The hum is the first thing I notice.
Not the resonant, living hum of Nod, but the old electric one, plastic, metal, fan. A human sound. My sound.
I lie there for a second, staring at the ceiling. The hum feels smaller now, clipped and contained, like a memory behind glass.
When I sit up, the faint aftertaste of resonance still crawls under my skin. For a heartbeat, I think I’m still in the hive. Then I realize it’s coming from my desk. My headphones are sitting there, plugged in, faint vibration bleeding from the cups.
I cross the room, careful not to break the moment. The monitor glows. My stream is still live.
The timestamp says 7:42 a.m.
The title reads [LIVE] The Black Dominion, King Kyris.
And on the screen, I’m there.
Me.
Swinging the Dominion Chime through a wash of sand and violet dusk, the bells bursting with light. The Sileth dart in and out of frame, their glassy hides catching fire in the resonance wave. It’s me, but not me, a recording playing two hours late.
I scroll the chat. It’s alive.
[VioletVex]: Oh my god… that sky. It’s gorgeous.
[Thrumline]: Ambient tone dropped 20Hz when the wind hit the shaft. Castle’s still singing.
[Archivolt]: Note the tactical formation, this king actually leads.
[carapace_kid]: YO THE FOX THING ALMOST GOT HIM
Word for word, it’s everything I remember reading in Nod.
But they’re just now typing it.
I stare at the screen, the seconds crawling. It isn’t replaying. It’s still uploading, still broadcasting, but delayed. About two hours behind. I can see every frame I lived through, but for them, it’s happening now.
So how did I see their messages before they sent them?
How did Nod know what they’d say?
A cold pulse moves up my arms. It isn’t fear exactly, more like vertigo.
I click the chat bar, type “Testing delay. Can anyone see this?”
A red prompt slides up: Streamer message restricted, active feed ongoing.
It won’t let me interfere.
Whatever’s streaming isn’t coming from my computer.
I sit there for a while, watching myself swing the Chime again, watching the ripples tear through the dunes. The audio carries faintly through the headphones, the low, perfect pitch of resonance. It doesn’t feel like a recording. It feels like the world still humming through the cord.
When the battle ends, the feed follows me back toward the shaft, down into the Singing Citidel. The camera pans without breaking, as if some unseen observer walks behind me. Then the reflection scene plays.
Me standing before the mirror in the royal chambers, the faint halo still burning above my head. I watch myself stare too long, like I already knew someone would be watching. And then I log off, at 8:57. Two hours.
The screen cuts cleanly to black for half a breath, then fades back in, the empty throne.
The castle hums softly in the background, a ghost of motion where no one moves.
Chat floods with speculation:
[HexPaladin]: Throne’s empty again… he’s offline.
[VioletVex]: All the kings go dark like this when they’re gone.
[Archivolt]: Stream offline. Order preserved.
[carapace_kid]: Even when he’s gone the bugs are still singing ????
I lean closer. The throne looks almost alive, a shape waiting to be filled, humming faintly through the speakers. I minimize the tab, but the hum doesn’t stop right away. It takes a few seconds for the silence to return, thin and brittle as glass. I don’t know how long I sit there after that.
The hum settles into the walls again.
My monitor dims to black, but I keep staring until my eyes adjust to my own reflection in the glass.
Then my phone chimes, soft, friendly, familiar. My text tone.
Scott: Hey man! how was your first night in Nod??
Scott: Mine was amazing! I had the time of my life.
Scott: I was fighting these like… I don’t know, giant sandstone-colored rhinos?
Scott: Me and my tiger were kicking ass and learning the ropes of what I can do!
Scott: I haven’t really gotten a handle on the king part of things yet, don’t exactly know how to… run a country, but the solo fighting and doing my thing? I’m all about that.
Scott: How about you?
I just sit there, thinking.
How do I even reply to something like that?
I could tell him about the foxes. That should be fine.
