There were many days that Greg Veder would rather have stayed in bed.

Most of those days usually ended with him getting his ass kicked by someone bigger, stronger, and meaner.

Today… today was not one of those days.

Greg Veder opened his eyes with a gasp, the shock of cold air hitting his lungs like a punch to the chest. For a second, he thought he was still dreaming, brain struggling to process the vast expanse of white stretching out before him.

What the hell? Snowflakes danced chaotically in the wind, confusing him even more. It's FALL!

Greg Veder had never been much of a fan when it came to the cold. For a kid who lived in Brockton Bay, the chilly winters were always more "meh" at best than "magical winter wonderland."

Sure, snow was cool to look at and all -- heck, it was great ammo for waging snowball war against Sparky, but when you got down to it, cold was cold, and cold sucked.

But right here, right now? This "cold" wasn't just "winter chilly." No, this was a cold that went beyond any winter he had ever experienced before, a cold that cut right to the bone. Hell, the freezing sensation that gripped his entire body was way past the point of uncomfortable and rapidly approaching genuine danger.

He sat up, blinking rapidly as if that might somehow change things. His breath came out in visible puffs, reminding him of those old-school RPGs where characters' dialogue appeared above their heads.

"Hello?" Greg called out, voice almost inaudible over the howling wind. "Is anyone there? Mom? Mom!"

No response.

"M-mom?" The word came out much weaker this time, Greg's eyes nervously darting from place to place.

Nothing.

Just more howling wind and the soft crunch of snow beneath him as he shifted.

Greg glanced down at himself as he rose to his feet, his confusion deepening. He was dressed in a simple white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a blue windbreaker – definitely not the kind of outfit you'd wear for a trip to the Arctic. Or wherever the heck this is.

"Okay, o-okay, d-d-don't freak out," he muttered to himself, teeth chattering uncontrollably as he wrapped his arms around his body. There's gotta be a logical explanation for this. Maybe I'm in one of those prank shows? Or... or maybe I'm having a super vivid dream?

He pinched himself hard, wincing at the sharp pain, as he rose to his feet. "Nope, definitely not dreaming. Unless it's like Inception or something. Oh man, what if I'm stuck in limbo? Or VR?"

Crunch.

Greg flinched as his sneakers sank into the snow with each shaky, shivering step. This was way too realistic to be some sort of advanced VR simulation. No tech he knew of could make you feel this level of immersion, especially not the cold. Heck, the Tinkers probably couldn't pull something like this off yet.

This felt real, way too real.

His head swiveled left and right, wide blue eyes darting from place to place, more than a little confusion and disorientation clear on his face. Snow-capped peaks towered in the distance, jagged and imposing against the gray, overcast sky. Gnarled, skeletal trees dotted the otherwise barren landscape, their branches bowing under the weight of the snow and ice. Everything looked cold, bleak, and unfamiliar.

"W-w-where the h-heck am I?" he wondered aloud, teeth chattering as he hugged his arms tight around his thin, shaking frame. His windbreaker and t-shirt offered about as much protection from the cold as tissue paper would against a butcher knife. The frigid wind cut right through the fabric, chilling him down to the bone.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Definitely not in Brockton anymore, Greg thought, his mind racing.

For one, Brockton didn't exactly have snowy tundras and imposing mountain ranges. At least, not outside of a few niche survival games he might dive into when the mood struck. But this felt different. More real, more tangible. The biting cold was too intense, the landscape too vast and detailed. This couldn't be a game... could it?

"Hello?" Greg called out again, hands cupped around his mouth in a vain attempt to project his voice over the wind. "Anybody out there? Sparky? God? Uh... anyone?"

Just more howling wind and the crunch of snow beneath his feet as he trudged on, shivering and confused.

"C-c'mon, Greg, t-think," he muttered to himself, trying to focus despite the numbing cold. "W-what's the last thing you r-remember?"

Birthday. New game. Then... nothing.

The memories were fuzzy, fragmented, like trying to recall a dream that was already fading away. He remembered turning fifteen, the excitement of a new RPG to dive into, the title screen loading up, and then... blank. Next thing he knew, he was waking up here, in this frozen wasteland straight out of some post-apocalyptic survival game.

Okay, let's think this through logically, he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. Either this is the most realistic game ever, or... or I'm not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Suddenly, something caught his eye amidst the endless white expanse.

A glint of... metal?

Huh?

Squinting against the glare of the snow, Greg stumbled closer to investigate. As he approached, the object came into clearer focus: a sword, its blade buried point-first into the frozen ground like some sort of Arthurian legend come to life.

Whoa... no way…

Greg blinked, then blinked again, half-expecting the sword to vanish like a mirage. But no, it stayed right where it was, its presence an almost defiant contrast against the harsh, unyielding landscape.

