Afterimage

The world rocked beneath him in a slow, uneven rhythm. The motion carried him.

Everything else felt distant, as if the world’s volume had been turned down.

Voices carried around him, but the words didn’t register.

He felt scraped hollow.
Whatever he’d been running on had finally burned out.

Grief.
Loss.
Confusion.

Was that mine.
Or hers.
Both.

Memory.
The word floated up.

Meant it was real.
Didn’t it.
How could it be.

He didn’t want to process it. Or anything.
He let his eyes close.

When he opened them again, the motion was gone.
He remained seated.
In the wagon.

It was dark.
A fire. Laughter.
Meat. The smell of meat.

“You’re awake.”

His eyes shifted.
Words wouldn’t form.

“I brought you food. I will leave it here.”

Food.

He shut his eyes again.

The next time he opened them it was quieter.
The fire burned low. Small pops.

He could feel weight across him.
He looked down.

A blanket.

He didn’t know when it had gotten there.

He lifted his head, looked toward the fire.
There was a large familiar shape there, outlined by the fire.

Right.

He was still here.
Still in this strange world.
Still in a body that wasn’t his.

The questions hovered, dull and unfocused.
Not sharp enough to hurt.
Not loud enough to demand answers.

What is mine.
Who even am I.

He didn’t chase the thoughts.

He leaned his head back, keeping his eyes on the shape by the fire.

The feelings were still there.
Some of them didn’t belong to him.
Some of them might.

It was hard to tell where one ended and another began.

Draegor’s body.
Mal’s emotions.

Nathan glanced down at a bowl. A piece of meat sat inside.

He ignored it and laid down in the wagon, not bothering to cover himself.

Closed his eyes again.

He dreamed of a house.

A familiar bedroom. Peaceful.

The walls stretched, the corners pulling away from each other, until the room became a long hallway.

Endless.

Disembodied voices followed him down it.

Boss.
Boss.

He ran.

The floor slicked beneath his feet.

Grotesque limbs reached from the walls, joints bending wrong, fingers scraping for his clothes.

He tore free, stumbled, slid.

Blood. Everywhere.

His hands were covered in it. Warm. Sticky.

He was running again.

A girl with red hair stood ahead of him, frozen mid-step. Eyes wide. Mouth open, but no sound came out.

He reached for her.

The world folded.

Bodies pressed in from all sides. Faceless. Countless. Screaming. Hands dragging him down, down, down.

He couldn’t breathe.

He woke with a gasp.

“You were having a nightmare.”

Nathan stared at the man standing at the back of the wagon.

Kieran.

His lips moved as he tried to speak.

“Don’t,” Kieran said quietly.

He hopped up and sat on the edge of the wagon.

“I’ll sit here until you fall back to sleep.”

Why?

“Dawn will come soon,” Kieran said, looking out toward the dark. “Sleep until then.”

Nathan closed his eyes again.

This time, he didn’t dream.

***

“…Len, did you remember to pack the extra bolts?”

“Yes, dear.”

Nathan stirred, then pushed himself upright in the wagon.

“And the rations?”

“Yes, dear.”

Dawn light filtered in through the canvas.

Kieran stood a few feet away, his back turned.

“Can I help load anything, ma’am?”

Zam.

“That’s kind of you to ask, son,” the woman replied, “but I think we’re all sorted.”

“All right, then.”

“Kieran, we’re ready to go.”

Nathan could see them clearly now.

Both Zam and Kieran turned and stopped when they noticed him.

Zam rubbed the back of his neck. “Morning, Draegor.”

“Morning,” Kieran said.

Nathan managed a small nod.

Zam and Kieran climbed into the wagon and settled across from him.

Arlen called back, “Ready?”

“Yes,” Kieran said.

The wagon lurched forward.

Zam started talking. Innocuous things. Like he needed to fill the space.
He wondered aloud how far they’d get before nightfall, then answered himself.

Nathan glanced at Kieran.

His eyes were closed.

That didn’t stop Zam from talking.

Nathan didn’t mind it. His thoughts drifted to Mal and the others.

It felt real.

What was the point?

Was it a warning?

Theo.
The UIs that looked like Kieran’s.

Why was his different?

An entire world.

Taken over in a moment.

All those people.

Dead?

He didn’t feel ready to speak out loud yet.

Time slipped by in pieces. Nathan could only track it by the slow shift of light through the canvas.

They kept moving.

