A message in the group chat blinked into view.

  [Party Chat - Annie]: Found a cozy spot near the town square. Meet up there.

  It was a quiet alcove, tucked between two narrow streets and hidden by banners that hung overhead. Crates lined the walls, filled with festive leftovers and soaked in a scent sharp and earthy—something between rosemary and dust.

  “Quite the spot you picked,” said Abaka as he and Mervin arrived. “Why here?” he asked, sitting down on a crate.

  Annie was leaning against a wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, tapping her boots in a quiet rhythm against the cobblestone. She didn’t answer right away. She took a big breath. “Just liked the smell is all.”

  For several minutes, the three of them lingered in silence, enjoying the ambiance of the hidden spot. Every so often, distant sounds from the busy town square filtered in—a ctter of footsteps, murmurs and the occasional ughter echoing off the stone walls.

  “So, where is Kol?” Abaka asked, breaking the silence.

  “He’ll be here soon.” Annie answered.

  “He said he had something important.”

  “Then it must be. I for one am curious of what he found out. Especially after that decration. It’s been past time I’ve seen him so committed to something.”

  “Any word from Broil?” Mervin asked.

  Annie shook her head. “None you wouldn’t’ve also heard. He’s probably still drinking in a bar.” Her tone sat somewhere between dry amusement and deadpan honesty. “That aside, have you two found anything worthwhile?”

  They shook their heads. “Nope. Speaking of—what have you found?”

  Annie stopped tapping her foot and straightened up.

  “Well, I happened to stumble upon an archive near the Exit portal castle. Went in and did some digging, and after a lot of it found a book titled ‘The art of teleportation’. Flipped through the pages quickly until I came across a section dedicated to portalstones.”

  Mervin raised a brow. “And?”

  Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps became increasingly louder, interrupting Annie before she could answer. Two seconds ter, Kol appeared below the archway leading to the alcove, out of breath, like he had been running for a long time.

  “Woah there. You alright?”

  “Damn, it really is important.” Abaka joked.

  Kol didn’t reply and ignored Abaka’s joke.

  “...The portalstone... can be hacked...” He said in-between breaths.

  A sharp silence followed.

  “What do you mean hacked?” Mervin asked.

  Kol stepped further in, resting a hand against the stone wall. “Portalstones… are not just keys or waypoints. They are interfaces that can be maniputed. Rewritten, like a code.”

  Mervin blinked. “Code? You mean they’re programmable?

  “Duh, this is videogame! Of course it is programmable.” Abaka excimed.

  “I remember the book said that they are yered structures. It also mentioned that a clear destination must be set for it to function, so if this one is faulty, it must be because of that.”

  “But that’s just that,” He argued. “An in-game lore expnation.”

  “True, but the book didn’t just describe the yers—it named them. Kernel, Anchor, Thread. Those are data terms, not fantasy ones.”

  “So you’re saying someone could’ve tampered with the settings?” Mervin asked.

  “Or failed to set one, which would expin the boot-loop error.”

  A ping popped in on the corner of their interface stopped their conversation.

  [Quest Updated: A Weapon To Fear] Objective: Reroute the portalstone in the sewers of Arsuuna to access Korikangoku.

  After a long pause, Abaka spoke up again.

  “So the system wants us to reroute it now?” He asked, skeptical. “That’s a bit of a leap from everything else we’ve done so far.”

  Mervin crossed his arms. “Isn’t that what a dynamic quest system is supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, but this feels... weird.”

  “Weird is one word for it,” said a voice, half a shout and half a groan, startling the group. “Another is ‘absolutely fuckin’ cursed,’ but hey, that’s just what I see.”

  Broil emerged around the corner, swaying slightly with every step until he found a wall to lean on. He was soaked to the knees in grime.

  Everyone turned to stare.

  “Broil,” Annie said slowly, before frowning. “You reek of alcohol.”

  Broil’s eyes squinted as he took in her words. “Reek, schmreak,” he slurred, tugging at the loose end of his stained coat. “Don’t mind me. Carry ooon.” His voice trailed off, and he swayed a bit, catching himself back on the wall.

  “Right...”

  Mervin folded his arms and leaned forward.

  “So if portalstones can be hacked or rewritten like code… how exactly do we go about rerouting it?”

  “Like I said before; if it drops people off in random pces, that means it doesn’t have a clear direction. Think of it like a slingshot—”

  “Slingshot??? Like Angry Birds???” Broil cut in. “I have 1.8 million score on the weekly board!”

  “That’s great... As I was saying. You pce a—bird... in it, you wound up, aim, and let go. In the portalstone’s case, the ‘aim’ part is missing.”

  Mervin nodded slowly. “So we need to… aim the slingshot.”

  “More or less. The book called it an Anchor Node. It acts like a GPS coordinate, basically—without it, the stone just picks a random stable drop point and throws you there.”

  “But how do we aim the portalstone—in practice?”

