat beard and fancy clothes. But around him? Ten ghosts. All young women, pretty but angry. Their eyes burned with rage. One tried to claw at his neck, but her hand passed through. Another whispered curses, her lips twisted. They circled him, attacking at every chance, but he never noticed. He just kept smiling and talking business.
Greg shivered. What had this merchant done? Killed them? Cheated them? The ghosts wanted revenge, but they couldn't touch him. Greg quickened his pace. The church was close now. Maybe there, he could find out why he saw all this. And how to make it stop.
Part 3: Sanctuary of Light
Greg pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the Temple of Light. A soft glow filled the room, like sunlight through clouds. He stepped inside, and the noise from the street faded away. The air smelled clean, like fresh rain. No ghosts here. Not one. Greg let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Maybe this place was safe for him. The only spot where the dead didn't follow.
He looked around. Tall stone walls rose up, with windows high above letting in beams of light. Benches lined the sides, and a few people knelt in quiet prayer. Then his eyes went up to the center. There stood a big statue of a lady in priestess robes. She stood straight, her hands cupped together like she was praying. Her face looked calm and kind, with eyes that seemed to watch over everyone. Greg felt a pull toward her, like she could fix his mess.
As he stared, soft footsteps came near. A beautiful priestess walked up to him. Her hair was long and golden, flowing like silk. Her eyes were bright blue, and her smile made the room warmer. She wore white robes that hugged her figure just right. Greg blinked, caught off guard. She was stunning, like something from a dream.
"Welcome to the Temple of Light," she said in a gentle voice. "You look lost. Can I help you?"
Greg nodded, trying not to stare. "Yeah. I... I want to join the temple. As a priest."
Her eyes lit up with surprise, then warmth. "That's wonderful. We always need more who hear the call. Come, let's talk more." She led him deeper into the temple, her steps light and graceful. Greg followed, hoping this was the start of answers. And maybe something more.
Part 4: Whispers of the Light
Elara's smile was like a spark in the dim halls of the Temple of Light, warm and inviting. "I'm Elara," she said, her voice carrying a melody that reminded Greg of wind chimes on a summer day. "It's rare to see a new face here. Come, let's meet Elder Torin, the heart of our temple." Her golden hair shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns that hovered above, casting a gentle light that seemed to hum with quiet magic.
Greg followed her through the temple's echoing corridors, his worn boots tapping against polished stone floors etched with faint runes. The air smelled of wax and herbs, with a hint of something ancient like old parchment and forgotten prayers. The walls were adorned with tapestries showing radiant figures battling shadowy beasts, their threads glowing faintly as if alive. Despite the grandeur, the place felt hollow, like a house left empty too long.
They entered a circular chamber, its domed ceiling painted with stars that twinkled in the daylight streaming through stained-glass windows. At the center stood a wiry man with gray hair pulled into a tight braid. His robes were plain, but his eyes burned with a quiet intensity, like embers that could flare at any moment. He was sorting scrolls on a desk cluttered with quills, inkwells, and a small crystal orb that pulsed faintly.
"Elder Torin," Elara said, bowing slightly, "this is Greg. He seeks to join us as a priest."
Torin looked up, his gaze locking onto Greg like a hawk spotting prey. "Torin, keeper of the Light's flame," he said, his voice gravelly but kind. "You're brave to choose this path, Greg. The Light welcomes you, but know this: the kingdom is unraveling. Shadows stir in places they shouldn't. Ghosts linger where they ought to rest. Unholy things creep closer each day." He leaned forward, his hands gripping the desk. "We're spread thin, boy. Your arrival is a blessing, but it comes at a cost."
Greg swallowed, his throat dry. The weight of Torin's words pressed against the unease already churning in his gut. "I'll do what I can," he said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
Torin's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Good. Elara, show him the temple. Then take him to his quarters. He'll need rest before the trials begin."
Elara nodded, her blue eyes catching Greg's for a moment, sparkling with some curiosity, maybe, or amusement. "This way," she said, waving him to follow with a graceful flick of her hand. As they left the chamber, Greg caught a glimpse of Torin touching the crystal orb, its light flaring briefly before dimming.
The tour took nearly an hour. The temple was a maze of beauty and mystery vaulted halls lined with statues of past priests, their stone faces serene yet watchful; a garden courtyard where glowing flowers bloomed even in the shade; a library where books whispered faintly when you passed too close. But the emptiness struck Greg hardest. Only a handful of priests moved through the halls, their faces drawn, their steps hurried.
"Why's it so quiet?" Greg asked as they paused by a fountain shaped like a weeping angel, its water glowing faintly blue.
