Justin stared at the book and its title for a solid minute, struggling to make sense of it.

The tome was small and unassuming, yet its presence felt heavy in his hands, as though it carried the weight of another world within its pages. The cover was bound in rich, dark leather, with intricate gold embossing that glimmered faintly in the light.

Justin’s fingers traced the smooth, cool surface of the cover, feeling the subtle ridges of the embossed design. He hesitated for a moment, almost afraid to open it.

Finally, he tilted the book just enough to reveal the title on the spine, elegantly scripted in the same golden lettering: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

The title shone up at him, and for a moment, the room seemed to spin.

“This can’t be here,” he murmured. He looked up at the Baron, his voice trembling. “Where did you get this?”

“It would seem you recognize the title. Where did this book come from, Mr. Talemaker?”

“My world. Earth.”

Baron Valdrik nodded. “Yes. Earth. You aren’t from here, Justin.”

“Well, you know that much already. You had someone listening to us in the Moonlit Alehouse that night, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I wanted to hear it from you. The book you hold in your hands is an Earth artifact. Such things are priceless treasures, and I’ve gone to great lengths to acquire many of them over the years.”

“I get that it’s from Earth,” Justin said. “I just don’t understand how it ended up in the post office for me to deliver to you. It makes no sense.”

“You were drawn to it, Justin, like a moth to a flame. You see, people from Earth are naturally drawn to objects from their home world. Something about the otherness of it reacts to the magic of this world. Like attracts like. That’s why you, of all people, picked up the parcel to deliver it to me.”

“Wait. People from Earth? I’m not alone here? There are others like me?”

The Baron smiled. “Is it so surprising? If it happened to you, why not others?”

Justin’s eyes widened in realization, and he felt something of a thrill. “Wait. You’re from Earth too, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Justin’s heart raced as he processed the revelation. The implications were staggering, and a flicker of hope sparked within him, despite he and the Baron’s complicated history.

“How long have you been here?”

Valdrik hesitated before answering. “Twenty years.”

Justin couldn’t help but open his mouth in surprise.

“Yes, it’s a long time. It’s been quite a while since I’ve found one like you. Eight years, in fact. We’re a rare breed. Navigating a dangerous world like this is not for the faint of heart. Most Earthers end up dying before they can find any sort of help. Once upon a time, I was President of the Aranthian Chapter of the Terra Club. The organization is now defunct, at least in this part of the world. We were a bit…careless, shall we say. But once, the Terra Club existed as a beacon of hope for all Earthers who believed they were suffering this fate alone.”

“How noble of you,” Justin said, his tone laced with skepticism. He wasn’t a fool; he knew the Baron had ulterior motives. “So, let me get this straight. You collect Earth artifacts and then put them in random post offices all around Aranthia, hoping that it draws people from Earth to deliver them…right to you?”

It sounded far-fetched, and yet, the Baron nodded once again. “That’s the gist of it. Of course, it usually doesn’t work out that way. Most of the time, the courier who delivers the parcel is a native Erythian. I receive several such deliveries a month. As I said before, you’re the first Earther to show up on my doorstep in eight years.”

“Why not just say you were from Earth from the beginning?” Justin asked. “I would have been on your side. Seems like all you did was make a mess of things and accomplish the opposite.”

“In hindsight, you are right. But at the time of our first meeting, you were not alone, and I wasn’t entirely sure you were from Earth. Admitting as much while Lila was with you would have been the height of foolishness. Earthers, you see, prefer to keep a low profile, especially these days.”

“And yet, we’re having this conversation in broad daylight in a crowded ballroom where anyone can overhear it.”

Valdrik waved his hand dismissively. “Please. Do you really believe I would be so careless? A Cant of Silent Warding is protecting our conversation.”

“How many Cants do you know?” Justin asked.

“Hundreds,” Valdrik said. “However, we’re not talking about my carefulness, but rather, your carelessness.”

Justin swallowed. “What do you mean?”

The Baron looked at him meaningfully. “Come on, now. Rap battles? ‘Islands in the Stream’? Such exploits might seem harmless, but if even a whisper of Earth culture is heard by the wrong ears, you might wake up with a knife in your throat. Or worse.”

“I don’t understand,” Justin said. “Are you trying to tell me that people from Earth are being hunted?”

The Baron nodded somberly. “We are, unfortunately, an endangered species.”

