Click. Click. Click.
Raze's character cut through another corrupted beast, fingers moving on autopilot. Three months of his summer vacation, gone. Consumed by Records of Istea like it was oxygen. His parents called it an addiction. He called it the only thing that made sense anymore.
The Abyssal Spire. Level forty-three. Six hours of attempts, and Raze still couldn't crack it.
His character dodged left as a shadow tendril lashed out. Too slow. The hit took thirty percent of his health bar. He cursed, fingers flying across the keyboard to queue his healing skill.
"Come on, come on..."
Three months. He'd spent nearly his entire summer vacation in Records of Istea, and this dungeon was making him look like a rookie. The mechanics were brutal. Timing windows measured in milliseconds, attack patterns that shifted mid-combo. Some players on the forums claimed it was impossible solo at his level.
Raze took that personally.
Another wave spawned. He leaned forward, eyes tracking cooldown timers. Two seconds. One.
Thunk. Critical hit. The corrupted beast staggered.
"Yes! Just like that, just..."
The boss room door opened. Finally.
His phone screen glowed on the desk beside him. 3:47 AM.
"One more pull," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Figure out the phase transition, then sleep."
His character entered the boss room. The Void Warden materialized. A towering figure of shadow and crackling dark energy. Phase one began.
Dodge. Strike. Rotate cooldowns. His eyes burned from staring at the screen, but he pushed through. The boss hit thirty percent health. Phase transition incoming...
Wipe.
The death screen flashed. Again.
Raze slumped back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Tomorrow. I'll get it tomorrow."
He went through the motions on autopilot. Shut down the computer, brushed his teeth, collapsed into bed. His eyes closed the moment his head hit the pillow.
Sleep took him instantly.
---
The light came first.
Raze opened his eyes. Or thought he did. He wasn't in his bed anymore. Wasn't in his room. He stood in a vast emptiness, a void that was simultaneously pitch black and brilliantly illuminated. The ground beneath his feet felt solid but looked like nothing. Like standing on the concept of a floor rather than an actual surface.
"Where..."
A man stood before him.
No, not a man. The proportions were right, but everything else was wrong. His suit looked woven from starlight itself, fabric that rippled like liquid mercury. And his eyes... Raze tried to look directly at them and couldn't. They cycled through colors that shouldn't exist, prismatic and shifting, beautiful in a way that made his brain scream.
"Am I dreaming?" Raze's voice echoed strangely in the void.
"In a manner of speaking." The voice didn't come from the man's mouth. It resonated inside Raze's chest, in his bones, in the base of his skull. "Sit."
A chair materialized behind Raze. His legs folded and he sat without meaning to.
The being stepped closer. Up close, Raze could see that the suit wasn't just starlight. It was made of stars. Tiny pinpricks of light shifting and moving, whole galaxies dying and being born across the fabric.
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen." The word fell out. He couldn't stop it.
"Do you have family?"
"Yes. Parents. A younger sister."
"Do you love them?"
Raze hesitated. The being tilted his head, waiting.
"I... yeah. I do. We're not close, but... yeah."
"Why aren't you close?"
The question cut deeper than it should have. Raze felt his throat tighten.
"I don't know. They don't understand me. What I care about. They think I waste my time on games, that I should be doing something 'real' with my life." His laugh came out bitter. "Maybe they're right."
"What do you care about?"
"I don't know anymore."
"That's a lie."
Raze flinched. The being's expression hadn't changed, but somehow Raze felt seen in a way that made him want to hide.
"Stories," he admitted quietly. "Worlds that make sense. Where effort matters, where you can get stronger, where... where things are fair. Where you're rewarded for trying."
"And your world isn't fair?"
"No." The word came out hard. "You can try your whole life and still lose. You can be smart, work hard, do everything right, and it doesn't matter. Random chance. Born to the wrong family. Wrong place. Wrong time." His hands clenched. "At least in games, effort equals results."
"Is that why you play so much?"
"I play because it's the only thing that doesn't feel empty."
Silence stretched between them. The being regarded him with those impossible eyes.
"Do you have friends?"
Raze laughed, sharp and humorless. "Online, sure. People I raid with. Talk to in Discord. But real friends? People who know my actual name, who I see in person?" He shook his head. "No. Not really."
"Why not?"
"Because..." Raze trailed off, searching for words. "Because they don't get it either. They talk about parties and sports and who's dating who, and I just... I don't care. It all feels so meaningless. So I stopped trying."
