Player 0.4 [You have died.] [Reset in progress.]

We’ve only been in this realm for a few days. Technically, in any case. It should have been fine.

Apophis let out a slow, quiet sigh.

I ought to have known better.

The academy grounds were calm at this late afternoon hour. Mana lingered in the air—dense and almost suffocatingly rich compared to Luca’s home realm, which felt more like a dry desert. Even visually, the trees and bushes in this realm appeared fuller and more alive.

Apophis’s gaze shifted forward.

Luca walked toward the administration building at an unhurried pace, weaving through the paths as students passed by. Some glanced at him. Some whispered. But others openly smiled and waved. And Luca smiled and waved back in return.

~Hahhhh…

Apophis adjusted slightly on Luca’s left shoulder, his scales tightening just a fraction.

He has gotten too attached.

Apophis knew this aspect regarding Luca quite well.

It was not surprising. If anything, it was expected.

Luca Frey formed connections far too easily. It was in his nature to involve himself, to care, and to act. He could not simply observe from a distance. He stepped in, every time.

It was predictable. And useful.

Apophis had exploited that very trait to secure his position at Luca’s side.

The contract between them appeared, on the surface, absurdly one-sided. Anyone aware of its contents would have assumed Luca held all the advantage, that it had been carefully crafted to bind Apophis, restrict him, and keep him firmly under control.

That had likely been the intention of Luca’s overprotective older brother, Micah Frey.

However, the promise tattoo had missed one crucial detail: Apophis had chained himself to Luca Frey of his own free will. No—if one were to be precise, it was far more accurate to say that Luca Frey had bound himself to Apophis.

The terms themselves were simple enough. Luca would rescue the children twisted by The Alchemist. In return, Apophis would provide knowledge regarding Chaos Magic and insights as a Celestial. And, of course, the conditions included that no harm was to come to Luca.

It was an extremely one-sided contract. On the surface, at least.

Apophis’s tongue flicked out slowly, tasting the mana in the air as he considered the irony of it all.

It was true that he had grown attached to the children mutated by The Alchemist, but he was hardly so noble or self-sacrificing as to surrender his secrets for their sake. If he had been, The Alchemist would have long since extracted every fragment of knowledge he possessed regarding Chaos.

Moreover, the contract wasn't even needed for their survival. Luca would have attempted to save those children regardless. That was simply how he was. It was in his nature.

And that was precisely the problem now.

There’s no way to explain elementals—and the central issue regarding their existence—without brushing against the very aspect that had already erased Luca’s memory multiple times.

Apophis sighed.

The only viable approach is to avoid the truth altogether, because even the faintest hint of it is enough to trigger a memory wipe.

He adjusted his position on Luca’s left shoulder, settling more firmly as he chose his words with deliberate care.

~Elementals appear, as the young mage described, after a creature’s final death. When its cycle of rebirth is complete.

Apophis placed extreme emphasis on avoiding anything he suspected could provoke a wipe. There was no benefit to one right now.

~Instead of the soul moving on to its next life in another realm, it instead concludes in that same realm. That is what an elemental is, ultimately: the soul’s final release of energy before it fades entirely.

[[ So, it’ll die. ]]

~Yes, a true final death, Apophis agreed.

[[ But why didn’t my realm have any elementals? Or rather, why were there so few, given there are no records of them, and Void is the first I’ve encountered? ]]

Apophis flicked his tongue again, his gaze lowering to the shadow beneath Luca’s feet.

It was a dangerous question. It put Luca at the very edge of a cliff. A single careless word would be enough to wipe Luca’s mind clean of this entire exchange.

I’ll need to phrase this carefully.

~Master, the conditions required for their formation were simply not met in your realm, Apophis explained, keeping his tone measured and deliberately vague.

[[ What are the conditions? Can we replicate them? ]]

Another dangerous question.

Apophis’ gaze focused on Void, the implication of his existence evident to him.

~They are not conditions you’d want to create, Master.

And then, seeking to steer the conversation away from the cliff, he added:

~Elementals are… an inauspicious sign. They are not considered good omens, to be honest.

That was a mistake.

The moment the words left him, Apophis knew he had misstepped.

[[ Why is that? ]]

Luca pressed immediately.

[[ What makes them ominous signs? ]]

Of course. That would be the part Luca latched onto.

Apophis exhaled slowly, irritated at himself but maintaining a calm outward demeanor. He had intended the statement as a vague distraction, but instead had accidentally pushed Luca too close to the cliff’s edge with it.

