Riker, as if commenting on the weather, asked, “What do you know about Nathan?”

“Nathan?” I blurted, my voice a mix of surprise and confusion. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “Isn’t he the creator of Rimelion?”

As if on cue, the guards left the room, leaving us with Riker alone.

He trusts us that much?

Riker nodded, a faint sneer curling his lips. “Yes, that might be the narrative the masses accept. Yet I believe you are capable of deducing far more, Miss Charlie.” He took a measured sip of his drink.

I shifted uncomfortably, but continued anyway. “He’s the leader of the Ring of Smiling People,” I said, watching his reaction. Riker nodded again, that ever-present smile urging me to continue. “And he plans to work closely with the government to replace all workers with robots. I told you that already.”

“Oh, splendid deduction! That is indeed his aim,” Riker said. “But I must correct you on two points—Nathan isn’t working with the government, and he didn’t create Rimelion. It has simply always existed,” he added, his smile widening as though he’d just shared the secret to make triple oak signature reserve whiskey.

I blinked at him, my brain scrambling to make sense of the words. “What?” was all I said, the syllable tumbling out flatly.

Riker rose from his seat with a graceful flourish, his multicolored coat blinding me again, as he crossed the room to the massive window. The city stretched out beyond the glass, and his gaze drifted over the skyline, his expression contemplative.

“The prevailing belief,” he began, his tone now soft and measured, “is that Rimelion has always existed—a world as immutable as our own.” He gestured toward the glittering view with his glass. “A place outside the confines of time, always existing, with all the rules that simply exist.”

“Nonsense…” I protested. “That’s a game we talk about! It’s fake! Fake like real, but fake none the less. Not this Gaia nonsence again…”

He turned to us, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Your friend Pearl,” he continued, “has unearthed a rather provocative notion: that our reality is but a simulation. Such a clever girl, isn’t she?” His admiration was almost genuine, but it sounded like a parent proud of their children walking. “She’s eluded even us, a feat few can claim.”

I stiffened at the mention of Pearl. “And yet, this theory,” Riker continued, his tone pivoting back to its calculated precision, “is embraced by Nathan. Or… is it Jeffrey? Yes, your enigmatic patron. How fascinating that such divergent minds converge on the same question.”

The name Jeffrey made me pause. My head was a mess and so many things happened in the past days—what about my time travel? “I don’t have a patron,” I said, my tone sharp. “Nobody’s holding my hand. I have to do everything myself. Thank you very much.”

Riker turned back to me, laughing. “You do have help,” he said. “But what I’m referring to is Jeffrey. For some reason, he chose you as his champion. To retrieve a seed for him.”

With a flourish, Riker snapped his fingers, and a holo-screen appeared mid-air. The image on it was painfully familiar: Jeffrey talking with Lucas.

The young punk.

The one who sent me back.

I turned to Lucas, my lovely, stupid, damn mage. “What? Lucas? Who’s that?!” I demanded.

“Charlie…” Lucas began hesitantly, his tone a mix of guilt and nervousness. “One leader of the Ring of Smiling People? I don’t know. He contacted me to… show his support, kind of. But not to tell you, though.”

My jaw tightened as I bolted up from my seat, the leather creaking beneath me. I started pacing, my heels clicking against the polished floor. “So this young punk is some leader of a big organization? What nonsense! He’s barely fifteen!” My head was spiraling, the absurdity of it all making it hard to focus.

Riker placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. His touch was strangely calming. “Miss Charlie,” he said, his voice dropping, “he is but twelve years old, thrust into the weight of an inheritance.”

I froze for a moment, his words cutting through my frustration. Twelve? That number rattled in my head as I slowly sat back down, the weight of it settling in my chest. “Twelve…” I murmured. “How could he even find me?”

“Ah, allow me to illuminate the matter,” Riker began, stepping back, as though delivering a well-rehearsed monologue. “Nathan and his entourage—formidable figures in their own right—were apprehended a few years ago and placed into a highly classified prison facility. But not just any facility,” he added, leaning slightly forward. “It was an ambitious experimental program.”

“What kind of program?” I asked warily, my brow furrowing.

“A program designed to rehabilitate criminals,” Riker continued. “They were immersed in simulated environments aimed at easing their minds and reintegrating them into society. Or so the official pitch went.”

My mind flashed back to the punk’s cryptic words and strange behavior. “Jeffrey was behaving strange,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “I don’t know. I was super drunk when I met him.”

Lucas suddenly burst out laughing, the sound breaking the tension like whiskey glass shattering. “Of course you were, Charlie!” he said between gasps of laughter, his shoulders shaking.

I glared at him, but Riker’s sharp laugh interrupted. “Fate, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor,” he said.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He composed himself quickly, his tone darkening. “The program malfunctioned spectacularly, trapping its participants in an endless cycle of simulations. The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, attempted to salvage the situation by introducing their families into the system, hoping for some connection, some breakthrough. Instead, they only expanded the chaos, ensnaring even more lives in the digital web.”

I blinked. “So Jeffrey wasn’t the original leader?” I asked, my voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“His father was. These individuals,” Riker said, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial hush, “are no ordinary criminals. They are powerful, dangerous, and utterly relentless. Within these simulations, they’ve tested countless scenarios—what works, what doesn’t.” He paused, his eyes locking onto mine with a glimmer of self-satisfaction. “Thankfully, they understand I am a reasonable man.”

“So Jeffrey?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the storm of questions swirling in my head.

“Oh yes, my dear,” Riker replied with a knowing smirk. “His father met an untimely end—somehow—within the simulation. Simply… expired.” He leaned back, swirling the drink in his hand lazily again.

