Chapter 2 part 1:
The next morning dawned bright and clear, the early sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow across the living room. Ana was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the rug with her sketchbook open, her small hands moving deftly as she drew. Her tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, a sure sign she was deep in her own world.
"Good morning, sweetheart," I signed to her.
She looked up, her eyes lighting up as she returned the greeting. "Morning, Mama!" she signed back enthusiastically.
"I have some exciting news," I signed, settling down beside her. "In two weeks, we're going on a backpacking trip with Alex and Sam."
Her eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face. "Really?" she signed. "We'll go to the forest?"
"Yes," I nodded. "We'll explore the woods, camp under the stars, and maybe even see a waterfall."
Ana's excitement was palpable. She immediately flipped to a new page in her sketchbook. "I want to draw us in the forest!" she signed eagerly.
I watched as she began sketching, her small hands moving swiftly. The drawing depicted two figures—clearly us—surrounded by towering trees and cheerful woodland creatures. The simplicity of her art was endearing, each line filled with the joy and anticipation she felt about the upcoming trip.
"It's wonderful," I signed, giving her a hug. "I can't wait to see the real forest with you."
Over the next two weeks, our days were a blend of wrapping up my capstone projects and preparing for the backpacking trip. Ana's excitement was contagious. Every evening after I finished my coursework, we'd sit together on the living room floor, making lists of what we needed to pack and gathering supplies.
One afternoon, I finally submitted the final draft of my culinary capstone. The project had been both challenging and rewarding—a culmination of my studies in Culinary Arts with a focus on Sustainable Food Systems. I'd crafted a menu that celebrated local, foraged ingredients and emphasized minimal environmental impact. Dishes like wild mushroom risotto, nettle pesto pasta, and a salad of dandelion greens with toasted pine nuts showcased the flavors of the region.
Ana peeked over my shoulder as I reviewed the final document. "All done?" she signed, her eyes curious.
"Yes," I signed back, exhaling a sigh of relief. "It's submitted."
She clapped her hands silently, her joy mirroring my own sense of accomplishment. "Can we celebrate?" she signed.
"Absolutely," I replied. "What should we do?"
"Let's make cookies!" she suggested, her hands moving excitedly.
I laughed. "Great idea."
We spent the afternoon baking oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, the sweet aroma filling the apartment. As we worked, I couldn't help but feel grateful for these simple moments. Mixing ingredients, sharing smiles—these were the memories that mattered most.
As we baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to celebrate my capstone submission, I smiled at Ana's delight. This simple moment, filled with sweetness and warmth, was funded partly by the credits I’d earned by helping a neighbor build a pollinator garden last month. Everything seemed connected, and the credits were at the heart of it all—a system of give and take, one that encouraged generosity but also kept us all tethered to something bigger than ourselves.
During those two weeks, in between packing and my coursework, I found myself thinking about Mundi's cryptic messages. I logged into Aetheris a few times, hoping to catch him online, but he seemed to be unusually absent. Each time, I was greeted by the same message: "Life is about to get weird. Can't say more than that, but I'll see you in Tyra." What did he mean—“strange” for him or everyone? It nagged at the back of my mind.
As we packed for the trip, I kept reminding myself of the credits I’d earned over the last few weeks. Credits didn’t just fuel my time in Aetheris; they funded our real-world adventures too, like buying the camping supplies we needed for our trip, including Ana's new sleeping bag and the portable stove. The credits I earned from tutoring in-game, finding bugs, and even participating in environmental workshops translated into real-world value—credits I could use to buy camping supplies or pay for park entry fees.
I’d explained it to Ana before, in simple terms. “The more we help others, the more we earn for ourselves,” I’d told her while we worked on our community garden, picking fresh vegetables and tending to the pollinator beds. I’d shown her how planting trees or helping at the local compost center earned credits that I could then use to buy her new art supplies or cover her favorite snacks. It had become part of our lives, a way for her to understand that effort and kindness didn’t just make the world a better place—it also made our own lives a little easier.
One afternoon, while Ana was napping, I decided to send Mundi a message.
"Hey, got your notes. What's happening in Tyra? Is there a new event?" I typed. Then logged off.
