Summer evenings always had this lazy, golden glow, the kind that made the cramped streets look softer than they really were. Alex trudged home under that fading light, his backpack dragging on one shoulder.
Vacation was almost over, work had finally ended, and in just a week he'd have to go back to school. He wasn't ready. After an entire summer that somehow felt more exhausting than relaxing, tonight was supposed to be his last day to breathe.
The moment he got inside, he peeled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and headed straight for the shower. Cold water hit his skin, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Dinner was quick, the kind you finish without savoring the taste. Then came the routine—coffee, the old fan turned up to maximum, and finally the computer humming awake. With a small smile, he clicked on the icon for Savage 6, the one game that never failed to lift his mood.
As the intro animation played across the screen, the tired look on Alex's face faded. His shoulders loosened. His fingers moved on the mouse like they belonged there. He set the difficulty to the highest without hesitation and began a new campaign. Land grabbing, diplomacy, trading, war—everything flowed. Alex might not be good at many things, but this? This was home.
Just as he was about to hit "Next Round," a message window blinked open at the bottom of the screen.
"Come on?"
He didn't even need to check the name. Only one person ever messaged him like that. They'd never spoken outside the game, barely even talked inside it, but the guy always appeared the moment Alex came online. Short words, strange personality, annoyingly strong gameplay—but their matches were fun, so Alex never complained.
An hour later, after a brutal back-and-forth battle, the victory animation flashed. Alex stretched, drained the last sip of his coffee, and let a small grin sneak onto his face. He rarely won against that player. That made the win sweeter.
Normally the guy would log off right away. But tonight, a new message popped up.
"Want to play a more interesting strategy game?"
Alex blinked. "??"
Another message followed. "Build a city-state. Grow a civilization. Fight real battles. For real."
For a moment, Alex stared at the text, his first instinct screaming scam. But then a tiny thought slipped in—what if it's real? The day had been dull. His mind was restless. And even though life had forced him to grow up too fast, he was still a student. Curiosity came naturally.
He typed slowly: "If it exists, I really want to try it."
The reply he expected didn't come. Instead, a strange, cold voice echoed directly inside his skull.
System prompt: Qualified host detected. Install 'Civil Rise' program—Accept?
Alex whipped his head around, searching the empty room. "Did I just hear that in my mind?"
Shock froze him for a moment. Before he could breathe, another message appeared from his friend.
"Accept."
His heartbeat spiked. A prickling sense of danger mixed with excitement crawled up his spine. Reason told him to reject whatever this was. But Alex had never been the careful type. He lived alone. He made his own decisions. And right now, his gut whispered Just do it.
He exhaled and clicked Accept.
System prompt: Installing 'Civil Rise'. Please remain conscious
System prompt: Installation complete.
Everything went black.
Cold slammed into him—sharp, biting cold that made his teeth clack together. He gasped and instinctively stepped toward the nearest source of warmth: a fire burning a few feet away. The crackling flames lit the dark surroundings, sheltering him from the chill.
Before he could process anything, another voice chimed in beside his ear—
System prompt: Player 'Ryder' requests to add you as a friend. Accept?
"Ryder?" Alex muttered, still half-frozen and half-confused. His mind lagged, trying to catch up. Flames. Snow. A completely new place.
Then it hit him all at once.
"Wait. Did the game just start for real?!"
Alex stood still for a moment, letting his brain finally catch up with reality. The name "Ryder" flashed in the system prompt, and he didn't even need to think—of course it was that weird net-friend from Savage 6. His fingers moved on instinct as he accepted the friend request.
The moment he clicked, a stream of messages poured in.
"Sending messages costs civilization points. Civilization points are the main currency in this game. New players earn them slowly. So don't bother replying. Just listen closely."
Another message came immediately after, then another, then a rapid chain of them:
"You've entered a primitive civilization world. This world is real—don't treat it like Savage 6. You have six months of newbie protection. No other players can invade you yet. Use this time to build your tribe."
"Be careful of the native tribes. Early on, they're a big threat. Explore, but don't be reckless. And check your stats before you start. Your strength determines your development path."
"Final reminder—do NOT log out. Logging in or out costs civilization points. Newbies barely have any. If you want to survive, stay online as long as you can. Good luck."
After that last line, Ryder went quiet.
Alex tried sending a short reply out of habit—but the moment he hit enter, a pop-up warned him that he had 0 civilization points left and each message cost 10. Even the word limit was strict. Ryder wasn't joking at all.
He sighed, closed the message window, and raised his head.
And froze.
He was surrounded—completely—by big, broad-shouldered men wrapped in animal skins. Their hair was messy, their bodies wrapped in furs, their faces rough and unreadable. They stood in a loose circle around him, breath steaming in the winter air, eyes fixed on him.
Alex's heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
"What the... Barbarians? Real barbarians?"
"Did I spawn in the middle of an enemy tribe?"
His mind spun, panic taking over. Their red eyes—no, maybe they weren't actually red, maybe he was just scared out of his soul—but every stare felt like a knife.
"Am I about to get eaten? Do these people eat strangers? I WILL die, won't I?"
He took a shaky step back just as an older man pushed through the group. His beard looked like a bird's nest, and his hair stuck out in every direction, but his steps were steady. He stopped right in front of Alex and spoke in a deep, rough voice.
"Patriarch everyone is waiting for your decision."
Alex flinched. "Patriarch? Me?"