Nash returned to Iridiel from the fields, his body aching, his mind heavy.

  The city was a blur of movement—players rushing through the streets, their faces taut with tension. The air was thick with unease, a shared anxiety woven into the hurried steps and hushed conversations.

  The world was changing.

  Some clung to denial, burying themselves in the illusion that nothing was wrong. Others—those who couldn’t ignore the truth—ran wild, desperate for answers, desperate to understand what it all meant.

  Nash didn’t stop to dwell on their panic.

  He was exhausted.

  Logging out, he barely made it to his bed before sleep dragged him under.

  ---

  When Nash woke up, his room was dim, the soft glow of his digital clock blinking.

  Twenty-four hours had passed.

  His limbs were heavy, his mind still sluggish from exhaustion. He forced himself into the shower, the cold water shocking him fully awake.

  He dressed. Ate. Then, needing air, he stepped outside.

  When Nash woke up, the room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of his digital clock.

  Twenty-four hours had passed.

  His body was heavy, his mind slow to reboot, exhaustion still clinging to him like a second skin. He forced himself into the shower, letting the cold water jolt him awake, before grabbing a quick meal.

  But even after eating, there was a strange restlessness in his chest.

  He needed air.

  Stepping outside, he was met with an eerie silence.

  The streets—normally alive with the hum of passing cars, the chatter of pedestrians, the distant wail of sirens—were empty.

  Not a single person walked the sidewalks.

  No children playing. No workers rushing.

  The city had stopped breathing.

  Nash walked through his neighborhood, the absence of life pressing down on him. It was unnatural, unsettling. The world had been loud just a day ago, but now?

  It felt like he had woken up in a different reality.

  Then, in the distance, headlights cut through the gloom.

  A single taxi rolled down the deserted street.

  On impulse, Nash flagged it down.

  "Downtown," he muttered as he slid inside.

  The driver eyed him through the rearview mirror, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

  "Friend," he said, voice casual but edged with something deeper, "you mean to tell me you don’t have an Eidolon helmet yet?"

  Nash blinked. "Huh?"

  The driver let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "You must’ve been asleep, then."

  He shifted gears, taking a turn. "After the overlap, people lost their minds. The government tried to convince everyone the world wasn’t ending, but after seeing the skies split? The game bleeding into reality? No one believed them."

  Nash frowned, his grip tightening on his knee. "So… what happened?"

  "The world panicked," the driver said simply. "Riots broke out. Looting. Chaos. They had to shut everything down. Then, to stop the madness, the governments came together—formed a global coalition—and forced Eidolon to sell its VR helmets for almost nothing."

  Nash’s brows furrowed. "What?"

  "They sold out instantly." The driver chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "People aren’t leaving their homes anymore. They’re all inside. They’re diving into the game because, well—there’s nowhere else to go. The government sanctioned a lockdown until more helmets are produced."

  Nash sat back, trying to process it all.

  In one day, the world had shifted.

  And now, everyone was being pulled into Eidolon.

  The Merge… had already begun.

  When Nash stepped out of the cab, he was greeted with emptiness.

  Times Square—normally a chaotic sea of tourists, performers, and flashing billboards—was desolate.

  Only the pigeons remained, their cooing the only sound in the hollow streets.

  He walked, taking in the abandoned shops, the vacant benches.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  A world once overflowing with movement and purpose now felt suspended, waiting.

  People weren’t living anymore.

  They were waiting for the inevitable.

  The Merge.

  Nash eventually sat on a stone bench, staring at the cityscape.

  The supermarkets had been cleaned out, businesses had shut down, and every major industry was on hold.

  The world was in a state of fear.

  Everyone knew something was coming, but no one knew when.

  Or what would be left once it did.

  Hours later, Nash returned to his apartment, his footsteps echoing in the empty space.

  The silence pressed against him, heavier than before. He had walked the streets, seen the hollow city, heard the taxi driver's words replay in his mind like a broken record.

  The world was waiting.

  But for what?

  He let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed to his bedroom.

  Collapsing onto his bed, he stared at the ceiling. His body still ached—whether from battle, exhaustion, or the sheer weight of everything, he couldn’t tell.

  The overlap.

  The lockdowns.

  The fact that everyone was already diving into Eidolon.

  He shut his eyes, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. The truth had settled deep into his bones.

  There was no running from this.

  With a sigh, he pushed himself upright, his gaze falling onto his Eidolon helmet.

  It sat where he had left it, waiting. Unmoving. Unchanged.

  His reflection shimmered on its smooth surface.

  Except—it wasn’t just his reflection.

  Vargan, his in-game persona, overlapped with his own face.

  It was blurring now, the lines between who he was in-game and who he was in reality.

  He inhaled deeply, eyes dark with determination.

  "I am no coward."

  With steady hands, he picked up the helmet.

  He lay back on his bed, the mattress sinking beneath him as he stared at the ceiling for a moment longer. A deep breath. A final pause.

  And then, as he slid the helmet over his head, he whispered—

  "Let’s see this through."

  The world faded to black.

  And when the light returned—he was back in Eidolon.

  ---

  After arriving in Luminara, a city restricted to level 100 players, Eliath quickly realized the implications—Aren, Thalyon, and the others were now players themselves while retaining their NPC privileges.

