Chapter 96: The Player

*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Chalice Theocracy / Safe Hollow, Iron Confederacy Border*

**Chalice Theocracy**

Aris folded the note and placed it into his pocket, fingers trembling slightly. "I am not leaving anywhere. I'm gonna find that Lock, or whatever it's called."

Fox's tail flicked with agitation. "Of course we will. I can't mock her like this or bite her leg. She'll report me."

The next day was an off day, classes suspended for some temple ceremony Aris didn't care about. He and Fox made their way to the underground cemetery complex, a place whispered about in hushed tones among students. The entrance stood behind the eastern wing of the academy, a stone archway descending into darkness.

The cemetery complex was like an underground building, part vault and part dungeon. Ancient stone walls lined with niches for the dead. Aris and Fox entered, hearts pounding, afraid of what they might find. The air smelled of earth and old incense. Candles flickered in alcoves, casting dancing shadows across carved names and dates.

They descended deeper, following Lyra's instructions. Past rows of memorial stones. Past sealed crypts marked with warding runes.

Then, in a circular chamber lit by a single brazier, they saw him.

Rathvoss stepped into the torchlight, his heavy armor glinting gold and crimson. The Key dangled from his hand, a small sphere of worked metal that caught the firelight. Even without his helmet, he looked like he could crush stone just by glaring at it.

"Looking for this?" His voice echoed off the stone walls.

Fox's tail puffed up like a bottle brush. "Great. This guy."

Aris froze, mind racing. "Sir Rathvoss, I—"

"Don't," Rathvoss cut him off, voice sharp as a blade. "Don't try to spin me a tale, boy. I've been watching you since you crawled out of that first dungeon with that look in your eyes. I know what you are."

Aris swallowed hard, throat dry. "What... what am I?"

Rathvoss tossed the Key into the air, caught it again with casual ease. "A player."

The word hit like a hammer to the chest.

"You think I didn't notice? The hesitation in your duels, the way you speak, the terms you mutter when you think no one's listening. 'Stats,' 'stones,' 'XP.'" His grin was cold, humorless. "I used to say the same things."

Aris's voice shook. "You—You were—"

Rathvoss nodded slowly. "Before the game closed. Before the covenant locked us in. I was just like you. Roleplaying a Templar, grinding dungeons, chasing leaderboards with my friends. Then one day... click." He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing. "I was alone that day. And stuck here by myself."

Aris stared, disbelief warring with recognition. The pieces were falling into place. "You got stuck."

"Stuck, stranded, forgotten." Rathvoss looked at the Key, expression distant. "But the NPCs didn't know. They thought I was one of them. So I played along. Lived. Taught. Watched generations of new 'students' rise and die, thinking this was a world, not a cage."

Aris's mind raced, questions tumbling over each other. "Then why not help humans? Why stay silent?"

"Because," Rathvoss said, voice dropping low and dangerous, "helping gets people killed. I tried once. Headmaster found the kid. Handed him to the High Priestess's guards himself."

He stepped closer, boots scraping on stone. He dropped the Key onto the floor with a heavy clink. It rolled slightly before settling.

"Don't chase ghosts. Don't go looking for memories. Finish your classes. Graduate. Get a nice, quiet job. Be a scribe, librarian. Pretend to believe their sermons. That's how you survive."

Aris shook his head, anger rising. "You expect me to live like this? Watching people die in dungeons, watching them experiment on students?"

Rathvoss's eyes softened, just for a second. Something human flickered there. "You think I like it? Every time a student dies, I am hurt. But I learned the hard way. Now I am hard on them to make them quit and go back to their parents. But when I see you sticking around, refusing to quit... I tried to back you up with the human faction and you ran away from them."

"That's..." Aris started.

"This Lyra woman, she is an NPC, I presume. I don't know why she is a spy and why you're with her. But she will get herself killed and take you with her."

He bent down, picked up the Key, and a faintly glowing memory stone that had been hidden in his other hand. He stepped forward and handed both to Aris. The metal was warm, humming with stored power.

"You are smart," Rathvoss said quietly. "Either find a way out or stay in and become one of them. Truly one of them. Those are the only ways to survive this place."

Aris took the items with trembling hands. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I'm tired of watching kids die," Rathvoss said. He turned to leave, then paused. "And because maybe, just maybe, you're stubborn enough to find that third option I never could."

His footsteps echoed away, leaving Aris and Fox alone in the flickering firelight.

Fox looked up at him. "Well. That was unexpected."

Aris stared at the Key and memory stone in his hands. "He's been trapped here for years. Decades, maybe. Alone."

"And he still tried to warn you. To protect you."

"Yeah." Aris tucked the items carefully into his inner pocket. "Let's get out of here. We have work to do."

---

**Safe Hollow, Iron Confederacy Border**

Demir had finished the rough patches of his five-piece suit. The armor hung on a stand beside the forge, gleaming in the firelight. He was almost ready, mentally and physically. As ready as possible to protect his friends, his new town, everyone he'd come to care about.

Sin arrived with Timmy, both carrying bundles of crude iron and leather parts. They dropped them on the workbench with heavy thuds.

"We thought this might be useful," Timmy said. "I'm brewing some potions with Priestess Neya."

Demir looked up from the leather he was working. "Thanks, Timmy. Thanks, Sin. But I'm mostly done with metal work. I'll be adding leather parts now. I have some leathers from the last raid. The ones you found in the chief's tent."

"Yeah, those were great quality," Timmy said, examining the armor pieces.

Demir raised his head from his work, hammer pausing mid-swing. "When we survive this, I'll make good weapons for you too."

"When we survive," Sin said, rolling his eyes. His returned joy was slowly fading. He was again becoming the dark, brooding Sin after learning his father was dead when he was captive with the goblins.

"Sin, we will get through this," Demir said firmly.

"Then what?" Sin's voice was bitter. "These goblins are endless. Now again they're coming to kill us, enslave us. There is no rest until they're all gone. All those NPC races."

Marco was approaching with two sandwiches wrapped in cloth. "If I knew you kids would be here, I'd have brought more."

"No thanks. Scouts should return today with estimates. I'm not hungry." Sin brushed Marco off and walked toward the town center, shoulders hunched.

Timmy watched him go with worried eyes. "Sorry, Marco. He's still tense."

"Don't worry, I can understand," Marco said gently.

Demir took one of the sandwiches and bit into it. Bread and salted meat. Simple but filling. "How many do you think this town can handle?"

Marco's expression grew serious. "Two thousand at most. Three thousand if we're lucky and fight perfectly."

The unspoken truth hung between them. They both knew what was coming would be more than that.

Much more.

Later that afternoon, as Demir was fitting leather straps to his armor, Killgor approached. The assassin's blade swirled in his hand in lazy circles. He looked a little drunk, eyes slightly unfocused.

"Good news," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Only five thousand."

Marco's face went pale. "Five thousand?"

Demir's hands stilled on the leather. "We have fighting capacity of maybe one hundred fifty people. How are we gonna stand against five thousand?"

"We can't," Marco said hollowly.

Killgor laughed, the sound bitter and harsh. "Down your alcohol, boys. Spend your day well. Because there may not be a tomorrow night." He walked away, blade still spinning, leaving them in silence.

Demir looked at his armor. At the forge. At the town he'd helped build.

Five thousand.

The number echoed in his mind like a death knell.

He returned to his work, hands moving automatically. If this was their last day, he would spend it doing what he did best. Creating. Protecting.

Surviving.

Outside, the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and red.

The color of blood and fire.