The forest was quiet in the way only digital worlds could be—eerily perfect.
Every leaf shimmered with rendered precision, every shadow drawn in flawless algorithmic logic.
And yet, beneath that calm symmetry, Aiden could feel the tension in the code.
The world was afraid of him.
It remembered, even if the players didn't.
He crouched atop a ruined archway, his cloak of black-and-gold data flowing behind him like liquid night.
His golden eyes scanned the canopy below, reading invisible threads of movement—heat signatures, data spikes, sound frequencies—until they converged on a single figure.
The hunter.
The same player. The same spark of arrogance.
Different name, different face, but the same soul that had once turned on him for the promise of power.
Aiden smiled without humor.
"How many times will you return, I wonder," he whispered. "Until you understand what you're fighting?"
Below, the hunter moved with precision.
