- Have you ever chased a dream, only to find it chasing you back?

“Fuck!” Nathan yelled, his voice echoing through the worker's district of Auroria. He shook his boot violently, trying to dislodge the mess.

He’d stepped in cyber horseshit—again.

“Goddamn horses,” he muttered, glaring at a passing rider on a sleek, golden steed.

The air around Nathan buzzed with the unmistakable hum of a bustling MMORPG hub—a central gathering point in the virtual world where players could interact, trade, form parties, and embark on adventures. For the uninitiated, it was one of the hearts of the game, alive with activity and brimming with opportunity. This particular hub, Auroria, was one of four major cities in Eternal Nexus, situated on the verdant continent of Caldara.

Auroria was beautiful. Nathan couldn’t deny that, no matter how jaded he felt about the game. Nestled amidst rolling green hills and sparkling rivers, the city looked like something straight out of a painting. At its center stood the Crystal Bloom, a colossal, glowing flower that was the pride of the city. Its petals unfurled each evening, bathing the streets in shifting hues of blue, gold, and violet. The light seemed alive, spilling over the cobblestones and reflecting off the polished armor of passing players, creating the illusion that everything—and everyone—was surrounded by a radiant aura.

It was unharmable by design. If anyone so much as tried to mess with it, the system would deal swift punishment: instant in-game death and a week-long ban. The devs had made it clear that some things were sacred, even here. He leaned against a lamppost, wiping horseshit off his boot as he stared at the Bloom. “Shame they don’t protect the players as well as they do that damn flower.”

Its light was visible from miles away, a beacon that called players from every corner of Eternal Nexus to bask in its tranquility. Around him, the streets teemed with life: vendors hawking rare items, adventurers showing off their latest loot, and guilds recruiting fresh blood for their ranks.

What struck Nathan most, though, wasn’t the noise or the light—it was the sheer diversity of the crowd. Players of all races mingled freely, united by the game’s design, which had completely eliminated the concept of hostile factions. Even if it looked strange to see a drooling, rage-filled orc strolling alongside a refined, smartly-dressed high elf, such pairings were perfectly normal in Eternal Nexus. It didn’t matter if you were a snarling beast or a golden-haired noble; here, everyone was just another avatar in a shared world.

Auroria’s beauty was undeniable, its glow captivating even the most seasoned players. But for Nathan, the Bloom had become more of a backdrop than a destination—something to admire in passing as he trudged through his routine. He let out a soft sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned away. The glow of the Bloom softened behind him, replaced by the noise and energy of the bustling streets.

"Guess it's time to haul my ass to work," Nathan muttered. "Can’t stand around here looking at pretty lights all day like some goddamn tourist."

Out of nowhere, Nathan found his thoughts drifting to the sheer number of people packed into the virtual cities. He paused, shaking his head slightly, and let out a low, "Damn." The scale still managed to impress him. Millions of players. Each major hub averaged a staggering 75 million people online at any given time—a population that dwarfed most real-world cities.

The devs, smart as hell, had created a layering system to keep things running smoothly. Instead of cramming everyone into the same version of the city they’d split it into layers. Nathan smirked to himself, recalling the overly polished spokesperson from the announcement trailer. "Effortless scalability and unparalleled performance," they'd bragged. Typical corporate fluff, but damn if it wasn’t true—Eternal Nexus ran smoother than reality most days. Each layer was a near-identical instance, hosting up to 10,000 players. A smart move, Nathan mused, since having millions of avatars trying to occupy the same space would be chaos. Not that you couldn’t still jump into a crowded layer if you wanted to; the system let you force your way in for events or, more likely, to show off your new gear to an audience. Which, according to the game's developers, was "easily possible thanks to our revolutionary quantum servers."

Still, that kind of overpopulated layer wasn’t exactly fun. Nathan smirked to himself, remembering the surreal mess it created. Players on top of players, overlapping like some kind of weird, glitchy modern art. It looked ridiculous. Move too fast, and animations blended together in ways that made you wonder if the server was trolling you.

