I opened my eyes, yawned, stretched, and ehe feeling—a pleasant warmth in every cell of my body. A full night’s sleep had finally brought me back to feeling human, and damn, I missed it.

  What a strange dream.

  It felt so real. All those sleepless nights had taken a heavy toll on me. I froze in surprise, realizing I couldn’t remember the st time I’d felt this good. Guilt flooded me, choking my throat, reminding me why I hadn’t felt this good in ages. My hand moved automatically to rub the sore spot on my chest, grief waiting just below the surface. It was always lurking around the er, ready t me back down and remind me of what I’d lost.

  I sat up io get up and froze. Something was alive in me—a sense of being whole for the first time, like a missing piece had clicked into pce, bridging some long-broken gap I always carried. It felt like I’d swallowed sunlight, each cell alive with warmth, as though I’d finally stepped free of a shadow. Not a hum or a buzz, but a quiet current of life under my skin, steady and grounding. I ran my fingers along my arm, almost expeg the feeling to vanish at my touch. But it didn’t. Energy thrummed under my skin, grounding me iy and reassuring me I wasn’t going crazy. It wasn’t some bizarre fever dream.

  Part of me resisted, ready to dismiss it as another mental trick, brought on by grief and insomnia. But the sensation was undeniable, buzzih my skin, dario ig. A disbelieving ugh tore out of me. My fiingled. I flexed my hands, feeling the energy pulse beh my skin. For the first time in months, the grief in my heart and mind faded, a little, repced by something new, something alive and positive.

  Frowning, I sat up and stared at the empty air in front of me, half-expeg something to appear like it had yesterday. Nothing. I squinted, trating harder, trying to summon that strange red dot I’d seen in the er of my vision. Still nothing. I closed my eyes and willed it iehere was only bck with a faint light outline when I turned my face toward the window. Running a hand through my hair, I grumbled to myself, embarrassed. Maybe it was in my head, after all—a trick from a mind worn out by sleepless nights and grief. But after the st 24 hours, it felt worth ary.

  I closed my eyes agaiing the same mental ‘click’ I’d done before, fog on the exact spot where the dot had been. Nothing. Determined, I mumbled, “Red dot,” then, a little late Traveler.” My field of vision stayed empty, like nothing ged i day.

  I rubbed my fa frustration. Clearly, I was missing something. If the s wouldn’t reveal itself willingly, I’d have to find another way to reach it.

  I grabbed my phone, hoping to find answers online. Fingers crossed, I pressed the power button. The s flickered to life. Yesterday, it had been dead as a doornail, but now—somehow—it worked, though the battery was on its st fumes.

  I typed ‘Gate Traveler’ into Google, fiapping impatiently as the results loaded. A list of links appeared, and I sifted through the first page, then the sed, the third, and the fourth. Everything was about The Traveler’s Gate Trilogy. ly the earth-shatteriion I was hoping for. I read the book’s blurb, looking for anything that might hint at what I was going through, but it was all just fantasy, nothing close to what I’d experienced.

  Oh well, keep looking.

  Page after page, from garage doors to aronic music pie Spotify—each li more absurd and irrelevant tha. I clicked, scrolled, and sighed as ‘Gate Traveler’ yielded nothing but dead ends.

  I ched my teeth, frustration mounting, and the helplessness struck that same familiar nerve. Grief and anger had bee so iwined I couldn’t tell one from the other, and now this bizarre quest for answers was doing the same.

  “e on,” I muttered, gripping the phone. “Yoogle. You’re supposed to know everything! I mean, you’re the almighty algorithm, right?” I argued, shaking my head at the absurdity. “Gate Traveler, other worlds… e on, throw me a bone here.”

  The s looked back, bnkly oblivious, full of the same useless results—pages and pages of noise and nonsense when I needed actual answers. I rubbed a hand over my face, even more frustrated. So many pages, and not one of them had what I needed. Just a tangled mess of automated gates, vacation sales, and y shirts.

  “Useless algorithm,” I accused Google.

  I typed “Gate to Another World” into the search bar, hit enter, and watched as the results poputed the s. Pages and pages of links to Goodreads and other sites with novels oopic. I wasted half a day reading blurb after blurb, hoping one of them would have some kind of e. But every book was just fi—no hints, no factual information. Just more and more stories that didn’t have any simirities to my experience.

