He exhaled. His heart was still trying to sprint.

  “Nice,” Cam said from the main console. “You're back from the realm of the ‘undead’ and tanked your first full night without face-planting. That’s, like, a rite of passage.”

  Kaiden rolled his shoulders. The tension came from more than the headset itself. “You’re assuming I didn’t face-plant in there.”

  Cam snorted. He swiveled his chair just enough to see him. “Nah, I saw how you fight. Ain’t no face-planting there. I’m starting to think the forums were right and you’re some dev plant.”

  It was Kaiden’s turn to snort. “Yeah, don’t you start either. I get enough people calling me ‘Ghost’.”

  Cam held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “You're right, you’re right. Hey, what was up with that event that was flagged a few hours ago? Something with Ashglass? Some kind of siege?”

  “Yeah, an event spawned near the Dimming Wilds,” Kaiden said. “Outpost defense. Primary target fighters were Tanks. Boss Tree-thing with anger issues.”

  “Man, I didn’t even know RTS had defense events like that.” Cam leaned back, rocking back on the chair. “I thought that there were hubs, markets, and quest boards. Must be some high-route trigger, like branching content for mainline nuts.”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  Kaiden moved down the row, checking each cable, confirming that all the patient feeds were synced and good. His eyes knew what they were looking at even while his brain replayed the last few hits on the Thornlord.

  Cam rolled next to him with the wheeled stool, nudging a drawer open with his foot. “You’re good to log everyone down if their sessions hit the timer. Day shift’ll take over in thirty.”

  “Got it.”

  They started at Station One. The guy in the chair was older, mid-thirties, beard half-grown, hospital band tight on his wrist. Cam tapped the monitor, and the RTS logo faded into a logout sequence.

  “Hey, Darius,” Cam said, voice pitched easy. “Session’s done. You’ll have loot when you log back in next time.”

  Darius blinked awake under the visor, lips curling into a lazy smile. “Tell that healer to move his ass faster and I might actually clear something.”

  Cam laughed. “I’ll file a formal complaint with the devs.”

  Kaiden helped ease the visor off, wrapped the cable, wiped the contact points with a disinfectant cloth. simple motions. It grounded him more than he wanted to admit.

  They moved down the line. Kaiden checked their names and checked them on the chart. By the time they got to the last chair, the wall clock said 6:15 a.m.

  “Night crew survived,” Cam said, with his palm up for a high five. Kaiden raised his as well. “Congrats, you’re officially one of us.” Their palms intercepted each other as a snap noise echoed from the motion.

  Dr. Yin pushed through the ward doors right after, lab coat creased, ponytail a little frayed. She skimmed the board, then gave them the same measured approving nod she always seemed to have ready. “Good work, both of you.”

  Cam saluted with the laziness of someone who couldn’t be fired easily. “We live to press buttons another day.”

  Her attention shifted to Kaiden. “How was your first night?”

  He felt the correct answer rise automatically. “Fine. Got the hang of the systems. Patients seemed okay.”

  “Good.” She jotted something on her clipboard. “Night rotation’s yours, Summers, as long as your performance stays good. There’s coffee in the break room if you’re driving home.”

  He nodded. He had one more stop to make before he left.

  Mina’s room was dim except for the monitor glow and the streak of early sunlight sneaking around the curtain.

  The clock above the bed said 6:21 a.m. Someone had left the TV on low. A news caster gestured at a graphic of the sun, lines of data, and numbers on the board.

  “…city officials are monitoring unusual pollen distribution and temperature fluctuations across multiple regions….”

  Kaiden thumbed the volume down until the voice was mute.

  Mina lay as still as the last time he saw her. Her curls splayed across the pillow, her IV pouch filled, and the EKG machine gave a soft beep with the rise and fall of her chest.

  “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Thought I’d swing by after work.”

  He rested his hand carefully on the rail. The thumping in his chest steadied, matching her monitor for a second.

  “I, uh… got a job. Here, at the hospital,” he went on. “Night shift tech support, which really stands for ‘an excuse to be online all day and tell people what to do’.”

  His mouth curved. It didn’t quite count as a smile.

  “You’d probably clown me for it. ‘Kaiden, you really found a way to get paid to game while pretending to be responsible?’”

  He slid a knuckle along the back of her hand, careful not to snag any lines. “You’d like it, honestly. They’ve got this whole VR ward. Different games, but RTS is the big one. People work on motor control, reflexes. Maybe you’ll get in there one day and wipe the floor with everybody.”

  He didn't want to say ‘when you wake up’. It hurt and helped at the same time.

  He glanced at the TV. They’d cut to the History Channel of trees filmed in time-lapse, leaves budding, and wilting too fast.

  “…Solar Wave data suggests an unprecedented correlation with photosynthetic activity…” the caption at the bottom of the scream read.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, flipping it off entirely. The room fell into a softer quiet, full of the beep-beep of her monitor and the low sounds from the outside.

