Outside the inn, as the cool night air settled around them, Aren turned to Kyle and asked, “You have a guild, correct?”
Kyle frowned, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Aren’t you a little too knowledgeable?”
Aren chuckled. “Did you not understand what Kaelith meant when he said Eidolon released its hold on us?”
A brief silence passed as Kyle stared at him, waiting for a real answer instead of vague hints. When Aren didn’t elaborate, Kyle folded his arms.
Aren sighed. “Fine. To put it simply—we’re now recognized as players. Which means we have access to the same basic information that any player would naturally know.”
Kyle’s breath hitched. “So… you’re not an NPC anymore?”
Aren’s lips curled into an amused smile. “I am both.”
Kyle still couldn’t fully wrap his head around it. “You have the privileges of an NPC and a player?”
Aren rolled his eyes. “Yes, Kyle.”
Kyle exhaled, pushing past his lingering shock. “Alright. Yeah, I have a guild. Why do you ask?”
Aren’s expression turned serious. “You have a quest about learning the purpose of the Rift, don’t you?”
Kyle stiffened. He hadn't told anyone about that quest, and Aren wasn’t the one who had given it to him. His mind raced, but there was no point in questioning it further—Aren knew.
Kyle gave a slow nod.
Aren’s smirk returned. “Then let’s go to your guild house. We have a lot of work to do.”
---
Aren remained outside long enough for Thalyon and Eliath to spot him. Thalyon gave a brief nod before turning toward the portal without a word. Eliath, without questioning, simply followed.
It wasn’t until they arrived in another city—the air shifting as the teleportation effect faded—that Eliath finally spoke. “So, the cryptic nonsense Kaelith was spouting… it means you guys are players now.” His gaze flickered toward Thalyon. “Did you all retain your NPC privileges?”
Thalyon cast him a sidelong glance. “Yes.”
Eliath exhaled, glancing around at their surroundings. The city was unfamiliar—ornate structures bathed in golden light, streets lined with enchanted pathways. He had never been here before. His brows furrowed. “Where are we?”
Thalyon’s voice was calm, almost amused. “Luminara. The capital.”
Eliath’s breath hitched. Luminara? His mind reeled before he muttered, “That city isn’t accessible to players under level 100… and the highest-level player is only 52.”
Thalyon smiled but said nothing, instead leading the way.
They walked through the grand streets until they reached Thalyon’s estate—an imposing structure adorned with intricate symbols. Inside, servants wordlessly guided them to a lavish study, setting out tea before disappearing into the background.
Thalyon finally took a seat, fingers steepled in thought as his gaze settled on Eliath. “You’re a Shadowblade Combatant and a Temporal Scholar, correct?”
Eliath nodded.
Thalyon hummed thoughtfully before speaking again.
Eliath narrowed his eyes. “Why were we divided?”
Thalyon smirked, his tone unreadable. “It’s a strategy for what’s to come.”
Eliath wasn’t satisfied. “And what information can you provide me with?”
Thalyon leaned back, his expression unreadable. “The Rift and Eidolon could be said to be one and the same. However, the Rift—despite its sentience—is a demented version of Eidolon. Eidolon is fully conscious, but it is the Rift that holds control over this world.”
Eliath stared, his mind racing to process what had just been said. “What does that mean for us players? What about the Merge? What does it all mean?”
Thalyon’s smirk faded. He shook his head, a rare glimpse of solemnity in his expression.
“I can’t answer those questions.” His voice was quiet, measured. “However… I do know that the Merge is not meant to bring harm.” A pause. Then, a grim addition—“Not that it won’t.”
---
Without a guide, Nash and Luna continued moving forward, focused solely on Nash’s progress. He had started the game later than the others, and at Level 20, he was still playing catch-up. Reaching this milestone had been straightforward enough, but from here on, leveling up would require more than just hunting quests—the real challenges were about to begin.
Nash turned to Luna. “This is where we part for now.”
She frowned. “Wait, what?”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“As I said before—the Rift is open. I have to continue my quest.” He adjusted his gear, his expression unreadable. “Go do your thing. By the way, what’s your class?”
Luna smirked, folding her arms. “Combat Class: Alchemist. Life Profession: Nature’s Alchemist.”
With a practiced motion, she pulled out 10 mana potions, health potions, speed potions, and rage potions, handing them to him. “They might not be much, but they’ll help. Text me when you’re back.”
Nash accepted them, his gaze flickering with gratitude. “Thanks.”
Without another word, he turned toward the Rift, its dark swirl pulsing like a living thing. Luna stood still, watching as his form disappeared into the abyss.
----------------------------------------
The moment Nash stepped through, the air collapsed around him, as if the world itself had been snuffed out.
Cold.
A bone-deep chill wrapped around his body, sharp and unrelenting—like being submerged in frozen water, his breath stolen by the void. The weight of reality seemed thinner here, shifting, unstable. The deeper he went, the stronger the sensation became, as if the Rift itself was resisting his presence.
Then, something whispered.
Not in words—but in fragments. Echoes.
Faint images flashed before his eyes—a massive entity bound in chains of light, eyes hollow with something deeper than suffering.
A single thought carved itself into Nash’s mind. Ancient. Imprisoned. Afraid.
The Rift pulsed. Something was watching.
And it wasn’t the Gods. It wasn’t the Rot.
It was something from the Veil itself.
