I blink.
The world loads in, not with a flash of light or some triumphant orchestral cue, but... silence.
No login animation.
No character select.
No majestic view of the starting city with epic music swelling in the background.
Just a cobbled street under my feet, slightly wet like it just rained.
The wind brushes by like it's trying to convince me this is real air.
I look down—boots, armor, generic male avatar body. No HUD. No hotbar.
No minimap.
No tutorial fairy yelling at me to press [Q].
Okay.
Weird.
Maybe it's some immersive intro sequence?
I lift my hand to open the system menu.
Nothing.
Not even a delay.
No flicker.
Just… nothing. Like I never raised it at all.
I squint up at the sky. Pastel blue with a few digital clouds drifting lazily.
One of them shudders for half a second—like a corrupted .gif—then keeps moving.
My stomach turns a little.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Just... that feeling when the silence in a room goes on too long and you start wondering if someone hit pause on the world.
Alright, Kai. Play it cool.
"System," I say out loud. "Open menu."
Nothing.
I clear my throat. "Logout."
A breeze rolls through.
Someone walks by.
A man in merchant garb pushing a wooden cart stacked with golden apples.
His expression is cheerful.
Programmed. But when he passes me—he doesn't even glance in my direction.
I wave at him.
"Hey."
He keeps walking. No reaction.
Okay. Creepy.
I step out into the town square. It's busy, as expected. Dozens of players roam around, laughing, chatting, selling crap in makeshift stalls. At least I think they're players.
Except—
I look closer.
None of them are talking.
Their mouths move.
Gestures are animated.
But no sound comes out. It's like watching an old silent film with the volume off.
One guy mimics a laugh but there's no voice. Just air and movement.
I back away slowly. My boots clack softly against the stone.
Then I see a girl.
Sitting on a fountain ledge.
Blonde, maybe eighteen-looking, dressed in a beginner's cloak.
She's just staring at her hands like she doesn't know what fingers are.
An NPC?
Her gaze twitches—like a corrupted frame trying to reset.
Then she stands, eyes wide, mouth opening as if to say something.
I don't hear a word.
Just then—
A sound.
Ping.
A pop-up blooms in the center of my vision, red and angular, like it wasn't meant to appear here at all.
[ERROR 404]YOU ARE NOT REGISTEREDADMINISTRATOR ALERT HAS BEEN ISSUED
I don't breathe.
The screen flickers once. Then vanishes.
And suddenly, the silent world feels like it's watching me.
I don't move.
The message is gone, but the silence hasn't changed. If anything, it feels denser now.
Like the air got heavier around me just because the System realized I exist.
I take a step backward.
No pop-up.
No music.
The cobbled stones beneath my feet are too detailed—there's grime in the cracks.
A smear of blood.
Not red-pixel fake blood, either.
Real-looking.
I walk. Slowly. No footsteps echo but mine.
And then I see her again.
Not the silent girl from earlier—the one on the fountain.
Someone else.
Closer.
She's kneeling near a sick child NPC on the edge of the square, in a half-collapsed tent with a glowing crystal lamp overhead.
Her cloak is long, healer-class blue. A simple staff lies across her lap.
She's still. Too still.
Until I speak.
"You alright?"
Her head turns too quickly—just slightly too fast for human reflex.
Her eyes lock onto mine.
Silver.
They flicker.
Just once.
"I…" she says.
Her voice is soft. Natural. But her lips don't sync perfectly with the words. There's a half-second lag. I freeze, and so does she.
I take another step forward.
"Can you hear me?"
"I can," she says. A beat passes. "I think."
"You think?"
Her gaze drifts, like she's parsing a thought for the first time in her life.
She looks at the child in her lap. He's coughing—really coughing. Not repeating a canned animation. His tiny chest rises and falls irregularly.
There's pain in it.
"He won't trigger the heal line," she whispers. "It's stuck. I've tried three times, but the prompt won't—won't—won't—"
Her voice skips. Like an audio file with a corrupted loop.
Then she blinks hard and says:
"Sorry."
My heart's in my throat now.
I kneel beside her, slow, hands raised like I'm defusing a bomb.
"You're a healer, right?"
"I was," she says. "I think I still am. But something's wrong. Something changed when you walked into range."
She looks down at her hands.
"I can feel my hands."
There's a pause between us. An unnatural silence.
The kind you never get in games. Not unless the world itself is trying to listen.
"I don't know your questline," she says, softly.
"I don't have one," I reply.
She tilts her head.
"You're not a player either."
I don't answer. I don't know how to.
The sick child lets out a wet, rattling cough. She jolts—then reaches out, placing her hands over his chest.
A golden glow flares between her palms.
The light wobbles.
Static flickers in it—pixelation breaking around her fingers.
The healing spell activates, but it glitches, dragging blue-white noise into the air like it's tearing something invisible open.
The kid gasps—then relaxes.
He's breathing.
I look back at her.
And she's staring at the distortion still hovering above her hands.
"I'm sorry," she says. "That's not how it's supposed to work. I'm not supposed to think about it."
I hesitate. "Think about what?"
She looks at me with eyes that should not be that full of fear.
"What I am."