Welcome to Valhalla's employee orientation! You have been specifically chosen for your expertise in skills essential to the development of a civilization.
As mentioned in the previous slideshow, welcome to GAIA—your home for the foreseeable future. Your task is simple: make this world interesting. Interesting enough for us to send players into it.
We have provided you with a beta version of our character system, which can be accessed through the informational booklet provided. It should help you navigate GAIA and assist you in your endeavors. Please let us know if you have any feedback.
Courtesy of the Valhalla Research Team, here are the current parameters for GAIA:
[Current weather: temperate]
[Human population: 7 million]
[Special attributes: none]
[cultural level: hunter gatherer (tribal society)]
[density of monsters: moderate]
[mana accumulation: minimal]
[strongest individual: N/A (no defined parameters)]
[highest level of technology: stone tools]
A hand closed the book the information was being displayed from and being read out loud by a robotic voice. A sigh escaped from his lips, his hair was white as snow and just as messy, sticking out in every direction like he hadn't bothered with a comb in years. It caught the sunlight in a way that made it almost seem to glow, giving him this carefree, slightly otherworldly vibe. A single strand kept falling across his forehead, and he kept brushing it back, clearly fighting a losing battle.
Then there were his eyes—gray, bright, and full of life, like he was always on the verge of saying or doing something clever. They had this sparkle that made it impossible to tell whether he was about to crack a joke or get into trouble.
His pale skin looked almost too perfect, like the kind of complexion that never had to deal with sunburn or dirt, though the faint flush on his cheeks hinted he wasn't totally untouchable. He had a lean frame—not bulky or intimidating, but there was something about the way he carried himself, relaxed and easygoing, that made you think he could hold his own if he needed to. His jacket, dark with a fur-lined collar, looked warm and a little oversized, like something he'd chosen more for comfort than style. Underneath, he wore a simple white shirt, just enough to keep things neat without trying too hard.
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and tilting his head to the side like the weight of the world had just fallen on his shoulders. "Man, does everything have to be so complicated?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. But even as he complained, the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a small, crooked smile—like he couldn't take anything too seriously, not for long anyway.
Another individual rolled his eyes at the white haired person's dramatic sigh, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hide a smirk. "Well, we signed up for this," he said, his voice low and smooth, but with just enough dry humor to make it clear he wasn't above teasing. He stepped closer, his dark, tousled black hair catching in the wind, giving him a rugged, windswept look that matched his demeanor perfectly. His eyes were sharp and deep, a dark brown that seemed almost black in the shifting light, holding a quiet intensity that contrasted with his casual posture.
His olive-green military-style jacket looked practical and well-worn, the seams fraying slightly as if it had seen more action than he cared to talk about. Beneath it, a simple gray shirt fit snug against his lean, wiry frame, and his hands—strong and calloused—rested casually in his pockets. Everything about him suggested someone used to weathering storms, whether literal or metaphorical, with a sharp wit and just enough charm to get by.
He extended his hand to the white haired boy, his grin widening. "It's nice to meet you, coworker one."
The white haired boy, also known as coworker 1 chuckled, "just call me Rice," he said, his tone jovial.
The black haired man tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he processed the name. "Like the food?"
Rice nodded slowly, his expression stone faced with a hint of a grin spread across his face.
Without missing a beat, the black haired man turned to the third member of their group. "And nice to meet you, coworker two," he said, his voice light but with a hint of playfulness. "I'm Ryden."
The man Ryden addressed stood apart from the other two, leaning against a tree with an easy confidence that made him seem larger than life. He straightened up slowly, towering over both Rice and Ryden, his broad shoulders and powerful build making him look like he'd been carved from stone. His brown hair was cropped short, with a few stray strands falling over his forehead, softening his otherwise chiseled, rugged features. His skin, sun-kissed and slightly weathered, carried the faint traces of someone who had spent years outdoors, earning every scar and mark.
His face was calm and unreadable, his dark eyes steady as they flicked between Rice and Ryden. His expression rarely gave much away, but the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth hinted at a dry sense of humor that he kept under tight control. His clothes were simple and practical—a plain white shirt and sturdy trousers that didn't bother with frills or embellishments but fit him well, accentuating his powerful frame. There was something about him, a quiet strength, that made you feel like he didn't need to raise his voice or make big gestures to command attention.
He nodded once, his voice deep and steady as he finally responded. "Nice to meet you, Ryden. I'm Darius" His tone was polite but measured, like he was already sizing up his new companions.
Despite the stark differences between the three of them, the moment felt natural—as if, somehow, they'd already started settling into a rhythm, but something felt a little off, it seemed a bit too polite like each of them was holding a certain part of themselves back. They were coworkers greeting each other for the first time, but the moment felt a little corporate.
