A New Home

The fires of Gem City still smoldered behind them,
casting faint shadows across the dying fields.

The brothers didn’t look back.
There was nothing left to save.

Elysium was meant to be a paradise, a fresh start for players seeking adventure or a new life beyond the boundaries of the real world.

But Gem City, once vibrant and inviting, now stood on the brink of collapse. Waves of monstrous creatures surged relentlessly, overwhelming the defenseless stone walls and unprotected streets.

Without structured defenses or a united army, panic spread quickly among its inhabitants. Players who once filled its bustling marketplaces and artisan stalls found themselves forced to abandon the city in search of safety.

In the wake of this chaos, a charismatic player named James emerged in the southern grassy highlands.

Possessing explosive magic capable of fending off even the fiercest beasts, James rallied terrified players around a vision of safety and escape.

Under his leadership, a new community was born—The Republic of Return. James promised not only protection from Elysium's relentless dangers but also a committed effort to locate the thirteen totems, the keys to escaping the virtual prison and returning everyone safely home.

The Republic quickly became a beacon for those who never intended to fight, players whose dream was peace and survival rather than combat and conquest.

Yet, not all viewed Elysium as a prison.

To the frozen eastern tundras, another powerful force emerged, driven by ideals diametrically opposed to the Republic.

A player known simply as "The King," along with his partner "The Queen," harnessed their impressive powers of stone and creation to construct a mighty fortress city named the Kingdom of Stone.

Their message resonated deeply with gamers who found Elysium to be the world they'd always desired—a reality where they had power, freedom, and true agency over their lives.

The King and Queen preached that this new world offered liberation from oppressive real-world structures, from tyrants who demanded endless toil with scant reward.

The Kingdom became a magnet for the highly skilled and battle-hungry, gamers who embraced Elysium as their true home, rejecting the notion of ever leaving.

Why return to a mundane existence when here, in Elysium, they could wield magic, achieve greatness, and live without societal chains? This ideological divide fractured the player base, setting the stage for inevitable conflict.

As players continued their mass exodus from Gem City, each had to choose their path.

The southern Republic offered refuge and a pathway home, a promise of escape from a nightmare they never asked for.

The eastern Kingdom beckoned warriors and adventurers, a utopia where power, skill, and freedom defined their new lives.

Thus, Elysium became a battleground not only against the monsters of the world but also between two visions of existence, each compelling in its own right, each shaping the very destiny of the players trapped within.

The four brothers moved through the open wilds —
no destination, no plan —
just forward,
always forward.

The sky stretched wide and merciless above them,
and the ground rolled out into a thousand unclaimed miles.

They hunted monsters now.
Killed to survive.
Slept in the dirt.
Dreamed of nothing.

At first, they fought together.
At first, Ray mattered.

The first night after they left the city, they set up camp beneath a cluster of old, gnarled trees.
Ray sat cross-legged, working on repairing a torn cloak with careful, frozen hands.

Trey swung his greatsword through the dark, practicing strikes against invisible enemies.

Dean floated overhead, spinning a spear of solidified wind between his hands, eyes cold and focused.

Marsden bounced around the clearing, launching himself from tree to tree with crackling bursts of lightning.

For a moment, it almost felt normal.
Almost.

"You’re swinging too slow, old man," Marsden called, laughing as he zipped past Trey.

Trey snorted, slamming his sword into the ground with a heavy thud.

"Old man, huh?" he grinned. "Tell that to the next monster I break in half."

Ray smiled quietly, knotting the last stitch.
He wanted to say something —
a joke, a reminder, anything —
but the words sat heavy in his throat.

Dean landed softly nearby, the wind dying around him in a slow, mournful gust.

"Your form's sloppy," Dean said to Trey, not unkindly.
"You're wasting energy on unnecessary swings."

Trey rolled his eyes.
"Maybe I like swingin' big. After all, I'm always the one fighting the biggest beast.
Get stronger by fighting stronger beasts. That’s how we get better, right?"

Marsden laughed, bounding between them, electricity flickering at his heels.

"Or maybe you just like getting hit in the head!"

