The twenty-four hours had dragged on like years. For most students in Nexus Academy, a day meant lessons, points to earn, meals to share with friends, and laughter in the hallways. For Auren, the day meant exile. Locked out of Mortal's Heaven, stripped of the character he had raised from level one to a reputation feared across servers, he had been forced to sit with stillness.
But stillness had never been his nature.
When the clock struck and the lockout expired, Auren didn't hesitate. He logged in, breath catching as the world of Mortal's Heaven reformed around him. This time, the system mocked him with its cruel humor: no longer the sleek, battle-hardened fighter who carved his way through dungeons, but a pale gamer nerd with round glasses and the type of frame that would fold in half at the first gust of wind.
Worse still, the respawn aligned him with the antagonist's camp, shoved into the villain's classroom, among sneering players who lived for torment. Auren smirked. It wasn't a punishment. It was an opportunity. As a pale bullied gamer nerd fate gave him the hand of technological superiority so even if he hacks its within the world's rules.
And it was exactly where Zevaros wanted him. The first clue remained, taunting him like a thread of silk that refused to unravel: 'Aeon of Hunt. Arbiter of Trials. Chase.' Three titles, three anchors to something deeper.
Alongside them were the coordinates , or rather, landscapes Zevaros had mentioned with deliberate cruelty: the northern plains, the western icefields, the stripped lands in the south. All these coordinates fell within the danger zones of the Mortal Heaven's game data and even most of these areas were still locked.
Auren's previous attempt as an MMA avatar had been reckless, sprinting north like a moth drawn to the flame. He remembered the way death had come for him instantly, the mocking red game over screen reflecting his own arrogance back at him. This time, he would be careful, Patient and Thorough.
Obsession was patience wearing a mask. And so began the week.
Day one, Auren trawled through the official Mortal's Heaven forums, his fingers dancing across the terminal as if possessed. During the day he ignored Eiran's chatter, Gray's weird greetings during his assignments at the dining table, and even the announcements chiming in the academy halls.
His eyes devoured text walls within the VR game every night: there were half-baked theories, maps stitched together from failed explorations, debates about lore fragments no one understood. Most dismissed the northern plains as a dead zone . That it was too empty, too flat, nothing but purposeful glitches and error codes waiting to swallow careless wanderers.
But Auren saw patterns where others saw emptiness. The way one poster mentioned shadows lengthening unnaturally in the plains. Another spoke of phantom beasts that left no footprints. Aeon of Hunt, the name whispered through his mind, tying itself to those shadows.
He copied every scrap into his private notes, color-coding, cross-referencing and highlighting them with the meticulous care of someone who couldn't stop. Not wouldn't rather he couldn't stop. His brilliance was born from that inability to let go.
By midnight, when his body begged for rest, Auren's cerulean eyes glowed faintly against the terminal light. He whispered to himself, voice low and sharp, "Not yet. Not until I see it."
Day two bled into day three.
His routine disintegrated. He skipped meals, missed two morning classes, and lost three points for late attendance. His professors didn't know what to make of him. They wondered if he was still the boy with flawless scores and perfect combat instincts or he was just reduced to a sleep-deprived shadow scribbling notes instead of sparring.
Eiran noticed first but didn't speak until the third day when it became too much for him. The fox's onyx gaze softened with concern, though he disguised it behind sarcasm as usual. "You're going to combust at this rate. What did he do to you?"
Auren didn't answer. He barely even looked up. His fingers were busy tracing the western icefield on a player-drawn map on his terminal, circling anomalies others had discarded as bugs. Ice caves that melted too quickly. NPCs who whispered of "The Arbiter" before vanishing.
Eiran sighed, dropping a sealed drink beside him. "You're impossible."
Auren hummed absently, not in agreement or denial but in the rhythm of someone submerged too deep in thought to resurface. When he finally glanced up, Eiran was gone. The drink remained, untouched as he logged in to Mortal's Heaven.
By day four, the toll of obsession was visible.
His eyes bore heavy shadows, like bruises inked into pale skin. His lips were dry, his uniform slightly disheveled. Gray, his roommate, dared a comment only once: "You look like death warmed over."
Auren had smiled faintly, the expression eerily calm. "Death and I are on familiar terms."
Gray didn't press further. Some things were safer left unspoken.
Inside Mortal's Heaven, Auren's nerdy avatar wandered tirelessly. He no longer played for progression or reputation; every login was an excavation. He was close to death multiple times. Once he almost mauled by beasts, the he was ambushed by rival players but managed to escape, but each close death only sharpened his grin.
Every failure was a scrap of data. Every near death, a breadcrumb leading closer to Zevaros' hidden truth. His scrawny nerdy avatar helped him do more than just find the clues it also showed Auren that mortal's can never be underestimated, if he can think like this then they too can. This caused Auren to form a respect for the mortal species.
At night, when exhaustion finally forced him offline, Auren would lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed every clue, rearranging them like shards of glass into new patterns. He whispered Zevaros' name once. Quietly, reverently and dangerously before burying it under the weight of his analysis.
Day five, the breakthrough began to crystallize.
It wasn't the plains. Nor the ice, Nor the stripped lands. At least, not individually. Auren realized the three locations aligned perfectly on the world map, forming a triangle that enclosed an area no one ever explored, because it looked like empty code, nothing but blankness.
But Zevaros wouldn't have left a clue in emptiness. No, emptiness was the clue. The Aeon of Hunt. The Arbiter of Trials. Chase. The titles weren't roles to play. They were triggers. Keys. And Auren was already holding them.
He laughed to himself in the cover of the night, startling Gray into pulling his blanket higher.
Day six nearly broke him.
The hidden zone fought back viciously, glitching his avatar into walls, erasing his inventory, spawning monsters with broken hitboxes. Every failed attempt slammed into his patience like a hammer. But his eyes only burned brighter, lips curved in a half-smile that frightened even him.
Eiran caught him nodding off in class, pen slipping from his fingers.
"You're insane," the fox muttered under his breath, watching Auren's chest rise and fall in restless sleep. Yet there was something softer beneath the words, the kind of awe one feels watching someone dance on the edge of ruin yet never fall.
Auren dreamed of a the Purple-gold thread that is knotted around his soul. His dreams the switched to Zevaros' laughter in the distance, low and taunting. By the time he woke up from his restless dream, his hand was gripping the desk so tightly his knuckles bled white.
On the seventh day, the obsession reached its crescendo.
He logged in, heart pounding, and threaded the path between the plains, the icefields, and the stripped lands. This time, when the emptiness yawned before him, he didn't hesitate. He stepped into it.
For a moment, the world flickered, pixels unraveling like mist. Then it reshaped, a hidden realm, silent and vast, its sky torn by streaks of light like hunting spears. At its center stood an altar, carved with the words:
"Only the unbroken may claim the Hunt. Only the chained may bear the Trials. Only the chased may turn and devour."
Auren's breath hitched. His lips curved into a grin so sharp it could cut glass. Zevaros' puzzle had unfolded before him, not as a gift but as a challenge. A hunt not for prey, but for each other. When he finally logged out, exhaustion dragging him under, the terminal dimmed on his desk.
And for the first time in seven days, Auren slept soundly.
Eiran, passing by his dorm and glimpsing the peaceful expression through the open door, exhaled. Relief washed over him, though a quiet worry lingered. As he walked to his own dorm he couldn't help but mummer,
" Obsession like this doesn't end easily. It only deepens."