Sunlight slipped through the slits in the wooden shutters of Dillion’s room at the Outpost, casting pale golden beams across the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, the events of the last two days still replaying in fragments behind his eyes.
He exhaled slowly and summoned his Soul Gem.
It rose from his palm with a gentle pulse — no longer a dim spark, but a brilliant beacon of potential.
Name: Dillion Rogers
Soul Mark: Blue
Level: 5
Skills:
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Shield Guard (Rank 2) 0/20
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Shield Bash (Rank 2) 0/20
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Dexterity (Rank 2) 0/20
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Overwhelming Strength (Rank 2) 0/20
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Weak Point (Rank 3) – Highlights an enemy’s weak spot as a red dot.
Spells:
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Water Manipulation (Rank 0) (Level 1)
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Swift Boots (Rank 1) (Level 3)
Enchantments:
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Fog (Level 1) – Casts a mist in a small radius around the user, reducing enemy visibility and aim. (Granted by knife)
Soul Points Remaining: 70
He stared at it all for a while.
His progress was no longer a vague hope — it was real. He had power now. Not enough to survive everything this world would throw at him… but enough to start choosing his own direction.
Today, that direction was the Capital.
Silas Crow.
Answers.
Purpose.
He rose, packed his gear, adjusted the small round shield at his back — now light and perfectly sized after he learned to channel his soul into its form — and slipped the knife into a sheath at his side.
The knife pulsed faintly.
Outside his door, the Outpost was beginning to stir — mercenaries, scouts, delivery riders. Word of Gnarlfang’s defeat had spread. Some looked at Dillion with new eyes. Others nodded with a touch of respect.
But he didn’t linger.
He had one more stop before the teleport circle.
Dillion walked past the Outpost gates and down the quiet, winding path toward the edge of Stillgrove Village.
It was early enough that most of the town was still asleep — the baker wasn’t even stoking his ovens yet — but one shop already had its lanterns lit.
Zren’s Soul Shop.
Dillion pushed open the crooked wooden door. The bell above jingled off-key.
Zren was already awake, sitting cross-legged on a crate in the middle of the room, polishing a battered helm with what looked suspiciously like cooking oil.
He didn’t look up. “Knew you’d be back.”
Dillion smiled faintly. “How?”
“Because no one leaves Stillgrove without paying respects to the shop that saved their sorry hide,” Zren said, finally glancing over with a crooked grin.
“I wanted to thank you,” Dillion said. “For the knife. For the scroll. For the Shield For everything.”
Zren waved it off. “Bah. Don’t get sentimental. You paid for the knife, remember?”
He stood slowly, joints cracking. “Still, you did well. Fought a Named Beast didn’t die yourself. That’s something. Most players don't last long enough to even see their first Skill evolve.”
Dillion nodded. “I leave for the Capital today.”
Zren’s smile faded slightly, replaced by something… harder.
“The Capital,” he echoed. “Things move faster there. More people. More eyes. More power games. Don’t let your Soul get lost in all that.”
“I won’t.”
Zren reached under the counter and pulled out a small tin, tossing it to Dillion. “Snacks for the road. Dried mana fruit. Probably edible.”
“Probably?”
“Fifty-fifty shot.”
Dillion laughed, tucked the tin into his satchel, and turned to leave.
But just before stepping through the doorway, Zren called out.
“Hey, Blue.”
He stopped.
Zren was standing at the back of the shop now, hand resting on a dusty scroll rack, his voice quiet and serious.
“You’re not just another Blue, y’know. You’ve got something in you. Like a current beneath still water.”
Dillion said nothing.
Zren nodded. “Don’t let the world tell you what that current should become. Not Eden. Not even Sora.”
Then he turned back to his scrolls, mumbling something about needing a new jar of brain beetles.
The road from Zren’s shop to the teleport circle was lined with trees just beginning to bud for the season, their leaves catching the morning sun in pale flashes of green.
Dillion walked alone, the light clinking of his gear marking each step forward.
But his thoughts weren’t in Stillgrove anymore.
They were back in the forest, back in the fight — when Gnarlfang lunged for him, and something deep inside had surged up in response. Something raw. Cold. Focused.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Not panic. Not instinct.
Power.
For the first time in his life… he’d felt dangerous.
Not because of strength. But because he hadn’t hesitated.
