Leo's blood ran cold. The voice wasn't just in his head; it felt like it was woven into the very fabric of his consciousness, a thought that wasn't his own. He stumbled backward, his hands held up defensively as if to ward off an invisible blow. His meticulously logical mind, the one tool he had always relied on, was shattering against the rocks of an impossible reality.
"Who are you?" he managed to get out, his voice a harsh croak. "What do you mean, 'Master'?"
The orb of light pulsed gently, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill flooding his veins.
I am the Spirit of this place, the voice explained, patient and unhurried. You may call me the Guide. This establishment is The Threshold Inn. And you, Leo, are its new Master.
Leo shook his head, a frantic, jerky motion. "No. No, I'm a real estate agent. I was… I was in my office. I'm having a stroke. Or I'm in a coma. This is a hallucination." He was listing possibilities like a lawyer arguing a case, trying to find a single thread of reason to cling to.
Your previous life contract has been terminated, the Guide stated, its tone having the calm finality of an HR manager discussing severance. Your final, earnest plea served as an application, and your qualifications were deemed suitable. You have been appointed to fill the vacant position of Master.
"Application? I didn't apply for anything!" he shot back, his voice rising. "I died! I had a heart attack!"
Correct. Cause of termination: catastrophic system failure of the previous vessel. Your earnest desire for a quiet domain where you hold authority served as the primary selection criterion.
The sheer, baffling bureaucracy of the explanation knocked the wind out of him. It was so absurd, so matter-of-fact, that it was almost more believable than any talk of gods or magic. He had… applied for a posthumous job with his dying wish?
Before he could formulate another protest, the Guide continued. To familiarize you with your new role, please observe your status.
As the words echoed in his mind, the air in front of his face shimmered like heat haze. A rectangle of translucent, ethereal blue light coalesced out of thin air, hovering about three feet from his eyes. On it, crisp white text glowed with a soft internal light.
Leo stared, his mouth agape. It was a user interface, as clean and minimalist as any high-end app he'd ever used.
[Name: Leo] [Title: Master of the Threshold Inn (Grade F)] [Skills: [Absolute Domain] (LVL 1)] [Active Rules: None]
He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers stopping just short of the glowing screen. It felt like it had substance, a faint warmth radiating from its surface. He tried to swipe it away like an annoying pop-up ad. His hand passed right through it, causing the light to ripple gently.
"What… what is this?"
[Absolute Domain], the Guide explained, is the core skill of the Master. It grants you sole and total authority over the territory of the Threshold Inn. Within these walls, your will is, in effect, the law of the property.
Leo's mind, trained to dissect contracts and find leverage points, snagged on the wording. Authority. Law. Property. These were his words, his concepts, now twisted into a fantastical new context.
"The law?" he asked, his voice now laced with a sharp, analytical curiosity that momentarily overrode his fear. "What does that mean, exactly? I can just… make things happen?"
Precisely, the Guide confirmed. You may establish Rules. Once a Rule is declared, it becomes a fundamental aspect of reality within the Inn. It cannot be defied.
His head was spinning. He thought back to his old life, to difficult tenants, to legal battles, to the constant struggle to enforce the terms of a contract. A place where his word was unbreakable law… The thought was intoxicating.
"And the limits? The cost?" he asked, the pragmatic agent surfacing fully. Every amazing offer had hidden fees and fine print.
The domain of your authority is limited to the property line of the Inn, the Guide clarified. And its power is tied to the Inn's own vitality. Which brings us to the most crucial part of your orientation.
The blue screen in front of Leo vanished.
The Threshold Inn is a living entity, the voice grew a fraction more serious. Like any living thing, it requires sustenance to survive, to maintain its existence between the folds of reality. This sustenance is what we call 'Value'.
"Value," Leo repeated, the word tasting familiar on his tongue. "You mean money? Capital?"
A close enough analogy. Value can be many things: rare items, potent magical energies, fragments of powerful memories, unique skills, even a portion of a being's life force. It is the metaphysical currency that fuels this place. Without a steady influx of Value, the Inn will weaken, its walls will fade, and it will eventually dissolve back into the nothingness from which it was born.
A cold dread settled over Leo. So this wasn't a paradise. It was a lifeboat, and it was leaking. "Okay. So how do I get this… Value?"
The same way any innkeeper does, the Guide replied simply. From your tenants.
Leo stared blankly. "Tenants? This place has been empty for… who knows how long? It's covered in dust! Where am I supposed to find tenants?" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "What now? Do you expect people to just start walking in through that door I couldn't even budge?"
As the last word left his lips, a deep, resonant groan echoed through the vast hall. It was the sound of ancient wood grinding against stone, of immense weight shifting for the first time in an eternity.
Leo's head snapped towards the massive double doors at the front of the Inn. A thin crack of silvery light appeared between them. Slowly, protestingly, the doors that had been as immovable as a mountain began to swing inward, opening a path to the unknown.
The Guide's voice filled his mind, serene as ever.
Yes. Precisely.