Side Quest 2 Snowball in Progress, part 1

I crack my eyes open. There it is again—the same damn ceiling I’ve been staring at for years, with a thin line of light slipping through the curtains and cutting across the room. Only now does it look somewhat drained, as if somebody sucked the life out of it while I was out cold. The fan’s barely spinning. Warped shadows play across the walls. Still haven’t fixed the bulb. The A/C’s doing its usual sad wheeze, old and tired. Today, though, it’s just breathing out warm, damp air. It hits me like a sickly breath. My stomach flips. Head’s pounding hard too. Guess that’s what I get for gaming past the eight-hour mark.

I swing my legs out of bed. Instantly, I trip on a battlefield of konbini junk: crushed cans, half-dead electrolyte bottles, balled-up tissues glaring at me from every corner like tiny spectators. I drag my feet over the damn rug. The rough texture shifts weirdly under each step. It’s like something’s crawling underneath. Then the smell hits—rotten funk mixed with the sharp bite of old booze.

I yank the curtains open, yawning. Light floods in like a flashbang, blinds me so bad I stumble back and crack my head on the wooden floor. Hollow thud, skull still rattling. Recovering slowly, the messy room comes back into focus—same damn chaos, just harsher in daylight.

I blink again. Again, the ceiling… but now the fan’s spiral pattern is swirling in my brain like a sick vortex. The room’s still trashed as ever: skateboard wheels rolling off the toolbox, spray cans scattered at my feet, the chemical stench of acrylic everywhere. Way too nasty for morning. My damn Physics and English books are lying there, stained as if they had survived a paint war. I scratch at an itch on my scalp, yawning roughly, feeling the grogginess crawl out of me. My hair’s sticky, knotted, like a huge nest. Oh, the soda bottle tipped over on my bed. Yeah… that explains it.

Groaning, I stumble toward the bathroom, eyes half-shut. Only when the door clicks shut behind me do I really open them. That door’s plastered with posters of my favorite bands, floor to ceiling. Today they look older, worn out, like they’ve been hanging there for decades. Or maybe like they were never really there at all.

Was this space always this small? Oh, right—Dad remodeled it back when Mom was pregnant, since the tub was too damn narrow for her belly. I remember liking it—I could sit down, brush my teeth, then bolt out to play with my friends.

When I head back, the door to my room is cracked open. I swear I shut it. Oh, right… It never closed properly anyway. My old crayon canvas. Mom used to prefer it that way so she could peek at me from her room. My gym uniform is piled up, holding it open—that explains the nasty stench from earlier. Ugh, my “Readings and Rhymes” textbooks are still stamped with those ‘homework pending’ stickers. Annoying.

Wait…Readings and Rhymes? That’s elementary stuff. I’m in high school, right? …No. That can’t be right. I dropped out years ago. Where the hell’s my work uniform? Confusion swirls. I blink a few times, trying to remember what season it is, and which room is my current one. Maybe I’m still half-caught between dream and reality.

I start digging through the clothes when voices bleed in—shouts, laughter—and a sweet smell snakes its way through the stale air of my room.

I follow the voices toward the stairs. The carpet starts fraying under my feet, unraveling into dark shreds with every step. The framed pictures on the wall fade into black. They get swallowed whole. A chill breath brushes the back of my neck. It’s like somebody’s standing right there, staring without blinking.

It’s suffocating. Every hair on my body’s on edge. My nails buzz. I feel like they’re about to rip themselves off. The air thickens, presses down heavy and wet. It wraps around me. Wants to smother me. My vision blurs. Everything feels slow and heavy, like my body’s begging to shut down and hibernate.

“Ronin! You planning on showing up today or what?” a familiar voice snaps.

The cold drains out of me with one shaky step forward. Darkness peels away behind me as I finally leave the landing. I head down the stairs and—bam—another flash of light blinds me, snapping me fully into the next room's chaos.​

This time it’s the smell of food that hits first, rich and overwhelming. Plants glow faintly around the room, warm and alive. A handful of tables are buzzing with the usual mess. Now it feels like I’ve stepped somewhere familiar, but different—like entering the game world for real: Edna’s handing out food at one, Lyra’s sharpening her axe at another, and Caneky’s arm-wrestling Itzamune—losing hard, though he later lets Lisian win a round.

“Seriously?” the warlock growls. His familiar snorts gas, unimpressed.

“Someone here knows how to act like a real gentleman,” the flower girl teases, clinging smugly to the paladin and shooting the lizard a pointed glare.

“Thanks, but I’m worried I’ll break your arm,” the paladin mutters, flinching as the druid fires off playful punches.

The whole vibe feels warm. Familiar. Peaceful. With a strange touch of nostalgia I can’t quite place. For a moment, I’m not sure which world I’m in—the lines have blurred again.

“Look, the cat finally got off the roof,” Edna calls out, sliding a fresh plate from the wood-fired oven onto a stone slab.

The smell fills the hall, dragging everyone to the dining table. They drop into their usual seats, helping set the place for the meal.

“Isn’t Silver-Mist Deer a little heavy for breakfast?” I grumble, half-yawning with a rasp.

“It’s noon,” Caneky deadpans. “Check the clock.” He jabs a finger at the hourglass.

The tower of powdered ilmenite has already flipped six times, winding the counter. The sun sits tall at its peak. The moon creeps up behind it, silent and slow. In Lumeria, nights stretch way longer than we’re used to outside of VoN.

“Snap out of it and eat. New mission’s up,” Lyra says, splitting the deer and sliding half torso to Itzamune.

Everyone but Edna flicks open the Submissions panel:

[ FALLEN ELEMENTALISTS ]

[ Mission: A group of adventurers answered a distress call. Monsters swarmed the village, trapping it inside a dome that keeps everyone in or out. ]

[ Domes destroyed: 0 / 1 ]

“Ah, that’s why the Silver-Mist Deer—resistant to elementals. Stacking with Darkshadow Plums too.” I mutter.

Edna winks at me from across the table, flashing his trademark cheeky grin and finger-guns before sliding into his seat.

“I’ve already located the village,” Lisian says, her tiny nature map sprouting vines and flowers to mark the spot. “It’s close to the new Uh’zai border, reported by the Adventurer’s Guild. Honestly? I don’t buy what Solka’an’s been saying about their war progress. Feels like Tenebris is creeping closer to Etemyo Castle every day.”

“Probably just a story script,” Caneky shrugs, tossing meat to Quetza. “Every patch ends with King Ruhn recovering more land. Final fight’s Prince Tohmar versus Ki Men, mark my words.”

"That’s a long way off, right?" Itzamune mumbles around a mouthful. "The prince still looks like a kid in the official art. He just finished knight school in this arc. He hasn’t got Kinjo’tan’s blessing yet, and Ruhn needs to be alive for that."

“Swallow before you talk, MunMun,” Lisian snaps as her vines snap hungrily at the meat.

I hum. "Druids are supposed to be chill, like flowers that innocently bloom. But Lisian hides a secret that kills." My fur bristles. "She is sweet as poison, a fragrant doom."

Edna gasps, Lyra spills her drink between laughs. Itzamune wheezes, clutching his stomach.

"Remember, my vines have minds of their own," Lisian says as some bulbs sprout roots and chase me around the dining hall, all while she eats and drinks like a princess.

Caneky sighs, hiding a faint grin behind his hand, and Lyra joins the chase, yelling it’s her “chance to taste fresh carnivore sprouts!”

Finally, for once… I feel at home. In this moment, even as worlds shift and overlap, there’s a sense of belonging that threads through both.