I stood frozen for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, as my mind scrambled to make sense of the madness unraveling before me. The sky stretched endlessly above, painted in an impossible shade of soft pink, with clouds streaking across like delicate wisps of cotton candy. By all accounts, it should have been a calming, picturesque sight—but something about it felt deeply unsettling. The air around me was unnaturally perfect, neither still nor windy, as if it had been meticulously designed to never waver.
The landscape stretched out in every direction, a meadow blanketed in vibrant flowers that were almost too vivid, their colors too saturated to be real. It felt less like a natural world and more like a poor imitation of one. Yet it wasn't the exaggerated perfection that unsettled me the most; it was the silence. No rustling of leaves, no chirping birds—just a thick, suffocating quiet that pressed down on me, making the vibrant scenery feel eerily lifeless.
I took a cautious step forward, the plush grass yielding slightly beneath my feet. The gown I wore—a garment far too elaborate for my tastes—clung uncomfortably to my legs as I moved. Its bodice pressed tightly against my chest, restricting my breaths, while the hem of the dress snagged underfoot with every other step, nearly sending me sprawling. I tugged at it in frustration, the absurdity of my attire only adding to the growing sense that this world was mocking me. Everything felt staged, like some bizarre game I didn't know the rules of.
I squinted at the meadow, its brightness almost too much to bear, and then I saw it—a flicker. My stomach lurched. This time, it was the grass, bending unnaturally, almost as if it had been caught in a strong wind. The flowers seemed to wilt and rot before my eyes, their vibrant hues dulling to a lifeless gray. It lasted only a moment before snapping back into its picture-perfect form, like a bad edit in a movie. My hands instinctively rubbed my eyes, as if to clear away the impossible sight.
"What is this place?" I whispered, my voice trembling just enough to betray my unease. That flicker—like a crack in an otherwise flawless facade—sent chills racing down my spine. It felt like I had seen something forbidden, something hidden in plain sight. Was it a glitch? A mistake in whatever simulation this was? The thought only unsettled me further.
An invisible force seemed to tug at me, compelling me to keep moving. I took another hesitant step forward, the sense of unease clawing at me with every passing moment. The landscape was unnervingly perfect, yet as I moved deeper into it, the wrongness became harder to ignore.
The trees lining the edge of the meadow were unnaturally symmetrical, their trunks too straight and their bark textured in a way that felt almost artificial. The leaves, a startlingly vivid green, shimmered faintly as though they were crafted from thin glass rather than anything organic. The more I looked, the more details I noticed that simply shouldn't be. Everything was too pristine, too deliberate, as if someone—or something—had designed it with obsessive precision.
I stopped walking, letting my gaze sweep over the scene once more. Every fiber of my being screamed that I didn't belong here, that this world—whatever it was—wasn't real. Yet, here I was, trapped in its beauty, and every flicker, every glitch, was a reminder that it wasn't as perfect as it seemed.
As I resumed my walk, the outline of a village emerged on the horizon. The sight of it sparked a flicker of hope. From a distance, it looked... normal. People moved about, their silhouettes animated with purpose. For a moment, I dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, someone there could explain what was happening—or at the very least, reassure me that I wasn't losing my mind.
The village wasn't far, and soon, I was wandering its cobblestone streets. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread and flowers, an idyllic combination that should have been comforting. Instead, it set me on edge. Everything was too clean, too pristine. The windows of the cottages sparkled as though freshly polished, and the wooden carts lining the streets gleamed with a finish far too perfect for something left out in the elements.
It wasn't long before I bumped into a middle-aged woman. She wore clothing that looked like it belonged in a historical drama—layered pastel skirts and a neatly tied bonnet under her chin. Her hands held a basket brimming with unnaturally shiny apples, each one so polished and red it bordered on absurd. She stood by a small wooden cart, its wheels unnaturally round and free of even a speck of dirt, despite sitting in the middle of a well-trodden path.
"Hello?" I called out hesitantly, half-expecting her to vanish or glitch out like the farmer I'd seen earlier.
The woman turned to me with a wide, warm smile, her expression fixed and unwavering. "Good morning, miss. Would you like to buy some apples? They're the finest in the land!" Her cheerfulness was so exaggerated it felt rehearsed, a caricature of friendliness.
