*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Thornbrook Village* - A month ago
Despair settled over Aris like a shroud.
He had lost Demir. His best friend. His brother in everything but blood. The game had closed, and Demir was gone. Maybe dead. Maybe trapped on the other side of an uncrossable void.
Then, for a spare moment, he had hope. Master Nebu. Fox. Lyra. People who understood. People who cared.
But first they took Lyra. Trapped her in a body that didn't remember who she was. Made her a prisoner of her own mind.
Then they took Fox. Vorn had stolen him. Had dragged him away into the darkness. And Aris had been powerless to stop it.
And now Aris was a prisoner himself. Chained to a wall in a madman's house. Forced to teach forbidden knowledge to someone who would use it to hurt others.
*I'm going to die here*, Aris thought. *I'm going to die in this room, and no one will ever know.*
---
Days passed. Aris lost count.
Rodran tried again and again to make the blood-infused potion. Each attempt failed. The mixture would turn the wrong color. Or the magic would fail. Or the timing would be off.
And with each failure, Rodran's frustration grew.
He would throw things. Break things. Scream at the cauldron. Then he would calm down, take more notes, and try again.
Aris watched it all from his corner. Chained. Helpless. A spectator to his own imprisonment.
---
On what might have been the fifth day, or the tenth, Rodran turned to Aris with wild eyes.
"There must be something else I'm missing." Rodran's voice was tight with frustration. "I'm doing everything right. Everything you showed me. Why isn't it working?"
Aris said nothing. He just stared at the wall, trying to escape into his own mind.
"Answer me!" Rodran grabbed Marduk's book from the table and thrust it in Aris's face. "Is this really the Master's book?"
Aris looked at the familiar cover. The blood-stained pages. The handwriting he had studied for months.
"Yes."
Rodran flipped through the pages, his movements frantic. "It says a drop of blood. Just a drop. Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"If blood is bringing the power, why doesn't putting more bring more power? Why doesn't a bigger sacrifice make a better potion?"
Aris felt sick. "You can't even make tier two normal potions. What the hell are you talking about?"
"Shut up!" Rodran swung the book, hitting Aris in the face.
Pain exploded through Aris's nose. Blood poured down his chin, hot and metallic. He raised his free hand to his face, but the damage was done.
Aris stared at Rodran with all his pent-up anger. If he could have, he would have torn the man apart. Piece by piece. He would have made him suffer. Made him pay for everything.
But he was chained. Helpless.
"I used all my papa's blood," Rodran muttered, staring at the book. "For hope of... for hope of making it work."
Aris's blood went cold. "What?"
"I used all my papa's blood." Rodran's voice was distant. "Every drop. I thought... I thought if I used more, it would work. It would make me powerful."
Aris pulled back all his anger, forcing himself to think clearly. "You lunatic. Did you kill your father to enhance your potions?"
"Shut up!" Rodran's face twisted with rage. "He was already dying. The fever took him. I just... I just used what was left. Before they buried him."
"Oh my maker." Aris felt his stomach turn. "I'm going to die here too."
He crouched on his hay bed, pulling his knees to his chest. The reality of his situation crashed down on him. He was trapped with a murderer. A man who had used his own father's blood in a desperate attempt to gain power.
"Shut up and get up!" Rodran grabbed Aris's arm and pulled him to his feet. "Look at the mixture. Tell me what's wrong!"
"You idiot!" Aris screamed, all his fear and rage pouring out. "Understand it already! This is it! This is your limit! You can't do it! You'll never be able to do it!"
"We don't have limits!" Rodran's voice rose to match Aris's. "The game is closed! We're free!"
"You might be free, but the game is not closed!" Aris's voice cracked. "And the genetic lottery in these fucking towns is low! You don't have the talent! You never will!"
"Shut the hell up!" Rodran's face was purple with rage. "The game is closed! We can be whatever we want!"
"And you chose to be a psychotic maniac killer?" Aris spat the words like venom.
Rodran's eyes went blank. Empty. Then he grabbed a wooden bat from beside the fireplace and swung it at Aris's head.
Aris raised his free right hand to protect himself, but the bat caught him on the forearm. The bone snapped with a sound like breaking glass.
Pain. White-hot. Blinding. Aris screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his broken arm.
Rodran didn't stop. He swung again. And again. And again.
The fourth swing caught Aris in the ribs. He felt something crack. Felt the air leave his lungs. He collapsed onto the dirt floor, gasping for breath.
Rodran stood over him, the bat raised, his face a mask of rage.
"There is no game anymore," Rodran said. "We're free. We can do whatever we want."
Aris looked up through tears of pain. His right arm was broken. His ribs were bruised, maybe broken too. Blood ran from his nose and mouth.
But he had to make Rodran understand. Had to make him see the truth.
"If..." Aris gasped, trying to breathe through the pain. "If there is no game anymore, how are players still manifesting magic?"
Rodran froze. The bat lowered slightly.
"What?"
"Do you think in our universe we can do magic?" Aris's voice was weak, but he forced the words out. "Do you think we can make magical potions? If we could, why would we come to this wretched world?"
Rodran's face went pale. The rage drained away, replaced by something else. Confusion. Fear.
"Really?" Rodran's voice was small. "Is it still going on? Am I still shackled by the Creator?"
"What did you think?" Aris tried to straighten his broken arm, crying out in pain. "Only ambition is blocking farmer kids from taking down Aeloria or the elven emperor? No. The game is still active. The system is still running. We're still trapped."
Rodran dropped the bat. It clattered to the floor.
"What am I going to do, then?" Rodran's voice cracked. "How will I advance?"
"I don't know." Aris lay on the dirt floor, broken and bleeding. "And I don't care, you crazy bastard."
---
Rodran left. He walked out of the cottage without another word, leaving Aris alone with his pain and his broken body.
Aris lay there for what felt like hours. His arm throbbed. His ribs ached with every breath. His face was swollen and bloody.
But worse than the physical pain was the despair.
He had lost everything. Demir. Lyra. Fox. His freedom. His hope.
He was going to die in this room. Chained to a wall. Forgotten.
And no one would ever know.