Prologue: Crossing over

It was a slow winter night when I got the notification of a new chapter release of my favourite web novel, Forbidden Realms.

I was working four hours straight, backlogging the work I couldn't complete earlier this week, but the single notification was enough to tempt a break earlier than I had planned.

I'm not usually used to backlogging. In the 24th year of my life, I was already accustomed to getting things done in their usual time; from my work, cleaning the apartment, cooking food, and taking care of myself, though I had failed miserably since last month.

Except for the sleepless nights I spent on video games and reading web novels, my life had been calm and orderly.

Well, that was until I caught the viral flu. Fortunately, I got better, although I had to skip work for a month. Sadly, money didn't grow on trees (at least, not on the trees I own). The flu took much of my savings, and here I was doing extra work to get some part of my savings back, however small it might be.

I hate backlogging.

The temptation to read the newest chapter claimed victory over the work, as I unlocked the phone, ignoring the rational mind that was telling me to complete the scripting first.

It will only be ten minutes at best, I told myself. But the moment I clicked on the notification, my arm shook and the cell phone fell onto the ground.

"Noooo!" I shouted, rocking back in a failed attempt to catch it back. On that note, the cry was not for my phone, but for what I read in the new chapter’s title.

Picking up my phone, I did not look for the damage. I unlocked the screen as if there were no cracks on it, to reread the title once more. It still said, 'Hiatus Notice'. 'I thought this book was doing well, even though it does not have too many fans, but why now? Why is it suddenly going on hiatus?'

Rubbing the back of my head in confusion, I started reading the notice in its context, hoping the hiatus notice was not for long.

'The creation of a tale is more than just the effort of the writer—there are many people involved in bringing a tale to fruition. . . . It has been quite a long time since this story began, and the creator still has no idea how it will turn into a happy ending.’ I interrupted myself and started over repeatedly.

"What now?" I said, as my voice trailed off to the empty night. Now that the author mentioned it, the current situation for the characters looks quite hopeless, but I had wondered the author would probably give the MC another overpowering ability to balance everything out, like the protagonist, Edward, didn't already have two. Now it appears that was not the case. My heart ached even more as I scrolled down to view the next lines.

"With a lot of thoughts over the past, I, the creator, finally took a serious decision to start it from the beginning again, but there is a slight problem. The few assistants I had before are not present now to help me finish this tale."

"In the end, I can only ask for assistance from my dear readers." My eyes sparkled with excitement the moment I read that. "Among the many readers, I'll choose only one to help me conclude the tale. I have left a few questions below. All you have to do is answer them and send them to this email address, forbiddenrealm2.0@****.com."

My breathing became heavy and my palms turned a little stiff. I fiddled with my fingers in unease. For me, Forbidden Realms was more than just another web novel. In my depressed, introverted life, it was the favourite escapism that I could get into, and now, when the opportunity to work with the author came, I could not decide what to do.

My fundamental dilemma was that I'm considering whether I will enjoy reading it if I get involved in its creation. But then another thought hit me, and that chased away the previous thought at once. What if another one gets the chance and turns the book into shit?

Thinking back on the author, who already took many unpleasant steps, like killing off two great female leads mercilessly, I speculated I should be the best candidate to get the chance. After all, there might not be another person in the universe who knows this story better than me. Except for the author, that is.

I scrolled down to find the questions below. I read a couple of questions and scrolled down further and further, but the question did not end. Until it reached the 1000 mark. Were a thousand questions too few for the author?

It appeared the author was quite serious about this, but I wondered how many of the readers would take the time to answer all of these 1000 questions.

Shaking my head, I opened the webpage on my PC and started to answer one by one. The thought of completing my backlog entirely escaped from my mind.

The questions seemed easy at the start, but became harder as they went further down.

1. What is the name of the realm that the story takes place in?

It was a simple question. I wrote down the answer, 'Shrankor.'

2. What year was it when the Starlight Academy was established?

I answered, “Year 389 of the third epoch.”

3. Where was the Sword of Oath hidden?

In the ruins of Roshansar.

…

8. What does Edward fear the most, other than losing his loved ones?

Edward was the main protagonist of Forbidden Realms, and as for what he fears the most, I know it very well. I wrote the answer, 'Edward fears closed space the most. He is claustrophobic, though I feel he fears being alone as well.'

12.Why was Scar so hell-bent on helping Edward?

