The world went white.
A pulse, like thunder behind my eyes. My chest tightened. My legs gave way. The sound vanished, then roared back, layered with wind and distant birdsong. My lungs sucked in a breath of cold, fresh air that didn't belong in my apartment.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was violet. Trees stretched up like silver pillars, their bark pale and shimmering. Leaves rustled overhead, glowing faintly as if catching starlight. Lanterns drifted between branches, casting warm circles of light on the forest floor.
I gasped. The sound came out sharper than expected softer, more melodic. I sat up, and every inch of me felt alien. My limbs were wrong. My body was too light, too agile. My fingers were long and narrow. My tunic was green and silver-trimmed, and my boots were soft and laced to the knee.
Hair tumbled into my face. Pale silver, lighter than I was used to, and weirdly soft. I brushed it aside, and my fingers grazed something pointed. An ear. Too long. Too sharp. Definitely not mine or... well mine now.
This wasn't just a game model. I could feel my heartbeat. The wind against my neck. The ache in my legs from sitting too long.
What the hell...
My HUD swirled into view—translucent panes floating at the edges of my vision. Quests. Inventory. Stats. Then messages. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. My inbox exploded in real time.
What even is a HUD? I thought. Heads-up display, right? Like in shooters? I wasn't sure. It looked like someone had pasted an entire spreadsheet into my eyes.
[Party Invite Received] [Friend Request Pending] [Need healer, PST] [Wanna trade? U look rare!]
Some players were walking past in shimmering armor like they'd stepped out of a fantasy movie. Others were half-naked, shouting for free gear or begging in all caps. The HUD pulsed, pinged, buzzed. I couldn't breathe.
Too much. Too fast.
I thought I might faint. My vision blurred.
"Disable chat. Disable messages. Disable... block, block, block—" I muttered in a panic, over and over.
The system responded immediately:
[All messages blocked. You will no longer receive or send communications. Would you like to unblock messaging?]
I didn't even hesitate.
"Definitely not," I whispered. "Not now. Not ever."
Silence. Blessed silence.
Just me. And the trees. And a hundred unreadable icons blinking at the edges of my vision. I glanced around and spotted more players.
"Block icons. Disable overlays. Shut it down, just shut it down," I whispered, voice tight with irritation.
The system responded:
[Minimal HUD mode engaged. Visual clutter reduced. Essential prompts only.]
Finally, most of the noise disappeared from my view. I could see again. Breathe again.
Then a voice rang out, cutting through the quiet like a blade.
"You there. Name yourself."
I jumped.
"I swear, I've blocked everything this game can throw at me," I muttered, exasperated, half-expecting another alert box or a glowing interface popup.
But when I looked up...
There he was. An elf. Not flashy like the players. No glowing weapons, no emotes, no shouting. Just quiet presence, strict posture, and pale gray eyes locked on mine.
Oh. I guess he's... in-game.
An elf stood at the edge of the path, tall and severe, dressed in hunter's armor. His hair was braided back. His eyes, icy gray, locked onto me with military precision.
I opened my mouth. "Mia... no, L-Lirael," I said, stumbling over the syllables.
He studied me. "Lirael Anoriel. You are expected. Report to Caelorn at the training range. Do not delay."
Then he gave me one final nod and turned—walking straight past me to a cluster of nearby players. He approached another new arrival, voice already raised in that same flat, authoritative tone.
I blinked.
So... not just here for me. Figures.
[Tutorial Activated: Shooting Range.]
A pale prompt flickered in the corner of my vision just as I was about to panic again. Of course. Now it shows up.
No glowing arrow. No hand-holding. Just a single line of text like the game expected me to know what that meant.
I stood there for a while, watching groups of players laugh, talk, or march off like they had somewhere to be. Some of them looked like real-life friends, chatting with voices that matched too naturally. Others might've just met here. Either way, they weren't alone.
"Stupid game," I muttered. "A whole month here... for one hour in real life."
I shrugged. It's not like I was missing much.
I scanned the area again, eyes trailing the movement of a few other new-looking players heading in the same direction—toward what looked like a small gate between silver archways and trees.
Well, when in doubt... follow the herd.
Exhaled and fell in step behind them, slipping deeper into the elven village.
It felt real here. Not just visually—the air moved like air, smelled like moss and flowers, even had a slight chill that bit at the back of my neck. The village didn't feel like a zone or a set piece. It felt... lived in. Elves passed me with soft voices and serene expressions. Gods, they were beautiful. Every one of them looked like they belonged in a painting.
And the buildings—curved wood, open balconies, moss-covered bridges arching between trees like roots turned upside down. No loading screens. No boundaries. Just forest and silver and motion.
I guess we're in the middle of a forest, I thought. Duh.
Eventually, I followed the stream of players to a wider clearing where the trees opened into a flat training yard. Targets stood lined in rows, straw-packed and ringed with painted circles. Wooden stands held simple longbows. A tall elf stood at the far end, arms crossed, watching the activity like a hawk.
I stepped closer, uncertain.
Everyone here had a bow. Some were already firing—others chatting like this was a routine. I heard snippets as I passed.
"Buff kicks in after ten hits." "Just auto-lock the shot, it's free stats." "Easy farm, bro. Don't even need to aim."
Buff? Stats? Auto-lock? What the hell were they talking about?
I didn't even have a bow.
Panic flickered at the edges of my stomach. I looked around, hoping maybe someone would hand me one or a prompt would pop up. Nothing.
"Stupid game," I muttered under my breath, feeling suddenly small.
Everyone else seemed to know what to do.
I had no idea how to start.
Then I saw it—off to the side, half-hidden under a training bench. A bow. If you could call it that. It looked old, the wood rough and slightly warped, the string frayed in places. Definitely not something anyone else had touched.
But still. Better than nothing, right?
"Let's try it," I muttered.
At the edge of the yard, I spotted a stall lined with bundles of arrows. Apparently, those were fair game. I grabbed a handful, cradling them awkwardly in one arm as I returned to the abandoned bow.
It was heavier than I expected. I had to shift my grip twice just to hold it level. My fingers didn't seem to know where they were supposed to go. The bow felt stiff, unbalanced. Was it just badly made? Or was it me?
I turned toward the target line, watching the others.
Most players were drawing their bows with one smooth motion, loosing arrows casually as if they'd done it a hundred times. One even yawned mid-pull.
Okay. Deep breath. Copy what they did.
I raised the bow, nocked an arrow clumsily, and tried to pull.
Nothing happened.
The string barely moved.
I grit my teeth and tried again, leaning back this time. My arm trembled.
God, it was so hard.
"I can't even pull the damn string," I hissed.
Behind me, I felt eyes. A couple players had stopped firing and were watching. My cheeks burned. I didn't turn around. Someone said something. I ignored it. Just noise. Not worth it.
"Yo, look at this NPC," one of them muttered.
Another joined in, laughing, "I haven't seen her in any dev notes or patch reviews. New quest trigger maybe?"
Someone waved a hand in front of me. "Hey, uh... hello? You bugged or scripted or what?"
Of course they got nothing.
My messaging was still blocked.
"Yeah, it's definitely an NPC," a third one concluded. "Dialogue's probably locked."
My cheeks burned, but I kept my eyes forward and said nothing. Just keep pulling. Just survive.
Or worse, a noob who wandered into the wrong game.
Whatever.
I tried again, jaw clenched. My arms ached. The bowstring didn't care.