The concept of a "plot hole" was usually a metaphorical term used by angry critics to describe a logical inconsistency in a story. But as Elian stood at the edge of the drawbridge, staring into the abyss where the North Gate of Aethelgard was supposed to be, he realized that in this world, metaphors had a nasty habit of becoming literal.
The massive limestone walls of the capital didn't crumble or break; they simply ended. The molecular structure of the stone sheared off into a buzzing, pixelated static. Beyond the edge, there was no city, no streets, and no guards. There was only a grey, endless void that swirled like oil on water.
"It is sorcery," Sir Kaelen whispered, hiding behind his shield again. "The Void Mages have taken the city. We should retreat to the farm lands. I hear the harvest is good this time of year."
"It's not magic, Kaelen. It's a rendering error," Elian corrected, stepping closer to the edge. The air smelled like burning plastic and ozone. "The game engine hasn't loaded the city assets because the trigger event never happened."
He picked up a loose stone and tossed it into the grey mist. It didn't fall. It simply vanished the moment it crossed the threshold, deleted from existence.
Elian felt a cold sweat prickle on his neck. If they tried to walk through that, their biological data would be scrubbed just like the stone.
[Skill Activated: Annotate]
The blue window flickered into life, overlaying the terrifying void with comforting lines of code.
[Zone: Capital City Aethelgard]
[Status: Unloaded]
[Error: Missing Dependency > "Hero_Arrival_Event"]
[System Logic: The gates will open and the city will generate when "The Chosen One" presents the "Royal Letter" to the Gatekeeper.]
"Right," Elian muttered. "Standard optimization. Why load a massive city model if the player isn't there to see it?"
He looked at the empty guard post. There was no Gatekeeper. The NPC who was supposed to check the letter hadn't spawned because the ground he was supposed to stand on didn't exist. It was a catch-22.
"Kaelen," Elian turned to the knight. "I need you to do something brave."
Kaelen took a step back, his armor clanking. "I refuse. My contract with you specifies 'protection', not 'suicide by jumping into the nothingness'."
"You don't have to jump," Elian reached into his pocket and pulled out the bloodstained letter he had looted from the tutorial chest. "You just need to be the Hero."
Elian shoved the letter into Kaelen's gauntleted hand.
"The System is looking for a signature," Elian explained rapidly. "It's looking for someone holding this item. I'm a Level 2 anomaly; my data signature is unrecognizable. But you? You're a high-level Knight. You're part of the source code. If you hold this and step to the edge, the System might mistake you for Arthur."
Kaelen looked at the letter, then at the void that swirled hungrily a few feet away. "This is blasphemy. I am not the Chosen One. I am Sir Kaelen the... the Adequate."
"Fake it 'til you make it, Sir Adequate," Elian snapped. "Walk to the edge. Hold the letter up. And for god's sake, look heroic."
Kaelen swallowed hard, the sound audible even through his helmet. But the grip of his loyalty—or perhaps his fear of Elian's sharp tongue—propelled him forward. He stepped onto the drawbridge. The wooden planks groaned.
He reached the edge of the pixelated static. He raised the letter high, his hand trembling so much the paper blurred.
"I..." Kaelen's voice squeaked. He cleared his throat. "I have arrived! Open the... the thing!"
Nothing happened. The void churned silently.
Elian checked the status window.
[Dependency Check: Failed.]
[Error: Subject Identity Mismatch.]
"It knows you're not Arthur," Elian cursed. He bit his lip. He needed to overwrite the check. He needed to edit the conditions.
He raised his hand, pointing at the invisible code floating in the air. His "Ink" meter was at 85/100. This was going to be expensive.
"Annotate: Edit Parameter," Elian commanded.
A red quill appeared in his mind. He focused on the line: [Requirement: "The Chosen One"].
Elian mentally crossed it out. His head pounded, a sharp spike of migraine pain driving into his temples as he fought the reality of the world. He couldn't delete the requirement entirely—he wasn't strong enough yet—but he could broaden the definition.
He hastily scribbled a new tag over the old one: [Requirement: "Bearer of the Letter"].
[Ink Depleted: -40 Points]
[Narrative Adjustment: Success.]
The world screamed.
It wasn't a sound of vocal cords, but the tearing shriek of reality snapping back into place. A blast of wind knocked Elian flat on his back. Kaelen fell to his knees, burying his face in the dirt.
From the void, white stone exploded outward like rapidly growing crystals. Towers shot up from the nothingness, piercing the sky. Walls knit themselves together in a blur of motion. The sound of cobblestones slamming into place sounded like machine gun fire.
In three seconds, the void was gone.
Replacing it was the majestic, towering North Gate of Aethelgard, complete with fluttering banners, burning torches, and a very confused-looking Gatekeeper who had just popped into existence mid-sandwich bite.
The Gatekeeper stared at Kaelen, who was kneeling on the ground holding the letter like he was surrendering to a ghost.
"Halt!" The Gatekeeper choked on his bread, scrambling to grab his spear. "Who goes there?"
Elian picked himself up, dusting off his tunic. His nose was bleeding from the exertion of the Edit, but he grinned.
"He is the messenger," Elian said, gesturing to the traumatized knight. "And we are here to see the King. Open the gate, before we delete you too."
The Gatekeeper didn't understand the threat, but he saw the Royal Seal on the letter in Kaelen's hand. He paled, slamming the butt of his spear against the ground.
"Open the gates!" the guard shouted to the mechanism above. "The Royal Messenger has returned!"
The massive timber doors groaned open, revealing the bustling streets of the capital. But as Elian walked past the trembling Kaelen and into the city, he noticed something that made his blood run cold.
The city had loaded, yes. But the NPCs inside weren't moving. Hundreds of people—merchants, children, guards—were standing perfectly still in the streets, frozen in T-poses, their faces blank and staring at the castle in the center of the city.
The lights were on, but nobody was home.