Chapter Three: Jason's "Choices"
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Initializing...
With a deep breath, Jason closed his eyes and felt the tingling sensation as his mind connected to the world of Terra Mythica. A flood of black pixels engulfed him, but through it, he could see a stream of text moving across his vision. He raised his hands, and they materialized in front of him, flickering with old, low-resolution pixels. As he waved them around, he couldn't help but smile at the nostalgia. This must have been an intentional effect they put in.
Analyzing DNA...
His anxiety spiked. Doing what now? Shit. What if the system can tell that I’m not him? Will it call the cops? What if I get thrown out before I even start?
The pixels shimmered and twined, conjuring a mirror out of nothing. As he approached, his reflection began to form, but the face staring back wasn't his own. It was Alex, his twin brother. Though others struggled to tell them apart, he perceived the subtle differences as vividly as a painter sees hues in a sunrise. The familiar features gazed back at him, a sharp pang of regret twisting in his chest.
Synching... Attempt 1..2..3..4..5..6…
He could feel his heart hammering in his throat. His digital heart? Each second an eternity.
He reached out, fingertips grazing the cold, reflective surface of the mirror. There was a moment of resistance before his fingers slipped through, not entirely solid. The mirror image flickered, wavering like a candle flame. When it smoothed, the face look back was replaced with his own, his stormy grey eyes gazing back at him.
Jason’s breath trembled, misting the pixelated air with each exhale. Barely nineteen, his body was lean from missed meals but honed by constant motion. His dark hair fell in untamed strands around his eyes.
Synching...Attempt 20..21…
Deep breaths. Come on, come on, come on.
Compatibility error...
His muscles froze and he couldn’t breathe. That can’t be good. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Deviance at .37%...
