Chapter Eighteen: Exit Game, Enter Quest
"You're not failing, you're just in the wrong game."
The room was dim and lit only by the bluish glow of a suspended screen casting flickering lights over strewn pillows, a tangled blanket, and half-finished cans of citrus soda. On the wall hung a poster of the RPG classic "Chrono Tempest III"—faded and slightly torn, much like its owner's ambitions.
Sitting on the floor, slouched against his bed, was Nico Finnikin Faelwyn, a lanky foxkin boy with ember-orange ears twitching in mild irritation and a long fluffy tail swishing under his coat. His messy chestnut-red hair flopped over his eyes, and he wore a faded hoodie with cracked lettering that read: "Lag Is My Enemy."
He scrolled through his tablet, eyes dull.
"Dear Mr. Faelwyn," the message read, "Thank you for applying. Unfortunately, we've decided to move forward with more experienced candidates."
Nico's ears drooped. "That's the third this week…"
Just then, a knock on the door.
"Nico," came the sharp, familiar voice of Isolde Faelwyn, his older sister and personal whirlwind of responsibility. "I'm heading out. You better have applied to at least two jobs by the time I get back—or I'm disabling the Wi-Fi. I'm not joking this time!"
"I did apply," Nico muttered.
The door slammed anyway.
With a growl, Nico grabbed his game controller and launched it at the wall. It bounced, fell behind his desk, and knocked over a cup of pencils.
"Fantastic," he mumbled, flopping back onto his beanbag, staring at the ceiling. "Guess I'll just rot."
Then—his phone buzzed.
Nico rolled over and grabbed it. A call was coming in. Name flashing:
[RIVEN BLACKSTONE]
"…Wait, what?" Nico sat up, ears perked.
He answered. "Yo, Riven? Haven't heard from you in forever."
"Yeah, I know. Listen," came Riven's voice—calm, confident, with a strange edge of purpose Nico hadn't heard before. "I'm assembling a party."
"A party-party or, like, a crime-party?"
"A real-life RPG party. menu screens. respawns. But just the world, raw and wide open."
Nico blinked. "Is this… code for something? Are you okay?"
"I'm starting something new. A journey," Riven said. "A Traveler's campaign. Real world. Real movement. Multiplayer mode. You in?"
There was a beat.
Nico stared around his room—at the mess, the failure emails, the life paused mid-level.
He didn't even hesitate.
"…Dude. I'm so in."
Riven laughed softly. "Pack light. Bring snacks. You've got fox speed—I expect you here by sunrise."
Nico smirked, tail flicking behind him.
"Finally," he whispered, already grabbing his jacket. "A game worth playing."
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Chapter Eighteen: Lights Out, Dawn In
"If the world shuts the door—kick down a better one."
The Dawnmere household was bright, lavish, and utterly suffocating.
Inside a second-floor bedroom painted in pastel gold, Aurelia Dawnmere stood with her fists clenched, her face red from the shouting. Her light blonde hair was usually brushed into elegant waves—but today, it was wild, matching the storm raging in her chest.
Across the room stood her mother—immaculate as ever in a pale blue robe, heels clicking on the polished floor like punctuation marks in an angry poem.
"You are a disgrace to our name," her mother said coldly. "Low grades, no drive, and all that nonsense you spout about 'freedom' and 'meaning.' You don't belong here, Aurelia."
Aurelia fired back. "Maybe I don't want to be your perfect little program child!"
"You're not a child anymore. You either succeed or get out."
Silence followed.
Then her mother pointed to the door.
"Get. Out."
By the time the sun dipped low behind the estate's marble-topped walls, Aurelia was homeless—her bag slung over one shoulder, and her school ID practically still warm from being snapped in half and tossed into the trash.
She didn't cry. She didn't give her mother the satisfaction.
Instead, she grumbled through clenched teeth and walked until the world looked poorer.
