Part I: The White Lotus and the Wasp's Sting
The private ward was a cozy and peaceful isolation, yet its sterile efficiency felt like an insult to the chaotic reality of Ume White's life. She sat by the bedside looking at her one and beloved husband, Hara White. Tears in eyes, she spoke to Hara who was lying on the hospital bed," The world you created is about to take your own life." And cried so hard which was a terrible mockery to the world he had just built with he had.
Hara, the co-founder and driving visionary behind White Lotus Corp, was more than just a tech tycoon; he was an architect of realities. His latest, most ambitious project, Orchid Slug, was meant to be the pinnacle of immersive fantasy—a virtual world so complex and alive, its code was designed to mimic feelings and perception. But that ambition had become a crisis.
Ume ran a delicate hand over the motionless, pale skin of his wrist. She recalled the shift in him over the last six months—the growing obsession, the excitements, the late night holds in his office and the continuous meetings with his best friend, Den Wills. They were building something extraordinary, Hara had insisted, something that transcended gaming. Something that should be within the two of them, he would say when Ume used to inquire. Now, if it's the game they have been building or the company that they have built, she wasn't sure which one destroyed her husband.
The blast had been precise as if it was planned for ages, aimed directly at the core R&D server center of White Lotus Corp. It wasn't collateral damage; it was a calculated corporate strike. The police were still circling, confused and lost. They spoke of industrial espionage, where White Lotus Corp being a mighty company, various rivals may arise and might have attacked out of rage and rivalry. On the other hand, it might be someone who the CEO is close with or someone from the company, because it was impossible for an outsider to attack this accurately. But the thing was, why? Why would someone from the company or someone close would attack the CEO. This left everyone in suspension, especially Ume White.
At the hospital, the doctors were equally lost as the police. Hara's condition defeated any medical logic. His body was stable, yet his neural activity, displayed on an elaborate stack of monitors, was irregular and unstable. It was tied, not to a simple life-support machine, but to a vast, surging energy spike that seemed to emanate from the monitors themselves.
"He is the server," one young, clearly terrified intern had whispered to Ume, who was biggest fan of Hara White and his creations and who wasn't just an intern at the hospital but a game freak who knew everything about the system. "The machine they attacked... it didn't kill him. It turned him into its anchor."
Ume, the woman who had managed fortunes and corporate crises with cold, professional grace, felt her control dissolving into a quiet, suffocating terror. She was left with a dying man, a failing company, and a medical mystery no one could solve. Logic had failed. Wealth had failed. All that remained was raw, desperate love.
She squeezed his hand, her mind consumed by the memory of their last argument, trying to forget everything, yet now a mountain of regret. "I won't let you go and I won't give up easily on you." she murmured, tears finally tracking paths down her perfectly composed face. "I won't. Please, someone. Anyone. Save him."
Part II: The Mist and The Bargain
BOOM!
It was not a physical sound. The air did not move nor created any dust. But the space behind the air changed, and a cold, vast presence filled the inside of Ume's mind, bypassing the temporal lobe and sinking straight into her core fear. It was the echo of a cathedral built of glass and shattered light—The Mist appeared.
Ume didn't jump. She didn't scream. She simply clutched the metal bed rail, her knuckles white, her corporate composure locking down over her terror like an emergency bulkhead.
...The anchor is failing. The ecosystem demands stabilization. The fracture must be mended...
The voice was harmless, which was concerned, a logical statement of fact from a sentient algorithm. Ume felt its lack of human compassion as a physical chill.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she demanded, her voice a low, steady pitch that argued nothing but controlled curiosity.
...I am the Core. I am the Mist. Mr. Hara White created me in a way that I'm able to feel human emotions and function as a guide to the players, a system that is programmed specially by him and can only be seen or heard by him but for the rest of the players or users, it will be in the form of instructions. The very reason I'm able to contact you is because Mr. Hara created a code where he added you as my secondary user.
And I require a Player. The connection you share with the Anchor makes you unique. I offer a path: enter Orchid Slug. Reach the Final Layer and stabilize the World Core. Succeed, and the Anchor endures. Fail, and the system—and he—will dissolve.
Ume didn't pause to weigh the risks. The alternative was unthinkable. The logic was terrifyingly simple. "I accept. Tell me what I must do."
The Mist's presence sharpened, it started to screen itself onto her consciousness. Ume felt a little chill throughout her head and her body.
