New Rules

“…We should find the innkeeper. I guess.”

“Innkeeper?!”

An inn.

Kieran curled his fingers once, loosening and tightening them until the urge to snap faded. Rage was easy. But rage clouded judgment, and he needed a clear mind if he wanted answers.

Logic over rage. Logic over rage.
Taron’s voice. Unwelcome, steady, correct.

Kieran stared at him for a long, still moment, forcing his breath into something steady. They had no weapons. No allies. No understanding of where they had landed. The last thing either of them should be doing was strolling through a village as if they were travelers seeking warm food and soft beds.

Something ahead caught his eye—an opening toward a wider space beyond the cottages. A square, maybe. A place to get his bearings.

He started walking toward it without waiting to see if Draegor followed. He didn’t care.

“Draegor,” he said, keeping his tone level as he moved, “our priority is finding a way back. We need an exit. A seam. Not lodging.”

Draegor’s voice carried just behind him.
“I can’t explain. I just… we have to go. To the inn.”

Kieran’s jaw locked until it ached.

Why does he keep doing things that are unlike him?
The hesitation.
The uncertainty.
The way he asks instead of acts.

Kieran studied him as they walked, searching for deceit, madness, manipulation—anything that made sense.

He can’t be this good at deceiving me.

That was the part Kieran could not reconcile.

Mason Draegor—enemy, criminal, liar—walked a half-step behind him looking genuinely uncomfortable, as if he felt cornered.

By Kieran’s reckoning, he should have been left for dead. Abandoned without hesitation or care.
And yet here they stood. Draegor had saved him and others. More than once.

He forced the thought aside.

They passed the last row of cottages, and the village opened into a wide, empty square paved in perfect stone. A dark ten-foot monument stood at its center on a low platform, stark and unavoidable.

Kieran slowed beside it. A sigil was carved into the surface—one he didn’t recognize. He set a hand against the stone, testing for any response.
Nothing happened.
Useless.

He backed away and turned his head just enough to continue the conversation, his attention split between Draegor and the open terrain around them.

“This inn,” Kieran said quietly. “Does it have something to do with you pointing at empty air? As if something were there?”

Draegor’s eyes lit too quickly. “Yes! That!”

Kieran drew a controlled breath through his nose. “Explain it to me.”

Draegor shifted his weight in that restless, guilty way soldiers did before admitting something they didn’t want to say.

He is hiding something.

Kieran didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
He simply held Draegor in a steady stare—waiting.

Silence had a way of shaking loose truths better than shouting ever could.

Draegor cracked fast.

“I know, I know,” he blurted, lifting his hands as if in surrender. “We should find an exit. A seam. The others. I get that. I want that, too. I do. But something is… pulling me. Toward the inn.”

There it was again.
That new way of speaking—hesitant, uncertain, nothing like the man Kieran had known.

Kieran kept his gaze on him, refusing to fill the space.

Draegor kept talking. More like babbling. “If we could just go to the inn, I’m sure we can get more answers. You know it’s never good to split up in situations like this, every horror mov—”
He stopped mid-word, looked at Kieran.
“Well, I mean, if you want, uh, Field Marshal, you can continue to explore. You’ll be fine. A big guy like you, even without a sword. You could always just kick or punch. Formidable…”

He’s not lying about having a need to find the inn.
But if he won’t tell me why…

Draegor tapered off, shoulders slumping. “I’m letting you know I’m going to the inn.”

I can’t trust him. I will make a sweep of the surrounding area. There must be something.

“You did not explain. I’m going to investigate.”
He would not follow a man who hid things from him.

Draegor sighed. “Yeah… okay. We can meet back here in a bit?”

Kieran turned, scanning the square. The road to the left stretched beyond the last cottage, leading out of the village. Open terrain. Distance. A way out or at least a vantage point.
That was where he needed to be.

“No. I’ll find the inn when I am done.”

“Of course you wi—” Draegor cut off mid-sentence.

Kieran turned toward him. Draegor was staring past him.

He followed Draegor’s line of sight to one of the buildings lining the square, its windows dark. Draegor’s gaze was fixed on a hanging wooden shop sign.

A word was carved across it in an older script—looped, narrow strokes, flourishes curling off the letters in that decorative style used a few centuries ago. Familiar, but only if one bothered to slow down and read it.

He squinted, tracing the shapes.

Bakerie.
Old spelling, older hand. Perfectly legible once you adjusted your eyes.

“Can you read that?” Draegor asked. His voice sounded tight.

“Bakery,” Kieran said.

Draegor didn’t reply. He just stared at the sign a moment longer, muttering under his breath—too soft for Kieran to make out.

“Does that help us?” Kieran asked.

Draegor jumped, startled, as if shaken from a trance.
Kieran waited for an explanation.
None came.

Kieran’s jaw tightened. “I’m taking the road out. I’ll check the perimeter.”

“Right, yeah—uh—give me a second,” Draegor muttered, lifting a hand as if to pause him.

He drifted forward a few steps, slowing each time a sign hung overhead. His head angled up at them—brief pauses, one after another.

