Josh and Brett stood awkwardly at the edge of a tall table in what had once been their old local, back when it was still The Bull’s Head. In their younger years, it had been a cheap, cheerful pub with creaky wooden floors, reasonably priced pints, and fond memories soaked into every stained corner. These days, it had been swallowed by a chain and reborn as The Luna Lounge, a trendy wine bar filled with polished chrome, overpriced cocktails, and a crowd that looked like they’d stepped off an influencer’s Instagram feed.

  Josh sighed heavily, scanning the room for the tenth time and finding the same answer, nowhere to sit, nowhere to breathe. The beer in his hand had cost nearly eight quid, and it wasn’t even cold anymore. He shifted uncomfortably, his broad shoulders brushing the backs of strangers and blocking the narrow walkway around their table. He’d already been bumped into half a dozen times and scowled at twice as many.

  “I’m not paying that again for another round, mate,” he grumbled, taking a reluctant sip. “We’ll have to find somewhere else or just grab something from the shop. If I’m paying that much for a drink, I at least want to sit down and relax.”

  Brett looked around too, reluctant to leave but seeing Josh’s point. He could see the subtle signs - the clenched jaw, the hunched shoulders, the faint twitch in Josh’s eye every time someone brushed past him. Brett, slim and wiry, had always been able to blend into the background. Josh, built like a reinforced doorway, never had that luxury.

  “Yeah,” Brett agreed. “If we stay here, I’ll be bankrupt just trying to keep up with you. We’ll finish these and head out.”

  They clinked their glasses without ceremony and drank. It wasn’t just the drinks or the crowd, this whole place felt like a ghost in new clothes. Too clean. Too polished. Too fake.

  Josh and Brett had been best friends since they were kids. The kind of friendship formed through scraped knees, stolen footballs, and unspoken loyalty. But lately, time and distance had done their best to wedge them apart. Brett had been studying abroad the past couple of years, and Josh had thrown himself into work like a man avoiding his own thoughts. Calls became texts. Texts became silence. And Josh had worried, more than he let on that their bond had frayed beyond repair.

  But seeing Brett again had lifted something heavy off his chest. Even with the changes, even with the gap, being together again felt easy. Familiar. Right.

  They finished their drinks and pushed through the crowd toward the exit. As they stepped outside, two separate groups of people immediately scrambled for the table they’d vacated, like vultures descending on scraps. The night air hit them like a blessing, cool and free of overpriced perfume.

  They strolled down the high street, passing bar after bar, each one packed to bursting. Through steamed-up windows they saw pressed-in bodies, loud laughter, neon lights bouncing off polished marble. The kind of places where you couldn’t hear yourself think, let alone talk.

  “You’d think it was New Year’s Eve,” Brett muttered, “not a random Tuesday night.”

  He sounded half amused, half disappointed. He’d been looking forward to coming home, spending time with family, catching up with Josh but the reality had been… off. His parents had started talking about selling the house, cashing in on the real estate boom sweeping through town. Josh had warned him that things had changed, but he hadn’t expected everything to feel so different. The cosy, familiar hometown he remembered was now a glossier, colder version of itself.

  Every local bar had been replaced by a chain. The quirky independent restaurants had all become trendy eateries with industrial lighting and mood menus. Even the old charity shops had been booted out in favour of high-end boutiques. And worst of all, he didn’t recognise a single face in the crowd. It was like being a tourist in his own past.

  “Shall we just go to the shop?” Brett offered. “Grab some beers and head back to my parents'?”

  Josh hesitated, an almost fearful look flickering across his face. “I dunno. We’re not sixteen anymore. Plus, I don’t think your mum’s forgiven me for the last time we got drunk there. I did buy her a new vase and paid for the carpet cleaning, but every time I’ve seen her since, she gives me that look.”

  Brett laughed. “It was her favourite vase.”

  “It was your idea to re-enact Gladiator in the living room.”

  “It was your idea to use the ironing board as a shield.”

  Josh smirked, but shook his head. “Still not risking it. What about mine?”

  Brett raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you live with Danikka now?”

  “Yeah,” Josh sighed. “And she’s still mad about... whatever happened between you two. She made it very clear I’m not to bring you back actually. Swore at me in three different languages.”

  Brett chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Ah, the mysterious fallout. A gentleman never kisses and tells.”

  “Whatever you kissed or told, she’s still fuming.”

  They both laughed, but the laughter faded into a shared silence as they walked further down the street, neither quite sure where they were heading. The crowds didn’t thin. The bars didn’t improve. And they both felt that same gnawing nostalgia, the longing for something they couldn’t quite put their finger on.

  “What about Drillo’s?” Brett asked suddenly, a little too hopeful.