Later that evening, after tucking Ana into bed, I felt a lingering restlessness. Mundi's cryptic messages had been on my mind, and curiosity nudged me to log back into Aetheris. The virtual tavern materialized around me, just as cozy as ever. Warm light from the hearth cast flickering shadows, and the familiar murmur of conversations enveloped me.
I checked my messages—no reply from Mundi.
Determined to find answers, I decided to journey to Tyra, the capital city he'd mentioned. Exiting the tavern, I made my way to the transit station at the edge of town. The dragon bus awaited—a marvel of Aetheris' design. Shaped like a magnificent serpent with wings, its metallic scales shimmered in hues of emerald and sapphire. Passengers boarded through an opening between its folded wings, settling onto plush seats inside.
I scanned my travel pass and stepped aboard. As the dragon bus lifted into the air, the ground fell away, and a breathtaking panorama unfolded below. Rolling hills, dense forests, and sparkling rivers stretched as far as the eye could see. The sensation of flight was exhilarating, the wind tousling my hair as I gazed out through the transparent walls.
We soared toward Tyra, the city gradually coming into view—a sprawling metropolis of towering spires, bustling markets, and winding canals. The dragon bus descended gracefully, landing at the grand central station adorned with intricate mosaics and statues of legendary heroes.
Disembarking, I was swept up in the energy of the city. Merchants called out from vibrant stalls, musicians played lively tunes on street corners, and adventurers of all kinds moved through the crowd. The air was filled with the scent of spices, baked goods, and a hint of sea breeze from the nearby harbor.
I made my way to the city hall, an imposing structure with gleaming marble columns and expansive courtyards. Inside, the grand hall buzzed with activity. NPC clerks assisted players with quests, and message boards displayed the latest news and events.
"Good day," I began. "I'm looking for any recent announcements or events happening in Tyra. Has anything unusual been reported?"
The clerk adjusted his spectacles and consulted a ledger. "At the moment, there are no special events scheduled," he replied in a crisp tone. "However, there have been rumors of disturbances near the eastern gates. Some say strange creatures have been sighted."
"Thank you," I said, filing away the information.
I spent the next few hours exploring the city. At the Hall of Records, I combed through archives but found nothing related to Mundi. The Mage's Guild was bustling with players experimenting with spells, but no one had seen or heard from him. I even visited the Whispering Gardens, a place known for secret meetings, but it too held no clues.
Feeling a mix of frustration and concern, I settled on a bench overlooking the central plaza. The sun cast a warm glow over the city, shadows lengthening as evening approached. I opened my message interface and typed a note to Mundi:
"Hey, I've been looking for you in Tyra but haven't been able to find any information. Are you okay? I'm going on a backpacking trip this weekend with Ana and some friends, so I'll be offline for a few days. Let me know if everything's alright."
I hesitated for a moment before hitting send, hoping he'd reply soon.
As I prepared to log off, an incoming message notification caught my eye. Heart leaping, I opened it, only to find it was from an NPC quest giver offering a routine mission. Disappointed, I closed the interface and returned to my home base in the tavern. I lingered for a moment, looking around the familiar space—the warm glow of the hearth, the clinking of mugs, the soft chatter of other players. It was comforting, but it wasn’t what I needed tonight. With a sigh, I logged off, letting the virtual world fade away.
Back in the real world, I removed my headset, closed my laptop, and rubbed my eyes. The sense of unease lingered, but I pushed it aside. There was nothing more I could do tonight. I needed to focus on the upcoming trip and the time I would get to spend with Ana.
Throughout the preparations, Ana’s enthusiasm was infectious, and I focused on her as we talked about our trip.
"Do you think we'll see any deer?" she signed one night, her eyes wide with wonder.
"Maybe," I replied, signing back. "We'll have to be very quiet and patient."
She nodded eagerly, her hands moving swiftly. "I want to draw all the animals we see!"
"I'm sure you'll fill your sketchbook with amazing drawings," I encouraged.
I reached out to Alex and Sam to coordinate plans. We set up a group chat to share ideas and make sure we didn't forget anything important.
"Don't forget warm layers; it can get chilly at night," Alex messaged.
