“Today is finally the day!” With far more energy than I would normally display in the morning, I practically bounded out of bed and surveyed the empty space against the wall opposite of me. Pointing at it, I declared “Today, this bare spot is going to be filled again.”

Up until recently—last weekend, to be precise—that section of my bedroom had played host to the old family sofa. Well, it hadn’t functioned as a human-resting-place in ages as it had been piled high with stuffed animals and decorative pillows pretty much from day one after we moved back here. Those same animals were now perched atop bookshelves, display cases, the computer desk, and anywhere else there was room for a plush white fox, black cat, grey mouse, red rabbit, or so on. My collection was a veritable Noah’s Ark (and then some, since he forgot the unicorns and dragons) that spanned the spectrum.

They were even piled on the computer chair—well, atop pillows on the computer chair, since I was more in the habit of reclining in bed with my laptop or tablet than sitting in front of the dual-screened, high-powered, water-cooled monstrosity of a gaming rig I had bought on a whim a bit back. Nowadays, I mostly just used it as a high-end stereo substitute, playing music from my extensive and eclectic collection of Asian pop, classic rock, bluegrass, jazz, old-school country and western, and anything else that had once caught my interest.

I’ll admit it: I’m a bit lazy. But also, once info started leaking out about Elemental Chrysanthemum Homeland Online, my interest in all other games sort of faded. After all, even sight-and-sound virtual reality through a headset (still uncommon, by the way) is a little lacking compared to the promises of FIVR—Full Immersion Virtual Reality. Because, honestly, who wouldn’t want to actually be in a different world and experience casting spells, swinging swords, riding unicorns, dancing with faeries, or sparring with orcs instead of merely seeing it on a screen?

I had read up on pretty much everything known about the game, which wasn’t all that much. The company—Heraldic Echo—had been pretty tight-lipped, releasing only trickles and dribbles here and there for the past couple years, but last month the official release date and trailer had been announced and taken the internet world by storm.

For many, perhaps even for most, playing would be prohibitively expensive. The FIVR “pods” were, after all, a new technology and one that hadn’t yet achieved economies of scale. The price for a pod was comparable to a small car, putting home installation outside the reach of all but the wealthy and the extremely dedicated. Most would have to play via rented time in one of the hundreds of “game centers” that Heraldic Echo was setting up in major cities across the globe (initially, with most being in the US), but even then, it wouldn’t be cheap.

There would still be an interface for helmet-style sight-and-sound VR at first, but the company was aggressively marketing their pods and game centers. Unfortunately for me, my sister and I lived in a small, rural community on the coast. The nearest game centers would be opening in Seattle and Portland, both several hours’ drive away. Way too far for any sort of regular play.

Fortunately, however, we were independently wealthy. Well, in a manner of speaking. Last year, a lucky lottery win netted us some several million dollars (after taxes). Enough to live comfortably, even lazily, on with many small luxuries, but not enough for any of the big luxuries—not for long, anyway.

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We had been tempted by luxury apartments or condos in one of the big cities, but in the end, my sister and I decided to move back home. We had bought our old childhood home on the coast for about three times as much as it had been worth; the current owners hadn’t wanted to move, but greed had got the better of them. It’s not like they ended up moving very far, either—just about three blocks—and while we could’ve bought any number of houses in the community, this one had sentimental value. My great-grandfather had built it in his youth and it had remained in the family until ten years back when my mother was forced to sell during a period of hardship. She’s gone now; she lost her fight with cancer five years ago, but she would have wanted us to have moved back here, I think.

Regardless, here we were, living out in the boondocks at the end of the Lewis and Clark Trail in a small, dying, rural town that only survived by tourism, fishing, and government hand-outs. The nearest city, across the river, had a population of less than ten thousand (more than ten times my town’s population), but was far too small for a FIVR game center to be built.

So, using a big chunk of my discretionary spending for the year, I bought two pods, and they’d be delivered today, in time for the official launch of ECHO at midnight (Eastern), or nine in the evening, local time. My sister didn’t yet know, but she was the outdoorsy type to my homebody, so her room was far less cluttered and would easily have room for a sofa-sized, mechanical FIVR pod.

In fact, she was out and about right now, on a bike ride up the peninsula with some friends. She’d be back in time for dinner and the surprise reveal. Alexandra hadn’t been avidly following the game like I had been, but she was still fairly interested. After all, it would be a whole new world to explore! A sword-and-sorcery FIVR game would have plenty to offer her.

When the doorbell finally rang as I was eating breakfast, it was almost anticlimactic. Four big, burly technicians swarmed out of a delivery truck bearing the Heraldic Echo company logo—three golden arcs like a wireless signal indicator emblazoned on a blue shield above a crossed sword and a stylized faerie wand tipped with a star—and carried in a massive wooden crate containing the FIVR pod and its protective packaging. They had a little difficulty manhandling it up the stairs, which became no easier for the second crate, and actually had to uncrate the pods on the landing since the old-time bedroom doorways weren’t wide enough.

“Sorry for the clutter,” I apologized as they navigated the pod through the narrow doorway into my room.. “I made some space against the wall, but these old houses really weren’t designed with modern conveniences and furnishings in mind.” In truth, it probably would have made more sense to have had the pods installed in the side room downstairs since we weren’t really using that for much yet. It had been a ladies’ solar generations ago, a playroom when we were growing up, and we had entertained ideas of making it a game room now that we were living here again, but neither billiards nor darts were quite our thing. For now, the room was empty except for a good dozen plants along the windows, an old treadmill, and … the sofa that had been in my room. It may have made more sense, and if I had been living on my own, it’s probably where the pod would have gone. But for two people, it seemed more appropriate to have them in the privacy of our own rooms.

Eyebrows were raised when the workers saw my room, apparently much more feminine than my sister’s since I, and not her, was the one with all the stuffed animals … or perhaps there were unspoken questions about the childlike decor in an adult’s room. But there were no snide comments, or in fact comments of any sort unrelated to the work. Whatever else they may have been, they were professional.

Then they were gone, and the waiting began.