What does that even mean? His mind raced through possibilities.
Can the system detect my real identity? If I log out now, would it know it was me? Do these things even have GPS tracking?
Fatal Error...
Jason’s stomach dropped. This was it. He was caught.
Diagnosing… error…. Error…
A stream of unintelligible symbols flash rapidly across his view field, too fast for him to read.
A̸̡̢̧͖͉̘̱̙̲̺̣͔̻̫̲̒̈́̓͘n̵̝̰̫̣͕͆͌͂̏͆̄̿̈́͆͘͠o̴̮̼͙̮̮̩͓̜̪̬̫͇̺̪̔̆̈́̅̔͒̎̅̆͘͝͠m̴̝̦̘͍̗̈̈́͜ͅỏ̸̧̗̼͕͙̬̙̞̺̹̙̞̅̾̒͊̓̈́̕̕l̴̨̗̍̇̈́̅̎̄̊͆̑̽͝y̵̨̦̟͎͇̺̥͖͚͎͙͛̈̽̇̉͆̅̃̊͒͐̚͜ ̷͙̾̍̐͗͒̽́̈́̓͊̎̑͘̕͝d̷̢̜̯̯̈̑́̾̒̕͝ḙ̷̢̛̗͖̤̤̺͙̯͈̓͂́͛̃̔̅̽̉̌͘t̵͔̀ȇ̸͚̗̩̬̦̺͂̋͐̀͘͘c̶̢͔̼̥̲͕̤̱͉̩̬̲̼̣͒̔̎ͅẗ̷͎̥͓͙̣̬́͝ḛ̷͇͇̯͚͚̓̃͂̅̎͂͊̏̚͜͜͝d̴̡̨̡̥̖̙̱̯͠ͅͅ,̴̙̩̭̮̱͔̜̩͆̍̅̑͑̈͑͘͘̕͘̕͝͝ ̷̡̧̟̪̰̟̳̃̅́͘ͅr̵̼̣͇͕͔̠͖͉̘̮̻̣̎̿̉̐̀͆̍͛̾͘̕͜e̴̹̗̯͔̳̣̮͕̠͙̩͑̈́̀̀̄͝ͅq̸͔͚̪̔̌́͆̾̃̿̋ͅų̵̛͉͙͖̩̣̝̲̳̤̳̖͖̘̈̔́͆̇e̶͔̅̽̓͊̂̋́̿͝s̵̠̱͖͉̅̊̿̓̾͛̓͑̐̉͘͝t̴̨̰̜̻̰̭̩̣̟̲͋̇̂̒͐̄̾͛̒̒̓̿͐͐ ̸̨̗̦̥͉̣̙͈̜̤̦͑̿͌̀͜ͅs̴̢̟͇͕̟͉̯͆̄̔͑̕ū̴̡̹̱̙̳̫̠͔͚̜̦͈̞̑͑̄̿̽̽͐̕͜ṗ̸̢͖̜͋̇͋͌͊̒̋̌p̸̛̫͎̏̀̋̐̎̾̑̀̊́̄͂̕ơ̸̭̜̇͛͐̓̂͌͒͑̀̑̐̕r̷̢̖̜̪͈͈̙͉̔̃͑̄̓̅̀͊̀̋̂̚͘ẗ̸̩̖̦̻͂͛̑͗̉̍͑͗̿͘͝͠,̴̳͔͈̯͓̼͓̞̗̭̗̩̈́̉͛̓̈́͝ ̸̛̝͇͖͇͐̌͌͐̍̒͝e̸̗̼͒̓̆̑̋͌̿̎̎͘͘͜ļ̴̭̩͚͓̭̽͌̂ͅe̸̢̛̱̟̯̞̯͚̤̋̈́̍͒̃̃̋͝v̶͔̜̰̪̼͍̫͓̬̤͛̓́͗͆̍̇́̔͝͠a̴̛̯̍͘t̸͓̥͕͉̥̩͍̓́̓̄̓̕i̸̛̪͇̭̩̇̾̓̃̊̓͗͘͜n̴͓̤̞̥̩̪̺̟̈́̒̓̇̍̐̌͛̚̕͘͠͠ġ̷̤͇͇̪̣͐͊̊͑̽̚ͅ.̸̲̲͚͍̞͕́̎́͛͐͗̆̑̿̓̀͊̇͠.̸̧̜̠͈̗̳̀̿͒̾̃̒̐̐́.̴̭̱̖͙̗̰̃͊̐̓̏́͒͝ ̷̘͎͓̹̭̻̰͚̳̳̳͜͝ş̵͓̠̹̯̱̲̠̘̯̍͐̈́̄̋̑͌̈ẏ̷̡̫͖̙͍̩̠̈́̔̈́͌̉̓̉͌͠͝͠s̶̳͙̈́̎̏͊̓̏̐̕̕͘͝͝ţ̸̫̮̰̞͍͕̥̽́͊͗̾͑̾̿̔̍ë̸̗͉͍͚̻́̄̐̋̎̑̆̑͘m̵̰̳͛̾̎́̅̎͂ ̴͉͉̥̤̩͕̗̥͚̠̗̬̇̈̎̍̌̏̋̑̊̕͜ͅo̴̡͉̮̪͙̤͓͇̲͙̩̬̱͐͜v̷̡̛̆͆̉̂͂̇̑̍̈̾͆͘ē̶̢̢̧̛̟͚̦͕̙̯̞̼̣̠̋̃̆̓͂͛͘͝͝͠͝͝ṟ̶̥̙̭̠̣͕̟̱͐͒͑͐̿̓̒̊̆̒̍̀̕ͅr̶͇͕͈͎̻͓͕̘̅̒̏̊̃̓̆͌̈́͗̎̆͘̚i̶͖̖͔̮̅d̴͚̣̭̥̫̰͖̙͉̣̳̝̏͌́̽͋̕̚͠ẹ̷͕̼͓̣̊̇̾̋͘̕,̸̮̓͊̏̆͐̌͘͘͝͝ ̸̛͔͇̰̋̊͌͂́̍̀̏̓͝c̴̛͎̳͎̖̑̇͗͛̅̉̾r̵̼̜̻̈́͛̇̎̈́̎͑̈́̕e̴̺̬͊̌͘͠ḑ̸͕̜̦͙̿͆̃ͅȩ̴̻̖͓͚̪̦̲̞͖̼̖̬̯̱̓̃̓͐̀̕̕n̴͇̖̭̠͓̖̑͌͛̀̓̍͐̍̅̔̍̃͝ţ̷̳̦̖̹̻̘̦̗̩̾͛͌͌̇̄̆̀͜ͅi̵̛͔̬͕͇̺͎͈̎̃̎â̸͍̙̗͔̱͍̠̠͉͇̲̳̑̓̌͌̎̿̓͗͐͌͐l̵̜͇̦̪͙̼̩̟̞̖̈́̂̈́̓͌͒́s̷͍͖͙̮̈́̑̐̂̿̔͑͒͝ ̸͕̞͓͇͕̲͈̣̮͔̟̾͑͊̔̓̐̕a̸̹̓̚̕ç̸̡͇͙̦̘̈́́̚c̶̢̻̫̫̼̗̳̮̒e̵̞̖͔̪͉͈̪͑͗́̈̑̉̌̽͜͝ͅp̷͕͔̪̰̻̩̜͖͈͈̆͒͋̀͊t̶̢̜͉̫̜̞̱͉̽͒̔̌e̷͕̯̘̙͚̼͙͔̘͔̅̾͐̅̎̃͒̈́̚͝ͅd̵̢͍̞̣̝̠̗̗͖̒͊̒̀
"Shit. Exit. Close. Logout! No, no, no.”
