Journal Entry 001:
I'm Liam Thompson, 26 years old, a security guard at one of the world's top companies. I'm your average guy—nothing spectacular about me. I've got wavy brown hair that never really behaves the way I want it to, brown eyes that reflect the tiredness of the life I'm leading, and a habit of disappearing into video games or movie marathons whenever I can. It's my escape, my sanctuary from the mind-numbing monotony of my days. On weekends, it's a ritual—friends gathered around, controllers in hand, the world outside fading into nothing as we dive into worlds more vibrant than the one, I find myself stuck in.
But right now, I'm sitting at my security desk, watching the clock tick as the silence of the night weighs on me. Another night shift. Another hour spent staring at screens, waiting for something to happen—or more accurately, waiting for nothing to happen. The world outside is quiet, peaceful, but that doesn't mean much when you're in here, cooped up in a concrete box. I keep telling myself that my job is just a steppingstone—that this will all change. That eventually, I'll find something that excites me, something that makes me feel alive.
But who am I kidding? I've been saying the same thing for years, and nothing's changed. This job is about as uninspiring as it gets. A soggy sandwich of a career—just bland, with no real flavor. The kind of job where you show up, do what you're supposed to do, and leave. There's no spark, no passion. Just long hours and a paycheck. The nights are especially tough. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the constant, unyielding tick of the clock, and the vague sense of loneliness that always seems to creep in. Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in. The job drains me in a way that nothing else does. It's not physical exhaustion—it's something worse. It's the kind of exhaustion that sits in your bones, in your chest, that makes you feel like you're going through the motions without ever truly being alive.
And I hate that feeling. I hate that deep-down, I'm not satisfied, that the days blur together in a haze of uniformity. My creative spark, the part of me that used to imagine worlds of my own, feels like it's being drained by this routine. My passions have slipped through my fingers like sand, and I've tried so hard to grasp onto something—anything—that could reignite that fire. But here I am. Stuck.
Still, I keep telling myself it's just a phase. I keep telling myself that things will get better, that this won't be forever. Maybe one day, something will change. I'll stumble upon that perfect opportunity, or some grand revelation will make everything clear. It's a comforting thought, even if I don't entirely believe it. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, I'll start to believe it again. Or maybe I'll just stop worrying about it, stop chasing some version of my life that seems so elusive.
I don't know. Life's been pretty average, really. A series of "meh" days, with a few moments of brightness here and there. But that's okay, I guess. Because there's always something to look forward to. And right now, that something is the new MMORPG that's dropping in a couple of days. I've been following its development for months, keeping track of the updates, eagerly waiting for the day I can lose myself in that world, escape from this one.
For now, that's my light at the end of the tunnel. And if I can hold onto that hope, maybe I can make it through another shift. Maybe that's enough for now. Anyways, I should get going. Off to work. Another night, another shift. Same old, same old. Until next time.
-------
While on duty, I was pursuing what I believed to be a delinquent teenager trying to capture videos or photos of someone breaking through the company's supposedly impenetrable gate. But the reality was far less dramatic: the gate was just an 8-foot-tall structure topped with razor wire, easily breached with a pair of bolt cutters. Still, I wasn't thrilled that this had happened in my patrol area, especially since I was the farthest from my company-issued vehicle, a moped, during my foot patrol.
As I chased after the figure, I started noticing some odd things. For one, they were much shorter than I had originally thought. And their shoes? They were flashing—definitely a factor in why I couldn't seem to catch up, as the individual was clearly outpacing me. I was a good seven seconds behind by the time they reached the corner of the building. When I finally arrived, there was no one in sight.
I shone my light around, hoping to spot any clues the trespasser might have left behind. That's when I saw it—a shiny gold coin on the ground. I bent down to pick it up, but as soon as I reached for it, the coin started moving away from me. The closer I got, the faster it retreated, until it clinked against the side of the building. Then, things took a turn. The coin began to ascend the concrete wall, rising until it was at eye level with me, and then, without warning, it shot towards my face. I instinctively raised my hand to block it, feeling a burning sensation in my palm before everything went dark.
........
The first sensation I felt upon being woken up was freezing cold. Trying to fight the urge to shiver I opened my eyes, finding myself completely in the dark.
There was nothing for what seemed like a few minutes. No sound. No lights. Then out of nowhere a robotic sounding voice flooded my hearing.
"System error detected.
Non system integrated sapient detected."
Panic started to swell in my chest "Okay really funny guys." The group on my shift usually played practical jokes on each other every now and again. They must have found me unconscious and took me back to HQ. HQ being a single wide rent a trailer because the top earning company in the world couldn't waste money on a permanent building for security contractors. Assholes probably locked me in the storage closet and are messing with me through the walkie.
"System recalibrating. Integration protocol initializing... Error. Sapient anomaly remains external to known systems."
"What the hell is going on?" I muttered through chittering teeth. Running through the possibilities of what could be happening when I was interrupted by the voice a third time.
