Rhaenor stared out the window of his small office at the Philippine Weather Bureau, watching the rain pour down in steady sheets. Monsoon season again. His job as a meteorologist meant hours of analyzing weather patterns, issuing flood warnings, and preparing for the inevitable typhoons that would sweep across the islands. He had been doing this for almost five years now, and though he had once been passionate about his work, something inside him had changed. The thrill of chasing storms had been replaced by exhaustion, and the excitement of predicting the weather had dulled into routine.
He glanced at his computer screen, displaying a series of rain cloud formations. The usual patterns. The usual warnings. The usual grind.
Rhaenor sighed and leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t getting any younger, and at 34, he felt like his life was slipping into monotony. The thought gnawed at him, especially in the last few months. There had to be more than this—a life of spreadsheets, storm predictions, and government reports. He wasn’t unhappy, exactly, but he wasn’t happy either.
Then, a faint notification from his personal tablet drew his attention. A message popped up:
"Midgard’s Call – The Most Immersive VR Experience of Your Life. Limited Slots Remaining!"
He had been seeing advertisements for Midgard’s Call everywhere. People called it the greatest game ever created—a virtual world so realistic that it felt more like stepping into an alternate dimension than playing a game. What made it truly groundbreaking was the in-game currency, which could be exchanged for real money, upending economies across the globe. Entire nations were reforming their policies around this game, and countless people were quitting their jobs to play full-time. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was a new way of life.
Some of his colleagues had joined, some only logging in on weekends, others full-time. Rhaenor had dismissed it at first, thinking it was just a distraction. But the world outside had shifted. The game wasn't just fun; it was a portal to wealth, freedom, and adventure.
His eyes drifted to the VR headset collecting dust in the corner of his desk. He had bought it months ago but had never used it. One login wouldn’t hurt, he thought. He could always come back if he didn’t like it.
His fingers hovered over the tablet screen. Hesitating for a moment, he quickly typed in his details and pressed Submit. The screen flickered, and a confirmation message appeared.
"Welcome to Midgard. Prepare for entry."
Later that evening, Rhaenor sat in the quiet of his apartment, the rain still drumming on the windows. He had set everything up. The VR headset was connected, and the teleportation device—a sleek, metallic band—sat snugly around his wrist. He stared at it, marveling at how much technology had advanced. This device was the key to Midgard, the object that would transport him, body and mind, into the game world.
He took a deep breath, lying back on his couch as the headset buzzed to life. His vision blurred for a moment, and then everything went black.
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When Rhaenor opened his eyes again, he was no longer in his apartment.
He stood in an enormous, ornate hall. Towering walls were lined with intricate carvings of mythical creatures and ancient battles. The floor beneath his feet was cold stone, and the air smelled faintly of incense. His heart raced as he glanced down. His body felt different—lighter, somehow, but real. He stretched his arms, feeling the smoothness of his skin, the solidity of his legs. This wasn’t like a typical VR game where you floated in a digital world. This felt real.
"Welcome, Traveler," a calm, disembodied voice said. Rhaenor spun around, searching for the source, but the hall remained empty. "You are about to enter Midgard. Before you do, a test will be conducted to evaluate your capacity and determine your class. Please prepare yourself."
The air shimmered, and strange objects appeared—glowing symbols, geometric shapes, and puzzles twisting in the air. The voice instructed him to solve each one. Rhaenor realized this test wasn’t just about reflexes. It tested perception, logic, and mental endurance.
The first puzzle was simple: a glowing cube with different symbols on each side. He had to match them in the correct order. Easy enough. He tapped the sides, aligning the symbols until they clicked into place.
The second challenge was more complex: a shifting maze of light that required focus and calm breathing. Rhaenor felt his heart pound, but his years of weather analysis helped him stay calm. He traced the patterns in his mind, calculating the best path.
Hours passed. The puzzles grew harder, testing his ability to think under pressure and anticipate outcomes. At one point, he found himself in a simulated storm, tasked with predicting where lightning would strike based on atmospheric conditions. It was eerily similar to his real-life job.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the puzzles faded.
"Your test is complete," the voice announced. "It is time to choose your class."
A shimmering panel appeared before Rhaenor, displaying an overwhelming selection of classes, each with detailed descriptions of abilities and strengths.
He scrolled through the vast array of classes. One immediately caught his eye: the Stormblade, a warrior who could channel electricity through their blade, creating devastating attacks. A close contender was the Elemental Sage, a master of controlling earth, water, fire, and air, their spells powerful but complex.
The Runesmith intrigued him as well—crafters who imbued weapons and armor with ancient runes, making them nearly indestructible. There was also the Voidwalker, a rogue-like class capable of phasing between dimensions, making them virtually untouchable in combat. The Beastshaper offered a fascinating approach too, allowing players to transform into a wide variety of creatures, gaining their abilities and strength.
As he weighed his options, Rhaenor noticed a small, flickering icon at the corner of the panel. It was barely noticeable, and when he tapped it, a new class appeared: Magus.
The description was brief but intriguing: "A master of the forgotten arts of transmutation. The Magus is a rare class capable of manipulating the fundamental elements of the world, including the ability to transmute gases into solid matter."
"Magus?" Rhaenor muttered. "I've never heard of that."
The disembodied voice returned, calm yet authoritative. "The Magus class is unique and extremely rare. You are the first traveler to unlock it in centuries. Unlike traditional mages, Magi specialize in manipulating the raw essence of matter. One of their unique abilities is Gaseous Transmutation, allowing them to convert gaseous elements into precious metals such as silver, gold, platinum, and even the mythical dwarven ingot, mythril. However, this process requires time, concentration, and a deep understanding of the environment. The Magus is a class of patience and wisdom, not brute strength."
Rhaenor’s mind raced. The possibilities seemed endless. Though it lacked the immediate power of some of the other classes, the Magus offered something much more subtle and potentially world-changing. With careful planning, his knowledge of the atmosphere and the right application, this class could unlock unparalleled potential.
"It’s not the obvious choice," Rhaenor mused, "but it might be the right one."
He hesitated for a moment longer, then pressed the glowing button.
"You have chosen the class: Magus," the voice confirmed.
The ornate hall began to dissolve around him. The stone walls faded into mist, and his surroundings shifted as the world of Midgard took shape. Rolling green hills stretched out before him, dotted with towns and villages. Massive mountains loomed in the distance, and dark forests beckoned with unknown dangers.
"Welcome to Midgard, Rhaenor. Your journey begins now."
Rhaenor’s heart pounded as he gazed out at the vast world before him. He had taken the leap, and now, there was no turning back.
Midgard had called, and he had answered.