Kyle barely had time to react, his clones intercepting the blow as he rolled to the side. The clash of ghostly blades against shadowed claws sent sparks flying, the energy reverberating through the chamber like a tolling bell. His pulse quickened as he sprang to his feet, gripping his blade tightly.
“You want me? Come and get me!” he growled, his voice defiant, though his stomach churned with dread. Charging forward, he slashed at the towering figure with calculated precision, his blade glowing faintly as it connected with its jagged limbs. The creature barely flinched, absorbing the blow like it was nothing. Its glowing crimson eyes fixed on him, filled with an ancient intelligence that seemed to bore into his soul.
The air in the chamber grew heavier, pulsating with a rhythm that matched the hum of the obelisk. Shadows writhed along the walls, their movements unnatural and deliberate, like they were alive. The Rift itself seemed to respond to every step, every swing of Kyle’s blade, shifting and twisting the environment as though testing his resolve.
The creature lunged again, its claws slashing through the air with a deafening whoosh. Kyle ducked, his heart pounding as he narrowly avoided the strike. He countered with a flurry of blows, his clones mimicking his movements, their ghostly blades carving through the thick air. Sparks flew as the attacks connected, but the creature pressed on, its strikes growing faster, more relentless.
Kyle’s breath came in ragged gasps as he parried another blow, his arms trembling from the force. The shadows seemed to close in around him, their tendrils coiling like serpents, testing his movements, forcing him to adapt. The Rift wasn’t just watching—it was learning.
The figure lashed out with both claws, and Kyle barely managed to block with his blade. The impact sent him sprawling backward, his body skidding across the cold, uneven ground. Pain shot through his ribs as he struggled to rise, his vision swimming. The glowing eyes of the creature loomed above him, its jagged limbs raised for a final strike.
For a moment, Kyle’s mind screamed that it was the end. The hum of the obelisk grew deafening, the chamber itself seeming to collapse inward under the weight of its power. He braced himself for the inevitable blow—but it never came.
The creature froze mid-strike, its crimson eyes dimming slightly. The oppressive energy in the room shifted, becoming almost… inquisitive. Kyle remained frozen, his breath caught in his throat as the shadows around him stilled.
Then, the vision struck.
Kyle’s surroundings dissolved into a swirling void of light and shadow, the edges of reality bending and breaking. Images flooded his mind—fragmented, chaotic, but vivid. He saw towering cities consumed by darkness, their spires crumbling as shadowed figures surged through the streets. Screams echoed, faint but haunting, as the skies split open to reveal a spiraling vortex of energy.
The Merge.
Kyle staggered, clutching his head as the vision shifted. The chaos gave way to a different scene—one of unity. Players and NPCs alike stood together, their combined strength pushing back the shadows. The vortex faltered, its energy weakening, and light began to pierce the darkness. The vision lingered on a single figure standing at the center of the resistance, their face obscured but unmistakably familiar. It was him.
Then the scene changed again, darker and more devastating. The Merge had failed. The vortex expanded unchecked, consuming everything in its path. The cities were gone, replaced by a barren, desolate void. The figure at the center was gone, erased along with everything else.
The vision faded, and Kyle found himself back in the chamber, the shadows retreating to the edges of the room. The creature stood motionless, its crimson eyes now softer, less menacing. It lowered its jagged limbs, stepping back as if acknowledging him.
The hum of the obelisk quieted, and a voice echoed in his mind—deep, resonant, and layered with meaning. “The Rift is not your enemy, but your ally. Understand its purpose, or all will be lost.”
Kyle’s knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, his blade slipping from his grasp. The weight of the vision pressed on him, the images seared into his mind. His chest heaved as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen. The Merge wasn’t just a game mechanic—it was something far more significant, something real. And the cost of failure… was everything.
The creature stepped back into the shadows, its form dissolving into the walls as the chamber grew still. The obelisk dimmed, its light fading to a faint glow.
A notification appeared before him:
Objective Complete: Unseal the First Gate.New Objective: Learn the Purpose of the Rift.
Kyle stared at the message, his heart still racing. “Learn the purpose,” he muttered to himself, his voice hollow. “Right. Easy.”
Shakily, he stood, retrieving his blade and glancing toward the path ahead. The shadows remained still, but their presence lingered, watching him, waiting. He wasn’t sure what lay beyond the next gate, but one thing was clear: the Rift wasn’t done with him yet.
With a steadying breath, Kyle took a step forward, the echoes of the vision still burning in his mind.
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The oppressive weight of the obelisk chamber faded as Kyle stumbled back, the shadows reluctantly releasing their grip. His mind buzzed with fragments of the vision—cities consumed by darkness, the ominous spiral of The Merge, and Kaelith’s cryptic warning. Each image pressed down on him like a leaden chain, threatening to drag him into despair.
