Chapter 2: Are you certain you want to delete the World?

With trembling fingers, Estelle weakly tapped the left mouse button. Without warning, the muffled, irritating music in her earphones abruptly cut off. The screen dimmed, overlaid by a gray film that froze the world beneath as if stuck in time. Estelle's eyes widened as a new window appeared in the center, its red text stark against the backdrop: "Are you certain you want to delete 'The World of Astris'? (Containing 67,934 item files. 144GB)”

The number staggered her. 67,934 item files was enormous, yet Estelle knew many were placeholders—ideas yet to be fully realized, variant versions of original concepts, or items meant for deletion but archived "just in case." Even if she took the time to sort through the pages, cleaning and revising the entire world again, it would take too long. So long that she might forget why she started this purge in the first place.

Estelle knew she needed to delete the World of Astris, to escape its gravitational pull. If she merely stored it away, there would always be a calling—a siren song luring her back to this world, back to continue, and ultimately, to suffer more. The thought of that endless cycle made her stomach churn.

Her hand felt heavy, but it moved almost of its own accord, sliding smoothly across the mousepad. Before she knew it, the cursor hovered over the 'Confirm' button, its red text a stark warning beneath the question. She muttered, "Delete and be free. And then, we start a new world. Be free, so I can create something better with what we've learned, what we carry. I can do better—much better now. So delete it, Estelle."

Her words trailed off as her breathing became rapid and shallow. Tears welled behind her eyes, but she held them back, blinking hard. Her gaze caught on the digital forest behind the window prompt, memories flashing before her eyes, only adding weight to the resistance in her fingers. She only needed one click, just a simple tap, and everything would be over.

These actions were all too familiar. She couldn't help but recall the times she had cleansed worlds before—too many times, too many painful memories. Creating anew in the verse was never the issue; fitting pieces together cohesively like a puzzle was where the challenge lay. But nothing could compare to the emotions surging through her now. Creating, editing, deleting—the cyclical plague that haunted worldbuilders like her. It was part of the process, Estelle knew that all too well.

“Delete the world, and be free. Free from all of this. So that I can start anew,” Estelle repeated, her words now solemn, almost futile chant. “Start anew—”

However, as those words left her lips, something stirred within Estelle's mind. A familiar sensation—an idea, a bright thought, a hope for this predicament. Yet, she couldn't grasp it clearly. She hastily removed her hand from the mouse, hugging her knees tightly as she tried to calm her numb senses. She wasn't certain what this thought was; perhaps another impulsive action, or maybe a futile resistance against the inevitable. She sighed heavily, her chest expanding as her nerves began to relax.

“Start anew…” she repeated, the words hanging in the air.

Something about this phrase budded a seed of another thought. Estelle's mind couldn't quite grasp it, but it felt too important to ignore. She sensed she could deeply regret continuing without exploring this further. Shifting her gaze back to the map—its brightness dimmed by the ever-present 'delete confirmation' window—Estelle clicked away from the prompt. The world regained its colors, and the ambient sounds of the Soliel archipelago filled her ears once more. She murmured, "Start anew—"

"—A campaign?" The words flowed from her lips unbidden. Her eyes widened in surprise as the idea crystallized in her mind. Without warning, before she could fully process it, the burden that had constricted her chest, along with the weight pressuring her shoulders, abruptly lifted. It felt as if an extensive project had suddenly reached its conclusion, leaving her in a state of unexpected calm with newfound clarity.

"Right... Right... Right... Indeed," Estelle whispered, her hands hurriedly guided the cursor back to the cog wheel icon.

She clicked on the cog icon once more. A list of options appeared beneath, with 'Start Campaign' prominently displayed at the top. She hesitated, realizing she had never clicked this option before—not even by mistake. The software updates had always touted it as a cool, fantastic feature, but Estelle had dismissed it many times. After all, the World of Astris was never meant to be played by others or used for a tabletop roleplaying game.

Yet now, the idea of starting a campaign suddenly seemed compelling. Estelle sighed, gripping the mouse tightly. "I guess..." she began, her words trailing into thought. 'Perhaps... a campaign or two won't hurt. After all, I want to see the World of Astris through a character's eyes—to be restricted by the rules and laws I have created. For one last time... Yes.'

With a nod to herself, Estelle clicked the 'Start Campaign' option. A new window popped up, nearly filling the screen. It displayed the default initial documentation for the campaign: player avatar and participation, their backstories, abilities, and more. Estelle dove straight into scanning the form as her thoughts began to wander, her lips moving in a stream of half-formed ideas:

“First run... I think I want to start with a powerful character—easy mode. Or maybe not. No deaths—yes, no deaths. Not like Immortals or Tihels, but maybe... dragons? No, no. I just don't want the campaign to end so quickly. Time regression? No, that's a stupid ability that requires too many things, and breaks World Runes. No deaths, so maybe a race that can resurrect? This... or maybe that, phoenix, but then again... so no."

As Estelle reached the bottom of the form, she pondered which avatar to use for her first campaign. Suddenly, she lifted her head from her knees, a detail finally registering. 'Huh? The theme—it's still default.' The stark blacks and whites of the system interface stood out like an intrusion in her carefully crafted environment. ‘How come I didn't notice it immediately?’ she wondered, her eyes twitching. The familiar cyan glow was missing, replaced by harsh lines and standard system fonts that felt alien after years of working with her custom design.

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Glancing at the top panel behind the campaign interface, Estelle noticed sections bordered with cyan light blue. Each icon on the panel had changed to assets she had created, and even the language partly resembled that of her world. Intrigued, she pressed F5 to refresh the window. The campaign interface transformed, its elements reorganizing themselves to match her usual theme. The clinical system interface faded away as her customized design took hold—familiar typography replacing standard fonts, harsh edges softening beneath cyan borders, default icons morphing into the Architect's symbols. Like her world asserting its presence, piece by digital piece.

