Amelia's boots hit wood.
Not metaphorical wood. Not a half-rendered texture pretending to be something else. Actual wooden planks, worn smooth by countless footsteps, sticky in places where spilled drinks had soaked in and never quite left. The sound of her landing echoed naturally—no delay, no distortion, no clipping.
She stood still for a second.
The tavern was alive.
Not scripted alive. Alive-alive.
Groups of knights sat at long tables, shouting over one another, laughing, arguing about things that didn't sound important enough to be quest dialogue. A pair near the bar were mid-argument about whose turn it was to pay. Someone else was loudly singing off-key. A bartender wiped down a mug that somehow already looked dirty again.
No stuttering animations.
No NPCs looping the same five voice lines.
Everyone had their own conversations.
Their own timing.
Their own presence.
Amelia slowly turned in place, taking it all in.
"…No glitches," she muttered.
The lighting was warm, uneven in the way only firelight ever was. Shadows danced across stone walls and hanging banners, shifting as people moved. The realism wasn't overwhelming—it didn't try to simulate every pore or crack—but it was clean. Intentional.
Stylized.
Fun.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched a knight slam back a drink and immediately regret it.
"…Did he make a drinking game set in medieval times?" she thought.
Before she could process that further, something heavy stepped into her personal space.
"Congrats, recruit."
The voice was rough. Loud. Confident in the way only someone who'd never been seriously challenged could be.
Amelia looked up.
And up.
And—oh, you have got to be kidding me.
A knight stood before her clad in deep purple armor, polished just enough to gleam under the tavern lights. His helmet wasn't just horned—it had actual fucking horns, curved and jagged like something torn off a demon rather than forged.
He leaned casually on a massive hammer, its head resting on the floor.
"You've earned the honor of an Elemental Affinity," the knight continued, completely unfazed by her staring. "If you look in your notebook, you'll get to choose your look—and your element."
As if on cue, he lifted his hammer.
Fire ignited along its head in a sudden whoomph, flames curling and licking the metal like it had always belonged there.
Before Amelia could react, he swung.
The hammer smashed directly into a gray-armored knight a few steps away.
The impact sent the poor guy flying off his stool, armor clattering as he hit the floor in a heap.
The tavern barely reacted.
Someone laughed.
Someone else groaned about spilled drink.
The gray knight twitched, then groaned.
"Ugh… that one's on you…"
A healer—robes stained with everything from ale to questionable substances—sighed heavily from the side of the room. Without even looking annoyed, he pulled out a bottle, popped the cork, and poured the glowing contents down the fallen knight's throat.
The wounds vanished.
The dents smoothed out.
The gray knight sat bolt upright.
"Give me another moonshine!"
The tavern roared in approval.
Amelia stared.
"…Okay," she said quietly. "So death is optional."
"Temporary inconvenience," the purple knight corrected cheerfully. "You'll get used to it."
He gave her a thumbs-up, then wandered off, already shouting at someone else.
A small, leather-bound notebook appeared at Amelia's side.
She blinked.
"…Right."
She picked it up.
The pages flipped on their own, revealing a clean, intuitive interface—not floating menus, not HUD spam. Just information, neatly organized, like it belonged there.
Elemental Affinity Selection.
Fire. Ice. Lightning. Poison.
Others were visible—but grayed out. Locked. Dozens of them.
"…Many affinities locked," Amelia murmured.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the tavern ceiling, as if R.A.G.E. might be watching.
"Of course you did that."
She didn't bother with customization. No face sculpting. No armor dyes. No endless sliders. She selected Lightning Knight and closed the book.
The world responded instantly.
A sharp sensation ran up her arms—not painful, but charged. The air around her fingers tingled, tiny arcs of electricity snapping between them like playful sparks.
"Oh," she breathed. "…That's new."
She flexed her hand.
Lightning followed.
Not flashy. Not overdone. It felt right. Responsive. As natural as clenching a fist.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
A nearby knight bumped into her, sloshing drink dangerously close to her armor.
"Watch it, sparky—"
The lightning discharged.
It wasn't intentional.
It just… happened.
A bolt snapped out, striking the knight square in the chest.
He stiffened.
Hair smoked.
Armor crackled.
He collapsed backward onto a table with a loud thud.
The tavern went quiet.
Amelia's eyes widened.
"I—I didn't—"
The healer sighed again. Deeply. Patiently. Like a man who had done this exact thing far too many times.
He walked over, knelt, and produced another potion.
Glug.
The knight gasped, sat up, and wiped soot off his helmet.
"…Another moonshine," he slurred.
The tavern cheered.
Amelia stared at her hands.
"…So," she said slowly, looking around. "What's the point?"
No one answered.
Then—
CRASH.
The sound came from above.
Wood splintered.
The door at the top of the stairs burst inward, fragments flying as something heavy slammed through it.
A gray knight tumbled down the steps, armor riddled with arrows, blood staining the stone beneath him. He skidded to a stop at the base of the stairs, gasping once—
Then vanished.
Not dissolved.
Not despawned.
Just… gone.
The tavern exploded into motion.
Knights leapt to their feet, weapons drawn, drinks abandoned mid-sip.
"Upstairs!"
"Move, move!"
"Princess trouble!"
They rushed past Amelia, boots pounding, armor clashing, voices sharp with urgency.
She stood frozen for half a second longer.
Then lightning crackled around her fists.
"…R.A.G.E," she muttered under her breath, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Okay. I see what you did."
And she ran for the stairs.