07:00 a.m. - At Murdock Forge
The morning sun crested over Frosthaven, flooding the streets with bright, golden light as Ryan emerged from the inn, brimming with anticipation. He had submitted his merchant guild membership exam paper just the day before, and as the thoughts of his success swirled in his mind, excitement radiated through him. When news reached him that the examiner had been stunned by his answers—every question answered correctly—he felt a sense of pride swell within him.
Today, Ryan was determined to take a step toward realizing his vision for the steel pen nib. His pencil sketches had gradually transformed into something more tangible—a prototype he aimed to create. In his heart, he filled the space with hope that it could revolutionize the writing experience here in this medieval realm.
With focus sharpened like the tip of a blade, Ryan navigated through the bustling marketplace, taking in the dynamic energies of Frosthaven. As he approached the local forge, the air grew rich with the smell of burning coal and the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal filled his ears—the solemn song of craftsmanship.
As Ryan entered the forge, he was greeted by a dwarf who stood robust and sturdy, with a beard that resembled the very steel he worked with. The dwarf had a twinkle of mischief in his eye and an undeniable presence that drew respect. "Welcome to Murdock's Forge! What brings a young lad like you to my humble abode?" he boomed, his voice booming like the clang of hammer against anvil.
Ryan gathered his thoughts, brimming with enthusiasm as he brandished his drawings. "I need help crafting a pen tip. A steel pen nib, to be precise. You see, I think it could help improve writing in this world," he explained, gesturing animatedly toward the sketches that showcased his design.
Murdock's brow furrowed, peering at the designs. "A pen, eh? Never heard of such a thing. But what's this? You've drawn a tip here, what's it used for?" he asked, pointing to the delicate shape outlined on the page.
"That's the nib!" Ryan replied eagerly. "It's the part that touches the paper and allows ink to flow out, making writing smoother."
The dwarf stroked his beard, intrigued but skeptical. "And this?" he gestured again, pointing toward the core of the pen depicted in Ryan's sketches.
"That's the body of the pen, where the ink is stored," Ryan continued, his excitement infectious. "You fill it to write with ease."
Murdock looked bemused. "I get what you're saying, lad, but to make it work? That's a tall order using iron alone. The material you're asking for, no blacksmith here knows how to shape that small without the proper tools. Not to mention the melting process…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head.
Ryan's heart sank slightly. He had realized something pivotal: the tools for industrial development simply did not exist in this fantasy world. However, an idea sparked within him like the very flames that danced in the forge. "Is it possible to melt iron?" he asked, determination coloring his tone.
Murdock's eyes twinkled with interest. "Aye, if one knows how, but it ain't simple. It would take much skill to achieve such precision."
"Then I'll figure it out. If I can help you melt the iron, would you agree to assist me in crafting the pen nib?" Ryan proposed, his enthusiasm renewed.
The dwarf scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Well, then," he said slowly. "You've got spirit, lad. I'll take the challenge—but it'll require some serious effort. I reckon you might know your way around this idea, eh?"
Ryan grinned, excited by the prospect, knowing he had sparked a collaboration that could yield incredible results. "Absolutely! Together, we can do it!"
While Ryan was forging his ideas, Sera ventured to the adventurer's guild in search of her own path. The lively chatter of the bustling guild contrasted with the forge's rhythm, offering her a haven filled with stories of valor and daring quests.
Meanwhile, Ryan found himself enthralled by the prospect of merging the ancient with the innovative, aware that each step in his endeavor would fuel the pulse of progress in this world. He returned to Murdock, his drawing in hand, the flame of creativity ignited.
"Let's get started," Ryan said, certainty threading through his voice. Murdock nodded, his grin revealing a deep respect for the spirited young man before him.
As they began discussing the specifics of melting iron—discussing the heat necessary and the tools involved—Ryan pondered on the journey that lay ahead. The creation of something as simple as a pen could hold vast potential, not only for his journey but also as a means of transforming the writing of an age that had relied too heavily on quills.
With Murdock's booming laughter and Ryan's enthusiasm harmonizing in the forge, an unusual friendship formed, one bound by ambition and creativity.