"Uh… sure," I said, taking a cautious step forward. I'd need food eventually, and she seemed… functional, at least. "How much for one?"
"Two gold coins per apple," she replied instantly, her tone unchanged, almost mechanical.
Gold coins? I instinctively reached for my pockets, forgetting for a moment the absurd dress I was wearing. There were no pockets, no familiar weight of spare change. Resigned, I decided to test her reaction.
"I don't have gold coins," I said, watching her closely. "Do you accept anything else?"
Her smile faltered—a minuscule twitch, gone as quickly as it appeared. For a split second, her face seemed to warp, her features flickering like a faulty hologram. Then, she repeated, "Two gold coins per apple. They're the finest in the land!" The exact same words, delivered in the exact same tone, as if she were on an unbreakable script.
"Right…" I muttered, taking a step back. The woman didn't react. She didn't flinch or even blink. Her gaze remained fixed forward, her expression frozen in that unsettlingly wide smile, as though waiting for someone else to approach.
I glanced down at the apples again, their polished surfaces reflecting the sunlight like glass. Up close, they looked even less real—more like props from a movie set than something grown on a tree. The woman remained unnervingly still, her posture rigid, as though any movement outside her routine would shatter her.
This must be what the system meant by anomalies, I thought, my chest tightening. These weren't people—they were puppets, scripted to fill a world that was no more real than the apples in that basket. The weight of the realization pressed down on me, heavy and cold.
After deciding to push my luck a little further, I took a deep breath and tried a different approach. "What's your name?"
The woman's eyes snapped to mine, the movement so sudden it sent a jolt through me. For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn her pupils flickered, like static on a broken screen. "I'm the apple vendor," she replied, her tone disturbingly firm, devoid of warmth.
"No, I mean your name," I pressed, taking a cautious step closer. "Do you have an actual name?"
Her smile wavered, and for a fraction of a second, her entire form flickered, the edges of her figure distorting as though struggling to stay solid. It was like watching a hologram fight against interference.
"I'm the apple vendor," she repeated, slower this time, her voice robotic and devoid of nuance.
A chill crawled down my spine. My instincts screamed at me to step back, to put distance between myself and whatever this thing was. "Right. Okay. Got it. Enjoy selling your apples, I guess."
As I turned to leave, her overly cheerful voice echoed behind me. "Two gold coins per apple! They're the finest in the land!"
It was a mantra, playing on an endless loop, oblivious to whether anyone was there to hear it.
I hurried down the dirt road, the cumbersome dress dragging against my legs, making every step a challenge. My breath came in short, anxious bursts as I tried to shake off the unsettling encounter. But the weight of unease clung to me, refusing to let go.
Not far ahead, I spotted another figure—a young boy perched on a wooden fence lining the road. His legs swung back and forth in a steady rhythm. His clothes were immaculate, as though freshly pressed, and he wore suspenders over a spotless shirt. A straw hat sat neatly atop his head, casting a shadow over his face.
"Hey," I called out, slowing my steps. My voice sounded unsure, even to me. "Do you know where this road leads?"
The boy looked up, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope. His expression was animated, his eyes lively. "Good morning, miss! The road leads to the village up ahead."
Relief washed over me. Finally, someone who seemed normal. "Thanks," I said, offering a tentative smile. "Do you live there?"
"I live in the village," he said with an enthusiastic nod. "It's a nice place. You should visit."
"Great," I replied. "What's your name?"
"My name is Timmy," he answered, his grin broad and infectious.
"Hi, Timmy. I'm Adira," I said, extending a hand toward him.
For a moment, he simply stared at it, his grin faltering slightly. Then, without taking my hand, he tilted his head and said, "Good morning, miss! The road leads to the village up ahead."
The exact same line, in the exact same tone.
"Timmy?" I asked, my voice dipping with caution. "Are you okay?"
His body jerked, just slightly, and then it happened—his figure flickered, distorting for a moment before stabilizing. His legs continued to swing in their perfect rhythm, but his grin was no longer just friendly. It was frozen, plastered onto his face like a mask.
My stomach twisted in a knot, and I stepped back instinctively. "Right… you keep swinging there, Timmy."
