For a while, nobody moves.
I sit there on the slab, elbows shaking, held upright by a priestess and a knight from a game that is no longer a game. Light hums in the veins of the ceiling. My heart beats too fast, trying to convince my ribs to let it run away.
Graymark clears his throat.
"That will do for now," he says. "If he keeps pushing, he'll pitch forward and crack his skull, and the Council gets a corpse instead of a problem."
"Elliot," Elara murmurs, a warning wrapped in a name.
He lifts a hand in surrender. "Fine. We'll compromise." He looks at me. "Can you handle a few more steps, Art? With help."
My first instinct is to say yes too fast.
I swallow it.
"I can try," I say instead.
Leon shifts behind me. I feel the movement before I see it—the slight change in balance, the weight of his hand adjusting on my back.
"Slowly," he says, the same way he might tell someone to lower a blade. "We're not racing anyone."
I nod.
Elara moves to my right side, staff balanced in her left hand, her right hovering near my arm.
"On three," she says. "One… two…"
I push.
Stone scrapes under my palm. My legs feel like they belong to someone else—someone who slept for a year and woke up wrong. My stomach lurches. The world tilts.
"Three," Leon finishes, lifting at the same time.
For a second, everything narrows to the feeling of weight settling through my feet. Cold stone. Shaking knees. Muscles protesting they did not sign up for this.
But I'm standing.
Barely.
[ STATUS CHECK ]Posture: Standing (Unstable)Balance: 41%Risk of collapse: HighSuggestion: Sit down, idiot.
I ignore the last line.
I'm taller like this. Not by much, but enough that the room stretches differently. The arrays on the floor stop being an abstract pattern and become something I could step into. The tanks along the wall, half-hidden by my earlier angle, come fully into view.
Glass cylinders. Faint blue liquid. Shapes suspended inside.
My stomach clenches.
There are no eyes, no faces—just the suggestion of limbs, of torsos, of things that almost learned to be human and failed.
In the game, this was a horror set-piece.
From here, I can see tiny bubbles clinging to the glass. Condensation sliding down in slow streaks. A name etched into a metal plate at the base of each tank, numbers and letters that someone had to carve by hand.
I look away.
"Good," Graymark says. He sounds halfway between impressed and annoyed about it. "Captain, help him to the side room. If he collapses, better there than in the Council hall."
Leon grunts in acknowledgment.
Elara's hand presses lightly against my forearm. "One step at a time," she says. "Literally."
We move.
My boots—or whatever passes for footwear in this place; they feel more like heavy socks than shoes—drag against the stone. Each small shift of weight makes the System flicker warnings in my peripheral vision. Leon is a wall of heat and steadiness at my side. Elara's presence is quieter, like standing near a fire that hasn't been lit yet but could be, at any moment.
A doorway opens to our left.
Leon guides me through it.
The side room is smaller, less blinding. No arrays on the floor, just a narrow cot against the wall, a chair, a basin, a shelf with neatly folded linens. A single mana-lamp glows in one corner, its light softer than the crystals outside.
It doesn't look like a prison.
It looks like a place for people who might break.
Leon eases me down onto the cot.
The mattress is thin but blessedly not stone. My legs tremble in relief.
I exhale.
[ CONDITION UPDATE ]VIT strain: High → ModerateBalance: Safe (Seated)
Elara touches the air in front of me, fingers tracing a sigil I've only ever seen as a texture. Here, I feel the mana gather at her fingertips, like the air thickens around them.
Light blooms, a faint circle on the floor around my feet.
It's not striking, not dramatic. Just… steady.
"Stabilization ward," she says when she catches me looking. "It will soften fluctuations. A little."
"It's warm," I murmur.
Her mouth curves. "It should be."
Graymark appears in the doorway, tablet under his arm.
"I'll be in the Annex," he says. "The Council will want numbers sooner rather than later. Sister, don't let him try to stand again unless you want to spend the rest of your day picking up pieces."
"Elara," she corrects.
He blinks. "What?"
"You called him by name," she says. "You can manage mine."
Graymark snorts softly, some of the tightness in his face easing. "Very well. Elara."
He looks at me. "Art."
"Doctor," I reply.
For a heartbeat, there's something almost like respect there. Not the warm kind. The cautious kind you give to a puzzle that might bite.
