Saturday morning sunlight filters through the blinds, painting pale stripes across my desk. The hum of my computer fills the apartment as I scroll through the latest Reddit threads and Discord logs, eyes catching on every post that mentions the Ashwing. The chatter feels endless, fans, analysts, even amateur tacticians posting theories like it’s an esport. I jot quick notes between sips of coffee, half the screen a blur of scrolling text and diagrams. Some users have already drawn cross?sections of volcanic terrain, debating airflow and vent pressure, while others argue over elemental resistances and attack patterns. It’s absurd and impressive at the same time, a community of zealots dissecting every second of our fight as if it were sacred scripture.
[Archivolt]: new footage analysis up, timestamped every ten seconds. patterns look consistent.
[VioletVex]: the dragon favors its right wing in dives, maybe old injury?
[Carapace_kid]: catalogued heat surges, every flame blast has a three?second cooldown window.
[Thrumline]: idk if it’s just me but the scale looks different. felt smaller when Kyris first fought it.
I pause at that, scrolling back. Smaller? I replay clips side by side, the first encounter against the Ashwing, then the one where I stood alone. Same beast, same roar, but something about its movements feels heavier now, slower, like the weight of the world presses down on it. The wings beat wider, each gust shaking the landscape more violently than I remember. Maybe it’s the camera angle, maybe the lighting, but even the shadow it casts looks larger. I replay again, frame by frame, comparing scales against terrain markers, and for a moment I swear the proportions don’t match.
I lean back, trying to convince myself it’s just perspective. Maybe my own fear magnifies it in hindsight. Maybe Nod itself amplifies the memory, bending time and perception like heat over metal. But the longer I watch, the less certain I feel.
The replay lasts an hour: my duel against the monster, the resonance, the moment I fell unconscious. I pause often, taking notes on its wing cadence, the pulse of its breath, even the way the sand moves when it inhales. Every motion feels calculated now that I’m not in the middle of not dying. I jot down small tells, flares of its throat before it breathes fire, the twitch of its tail when it’s about to strike, and still I can’t shake the chill crawling up my spine.
Then comes the haze: Scott’s voice through the roar, the faint light before everything went black. What still unnerves me most is that passing out in Nod doesn’t wake me in the waking world. There’s no jolt, no shock, just absence. Whatever connects the two, it runs deeper than dreams, it’s starting to feel like something alive, something aware of me watching back.
After a while, I rub my eyes and close the tabs. Enough research for now. My phone buzzes beside the keyboard, victor asking what I am up to today.
Me: Good timing, do you guys want to meet up for lunch and go over the raid?
Scott: That sounds like a fire idea to me my guy. Where at?
Victor: I’m alright with it, pick the place and we can meet up. Do you need a ride out there?
Me: Nah I don’t need a ride, I have something I need to do first so I’ll meet as soon as I’m done. I was thinking maybe a good pre?raid meal. Maybe Korean BBQ?
Victor: Man you are going all out now, big spender xD.
Me: Hey, I just want to treat the two of you to thank you for this. Also I haven’t had it in a while, and it’s a great social lunch.
Scott: I’m def down for all?you?can?eat meat. They won’t know what hit them when I roll up.
Victor: You are an animal. Gotcha, just shoot the time and address and I’ll meet up.
I check the clock, almost noon. Two should work.
Me: Two sound good with you guys?
Scott: Fits perfect for me.
Victor: I can make that work. I’ll see you then.
With lunch and prep time set, I sling my bag over my shoulder and call a rideshare. The car hums through midday traffic, city glass flashing by. The extra Nod money’s still sitting in my account, a reminder of how blurred the line between worlds has become. It’s hard not to glance at the number every few minutes, as if it might vanish or double on its own. If faith is currency now, then belief has a market value.
The tech store is alive with the same hum as Nod, neon banners, holographic displays, the walls alive with promotional feeds. The back wall plays the top ten streams: gods and monsters, thrones and crowns. My own channel flashes for a moment between clips of the Cleric King and the Radiant Concord, and I feel the weight of eyes I’ll never see.
Rows of merch gleam beneath fluorescent lights: replica crowns, shirts, even keychains of the Hundred’s emblems.
One of the employees glances up at the screens and laughs nervously. “Wild, isn’t it? People can’t get enough of this. Half our orders now are just Nod merch.”
“Official stuff or is it all third party?” I ask, eyeing a display of enamel pins shaped like crowns.
She shrugs. “That’s the weird part. My manager didn’t order any of it. Said it just showed up, like promotional stock. Told us to shelve it and see if it sold. Now it flies off the shelves, and whenever we run out, more just… shows up. Creepy, right?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Creepy.”