He tried to reach up and remove the device manually from his head, but his hands grasped at nothing. His physical body wouldn't respond. Desperately, he moved his virtual hands instead.
Suddenly, the world went completely black. No screen. No text. And worst of all, no logout option.
Jason yelped as the next words appeared.
System override successful… User accepted.
Jason gasped for air, his chest heaving as he released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. A wave of relief crashed over him, but it was quickly swallowed by a gnawing sense of apprehension. The system had begrudgingly accepted him, but what did that mean? “System Override? How? Who?” He couldn't shake the feeling of unease.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Welcome Traveler
The screen repeated, this time with a gentle chime.
Memories of the events that had led him to this moment flooded his mind, causing a pang of grief to crash over him. He fought to suppress it, knowing that he couldn't let his emotions get the best of him. There were feelings he would have to confront eventually, but not now. Not yet. Right now, he had to push through and pull this off.
The text vanished as a blinding light engulfed him, pulling him away from the sterile digital world of the initialization phase. His senses were overwhelmed all at once. The light was so intense he had to squeeze his eyes shut, his head spinning with the sudden shift.
Opening his eyes, Jason found himself standing in the dimly lit room, the air thick with an ancient, musty scent. A single pedestal stood in the center, bathed in an eerie glow, with a book resting upon it. The room seemed to hold its breath as he approached, each step echoing in the silence.
His fingers brushed the cover of the book, sending a ripple of energy through his body. He opened it, and as he did, shimmering lines of magical script began to etch themselves across the page.
Traveler’s Handbook
A dazzling show of lights erupted from the book, wrapping around Jason in a luminous cocoon before fading and leaving a warm, comforting weight in his hands.
"What the…?” He yelped.
Please be patient while your Handbook calibrates to your soul.
Don’t Panic
In filigree script the words formed in light upon the page, and then quickly vanished.
Soulbound
A running record of your existence. All that you have learned, all that you know, and all that you are.
Jason flipped through the pages, marveling at the sections labeled for maps, quests, status effects, attributes, and a page that displayed a figure resembling himself, down to the last detail of what he was wearing. Most of the pages were blank, however, waiting to be filled with the story of his journey.
Another burst of light enveloped him, binding the book to his very soul. He experimented, willing the book to disappear, and it did, vanishing from his hands only to reappear in his mind. He could call forth parts of it without opening the physical book, like a blank map that flashed into his consciousness.
Jason took a deep breath, the weight of the Traveler’s Handbook now a comforting presence in his mind.
A system notification chimed, acknowledging his understanding of the book:
You have successfully attuned to the Traveler’s Handbook. You have learned more about yourself.
Gain +1 to Spirit Constitution.
As the notification faded, the room around Jason transformed. The walls peeled back, revealing a vast, otherworldly hallway that stretched beyond sight. Before him stood an endless row of ornate doors, each one unique, adorned with intricate engravings.
Jason faced the row of doors, each more elaborate than the last—gateways to the realms of Terra Mythica, where the only certainty was uncertainty. These weren’t leading to honeymoon suites; they were portals to lands beyond imagination, where the odds of finding a mint on the pillow were slim to none.