“Why?”

The Baron’s eyes darkened. “Because we don’t belong here, Justin. More than natural-born Eyrthians, we have the potential to disrupt the balance of power. I came to this world, much like you, on the Autumn Equinox. September 21, 2004. Twelve times a year, the a portal opens, though never in the same place. On Eyrth, they’ll open in sites of powerful magical concentration. And on Earth, they seem to occur in spots where great natural energy coalesces, usually in the form of a natural disaster. Hurricanes, earthquakes…even tornadoes. Mine happened to be an earthquake. Trapped under the rubble of my office building, the blue portal appeared, and it was my only way out. But unlike you, my portal took me outside an extremely dangerous Vault with a fire-breathing dragon guarding the entrance. Somehow, by sheer luck, I survived.”

Justin thought of his own situation. Sites of powerful magical concentration. He supposed a Prismatic Core sitting out in the open would qualify. “How many of us are here?”

“Fewer than you would think,” the Baron said. “So far as we can tell, only one person comes through each time. Of these twelve, most don’t survive long. One in four might survive their first year. And of course, if they aren’t careful, or announce themselves through sheer ignorance, they get caught quickly.”

With a chill, Justin realized that could have been him. But that begged the question. Who was doing the catching?

Valdrik paused, considering. “This world—this reality, if it can be so called—is clearly an advanced simulation, a highly sophisticated technology that’s far too advanced for our own era. I can only assume that someone, or something, from our future is having a bit of fun, marooning people here for unknown reasons. As such, whoever made this wretched game is certainly a human, or even transhuman, given the insane level of technology on display, with the ability to create portals in the past. It’s also possible the maker of this game is a super-intelligent AI performing experiments and seeing how we would act in their creation.”

“Is it possible the creator of this game is literally that—the Creator everyone here keeps talking about?”

“It’s a possibility, but the Creator seems to be more of an administrator of the System. It responds, reacts, and adapts to everything we do, and as far as I can tell, it can’t be exploited because it adjusts the parameters based on users’ actions. It’s possible that the Creator is quite literally the creator of this world, but this might be unknowable.”

Justin felt like he was having vertigo discussing this. Could it really be true? This world was so real that in recent days, he’d hardly even questioned it. But now, the last thing the System had said to him before leaving him alone in the Wildwood Forest came rushing back: Good luck and enjoy Realms of Eyrth.

“Realms of Eyrth,” Justin said. “That’s the name of this game, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Valdrik confirmed. “It’s what every Earther here discovers right before they’re thrown into this fantastical meat grinder.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“You said we’re being hunted? By whom?”

Valdrik simply smiled. “You haven’t guessed?”

“I don’t know.”

“The Templars of Arion have long served the Creator, or at least they claim to. In other lands, there are similar orders. But the powers that control this world do not want us here. Of course, not everyone knows about us, but people in high places do, enough to be wary and have systems in place before we become a threat. And they know, just as we do, that twelve times a year a new Earther enters their world. We have too many unfair advantages. Imagine a Bard that recreated Bach or Mozart. Imagine a Craftsman who learned to create guns or bombs. Imagine a Scholar who used his knowledge of history or warfare to revolutionize military tactics. Such things could tip the scales in unimaginable ways.”

Justin saw his point. “Has that actually happened?”

“Yes. You can see Earth’s influences here if you look closely, though the authorities do what they can to scrub it from history. The technology of this world is decidedly high medieval, or even Early Modern, with magical influences, of course. And yet, you also find fashions, architecture, and technology that’s orders of magnitude ahead of where Eyrth should be. Did you see anything strange in Highcliff, for example? Something that might not be found in a late medieval or early modern setting?”

Justin thought it over. “There was a streetcar. Those didn’t show up until the 19th century unless I miss my guess. I didn’t really question it.”

“The Highcliff streetcar was created by a man named Gavrik Ironholm. Of the Artificer class. Why he focused his efforts on this, I can’t say. Something to do with his previous occupation, I’m sure. He created the streetcar system for which Highcliff is famed about a hundred years ago. He figured out a way to not only create train cars, but the entire industrial and mechanical processes that allowed them to be built in the first place. Rather than use steam, though, he devised a way to recharge them with energy crystals. Quite ingenious, really. He had plans to revolutionize all Aranthia with similar train tracks, only on a much larger scale, and even kick off a large-scale industrial revolution.”

