CHAPTER 2 — PART 1
Morning came slowly, as if the sun itself were reluctant to disturb the fragile balance of Kian's new existence.
He lay in bed for several minutes before opening his eyes fully. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar but comforting in its plainness—clean lines, white paint, a dormitory light fixture humming gently like a heartbeat. It grounded him. Anchored him. Reminded him that yesterday had not been a hallucination.
He was alive.
He was someone else.
And every breath he took made both truths feel heavier.
Kian inhaled deeply, testing the rhythm. It matched Elias's calm, practiced breathing—the reflex of a man who'd spent years steadying himself before issuing verdicts. But his chest felt different. Too light. Too young. Too flexible.
He exhaled slowly.
This is still real.
He sat up, rubbing his temples as a faint pulse of magic flickered beneath his skin. It wasn't strong enough to glow, not even strong enough to manifest, but he felt it—like a misfired thought trying to escape his skull.
He pressed a hand to the side of his head.
"Not now," he murmured. "Control it. You're in a crowded building."
The magic quieted, but not willingly. More like a child sulking after being scolded.
He dressed carefully, choosing the least noticeable clothes in the closet—dark jeans, a plain T-shirt, a hoodie. In his old life, Elias wore expensive suits tailored to courtroom formality. Now, blending in felt like the safest option. Anonymity was armor.
As he left the small dorm room and stepped into the hallway, he paused.
Students walked past each other in bursts of laughter, gossip, or groggy silence. It was noisy, lively, chaotic… but not hostile. Not like the corridors of the Courthouse of Cortalis, where every greeting masked alliances and each silence carried weight.
This world did not know him.
And—for now—that was his greatest advantage.
The Law School Building
The morning chill clung to the sidewalks as Kian walked toward the law building—a tall structure framed with clean stone and wide glass windows. It wasn't majestic, but it had a kind of earnest dignity.
Entering through the main doors, he felt a shift in atmosphere. Students milled around everywhere: some balancing coffee cups and textbooks, some debating philosophy or ethics, others whispering about rumors and upcoming exams.
A familiar scent hit him—old books and coffee grounds.
Elias had loved that smell.
Kian paused near a bulletin board filled with flyers:
Debate club meeting Study group sign-ups Internship opportunities A small poster advertising a VR gaming society
His eyes lingered on the last one. Ethereal Realms Online — Full-Dive MMORPG Orientation Friday Evening.
A seed planted for later, he thought. A reminder of the second world he was soon to step into.
He tore his eyes away and continued.
His first class of the day was "Intro to Judicial Reasoning", taught by Professor Hartwell.
A reasonable man. Stern but fair. Elias had respected judges cut from that cloth. Kian took a seat near the middle, not too close to invite attention, not too far to seem withdrawn.
Students filed in around him. A girl with thick glasses offered him a friendly smile, and he returned it politely. A tall guy in a letterman jacket loudly argued about a recent court ruling. Others simply scrolled through their tablets.
When Professor Hartwell entered, the room quieted automatically.
"Good morning," Hartwell began, adjusting his tie. "Today, we'll be discussing the concept of judicial neutrality and the cognitive biases every judge must learn to recognize."
Kian straightened.
This was familiar ground.
Almost comforting.
Hartwell wrote on the board as he spoke. "A judge's greatest threat is not external pressure, but internal bias. To render fair judgment, one must first understand their own mind."
Yes, Elias thought instinctively. Bias precedes injustice.
Kian subconsciously nodded.
Hartwell noticed.
"Young man," the professor said, pointing his marker toward him, "what is your view on the concept of intrinsic bias?"
Dozens of eyes turned.
Kian's pulse quickened—not out of fear, but out of caution. He needed to answer as Kian, not Elias. His voice had to sound young, inexperienced.
He raised his hand slightly. "I think… bias isn't something you remove. It's something you manage. You can't pretend you don't have it—so you have to be aware of how it shapes your initial judgment."
Hartwell's eyebrows lifted.
