The overenthusiastic witch leaned in even closer, forcing Stephen to step back uncomfortably. Her barely restrained breasts jiggled as she examined him up close, her excitement unchecked.

“I’ve studied your kind for years,” she muttered, lifting Stephen’s arm and scrutinizing it as if she were cataloging every detail. “I thought you were just a myth, maybe something that existed long ago, but certainly not now!” She spoke rapidly, with no care for Stephen’s unease, crouching down to examine his lower half. “But here you are! In all your glo—”

Corin quickly cut her off, his deep voice pulling her attention away from Stephen. “Amelia, maybe you should explain,” he said, sighing heavily as he rubbed his temples. “Before you continue to accost this man any further.”

Amelia popped up to her feet, stepping back with an embarrassed giggle. “Oh, right, right. I got a bit carried away,” she admitted with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. “Where to start…” She placed a delicate finger on her chin, lost in thought for a moment before her face lit up. “I know!” she exclaimed, motioning for everyone to sit. Before Corin could reclaim his seat, Amelia had already taken it, waving the others toward the chairs in front of the desk like she owned the office.

Corin grunted and sank into a chair opposite her, knowing better than to argue. Elizabeth and Stephen followed suit, both looking equally perplexed. Stephen, in particular, was confused. The Glitched are myths? How could that be? Everyone was supposed to have been dropped into this world only weeks ago. How deep did the memory wipe go? He recalled his title, which seemed to carry a message from someone—a game developer, perhaps—so why would they have myths about glitches? Weren’t developers supposed to hide glitches, not immortalize them?

Amelia, noticing Stephen’s bewildered expression, squirmed with excitement. “You’re wondering how we can talk about Glitched like they’re ancient legends, aren’t you?” she asked with a wide grin. “Well, Glitches aren’t tied to the regular rules of time and space.”

She leaned forward, her voice gaining a more serious tone. “Glitches are exactly that—errors in the magical energy that permeates our world,” she explained. “Magic is like a waterfall. When someone like me taps into it, we see the world as it’s constructed—vibrant lines of elemental energy. To cast a spell, we just alter the flow of that waterfall.” She paused, gesturing dramatically. “These energies form the very essence of reality, and magic bends those rules.”

Amelia then locked eyes with Stephen, her finger pointing directly at him. “But you, the Glitched—you move through this energy like it doesn’t exist. The flow bends away from you, parts around you. You’re a void in the magic.”

Corin nodded in understanding, while Elizabeth quietly pondered the implications, considering all her past experiences with Stephen. As for Stephen, the weight of Amelia’s words hit him hard. If he wasn’t tied to time, did that mean his search was pointless? Was Abigail even here? What if Luke was grown—or worse, what if neither of them had even been born yet? His mind spiraled with terrifying possibilities.

Amelia, oblivious to Stephen’s inner turmoil or simply uncaring, pressed on with growing excitement. “Now, you must be wondering how I know about you, right?” Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm. “Glitches only appear at times of great upheaval, when the cosmic order is about to shift.” She opened a prompt in her mind, projecting an image to the group. “Every Glitch in history has triggered some form of change in the Godly System.”

The image vanished, and Amelia continued. “It’s as if the gods themselves are trying to fix something.” She looked more like a child with a new toy than a scholar uncovering truths.

Elizabeth was now watching Stephen closely, concern etched into her face as she sensed the storm brewing inside him. She placed a comforting hand on his arm, anchoring him as his thoughts whirled out of control.

“The Glitched are said to come from another world entirely,” Amelia continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “So tell me, what’s your world like?”

Stephen’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he fought to comprehend the implications of what had been said. Could it be true? Could Abigail and Luke really not be here? His thoughts spiraled further, each question darker than the last.

“Enough, Amelia,” Elizabeth interjected, her voice firm and authoritative. “He’s not some object for study. Stephen has a family. He has feelings. Can’t you see the distress on his face?” She tightened her grip on his hand, offering a soft smile in reassurance.

“I… I didn’t mean to…” Amelia’s voice trailed off, her usual confidence faltering. For the first time, she seemed genuinely lost for words.

Corin rose from his chair and smiled gently at the witch. “It’s alright. Let’s give him some space. Today has been overwhelming enough.” He looked down at Stephen, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Elizabeth, please escort him to a room in the guild hall. He can finish registering tomorrow. For now, he needs time to process.” Corin’s gaze shifted from Stephen to Elizabeth, sharing a quiet understanding.

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Elizabeth rose to her feet with a nod and gently assisted Stephen up, slinging his arm over her shoulder. She held him close as if he had been wounded in some great battle. “Come now, Stephen, let’s find you a place to rest,” she spoke softly, guiding him out of the room. Behind them, Amelia and Corin watched with somber expressions, both recognizing the weight of the moment.

As they moved slowly through the quiet halls, the silence between them felt like an invisible force, threatening to pull them apart if either dared to speak. The tension was palpable, consuming the air around them. Elizabeth finally found an empty room—simple, with only a single bed and a desk. Light filtered in weakly from a solitary window. Though the room appeared decent enough, it felt cold and isolating, like a prison cell under the weight of everything that had just unfolded.