  Thalyon confirmed it but remained cryptic, revealing only that their division was a strategy for what was coming.

  During their conversation, Thalyon disclosed a shocking truth: The Rift and Eidolon were fundamentally the same, yet the Rift—though sentient—was an unstable, demented version of Eidolon. While Eidolon retained full consciousness, it was the Rift that controlled the world.

  Eliath pressed for answers about the Merge, but Thalyon could only offer a vague response—the Merge wasn’t meant to bring harm… but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

  Eliath’s gaze sharpened. "What do you mean, 'not that it won’t'?"

  Thalyon exhaled, shaking his head. "Time will tell, Eliath."

  Eliath’s jaw tightened, frustration simmering beneath his skin, but he knew pressing further would be useless.

  Instead, Thalyon changed the subject. "Your objective is simple—reach level 100. Understood?"

  Eliath frowned. "You brought me to a level 100 city. How am I supposed to fight against creatures way above my level?"

  Thalyon chuckled. "Luminara is your playground. All quests are available to you. If you want combat experience, I'll assign you three city guards as escorts. And don’t neglect your life profession—you need to master it as well."

  Eliath hesitated, then nodded. It was better than nothing.

  Thalyon raised a hand, summoning three armored city guards. They stepped forward, awaiting orders. "These three will assist you until you reach level 100."

  Eliath studied them before turning away. "Alright, let’s head to the Wayfinder’s Guild."

  The guards nodded, silently falling in step behind him as he walked into the heart of Luminara, ready to take his first step toward mastery.

  ---

  Jasper and Lazryn arrived in Beast Haven, a hidden realm where creatures thrived untouched by mortals. Unlike any land Jasper had seen before, rivers shimmered like molten silver, forests pulsed as if alive, and even predators did not hunt prey.

  At Lazryn’s prompting, Jasper checked his quest details and learned that Beast Haven was not just a sanctuary—it was a sentient realm seeking its next guardian.

  His trial was clear:

  Tame what you can. Feed what you tame. Protect what is yours.

  But the hidden challenge suggested something far greater—this land would not be claimed by force. It would choose its own master.

  Lazryn, ever amused, reminded Jasper he had only 24 hours.

  With no time to waste, Jasper commanded Shea to dive. The trial had begun.

  ---

  Jasper and Shea touched down in a clearing, the soft ground beneath them untouched, as if no one had ever set foot here.

  The air carried a heavy presence—something was watching.

  Then—a deep growl.

  Jasper turned, his sharp gaze locking onto a massive Stormfang Lynx, its six golden eyes gleaming from atop a twisted, moss-covered tree. Static crackled in its fur, tiny sparks of lightning dancing across its sleek body.

  A predator. Proud. Unbroken.

  Jasper’s heart pounded in anticipation. This wasn’t a creature to be lured in with food—it was one that demanded respect.

  He took a slow step forward, posture steady yet non-threatening.

  The Stormfang’s fur bristled, its tail flicking as electricity pulsed in the air.

  Jasper activated Beast Whisper, his voice a low, steady vibration of intent. "I am not your enemy."

  The lynx snarled, paws scraping against the bark as it crouched, coiling like a spring.

  Jasper barely had time to react before it leaped—a thunderous crack splitting the air as it lunged straight for his throat.

  Jasper reacted on instinct.

  Primal Reflexes kicked in—his body shifted just in time, rolling aside as the lynx’s claws slashed through empty air. A crack of thunder split the clearing.

  This wasn’t going to be a simple taming.

  This was a test.

  Some creatures yielded to kindness.

  Others only respected strength.

  Jasper needed to earn this beast’s trust.

  He stood, wiping dirt from his palm as the Stormfang circled, its fur bristling. It wanted to fight.

  Fine.

  He opened his Beast Space.

  The air shimmered, rippling like disturbed water as Jasper reached through the invisible bond that connected him to his companions. One by one, he called them forth.

  A burst of wind howled through the clearing as Zephyr emerged first, streaking into the sky. Silver-blue feathers flashed in the light, his wings stirring the air with controlled power. He circled above, keen eyes locked onto the lynx’s every twitch.

  Then, the ground rumbled. Boulder, his Granitehorn, stepped forward, his hooves sinking deep into the earth. His massive, stone-armored frame radiated raw endurance, and when he snorted, dust and bits of rock tumbled from his form.

  The stream beside them rippled unnaturally, water swirling upward as Tidecaller materialized. The serpentine creature rose from liquid itself, its scales shimmering like polished sapphire, its tendrils flowing as though caught in a current unseen by mortal eyes.

  And then—the shadows deepened.

  A void of darkness pooled at Jasper’s feet, stretching unnaturally before shifting, molding into a form both ethereal and solid. From it, Shadowfang emerged, a midnight-black wolf with piercing violet eyes. His form flickered between mist and matter, his very existence caught between realms.

  Jasper’s entire pack now stood before him.

  The Stormfang Lynx stilled.

  Its golden eyes darted between them, its tail flicking.

  It had expected a fight.

  But now, it wasn’t sure.

  Jasper’s Tranquil Aura pulsed outward—calming the air, holding the battle at bay.

  This would be a test of dominance, not bloodshed.

  “You want strength?” Jasper murmured. “Then see it for yourself.”

  The Stormfang snarled. Electricity crackled.

  And then it leaped.

  The challenge had begun.