I turned and walked away as quickly as the heavy dress would allow, my heart thudding in my chest. When I glanced back over my shoulder, Timmy hadn't moved. He was still perched on the fence, his legs swinging in perfect synchronization, his eerie grin following me like a shadow.
This world wasn't just strange—it was wrong. Every interaction peeled back another layer of its facade, revealing something far darker. These weren't people; they were puppets, trapped in a looping simulation barely holding itself together.
And I was trapped in it with them.
The village square was as unnervingly perfect as every other place I had seen so far, its silence weighing heavily in the air. The cobblestone streets gleamed under an artificial sun, and the NPCs moved like clockwork—fetching water from the same well, arranging identical baskets of fruit, and exchanging scripted pleasantries in endless loops. Their synchronized perfection, once unsettling, had almost become familiar.
Until something shattered the illusion.
A scream tore through the quiet, sharp and visceral, cutting through the air like a blade. It wasn't the cheerful monotone of the villagers but raw and filled with anguish—a sound that didn't belong here.
My heart leaped into my throat as I whipped around toward the source. At the center of the square stood a man, his presence starkly different from the lifeless NPCs around him. He had tousled black hair and a commanding aura, his tall frame trembling as he clutched his chest. His ragged breathing echoed, loud and uneven, as though he had just escaped something monstrous.
I didn't recognize him, yet everything about him screamed out of place. Unlike the villagers' unnervingly flawless features, his face was etched with raw emotion—a volatile mix of fury and pain. Then I saw it: his form shimmered and distorted, crackling with static as lines of glitching light flickered over his body. It was as if the world itself was struggling to keep him intact.
"Get out of my head!" he bellowed, his voice rippling through the stillness.
The force of his shout made me instinctively step back. He was no ordinary NPC, that much was clear, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. The villagers, however, seemed entirely unaware of him. They continued their loops, blissfully unfazed by his agony.
Then his eyes locked onto mine.
For a brief, chilling moment, his gaze sharpened, cutting through the haze of his distress. He staggered toward me, the static consuming his body growing more erratic with every step. His voice broke as he rasped, "Adira?"
My breath hitched, the name piercing me like a dagger. How does he know that name... No MY name?
"Do I… know you?" I asked cautiously, my voice trembling as I took a hesitant step back.
He didn't answer. Instead, his body convulsed violently, the glitches rippling through him like a storm. His arm twisted and elongated unnaturally, bones snapping back into place in a grotesque dance of distortion. Reality itself seemed to rebel against his existence.
A sudden, mechanical voice rang out in my mind, cold and emotionless:
[WARNING: Major anomaly detected. Immediate intervention required. Stabilize the entity to prevent world collapse.]
"What?" I muttered, panic rising in my chest. "Stabilize? How am I supposed to do that?"
My eyes widened in realization. I had seen his face before—not here, but in the story. He wasn't just anyone. He was Riven, one of the main male leads destined to fall for Brielle, the angelic heroine of this world. But right now, he was far from the calm, brooding figure the narrative painted him to be.
"None of this is real!" he shouted again, his voice cracking with despair. "It's all falling apart!"
The ground beneath him fractured, glowing with an eerie, pulsating light that radiated outward. Cracks spread like veins through the cobblestone streets, distorting the pristine village into a chaotic mess of shifting static and blinding illumination. The sky above twisted and churned, shifting between impossible hues of pink, black, and gold, as though reality itself was unraveling.
I instinctively stepped forward, but his roar stopped me in my tracks.
"Stay back!" Riven's voice was layered with static, his body trembling uncontrollably. "I… I can't control it!"
Every instinct screamed at me to run. The chaos, the glitches, the searing distortion in the air—it all painted one clear picture: danger. And yet, I stayed. Something in his eyes stopped me, something raw and painfully human. Beneath the cracks of static and the disarray consuming him, I saw it: fear.
Then the system's voice rang out again, sharper, colder:
[OBJECTIVE: Stabilize the anomaly. Failure will result in irreversible consequences.]
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Stabilize? What does that even mean? How am I supposed to fix something I don't understand? Why won't you—"
"Adira..." Riven's voice cut through my spiraling panic, softer this time, almost fragile. "You're not supposed to see me like this."
