The silence after Asmeria's death stretched endlessly.
The forest, once filled with the echoes of battle, was now eerily still. The Dire Alpha's body had already dissolved into shimmering fragments, fading into the air like mist. Yet the memory of its roar, the clash of its chains, and the look in Asmeria's eyes before the end lingered in Denver's mind like scars.
Her blood had been on his hands. And now it was gone, erased by the system, as though she had never existed at all.
Denver's Magma Hound pressed against his side, warmth radiating from its fiery body. It was small comfort. He stared at the glowing patch of grass where she had lain, the light fading to nothing.
Nathalie's quiet sobs broke the silence. She hugged her Fairy Guardian close, her shoulders trembling. "She was right here. She was right here and now she's just… gone."
Finnick stood a few paces away, arms crossed tightly. His Mystic Beast paced beside him, antlers still faintly glowing with residual mana. Finnick's face was hard, jaw clenched, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something — guilt, maybe, or grief.
Denver finally found his voice, though it felt hollow. "She died so we could win."
"No," Finnick said sharply. His voice was like ice. "She died because this game is real. And because we didn't understand the rules."
Denver turned to him, anger flaring. "What are you saying? That it's our fault?"
Finnick met his gaze without flinching. "I'm saying we can't afford to treat this like playtime. Every mistake has a price. And she paid it."
Denver's fists clenched. The words stung because they were true.
Before he could reply, a sudden system chime rang out — clear, cold, and absolute.
A voice followed, not robotic like the system prompts, but deep, deliberate, dripping with authority.
"Attention, Guardians."
The air itself seemed to vibrate with the sound, echoing through the entire biome. Every player on Floor One could hear it. Denver's skin prickled.
"Welcome… to Guardian Online. I am the one you may call the Game Master."
Denver froze. The Game Master. Not River.Inc. Not a developer. This was something else.
"You may have noticed an… error." The voice chuckled lightly, though there was no warmth in it. "The logout button is currently unavailable. This is no bug. This is by design."
Nathalie gasped. "No… no, no, no."
Denver's stomach twisted. He already knew, deep down. Asmeria's death had confirmed it. But hearing it spoken aloud made it real.
"You will not be able to leave until you have reached Level 50 and cleared Floor 50 of the Tower. Only then will the gateway home be opened. Until then, your lives here… are your only lives."
The words struck like iron. Denver's throat was dry. Our only lives…
"And yes," the voice continued, casual as though discussing the weather, "death here is permanent. If your avatar is destroyed, your connection to this world will be severed. Your body in the outside world will not survive."
Nathalie broke down again, clutching her Fairy Guardian tightly, as though holding onto the last bit of safety she could. "No… this isn't fair. This isn't what we signed up for!"
Denver swallowed hard, hands trembling. His Magma Hound let out a low growl, flames flickering uneasily.
Finnick said nothing. His face was grim, but there was no surprise in his eyes — only confirmation. He had suspected this from the start.
The Game Master's tone shifted, almost amused. "Do not despair entirely. Your physical bodies outside are being sustained. Nourishment and care are being provided. So long as you remain alive here, you remain alive there. You have my word."
Denver felt a strange chill. Your word?
"But," the Game Master added, voice deepening, "already, twenty players have perished. Out of the fifty thousand who entered this world… twenty are gone."
Nathalie covered her mouth with trembling hands. Finnick's eyes narrowed.
Denver's chest tightened painfully. "Twenty…" he whispered. He thought of Asmeria. He thought of those twenty lives extinguished like hers. Families outside waiting for players who would never return.
The Game Master's voice echoed louder, filling the sky.
"Remember this: your Guardians are your partners, your lifelines. Nurture them, and they will guide you to survival. Neglect them, and you will share the fate of the weak. This is no longer a playground. This is a crucible. Only the strong will ascend."
The voice faded, leaving only silence and the sound of the wind rustling through the forest.
No one spoke at first. Denver could barely breathe. The Game Master's words replayed in his mind like a curse.
Twenty people gone. Asmeria gone. And all because this wasn't a game — it was survival.
Nathalie fell to her knees, shaking. "How can they do this to us? We trusted them. We thought this was safe—"
Finnick cut her off, though his voice wasn't cruel, just sharp. "Trust is worthless now. What matters is moving forward."
Denver finally turned on him, anger breaking through the haze of grief. "Is that all you care about? Moving forward? A teammate just died, and all you can think about is climbing higher?"
Finnick's gaze hardened. "Do you think she'd want us to sit here crying while everyone else gets stronger? Her death will mean nothing if we waste it standing still."
Denver flinched. The words were brutal — but Asmeria's last smile came back to him, her words ringing faintly in his ears. Don't waste it hiding.
He clenched his fists. "I don't… I don't want her death to mean nothing."
Nathalie looked between them, wiping her eyes. Her Fairy fluttered, glowing faintly. "Then what do we do?"
Denver's Magma Hound growled, eyes burning bright.
He met Nathalie's gaze, then Finnick's.
"We survive. We fight. We climb. And we make sure no one else dies because of our mistakes."
The group trudged back toward the nearest settlement. Along the way, they passed clusters of other players who had heard the announcement too.
Some were crying. Some were panicking, shouting for answers that would never come. A few stared blankly at the sky, hollow-eyed, as though the will to move had already been stolen from them.
But others… others were already regrouping. Already forming alliances. Already whispering about guilds.
Denver caught fragments of conversations:
"We have to band together. Numbers are our only chance."
"Did you hear? Twenty people dead already…"
"I'm finding a Guardian stronger than anyone else's. That's the only way to live."
The world had changed in a single announcement. The air was heavy, thick with dread and determination alike.
As they reached the settlement, the system displayed a new notice on everyone's HUD:
[Global Announcement: Floor One Settlement Hub is now open. Trade, alliances, and Guardian Sanctuaries accessible.]
The plaza was already alive with chaos. Players argued, bargained, shouted. Some demanded answers from invisible developers. Others tried to laugh it off, their forced smiles failing.
Denver felt the weight of it pressing down on him. Out of fifty thousand… twenty gone. And the number would only rise.
Later that night, Denver sat alone by the campfire in the settlement's plaza, his Magma Hound curled beside him, flames flickering softly like a heartbeat.
The chatter of other players echoed faintly around him, but he barely heard it. He kept staring at his hands — the same hands that had tried to hold Asmeria together.
He hated the helplessness. The way he'd doubted himself. The way he'd almost frozen when the Dire Alpha had charged.
No more.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.
He would fight. He would grow stronger. Not just for himself, but for those who couldn't anymore.
A familiar voice broke his thoughts.
"Still awake?"
He looked up. Nathalie approached, her Fairy Guardian glowing faintly, casting her in soft light. Her expression was tired, eyes still red from crying, but steadier now.
She sat beside him quietly, watching the fire. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then she said softly, "I don't think I can ever get used to this. Knowing that one mistake could mean…" Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "But if we stick together, maybe… maybe we can make it."
Denver nodded slowly. "We'll make it. For her. For all of them."
Nathalie gave a faint smile, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I'll hold you to that."
Behind them, Finnick leaned against a wall, arms crossed, eyes closed but clearly listening. His Mystic Beast stood watch nearby, its ethereal antlers glowing faintly in the night.
For once, Finnick's voice wasn't sharp when he finally spoke. "Rest while you can. Tomorrow… the climb begins."
Denver stared into the flames, the fire reflected in his eyes.
The climb. Floor by floor. Life by life.
There was no turning back now.