"Better than running away from a fight, jackrabbit," Trey shot back.

They all laughed.
Ray chuckled too, but it felt hollow in his chest.
When the laughter died, the silence felt heavier than the night air.

The next morning, they found a herd of horned beasts grazing along the river.
Easy prey.

The brothers sprang into action without a second thought.

Trey teleported into the middle of the herd, chains of shadow whipping out from the ground and binding the biggest beast in place.
He slammed into it with a roar, greatsword cleaving through flesh and bone like wet paper.

Marsden zipped through the smaller ones, fists flashing like twin stars, dropping monsters with every thunderous punch.

Dean hovered high above, conjuring a bow of wind and raining down arrows faster than blinking.

Each shot hit a vital point.
Each kill clean.
Precise.
Effortless.

Ray raised his hand to slow the battlefield —
but stopped.

There was nothing to slow.
No one to heal.
No mistakes to fix.

They didn’t need him.
Not even once.

He stood there, frozen on the riverbank,
watching the brothers tear through the herd without him.

The fight ended in minutes.
The beasts dead, the brothers triumphant.

Marsden jogged back first, grinning, wiping blood from his cheek.

"Didn't even get scratched," he beamed.

Trey followed, slinging his sword over his back with a satisfied grunt.
"Too easy. Gotta find bigger prey next time."

Dean didn't say anything.

He just landed lightly, wind magic dissipating around him, and began wiping his conjured weapons clean — even though they faded into mist moments later.

Ray approached slowly, forcing a smile.

"Good job," he said, voice hoarse.

Trey didn’t even look up.

Marsden punched Ray lightly on the arm, a playful crackle of static following.

"You’re gettin’ soft, man.
You didn't even freeze a single one this time."

Ray laughed weakly, covering the sting in his gut.

"Guess you didn't need me," he joked.

The words felt like knives in his mouth.
Marsden laughed and bounded off to find water.

Trey and Dean didn’t answer.
It kept happening.

Every battle, Ray’s powers sat idle.
Every fight, his heart sank lower.
They were outgrowing him.

Leaving him behind.

And no one even realized it.

The world kept growing too.
The roads buzzed with rumors now.
Every tavern, every crossroads, the same two names:

The Republic of Return.

The Kingdom of Stone.

In the South, James was building something.

A movement.
A dream.

The man with explosive magic —
able to turn armies into dust —
was gathering survivors into something bigger than a guild, bigger than a clan.

A nation.

James promised salvation.
He promised home.
Some said he was unstoppable.
Others whispered he was desperate.

In the East, darker songs were sung.

The King and Queen built their obsidian city with magic and blood.
The Queen raised the walls from the earth —silver and black stone twisted into towers and ramparts.

The King animated them,
breathing life into stone soldiers,
creating armies that didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t question.

They weren’t trying to leave Elysium.
They were trying to own it.

Sitting by another campfire, deep in the woods, Marsden kicked his boots off and stretched out with a satisfied groan.

"Maybe the Kingdom’s right," he said, almost too casually.

Trey looked up sharply.

"The fuck you say?"

Marsden laughed, raising his hands.
"Just sayin'.
We got magic here.
We’re strong.
Out there—"
he nodded toward the black sky —
"Out there, we’re nobodies."

Dean said nothing.

He just kept spinning pure air around his hands and up his arms, eyes distant.

Ray stared into the fire, the flames blurring at the edges of his vision.

Trey leaned back against a log, arms crossed.

"Nah. Fuck that. We fight to go home. Not for some king."

Marsden shrugged.

Dean didn’t even glance up.

Ray finally spoke, voice low:

"We’re going home."

No one answered.

The fire crackled between them.
The silence stretched.
Too long.
Too heavy.

Ray realized something then:

He wasn’t leading anymore.
Not really.
Maybe he never was.

Maybe he was just the one holding the pieces together before they figured out how to survive without him.

That night, he lay awake under the stars,
listening to the wind move through the trees.

Above, the ravens circled,
silent and watching.

Waiting for something.
Maybe the end.
Maybe the beginning.