Elara Vale was awake when the world quietly ended... for her that is.
Not dramatically. No earthquakes, no screaming alerts, no sky turning red. Just her phone lighting up on her nightstand at 12:07 a.m., sharp and sudden in the dark like an accusation.
She frowned, rolling onto her side.
Her room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and rain drifting in through the cracked window. A hoodie hung from the back of her desk chair. Geometry homework lay unfinished beneath her laptop. Normal things. Safe things.
Her phone buzzed again.
"Jesus," she muttered, voice rough with sleep. "I'm coming."
She reached out, thumb brushing the screen—
—and froze.
The notification wasn't from any app she recognized.
No icon. No sender. Just text, stark white on black.
WORLD DUNGEON — BETA PHASE
You have been selected.
Participation is mandatory.
Initial access will occur within 72 hours.
Survival is optional.
Declining is not.
Her breath caught at the ominous words flashing in her face.
For a long moment, Elara just stared.
Then she laughed—short, sharp, disbelieving.
"This is some ARG bullshit," she said aloud, because saying it made it less real. "Or a virus. Or—"
She tried to screenshot it.
The screen blinked.
The image saved as a blank black rectangle.
Her stomach tightened.
She sat up fully now, heart beginning to beat faster. The room felt too quiet, the rain outside suddenly distant, like the world had taken a step back.
She tapped the notification.
Nothing happened.
No app opened. No further explanation appeared. The message just… stayed. Anchored. Unmovable.
Elara swallowed.
She opened her messages and typed furiously to her best friend.
Elara: hey are you awake?? did you get a weird dungeon message??
Sent.
No typing bubbles. She must be sleeping.
She switched apps, opened social media, searched keywords. Nothing. No trending posts. No jokes. No panic. The world, apparently, had not received any such message.
Only her.
Her phone buzzed again.
Not a new notification—just the same one, pulsing softly, insistently.
A cold feeling crept up her spine.
She decided to try again dialing another number. It rang once, then twice. Click.
"Mom?" she called, quieter now.
No answer. Pulling the phone away from her face she saw that it hadn't connected.
Her mother worked nights at the hospital. Wouldn't be home until morning. Her father had left when she was ten—left behind a box of tools and a silence that never quite filled.
It was just Elara. As it usually was.
She stood and crossed the room, bare feet cold against the floor. She grabbed her hoodie off the chair while opening her door. Pulling it over her head she swept her three long braids out front beneath before taking a look around. The apartment hallway was dim, familiar. Safe.
Still real.
She returned to her bed and sat down hard, phone clenched in both hands.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. If this is fake, it'll go away."
It didn't.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
At 1:14 a.m., a new line appeared beneath the message.
Participant Status: ACTIVE
Elara's throat went dry.
"What do you mean active," she said. "I didn't agree to anything."
The phone did not respond.
She lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling, pulse loud in her ears. Her mind raced through possibilities—government experiment, hackers, mass hallucination—but none of them explained the certainty pressing down on her chest.
She didn't sleep.
At 6:03 a.m., the message updated again.
Environmental variables confirmed.
Dormant access pending.
Dormant.
That word followed her all day.
At school, Elara watched people like they might suddenly vanish. Like they might look up and scream. Like something might tear open the floor and swallow them whole.
Nothing happened.
Classes dragged. Lunch tasted like cardboard. Her phone stayed silent—but the notification never left.
By the time she got home, rain had stopped. The sky was a dull gray, heavy with unsaid things.
Elara kicked off her shoes and dropped her backpack.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn't hesitate this time.
WORLD DUNGEON ACCESS — INITIALIZATION COMPLETE
Entry conditions will be met upon isolation.
Prepare accordingly.
Her reflection stared back at her from the dark phone screen—wide gray eyes, pale skin, fear she didn't remember earning.
Isolation.
Her apartment door clicked shut behind her.
The lights flickered once.
Elara's breath fogged.
And somewhere—far beneath the world she knew—something began to wake.