A few students murmured.
"That's… a surprisingly mature response," Hartwell said. "You're correct. Awareness precedes discipline. Discipline precedes neutrality."
Kian lowered his gaze, pretending to scribble notes so no one would look too closely at him.
Careful, he told himself. Don't answer like a man with decades on the bench.
The rest of the lecture passed uneventfully—at least externally. Internally, Kian wrestled with conflicting memories: Elias's court cases, Kian's hazy childhood, the new instincts that buzzed beneath his skin, the flicker of magic that begged for expression.
When class ended, students gathered their belongings. Kian remained seated for a moment longer, scanning the room for any hints of danger.
Then he froze.
A figure stood in the doorway.
Tall. Dark hair. Sharply pressed shirt and jacket. Eyes like polished obsidian that seemed to dissect everything they saw.
Marcus.
Not as his former protégé.
Not as the man who might have ended his life.
Just as a visiting judge, unnoticed yet unmistakably present.
Kian's breath hitched for half a second.
Marcus scanned the class with that same unbreakable seriousness Elias had trained into him years ago. But Kian was not Elias now, and seeing Marcus through a different body made the moment surreal.
Hartwell approached Marcus with a handshake.
"Judge Hale! Thank you for joining us today."
Judge Hale.
Marcus's official title.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," Marcus said in a calm, collected tone. "I thought I'd observe for a bit before giving my guest lecture."
Kian forced his eyes down to his notes.
Steady. Don't let him sense anything.
It was irrational—there was no reason Marcus would notice anything off. But instincts honed over a lifetime whispered caution. Marcus was dangerous not because of strength, but because of perception.
A predator of truth.
And Kian, if exposed, was prey.
Students whispered excitedly. Marcus was known for his razor intellect and meteoric rise through the legal ranks.
Hartwell clapped his hands. "All right, everyone! Clear the space. Our guest lecturer will take the front."
Marcus stepped forward, and to Kian's dismay, scanned the faces in the room with a subtle intensity.
His eyes brushed past Kian for a fraction of a second.
And then returned.
The gaze sharpened—just slightly.
A flicker of familiarity.
An instinctive reaction he couldn't have explained.
"Is there something wrong, Judge Hale?" Hartwell asked.
Marcus blinked. "…No. Just thought I recognized someone for a moment."
Kian kept his expression calm, but his pulse thudded.
Marcus continued scanning the room, though now with faint suspicion.
Then he began his lecture.
Marcus's Guest Lecture
"As a judge," Marcus began, "your responsibility is not merely to interpret the law, but to uphold the stability of the society built on it."
His voice was steady.
Measured.
Commanding.
Students leaned in, captivated.
"You will face pressures—political, social, personal. You will see the worst of humanity. But your duty is not to respond emotionally. Your duty is to remain impartial."
His gaze drifted back toward Kian again. Briefly. Almost unconsciously.
"And to do so," Marcus continued, "you must master the art of observation. Understanding people. Reading them."
Kian felt a drop of cold sweat form at the base of his spine.
Marcus's eyes narrowed—not enough for others to notice, but enough for Kian to catch.
Then, as if his own mind corrected him, Marcus looked away, expression smoothing over.
He rationalized it.
Dismissed the flicker.
Just like the pattern you predicted for him.
The lecture continued with case examples and personal anecdotes—some Elias recognized, delivered from a different perspective.
When it ended, Hartwell encouraged students to ask questions. A few formed a line before Marcus.
Kian moved to leave quietly.
"Kian Thorne," Hartwell called.
Kian nearly froze.
"Yes, sir?"
"Why don't you introduce yourself to Judge Hale? You had an insightful answer earlier. It would be good exposure."
Marcus turned his head, interest piqued.
Kian swallowed.
There was no escape without drawing more suspicion.
He approached.
Marcus stood tall, arms crossed behind his back, posture immaculate.
Up close, the intensity of his gaze was much sharper.
"Thorne, was it?" Marcus asked.