But Rice did not give a shit.
Rice clasped his hands together with a loud clap, a grin spreading across his face like he'd just come up with the most brilliant plan in the world. "Alright, boys!" he said in an upbeat, almost theatrical tone, his gray eyes shining with excitement. "Let's get stuff done!"
He pointed to himself with both thumbs, his grin widening even further. "I'm the cook, so I'll make these eight million caveman oogabooga dudes' clothes explode from eating my food. They're not gonna know what hit 'em!" He paused dramatically, flexing his non existent biceps.
Then, spinning on his heel, he gestured vaguely toward the others. "I don't know who's the civil engineer, but whoever you are, you're gonna baffle them with the beauty of civilization! Roads, aqueducts, whatever—you'll have them bowing at your feet!"
Finally, he turned to the remaining member of the group with a slightly sheepish grin. "And for our artist… uh, I'm sure you can paint really well or something!" He gave an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Ryden let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms as he leaned back slightly. "Or something? Yeah, okay, but I bet I can make a better grilled cheese sandwich than you," he said with a smirk, his dark eyes narrowing playfully as he looked Rice up and down, as if issuing a silent challenge.
Before he could even blink, Rice was right there, up in his face with the speed of a caffeinated squirrel. "Oh, it's so on!" Rice practically shouted, his silver-gray eyes blazing with the intensity of someone who had just declared a culinary war. He jabbed a finger toward Ryden's chest for emphasis, leaning in so close their noses were nearly touching.
Ryden didn't flinch, his smirk growing wider as he leaned forward slightly, unbothered by Rice's sudden invasion of personal space. "What, scared of a little competition?" he teased, clearly enjoying this too much.
But before their playful banter could escalate into a full-on showdown, a large, steady hand clamped onto each of their shoulders. Darius, with his usual calm but commanding presence, yanked them back effortlessly. "Enough," he said in a low voice, pulling both of them behind a tree with surprising urgency.
Before either could protest, he gestured sharply for silence, his expression serious as he peeked around the edge of the tree.
Out in the open plains, a group of hunter-gatherer tribespeople moved in a loose formation across the grasslands. Their skin was bronzed from years spent under the sun, and they were dressed in simple but functional clothing made from animal hides and woven fibers. Most carried long wooden spears tipped with sharpened stone or bone, while a few had crude slings hanging from their belts.
The group moved cautiously, their eyes scanning the horizon as if they were always alert for danger. A young man at the front, possibly a scout, held a spear loosely in one hand as he crouched low, examining the ground for tracks or signs of movement. Behind him, others carried woven baskets strapped to their backs, likely filled with roots, berries, or other foraged food.
Their pace was steady but unhurried, a reflection of their familiarity with this vast, open landscape. Occasionally, they would stop, exchanging low words and pointing toward distant landmarks—a copse of trees, a glimmering river in the distance, or a herd of grazing animals on the horizon.
A woman near the back of the group paused, tilting her head slightly as if she had heard something. She glanced around, her sharp eyes narrowing as she scanned the area, her fingers tightening on the spear in her hand. For a tense moment, she seemed to study the very tree where the trio was hiding.
Suddenly, before Darius or Ryden could react, Rice leapt out from behind the tree, throwing his arms wide. "YOUR SAVIORS ARE HERE!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the plains.
The woman gasped, stumbling back a step as her eyes went wide in shock. The rest of the hunter-gatherer group whirled around, weapons snapping to attention as they shouted in alarm.
Behind the tree, Darius and Ryden exchanged a look—one of those silent, meaningful glances that needed no words. Ryden's raised eyebrow and faint smirk said, He brought this on himself. Darius, without missing a beat, gave the faintest shrug, a clear Yeah, he's on his own, as if they'd both come to the unspoken agreement: Rice was about to be sacrificed to the cavemen.
Rice, oblivious to the betrayal happening just feet behind him, grinned brightly, waving his arms like he was greeting old friends. "No need to be afraid, my prehistoric pals! We're here to—"
His words were cut off by the whistling sound of something slicing through the air. With a loud THUNK, a spear embedded itself deep into the tree trunk, mere inches from where Rice had been standing a moment before.
Rice froze, staring at the spear with wide, silver-gray eyes. "Ohhhhhh," he muttered stupidly, leaning in slightly to inspect it, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
It took him a second too long to realize that the spear throw was definitely not a friendly greeting. As he turned to bolt back behind the tree, he noticed something that made his stomach twist: Darius and Ryden were already sprinting away at full speed, halfway down the hill and showing no signs of stopping.