Me: I’m also still getting used to things. It was our first night after all.
Me: Do you always get up this early on weekends?
Scott: Early? Man, this is late for me!
Scott: I slept in till 7 so I could get more time in Nod.
I can’t skip my morning run though, can’t let the day get away from me. I blink. He logged off at seven. That was five minutes ago. If the delay holds true, that means his stream should still be live. I turn back to the PC and open Twitch. Channel 27: King Thalos of the Scorched Sands.
The feed’s still running.
Scott, bare-armed and grinning, swings a hammer big enough to knock over a car. Golden sand explodes around him, the camera panning cleanly across a field of giant rhino-like beasts with hides like sunlit stone. His tiger barrels through them like a missile, massive and roaring.
Scott laughs into the wind.
“C’mon! You’re not getting away that easy! Chat, look at this!”
It’s the same voice I used to hear through headset static back in college when we’d stay up too late raiding, only now it’s caught in the throat of a hero. The hammer crashes down, the desert lights up, and the chat floods.
[ProteinPrincess]: YAAAS KING. SLAYYYYY ??????
[GainsGoblin]: THALOS HAMMER DROP BAYBEEEEE
[BarBros4Life]: ALL FORM NO REST REPS FOR DAYS ????
[DesertCatDad]: THE TIGER!!
[HammeredAndHoly]: Dude hit that thing into next week holy hell
It’s loud, fast, full of heart.
Everything about his kingdom feels alive. Bright sand, bright sky, bright laughter. Even the monsters look built to make him shine.
I glance at the hammer again and can’t help a faint smile.
Both desert kings, both wielding blunt force weapons, his just happens to scream look at me.
I text him back.
Me: I had a bit of time to check the area around my starting point.
Me: Ran into some glass fox monsters. Was an interesting fight.
Scott: Glass foxes? That sounds wild, man! Were they hard to fight?
Me: They… take a certain understanding to fight properly. But I was able to handle it with little issue.
Scott: KING. I knew you’d fit right in here.
Scott: We def need to hook up in-game and see what we can do together.
Scott: We could be unstoppable.
I can almost hear him pacing as he types, that restless kinetic energy still running through him.
Scott: Anyway, I gotta jet. I want to get to the gym before my bench gets taken!
Me: Yeah. I’ll try to meet up with you soon.
Me: We’re still decently far apart. I need to figure out how to cross distances faster in Nod.
Scott: SEE, man? I’d never think of stuff like that.
Scott: You’re gonna be a pro at this.
The typing bubble vanishes.
I stay staring at the chat feed of his stream, gold dust swirling, hammer mid-swing.
The delay is still there. The same two-hour gap.
Everything feels slightly out of sync, like the world’s heartbeat has split into two tracks that don’t quite line up.
When the last of Scott’s fight fades out, I click back to the Nod directory.
A new update banner flashes at the top: Interactive Map Online, Regional View Enabled.
The map unfolds across the screen: hundreds of colored territories webbing over continents and oceans. Each region glows faintly with its monarch’s sigil. I find my mark near the bottom edge, the Black Dominion. A thin border line extends north from the Singing Citidel. That must be the listening posts. So those count as controlled zones.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
I zoom out, eyes tracing the other borders. Some kings are already expanding. Others cluster close, building alliances or fortresses. Scott’s region glows gold, borders irregular, already spreading across the desert. Looks like he is blazing his own trail. I minimize the map and open Reddit. The search bar autofills before I can even finish typing.
r/NodCH1 through r/NodCH100, every monarch has a subreddit already.
I scroll until I find r/NodCH100 – The Black Dominion.
Pinned to the top are threads titled:
“Why does the bug king’s place look like a horror movie lol”
“Do the drones sing or is that just the audio bug?”
Then I spot familiar usernames, VioletVex, Archivolt, Thrumline.
Mixed in are new ones I’ve never seen, tearing into the kingdom like it’s a bad movie trailer.
