"Wa...u..." The voice was broken, distant, barely a whisper. The world was black and empty. Stephen could feel the pain beginning to return to his limbs, his once-numb muscles now throbbing and sore. The metallic taste of rusted iron filled his mouth. He twitched his fingers slowly, hearing the slight creak of his joints.

"Come on...wa...up..." The voice grew clearer, soft but calming, filled with care. Was it Abigail? Had he woken from this dream? His eyelids flickered, struggling to open. The feeling of coarse gravel beneath his fingertips came into focus. He strained to move, sharp pains enveloping his body like a blanket of nails.

"Damn it, Stephen, get up!" The voice cut through the haze. It was Elizabeth. His eyes flashed open, and he saw her kneeling over him, hurriedly bandaging his wounds and applying ointments. He could barely lift his head, and it seemed she hadn’t noticed. She finally glanced at his face, noticing his half-open eyes.

"Oh, thank Yvlis, you're waking." She brushed something off her face, smearing blood and dirt on her cheekbone. She forced a smile, sitting back on her haunches.

"I thought I was too late," she said, her voice quivering. The area around them slowly came into focus. Bodies lay scattered, and Stephen could see the remains of Ul'Thrak behind Elizabeth, its body sprawled in a pool of blackened blood. Small fires dotted the now-decimated camp.

"Where..." Stephen started, but Elizabeth silenced him by pressing a finger to his lips.

"Don't talk. You're still recovering." She rose to her feet. Her helmet lay unceremoniously next to Stephen, thrown off in haste. It was dented and scratched, with a deep groove cut across the eye slot, giving it an intimidating appearance.

"After Ul'Thrak died, the remaining goblins fled. I fear we don't have much time before they return," she said, glancing back at Stephen. His body was bandaged, bloodied, and bruised. She sighed, searching for a way to move him. But Stephen began to rise on his own, standing shakily, his legs wobbling like a newborn fawn.

He took a tentative step forward, clutching his ribs as if to hold his insides together. Ul'Thrak had been a formidable opponent, and Stephen barely remembered the end of the fight. He gazed down at the fallen Hob Goblin, its face twisted in a death grimace. Something peculiar caught his eye—parts of Ul'Thrak's body flickered, as though caught between two realities, small pixel-like particles floating around the wounds he had inflicted.

"What... what happened to it?" Stephen managed to ask, his voice rough and strained. He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"I don't know. It started happening to you as well," Elizabeth replied, stepping beside him to look down at the creature.

"I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’m just glad it stopped after I stabilized you." She looked over at Stephen, her brow furrowed. But Stephen didn’t meet her gaze; his attention was fixed on the massive tent that loomed over the camp. The Hob Goblin had been guarding something. With a painful hobble, Stephen made his way toward the largest tent.

"We need to leave. They could come back at any minute," Elizabeth called after him, sighing heavily as she followed. She picked up her helmet and buckled it to her waist. Stephen heard her, but his focus was on a large chest in the back of the tent.

"I got it, Elizabeth... but something’s back here." He lifted the leather flap to get a better look inside. The interior was crude: a makeshift bed made of straw, a table cobbled together from odds and ends, and papers scattered across the surface. But Stephen paid no attention to the mess. His eyes were locked on the well-constructed chest. Elizabeth followed him cautiously inside, scanning the surroundings.

She moved to the table, tracing her fingers along a map. Her brow furrowed as she stopped at several red Xs.

"These look like war plans... an invasion," she muttered, following the lines on the map. "And these must be other camps. I didn’t know Hob Goblins were this organized," she said, glancing over at Stephen, who was painfully lowering himself before the chest. He nudged the lid, testing to see if it was locked. It wasn’t. The lid lifted easily, revealing a hoard of gems, gold coins, and several vials of red liquid.

"Are you even listening to me?" Elizabeth called over, folding the map and placing it in her inventory. She walked over to Stephen and peered into the chest, her mouth hanging open.

"Those are healing potions!" She pointed to the vials, picking one up and holding it to the light. The crimson liquid swirled with a magical sheen, like glitter in sunlight.

"Do you know how rare these are?" Her voice was hushed, as if afraid the potion might shatter from the sound.