  “That is the question of the week.” Annie replied.

  Before anyone could add more, the interface pinged again. A notification blinked at the top of their vision.

  [Notice: The session ends in 15 minutes. Find a safe zone or the nearest exit portal and log out.]

  Mervin groaned. “Well, that’s our cue.”

  “Yeah, let’s wrap this up before the game decides to throw another curveball at us,” Abaka remarked.

  “Alright, team, I’m beat,” Annie said as she stretched her arms. We need to finish hashing this out ter. But for now, let’s regroup near the exit portal if we bump into any more… unexpected—” she paused, gncing over at Broil, “—shenanigans.”

  Broil, still leaning on the wall, twirled his mustache with a stupid grin, but said nothing.

  The group took one st sniff of the rosemary scent before making their way back to the castle, where they once joined the queue of people waiting to log out. As Kol was about to step into the swirling portal and log out, a notification popped up in his inbox.

  [Private Message from: Dalia]

  “I’ll come by after my shift in the evening.”

  ***

  Darkness again.

  Kol opened his eyes and found himself walking along the corridor. There, at its end, was the same iron gate he saw st time, still frozen over and cold spewing from it.

  The gate loomed.

  Still ancient. Still sealed. Still radiating that same unbearable cold.

  But this time… something was different.

  A whisper cut through the boundless corridor. It was unintelligible and it came from behind the gate.

  He stepped forward, and the frost beneath his feet cracked.

  Then—a pulse of blue emitted from the gate and the whisper grew louder.

  Another step, another pulse, and the whisper became a voice. It was of a woman’s—faint, but clear—yet he could still not understand her... only the meaning of her words; “Come.”

  Kol’s breath hitched. He reached out. The pulse quickened.

  His hand hovered just shy of the gate’s surface, so cold it burned, and the iron began to tremble.

  Then—

  Nothing.

  Kol awoke in his cubicle, the light inside his Sarcophagus shining in his face. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His heart was pounding. His breath short.

  But amidst his panic a crity hit his mind, a strange, sinking certainty:

  He did know that voice.

  ***

  The hour grew te as Kol id sprawled on his bed, reading a book. Or rather trying to. His mind refused to settle. He had told himself he wouldn’t overthink things—but when had that ever worked.

  A knock on the door cringed his body.

  He dropped his book and rushed over to answer. He took a deep breath as he twisted it open, the handle feeling cool under his touch.

  Dalia stood on the other side. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a wry smile on her face.

  Neither of them spoke at first and stood at the door in silence. Then, without waiting for an invitation, Dalia stepped inside. She looked around his room, taking in the scattered clothes, the unmade bed, and the glow of the va mp on his desk.

  “I see you’re still as unruly when it comes to tidying your room as when we were little.” she remarked, her voice carrying a trace of nostalgia.

  “It’s... a work in progress.” Kol replied as he shut the door.

  Dalia huffed a small ugh.

  “Still can’t believe you made that call,” she teased as she plopped onto the bed. “No hesitation at all? Was that really you back there?”

  Kol chuckled awkwardly.

  Dalia let out a pyful sigh, then turned the conversation. “Alright, let’s talk for real. What made you say that back there—about the weapon?” She asked while making herself comfortable.

  Kol was taken aback. That wasn’t the question he thought she would ask. At all.

  He finally gathered his thoughts. “I don’t know...”

  “Bullshit. Spill it.”

  “... I just have a feeling,” he finally admitted.

  Dalia raised an eyebrow. “A feeling? What sort of feeling?”

  He didn’t have an answer to that. Not one he considered a credible anyway.

  “Is it perhaps connected to a dream?”

  Kol raised his head. He looked at her in surprise, as if she hit the nail on the head, and it showed on his face.

  Dalia sighed.

  “Come on, sit.” She patted the bed.

  Kol obliged and sat down beside her.

  “Sometimes, when people connect to the game, they experience memories or dreams that weren’t there before or are different from the original.” Dalia expined. “They can be vivid, confusing, or even... unsettling,” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Sounds familiar?”

  Kol frowned, unsure how to feel about what she was saying.

  “So, you say that’s what happened to me?” He asked, his voice uncertain.

  “Yes...”

  “And how do you know of this?”

  Dalia sighed. “The same thing happened to me. I remembered things I knew were wrong, so I visited the medical bay to get some answers, and they told me it was a side effect of the neural sync with the game.”

  Silence enveloped the room.

  Kol rubbed his forehead. The idea that the game could manipute his dreams—his memories—felt wrong, vioting.

  “How does something like that happen on the first pce?”

  Dalia leaned forward, folding her arms across her chest again.

  “The Sarcophagus produces electrical signals to connect the mind to the online servers and sends those signals to the brain through the impnt in our head.” She tapped her head. “The signals are harmless, but the process isn’t perfect. Sometimes, the brain gets a little... confused.”