  I kept digging and skimmed through dozens of pages until refereo old legends poputed the s. I clicked on every link and read stories about a portals, elven worlds, Asgard, and mythical realms, searg for anything relevant. All these stories were very far removed from my experiend offered no answers—another dead end.

  What now?

  My mind spun with the dead ends, and my stomach growled, reminding me I needed fuel to figure this out. During dinner, I remembered I got a css, and there was a mention of level 1 and points. It was worth a try.

  Back at the hotel, I pulled out my phoyped them into the search bar, and hit enter. Instantly, the results poured in—numerous links to learning institutions and gaming forums. I hesitated, staring at the wall of links to gamer discussions. At 37 and having never picked up a troller, starting now seemed a bit te, but there was nothing else to go on.

  Games it is. God, my life is weird.

  The forums were a linguistic maze—‘tank,’ ‘DPS,’ ‘buffs,’ and ‘nerfs’ stacked like code. Each term sent me back to Google for a definition, and every answer left me even more fused. Five minutes in, I sported a killer headache. There were long discussions, but none of them ected to what I experienced. Another dead end.

  A few pages in, I came across something new: books in a genre called LitRPG. I’d never even heard of it. Curious, I pulled up Wikipedia, sing for anything that might fit with what I went through. And there it was: mentions of css levels and stat points for character attributes. Ridiculous as it seemed, I was ecstatic to find even a vague parallel. Maybe there was a grain of truth in fi, after all. Part of me was embarrassed to even go there. Previously, my life tered on work and married life, with a small time allocation for hobbies. A, here I was—my eyes glued to the s, a mix of excitement and disbelief dang in my stomach.

  Finally, I found something that matched my experience.

  I sat back, fingers still h over the s, as some of it sank in a bit more. Part of me wao ugh; another part wao curl up, cover my head with a b like I used to when I was little, and pretend none of this had happened. Gate Traveler. Level 1. This was my reality now—a strange ruth represented by a title and a number.

  I scrolled down and reached an Examples se. It had a listing of eight book series. Rather than chase more random Google results, I paused. Maybe these books held something valuable. I read somewhere that Jule Vered our present life and teology, or something like this. So, maybe fi was the answer. I closed the app and gazed at the ceiling for a moment.

  Wele to your new reality, John.

  I skimmed blurb after blurb, hunting for answers but finding none. From tower climbing to dungeon crawling—whatever that was—and cultivation, another mystery entirely. Sure, they all sounded like a fun read, but I was here for answers, damn it!

  Hmm, I need a different approach.

  I typed “csses and levels” into Google, and the s filled with results—mostly forums and discussion groups. Skimming past the endless gaming threads, I focused on the book forums instead. Maybe they’d be a little easier to follow. When I clicked into a discussion, I found the posts filled with as and jargon that seemed like code. The gaming forums had much to learn from the book forums—they blew them out of the water with a new nguage.

  Every other word was a mystery, f me to stop and Google as or terms to make sense of a single sentence. After five minutes of this bad-forth, my patience wore thin—it felt like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. With a sigh, I shook my head ahe forums, heading back to the search bar, still determio find something that didn’t require a transtor. I was way too much of a “noob” for this.

  Hey, look at me. I’m using the correct jargon!

  After scrolling down for a while, I finally started seeing some promisis. I stumbled upon a promising series with a main character named John—it almost felt like fate.

  At the beginning of the book, the MC got a spirit helper.

  I wish I had a spirit helper, an AI, or something to help me navigate this strauation. Or even Clippy from old-school Word. Anything that guide me through this madness would be nice.

  I snorted. Wouldn’t that be something—a cheerful virtual assistant popping up in this bizarre setup?

  Suddenly, I K was impossible. A chill ran through me, shog me into stillness. I didn’t have to guess; I khe certainty sat there, solid and immovable, like it had always been a part of me. I hadn’t figured it out through logic or reason. It was more like a memory surfag, fully formed.

