A chill crawled across my skin as I woke.

  I gasped for air, warm tears sliding down my cheeks.

  My eyes fluttered open. Instead of a familiar ceiling or soft morning light, there was only darkness—silent, suffocating—the air heavy with cold mist and frozen frost clinging to everything around me.

  Slowly, I lifted my hand. Shards of half-melted ice slid from my armor and shattered against the floor.

  That was when I realized—

  I was still seated.

  The same position as before.

  A massive, futuristic command seat held me in place at the center of a darkened dome, while the melting ice that had enclosed me before cracked and broke apart.

  This should be the same seat I’ve sat in for a very long time already…

  But something about this one felt… kinda… different…? Besides the cold sensation of the ice.

  The feeling… was off.

  It felt too different from what I was used to.

  It was vivid—painfully vivid.

  When I played in VR, the sensations were as realistic as this one, but they felt artificial and very limited.

  This wasn’t.

  The cold didn’t just brush my skin—it sank deep into my bones.

  The warmth in my chest pulsed like a living heartbeat, an unknown energy stirring within me. I could feel my veins as that strange warmth slowly flowed through them.

  I could even feel the tears sliding down my chin, each one heavy and real.

  It was too real.

  The latest VR capsules only allowed ten percent immersion.

  And I didn’t even own one of those.

  I only used a standard headgear.

  That’s why, despite sitting in the familiar command center of my ship, it felt unfamiliar.

  Yes, this is my ship.

  Thinking about that calmed my doubting mind for a moment.

  So I ignored the sensation and continued to look at the hand I had just raised in front of me.

  What stared back at me wasn’t flesh.

  It was metal.

  My fingers were encased in segmented plating, each joint layered with sleek, interlocking armor. The surface wasn’t bulky—it followed the exact shape of my hand, like a mechanical replica of my own anatomy.

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  A layer of frost clung to it.

  Ice traced the seams between the plates, filling the tiny gaps along my knuckles and joints.

  With a bit of force, I flexed my fingers open, and a sharp crack of ice echoed through the dome.

  The frozen layer splintered instantly, small shards and chunks of ice breaking away and falling in glittering fragments. Some struck the floor. Others slid off my arm.

  The metallic gauntlet plates beneath shifted smoothly as I moved my fingers, unhindered.

  And the strangest part—

  I could feel it.

  Not the cold hardness of metal… but something softer beneath it. Like a thin glove resting over my skin.

  Even the meltwater running between the joints felt real.

  And somehow, I felt comfortable wearing it.

  With that in mind, I raised my head. With every movement, ice chipped away from the layers covering my body.

  The heads-up display flickered faintly at the edges of my view, and a deep, steady thrum vibrated in my ears—like what I was wearing itself was alive.

  Slowly, I looked around the dome.

  As if adapting to the complete absence of light sources, my headgear’s heads-up display (HUD) activated, and I could see everything bathed in a soft green hue. The system had switched to night vision, revealing the shapes and surfaces I couldn’t see before.

  The display flickered faintly at the edges of my vision. A deep thrum vibrated in my ears—subtle, rhythmic. Like something desperately trying to awaken.

  Thinking about that, I checked what I was wearing.

  As I patted my body, more creaking ice fell away, and I realized I was truly in a full-body suit of armor.

  It’s power armor… typically futuristic heavy armor for war. This is my ground armor, the one I wear when going on planetary missions. I usually keep it equipped even in the command center because of the stat bonuses.

  The armor must have been in offline mode for a very long time, running only basic life support—but even then, it provided just enough power to grant night vision. I could see the curve of the dome, the smooth floor, even a few blinking standby lights scattered in the distance.

  But I wondered how this armor could be so light that I could move freely even in offline mode. This is the first time I’ve worn it like this.

  A sudden impulsive thought struck me. On instinct, I focused inward, thinking about the core talent from my hybrid race—Void Heart—from the game I play to earn my living expenses.

  Then, as if answering my call, it activated. A faint pulse stirred in my chest. A warm, soft heat spread through me and into the armor I was wearing, breathing life into the frozen metal and ice. Lights flickered across the suit, and systems began booting in sequence.

  My heads-up display (HUD) lit up, and a panel appeared line by line, displaying system diagnostics in scrolling neon text: internal stabilizers, motor function calibration, thermal sync… all booting. A series of failure notifications and damage reports also appeared. As system diagnostics ran, the armor finally started powering up. One after another, most functions came to life with a low mechanical hum that resonated deep in my chest.

  Strangely enough, I could actually follow all those status reports and understand them… which I couldn’t before.

  My thoughts were interrupted when the chair beneath me adjusted slightly, reacting to the armour’s activation. I could feel the shift in balance, the feedback in my spine—too precise to be just a game simulator. Unprecedented strength spread throughout my body.

  I looked down, hesitating for a moment. When playing the game, my body always felt like a disjointed illusion—disconnected from the world, especially from the waist down. But now?

  As the frozen ice melted with the startup of the power armor, I saw legs. Fully armored. Yes—these were my legs. As I flexed my foot—

  I felt it.

  I could feel the pressure of my toes against the inner layer of the boots. The ambient temperature brushing against the seams. The weight of the armor wasn’t just visual—it pressed into me.

  I shifted slightly in the chair, just to test it. The motion was natural, fluid, responsive—no lag or numbness, no delay—and my spine aligned with the exo-suit’s frame of the armour like it had always been there.

  It felt so comfortable—like I was home and free.

  Is this really true?

  It felt like I was my avatar, Grim Velkan Durell von Lyonhart. Not just an avatar I was using.

  In the game I play, there’s a character system where you can choose a Class, Sense, Stats, and Mastery. You can also choose one of three random background stories for your character. You play it in third-person perspective, choosing what traits your origin will have. You gain a unique title depending on the background story and traits of your chosen, and later, depending on your starting choice and where you spawn for your first gameplay, you might gain another title.

  I was lucky enough to receive the family background of being the third son of a Marquise from House von Lyonhart. As such, I was only able to choose my given name. Velkan was a title I earned later in the game, while Durell is the maternal family name inherited from my character’s mother.

  That’s how I gained that long-ass name: Grim Velkan Durell von Lyonhart.

  Meanwhile, I gained the title “Heir of Brilliance,” an upgradable title that gives bonuses to knowledge, sense, and learning. And “The Runaway Consort of the Tenth Princess” when I chose the option to flee from my household. I gained that title and a single small ship with an AI in exchange for what I could have received if I had stayed in my original starting background. That title gives bonuses to notoriety, fame spread, and charm.

  Taking a slow breath, I scanned the dome around me more carefully. It was massive. The walls arched high overhead, smooth and seamless, like a shell forged in a forge older than any civilization. No markings. No doors. Just the faint glint of embedded tech hinting at something truly advanced.

  My pulse quickened, and the HUD responded—minor biometric feedback displayed at the side of my vision. Heart rate elevated. Body temperature rising. Neural stability… erratic.

  Well, I couldn’t help but be surprised. This is the command bridge of my ship, after all. Yes… it seems like I’m in my game avatar inside my spaceship. And it doesn’t feel like a game. It feels real… and I don’t know why everything feels like it should be.

  I clenched my armored fist, watching servos flex and lock in perfect sync. Then, almost out of habit, I whispered:

  “Status report.”

  There was no response. Just the soft echo of my voice in the dome.

  My face hardened.