...You are weak. You are a person with zero combat skills which will make it hard for you to survive. You require a compensating tool. I give you The Chest: the power to access the hidden truth of my world…
A sudden rush of complex data filled her mind, detailing the rules of her new Aspect. It was a cerebral weapon, demanding intellect and analysis, but it offered no physical strength of its own. It was a tool designed for the mind, the chest will give a riddle every time when she needs to use it and for an exchange, she will have access to the tools,skills and strength of the opponent temporarily.
...But balance must be maintained. Power requires sacrifice. To protect the Anchor, the pain must be shared. You are now bound by The Shared Pain. Any physical trauma you accept, he accepts. You cannot bleed, or the Anchor will fall. Your failure is his agony…
The words were a hammer blow. Ume looked down at her hands, the delicate tools of her old trade. She was being sent into a violent world, cursed with a physical weakness and a Flaw that made taking even a single hit a potentially fatal betrayal of her husband. She had to survive perfectly. Total victory with zero cost. It was an impossible task for someone like her but she had no choice then to do as the Mist instructed in order to save her husband.
"I understand," she whispered. Her voice was steady now, infused with a cold, almost predatory resolve. "I will not fail you, Hara. I will make sure to bring you back."
The choice was made. The Vow was sealed.
Part III: Plunge into the Weeping Marsh
The world dissolved into a blinding, agonizing flash of white, a sensation that felt like every nerve ending was being simultaneously erased and redrawn. When her vision stabilized, the jasmine and steel of the hospital were gone, replaced by the stench of sulphur and rot.
She was in the Weeping Marsh.
The mud, thick and black, seeped through her expensive, ruined silk cocktail dress, coating her skin in a cold, viscous layer. The air was heavy, humid, and tasted metallic. Her vision was overlaid with the translucent HUD, and there, flickering ominously, was the monitor of Hara's life signs, now an integrated element of her survival interface. The fear of that flicker was a sharper weapon than any blade.
"I have no armor, no weapon, and I cannot be touched."
The limitations were overwhelming. But Ume's corporate mind immediately began to process the problem: Risk Management. Her greatest asset was her intellect. Her only tool was The Chest.
A sound, wet and sickening, drew her attention. A Weeping Creeper, a grotesque insectoid nightmare, lumbered through the swamp, its multiple, murky green eyes swiveling slowly in search of prey.
Ume didn't panic. She analyzed. Low level, high defense, slow movement. A common mob, but fatal to me.
Suddenly, she heard a voice, thick with pure, unadulterated panic—and it wasn't her own.
"Hey! You! The lady in the swamp dress!"
Ume's head snapped up. It was a human—an Invoked—a young man covered in crudely scavenged leather armor, looking utterly bewildered and holding a heavy wooden club. He was ten yards away, staring at her with wide, desperate eyes.
The Mist appeared again but in her head, "Mrs.Ume, let me warn you, it's not just you who has been dragged into this game. When Mr. Hara was attacked, the game was also activated and it chose its own players and brought them here which I couldn't even control. So, be careful."
"You're... new," he gasped, his voice tight with desperation. "I just saw you drop out of the sky. Do you know where the exit is? I just want the exit! This place is wrong."
Ume remained perfectly still, her mind a whirling calculator. Variable: Player. Threat assessment: Low skill, high panic. Potential use: Distraction. She couldn't afford to speak; she couldn't afford to move without a plan. Answering him would only invite more interaction, more risk.
The young man, interpreting her silence as either shock or refusal, took a hesitant step toward her. "Hey! Don't ignore me! Do you have any gear? Any idea what's going on?"
Before Ume could formulate a diplomatic lie—a lie that would secure her safety while keeping him away—the Weeping Creeper's target shifted. Drawn by the frantic movement and loud noise, the monster turned its attention away from the silent, still Ume and fixed its gaze on the blundering young man.
The Invoked screamed, a high, thin sound that tore through the air, and raised his club uselessly. He was a perfect distraction, a lightning rod for the monster's attention. Ume felt a surge of cold, terrible relief. She had been granted a shield, however temporary and innocent.
She focused her gaze on the approaching creature, ignoring the young man's whimpers of terror. The stakes were too high for compassion. Hara's life was more important than anything right now.
She activated her Aspect. The complex sensation of The Chest activating in her mind, like a key turning in a lock, overlaid the Creeper with a translucent bronze lock. The Mist did not waste time. The luminous text appeared, demanding immediate, ruthless intellectual effort:
I hide a poison that only moves slow,
I have many eyes, but nothing to show.
I am protected by a terrible cover,
But a hungry root is my only true lover.
Ume inhaled the swamp's toxic breath. Five minutes. She had five minutes to solve the riddle, steal the key, and execute a flawless, touchless victory. Her first strategic challenge was not the monster, but the logic required to survive it. The true game had begun.