  I took a breath, letting the strange knowledge settle in, trying to make sense of it. Where did this certainty e from? The only expnation that made sense was the Gate Traveler css. Somehow, it downloaded knowledge into my brain. It was extremely arming, to say the least.

  it trol my mind?

  The realization that now I kuff but didn’t uand anything was bizarre and quite disturbing. Truth be told, it was dht scary. Rubbing my face, I thought, That’s how split personality disorder starts.

  After sidering it for a while, I set it aside. I couldn’t ge it or do anything about it, so why bother driving myself crazy? I had a book to read in search of answers.

  The hing I discovered was the “Status S.”

  “Status S,” I said, hoping speaking aloud would trigger something. Nothing.

  I frowrying again, a little louder. “Status S.” Still nothing.

  That was annoying. “e on, there has to be a way to access it. There was a mention of stat points, so it has to exist, right?”

  Still no answer.

  Determined, I went bay phone and sed Google results and forums. Eventually, I found a few other hat might work.

  “Status,” I said. Silence.

  “Profile,” I tried, tapping my fingers impatiently. Nothing.

  “Character Sheet.” I released a slow, frustrated breath as I stared at the empty air. Still nothing.

  “Alright, up… ‘My Status.’” Silence.

  “My Stats?” I said, feeling ridiculous.

  “My Profile … My Character Sheet.” Each attempt fell ft. I even tried every option with “John’s…” at the start, being more irritated by the sed.

  I threw up my hands. “How the hell am I supposed to figure out my personal information?”

  Text scrolled into vieearing out of nowhere.

  I froze, staring at the s in disbelief as it blinked ience before my eyes.

  PERSONAL INFORMATION

  Name: Je: 37

  Css: Gate Traveler Level 1Gates to the level: 0/3Css Abilities:

  ?   version

  ?   Travelers’ Archive

  ?   Identify

  Health: 1550/1550Mana: 3000/3000

  Strength: 17Agility: 15stitution: 10Vitality: 21Intelligence: 15Wisdom: 10Perception: 8

  Trait points: 5Ability points: 1

  And there it was—my Profile. Just hanging in the air, every line of text clear, as if somebody had typed it into reality. I blinked, half-thinking it might vanish, but it didn’t. I read each line slowly to let it all sink in. My name, my age, the css “Gate Traveler.” Abilities like “version” and “Travelers' Archive,” and these weird numbers o “Mana” and “Strength.” Each line was like a piece of some bizarre puzzle I’d stumbled into, making everything feel more real by the sed.

  A slightly hysterical ugh bubbled up, equal parts dread and amazement. Sure, I’d expected to find something, but this… this wasn’t some made-up fantasy. This was me, id out in numbers, like I was a character in some wild game. My stomaersaulted—excitement and pure terror mixed in equal parts, sprinkled with disbelief and a strong urge to run away. This was real. More real than anything I’d felt in ages. A big part of me wao look away, to shut it all out, to pretend it never happened, but something deeper kept me glued to the text box. I exhaled, both lighter and heavier, realizing this was my life noed out in numbers, abilities, and a new reality I couldn’t ighis was my new reality, and I had to front it head-on.

  The energy thrumming inside me suddenly made sense. A missing piece of information clicked into pce. Mana. I had mana. The thought took a mio sink in, and even then, I had to process it, one piece at a time. All my life, I’d tackled things logically, analyzing everything. I’d never even bothered with fantasy stories—no Lord of the Rings, no Harry Potter, none of it. But here I was, sitting in a hotel room, looking at a s that told me I had mana. I let the word echo in my head, rolling it around like a fn fvor. Mana. For a sed, I almost ughed—a grown man staring at a s with “Mana” spelled out like it was the most ordinary thing. But it was real, every word on that s unmistakable, staring back at me and challengio ig.

  Me! I thought, astonished and full of awe. Mana! I shook my head. Sometimes, life is se.

  For now, I scrolled past the Abilities se. I khey would take a while to figure out, so I started with something that seemed easier at first gnd zeroed in on my stats. Some of it made sense, but other parts… I scratched my head, trying to make heads or tails of it. Strength and Agility I uood—those I got. Although I was the smallest physically by a rge margin, I’d always beero and fastest growing up, enough that the other kids kept their distance. Intelligehat one made seoo. I’d breezed through school. But the rest? pletely puzzling.

