[TT: I’m in—]

  A popup flashed in the lower right corner of the screen. Crys’s mouth curved up before he could stop it. He ditched his homework and launched the game without hesitation.

  [Ad: same as always]

  [TT: You’re not on yet? That’s rare]

  [TT: lol oh right, Happy Halloween]

  [Ad: yeah]

  TT was Crys’s only friend. He knew about school. About his father. About his mother being gone.

  Even the counseling.

  When Crys had told him those things, TT hadn’t made a big deal out of it.

  No forced sympathy. No digging. Just—

  If something happens, say the word.

  That was enough. More than enough.

  TT didn’t talk much about himself. But the way he spoke gave off the vibe of someone a year or two older, raised well, unruffled. Even his handle—TT, short for Tea Time—fit that image.

  They’d never met. This friendship existed only here. In the game.

  The game was True World Origins, or TO.

  A massively popular online action shooter that had pulled in two hundred million players in its first year. Unlike the usual urban gunfests, TO leaned hard into fantasy—

  lush graphics, unreal beauty.

  Pastoral fields like a lakeside under a rainbow. Ancient temples rising from exotic deserts. Mist-covered lakes where fairies and beasts drifted through the air. Seven islands at first, spiraling out from the castle where players began. Now nine, after the latest update.

  [Ad: where to today?]

  [TT: Lab + greenhouse prob packed]

  [TT: wanna farm mats at the fortress?]

  [Ad: sure]

  [Ad: I need a few anyway]

  Every frame of TO looked like concept art,

  but the First Island—home to the fortress—was something else. From there, you could see every island. It was famous enough to be the key visual.

  Crys warped his avatar, Thistle, to the island. By habit, he steered the camera behind the castle, looking out. Wind swept across the plains on-screen.

  He inhaled without realizing it.

  [TT: I’m taking off]

  TT’s character, The Rock, struck a wild pose, hands on hips.

  [Ad: this part matters]

  They passed through the village crowded with new players, followed the grassy river path, and entered the fortress. Sentries. Specters. They cut through them on sight. The real goal was the rare drop from the boss, but lower-tier mats were fine too.

  Crys already knew every spawn pattern.

  Chewing on chocolate he’d swiped from Nash’s place, he typed with one hand and played with the other.

  [Ad: you know Cook, the shop NPC?]

  [Ad: ran into a delinquent who looked just like him today]

  [TT: I feel a story coming on]

  [TT: jk—u good?]

  [Ad: I’m fine]

  [Ad: got lectured for bullying the loud guy]

  [TT: sounds like YOU’RE the delinquent]

  [TT: what’d you actually do]

  [TT: you’re not the type to pick on people]

  [Ad: nothing]

  [Ad: just told him to go on a date with Cook]

  [TT: yeah that’d make him cry]

  [TT: so cupid failed]

  [TT: and that was it?]

  [Ad: according to Happy Halloween, Cook defended me]

  [Ad: maybe]

  [TT: if Happy Halloween says so, prob true]

  [TT: scary-looking dudes can be soft]

  [TT: I know one like that IRL]

  Someone TT knew, huh.

  If they knew each other IRL, that sounded fun.

  The thought bothered Crys more than he expected. He pushed anyway.

  [Ad: where do you live?]

  [Ad: you dodged last time]

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  [Ad: we’ve played together three years—at least tell me the area]

  [TT: hey Ad]

  [TT: you just drop all internet safety outta nowhere]

  [TT: but yeah, I kinda know where you are]

  [TT: might be closer than you think]

  Crys’s chest jumped. TT had never said anything this personal.

  If you’ve got a guess, wanna meet? Even near my place—

  Before he could type it, the screen cut to a cinematic. They’d reached the deepest level without noticing.

  Crys slammed his forehead onto the keyboard.

  The opening shot was the one thing he hated—

  even in his favorite game.

  A swarm of writhing worms flooded the screen.

  When the BGM shifted, he lifted his head and typed:

  [Ad: worst timing. saw it]

  [TT: RIP]

  The fortress boss, Vermizar, summoned its otherworldly dragon, Rubervescarl, which roared and lunged at Thistle and The Rock.

  Normally their teamwork was perfect.

  Tonight, Crys was a mess.

