Ryo Tanaka was exhausted. The soft glow of his computer screen illuminated his worn-out face as he typed out the last line of code, his fingers numb from hours of work. He knew he should have stopped hours ago, taken a break, maybe eaten something that wasn't a stale energy bar. But deadlines were unforgiving, and the project needed to be finished.
Ryo was a game developer, and he'd spent the last three years building a fantasy world—one that he hoped would be immersive, challenging, and, most of all, memorable. The world of Chronicles of Eryndor was his creation, from the smallest village to the grandest castle, each character, quest, and relic meticulously designed. And though he'd never admit it to his teammates, Ryo had poured so much of himself into the game that he felt a personal connection to it, as though part of him existed inside Eryndor.
But now, with the project nearing completion, the strain was starting to catch up to him. He rubbed his eyes, a persistent ache pulsing at the back of his skull, but he pushed through, mindlessly typing commands, adjusting stats, rewriting dialogue—anything to make Eryndor just a bit better.
He leaned back, looking at the last screen. He'd done it. With a relieved sigh, he pressed Save one final time and closed his eyes, hoping for just a moment of rest. That was all he wanted—a second to close his eyes, let the noise fade, and forget, just for a moment, the countless hours of work and endless deadlines.
But he never opened his eyes again.
When he came to, Ryo felt disoriented. The world around him was dim, a hazy swirl of sounds and colors that slowly started to take shape. At first, he thought he'd fallen asleep at his desk, his mind half-lost in the strange realm between dreams and reality.
Then he felt the hard, uneven ground beneath him. The smell of earth filled his nostrils, damp and alive. His eyes shot open, and he found himself staring up at a canopy of leaves, sunlight filtering through to create patches of light and shadow on the forest floor.
Where was he? He scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes—simple, rough clothes that he didn't recognize. His heart pounded as he took in his surroundings: towering trees with sprawling branches, birds chirping in the distance, and a narrow dirt path winding its way through the forest.
This wasn't his office. This wasn't anywhere he knew.
Then he heard voices—a pair of footsteps crunching on the path behind him. Ryo spun around, watching as two figures approached, both dressed in old-fashioned tunics and carrying simple tools.
"You there! Are you all right?" called one of the villagers, a man with a broad face and a friendly smile.
Ryo opened his mouth to respond but found he had no words. His mind raced, struggling to make sense of the impossible. He knew this place. He knew it in every detail—the trees, the path, the small clearing just ahead. This was Fennwood, the starting village in Chronicles of Eryndor. The place he'd designed himself.
The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave. Somehow, impossibly, he was in the game.
"Did you hit your head?" the other villager, a young woman, asked, her face filled with concern.
Ryo shook his head, words finally finding their way to his lips. "No, I… I'm fine. Just… lost, I think."
"Well, you're welcome to come back with us to Fennwood," the man said kindly. "It's just down the path."
Ryo nodded, still too stunned to speak. As he walked alongside them, his mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation. He was inside his own game world, his own creation. But he wasn't some hero or player. He glanced down at his simple clothing, his hands calloused but unarmed. He was a villager—a non-playable character. An NPC.
How did this happen? he wondered, panic bubbling beneath the surface. He'd spent countless hours creating this world, but he'd never imagined he would be living inside it as a mere background character.
The village of Fennwood came into view, just as he'd designed it. Thatched roofs, dirt paths, villagers milling about, living out the routines he'd programmed for them. But now it was different. This was his home, his reality, and he had none of the advantages or powers he'd coded for the heroes who would visit Fennwood.
As they walked into the village square, Ryo couldn't help but feel an unsettling mix of familiarity and vulnerability. He was no longer a god-like creator looking down on his world; he was a part of it, subject to the same dangers he had crafted for the players to overcome.
The man who had helped him placed a reassuring hand on Ryo's shoulder. "You're safe here in Fennwood, friend. This is a good village. No need to worry."
Ryo nodded, but his mind was already moving a mile a minute. He knew what was out there—creatures, bandits, the Crescent Blades, all the threats he had designed for Eryndor. And he knew Fennwood was just a small, vulnerable village, caught in the middle of a world far more dangerous than any of its residents could comprehend.
Yet a spark of hope ignited within him. He might be an NPC now, a simple villager with no powers or weapons. But he had something no one else in Eryndor had—knowledge. He knew this world's secrets, its hidden quests, its paths to power.
And maybe, just maybe, he could use that knowledge to change his fate.
As Ryo stood in the village square of Fennwood, staring out at the world he once only observed from a screen, he made a silent vow. He would rise, not as an NPC doomed to a mundane life, but as a hero who would make a name for himself.
The NPC Who Became a King.