“He got killed?”

The Baron nodded somberly. “He did. Not for his invention, but for giving himself away.”

“How did that happen?”

“Knowing things he shouldn’t have known was a big clue. And of course, he probably told the wrong person the wrong thing, enough to fall under suspicion.”

“That’s all interesting, but you’re suggesting that Alistair was trying to kill me. If he was, why didn’t he do so on the spot?”

The Baron gave an understanding smile. “Your Paladin friend probably didn’t know what he had, and if he did, he would not have known the significance. Alistair was Level 25; probably not high enough in the Templar hierarchy to know about Earth. In short, it was me he was after, and you got caught in the crossfire. But had you reached Mont Elea, things would have gone badly for you, assuming the High Priest discovered your identity.”

“What would he have done?”

“Well, he would have nipped Eyrth’s newest stranger right in the bud, I can guarantee it. I doubt Alistair knew your secret, but if he did, he would have reported it for sure.”

“So, I guess that makes you my rescuer. Only that’s difficult to believe, given all the pain and hardship you’ve caused. I guess that would make Eldrin the bad guy, too.”

“I can’t speak to the Ranger’s motives, but I’m sure he told you something about me being after your Prismatic Core. I won’t lie. Getting my hands on that would be a tremendous boon! But it would draw far too much attention to myself. Rarer than even a Prismatic Core is an ally—an ally from the same world who wants the same thing as me.”

Justin could guess what he meant. “You want to get back home.”

“Yes,” the Baron said. “I very much do. The humble life I led in Bulgaria might not mean much to you, but I had a job, a wife, and a family.”

The Baron, a family man? Justin found that a bit difficult to imagine. Then again, he’d had twenty years to spend here, and that was enough to change anyone.

The Baron continued. “My life back on Earth was humbler than this one, but it’s real. I’ve worked hard to become powerful here, to learn as much as I can, all while staying off the radar.” He leaned toward Justin conspiratorially. “Off the radar. Be careful when you use such idioms. Some don’t exactly translate into Aranthian, and it could be enough to tip off the wrong person.”

“Seriously? How do they know so much about people from Earth?”

“You’d be surprised. It’s hard to say how long Earthers have been sent here, but it’s been at least for a few centuries, if not more. The Templars keep meticulous records going back hundreds of years. Who can say what they know, and don’t? People can get caught for extremely minor things. They tie us to Morvath and Death Magic; that’s another, simpler reason they don’t like us. Of course, Earthers don’t always align themselves with the God of Death, but the connection is there since it’s a quick path to power.”

“You certainly chose to go that direction.”

“I did, but it took me a while to arrive at that decision. But that’s a story for another day.”

“So, all this is to convince me that we’re really on the same side?”

Valdrik watched him carefully. “Truth be told, I’m not sure we are. I would like us to be, but that requires trust.”

“You placed a Death Mark on me without my consent,” Justin said. “That does little to build trust.”

“I did it to track you once you left my manor,” he said. “Sending someone to follow you was far too crude, and too many things could have gone wrong. Having someone eavesdrop in a tavern is one thing, but requiring someone to tail you for days or weeks? Eldrin would have wised up at some point. Remember, I wanted to be certain of who, and what, you were. Given the dangers of this world, Earthers have a penchant for dying before they can really take root. The Death Mark is insurance, a guaranteed way I can reach you beyond the grave, if it comes to that.” He smiled. “Besides, being undead is not a terrible thing. There are many advantages.”

“Like what?”

“In ‘game’ terms, yes, you would be undead, and yes, enthralled to me, the one who placed the mark. But you have a class, Justin. You wouldn’t become some mindless zombie or ghoul. You’d be an Undead Socialite, and as such, a wide number of paths would be open to you. I don’t know if you noticed, but your class isn’t exactly known for excelling on the battlefield, but there are ways around this. Vampirism is the easiest path, and it would increase your survivability. But assuming you can unlock an advanced class and again access to magic, Necromancy, Dread Summoning, and even becoming a Lich aren’t off the table. You’d also be immune to poison and disease and gain an extended life span.”

“If being undead is so great, then why aren’t you undead?”

“A fair question. Being undead is quite noticeable, and right now, I need to lie low. My intention was never to turn you undead. It was insurance in case you died before we could have this conversation.”

“So, you’d have no problem with removing the Mark?”