"Yes, sir," Kian said, keeping his tone respectful and young. "Kian Thorne."
"A strong answer today," Marcus said. "Most students your age don't understand cognitive discipline."
Kian dipped his head. "I, uh… read ahead."
Marcus looked him over—subtle, analytical, and unsettlingly familiar.
Then he extended a hand.
Kian hesitated for half a second before taking it.
A shock of magic nearly jumped from his palm—like static electricity fueled by thought. He pushed it down with every ounce of will.
Marcus's brow furrowed.
"Your hands are cold."
"Didn't sleep well," Kian forced out.
Marcus held his gaze.
Too long.
Too searching.
He's looking for Elias, Kian realized.
Not consciously.
But instinctively.
Marcus released his hand.
"Well," he said, tone returning to neutral, "if you pursue judicial work, Thorne, I look forward to seeing how you develop."
Kian nodded. "Thank you, sir."
He turned away, walking quickly toward the exit before the magic under his skin slipped again.
Behind him, Marcus murmured just loud enough for Hartwell to hear:
"Something about that boy…"
Kian didn't wait to hear the rest.
Part 1 Ending Hook
Outside, the cold air hit him, sharp and awakening.
He breathed in deeply.
You need to be more careful, he warned himself. Much more.
Marcus had felt something.
Not enough to act on.
Not enough to question openly.
But enough.
And tonight—the VR world waited.
A place where he could practice his magic without risking discovery.
A place where new identities waited.
A place where ghosts of his past might already be standing.
Kian tightened his grip on his backpack.
Tonight, he thought, Kyle is born.
CHAPTER 2 — PART 2
Kian didn't return to his dorm immediately.
He needed time—time to walk, to breathe, to let the weight of Marcus's presence settle somewhere inside him that wouldn't break open.
The late afternoon light painted long shadows across the law school courtyard. Students moved in small clusters—groups of friends with messy backpacks, couples sharing earbuds, studious types flipping through notes even while walking.
Ordinary scenes.
Scenes Elias had watched from the courthouse windows but never lived in.
Scenes Kian now inhabited, quietly, painfully aware of how different he was.
He walked toward the campus library, letting the atmosphere swallow him. It was warm inside, smelling of polished wood and old pages. Study lamps glowed softly upon oak tables, where students hunched over casebooks and laptops.
He found a secluded table in the corner—a place where no one would stare too long or ask questions.
He opened a thick law textbook, flipping to the section Professor Hartwell had assigned.
He read the words.
He understood the concepts.
But he wasn't really here.
His mind drifted back to Marcus—
the way the man had stared at him,
the hesitation,
the faint spark of recognition Marcus couldn't justify.
Killer, Kian thought. Or at least involved.
But involvement didn't equal action. Elias had taught that.
Evidence mattered.
Intent mattered.
Truth mattered.
He needed to observe Marcus, not condemn him.
He needed to remember that Elias had died because someone broke the rules.
Kian would not repeat that mistake.
A Quiet Interruption
He tried to refocus on the textbook, but a quiet voice broke through the silence.
"Is this seat taken?"
Kian blinked out of his thoughts. A girl with glasses—the same one who'd smiled earlier in class—stood beside the chair opposite him. Her posture was hesitant, polite.
"Um," Kian said, clearing his throat. "No, go ahead."
She sat down carefully, arranging her books as though afraid they would disturb him. After a moment, she glanced up.
"I saw you in Hartwell's lecture today. Your answer was… surprisingly good."
He tensed. "Ah—sorry if it was strange."
She shook her head quickly. "No, no! I just mean… most first-year students sound kinda lost. You didn't."
Kian managed a small smile. "Lucky guess."
"Mm." She didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "I'm Nora, by the way."
"Kian."
"Well, good luck with Hartwell's readings. He likes to pretend he assigns light workloads, but—" She tapped her stack of heavy textbooks. "—I've never believed him."
Kian chuckled softly before he could stop himself.