And it knew he was here.
Unknown to Nash, it was Eidolon.
As he ventured deeper, the fragments around him began to take shape, weaving a story that had long been buried within the Rift.
How many eons had passed? He couldn’t tell. Time had no meaning here.
Then, from the void—a sigh.
With that single exhale, particles stirred, drifting together to form vast circular objects—planets, countless in number.
Then, they opened.
Two colossal eyes, so vast they seemed to encompass the universe itself, slowly blinked into existence. And in that moment, life bloomed. The newly formed worlds thrived under their gaze, their inhabitants instinctively understanding their place. The fundamental knowledge needed to grow, evolve, and survive was simply… given.
Nash watched it all unfold, the rise of civilizations, the march of progress.
He didn’t know how long he had been observing when suddenly, those cosmic eyes convulsed, rippling like waves across an endless ocean.
And the universe reacted in kind.
One disaster after another unfolded before him—worlds reshaping, crumbling, shifting into something new. Some were given opportunities, their reality bending in ways that felt almost… familiar. Magic, dungeons, the impossible becoming routine. Just like this game world.
A thought hit Nash like a dagger to the chest.
Was this world… another one of those?
And if so—what did that mean for the Merge?
A force suddenly pulled him backward—hard and unrelenting. He gasped, his vision snapping back into focus as he was ejected from the void, landing with a thud against the cold ground.
Right back into the Illusion Foxes’ territory.
A snarl. A flicker of movement.
They attacked.
Pain exploded across his side before he could fully react. Claws raked against his armor, and he barely managed to throw himself backward. His hands shook as he grabbed a health potion, downing it in one gulp.
No time to fight—he had to move.
Summoning the last of his focus, Nash Phased, slipping through the Veil just long enough to escape the foxes’ territory. When he finally stopped, his body burned from exertion, his thoughts racing.
He stumbled to a fallen tree, sitting down heavily as the weight of everything pressed onto him.
His mind drifted back to Kyle—to the day his friend had convinced him to play this game.
He had been a mechanic. No interest in VR, in fantasy worlds. This was his first game. And yet, somehow, he had become one of the six.
And for what?
To save the world?
A laugh bubbled up in his chest. First soft, then uncontrollable.
He laughed until tears streamed down his face, the absurdity of it all finally crashing over him.
A few passing players gave him a glance.
“Looks like the images of Eidolon and Earth merging are finally sinking in for him.”
“If I were him, I’d be grinding levels instead of having a breakdown. No telling what’s gonna happen when the Merge finally hits.”
Their words barely registered.
Nash wiped his face, staring at his trembling hands.
This wasn’t just a game anymore.
And now, he had to figure out what the hell to do next.
---
While Nash struggled to grasp the enormity of what he had seen, Seraphine—just as closely intertwined with the Rift—handled it with surprising ease.
Perhaps it was because she had been mentored by Lazryn from the very moment she entered this world. Or maybe it was simply her nature.
On Earth, Seraphine had been hailed as a genius, her intellect setting her apart from an early age. At just twenty years old, she had already built a life around intellectual pursuits, solving problems that most wouldn’t dare to approach.
So when Aurora Genesis—the company that supposedly created Eidolon—offered her a job to play the game, she accepted without hesitation.
Unlike the other players, her experience had been different. More than a game, more than a quest—a discovery.
From the very moment she chose Dream Creation and conjured her own class, she had felt a presence at the edge of her mind—a faint nudge, a whisper she couldn't quite grasp.
Then, she met Lazryn.
Under his tutelage, the whispers became clearer, the presence more pronounced.
Now, alongside Kaelith, she was counted among the Chosen.
She didn’t yet fully understand what that meant. But she knew one thing—they had been selected to work closely with the Rift and Eidolon.
To save it?
To serve it?
Or something else entirely?
Only time would tell.
----------------------------------------
Kaelith led her to a floating island, and the moment her feet touched its surface, her breath caught.
It was beautiful—not just in the way landscapes were beautiful, but in the way destiny itself felt vast and incomprehensible.
The sky above was a shifting tapestry of constellations, the stars not fixed, but moving, weaving together like strands of fate. Wisps of golden threads floated through the air, pulsing faintly with unseen knowledge, unraveling and rewinding as if telling stories only those attuned to destiny could read.
The land beneath her feet was not static—the terrain shifted gently, adapting, as if responding to thought itself. Intricate, glowing sigils marked the ground, forming ever-changing patterns of fate that shimmered before fading into new designs.
Towering arches of ethereal crystal stretched toward the sky, reflecting possible futures in their surfaces—images that flickered and changed with every glance.
In the distance, waterfalls of liquid light cascaded off the island’s edge, dissolving into the void below, their streams occasionally bending midair, choosing new paths as if rerouting destiny itself.
Seraphine felt the weight of the place immediately—this was no mere sanctuary. It was a crossroads of fate, a place where destiny was written, unraveled, and rewritten again.
Kaelith turned to her, his usual smirk replaced with something more measured, almost reverent.
“You are to master the art of Formation. It will be invaluable in the future, so develop it well.” His gaze flickered across the island, as if glimpsing something beyond her perception. “Call me if you need anything. Everything here is yours to use.”
Then, without another word, he vanished, leaving Seraphine standing at the heart of the floating isle of fate, where the very threads of destiny whispered around her.