17. What does King Alberan's journal hide?

19. Why couldn't Edward save Ciara?

27. What did Edward find on the island of the Dorkarians?

I answered them all one by one, and for some questions, I had to stop for a little while to think them over properly. I felt fortunate to have a splendid memory. I might be bragging if I said it, but I usually never have a problem remembering things. It was not as good as a photographic memory, but still quite close to it.

But for a few, I still had to go back and check a few of the chapters for answers. For instance, the author asked about some of the smallest details about some herbs or about some lesser-known demons—how could I remember them all? Luckily, I only had to browse for a couple of minutes to get the answer.

I know it should be considered cheating, but this could not be seen as a test per se.

The questions then became more about information and less about the characters. I know the author did a great job at world-building, with a rich world heritage, history, lore, and mystery—maybe a little excessive, but the world sure draws me in every time I read it. The only unfortunate thing was that it became less about the characters and more about the world.

The questions about the world's details were the hardest to answer, though, by cheating, ahem! I mean, fact checking, I answered them all. I will say it again: This is not a test.

By the time I reached the last question, it was already midnight.

"Last question," I thought out loud, flexing my fingers, which had become quite stiff after all the usage so far. Only then did I recall I had other work to do, though it was already past five hours spent on the questions. What do you love and hate about the Forbidden Realm? How far are you willing to go to conclude the story?

I sucked in a frigid breath and closed my eyes. I tried to remember and write down everything that was on my mind. Surely, the 999 questions before this one refreshed my memory about why I love this book so much, even with its flaws. There was no word limit, and the question appeared to be a broader one, so I did not cheap out on words.

I praised the author for creating such a fantastic fantasy world with vibrant characters and cursed at him for killing Ciara and Yeriel. I told him to limit the suffering of Scar and Edward, and when I finally stopped, I had already written quite a few paragraphs.

Now the only thing remaining was how far I would go to conclude the story.

I answered as sincerely as I could.

'Honestly, I did not want this story to end. It has been with me for quite some time now, and I like it as much as my own life. But every story needs a happy ending, or a conclusion of sorts. Honestly, I don't know how far I'll go, but if I did not read the conclusion of the story, I would always feel like something was missing and feel empty.'

Click. I emailed immediately, leaning back against the chair. I don't know if my answer will be satisfactory to the author, but thinking about how many questions there were, there would not be many people who would answer them all.

Sighing, I looked at the clock—it was way past midnight. My throat felt sore as well. The muscles felt stiff with all the work. Then my cell phone rang. I stood up from the chair to look for something to eat as well as savour some drinks. Who was calling at this hour? I picked up the call that showed an unknown number.

"Hello," I said as I answered the phone. "Who is this?"

"This is the creator of Forbidden Realms." My heart skipped a beat just as I heard the hoarse voice. The voice continued, "You are the only one who answered all the questions."

I thought there would be at least a few others who would answer all the questions, but it appeared there were none. Or they might not have finished typing it all yet. After all, it had barely been a few minutes since I had submitted my answer and not many were born with such a splendid memory as me, nor did many have the typing speed. I mustered up my courage to ask, but before that, the voice continued again.

"Among all the 1000 questions, you wrongly answered one. No, it is not entirely wrong. In question 8, I asked what Edward fears the most. Aside from claustrophobia, Edward is afraid of another thing, or should I say, a person. Edward is afraid of Scar."

"Huh?" I squinted my nose and confusion appeared on my face. This didn't make sense, since Scar was as loyal as a person could be to another. Then why?

"Other than that, all the answers satisfied me," the author said again. "You are selected to conclude the tales of the Forbidden Realms."

"What? Really?"

"Good luck. I hope you will do your best."

The call was cut off, and I lunged up in glee, ignoring the fact that I was not answered in whatever way I could help the author. Then the last stray thought of the night came to my mind. How did the author get my phone number?

In my glee, I ignored it as well as the quaking earth, but then I could not ignore it anymore, my head was already impaled with piercing pain. I jerked my arms, covering my head, as my apartment shook. All the stray thoughts were emptying my mind, and the pain consumed me. I felt like dying, and perhaps I was. Within the pain, I saw a slight light coming straight at me.

The light soothed the pain, but my mind already could not endure it as I fell unconscious.

At that time, I had no idea how the author wanted me to help. But when I learned, my life had already turned into an exciting disaster.

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