  He popped the wrong buff and froze himself.

  Then he ran the same direction as TT during a flank.

  Then he ate a dragon breath that left him at one HP.

  Nothing lined up.

  He slumped over the desk, leg bouncing.

  Even here—

  the one place he was good at—

  he felt like dead weight.

  [TT: what’s up, legend]

  [TT: still shaken from the worms?]

  TT sorted the drops as he talked. Crys wanted to bring up meeting. But it felt like he didn’t deserve to.

  Even Thistle looked downcast.

  [Ad: I can’t take it]

  [TT: yeah you messed up, rare sight]

  [TT: but you basically carried that fight]

  [TT: dragon slayer, man]

  [TT: so this is yours]

  TT tried to hand him the top-tier mat like it was nothing. The deep red crystal on the stat screen gleamed brighter than usual.

  It was embarrassing.

  But more than that—

  being treated as an equal felt good.

  Maybe it was better they were just text right now.

  [Ad: thanks]

  He clicked to accept.

  The stat screen closed. The map opened.

  [TT: what now? keep going?]

  Light tone. Real concern underneath.

  [Ad: obviously!]

  [Ad: let me make up for it]

  Only an hour in. No way he was logging off.

  They ran village missions.

  Fought other teams for control of the plains.

  Helped newbies stuck in the skyscraper raid.

  As things settled, Crys started chatting again—

  but he didn’t ask where TT lived.

  Games took more brainpower than studying. The chocolate was gone, not enough. He grabbed some snacks and kept playing as the night deepened.

  [TT: I’m heading out—]

  Crys checked his phone. It was almost three a.m.

  [Ad: tomorrow—well, today—wasn’t that your errand day?]

  [TT: lost track. having too much fun]

  [TT: see you next week]

  The moment TT logged out, Crys powered down his PC too.

  TT always signed off early on Fridays—he had things to do on weekend mornings.

  So this was unusual.

  —Did I make him worry?

  But when he said he’d had fun… that had to be real.

  Crys wanted to believe that.

  As his thoughts drifted, a wide yawn slipped out.

  It had been a long time since he’d played for this many hours, and his head felt heavy.

  He turned off the desk lamp and let himself fall onto the bed.

  The fatigue was comfortable.

  He surrendered to it, and closed his eyes.

  Ping.

  The phone he’d left on the desk lit up, a notification blooming on the screen.

  Crys cracked one eye open, sluggish.

  He didn’t have anyone who would message him at this hour—or at any hour.

  It would be spam.

  Probably from overseas.

  He meant to ignore it.

  But something tugged at him anyway.

  He slid out of bed, slow and half-asleep, and checked his phone with bleary eyes.

  The popup read:

  Creator: You have received an exclusive invitation—just for you!

  Crys smirked.

  There was something almost friendly about those one-sided spam messages, always showing up like clockwork.

  —If you’re going to invite me, at least make it somewhere fun.

  He was still smiling as he tossed the phone back beside his pillow and lay down again.

  The moment his head sank into the pillow, the sleep he’d been holding off came rushing back—fast as a dog returning to its owner.

  With every breath, his body and the bed became less distinct.

  He was sinking, and yet it felt like floating.

  He let out a small breath.

  And Crys’s awareness was already inside the dark.

  A pull caught at the back of his head—

  and only his awareness slid out of his body.

  The sense of the bed grew distant. Instead, air rose up from below—

  a wind that was neither warm nor cold.

  Dark.

  Bottomless.

  Down, and down—

  He was sinking, and yet it felt… gentle.

  Like being dragged underwater—

  and at the same time, like being laid into a cradle.

  His body knew it.

  This was the beginning. The usual one.

  The fall was slow, quiet as petals drifting.

  His breath didn’t break.

  His heart didn’t leap.

  Only his body kept getting farther away.

  One minute.

  Two.

  Somewhere along the way,

  he lost all sense of how far he’d fallen.

  Then his body lifted, just once—

  light, like he was floating.

  His toes brushed something.

  He bounced—off invisible ground.

  And the next moment, both feet landed firmly on the floor.

  The weightlessness vanished. His mind was strangely sharp—

  like a morning after perfect sleep.

  —Is it morning already?