It felt… good. Strange, but good.
Someone speaking to him without the weight of politics.
Someone who didn't expect anything.
Someone who didn't know him.
Nora studied him with a warm but curious expression.
"You seem… thoughtful today," she said lightly.
"Long morning," Kian replied.
She nodded sympathetically. "Same."
They shared a short, quiet moment. Comfortable. Almost normal.
Then Nora returned to her reading.
Kian looked back at his own book, grateful for the silence.
It didn't last.
The First Tremor
A faint pressure formed behind his eyes.
Subtle at first—like the beginning of a headache.
His magic.
He closed his eyes.
Not now, he pleaded silently. Not here. Not in a crowded library.
But the magic pulsed, conscious and curious, feeding off his stress. It pressed outward, testing the boundaries of thought and reality.
He exhaled slowly.
Focused.
Forced it down.
The pressure receded—just barely—leaving a thin ribbon of heat at his temples. Nora didn't seem to notice. But someone else near the door looked up suddenly, glancing around in confusion as if sensing static in the air.
Kian lowered his head over his book and pretended to read.
Control.
He needed more control.
Tonight, the VR system would give him that.
Inside the game, he could push limits safely.
Test spells.
Test boundaries.
Learn what this new magic truly was.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to finish the reading. When he closed the book, evening light had already begun dimming outside the tall library windows.
Nora stretched and packed up her things. "See you in Hartwell's class tomorrow?"
Kian nodded. "Yeah. See you."
She walked off with a small wave.
He returned the gesture quietly.
Then he stood and left the library, moving through the thinning crowds back toward the dormitories.
The campus grew quieter as night approached.
By the time he reached his room, the sky had turned a deep indigo, lit only by distant street lamps and the glow of the dorm windows.
The Dorm Room & The VR Pod
Kian closed the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling deeply.
He opened his backpack and pulled out the sleek VR pod helmet the school had distributed to participating students. A basic but powerful full-dive model, safe for sleep-mode and long-duration immersion.
A small manual lay taped to the inside of the box:
Ethereal Realms Online — Version 3.0
Warning: Players may experience partial sensory displacement during initial calibration.
Ensure you are in a comfortable, horizontal position.
Sleep mode supported.
He read every word carefully.
He wouldn't sleep otherwise.
He barely had slept in his previous life, even without magic gnawing inside his skull.
He placed the helmet on his desk, staring at its glossy black surface.
This world—this second world—would become his sanctuary.
His training ground.
His battlefield.
And, eventually, his meeting place with people who didn't yet realize his identity.
Tonight, he reminded himself. Kyle begins tonight.
He sat on the bed and ran a hand through his hair before plugging the VR pod into the console the school provided.
A soft hum filled the room.
Lights blinked.
The system warmed.
His hands hovered above the helmet.
He hesitated.
Not from fear—but from the weight of what this meant.
In the real world, he had to hide.
In the real world, he had to control every breath.
In the real world, danger lurked three desks away in a lecture hall.
But in VR?
He could use his magic.
Test its limits.
Test himself.
And no one would know.
Not yet.
He slid the helmet over his head.
It sealed with a gentle hiss.
The darkness inside the visor felt strangely comforting.
He lay back on his bed and exhaled.
"Initialize," he whispered.
A soft chime answered him.
Ethereal Realms Online — Initializing Neural Sync.
Please remain still.
Calibrating…
His vision dissolved into starlit fragments.
The magic behind his eyes stirred again—
but instead of fighting it, he let it flow just enough to guide him through the void.
Light warped.
Sound thinned.
His heartbeat slowed—
And then—
A Voice in the Dark
—not a normal system voice.
Not one programmed for orientation.
It felt… older.
Warmer.
Almost alive.
Welcome, wandering soul.
Kian's eyes widened beneath the visor.
That wasn't part of the game.
The voice came from inside his mind—
from the place the magic lived.
This world will not hold you, the voice murmured. But in dreams, you may learn to shape the truth.