  He leaned in, pressed his lips to her forehead. Her skin was cool to the touch.

  “I’m going to keep going,” he murmured. “In there. Getting stronger. I won't give up on Alex. On you. I will get answers, hear me, sis?”

  Mina didn’t move. The monitor ticked on. The hum under his sternum tapped in a balanced rhythm.

  He stayed until his eyes blurred, then forced himself out of the room before he let sadness and grief cave over him.

  ???°?°???

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The kitchen smelled like coffee and toast by the time he got home.

  His dad was at the table in his work shirt. His mom moved between the stove and the counter with practiced efficiency, plate after plate appearing like a buffed spell.

  “You’re back a little late than I thought,” his dad said, glancing up.

  “Shift ended at six fifteen,” Kaiden said, kicking his shoes off by the door. “They didn’t make me mop as hazing, so I think I passed.”

  “That’s good,” his mom said. She crossed over to pull him into a quick hug. “How was it? Not too much, I hope?”

  “It’s fine. We mostly just watched monitors and made sure people didn’t trip over cables.”

  His dad closed the laptop halfway. “So, this job… Tech support.” He tapped the table with one knuckle. “Proud of you for stepping up.”

  Kaiden blinked. “Thanks.” He didn’t want to admit the burn in his chest for the partial lie.

  “Just remember this isn’t a substitute for school,” his dad added. “Academic probation isn’t permanent, but if you go back and your grades are the same, they’ll make it permanent. Use your breaks to review, not just… whatever you’re doing there.”

  He scrunched his nose as if he could see through the facade that Kaiden had presented.

  “Recreation software,” his mom said lightly. “For wellness. I read up on that, something new hospitals are doing now.”

  He nodded a bit too hard at what his mother said. “Yeah. Therapy.”

  His dad shot him a look that said he was still suspicious of the whole thing, but letting things ‘slide’ for now. “You know what I mean. Balance.”

  “I got it,” Kaiden said. “I’ll study between babysitting patients.”

  His mom slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. “Text us when you’re at work. And if go see Mina before or after your shift, let her know that we’re still here, and we want her to make a swift recovery back”

  “I did this morning,” he said. “She looked good.”

  He didn’t want to say she looked the same as she did before.

  Her shoulders dropped a fraction. As if she sensed his thought, she probably did. Mom’s had that kind of power. “Good.”

  They drifted back into their routines. He ate. His parents each left the house for work, he then retired to his room to get some sleep.

  But sleep didn’t take.

  Kaiden laid in bed with the curtains pulled close, but still a crack of light managed to shine through. He watched the light change on the ceiling. Every time he almost nodded off, his body jerked like he was falling from a high platform.

  The events of the game kept resurfacing back into his head. There were even moments where he felt like he was in the game but woke up to find himself in the room.

  He finally gave up and reached for his phone, hopefully doom scrolling would either put him to sleep or distract him.

  His phone buzzed with a new text.

  ???: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last night.

  Francesca.

  He still hadn’t saved her number. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to. She’d conned it out of Emir, but she was right about one thing:

  They did have things to talk about.

  Francesca: Some of the people I answer to still think RTS is causing it. The bleed. The weird weather. Everything.

  Another text dropped in before he could answer.

  Francesca: They’re pushing harder. They want logs, error reports, EEGs from heavy users, anything they can use to pin this on the game and call it “exposed.”

  His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

  Kaiden: And you think they’re wrong.

  Dots. Stop. Dots again.

  Francesca: Yeah. Like I said, I think RTS is trying to warn people. Somehow.

  Francesca: We’re picking up weird environmental data the same days the game spikes traffic in certain regions. Weather anomalies, pollen densities, localized temp swings.

  Francesca: They keep asking if RTS is “stressing the grid.”

  He frowned.

  Kaiden: And you think RTS is just… showing it.

  Her reply took longer this time. When it was sent, he could almost hear her voice.

  Francesca: I think somebody built RTS to measure what was already starting, not cause it.

  Like a seismograph for the sun. And now the readings are getting stronger, but some people don’t want to see what’s in front of their faces. Maybe that’s why it had to be a game to get through.

  His chest tightened. He typed before he could overthink it.

  Kaiden: The Black Dhalia. That ring a bell?

  The dots appeared. Then vanished. Then nothing.

  When her answer finally came, it wasn’t to that.

  Francesca: St. Elias just put RTS in their wellness program. You in on that?

  He narrowed his eyes. So she wasn’t going to bite. Not yet anyway,

  Kaiden: Yeah. They’re using it in a VR ward. You think that’s connected?

  A longer pause.

