The world did not end with the war.It ended after.
When the guns fell silent and nations licked their wounds, something far worse descended upon the earth. They came without warning—abominations of flesh and shadow, tearing their way from sky, sea, and soil alike. To them it did not matter whether they devoured cities or oceans, armies or forests. Humanity named them Aberrants, though the word did little to capture the horror of their arrival.
The world resisted, but resistance was meaningless. Bombs, fire, steel—nothing held against their advance. For years humanity endured, dwindling day by day, until the very idea of survival seemed laughable. And then, at the edge of despair, The Oracle appeared.
A figure of impossible radiance, the Oracle claimed no throne nor banner, but bore instead the will of humanity itself. From its hand came a gift—the Nexus Protocol. Those who received it were changed, no longer bound to the flesh they were born with. They became Interlinkers, able to manifest avatars of power and step through the gates into realms beyond human imagining.
It was there, in the Outer Realms, that the first Interlinkers carved hope from the unknown. They returned with weapons, relics, and knowledge humanity had never possessed. And when the Aberrants came again, it was the Interlinkers who stood in their path, fighting monsters with the strength of worlds not their own. Against all odds, humanity survived its first wave of annihilation.
Years turned into decades. The world remade itself for war and survival, studying the Aberrants and the Realms from which they poured. Scholars uncovered a grim truth: the Aberrants were not strangers to those realms at all—they were natives. Humanity had not been gifted a miracle. It had been drafted into a war of invasions.
In 1981, amidst the chaos of incursions, a new substance was discovered. Kilashima Origin Fuel—a volatile, otherworldly resource scattered across the scars of invasion. From its depths came Kiskema Energy, a force that could awaken new abilities in Interlinkers or breathe alien properties into the simplest of metals and machines. With Kilashima, technology leapt forward. Cities grew taller, weapons sharper, and Interlinkers stronger. The modern world was built on its strange glow.
And yet, questions lingered. Why had the Oracle chosen humanity? Why had the rift between realms opened at all? Was the Nexus Protocol truly a blessing… or the first move in a game humanity had yet to understand?
The Aberrants have not stopped. The Realms have not closed. And the Interlinkers—our reluctant heroes—remain the only line between a fragile world and the abyss.
This was the story—no, the history—of the world I was born into.A story my late parents once told me, not as bedtime tales, but as truths carved in blood. They were Interlinkers themselves, unsung heroes who braved the Outer Realms so that humanity could breathe a little longer.
But heroes rarely live long lives.They passed when I was only six.
Since then, I have lived on the savings they left behind—money they set aside, perhaps already knowing how short their fates would be. Every three months, their comrades—old acquaintances and even their juniors—would stop by to check in on me. They never forgot. I grew up with their visits, their half-smiles, their stories of battles I was too young to remember.
For most of my childhood, I was raised by the shadows of others, cared for not by family but by those who had once fought alongside them. And then, as years passed, I learned to stand on my own.
Now, I carry only their memory… and the legacy of the Nexus that still waits for me.
According to research, the Nexus Protocol awakens when a person turns eighteen.Carved into the soul, they say. An unshakable bond between flesh and realm.What a way to celebrate adulthood.
As for me, I'm counting down the days in a small apartment I rent on the mountainside. The city sits high above the lowland sprawl, where the air is thin but clean, and the view stretches out like an endless canvas. I wouldn't have been able to afford a place like this on my own, but one of my parents' old comrades took notice when I was searching for somewhere to live. She manages the building, and without much fuss, she simply handed me the keys to one of the rooms.
Fate, coincidence—call it what you will.
She has always been different from the others. While most of my parents' acquaintances checked on me once every few months, offering brief visits and polite words, she was the only one who stayed. Consistently. Patiently. She lingered longer, asked questions others didn't, and treated me less like an obligation and more like… family.
The strange part is, she's still an Interlinker herself. Even with the weight of her duties, she never stopped making time for me.
Sometimes I wonder why.
A knock on the door pulled me out of my daydream. I had been sitting by the window, staring at the distant sprawl below, lost in thought.
"Hello? Seyfe, it's me. Jeyda. May I come in?"
Her voice, warm and steady, slipped through the door—gentle but certain, like it always was.
"Yes, Aunt Jeyda. You may come in," I called back, rising to my feet. Out of habit, I straightened the table and nudged the chairs back into place before she stepped inside.