10:00 a.m. - At Marketplace
After finishing his business at the forge, Ryan strolled through the lively streets of Frosthaven, hoping to clear his mind. The rhythmic sound of hammers against metal had set a determined tone within him, yet he knew the task ahead would be more challenging than he first imagined. The idea of building a furnace loomed larger than reality, and he sought perspective amidst the life of the city.
As he wandered through the bustling marketplace, filled with the scents of baked bread and spiced meats, a sudden shout pierced the air, drawing his attention. An unsettling figure stood at the center of a gathering crowd—a man clad in tattered black robes, wild-eyed and frantically gesticulating as he shouted curses at the townsfolk.
"Flee! When night falls, the demons will come!" the man hollered, his voice a cacophony of desperation. "They will suck the blood and flesh of the night! The land will be covered in darkness that worships the red moon! Greedy nobles, corrupt priests, war-loving kings—none shall escape! All will perish!"
A murmur of apprehension rippled through the crowd. Ryan felt a shiver dance along his spine at the man's ominous proclamations. It was as if a warning had sounded, echoing off the cobblestones and into the hearts of those listening.
Just then, guards rushed in, their voices steady and authoritative. "Step back! You are under arrest!" they shouted, moving swiftly to subdue the man. He struggled against their grip, cursing the very city he had just condemned.
Ryan stood on the outskirts, watching intently, a groan escaping him. It felt almost comical—the scene playing out like an introductory event in a fantasy game. He supposed there were two possibilities: perhaps the man was merely a madman who had lost touch with reality or a reflection of the simmering tension that haunted those hardened by war and fear.
As the guards led the man away, Ryan shook off the dark thoughts that threatened to overcome him. "This isn't what I came here for," he murmured to himself. His true interest lay in figuring out how to create the furnace he needed for his pen prototype—a task that increasingly felt like a distant dream.
He recalled the rough concepts he had in his mind: a tall structure, perhaps airy, where iron could be melted and shaped. But the details eluded him, and the absence of the right tools or knowledge weighed heavy on his thoughts. He took a deep breath, stirring the embers of determination within.
"Focus, Ryan. You've come this far; you can't back down now," he whispered under his breath as he forged onward.
As he resumed his walk, Ryan pondered possible strategies for acquiring the materials needed for his forge endeavor. Perhaps it wasn't just about knowing what to build—perhaps he also had to figure out a way to acquire the skills or find the right individuals to assist him.
With new resolve, he decided to explore the adventurer's guild next. It was bustling with activity, populated with a mix of eager adventurers and seasoned veterans sharing stories of their quests. If anyone could lead him to the answers he sought, perhaps it would be within these walls, where the spirit of adventure thrived.
As Ryan approached the entrance, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He could either wallow in uncertainty or dive in, seeking the knowledge he needed to forge his path—and with that mindset, he stepped into the guild, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.
10:30 a.m. - At Adventurer's Guild
Ryan stood before the Adventurer's Guild, a lively hub pulsating with the energy of ambitious souls, each eager to carve their names into the annals of history. It was still crowded, but the atmosphere felt slightly less chaotic than the previous day, offering a sense of order amidst the anticipation.
Taking a deep breath to bolster his nerves, Ryan pushed open the large wooden doors and stepped inside, the scent of parchment and ink mingling with the allure of adventure in the air. Lanterns hung from the rafters, illuminating the faces of both newcomers and seasoned adventurers exchanging tales of glory.
He made his way to the guild counter, where a friendly-looking staff member stood ready to assist. "Good day!" Ryan began, trying to project confidence. "I'm here to register as an adventurer."
The guild staff smiled warmly, gesturing for him to approach. "Welcome! To register, you'll need to fill in your personal details and any abilities you possess. Please, start by telling me your name."
"Ryan Mercer," he replied, as the staff member began writing down his details in a ledger.
Once the staff had gathered his personal information, they asked, "What skills or abilities do you have? This will help us determine your rank."
Ryan paused to think, his mind racing through the myriad of options at his disposal. In a moment of reflex, perhaps due to nervousness, he let it slip: "Quantum Nexus of Infinite Probabilistic Multiversal Aeonic Continuum Convergence Algorithm for Absolute Chrono-Singular Fate Determination."