Then he's gone.
The door clicks softly closed.
The room feels quieter without him. Not peaceful—too many sigils etched into the stone, too many faint hums of mana—but less… sharp.
Elara turns her attention fully on me.
"I'll be nearby," she says. "If anything feels wrong, call. If you feel your heart beating like it wants to tear itself out, call louder."
"I'll try to make it dramatic," I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes glint with amusement. "I suspect you won't have to try."
She rests her hand lightly on my shoulder for a moment—a brief, human touch that has nothing to do with spells—and then steps out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Silence settles.
Not complete. I can still hear faint sounds from the corridor: boots on stone, distant voices, the crystalline ring of some arcane device answering a command.
But for the first time since I opened my eyes, nobody is looking at me.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
My hands curl into the blanket.
It's rough, not the soft synthetic stuff from home. Real wool, I think. It scratches my skin in tiny, specific ways. My fingers follow the pattern of the weave, tracing uneven spots where the thread slipped, where someone's hand tugged too hard while making it.
Real.
I look at my hands properly.
The skin is pale. Not just "gamer who doesn't see much sun" pale—sickly, almost translucent, with faint bluish lines where veins run close to the surface. Scars crisscross the backs of them, thin and white, like someone stitched them back together more than once.
In the game, Subject 17's hands were just hands.
Here, they are a record.
I flex my fingers.
They obey, slow but responsive.
Curiosity swells in my chest, crowding out fear for a moment.
The System.
I let my gaze unfocus slightly, the way I always did when I wanted to see UI over reality.
It answers.
Thin blue lines draw themselves in the air in front of me, only visible to me.
[ STATUS ]Name: ArtDesignation: Subject 17Origin: Solaris Empire (Classified)Class: Fragile Genius MageCondition: Arcane Collapse Syndrome – Severe
STR: 7VIT: 6DEX: 11AGI: 10INT: 19PER: 18SEN: 20
HP: 38 / 100Mana: 220 / 220
The numbers don't surprise me.
Feeling them does.
My gaze moves down.
There's more.
Traits:– Fragile Genius (Passive)Your mind adapts quickly; your body does not.+INT, +PER, +SEN. Max HP greatly reduced.
– Incomplete Stabilization (Negative)Mana channels are cracked. Sustained use risks permanent damage.
– System-Touched (Unique)You perceive the world through a lens not meant for it.Interface access: Granted.
– He Who Loves the Dominion (Developing)Your attachment to this world has weight.Effect: Unknown.
My throat tightens.
He Who Loves the Dominion.
It's ridiculous.
It's exactly right.
The urge to poke at that trait is strong, but another part of me whispers later.
My eyes flick to the corner of the interface.
A small icon pulses there. Relationships.
I hesitate.
Curiosity wins.
The web of names and faint lines unfolds.
[ RELATIONS ]
Sister Elara Vance – Concern: Moderate • Interest: WarmElliot Graymark – Curiosity: High • Attachment: LowLeonhardt Vaelor – Duty: High • Opinion: Uncertain
Global – Solaris Empire: Sees you as: Asset (Unstable)
It's not numbers. Not yet. Just impressions, twisted into text.
I stare at Leon's line longer than I mean to.
Duty. Uncertain.
That fits.
I close the window with a blink.
"How much of this do you see?" I whisper to nobody.
The System doesn't answer, but the faint presence of it lingers, like a second heartbeat.
My thoughts circle, restless.
The Council. The Prince. Missions. Battles. Endings.
In the game, this was where the tutorial would walk me gently through menus and basic combat, with tooltips popping up in friendly boxes.
Here, the only tooltip is don't die.
I lie back slowly, letting my head sink into the thin pillow.
The stone of the wall is close enough that I could touch it if I stretched out my arm. Lines of script carved near the ceiling shimmer faintly, reacting to Elara's ward.
Script.
My eyes trace it, curiosity nudging aside the anxiety again.
The letters are familiar in the way foreign alphabets become familiar when you spend too much time looking at them on-screen. The in-game codex had always been very proud of its fully invented language, with a whole mini-fandom dedicated to translating it.
Now, I can see the strokes.
The way the chisel must have bitten into the stone.
The places where the line wobbled, just slightly, because someone's hand was tired.
I mouth one of the shorter phrases under my breath.