"You isolated yourself."
"I guess. Yeah."
"Do you regret it?"
The question hit like a punch. Raze opened his mouth to say no, but the lie wouldn't come.
"Sometimes," he whispered. "Late at night, when I log off and the house is quiet. Sometimes I wonder if I'm wasting my life. If I'm going to be forty years old still living with my parents, still chasing digital achievements that don't matter." His voice cracked. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm even really alive anymore, or just going through the motions."
"What do you want, Raze?"
"I want..." He closed his eyes. "I want to matter. I want to be good at something real. I want effort to equal results. I want a world that makes sense."
"If you could change everything. Your life, yourself, the world around you. Would you?"
Raze opened his eyes and looked directly at the being. At those prismatic, impossible eyes that cycled through colors his brain couldn't name.
"Yes," he said. "In a heartbeat."
The being nodded slowly, like Raze had confirmed something.
"What keeps you awake at night, Raze? Your deepest regret."
The question should have felt invasive. Should have made him angry. Instead, the truth spilled out like blood from a wound.
"That I gave up," he said quietly. "On real life. On real connections. I had this friend in middle school, Kenji. He tried so hard to stay close, kept inviting me to things, kept texting. And I just... stopped responding. Chose the game over him every time." Raze's hands trembled. "Eventually he stopped trying. And I was relieved. That's what keeps me up. That I was relieved to lose my last real friend because it meant more time for a game."
"Do you think you're a good person?"
"No," Raze said immediately. "No, I don't."
"Why?"
"Because good people don't give up. They don't hide from the world. They don't choose fantasy over the people who care about them." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "They don't feel more alive in a game than in their actual life."
The being studied him for a long moment. Then, almost gently, "If you could start over. Truly start over, with everything you know now. What would you do differently?"
"Everything," Raze said. "I'd try. Actually try. At life, at connections, at being someone worth knowing. I'd use my time for something that matters."
"Even if it was difficult? Even if you failed?"
"Especially then. Because at least I'd be living."
The being smiled. It looked almost sad.
Then he reached into his pocket.
The gun gleamed gold, covered in engravings that writhed and shifted when Raze looked at them. Symbols that hurt to see, that his eyes couldn't quite focus on. Ornate and impossible and absolutely, terrifyingly real.
"Wait..." Raze's voice cracked. His heart slammed against his ribs. "Wait, what are you..."
"You said you wanted to start over." The being's voice remained gentle. Kind, even. "That you wanted a world where effort matters. Where you could truly live."
"I didn't mean..."
"You were honest with me, Raze. Completely honest. That's rare." The being raised the gun, aiming at Raze's chest. "So I'll be honest with you. You're dying either way. Your world has already ended. But I can offer you something else. A new beginning. A chance to become everything you wish you'd been."
Raze's breath came in short, panicked gasps. "I don't understand..."
"You will."
The being's finger tightened on the trigger.
"Wait!" Raze's voice came out strangled. "At least... at least tell me why. Why me?"
The being paused. Those prismatic eyes fixed on Raze with something that might have been compassion.
"Because you understand, in a way most never do, that stories matter. That other worlds matter. That meaning isn't found... it's created." The smile widened slightly. "And because the world you're going to needs someone who wants to try. Who wants to live. Who understands what it means to fight for something real."
"What world? What are you..."
"You'll see soon enough."
Bang.
Everything went white.
---
Raze woke with a gasp.
Not in his bed. Not in the void.
He jerked upright, hands clutching at his chest. Rough fabric met his fingers. Coarse and scratchy. His heart hammered wildly.
A dream. Just a dream. Had to be.
But his chest ached like he'd actually been shot.
Each breath came ragged and desperate. The air tasted wrong. Stale and musty.
The room came into focus slowly.
Wrong. Everything's wrong.
He sat on a lumpy straw mattress that poked through threadbare sheets. The "room" was barely larger than a closet. Rough wooden walls, gaps between the planks where he could see daylight, a single shuttered window letting in grimy morning light. A cracked washbasin sat on a wobbling three-legged stand. The air smelled like mildew, old sweat, and something he couldn't identify. Something organic and unpleasant.
This wasn't his bedroom.
Raze threw off the thin blanket and stood. His legs wobbled but held. He looked down at himself.