He hesitated, his gaze drifting over the intricate carvings and glowing inscriptions. The doors demanded attention, every detail screaming, "Look at me! I’m the portal to untold wonders and probably a few unspeakable horrors." He wasn’t just admiring craftsmanship; he was staring down the handiwork of gods.
A soft glow pulsed from the doors, warming the cool air around him as if they sensed his presence—or maybe they were just impatient for his decision. Each light was a whisper, a dare, but those whispers were trapped behind locks—big, ugly things that clearly stated, "Not today, buddy." These were the boundaries of Terra Mythica, and they weren’t letting just anyone in.
But Jason wasn’t just anyone. One door would open. In his pocket, he held an invitation—golden, shimmering, and addressed to... well, not him, technically. The weight of it pressed against him, a constant reminder that he was trespassing in a destiny meant for someone else.
First in the array of doors was Asgard, with a door forged from shimmering metal, engraved with scenes of mythical creatures and majestic halls.
Then came Avalon, with a door of polished wood and emerald inlays, with carvings of knights, fair maidens, and ancient trees, exuding an aura of timeless magic and serene tranquility.
And the Celestial Court, with a door of jade and gold, carved with dragons and phoenixes, surrounded by a halo of divine energy.
They continued as far as Jason could see, each sealed tight. All except one.
Finally he had found it, the door to Mount Olympus. It was a grand door of white marble and shimmering gold, adorned with scenes of gods and goddesses in majestic poses, surrounded by celestial clouds and lightning bolts, standing upon the vastness of a mountain so grand it touched the heavens. The effect was mesmerizing, and he found his eyes drawn to the door with an inexorable pull that none of the others had. And just as he had hoped, and feared, the door to Mount Olympus stood unbarred, a glow emanating from it, brighter than the others, inviting him forward.
You have been accepted on scholarship into the tutorial of Mount Olympus University. This is a four-year tutorial. After completion, other realms will unlock. Please provide your access codes.
Access codes? Jason’s mind raced back to the acceptance letter he had received, recalling the strange mental phrase inscribed on it. He remembered memorizing its strangeness and without further hesitation, he spoke the phrase.
“Ducks shake hands when no one is listening to Shakespeare.” He whispered.
Nothing happened. He recalled that he needed to envision it, not just say it. It was a mental phrase after all. He pictured a duck shaking hands with another duck, Shakespeare in the background being totally ignored. There was a loud click! The door to Mount Olympus glowed brightly, opening before him. He stepped through, the light engulfing him in a brilliant flash.
On the other side, Jason was greeted by a shimmering interface displaying a list of character options, each one pulsating softly. As he examined them, he noticed something uncanny: each race had his face, but with different levels of muscle and form.
First was the Centaur, his own face atop a powerful, equine body, muscles rippling under a glossy coat. Then came the sturdy Satyr, with his face on a more compact, muscular form, legs ending in hooves. The imposing Cyclops appeared next, his own features with a single, intense eye and a body built like a tank. Other mythic options followed, all variations of himself.
Jason tried to select the Centaur, but nothing happened. Confused, he moved on to the Elf, a lithe version of himself with pointed ears, then the Dragonborn, a more muscular and scaled rendition, but each attempt was met with a frustrating buzzer sound.
"Why can’t I pick a race?" he muttered.
A prompt appeared as a cold, mechanical voice echoed through the void, sending a chill down Jason’s spine.
Initiating Player Assessment to determine race and starting attributes.
Please stand by.
The chamber around him shimmered and morphed, the sterile walls dissolving into towering shelves of ancient tomes. Each book was bound in cracked leather and adorned with gold leaf, whispering secrets from eras long past. The scent of aged parchment and dust filled the air, a testament to the room’s long-forgotten wisdom. At its center stood a grand, oaken table, bearing a curious wooden device. It was intricate, constructed of dark wood with a hundred blocks, each etched with a unique symbol.
A large wooden board stood beside the table, its surface smooth and polished. Six empty slots, in the shape of the wooden blocks, sat below it.
As he approached, an elegant script materialized, shimmering with a magical glow.
“I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but I can drown. What am I?”
Jason frowned, his fingers tapping on the table in a rhythm that matched his racing thoughts. How do I answer? The walls of the chamber pulsed, subtly at first, then with increasing insistence. The shelves of ancient tomes pressed inward, the wall moving closer and closer.