The sounds come easily.
The meaning does not.
Yet.
Language had been a simple UI setting before. "Subtitles: On/Off." "Text: English/Portuguese." Now my tongue has to do the work.
A soft thump at the door pulls me out of it.
"Art?" Leon's voice.
"Yeah," I say, a little too quickly.
The door opens a fraction wider.
Leon steps in, ducking his head automatically even though the frame is high enough to clear his height.
Without armor, he looks less like a statue. The gambeson and simple shirt underneath soften the lines a little, but his posture doesn't change. He stands like someone who expects trouble to come through the wall at any moment.
"How do you feel?" he asks.
I consider.
The honest answer is like someone made a soup out of my nerves and bones and forgot to season it.
I settle for: "Like I've been lying down for a very long time and my body is personally offended by gravity."
One corner of his mouth twitches.
"That sounds accurate," he says.
He steps closer, staying just out of the circle of Elara's ward.
"The Council?" I ask before he does.
He nods once. "Arguing," he says. "That is their natural state. They've read the initial reports. They will want more. For now, they've decided you should not be dragged in front of them until your legs remember how to function."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Some of the tightness in my shoulders releases.
"So I'm… not being erased today," I say.
"Not today," Leon agrees.
He says it without drama, as if noting the weather.
Some of the background noise in my head quiets.
Leon studies my face.
"You're not surprised," he says. "By any of this."
It's not a question.
I meet his gaze anyway.
"I'm trying not to be," I say. "I think if I let myself be surprised by everything right now, my head will crack before my channels."
He snorts softly.
"That's not what I meant," he says. He nods toward the door, toward the lab, the tanks, the sigils. "Most men wake from a rite with fewer memories than a drunk after winter festival. They panic. They thrash. You cried," he adds, a little wry, "but you didn't panic. You looked like you were… recognizing things."
Ice slips into my spine.
Careful.
Words matter.
"I've… seen a lot," I say slowly. "Stories. Maps. Records. Dreams. I spent… most of my life in other people's worlds. On paper. In my head. It feels… similar."
It's not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Leon's eyes narrow slightly.
"You speak of 'other worlds' as if that's normal," he says.
"Do knights here not tell stories?" I ask. "No bards, no wandering scribes, no tales about places nobody has ever seen?"
He hesitates.
"Of course they do," he says.
"Then maybe I read too many," I say quietly. "And now everything looks like something from a story I remember halfway."
That lands.
He doesn't fully buy it—I can see that in the way his jaw tightens—but he drops the line of questioning.
For now.
"I came to tell you something else," Leon says. "In case you overhear half of it from a passing servant and decide to walk on your own."
"Walk where?" I ask.
"Out of this room," he replies dryly. "Down into the training annex. They want to see what you can do."
My stomach flips.
"Now?" My voice cracks.
"Soon," he says. "Not this moment. Elara will complete her rites first. Graymark will run a few more tests. But the Council will not be satisfied with numbers on a tablet. They want to see you hold a spell. See you move. See that you are more than a ledger entry."
Training annex.
In the game, it was a tutorial menu disguised as a courtyard.
Here, it will be ground under my boots.
My curiosity flares so sharp it almost hurts.
"Outside the lab," I murmur. "There's… a yard. Soldiers. Dummies. A wall, high, with—"
I stop myself.
Leon's brows lift.
"With what?" he prompts.
"Wind," I say instead. "And… sky."
His expression softens in a way I don't expect.
"You really have been locked in rooms most of your life," he says.
He's not wrong.
I pick at the blanket.
"Will there be… other people?" I ask. "In the annex?"
"Knights in training. A few mages. Sometimes healers watching fools break their bones." His mouth tightens. "Some will stare. Some will pretend you don't exist. You will ignore both and do what you need to do."
I nod.
"And what do I need to do?" I ask.
Leon considers.
"Stay on your feet," he says. "Show them you can move without collapsing. Produce controlled magic without setting your own veins on fire. Listen to my orders. And…" He pauses. "Do not volunteer information they did not ask for."
My head jerks up.
He meets my eyes steadily.
"You look like someone who thinks three steps ahead of every question," he says. "That can be useful. It can also frighten people who prefer to believe they hold all the pieces."
My cheeks heat.
He's not wrong about that either.
