A small stone-walled room—stark, cold, and furnished with only the rickety bed she’d woken on a wooden stool and a narrow table. A draft hissed through cracks around a small, shuttered window on the far wall.
“This… is not VR,” she muttered under her breath, brows pinching as she took in every detail.
VR pods didn’t usually replicate the smell of mildew and stale air. And the way her skin felt chafed from the coarse linen nightgown—Ren Faire chic, if ever there was—seemed far too genuine. Slowly, she stood, running a hand over the rough-hewn stone walls. It had a coarse, gritty texture that gave her goosebumps.
“Could they have knocked us out and hauled us to a Renaissance festival gone wild?” she mused, half-joking. Still… that’s a lot of effort, even for a fancy beta test.
She searched for telltale signs of hidden electronics—lenses behind shutters or faint wires threaded through tapestry edges. Nothing stood out. Her frustration spiked; something was off, and she couldn’t yet put her finger on it.
On impulse, Asil went to the heavy wooden door, expecting it to be locked. She’d planned to pound on it for attention, but it gave way immediately with a low creak. Mildly startled, she peered into the corridor. It curved gently in both directions, matching the cylindrical shape of a tower or fortress. A rectangular window across the hall cast feeble light onto the stone floors.
“Hello?” she called softly, stepping out. Her voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the thick walls.
Drawing closer to the window, she rose on tiptoes to peer out. Below, she glimpsed a tiny courtyard flanked by towering ramparts. Definitely some sort of medieval stronghold. Turrets, parapets, everything out of a storybook. Or at least a lavish show set. She pulled away, shaking her head in disbelief.
A few steps down the hall revealed a narrow spiral staircase. It wound both up and down, but she chose to descend, trailing a hand along the cool stone. Half a story later, the spiral opened into a short corridor. Mouthwatering aromas drifted from somewhere ahead—yeast, herbs, and maybe roasting vegetables? The clanging of pots confirmed a kitchen was nearby.
Not VR, but certainly elaborate… Asil pressed herself against the wall, inching toward the lively sounds.
She spotted a spacious kitchen beyond the threshold at the corridor's end. A round-bodied woman stood at a wooden countertop, vigorously kneading dough. A nervous-looking girl hovered close by, seemingly roped into chores. The woman’s cheerful, accented voice reached Asil:
“—knead it like this, see? There’s no sense in rushing the yeast if you want a soft crumb…”
Asil froze, uncertain whether to confront them or slip away in search of answers. Before she could decide, the woman spoke again—without even turning around.
“Are you planning on coming in, dear? Or do you fancy standing at my door all day?”
Alarmed at being so easily detected, Asil’s heart lurched. She briefly considered bolting back up the stairs but forced herself to take a deep breath.
“Fine. Let’s see what this is all about,” she whispered, stepping into the kitchen with as much composure as she could manage.
Inside, she noted rough-hewn wooden tables, hanging pots, and pans,and a stone fireplace crackling at one end. The smell of fresh dough, roasted onions, and a hint of rosemary filled the air. Yet no modern equipment—no stainless steel counters, no overhead vents. Her eyes widened in grudging admiration; whoever staged this was extremely thorough.
“There she is,” the plump woman said lightly, glancing up for the first time. She had a round face, flushed from the heat of the hearth, and spoke with a heavy English accent. “Not every day we find two strangers needing a roof, is it?” She nodded toward the girl, who shrank behind the countertop.
Asil’s pulse quickened. Two strangers—did this mean someone else from her group was here? She forced a polite smile.
“I… yes,” Asil began, faltering. “I’m—well, I’m actually not sure where I am. Do you know who brought me here?”
“Ay, I do,” the woman replied, returning to her dough. “But first, I’m making bread, as you can see.” She chuckled as though that answered everything. “Name’s Geraldine, by the way. Don’t mind the girl here—she’s new too.”
Asil felt her frustration flare. She wanted to say This isn’t a game, to call out the entire facade. But when she opened her mouth, the words tumbled out differently:
“This—this isn’t just some performance… or a… ‘game.’”
The girl’s head snapped up, eyes wide. She shook it rapidly, signaling Asil to stop. Geraldine frowned in mild confusion.
“Game, dear?” Geraldine echoed, dusting flour from her hands. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Asil forced a chuckle, shifting tactics. “I’m sorry. I’m just… disoriented. I’m not sure how I arrived here.”