The Architect's theme was something she had grown accustomed to, though she couldn't recall when she had started using it or when she had revamped the original design to fit her needs. It was a simple, dark matte design with glowing cyan borders. While most text used English alphabets, specific areas were replaced with the Architect's language for aesthetic and immersion.

Estelle's eyes fell on the start button, confirming the theme was working completely. She felt a wave of relief seeing 'enter world' written in the Architect's language, replacing the previous 'start campaign' option.

Abruptly, a memory sparked in her mind. 'Wait—didn't I make an avatar for myself before? Yes, I think I created... the Architect avatar when I was designing icon concepts for the theme.'

At those thoughts, Estelle clicked on 'attach/upload external file', prompting a new window to appear. She tapped the 'insert file name' field, straining to remember the exact name. "I think it was... Architect_Ava..." she muttered, slowly typing.

As if reading her mind, the system shadowed letters beneath hers, autocompleting to 'Architect_avatar_creator_project.cht'. Estelle hit enter, and the window twitched as it began to navigate to the original file. Her eyes widened as she checked the date: 'Last modified 5 years ago'.

'It's been that long?' she thought, a wave of nostalgia washing over her.

She continued. A second press of the enter key confirmed the selection and closed the default window, returning her to the software's campaign UI. The interface transformed, now displaying a list of character files. To her relief, her old creation was there, accepted, fully compatible despite its age.

Estelle double-clicked on the file name, opening a new window beside the list. It displayed her character information and concept art in vivid detail. She leaned in, absorbing the details:

* Race: Architect

* Name: Estelle Nytelles

* Age: 423

* Override Abilities: [Creator’s mark]

All the basic information was visible at a glance. Scrolling down, Estelle found sections detailing her abilities, racial affiliations, and other attributes. Though much of it seemed unimportant now, she skimmed through it all, double-checking the details she had crafted so long ago.

As she read, a mixture of nostalgia and excitement welled up inside her. A smile crept onto her face—this wasn't just any character. She remembered that this was supposed to be an extension of herself, a mark of her existence as the creator of the world, to be present and recorded in its history.

Though this version of her character's Architect race was now outdated, perhaps even weaker compared to the Architect's abilities in the present day, the original variant that her character possessed was still powerful in its specialty—especially when it came to crafting and recreating. Not only that, but she considered herself omniscient—more knowledgeable about her own world than any other being within it.

There was no issue if her avatar's abilities were weak compared to newer creations. She—the creator—already had an inherent advantage. Estelle nodded to herself, smiling as her body swayed through the ambience of the music.

After several minutes of checking, the file appeared intact and complete, free from corruption. As Estelle reviewed it, memories of the Architects surfaced—they were the first foreigners to visit the World of Astris in ancient times, establishing a respectful relationship with both natives and the world's Gods. Their presence was brief, though. While the exact details eluded her now, she remembered writing about a conflict that forced the Architects to retreat to their own home world. Before departing, they had constructed a gateway atop one of the world's highest peaks—a portal that later became a source of tragedy when foreign Gods, far more violent than the Architects, used it to invade Astris.

Estelle felt the urge to verify these historical details but held back, knowing how easily she could get distracted and fall into another spiral of impulsive editing and self-hatred. She closed the character form, returning to the campaign interface. Three options lined the bottom of the screen, their text rendered in the world's runic script according to her custom theme: she could either select an existing storyline, create a new storyline, or start the campaign. Growing impatient with the endless choices, Estelle clicked 'create a new storyline.' Another window appeared, presenting yet another form similar to the previous character interface. Without much thought, she selected 'generate random storyline' and the interface flickered—refreshing as the blank forms filled with text.

Estelle skimmed through the randomly generated story. She understood the plot and its direction, but it felt too grounded, too mundane for the Architect character she would control. Still, she reasoned, the story needed to start somewhere, even if simple and generic. She could always alter the narrative later when inspiration struck.

Her eyes caught on the timeline year: 955. It was well into the 900s—an era full of unresolved violence and problems she had yet to address in her worldbuilding. With a quick click, she edited the year to 854, matching it to the current World Map timeline. She continued scrolling, scanning through the details and connections of the generated narrative.

To her relief, nothing seemed to break the world's core concepts, and the story's starting location provided an ideal entry point for her character. After a few more minutes of review, she finally reached the bottom of the form and nodded with satisfaction.

As she moved the cursor to the option where she could start the campaign, something caught her eye. The text appeared different now—bolder, written in a script reminiscent of the ancient gods' language she had designed for Astris. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the familiar yet altered text. Though still legible, it seemed to be a variant of what she had seen moments before, now reading: "Enter the World of Astris."

'Huh? Did I create this before?' Estelle tilted her head, studying the text’s option. 'This seems like a hybrid between the Native Gods' Runic writing system and the Architects' language. But that can't be right—I never designed a fusion of the two. The Architects despised the old Gods, especially after almost losing control of their "Gates to Another World" project. That conflict was meant to drive the world forward. Have I changed something without remembering? Created an alternate timeline? Or is this just another piece I forgot to update?'

Her face scrunched up as she released a soft sigh. 'I should edit this icon later. I remember making concept art for something similar... somewhere. Great, another file to track down.'

Mindlessly, Estelle clicked the left mouse button, her head already settling back to rest against her fist. Without warning, the screen erupted in white light—impossibly bright, as if her monitor's brightness had been cranked beyond its limits. Her chair, desk, room—everything dissolved into that blinding radiance. Then came the falling, a sickening lurch as reality seemed to turn inside out. Before she knew it, her vision plunged into darkness, endless and absolute, until—