Sephoric approached the barrier.

The hum grew louder with every step — not sound, but vibration, like the world itself was holding its breath.

“Walking to our possible doom,” Issan said dryly, eyes scanning the horizon. “Shouldn’t we at least scan the perimeter first?”

Saiya’s gaze stayed fixed ahead. “Too much ground to cover. If it’s going to kill us, it will. Nothing we do changes that.”

Zenobia trembled. She swallowed hard. “B-but… we can still try. Please?”

No answer.

They stopped at the edge. The barrier loomed like molten glass — endless, perfect, reflecting their faces in fractured gold.

Mirai stepped forward, tone caught between humor and unease.

“Well. No turning back now.”

He extended a hand. The surface rippled… soft, fluid and his reflection warped, almost pulling toward him.

He glanced back at the others. “Let’s not take chances.”

Saiya gave a small nod.

And one by one, they stepped through.

Light swallowed them whole — sound fading, pressure thickening — until only the echo of their footsteps remained on the other side of the world.

“Phew. Talk about a stress test,” Mirai muttered, exhaling. “I'm here all night guys, no need to thank me.”

“Shut up.” Saiya said, a smirk ghosting across her lips.

Takara took a quick glance toward the barrier. “…That’s not normal. It’s just a barrier but it was more tense than it should have been.”

Issan replied flatly. “Indeed.” 

They pressed forward.

[ High Orator’s Spire ]

High above the Reach, the High Orator stood upon a crystal dais. Her twelve priests hovered behind her, their lanterns flickering erratically in hand.

Through the refracting lenses of the spire’s great scope, she saw them —

The Skyfallen, returning.

“They crossed and went beyond the sacred grounds,” whispered one priest. “And they live.”

“Impossible,” said another. “The Guardians—”

The Orator raised a hand. Silence fell.

Her composure faltered for the briefest instant.

Through the scope, the figures walked unscathed through the golden veil, carrying both light and shadow with them.

“The light did not strike them down,” the Orator whispered.

The words hung like blasphemy.

“Could it be… divine favor?” one dared to ask.

The Orator’s eyes narrowed. “Or heresy rewarded.”

The choir below had stopped singing hours ago, yet she swore she heard faint echoes — dissonant, like faith itself stuttering.

[ Elysium’s Reach — Central Plaza ]

When Sephoric entered the plaza, the world seemed to pause.

Natives lined the marble streets, pale and trembling. Some fell to their knees; others whispered frantic prayers.

The bells began to toll — not by command, but by instinct.

A deep, trembling resonance filled the air.

Zenobia’s tail twitched anxiously. “They’re scared of us.”

Indeed, the crowd didn’t cheer. They only stared — silent, reverent, terrified.

Mirai rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re not throwing stones at us… guess that means we passed the test?”

Issan adjusted his glasses, scanning the surroundings. “Hm. I don’t see any update prompts anywhere. Either we broke the system or something else did.”

Skyfallen whispers rippled immediately:

“Yo, it’s them…”

“Of course they went out already.”

“Some of us got wiped! How’d they live?”

Eyes followed every step as they crossed the square. Some players stood taller, trying to catch their attention; others shrank back, intimidated.

Mirai lifted his hand lazily in a half-wave. “Feels like walking a red carpet,” he muttered with a smirk.

Takara shot him a sidelong glance. “Except the audience looks more terrified than excited.”

She wasn’t wrong. Admiration hung in the air, but so did something else — whispers sharp with panic, shadows under eyes.

A nearby Skyfallen in torn gear grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Where’s Keiji? He was right behind us—he fell, and then—then—” His voice cracked. “Nothing.”

“He’s probably away from his keyboard,” his friend hissed. “Don’t spread panic! Maybe he spawned elsewhere and we have to find him.”

But the words carried. Others turned, muttering. A girl slammed open her menu, jabbing at it with trembling fingers. “I don’t wanna play this anymore. Where’s the option?”

The plaza tilted on its axis. Conversations tangled — fear, denial and forced laughter.

Issan murmured. “Notice. Missing respawns. Absent functions. Signs of a rushed launch.”

Saiya crossed her arms. “Whatever. Glitches happen. Not our problem.”

Zenobia hugged herself, breath shaky. “N-no… something isn’t right.”

Mirai tried to laugh, raising his voice. “C’mon~it’s day-one! Stuff like this always happens. We’ve seen worse launches, right?”