“Dead last, ugly monsters, creepy vibes. CH100’s a flop.”
The comments blur for a moment, words crawling like static.
I close the tab.
The hum of my computer fills the silence again, that small, steady sound I can never seem to escape. I tab over to Twitch out of habit. Everywhere I look, there’s Nod. Clips, compilations, theory streams, titles like “The 100 Kings Explained (So Far)” and “Is Nod Real or Just Viral Marketing?” sit in the trending column.
Scott’s stream thumbnail shows him mid-swing, hammer catching sunlight. Over 90,000 views. The next few thumbnails are kings I don’t recognize, the High Elf queen from the selection night, a Dwarven monarch with steam and brass erupting around him, a crimson sky kingdom whose towers look like swords turned upside down.
Mine’s at the very bottom of the list: The Black Dominion – CH100.
A still frame of my empty throne.
I hover the cursor.
Forty-one thousand views. Comments still updating.
“It’s eerie how it just sits there humming.”
“That crown’s gotta mean something, right?”
“Dude’s a vibe. Death knight energy.”
“Lmao someone tell him to turn the lights on.”
“Is anyone else hearing a second tone under the hum? Like a heartbeat?”
I scroll down.
Someone’s clipped my fight with the Sileth, slowed down, filtered through synth music.
The title reads: “The King Who Sang Death.”
The comments section’s already debating if the sound of the Dominion Chime is Morse code, divine resonance, or just an audio glitch.
The most upvoted one says, “He’s the only one who fought monsters that made no sound. That means something.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or close the browser.
There’s even a “Lore breakdown” video thumbnail with a glowing red arrow pointing at my reflection in the mirror, labeled ‘Possible Possession Moment???’
They’ve slowed the footage, circled my face, added distorted audio like a ghost hunter catching whispers.
The caption reads: “At 10:43 you can hear a woman’s voice say awake.”
I shut the tab before it loads.
The hum from the computer is still there, but my stomach interrupts it with a low growl. Right. Breakfast.
Or lunch. Whatever it is now.
I open the fridge. The light’s too bright.
Inside: two gallons of tea, sandwich meat, and a takeout box from… yesterday? Or was it last week. I grab the box and poke at what’s left, cold noodles slick with sauce, barely edible. I toss it in the trash and look out the window while the city murmurs below. It’s strange how quiet everything feels compared to Nod. Even traffic doesn’t seem to move the air here. No hum beneath the sound, no rhythm.
Just random noise.
Every bite fades too quickly, like the flavor’s buffering behind the memory of something richer.
The hum in my head fades a little. My body feels heavier without it.
That’s when I realize what I’ve been doing, standing still, waiting to hear something again.
I rub my eyes and check the clock. 11:42 a.m.
Half the day’s already gone, and all I’ve done is watch strangers turn my dream into a fandom.
I should at least pretend to live like a person today.
Answer emails. Play a game that doesn’t involve dying in two different worlds.
I power the monitor back on.
My wallpaper flickers faintly.
I open the game launcher and hover over the icon for the co-op RPG Victor’s been begging me to play.
The sound of the hum shifts then, almost imperceptibly.
Not the resonance, the real hum, the PC’s fans, the whine of power through the desk.
For half a second, it syncs with something else.
A memory, maybe.
A faint vibration that feels like the Singing Citidel’s pulse.
I shake it off.
I should figure out food, and let Victor know I am going to be on today. The hum fades to something manageable, background noise instead of pulse. I grab my phone and thumb through the delivery app, half-thinking, half-scrolling. Pizza sounds right. Simple. Greasy enough to remind me I’m still human. I order a large pepperoni, hit confirm, and type a quick message to Victor.
Me: Ordering pizza. I’ll be on soon.
His reply lands before I even set the phone down.
Victor: Finally. I was starting to think Nod ate you too.