The starlit void brightened.
The magic within him shivered in response.
Then—
Welcome to Ethereal Realms Online.
Create Your Avatar.
The voice vanished.
The system resumed normally.
Kian exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing.
He recognized what that voice was:
Not an entity.
Not a glitch.
Not a game mechanic.
It was his own magic trying to communicate with him—
forming its first words.
This was both incredible…
and dangerous.
He swallowed and began the avatar creation process.
Choosing the Form of Kyle
A holographic figure appeared before him—default model, featureless.
The system offered customization:
Age: 7–13 for child avatars Height Weight Hair color Eye color Face shape Skin tone Persona tags
Kian hesitated.
This identity would protect him.
Hide him.
Offer him a form no one would suspect.
He selected:
Age: 8 Hair: near-blonde, light gold Eyes: pale blue Skin: slightly tanned Face shape: softer, rounder Build: small but athletic
Persona tags appeared:
Calm
Analytical
Detached
He unchecked them all.
Instead, he selected:
Playful
Quiet
Curious
A persona that would make Marcus—or anyone else—completely overlook him.
The system processed the selections and formed the final model.
The boy who appeared before him was not Elias.
Not Kian.
But a third identity—
light, small, and unthreatening.
"Kyle," Kian whispered.
A name close to his own, but emotionally distant enough to separate the worlds.
The system chimed:
Avatar confirmed.
Entering beginner zone.
Light engulfed him.
The real world fell away.
And Kyle opened his eyes for the first time.
Part 2 Ending Hook
Grass brushed his fingertips.
Wind carried unfamiliar scents.
A vast, luminous sky stretched above him.
And at the far edge of the field—
a silhouette of another young avatar appeared.
Someone small.
Someone energetic.
Someone waving frantically as if excited to see the new arrival.
The otaku kid.
Not an observer this time—
but a companion,
and soon, something much more.
Kyle took a hesitant step forward.
His first step into a world where he could shape himself without fear…
Where magic danced freely behind his eyes…
And where the past could not follow—
unless it found him here too.
CHAPTER 2 — PART 3
Warm wind brushed gently across Kyle's—Kian's—cheeks. Unlike the crisp autumn air of the real world, this breeze carried a faint sweetness tinged with something like… energy. Magic. Possibility.
He took a moment to steady himself, letting the new sensations settle. His VR body felt different—lighter, more flexible, almost buoyant. Magic responded to his thoughts more cleanly here, not shouting or rebelling, but humming curiously beneath his awareness like a pet waiting for instructions.
This might actually work, he thought. A safe place to train. A safe place to test limits.
"KYLE! HEYYYY! KYLE!"
A voice pierced the tranquility.
The small figure he had noticed earlier sprinted toward him in a blur of enthusiasm—limbs flailing, clothes mismatched, hair sticking up as if gravity offended him personally.
The otaku kid.
Or rather, his VR alias.
The boy skidded to a stop, panting dramatically, then straightened with a bright grin.
"You're new! I'm Zerius!" he announced proudly. "But you can call me Zero because I start at level zero in every game! It's good luck!"
Kyle blinked. "Uh… hi."
Zerius leaned in, squinting at him with hunter-like intensity, then nodded as if confirming something critical.
"You look weak," Zerius declared.
Kyle's eyebrow twitched. "Thank you?"
"But that's good!" Zerius continued. "Weak people get cool abilities later! It's a rule. You ever read Supernova Conquest Saga? Or Age of Ten Thousand Kings? Or—"
Kyle cut him off gently. "I've read… things."
"Perfect! You have the vibe." Zerius tapped his temple. "The 'I'm secretly awesome but start at level one' vibe."
If only he knew.
Zerius grabbed his wrist—forcefully, for an eight-year-old avatar—and dragged him across the grassy plains.
"Come on! Tutorial quest! We gotta kill slimes or pick flowers or talk to a depressed NPC or something before the game unlocks the fun parts!"
Kyle followed, amused despite himself.
