Chapter 9: Return
The pub was warm and loud — filled with clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from a table near the hearth. Dillion and May sat in a booth tucked near the back, a pair of mugs between them, both half-full with something sweet and slightly enchanted.
“So…” May twirled a finger through the condensation on her glass, “we got stood up by a famous author who ghosted an entire line of fans… and all we got was this lousy autograph.”
Dillion gave a tired laugh. “At least we got something”
They clinked their glasses together halfheartedly, both still wearing the weight of the day. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was comfortable, shared disappointment stitched together with years of knowing each other.
May leaned her chin on her hand, watching the candles above flicker blue. “Honestly, if you told me a week ago you would be in Sora, hunting rodents and waiting all day to get ghosted by Silas Crow, I’d say that was peak fiction.”
“Yeah,” Dillion said. “Except in fiction, he would’ve at least said something meaningful before vanishing.”
“Like, ‘The soul is just a story you tell yourself,’ or something.”
They laughed again. It was better than crying.
But then — the mood cracked.
A shadow loomed beside their table, and a slurred voice followed it.
“Well well,” the man said, “aren’t you two just adorable. Bookworms on a date in the big city.”
He was tall, scruffy, and drunk — leather armor stained and sagging off his frame. A chipped blade hung from his belt, and his breath reeked of something sour.
“Move along,” May said, eyes still on her drink.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” the man grinned, leaning closer. “Pretty girl like you should be dancing with someone who knows how to fight — not reading bedtime stories with this little nerd.”
Dillion stood up slowly, his chair scraping back.
“I think you should leave,” he said, voice quiet but firm.
The bar seemed to hold its breath. Eyes turned. Conversations dulled.
One pair of them belonged to a Sorian man in a dark cloak, seated alone at the far corner of the pub, a long pipe resting between his fingers.
The drunk looked Dillion over and smirked. “Oh? You gonna cast a spell on me, book boy?”
He reached over with one hand, snatched the signed Silas Crow book off the table — and poured the contents of his mug all over it.
May gasped.
The man grinned.
And then he grabbed her arm.
Something snapped.
Dillion pushed forward, shoving the man back hard. The drunk stumbled, blinked, then growled — and the fight exploded.
It wasn’t a fair one.
Dillion had fought monsters, yes. But monsters moved with rhythm. This man fought dirty. Brutally. He ducked a clumsy punch and slammed his elbow into Dillion’s chest, then followed it with a savage uppercut that sent him reeling into a table. The room blurred. Chairs crashed. Glass broke.
A moment later, Dillion found himself outside, gasping for air, tossed into the mud like yesterday’s trash.
Dillion's lower lip feeling swollen. His ribs ached. He couldn’t even feel his left arm. But all of that slowly vanished has he felt his soul healing.
The door creaked open behind him.
May rushed out first. “Dillion!”
He tried to sit up. Failed.
“I’m fine,” he lied through gritted teeth.
Another figure followed her out — the older Sorian man from inside, pipe still in hand, his cloak billowing gently in the night breeze. He looked down at Dillion with quiet eyes the color of stormclouds.
“You’ve got heart,” the man said. “But heart alone gets you broken.”
Dillion blinked up at him. “Who… are you?”
The man tapped his pipe against his boot, scattering embers into the wind.
“Call me Stark,” he said with a slight smirk. “And if you’re going to fight like that in this world… you’ll need more than stories.”
Dillion wiped dirt from his face as Stark offered him a hand.
He hesitated for a moment, then took it.
The Sorian’s grip was firm — not harsh, but full of lived weight. Not a warrior trying to impress, but someone who had been through something.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Your shield work’s decent,” Stark said, helping him to his feet. “Your footwork’s garbage. You fight like someone who’s never thrown a punch at someone who bleeds.”
Dillion winced. “I haven’t.”
Stark nodded, as if that confirmed something.
“Doesn’t surprise me. But if you’re planning to survive in Sora… you’ll need to learn how people fight. Not just beasts.”
May stepped forward, still bristling. “Thanks for the help. That guy was—”
“Trash,” Stark finished. “But there’s always someone worse.”
He turned back to Dillion.
“I’m not in the habit of training kids. But there’s something in you — something that doesn’t want to be caged anymore.” His eyes narrowed. “If that part of you’s ready to grow teeth… come find me.”
“Where?”
Stark nodded west. “Just outside the Capital walls. Forest path leads to a cabin. Nothing fancy. But I’m usually there.”
Dillion didn’t answer right away.
He looked down at the ruined book in his hands, pages curling from beer and humiliation.
Stark started walking away. “Think about it. But don’t take too long.”
Then he vanished into the darkened street, the smoke from his pipe trailing behind him like fading starlight.
Later that night, Dillion and May made their way through the glowing streets of the Capital, walking in silence until they reached the Adventurer’s Outpost — a sleek, Eden-funded building just off the main plaza.
Inside, it looked less like a fantasy hub and more like a clean tech facility. The air was cool and faintly buzzing with energy. Along the back wall stood a row of tall portal pods, each one gently pulsing — ready to send players back to Earth.
As they approached the check-in desk,
As the receptionist hovered into view, her holographic form flickered with that ever-calm Eden smile.
“Welcome back, Travelers,” she said. “Would you like to logout of Sora and return to your origin point?”
