— CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE —

  Summer

  \Davi/

  December 20th - the year before Project Dawnfall's release.

  The snow fell in thick, lazy spirals outside my window, building pristine on the branches of the oak tree in our front yard. I'd wrapped myself in my favorite blue fleece blanket, creating a soft cocoon as I watched winter slowly transform our neighborhood. I felt a little too old to go and make a snowman, but I'd like to do something while it was fresh. Maybe walk around the lake. The house was quiet except for the distant murmur of the TV downstairs - some holiday special my parents were watching - and the occasional mechanical groan of the refrigerator.

  "Davi!" Clark's voice echoed up the stairwell, followed by the familiar creak of his footsteps on the wooden steps.

  He appeared in my doorway, his lanky frame filling the space, two steaming mugs in his hands. His dark hair was still damp from the shower, and he wore the faded university sweatshirt he practically lived in whenever he was home from college.

  "Here." He extended one of the mugs toward me - hot chocolate with the tiny marshmallows floating on top, just the way Mom had made it for us since we were kids.

  I unwrapped one hand from my blanket cocoon to take it. "Thanks."

  He sat on the table by the window, his sock-covered feet propped against my desk chair. He blew across the surface of his hot chocolate before taking a sip. Silent for a moment, he stared at the drink, then let out a 'phew' - the deep sigh of someone committing to a choice that's been on their mind for some time. He stretched one leg out and swung the door shut.

  "So." he said finally, staring out at the snow. "Did you tell them?"

  I raised my mug to my lips, buying time. "Tell who what?"

  "C'mon, Davi. Have you told Mom and Dad that you're a woman?"

  The hot chocolate burned my tongue, but I welcomed the distraction. He was the only one I told. To everyone else - to my parents - I was still their son.

  "... No."

  Clark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know they love you. They've always been supportive - you remember when I wanted to dye my hair black?"

  The memory bubbled up, and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped. Fifteen-year-old Clark, convinced he needed to look 'hardcore' for his garage band's first gig. The terrible boxed dye job that turned his brown hair an uneven purple-black shade. The way Mom had just shaken her head and helped him fix the splotchy parts.

  "It looked terrible, but they let me do it." Clark continued. "They know we're people; they know we can make choices about who we are."

  "I know..." The words came out barely above a whisper. And I did know, on some level. Our parents weren't close-minded people. They had gay friends. They'd voted for progressive candidates. But... I didn't want to change how they looked at me. I didn't want to tell them the person they thought I was never existed.

  Clark leaned forward. "Do you want me to do it? I can tell them you don't want it to be a thing."

  "No!" The force of my response surprised even me. The idea of not being present was even worse - it felt wrong, even if the prospect of doing it myself was terrifying.

  "Why not? What are you waiting for?" His voice wasn't judgmental, just genuinely curious. Clark had always been straightforward, comfortable in his own skin in a way I envied.

  I picked at a loose thread on my blanket. "It's just... easier like this."

  "That's no way to live, Davi."

  I knew he was right. Every day I spent pretending was another day I wasn't actually living. But the alternative... it was like looking down a cliff at a verdant valley, and I was too scared to jump.

  "Then... maybe when I'm living on my own."

  Clark looked at me for a long moment, then set his mug of hot chocolate on the desk with a decisive thunk. He pulled his phone from his pocket.

  "Check this out." He extended the phone toward me.

  On the screen was a video, a stylized logo - 'Project Dawnfall'.

  "A game?" I asked.

  "You haven't heard of it?" Clark's eyes lit up. "Not just any game - the world's first true VR game! A completely immersive reality."

  The trailer ran through stunning visuals of people fighting fantastical monsters - a woman with glowing hands hurling fire at a towering beast, a man in armor deflecting an attack with a shimmering shield. Then it cut to exploration sequences: characters walking through ancient ruins, discovering hidden passageways that opened onto breathtaking vistas.

  "The neural interface is supposed to be so advanced you actually feel like you're there - smell, touch, everything."

  The video flashed to a battlefield scene - dozens of players charging across a muddy plain, spells and weapons creating chaos. Then it shifted again, showcasing more peaceful activities: people relaxing on a beach, the sun glinting off the impossibly crystalline water; a character carefully building what looked like a small cottage, setting out the bounds of a space that automatically filled in to make walls; someone decorating the interior of a house, moving furniture and hanging art on the walls.

  Then the character customization. The demo showed a player avatar floating in a void. The player - a man with close-cropped dark hair - was adjusting his character's features: raising the cheekbones, tweaking the smile to be brighter and wider. But I immediately understood what Clark was really showing me.

