The first thing Rowan saw upon opening his eyes was a large, off-white egg.

As his eyes refocused, he realized that it was not an egg at all, but a man — though one who greatly resembled an egg. Tiny beads of sweat dotted the man's forehead. The details of this world were so clear that he could even see the intricate threads that made up his iris.

It all seemed so lifelike, but…

"Am I in Skye?" Rowan asked.

The man's voice was calm and gentle. "No," he said. "But you're close. This is the Training Tower on Morel Island.”

The man wore long brown robes with a circular crest over his heart. The crest resembled a strand of coiled spaghetti, and Rowan briefly wondered if he could feel hunger in this place.

"Skye is on the mainland," Rowan's eyes followed the man's gesture toward a small window carved into a stone wall. "Just out there."

Far below, the sea shimmered in a dozen shades of blue, stretching until it reached a massive mountainous land.

Rowan went to the window and leaned out, wearing a smile as wide as he had in years. His red hair blew wildly in the wind. He had never seen a sight so spectacular.

"Come," said the man, "It's time for your first lesson."

Together, they navigated through long, narrow hallways that were lit only by dim candles. Then, they climbed a spiral staircase flanked by tall windows, which let in the light of the outside world and spectacular views of the sea. Every bit of Rowan buzzed with excitement.

"Crafts are central to Skye," the man explained in his tranquil voice. "You will use crafts to make progress, and form teams with adventurers who balance yours out.”

At the top of the staircase, the man turned the knob of a heavy metal door. Beyond it lay another candlelit hallway, but this one was unlike the rest. Leafy vines threaded along the walls and colorful flowers sprouted from the spaces between stone bricks.

“You will soon be presented with the combat crafts. Naturally, you should choose the one that suits you best, the one for which you possess a natural talent and the greatest passion."

The man opened the door to a dark room, leaving Rowan with a final piece of advice, "But be warned, those who stray from their chosen craft will find themselves at a great disadvantage to those who remain focused."

Rowan mentally groaned. As someone who’d changed majors three times before dropping out of college, the idea of being tied to a single craft did a number on his mood.

But he was determined to win, and he would dedicate his life to balloon animal artistry if that was what it took to get his mom’s consciousness uploaded.

He just really hoped that wasn't what it took.

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The room was covered in darkness, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust. As they did, he was greeted by a wondrous sight — a vast forest stretching out before him.

Oak and pine trees dotted the grassy ground, but there were also other trees that he had never seen before in his world. Some were coated in gold, while others reached up into the sky with reddish wood, their height seemingly endless. Yet, there was no ceiling above, nor could he see any sky. Just emptiness and darkness.

Suddenly, his eyes caught movement, and he jumped back into the door with a loud “thud” that rang through the forest. Oddly, he didn’t feel a single pang of pain, only the pressure of his back on the door.

Buzzing in the trees was a little glowing pixie-like creature, barely a foot in height. As he laid eyes on it, he heard a voice in his head — his own voice — say, "Forest Sprite, level two."

Then, another voice echoed through the forest — one that Rowan recognized immediately. "Man,” the voice said, “this creature is just so delicate and beautiful. I would never even imagine harm—“

Suddenly, Rowan's eyes caught the glint of an axe from behind a tree. It struck the pixie, which flopped to the ground.

"You're absolutely vile," said a nasal woman's voice.

The man laughed. "Come on, it's no big deal. It'll probably respawn in a minute or two."

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On the ground, the Sprite faded away, leaving behind a bronze coin and a small dagger with a wooden hilt. "Sweet! Loot!"

The owner of the first voice stepped into view. Dave stood tall, wielding a massive battle-axe crafted from a dim grey metal that didn’t look particularly impressive. He wore a black shirt and trousers that hung loosely around his large body.

September followed him close behind, a small woman in her early twenties with a pudgy figure. Her black hair was dyed with deep blue ends, and she wore the same outfit as Dave, complete with a longsword of matching dull hue. But unlike Dave, who looked beyond intimidating with his massive frame and heavy axe, she looked positively cute.

Dave comfortably slung the battle-axe over his shoulder and bent to pick up the loot. He held the spoils in front of a small pouch fastened around his waist, which appeared to suck the items into its depths, like a miniature black hole. "Cool," he said.

No longer distracted by the events involving the Sprite, they quickly spotted Rowan standing awkwardly near the entrance. September's face lit up.

"Hey Rowan!" Her round cheeks puffed out when she smiled.

"Ro!" Dave dropped the heavy axe and came running over to Rowan like a clumsy oaf, a grin on his face.