He's exactly the same, Kian thought. In both worlds.
The otaku kid's enthusiasm wasn't an act. It was who he was.
And in this world, it made him strangely… comforting.
The Tutorial Fields
The beginner zone was a small valley framed by low hills. Tiny creatures bounced about—a mix of harmless flora-slimes and oversized insects with googly eyes. The kind of enemies designed for toddlers or first-time players.
Zerius struck a dramatic pose.
"Behold! The training grounds of legends! The birthplace of heroes! The—"
A slime rolled into him.
He faceplanted.
Kyle stifled a laugh.
Zerius popped up, shaking his fist. "You dare defy me, peasant jelly?! Kyle—avenge me!"
"…What?"
"Kyle! Kyle! Hit it! Hit it really hard! Punch it in its stupid gelatin face!"
Kyle stepped forward awkwardly. The slime wiggled menacingly. He hesitated.
His magic surged.
Not dangerously—just enough to spark instinct.
He pushed it down.
He needed to act like a normal eight-year-old avatar. Not someone with reality-bending magic.
So he raised his tiny pixelated fist…
…and punched.
The slime burst into glitter.
Zerius gasped as though witnessing the fall of an empire.
"That was BEAUTIFUL," he whispered. "You have TALENT."
Kyle shrugged. "It was a tutorial slime."
"No, Kyle. No." Zerius shook his head gravely. "I've seen hundreds of newbies punch slimes. Yours had… weight. Gravitas. It told a story."
Kyle covered his mouth to hide a smile.
He felt… oddly lighter. Happier, even. Maybe because here, no one looked at him with suspicion. No one studied his face. No one expected anything.
No one was hunting him.
He could breathe.
They completed a few more tutorial tasks—collecting herbs, delivering a message to a cheerful NPC, defeating three oversized caterpillars. Kyle kept his actions ordinary, careful not to let magic bleed through.
But the magic noticed the world.
It observed it.
Analyzed it.
Reacted to it.
Whenever he picked up a herb, the magic pulsed in interest.
Whenever he defeated an enemy, it hummed at the pattern of energy release.
Whenever he touched the soil, something deep inside felt a soft resistance—weak affinity echoing in the background.
Kyle carefully hid all of it from Zerius.
The Strange Glitch
After completing their tasks, the system chimed:
Tutorial Complete.
Beginner Zone Progress 100%.
Core Skills Unlocked.
Zerius pumped his fist. "Yes! Yes! Time to level like maniacs! Ready, Kyle? Ready to—"
The air around them shivered.
Just barely.
A ripple across the sky, like a stone dropped into still water.
Kyle stiffened.
Zerius didn't notice. "You okay? You look like you smelled a bad potion."
Kyle scanned the horizon.
Something had changed.
The hills in the distance bent—almost imperceptibly—like the rendering had adjusted for a single frame and corrected itself. A glitch? No… not exactly.
It felt less like a technical error and more like…
…something responding to him.
Magic stirred under his skin.
Kyle…
A faint whisper.
Not from the system.
Not from a voice.
From the magic itself.
Kyle… do you see it?
He clenched his fists.
He couldn't speak to it. Not here. Not out loud.
Zerius tugged his sleeve. "Hey, Kyle? Earth to Kyle? I think you're lagging."
Kyle shook his head. "I'm fine. Just… adjusting."
"Ahhhh." Zerius nodded knowingly. "Your first full-dive jitters."
Not quite.
Kyle forced a smile and followed him toward the starter village.
The First Level-Up
Inside the village, lanterns glowed with warm yellow light. NPCs roamed about—blacksmiths hammering, merchants calling out, children running past with baskets of fruit. It was all beautifully immersive.
Zerius bounced in place. "Open your stats! You probably got your first level!"
Kyle hesitated, then willed the menu open.
A blue panel appeared:
Name: Kyle
Level: 1
Class: Unassigned
HP: 20
Mana: 10
Strength: 1
Agility: 1
Intelligence: 1
Luck: 2
Average.
