A voice echoed somewhere in the dark.
Faint at first. Soft.
"Hey… can you hear me?"
Rian groaned. His head throbbed. Everything felt heavy and far away, like he was sinking underwater.
"Am I… in heaven?" he muttered weakly. "You sound… too naggy to be an angel."
There was a pause. Then smack!
"OW!"
His eyes flew open.
The first thing he saw was a wooden ceiling rough planks, uneven and cracked, sunlight slipping through the gaps. His head still pulsed from where something had struck him.
Standing beside the bed was a young woman, maybe seventeen or eighteen, her arms crossed and expression sharp with irritation. Her brown hair was tied in a loose braid, and she wore a plain linen dress something straight out of a medieval world.
"You're finally awake," she said flatly. "Mom's calling you for breakfast. You're going to make her mad again if you don't come down."
Rian blinked at her. "…Mom?"
She frowned. "What's wrong with you? You're acting weird again. Hurry before Dad finishes everything."
Before he could say anything, she turned and left, the wooden door creaking shut behind her.
He sat there, silent, his heart thudding in his chest.
The air felt real. Too real. The smell of wood and hay filled his nose, sunlight warming the sheets beneath him. None of it felt like a dream.
He slowly pushed himself up. His body felt… off. His arms smaller, lighter. He could feel the difference in weight and strength right away.
Then he caught his reflection in a small, cracked mirror hanging by the wall.
The face that looked back at him wasn't his.
The tired twenty-six-year-old with dark circles under his eyes were gone.
Instead, a boy of about fourteen or fifteen stared back sharp features, short black hair, eyes clearer than he remembered his ever being.
Rian's breath caught. He reached out and touched his cheek. The reflection moved too, mimicking every motion. His fingers brushed smooth skin younger, softer.
"This… isn't me," he whispered.
His mind raced. Every sense, every breath, told him this wasn't a dream. The air, the sound of footsteps downstairs, the faint smell of food everything was too solid.
Then
"Leon!"
The woman's voice came again from below.
Rian froze.
"Leon! Are you still sleeping?!"
He looked around, confused. Leon? Who was Leon?
The voice came sharper this time. "LEON!"
He hesitated, then pointed to himself. "…Wait, me?"
No answer. Only the sound of clattering plates and a voice calling again, "Hurry up, breakfast's getting cold!"
He sighed. "Okay… I guess I'm Leon now."
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The wooden floor creaked beneath his bare feet as he made his way down a narrow staircase.
The first thing that hit him was the smell warm bread, herbs, something stewing slowly over a fire.
In a small kitchen below, a woman was setting dishes on the table. Her face was kind, her smile soft, framed by brown hair streaked with faint gray.
The older sister from earlier his supposed sister was helping her. She glanced at him when he came down, her eyes narrowing slightly.
"Finally," she said, brushing her hands on her apron. "You sure took your time."
At the table sat a tall, broad man with a thick beard, sharpening a knife. His hands looked like they'd been used for years of heavy work.
"Morning, son," the man said without looking up.
"…Morning," Rian replied awkwardly.
A few moments later, another young man entered from outside, carrying a bucket of water likely his older brother. He looked strong, confident, maybe eighteen or nineteen.
"Morning, Leon," the brother greeted.
Rian nodded nervously. "Uh… morning."
The woman his "mother" apparently smiled at him. "Sit down, dear. You must be starving."
He obeyed, sitting down at the rough wooden table. The bowl in front of him was filled with thick stew and bread.
The moment he tasted it, he froze.
It was delicious warm, rich, real. He could feel the texture, the heat, the spice. No dream had ever felt this vivid.
His supposed sister the older one sat across from him, watching with suspicion. "You're acting strange, Leon. Did you hit your head again?"
He let out a shaky laugh. "Maybe I did."
The father grunted a laugh. "Still half-asleep, I see. That's what happens when you stay up late reading those stories again."
Rian smiled awkwardly, nodding just to keep things normal.
But his mind was spiraling. Leon. Mom. Dad. Sister. Brother.
It didn't make sense. None of this did.
Then, as he lifted his spoon again, the older brother spoke casually, "By the way, Father, are you going to Verdale Village again today?"
Rian froze.
The father nodded. "Aye. Need to check the supplies before the next shipment."
Verdale Village.
The name hit him like lightning.
He knew that name. He had seen it for years written on maps, mentioned in quest logs, NPC dialogues.
It was the beginner village in the game.
Eternal Quest.
The very same game he had devoted half his life trying to beat.
His spoon slipped from his hand and clattered against the bowl. Everyone turned toward him.
"Leon?" his sister asked. "You okay?"
He quickly forced a smile. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just… hot stew."
The father chuckled. "You really are hopeless in the mornings."
Rian nodded stiffly, but his eyes were distant.
Through the small window beside the table, he could see rolling green hills and the faint shimmer of a dirt path leading into a nearby forest. In the far distance, almost hidden by mist, stood a tall stone tower.
His chest tightened. He'd seen that tower before in loading screens, in game menus, in cutscenes.
It was real now.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't imagining things.
Somehow
he was inside the game.
The same game that had destroyed his life.
And the name that wasn't his
"Leon"
now belonged to him.