She ended up at a faded dollar store, flickering sign buzzing above. The inside was cluttered and fluorescent-lit, a far cry from the chandeliered aisles she'd grown up with. But this was where real people shopped now, using the new universal digital currency called Regicoins, recently implemented by Princess Amaryllis to "modernize commerce for all citizens."
Aurelia bought a can of fizzwater and a protein bar, tapping her worn phone to the scanner. The ping of the Regicoins transferring felt colder than coins ever did.
She stepped outside, took a sip, and stared up at the sky, now deep orange under the last stretch of Lux's light.
Then her phone buzzed.
It was a message.
[RIVEN BLACKSTONE]: Hello can you contact for a brief minute?
Aurelia blinked.
[AURELIA]: Barely. Just got disowned. I live in the trash now. What's up?
Her phone rang immediately.
She answered.
Riven's voice came through, calm but firm. "I'm recruiting for something. A campaign. Real world. Real time. class system, just cause. You want in?"
Aurelia stared at the busy street, at the bags under her eyes, the cheap drink in her hand, the weightless feeling of having no future left.
She took one more sip.
"…Honestly? Yeah," she said. "I've got nothing better to do."
"Then welcome to the party," Riven said. "You're about to level up."
Aurelia smirked as she turned away from the dollar store and walked toward the unknown.
"About damn time."
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Chapter Eighteen: The First Hunt
"The world doesn't wait for you to be ready."
Hidden behind the thick embrace of bark and moss, Oliver crouched in silence, his breath steady, ears keen. He had been watching the trio—Riven, Garrick, and Goldie—for the past half hour, piecing together what kind of strange misfit band this really was.
Riven stood in the clearing below, phone to his ear, confidently muttering names like puzzle pieces in a bigger picture.
"...Orlen Duskwalker… next, Eryndor Hale... yeah, I'm adding them to the roster…"
Oliver tilted his head slightly. Who the heck are those? More Travelers?
Riven was multitasking like a machine—juggling calls while Goldie knelt beside him, mischievously tugging at one of his long shoelaces with a focused, feral expression.
Then—beep beep beep…
Riven's phone went dark.
"Ugh. Battery," he groaned.
He dug into his coat pocket and retrieved something smooth and square. It unfolded with a shimmering pulse.
The Systematic Guide.
A neon-orange interface blinked alive, floating slightly above his palm like a piece of hard light. With a practiced flick, Riven slid the phone into a slot within the guide's frame.
Garrick raised a brow. "Hey—isn't that cheating?"
Riven smirked. "It's not cheating if the system itself has a charging protocol."
The Guide hummed faintly, processing.
Before Garrick could roll his eyes, he turned around to scan the woods—then immediately froze.
"What the hell—!"
Riven's eyes snapped up. "What?"
Then Goldie, eyes wide and glowing with primal awareness, pointed a small clawed finger toward the trees.
And there it stood.
Emerging from the fog of bramble and branch was a Wilderness Beast—towering, monstrous, and breathing with unnatural rhythm. Its body was vaguely centaur-like, but twice the height. Covered in shaggy, blackened fur and ancient bone armor, it carried a rusted, jagged axe-blade the size of a door, dragging it through the underbrush like a plow through dirt. Its eyes glowed with a muted blue light, its level flashing faintly above in system font:
[Level 15 – Wilderness Beast | Rank: Blue (Mini-Boss)]
"...That is not on today's quest sheet!" Garrick yelled.
Riven's face had gone pale. "Evacuate. Now."
With no further prompting, they scattered like startled birds—Garrick thundering down the slope with his backpack rattling like a drum, Goldie scrambling up a log, and Riven snatching the Guide midair as he bolted.
Up in the trees, Oliver backed away. "Nope. Nope, nope—"
But it was too late.
The beast sniffed.
Its glowing eyes darted toward the thick bushes where Oliver stood. It snorted, low and dangerous. And then—
BOOM.
It charged, hooves tearing through the woods like thunder. Trees bent. Roots snapped.
And Oliver—heart hammering, instincts on fire—ran.
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