"System compromised. Sapient detected. Opportunity for Descender integration identified. Will you comply with adaptive integration? Refusal of integration will lead to sapient termination"
With my anxiety peaking I yell "Integrate!" As I did, the door to the storage closet flew open and all I could see was the bright piercing light of the cafeteria LEDS. Heat rising to my face in embarrassment and anger "You son of " The light enveloped me fully and as my stomach rolled everything went dark for the second time this night.
---- In the Outer Cosmos
Nexa, Goddess of Dimensional Weaving, floated serenely amidst the glittering expanse of the cosmos, her form radiant and shimmering like a constellation brought to life. Her position as a system-granted deity came after centuries of relentless pursuit—hundreds of years spent unraveling the mysteries of space, time, and the delicate threads that bound universes together. Through trial, study, and perilous journeys across countless planes, she had ascended to a station few even dared to dream of.
Now, she wielded powers beyond comprehension. With a mere thought, she could summon a vision of any galaxy within the multiverse. Nebulae swirled and danced before her eyes, stars flaring and fading in a cosmic symphony only she could truly appreciate. Each planet's intricate data was laid bare to her—climates, inhabitants, civilizations, and even the secret patterns of their dimensional threads. Her role was to oversee and maintain the delicate balance of teleportation across realms, ensuring the comings and goings of system-granted portals adhered to the laws of dimensional integrity.
She had once thought of the "System" as a singular, omnipotent force—an all-knowing, all-powerful entity that governed the flow of existence. Back in her youth, she revered it as divine, the pinnacle of order in the chaotic multiverse. But ascension had brought clarity, and with clarity came disillusionment. The System was no singular omniscience; it was one of many.
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Nexa had learned the truth: the multiverse was littered with competing systems, each vying for dominance, squabbling over dominion like children bickering in a backyard over the shiniest stones. These systems, while immensely powerful, were neither infallible nor eternal. They were constructs, mechanisms born of something older and far more inscrutable. Nexa often pondered this truth, wondering what primordial force had birthed such entities—and what lay beyond even them.
Her responsibilities were as endless as the dimensions she oversaw. The fabric of reality was fragile, prone to rips and distortions caused by reckless teleportation or malevolent tampering. When a rogue entity attempted to destabilize a realm with unlicensed portals, it was Nexa who intervened, weaving the threads of space and time back into harmony. She only recently began enveloping planets into the systems grasp that had awoken her to godhood.
Despite the weight of her duties, Nexa found moments of quiet joy in her role. She would drift across the vast expanse of creation, marveling at the kaleidoscope of universes, each a testament to the infinite potential of existence. She smiled faintly as she watched fledgling civilizations discover dimensional magic for the first time, their awe mirroring her own from so long ago.
Yet, deep in her divine heart, a seed of doubt lingered. How long could this delicate balance last? How long before the bickering systems escalated their war, dragging the multiverse into chaos? And when that moment came, would her weaving be enough to hold the threads of reality together?
For now, Nexa chose to focus on the present. A new dimensional disturbance had appeared, faint yet persistent, rippling through the threads she was sworn to guard. With a graceful motion, she extended her hand, drawing the strands of the disturbance closer. As the patterns revealed themselves, her celestial eyes narrowed.
"It seems another sapient has meddled where it shouldn't," she murmured, her voice carrying a calm authority. "Very well, let us see who dares disrupt the balance."
With a thought, she vanished into the dimensional weave, her presence dissipating like a fading star, leaving only a whisper of her cosmic power in her wake.
------
Bram Geargrind was not your average gnome. At only 122 years old, he was barely a quarter through his life, but already a little rough around the edges. He stood at a dashing four feet tall, his fiery red hair sticking straight up, making him look closer to five feet than the average gnome. His fiery locks were often singed at the tips from his latest invention gone awry, but that didn't bother him. In fact, he liked the look. It gave him an air of unpredictability, and who needed tidy hair when they were a grand inventor—right? That was his boast, anyway. "Tinker? Please. I create wonders," he'd say with a wink and a grin, always ready to share a story of some grand (often exaggerated) achievement.
Bram's workshop was a hodgepodge of mechanical marvels and disastrous attempts—gears and springs, wires and arcane devices, all cluttered together in a seemingly chaotic fashion. But to Bram, it was an organized mess, a perfect representation of the way his mind worked. His tools were meticulously sorted in his drawers—every wrench and bolt in its proper place—while his projects sprawled across the workbench in glorious disarray. He was a tinkerer by trade, though he never failed to describe himself as a "grand inventor" to anyone who would listen. His creations ranged from overly complicated timepieces to experimental contraptions designed to help him solve the mysteries of the world around him.
Despite his enthusiasm, however, there was something tragic in his eyes—a sorrow that never seemed to fully fade. Bram's sharp tongue and playful exterior hid the painful memories of a gnome who had seen too much loss. He had grown up in a village where innovation thrived, where his family's name was well-respected, and where his father—an accomplished inventor—taught him the secrets of gears and arcane devices. His mother, a skilled alchemist, had provided him with a curiosity about potions and reagents, teaching him the subtle art of combining science and magic. Together, they had fostered Bram's love for creation, and his childhood was filled with laughter and joy.
That was until the night the sneaklings came.