He wasn’t like the players he’d seen livestreaming matches from safe zones — cracking jokes, posing for fans, treating Sora like a game. He wasn’t here to grind levels or chase clout.
He wasn’t here to play.
Back on Earth, he was told what to do — by teachers, bosses, landlords, even his own doubts. He had coasted through life on the edge of silence, avoiding confrontation, avoiding ambition.
But here?
In this strange, deadly, beautiful world...
He felt in control.
Not of the world. Not of fate.
But of himself.
And yet, even now, he reminded himself: this journey wasn’t about power. Or control. Or even survival.
He was here for one reason.
Silas Crow.
The man who had saved him through stories. The one whose words had carried him through years of quiet pain. The one who reminded him that courage didn’t need to be loud — it just needed to show up.
Dillion stepped through the village’s stone archway and into the open clearing where the teleport circle pulsed gently with blue light.
An attendant stood nearby, adjusting the runes etched into the stone.
Dillion reached into his satchel and pulled out a Medium Soul Gem.
It pulsed softly in his palm.
He stepped forward.
“I’m ready,” he said.
The attendant looked him over once. “Destination?”
Dillion’s eyes narrowed.
“The Capital.”
The man nodded and placed the gem into a socket on the teleport pedestal. The circle began to glow — brighter, faster, with a hum that echoed deep into the soil.
As the light rose around him, Dillion closed his eyes.
Next stop: the center of Sora.
And, if luck held—
Silas Crow.
Light engulfed him.
Then silence.
Then—
Wind.
Dillion stumbled as his boots touched solid ground again. The platform beneath him was a massive slab of smooth stone, engraved with countless runes that shimmered with fading light. Pillars arched overhead in elegant curves, supporting nothing — purely decorative, and massive enough to make him feel small.
He turned slowly.
He was standing in the Capital Arrival Hub — an open-air plaza surrounded by four other teleport circles, each pulsing with activity. Beams of light flashed in rapid succession as people appeared and disappeared — warriors in polished armor, robed mages with glowing staffs, even a towering man with a cloak made of scales who vanished before Dillion could get a second look.
The hub was alive with motion. Messengers ran to and from marble reception posts. Guards stood at attention, nodding at familiar faces. Traders yelled prices for enchanted cloaks and mystery boxes. Dillion had never seen so many people in one place — not even on Earth.
And not all of them were human.
Some of the people bustling around him were Sorian — unmistakable in their subtle inhuman features: glowing eyes, vine-like hair, or the faint shimmer of scaled skin. NPCs or native Sorians — he couldn’t tell. Maybe there was no difference anymore.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel and moved carefully through the crowd, following a series of floating signs that directed newcomers.
Main Street — Capital Square — Guild Hall — Library Row — Circle District
But one word stood out to him above all the noise and signage:
Silas.
He remembered May’s voice. Her grin when she told him about the event.
“The signing’s in Capital Circle. Big plaza near the old Eden Tower ruins.”
May.
His heart skipped.
He hadn’t thought about her since the Gnarlfang fight. Had she already made it to the Capital? Was she okay?
He pushed forward through the crowd, his eyes darting left and right. There were thousands of people. NPCs, Players, warriors, merchants, pickpockets, artists, enchanters. He passed by a bard playing an electric harp, a woman selling soulmarked trinkets from a floating rug, and a child offering enchanted tea for half a Small Gem.
But nowhere — in all that chaos — did he see May.
Still, he moved forward.
Because somewhere in this city, past the throngs of heroes and hunters and legends…
She was waiting.
And so was Silas Crow.
He passed through a garden archway lined with violet flowers and stopped beneath a sign painted with careful brushstrokes:
Bright Leaf Books – Capital Branch.
Dillion stared at it for a long moment.
Same name. Same feel. It even had the same tiny bell above the door, dancing in the wind like it belonged to a quieter world.
He pushed it open.
Jingle.
Inside, warm lanternlight flickered across tall wooden shelves, and the familiar smell of ink, leather, and a hint of cinnamon drifted through the air. A few customers wandered the aisles. The walls were covered in posters of famous Sorian authors and magical literary maps.
And there — at the center of the store, standing on a small crate, waving a book dramatically in one hand — was May Saunders.