"Rare?" Stephen asked, looking up at her in confusion. He winced as pain flared in his ribs. Without hesitation, he uncorked a vial and downed it. The potion tasted of cinnamon, vanilla, and a hint of cherry. Warmth exploded through his body, and his wounds glowed faintly red. The throbbing in his ribs subsided, and his cuts knitted together rapidly, leaving no scars.

"What?! Why did you—? I could have healed you myself with time!" Elizabeth blurted, shaking her head. She knew, though, that this had been the right choice. She could have healed him in a few days, but they didn’t have that luxury. They were still a week away from the nearest town, and his condition would have slowed them down. She sighed and placed the remaining vials into her inventory.

Stephen’s vision was quickly assaulted by three messages. He dismissed them quickly but stopped and focused on the new quest: The Coming Horde. It seemed this was just the start of a quest line. What was supposed to be a simple goblin hunt had now changed into something of utmost importance. The way Elizabeth’s face shifted confirmed his suspicion. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed dumbstruck. Stephen looked back to the quest menu.

System Message: The Coming Horde, Horde Incoming 146:23:31:48

Twelve days, and ten hours. Stephen glanced at Elizabeth, who was hastily gathering the map from the table. Her sense of urgency cemented in his mind that this quest was significant. He held his hand over the chest, adding all its contents to his inventory. As they hurried from the tent, Stephen deviated, rushing toward the downed Hob Goblin. He outstretched his arm and activated his ability.

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System Message: Glitch Activated! Endurance +10!

He then sprinted after Elizabeth, who was already out of the gates and rushing into the forest. Soon, they found themselves at the river once more. Panting and breathing heavily, Stephen managed to ask, almost breathlessly:

“Okay, so this new quest... how bad is it?” He huffed, catching his breath as Elizabeth stopped and turned to face him. Sweat glistened on her brow under the afternoon sun. Her face was filled with gloom and dread, her eyes wide with worry—both for her current companion and for the quest.

"A horde quest can be extremely difficult, and with just two people, it's impossible. We need to get to town quickly and inform the people." Her voice trembled as she wiped her hands on her thighs to rid them of sweat.

"We have nearly five months to prepare. It seems like we have some time," Stephen interjected, snapping Elizabeth out of her fear-induced shock. His voice feigned confidence. All he truly wanted was to reconnect with his wife and son, not be dragged into a war. But that's what this was—a war on the horizon. Was Abigail in danger? If he ignored this, could it affect her or Luke? He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, something he had learned in the Navy to steady his nerves. Those thoughts, those fears were valid, but he had no way to confirm them. Still, he resigned himself to acting as if they were true. That meant, regardless of the uncertainty, he had to intervene in this quest to be sure.

"Come on, we need to get to this town," he said calmly, his newfound resolve causing Elizabeth to exhale a breath she'd been holding. Her body relaxed slightly. She gave a curt nod before pointing downstream.

"We have roughly a week's journey. If we follow the river, we'll reach a small town called River's Edge." She stretched out her back and then placed her pack on the ground. "I'll go back for the tent. You rest here, Stephen. We'll camp here for the night." She gave him a heartfelt smile before turning to head back toward the goblin encampment, glancing over her shoulder at him one last time.

Stephen watched as Elizabeth vanished into the tree line, her figure swallowed by the forest. With a shaky breath, he lowered himself to the ground. The pain still pulsed through his body, a dull ache that lingered even though his wounds had closed. Healing potions weren’t the cure-all he’d hoped for—they had mended the flesh, but the deeper aches remained.

He leaned back against a tree, eyes staring blankly at the river flowing steadily downstream. For the first time in hours, the adrenaline was gone, and the weight of everything—this world, the battles, the uncertainty—crashed down on him. His mind wandered, unbidden, to Abigail. Was she somewhere in this world, frightened and confused, just like him? Had she been thrown into the same chaos, her memories stripped away and replaced with a new life, just as Elizabeth's had been?

The thought gnawed at him, digging deeper into his mind. If Elizabeth has memories of a life she never lived, does that mean Abigail might too?

His chest tightened as he considered the possibility. Abigail could be out there somewhere, living a life she believed was hers, with no memory of him, no memory of Luke. She could have been given new memories, new loves, new hopes and dreams—an entirely new world where Stephen didn’t exist. What if she was happy? What if, in this twisted reality, she had a new husband, a new family? What if she’d moved on without even knowing she had moved on?