Kieran’s mouth thinned. “A second for what?”
He glanced at the signs—simple shop markers anyone could read if they bothered.
So why was Draegor stopping at each one?

Draegor still hadn't answered. Still motionless, head tipped up.
“Draegor. Focus.”

“Oh—uh. So you’re going, then?”
He finally looked over, expression sheepish. “Right. Yeah. You… go ahead. See you soon.”

“I’m going,” Kieran said, the words clipped.

Draegor nodded too quickly. “Okay.”

Kieran turned away.

Behind him, Draegor called, a beat too late,
“Stay safe!”

This man.

Kieran’s step faltered—barely. He did not turn back.

***

Well, that could have gone better.
No convincing that guy.

Nathan scrubbed both hands down his face and made a noise that was half-sigh, half-resigned wheeze. He stood dead center in the square, watching Kieran’s broad, furious back vanish down the left-hand street.

It hit him, briefly, how alone he actually was.

“Yeah… absolutely not following that guy,” he muttered.

He turned in a slow circle.

The square was… perfect.

Too perfect.

Like someone had copy-pasted cozy medieval village assets with Rodeo Drive vibes from a game dev toolkit and hit auto-arrange.

The signs were the worst offenders—little carved icons above neatly printed words.

A loaf of bread.
Bakery.

A cleaver.
Butcher.

A wagon wheel on a crate.
General Store.

A mortar and pestle.
Herbalist.

A spool of thread with crossed needles.
Tailor.

Nathan stared at them.

“…Okay,” he whispered, “this is actually insane.”

Every sign.
Every word.

English.
Like real, human, Earth English.

And Kieran had just… read it. Like it was in his own language.

Nathan’s stomach twisted.
The square suddenly felt too quiet, like it was waiting to see if he’d notice.

Something is translating for me. In my head. Did that mean it was translating for Kieran as well, or was it actually in his language to start with?

Nope. Not spiraling. Not doing that.

He scanned the square again—

And all empty.

Not a cart.
Not a broom.
Not a single mug cooling on a windowsill.
No people anywhere.

His chest tightened.

Vestibule.

If this was a vestibule…

How long had they been here?
Was Bob okay?
Was the stag still huge or did he shrink?
Was Nyx alive?
Dane—Dane was unconscious—

His throat locked, something cold sliding down his spine.

Does time move differently here?

Nope.
Nope nope nope.

He shoved the panic down with sheer survival instinct.

“Okay,” he muttered, “quick mana check. Radar on.”

Nothing.

He lifted his hand and thought, Rope.

Nothing.

Bridge? Float?

Still nothing.
No outline.
No shimmer.
Just the faint prickle under his skin telling him the mana was there… doing absolutely nothing useful.

“I feel fine though,” he whispered.

He flicked his fingers again—harder.

Nothing.

“No radar, no constructs, no spark… love that. Love being magically neutered in a mystery village.”

He exhaled through his nose and straightened.

“Stay positive,” he muttered. “Nicest place Hollow Gate’s seams have ever spat you into. Flowers. Doors. Roofs. Nothing trying to murder you. Amazing.”

He spun again, searching for salvation.

No tankard.
No bed icon.
No stylized hearth.
No Rest Here, Adventurer! sign.

“Seriously?” Nathan muttered. “Five shops I don’t need and zero inns? Who designed this place, a troll?”

His gaze bounced off the obelisk in the square—tall, faceted, catching the light like it wanted applause.

“Nope,” he told it. “Not solving your puzzle today.”

He inhaled slow, steady.

“Okay. No inn here. Inns are never dead center anyway. They’re always tucked off the square, or down a side street, or—”

He stopped.

“—fine, wandering it is.”

He looked right.

Quieter street.
More cottages.
Lantern posts so evenly spaced it made his eye twitch.

Still no inn—but the street curved out of view. It promised something.

“Right it is,” he said. “Right is always safe. Starter zone 101. Sure.”

He headed that way, muttering:

“And if I don’t get a hint, a quest marker, or literally any sign of life, I’m going to lose my mind in the world’s cutest abandoned village.”

More cottages.
More silence.

Still no inn.
Still no people.
Still no UI map popping up saying Inn → This Way, Idiot.

“Perfect,” Nathan whispered. “Love this. Love wandering a ghost town like I’m collecting side quests that don’t exist. Hell, there’s not even an option to receive one.”

Everything felt frozen—pleasant, but wrong.

Like a theme park before opening.
Lights off.
Music not turned on yet.
Just before the crowds arrive.

He swallowed hard.

“Don’t spiral,” he reminded himself. “Just… locate the inn.”

Nathan followed the street as it met another twist and narrowed—and he slowed.

A hanging sign came into view.
A fork and knife over a carved plate.
Restaurant.

Dark windows. Quiet. As empty as everything else on this side of the village.

“…Okay,” he breathed. “Finally. Something promising.”

He turned the corner—

Two buildings sat snugly at the end of the street, tucked among a few more shops and cottages.

A little carved tankard swung gently on one sign.
The bar.

