The blue light of Marcus Chen's laptop painted harsh shadows across his tired face as he scrolled through the final paragraphs of Chapter 847. His cola had unfizzed hours ago, forgotten beside a tower of empty drink cans—monuments to his dedication, or perhaps his addiction.
"The Terran Fleet hung motionless in the void, their hulls scarred by plasma fire and meteor strikes. Admiral Kaine's flagship drifted among the wreckage of what had once been humanity's greatest armada. In the distance, the alien Hegemony's bio-ships pulsed with an otherworldly light, their victory all but assured.
But in the depths of space, something stirred. An ancient power, older than the War of Contact itself, began to wake…"
Marcus rubbed his bloodshot eyes and glanced at the clock: 3:47 AM. He had work in four hours, but the story had its hooks in deep. War of Contact wasn't just any web novel—this was the web novel, the one that had consumed his life for two years. Eight hundred and forty-seven chapters of interstellar warfare, political intrigue, and cosmic horror that made his day job feel like watching paint dry.
He scrolled down, desperate for more, and found the author's note:
"That's all for this week, readers! The cliffhanger is killing me, but I need to get some sleep before the next update. Chapter 848 drops in seven days—mark your calendars! As always, thanks for reading, and remember: in the void between stars, nothing is ever truly dead.
VoidScribe"
Seven days. Seven agonizing days of wondering whether Admiral Kaine would survive, whether the ancient power would tip the scales, whether humanity would push back against the Hegemony.
He bookmarked the page, closed his laptop, and listened to phantom starship engines in the quiet of his apartment. The real world beckoned—spreadsheets, quarterly reports, the gentle grind of corporate life. But for a moment he still heard the whisper of cosmic winds carrying secrets older than civilization.
He fell into bed at 4:03 AM. Sleep took him like a riptide.
CRACK.
Marcus's eyes snapped open. Not to the familiar ceiling with the Australia-shaped water stain—but to a sky painted in brilliant azure and gold. Two suns cast overlapping shadows that wove and unwove across alien terrain.
He bolted upright, heart pounding. This wasn't his bedroom. This wasn't Earth.
Luminescent grass pulsed beneath him, breathing light with every breeze. Trees of crystalline bark reached for the twin suns, and their leaves chimed like a million tiny bells. In the distance, a city glittered—a living lattice of organic curves and precise geometry, as if the skyline had grown from the soil.
"No," he whispered. "No, this isn't possible."
Recognition pried its way in. Twin suns. Singing trees. Bio-architectural spires.
Verdania Prime.
Humanity's first successful colony after the War of Contact began. The place where hope had bloomed. The place where the Sylvari Collective had taught humanity that not all contact meant conquest.
Marcus staggered to his feet, his ridiculous blue flannel pajamas—cartoon rockets and all—suddenly obscene in their mundanity. He patted his pockets for anything familiar. Phone. Wallet. Keys.
His fingers brushed leather.
He pulled out a book. Ancient, weighty, its pages shimmering between existence and void. The cover bore a symbol that made his eyes water just to glimpse it.
The book fell open.
Ink bled across blank pages, writing itself in a steady hand.
Chapter 300: The Mana Awakening
Marcus Chen had always believed that stories were meant to be consumed from a safe distance—experienced through the comfortable barrier of a screen, enjoyed from the security of his mundane world. He was about to learn that some stories have teeth, and some authors write with consequences that extend far beyond the final page.
He had arrived at a pivotal moment in humanity's journey among the stars. The War of Contact had begun not with brutal conquest, but with hope. The Sylvari had shared their greatest gift—the knowledge of mana, the fundamental force connecting all living things across the galaxy. Humanity was learning, growing stronger, preparing for the darker days Marcus knew lay ahead.
But knowledge of the future is a double-edged sword, especially when that future seems impossible to prevent.
New text etched itself along the bottom margin:
Next chapter updates in 6 days, 23 hours, 56 minutes.
A soft chime rippled through the air.
They appeared then—Sylvari, gliding between crystal trees. Tall. Lithe. Skin like polished wood, eyes deep with millennia. Their presence changed the air itself; the breeze hummed, the light sharpened, the colors leaned closer.
One approached, each step bending grace into something that defied physics.
Marcus knew this moment. He'd read it. Peaceful. Wondrous. Full of promise.
He also knew what waited five hundred chapters ahead—betrayals, wars, near-extinction. He clutched the impossible book to his chest, torn between awe and dread, standing at the bright edge of humanity's brief golden age, the last sunrise before the storm.
And he was the only one who knew how it would end.