  In this game, I could be... me.

  "Total physical control." Clark continued, his voice softer now. "Height, weight, voice, everything. And it's not just dress-up - the neural interface makes you feel it."

  The trailer ended with a montage of players doing everything from fighting dragons to farming to dancing in elaborate ballrooms, followed by a release date: August 1st.

  "Why don't we give it a try together?" Clark suggested, taking his phone back.

  I hugged my blanket tighter around me. "I don't know..."

  "No commitment or anything. What happens in Dawnfall stays in Dawnfall. I just want you to see what you're missing."

  My throat felt tight, caught between fear and a flicker of hope. "... Ok..."

  Clark's face broke into a wide grin, and he reached over to give my arm a squeeze through the blanket. "Atta girl. Trust me - it's gonna be a blast." He jumped to his feet with sudden energy, snatching up his mug of hot chocolate. "Now come on; get your coat on! Let's see how thick the ice on the lake is!"

  Before I could respond, he was already out the door and thundering down the stairs, chugging his hot chocolate as he went. I could hear his voice calling out to our parents that we were heading outside, followed by Mom's reminder to wear hats.

  I untangled myself from my nest of blankets and chugged my own the hot chocolate. A strange lightness had settled in my chest - not quite excitement, but something adjacent to it.

  ---

  August 5th - a few days after Dawnfall's launch.

  I was stood on a quiet, empty street of Faustenburg. In front of me was a salon - nothing out of the ordinary in appearance, but the sign in the window said 'Character Recustomization - hair, face, body - be who you want to be!' I'd found it on our first day, but I always had an excuse not to go in. At first it was 'I can't think about myself; we've got to warn people!' Then 'I should focus my early money on supplies - I have to be practical!' But I never even checked the price, and I kept coming back to stare through the window.

  I wiped my damp palms on my starter gear pants. The sensations in Dawnfall were uncanny - not quite reality, but close enough that I could feel the rawness of my hands from wiping them too often on the rough fabric, could feel the flutter of anxiety in my chest.

  But I did it.

  One foot in front of the other. Just walk in. Just do it.

  The door chimed as I pushed it open. The interior was elegant and minimalist - white walls, stylish furniture in muted blues and greens, soft ambient music playing. It reminded me of upscale salons from reality shows, the kind where people went in looking ordinary and came out suing the show for ruining their nose.

  The NPC at the front counter smiled as I staggered over. "Welcome!" she said brightly. "How can I help you today? A new hairstyle? Facial adjustments?"

  I tried to open my mouth, but it wasn't working. I stood there, mute, the corners of my mouth twitching as the NPC maintained her pleasant smile with inhuman patience.

  Finally, I fumbled for the menu controls, selecting character recustomization.

  "Excellent choice!" she chirped, as if I'd spoken aloud. "Please, right this way!"

  She led me through a door at the back of the salon, into a room that was nothing like the reception area. It was circular, with a massive mirror covering one entire wall, wrapping around in a gentle curve. The floor was a subtle dark gray that seemed to fade away beneath my feet, making the space feel infinite. The only furniture was a single chair positioned in front of the mirror. The textures flicked as we walked in - just a minor glitch as I loaded into a private instance.

  "Take all the time you need." the NPC said. "Simply accept your changes when finished, or cancel to return to your original appearance." She backed out of the room, leaving me alone with my reflection.

  A menu materialized in the air before me, hundreds of sliders and options organized into categories: Body, Face, Hair, Voice, Markings, and more. Each category had dozens of subcategories. You could become literally anyone.

  I stood frozen, staring at the options. Where would I even begin? I flipped through the categories, stopping at a random one labeled 'Hands'. Inside were options for everything from nail length to knuckle definition. I found 'Finger Thickness' and tentatively dragged the slider a tiny bit to the right.

  My fingers swelled slightly. The change sent a jolt through me, a strange tingling sensation that did not mix well with my nerves. I could feel the skin stretching, the bones thickening. It wasn't painful, but it was... intense.

  Hastily, I moved the slider back, watching my fingers shrink to their original size. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I dragged it all the way left. My fingers became skeletal, skin stretched tight over visible bones. Another jolt, this time catching in my throat and leaving me unable to breathe. I had to coach myself through a deep breath.

  I'm ok. It's not real.

  I reset the slider to its original position and navigated back to the main menu. At the top was an option: 'Template Selection'.