Plain.
Unremarkable.
Perfect.
Zerius peered over. "Nice! You got higher luck than me! Mine's literally zero. Zero luck. Zero sense of self-preservation. Zero girlfriends. It's my brand."
Kyle laughed quietly.
He closed the menu—
And something flickered.
A hidden stat flashed for a split second:
??? — 0.1 → 0.2
Just a moment.
So fast he almost doubted it.
Magic affinity.
Leaking through.
Measuring itself.
No one else in the game had that.
He swallowed hard.
I have to be careful.
The Unexpected Encounter
As they walked down the main street, a group of older players passed by—high school or college-age avatars, clearly experienced.
One of them slowed, eyes narrowing at Kyle.
"Hey," he muttered. "That kid…"
Zerius bristled. "Back off, man! He's new! Don't bully the newbies!"
The player raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I wasn't going to do anything. The kid just—"
His eyes flicked up and down Kyle's avatar.
Kyle tensed.
"…looks familiar," the player finished. "That's all."
Kyle forced himself to smile. "I just made this avatar."
"Mm." The player shrugged. "Must be my imagination."
He walked off with his group.
Kyle watched them go, heart hammering.
It wasn't recognition.
Just coincidence.
But the familiarity could grow if he wasn't careful. If people from Cortalis entered the game…
He needed to refine Kyle's mannerisms.
Make them different from Kian's.
And worlds apart from Elias's.
Zerius nudged him. "Ignore them. Experienced players always get weird when they see a kid avatar. They think it's cute or threatening. No in-between."
Kyle nodded.
But he didn't forget the moment.
Nightfall in the VR World
As the game's day cycle faded into night, the sky blazed into deep purples and starry blues. Lanterns lit the village corners, casting warm halos across the cobblestone streets.
Zerius yawned dramatically. "I gotta log out soon. My mom will yank the pod off my head if I stay up too late."
Kyle blinked. "…Your mom watches you sleep?"
"Only when she suspects I'm playing RPGs instead of sleeping for school," Zerius said. "Which is every night."
He stretched. "I'll add you as a friend, okay?"
A notification popped up.
Friend Request: Zerius
Kyle accepted.
Zerius gave him a two-finger salute. "See ya, Kyle! Tomorrow we GRIND. We DESTROY. We BECOME EPIC."
With a flourish, he logged out.
His avatar dissolved into motes of light.
Kyle stood alone in the quiet village.
Crickets chirped.
A waterwheel creaked by the river.
NPCs closed their shops for the night.
He lifted his hands, feeling the VR wind brush against them. For a moment, he let the magic inside him stir—carefully, gently.
A faint blue spark formed at his fingertips.
Small.
Harmless.
But real.
It flickered.
Wavered.
Extinguished itself.
Good, he thought. I can use this place.
His magic responded, curling softly around his thoughts like a cat settling in his lap.
Tomorrow, he would test more.
But tonight…
He whispered, "Log out."
Returning to Reality
The starlit world fragmented into pixels.
The visor lifted.
Air returned to his lungs with the weight of reality—cooler, duller, heavier than the VR domain.
He sat up slowly.
It was late. Nearly midnight.
His room felt too small after the open fields.
The walls seemed closer.
The shadows darker.
He slid the VR helmet off and set it gently on the desk.
His body felt tired, but his mind buzzed.
He had gained:
A new identity A safe training ground A reliable companion And the first hint that his magic reacted differently inside synthetic worlds
But tomorrow…
His real-world challenge awaited.
Marcus.
The judge-in-training application.
The first step into the courtroom again.
He stood and walked to the small mirror on his dresser.
Kian stared back.
Younger.
Unassuming.
But with a faint ember of Elias burning behind his eyes.
He exhaled.
"…You can do this."
He turned off the lights.
Tomorrow, he would face Marcus not as Kyle, not as a lost boy—
—but as Kian Thorne, the reincarnated judge walking back into the lion's den.