~Master, I cannot divulge further without risking your forgetting our entire conversation again.

Cutting the conversation off now was the best option. There was no benefit to another memory wipe. Not now, at least.

The truth, which Apophis had shared with Luca before, was that elementals gathered in realms that were close to dissolving. Fate guided them to such realms as moths to a flame. Dying realms made for proper resting places for souls that concluded their journeys.

This, however, did not spell good news for any human or human-like inhabitants, whose souls followed a different trajectory and flow per the Agency’s guidelines. They were simply unlucky. And Luck, afterall, was a skill in its own right.

Apophis’s gaze shifted outward, taking in the academy grounds, the students, the unicorns grazing the green fields, and the steady hum of mana that saturated everything.

Given this realm was chock full of elementals, despite being in the process of gaining a Celestial as its owner, there was only one possible conclusion: the new owner of this realm had no intention of preserving it.

Alice Crest likely intends to let it all collapse.

Not that it concerned Apophis.

By the time that occurred, he and Luca would be long gone. The only issue was that Luca had grown attached to this realm. So when the collapse occurred, it was inevitable that his Sanity would plummet as well. Like a stone cast into a deep lake.

Apophis’s coils tightened slightly around Luca’s left shoulder as the young man entered the administration building to register Void.

And when that happens, I can finally make use of that to slip free of the binds placed on me by the Agency of Order. And return to my former glory.

​

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

“You must be Alice Crest?” Andrew gave a bright smile toward the young lady, sitting at a table filled with mouth-watering delicacies.

Andrew continued to smile as he stepped into the VIP room.

Alice had been placed here for her comfort while she waited for the Celestial paperwork to be completed. It was a private room, away from all the other Players and Celestials; however, Andrew knew his way around the Agency well enough by now that he knew how to slip into these backrooms.

His eyes drifted over the scenery, cataloguing and assessing.

Ah. There it is.

The first thing that hit him when he entered the room was the scent. Warm butter. Perfectly seared marbled wagyu. Fresh citrus. Andrew’s nostrils flared out as he took in the appetizing notes drifting from the round table. Every dish from his ‘Top 10 List’ was here.

Now this is a proper meal.

And Alice sat at the center of it all. Aside from the food, the Agency had attended to the details that ensured a fine-dining experience. Polished silverware and plates sculpted so that they entertained the eyes.

The meal was not simply given to Alice. It had been curated, as one would expect from a three-star restaurant.

“Yes,” Alice replied, her voice low and steady. “And you are…?”

Andrew didn’t answer immediately.

His eyes moved away from the impressive table, and across the unusual young woman—a teenage girl, really.

She wasn’t exactly ugly. But she wasn’t… optimized. Yes, that was the word for it.

Her long blonde hair was natural and unstyled. Her skin was uneven, peppered with acne she hadn’t bothered to smooth away. Even the proportions of her face were slightly off-center.

This was unusual among Players.

Any Player of anything below slightly-above average appearance usually made use of their newfound power to improve their appearance. Even Players who were previously models or celebrities made minor adjustments to smooth out their perceived flaws.

It was practically a rite of passage. Even Andrew was not immune to this, having had his jaw slightly chiseled and his hairline start slightly lower. Hardly excessive.

And then there were the extremes. ‘Ten-ones’, as people called them. Started as a ‘one’. Ended as a ‘ten’. Oftentimes, the most impossibly beautiful Players were once the equivalent of toads in appearance.

Thus, it was unusual to come across someone who had not adjusted their initial appearance.

However, Alice had not adjusted any of it. Not even a little bit.

Is it because she’s never been a Player? Does she not know? Or… does she not care?

Andrew’s gaze flicked back to the table.

Not that Andrew cared much about appearances anymore. He had lived too long to care. His sole interest and existence’s purpose was food.

The observation regarding her appearance was merely his stockpiling of insights about Alice Crest, so that he could offer valuable information in return for insights he truly cared about: how she managed to coax the Agency into procuring this entire feast for her.

But if she truly doesn’t care about appearances, I’ll need to offer her something else of interest.

He procured a chair across from her without waiting for permission and sat down, leaning forward slightly.

“My name’s Andrew Hwang,” he said, offering another smile. “I run a blog that I believe you might be familiar with: Realm Bites: A Player’s Guide to Survival Through Cuisine.”

“Ah!”

The first bit of real and positive emotion appeared across Alice’s face. Her eyes sparkled.