"Got it," I replied. "Also packing a first-aid kit and extra socks."
Sam chimed in, "I'll bring a portable camp stove and some cookware. Any food preferences?"
"I can handle the meal planning," I offered. "I've been wanting to try some new sustainable recipes."
"Sounds great," Sam responded. "Looking forward to it!"
Later that evening, as I gently stirred the arborio rice, each grain slowly releasing its starches to create a creamy base, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of simmering garlic and onions. The rich vegetable broth melded with a splash of white wine, infusing the risotto with layers of depth and flavor. Steam rose from the pot, carrying the earthy scent of the wild mushrooms I'd foraged earlier—a mix of chanterelles, morels, and oyster mushrooms, their textures ranging from meaty to delicately silky.
Ana wandered into the kitchen, her nose wrinkling adorably as she inhaled the mouthwatering smells. Her eyes widened with delight, and she climbed onto a stool beside me, her head barely reaching the countertop.
"Smells so good!" she signed excitedly, her hands moving rapidly. The glow of the warm kitchen lights highlighted the curiosity and eagerness on her face.
"Thank you," I signed back with a smile. "It's mushroom risotto. Would you like to help me finish it?"
She nodded enthusiastically, her braids bouncing. I handed her a wooden spoon just her size. "Be gentle and keep stirring, so it stays creamy," I instructed through signs, placing my hand over hers to guide her at first.
Together, we folded in the sautéed mushrooms, their edges perfectly caramelized, releasing a nutty aroma that complemented the sweetness of the onions. I added a handful of freshly grated Parmesan cheese, which melted smoothly, adding a rich, savory note. The final touch was a sprinkle of chopped fresh thyme and parsley from our windowsill herb garden, their vibrant green contrasting beautifully with the golden hues of the risotto.
Ana stirred carefully, her eyes focused, her tongue peeking out in concentration. "It's like painting," she signed, glancing up at me with a grin. "But with food!"
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I laughed softly. "Exactly. Cooking is an art."
She lifted the spoon to her lips for a taste, her expression turning thoughtful as she savored the flavors. "So creamy and yummy!" she signed, her eyes lighting up. "The mushrooms taste like the forest smells."
"That's a wonderful way to describe it," I signed back, touched by her perceptiveness. "The mushrooms do bring a bit of the forest to our kitchen."
"Can we make this on the trip?" she signed eagerly. "Find mushrooms and cook them together?"
I smiled warmly at her enthusiasm. "Maybe something similar," I replied. "We can forage for mushrooms, but we have to be very careful to pick the right ones. Some can make us sick."
She nodded solemnly. "We'll be careful. I can draw them, and we can look them up."
"That's a great idea," I agreed. "We'll bring along a field guide, and we can compare your drawings to the pictures to make sure they're safe."
As we transferred the risotto to our bowls, I garnished each serving with a drizzle of truffle oil and a sprinkle of lemon zest to brighten the flavors. We sat at the small kitchen table, the wooden surface worn but comforting, like an old friend. The first bite was heavenly—the risotto was velvety and rich, the mushrooms adding a satisfying bite, and the herbs providing a fresh, aromatic finish.
Ana closed her eyes as she savored her food, then opened them to sign, "This is my new favorite!"
"Mine too," I signed back, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Moments like these—sharing a lovingly prepared meal with my daughter—were what I cherished most.
"Maybe we can find other things to cook with on our trip," she signed between bites. "Berries, herbs... like an adventure!"
"Absolutely," I replied. "We'll be like true foragers, discovering nature's gifts."
She giggled, her excitement palpable. "I can't wait!"
We continued our meal, discussing all the possibilities the forest might hold. The risotto not only filled our stomachs but also ignited our imaginations, turning an ordinary evening into a canvas for future adventures.
After dinner, we cleaned up together, the sounds of running water and clinking dishes a soothing backdrop to our silent conversation. As Ana dried the last dish, she signed, "Cooking is fun. I like making things with you."
I knelt down to her level, placing a gentle hand on her cheek. "Me too, sweetheart," I signed. "These are the moments I treasure."