But the laughter never came. 

The silence that followed pressed down heavy. His smile faltered, just for a moment, before he forced it back into place.

From the crowd, a native guard shouted, “Calm! Calm! The barrier protects! To trespass is to bring omen! Remain within the light!”

Even his voice wavered, eyes flicking to Sephoric before turning away.

The city didn’t feel like a sanctuary anymore.

It felt like a cage tightening around them.

They walked toward the tavern as the bells kept tolling, their echoes fading into a sky that no longer seemed steady.

The bells were still ringing when they pushed open the doors.

The scent of roasted herbs hit first, then the noise — strained laughter, clinking glass, a hundred people trying to forget what waited outside.

Lantern-crystals glowed in the rafters, scattering amber light across wooden tables crowded with mugs, plates, and weary faces.

Near the hearth, a trio of a battered guild sat slumped around a half-empty pitcher. One’s arm was bound in rough bandages, his skin pale and slick with sweat. He stared into his mug without drinking.

“Man… we thought we were ready,” he muttered hoarsely. “It was just wolves at first, easy. Then the big one came outta nowhere. It tore through Kenta like—” His voice cracked. “Like paper.”

Silence blanketed their table.

Their leader, broad-shouldered, usually composed — stared into the flames, his tone hollow.

“Then silence. No respawn. No message. Just… gone.”

The third slammed his menu open, jabbing furiously at invisible panels. “It’s been hours. He wouldn’t just vanish like that without saying so — it’s a bug. Has to be.”

His trembling fingers scrolled through empty tabs. “It has to be.”

From a nearby table, a group of strangers shifted uneasily. One slammed his hand into the table and blurted, a voice on the edge of panic.

“Hey! Of course it’s a bug! People respawn — we don’t know where! Don’t spread bullshit!”

Murmurs rippled outward. Denial, panic, forced laughter — the sound of people clinging to normality as it slipped through their fingers.

At the far end, natives of Elysium sat in quiet contrast — men and women draped in muted silks.

Where the Skyfallen spoke in panic, the natives whispered in prayer.

A woman traced the sigil of the Light over her chest.

“They break the covenant,” she murmured. “The walls tremble already.”

Her companion nodded, eyes fixed on the players. “They are Skyfallen. They bring both mercy and ruin.”

A young courier, barely twenty, clutched his satchel tight. “The High Orator said the Guardians would keep balance… but if the Skychildren anger them—”

He stopped there, afraid of finishing the thought.

At Sephoric’s table, the conversation dimmed. The air seemed to buzz — too many people trying to act normal.

Mirai leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “They’re scared. And… honestly, I get it. The sensation’s not for the faint.”

Saiya swirled the drink in her cup without tasting it. “Fear’s not my problem. If they can’t handle a little tension, they shouldn’t have logged in.”

Takara looked up, voice soft but strained. “Saiya… I don’t think we can log out.”

That earned her a few looks — not only from her team, from the nearby crowd.

Issan’s eyes lifted, quiet but sharp. “Not… log out?”

She nodded, pulling up her HUD with a flick of her hand. Transparent icons shimmered into view — every one intact except one.

“Every option works except that,” she said. “The logout icon isn’t grayed out. It’s gone.”

Issan leaned closer, frowning. “For how long?” He checked his own clock. “The in-game timer says four have passed.”

She hesitated, then reached into her inventory. A small, analog watch appeared in her crystalline palm — the same one she’d worn before entering the game.

She lifted the old wristwatch.

The second hand, still frozen, lurched forward — tick-tick-tick-tick — racing until it stopped again.

Fourteen hours had advanced.

“It’s catching up,” she whispered. “Time’s out of sync.”

The table fell silent. 

Mirai stared, his usual grin gone.

Zenobia’s tail lowered, her ears twitching in nervous tremors.

Saiya’s hand tightened around her cup, the faint hum of red static dancing across her fingers.

Issan’s composure finally cracked. “That’s… impossible.”

Takara shook her head faintly. “It hasn’t ticked once since I woke up here, until now.”

A long silence fell over the table — over the whole tavern, really. The fire crackled, the only sound that dared to exist.

No one breathed too loudly.

Mirai tried to break the tension with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay… servers are just fried, right? Super-immersive beta test, that’s all.”

No one answered.

