Author’s Note:
This story is an experiment in writing based on my own experiences as an introverted gamer. It’s a reflection on the way I approach gaming—spending hours immersed in virtual worlds, exploring on my own, and finding comfort in solitude. But it’s also about the quiet desire to connect, to find those rare moments of camaraderie in a space where communication can feel both daunting and liberating.
In many ways, the tension between the anxiety of talking to others and the desire to fit in is something I’ve always struggled with. Games have always been a perfect avenue for me to navigate this. They provide a space where connection is possible, but it doesn’t come with the immediate pressure of face-to-face interaction. There’s time to think, strategize, and interact at my own pace.
I’d love to hear from readers about this story. Is this something you can relate to? Do you want to see more stories that explore introverted characters in gaming worlds? If this resonates with you, I’ll gladly continue writing it.
Thank you for reading and for your feedback!
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Chapter 1: Logging In
Endo sat back in his VR pod, adjusting the fit of the helmet before pulling the virtual straps tight. A soft hum filled his ears, then faded as the world around him began to blur. Light swirled in chaotic patterns, like the ebb and flow of an invisible tide, until it finally settled into the sharp, digital precision of Aethera’s world. It was always like this: the transition from his physical reality to the immersive virtual one. His hands gripped the controls, his fingers dancing over them instinctively, but his focus was already far deeper.
For Endo, Aethera wasn’t just another multiplayer role-playing game, nor was it about chasing after rare loot or participating in massive guild wars. For him, the game was more like a sanctuary—a place where solitude didn’t need to be an escape but a way of life. It was about immersion. About autonomy.
Endo had always been the introverted type. The world, with its loud voices and incessant demands, had never been kind to him. People expected things he didn’t want to give. Yet, video games offered him something different. They were a world where he could carve his own path without the complexities of social obligations or unwanted expectations. There were no need for incessant conversations, no pressure to “fit in” or impress anyone. In the digital realm, he could exist on his own terms, at his own pace, free from judgment.
As the vibrant virtual world materialized around him, Endo took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm. He let his gaze drift over his character sheet, his heart steady. His stats were simple—nothing overwhelming, no flashy numbers signifying some power fantasy. He didn’t need to race to level up or max out abilities in a week. He had no intention of grinding through dungeons or rushing toward the next best gear. For Endo, the joy of the game was in creating, exploring, and learning. His progression wasn’t about speed—it was about depth.
He scrolled through his skill options. Most new players would choose combat skills first, naturally drawn to combat abilities like swordsmanship or archery. But Endo wasn’t interested in that. He clicked through to Woodcutting. Simple. Grounded. Practical. That was the kind of player he wanted to be. A self-sufficient one. A quiet creator. He didn’t want to rush into combat with monsters. He didn’t need the thrill of combat prowess or the rush of battle. He wanted the satisfaction of a carefully crafted sword, a shelter made from his own hands, a fire he’d built from the ground up.
“Woodcutting,” he murmured to himself. His mind wandered to the idea of collecting resources, crafting tools, and making things that would serve him, not in the short term, but over time. Something told him that in this world, it was those small, quiet moments of creation that would bring him lasting fulfillment.
Endo confirmed his choice, the soft ping of approval echoing in his ears. A slight smile tugged at his lips.
The world around him shifted again, and the soundscape of a forest filled his ears. Birds chirped from hidden branches, the breeze stirred the treetops, and the gentle rustle of leaves beneath the soles of his boots provided a rhythmic, comforting background. It was a world in constant motion, yet so still. So peaceful. And Endo was content. His first step into the game had already given him exactly what he needed—immersion.
His eyes scanned the clearing ahead, catching sight of his first NPC. A burly woodcutter, his thick arms working methodically, cleaving an oak with his axe. Endo watched for a moment, marveling at how realistic the animation was—the woodcutter’s arms moved in a rhythm, the axe striking with a purposeful force, the sound of impact filling the air.
“Hey, kid,” the NPC called out, looking up from his task, “you look like you’re here to cut some wood.”
Endo blinked, startled by the NPC’s direct approach. He wasn’t used to this kind of interaction. “Uh, yeah. Just getting started.”
The woodcutter eyed him for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “You sure you know what you’re doing? People rush into this all the time, swinging axes like they’re in a hurry. Doesn’t do much good if you don’t know the right way.”
Endo swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. His introverted nature always made face-to-face interactions a bit uncomfortable, even if it was just with a game character. “What’s the right way?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended.
The woodcutter’s lips twitched in what could almost have been a smile. “It’s about finesse. You need to find the weak spots in the tree’s grain. You don’t just hack away. You focus. Precision.”
Endo nodded, still feeling the slight tinge of discomfort in his chest. But there was something in the woodcutter’s voice—something calm and patient—that helped ease his nerves. It wasn’t judgment. It was guidance. So, he stepped forward, taking the axe into his hands, feeling its weight, its coolness. He approached the tree.
His first swing was rough, too forceful, and the impact was harsh. It didn’t feel right. He stepped back, glancing at the woodcutter for advice.
