I turn to the old man, shock boiling over into anger.
"The FUCK is this?" I shout, pointing at the globe—at me, replaying endlessly across its surface like some cursed screensaver.
He stares back at me, seated and cool, like I haven't just had my entire sense of reality dropkicked. "It's the price you paid to live, boy."
My chest tightens.
"You really thought you could just get a second chance at life and not have it come with strings attached?" He laughs directly at my expense. "Everything has a cost.Especially giving an idiot like you a second chance at life. You'd be wise to remember that. Now sit down and have some tea."
I stand there for a moment, fists clenched, seriously considering throwing the globe through one of his stupidly expensive-looking walls. Then reality kicks in.
This annoying, ancient man is my only source of information.
Slowly, stiffly, I sit.
"I'm sorry for my outburst," I mutter, staring at the floor.
"It's fine," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "I'd be doing the same."
With another lazy flick of his wrist, a porcelain teacup appears in front of me, steam curling upward. I take a cautious sip.
It's warm. Rich. Comforting in a way that feels unfair given the circumstances.
Ahhh… that's much better, I think, immediately annoyed at myself.
The old man speaks before I can relax any further. "I'll explain."
I groan. "More exposition?"
"Yes, brat," he snaps. "If you want us all to live, you'll listen when I speak. Now imagine something for me." He leans forward, resting both hands on his cane. "Imagine you're immortal. Truly immortal. Endless time. Endless resources. You can do anything. Learn everything. Experience it all."
I wave a hand. "Just cut to the damned chase already."
He sighs, looking deeply tired. "Fine. Immortal people who've run out of every other source of entertainment like to watch other people from other worlds live on television. Happy?"
I stare at him, my brain stalling out.
"How… no. Why. What?"
"I'll take a turn," Crane says smoothly, stepping in before I can spiral. "What he means is that they're so advanced they might as well live forever. They've seen every story ever written, watched every movie, played every game. Nothing man-made entertains them anymore."
My stomach sinks.
"So," Crane continues, "they use other worlds instead. Real ones. There are… genres. Tragedies. Comedies. Survival stories. Slice-of-life. But you…" he pauses, glancing at the globe, "you're a special case."
I swallow. "Special how?"
"They're planning to stream your trial live," he says plainly. "For all to see."
"They're going to…" I echo, my voice barely working.
"Yes," the old man says quietly. "The moment you leave my manor is the moment you go live."
For the first time, there's something like compassion in his voice. Thin, strained… but there.
"But it's not all doom and gloom. As hopeless at it sounds they don't want you to die. And they've already given you a little gift."
"But… I don't think I can do…"
"You either do or we all die. He said calmly. Anyway we don't have much time left. You have two months left before your contract starts."
Two months.
"That's it?"
"That's generous considering the time we've already wasted." he replies dryly. Then, without missing a beat, he claps his hands once. "Anyway, I'm hungry. Let's go eat dinner."
We stand just as the room begins to fade, the library dissolving into soft light. When it settles again, we're back at the familiar dining table, long, polished, and completely covered in food. Roast meats, fresh bread, steaming vegetables, dishes I can't even name.
I sit down automatically.
My appetite doesn't match the situation, but my hands move anyway. Fork. Bite. Chew.
My thoughts are a mess. Doom, gloom, and a thick, suffocating sense of despair twisting together in my chest. Somewhere between bites, it hits me.
Oh.
So this is what being in the Digital Circus must've felt like.
I let out a long, tired sigh and reach for more food.
If I'm going to be watched, judged, and possibly killed for entertainment…
…I might as well eat like it's my last meal.
The valley had finally stopped shrieking in pain.
Smoke still hung in the air, thick and bitter, clinging to everything like it refused to let go. My dad and I stood on the hill overlooking what was left of the village. Burned houses. Collapsed roofs. Blackened streets. It barely looked like a place people had lived anymore.
My dad, the lord of the land, turned to his second in command.
"Are they in position?"
"Aye. Waiting on your orders, sir."
"Good," he said exuding an air of calmness.
I looked down at those things . The changed. Crawling through the rubble. Dragging broken bodies behind them. Too many arms. Too many eyes. Limbs bending the wrong way. Skin stretched thinly over things that should not exist.
"How dare they call themselves human," I said, angry at this blot on our perfect world.
Dad laughed. Loud. Proud. "This is our duty, son. We were chosen for a reason. Our god trusted us to clean the rot."
He turned back to the second in command, who was still standing there like he needed permission to breathe.
"Do it. Do not let a single one of those multi limbed freaks escape."
"Yes sir."
Eventually it started.
Soldiers poured into the ruins. Swords came down. Screams ripped through the valley all over again. One thing tried to fly away and got pinned to the ground through its spine. Another swung at a soldier and lost an arm for it. The arm kept twitching after it hit the dirt. That one made me laugh.
My grin just kept getting wider.
The violin magically appeared in my hands. A gift. Smooth. Perfect. I tucked it under my chin.
I played a single note.
Sharp. Clean.
Another followed. Then another. Slow at first. Like I was taking baby steps. Finding my feet. Every sharp note lined up with another body dropping. A spear through the chest. A sword through the throat. Blood spilling everywhere, soaking into the ash.
Then I found my pace.
The music sped up. Bright. Cheerful. Almost happy. My fingers flew. The bow danced. Soldiers moved faster, as it they could hear it too. Heads split. Bones cracked. Bodies piled up. Blood sprayed walls and streets until the whole place looked painted red.
Some of the changed tried to crawl away. Others begged. A few even tried to fight back and died worse for it.
I laughed as I played.
By the time the song ended, the valley went quiet again.
Not peaceful. Just empty.
I lowered the violin and looked down at the mess. Twisted bodies. Broken things. No more screaming.
The scene brought a tear to my eye.
It was… beautiful.
Absolutely beautiful.
A standing ovation of ash and blood.