Before I could respond, another surge of static erupted from him, warping the air. Around us, the villagers froze mid-motion. They didn't collapse or glitch like before; instead, they became statues, their lifeless gazes locked forward, trapped in eerie stillness.
I hesitated only for a moment before forcing my feet to move, despite every rational part of me screaming to stay back. "Riven, listen to me," I said, my voice trembling but steady. "Whatever's happening to you, you're not alone. I'll help you… somehow. But you have to let me."
He shook his head violently, his form flickering like a flame caught in the wind. "You don't understand," he muttered, his voice rough with despair. "I'm not like them. I'm not like you."
I knelt beside him, my heart pounding. "You're glitching because this world—it's breaking apart," I said, trying to piece together the fragments of logic I barely grasped. "If I can stabilize you, maybe—"
Before I could finish, I reached out instinctively, and the moment my hand brushed against his arm, a searing pain shot through me. It was unbearable, like molten fire and freezing ice coursing through my veins simultaneously. I screamed and yanked my hand back as the pain threatened to overwhelm me.
The system's voice echoed in my mind:
[Temporary stabilization achieved. Physical contact with the anomaly slows collapse.]
"Contact?" I muttered, my hand still throbbing. "That's the key?"
My gaze flickered to Riven, who was trembling, his eyes filled with anguish. The memory of the pain lingered fresh in my mind, but I swallowed my fear. "I don't know what's happening to you," I said, my voice trembling. "Hell, I don't even know why I'm here. But I'm not leaving you like this."
Before he could protest, I grabbed his arm again. The pain was instant, searing into me like thousands of needles piercing every nerve. Tears pricked my eyes, but I held on, refusing to let go. The glitches that had once torn through his form began to soften, their intensity fading to a low hum.
Riven's breathing slowed, his wide eyes meeting mine. "You're… insane," he murmured, though a flicker of gratitude glimmered in his expression.
"Maybe," I said through gritted teeth, the pain relentless, "but it's working."
The ground beneath us, fractured and glowing, began to stabilize. The pulsating light dimmed, and the static that had devoured the square ebbed away like a receding tide. Even the frozen villagers seemed to regain some semblance of motion, though their movements remained sluggish, as if rebooting.
The system's voice returned, cold as ever:
[Stabilization incomplete. Additional intervention required. Monitor anomaly closely.]
I let go, collapsing backward as exhaustion washed over me. My arm throbbed as though burned, but the agony was a small price to pay for what little progress I had made.
Riven was solid now, his glitches reduced to faint flickers, though he looked utterly drained. His dark eyes studied me, and for a moment, silence stretched between us.
"Who are you?" I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated, a shadow crossing his features. "I could ask you the same thing," he said, his tone laced with bitterness. Then, more softly, he added, "You're not Adira. Not the real one, are you?"
Riven's words—"You're not Adira. Not the real one, are you?"—hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. I struggled to form a coherent response, my mind racing, but before I could even gather my thoughts, Riven's head snapped to the side, his expression sharp with an intensity that demanded my attention.
A sound pierced the tension, faint yet distinct. Footsteps.
I turned instinctively, my pulse quickening. A figure approached from the edge of the fractured village, stepping through the wavering remnants of static like someone walking through mist. His silver hair caught the dim light, gleaming unnaturally—just like the flowers, just like the villagers.
Riven's posture visibly relaxed, though a taut tension remained in his shoulders. "Asher," he breathed, his voice carrying an almost palpable sense of relief.
Asher. The name struck me like a familiar echo, reminding me of the first time I'd encountered him. I had been walking alone through the meadows, the memory hazy, clouded by the passage of time. But I could still recall the way he had looked at me—piercing, as though studying me, as if he understood something about me I couldn't quite grasp. His silver hair had glinted in the soft light, and his smile—soft but knowing—had stayed with me. There had been something in his presence that felt… off.
Now, standing before us, he was the very picture of composure, a stark contrast to the chaotic world around us. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze flicking between me and Riven like a knife drawn between two opposing forces.
"Well," Asher said, his tone laced with wry amusement, "I see I've arrived just in time for the theatrics."