I linger longer than I mean to, scanning the shelves, trying to imagine what factory or system could even make all this. The idea that it might simply appear, materialize from Nod itself, makes my stomach twist. Magic, or divine intervention, or maybe just advanced tech I’ll never understand. Too many questions, not enough answers. It feels staged, curated, yet the clerk swears it isn’t. Who’s shipping all this? Is there an admin team on the waking side? Developers? Or are we still pretending this is a game? The thought creeps in unbidden, does Seth oversee both worlds, or is he trapped entirely within Nod? Maybe none of us were ever supposed to ask. Even other kings act like it’s all scripted fantasy, magic spun into code. A dream wrapped in marketing.
Focus, Marcus. Not the time for an existential crisis. One dragon at a time.
She wanders off to help another customer, and I head toward the smartwatches. If I’m going to keep living between two worlds, I need data, heart rate, sleep cycles, maybe even footage. I grab a fitness watch, a compact camera, and on impulse, a small plush sitting on a display rack. A tiger, striped gold and black, a stitched tag reading Hamu.
At checkout, the cashier scans the items, pausing at the plush. “The Sunforged, huh? Didn’t take you for a fan.”
I give a half?smile. “It’s for a friend.”
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Outside, the sky’s bright and clear. I pack everything into my bag and walk the few blocks to the restaurant, smoke and sizzling meat already scenting the air. For once, I’m early. I put in a table for three on the waitlist app and lean against the rail outside, scrolling idly while I wait.
Twenty minutes later, I spot Victor’s car pulling up, Scott tumbling out with his usual grin. We trade greetings just as the host waves us inside.
Scott barely sits before I toss the plush across the table. He catches it, blinks, then lets out a yell that turns half the restaurant’s heads. “Hamu! You got me a Hamu?” He grabs me in a side hug, nearly crushing the air from my lungs. “You’re the best, man!”
Victor laughs. “What’d you get me?”
I mutter, smirking. “Figured I’d pay for lunch today for the two of you. The toy just caught my eye.”
Scott clutches the tiger like it’s sacred. “This is the best pre?raid gift ever.”
We flag down the server and order the all?you?can?eat spread, plates of raw beef, pork belly, and short ribs stacked high. Scott takes charge of the grill, eyes gleaming like he’s in his element.
“Cooking’s the first trial of manhood,” he declares, tongs in hand. “Watch and learn.”
Victor rolls his eyes. “Or watch him burn it again.”
The three of us laugh as the first cuts hit the grill, the air filling with the sound of sizzling fat and smoke. For a moment, it feels normal, three friends, lunch, and a war waiting just beyond the sunset.
As the plates pile higher, the talk drifts toward Nod. Victor leans back, his tone thoughtful. “The lair, we saw the Ashwing retreat into it before during the first fight, but we didn’t pursue. That means we don’t know what’s in there, what kind of space it’s guarding. If the vents go deeper than we think, we could be walking into something far bigger. And this has to be a one?shot run. No saves, no checkpoints, no respawns.”
Scott snorts between bites. “Well, isn’t that how it always was? We used to pull all?nighters raiding with finals at eight in the morning. This just feels like college again.”
Victor laughs. “Yeah, but back then I could heal your ass when you stood in the stupid.”
I grin. ‘Don’t stand in the stupid’, Victor’s eternal mantra whenever Scott forgot to dodge poison or lava.
“Hey, hey, you can’t blame me for that,” Scott protests, flipping another slab of meat. “I was focused on the big bad. Those little floor hazards weren’t enough to kill me anyway.” He shovels another mountain of meat onto his own plate.
I turn to Scott, resting my chopsticks on the edge of the plate. “We need to talk about what you’re capable of. You said you could do one big hit before, but we never went into detail. I didn’t want to ask in Nod, no point in broadcasting your secrets to the whole world.”
He brightens immediately, nodding. “Oh yeah, man, for sure! So my skills, they’re based on something called Tremor. When I take damage, deal damage, or shake the ground, I build it up. I can release it in bursts, movement, strikes, anything physical. If I load it in my legs, I can jump higher, run faster, dodge harder. If I channel it into a weapon, it amplifies my hits. That last one I hit the Ashwing with? That was a week’s worth of stored Tremor from training with the rhinos and salamanders. Don’t worry, though, I’ve been grinding again since I got back. More than before. My Tremor’s overflowing now.”
Victor whistles. “That’s… actually terrifying.”
Scott grins. “Yeah, and the best part? Side effects. The sweat thing.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sweat thing?”
He freezes mid?turn over the grill until I tap the tongs before the meat burns. “Right! Okay, so… those blue hard candies? The ones I fed you after the fight?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “You said you could make them.”
