Darkness.
That was all he could feel at first — a silence too deep to be real. No pain, no air, not even the echo of his own heartbeat. Only a faint vibration, pulsing somewhere far away, as if the world itself were waiting for permission to start.
Then came the sound — a soft hum, mechanical, rhythmic. The vibration became a voice.
> "Server link established. Welcome, user."
The words were cold, synthetic, yet somehow… alive.
Eren tried to open his eyes, but there was no body to obey him. He floated, suspended in an infinite void lit by faint streams of light — lines of code that spiraled around like constellations.
He remembered something — a road, headlights, rain.
And then the crash.
He had died.
The realization hit him with an empty kind of clarity. It wasn't shock anymore; it was acceptance. The calm of a man who had already lost everything.
> "Where… am I?"
His voice echoed softly, as if swallowed by the void.
The system answered, smooth and precise.
> "Initialization: Fragmented user detected. Codex status — corrupted. Beginning reconstruction protocol."
A golden window appeared before him, glowing with runic code. It wasn't written in any human language, yet he could read it. The words pulsed in time with his thoughts.
[Divine Codex – Core System Incomplete]
Fragments Detected: 3% Integrity
Error: Host identity mismatch.
Attempting sync… failed.
Eren's breath caught, though he wasn't sure he was breathing. The interface was familiar — too familiar. The floating windows, the structure of the code, the layout of the data matrix… he knew them all.
It was the mainframe of Aether Online.
He had spent half his life inside that game — an MMORPG so vast that reality often felt like a cheap imitation. But this wasn't the game lobby or a VR pod hallucination. He could feel the data currents brushing against his consciousness, each byte of energy carrying weight, warmth, gravity.
This was real.
> "Am I… inside the server?"
No response. Only the sound of data streaming through invisible circuits.
He reached out — or thought he did — and the golden fragments of light gathered around him, forming the outline of a body. Hands first, then arms, chest, face. Each line of code shaped flesh and bone, pixel by pixel.
The sensation was indescribable — a reconstruction of existence itself.
> "Synchronization complete," said the voice.
"User profile registered: Eren Vale. Codex designation: Unstable. System privileges — restricted."
He stood — or rather, he was standing now — on a surface that looked like polished glass stretching endlessly into nothingness. The reflection below him was sharp but distorted, rippling like water.
Eren looked down at his hands. They were his, yet not. More defined, more responsive, as if his consciousness had been refined along with them.
> "This is… my avatar?"
The thought came naturally, followed by a wave of confusion. If this was Aether Online, then why did it feel alive? The game's sensory limiters usually capped sensations — taste, pain, emotion — to protect the player. But here, everything felt amplified, raw, almost divine.
He took a cautious step forward. The surface beneath him rippled again, sending concentric waves of light across the void. The air vibrated.
Then — pain.
A white-hot surge exploded through his body, knocking him to his knees.
> "Warning: Fragment instability detected. Codex synchronization at risk."
> "Stop—!"
He gritted his teeth, clutching his chest. A faint mark was glowing there — a symbol made of three intertwined sigils, pulsing erratically. It felt alive, like a heartbeat not entirely his own.
> "What… are you doing to me?"
> "Reconstruction incomplete," replied the system. "Core access denied until stabilization reaches forty percent. Estimated recovery: unknown."
The pain faded as suddenly as it had come, leaving only a dull ache in his chest.
Eren exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the mark.
> "The Codex… it's real."
The realization hit deeper than any pain could. In Aether Online, the Divine Codex had been nothing more than a myth — a rumored relic that granted the power to alter the system itself. Every top guild had hunted for it, every developer had denied its existence. It was the holy grail of digital legends.
And now it was inside him.
He stood again, scanning the empty horizon. For a moment, he thought he saw something move — a flicker in the distance, like a glitch in the fabric of the void. The instinct to survive kicked in, hard.
> "Show me the map," he commanded.
Nothing happened.
> "Codex, open interface."
A faint shimmer responded, but the display remained blank.
> "Command not recognized," said the system flatly. "User lacks required access rights."
He almost laughed. Even here, locked between death and data, bureaucracy found a way to mock him.
> "So even the afterlife needs admin privileges."
The voice ignored him. A small icon appeared at the corner of his vision — a triangular shard spinning slowly, emitting a soft blue light.
[Codex Fragment Detected nearby.]
Eren tensed. His instincts — honed through years of raids and PvP battles — whispered that this was more than a quest marker. This was the path forward.
> "Locate fragment," he ordered.
The system's tone changed, becoming more melodic, almost human.
> "Tracking initiated. Estimated distance: 312 meters."
A luminous path appeared on the ground, leading toward the endless horizon. The void around him began to shift — lines of data forming walls, arches, and structures. The world was rebuilding itself, piece by piece, following the path he walked.
Each step triggered a pulse of memory — laughter from guildmates, long nights of grinding, the bittersweet frustration of losing everything just before the crash. But these weren't just recollections. They felt downloaded into him, merging digital experience with emotion.
> "So this is what it means to be part of the system," he murmured.
The path ended at a floating monolith — tall, black, and covered in shifting glyphs. It vibrated with silent energy.
> "Codex Fragment identified," said the voice. "Warning: Host integrity below threshold. Interaction may result in permanent loss."
Eren stared at the monolith. He had a choice: risk it, or stay in limbo forever.
The answer was obvious.
> "If I'm already dead," he whispered, "then what's there to lose?"
He reached out.
The instant his fingers touched the surface, the world convulsed. Data exploded outward in a storm of symbols and light. Thousands of code fragments swirled around him, embedding themselves into his skin like molten script.
> "Integration in progress… Warning. Overload risk."
> "I said do it!"
The storm intensified. His consciousness stretched beyond its limits. For a brief second, he saw everything — the architecture of the server, the infinite lattice of dimensions that formed Aether Online, and beyond that… something else. A shadow watching from the outside. Something that knew he was there.
Then — silence.
The world collapsed into white.
When Eren opened his eyes again, he was lying on the ground of a forest. The sky above was painted in hues of violet and silver, two moons glowing faintly through drifting data clouds. The air smelled of rain and electricity.
In the distance, he could hear movement — metallic steps, approaching fast.
He sat up, blinking. His Codex mark still glowed faintly on his chest, steadier now, synchronized.
> "System," he whispered, "status."
A translucent panel appeared before him.
[Codex Sync: 12%]
[Fragment Acquired: 1/12]
[Core Awakening: Locked]
[New Skill: Data Resonance]
Eren's lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile.
> "Guess round two just started."
And somewhere, deep in the data structure of the server, a new voice whispered — not synthetic, but ancient.
> "Welcome back, Codex Bearer."