In the afternoon they ate without stopping. Dried meat passed back, chewed in silence.

Nathan didn’t want any of it.

By the end of the second day, the light had deepened into evening and the wagon finally slowed. Then stopped.

There were other wagons nearby. People. Horses.
He could hear snippets of conversation.

Most of them were heading north. Same destination. The northern dungeon.
The dungeon. Right.

Kieran, Zam, Marla, and Arlen gathered around a campfire a short distance away.

Nathan stayed in the wagon.

Zam and Marla talked loudly, often over each other. Their voices carried. Both of them sounded eager, almost cheerful.

The sound thinned. Someone moved closer.

A shadow fell across the wagon opening.

Kieran stood there with a bowl.

He held it out. “Stew. You need to eat.”

Nathan stared at it.

Kieran took his hand and pressed the bowl into it.

Then he leaned his back against the wagon, crossed his arms.

“Eat,” he said.

Nathan’s stomach growled.

Kieran glanced at him. “Your body is honest.”

Nathan exhaled. Then drank from the bowl. A small sip to start.

It’s good.

He drank more.

Coughed.

Let the bowl rest in his hands.

Children at a nearby wagon laughed.

The sound made his chest tighten.

Maxina.
Jerome.

Kieran stayed with him. He didn’t say anything more.

Nathan was grateful for that.

When he finished the bowl, Kieran took it and walked back to the campfire to rejoin the others.

Only then did Nathan notice the space around him.

They’d been keeping their distance.

He wondered if that had something to do with Kieran.

When everyone settled in for the night, Nathan watched Kieran’s back at the fire until he fell asleep.

***

The third morning.

More wagons had arrived after dark. Which meant more traffic.

They left the campsite just after dawn as usual, folding into a long, uneven line of wagons heading north. The caravan slowed everything. Wheels creaked. Horses snorted. People called back and forth with the mild irritation of shared travel.

Nathan stared absently at the driver of the wagon behind them. Watched the man adjust the reins. Watched him spit to the side and settle back in.

He glanced at Kieran.
He was asleep.
Looks like wagons don’t bother him anymore.

Marla’s voice carried from the front of the wagon, nonstop. Directions. Complaints. Observations.
Arlen’s replies were spaced out between the reins.

“Yes, dear.”
“Mhm.”
“Of course.”

Late morning crept up on them.

Zam leaned forward, head jutting out the back of the wagon.

“Arlen! Pull over!”

Arlen glanced back. “What is it?”

Zam pointed toward the roadside, enthusiasm getting ahead of his words. “That merchant!”

Arlen couldn’t see the gesture, but he slowed anyway.

A cart sat half off the road, its canopy slumped like it had given up. A man and a woman crouched beside it, heads close together, arguing in low voices. Crates were laid out on a cloth.

Seasonings. Small bundles tied with twine. Green things Nathan didn’t know the names for.

A slab of meat lay beneath linen, still pink at the edges.

Arlen reined in without protest.

No one tensed.
No hands went to weapons.

The smell reached Nathan.

Spices.

Zam’s whole posture changed. Not excitement, exactly. Something steadier. Practical. Like a weight had eased off his shoulders.

“I can cook tonight,” he said, almost to himself. Then, louder, “A real meal.”

Marla huffed. “Not a fan of my cooking?”

Zam froze. “Oh. No. Ma’am, I didn’t mean it like that.”

She snorted. “You’d better not.”

Arlen added mildly, “Your cooking is the best, dear.”

Marla waved him off without looking. “I know.”

Zam relaxed instantly, grinning. “I just meant I can help. My ma always says spices were half the work.”

“And she was right,” Marla said dryly. “Most of the time.”

Zam climbed down and made his purchases.

He came back with a sackful, like he was planning to feed twenty instead of five.

Nathan stayed quiet.

But his thoughts didn’t spiral.

They fell back into line with the other wagons.

Food.
People selling food.
A road that still had roadsides.

This is normal.

The chicken with the bright yellow eyes was staring at him again.

Just be happy you aren’t on the menu.

As the wagon rolled on, Zam and Marla talked over each other.

Both of them needed to win the argument.

Zam lifted a bulbous root Nathan’s mind insisted on calling an onion.

“You cut it with the grain,” Marla said, twisting halfway around in her seat and tugging the canvas back.

“That makes it fall apart,” Zam argued. “You go against it.”

“That’s how you bruise it.”

“That’s how you get flavor.”

She scoffed. “That’s how you get mush.”