And right beside it, like a faithful sidekick:
A bed.
The inn.

Nathan sagged with relief, shoulders dropping.
“Of course it’s next to the bar,” he muttered. “Traditions are sacred.”

He stepped closer… close enough for the wooden doors to fill his peripheral vision—

And that’s when the window beside the door brightened.
Then all of them turned on.

Soft at first.
Then warmer.
Then unmistakably intentional.

As if someone inside had just turned on the lights especially for him, waiting for him.

“…That’s not creepy,” he whispered. “That’s totally normal. Love that for me.”

He swallowed.

“Okay. Great. Let’s… meet the innkeeper. If there even is one.”

His hand hesitated, hovering an inch from the handle.

Now or never.
He pushed the doors inward, and walked inside.

Warm light washed over him as he stepped inside, and to his left a man stood behind a counter, hands folded politely, smile already in place—too neat, too timed, too ready.

Nathan blinked.

…A person?

“Welcome, traveler!” the man said, voice bright, tone perfectly even. He didn’t blink. He didn’t shift. He just… waited.

An NPC?!

Nathan opened his mouth to respond—

A soft chime rang. A bright border of pale-blue light flared to life in front of him as the blue screen reappeared.

Location reached: The Inn.
First objective complete.

Objective?
Like a quest objective?

Then new text appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Reward: +0.0001% Overall Progress.

Nathan stared.

Point. Zero. Zero. Zero. One percent?
What is that? A participation prize?
Toward WHAT?
Life? A punch card?
Am I leveling up in… existing?!

He turned sharply toward the innkeeper, pointing at the floating panel.

“Was that you? Did you do this? Is this some kind of quest system?”

The innkeeper blinked politely. “Welcome, traveler.”

“Oh my god,” Nathan whispered. “It’s not him. It’s the screen.”

New text filled the air.

Recommended next quest: Speak to the Innkeeper.

His soul left his body.

“What the fuck,” Nathan whispered.

The notification hovered, expectant, waiting for a mental click he refused to give.

He dragged a hand down his face.

“How old does it think I am? Is this a toddler zone?”

He jabbed at the screen like hidden buttons might suddenly appear.

“Is there a child lock? A settings menu? A difficulty slider? Anything?”

He swiped at the hovering panel.
Nothing.

No gear icon.
No dropdown.
He couldn’t interact with it.
Maybe that comes later?

Another notification chimed.

Hint: Speak clearly to the innkeeper.

“No! Not that! I want settings! SETTINGS. Where do I change my age? Where is the toggle that says ‘I am a grown man’?!”

The innkeeper smiled pleasantly. “Would you like a room, traveler?”

Nathan nearly screamed.

He raised a slow, horrified finger at the hovering UI.

"NO! I want options!"

The innkeeper’s smile softened with gentle concern. “Are you quite alright, traveler? You look a touch pale.”

Nathan stared at the man.
Then at the UI.
Then back.

“…You’re not seeing this,” he whispered.

“Seeing what?” the innkeeper asked. “You are safe here. The inn is open to all weary wanderers.”

Nathan pressed both hands to his temples. “Oh my god. Oh my god. It really is just me.”

Another pale-blue panel blinked into existence.

Quest: Speak to the Innkeeper
Status: Incomplete
Hint: Try greeting him.

“I am greeting him,” Nathan hissed. “Why does it think I need hints? Was this thing designed for eight-year-olds?”

“If you require a room,” the innkeeper said calmly, “we have several available. We have soft beds, fresh linens, and hot baths.”

Nathan’s eye twitched.

“Bath?”

“Oh yes, nice warm water, traveler. We also provide soap.”

The UI chimed again.

Objective updated: Request Lodging.

“NO,” Nathan snapped, pointing at it. “Stop helping me! I don’t need objectives. I know how inns work!”

“One room, then?” the innkeeper asked.

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose.

“…Why are you like this?” he whispered—to the UI, not the man.

The UI’s unbothered, aggressively cheerful text appeared:

Hint: Speak clearly to the innkeeper.

Oh, please. Stop…

Another pale-blue panel materialized.

A companion travels with you.
The companion is unregistered.
Paths ahead are sealed.

Bring the companion to proceed.

Nathan froze.

Companion?
A slow, horrible realization crawled up his spine.
No. No no no. Does it mean Kieran?
Who else even crossed with me?
No one. Just me. And Kieran.

“Oh that’s— that’s terrible. Why.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose until stars burst behind his eyes.

“I have to go get him,” he whispered.

He looked helplessly at the innkeeper. “Can you,” he gestured vaguely at the air, “tell the screen to stop?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, traveler,” the innkeeper said, warm and empty.

"This is already annoying." Nathan huffed out a sigh. "I guess I'll go find stormy eyes. He's going to love this. How do I explain a floating screen only I can see?"

He stepped out of the inn.

The doors clicked shut behind him, too neat, too controlled. Nathan paused on the steps, rubbing his forehead.

“Okay. Fine. Companion fetch. Sure.”

The pale-blue panel drifted beside him as he walked. Like a notification that refused to clear.