“You don't understand,” she told the customer, her brown ponytail swaying with passion. “Whispers Beyond Mana is not just a sequel — it's a soul journey. The way it breaks down personal memory theory through character arc? Literal magic!”
The customer, a confused-looking elf player, nodded slowly, visibly overwhelmed.
Dillion smirked and stepped forward, adjusting his small, perfectly fitted shield over his back and resting his hand near the knife at his belt. His travel gear was now dusty but form-fitted, and the blue shimmer of his Soul Gem flickered faintly with each step.
He stopped just behind her.
“Sounds like a decent read,” he said, casually.
May turned — and froze.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped slightly open.
“...Dillion?”
She stepped down from the crate, eyeing his new gear, the aura of quiet confidence about him — the shift in how he stood, how he looked her directly in the eyes now.
“What the heck happened to you?”
“I made it,” he said. “Stillgrove. Outpost. Fought a few things. Got nearly eaten. Made friends with a crazy shopkeeper. You know — normal first-day stuff.”
May gawked. “You look like a level ten storm knight or something!”
He smiled. “I’m level Five.”
“Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “you wear level Five like it’s level twenty.”
They both laughed — loud enough to draw a few curious glances from customers nearby.
May waved them off. “Sorry, we’re catching up!”
Then she looked at Dillion again, softer this time. “You really came.”
“I told you I would.”
She smiled, and this time it wasn’t teasing — it was proud.
“Well,” she said, stepping aside and motioning to the rest of the shop, “welcome to my domain.”
May locked the front door of Bright Leaf Books with a dramatic sigh.
“Alright,” she said, flipping the sign to Closed. “No more customers, no more fantasy arguments, and no more pretending that I don’t desperately want to see Silas Crow in person.”
Dillion chuckled. “I didn’t even think you’d close the store for it.”
“For you, and for Silas?” she said, elbowing him playfully. “I’d burn the place down.”
May and Dillion Continue to chat, about Dillions adventure so far, Zren, Soul Warden, Named Beast and much more as they made there way to meet Silas
They weaved their way through the Capital’s winding streets, following the massive floating signs that pulsed over the Circle Plaza like glowing beacons.
“SILAS CROW – LIVE MEET & GREET!”
The venue was a massive theater, ancient in design but pulsing with modern Eden tech. When they arrived, the plaza outside was swarming with people. The line snaked around the building twice — a tidal wave of fans, scalpers, and desperate readers clutching worn paperbacks and pristine collector editions.
Dillion stared. “We’re not getting in.”
May grinned. “Sure we are. We just have to sacrifice our legs.”
They waited.
For hours.
The sun drifted through the sky above the towering spires of the Capital. Street performers passed by. Someone tried to sell Dillion an enchanted bookmark. May cracked jokes, pulled out snacks from her inventory, told stories from her bookstore misadventures.
But slowly, the excitement dulled.
The closer they got to the doors, the more people left the line — muttering, annoyed, disappointed. But May and Dillion pressed on, their energy low but their spirits still hanging on by a thread.
Finally, as twilight began to stain the rooftops gold, they entered the grand hall.
It was… empty.
A single table sat on the stage. Stacks of signed books were piled neatly.
And beside them, looking like they wanted to crawl into a hole, was a sharply dressed man with an Eden badge and a strained smile.
“Hello,” the assistant said. “And thank you for waiting. We regret to inform you that Silas Crow has left the venue.”
Dillion’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“He… he got bored,” the assistant added, rubbing their temples. “He left about an hour ago. Said he wasn’t feeling ‘spiritually aligned with the crowd today.’”
May stared, blinking slowly. “Is that… a thing famous authors get to say?”
The assistant didn’t answer. They just shoved a signed book into Dillion’s hands with a forced smile. “He signed these. You can have one.”
Dillion took it numbly. May did the same.
They walked out in silence.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on. The line was gone. The square was quiet.
Dillion stared down at the signature on the book cover.
It felt cold.
May glanced at him and immediately bumped her shoulder into his. “Hey. Want to go get a drink?”
He looked up.
She gave him a crooked smile. “You look like a man who needs a strong drink.”
Dillion laughed despite himself. “You buying?”
“Absolutely not. You’re the famous Named Beast survivor, remember?”
They walked off into the Capital’s night — tired, confused, a little disappointed…