What a slow drinker. He should shake hands with Lucas.

“The peculiar logic of their twisted minds insists on maintaining an equal number of participants, as though balance were some sacred principle to them.” He paused, his gaze flicking toward the city beyond the window. “And yet,” he added, “they’re down by two now. But that curious little detail doesn’t seem to deter them in the slightest.”

I sat frozen, my mind racing. Should I tell him about me? About the young punk and what he’d done?

No.

I can’t trust him—or anyone—with that.

Not yet.

“How’s that possible?” I asked instead, my voice steady but my heart pounding. “To simulate the future, I mean.”

Riker’s grin widened as he slowly lowered himself onto the sofa between Lucas and me, his movements as calculated as always. “Magic,” he said simply, as though he’d just told me the sky was blue.

“What?” I stared at him, certain I’d misheard.

“You heard me correctly.” His tone carried a hint of amusement, like a teacher explaining something obvious to an oblivious student. “Magic.”

“The government discovered a connection to something they call the seed. That connection allowed them to make magic real. After the unification wars in the Pacific region, and especially following Africa’s incorporation, they faced a conundrum.”

I raised an eyebrow, but he pressed on.

“What to use the seed on? Unlimited energy? This is the unified government we talk about. They redirected it into other applications, thinking they could address issues like the declining birth rate. A noble goal, yes?” His smirk returned. “Alas, by returning criminals to society? That, my dear Charlie, was a spectacular failure.”

“And now?” I asked cautiously, feeling he was building toward something.

“Now,” Riker said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto mine, “Nathan holds the keys to the connection. To Rimelion.”

“But…” I started, almost saying we, but stopped myself just in time. “But they returned only a few days ago! I was a game tester for years. It makes zero sense. We had testing servers!” My voice rose, frustration spilling over.

Riker shrugged, his rainbow-colored coat shifting faintly in the dim light. “I hold no claims to have all the answers. None of us can. Some things remain a mystery, but one thing is certain—the future lies in Rimelion.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “So, no more answers to my questions?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, his tone softer, almost apologetic. “And I could be wrong about everything. Perhaps we do live in a simulation.”

I glared at him.

“Nathan certainly believes that.” He turned to me then, his playful smirk replaced by a rare seriousness. “I want to implement certain changes in this world,” he said, his words deliberate.

“The march of progress has shackled humanity, forcing us to serve the very machines we created to serve us,” he said, his voice ringing with conviction. “The time will come to seize control of our destiny. To wrest power from the cold hands of AIs and robots and return it to the people! You, with your wit, resourcefulness, and the heart of a fighter, could be the ally this struggle needs. Together, we could spark a revolution and reclaim what’s been stolen.”

Revolution? Sure. Let me just plan that after breakfast.

It sounded straight out of a political speech. Maybe he’d practiced it in front of a mirror. “I’ll think about it,” I said, not committing to anything.

“But if that fails…” He let out a sigh, a sound that felt almost too human coming from someone like him. “I need a backup. Another life, if I may.”

“In Rimelion?” I asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” Riker replied simply. “That is where your card comes into play.”

I dismissed him with a laugh; the kind I hoped to sound sweet. “Me? I’m just a player.”

“Ranked eighth on my ranker list,” Riker said smoothly, tapping a button on the holo keyboard embedded in the table. The display shifted, and I recognized it instantly—the ranking page.

My ranking page!

The design was old-school—or brand new, depending on your perspective—but unmistakable. There it was, my name and presumed stats in all their high-ranking glory. “The only hero not directly tied to any known criminal,” he said.

This just got complicated. “That’s…” I trailed off, unsure whether to feel proud or nervous.

Riker brought up a holo-screen, the flickering light illuminating his smirk. A video played, capturing a chaotic battle at sea.

The perspective was from a player aboard a ship, battling a swarm of floaters.

The recording centered on a massive Duke’s vessel—should have I said uncle’s?—Istvan’s shields holding steady against the relentless pounding of an enormous, writhing boss.

Then, through the rain, the distinct light of the Spear of Destiny pierced the gloom. Moments later, I was hurled from the safety of the shield into the raging storm beyond.

Me and Lucas leaned forward, both staring at the holo-screen with bated breath.

I was launched mid-air, colliding with a monstrous tentacle. Frost spread from my spear, an almost sentient force snaking through the storm.

The battlefield was pure chaos—tentacles slammed into frozen waters, shattering the ice into sharp, glittering fragments. The storm howled and twisted, rain transforming into freezing sleet and snow in my wake.

My movements on the screen were wild but deliberate, each strike calculated to push back the onslaught of enemies.

I danced across the frozen ocean, icy trails marking every step as my spear cleaved through floaters and massive limbs. The camera captured the raw ferocity of the fight—the shattering impacts, the desperate bursts of mana turning the storm into a blinding vortex.

And then came the climax: a final sprint, weaving through the Boss’s writhing limbs, the glowing spear driving me forward.

The recording ended with a brutal, decisive slash that cleaved the Boss apart. The screen froze on the aftermath—me standing amidst the frozen carnage, victorious but battered, as snow gently settled around my still form.

It felt surreal.

“That’s… me?” I muttered, the words barely escaping my lips.

“Holy… Charlie…” was the only thing Lucas said.

“Dubbed Ice Princess Charlie.” Riker laughed. “Ah, yes, you are indeed the sole pure support representative within the top 100—a precarious foothold, and at a rather modest level, no less.”

“Priest is…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “I want to battle with swords.”

Riker nodded, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Still, should you ascend in rank, I have little doubt our AI would swiftly recalibrate and place you much higher. Your potential is undeniable, after all. Thus my offer, build your kingdom and I shall invest into it.”