From across the room, a native priest bowed his head, whispering to another. The words barely carried through the hush:

“The covenant trembles. The Skyfallen bring imbalance.”

Then the tavern lights flickered — once, twice — and froze.

Every candle stilled mid-flicker, every flame locked in glass.

The hum of conversation cut off mid-word.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the power had died.

Then nothing.

No footsteps. No laughter. Not even the whisper of wind.

Only breath. Only the hammering of their hearts.

The doors burst open with a sound that split the stillness.

A strip of lamplight carved across the floor, spilling into a street that should’ve been alive.

Outside, Elysium was silent.

The city that never slept — its radiant towers, its singing plazas — had fallen completely still.

No footsteps. No bells. No voices.

It wasn’t silence.

It was the absence of sound.

Takara stepped forward, clutching her watch.

The glass face flickered. Its hands began to move again — faint, deliberate.

Sixteen hours had passed.

Her breath caught. “It’s… ticking again.”

The air grew heavy.  Electric. Pressing against their skin.

Issan’s eyes narrowed. “Do you see that?”

A faint shimmer rippled through the air — crackling static fog, pixelated motes dissolving where they drifted.

Zenobia’s ears twitched anxiously. “Something’s — do you hear that?!”

A low hum. Deep. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat behind the walls of the world.

Then color drained.

The sky dimmed to silver and ash.

The air turned sharp, biting through skin. Their breath froze mid-motion.

Above, the clouds began to twist — red and black colliding like ink in water.

The world convulsed.

And from within that storm… 

something opened its eye.

A colossal pupil ignited in the heavens — crimson, endless.

Its gaze pinned the world in stillness.

The presence that came with it was ancient.

Cold.

Disdainful.

Like creation itself had turned to look back.

Someone screamed. “What the hell—?!”

The voice cut off mid-breath.

Every Skyfallen froze.

Menus vanished.

Time itself knelt.

The Voice.

It wasn’t sound.

It was thought made thunder.

“P L A Y E R S    O F    F N L.”

The words weren’t heard.

They arrived — imprinted behind the eyes like memory rewritten.

“I ADDRESS YOU NOW

NOT AS A MERE GAME DEVELOPER…

BUT AS THE ARCHITECT OF YOUR REALITY.”

Calm. Deliberate. 

Mocking in its serenity.

“YOU HAVE FELT IT, HAVEN’T YOU?

THE STAKES. THE PAIN.

IT IS NO ILLUSION.

YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE I CHOSE YOU.”

Their bodies trembled, but not from fear — from something deeper. Recognition.

“YOUR WORLD GREW STAGNANT. WEAK.

YOU NEEDED THIS — A CRUCIBLE. A PROVING GROUND.

THIS IS NOT PUNISHMENT, BUT OPPORTUNITY…

TO TRANSCEND — OR PERISH IN MEDIOCRITY.”

The air vibrated with pressure; windows cracked; towers groaned.

Even Elysium listened.

“YOUR TASK IS SIMPLE, YET MONUMENTAL.

FACE VOLENCE AND HIS LEGIONS.

SEEK THE TRUTH OF THIS WORLD.

ONLY BY CONFRONTING HIM WILL YOU EARN YOUR FREEDOM.”

The sky rumbled. 

The eye dilated.

“THE GODS THEMSELVES BOUND YOUR CRADLE WITH RELICS OF THEIR MAKING.

THESE BARRIERS PROTECT YOU…

BUT THEY ALSO CHAIN YOU.

IF YOU WOULD RISE — LEARN WHAT YOU CLING TO.

AND WHAT YOU ARE WILLING TO BREAK.”

The world quaked. 

Silence. 

“FAIL… AND THIS WORLD WILL DEVOUR YOU.

SUCCEED… AND PERHAPS YOU’LL PROVE WORTHY

OF RETURNING TO THE LIFE YOU LEFT BEHIND.

FIGHT.

THRIVE.

OR BE FORGOTTEN.”

The colossal eye blinked once —

and vanished.

The storm unraveled.

Color bled slowly back into the sky.

Wind stirred through the streets, tentative, as if testing reality.

And then —

the city resumed.

Children’s laughter finished mid-giggle unbroken — as if the world had simply resumed a paused recording.

Merchants continued their shouts.

Guards blinked, unaware a world had stopped turning.

Elysium breathed again.

For everyone else, life continued.

For those who heard the voice — it never would.