The door creaked open, and there she was. Aunt Jeyda. Her office uniform still clung neatly to her frame, the faint scent of parchment and chalk lingering on her clothes—she must've come straight from the academy where she taught. Her long silver hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, strands scattering in the mountain breeze until they glittered like loose threads of moonlight. For a moment, it almost blinded me.
In her hands was a small box, wrapped neatly, carried with the same care she always showed me.
"Here," she said with a smile that felt like home. "Happy birthday, Seyfe."
Before I could reply, she reached over and patted my head. Just like she always had since I was a boy.
On the table, she set down the box and flipped the lid open. Inside was a modest cake, the kind you could find at any city bakery, but to me it looked like a feast. A single candle stood at the center, unlit, waiting.
But it wasn't the cake that caught my eye. Nestled beside it, cushioned in a small velvet pouch, was something else entirely.
A necklace.
The pendant was a smooth ruby, deep red like a drop of frozen blood, and within its heart a golden rune spiraled endlessly, shifting faintly as though alive. It shimmered when it caught the light, ancient yet impossibly delicate.
My throat tightened. "This… is from my parents?" I asked, my fingers trembling slightly as I held it up to the light. The stone was warm, warmer than any jewel had the right to be.
"Mm-hm." Jeyda smiled, though her eyes softened with something deeper. "Your parents left it for you, long ago. I was asked to keep it safe until the day came."
I couldn't take my eyes off it. The rune's spiral drew me in, pulling at something in my chest I couldn't quite name.
"Golden runes are very rare," Jeyda continued, her tone brightening as she rifled through a drawer for a knife. "They're said to carry special properties. Whoever wears them gets a boost in all aspects—strength, clarity, even resilience. Amazing, isn't it?" She giggled softly, her voice as light as the breeze tossing her hair.
I swallowed hard, clutching the necklace in my palm. It wasn't just a gift. It was a piece of them. A piece of the two people I had only ever known through fading memories and the stories others told.
"They would be happy… seeing me grow up," I murmured, my eyes fixed on the ruby in my hand.
For a moment, silence pressed between us. Jeyda's hand paused mid-cut, the knife hesitating against the cake. It was only a heartbeat, but I noticed. She recovered quickly, sliding the blade down and lifting a neat slice onto a plate.
She set it before me with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
I took the fork and began to eat, the sweetness filling my mouth, though my chest felt heavier with every bite. Across from me, Aunt Jeyda sat quietly, her gaze never straying far.
"I'm sure they would be," she said at last, her voice soft but certain. "You were all they thought about, Seyfe. Their son, their hope. You were everything to them."
Her hands moved gently as she reached for the necklace. Before I could react, she leaned forward, lifting it over my head. The ruby brushed against my skin, warm as though it had been waiting for me all these years.
The clasp clicked shut behind my neck, and she let her fingers linger for just a second, steadying the pendant against my chest.
"There," she whispered. "Exactly where it belongs."
After we finished, Aunt Jeyda busied herself at the sink, rinsing the plates and humming faintly under her breath. I sank onto the couch, flicking on the news. The headlines were as grim as always—grainy footage of Aberrant sightings, entire districts on alert, evacuation sirens blaring in the background.
"Soon," Jeyda's voice carried from the kitchen, quiet but edged with worry, "it will be your time, Seyfe. To become an Interlinker. If you feel any shift in consciousness… tell me immediately, all right?"
Her words made my chest tighten. I set the fork down, staring at the flickering screen."I'm still nervous," I admitted, my voice low. "What if I can't do well in my first realm?"
She didn't answer right away, and maybe that silence spoke more than words could.
Every Interlinker's first step is the Lobby of Faith. A trial realm, small and self-contained, meant to ease us into the life we never really asked for. There, a newcomer meets their avatar for the first time—an image of who they wish to be, or, in rare cases, one chosen for them by the Nexus itself.
All you have to do is survive twenty-four hours. That's what they say. Survive, and you return to the real world with your avatar's strength stitched into your body, your first glimpse of what it means to walk between realms.
Of course, "survive" isn't so simple. If you fall in the Lobby, the system grants you a respawn. A kindness, maybe, but a fleeting one. Beyond the Lobby, death stops being a lesson. It becomes permanent.
That's why they call the Lobby a cushion—a soft landing before the fall. A reminder that the life of an Interlinker is equal parts gift and executioner's blade.