His eyes then locked onto mine, and I felt an odd jolt in my chest. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
I hesitated, uncertain if this was truly the same Asher from the meadows. The one I'd met there had been a disoriented mess, while this one radiated an aura of control and command. He was like night and day, a figure that had shed all vulnerability, leaving only something calculated and impenetrable in its place.
"You… remember me?" I asked, my voice betraying a flicker of hesitation.
A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it didn't reach the cold, distant depths of his eyes. "Hard to forget someone who's been so intriguing." His gaze shifted to Riven, a hint of something sharp flickering beneath his casual tone. "Though I see you've caused quite a stir here."
Riven let out a dry laugh, brittle and humorless. "Always the charmer with your words."
Their exchange wasn't hostile, not exactly, but it was clear there was more beneath the surface. There was a camaraderie between them, an unspoken understanding, yet the air between them was thick with tension—something that neither of them fully acknowledged.
Asher's eyes finally turned back to me, his gaze now piercing through me with an unsettling intensity. "Aldira, is it?" he asked, his voice edged with curiosity, as if weighing the truth of my name.
I corrected him almost automatically, "Adira." But even as I said it, I wondered if that was truly my name anymore. "I mean… yes. That's me."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Asher's mouth, though it remained detached, as if the action were entirely mechanical. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Before I could respond, Riven's voice cut in, steady but laced with a quiet urgency. "She's not like the others, Asher. She... helped me. Stabilized me."
Asher raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to my arm, where faint remnants of Riven's static still clung to my skin, like electrical pulses that refused to die. "Stabilized you?" He glanced back at me, an unreadable expression settling on his face. "So, you're not just here to look pretty. That's a surprise."
A hint of insult flickered across my chest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on the more pressing matter. "What's going on with him?" I gestured to Riven. "Why was he glitching so badly? And why does it feel like this entire world is falling apart?"
Asher's expression shifted, sobering slightly. "That's a lot of questions for someone who's just arrived," he said, his tone measured. "But I'll give you this much—Riven and I aren't like the NPCs. We were… designed differently."
"Designed?" I repeated, my mind scrambling to catch up, trying to make sense of his words.
Riven, who had been leaning against the fountain, his weariness evident, let out a bitter laugh. "We were supposed to be perfect," he muttered, his voice hard. "Flawless. But something went wrong. The system—or whatever or whoever created this place—is falling apart. And we're stuck in the middle of it."
Asher crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he turned to Riven. "You were always the reckless one," he teased, but the concern in his eyes was unmistakable. "How bad was it this time?"
"Bad," Riven admitted, his gaze distant. "At one point, I thought my arm was going to snap off. If she hadn't intervened—" He paused, his eyes flicking toward me, an unreadable expression crossing his face. Gratitude? Unease? And then a question lingered—how did he know my name?
Asher nodded thoughtfully, his expression now serious. "Well then, it seems we owe you one, Aldira." His words were light, but there was an undercurrent of gravity that made the air feel heavier.
I shifted uncomfortably beneath their scrutiny. "So what now?" I asked, my voice tight with the urgency of wanting direction.
Asher exchanged a look with Riven, something unspoken passing between them. After a beat, he spoke. "Honestly? Now, we figure out why you're here and what you're supposed to do. And what you can do. Because if the system's falling apart, you might be the only one who can stop it. There's a reason the system intervened. You don't just show up here by accident."
The words hit me like a shockwave. "Stop it? Me?" My mind raced, trying to process. "I can barely understand what's happening, let alone help anyone else."
"You stabilized me," Riven interrupted, his tone firm despite the weariness that clung to him. "That's more than anyone else could've done. There's something about you, Adira. Something…" He trailed off, searching for the right word, the truth of his gaze unwavering.
"Different," Asher finished for him. "And in a place like this, different is usually dangerous. But it might also be the only thing that saves us."
I swallowed, the weight of their words settling on my shoulders. Different. Dangerous. Necessary.
I wasn't sure I was ready for any of it. But then, just as I thought I might have a moment to breathe, the system's voice chimed in my head once more:
[New Objective: Investigate the anomaly. Prioritize stabilization.]
The command was sharp, decisive. And I realized then, with chilling clarity, that I might not have a choice in the matter.