Bring the companion to proceed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Wish you had an off switch.”

He passed the restaurant on the corner — the same dark windows, the same perfect little carved fork-and-knife sign, and his stomach growled so loudly it echoed off the siding.

Nathan stopped, glared at his own abdomen.

“Really? Now?” he muttered. “Of course. Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. No mana. No map. Love this.”

He pressed a hand to his stomach as it grumbled again, longer this time, almost offended.

“There’s probably fake food in there anyway,” he told it. “Plastic display bread. Wax fruit. Dungeon props.”

Another growl.

“No,” he said firmly, pointing at the door like it had personally offended him. “We’re not stopping for imaginary soup. We’re getting Kieran, because the floating panel refuses to let me do anything without him.”

He kept walking—past the restaurant, past the cottages and shops, toward the square.

His hunger followed him like a second UI notification.

He crossed the square and headed down the same street Kieran had taken. The cottages thinned. The cobblestones ended. The village narrowed into a simple dirt road leading toward a wide open expanse. Greenery everywhere.

Nathan kept going.

He felt wind and sunshine. It actually felt pleasant.

He walked for about ten minutes. Taking in the surroundings.

A few more steps—

His chest hit something solid.
An invisible wall. Cold. Unmoving.

Nathan recoiled, staring at the empty air.

The UI chimed.

Boundary reached.
Further travel unavailable.

Nathan pressed his hand forward again. Met the same unmoving, glass-like resistance.

It chimed again.

Boundary reached.
Further travel unavailable.

Locked up?

“You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “He walked straight into this. He had to have.”

Which meant Kieran didn’t stop here.
He probably marched off the road without hesitation, because of course he did.

Nathan stepped back, scanning the treeline and the uneven grass flanking the village road — looking for any sign, any direction Kieran might’ve taken.

“Great,” he muttered. “So you hit the wall, got pissed, and wandered off into… wherever.”

He turned toward the fields and crooked fence lines on either side of the path.

“Okay. Off-road it is.”

The UI followed silently as Nathan left the road, moving into the grass with growing frustration tightening under his ribs.

“Please be somewhere obvious,” he muttered.

A sharp chime rang behind his eyes.

He stopped.

Another chime.
Then another.
Evenly spaced. Distant.
Like someone repeatedly triggering the same alert.

“…Okay,” Nathan breathed. “That can’t be good.”

He quickened his pace, following the sound as the road sloped downward. At the bottom of the incline he finally saw him.

Kieran.

Standing rigid. Shoulders squared. One arm drawn back.

He struck the empty air—hard.

A dull thud rippled outward with each hit.

With every impact Nathan saw the faint shimmer of a barrier.
And floating above it, the UI panel:

Boundary reached.
Further travel unavailable.

Kieran, of course, saw none of it.

He hit the invisible wall again.

Chime.

Nathan winced and jogged the last few steps.

“Sir!” he called.

No answer.
Kieran drew back for another hit—

“Field Marshal!” Nathan shouted.

Kieran froze mid-swing. Breath tight.
He didn’t turn, but his hand lowered half an inch.

Nathan slowed, raising his hands in a peacekeeping gesture.

“You—uh… found a wall.”

Kieran turned his head sharply, glare like a blade. “There is something here. A barrier. It curves around the perimeter as far as I have walked.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said, exhaling. “I can… see that. So you kept hitting it?”

Kieran’s glare deepened.

Nathan held up both palms. “Not judging. Just—accurate observation.”

Kieran faced him fully now, expression locked in a mix of suspicion and barely controlled frustration.

“What do you want, Draegor?” he asked.

“I need you to come with me,” Nathan said carefully. “I found something.”

“Found something?” Kieran repeated, voice edged. “What.”

“A who. A person. Kind of.”

Kieran’s entire posture shifted—a fractional straightening, eyes narrowing. “A person? Where.”

Nathan hesitated.
Probably don’t mention the glowing toddler-quest UI just yet.

“Back in the village,” he said. “At the inn.”

Kieran stared at him for three long, assessing seconds.

“A person?” he repeated slowly. “In an empty village.”

“Yes.”

Kieran’s tone sharpened. “And you knew this?”

Nathan blinked. “What? No—of course not.”

“You insisted we go there,” Kieran said. “As if you expected something.”

Nathan’s mouth fell open. “Okay, well, I am psychic. Congratulations. You got me.”

Kieran just stared.

Nathan sagged. “No. I didn’t know. I just… had a feeling. Something weird pulled me there.”

Kieran’s jaw ticked. “You are hiding something.”

“I’m not!” Nathan said—too fast. Then winced. “Okay, I might be withholding something tiny. For sanity reasons. But I promise I’ll explain it once we get there.”

“Draegor.”

“Sir, if I explain out here…” Nathan started, then caught Kieran’s unwavering glare.

You might react. Violently. And then still not follow me.

“…it’s better if you just come see for yourself.”

Silence.

Kieran finally exhaled, hard. “If there is truly a person… they may know what this place is.”

“That’s… optimistic,” Nathan mumbled. “But sure. Let’s go with that.”