I snort. It’s easier to breathe when he talks like that. I boot up Discord, slip the headset over my neck, and wait for his icon to light up. The faint buzz of my PC fills the gap, just hardware this time. No meaning. The voice channel clicks alive.
“Marcus! Dude! Look who decided to touch grass, or whatever the digital version of that is.”
Victor’s voice always sounds like he’s smiling. I can hear him fiddling with his mic stand, probably still half-asleep.
“Hey,” I say, leaning back. “Just needed to get food before we dive in.”
“Good man. I’ve been in the tutorial for like thirty minutes trying to move these stupid blocks. You remember Trine?”
“Yeah. This feels like that.”
“Exactly. Except less fairy tale, more corporate training exercise with death traps.”
The pizza tracker dings somewhere in the background, a timer that doesn’t belong in this world.
I tab over to the co-op lobby. His avatar’s a cartoon priest with a frying pan for a weapon.
“Still rocking support, huh?”
“Of course. Some of us believe in team play.”
I join as the tank. Heavy armor. Slow swing. Muscle memory.
“Classic,” he laughs. “You were always the anchor back in the guild. Me patching holes, Scott breaking formation to chase loot.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That sounds about right.”
The first puzzle loads: two switches, one gate, one moving platform.
Victor’s voice fills the space between commands, warm and patient.
“Okay, step on that left plate… yeah, now jump when I say three. One, two, three!”
The gate opens; we both laugh when it slams shut again.
“Timing,” he says. “We’re old now. Reflexes gone.”
“I’m not old.”
“You sound it, man. You’ve got that IT-guy-who-hasn’t-slept voice. You okay?”
I think about saying yes, but something about the question stalls me.
“I slept fine,” I lie. “Just… vivid dreams.”
“Dreams, huh? You and Scott with your Nod obsession lately. I watched part of his stream earlier, dude’s basically Hercules.”
“He always wanted to be,” I say.
Victor chuckles. “He’s living the dream, man. You could’ve done that. You were the better tank anyway.”
“Yeah, maybe. I like my job.”
“Sure you do,” he says, but it’s kind, not mocking.
The next puzzle requires us to mirror each other’s movements across shifting platforms.
He laughs every time I miss a jump.
“Coordination, Captain!”
I grin despite myself. “You’re the one dropping the bridge early.”
“It’s lag!”
“It’s not lag.”
“Its this damn game, needs to be optimized.”
I roll my eyes
We play like that for almost an hour. The rhythm comes back easier than I expect, his calm, my focus, the comfortable silence between failures.
It feels like before: before bills, before deadlines, before worlds that hum under your skin.
Somewhere around the third puzzle, he starts talking about the old days again.
“Remember when our guild used to hit server firsts? You, me, Scott, what was her name, the bard?”
“Elyne,” I say automatically.
“Yeah, Elyne! I still have that screenshot. You tanked that boss for twenty straight minutes while I spammed heals and she sang about potatoes.”
I laugh, low and genuine. “She always sang about food.”
“Because we raided through dinner, man.”
His laughter fades softer after that. “I miss that. Everyone just… drifted.”
“You didn’t.”
“Someone had to keep in touch. You never message first.”
“I don’t want to bother people.”
“You never bothered me.”
The next silence isn’t awkward. Just quiet. Steady.
The doorbell breaks it. Pizza’s here.
“Go grab your fuel,” Victor says. “I’ll wait.”
I step away, pay, come back with a box that smells like melted normalcy. He’s humming through his mic, off-key, some old game soundtrack. We keep playing. I eat between levels.
It’s good. It’s… human.
Hours pass in measured clicks of the controller and low conversation. For a while, I stop thinking about kingdoms and foxes and humming glass. It’s just me, Victor, and the quiet teamwork that used to mean something. When the final level fades out, he exhales into his mic.
“That’s what I’m talking about. Feels good to run it back.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It does.”
“You logging off soon?”
“Probably. Need to eat, shower, then crash.”