  In addition to the automatically-generated facsimile of my real body, there was a grid of options for archetypical body types: a bulk bodybuilder type, a lean athletic build, a stockier frame with a barrel chest, an 'elven' willowy look. Shorter, casual, skinny, more plain - everything to get you started moving toward what you want to look like.

  Then there were the female options.

  The one I paused looking at was a very average look. Nothing extreme or exaggerated. Just... a woman. An ordinary woman with a normal build, normal proportions.

  And, once again, I stood there. I wiped my palms on my pants and stared.

  What was I afraid of? Myself? That I'd like it too much? That I wouldn't like it enough?

  Why was I born such a coward?

  A cold knot crept through my stomach. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the interface.

  But I did it.

  My hand shook as I reached out and activated the template.

  The creeping in my gut immediately swirled to the outside as my body... shifted. Like thousands of tiny bubbles moving under my skin, pulling pieces around. My waist pinched inward. My hips widened, forcing my legs farther out.

  The sensations overwhelmed me. I gasped, suddenly short of breath, and stumbled backward. My hand groped blindly for support and found the chair. I clutched it, steadying myself as the changes continued.

  When the shifting finally stopped, I remained bent over, eyes closed, breathing heavily. I couldn't look. Not yet. I could still cancel, still go back.

  No. I'd come too far.

  Slowly, I raised my head and opened my eyes.

  In the mirror stood a woman. Her hair was just as messy as it was a moment ago, a few strands hanging in front of her face. She looked tired, winded, afraid, alone. She was utterly unremarkable.

  But she was... me.

  Then the tears came, not in gentle streams but in heaving sobs. I collapsed to my knees, arms wrapped around myself in a desperate hug. Years of wrongness, of looking in mirrors and seeing a stranger - all of it crashed through me in waves of grief and relief.

  I was nothing special, but I- I felt beautiful.

  I don't know how long I sat there. I cried until my throat felt raw, until I was sitting on the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest, rocking slightly. Through it all, I kept looking up at the mirror, at me. But eventually, the tears subsided enough for me to stand on shaky legs.

  The customization menu still floated in the middle of the room. There were thousands of adjustments I could make - lengthening my legs, changing my nose, adjusting the timbre of my voice. But as I looked at my reflection again, at this woman with my eyes looking back at me, I felt perfect. It... it was perfect.

  I reached out and pressed 'Accept Changes'.

  The room dissolved around me, and I found myself back in the main salon. The NPC stylist smiled at me as if no time had passed at all.

  "An excellent choice!" she said. "You look wonderful. Will there be anything else today?"

  I shook my head, unable to trust my voice.

  "Thank you for visiting! We hope to see you again soon."

  I stumbled out of the salon into the night. Players still wandered the streets - some heading to taverns for the evening, others setting out on night quests, judging by their armor and weapons. None of them looked at me any differently. My nameplate still showed the same username I'd chosen at creation. The world was exactly the same, except for me.

  I felt lighter, like I'd set down a burden I'd been carrying for years. And simultaneously, I felt more substantial, more real than I ever had, even though this body was nothing but data and electrical signals. The remnants of my tears prickled in the cool night air.

  Exhaustion swept over me suddenly. It'd been a long day. So I made my way toward the inn I'd been staying at.

  ---

  September 13th - a few days after the Oxtongue Raid.

  Sunlight streamed through the small window of my inn room, painting warm rectangles across the wooden floor. For the first time in days, I woke without that knot of dread coiled in my stomach. Oxtongue was behind us now. I stretched, feeling the pleasant pull of muscles that had finally been allowed proper rest, and saw a notification in the corner of my vision. A message.

  It was from Courtney - the reporter that took my interview after the raid. My heart instantly quickened its pace. I'd used mine to put out a message to try and contact Clark.

  [Courtney]: Howdy howdy, and do I have good news for you! Your brother got in contact with us! I told him to come to the office, so come down as soon as you read this!

  The words blurred as I read them a second time, then a third. It worked! He found me!

  I sat up so abruptly that the blanket tangled around my legs. My hands trembled as I pushed it away, a strange hollowness opening in my chest. Why was I suddenly so nervous? This was Clark - my brother, the one person who'd always seen me for who I really was, even before I could admit it to myself. It was just... it'd been a while since I'd seen him.

  I slid my feet to the floor and fumbled with my menus to change into my gear, then headed over to the Celestial Daily's office. It was a very small building for such a big-name organization - it was nestled into a quiet corner of the southwestern Sunfire District, not too far from the Protectorate's academy.