He gestured toward the village.
Kieran didn’t move.

Nathan tried again, softer.

“Please.”

Kieran’s eyes lingered on the treeline, the barrier, the empty fields.
Then on Nathan.

He stepped forward.

“Lead the way,” he said.

“Thank you.”

The walk back into the village was quiet.

Not even sure what’s going to happen when we get to the inn.
If it’s bad, I don’t even want to know what he’ll do to me.

Kieran’s heavy footfalls followed behind him—steady, controlled, but too loud in the eerie stillness. Each one felt like a countdown.

Nathan tried not to look over his shoulder.

He failed.

Kieran’s gaze was fixed straight ahead, jaw set like stone, expression unreadable. The kind of unreadable that meant he was thinking too much and trusting too little.

Nathan snapped his eyes forward again.

They crossed through the empty streets and re-entered the square, following the same route Nathan had walked before.

They reached the street with the restaurant on the corner.

Nathan swallowed as he spotted the inn.

The moment they stepped within ten feet, the windows brightened again—soft, warm, undeniably intentional.

Kieran halted. Just for half a breath.

He noticed.

Nathan pretended he didn’t.

He reached for the doors and opened them.

It'll be fine.

Nathan forced his legs to move, stepping over the threshold.

Kieran followed.

CHIME.

A bright border of pale-blue light flared into existence directly in front of Nathan’s eyes.

He winced.

The UI scrolled:

Companion detected.
Registration possible.

Nathan smothered a groan.

Before he could react, the innkeeper’s voice boomed brightly:

“Welcome, travelers! Looking for lodging?”

Nathan flinched.
Kieran did not.

Instead, Kieran’s head snapped toward the NPC, tension coiling through his shoulders.

“You.” His voice dropped into command. “Where are we?”

“Sir, he—”

“One room or two?” the innkeeper asked cheerfully, smile perfectly fixed, not acknowledging the question at all.

“I don’t require lodging,” Kieran said, irritation sharpening. “I require where I am.”

“You are safe here,” the innkeeper replied pleasantly. “The inn is open to all weary wanderers.”

“Are you deaf?” Kieran snapped, reaching for the man’s collar. He snatched it.

“Whoa—sir! Stop!” Nathan lunged forward. “He’s not real!”

Kieran’s eyes cut toward him. “What. Explain.”

A new notification blinked aggressively in front of Nathan.

Register your companion now?
[ Yes ] [ No ]

Nathan stared at it in rising horror.

“Oh, don’t do this to me,” he breathed.

Kieran’s voice cracked like a whip. “Draegor. Explain.”

The NPC, still hanging politely from Kieran’s fist, smiled with perfect serenity.
“Are you quite alright, traveler? You look a touch pale.”

Kieran shook him slightly. “He feels real.”

Nathan made a thin, strangled sound. “Everything here is probably kind of real!”

“I don’t understand!” Kieran barked.

Another chime.

Another panel.

Registration is required to proceed.
Register your companion.

Then it snapped back:

Register your companion now?
[ Yes ] [ No ]

Nathan covered his face with both hands.

“Oh, this is going to go terribly.” He sucked in a breath. “Field Marshal, I’m going to tell you something. It’s going to sound unbelievable. And I know you don’t trust me.”

Kieran finally released the smiling man, letting him settle back behind the counter.

“You have been keeping something from me,” he said. “I will listen.”

“Really?” Nathan blinked. “You’ll actually—?”

“Before I change my mind,” Kieran said, voice low with warning.

Nathan inhaled.

Where to begin?

“Okay,” he said, hands half-raised. “Let’s… start small.”

Kieran stood very still—too still—eyes locked on him in that sharp, assessing way that made Nathan want to curl up behind the counter and pretend to be an NPC too.

“Start,” Kieran said.

Right. No pressure.

Nathan gestured vaguely at the air. “So, um. I have been… seeing things.”

Kieran’s eyebrows lowered by a millimeter.

“Not bad things,” Nathan rushed. “Just—floating screens. Messages. They pop up. In my face.”

Silence settled over the inn.

Kieran’s jaw flexed once. “Messages.”

“Yes.”

“You can see them.”

“Yes.”

“I cannot.”

“Right.”

Kieran stared. “Explain.”

Nathan opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again.

“It’s not magic,” he said quickly then stopped. “Or maybe it is? I'm really not sure on that, but nobody’s controlling me. It’s just—this place. It’s giving me… instructions. Or nudges. I can’t click anything. It just appears. And right now it says we can’t leave or move forward unless I register you as my—”
He winced.
“—companion.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Companion.”

Nathan groaned. “I know. I KNOW. I didn’t choose the term.”

A panel chimed, bright and awful:

Register your companion now?
[ Yes ] [ No ]

Nathan flinched.

Kieran had gone statue-still, fury coiled through his shoulders.

“So,” Kieran said slowly, “a force in this place is giving you commands.”

“N—not commands,” Nathan said quickly. “Suggestions. Very pushy suggestions. Mild bullying, if we’re being honest. But—this is the important part—they’re required. If we don’t follow them, we don’t move forward. We don’t get out.”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “But it restricts our movement.”