"I'll… try to keep extra steps inside my head," I say.
"Good," he replies. "Keep enough for us, though. If you see something I don't, and it will get my men killed, I expect to hear it before the arrows start flying."
The way he says my men makes something inside my chest twist.
He's not talking about Council politics.
He's talking about Riss, and Brenn, and whoever else ends up in arm's reach when things go wrong.
"I will," I say. My voice comes out quieter than I intend, but it's steady. "I promise."
The System stirs.
[ VOW REGISTERED ]"I will speak if silence will get them killed."
Trait synergy: He Who Loves the Dominion.
Weight: Minor • Growing.
Leon doesn't see the text, of course.
He watches my face instead.
For a moment, he seems about to say something else. Then he shakes his head slightly.
"Elara will be here soon," he says. "Rest until then. You'll need it."
He turns toward the door.
On impulse, I call out.
"Leon."
He looks back.
"Thank you," I say.
It sounds insufficient. Too small.
For catching me. For holding me up. For not letting the Council see me drooling on the floor.
For talking to me like I'm a person, not just a problem.
He studies me for a breath.
"You're welcome," he says. "Try not to fall over while I'm gone. I'm already responsible for enough broken bones."
He leaves.
The door closes softly.
I let myself sink down until my shoulders rest against the wall.
The ward's light circles my feet like a faint halo. My heartbeat, while still a little too fast, is settling into something that could pass for normal in a generous report.
My mind is not settled at all.
The Council.
The annex.
The city.
Pieces of the game's early hours flash through me. Menus. Tooltips. Lines of dialogue I could still quote if someone shook me awake.
I push them aside.
Those were patterns.
This is reality.
Reality doesn't care about optimal routes.
Reality cares about where my feet land, and whether my lungs keep working when I run, and whether the man who holds me up can trust me not to drag him into a grave he never had in the script.
A laugh bubbles up, dry and a little wild.
I cover my face with one hand until it passes.
"Curioso," I whisper to myself. "You finally get the world you wanted, and the first thing you do is think about dying in it."
The ceiling doesn't argue.
The System hums.
Somewhere beyond the stone walls, people walk streets I haven't seen yet.
I want to see all of it.
I also want to survive long enough to regret that desire.
Footsteps return faster than I expect.
Elara steps in, staff in hand, ward-light wrapping around her like a second robe.
"Ready?" she asks.
"No," I say honestly.
She smiles faintly.
"Good," she says. "Only fools are ready. Hold still."
She sets the base of her staff on the circle around my feet.
Light rises, softer than before, threading up my legs, along my spine, through my chest. It doesn't burn. It feels like a hand smoothing out tangled sheets inside me, easing snarls in my channels, pressing just enough strength where things threaten to fray.
I close my eyes and let it work.
[ BUFF APPLIED – Radiant Stabilization II ]Channel integrity: Slightly reinforced.VIT strain threshold: Increased.Duration: Until pushed too far.
When the light dims, I feel… not good. But less like a glass sculpture on the edge of a shelf.
Elara studies my face.
"Better?" she asks.
"A little," I say.
"Then that will have to be enough," she replies gently. "The world rarely waits for us to feel ready before it demands we stand."
She steps back and offers me her free hand.
"Come," she says. "Let's see what you do with the first breath of fresh air."
I take her hand.
My legs protest when I stand, but they hold.
The ward fades behind us as we walk out.
The corridor welcomes us with its hum of sigils and faint echoes. Graymark appears from a side doorway, half-dressed in his coat, tablet under his arm.
"Ah," he says. "Good. You're still in one piece. The Council has decided. You'll go to the training annex first. If you don't fall apart there, they'll schedule an audience."
"Schedule," I repeat. "How… generous."
He snorts. "For them, it is."
Leon waits further down the hall, armor back in place, helm under his arm.
Our eyes meet.
He inclines his head.
"Ready?" he asks.
Again, I think no.
Again, I say, "As I'll ever be."
We walk.
Each step away from the lab feels like walking off the edge of a map I thought I knew.
Curiosity burns bright enough to light the path ahead.
Fear walks beside it, quiet and heavy.
The System whispers in the back of my mind, counting heartbeats.
Outside the lab, a world I have loved from behind a screen waits to see what I'll do now that I'm inside it.