But credit where it was due—there was no lag in these heavily overcrowded layers. The servers handled everything without so much as a stutter, streaming a perfect, lag-free experience right to your device. It didn’t matter if you were running the game on some bargain-bin setup like his; the tech made sure it all worked like magic.

Nathan exhaled sharply, shooting a glance at the bustling streets again. "All this tech to make a utopia," he grumbled, "and here I am, stepping in cyber horseshit."

The sheer scope of Eternal Nexus had been its greatest selling point when it launched little over a decade ago, boasting a massive game world. Its continents, oceans, and uncharted territories stretched endlessly, offering players a scale of exploration that felt limitless. Four vast continents, each with its own climate, culture, and challenges, formed the foundation of its virtual existence. Where ecosystems operated independently of players; predators hunted prey and seasons changed dynamically:

Caldara, was the breadbasket of the game, a land of opportunity where players could find steady progression through crafting, farming, and resource gathering. 

The icy tundras of Valkenheim, on the other hand, offered brutal challenges that weeded out the weak, its sprawling dungeons filled with ruthless bosses.

Far to the east was Suneira, a continent of blazing deserts and labyrinthine cities, home to the game’s most complex political guilds. 

And finally, there was Umbros, shrouded in eternal twilight—a continent rumored to hold the game’s deepest secrets but accessible only to the most dedicated of players.

While these continents varied drastically in theme and focus, the devs had ensured that the baseline experience remained consistent across all regions. Players could find similar opportunities for progression, exploration, and challenge, no matter where they chose to start their journey.

But it wasn’t just the world that made the game so unique. Its economy was the backbone of its enduring success. The in-game currency, Nexus Gold, had been tied to real-world value within just a few months of the game’s release—a decision driven by the immense success of similar games that came before it and the developers’ uncanny confidence that Eternal Nexus would become an instant hit. This created an entire class of professional players who made their living farming resources and trading high-demand items.

Nathan didn’t have to look far to see the gilded reality Eternal Nexus had become. Players decked out in rare gear strutted through the city like royalty, their guild tags practically glowing over their heads. Corporations had turned guilds into businesses, sponsoring elite players to lock down the most lucrative zones. Entire regions were under their control, inaccessible to anyone who couldn’t meet their absurdly high standards.

“Inclusive content, my ass,” Nathan muttered under his breath, stepping aside as a group of players in matching armor pushed past him. He knew how it worked. The best areas required more than skill; they demanded resources, gear, and a kind of ruthless efficiency most casual players couldn’t even imagine. High-level entry gates, endless quests, and timed resets ensured that only the top guilds kept control. And they did it effortlessly, clearing challenges so fast it was like the zones were made for them.

The rest? The so-called "casual andys"? They were left to pick over scraps. Sure, the devs had given every zone a slim chance to drop something insanely valuable, but those odds were about as real as finding gold in your backyard. Nathan had spent years chasing those drops, hoping for a break that never came.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He glanced down an alley where a group of players had set up a trade hub, selling rare loot to anyone who could afford it. He couldn’t help but smirk. Stories of people striking it rich in the game were everywhere—players paying off debts, buying houses, living the dream. But for every rags-to-riches tale, there were whispers of players who’d fallen into ruin, grinding endlessly and sinking deeper into debt.

“Living the dream, huh?” Nathan thought bitterly. Back in the early days, it hadn’t been like this. Guilds were about camaraderie, exploration, and massive events that felt like real adventures. Now? It was all business. Cold, calculated, and controlled. Regions like Caldara’s mithril mines, where Nathan had spent far too much of his time, were monopolized by the elite, leaving everyone else to fight over the leftovers.

Even the game’s celebrated layering system didn’t do much to level the playing field. On paper, it was a stroke of genius—splitting zones into manageable instances to prevent overcrowding and resource flooding. But in practice, it became yet another tool for the big guilds to cement their dominance. Certain layers, rich with rare resources, were deliberately limited in availability to keep the market from overflowing with valuable materials.