  My stitution was a ten. Sure, it was on the higher side, but it didn’t match my actual physique. I was of average height, lean except for a slight belly pooch, and not exceptionally robust. Even when I went to the gym in college, my muscles refused to grow.

  And Vitality? That threw me off pletely. Vital? Me? I’d never felt bursting with energy. If anything, I just wao be left aloh a good book.

  Wisdom didn’t add up either. I excelled in the and memorized information but was mostly at a total loss in the real world. Reading people was a nightmare. Social cues flew over my head half the time, and adapting to ge wasn’t my strong suit. So, how the hell did that trao “Wisdom?”

  And Perception—well, that just fused me the most. I could see and hear just fine and didn’t need reading gsses like a lot of my peers. So, how e it was my lowest stat? Did this system measure depth perception? Eagle-eyed vision? Sonar hearing? What?

  I set aside my fusion a reading the book, hoping it would crify everything. But as the story unfolded, it became harder and harder to read. The protagonist had to fight stronger and stronger monsters, and this prospect filled me with dread. Fighting monsters? That was the st thing I wanted!

  I frowned, with my fingers drumming nervously on the s. This “Gate Traveler” thing—if I decided to do something with it—sounded like expl worlds, meeting people, and visiting new pces. Not slogging through dangerous battles with terrifying creatures. Just reading about it made me shudder. The idea of fighting monsters had me sed-guessing even the slightest sideration of this whole… journey. I was involved in a few scuffles in my childhood and teens, but fighting monsters was a different ballgame altogether.

  I handle something like this?

  I dropped the book a looking for a different one. I needed something less scary and more encing. Another long and frustrating sear Google resulted in a new series. This one appealed to me more: the MCs teleported to a world with ten different ps, where they unlocked stats, levels, and skills by doing things, not just fighting monsters. That felt right. Somehow, again, I Khis was how things would work for me, too. It was a strange certainty. Another one of those fshes of knowledge I hadn’t precisely learned but just… knew. If that wasn’t tied to the Gate Traveler css, I didn’t know what was.

  Oion described looking ‘io examihe mana system. Ridiculous? Maybe. But worth a shot. I focused on different parts of my body, half-expeg to see something.

  Nothing.

  Not giving up, I closed my eyes again, this time zeroing in on the pces that burned when I crossed the gate. Initially, there was nothing. But sometimes, I had a stubborn streak, and this case definitely justified it. It took a while. But then—there it was, hazy but unmistakable, a mental image f like an afterimage behind my eyelids. It wasn’t seeing in the usual sense of the word—more like mental sight mixed with physical sensations. But I did see color, shapes, and motion.

  My mana system looked different from the book’s description. Instead of the lines and gates it described, I saw three golden orbs, each swirling with energy streaks—one in my head, another behind my diaphragm, and the st at my navel, glowing like miniature suns suspended in the dark. From the orb in my head, lines branched out to my eyes, nose, ears, and mouth. From the diaphragm orb, they traveled down my arms to each finger. From the navel orb, the liended down my legs to eaore lines ected the three orbs, f an intricate internal work.

  Streaks of energy swirled within the orbs, and with eaplete rotation, the orbs pulsed—first sending energy outward through the lines, infusing my body with warmth and a faint hum, then pulling it bato the orbs. It felt like a rhythm, simir to the circutory system, but with distinct differences in how the energy moved and gathered. My fingers itched to reach out, touch the energy, and feel its motion, but I k was impossible. How could you touething so internal? How could you touch your soul?

  Mesmerized, I stared and followed the energy for a long time. Something softened, and a distant ache quieted. The sight of those orbs calmed something raw in me, smoothed some of the edges. Grief, that ever-prese, eased its grip a little, leaving me oddly at peace. This energy—this new, humming presence—filled the emptiness I’d always carried. eg to the energy was surreal. Peace came over me—a peace I had never felt before. As the shock faded, I felt lighter, as though this energy had softened all my ive emotions, be it grief, anger, or hopelessness.

  At that point, I stopped reading. The books were fun—a small ce at escapism into the world of fantasy—but I’d found what I needed. Anything more would just be fi, while I was dealing with reality.