With a trembling hand, he activated the teleportation beacon, the interface flickering briefly before enveloping him in a blinding light. When the haze cleared, the familiar hum of the guild buildig greeted him. For a moment, he lingered by the teleportation marker, his gaze unfocused as the haunting echoes of the Rift refused to let go.
“I need time,” he muttered under his breath, forcing his feet to carry him toward his office.
Kyle pushed open the heavy oak door of the guild building, his steps unsteady and his breath shallow. The familiar hum of activity greeted him—guild members chatting, preparing for missions, the clinking of weapons being sharpened—but it all felt distant, muted. The images from the Rift still burned in his mind: the spiraling vortex, the unity and destruction, the haunting echoes of what could be. His hands trembled faintly as he gripped the doorframe, the aftershocks of the Rift's weight refusing to release him. The normalcy of the guild hall only deepened the dissonance within him, a stark reminder that while their world moved forward, his had irrevocably shifted.
Several guildmates called out to him, concern etched on their faces, but Kyle barely registered their words. He waved them off, his movements sharp and dismissive. “Not now,” he muttered, making a beeline for his office. He didn’t have the strength to explain, not yet.
Slamming the door behind him, he leaned against it, closing his eyes to steady himself. His chest felt tight, the weight of everything pressing down on him. The Rift wasn’t just some in-game challenge; it was something far more sinister. And the fact that it had singled him out—it wasn’t something he could ignore.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“You’ve handled yourself well,” a calm, layered voice said, cutting through the fog in his mind.
Kyle’s eyes snapped open, and his hand instinctively went to his weapon, but he froze when he saw the figure sitting calmly in his office chair. Kaelith. The Fateweaver. His presence was as unsettling as ever, his silver eyes glowing faintly as he regarded Kyle with a look that bordered on approval.
“How long have you been there?” Kyle demanded, his voice hoarse.
Kaelith ignored the question, standing slowly. “You have proven that you can handle what is to come,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that sent a chill down Kyle’s spine. “Use the information gained wisely, Guildmaster. You are not the only one. From among you players, there shall be six—each chosen, each essential. And you… you have become one of them, alas.”
Kyle’s stomach churned violently at Kaelith’s words. Six? Chosen? His pulse quickened, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him like a physical force. He opened his mouth to speak, to demand answers, but the NPC was already fading, his form dissolving into a faint shimmer of shadow. The room seemed to darken in his absence, the silence pressing in like a suffocating shroud.
Kyle stumbled back a step, his knees threatening to buckle. His breath hitched, and he clutched the edge of his desk for support, his fingers digging into the polished wood. “Six of us?” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. His mind raced, fragments of Kaelith’s cryptic warning swirling chaotically. Chosen for what? Why me?
The room felt colder now, the faint glow of the map table casting long, warped shadows across the floor. His legs finally gave out, and he sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. His hands trembled, the weight of everything—Kaelith, the Rift, the visions—threatening to crush him. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
His thoughts turned to Nash, a sharp pang of guilt slicing through his turmoil. Nash… His oldest friend, the one person he had dragged into this mess without truly understanding it himself. Kyle’s stomach twisted further at the thought. If Nash was experiencing even a fraction of what he had just endured, he needed to check on him—now.
He pushed himself upright, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Logging out was a blur, his hands working mechanically to remove the VR headset. The sharp contrast of the real world hit him hard, the air in his room feeling stifling, almost too real. His chest rose and fell as he tried to steady himself.
No messages. Kyle frowned, glancing at his phone. He had expected to hear something from Nash—anything—but there was nothing. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. His pulse quickened again, and before he could overthink it, he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.
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Outside Nash’s Mechanic Shop
The evening air hit him like a splash of cold water, crisp and grounding. For a moment, Kyle paused outside the shop, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he stared at the worn metal door. He could hear faint sounds coming from within—the hum of machinery, the clink of tools—and it steadied him slightly.
Just ask him. Make sure he’s okay, Kyle thought, his mind racing as he stepped toward the entrance. Yet, even as he tried to focus on Nash, Kaelith’s words lingered in the back of his mind like an ominous echo: You are one of the six.
The unease refused to let go.
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Nash’s POV: The Pain of the Rift
Nash leaned against the workbench, his left hand unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. The dull, phantom ache lingered like a bad memory, pulsing faintly as though it were mocking him. He couldn’t shake it, no matter how much he stretched or paced. It wasn’t just the pain—it was the impossibility of it. He had felt the chimera’s strike in the game, but this? This was real. It shouldn’t be real.
“This game…” he muttered, shaking his head. He’d been skeptical from the start, only jumping in because of Kyle’s insistence. Now, he was beginning to understand why Kyle had been so adamant. There was something deeper at play—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
His thoughts spiraled as he considered calling Kyle. The fragment, the Gatekeeper, the shadows that seemed almost alive… Nash didn’t know if he could face it alone. His hand hovered over his phone when the sound of footsteps echoed through the garage. He tensed, spinning toward the source, his heart hammering.