  I stood outside for a moment, taking deep breaths, trying to calm the flutter in my chest. This was ridiculous. I'd faced down dungeon monsters and helped with Oxtongue. Why was seeing my own brother making me shake like a leaf?

  Because this mattered more.

  Squaring my shoulders, I pushed open the door.

  There was a reception desk up front, but it was empty, so I went right past to the main office space.

  One entire wall was dedicated to the printing operation - a row of copying machines that looked like a strange hybrid of medieval and modern technology churning out copies of the day's paper run by some young boys. The editor's office door at the back wall was closed, and the area in front of it was filled with the bank of reporters' desks. They only had a handful of writers, and only two people were present at the moment. One of them was Courtney sitting casually on her desk.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  And the other...

  His username was 'Clark'. Literally just 'Clark'. I... felt like a doofus for not expecting that.

  He wore light adventurer's armor, leather reinforced with metal at the joints and chest, a far cry from his usual college sweatshirts and jeans. But beneath all that, he was unmistakably Clark - same perpetually messy hair, same slight lopsidedness to his smile, same bright spark in his eyes. He was still with me. Even here, I wasn't alone.

  "There she is!" His voice broke the strange stillness that had fallen over me.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Courtney slid off her desk with a knowing smile.

  "I'll give you two some space." she said.

  Clark crossed the room, arms already spreading wide. Before I could prepare myself, I was enveloped in a bear hug that lifted me slightly off my feet. My face pressed against the leather of his armor as he swayed us back and forth.

  He didn't smell like Clark. Instead, there was leather and metal and the faint tang of sweat. Everyone smelled a bit more 'adventurer-y' in game. But his voice, the solid strength of his arms around me, the way he always hugged as if he might never get another chance - that was all Clark.

  My eyes burned, and before I could stop them, tears were spilling down my cheeks, soaking into his armor.

  "I'm so proud of you. Look at yourself! You're finally you... and a hero, no less!"

  I shook my head, trying to wipe my tears with the back of my hand. "I- I didn't do anything."

  "Of course you did! You didn't just survive out here; you thrived!"

  "I just - I just went along." I managed, my voice wobbling pathetically. "Everyone else did the real work."

  "That's not what the papers are saying! Davi, do you have any idea how amazing it is that you're here at all? That you've made it this far? Most people would have broken down completely."

  I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around him again, burying my face against his chest as my shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  His hand came up to stroke my hair. "Hey, hey. It's okay. I've got you now."

  We stood like that for several moments, the sound of the printing presses a steady backdrop to my quiet crying. Finally, I pulled away, embarrassed at the wet spot I'd left on his armor.

  "Sorry." I mumbled, wiping at my face.

  He laughed. "For what? Come on; let's sit down somewhere. I saw a cafe a few blocks away on my way in."

  I nodded, finally managing to get my emotions somewhat under control. "O-okay."

  He slung an arm around my shoulders. "Great. Let's go."

  Clark turned back toward Courtney's desk, raising his voice slightly. "Thanks for everything!"

  I offered a small, awkward wave then, with Clark's arm still around my shoulders, we walked out together.

  ---

  September 15th - the night after the Gate Opening Ceremony.

  After the ceremony, when the raid was finally let go and managed to get through the crowd of people looking for pictures and autographs, we went to a bar for a little party amongst ourselves.

  The others were laughing over drinks while I set on the sidelines at a window-side table with a mug of hot chocolate, observing more than participating. Social situations weren't really my thing.

  "Your sister," Fritz's voice caught my attention, floating above the general din, "is something else, you know that?" He'd leaned in toward Clark, both of them with tankards of beer at the bar.

  Clark grinned. "Oh yeah, I never thought my sister, of all people, would stand up to one of the bosses in here!"

  "Oh, we were all nervous." Fritz said. "But when we were up there ready to get started, it was Davi that broke the ice. She led us in a cheer, got the nerves shook out and blood pumping."

  Clark leaned back, eyebrows shooting up as he glanced in my direction. "Really now?"

  Fritz nodded emphatically. "We would still be standing at the edge of the courtyard looking at Oxtongue without her. I'm telling you, man, everyone was frozen. No one wanted to make the first move."

  Clark turned toward me fully now, raising his voice. "You didn't tell me that part, Davi!"

  I forced what I hoped was a brave smile, but couldn't find anything to say.

  Thankfully, Clark seemed to sense my discomfort and turned back to Fritz, smoothly shifting the conversation. "So someone mentioned you've been to the high-level zones? Any good loot out there worth chasing?"