  Francesca: Hospitals see trends before anyone else. Who gets sick, how, when. If the people behind RTS wanted data on how human bodies handle this kind of exposure…

  She didn’t finish the sentence. His thumbs moved anyway over the keys to send a reply.

  Kaiden: I was in-game all night. No glitches. No UI freakouts. No “systems going rogue.”

  He hesitated, then added:

  Kaiden: But the hum doesn’t stop when I log out now.

  Dots. Stop. Dots.

  Francesca: Then it’s not about the code. It’s about you. And about whatever that thing is Alex gave you.

  He glanced down at his chest like he could see the Photosphere through his hoodie.

  Kaiden: Why were you so desperate for it? You and Crow. If you thought the game was the problem, why chase the thing he died protecting?

  Another long pause.

  Francesca: Because I was told it was unstable. That people like Alex, and now you, were at risk if it bonded too deep. Crow believed we could control it. I’m not sure he was wrong. I’m not sure he was right, either.

  Kaiden: Where is he?

  Dots blinked, then trailed off.

  Francesca: We haven’t spoken since the night Alex died.

  A lie? A half-truth? He couldn’t tell through the screen.

  Francesca: I’m not telling you to stop playing. I know that’s pointless. Just… don’t forget it might not be just a game board. It might be the map.

  A map, huh? To what, exactly?

  He stared at the screen until the words blurred, then let the phone fall beside him. The hum in his chest stayed steady, like it approved of them finally saying some of it out loud. If RTS was a map, the next marker was obvious. He just had to stay alive long enough to reach it.

  Eventually, exhaustion knifed through what was left of his adrenaline. He drifted into sleep.

  ???°?°???

  He woke up with a headache that felt like respawn fatigue.

  The house was quieter. His parents were still out. For a second, he could pretend everything was normal.

  He grabbed a hoodie and headed out for his night shift.

  The temperature had that weird shoulder-season confusion again, like the day couldn’t decide between late spring and early fall. A fine dust coated windshield and porch railings. It looked like pollen, but heavier, like someone had shaved chalk and let the shavings drift.

  He cleared a line on the neighbor's car with his finger. Yellowish-green smeared along his skin. He wiped it on his jeans and kept walking.

  By the time he got off the bus near St. Elias, the city had a faint haze hanging over it. People moved a little faster between doorways. A kid in a mask sneezed three times in a row.

  Kaiden’s phone buzzed once with a city alert.

  Pollen Advisory, Atypical particulate levels. Non-allergy residents may experience symptoms. Limit prolonged outdoor exposure.

  He swiped into the hospital with his badge. The blast of filtered air almost felt like stepping through a zone barrier.

  ???°?°???

  “Back for round two,” Cam said as Kaiden stepped into the ward. He had a coffee in one hand and a donut in the other, both equally abused. “How’s our favorite night-shift newbie holding up?”

  “Headache,” Kaiden said. “Otherwise functional.”

  “Welcome to healthcare.” Cam snapped his fingers and pointed at the monitors. “Good news is, all the headsets passed auto-checks. No latency spikes.

  Kaiddn nodded with a casual thumbs up.

  One of the hospital news feeds was pinned in the corner. Someone in a lab coat was talking about Solar Waves again, pointing at graphs Kaiden didn’t need to hear to recognize.

  “Got the pollen alert,” Kaiden said. “Neighborhood looks like someone spilled seasoning on everything.”

  “Spicy apocalypse, nice.” Cam grimaced into his coffee. “Admin sent us a memo about ‘environmental stress and patient sensitivity.’ Translation: if anyone’s vitals go weird, log it.”

  Kaiden took the empty chair at the terminal. “Anything on the RTS side? How's your trek to Hollowmere Crossing?”

  Cam perked. “Oh, yeah. It's going as you’d expect it, miserably so.”

  Kaiden chuckled. “You know if you need help just say so.”

  “Nah, I'm good. I’ll never progress if you’re always hovering over me. Don't worry, I’ll be healing things left and right when you see me next time.”

  Cam elbowed him lightly.

  “Mmm, if you say so,” Kaiden said with a light judgment in his tone.

  Cam nodded at the row of empty chairs. “We’ve got about an hour before the next wave of patients. System says everything’s stable...”

  Kaiden nodded. He settled into Headset Twelve. The vinyl was cool under his palms. The hum from the servers and the Photosphere braided together until he couldn’t tell which was which.

  “...Go do your ghost thing. Maybe I’ll see you in there later if I log on.”

  Kaiden pulled the visor down.

  [Access Granted]

  [Revolt the Sun: Maintenance Server Connected]

  [Sync Status: Stable]

  The login logo came to life, sun spilling over shadow. Text scrolled across his vision in crisp, familiar white.

  …it might not be just a game board. It might be the map…

  He tightened his grip on the scythe as the world finished booting.

  “Okay,” he muttered to the empty air. “Let's find out.”