The greenskin creatures—malicious, vile, and cruel—had raided his village while Bram was just a child. They were ruthless, taking what they wanted and leaving destruction in their wake. Bram's parents had died defending their home, their final moments etched forever into his memory. He had been hidden away by his mother in a small, hidden compartment in the basement, only to emerge later to find everything he had known reduced to rubble. The sneaking, treacherous creatures had taken his family, leaving him with nothing but a burning desire for revenge.
From that moment on, the world had lost much of its former joy for Bram. He had been raised by his uncle, who tried to instill in him a sense of stability, but the sorrow of loss never fully left him. It shaped Bram into the gnome he was today—driven, resourceful, and fiercely independent, but with a heart that rarely allowed itself to rest. He buried his pain in his inventions, sometimes obsessively working through the nights, searching for ways to fix the broken parts of the world that reflected the broken parts of himself.
Though he spoke little of the past, Bram's motivations were clear: he wanted to understand the machinery of the world, the way the gears of fate clicked into place, and how he could, somehow, reverse the damage done. His inventions, while ingenious, were always tinged with a dark edge of caution, as if he was trying to control something larger than himself.
In social settings, Bram was boisterous and quick-witted, always ready with a joke or a tale about his latest (sometimes disastrous) invention. He loved being the center of attention, reveling in the laughter and camaraderie of his friends, even if it was just a temporary distraction. But deep down, he knew that no number of jokes, inventions, or tinkering could fill the hole that was left when his family was stolen away from him.
And so, his quest continued: to unlock the mysteries of the multiverse
......
Finally, after grueling decades of trial-and-error Bram had finally perfected the teleportation coin that allowed him to skip between worlds, and he'd come perilously close to being caught. Just as he was about to leave his mark—his signature "Dwarves drool" tag—on the side of a stone building. He noticed a beam of light slicing through the darkness, heading straight in his direction. Intrigued, he decided to remain hidden, making himself small in the shadows. The sight of the human male approaching made him curse under his breath. Humans were never much fun, but the chase. That was always exhilarating.
Bram grinned, feeling the thrill rise in his chest. His luminous speed soles would easily outpace this oversized insect, and soon enough, he'd be disappearing from this world, on to the next. As he dashed along the building, his speed soles lighting up the ground beneath him, he reached into his pocket for one of his teleportation coins. However, in his haste, one of the coins slipped from his coat pocket and dropped to the ground. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and he knew to come prepared. So, with a quick curse, he grasped the other backup coin tightly in his hand as he vanished into thin air, leaving behind only the glow of his soles and the mystery of his fleeting presence.
.......
"WOOOHOOO!" Bram felt an overwhelming sense of excitement from the successful pursuit he had just triumphed in against the human. He had returned to his people's concealed valley only a few minutes prior and was now heading towards the local gathering place. He was eager to boast to the local youth about his latest adventure. Naturally, he planned to order a mooncap mead to celebrate his narrow escape. He could almost taste the crisp, refreshing beverage, which made his mouth water, prompting him to quicken his pace to satisfy his growing thirst. As he got closer to the Bronze Barrel Tavern, he noticed that it was quiet for this time at night. Nonetheless he raced towards the entrance, throwing open the door in the process.
His wide beaming smile slowly started to disappear as he noticed the place was empty. He scanned the bar where Maggie was usually serving the good stuff, but no one was there. "Mags! You Here?" he half shouted as he walked across the room. After a few seconds of no response, he grabbed a mug from the rack behind the bar and headed towards that tapped keg. Turning the valve revealed that the barrel was hollow. "Torn bits and smashed gears. You got a thirsty customer Maggie! The keg here is dry and it's hardly mid evening." Starting to worry he headed towards the kitchen knowing that Maggie's bedroom was adjacent to it. The cooktops were all cold to the touch and a layer of dust had settled on them. Fear started to well up inside the grand inventor, not even worrying about checking Maggie's room he headed for the door.
Outside revealed much of the same eerie silence. How did he not notice before, too proud of his recent adventure and dashing escape to notice everyone was missing. Trying to shut out his wandering thoughts going to the worst outcomes. Making his heightened anxiety and panic get even worse. He started sprinting kicking on his soles in the process heading straight home to check on his uncle. Barging through the door of his workshop led to another alarming issue. His worktables were empty. No gears, contraptions or bearings in sight. Even his dearest mother's alchemy set was gone. Tearing through the drawers and cabinets showed much of the same. Nothing, every single one was empty... Heart slamming against his ribs trying to break free, he took a few calming breaths. Knowing deep down that either one of two scenarios had occurred. He either pissed off someone really high on the food chain and they put everyone he loved in the abyss, or it had happened, he inadvertently crossed dimensions.
The unsettling feeling never retreated while Bram wandered his village for any useful items he could use on his journey ahead. Not knowing how perilous this dimension was or if it had any inhabitants at all. He knew either way that he had a long battle against him. With no one in town he suspected that it was a soulless dimension. Which would mean he would have to craft the teleportation coins on his own. Harvesting every resource and mining the celestium crystals on his own was going to be a challenge. It was what he had to do to return home, so with the small amount of courage he could muster he left his valley behind.