She hugged me tightly, and I held her close, the warmth of the kitchen lingering around us. The scent of mushrooms and herbs still hung in the air, a reminder of the meal we'd crafted together.
"Tomorrow, we'll start packing for our trip," I signed as we pulled apart. "There's a lot to prepare."
She nodded eagerly. "I want to pack my sketchbook and pencils. And maybe we can make snacks to bring!"
"That's a wonderful idea," I agreed. "We can make granola bars with oats, honey, and dried fruits."
Her eyes sparkled. "And chocolate chips?"
I laughed. "A few, but we have to make sure they don't melt."
"Deal," she signed with a grin.
As I tucked her into bed later that night, she was still buzzing with ideas. "Do you think we'll see animals at night?" she signed, her eyes wide.
"Perhaps," I replied. "If we're quiet and observant. The forest is full of life."
"I'll draw everything we see," she promised. "It will be our adventure book."
I brushed a stray hair from her forehead. "I can't wait to share this adventure with you," I signed softly. "Sleep well, my little explorer."
"Goodnight, Mama," she signed back, her hands slowing as sleep began to claim her.
I watched her for a moment longer, the rise and fall of her breath steady and comforting. The excitement of the trip mingled with the simple joy of our shared meal, filling me with a profound sense of gratitude.
Turning off the light, I left the door slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of hallway light to spill into the room. Back in the kitchen, I savored the lingering aromas one last time before tidying up, already planning the foraging adventures and culinary delights that awaited us in the days ahead.
As the days passed, we collected all the essentials: a sturdy tent, sleeping bags, weather-appropriate clothing, and hiking boots that we'd broken in on walks around the neighborhood. Ana insisted on packing her own backpack, carefully placing her sketchbook, colored pencils, a compass, and her favorite stuffed rabbit, Clover.
"Don't forget snacks," I reminded her.
She added a small bag of trail mix we’d made together, a blend of dried fruits, nuts, and just a few chocolate chips for a treat.
The rest of the week flew by in a blur of activity. Between finalizing my capstone projects, attending classes, and preparing for the trip, I barely had a moment to spare. On the last day before our departure, I received an email from my culinary professor.
"Congratulations on your capstone submission," the email read. "Your approach to sustainable cooking is innovative and thoughtfully executed. I look forward to tasting your final presentation."
A surge of pride warmed me. All the hard work was paying off. I shared the news with Ana, who hugged me tightly.
"You're the best cook ever!" she signed, her eyes shining.
"Thank you, my love," I signed back. "I couldn't have done it without your help."
That evening, Alex and Sam stopped by to go over the route we'd be taking. They spread a detailed map across the coffee table.
"We'll start here at the trailhead," Alex explained, pointing to the marked spot. "It's about a four-hour hike to the first campsite."
"Are there any steep climbs?" I asked, glancing at Ana, who was attentively watching our conversation.
"Some moderate inclines, but nothing too challenging," Sam assured me. "We can take breaks as needed."
"Sounds manageable," I agreed.
Ana tugged at my sleeve. "Will we see a waterfall?" she signed.
Alex grinned. "Actually, yes! There's a beautiful waterfall near the second campsite."
Her face lit up with excitement.
As they left that evening, I felt a growing sense of anticipation. The trip was shaping up to be a wonderful adventure for all of us.
That night, after putting Ana to bed, I sat down at my laptop one last time. Curiosity got the better of me, and I logged into Aetheris. The virtual tavern appeared, just as cozy as ever. I checked my messages—still nothing new from Mundi.
As I prepared for bed, I couldn't shake a lingering feeling of uncertainty. Between Mundi's silence and his strange messages, something felt off. But with the trip ahead, I pushed those thoughts aside. Whatever was happening in the game could wait. Real-life adventures awaited us.
I climbed into bed, setting my alarm for an early start. Closing my eyes, I let the excitement of the upcoming journey fill my thoughts, drifting into a restful sleep.