Relief washed over him when he saw Kyle stepping into the dimly lit space, his familiar presence a welcome sight. But that relief was short-lived as unease crept up his spine. For a brief moment—just a flicker—he thought he saw Kyle’s shadow move independently, a small wave as if greeting him.
“You okay?” Kyle asked, his voice casual but his tone heavy with concern. His sharp eyes scanned Nash, taking in the tension in his posture, the subtle way he cradled his shoulder.
Nash straightened, brushing off his unease. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, his voice tight. But Kyle’s shadow still lingered in his mind. “What about you? What’s going on?”
Kyle folded his arms, leaning against the garage doorframe. “That’s what I’m here to ask you. Did you start playing Eidolon?”
Nash hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah… I did,” he admitted finally. He glanced down, rubbing his shoulder again. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? You sent me the damn helmet.”
Kyle nodded, his expression unreadable. “I needed you in the game, Nash. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s more than a game. You’ve seen that by now.”
Nash looked at him sharply, the phantom pain flaring as if in response. “I’ve seen enough to know something’s off,” he said. “And this?” He motioned to his shoulder. “It doesn’t feel like something out of a game. What the hell is going on, Kyle?”
Kyle hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. “I don’t know everything yet,” he admitted. “But I saw… things. The Rift isn’t just a challenge—it’s a warning. And we’re in the middle of it, whether we want to be or not.”
The words hung heavy in the air, the tension between them palpable. Nash wanted to demand answers, to push Kyle for details, but the look in his friend’s eyes stopped him. Whatever Kyle had seen, it had shaken him to his core.
“So,” Nash said finally, his voice low, “what do we do now?”
Kyle straightened, his expression hardening. “We keep going. We figure out what Eidolon really is and what it’s trying to tell us. But more importantly, we don’t do it alone.”
For the first time that day, Nash felt a faint flicker of relief. The shadows still loomed large, but at least now, he wasn’t facing them on his own.
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While Nash and Kyle had each other, Jasper, the Beastmaster, had only his beasts for company. Unknown to them both, Jasper’s time in Eidolon had uncovered secrets they could barely fathom. Half a year in-game—approximately two to three weeks in the real world—had granted him insights that set him apart, but at a cost: isolation and a growing sense of unease.
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On the vast, sun-drenched plains of the Sunspire Savanna, Jasper stood over the corpse of a shadow-warped predator, its grotesque form a stark contrast to the golden grasses around it. The beast’s sinewy flesh pulsed faintly even in death, black ichor oozing into the cracked earth beneath it. The once-pristine savanna seemed tainted, the air heavy with an unnatural stillness.
His gryphon companion, a majestic creature with golden feathers now streaked with shadowy ichor, landed beside him with a sharp cry. The sound cut through the eerie silence, its unease mirroring Jasper’s own.
“You did well,” Jasper murmured, running a hand along the gryphon’s neck, its warm feathers grounding him. But his focus remained on the predator’s corpse, his brow furrowing as a wave of unease crept over him.
Crouching beside the lifeless beast, Jasper let his fingers trace strange, glowing symbols etched into its sinewy flesh. The markings pulsed faintly, alive with an energy that defied explanation, before fading and leaving behind smooth, blackened skin.
“What kind of beast are you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The gryphon shifted nervously, its talons scraping against the hardened earth as it let out a low trill of unease.
Jasper straightened, brushing the dust from his hands, but the unease lingered, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The predators of the savanna had always been fierce, but this was something more—something wrong.
“Something’s wrong with this world,” he muttered, the weight of his discoveries settling heavily on his shoulders. His eyes lingered on the corpse, the earth beneath it darkening as though the shadows themselves were feeding on the ichor.
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Mounting his gryphon, Jasper gave it a reassuring pat before urging it into the sky. As the savanna stretched out beneath him, golden and vast, he glanced back at the corpse one last time. The ground where it lay was darker now, the shadows spreading like ink, and the weight of the beast’s presence seemed to cling to the air.
The wind rushed past him as they soared higher, but the unease remained. Whatever this was, it wasn’t isolated—it was spreading, tainting even the most vibrant corners of Eidolon. And Jasper, bound by instincts sharper than most, felt a truth stirring deep within.
This was only the beginning.
As the gryphon climbed toward the horizon, Jasper’s gaze lingered on the distant peaks of the Sunspire Mountains, their jagged outlines shrouded in a faint, unnatural haze. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he muttered under his breath, “Something’s coming. I just hope we’re ready for it.”
And with that, he vanished into the sky, leaving only a faint trail of shadowed light in his wake.