The NPC’s gaze was calm. “Not bad. But you’re hitting too hard. You’re missing the rhythm. Try focusing on a single spot. Make it count.”
Endo nodded, adjusting his grip. The next few swings were more controlled, each one feeling slightly more fluid than the last. It wasn’t about rushing. He realized it was about the process—the steady rhythm of small adjustments.
With each strike, the tree seemed to respond, the wood splitting slightly more with each careful swing. The crack of the tree falling brought a rush of satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his work, and that made it meaningful. He smiled, taking in the first piece of wood for his inventory, proud of the small victory.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Thanks for the help,” he said, looking back at the NPC.
The woodcutter gave a slight nod, his voice gruff but approving. “Keep practicing. Remember, it’s not about speed. It’s about finesse.”
Endo couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of pride. It wasn’t a huge accomplishment, but it felt significant. This was the type of progression he wanted—slow, deliberate, and meaningful.
With the wood in his inventory, Endo turned his attention to crafting. The menu was straightforward: a simple wooden bow. It was a logical next step, especially for a player like him who had no intention of rushing into battle. He needed something basic, something that would serve as a tool rather than a weapon of war.
But as he scrolled through the crafting options, something within him stirred. He didn’t want a normal bow. He wanted to see if he could improve it. After all, this was his world. Why not make it exactly how he wanted?
Endo adjusted the curvature of the bow slightly. It was subtle—a gentle curve, not too steep. He also selected stronger fibers from the trees he’d just felled. He experimented with what he had, making small changes. The new bow, now slightly more refined, had the new name “Improved Simple Wooden Bow.” It wasn’t groundbreaking, but to Endo, it was a triumph.
He equipped it, testing the string. The tension felt just right. Each pull was smoother, more fluid than he expected. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like progress—small, incremental progress.
Just as he was about to practice his archery, a notification flashed on his screen. It was a world event. A call to arms. Players were being encouraged to team up to defeat powerful monsters in a large-scale battle. A part of him recoiled at the thought. Social events were never his thing. He didn’t want the chaos or the noise. Not now.
With a sigh, he dismissed the notification. For now, the quiet progress of woodcutting and crafting was enough for him.
His gaze shifted to a nearby blacksmith. The sound of hammering filled the air, rhythmic and consistent. The blacksmith appeared focused, though there was a slight frown on his face. Endo approached, curious.
“Everything okay?” Endo asked, his voice tentative.
The blacksmith grumbled without looking up. “Same old story. Players rush in, demanding weapons, then come back when they break. They don’t understand the work behind it.”
Endo hesitated but then asked, “Can I help with anything?”
The blacksmith sighed deeply. “Gather me some ore. I can’t make quality gear if the materials aren’t right. Don’t rush.”
Endo accepted the task without hesitation. The simple act of gathering ore wasn’t about rushing through the task. It was about the process. Like woodcutting, it required patience and precision.
Endo’s brow furrowed slightly. The blacksmith’s request was simple enough, but something about it felt important. There was a subtle weight to the task, a sense that this was an opportunity not just to gather materials but to learn, to refine his understanding of the world around him. The thought lingered in his mind, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. He nodded and accepted the task with a quiet, “I’ll be back with the ore.”
The blacksmith didn’t look up from his work, his hammering continuing in rhythmic thuds, as though it didn’t matter whether Endo left or not. To the blacksmith, it was another task, another player passing through. But Endo wasn’t about to waste any time. He knew that this seemingly small task was an opportunity to hone his skills and make meaningful progress. Every moment in this world, every task, no matter how trivial it seemed, was another step toward mastery.
Endo exited the blacksmith’s shop, the door creaking softly behind him. He pulled up the map, his eyes scanning the marked mining locations, each one glowing in a faint red hue. The closest spot wasn’t far, nestled just beyond the outskirts of town. He glanced at his inventory—still carrying a few logs of wood, some basic crafting materials, and the newly crafted Improved Simple Wooden Bow he’d made earlier. A bow he was proud of, though he knew it was only the beginning.
The forest surrounding the town was dense, its trees sprawling with thick roots and tangled vines. The leaves, still damp from the morning dew, shimmered in the weak sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the path ahead. Endo inhaled deeply, appreciating the peace of the world around him. The sounds of the outside world were quiet here, drowned out by the soft whisper of the wind and the occasional distant call of a bird. For all the digital world’s hustle and combat, moments like these were his favorite—quiet, introspective, almost meditative. This was his kind of game.
Reaching the mining site, Endo slowed his pace, eyes scanning the area. The rocky outcrops were scattered across the clearing, veins of ore glinting in the dim light. Some of the deposits were small, others larger, but all held promise. He moved closer, eyes narrowing in concentration. The task was simple—break the rocks, extract the ore, return to the blacksmith—but the process of doing it felt almost ceremonial. It wasn’t just a task; it was a chance to learn, to improve.
His pickaxe swung with practiced rhythm, each strike purposeful and deliberate. The sound of metal striking rock echoed through the quiet forest, sharp and steady. Endo adjusted his grip on the handle, noticing the subtle shift in the texture of the stone. Some areas cracked cleanly under the force of the blow, while others were more stubborn, forcing him to angle his strikes differently. The ore came loose in jagged chunks, some more compact and dense than others, glinting faintly in the light.
