"Hey, Guy! The sun is setting, let's head home!" an older, burly-looking man yelled down into the dark cave. He shone his lantern toward the depths of the cavern; about a minute later, another flickering light appeared. A muscular, rugged man in a torn gray shirt and brown leather pants walked slowly toward the voice.
"Hard day, Guy?" the older man, Hobs, asked. He held his lantern high, casting light across Guy's long, dark hair. Guy didn't answer immediately; he just adjusted the heavy crate of Residual Essence on his shoulder. It was jagged, glowing with a faint, dying purple light scraps left behind by a streamer.
"Quiet as ever, eh?" Hobs chuckled, though there was no bitterness in it. "I wish my wife was as quiet as you, but she'll probably give me an earful later today. Hey, how about you come along someday? My wife can cut your hair," he said as they both made their way out of the cave. "It's a shame hiding such a handsome face. It'd attract a lot of viewers, that's for sure!"
Hobs said it jokingly, but Guy just scoffed.
As they emerged from the cavern, the oppressive darkness of the mine was suddenly shattered.
They walked into a lively camp that, despite the setting sun, remained brightly lit—not by torches, but by a massive celestial screen hovering above. It was a shimmering rectangle broadcasting the world's most-watched streamers.
On the screen, a man with hair like gold was laughing. He swung a sword of pure sunlight, decapitating a frost giant in a single, effortless motion.
[Viewer Count: 4,000,000+]
[Donation: 50,000 Deity Points from 'The Goddess of Eternal Summer']
"Look at that," Hobs spat, squinting at the screen as they dropped their crates at the collection depot. "One hit. One damn hit and he could've cleared the whole vein we spent fourteen hours mining. Instead, he's doing it for 'donations.' We're breaking our backs just to live another day while they're playing tag with giants."
Guy stopped. He looked at the golden hero on the screen. The man's armor was pristine not a single speck of dirt or drop of sweat.
Guy looked down at his own hands.
They were caked in mud and dried blood. He gripped his "sword" a flat, heavy bar of iron he'd sharpened himself. It had weight. The gold man's sword looked like it was made of nothing.
"It's not real," Guy muttered, his voice like grinding stones.
"Real enough to buy a kingdom," Hobs sighed. "Come on. Let's get our rations before the 'Stars' take the best cuts."
As Guy and Hobs walked toward the ration line, the dirt beneath their boots felt soft from the constant trampling of thousands. Every few feet, they had to step around men and women who weren't working instead they were performing.
To their left, a scrawny man was shadow-boxing in the mud, shouting at the empty air. A faint, flickering blue number hovered over his head: [3].
"Look at me, Oh Great Hunter!" the man yelled, his voice cracking. He tripped over a rock, sprawled into the dirt, and scrambled back up immediately, forced a smile, and kept punching. "Did you see that? A tactical roll! Don't leave the stream yet!"
"Pathetic," Hobs muttered, shaking his head. "Three viewers. Probably his mother and two bored goblins. He'll break a rib before he earns a single deity point."
They passed a woman who was singing a high-pitched, off-key song while trying to juggle three rusted daggers. One fell, slicing her palm. She didn't stop. She just wiped the blood on her pants and kept singing, her eyes darting toward the sky, begging for a notification that never came.
Guy kept his eyes forward. The "Gaze" of the gods was like a drug to these people, but to him, it looked like a leash.
They reached the ration depot a rickety wooden shack where a man with a scarred face was slopping gray gruel into wooden bowls. Above the shack, another small screen showed a "Low-Tier Highlight" reel.
"Rations for two," Hobs said, handing over a few dented copper coins they'd earned for the day's haul.
"Two bowls of slop," the man grunted, sliding the bowls across the counter. "And be quick. The 'Rising Stars' are coming back from the North Gate. They don't like sharing the fire with ghosts like you."
Guy took his bowl. The gruel was cold and thin, but it was fuel. He didn't need a god to tell him how to eat.
"Let's find a spot in the back," Hobs whispered, glancing nervously toward the center of the camp where the light was brightest. "Away from the gazes''
Guy and Hobs sat on top of a log beside a small fire, tucked away slightly outside the camp's edge. Even here, the dazzling light of the celestial screen flickered in the corner of their eyes, a constant reminder of the world they were barred from.
"Shit," Hobs muttered, his voice dropping to a low hiss. "Keep your head down."
Guy didn't move, but his eyes tracked a small group of 'Rising Stars' swaggering through the dirt. They walked with a confidence that only came from being watched. In the center of the group, a man led the way, his chest puffed out and a faint, artificial glow clinging to his skin.
Floating just above his head, a bright white number pulsed with every step:
[300]
In the Great City, that number was a joke. But here, in a camp of zeros, it was the mark of a king.