Chapter 3
Written by Bayzo Albion
The milk was cool and smooth, sliding down my throat like calm after chaos.
The priestess watched me with a knowing smile, the way one might watch a child tasting honey for the first time, eyes wide with wonder. Her expression held a gentle fondness, as if she had guided countless souls through this very moment.
"The first sip is always unforgettable, a gateway to the pleasures this realm holds," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear with graceful nonchalance. "But don't worry… in this world, everything can be reset, refreshed like the dawn of a new day. You can try it again—and marvel again, rediscovering the joy as if it were the first time. Here, boredom is forbidden on the level of physics itself, woven into the fabric of reality to ensure eternal novelty."
I had no answer. I just sat there, clutching the empty bottle like an artifact from a life I would never recognize again, its surface still warm, a tangible reminder of the transformation unfolding within me.
I turned the empty bottle in my hands, letting the last pearly drop glisten in the light, catching rainbows in its minuscule form. For a moment, I wanted to believe her—that here, nothing could sour, that even chaos was only another rhythm of harmony, a dance of particles in perfect alignment. The allure was undeniable, a siren song promising unending delight.
But I knew better, deep in the recesses of my skeptical heart. Any world that promises perfection is already lying, concealing flaws beneath its polished surface. If there are no consequences, then choices lose their weight, becoming mere whims without meaning. If every wish turns to good, how do you even know what good is? Without contrast, without shadow, light loses its brilliance.
The priestess smiled as if the matter were settled, as if paradise itself had answered all questions with irrefutable grace, her demeanor radiating unshakable confidence. I smiled back—but only with my lips, a facade masking the turmoil within. Inwardly, I marked a truth I'd learned the hard way through the trials of life: if everything looks flawless, it only means the cracks are hiding deeper, waiting to reveal themselves in unexpected ways. In this subatomic paradise, I wondered, what shadows lurked beneath the harmony?
Before me, an interface appeared, hovering like a translucent holographic screen, glowing with a soft, living light that pulsed gently, as if breathing in rhythm with my own uncertain heartbeat. It wasn't cold or mechanical; instead, it felt alive, responsive, like an extension of my will waiting to be shaped.
It displayed:
Username: Cuddly Boogeyman
1. Create Your Own World
2. Guest Mode
3. Shared World
4. Creative Mode
5. Save / Preserve Original Identity
6. Scale of Virgin Feelings and Sensations: 0.001%
7. Delete Unnecessary Memories
8. Storyline – Disabled
9. Other Settings
10. Difficulty Level (Auto): Too Easy
11. Taboos / Filters
12. Empty Slot
The options hung there, tantalizing and overwhelming, a menu of infinite choices that promised to redefine reality itself. I stared at it, my mind racing through the implications—each selection a thread in the tapestry of eternity. "What does the Storyline even affect? And why would I need it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the strange list, suspicion creeping in like a shadow at the edge of dawn.
"If you simply wish to rest, to enjoy peace and quiet," the priestess replied gently at my side, her voice a soothing melody that wrapped around my doubts like a warm blanket, "then the storyline is unnecessary. It activates only for those who seek adventure, tension, surprises… and meaning. It's for souls who crave the thrill of the unknown, the highs and lows that make existence feel alive, even in death."
"So hermit homebodies like me can do without it?" I chuckled, the sound echoing faintly in the ethereal space around us, a mix of self-deprecation and genuine relief. "By the way—do you people even have internet here? Or is this paradise strictly analog, all harps and clouds?"
The priestess nodded, her lips curving in a faint, knowing smile that hinted at secrets she held just out of reach, her eyes sparkling with an amusement that made her seem more human, more approachable.
"Of course. Any internet you desire is available here—local, parallel, even from other dimensions. Want news from the world of dragons, tales of fire-breathing beasts clashing in epic battles? Granted. Streams from a post-apocalyptic future, where survivors scavenge amid ruined cities under blood-red skies? Easily done. Everything adapts to your taste, morphing to reflect your deepest curiosities and whims."
"Wow, you can even pick the year?" I blurted out, stunned by the scope of the interface, my imagination igniting with visions of lost eras and alternate histories unfolding at my fingertips. "All right then—let's go with 2012. That's when I'll start my surfing through the classic internet, back when things were simpler, less cluttered with ads and algorithms dictating every click."
New lines appeared instantly on the screen, materializing with a soft chime that resonated like a distant bell:
12. Classic Internet / January 1, 2012
13. Empty Slot
The addition felt seamless, as if the system anticipated my every thought, molding itself to my desires without resistance. "Well then, time to switch on the storyline," I declared, a spark of explorer's excitement rising in me, bubbling up from some long-dormant part of my soul that yearned for more than endless repose.
> System: Are you sure you want to activate Storyline Mode?
> Warning: Once enabled, you must choose a difficulty level:
– Easy
– Balanced
– Medium
– High
– Hardcore
I hesitated, my finger hovering over the confirmation, a whirlwind of second thoughts swirling in my mind. I wanted a challenge—but not to drown in chaos, not to relive the relentless struggles of my mortal life in amplified form. What if "Hardcore" meant eternal torment disguised as adventure? What if "Easy" stripped away all meaning, leaving me in a bland void?
"Medium difficulty," I said firmly, committing before doubt could erode my resolve, my voice echoing with a determination I hadn't felt in years.
> System: Medium difficulty confirmed.
> System: You may change the difficulty level later in Section 9: Other Settings.
> System: Good luck with your life.
The words pulsed once, then faded, leaving me staring into the soft glow of the interface—half-thrilled, half-uneasy, a cocktail of anticipation and apprehension churning in my gut. Because if paradise needed a difficulty setting, then maybe it wasn't paradise at all; maybe it was just another game, with stakes I couldn't yet comprehend.
I lingered for a moment, the weight of my choices settling over me like a fine mist, then lifted my gaze to her, seeking some anchor in her serene presence.
"By the way… who are you, exactly? Beyond the guide, beyond Charon—what's your story in this grand cosmic setup?"
"I am your guide," she answered, her voice carrying the faintest smile, warm yet enigmatic, like sunlight filtering through ancient leaves. "In other words—Charon, the ferryman of souls, but with a gentler touch, here to ease your passage rather than demand a toll."
"And what if I'd lived a… sinful life back on Earth? Would that change things here, in this so-called paradise?"
Her eyes softened, a flicker of compassion crossing her features, though her tone held a quiet steel, unyielding yet protective.
"It's better if some things you never learn at all," she said, as though trying to shield me from truths that would demand too high a price, from revelations that might shatter the fragile peace I'd just begun to grasp.
That should have comforted me, but it didn't. It sounded less like mercy and more like a warning—like she was keeping something behind her calm facade, a veil of secrets that hinted at deeper layers to this afterlife, perhaps judgments or consequences that lingered just out of sight.
I tightened my grip on the glowing interface, suddenly aware that beneath all this beauty and harmony, there might be rules she wasn't telling me about. Rules with teeth, sharp and unforgiving, ready to bite if I strayed too far. The thought sent a chill through my ethereal form, a reminder that even in death, trust was a luxury I couldn't afford blindly.
The priestess let me sit with my doubts for a while, her presence a silent companion in the vastness. She neither defended nor explained further—just waited, calm as still water reflecting a starless sky, her patience an ocean that swallowed my turbulence without ripple. At last, she spoke again, her tone steady, but carrying a strange weight, as though she were offering me more than words—a key to unlock the essence of this realm.
The priestess looked at me for a long moment, then nodded gently.
"I'll give you time to think," she said, her voice calm, almost kind.
And then she stepped back, leaving silence to answer in her place.