“Found you in the woods, we did,” Geraldine said briskly, dividing the dough into pans. “You were out cold. Had the lads carry you to a proper bed, lest you catch your death. I daresay you’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”
Asil blinked, turning a questioning gaze to the quiet girl. The teen gave a tiny shrug as if to say it’s complicated. Meanwhile, Geraldine snatched up a covered tray of prepared food and headed toward an arched doorway.
“I’ll be off, then. The master gets quite the appetite.” She paused, giving Asil a motherly smile. “You two get along now.”
She bustled off like that, leaving Asil alone with the girl in the lingering kitchen heat. They stayed silent until the thud of Geraldine’s footsteps disappeared.
“Are you… here for the beta test, too?” the girl whispered finally. Her voice trembled with equal parts hope and fear.
Asil’s eyes widened. “Beta test. Yes! My husband, Jack, and I came with five others. We were invited to—Wait.” She peered at the girl. “You’re one of the kids, aren’t you?”
The teen nodded vigorously. “I’m Abby—I came with my brothers and friend Veronica.”
Asil took a step closer, studying Abby’s features. She didn’t quite look like the girl she remembered meeting outside the office. Her hair was different, or maybe her face shape? But the eyes… the eyes were the same.
“You—Abby?” Asil stammered. “You look so different. In the office, you had—” She waved a hand in the air, at a loss for words. “Different hair, maybe? I don’t know. You’ve changed somehow.”
Abby made a face. “Right back at you. You do not look like the woman I stood next to in line. You’re taller, or younger, or… it’s hard to explain. I barely recognized you.”
A tingle of unease crawled up Asil’s spine. She unconsciously touched her face, wondering what might have changed. No wonder there were no mirrors in that room, she thought.
“I don’t get it,” Asil said softly. “Is this some advanced face-alteration VR tech? If so, it’s beyond anything I’ve heard of.”
Abby nodded, her expression equal to confusion and frustration. “I woke up in the forest. Men were loading someone into a wagon—probably you. They put me in another wagon and brought me here. I had no idea this was part of the experience.”
“Experience,” Asil echoed wryly. “I’m starting to think it’s more than that. No cameras, no modern utilities… I keep telling myself this is an elaborate set, but everything feels too genuine.”
Before Abby could respond, heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. Instantly, Asil tensed, heart, thudding in her chest. She reflexively reached for a weapon that didn’t exist, wishing she had something—even a kitchen knife.
“Who’s that?” Abby whispered, sounding equally apprehensive.
Asil shook her head, pressing her back to the wall near the doorway. She didn’t want to come off as hostile, but the last thing she wanted was to be caught off guard again. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t a simple “game” or theme park. And she felt that discovering the truth would be far more dangerous than she’d bargained for.
Asil rubbed her side, feeling a vibration from beneath the folds of her borrowed gown. It wasn’t until she noticed the small leather pouch tied at her waist that she realized the source of the odd buzzing.
“What the…?” she murmured, reaching down to investigate.
Before she could loosen the string binding the pouch shut, Geraldine stomped back in, carrying an empty tray. The solid thud of her boots made the floor echo slightly.
“There you are, dears,” the plump woman said, only half-looking their way. She set down the tray and moved to clean a separate countertop, her movements brisk and efficient. “Come now, lass,” she continued, addressing Abby. “Remember what I showed you earlier. You’ve had your chance to chat—time to earn your keep.”
Abby gave Asil an apologetic shrug, then sprinkled flour across the wooden slab. She tore off a generous piece of dough from an enormous lump and kneaded it furiously, just as Geraldine had shown her before. Catching Asil’s gaze, Abby offered a weak smile, then returned to her work.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“You too, dear,” Geraldine called, clearly speaking to Asil. “Grab a broom. I’m sure you know how to use one.”
It was not quite a request. Asil glanced around, spotting a broom in the corner. Her first instinct was to object—she wasn’t here to play medieval housemaid—but the woman’s tone brooked no argument. Reluctantly, Asil picked it up and began to sweep the stone floor, wincing every time a grain of flour or an errant piece of dough flew her way. The kitchen was large and relatively well-equipped by medieval standards, but no modern appliances were in sight. It smelled of yeast, salt, and occasionally the faint tang of burning wood from the hearth.
Geraldine cast a fleeting smile at the pair. “That’s more like it,” she commented, shifting about with surprising grace for someone so robust. “Good to have helping hands in these hollow halls again—there’s been too much quiet lately.”
The day stretched on with menial and oddly intimate tasks: folding linens, assisting with simple meal prep, and scrubbing counters. Geraldine offered no further explanation of how Asil or Abby had wound up here. Instead, she simply accepted them as two more sets of capable hands.