With each swing of the pickaxe, Endo focused on small adjustments. His posture, the angle of the strike, the force behind each blow—all things that could improve the quality of the ore he collected. It was a slow, methodical process, and that suited him just fine. There was no rush. Every swing was an opportunity to refine his technique. It was a dance of small, incremental improvements, not a race to finish.
Endo occasionally paused to examine the ore he’d gathered. Some pieces were richer in color, the metal denser, heavier. Others were brittle, easily crumbling to dust. He knew that attention to detail would make the difference in the long run—just like when he’d chopped down trees. The more he learned to understand the little nuances of the world around him, the better his results would be. It wasn’t just about completing the task—it was about mastery.
By the time Endo had gathered a decent amount of ore, the sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing. He felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that the time he’d spent focusing on small, deliberate improvements had paid off. He’d gathered enough material for the blacksmith, and more importantly, had refined his approach. The ore was better quality than he’d expected, more useful than he’d originally thought possible. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his work.
As Endo made his way back to the blacksmith’s shop, the sounds of the bustling town square greeted him, but his thoughts remained on the task at hand. He wasn’t rushing to join the call to arms, nor did he feel the urgency that others might. The event notification still hovered in the corner of his vision, players rallying to face dangerous monsters, but for now, Endo was content to focus on his personal journey. It wasn’t about rushing toward some grand goal; it was about enjoying each moment, learning, improving.
Returning to the blacksmith’s shop, Endo was greeted by the rhythmic pounding of the blacksmith’s hammer on the anvil. It had a steady, almost comforting quality now, a sound of purpose and craftsmanship. The blacksmith glanced up as Endo entered, offering a brief nod of approval. The weariness from the earlier task was replaced with a quiet sense of pride.
“Not bad,” the blacksmith remarked, his voice rough, but tinged with approval. “Took you long enough, but I guess you’ve got the patience for it.” He gestured to a nearby workbench. “Go on. Toss the ore on the bench. Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”
Endo laid the ore out carefully, organizing it into neat piles, the metallic sheen catching the dim light. The blacksmith studied the deposits for a moment before grunting in approval. “Good enough,” he muttered, “I can work with this. You’ve done well, kid. Now, head on over to the forge. I’ve got something else for you to try.”
Endo nodded eagerly, his heart racing with anticipation. This was another chance to learn, to refine his skill further. He approached the forge, feeling the heat of the flames lick at his skin. It was a welcome sensation—intense, yet grounding. He inhaled the faintly metallic scent of the fire and metal, knowing that this moment, like the one before it, was another step in his progression.
“What’s the task?” Endo asked, glancing over at the blacksmith as he began to stoke the fire.
“Simple,” the blacksmith replied, his voice gruff but steady. “I’m going to show you how to smelt ore. You take the ore, place it in the furnace, and let it melt down. It’s basic work, but it’s the foundation of everything. Without good smelting, you’re left with nothing but junk. Pay attention.”
Endo watched intently as the blacksmith demonstrated, carefully placing chunks of ore into the furnace. The fire roared to life, crackling with intensity. Endo could almost feel the heat through his virtual avatar. As the metal began to melt down, turning from solid to liquid, the blacksmith adjusted the heat, his movements fluid and precise.
“Remember, it’s all about balance,” the blacksmith muttered, never looking away from his task. “If the fire’s too hot, the ore burns away. Too cool, and you get nothing but slag. There’s no magic formula. It’s about adjusting to the material in front of you.”
Endo nodded, absorbing the blacksmith’s words. Just like with the trees, the ore, and even his bow crafting, success was a matter of small, calculated decisions. The subtle adjustments he made now would echo in the quality of the ingot he’d produce. The process felt familiar, the same approach he’d taken before—observing, adjusting, improving.
The molten metal finally cooled into a solid ingot. It was small, yet it felt heavy in Endo’s hands, an object of tangible progress. The blacksmith handed it to him with a grunt.
“This is yours now,” the blacksmith said, his voice gruff with pride. “Take it and use it however you want. But next time, you’ll need more. Get used to it—making gear isn’t easy, and it takes a lot of work. People don’t appreciate that.”
Endo studied the ingot in his hand, the weight of it carrying more than just its mass. It symbolized his growth, the culmination of countless small efforts. It was the product of his persistence, of adjusting with every swing, every choice, every movement. The metal had gone from rough ore to something far more refined. It was the same as his journey. Every small change, every learning moment, led to something greater.
“Thanks,” Endo said, his voice steady. He turned to leave the shop, the ingot tucked safely in his inventory, the quiet satisfaction of the task lingering with him.
As he stepped back into the town square, the world felt different, larger somehow. The event notification still hung in the corner of his vision, but now it felt distant, unimportant. There would be time for that later, time for the chaos and excitement of battle. But for now, Endo felt no rush.
There was a profound satisfaction in knowing that, with every small improvement, he was building something greater. Each task, each swing of his pickaxe, each piece of ore, was part of a larger journey. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.