The quill halted mid-stroke, and the staff member raised an eyebrow, looking up at Ryan in surprise. "Is that really the name of your skill?" they questioned.
Heat rushed to Ryan's face, realizing how absurd that sounded in this fantasy realm. He held back his embarrassment and quickly considered a more reasonable name for his skill. Why would he even disclose something so fantastical? He needed something that fit the atmosphere of this world.
After a fleeting moment of contemplation, he boldly declared, "Actually, let's go with 'American Martial Arts' instead."
The staff member jotted it down with a hint of curiosity gleaming in their eyes. "Is that sword fighting, or perhaps some kind of magic staff combat?"
"It's long-range bow skills," Ryan clarified, affirming his grounded yet unexpected choice of weaponry.
As the staff completed the registration form, their inquisitive gaze lingered on Ryan, but they shrugged off any further questions as they organized the details. After a swift exchange, Ryan was officially registered as a Rank F adventurer.
Excited yet slightly apprehensive about what it meant to be an adventurer, he turned to scan the bustling guild. His eyes landed on Sera, who stood scrutinizing the quest board, her brows furrowed in concentration.
Approaching her, he asked, "How did it go as an adventurer?"
She turned to him, her expression steely but slightly softened by the moment of recognition. "It's done. I'm a Rank F swordsman," she replied succinctly.
"That's great! Shall we go on a quest together?" Ryan suggested, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Sera's curt response cut through the air: "No." Without further explanation, she took a paper from the quest board and strode out of the guild, leaving Ryan standing alone among the bustling crowd.
A sigh escaped him, feeling a mix of disappointment and confusion. With his partner absent, he turned back to the quest board, hoping to find something that piqued his interest. Yet, in a moment of realization, he remembered he could not read the language of this world, which made his search both futile and frustrating.
As he frowned at the indecipherable scripts, a new character approached him—a cheerful male adventurer with bright eyes and an infectious smile. "Hey there! You look a bit lost. I'm a Rank C adventurer, and my friends and I are planning to explore an unexplored dungeon. Would you like to join us?"
Ryan felt a sudden surge of excitement, grateful for the unexpected offer. "Absolutely! Count me in!" he responded enthusiastically.
The adventurer clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. "Awesome! Let's gather the group, and we'll set off this evening!"
Ryan nodded, exhilarated by the prospect of an adventure ahead—albeit tinged with the awareness that rushing into unexplored territory might lead to unforeseen consequences. Yet he felt emboldened by the call of adventure, oblivious to the fact that this decision might become one of the most dangerous he had ever made.
06:30 p.m. - At Dungeon
The evening air was thick with tension as Ryan's small party of four gathered at the dungeon's entrance—a jagged maw of stone yawning open at the foot of the mountains outside Frosthaven. Ryan shifted the weight of his borrowed pack, his fingers tightening around the straps. Without a proper weapon, he had volunteered as a scavenger—a glorified porter, really—but he told himself it would be a valuable learning experience.
"If I'm going to survive in this world, I need to see how adventurers operate," he reasoned, swallowing his unease.
The party consisted of:
- Gin, a stern swordsman serving as their leader
- Barden, a burly shielder with a silent demeanor
- Lyss, a quick-footed scout with keen eyes
- And Ryan, the outsider tagging along.
The dungeon's interior swallowed them whole. The torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting elongated shadows that danced like restless spirits. The air smelled of stale earth and something metallic—blood, perhaps, or the faintest hint of corroded iron.
At first, the monsters they encountered were manageable: scuttling giant spiders with bulbous, reflective eyes; shrieking bats the size of small dogs; and the occasional goblin skulking in the darkness. Each time, the trio at the front dispatched them with practiced efficiency. Ryan lingered behind, observing, cataloging, feeling utterly out of place.
And then there was it—the Umbrathorax.
Ryan didn't see it outright, But the creature slithered through his thoughts like smoke, its presence curling around the edges of his mind. A memory? A hallucination? He couldn't tell, but the weight of its gaze settled on him like a second set of eyes carving into his soul.