Zam started to reply, stopped halfway through it, corrected himself, then forgot what he’d been saying entirely.

Marla continued anyway.

Nathan listened.

He didn’t brace for it this time.

He found himself almost… enjoying it. The mundane.

And Nathan thought Zam was right.

No one was going to argue with Marla about it.

Nathan found himself looking forward to the meal Zam was planning.

***

That evening, they pulled into the next stop.

Nathan watched as they moved at Zam’s direction, setting out the items and getting the fire going.

“Now you all just rest.”

Zam took over the fire like it was a battlefield.

He laid out what he’d bought with care that bordered on reverence. Meat unwrapped, turned, inspected. Vegetables sorted into small piles. He hummed under his breath as he worked, narrating to no one in particular.

“Now,” he said, lifting the slab of meat, “you don’t rush this part.”

He basted it generously, turning it over the flame, brushing it again. Smoke curled up, thick and fragrant. He set vegetables into a shallow pan, rolled them through oil and spices with his hands, then slid them onto the edge of the fire to char.

“Too much salt,” Zam muttered, sprinkling more anyway. He paused, frowned, then shook his head and added something green. “There. That’s better.”

Marla watched him for a moment longer than before.

She leaned closer, peered at the pan, then sniffed.

“Hm,” she said.

Arlen glanced at her. “That good or bad?”

Marla straightened. “Don’t get cocky,” she told Zam. “But you’re not ruining it.”

Zam brightened anyway.

“Ma always says cooking’s got healing powers,” he said, turning the meat again. “You do it right, people feel it.”

Nathan had been watching, fascinated from the wagon bed.

It was strangely hypnotic.

He wanted to be closer.

He swung his legs over the edge of the wagon.

Boots touched dirt.

The ground felt solid. Too solid. He stretched without thinking, felt it pull through his back and shoulders. He’d been curled up longer than he realized.

Kieran glanced over. He shifted slightly, one shoulder easing, just a fraction.

Nathan moved closer to the fire and sat on the same log as Kieran, leaving space between them.

Marla met Arlen’s eyes when Nathan sat.

They smiled at each other.

Zam noticed the shift a heartbeat later. He glanced over, saw Nathan by the fire, and faltered for just a second.

Then he squared his shoulders and kept going, talking faster now, like the words were part of the process.

Nathan watched the flames lick along the meat, listened to the soft sizzle of fat, the scrape of a spoon against the pan.

He smiled.
He didn’t speak.
No one asked him to.

The fire burned low and steady. Shadows stretched long across the clearing.

A plate was pressed into Nathan’s hands.

He took a bite.

It was even better than he’d expected.

Everyone went back for seconds.

Laughter rose and fell. Someone told a story that went nowhere. Bellies filled.

When the others drifted off, it happened slowly. One by one. Bedrolls unrolled. The fire left to itself.

Nathan was still there.

Kieran sat at the other end of the log.

The fire popped. A log shifted.

Nathan stared into it for a long moment.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice was hoarse.

Shit.

Kieran paused, his attention sharpening as he looked at Nathan. “Thank you for what?”

Nathan considered that. He cleared his throat.

“For letting me deal on my own,” he said. Then, quieter, “And for… taking care of me. When I wasn’t feeling myself.”

“You weren’t in the right state of mind,” Kieran said at last.

Nathan nodded.

“I’ve been there myself,” Kieran added.

Nathan looked up. “You have?”

Kieran stared into the fire.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“I’ll tell you about it another time.”

Nathan nodded.

Silence stretched.

Nathan looked down at his hands.

Draegor’s hands. Scarred.

Still not myself.

The thought snagged on something else.

Draegor.

He glanced at Kieran. Kieran’s head turned briefly as footsteps passed just beyond the firelight, then back again.

Did I really tell him my name?

The memory surfaced, uncomfortable and clear.

Fuck.

That was real.

Nathan swallowed.

Then why hasn’t he said it since?

“Sir,” Nathan said quietly, eyes still on the fire. “I… said a lot of strange things.”

Kieran studied him.

“Weird names,” Nathan added, a faint edge of self-consciousness creeping in. “I wasn’t exactly… clear.”

Kieran was quiet for a moment longer.

“As I said,” he replied evenly, “you weren’t in your right mind.”

He paused.

“I’m not holding you to anything you said then. I’ll hear it when you choose to tell me.”

Nathan’s gaze lifted to him, searching.

Kieran didn’t look away.