“Yes! I ordered everything here based on it,” she said, glancing across the spread. “It hasn’t let me down.”

Andrew felt a sense of satisfaction settle over him.

Good.

He had hoped for some recognition. This reaction was even better than he’d hoped.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Andrew replied, resting his chin lightly against his knuckles. “Normally, you’d have to travel across several realms to taste even half of this. The logistics alone…” He let out a low whistle. “And yet, you had it delivered.”

His eyes returned to her, and he smiled.

“That’s impressive,” he said. “How did you manage it?”

He kept his tone light and curious, not pressing.

As a Player, Andrew was accustomed to a give-and-take model. No Player ever gave up information for free. Unless they were a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed newbie.

But Alice wasn’t a Player. And never would be, since she was in the process of Celestialism.

Thus, Andrew deemed it worth trying to source information from her based on pure goodwill and the common need to impress.

Alice picked up her fork, slicing cleanly through a piece of wagyu, the meat parting with almost no resistance. She lifted it slightly, examining it rather than eating it.

Alice’s gaze sharpened as it met Andrew’s eyes.

“What do I get in return for sharing that?” she asked.

The shift was immediate. The warmth vanished, replaced by calculation.

Andrew’s smile didn’t falter, but internally, he sighed.

Of course.

This was not unexpected. Alice Crest hadn’t climbed from NPC to Celestial candidate by accident. She likely possessed quite a bit of valuable and dangerous knowledge.

But Andrew’s only interest was food.

“Fair,” Andrew replied easily. “I’ve been a Player for several thousand years. Ask me anything you want. I’m an open book. Whatever you might be interested in, I’ll be able to answer."

Alice studied him for a moment.

“I’ll ask you three questions in that case,” Alice said.

Andrew nodded. “If I have the answer, you’ll get it.”

“And if you don’t?” Alice pressed. “What then?”

Andrew shrugged. “I’ll procure it. I have my ways.”

It wasn’t arrogance.

He doubted she’d ask him anything too crazy, but even if she did, he was certain he’d be able to source it. As a Player, he was seen as inconsequential by most other Players and Celestials. Everyone knew he didn’t care to climb any ladders. He posed no real threat to them and thus had insights that most did not.

Alice didn’t take him at his word, however, and had him swear upon a promise scroll.

It was a bit of a nuisance, but Andrew wasn’t worried.

With her concerns addressed, Alice moved on.

“The Celestial process is taking longer than expected,” she began, and motioned Andrew to take a plate and indulge in the feast with her. “I’m concerned the realm will evolve to a point that would be… unfavorable to me.”

“Unfavorable?” Andrew spoke through a mouth full of food. He had wasted no time digging in.

The wagyu melted instantly in his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly.

“I fear someone else may enter through the same method I used,” Alice explained. “It’s already been a little over a year since I arrived here. If another NPC discovers it…”

Alice set down her fork and sat back, her arms crossed.

“I wish to avoid that—is there a way to speed up the Celestial review?” She posed her first question, finally.

Andrew swallowed, reaching for a napkin to wipe his mouth before answering.

“Anything processed through the Agency of Order takes time,” he said. “That part doesn’t change. And no, there isn’t a simple way to accelerate it.”

As he spoke, he poured himself a glass of deep red wine, so dark at its center it bordered on black. He gave it a slow, practiced swirl, letting the aroma rise.

It was yet another delicacy from his ‘Top 10 List.’

“But,” he added, lifting the glass to inspect the wine more closely, “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.”

He then took a slow sip.

The flavor unfolded in layers across his tongue: ripe red cherries and wild currants first, followed by a soft bloom of rose petals, then a subtle spice that lingered just long enough to give way to mineral notes reminiscent of a jungle waterfall. It was pure perfection in a glass.

“Why?” Alice asked, watching him closely.

Andrew set the glass down gently.

“Because time doesn’t pass the same way here as it does in a realm under review,” he explained.

He tapped the table once.

“There’s a significant dilation factor built into a realm under Celestial review,” he continued. “It’s intentional. The Agency accounts for the scenario you are concerned about.”

Alice did not look relieved, however.

Perhaps she did not understand my explanation?

“Think of it this way,” he said, reaching for a Golden Godberry and rolling it lightly between his fingers. “In a realm under review, time slows down to the pace of a turtle, nearing hibernation.”

“What has felt like a year to you here…”

He paused briefly, letting the berry burst across his tongue.

“…was roughly six days over there.”

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