Scott’s face reddens. “Well, I can. But, uh, it’s weird. Like, my sweat solidifies from the Tremor energy. Crystallizes into those little candies. They heal stamina and strength. Don’t ask me why, it’s just how Thalos is made. It’s freaky, but all my sunforged fighters are the same way man.”
I blink, speechless. Victor nearly spits his drink across the table laughing.
“Wait,” I manage. “You’re telling me I ate your sweat?”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Scott says defensively. “It’s like those old Gatorade commercials! Except mine actually give buffs!”
Victor can barely breathe. “Oh my god, man, that’s disgusting, functional, but disgusting.”
I elbow him. “Hey, come on. It didn’t even taste bad. Im sure that its better than half the in?game potions we would make. At least this one isn’t brewed from slime remains and wolf ears.”
Scott bursts out laughing, the tension breaking. “Exactly! Functional, eco?friendly, and only mildly gross!”
“Yeah,” Victor adds between snickers. “Could’ve been worse. Imagine if he had to cry to make them.”
“Then we’d never have any healing items,” I add, and that gets Scott laughing so hard he nearly drops the tongs.
Once we calm down, I glance back toward Victor. “So, logistics. If Tremor takes time to build, that makes Scott a burst fighter. I can handle crowd control and defense with the Dominion, but we’ll need a reliable mid?range and maybe a flanker. We can’t predict what’s inside that lair, but I want at least one unit capable of flight if the vents open upward.”
Victor nods thoughtfully, the strategist gears turning in his head. “Use the Sablehounds for the advance. They can mark the tunnels with resonance, give you a map as you move. Have Cast coordinate from the command spire, she’s sharp enough to monitor energy fluctuations. If the Ashwing’s sleeping, you might even get the first strike.”
I scribble mental notes between bites, the plan taking shape over the scent of charred meat and smoke. Scott’s enthusiasm fuels the table, but behind his grin I can see the same tension I feel, anticipation wrapped in fear.
“We’ve got soldiers now,” I say, picking at my food. “If we search systematically, we can map it quick. If it’s more dungeon than lair, that’s a problem, but we still don’t know how Nod defines raids. It feels real when we’re there, but like a dream too. I havent figured out if its based on gaming logic or runs off its own. This is uncharted territory for us and as far as I have seen with other streams for the world.”
Victor nods, serious again. “Then build your strike teams carefully. Bring your best. If anything goes wrong, I want you both making it back alive. Losing one of your three lives this early isn’t worth it.”
His words hang heavy. I hadn’t thought of it that way, ‘this early.’ How long was this supposed to go on? None of the Hundred had fallen yet. If this really was a last?king?standing kind of world, it could last months. Years.
We talk through more raid strategy between bites, the terrain, the choke points, the timing of the resonance bursts, and the structure of strike teams. Three hours vanish under the haze of cooking smoke and laughter before the server finally drops the bill. I pay without thinking, waving off their protests.
Outside, the evening sun hits warm against the city glass. Victor insists on driving me home, Scott climbing into his own car with a lazy salute.
Victor glances at me over the wheel. “I’ll be watching the whole raid. Not sure how much help I can be, but I’ll be there.”
“Thanks,” I say. “It means more than you think.”
Scott calls from his window as he pulls away, “I’ll be in early tonight! Gotta make sure I’m in before the big fight. Sleep well, bug king!”
I wave after him, chuckling, then ride the rest of the way in quiet.
Back home, I set up the new camera to face my bed and strap on the smartwatch. The apartment feels still, like it’s holding its breath. Before logging in, I open Discord for the first time to post in the main server.
[KingofBlackSand]: I will be logging in to Nod for tonight’s raid soon. Your support means everything. This time, the Ashwing will fall by my hand.
The chat explodes instantly, new names, new icons.
[DraconianWatcher]: wait, is this actually Kyris??
[Sandstream42]: no way, verified post! he’s going after the dragon tonight!
[HarmonicTheory]: I mapped potential vent layouts, sharing now.
[VioletVex]: hush, let him focus. we’ve got faith in you, my king.
I smile faintly, replying:
[KingofBlackSand]: Thank you all. Keep your zeal high and your hopes higher.
The dissenters fade beneath the tide of support. The Dominion hums, even here.
I open the stream window, setting the security cam feed on my second monitor, then call Victor.
“Hey, man,” I say. “Got a camera for my room. Think you can keep an eye on the feed while I’m under? Just in case something weird happens, fire alarm, power outage, whatever.”
“Sure,” he answers easily. “Not weird at all. I’ll keep it open on my spare screen. Now get to sleep, man. And good luck. We always had world’s first. That wasn’t luck.”
His confidence lingers in my ears as I lie back, the faint red light of the camera glowing from the corner. The hum of the city fades into something deeper, lower. The resonance calls again.
Tonight, the Ashwing dies.