  Josh gave him a look. “You’re joking, right? That place is worse now. Prices are up, half the crowd are dealers, and if you don’t get stabbed, you’ll probably get charged for the plaster they put on the wound.”

  “...Charming.”

  “Hard pass.”

  They drifted down the pavement, the buzz of nightlife around them feeling more like white noise than invitation. Every time they glanced into a bar or restaurant, they saw crowds of strangers, people laughing like they belonged, and for a moment, they felt like they didn’t. Like the world had kept moving while they’d blinked.

  Eventually, their feet turned of their own accord, heading toward the nearest corner shop, not because they wanted to, but because they’d run out of other options.

  As they walked, they slipped into the familiar rhythm of catching up. Brett talked about his PhD, the insane workload, the cultural shocks, the travel. He described late nights in American diners, road trips through national parks, and the surprising power of a British accent in downtown Chicago.

  Josh laughed, genuinely amused. He was happy just listening. His own life hadn’t changed much, work, gym, sleep, repeat. Most of their old friend group had moved away, started families, found partners. He was one of the last ones still treading water, still waiting for something to change. But tonight, having Brett back… it stirred something in him. Something warm. Something hopeful.

  Maybe, just maybe, this night could still be something.

  Something like the old days.

  Soon after, with bottles in hand, Josh and Brett wandered toward the outskirts of town, revisiting familiar patches of land where they’d spent countless restless teenage evenings. The fading echoes of the bustling high street gave way to quieter sounds, the soft rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of nocturnal insects. Eventually, they found themselves walking alongside the winding river that cut through the countryside, heading toward their old haunt: the waterfall.

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  The moon hung full and luminous overhead, casting a gentle silver glow across the landscape. Its light danced on the rippling water, illuminating their path and easing any fear of stumbling into the dark river below. For all their size difference, Brett always seemed able to keep pace with Josh’s drinking; his notoriously hollow legs never failed to impress. As the bottle of whiskey passed between them, the pair fell into easy conversation.

  They reached the rocky outcrop beside the waterfall, their secret refuge through childhood summers and teenage misadventures. Back then, this place had been their swimming hole, the source of scraped knees and daring jumps from the cliff edge. As they grew, it had become a refuge, a place to talk, to dream, and sometimes to simply escape. Tonight, it was still their sanctuary beneath the stars.

  Settling onto their usual spots, the familiar smooth rocks comforting beneath their hands, they talked for hours. Old memories spilled between them like the flowing water, a tapestry of laughter, shared secrets, and plans for futures they’d once imagined with reckless certainty.

  Josh felt the world begin to tilt, the whiskey finally making its full mark after the second bottle was drained. His legs wobbled slightly. “Maybe we should start heading home?” he suggested, eyes flicking toward Brett.

  But Brett’s gaze was distant, unfocused, staring somewhere beyond the moonlit ripples, lost in thought or perhaps sleep. Josh smiled softly, knowing this was nothing new; his friend’s peculiar habit of falling asleep with eyes wide open was one of those odd quirks that never failed to surprise. He stood, approaching Brett quietly and waving a hand in front of his face. When there was no response, he gave a gentle push, half-laughing.

  “I can’t carry him home again,” Josh muttered under his breath, already imagining the scolding they’d get. “His parents would kill us both.”

  Shrugging off the weight of responsibility, Josh lowered himself back down beside Brett and leaned against the rock, closing his eyes. The night air was warm enough that sleep didn’t seem unwelcome.

  But just as his lids fell shut, the world around him exploded into white light, and a dizzying spin overtook his senses.

  —

  When Josh and Brett awoke, the nausea was immediate, a sickening, tumbling sensation that churned in their stomachs like they’d been caught in a stormy sea. The sensation of falling, then crashing pain as their bodies hit solid ground. The familiar sound of rushing water, the sight of the waterfall’s jagged rocks, were gone. Instead, they found themselves flat on a patch of grass, encircled by trees unlike any they’d ever seen.

  The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and unfamiliar foliage. Above them, the sky was no longer the deep velvet of night, but a soft amber haze of early dawn. Several hours must have passed since they’d last closed their eyes beside the waterfall.

  “Errr... where are we?” Brett’s voice was barely a whisper, tinged with disbelief. His mind scrambled for rational explanations - was Josh playing a prank? Had they wandered off in their drunkenness and gotten lost? Camping out was one thing, but this felt off. Wrong.

  Josh pushed himself up, eyes scanning the alien landscape. He didn’t recognise a single thing, not the trees, not the plants, not the sky overhead. Stars still twinkled, unusually bright against the morning light, but none he could place. Concern creased his brow as he met Brett’s gaze.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Last thing I remember, you were nodding off by the water. I thought I’d have a quick nap too. Then everything went white. Next thing, I’m falling... and I wake up here.”