  Their conversation drifted to speculation about drop rates and rare materials. I sipped my hot chocolate, letting their voices blend with the general hum of the bar.

  As the night wore on, the crowd thinned gradually. Some of our raid party had already left, others had split into smaller groups. A bard had started playing in one corner, and a few players were dancing.

  "Well, I should probably head out." Fritz announced, pushing away from the bar. He clapped Clark on the shoulder. "It's been good meeting you. Your sister's got some serious guts."

  Clark smiled, raising his nearly-empty glass. "Runs in the family."

  Fritz snorted. "Yeah, sure." He turned, catching my eye across the room, and gave a small salute. "Nice raid, Davi. You saved lives out there."

  I managed a nod and a small wave as he turned back to Clark. "Oh, and hey - if you hear anything about dreamleaf, let me know, alright? We've been trying to track down a reliable source."

  Clark nodded. "Same to you."

  As Fritz navigated his way through the remaining patrons toward the door, Clark gathered up his drink and made his way over to my table. He dropped into the chair across from me with an exaggerated groan.

  "Alright, ceremony done. So, what's next? Are you going to keep with the Citadel?"

  "I, uh, was hoping you would know what to do." I admitted.

  "Well how about this?" Clark went into his inventory and pulled out an old copy of the newspaper - from September 7th. He flipped it open to a dog-eared page and slid it across the table. Circled in red was an advertisement for a guild called Shake Spear - an adventuring contract office.

  "We could sign up together." Clark said, leaning forward eagerly. "Go on some quests, see the world. There's some crazy stuff out there waiting to be seen!"

  I had to smile at his enthusiasm. "Alright!"

  ---

  November 4th - the Monday after Halloween

  Ancient hill forts dotted the rolling landscape, their crumbling stone walls jutting from the earth like broken teeth. The sky above us was vast and limitless, streaked with wispy clouds that drifted lazily across the pale blue canvas. The Faustenburg Plains stretched around us like an endless sea of grass, rippling under the November wind. My hair whipped across my face as another gust of wind cut through our little caravan, and I tucked the loose strands behind my ear, keeping my eyes fixed on the hillside to our right.

  We were escorting a gathering run - a bunch of low-combat-level members of Ethanolics Anonymous scoured the countryside around us, picking it clean of usable resources. Ahead of me, Clark strolled with his hands in his pockets, occasionally turning to crack jokes with the gatherers who laughed a little too loudly at his terrible puns.

  I hung back near the rear of the group, bow in hand but undrawn. The Faustenburg Plains were technically a starting zone - the mobs at the tail end barely reached level 5 - but the gatherers were civilians with minimal combat skills. Even a lowly plains wolf could pose a threat to them. But for us? All it took was a single arrow.

  The group moved slowly but steadily across the plains. I watched as they filled their inventory screens with herbs, ores, and other crafting materials. Every now and then, a gatherer would let out a pleased exclamation when they found something rare or valuable.

  I kept my attention on our surroundings, trailing slightly behind the main group as they worked.

  That's when I heard the shouts from the front of our group.

  Five figures had jumped out from the ruins ahead of us, their faces wrapped in cloths that hid their nameplates. Bandits - Fringe.

  Before any of us could react, one of them - wielding a greataxe - activated the leap skill, launching himself into the middle of our gathering party. The civilians scattered with panicked cries, but the bandit managed to grab one of them - a young man who'd been collecting ores - and yanked him close, pressing the edge of his axe against the gatherer's throat.

  "No one move!" the bandit bellowed.

  Up ahead, the other four bandits formed a line across the road. Two of them trained bows on our group while the other two faced off against Clark, swords drawn and ready.

  The leader - the one with the greataxe and hostage - swiveled toward me. "You there! Drop the weapon or the civvie gets it!" He pressed the blade closer to his hostage's neck, making the man whimper.

  My hands trembled. The briefing had covered bandit situations - I knew there was a protocol, some kind of standard response, but my mind had gone completely blank. My bow felt heavy in my suddenly sweaty palms.

  "I said drop it!" the bandit leader screamed, waving his axe in front of the hostage's face.

  I let the bow slip from my fingers. It fell into the grass and despawned.

  Ahead, Clark had raised his hands. "Easy there, fellas. How can we help you today?"

  The bandit with the axe gestured toward a shallow ditch that ran alongside the road. "Everyone line up!" he barked. "All in one place - no funny moves!"

  The terrified gatherers began to shuffle toward the ditch, hands raised.