Chapter 2 part 2:
As I stand in my small kitchen, I make sure all the food is put away to avoid attracting pests. I also do a final check of the food I've chosen for the trip. It’s only two nights—a short trip—and I want to forage for most of our meals, so I’m limiting what I bring. Last night, Ana and I had a delightful time assembling our trail mix packets. I let her choose four ingredients, and I picked four of my own. It may not be the healthiest combination, but it’s a blend we absolutely adore. Ana, with her sweet tooth, selected dried mangoes, tart cranberries, rich dark chocolate chunks, and creamy yogurt pretzels. Since those are some of my favorites too, I decided to balance the sweetness with a hearty mix of pecans, hazelnuts, almonds, and pumpkin seeds, adding a satisfying crunch and a dose of protein.
Taking those ingredients, I made a slight twist by using dark chocolate chips instead of chunks and added rolled oats, colorful M&Ms, nutty hemp seeds, and sunflower seeds. To bind everything together in a deliciously sticky harmony, I mixed in almond butter, velvety coconut oil, a splash of fragrant vanilla extract, and a drizzle of pure maple syrup. A pinch of salt and a dash of cinnamon added just the right amount of warmth and depth. I spread this luscious mixture into a pan lined with wax paper, pressing it down firmly to eliminate any air bubbles and ensure a dense, chewy texture. After freezing it overnight, I cut the mix into bars this morning, tucking half into Ana’s backpack and the rest into mine. I also packed some of the plain trail mix for snacking on the go.
Last night, I froze water in our water bottles, which are more like old-fashioned canteens with a butterfly handle cup attached. I’m also bringing a 64-ounce water bottle, along with iodine tablets and a cook pot for boiling water. Additionally, I packed a Sawyer water filter.
I stand in my small kitchen, the early morning light filtering through the curtains as I methodically lay out everything we’ll need for the camping trip. The soft hum of the refrigerator fills the quiet apartment, and I can hear Ana in the living room, busying herself with the little rituals she loves—carefully lining up her favorite toys, inspecting them one by one as if they’re old friends she’s seeing for the first time in years.
I glance at the clock and realize it’s time to get serious about packing. “Ana,” I sign, catching her eye as she looks up from her toys. “Are you excited for our trip?”
Ana nods enthusiastically, that adorable smile spreading across her face as her small hands move quickly. She brings the back of her hand to her lips as if giving it a quick kiss, then mimics the shape of a tree with one hand, gesturing broadly to sign, "Love the woods."
A smile tugs at my lips. The outdoors have always been a refuge for us—a place where the noise of the world fades away, leaving only the rustle of leaves, the songs of birds, and the sense of peace that comes from being surrounded by nature.
I turn back to the gear laid out on the counter, double-checking the essentials: tent, sleeping bags, camping stove, utensils—all accounted for. I add the first aid kit, water purification tablets, and a map of the area we’ll be hiking in. Everything needs to be lightweight and compact, but I make sure to include the things that will make the trip comfortable for Ana. Her little backpack is already packed with snacks, her favorite plush toy, and the blanket she insists on sleeping with every night. We don’t plan to use any electronic items like phones or tablets during our trip, but I bring them anyway and leave them in the car, just in case of an emergency. Before we leave, I make sure to share the details of our trip with Aunt Tammy, promising to call her as soon as we get back. It feels good to know someone knows where we’ll be, especially with Ana coming along. This is our time away from it all. I always include my analog watch, it was a gift from my dad, and I don’t go anywhere without it. I did pack the one thing I take with me everywhere: a billfold that includes the only family picture I have of my dad, mom, and myself. I also have a picture of me and Ana. I slipped my photo ID and $100 in cash inside for park entry. It’s $20 a night, and we’ll be staying two nights, leaving a little extra for a treat on the way home.
The food prep was done last night because I wanted to ensure we have everything we need for easy, nutritious meals that can be prepared over a campfire. I’ll pack dried fruits, nuts, and some pre-made energy bars for quick snacks. The rest will be meals we cook together, something I know Ana enjoys as much as I do. I packed the rest of the food near the top of the bags for easy access and so they don’t get completely smashed.
As I zip up the last of the bags, my thoughts drift to the message I received from Mundi last night. His messages are always cryptic, but this one has been nagging at me: “Life is about to get weird,” he’d said, followed by a reminder to meet in Tyra, the capital of Tyrania in the game. But he didn’t mention a date or time. It was strange, even for him.
