Elias leaned back in the chair of a local internet cafe, staring at the glowing lines of code that made up the world around him. The familiar hub of Celestian Requiem buzzed in his ears—players bartering, weapons clashing in distant practice duels, and guild invites flooding his notifications. But his focus stayed on one thing.
He scrolled through the player list, his fingers hesitant over the search bar. Then, with a deep breath, he typed the name. BlackBlade.
It took only a moment for the profile to appear, along with a map marker. Of course, the man hadn't hidden his location. He never did. He didn't need to.
Elias whispered to himself, "Found you."
He warped to the quiet corner of a sprawling garden. Victor Crane sat there, cross-legged beneath a grove of cherry trees, his black armor laid neatly beside him, a sheathed katana resting on his knees. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily around him, as if the game bent itself to his serenity.
Victor didn't look up when Elias approached. "I was wondering who would be rude enough to interrupt my meditation."
Elias stiffened but tried to keep his voice firm. He bowed. Low. His forehead kissing the ground. "Please, train me," he said through gritted teeth. "I beg you."
Victor exhaled slowly through his nose—something between a sigh and a laugh. "That's what you open with?"
Elias looked up. "I need to beat someone. Someone far too powerful for me. And you're the best swordsman in this game. I need you to train me."
Finally, Victor raised his gaze, those sharp eyes reflecting a flicker of interest, though his expression remained calm. "Why?"
Elias furrowed his brow. "I just said. Because I need to beat someone."
Victor tilted his head slightly, considering. "You're different from the last time we met. You're more desperate. More... unstable." He paused, watching Elias carefully. "And I also feel something else from you. A foreign will, resting in your shadow."
Elias's stomach tightened, and his grip on the hilt of his virtual sword twitched. "How do you know that?"
Victor's voice was steady, his gaze unwavering. "What's really going on, Elias?"
Elias felt the weight of those words settle like stones in his chest. For a long moment, he said nothing. His mind, a whirlwind of words too chaotic to string into sentences.
When Victor's patient silence stretched too long, Elias finally gave a bitter laugh. "You want the truth? If I told you, you'd think I was insane."
Victor smiled faintly, a glimmer of dry amusement in his eyes. "Try me."
Elias stood there, at the edge of an explanation, the words fighting to escape but tangled in disbelief. How do you tell someone your brother is possessed by a demon? How do you explain that a cursed sword might be the only thing standing between you and the end of the world?
He forced himself to speak. "There's... something coming. Something worse than anything in this game. And I'm not ready for it. But I have to be."
Victor studied him carefully. There was no surprise in his face—just quiet, measured curiosity, as if Elias's answer was simply another puzzle to solve. A man used to hearing strange things and deciding for himself what was true.
"Alright," Victor said finally. "Let's talk in person."
Elias blinked, and the world around him shattered into a kaleidoscope of pixels.
When he pulled off his headset, the weight of the real world settled over him like a blanket soaked in cold water. The sword—tangible and corrupt—still lay beside him, humming faintly in the dim room.
Just then, a text message in ChatterSync buzzed on his phone.
Victor Crane:
Come to my place tomorrow. I'll send you the address.
For the first time in days, Elias felt the smallest flicker of relief. Not much—but enough to get him moving.
The next evening, Elias stood in front of a small, unassuming house tucked into a quiet street. It was a modest home, with a neatly kept garden and a traditional wooden dojo attached to the side. He stared at the front door longer than he'd intended, the weight of his exhaustion pulling at him.
Before he could knock, the door swung open, and a little girl with wild, curly hair beamed up at him. "Hi! Are you Mr. Elias?"
Elias blinked, thrown off. "Uh... yeah?"
The girl clapped her hands. "Papa said you'd come! Come inside!" She tugged at his sleeve with surprising strength, and before he knew it, he was being pulled through the front door.
The scent of freshly cooked food hit him immediately—something savory, with garlic and herbs. A small boy peeked from behind a doorway, watching him with wide eyes, and a woman with soft, tired eyes smiled warmly from the kitchen.
"You must be Elias," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Dinner's almost ready. Victor's in the dojo. Make yourself at home."
Elias hesitated, glancing around the cozy house. It felt so... normal. For a moment, it almost didn't make sense—how could the same man who wielded a sword with supernatural precision also be a husband and father?
Elias found Victor in the dojo, sitting on the smooth wooden floor, his posture easy and relaxed. A man completely at home in two worlds.
"Surprised?" Victor asked, raising an eyebrow as Elias entered.
"A little," Elias admitted, stepping inside and closing the sliding door behind him. The silence of the dojo was almost overwhelming—like stepping into a still pond where nothing ripples.
Victor gestured to the floor in front of him. "Sit. We'll talk before dinner."
Elias sat cross-legged, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees. The weight of his sword was absent now, but the pressure of everything it represented still lingered.
"You said you wanted training," Victor began. "But training isn't just swinging a sword around until you get better. It's discipline. Patience. Control."
Elias's jaw tightened. "I know that."
"No. You don't," Victor said curtly. "You're not here because you want to be stronger," he continued, eyeing the sword on his hip. "You're here because you think strength is the only thing that will save you."
Elias opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat.
Victor's gaze was steady, unyielding. "Lose the sword. You won't need it here."
Elias instinctively gripped the hilt, but Victor's calm and quiet persistence caused the tension to drain from his shoulders. "Fine," he relented and placed the sword at a nearby wall.
Victor's lips twitched in a small, almost imperceptible smile. "With that dealt with, let's eat first. Training starts tomorrow."
There was a pause as Elias processed the shift in tone. Then, without a word, Victor led him to the dining room. Elias felt an unexpected calm settle over him as they moved through the house. The tension of the earlier discussion seemed to dissolve, replaced by the comforting rhythm of a warm home.
The dining room was warm, filled with the soft glow of house lights and the rich aroma of a home-cooked meal. Victor, with a practiced ease that surprised Elias, poured drinks and passed plates while his wife brought out dishes that seemed almost too plentiful for the modest setting. The first few minutes were quiet, everyone focused on filling their plates, the clink of silverware and gentle murmur of conversation the only sounds.
Then, little by little, soft laughter began to bubble up. Victor's son made a comment about Victor's overcooked potatoes, which he accepted with a good-natured chuckle, throwing back a teasing retort that made him roll his eyes. His daughter, on the other hand, shared a story from her recent adventures in school and the nearby park, her animated gestures and bright expressions drawing smiles all around the table.
Elias found himself mostly listening, watching the way Victor fit so naturally into his role as both protector and provider, balancing strength with a quiet gentleness that surprised him. For the first time in a long while, Elias allowed himself to breathe, to simply be. The weight of the world outside, the battles yet to come, faded away in the warmth of that small dining room. He caught himself smiling, even laughing softly along with the others.
And in that fleeting moment of peace, surrounded by family and laughter, he felt something settle in his heart—a quiet peace that has eluded him for some time.