The two met with a quick, one-armed bro-hug, their palms clapping together before bumping shoulders. "You really showed that pixie who’s boss,” Rowan said, smiling.

"You saw that?" Dave asked, excitement clear in his voice. But he caught sight of September trotting over and his pitch dropped an octave. "Yeah, it was really nothing." He turned to survey the spectacular forest of trees, plants and flowers that surrounded them. "Anyways, man, this place is insane."

As soon as September arrived, her words tumbled out in a rapid stream. “We’ve only been here about twenty minutes.” She tilted her head. “I think. We don’t really have a way to keep track of time here. Anyway, we’ve already seen a lifetime’s worth of new shit. Come on, we’ll show you."

She took hold of Rowan’s wrist and pulled him along, her grip surprisingly tight. At this, Dave looked less than happy.

They weaved in between trees, being careful not to disturb any flowers or fungi in this unknown new world.

Every so often, they bumped into some form of life in the forest. Another pixie, a fluffy rabbit or some other harmless-looking creature would come into view. And each time, regardless of how sweet or delicate the animal, Dave would let out a loud "RAWR!" and swing his axe down on the poor thing.

September rolled her eyes. "I swear," she muttered under her breath.

Just then, Dave began to glow. It was dim at first, then grew brighter until his whole body was enveloped in a shining gold. "Oh my god,” his voice shook, “What's happening to me?"

Rowan watched in stunned amazement, and September's lips curled up evilly.

The gold faded, and Dave calmed down a bit.

"Not so tough now, are you?" September asked wickedly.

But Dave didn’t hear her, for he was fixated on something on his forearm - a tattoo that hadn’t been there a minute before. It depicted the number "2" with the symbol of two crossed swords beneath it.

“Dave," Rowan clapped him on the shoulder, "Looks like you've just leveled up."

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In a large, grassy clearing, Rowan nearly missed it: a small Leaf-lynx stalking slowly through the forest. Its green fur blended almost perfectly into the grass, but its movement had caught his eye.

Silence fell over the woods as Rowan's arrow was taut in his bow, ready to fire at any moment. He breathed out and released.

"Clang!"

The Leaf-lynx sprinted away.

What the—?

Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind a tree in the clearing. He’d had no idea she was part of this competition.

It was Jane, the co-founder of the company behind Skye and the concept of consciousness uploading entirely. But she looked different than he had ever seen her before.

Her red hair, usually perfectly arranged, was now wild and messy. And instead of business casual, she wore the same loose-hanging black shirt and pants as Dave, September and Rowan.

It felt illegal seeing her like this.

"Seriously?" she asked, picking up Rowan's arrow from the grass in front of her. It was about half the clearing away from where he’d been aiming. "You scared it away. I'm taking this in payment." She added the iron arrow to her quiver before sauntering off.

Oh. The pieces fall together. The Masters had explained it earlier. Adventurers can’t attack each other, except in very particular areas of the world. Otherwise, it’d be an all-out bloodbath.

So when his arrow hit her, it just bounced off, explaining the loud metallic noise he’d heard after firing.

Thank god for that, or else things could have gone a whole lot worse. Accidentally murdering the boss on day one wouldn’t have made a great start to his new life.

Understandably, Rowan decided that archery was probably not for him.

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"You grip it too tightly,” corrected the Master of Melee. He had a shaven head and wore robes woven with red metal armor over his chest, back and thighs. A crest of two crossed swords adorned the center of his chestplate.

"The sword is an instrument of precision. Your grip should be firm, yet relaxed." He demonstrated, his own hands lightly grasping the hilt of his sword made of a beautiful red metal. "The unterhau is a thrust upward, an awakening strike, capable of catching an opponent off guard.”

“A thrust upward,” repeated Rowan to himself after the Master’s lesson. Dave watched supportively, while feet away, September wildly stabbed her sword into the air in front of her about four times a second.

With all the force he could muster, Rowan thrust his sword upward. But his starting point was too low, and the blade sliced through his flesh before clattering to the ground.

Oops.

A warmth spread across his upper leg as he looked down to find a gaping gash, larger than any wound he had ever seen. Yet, to his surprise, no blood flowed from it.

His thoughts began to slow as he spotted a fly or two dancing before his eyes. Upon closer inspection, they were not flies at all, but black spots that grew larger and larger until he could scarcely see. He thought he saw Dave and September running toward him.

"Guys, they aren’t flies," he mumbled, his words slurring together as though he were drunk.

His body gave way, and he collapsed to the ground.