Elara's smile faded. "Most of our order is gone, aiding the Adventurer's Guild. The darkness outside the kingdom walls is growing. Unholy auras choke the forests, and the nearby graveyard... it's no longer a place of rest. The dead walk, Greg. Our priests are out there, trying to hold the line. Some guard the graves, others hunt the source of this corruption." Her voice dropped. "We've lost a few already."
Greg's stomach twisted, the memory of the headless ghost in the tavern flashing in his mind. "And I'm supposed to help with that?"
Elara's eyes softened. "You will. The Light chose you for a reason." She led him to a small wooden door at the end of a quiet hall. Inside was a modest room: a narrow bed with a wool blanket, a sturdy chest carved with protective runes, a simple drawer, and a single candle that flickered with a flame that didn't seem to burn the wax. A tiny window let in a sliver of sunlight, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
"This is yours," Elara said. "The candle's enchanted, use it to navigate at night. It won't go out unless you will it." She hesitated, then added, "Rest well, Greg. Tomorrow, you'll learn what it means to serve the Light. And... be careful. The shadows are watching."
She left, her footsteps fading down the hall. Greg sat on the bed, the mattress creaking under him. The candle's glow cast strange shapes on the walls, almost like faces. He thought of the ghosts outside, the merchant with his vengeful spirits, the adventurer trailed by his spectral companions. The temple felt safe, but it was a fragile kind of safety, like a candle in a storm. Greg lay back, staring at the ceiling. The kingdom was falling apart, and somehow, he, a guy who just wanted an easy game was supposed to help fix it. He closed his eyes, the candle's light dancing behind his lids, and prayed he wouldn't dream of ghosts.
Part 5: The Trial of Light
A soft knock pulled Greg from a fitful sleep, the faint glow of dawn slipping through his tiny window. He sat up, heart thudding, the enchanted candle on his table casting a steady flicker. Elara's voice came through the door, calm but firm. "Greg, it's time. The trial begins soon."
He stumbled out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and opened the door. Elara stood there, her golden hair catching the morning light, her white robes pristine. "Come," she said with a warm smile. "You'll want to wash up first."
She led him through the quiet temple to a small washroom, where steam rose from a stone basin under a skylight. A rough towel and fresh priest robes waited on a stool. "I'll be outside," Elara said, closing the door softly. Greg splashed warm water on his face, the heat chasing away his grogginess. He changed quickly and stepped out, feeling a bit more awake.
Elara guided him through the temple's winding halls to a grand chamber with a soaring ceiling painted with golden clouds. Elder Torin stood in the center, his gray braid neat, his sharp eyes glinting in the soft light. A circle of glowing runes pulsed on the stone floor like a living heartbeat.
Torin turned to Greg, his face serious. He began chanting a prayer, his voice deep and resonant, filling the room with a warmth that made Greg's skin prickle. The words felt ancient, stirring something inside him. When the prayer ended, Torin's gaze pinned Greg. "Are you certain you want this path? The trial binds you to the Light. It will change you, show you the world's truths. No turning back."
Greg swallowed, his nerves jangling. He thought of the ghosts he'd seen. The headless one in the tavern, the vengeful spirits trailing the merchant but he kept his mouth shut. No need to sound crazy. "I'm sure," he said, voice steadier than he felt.
Torin nodded and pointed to the glowing circle. "Stand there."
Greg stepped into the runes, their light flaring under his feet. Elara moved forward, her voice rising in a soft, lilting prayer that seemed to dance in the air. The room hummed with energy. A beam of golden light poured from the ceiling, warm and vibrant, swirling toward Greg. Instead of wrapping around him, it sank into his chest, absorbed like a sponge drinking water.
A blue, translucent box flickered before his eyes, visible only to him.
[Crisp text glowed: Class Activated: Priest of the Temple of Light. ]
[Five Basic Spells Unlocked.]
[The list followed: Heal, Light Ward, Purify, Divine Shield, Smite. ]
Greg's pulse quickened. Spells! He could finally protect himself in this nightmare world. A grin tugged at his lips, relief washing over him.
Torin, unaware of the system message, studied Greg with a furrowed brow. "Odd," he muttered. "The Light usually bathes the chosen in its glow. With you, it vanished inside." He shook his head, then gestured for Greg to follow. "Come."
They walked to a wide window overlooking the kingdom, rooftops, bustling market stalls, and distant walls under a pale sky. "Look out there," Torin said. "Do you see anything different?"
Greg scanned the streets. The same spirits drifted among the living. He shrugged. "Nothing new."
Torin's eyes lingered on him, searching. "Rest this morning, Greg. In the afternoon, Elara will teach you the basic spells to defend yourself. The Light has chosen you, but its path is not easy." He turned away, leaving Greg by the window, the system's words still glowing in his mind. Spells, a purpose, a chance to survive. Maybe this priest thing wasn't such a bad deal after all.