“Alright, man. It was good hanging out. Been too long.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t vanish again, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
I glance at the clock in the corner of the monitor. The pizza’s half gone, the air’s gone still again, and for once I don’t want to be alone with it.
“Well,” I say, “I can hang a bit longer. I’ll stay in chat and eat. We can catch up, see what’s going on with the kings in Nod. You been watching any of them?”
Victor perks up immediately. “Oh, hell yeah. I’ve been glued to it all day. It’s like esports meets mythology. You see that one guy, uh, Channel 34? The Iron Choir?”
I shake my head, chewing. “No. What’s his deal?”
“He’s insane,” Victor says, his voice warming with that familiar excitement he gets when something hits his nerd radar. “He’s got this whole army of clockwork soldiers. Steam vents, brass armor, banners that play organ notes when the wind hits them. His streams look like a clocktower marching to war.”
“Sounds… loud,” I say.
“Exactly! That’s what’s wild. He doesn’t even talk on stream. He’s got this herald NPC who reads all his commands out like scripture. Half his chat calls him the Clockfather.”
I smile faintly. “Fitting name.”
Victor keeps going. “People are already doing fan art, like, actual choir robes and mechanical halos. It’s kind of beautiful. The king himself never shows his face. Just stays in that iron tower, watching through those brass statues.”
“That doesn’t creep you out?”
“Nah. I think it’s kinda poetic,” Victor says. “Everyone else is out there flexing weapons or looks. This guy’s just… building something. Feels deliberate, y’know?”
He sounds almost reverent. The way he talks about the Iron Choir reminds me of how we used to talk about raid bosses, half admiration, half curiosity.
“Guess we’ll see how long he lasts,” I say lightly, taking another bite. “If he’s holed up in a tower, he’s a sitting target.”
Victor chuckles. “Maybe. But something about him feels… stable. Like he’s not there to win, just to make something that outlives him.”
That makes me go quiet for a second. It’s too close to how I’d describe myself.
He must sense it, because his voice softens. “You watching anyone?”
I shrug. “Just Scott’s stream, mostly. Hard not to, with how flashy he is.”
“Yeah, he’s killing it. The internet loves a himbo with a hammer.”
“I noticed,” I say, chuckling. “His chat’s a whole cult.”
“You’d think the dude was a superhero,” Victor says. “You see how he talks to them, though? Keeps up with every comment like they’re all his friends. That’s rare.”
“He’s always been like that. People orbit him.”
“Yeah. Meanwhile, I’m the lurker type.”
“Same,” I admit.
A moment passes. I glance at the chat list on our Discord server, a dozen mutual friends grayed out, silent ghosts of the guild that used to fill our nights.
“So what’s your Twitch name, anyway?” I ask. “You’ve been in half these chats, I bet.”
He laughs. “I use my old guild tag. LifelineV. Figured it still fits. I pop in when I can, drop some encouragement, talk builds. Nothing big.”
“LifelineV,” I repeat. “Right. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Why?” he asks, teasing. “You planning to stream your pizza reviews?”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling. “Or maybe I just like knowing where you are.”
“Aw, look at you getting sentimental.”
The pizza’s cold by now, but the conversation feels warm enough to keep it from mattering. Victor’s still talking, about the Iron Choir, about theory videos, about how someone on Reddit mapped out potential alliances already.
The world of Nod is growing faster than any of us realize.
At some point, he yawns. “Alright, man. I’m tapping out. Gotta be up early.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
“You sure you’re good?”
“I’m good.”
“Alright. Don’t overthink things too much. had fun tonight, we need to do this more often.”
“Yeah.”
His voice cuts out with the familiar disconnect tone.
The room feels too quiet again. I stare at the Discord window, his avatar dimming to gray.
The Iron Choir, I think. A nation of clockwork and song. Victor would like that.
I wonder how long it’ll last.
I clear my plate, set the box aside, and glance toward the bedroom.
The night hum waits, soft and patient, like a signal calling home.