Elizabeth sat Stephen down on the bed and knelt before him, searching his face for any sign of response. But Stephen stared past her, his gaze empty, lost somewhere far beyond the room. His expression was vacant, as if he were peering into a void.

“We will find them, Stephen. Don’t lose hope, don’t lose faith,” Elizabeth said, her voice gentle yet firm as she tried to break the heavy silence. But there was no response. His jaw remained tight, teeth clenched, his hands shaking slightly. She noticed how he rubbed his thumb against his ring finger, as if turning a ring that was no longer there—a silent, desperate gesture.

“I’ll give you some time,” Elizabeth murmured softly, standing up with a heavy heart. “I’ll bring food later. Please, try to rest.” Her voice cracked slightly, a quiet sorrow betraying her words. She gave one last look at Stephen, his vacant expression unchanged, before slowly closing the door behind her.

The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The silence that had been lingering before now transformed into something suffocating—a thick, oppressive force that filled the space. It was as though the room itself had darkened, become colder, trapping Stephen in an inescapable fog of doubt and despair.

He stared blankly at the floor, and slowly, the walls of his composure crumbled. Small droplets of water hit the ground as tears streamed from his eyes. He crawled further onto the bed, pressing his back against the wall, curling his knees to his chest. Alone, and finally unable to hold it in any longer, Stephen let himself break. He sobbed, the weight of the unknown and the fear of loss overwhelming him.

"How stupid are you? To believe you had any hope of finding them?"

The thought tore through Stephen’s mind like a jagged blade, harsh and unforgiving. It wasn’t just a passing thought—it felt as though it had a voice, a presence. His eyes, still red from crying, glanced around the dimly lit room, and for a moment, he could swear he saw something—a figure, dark and menacing, lingering in the corners of his vision.

A twisted, wicked smile seemed to form on the shadowy shape, a manifestation of his darkest thoughts come to life. It loomed in the room, feeding on his despair.

"Faith? Pathetic," the voice hissed, its tone venomous. "She can’t help you. No one can. Look at yourself—sobbing like a child. This is what hope brings you. Feel it. That pain, that crushing weight. That’s all hope is—pain upon pain, anguish upon anguish."

The apparition seemed to swell in size, growing darker, more defined, as if his despair was fueling its existence. Its words slithered into Stephen’s mind, wrapping around him like a vice, suffocating any fleeting flicker of light. He tightened his grip around his legs, pulling them closer to his chest, trying to shield himself from the malicious presence in the room.

"You could end it," the voice whispered, its tone dripping with vile temptation. "Save everyone around you the burden of this…this pathetic display. You’re a coward, a burden. Why make them suffer any longer because of you?"

Stephen’s heart pounded in his chest, the sound deafening in the quiet room. The apparition, now larger, deadlier, seemed to inch closer, its form curling toward him, taunting him with the weight of his own thoughts.

"Go on. Do it. You know you’ve thought about it."

The voice echoed in his ears, louder, more insistent. It pressed down on him like an immense weight, threatening to crush what little remained of his hope.

"N-no..." A weak voice escaped Stephen's lips. These dark thoughts—they were nothing new. He had faced them countless times in the past. And each time, he pushed them away, his moral compass and resolve guiding him through. A knot formed in his throat as he forced himself to look up, meeting the eyes of the dark apparition before him.

"No!?" The figure laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the room. Its wicked smile twisted into a sneer, as if disgusted by Stephen’s defiance. "What are you going to do? We both know the only reason you didn’t act on it before was them. But they’re not here anymore. You lost them." The shadow growled, growing more agitated as its prey began to resist.

Stephen’s eyes hardened. "They’re here," he said, his voice starting to gather strength. His body, once curled in on itself, began to relax. His head lifted, the despair in his heart slowly being replaced by something else—a quiet, seething rage. "Even if they’re not physically here, I can still feel them." He shook his head, and as he did, the dark figure seemed to shrink.

"I won’t be a coward. I won’t run from this." His voice grew louder, more resolute. The old mantra from his military days echoed in his mind, fortifying his resolve. "Adapt and overcome. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done."

The shadow recoiled, hissing as it tried to regain control. "Ha, you think you can get rid of me that easily? I’m inside you, Stephen. I’m those doubts, those questions that gnaw at you in the dark. I am you." The figure tried to latch onto him again, but something was shifting.

Stephen didn’t listen to the shadow's words. His mind was already moving, plans forming and taking shape. First, he needed to figure out if Abigail and Luke were really here. If not, he’d find a way to reach them, no matter where—or when—that might be. He was a Glitch, untethered by the rules of this world. His resolve burned like a beacon, bright and fierce, pushing the darkness back.

"You don’t control me," Stephen whispered, more to himself than to the apparition. "I will find them. No matter what."

And as that final thought solidified in his mind, the shadow began to dissipate, fading into the corners of the room like smoke. It wasn’t gone—it never would be—but it was no longer in control.