A rough linen shirt, patched in several places. Simple brown pants that had seen better days. No shoes. His hands looked different. Smaller, smoother, the calluses from his keyboard and mouse completely gone.
"What the hell..."
His voice sounded wrong. Higher. Younger.
A piece of polished metal hung on the wall. Too warped to be a real mirror, but reflective enough. Raze stumbled toward it on autopilot.
The face staring back stopped him cold.
Long white hair, tangled and messy, fell past his shoulders. Bright blue eyes. Almost luminescent. They stared from a face that was too perfect, too symmetrical. High cheekbones. Sharp jawline. Features that belonged on a statue, not a person.
Young. Maybe seventeen at most.
Still handsome by normal standards. Not inhumanly beautiful, but striking. The kind of face that would turn heads.
That's not me.
He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. The reflection mirrored him. He pulled at the white hair, opened his mouth to check his teeth. Every movement matched.
That's not me that's not me that's not...
The being. The questions. The gun.
"You're dying either way. But I can offer you something else."
Bang.
His breath came faster. His hands started to shake.
"No way." The words came out strangled. "This isn't... this can't be..."
But instinct took over. A gamer's instinct. He'd done this thousands of times in Records of Istea.
His mouth moved before his brain could stop it.
"Status."
Silence.
Nothing happened.
See? Ridiculous. Just a dream, or...
Ding.
A translucent blue screen materialized in the air before him, hovering at eye level.
---
[Status Window]
Name: Raze Dragonheart
Age: 17
Rank: Initiate (-)
Core: Fragmented
Bloodline: [Dormant]
Authority: [Dormant]
Talent: [Absolute Genius] (Ability to Comprehend and Understand All)
Strength: D (+)
Agility: D (+)
Endurance: B (+)
Mana: A (+)
Mana Well: A (+)
Will: B
Perception: F (+)
Charm: A (+)
Skills: [Swordsmanship D (+)] [Mana Manipulation D (+)] [Inspect D]
---
Raze stared.
Then he focused on the Mana stat. The screen expanded.
[Mana: A (+)]
Exceptional mana capacity. Far above average for Initiate rank. Indicates strong potential for magical growth.
He blinked. Focused on Talent.
[Absolute Genius]
Ability to Comprehend and Understand All. Learning speed vastly accelerated. Complex concepts become intuitive. Mastery of skills significantly faster than normal practitioners.
His eyes widened. He checked Bloodline and Authority.
[Dormant]
No information available at this time.
Then back to his stats. B-rank Endurance. A-rank Mana and Mana Well. Those were insane numbers for someone at Initiate rank. In Records of Istea, most starting characters had C-rank or D-rank in everything.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "These stats are actually..."
His legs gave out.
Thump.
He sat down hard on the rough wooden floor, still staring at the status window. His reflection in the warped metal showed a white-haired stranger sitting cross-legged, blue eyes wide with shock.
Raze Dragonheart.
The name meant nothing to him. He'd played Records of Istea obsessively for three months. Cleared dozens of questlines, explored half the continent, memorized the skill trees, haunted the forums. But this character? This name?
Blank. Nothing.
Maybe an NPC he'd never encountered? Some random nobody in a village he'd skipped? The game was massive. Procedurally generated side content, thousands of minor characters. No one could meet them all.
But the status window didn't lie. The system worked exactly like the game.
And he was in it.
His laugh came out strangled, slightly manic, echoing in the tiny room.
"I've been reincarnated." The words sounded insane spoken aloud. "I've actually been... the being shot me and I... I'm in Records of Istea."
The status window still hovered before him, undeniable and real.
He was in the game. In a body he didn't recognize, with a name he'd never heard, living in what appeared to be the cheapest room in the worst inn imaginable.
And he had stats that were frankly ridiculous for a starting character.
Raze closed his eyes and took a long, shaky breath.
"Try this time. Really try."
The being's final words echoed in his memory.
He opened his eyes, looking at his reflection again in the warped metal. The white-haired stranger looked back, blue eyes still wide with shock. But beneath the shock, something else stirred.
Three months of game knowledge. A genius-level talent. Incredible starting stats.
And a second chance.
"Alright, Raze Dragonheart." His voice came out steadier than he felt. "Let's figure out what the hell is going on."
He pushed himself to his feet and moved toward the door. Time to see what kind of world he'd been dropped into.
And this time... this time he wouldn't waste it.