The reset quests to maintain access were no joke. These challenges had to be cleared every week, and the big guilds did it with brutal efficiency, cycling through objectives faster than anyone else could even prepare. For smaller groups or casual players, it was an impossible feat. The system practically funneled them into less resourceful zones, where rare materials were sparse and rewards far less lucrative. Meanwhile, the top guilds sat on their layers, mining riches and dictating the game’s economy from on high.

Nathan had tried to compete once, long ago. But it didn’t take long for reality to hit—there was no catching up to the well-oiled machines that dominated Eternal Nexus. Like most casual players, he’d been forced to divert to less profitable zones, scraping by on scraps while the big fish grew even fatter.

And yet, despite everything, there was a spark of hope in every player. Even in him. He knew the odds of finding that one rare drop were laughably slim, but the chance was there. Somewhere in this sprawling, digital world, an item could drop that would change everything. It was like the lottery. It was enough to keep people grinding, even in the less glamorous zones.

Nathan’s gaze flicked to a towering guild hall nearby, its entrance guarded by NPCs in shimmering gold armor. “Eclipse Sovereign,” he muttered. His guild. His gilded cage. He knew how they operated—knew it better than anyone. Most of his work funded the luxuries of the higher-ups, the ones who could afford to show off in the top layers. He clenched his fists in his pockets, trying to shake the thought.

“Damn system is rigged,” he said softly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “But what else is new?”

“Oi, peon! Get moving!” barked one of the guild officers to Nathan. BoneReaver was a towering orc clad in shimmering platinum armor. He was the officer in charge of the mining profession branch, overseeing resource collection for the guild.

Nathan tightened his fist. The "guild bank" needed more mithril ore for upgrades, and, as always, the dirty work fell on him. Not that he had a choice—he’d signed away his freedom years ago in exchange for a spot in . Back when he was a fresh-faced newbie, they’d promised him glory and riches: exclusive raids, top-tier gear, and a place among the elites. As a young player eager to make a name for himself, the offer had been irresistible. What they didn’t tell him was that newcomers were expected to "earn their keep"—by serving the higher-ranked members in the guild as little more than unpaid labor.

The offer had turned out to be a scam; never intended to let him rise above his current status, and there was nothing he could do about it. Solo adventures, while tempting, were far too much of a financial risk—more often than not, the expenses outweighed the rewards, leaving him unable to cover his real-world bills. At least his position in the guild provided him with financial stability, however meager, further chaining him to the game and ensuring his reliance on the system that exploited him.

For a decade, Nathan had been stuck in this position. He had debts to pay, and the game was his only means of survival. With no qualifications for real-world jobs that paid better and no schooling or certifications to rely on, he was stuck. Besides, the amount of money he could make in the game required far fewer working hours than any job he might realistically land. This reason alone had kept him in the game all this time, convincing himself that anyone with a full-time job probably felt miserable about it every now and then, too. Like countless others, he was bound to this virtual world by chains far stronger than code alone.

“Are you deaf?” BoneReaver spat. “If you don’t hit quota by reset, I’ll dock your already pathetic cut.”

Nathan’s jaw tightened. A weekly reset—the time when the game wiped certain progress and refreshed content—was just hours away, and any unfulfilled tasks meant penalties. It wasn’t like he saw much of the profits to begin with; most of his work went straight into funding the luxuries of ’s higher-ranked players. Every now and then, when there was a surplus of crafting materials, he would be lucky enough to receive a slightly upgraded pickaxe—hardly a reward for the countless hours he poured into the guild’s success. Any protest would only make things worse.

Nathan, forcing a thin smile as he spoke his reply. “Oh, don’t worry, boss. I’ll hit that quota. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of your next platinum-plated codpiece.”

He summoned his mount—a shabby, second-hand horse with patches of missing fur and a sluggish gait. Unlike the sleek, glowing steeds of the higher-ranked members, this one barely made it up inclines without wheezing. He urged it toward the mines. A permit for this mine had been bought by his guild, one of only a handful in the game able to afford these exclusive rights. The system made the rich richer, perpetuating unfairness both in the game and in real life.