The pit in his stomach churned, his breath quickening as the implications took hold. What if I find her, and she doesn’t remember me? The thought of Abigail looking at him with blank eyes, with no recognition, no warmth—just the cold, detached indifference of a stranger—made his heart pound in his chest.

And Luke. The idea struck him like a blow to the gut. What about Luke? He had assumed, without really thinking, that they would be together. But what if they weren’t? What if, in this world, they had been separated from the start, each living their own false lives, unaware that they were supposed to be a family? What if Luke was out there, somewhere, thinking of someone else as his father?

Stephen’s head spun with the possibilities, each one worse than the last. His memories of their life together—everything they’d built, the love they shared, the moments they thought would last forever—were suddenly fragile, like fading photographs he could no longer grasp. He thought back to their anniversary trip to San Francisco. He could see Abigail’s smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy, the sound of her laughter when she teased him. They’d gone to dinner, hadn’t they?

He recalled snapping a picture of her mid-bite at a restaurant—Abigail’s bright eyes smiling through a mouthful of food, her cheeks flushed with joy. But... what had she been eating? Stephen’s brow furrowed. Pasta? No, that wasn’t right. He could distinctly remember there being bread... but it wasn’t just bread, was it? His mind grappled with the details. Pizza, maybe? Yes, the city was famous for it, but... the more he thought about it, the fuzzier it became, like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

And then something else tugged at his thoughts—a restaurant, or was it a café? He remembered planning the whole trip around Abigail’s favorite dish, something she had looked forward to for months. But what was it? A gnawing sense of dread began to creep up his spine as he struggled to fill in the blanks. The meal, the taste, even the décor of the place—they were slipping away from him like sand through his fingers.

Then came the bridge. He knew San Francisco was famous for its bridge—the Golden Gate Bridge, he told himself, forcing the name to surface. But as he focused on it, the image in his mind warped, as if his brain was desperately trying to fill in details that weren’t quite right. Was the bridge red? No, wooden, maybe? Wait... no, it had to be red, right? Why couldn’t he remember something so simple?

A rising panic bubbled in his chest. What else had he forgotten? His mind reeled, trying to latch onto any detail of that trip. The more he probed, the more holes he found. The laughter they shared on the ferry, the view from their hotel room... had the walls been cream-colored or blue? What about the name of the street their hotel was on? It was right there—on the tip of his tongue—but it refused to come.

The realization hit him like a hammer to the chest. His memories, those small, intimate moments that made up the fabric of his relationship with Abigail, were fading. Or worse, being altered. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to force the memories back into focus, but they remained elusive, just out of reach. Was this part of the "game"? Was it rewriting his past, erasing parts of who he was?

He gritted his teeth, trying to maintain composure, but the knot in his stomach tightened with every passing second. His life—the real one—was slipping away, little by little, and he had no idea how to stop it.

"Hey, everything alright?" Elizabeth’s voice snapped him out of his tailspin as she emerged from the trees. She smiled at him as she began setting up the tent. Once completed, a magical protective field emanated from the simple structure.

"You looked worried, Stephen. Are you alright? Did the potions not heal you?" She knelt before him and examined his face, reaching out to feel his forehead before checking his torso. "It seems they’ve healed you." She unwrapped the bandages around his torso, revealing bruised but unbroken skin. "The bruises should go away in a few days, so you don’t need to worry."

Stephen brushed her hand away. "No, it’s not the wounds." He glanced down at where he'd been hurt, then back to Elizabeth. Should he tell her about his apparent memory loss? He exhaled deeply and decided it was best to hide it. He forced a half-hearted smile. "I’m just thinking about this quest. I’ve never been part of a horde quest before," he lied, his laugh weak and nervous. "Just a little nerves."

Elizabeth looked into his eyes, noticing the subtle quiver. He was lying, but if he wasn’t comfortable telling the truth, she wouldn’t push him. This man had been through a lot in such a short time, and it was only natural for him to be apprehensive. So, she smiled and accepted his answer. Perhaps, in time, he’d feel ready to share what was really going on.