Aestra became aware of himself standing.
There was no sensation of arrival—no falling, no flash of light, no warning of transition. One instant, there was nothing. The next, his boots rested on solid ground.
He didn't move.
He inhaled slowly, testing the air. It entered his lungs cleanly, without scent or temperature. Too clean. Too perfect. His heartbeat was steady, controlled by habit rather than comfort.
"This is the game," he said under his breath.
His voice echoed once, then vanished into the vast emptiness.
Aestra lowered his gaze.
The ground beneath him was smooth, pale, stretching endlessly in every direction. No seams. No horizon. No landmarks. Just a flat, unfinished plane, as if reality itself hadn't decided what to become yet.
Something was wrong.
He felt it immediately—not fear, but discrepancy.
Before looking outward, he checked himself.
Hands first.
They were large. Broad. Calloused.
Aestra froze.
That wasn't right.
His fingers were too long, his knuckles pronounced, veins visible beneath the skin. He flexed them slowly, feeling strength respond without delay.
Male strength.
His chest tightened.
He looked down at his body.
Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. Weight distributed low and solid. The way his center of balance settled told him everything before logic could catch up.
"…No," he muttered.
He had lost the bet.
He was supposed to wake up female.
The realization struck harder than any shock. The system had been precise—deliberately so. Identity parameters weren't random.
Gender was not something it simply forgot.
Aestra straightened slowly, pulse quickening for the first time.
"System," he said clearly. "Status."
Nothing.
No interface appeared. No translucent menu. No icons. No artificial confirmation.
He frowned.
"Log out."
Silence.
He turned in place, scanning the empty space. "System, abort immersion."
Still nothing.
Aestra's jaw tightened.
This wasn't like any game environment he had ever seen—even the experimental ones Louis had shown him. There should have been at least a failsafe overlay. A confirmation prompt. Something.
Instead, the space remained blank.
Unresponsive.
A faint chill crept up his spine.
Then—
A scream broke the silence.
Aestra spun toward the sound.
A figure stood several meters away, clutching their head, breathing fast and shallow. Another appeared beside them. Then another.
People were forming across the empty plane, scattered without pattern or order.
Aestra watched carefully, tension building behind his ribs.
Something else caught his attention almost immediately.
The man nearest him was tall, muscular—and covered in scales.
Deep red, layered naturally along his neck and arms. When the man lifted his hands, blunt claws flexed unconsciously. His eyes glowed faintly gold, pupils slit vertically.
Aestra's breath slowed.
Not human.
His gaze moved.
Pointed ears. Luminous markings along skin.
Elf.
A woman hovered inches above the ground, wings folded tightly against her back—wings made of light, not feathers.
Angel.
Aestra turned slowly, scanning wider.
More figures continued to appear.
Horns. Wings. Scales.
All different.
All inhuman.
None—
None like him.
The truth settled in with cold clarity.
There are no humans here.
Aestra's pulse spiked.
He lowered his head immediately and reached up, pulling the hood of his cloak over his face. Shadow gathered beneath it, unnaturally thick, obscuring his features far more than cloth should.
He didn't question it.
He stepped subtly to the side, positioning himself behind a larger dragonkin figure, breaking his outline, reducing visibility. His movements were quiet, unremarkable.
Around him, panic spread.
"What is this place?!"
"I can't feel my connection to the sky—what did they do?!"
"Where is my clan?!"
Aestra said nothing.
His thoughts moved fast.
Wrong body.
No interface.
No logout.
No humans.
This wasn't just a bug.
It was a lock.
He tried again, more forcefully.
"System. Emergency exit."
Nothing.
Not even a delay.
No acknowledgment at all.
For the first time since waking, a flicker of unease cut through his calm.
If the system couldn't hear him—
Then this place wasn't operating under normal game protocols.
As if responding to the growing chaos, the space itself seemed to tighten. The air grew heavier, subtly pressing against his senses, like something massive shifting its attention.
Aestra felt it pass over him.
Once.
Twice.
He kept his breathing even, posture relaxed, mind empty.
For a moment, the pressure lingered on him longer than the others.
Then it moved on.
Aestra didn't relax.
He stared at the pale ground beneath his boots.
He was supposed to be someone else.
He was supposed to be a different body.
A different role.
Instead, he stood here—human, unmarked, unsupported—inside a world that did not recognize him.
And no matter how many times he called out—
The system did not answer.