The journey was boring and uneventful, giving Nathan time to stew in his frustration. He dismounted as he approached the mithril veins, which shimmered faintly in the dim light. His surroundings were softly illuminated by a small, glowing insect hovering near his shoulder. This unique creature, bound to Nathan, emitted a steady light and could be summoned or unsummoned at will. Sometimes, he found himself talking to the insect—a one-sided conversation with a creature that couldn’t even understand him. It reminded him of how pathetic he’d become, but he was lonely, both in the game and in real life. The insect was, at least, a quiet companion in a world that offered him little else.

“You know, buddy, you’re the only one who doesn’t yell at me to work faster.” He paused, watching the tiny creature hover in lazy circles around him. “If you ever figure out how to talk back, just promise you won’t turn into an asshole like the rest of them.”

Nathan set his pack down against the smooth rock wall, the faint glow of his insect companion casting a soft light over the area. He opened his inventory and began to prepare, pulling out his pickaxe and inspecting its worn surface for any cracks. Satisfied that it would hold for at least another session, he adjusted his gloves, ensuring the reinforced palms were snug. A quick check of his satchel confirmed there was enough space for the mithril ore, though he doubted he’d be able to fill it entirely before his stamina started to wane.

He took a small sip of water to maintain his endurance. “All right, let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself, gripping the pickaxe tightly. Mining mithril was no small feat. It required a high-level skill to extract the metal without rendering it useless, and Nathan was one of the most skilled miners in the guild—and in the entire game. He’d spent years perfecting the technique, painstakingly chiseling away at virtual rock to produce flawless results. Perfecting things was part of Nathan’s personality; he was eager to learn and master everything he could. In his spare time, he had studied every nuance of the game, learning strategies, mechanics, his class, other classes, and secrets. There was virtually nothing he did not know about the game; he had poured countless hours into understanding its systems, lore, history, and intricacies, far beyond what most players ever bothered to learn. But he’d never been able to execute any of it—he was held small by threats from higher-ranked guild members who ensured he remained a cog in their machine, ensuring their top players could continue to dominate.

He swung his pickaxe methodically, each strike precise and practiced. Hours passed, and his inventory was nearly full when a faint shimmer caught his eye.

Buried deep within the mithril vein was something that shouldn’t have been there—a small, pulsating fragment that flickered erratically, emitting a faint static noise. Its textures clearly marked it as unfinished—a placeholder texture, the kind developers left for items that weren’t completed. It looked entirely out of place, as if it were out of sync with the game’s graphics. Nathan knelt closer, curiosity sparking despite himself.

“What in the pixelated ass of a broken object are you?” he muttered, his brows furrowing. “I’ve mined this shit for years, and I’ve never seen or heard about anything like you before.”

Suddenly, an in-game popup appeared. The description of the item was illegible, scrambled with glitched characters and flashing symbols. Only two options were clearly displayed at the bottom: a green [Accept] button and a red [Decline] button.

Nathan hesitated. Years of being cautious in the game warned him that tampering with unknown items often led to penalties or bans. He lingered on the buttons, his finger hovering over [Accept], but after a moment, he decided against interacting with the fragment. Instead, he closed the popup and carefully added the item to his inventory.

"The last thing I need is BoneReaver breathing down my neck again over quotas," he snarked. "Congratulations, weird glowy thing. You get to wait while I keep being the guild's favorite mule."

He swung his pickaxe one last time, filling the remaining slots in his inventory with mithril ore. Once done, he opened his map, plotted a route, and trudged back toward the guild’s resource depot to deposit his haul. The monotonous routine of completing his tasks felt heavier than usual, his mind drifting back to the strange fragment and the static noise that still seemed to hum faintly in his thoughts. It kept drawing him to it.

After finishing his mundane duties for the guild and confirming the transfer of materials, Nathan walked to the area within the guild’s plot designated for the lowest-ranked members to park their characters before logging out. It was a drab guild inn with shared sleeping arrangements, a far cry from the private quarters of the higher-ranked players. As he settled his character into a bed and logged out, exhaustion settled over him like a weight. The fragment could wait until tomorrow. For now, he needed to rest.

"Whatever you are, you're tomorrow's problem," Nathan said with a smirk, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tonight, sleep wins the boss fight."