  “So... those dreams, these feelings, are not real? They are... fabricated by the system?”

  Dalia gave him a somber nod. “It’s possible. The game isn’t all bad. But it does mess with your head, whether you want it to or not.”

  “So, what do I do about them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Kol asked, baffled.

  “You can do nothing but separate those ‘thoughts’ from real memories yourself,” she expined. “It takes practice. A lot of it. And a willingness to accept that those are fake.”

  Silence filled the room as Kol considered her words.

  On the surface, they sort of made sense... Who are we kidding, it made no sense at all! But then again, a year ago the thought of creating a game The Gateway’s caliber was all but impossible. Now... not so much.

  But things didn’t add up. “And the weapon…” he finally asked, “How does that fit in?”

  Dalia stayed quiet for a moment.

  “A work in theory of the doctors is that the fake memories csh within the subconscious, triggering radical responses.” Dalia exhaled through her nose, as if weighing how much to say. “Like instincts that don’t belong to you. Knowledge of things you were never taught. Or... a sudden obsession.” She met his eyes. “Like that weapon.”

  “... What am I to do then?”

  Dalia leaned back against his bedframe and stretched her arms over her head.

  “Well, looking at you, you won’t forget it any time soon, so you might as well see this obsession of yours through.”

  A quiet settled between them, signaling the need to change the topic

  Kol hesitated for a moment before shifting the conversation. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go of the topic, but thought pushing further wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  “How’s Maya?”

  Dalia blinked at the question, at the change of topic, but quickly recovered. “Maya’s doing fine. She’s doing everything on her own as always.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  “Sounds like you.”

  Kol chuckled.

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Oh, please.” Dalia gave him a deadpan look. “You’re just as bad. No, worse. Probably learned it from her now that I think about it.”

  Kol smirked but didn’t argue. Maybe she had a point.

  Back then, Maya was too busy doing... whatever a fourteen-year-old girl liked to do, and given how me two ten-year-old kids were to her, she only stayed with them on times she was their babysitter.

  “Patches still kicking?”

  “That’s Mister Patches he thanks you very much!” Dalia corrected him. “And, yes, he’s still around.”

  “That’s good to hear...”

  “Oh, oh!” Dalia sprang upright on the bed. “Did you know she’s working at this company?”

  “Patches?”

  Dalia narrowed her eyes and ughed. “That was terrible.”

  “Then why are you ughing?”

  “... I was talking about Maya.”

  Kol paused.

  “She works at DRE...?”

  “Yep,” Dalia confirmed, popping the ‘p’. “And she’s not just doing any work. She’s managing an entire department! Security and logistics, I think.”

  Kol leaned back on the bed, thinking. Maya, managing a department at DRE? That was both impressive and a little terrifying. She had always had a way of commanding attention, even when she was barely a teenager.

  “That... makes sense.”

  Dalia ughed. “Exactly. Turns out all her bossing us around paid off.”

  Another quiet settled between the two, a comfortable one this time.

  “...”

  “...”

  “... Have you talked to Mom?”

  The question hit Kol like a brick. He remained quiet for a moment, then his smile faded and was repced by anger, though he turned away to hide it.

  “No,” he stated coldly, not even hiding the bitterness in his voice.

  He hated that he could feel his chest tighten at the mere mention of her. She was no longer a person he could easily talk about. Not since that day...

  Dalia was quiet for the moment. She wanted to press the matter, but at the same time didn’t. It was a tough subject after all. So she chose to do something else instead.

  “I made up with her, y’know. It wasn’t easy, took a long time, and she still refuses to tell me why. But we did...”

  “Good for you,” Kol muttered, his voice low, almost bitter. Down, at the very bottom of his heart, hurt to have heard that.

  The tension in the room rose.

  A message appeared on Dalia’s phone. She gnced at the screen and rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to read the message to know what it was about; she had seen enough of those. A second look reminded her of how te it had become.

  “You should probably go,” Kol said quietly, as he sat up. “I mean… it’s te, and...”

  Dalia gave him a half-smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, you’re right.” She got up from the bed, stretching her bod as she did.

  Kol couldn’t help but notice how much she had changed since they were kids. Gone was the pigtailed wild child who’d kick your ass for looking at her the wrong way. Well, the pigtails stayed, but now she knew how to talk.

  Dalia turned toward the door, her steps slow.

  She paused at the doorframe. “Good luck on your mission, cadet.” She smirked, earning a chuckle from Kol before stepping out and closing the door.

  Kol sat in the silence for a few minutes after her departure. His mind was once again racing, jumbles of fragments and conversation on repeat in his head.

  Turned off the lights and id back on his bed, staring at the ceiling again, letting the glow of the va mp light the room.

  For a moment, he thought about Dalia’s words. The way she had said them so matter-of-factly, like she had already come to terms with it all. Kol wasn’t there yet.

  For now, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the quiet swallow him whole. Tomorrow was a big day. He needed the sleep.