  They rose, wary and alert, surveying the unfamiliar terrain. Brett stepped forward to examine a nearby tree more closely. The bark’s texture was rough but sticky to the touch, and when he looked at his fingers, he noticed a faint coating of purple sap, a colour he had never seen coming out of a tree before.

  “Josh,” Brett said slowly, a chill creeping into his voice, “I don’t think we’re home anymore. These trees... this sap... none of it’s familiar. What the hell is going on?”

  Josh shrugged helplessly, then glanced back upward. The sky’s brilliance unsettled him, the constellations they’d once traced as kids, the ones his dad had taught him, the easy patterns like Orion’s Belt or the North Star, were all gone, replaced by unfamiliar shapes blazing brighter than any stars he’d seen before.

  “Look,” Josh murmured, “the sky’s different. I don’t recognise a single constellation. I can’t even find the North Star. And... wait. Where’s the moon?” He spun slowly, searching the horizon, but there was only empty sky.

  The creeping fog of intoxication faded as the surreal reality settled in. The grass beneath their feet was thicker, greener, and the air smelled fresher, heavier with an earthy wildness. Unlike the distant hum of traffic near the waterfall, here there was nothing but silence except for the soft whisper of wind through leaves.

  Josh frowned. “I don’t like this.”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, but the screen remained stubbornly black, unresponsive to any button press. Brett checked his own device, then his watch, but all their electronics were dead - fried, it seemed, by some invisible force.

  They exchanged worried looks, the uncertainty thick between them.

  Then, suddenly, a soft chime sounded.

  Before their eyes, a translucent blue box flickered into existence, floating midair like a hologram.

  Eldanar is no ordinary world. It is an ancient realm, forged at the dawn of time through the combined divine will of a pantheon of gods and shaped by the ambitions and struggles of mortals who dared to walk its lands. Every mountain peak, every winding river, and every breath of wind carries the essence of creation itself, woven intricately by celestial hands.

  Long ago, before mortal races rose to prominence, Eldanar was the domain of the Elder Races, mighty dragons whose scales shimmered like molten gold, enigmatic dryads bound to the ancient forests, and colossal titans who towered above the highest clouds. These beings were gods in their own right, locked in ceaseless wars that shook the very foundation of the world. Their battles tore continents asunder and sent shockwaves through the fabric of reality.

  In the midst of this turmoil, the mortal races, humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes, beastfolk, and many others lived in the shadows, clinging to survival. They were fragile and scattered, their cities little more than flickering candles against the storm of power wielded by the Elder Races. But the wheel of fate was turning.

  The Sundering War — a cataclysmic event that shattered the old order changed everything. When the Elder Races threatened to unravel existence itself, the gods intervened. Solmara, the radiant God of Light, lifted her hands to cast brilliance upon the darkened lands; Veyra, the serene Goddess of Tides, calmed the furious seas; and Ormiran, the inscrutable God of Balance, stepped forth with a gift unlike any before: the System.

  This System was more than a mere tool. It was a beacon of hope and a mechanism of growth, bestowed upon mortals to level the playing field and grant them the power to shape their own destinies. Through it, mortals gained the ability to harness magic, enhance their physical prowess, and unlock skills forged by experience, will, and courage.

  The mortal races finally claimed their right to thrive. They built sprawling kingdoms, vibrant cities, and vast civilizations, each reflecting their culture, dreams, and struggles.

  Yet peace is never permanent.

  Now, as the wheel of time turns once more, Eldanar stands on the precipice of change. Ancient evils long thought dormant begin to stir beneath the surface. The gods whisper their secrets and commands to chosen champions scattered throughout the land. Kingdoms rise in glory and fall into ruin, their fate intertwined with those brave enough to claim power.

  You have been summoned to this world, as countless others were before you, called forth to become heroes in an age that desperately needs them. The path you choose is yours alone: to forge peace among warring nations, conquer lands through might and strategy, or carve a destiny entirely your own.

  In Eldanar, everyone is bound to the System. It is a living network that tracks your deeds and growth. Each action you take grants experience points, be it battling fierce monsters, mastering ancient magic, or even the lessons learned through the simple acts of life. As you accumulate experience, you grow stronger, gaining levels that unlock new skills, enhance your attributes, and open new possibilities.

  Your stats, strength, agility, intelligence, and more, can be honed and specialized. The skills you acquire might make you a master swordsman, a cunning rogue, or a wielder of devastating elemental magic. Every choice you make carves your unique path forward.

  This power is now yours.

  The System is no mere game. It is a living force intertwined with Eldanar’s very soul. To succeed here, you must learn to adapt, to grow, and to challenge fate itself. Your journey begins now. What will you become in this vast, ancient world?

  The message faded, leaving the two friends staring at each other in stunned silence. Their eyes locked, unspoken thoughts passing between them.

  “What the f...”

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