Player One of Aethelgard

“A wooden stick?”

Caspian’s voice was flat with disbelief. He watched as the shimmering, human-sized portal before him spat out the object. It was a simple length of wood, as long as his forearm, slightly knotted and rough-barked. It clattered onto the stone platform at his feet.

The reaction from the crowd in Oakhaven’s town square was instant and merciless.

A snicker came first, then a loud guffaw from a burly blacksmith’s apprentice. Soon, the entire gathering was roaring with laughter. Caspian stood frozen, the heat of a fierce blush crawling up his neck. This was the grand event of his Consecration? This was his weapon?

In the world of Aethelgard, every person was born with an inner energy called Aether. It was the fuel for everything—magic, technology, the very strength of the realm. On your eighteenth birthday, you placed your hands on the Consecration Orb. It measured the depth and quality of your Aether, and then the Consecration Portal would manifest, gifting you a weapon that would become the conduit for your power.

Your entire destiny was decided in that moment. This bond was absolute and singular. The weapon the portal gave could have only one owner in its entire existence, and a person could only ever receive one weapon in their lifetime.

It was a bond for life.

Or, as the town elders somberly noted, until death. If a Hunter fell in battle during a quest or met their end in the wilds, their weapon would vanish from their grasp and respawn inside the eternal Consecration Portal, a silent tombstone awaiting a future where it might never be claimed again. This ultimate bond was sealed in blood. Immediately after receiving it, a Hunter had to place their own blood upon the weapon—a simple cut on the palm pressed to the hilt or the blade—for it to truly recognize its master and channel their Aether properly. Without the blood bond, it was just an inert object.

With strong Aether, a simple sword could cleave through stone. A basic gun could have unlimited ammunition and extraordinary strong bullets, but that all depended on the amount of Aether you possessed. The weapon was a reflection of your soul and your potential.

And Caspian? Oh, he wasn’t from Aethelgard. Last week, he’d been Caspian Vance, a college senior with a killer GPA and a signed offer letter from NovaSoft Interactive, the world’s largest gaming company. His future was a sleek desk, triple monitors, and coding the next big hit. He lived and breathed games.

Which was why, on a nostalgic whim, he’d picked up that ancient DVD from the dusty back shelf of a rental store. Chronicles of Aethelgard: Realm of Steel and Sigil. The box art was hilariously outdated. He’d popped it into his laptop just to see how bad it was.

When the menu loaded, a single, clean prompt appeared, stark white on a black screen.

“Would you like to experience our latest update?”

Y / N

A gamer never says no to new content. He clicked ‘Y’ without a second thought.

And worse of all? He chose the Hardcore level.

The sensation was like being shoved through his own screen. There was a lurch, a whirl of blinding light and sound, and then… silence. The smell of pine and damp soil. The feel of moss under his fingertips.

“What the— What is this? Where am I?” he’d yelled, spinning around in a dense, unfamiliar forest. His mission?

"DEFEAT THE GAME TO EXIT AETHELGARD"

The game instructed.

It took three terrifying, hungry days of applying survival-game logic to real life—don’t eat the weirdly glowing berries, avoid the growling in the bushes—before he stumbled upon the frontier town of Oakhaven. And through confused conversations, he pieced it together. He wasn’t in a Kansas farmhouse anymore. He was in the game. The stupid, old, supposedly single-player RPG was now his very real, very dangerous reality. A sci-fantasy world where laser rifles could sit next to spellbooks, and monsters roamed outside the city walls.

His first obvious quest? Get to the town square. Every new 18-year-old was receiving their Consecration today. Different Guilds—the Iron Vanguard, the Arcanum Syndicate, the Trade League—had representatives lining the edges, their eyes sharp. They were scouts, waiting to snag the talented ones. The stronger the weapon, the stronger the person is, and the better the signing bonus.

When it was Caspian’s time, his stomach was a knot of nerves and a tiny shred of gamer’s hope. Maybe I’ll get something awesome, he’d thought. Maybe my outsider status means I’m special.

He stepped onto the broad platform carved with glowing, silvery symbols. Before him hovered the Consecration Orb, a sphere of swirling opal light. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on it.

It grew warm. It lit up with a faint, yellowish light that flickered uncertainly for about three seconds. A murmur ran through the crowd. The light sputtered and died.

The portal ripped open beside the orb, a vertical tear in reality. Caspian held his breath. "Give me a sword. A cool energy blade. A plasma cannon. Anything."

The portal gurgled. It shuddered. Then, with a sound like a dismissive cough, it ejected a single, unremarkable wooden stick. It bounced once and lay still.

“A wooden stick?” Caspian said, his voice hollow, as the laughter erupted around him.

He was a cosmic joke. The ultimate noob. The guy who min-maxes his character only to roll a critical failure on his very first loot drop. Humiliation washed over him, cold and thick. He stared at the stick, the dreams of gaming glory he’d secretly harbored turning to ash.

But then, as the Guild recruiters turned away and the crowd’s mockery reached its peak, a familiar blue screen materialized in the center of his vision. It was crisp, clean, with the perfect UI scaling of a top-tier game. It hovered there, visible only to him, blocking his view of the laughing faces.

Two words glowed with a gentle, inviting light:

[Player Chosen]

Caspian’s breath caught. The laughter around him faded into a distant buzz. The heat of shame vanished, replaced by a jolt of pure, electric excitement that shot down his spine. A grin, small at first, then wide and unstoppable, spread across his face. He looked down at the stupid, simple, wonderful stick in his hands.

T

hat’s when Caspian Vance’s gaming career took its most exciting turn.