In a quiet Afternoon, A Mire Golem trudged through the soggy border where Xerion's swamp merged with its rainforest, the air heavy with 36°C humidity that made everything feel like it was drowning.
Its body—a lumbering heap of mud, tangled vines, and murky water—sloshed with each step, leaving a trail of oozing muck. Hunger drove it, a deep, gnawing need to feed, to soak up something alive to keep its form from crumbling back into the swamp.
It was hunting, scouring the twisted roots and stagnant pools for anything worth consuming. Small critters or stray plants weren't enough today. It craved something bigger, something to make it whole.Then, a flash caught its senses.
Up in the sky, cutting through the gloomy mist, a speck of light glimmered—too bright, too strange for Xerion's dim haze. The Golem's instincts, more vibration than thought, zeroed in.
Curious, or as close to curious as a thing of mud could get, it shambled toward it. The light was dropping, getting closer, pulling the Golem along like a moth to a flame.
Food?
Maybe. It didn't know, but it wanted it.The shining sphere hit the ground with a wet thump, splattering mud not far from the Golem's bulk.
The impact sent a quiver through its watery core, and it paused, feeling the pulse of something new. From the fading glow, a creature appeared—small, upright, with odd colors and shapes that didn't belong. Soft skin, but mis matched in colour.
The Golem didn't care what it was. One thing rang clear: food. Warm, alive, buzzing with life and maybe a spark of Aether.
Its hunger roared, and it surged forward, each step a heavy squelch as it closed in.The creature was dazed, stumbling like it was lost in its own head.
Easy pickings. The Golem's maw—a jagged mess of mud and sharp roots—gaped wide, ready to clamp down and drain this strange thing dry. But right as it lunged, disaster.
The ground, its home, its strength, gave way. Its massive weight slipped, and it fell—a humiliating crash into the muck. A creature of mud and water, born from the swamp's heart, fell. Really fell.
It didn't get it.
How?
Never before had it faltered like this. The shock held it for a second, its form trembling as it tried to make sense of the impossible.
No time to think. The food was moving.
The Golem dragged itself up, mud dripping, and gave chase. The creature was fast—too fast for something so scrawny.
Its limbs flailed, its breaths came in harsh pants like a cornered beast, but it kept going. The Golem tore through the swamp, snapping vines, its bulk unstoppable.
For a few minutes, it gained ground. The creature stumbled, clearly spent, and the Golem's hunger spiked. This food was full, bursting with energy. It'd be a good meal, enough to hold its body together for a while.
But then the creature shifted. It had been running like a mindless thing, all panic and no purpose, its limbs dangling like they'd give out. Now, it stood straighter. Its steps steadied, got faster.
The Golem felt the gap widen again, and something like anger flared. This wasn't right. It was the hunter, the swamp's terror.
Yet this frail thing was outrunning it, mocking it with every step. The Golem roared, a wet, guttural bellow that shook the trees. It was furious—furious at the food's speed, its stone-like stamina, its refusal to just stop.Worse, the food started to think.
The Golem sensed it—the way its movements sharpened, its path turned deliberate. No longer a brainless husk, it was plotting. It veered sharply, a turn the Golem's bulk couldn't follow, and dove into a narrow cave—a dark slit in the rock.
The Golem skidded to a stop, its arm, a shapeless mass of mud and vines, swiping at the air. Too late. The food was gone, out of reach. Rage boiled. It slammed its bulk against the cave's mouth, once, twice, the impacts rattling the stone.
Nothing. The rock held firm, mocking its strength. One last desperate punch, hoping for a crack, only left a faint creak in the air.The Golem stood there, quivering, its form starting to fray.
Mud sloughed off, its watery core leaking faster than it could hold. It was running out of time—its body was unraveling, bit by bit. But it turned to leave, convincing itself it was generous. It was letting the food go, sparing it.
Not because it was weakening, not because it might collapse into a lifeless puddle if it kept pushing. Definitely not. It huffed, a low, bubbling hrumph, and shuffled off into the swamp, moving fast despite itself.
The food had slipped away, but the Golem believed it chose to let it live. And somehow, that belief held it together, kept its crumbling form intact just a little longer as it vanished into the mire.
*****
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✶ Dimension Walker ✶
✧ The Veiled Paragon ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
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*****
The morning light filtered through the cave entrance, faint and pale. It seemed to taunt Norian as he slumped against the cold, jagged stone wall.Every shift sent sharp, electric stabs of pain through his limbs.
His muscles felt shredded, clumsily sewn back together. His mind churned, haunted by the guttural roar of the Mire Golem that had chased him into this damp, suffocating shelter.The sound lingered, a phantom echo clawing at his thoughts.
It refused to let him rest.
Norian Veyar, a Dimension Walker—barely—was no hero. At eighteen, he was just a skinny kid, 5.6 feet tall, underfed from a childhood of scraping by. His face wasn't handsome, but maybe, in a kind light, cute.
His dark hair was matted with sweat and dirt. His pale skin bore fresh bruises and shallow cuts, some crusted with dried blood. He noticed them now, stirring from a collapse-induced haze, his eyes tracing the damage.
His t-shirt was torn at the sleeve and hem. Somewhere in his desperate flight, he'd lost the kitchen knife he'd clutched when he first awoke in this alien world.
One shoe was gone too, his left foot bare and scraped raw.
'I can't go back. Not there.'
The thought of retracing his steps made his stomach twist.He reached for his t-shirt, wincing as the fabric tugged at his skin. He tore a strip from the hem, the sound sharp in the cave's stillness.
He wrapped it tightly around a deep cut on his forearm, the blood crusted but threatening infection in this humid, filthy place. His fingers fumbled, clumsy with pain, but he tied the makeshift bandage as best he could.