After a moment, Nathan turned back to the fire. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.

This guy. Giving me space to say it on my own.

Kieran cleared his throat. “We should talk about what we saw,” he said. “If you’re up for it.”

Nathan nodded once.

“So you saw it too,” he said.

“I did,” Kieran replied.

“That place,” Nathan continued. “Everything felt real, didn’t it?”

Kieran met his eyes. “I believe it was.”

Nathan hesitated. “Did you… feel her? Mal’s emotions?”

Kieran shook his head. “I viewed through her eyes,” he said. “But I don’t think I experienced it the way you did.”

“Oh.” Nathan nodded slowly.

They sat with that for a moment.

“Then why show us?” Nathan asked quietly. “What was the purpose?”

Kieran’s gaze lifted, unfocused, as he considered it. “The sign,” he said. “In the tutorial village.”

Nathan’s eyes sharpened. “May Aevandor be avenged.”

“Yes.” Kieran leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Though if what we saw was a memory, I don’t yet understand how it could be avenged.”

Nathan nodded.

After a moment, he said, “The interfaces. Mr. Arch’s looked just like yours.”

“That caught my attention as well,” Kieran said.

He glanced at Nathan. “As did the word Hollow. That’s what appears on your interface.”

Right. Hollow.

Nathan hesitated.

If I tell him what I think it means…

I already told him my name once. He must know a lot already.

Nathan fidgeted.

“What?” Kieran asked. “Whatever you have to say, it could be useful.”

Nathan exhaled.

Fuck it.

“Hollow,” he said after a moment. “I might be wrong. But I think it could mean void. None of them seemed to have mana.”

Kieran let out a short, surprised noise, then stopped himself. He studied Nathan more closely.

“You’re a void?” he said. “How? I’ve seen you use mana. I’ve seen you cast. You have that disgusting— I mean, that creature.”

Nathan’s gaze stayed on him.

Bob. His name is Bob.

“I’ve been told I’m an anomaly,” he said at last. “I don’t have a mana well.”

“Then how do you cast?” Kieran asked.

“I can absorb motes in dungeons.”

“Absorb…” Kieran repeated. He looked genuinely startled. “I’ve never heard of anyone capable of that.”

He went quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing.

“In Hollow Gate,” he said slowly, “there were only a few motes. In the beach biome. And then none.”

“Right,” Nathan said. “I couldn’t use mana on my sword there. I was completely drained.”

He let the words sit between them.

Kieran waited for his explanation.

“Bob can drain mana from mana-type monsters and share it with me,” he added. “He… charges me up.”

"He... charges you?"

"Yes. I can use the mana for a while. The more he gives me, the greater my output."

Understanding crossed Kieran’s face.

“Ah,” he said softly.

He looked at the fire quietly.

“In the forest biome. The Droswains.” He looked Nathan in the eye. “Did you know they’d attack us?”

"No," Nathan said plainly. "No, I did not."

Kieran looked at the ground. "It appears I've misunderstood you quite a bit."

He mumbled something.

"What was that, sir?"

Kieran cleared his throat. "I apologize for almost killing you. I was very intent on doing so."

Did I hear that right?

The memory surfaced.

"I almost let you." He said quietly.

"Why? Why do that if you were innocent?"

"I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t have much control over my magic.”

"You..." Kieran stared at him. "Can be very stupid sometimes. Incredibly stupid."

“Excuse me for caring whether you live or die! And if you don’t recall, sir, you have zero magic defense. I could have killed you.”

"I don't have a response for that."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. For what it’s worth. I did think about it later. That I could kill you if we were in that situation again. Self-defense and all that.” Nathan crossed his arms.

Kieran exhaled, something like a laugh, but quieter.

Nathan looked at him. "That's funny?"

"No, I think that's wise of you. I’m glad you're yourself again"

Nathan glanced at the fire. "Me too. And, uh, I accept your apology. Let's not do that again."

“Don’t give me cause.”

Nathan stared at him.

Of course he’d say that.

"Yeah, I'll do my best."

They sat in silence for a while longer.

“Do you really think that was Aevandor?” Nathan asked suddenly.

Kieran didn’t answer immediately.

"Yes. I do."

"The sign, if that really was tied to all of this. The power and legacy stuff. Is it talking about the interfaces?"

"It's possible."

“Then why does mine look and act so different?”
He frowned. “Why doesn’t yours get quests or notifications here?”

"Those I cannot answer, yet."

