Eli didn't sleep that night.
He tried — God, he tried — but his mind was wired to the ceiling, running a thousand simulations of what "Watch the ladder" could mean. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that text again. Two messages, no context. Rook's name — or at least someone using it — hanging there like a hook in his brain.
At 3:00 a.m., he gave up. He opened his computer again. The hum of the fans filled the silence, comforting in a way. The monitor bathed his face in pale light, painting the room back into existence: cluttered desk, empty mug, controller cables, headset balanced on the edge.
He opened Eternal Nexus.
The login screen pulsed with its usual dark-blue glow. Music swelled — soft strings and synthetic whispers, the same melody he'd heard for years. But tonight, it sounded different. Quieter. Like it was holding its breath.
He checked the ladder.
Nothing unusual. Still Bronze II. Still forty LP from promotion. But now, every player name seemed alive somehow — symbols of thousands of others just like him, all chasing the same invisible summit.
He clicked on Rook's profile. It was locked, private. Rank: Master Tier (0 LP). Last online: Currently in game.
Eli hovered his mouse over the refresh button for a long moment before closing the client. His heartbeat was loud enough to drown out the music.
The next day dragged.
He called in late to his shift at the print shop, mumbling something about a migraine. His boss didn't argue — Eli had been drifting lately anyway. He worked half the shift in silence, cutting flyers and packing boxes while his mind replayed Rook's words on loop.
Tomorrow. 9 PM. Watch the ladder.
He kept imagining what might happen. A tournament announcement? A stream event? Some kind of challenge?
By evening, the air outside had turned cool, the sky a dull orange leaking into gray. Eli walked home through the city's narrow streets — past the bakery, the laundromat, the small café where he used to meet friends before the game had taken over his free time. It all looked faded now, like a life paused mid-frame.
When he reached his apartment, the first thing he did was check his phone. Nothing. No new messages.
He set it on the desk, booted up his PC, and took a deep breath.
8:45 PM.
He was logged in early. The Nexus client glowed like a doorway waiting to open. His cursor hovered over the "Ranked" queue button, but he didn't click it yet. His eyes flicked toward the ladder tab — Bronze II, unchanged.
He stared at the countdown clock in the corner of his screen.
8:57.8:58.8:59.
Then, at 9:00 exactly, something flickered.
The client refreshed itself automatically. His match history blinked once, twice — and then a new message appeared at the top of the ladder board.
New Tournament Ladder: Shadow Circuit (Invitational)
The font shimmered with a metallic silver border. Only twenty names were listed beneath it. At first, Eli thought it was a mistake — some kind of bug or promotional overlay. But then he saw the 20th name.
Prometheus_9
His breath caught.
He scrolled up and down, checking, refreshing, thinking maybe he was hallucinating from lack of sleep. But it was there — his account, somehow listed alongside names he recognized from the upper ranks. Some were semi-pro players, others known streamers.
At the very top sat one name:
Rook
The chatbox in the corner lit up.
[System]: Welcome to the Shadow Circuit. Round 1 begins in 5 minutes.
Eli's hands hovered over the mouse. His headset was still around his neck, unplugged. He didn't even know what he was supposed to do.
Then, a private message popped up.
Rook: Good. You're here.
Eli typed back before he could think.
Prometheus_9: What is this? How did I—
No response.
The system beeped again.
[Match Found]
His screen shifted into the familiar loading overlay. Five versus five. Map: The Fracture.
Only when the champion select screen appeared did Eli finally move. His teammates were random — no one he recognized. The enemy team, though… the top name read: Rook.
He stared at it. His cursor trembled slightly as he selected Kira, the Blade Warden.
The loading bar filled, one pixel at a time.
The game began.
Eli spawned in the base, surrounded by his team's blue glow. His camera drifted across the map, tracing the familiar lanes, the dark fog curling around the jungle entrances. Everything looked normal. And yet, it wasn't. The textures were sharper somehow. The ambient sound deeper. Even the shadows moved like they were alive.
The minimap pinged — top lane skirmish.
He ignored it. His focus was on mid-lane. Across from him, Rook's champion stood perfectly still — Seris, the Void Weaver. Same as the stream match.
They faced each other in silence for the first wave.
Eli felt his heartbeat syncing to the rhythm of minion clashes. Last-hit. Step back. Sidestep. Wait. Another hit.
Then Rook moved.
A single ability — perfectly timed — cut through the minion line and clipped Eli's champion for half its health.
The precision was inhuman.
Eli backed up, repositioned, tried to counter, but Rook was already anticipating him — predicting dodges, punishing mistakes. Every time Eli thought he'd found an opening, Rook closed it off like a door slamming shut.
And yet… Eli felt something else building inside him. Familiarity. Recognition. The same patterns he'd studied from hours of watching Rook's replays. The same angles, the same tempo.
He began adapting.
His hands stopped shaking. His breathing steadied.
He started to see the rhythm — not just react to it.
For the first time, Rook missed a skillshot. Then another.
Eli's counter landed clean. The chat erupted. Someone typed "holy—Prometheus??" but Eli didn't look.
He was locked in. Every second stretched thin, bright, electric.
Finally, at the twelve-minute mark, he caught Rook out of position — one frame too slow on the retreat. His ability chain landed perfectly: root, slash, ultimate.
The screen flashed.
You have slain Rook.
Eli froze.
The game didn't end, but the moment hung there, suspended in digital air. His teammates spammed emotes. Rook's champion respawned silently, motionless in base.
Then the chat pinged privately again.
Rook: You're ready.
Before Eli could reply, the screen went black.
For a heartbeat, he thought the power had gone out. But his room light was still on. The PC fans were still running. Only Eternal Nexus had vanished — replaced by a simple, pulsing line of text.
Shadow Circuit: Round 2 begins offline.
And then the client closed itself.
Eli sat in silence, staring at his reflection in the darkened monitor — heart pounding, ears ringing, feeling like he'd crossed a threshold without meaning to.
His phone buzzed once on the desk.
He turned it over. One new message.
Unknown: You're being noticed. Don't stop now.
Eli didn't move.
The monitor stayed black, the city outside eerily quiet, like the whole world was waiting for what he'd do next.