The group reached a fork in the tunnel.
Three paths diverged before them. Gin, Barden, and Lyss immediately fell into heated debate, their voices bouncing off the cavern walls.
"Right is too narrow—we risk being cornered."
"Straight ahead leads deeper; we might find better loot."
"Left could be a shortcut to—"
Ryan waited, silent. Their discussion didn't involve him. He was just the extra pair of hands.
Eventually, they settled on the center path.
The tunnel widened into a cavernous chamber, and Ryan's breath caught.
Glowing crystals jutted from the walls and floor, pulsing with an eerie silver-green luminescence. The light refracted in mesmerizing patterns, painting the cave in an otherworldly glow. The sight was breathtaking—like standing inside a fallen star.
"This is unheard of," Gin murmured, his usual stoicism replaced by reverence. "These crystals—they could make us rich."
Ryan watched as the trio exchanged glances. Something unspoken passed between them—something that didn't include him.
Lyss turned to Ryan, forced cheer in her voice. "Why don't you take a closer look?"
Caution prickled the back of Ryan's neck, but he stepped forward anyway, drawn by the beauty, the strangeness of it all.
They retraced their steps to the fork, this time choosing the left path. Unlike the jagged beauty of the crystal cave, this tunnel sloped downward, opening into a sheer drop—an abyss with no visible bottom.
"Let's rest here," Gin announced, oddly casual.
Ryan set down his pack, rubbing his sore shoulders.
Then—
Barden called out. "Oi, come here. There's something in the pit."
Curious, Ryan approached the edge, peering into the darkness.
"What do you see?" he asked.
A hand slammed into his back.
Ryan's stomach lurched as gravity took hold.
The world tilted.
For the briefest second, he saw their faces—Gin's satisfied smirk, Barden's averted gaze, Lyss clutching the straps of his stolen supplies—before the void swallowed him whole.
Down, down, down—
Into the dark.
Into the unknown.
Into the first real test of whether he would live… or become just another corpse lost to the depths.
Ryan blinked awake, his left arm—whole, unmarked—twitching at the memory of falling. His childhood bedroom materialized around him: the gaming chair, and beyond the windows... the void. Not the black emptiness from before, but a swirling cosmos of impossible colors.
"Not again," he groaned, sitting up. His fingers dug into the mattress—his old Tempur-Pedic from home. The one his mother had bought him before sophomore year.
The computer hummed to life before he reached it. Same black desktop. Same floating text:
> Job Application: Reality Parameters
>
> Status: Update Scripts
>
> Next Cycle Begins in: 6 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes
Beneath the text was a list of options, neatly formatted like a corporate form.
> Safety Protocols Available:
>
> - Safe from Greed
> - Safe from The Red Moon
> - Safe from Nightmares of the Abyss
A visceral memory struck Ryan: the way the guild members had exchanged glances before pushing him. The sickening moment of freefall. That hadn't been random cruelty—they'd known what waited in the dark.
"You!!!," Ryan shout to the cosmic shape.
Ryan's eyes burned as he replayed the betrayal in the dungeon, his grip on the mouse tightening as if it could crush metal.
"Gin, Barden, Lyss," he growled, the names hissing between clenched teeth. The memory of their betrayal lit a firestorm within him, feeding on fury and a ferocity unknown to him before. They'd thrown him to the deep—or worse. He'd never forget the sheer force of that shove, the desperate grasp at air before the void claimed him.
Fists balled, Ryan's mind surged with possibilities, a thousand paths in his control. "Safety Protocols?" he murmured, a flicker of dark amusement playing across his mind. Let's see who's safe now.
Laughter bubbled up unbidden, low and malevolent, echoing in his private cosmos. It was as though the abyss—once his nightmare—was now a potent ally, feeding him strength. Each click on the interface was like a promise of retribution, a vow scrawled across reality itself.
His spite simmered, turning into an intricate plan of cosmic chess. The cosmos beyond the window swirled faster, as if responding to his dark mirth. Ryan couldn't help laughing again, the sound bouncing wildly in a loop of defiant glee.