May nodded without hesitation. “Definitely. I need like… ten hours of sleep and some real chips.”
But Dillion held up a hand. “Wait — before we log out… I’d like to convert Soul Gems.”
The AI’s eyes glowed faintly. “Understood. Please present your Soul Gems for conversion.”
From his field guide, Dillion withdrew two Medium Soul Gems, each one glowing gently in his palm.
May blinked. “You still had those?”
“I forgot they were in there,” he admitted.
The AI’s pedestal hummed as it scanned the gems. A digital chime echoed through the outpost hall.
“Conversion accepted. Two Medium Soul Gems at 1000 credits each. Total: 2000 credits. Transfer complete to your Eden-linked account upon logout.”
Dillion stared at the display.
2000 credits.
He blinked.
“Wait… what?”
May leaned in. “How much did it say?”
Dillion turned to her slowly. “Two thousand. That’s— that’s more than I make in a month at the store. Way more.”
May raised her eyebrows. “You could live off that for a while.”
Dillion didn’t respond. He was still doing the math.
A trip to Eden only cost 300 credits.
One trip to Sora.
One quest.
2000 credits.
He stepped back in a daze as the receptionist prompted again.
“Logout sequence ready. Please enter your assigned portal pod.”
The hiss of pressurized air was the first thing Dillion heard.
He blinked slowly as the pod’s lid lifted, flooding his senses with the dim fluorescent glow of the Eden Center. The sterile scent of air filters and distant vending machines was a harsh contrast to the crisp wind and earthiness of Sora.
A groggy voice groaned next to him.
May’s pod hissed open too, her head flopping back against the cushion. “Ugh. I feel like a half-baked muffin.”
Dillion rubbed his eyes. “You look like one.”
“Thanks. You look like someone who got tossed by a drunk blacksmith.” She slid out of the pod, arms stretching overhead. “Tell me we’re getting smoothies or something.”
Dillion stepped out more slowly, cracking his neck. His body felt achy, like he’d done a full-body workout with bad form — especially across his ribs. The faint echo of that tavern brawl clung to him, dull and fading. Not pain, exactly. Just… phantom memory.
He exhaled. “I don’t think smoothies cure dimensional whiplash.”
Together, they made their way across the empty white floor toward the front desk, where a real human receptionist now sat. She was young, bored, and scrolling on a small screen until she noticed Dillion approach.
“Name?”
“Dillion Rogers.”
She tapped a few things, then blinked in surprise. “Ah. Looks like you’ve got a credit transfer incoming.”
A small chime rang from her station as the transaction processed.
“Two-thousand credits deposited to your Eden account,” she said, sliding a receipt across the counter. “Not bad for a first-timer.”
Dillion stared at the number.
It felt… surreal.
May leaned in and whistled. “You’re buying smoothies. For a week.”
He smiled faintly, but then glanced at the digital clock mounted on the wall behind the counter.
6:23 PM.
He did the math.
They had logged in around noon.
Six hours passed here…
But nearly three days had gone by in Sora.
His stomach turned — not in fear, but in realization.
Time moved differently. Danger meant something. Rewards were real. And whatever Sora truly was… it wasn't just a game.
Not anymore.
The lobby of the Eden Center was quiet now. Just the hum of the machines, the buzz of vending lights, and the occasional distant cough from another returning traveler.
Dillion and May stood near the exit doors, the neon city outside glowing faintly through the tinted glass.
May looked over at him. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he said, still clutching the credit slip. “I think.”
“You’re not gonna get all weird on me, are you? Start calling yourself ‘Dillion the Blue’ or something?”
He smirked. “Only in the right circles.”
They both laughed softly, but the moment hung — like the space between breaths. A shift. Something had changed in both of them.
“Well,” May said, tugging her hoodie sleeves down, “I’m going to go grab food and pass out for twelve hours. If I dream of us standing in long line to get stood up again, I’m blaming you.”
“Don't remind me,” he replied.
She grinned. “See you later.”
With a wave, she slipped out the doors and into the night, disappearing into the crowd of city lights and flickering sky-ads.
Dillion turned, exhaled, and started walking the opposite way.
That’s when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He fished it out.
[Incoming Call: Lil Sis ??]
He smiled faintly and picked up. “Hey.”
“Dilly!” her voice burst through the speaker. “You coming to dinner or what? Mom’s making that weird veggie thing you pretend to like.”
Dillion hesitated. “Tonight?”
“Yeah, duh. She made me call. Said if I texted, you’d ignore it.”
“…Fair.”
“Please come? It’s been forever. Dad’s even here.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Dilly?” her voice softened. “They miss you. Even if they’re bad at saying it.”
He sighed. “Alright. I’ll be there.”
“Yay. Don’t be late, loser.”
The call ended.
Dillion stared at the dark screen, his reflection barely visible in the glass. He looked the same… but somehow didn’t feel the same.
His parents didn’t hate him. But there was always that tone — like he’d fallen short of something. Like he was unfinished. A little off-script.
He’d flunked out of college. Never fought back in high school. Spent his days in a dusty bookstore, reading about people who made choices he never could.
But now?
He wasn’t sure what he was becoming in Sora.
But for the first time, it felt like he had options to do more with his life.