“Yes—until we comply,” Nathan said, wincing. “This is literally the only way forward. I swear.”

“And it requires that I become your… companion.”

“That’s the terminology, yes.”

Another long silence.

Nathan swallowed. “Sir, I’m not lying. If I were you, I’d have stabbed me by now—but I promise these messages are real. I can’t leave the village without you. It won’t let me. And it won’t let you leave without me.”

Kieran’s eyes flicked to the innkeeper—still smiling, still empty.

“This person knows nothing,” he said.

“He’s not a person,” Nathan whispered. “He only responds to his script. I tried.”

Kieran absorbed that, then looked back at Nathan.

“And registering me will open the way.”

“That’s what it says.”

“You believe it.”

Nathan hesitated, then nodded.

Kieran fixed him with a long, assessing stare.

Finally, he exhaled. “If this is what allows us to progress, then do it.”

Nathan sagged. “Okay. Yes. Just—don’t freak out if anything weird happens.”

Kieran stared. "Freak... out? Are you sure you aren't possessed?"

“I am not possessed. Right,” Nathan clapped his hands. “Doing it.”

He mentally selected: Yes.

Another chime.

Companion registered.
Orientation begins at first light.
Gather in the main square.

"Did you hear or see anything?"

"No."

Huh.

The UI screen evaporated.

Light surged brighter than before as more fixtures came to life. Warmth rolled from the hearth. Footsteps sounded upstairs. A woman laughed in the hallway.

Nathan jolted. "Fuck me." He grabbed his chest.

Kieran’s head snapped toward the noise.

Did I just activate the world?

The innkeeper’s smile warmed into something almost human.

“We are happy to accommodate you,” he said. “Meals are served at the restaurant until tenth bell.”

Nathan turned toward the windows—

Shadows moved across them as people walked by outside. A horse neighed. Children laughed, voices layering from every direction.

Kieran stood rooted—stunned, violently alert.

“This village was empty,” he said. “This whole time. Empty.”

“Yeah,” Nathan whispered. “I know. I’m just as shocked.”

“Now it is alive.”

“Yep.”

Kieran’s hand twitched toward his hip—instinct, habit—reaching for the sword that wasn’t there. The moment his fingers closed on nothing, his posture sharpened, shoulders locking into something colder.

Nathan felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Kieran stepped to the window and recoiled when a child outside waved, eyes narrowing. “They are not real. They react as if they want us… disarmed.”

Nathan felt hysterical laughter bubble up. “Uh huh. Oh boy.”

Honestly? He’s handling all of this better than I expected.

The innkeeper clasped his hands. “Shall I prepare two rooms?”

Kieran crossed his arms, assessing the room like a threat. “I am a hostage.”

Nathan winced. Hard to argue with that. “Two rooms. Please.”

The innkeeper reached behind him, opened a small cupboard, and pulled out two keys. He set them neatly on the counter.

Nathan grabbed one and handed the other to Kieran.

Kieran took it begrudgingly. “I don’t like this.”

“I know.”

“Would you like a bath prepared?” the innkeeper inquired.

“God, yes.” The reaction slipped out before Nathan could stop it. He straightened immediately, clearing his throat. “Yes, please. First, I’m going to check out the restaurant.”

His stomach growled—loud.

He turned to Kieran. “Are you coming?”

“I’m going to inspect the accommodations first. And…” Kieran hesitated, jaw tight. “Interact with these people.”

“Suit yourself.”

Nathan exited the inn and headed up the street toward the restaurant on the corner.

He forgot—there had been no one out here before. Outside had been silent, dead.
Now the little street was crowded. Evening had settled in; dusk painted everything a warm purple. Lampposts flickered to life as two men worked their way down the row—one steadying a ladder while the other reached up to light each lantern with practiced ease.

Nathan blinked at the sudden normalcy.
“So surreal,” he muttered.

He walked a little faster.

The restaurant was packed—warm light, clattering plates, bursts of laughter, the low hum of twenty overlapping conversations that meant absolutely nothing to him.

For a moment, Nathan just stood there, taking it all in.

One of the two women working the room caught his eye. “Seat?” she asked, already gesturing.

Nathan nodded and followed her to a small table near the window. She didn’t hand him anything—just asked, “Tonight’s special?”

He didn’t care what it was; he could already smell something cooking—roast, spice, the kind of savory heat that made his stomach seize with longing.

Minutes later, she returned with a plate.

Roasted meat. Vegetables. Bread that looked aggressively fluffy.

Nathan poked it with his fork.

It didn’t bounce.

Good sign.

He took a bite—

—and froze.

Hot. Juicy. Actual flavor. Relief shuddered through him. He groaned, shoulders sagging, and immediately started inhaling food like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in months. When had he last eaten something real? Not dungeon-drop jerky. Not travel rations. Not the suspicious “blue shrimp thing” Alia once swore was edible.

He stared at the plate in awe.

Then lifted a hand. “Uh… question.”

The woman appeared instantly, smile gentle. “Yes?”