  Crys opened his eyes, slowly.

  All around him was darkness,

  as if someone had painted it black.

  But the circular floor where he stood was lit by a faint glow, like candlelight.

  It was about the size of his bedroom.

  Only the path ahead was softly lit, as if it were calling to him.

  Something was different from his usual dream.

  He glanced upward, but the place he’d fallen from was far away—

  impossibly far.

  No going back.

  —So I keep going.

  Crys hesitated.

  And still—

  he stepped toward the light.

  One step.

  Two.

  Each time he moved, the ground beneath his feet lit up.

  And each time, the path behind him was swallowed by dark.

  As he walked into the glow, it began to feel like this wasn’t a dream.

  Not even the strange dream. Unlike the usual one—

  where he only kept falling through dark—

  his senses were clear.

  Clearer than the warmth of his bed.

  Clearer than the weight of his sheets.

  Here, his own presence felt sharper.

  More real.

  He clenched his hand, as if to test it.

  And only then did he notice.

  He wasn’t in his sleep clothes.

  He was wearing the oversized hoodie he’d had on earlier.

  And he had shoes on, too.

  As he walked, the light began to take shape.

  What it revealed was the same circular hall as the place he’d fallen into before—

  a deep crimson floor.

  And at the far end—

  an old elevator, like a birdcage.

  The doors were a muted gold,

  decorated with curling vines.

  When he came closer, the elevator opened on its own.

  But Crys hesitated to step inside.

  “This is a dream, right?”

  Everything was too vivid. He was starting to lose confidence that it was a dream at all. What would happen if he actually got in?

  Holding the door open so it wouldn’t close, Crys leaned in and looked.

  No buttons on either side.

  No floor display.

  No escape hatch—

  of course not.

  Only a single red arrow, old enough to feel out of another era, pointing left, set in a half-moon groove on the ceiling.

  He loosened his grip on the door, and stepped inside.

  Shrrk, shrrk, shrrk.

  In that instant, the muted golden vines stretched out—

  and sealed the exit.

  “What—?”

  Clunk.

  By the time he turned toward the sound, the elevator had already begun to descend.

  The light vanished at once.

  It sank through a darkness so thick he couldn’t see even a meter ahead.

  Crys panicked. He hadn’t meant to get in.

  He searched harder for buttons, anything to stop it—

  but there was nothing.

  No matter where he pressed,

  no matter where he touched,

  nothing appeared.

  The elevator kept dropping.

  Deeper.

  Deeper.

  The arrow moved so slowly

  it didn’t even feel like it was descending.

  How far down was it taking him?

  The floating sensation made his stomach twist. He pressed a hand there without thinking.

  It looked like an elevator—

  but there was no sign of any floor.

  Beyond the cage, only pitch-dark.

  As if something might be moving out there.

  Fear began to creep in.

  Crys wrapped his arms around himself.

  Just as the unease threatened to crush him,

  the arrow pointed straight up—

  and the doors opened.

  He stepped out, unsteady.

  The lighting was calmer than the circular room above—

  but he still narrowed his eyes.

  At first, he thought it was light.

  White, or silver—a strange glow, like the inside of a mother-of-pearl shell.

  As he stared into it, the brightness gathered an outline.

  A figure.

  When the light settled enough for him to see, Crys caught his breath.

  Pale blond hair.

  A white dress.

  A girl.

  A soft smile rested on her petal-pink lips.

  As if she had been waiting here from the beginning, she looked straight at him.

  The shock hit so hard it felt like his heart had been gripped. He couldn’t even speak.

  The girl’s eyes—gentle on him—blinked.

  Blue as deep space, glittering like stars.

  Her pale lips parted.

  “Finally,” she said.

  “Crys.”

  The moment she spoke his name in a voice as clear as a drop falling into water, Crys felt himself tipping backward—

  like the opening of the dream—like sinking into bed.

  As if something were pulling him away, his awareness slipped into the distance.

  He tried to fight it.

  Tried to stay upright.

  But—

  he couldn’t.

  Sleep dropped over him—forced—like shutting down a computer.

  Crys pushed his eyelids up,

  desperate to see her again.

  The girl, still smiling, moved her lips—just slightly.

  And then—

  his awareness cut off,

  cleanly.