The sword was a minimalist masterpiece. Its sleek, bone-white blade had a flawless sheen, untouched as if freshly forged and never used. A bright blue gem was embedded near the hilt, glowing like a perfect sapphire caught in sunlight. The hilt itself flowed seamlessly from the blade, with a simple, streamlined design that balanced elegance with function.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

It was, in a word, majestic.

Like something straight out of a video game or like one of his Japanese animes.

It's beautiful, he thought, his hand reaching out almost of its own accord. He shuffled towards it, drawn by an inexplicable pull. This has to be a dream, right? Or maybe I hit my head really hard and now I'm in some kind of fantasy coma?

Without even thinking, Greg reached out, fingers wrapping around the hilt with a sense of reverence. The moment he gripped the sword, a sudden warmth flooded through him, driving back the biting cold with a surge of invigorating energy. It wasn't enough to completely banish the chill, but it took the edge off, steadying his shivering and clearing some of the fog from his mind.

"Whoa," Greg whispered, blinking rapidly. Whoa... this is unreal...

With a gentle tug, the blade slid free from its snowy prison with surprising ease, as if it had simply been waiting for Greg to come along and claim it. He could almost swear he felt a connection forming, a resonance between himself and this magnificent weapon, like some unspoken bond clicking into place.

This is mine, Greg realized with startling certainty, feeling just as sure as his name was Greg that the sword belonged to him and no one but him. H-how? Why?

As if in response to his unspoken questions yet answering none of them, a name popped into his mind with that same unyielding certainty, imprinting itself onto his thoughts like it was his own name: Celestial Greg Blade.

"Celestial Greg Blade," Greg repeated aloud, testing the words on his frozen, chapped lips. "Celestial Greg Blade. Celestial Greg Blade," he repeated slowly, testing the feel of the words a third time. They rolled off his tongue with an odd sense of rightness. "Right, okay then. Magic sword made for me, I guess."

Swinging the blade a few times, Greg marveled at the gleaming metal. The craftsmanship was exquisite, like nothing he had ever seen before, and that included all of the most high-end collectibles or props.

And yet, this felt real, solid and perfectly balanced in his grip.

I have absolutely no idea what's going on right now, but... it's kind of awesome?

Sword in hand, Greg took another look around, the desolate landscape seeming just a little less daunting than it had a moment ago. He wasn't sure why, but the blade gave him a sense of security, of purpose.

"Alright, Greg, you got this. It's like the start of every hero's journey, right?" he muttered to himself, a stream of observations and half-formed questions tumbling out. "Just gotta figure out where 'this' is. And why. And how. And... pretty much everything else. No biggie, right? Strange new world, magic sword, zero idea what's going on... totally classic setup. Just roll with it."

Taking a deep breath of the frigid air, Greg chose a direction and started walking, the sword a comforting weight in his hand. Off in the distance, he could make out a denser cluster of those gnarled trees.

Shelter, maybe?

At the very least, it was a goal, something to work towards.

"Trees mean wood, wood means fire, fire means warmth," he reasoned aloud, going off nothing but optimism and what he'd learned from countless hours of gaming. "Plus, maybe there's a save point or a merchant hiding out there. That's usually how these things work, right?"

He blinked after a moment, eyes narrowing in thought. "Or… if this is a game or something, there's gotta be some sort of tutorial or hint system, right? Like, a quest log or an NPC to talk to?"

As he trudged through the snow, the initial awe of the sword shifted to curiosity about its origins and its apparent connection to him. He tried a few experimental swings with the sword as he walked, the movements clumsy but not entirely unfamiliar. It felt almost instinctual, like some part of him already knew how to wield this blade.

"Man, if the guys at school could see me now," Greg grinned, blade slicing through the air with growing confidence. "Let Mal try to stuff me in a locker if he knew I had a freaking magic sword." The thought brought a grin to his face, even as his teeth chattered from the cold. This was straight out of his daydreams, a chance to be the hero for once instead of the sidekick or the comic relief.

He paused mid-swing, a thought striking him. "Wait a sec, did I get Isekaied or something? Am I The Chosen One?" he said the last three words with emphasis, somehow managing to add gravitas to his reedy shuddering voice. What if this was his call to adventure, the start of some epic quest where he had to save the world or defeat an ancient evil?

The idea sent a thrill down his spine. The grin widened as he tightened his grip on the sword, giving it another practice swing. "Sick."

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Starting Roll: Weapon of Power - This magical weapon has some additional powers, like being able to chop through concrete walls like butter, or parry incoming magical attacks. If it's a thrown weapon, it will always return to your hand afterwards, and ranged weapons like bows and guns will shoot magical blasts instead of arrows, so you never have to worry about running out of ammunition.

While effectively indestructible while the user is alive, and super light (to the user), it's sharpness varies from Wolverine level to just a really good sword, depending on the user's stamina. Improve your physicality and you're basically swinging around a foot of adamantium all day.