Hello, Wife

This time I lie down on my bed instead of sitting on the chair and risking another neck cramp, and put the Neural X on my head.

I'm on my way home.

Technically, I'm at King Esan's home. The aluminum ceiling above me disappears, and his palace materializes before my eyes. Above, the perpetual starry sky looks down at me.

"I believe you are sitting on my throne," says Esan, standing beside me with his arms crossed.

"I'm sorry. I ran out of battery," I say.

"That is no place to fall asleep. I was about to call the guards to have you removed," he says, gesturing for me to get up.

I forgot that NPCS don't acknowledge any terms they don't understand. Batteries don't exist in Amoria.

As soon as I rise, he sits in his chair and looks up at me.

"Well? I assume you were looking for me. What do you want?"

A notification appears at the top right corner of my field of vision.

ACCEPT QUEST.

I wave my hand, and the request blinks, then fades away.

"I don't have all day to sit here and stare at you, Sorgin. Speak, or leave," he says, and letting out a yawn.

What should I say? That I want to level up?

"I… need to train my mastery. For the battles to come?" I say, trying to sound serious.

"No… you're one of the chosen ones?" he says, rising. "Oh dear, oh dear. The honor of the Sorgin rests upon a dimwit who chose to delve in the Aquifera Mastery. Why in the name of Ilunta did you choose to follow that path?"

"Because I need to defend myself. And water can be strong if I use it well," I say, echoing Thalla's words.

"True, but we are stronger by commuting with darkness. We find strength in obscurity, not the banal elements of this world," says Esan, holding his chin. "Very well. If you intend to pursue this road, I cannot stop you. But there's only one way to train in the arts of the elements, and that is to fight them. It seems like you have already proved yourself to be a decent fighter by obtaining the pass, so you should be able to handle this."

"What exactly does the pass work for? What is going to happen?" I ask.

"All we know is that the Gods have chosen the mightiest among us. Something is stirring in the Forgotten Lands. What that means, I don't know," says Esan, holding up his hands as if in prayer. "I thought the Gods would pick more adequate fighters, and not… perpetuals who fall asleep everywhere, all the time. But I guess they prefer you because you come back from the dead so easily. Alas, who am I to question the Gods? I'm just the savior of our race, your benevolent and magnanimous ruler, father to all our brethren."

A moment of silence passes between us. I miss the days when NPCS told players what to do and where to go, without babbling on about their feelings or resentments.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Sail across the Sea of Tristura. Find a man named Paricia in Sinparas Island. He will be able to teach you. Now go, I have important things to do," he says, flipping his hand in dismissal.

I head out of the castle, through the waterfall onto the cliff's ledge. I emerge on the other side, untouched by the water. The light from outside blinds me after being accustomed to the gloom of Iluntasuna for so long.

The ledge is narrow so I walk carefully, making my way down to the shore. If I remember correctly, the only way to go to Sinparas is to take a boat from the harbor outside Arauros. So there is where I'm heading.

When I reach the shore, for the first time in a long time, I pause to take in my surroundings. Not just to look, but to observe. The sea of Tristura is calm, and its soft waves caress the shore. I remove my boots and sink my toes into the wet sand. Then I continue walking, and my feet are covered by a thin layer of whiteness, as if they're covered in flour.

How long has it been since I saw the real ocean? I might have been ten or twelve, on one of the last vacations we took to Brazil as a family. As a complete family.

Then I remember why it is that never stop, why I go from one task to the other as if my life depended on it. In a way, it does. But to stop is to think, and to think is to remember. And remembering only brings pain.

I remind myself that here, Ara and her problems don't exist. Stormborn has more important things to deal with, and I can't waste time with feelings of nostalgia.

Ever since my encounter with Desdenia, I haven't given too much thought to the prize money. At first, it was my biggest motivation to enter the tournament. But now, all I can see in my mind is her face and those of all her followers. The smug, conceited smiles they give each other when they narrate their excursions to Chimstad and burn down fields and homes. The high-fives they share after doing the dance emotes over the dead bodies of other players who have just lost hours of time that could have been spent doing work to feed their families or pay their bills.

It's one thing to be fueled by necessity. Even greed. Because at the end of the day, I still have food and a roof over my head, even if it isn't what me and my family are used to. But it's another thing to be fueled by rage. And right now, this has become so much more than avarice, glory, or anything I could get from winning.

It's about vengeance.

I can beat those bastards. Probably not alone, and definitely not unless I learn how to use all my skills in record time. But there's nothing I haven't been able to do in this world once I set my mind to it.

My brief surge of confidence is interrupted by a swooshing sound, as a light blue circle begins to glow next to me on the sand. Someone is teleporting near me.

Confused, I take a step back, until a figure appears before my eyes. First I see the white robes, then a Sorgin face that I recognize all too well.

Netherian.

He must have been online when I logged in, or I would have seen the notification when he logged in.

It seems like some teleports still work. But I don't want to acknowledge what this means.

"Hello, wife," he says, with a big smirk on his grey face.