"And if it was a memory. When? Is it just a memory capsule? For whom?"

"If anything, it only deepened the mystery."

"That's an understatement."

Nathan’s focus slipped.

"I really don't want to go through that again."

“Unfortunately,” Kieran said. “I don’t believe that was the last of it.”

Nathan sighed heavily.

"Yeah. It's definitely not done with us."

Someone snored loudly behind them.

They both looked over their shoulders.

Then at each other.

"Time for bed?" Nathan asked.

"You go ahead. I've been sleeping in the wagon."

"Don't overdo it. Even if you didn't get the amount of emotions that I did. It couldn't have been easy for you either."

Kieran didn't answer.

Nathan inhaled.

"Uh, sir."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you at least set up your tent or bedroll?"

Kieran stared at him.

Nathan frowned. “What?”

“Someone has all the tents and bedrolls in his inventory.”

Nathan blinked.

The inventory...

Oh.
Oh shit.

Nathan gaped. “My bad!”

His head whipped toward Zam. "What's he been using?"

"Arlen and Marla had one extra bedroll."

"I am so sorry."

“Hm.”

Nathan immediately opened his inventory and started pulling things out.

I really do have everything in here. Everything.
All of it.

"It's fine. Really. Don't worry about the tents. Just pull out a bedroll for yourself."

Nathan stared at the embers for a few seconds, mortified.

"Yes, okay."

He rolled out the bedroll and laid down. It really was ten times better than his original one.

He drifted off to sleep with questions still circling.

***

The next morning, Nathan didn’t want to make a speech. He still felt he owed the group something.

People were already moving around the camp, dousing coals, tightening straps, checking wheels. Nathan cleared his throat and spoke just loudly enough to carry. “Thanks,” he said. “For waiting. And for… not pushing.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m good now.”

Zam waved it off immediately. Marla gave him a sharp look, then nodded once. Arlen smiled like he always did. No one lingered on it. No one made it heavier than it needed to be, and Nathan felt something inside him loosen.

As the last of the gear was being packed, Nathan stepped closer to Kieran. “We should talk today,” he said. “About what we can do going forward.”

Kieran studied him for a moment, then inclined his head. “That would be wise.”

Everyone climbed aboard.

“All ready?” Arlen called.

“Yes,” they all said in unison.

“All right.”

The wagon lurched forward on their fourth day.

“Arlen,” Nathan called from the back. “How much longer?”

“We shoulda been there yesterday,” Arlen grumbled. “All these damn people slowed us down. Should be there by sundown.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Good.”

Nathan turned to Kieran.

“Please, open your interface, sir.”

“My interface?”

“Yep.”

Brilliant gold shimmered into view.

Nathan leaned in despite himself. It really is pretty.

Designation: Kieran Halcyros
Attribute: Mana
Rank: D

“Sir,” Nathan said, “your overall rank increased.”

“So it did.”

HP: 142
MP: 48

Still the same here.

Nathan’s brow creased slightly. “Sir… you may be able to start learning to use magic.”

“What?” Kieran’s interest sharpened.

Nathan pointed. “The MP. Remember I told you about that.”

Kieran stared at it.

“It’s fine,” Nathan added quickly. “We’ll go over it later.”

He kept reading.

SKILLS
Weapon Mastery I
Combat Fundamentals I
Physical Conditioning II
Situational Awareness II
Resolve II

Some of these leveled up as well.

Innate Trait:
Threat Instinct (S-Rank)
Automatically prioritizes incoming danger signals, hostile intent, and lethal vectors. Responds before conscious awareness.
Battle Foresight: 0.1 seconds
Status: Active

“You’re active,” Nathan said. “And…”

He blinked. Then read it again.

“And what?” Kieran asked.

“An ability was added to your trait.”

“Battle foresight,” Kieran read slowly. “Point one seconds. What does that mean?”

Foresight? He can see the future? Holy shit.

“That you’re terrifying, sir.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Nathan’s gaze slid sideways to him.

I’m going to level the shit out of him.

Kieran frowned. “Draegor, I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

“Huh? Oh.” Nathan waved it off. “Just planning for our success, sir.”

Draegor.
I guess he’ll keep calling me that until I own up to my name. Fine.

Nathan exhaled slowly and looked down at his own interface. Still different. Still wrong. Still his.

I’ll figure you out too. And we’ll get answers along the way.

“Northern dungeon,” Nathan murmured. “Here we come.”