He was thirty-two years old and felt as though he had already reached the end of his life.
Every morning he woke at the same time, put on the same gray shirt, and left the apartment without knowing why he still bothered. He was an employee—replaceable, inconspicuous, overlooked. In his boss's eyes, a mistake that should never have been hired. Each workday was a sequence of condescending glances, passive-aggressive remarks, and the constant fear of being replaced.
At home, things were no better. His family laughed at him.
"You've amounted to nothing," they said, half-joking, half-serious.
Sometimes he laughed along—not because it was funny, but because pretending it didn't hurt was easier.
He had no friends. No one he could explain the emptiness to. No one who listened. No one who stayed.
And then there was his wife.
Or at least the woman he believed he knew.
After an especially brutal shift—overtime, accusations, yet another public reprimand from his boss—he wandered through the city, lost in thought. Rain had begun to fall, but he barely noticed. His shoulders sagged, his gaze hollow. He only wanted to go home. Sleep. Forget.
As he passed a restaurant, he stopped.
Inside, behind the glass, sat two people he recognized instantly.
His wife.
And his boss.
She was laughing. A real laugh. One he hadn't heard from her in months. Then she leaned forward—and kissed him.
The world fell silent.
His heart pounded, his hands trembled. Without truly thinking, he took a step forward. Then another. He wanted to go inside. Wanted answers. Wanted to scream. Wanted everything to end.
---
He stopped.
His foot refused the next step.
His hand did not open the door.
Something inside him shattered—not loudly, not suddenly, but quietly. Like glass yielding under pressure. He turned away. Not out of strength, not out of reason, but out of exhaustion.
He went home.
The apartment greeted him with silence. No light. No welcome. Only the familiar emptiness. He slipped off his shoes, let his jacket fall carelessly, and sat before the old computer that had remained his only refuge through the years.
The screen flickered to life.
Yggdrasil – DMMORPG
A game he once loved.
A world where rules mattered. Where performance counted. Where no one laughed when you fell—you simply stood up again.
Today was the last day.
The servers were scheduled to shut down permanently at midnight.
He hesitated. His old account still existed—full of memories, names, and a past that felt almost as heavy as the real world. So he chose differently.
Create new account.
A new name.
No friends.
No guild.
No history.
Just him.
While the rain outside grew heavier, he crafted his character. Every choice felt more meaningful than anything he had decided in years. Class, race, starting region—things that gave him control. Things he had long since lost in real life.
When the login button lit up, he leaned back.
"Just until the end," he murmured.
"Then this will be over too."
The screen faded to black.
A final message appeared:
> [Notice] The world of Yggdrasil will end shortly.
Thank you for your time.
He entered the world.
And for the first time in a long while,
he felt nothing but calm.
He did not know
that this world would not simply end.
It would recognize him.
---
His avatar was plain.
Level 1.
Human.
No special titles. No rare attributes. As unremarkable as he was himself.
As the image cleared, he stood beneath an open sky. Cold air brushed his face, the ground beneath his feet damp and firm. Before him stretched Midgard—forests, hills, distant mountains resting in gray light. No music. No voices. Only wind.
He had spawned outside.
Before he could take a step, he heard a voice.
"You look lost."
An elderly woman stood a few meters away. Her back was slightly bent, yet her gaze was sharp and alert. There was something unnatural in her eyes—as if she saw more than she should.
"If you'd like," she said slowly,
"I can make you stronger. Quickly."
He did not hesitate long.
Stronger.
Not weak again.
Not laughed at again.
He nodded.
A faint smile crossed her face as she handed him a small, simple box. No ornament. No inscription. But the moment he touched it, he felt it.
Power.
> [Item Received]
Race Change Box
His heart raced. This was luck. Finally. Without thinking, he opened the box.
Light burst forth.
Then—
> [System Message]
Server shutdown in 10… 9…
The world began to flicker. The ground warped beneath his feet, the sky tore open like corrupted code. The old woman looked at him—not surprised, not afraid.
Almost… knowing.
> 3… 2… 1…
Everything went black.
No logout.
No credits.
No end.
When he opened his eyes again, he was sitting.
On a throne.
The stone beneath him was cold, cracked, ancient. Around him rose the remains of a vast palace—collapsed pillars, shattered windows, burned banners whose symbols had long been forgotten.
The sky above him was dark red.
No interface.
No HUD.
No logout button.
Only silence.
And the dreadful realization
that this was no longer a game.
---
To be continued