If I succeed, I can apply to a university, maybe even one of the mid-tier academies if I'm lucky. They've drilled the basics into us since childhood—elementary lessons of theory, high school simulations of practice—but it isn't until freshman year that the real education begins. And for me, that door won't open unless I endure the Lobby of Faith.
And so, like everyone else before me, I wait. For the first shift of consciousness. The unmistakable pull that means the Nexus has finally called my name.
"I know it may not sound like much, but listen, Seyfe," Aunt Jeyda said as she dried her hands and came to sit beside me. Her expression softened, but there was a weight behind her eyes, the kind that only years in the realms could carve.
"Despite all the lessons you've learned in school, not everyone passes the Lobby of Faith. Do you know why?"
I tilted my head. "Because… they weren't prepared enough?"
"Not exactly." She shook her head gently. "It's because no one can truly teach you how to navigate that place. The Lobby is unique to every person. There are no common grounds, no shared maps. It's different for each Interlinker because it isn't just testing your avatar." She leaned closer, her voice dropping slightly. "It's testing you. Your fears. Your strength. Your will to face the unknown."
A chill ran down my spine. "So… no simulation could ever match it."
"Exactly."
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been gnawing at me since childhood. "Then… what was yours, Aunt Jeyda?"
For a moment, her silver hair veiled her face as she looked down at her hands. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a shadow.
"My avatar wasn't so different from my real body. But the place I was sent to…" She exhaled slowly. "It was a village consumed by sickness. People wasting away before my eyes, death after death, each one haunting me. I couldn't fight it with a blade, couldn't run from it. The only way forward was to end the curse itself—to cleanse the realm of its illness."
I swallowed hard, gripping the necklace that still hung warm against my chest.
"So each realm has its own… condition for passing."
Jeyda nodded solemnly. "Yes. And the condition will never be the same for any two people."
"Listen, Seyfe," Jeyda said, her tone firm yet gentle. "To survive… is to fight against faith itself."
I blinked at her. "What…?"
"It sounds confusing, I know," she continued, leaning back against the couch. "But in order to pass the Lobby of Faith, you must approach it as yourself. Not as anyone else."
I frowned, the words scratching at the edge of my understanding.
"When someone first gains an avatar," she explained, "their instinct is to act and think as that avatar. To speak as it might speak, to fight as it might fight. They forget themselves, chasing the image instead of remembering the person underneath."
Her eyes softened, though her voice sharpened with quiet truth. "That's why so many fail. They lose sight of who they are, even mistaking themselves for someone else entirely."
I leaned forward slightly. "So… they end up misdirecting themselves? Losing their own identity?"
She nodded. "Exactly. An avatar isn't a mask you wear. It isn't some stranger you're pretending to be. It's you. Always you. The stronger your grasp of that truth, the clearer your mind will be in the Lobby. That clarity—that grounding—is what allows you to see the conditions of the realm for what they truly are… and how to overcome them."
Her words sank deep, heavier than anything my teachers at school had ever said. For the first time, the Lobby of Faith didn't sound like a test of strength, but something far more dangerous. A test of self.
Just then, something shattered the moment.
[The Nexus Protocol is now starting.][Shifting Subject: Seyfe Organa into the Lobby of Faith.]
"What…?" The words slipped out of me, hollow, uncertain.
"Seyfe? What do you see?" Jeyda's voice was tight, urgent.
"A… a pop-up window?" My throat went dry. The glowing text hovered in the air before me, unreal yet undeniable.
The second I said it, Jeyda lurched forward and gripped my face, strapping her hands over my eyes as though to shield me. "Wait—listen to me!"
My skull throbbed. A splitting ache drilled behind my temples, my vision stuttering between the living room and a void of shifting light.
"You're shifting consciousness now, Seyfe!" Jeyda's voice trembled, her breath quick against my ear. "Remember this—you are you! Don't lose yourself. And whatever the Lobby throws at you—play objectively!"
She was already fumbling for her phone with one hand, barking into it frantically. I could hear names, orders, static—none of it made sense.
Pain roared through me. My breath grew ragged, chest heaving as if my lungs were being ripped in two worlds at once. My fingers dug into the couch to anchor myself, but the fabric was already dissolving beneath my touch.
Through the haze, Jeyda's voice still reached me, frantic, desperate, but growing faint.
So this… is the start.
[The Nexus Protocol welcomes you, Seyfe Organa.]…
[Entering Lobby of Faith.]…[Avatar Syncing in progress.]
Darkness swallowed everything.