  Clark took a step toward them. "Take what you want and leave the people." he said calmly. "We don't want trouble."

  "You stay right there!" the leader snarled, pointing his axe at Clark. He turned to the gatherers who were now lined up along the ditch. "The rest of you, empty your inventories! Leave the window open in front of you, hands behind your head!"

  The civilians did as they were told, opening their inventory windows and dumping their contents onto the ground. Piles of herbs, ores, raw materials, and tools materialized in heaps before them.

  The leader motioned to one of the swordsmen. "Get it all."

  The bandit approached the piles and began scooping the items into his inventory, moving down the line like a vacuum cleaner. After clearing about half the piles, though, he stopped. "My inventory's full!" he called back to the leader.

  The axe-wielding bandit let out a bark of laughter. "You love to see it! I like the cooperative ones! Swap out!"

  The first swordsman retreated to where the archers stood and began a quick trading sequence, transferring items between their inventories. Meanwhile, the second swordsman advanced to continue collecting the dropped goods.

  The leader strolled along the line of trembling gatherers, using the haft of his axe to poke through the remaining piles of items. "Hmm. You're looking a little light on herbs here. I think you're holding out on us."

  Clark, still standing with his hands up, shook his head. "They have their inventories open - you can see what they have."

  The leader tilted his head, and though I couldn't see his face beneath the wrappings, I could hear the malicious smile in his voice. "We've got word that people are trying to hide stuff in their shoes and inside their clothes." He raised his voice to address the line of gatherers. "Strip down to your underwear, all of you."

  A shocked silence fell over the group, broken only by the sound of the wind through the grass.

  "Is that really necessary?" Clark asked.

  "Do it!" the leader roared, suddenly swinging his axe in a wide arc that made everyone flinch. "Do I have to kill someone to make my point here?! Get to it!"

  With shaking hands, the gatherers began to remove their outer clothing. Boots, coats, pants, shirts - all piled on the ground beside them as they stood shivering.

  One of the swordsmen moved down the line, poking through their discarded clothing, turning out pockets and shaking boots. He peered inside shoes and checked the linings of jackets before finally returning to the leader. "They got nothing." he reported.

  The leader made a sound of disappointment. "Alright, I stand corrected. Sorry for bothering you."

  The bandit leader tightened his grip on his hostage, pressing the edge of the greataxe against the trembling man's throat as he toward Clark. My brother stood firm.

  "Now you." the leader snarled, jerking his chin toward Clark. "Dump your stuff. All of it!"

  Clark's hands moved slowly to his menu, opening his inventory window. He began dropping items onto the ground in front of him - a growing pile of odds and ends spawned in the grass. Torn scraps of cloth, punctured venom glands, rocks - literal rocks - that he'd been carrying around, broken pieces of ancient pottery, a tangled mass of string, a handful of dull gray feathers.

  The bandit leader's posture shifted, his grip on the hostage loosening slightly as confusion replaced some of his aggression. "What is this? Why are you carrying this... garbage? Are you mocking us?!"

  "I'm a bit of a hoarder. Forgot to vendor my junk before we left."

  "Well, how are we supposed to carry all this?!" He kicked at a small pile of shimmering scales, sending them scattering across the grass. "Keep the greys - I want the good stuff!"

  "Alright, alright." Clark got down on his knees, beginning to sort through the pile.

  While he worked, Clark glanced up at the bandit. "Hey, can you lay off the guy you're holding? We're cooperating."

  The leader scoffed. "Oh?" He dug the blade of his axe into the civilian's throat. "Does this bother you?"

  The metal sank into the man's skin, leaving a blue wireframe scar that widened as the bandit pushed deeper. The civilian's eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a soundless gasp. The axe cut deeper, slicing through almost half his neck now.

  "Look at that!" the leader crowed. "We're through the windpipe here and they're fine! Does that upset you?" He twisted the blade slightly. "Are you upset that this person isn't actually getting hurt? They're fine! See?"

  Clark's hands had stilled over the pile of items. "Easy there!" he said, his voice tight. "It's a person's life!"

  The leader pulled his axe back just enough to gesture broadly with it, still keeping the hostage secured with his other arm. "Oh please, you believe that death stuff? They made these things capable of killing us? Come on, that's some sci-fi shit. It's a game! They just kick us out of the server when we die. Probably streaming it all, make it a big event - see what happens when you trap a bunch of monkeys in a box! Use your brain!"

  Clark remained kneeling, his eyes locked on the bandit. The pile of sorted items lay forgotten between them.