“What…” Nathan waved his fork vaguely. “What is this? What am I eating?”

She blinked—smooth, too smooth. “It is your meal.”

“Right, but—what’s in it?”

“It is food.”

Nathan squinted. “It tastes like meat.”

“Yes,” she said with absolute confidence. “Meat.”

“…From what animal?”

“A broluk,” she said proudly. “Tonight’s special. Only grade A monster meat served here.” She tilted her head. “Is it not to your liking?”

“That is not the problem,” Nathan muttered. Where did it come from?

He finally shrugged and took another bite. When in another world, I guess.

He was mid-chew when he glanced up.

Kieran.

At the entrance and assessing the room. Already annoyed.

Nathan waved him over, as if they were two friends with a scheduled dinner plan.

“You found food,” he said flatly as he approached.

“I did,” Nathan said through a mouthful of broluk. “Sit. Before they give your chair to someone else.”

Kieran looked ready to argue—but the second woman serving the room swept over the moment he sat. “Tonight’s special?”

He stared at her. “What kind?”

“Broluk.” She beamed, proud.

“A what?”

“Grade A monster meat. We only serve the best here.”

Kieran shifted his massive frame and crossed his arms.

Nathan snorted into his plate. “It’s good.”

Kieran held the woman’s gaze for a long moment—then finally said, “Fine.”

He dropped into the chair.

She returned quickly with a plate. Three bites in, he slowed, suspicion sharpening his expression.

“Is something wrong with it?” Kieran asked, poking at it.

“Nothing, really. It tastes good. Earlier I was trying,” Nathan said slowly, “to determine whether I’m eating something that used to be alive or if it was… constructed. Because of where we are—like, how can it be real?”

Kieran paused. Considered that. Then took another bite anyway.

“Tastes real.”

“Right?” Nathan asked, brightening.

Kieran gave him absolutely nothing and continued eating.

Alright, no dinner discussion on that topic.

Nathan swallowed, then leaned forward slightly. “So… how did it go? Did you learn anything?”

Kieran’s jaw tightened. “They speak. They smile. They do not answer questions. It was fruitless.”

Nathan winced. “Yeah. That tracks.”

He wiped his mouth. “Oh—right. I should tell you. The message said something earlier.”

Kieran’s hand froze midair.

Nathan continued, “We have orientation at first light. In the square. Apparently.”

Kieran lowered his fork like someone receiving a death sentence.

“It’ll be fine,” Nathan said, trying to reassure him. “We’ll… hopefully make progress, right?”

Kieran didn’t answer. He looked around the room again.

Yeah, I’m not confident either.

They finished up and headed back to the inn. It was dark now, the street quieter.

When they stepped inside, the innkeeper lifted his head instantly—timed, perfect, eerie.

“Traveler,” he said with a pleasant dip of his head, “your bath is ready.”

Nathan blinked. “My… what? Oh. Right. Sure.”

Kieran gave the room one last suspicious scan before retreating toward the stairs. “I will sweep the upper hall,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Nathan said. “You do that. Don’t… fight anyone.”

Upstairs, the door to Nathan’s room opened at his push—quiet, clean, warm air rolling out. The tub waited in the corner, steam drifting lazily above the water. A folded towel. A fresh bar of soap. A washcloth perched neatly over the rim.

He sniffed himself and choked. Good gracious.

He didn’t have the energy to argue with comfort.

Nathan dropped his shirt, peeled off his boots, and sank slowly into the water.

A groan escaped him before he could stop it. Heat wrapped around him like mercy.

He slid lower until the water hit his collarbones, draped the washcloth across his forehead, and let his arms hook along the sides of the tub—spent, boneless.

But his mind wouldn’t stop turning.

This morning they were almost killed—seconds from being shredded alive or plummeting to their deaths.

And now he was in a warm bath.

In a village that had been empty a few hours ago.

“How long is this going to take?” he whispered to the ceiling. “A day? A week? Months? What if time is weird here? What if—”

Are the others dead? What if it’s been years for them?

Not spiraling.
Not doing that again.

His breathing steadied. Barely.

Then his thoughts drifted to the sign at the village entrance. The square sign above the arch. The pattern etched across it—familiar in a way that felt wrong.

Those glyphs…

He shifted, letting his head tilt back, water lapping quietly.

Where had he seen them? Somewhere precise.

He frowned behind the washcloth.

He reached for the memory. It danced just out of reach.

Then—
the realization hit him like lightning.

The book.
Mason’s damn ritual book.
The one Nyx made an illusion copy of for him to bring to muster.

Nathan bolted upright, water sloshing over the rim.
The washcloth flopped into the tub with a sad ploop.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

His pulse kicked hard.

“That’s it. That’s what they were.”

He ran a wet hand through his hair, heart hammering.

“The glyphs on the sign—they were the same. The same as the cover of Mason’s ritual book.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Why would it be here? Why is that here?”

His breath hitched.

He looked toward the door.

“I need to go check that sign,” he whispered.

Now.

