The bowmaster's hall in the village square smelled of oiled wood and age. Sunlight slanted through narrow windows, casting golden bars across rows of weapon racks and polished stone floors. The scent of varnish, leather, and quiet reverence hung in the air like incense. This wasn't just a storage room, it was a sanctuary of purpose. Every surface gleamed like it had been tended for generations.
Longbows lined the walls, some plain and functional, others adorned with carved motifs of leaf, flame, and sky. Runes shimmered faintly along curved limbs, silver and greensteel inlay catching the light. Each bow stood upright like a sentinel, waiting for a worthy hand. But one stood apart.
Encased in glass, surrounded by softly glowing enchantment, the relic bow needed no ornamentation. Its darkwood limbs gleamed like wet stone beneath starlight. The string held tension as though it had never been loosed.
"That one," said the quartermaster, catching my gaze, "belonged to Althir Velnaris. Champion of the Silver Watch."
He stepped closer to the display, voice dipping into reverent quiet.
"It hasn't been touched in two centuries. Carved from dusk-oak and strung with dragon sinew. It responds only to legacy... and will."
A pause. As if daring me to believe it.
"No one has earned it. And no one will, unless Elunaria herself wills it."
I gave a small nod, more out of politeness than awe. I wasn't here for relics. I didn't need legends. I needed a weapon.
He turned and selected one from the general rack. Smooth, balanced, plain. A bow meant for function. He handed it to me without ceremony. Then came a quiver full of arrows, a small red tonic for health, another blue for stamina, and a neatly wrapped strip of dried meat.
"Standard issue," he said, already walking away.
It felt solid in my hands. Unremarkable. But mine.
I left without a word.
Back at the range, I paused at the edge of the trees. The clearing beyond hadn't changed. Same ring of straw targets, weathered from a thousand arrows. Same warm grass beaten down by boots. Same sharp tang of bark, sweat, and scorched sun lingering in the air. Caelorn was unmoving, eternal. Still stood at his post like a monument carved by the forest itself. Hooded, arms crossed, his eyes unreadable beneath shadow.
I stepped forward, my boots crunching softly on gravel. The sound felt loud after the hush of the trees. My heart pounded, but not from fear. From memory. From the weight of what I had endured.
A few players turned their heads. One nudged another. "That NPC's back again," he whispered. A low chuckle followed.
But I didn't flinch.
I wasn't here to hide.
I wasn't the same girl who had bled her hands raw trying to pull a bow that had never been hers. That version of me had shattered. Now, I walked with something else inside me.
Resolve.
I crossed the range with calm certainty. Not pride. Not arrogance. Just weight. The weight of hours. Of persistence. Of silence.
Caelorn's gaze flicked toward me. His posture didn't change but I saw it. The acknowledgment. A single, nearly invisible nod of recognition.
A quiet moment passed, and though he said nothing, it felt like a gate had opened.
I stepped into the open lane.
The world narrowed into a single thread of breath and tension.
Wind whispered through the canopy above, nudging the leaves like secrets exchanged between trees. Arrows thunked into distant targets like echoes of someone else's rhythm. Voices buzzed behind me - curious, amused, skeptical but none of it reached me.
This moment was mine.
My hand hovered over the quiver. The touch of the shaft beneath my fingers sent a jolt of memory through me: every failed attempt, every whisper behind my back, every night I almost gave up. I gripped it with care and reverence.
The other hand curled around the bow's grip. The wood was smooth and warm, carrying the ghost of every draw I had forced through aching muscle.
Some players stopped what they were doing. One nudged another. A few turned.
I could feel their eyes pressing against me. Heavy. Curious. Dismissive. They weren't watching a person. They were watching a rumor, a curiosity, a glitch.
I breathed in.
The arrow met the string like it had always belonged there.
I drew.
The string pulled tight. It flexed with me. Balanced against me. Daring me to falter.
But I didn't.
I found the stance I had trained into my bones. Legs firm. Core locked. Shoulders rolled down and back. My spine straightened like a string of fate being drawn.
The bow creaked in quiet recognition. Like it knew.
Behind me, someone gasped.
Still, I didn't look.
Sweat slid down my temple in a single line, carving a path along my cheek.
My vision tunneled, collapsing the world into a single point of red and white, the bullseye. The same center I had missed for weeks. The same spot that had mocked me with silence and straw.
I felt my heartbeat slow.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
One breath in...
I held it. Steady...
Held it...
The wind died...
Now.
And I let go.
Thwack.
The arrow flew fast and true, slicing through the air like a whispered oath.
It struck the target.
Dead center.
Perfect
Silence swept the range. The kind of silence that doesn't happen unless something important has just been rewritten.
Then came the voices.
"Wait... was that her?"
"She moved again. I swear she moved."
"No way she's an NPC. Did you see that form?"
"She's gotta be part of a hidden questline."
Players started gathering. Some wore beginner leathers. Others had gilded cloaks and gleaming blades. Even those who'd long since outleveled this place watched in disbelief.
Their eyes clung to me like vines, tangled with speculation.
[System Notice: Tutorial Complete.]
[Level Up! — Level 2]
[You have gained 4 attribute points.]
The message flickered softly across my vision, golden and still. I didn't blink.
Something stirred inside me, a calm kind of fire. A smile touched my lips. Then the crowd surged.
"She has to be an event trigger."
"No, look at how she reacts... she's real."
"I swear she blinked. She felt that."
"Try messaging her!"
"She won't answer. Her dialogue's probably locked until you trigger something."
A group moved in, voices building like pressure. Notifications pinged against my blocked inbox. Someone raised their camera tool for a screenshot. Someone else reached out a hand.
I stepped back.
Their excitement was suffocating. Every footstep and whisper echoed too loud, too close.
And I ran.
I turned and bolted, past the target dummies, past the training lanes, through the low field beyond. The shouts dimmed behind me.
The trees opened like gates. I plunged into the forest.
Branches caught at my sleeves. Leaves scraped across my face. Roots snatched at my boots. Still, I didn't stop.
Only when the last voice was gone did I begin to slow.
My chest heaved. My arms ached.
[You have entered an open-zone region. Realism 100% - Enabled. All pain, hunger, and exhaustion effects are now active.]
The forest pressed around me. The game no longer held my hand.
[Warning: You have entered a Level 25+ area. Zone classified as High Danger. Proceed with extreme caution.]
A deep, resonant roar shattered the silence. Not distant. Not safe. It rolled through the underbrush like thunder.
I froze mid-step, breath catching in my throat.
"I... I should go back," I whispered. My voice sounded small here.
Another roar, louder, closer. Leaves trembled overhead. The ground underfoot felt suddenly too soft.
"God... where's the way back?"
A bush ahead rustled violently. Something heavy shifted behind it. I flinched, stumbling a step back. The undergrowth parted.