Too Much Weight on Asterion's Shoulders

Asterion was absolutely not soothed by Ymara’s words, and in fact his anxiety was reaching a new high.

“The fate of the world and the lives of everyone in it is in your hands,” Ymara finished somberly.

Asterion made a horrible keening sound. He could feel the room swaying around him, and he was worried he would faint again.

Ymara placed a hand on his shoulder but was clearly at a loss in trying to comfort Asterion. “Don’t worry,” he said, keeping his voice soft and light, “I have faith in you. Like I said, there is a reason I chose you as my champion. And the Demon Lord isn’t that close to Transcending!” That sounds like a barely concealed lie. “I brought you into the game now so that you would have time to prepare for your battle and get used to fighting with your hands instead of with a keyboard.”

“Really?” Asterion asked. When he looked at Ymara his vision was blurry again, but he realized that was because tears were starting to form in his eyes.

“Really,” Ymara confirmed. Asterion knew it was a lie, but he held onto it anyway. “Just don’t take too long though. He won’t be Transcending tomorrow, but every day he grows a little more powerful as more people worship the game.”

Asterion inhaled deeply and took another moment to collect himself. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he stood up with a determined look on his face and said, “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“You don’t really have a choice anymore, but I’m glad you’re feeling more confident!” Ymara said. Asterion huffed but ignored him in favor of clearing out his room; he should hit the road now if he wanted to live another day. “Oh!” Ymara said as Asterion prepared to leave the room. “I forgot I was going to explain to you what it means to be an NPC!

“As you may have already realized, you are in the body of your video game avatar.” Asterion hadn’t put much thought into it if he was being honest, but it made sense why he could see so clearly without his glasses. “You have retained all of the stats and skills your avatar had. If you want to access the game menu, just swipe your left hand down. You are still forced to comply with WanderQuest’s profanity filter; certain people have had problems with that in the past, but I don’t think you will have too much of an issue with it.

“I have also placed an enchantment on everyone that knows you in the real world; they still remember who you are but don’t feel the need to check up on you so they won’t realize your absence.” That part didn’t really bother Asterion. He didn’t have any friends in the real world, and he could use a break from his parents' weekly why-are-you-such-a-disappoinment phone calls. “Since you are not only the best player in WanderQuest but also the most famous, I’ve had to wipe every player’s memory of you. If players remembered who you were and saw you as an NPC in the game, there would be quite a lot of confusion and who knows what could happen. It’s better that no one remembers you.”

Immediately, Asterion’s brain latched onto that last part. “What? What do you mean, no one remembers me? What about… what about my friends?” He couldn’t bring himself to say Daffodil’s name, not now when it turned out he might not even know who Asterion was.

Ymara’s expression took on something that looked almost like pity. “I’m sorry, truly I am, but it would be dangerous if someone recognized you and with your popularity it’s guaranteed someone would. If it was brought to the game developers attention, they might try to reboot the game, and I don’t know what would happen to you. Other NPCs will remember any interactions they’ve had with you, and you can still talk to them so you won’t be entirely isolated.”

“I don’t give a fudge about NPCs!” Asterion shouted, and apparently that profanity filter could turn out to be a problem for him. “What about… what about him!” Asterion still couldn’t bring himself to say his name. Before he knew what he was doing, Asterion was slamming the door open. He barely managed to say, “I have to see if he still remembers,” before he was out the door and in the half-filled tavern.

It was almost jarring to be in a semi-crowded space and not have players swarming him, but Asterion couldn’t dwell on it as he was filled with the all-consuming need to go, to see him. Once he was in the main square, Asterion almost stumbled when he realized the sun was preparing to set. It had been the middle of the day when he logged on to WanderQuest. How much time had passed after he had fainted? He barely lost momentum, however, as he regained his balance and pushed on. A few players tried to approach him, but Asterion started sprinting like his life depended on it. It certainly felt like it did.

Distantly, Asterion marveled at his newfound stamina. He wasn’t exactly out of shape in the real world, but he definitely wasn’t an athlete; of course, he had found a way to be perfectly in the middle. In WanderQuest, though, Asterion had long since maxed out his stamina so he could keep swinging his sword in battle long after everyone else—monster and player alike—had tired out. It was definitely coming in handy now as Asterion pushed himself harder than ever before. Even still, the journey from Caspia to Daffodil’s valley was almost an hour, a little over when Asterion had to stop to quickly kill a few monsters that wouldn’t leave him alone.

By the time he finally reached the valley, the sun was really starting to set, bathing the sky in a blood red color. He climbed the final ridge and surveyed down to see if he could spot Daffodil. After a few heart pounding moments, his eyes settled on a figure at the base of the ridge. It was a player throwing a stick, and was that a wolf next to it? The wolf bounded after the stick like an overgrown puppy and the figure’s shoulders slumped in content. The sunset distorted the colors, but Asterion would recognize the man anywhere. The tiny sprawling details on the shirt that he knew were hundreds of embroidered flowers, the long choppy hair, the relaxed position he always seemed to assume when Asterion arrived. Asterion knew with every fiber of his being that this was his Daffodil.

He couldn’t wait any longer, not even long enough to sprint down the ridge. Every part of Asterion burned with a need, the need to know if Daffodil still remembered him. He filled his lungs with flower-scented air and, with all his might, shouted, “Daffodil!”

The man turned his way.