Nathan dressed quickly, hair still damp, boots barely laced.
He slipped out of the room and down the stairs, the inn quiet now in that eerie, too-perfect way.

The night air hit him as he stepped outside.
He paused on the threshold.

How do the glyphs connect to Mason’s book?
To this place?
There has to be a reason.

The village was quiet now. Too quiet—no voices, no footsteps, like the world had frozen again.

He followed the cobblestone street toward the entrance, the night air warm in that unmistakable summer evening way.
A few minutes later, the wooden arch came into view.

He stepped beyond it—out of the village.
Then turned back to face the sign.

Step forward only if your spirit stands unwavering. Beyond this gate all are weighed without mercy. Those who seize the power will inherit our legacy. May Aevandor be avenged.

“That’s… heavy,” he whispered. "Part of the tutorial?"

He shook his head.

Not helpful.

He walked back toward the inn, still turning the inscription over in his mind.
The quiet streets didn’t offer any answers, only more unease.
By the time he reached his room again, the words on the sign were still circling him like a riddle he couldn’t shake.

Even as he drifted into sleep, one thought lingered:

Would Kieran know anything about this?

…No. Probably not.

Nathan exhaled, rolled onto his side, and let the warm darkness pull him under.

Sleep came in fits.

A blur of falling.
Glyphs shifting.
A voice he didn’t recognize whispering rise again—

He jerked awake at a sharp knock on his door.

Morning. Already.

“Wake up,” Kieran called from the hall—impatient, as always.

“I’m up,” Nathan said, rubbing his face. Under his breath: “Good morning to you as well.”

“Let’s get moving. Hurry up.” Kieran’s footsteps faded down the hall.

Nathan dressed quickly and headed downstairs. It felt weird not having his pack—like he’d forgotten something vital.

The innkeeper stood behind the desk, perfectly still, perfectly smiling.

Nathan leaned in, hopeful. “You wouldn’t happen to have coffee, would you?”

The man tilted his head. “How may I assist you?”

Nathan deflated. “Figures.”

As he turned to leave, the innkeeper called, “Have a pleasant day!”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

He stepped outside to join Kieran, and together they made their way toward the square.

The streets were already busy—people setting out baskets, sweeping steps, arranging crates by neatly painted storefronts. Or… NPCs doing whatever they’d been programmed to do.

They crossed the center of the square—

CHIME.

A pale-blue notification blinked into existence in front of Nathan.

Tutorial Orientation Initiated.

Nathan blinked. “No NPC guide?”

A second screen unfurled beside it—a simple map of the village, the square pulsing softly at its center.

New text scrolled across the upper panel:

Welcome, Student.
You and your registered companion will begin your system integration.
Proceed together to complete Orientation.

Nathan sighed. “Guess not.”

More text followed:

Your companion’s basic stats will now be viewable on your interface.
You will learn core functions required for progression.
Additional functions will unlock as you advance.
Complete the tutorial dungeon to unlock all available paths.

Training weapons will be provided upon entry.

“That’s it?” Nathan muttered.

He squinted at the screen. “I choose skip tutorial?”

A bright, unhelpful chime answered:

Tutorial Mandatory.
Requirements locked.

“Of course not,” Nathan muttered.

The map expanded, the square glowing brighter. Text scrolled along the bottom:

Together, you and your companion must place a hand on the monument to begin.

The obelisk on the map began to blink rhythmically.

Nathan turned to look at the very real obelisk in the center of the square.

“How unhelpful and ridiculous,” he whispered. “Are you broken?”

The UI repeated, unwavering:

Together, you and your companion must place a hand on the monument to begin.

Nathan glared at it. “You better give me a dungeon map too.”

Kieran grunted beside him, impatience sharpening every word. “What are we supposed to do?”

“A hand on the monument,” Nathan said.

“That’s it?”

“Apparently. It transports us into a dungeon.”

Kieran eyed the towering obelisk. “A dungeon?”

“Yes,” Nathan said, shrugging. “Says we get weapons when we arrive.”

“That does not sound promising.” Kieran’s eyes narrowed—hungry, almost relieved to have something to hit.

“I agree.”

What are they going to throw at us? Nathan wondered, lifting a hand helplessly. “Can’t be worse than what I’ve already faced. It’s a tutorial.”

Kieran didn’t wait. He was already striding toward the obelisk. “Are we going or not?”

“I’m coming. Not like I have a choice.”

Kieran placed his hand on the stone.

Nathan took a deep breath and extended his own.

Light swallowed him whole—bright, blinding, weightless.

When he blinked again, he and Kieran were standing in a stone corridor lit by torches.
Wooden swords rested in their hands.

Nathan barked out a laugh. “Oh, wow. They did provide.”

He looked at Kieran. The wooden sword looked absurdly small in his hand. Nathan couldn’t contain the laughter bubbling up.

Kieran looked like he wanted to snap the blade over his knee. “This is not adequate,” he said flatly. “Nor funny.”

Nathan tried—failed—to contain himself. “You’re right.”

Kieran shot him another look that said I am not amused.

Nathan let out a thin, humorless huff. “Oh yeah. This is gonna be fun.”