When the chores finally wound down, Geraldine served them dinner—hearty slices of bread, a thin but tasty stew, and a small mug of herbal tea. She then escorted them back to the stone-walled room where Asil had initially been awakened.
“There you are.” She patted the frame of the wooden door. “Hope you’ll both find your rest tonight. Best not to wander off—no telling who might be about these corridors.”
With that, she nodded politely and trundled away. A hush fell over the room, broken only by a low crackling from the embers in the small fireplace.
“Finally alone,” Asil muttered under her breath, rolling her shoulders. Her back ached from sweeping.
Abby, looking equally weary, let out a sigh of relief and then moved to the corner where a washstand stood. A water pitcher and a large bowl perched atop it, presumably for quick wash-ups.
“Hey,” Abby called quietly, lifting something from behind the bowl. “There’s a mirror here. It’s kind of beat up, but maybe you can use it.”
The handheld mirror she extended had a spider-webbed crack across one corner and brownish specks from either rust or age. Regardless, it was the best chance Asil had to see what she looked like. Abby only took one glance at her reflection before letting the mirror slip from her fingers. She stood there, frozen in shock.
“Careful!” Asil exclaimed, lunging to catch the mirror just in time. “What’s wrong?”
She looked at Abby’s pale face and decided to find out for herself. Turning the mirror around, Asil lifted it toward her face—only to gasp as she registered the stranger staring back at her. Darker eyes than she remembered; hair at least two shades lighter. Her cheeks and jawline seemed reshaped, youthful in a way that didn’t match her memory.
I… I look like a relative of mine, she thought, heart pounding. But this isn’t my face.
Before she could reason it out—elaborate VR illusions, advanced prosthetics?—a muffled sob drew her attention to Abby, who had stumbled back onto the bed. The girl had her face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling.
“Oh… oh, Abby,” Asil murmured, carefully placing the mirror on the washstand. She hurried to the bedside, wrapping an arm around the teen. “Hey, hey… it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”
Abby sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. “I… I don’t understand what’s happening. We were just tagging along for the beta test. We never even cared about the game—Mike and Petros were the real gamers. Veronica and I just wanted to poke fun at them.”
Asil stroked the girl’s hair, trying to project confidence she didn’t feel. “I know. Believe me, this wasn’t my idea either. I’m still trying to figure out… everything.”
Gradually, Abby’s breathing steadied. Then her eyes widened, and she patted her torso like someone searching for a lost phone. At the exact moment, Asil remembered the peculiar vibration she’d felt in the kitchen.
“The bag!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her hip. Sure enough, the little leather pouch still hung there.
They each opened their pouches simultaneously. Inside, each found a leather-bound journal and a feather quill—almost identical to the one they had used to sign the NDA back at the office. Abby’s eyes gleamed with fear and fascination as she watched Asil undo the clasp and flip open the book.
A single feather slipped out—no inkwell or pen nib in sight, just the quill. Then, before their astonished eyes, words began materializing on the blank page:
Rune Scribe
Elementalist
Blade Dancer
Spirit Warden
Witch Knight
Savage Shaman
Clockwork Alchemist
Shadow Dancer
Arcane Archer
Bloodbinder
Circle one to learn more.
Abby jerked back in alarm, tumbling onto the bed with a soft thud. She stared at the forming text as though it might spring to life and grab her.
“H-How is that happening?” she whispered, voice trembling.
Asil carefully sat beside her, turning the book so both could see. “I have no idea,” she admitted, exhaling in awe. “But… let’s see what it does. Maybe it’s a clue.”
She ran a fingertip over the first option—Rune Scribe—but nothing happened. Then Abby handed her the dropped quill.
“This is just like what we used back at the beta office. Maybe that’s the trick,” the teen said, her curiosity overcoming her fear momentarily.
Feeling inexplicable excitement, Asil lowered the quill’s tip to the page, encircling Rune Scribe. It took a second, but then a faint glow traced the path of her quill. Immediately, more text bloomed into view, describing the class in detail, ending with:
Select Rune Scribe? Yes / No
Not pausing to read the entire class summary, Asil continued to circle each subsequent class name, flipping pages as new text filled them with descriptions for Elementalist, Blade Dancer, Spirit Warden, etc. Each one ended with the same question: Yes / No. Abby leaned in, eyes darting from line to line.
“This is crazy,” she whispered, though Asil noted a spark of relief in her voice. Something about having a tangible “game interface” brought a sense of familiarity—maybe even hope.