  "Watch!" the leader exclaimed.

  In one swift motion, he finished sawing through the neck of the hostage he was holding. The man immediately burst into a cloud of glittering blue dust that scattered in the sudden gust of wind. The particles danced like fireflies before settling into a small pile on the ground, the only evidence that someone had been standing there seconds before.

  "Another lucky one getting out of here early!" The bandit leader shouted, swinging his axe in a celebratory arc.

  My mouth filled with a bitter taste. I remembered Erik lying there in the rain, his limp body sprawled in the mud of the town square, his eyes empty and staring at the stars. I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth ached.

  Clark remained frozen, kneeling there with his mouth hanging open, staring at the pile of dust being scattered by the wind. His hands hung uselessly at his sides.

  The bandit leader strode toward the line of remaining gatherers, who pressed against each other, trying to back away. He seized another civilian - a young woman whose wispy brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail - and dragged her forward. The axe came up to her throat, pressing against her pale skin.

  "You want to join 'em?" he called to Clark. "Keep sorting!"

  Clark swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly. He closed his mouth and silently returned to sorting the pile of items. His hands moved mechanically now.

  One of the archer bandits lowered his bow slightly, checking something in his menu. He hurried over to the leader, leaning in close to whisper something urgent.

  The leader's posture changed immediately. "Scratch that." he barked, interrupting Clark's sorting. "We don't have time for this - pick it all up."

  Clark hesitated only a second before gathering his belongings, scooping items back into his inventory. Slowly, he rose to his feet, keeping his movements cautious.

  The leader scanned the distant hills, searching for something. He turned back to Clark, the wrapped face lingering on him for an uncomfortably long moment.

  "We'll do this the direct way." he said suddenly. "Catch!"

  He shoved his captive toward Clark, who caught the woman and quickly shuffled her aside toward the rest of the gatherers. But while his hands were full, the leader charged.

  His greataxe arced through the air as he rushed at Clark, the massive blade gleaming in the sunlight. Clark sidestepped quickly and fired a magical shot at the ground. The arrow struck the earth and erupted into a web of glowing energy that snaked around the leader's ankles, tethering him in place.

  "Everyone back!" Clark shouted to the gatherers, reaching for another arrow.

  He never got the chance to fire it.

  One of the swordsmen had circled around behind him. Before I could shout a warning, the bandit drove his blade through Clark's back. Clark stumbled forward, propelled by the force of the thrust, directly toward the leader.

  I reached behind my shoulder, respawning my bow. My breath came in shallow gasps as I leveled the weapon at them, trying to aim through vision that kept blurring.

  The leader swung his axe.

  The blade caught Clark's neck as he stumbled, unable to defend himself with the sword still impaling him from behind. The axe sliced clean through in one swipe.

  And then he was gone. Dissolved into a shower of blue particles, scattering across the plains grass. His bow clattered to the ground, the only solid thing remaining of my brother.

  I stood frozen, my own bow raised but my hand shaking too badly to grab the string. I hadn't fired a single shot. I'd done nothing.

  The bandits turned toward me now, their attention shifting like predators spotting fresh prey. The leader yanked his feet free of the fading tether and stalked toward me, his axe dripping with dust.

  "Hey now." he said, his voice almost conversational. "I told you to drop that, remember? Now what am I going to have to do to you?"

  But one of the archers hung back, their attention caught by something on the distant horizon. "Raz..."

  "What now?" the leader whined. "Oh relax - they said they were minutes aw-"

  A gunshot split the air like thunder. One of the swordsmen crumpled, a blue wireframe scar blossoming from his forehead where the bullet had punched through. Before I could blink, arrows hissed through the air, slicing through the legs of an archer who dropped to the ground with a strangled cry. The world around me exploded into chaos, but I stood rooted to the spot, my bow dangling uselessly from numb fingers.

  The archer who'd been hanging back whipped around, and without a word, bolted, sprinting away across the plains.

  A sheet of ice condensed across the ground, spreading outward in a glittering wave. It caught the leader and the remaining swordsman, freezing their feet in place. The leader cursed, his axe raised mid-swing as the ice locked around his ankles. He swung his axe behind his back to prime a leap.