“That depends on the rest of this conversation. I still have a few more things to say.” The Baron leaned forward, his eyes intense. “First, this you need to realize that this is a game. It’s not reality. Of course, you can treat it as reality. Many Earthers have chosen to ‘go native,’ so to speak. But there’s no proof that any of these people you’ve met—Eldrin, Lila, Alistair, and all the rest—are anything more than highly advanced AI. They act and behave as any sentient being would. They even respond to you as fully autonomous agents. But are they real?” The Baron gave a sharp smile. “Oh, I struggled with this for a long time. I didn’t want to believe it was true, but as soon as you embrace this truth, how free you become! We already know this is a game, created in the distant future, sending actual humans into it twelve times a year for reasons unknown. You are one such human, of course, as am I. Everyone you’ve met so far, aside from me, is just part of the game, no matter how real they seem.”

Of all the things the Baron had said so far, this was the most shocking. Justin’s mind raced, and doubts crept in. Could all these people who had become his friends just be AI? Could their relationships, sacrifices, and help be nothing more than programmed responses? The thought made Justin’s stomach turn. He couldn’t believe it—or could he?

He felt like he wanted to throw up.

“I know,” the Baron said, sipping a glass of red wine. “It’s a lot, isn’t it? Of course, you could continue to resist the idea. Such an endeavor, of course, would be pointless.”

“How can you really know they’re AI? Maybe this is just an alternate universe that happens to have game-like mechanics, just as real as our own. And even if it is a simulation, what if their feelings and thoughts are so genuine that there’s no practical difference between this world and ours?”

Valdrik smirked. “Wishful thinking, Justin. Magic? Skills? Classes? These are all the hallmarks of video games, not real life.”

Justin clenched his fists. Valdrik had a point, but it was a point he didn’t want to accept. “Unless you have some actual proof that everyone here, besides Earthers, is an AI, you have no way of knowing.”

Valdrik sighed, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps. As a Lexicant, I use words to manipulate the reality of this game. I’ve seen the code behind the curtain, the cracks in the illusion. You’ll see them too, in time. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. And if we want to survive, and more than that, to escape, we need to figure out how to use the System to our advantage. Yes, agents of the game will get hurt. Even die. But no matter how real they appear, no matter their pain, none of it is real.”

Justin felt a chill at these words. “I just can’t buy it.”

“It’s a pity that things happened the way they did. I’m extremely careful, but sometimes, that care can prove to be the greater risk than acting boldly. If I’d been able to reach you before you’d intermixed with the agents, your story would have turned out differently. If you can’t learn to disassociate from them, your progress will be hampered. Perhaps even stunted entirely.”

“Even if everything you’re saying is true, you placed the Mark of Death on me. You claim to have good reasons for it, but those reasons seem hollow to me. The only way you can even begin to prove yourself is removing it entirely.”

“If you agreed to work for me, then yes. I’d remove the Mark gladly and even let you keep your Prismatic Core. Any other person—or rather, I should say, agent—I would take it without question. But you are no mere character, Justin. You are a fellow Earther. True, you know little yet, but your potential is boundless. I’ve spent two decades here. While I’ve learned a lot, I’m bound by the System, the same as you. I need all the help I can get. As do you, if you are to progress to a point where we can start helping each other. Everyone else born into this world simply sees it as life. Only one in a hundred will ever get a class. The agents can be of no help to me, except in securing further power and resources. Progression, Justin, is the name of the game. Progression at all costs, except the extinguishing of sacred Earth life. That’s the only way we can reach a high enough level to affect reality and survive our enemies.”

Justin could see why the Templars wanted to kill Earthers. If most Earthers believed as Valdrik did, it would make them a huge threat. Even Earthers who disavowed such views might fall under suspicion by default.

“I have more questions. What about Earth objects? How exactly do they draw people like me?”

“Well, the magic is not understood, but the effect has long been observed by those in the know. In fact, the Templars also use the little trick I employed to catch Earthers. That’s how I got the idea. They set up honey pots all around Aranthia, and a great many Earthers have been caught in this way.” The Baron smiled. “You’re lucky that it was me who found you first.”

Justin wasn’t so sure of that, but he had further questions. He didn’t believe the Baron for a second, though much of what he’d said seemed disturbingly accurate.

He still had questions. Questions that could determine whether he and his friends walked out of this alive.