Asil couldn’t stop a slight grin from forming, though tension still coiled inside her like a spring. For all the strangeness, the journaling system was oddly thrilling—like discovering a new skill tree in a beloved RPG. She pictured Jack in her mind’s eye, imagining his reaction.
Jack would be losing his mind, she thought with a bitter-sweet warmth. He probably thinks this is all just a super-immersive VR environment… That dumbass.
She turned the pages, resisting the urge to circle “Yes” next to a class. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than some novelty app—and more intense than any VR system she knew of.
“We’ll figure this out, Abby,” she said, gently closing the journal. “There’s got to be a reason for all this. We must keep our eyes open and stay safe until we find the others.”
Abby nodded, wiping the last tears from her cheeks. “Do you think the rest of them—Jack, Mike, Petros, Veronica—have journals too?”
“I’d bet on it,” Asil replied, her gaze lingering on the swirling calligraphy etched into the book’s cover. “Wherever they are, they’re probably discovering the same… classes.”
A soft hush enveloped the chamber. Outside, the halls had quieted, and the fireplace flicker cast dancing shadows on the bare stone walls. The only sound was their breathing—and the soft rustle as Asil tucked the quill and journal back into her pouch.
“I just hope Jack hasn’t done anything reckless,” she muttered.
And in that moment, she realized just how deeply her worry ran. Despite all her doubts, all her frustrations, one fact remained: if this world—whatever it was—proved more perilous than a simple “game,” Jack’s cocky attitude could land him in real danger.
Asil stared at the journal page for several long seconds, heart pounding in her ears. The bold letters Blade Dancer seemed to shimmer as though calling to her. The faint memory of holding a sword—though she’d never done so in real life—pulsed at the edge of her consciousness, beckoning her toward the choice.
She exhaled, steeling herself, and circled Yes beside the class name.
She lifted the quill no sooner than a tingling sensation shot up her arm, making her fingers twitch against the journal’s leather cover. It felt like an electric current, yet without the sharp sting of a shock. Instead, it carried a deep, vibrating warmth that surged from her fingertips to her shoulders, then rapidly through the rest of her body.
“Asil…?” Abby asked, eyes widening. She instinctively reached for Asil’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Words—alien yet familiar—raced through Asil’s mind, a flood of knowledge forcing itself into her consciousness. She tried to understand it: stances, footwork, forms, sword grips, parrying. She could swear her arms remembered the weight of a blade, the rhythm of a dance-like combat sequence, even though she had never held a medieval sword.
The overwhelm grew too strong. Her vision blurred, and her legs gave out from under her. Abby’s startled cry echoed in her ears as the girl lunged to support her, guiding her onto the bed. Asil collapsed face-first into the coarse blankets, gripping the fabric like a lifeline.
“No… no…,” she mumbled, trying to shape words but failing. Her throat felt tight, and her lungs constricted.
Yet the flow of knowledge didn’t stop. It became a torrent, a kaleidoscope of memories and muscle recollections that weren’t hers. In her mind’s eye, Asil saw herself sparring against a faceless opponent, sweat pouring down her brow, every step a fluid dance of steel. She saw runes etched into a slender blade. She felt calloused palms that had swung weapons a thousand times. But none of it was genuine—was it?
Asil’s cry twisted into a silent scream, the force of it rattling her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face deeper into the mattress. The room around her fell away like the floor of a trapdoor, and she found herself plunging into a dark void. Ghostly images of sword drills and blade stances spiraled around her, each snapping into her consciousness with the clarity of lived experience.
Stop… please… I can’t—
She had no sense of up or down, just the weight of knowledge cramming itself into her mind, threatening to crack it wide open. Panic shot through her, and she reached out for anything to stabilize herself in this endless fall.
Then, abruptly, she felt strong arms wrap around her astral form, a comforting warmth that chased away the terror. She looked up through half-lidded eyes and saw Jack—or an image of him. His familiar grin soothed her frazzled nerves, and though no words formed on his lips, she heard his voice in her head as clearly as if he were standing beside her.
“You got this, my queen.”
A flood of relief coursed through her, soothing the raw edges of her mind. The swirling combat techniques and arcane dance steps began to fade, receding into her memory like a distant dream, but still there—fully absorbed—deep within.
And then came the final plunge into unconsciousness. She could have sworn she felt Jack’s arms tighten, protecting her as she drifted off. The last thing Asil remembered was the soft brush of his lips against her temple and the resonating echo of his reassurance.
He’s with me… We’ll be okay…
The world around her went still. Her breathing steadied, and she slipped into a dreamless sleep, the newfound knowledge resting inside her like a sheathed blade, waiting for her to awaken and truly claim her power.