'Better than nothing. Gotta keep it clean.'
He glanced at his single shoe, lopsided and useless on the uneven ground. With a sigh, he kicked it off, letting it thud beside the cave wall.
'Barefoot's better. Too hot for that anyway.'
The 33°C heat of the rainforest even in the early morning made the choice feel right, even if the earth was warm and unforgiving.He used the cave wall for support, his trembling hands scraping against the rough stone.
He forced himself upright, his vision swimming, black spots dancing at the edges.The air was heavy, earthy, and damp. A faint, rotting stench—the lingering trace of the Mire Golem's decay—clung to his lungs, making his throat tighten.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. This wasn't his cramped apartment back on Earth, with its flickering lights and peeling walls.Panic clawed at his chest, his breath hitching. His eyes darted around the dim cave.Then reality crashed in: Xerion.
A [Tier-1] world, far from Veltharion's advanced systems. He was here on assignment—his first, the one that would make him a true Walker, with all the benefits that came with it. Or break him.
'Why me? I'm not cut out for this.'
The thought tightened the knot in his chest. His hands shook as he pressed them to his face, trying to steady his breathing.
The chase replayed in his mind: the Golem's glowing eyes cutting through the mist, the ground shaking under its steps, his legs burning as he ran, certain each step was his last.He hadn't slept, not really—just collapsed into a fractured haze of nightmares filled with teeth and mud.
His body ached, his emotions distant, like they were trapped behind glass. He was alive, but he didn't feel it.A sharp chime sliced through the silence.Norian flinched, his breath catching.
His body tensed as if something was about to pounce.A holographic screen flickered to life, its blue glow cold and clinical. It hovered like a stern overseer, lines of code scrolling into place, precise and unyielding.
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[SYSTEM INTERFACE – VELTHARION DIRECTIVE v2.8]
●User: Norian Veyar
●Location: Xerion [Tier 1 World]
●Mission Status: Active
●MISSION: Kindle Belief in Veltharion Objective: Inspire 1000 citizens of Xerion to embrace Veltharion's existence and purpose.
●Progress: 0 / 1000
●Time Limit: None
●Difficulty: Moderate
●Retreat Protocol:
As a candidate Walker, you have 3 chances to abandon a mission. Retreating will result in full restoration by Veltharion's will, followed by immediate reassignment to a new mission in peak condition. Chances remaining: 3.
●MISSION CONTEXT:
Xerion's planetary will is dormant, its potential waiting to be awakened. Veltharion seeks to nurture this will through mutual growth, fostering belief among Xerion's citizens. As a Dimension Walker, your success strengthens the world's will, which in turn empowers its people and supports your growth. You are one of several Walkers tasked with planting these seeds of belief through persuasion or example. Challenges may arise, as balance is maintained through trial. Track progress via the Mission Tracker.
●REWARDS:
[On Completion]:
☆200 AetherCredBasic
☆Aether Manipulation Primer
☆Full Walker Recognition [Tier 2 System Access]
●Note: Engage locals to begin mission.
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The red "MISSION ASSIGNED" banner flashed once, then dimmed. There was no option to accept—it was already decided.Norian stared at the objective: 1000 people.
It felt like an impossible mountain, each citizen a stone he'd have to carry alone.This was his first mission, the one that would make him a true Walker, unlocking Veltharion's full resources. It wasn't just about him, though.
The system promised mutual growth: his efforts would awaken Xerion's will, strengthening its people, creating a cycle where everyone benefited.
'Sounds nice, but I'm the one bleeding.'
He could walk away. The Retreat Protocol was clear: 3 chances to abandon a mission, to be healed by Veltharion's will and sent to another world, whole and ready.
'A fresh start. No pain, no Golem.'
The thought was tempting, a lifeline in this nightmare.But Norian's stomach twisted. Losing a chance without trying felt like admitting he was nothing.
This was his shot to become more than a scared kid, to prove he could survive.He wouldn't retreat—not unless he was inches from death, the Golem's fist about to crush him.'I'm not brave. But I'm not quitting.
Not yet.'The [Mission Tracker] icon pulsed quietly in the corner of the display. Norian's hand hovered, trembling, then fell. Fighting the system was pointless.The rewards—credits, power, recognition—were a distant promise, bait for someone like him.
He wasn't a hero. He was just Norian, battered and scared, with no choice but to keep going.He shuffled toward the cave entrance, each step a negotiation with his aching body.
The ground was littered with clumps of rotten mud, remnants of the Mire Golem's presence. The stench hit him—a putrid, decaying odor that made his stomach churn.
He gagged, covering his nose with his bandaged arm. The smell was inescapable, seeping into his lungs like a curse.He stepped outside, the morning light soft but still forcing him to squint.
The forest beyond was cloaked in mist, its silence heavy and solemn, broken only by the faint drip of water from unseen leaves.The air carried the same rotting stench, now mixed with the earthy tang of the rainforest.
The 33°C heat pressed against him like a damp blanket he couldn't shake off.The cave entrance bore the scars of his escape—deep gouges where the Golem's fist had struck, smeared with foul, blackened mud.
The sight made his chest tighten, but he forced himself to look away.
'Focus. Food. Water. Then… the mission.'
Norian took a shaky step forward, his bare feet sinking into the warm, soft earth.The forest was too quiet, its weight pressing against him. He wasn't a hero, not even close.
He was just a kid, out of place, carrying a mission he barely understood.But he moved forward, because stopping meant giving up, and giving up meant losing a chance he couldn't afford to waste.
He was a Walker. A witness. A spark for a world that needed him as much as he needed it.
And he wouldn't look away.
-To Be Continued