  An arrow whistled through the air, aimed straight for his head. But the bandit was already moving, his body launching upward and forward as the skill activated. The arrow grazed his face, tearing away the cloth. As he sailed away, I caught a glimpse of his nameplate:

  Razorto [Grimoire]

  Another gunshot cracked the air. The remaining swordsman's head snapped back, a blue wireframe scar exploding from his temple. His body went limp, toppling to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

  Two figures sprinted in from behind the hill. The first was an archer clad in dark leather, a hood pulled low over their face, obscuring their features completely. Beside them ran a man in a bright red shirt layered under light leather armor, a smoking pistol still raised in his right hand. Above both their heads floated nameplates marking them as members of a guild called Bedlam.

  The hooded archer didn't pause, immediately giving chase to the fleeing bandits. The man with the pistol - Rho, his name was - skidded to a halt near the fallen Fringe members, snapping his fingers. Purple energy coalesced in his left hand, forming into an arcane sword. He set about dismembering the fallen bandits, making sure they couldn't fight or run.

  "Two escapees, three down." he muttered to himself before looking at me. "How many were there?"

  I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. My tongue felt swollen in my mouth.

  Rho's eyes swept past me to the gatherers, who were still huddled together in their underwear.

  "Anyone?" he prompted.

  "F-five!" one of the gatherers managed to stammer. "There were five."

  Rho nodded, holstering his pistol. "Single squad, then. They likely only had the one scout." He raised his voice. "We're clear - you can get dressed now."

  The gatherers moved hesitantly, grabbing their discarded clothing with shaking hands. Rho continued his work, dragging the dismembered bodies to the side of the road. By the time the hooded archer returned, he had arranged them in a line.

  "Anything?" he asked.

  The archer shook their head. "I didn't want to overextend."

  Rho nodded, turning his attention to the piles of dust. He crouched beside them, checking each one. "One civilian, one Shake Spear."

  He straightened up and pointed at the dismembered Fringe. "Stay with the bodies until a support team can get here." he told the archer. "I'll take the rest back to the city."

  The archer nodded and moved to take up a position among the ruins, bow at the ready.

  Rho clapped his hands. "Alright folks, this place isn't safe - we're getting you back to the city. Get your things together - we leave immediately."

  The gatherers scrambled to collect whatever sparse belongings they had managed to hold onto during the robbery.

  Rho walked over to me and waved a hand in front of my face. "Hey, are you ok?"

  "But..." My voice cracked, hardly more than a whisper. "We did everything they asked..."

  He looked back at the pile of blue dust that had once been Clark, then at the dismembered Fringe members.

  "You think that matters to them? They're animals, every last one."

  I could feel tears building behind my eyes. Not here. Not now. I swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down.

  "Come on." Rho said, his voice gentling slightly. "You never know how many of these rats are hanging around. We have people on the way to handle the rest."

  He placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the group of gatherers who were now ready to move. With a final glance around the battlefield, he began to lead us down the road toward Celestia Grand.

  We were leaving. Leaving Clark behind. And I wasn't fighting to go back, wasn't demanding we collect what was left of him. Just like I didn't stop Razorto. I was just... following. Following along like I always did. Following this stranger like I'd followed Clark all my life.

  Pathetic. Useless.

  The sun beat down on us as we trudged along the road. The gatherers huddled close together, jumping at every sound from the surrounding plains. Some were crying silently, tears tracking down their cheeks. Others stared blankly ahead, their faces masks of shock.

  I couldn't take my eyes off the man leading us. His movements were confident. He scanned the hills continuously, one hand resting on his holstered pistol. He wasn't afraid. He'd faced down the Fringe and dispatched them with cold efficiency.

  "Who are you?" I asked, my voice steadier than I expected.

  Without breaking stride or ceasing his vigilant scan of our surroundings, Rho replied, "Just some hunters keeping the roads safe."

  "Take me with you."

  The words were out before I'd fully formed the thought. The man glanced at me, surprise flickering across his face.

  "What?"

  "I don't want to be afraid anymore." The pressure behind my eyes was building again, but I held it back. I wouldn't cry. Not now.

  "Look, kid-" he began.

  "Where do I have to go? What do I have to do?"

  He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We run a training camp in the Park." he said finally. "Mainly to help the Guard prepare for PvP. If you think you've got what it takes, go there."

  "Bedlam training camp in the Park." I repeated. The words became a mantra in my head, something solid to cling to. Something to focus on to keep the tears from falling. "Got it."

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, the city walls of Celestia Grand gradually growing larger on the horizon. My feet moved automatically, one in front of the other. The Bedlam training camp in the Park.

  I was born a coward. I couldn't even tell my parents I was a woman. I'd hidden behind screens and menus and Clark's protection. And now he was gone.

  And I would never flinch again.