I glance over at Ana, who’s now contentedly playing on the couch. “I’m just going to check one more thing,” I sign to her. She nods absently, absorbed in her game.
I settle down with my laptop, putting on my headset, the familiar weight of it comforting in a way. Logging into the game feels like slipping into a well-worn jacket—familiar, safe. The tavern materializes around me, the warm glow of the digital fireplace casting shadows on the walls. I navigate to my messages, expecting the usual notifications.
But something’s different this time. My credit balance shows 200.
I blink, staring at the screen. Last night, I only had 22 credits—just enough for a few small in-game purchases. But now, the number on the screen is unmistakable: 200 credits. I didn’t do anything to earn that much, at least not that I remember.
A new message pops up, interrupting my thoughts. It’s from Mundi again: "Don’t forget to meet in Tyra."
I frown at the screen, confusion swirling in my mind. Mundi is usually specific about meeting times in the game. This vague, open-ended instruction is out of character for him, and it doesn’t help that the sudden increase in credits makes no sense.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss my worries. Maybe Mundi had something to do with it—perhaps it was part of the 'weirdness' he hinted at. But even as I packed the remaining supplies, a creeping unease lingered. The credits system was a double-edged sword—a blessing that allowed me and Ana to have what we needed, and a constant reminder that every action I took was tied to a network beyond my control.
There were times it felt empowering—like when I earned credits from foraging and cooking meals using sustainable practices. Those moments felt real, connected, and tangible. I’d taught Ana that we could shape our future, one action at a time, and see the result in our growing credit balance. But there were other times, like now, when the system seemed unpredictable, like it was keeping secrets from me. Where did these extra credits come from? Why now, right before our trip?
I had learned early on wealthy individuals used credits like bonuses—tipping people for good deeds, donating to community efforts, even paying employees. They could easily earn credits by donating money or their time, and that’s why I sometimes found an anonymous boost in my credit balance. But 178 credits were significant—enough to buy a month of groceries or pay rent for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t the kind of boost that came without strings attached.
As I logged off Aetheris and worked on packing the final items for the trip, I resolved to figure it out later. Whatever it was, whatever Mundi was trying to tell me, it would have to wait.
Back in the real world, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Mundi's silence was uncharacteristic, and the unexplained credits that had appeared in my account were still a mystery. I log off, still puzzled, and turn my attention back to the task at hand. The game can wait. Right now, Ana and I needed a break from both worlds—real and virtual. The forest, with its fresh air and simple beauty, was calling, and I was ready to answer, even if my thoughts were still filled with the mystery of the credits.
As I start to put away my laptop, a memory surfaces—unbidden—a flashback to the day I first met Mundi in the game. I was twelve, just beginning to explore the vast digital world of Aetheris, when a stranger approached me in the marketplace. His avatar was plain, nondescript, but something about the way he moved—the confidence with which he navigated the game—caught my attention.
“You’re new here,” he’d said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Need any help?”
I’d hesitated, instinctively wary of strangers, even in the virtual world. But there was something about him that felt safe, so I’d nodded. That was the beginning of our friendship, one that had lasted through the years, through all the ups and downs of my life. Mundi had always been there, a steady presence in an ever-changing world.
But now, with these strange messages and the unexplained credits, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s different. Something’s changing, and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Ana,” I sign, drawing her attention back to me. “Ready to finish packing?”
She held up her sketchbook, proudly displaying a drawing of us standing beside a mountain, the sun shining brightly above. Her excitement was contagious. "Ready!" she signed back.
I smile, pushing the thoughts of Mundi and the game to the back of my mind. I’ll figure it out later. Right now, the woods are calling, and I can’t wait to lose myself in the tranquility of nature with Ana by my side.
With our bags packed and ready, I take one last look around the apartment, making sure we haven’t forgotten anything. The excitement of the upcoming adventure mixes with the lingering unease about the game, but I push the latter aside. This trip is about getting away, about reconnecting with the world outside of screens and virtual reality.
I turn off the lights, grab our bags, and lead Ana out the door, ready to embrace whatever the weekend brings.