He stood there, stunned, the sight of her short-circuiting his thoughts. The immense satisfaction of hitting his stat goals, the calculated realization of his progress.122Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡehYs9vg0cO
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it all evaporated, replaced by a simple, profound shock. This was his place.
Slowly, almost mechanically, he sat down on the soft grass, the exhaustion of the long grind finally washing over him in a heavy wave. He let out a long, slow breath, willing his heart to stop hammering against his ribs. He calmed himself by focusing on the familiar sights: the moon's perfect reflection on the still water, the gentle cascade of the waterfall, the countless stars.
Well, I was hoping for a refreshing bath in the lake, he thought with a tinge of rueful disappointment. That was clearly off the table now.
The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a deep, bone-tired lethargy. The grass was soft, the night air cool on his warm skin. His eyelids grew heavy. He lay back, staring up at the cosmos, the world narrowing to the sound of water and wind. He was on the precipice of sleep, the boundary between the game world and dreams beginning to blur.
Then he heard her voice.
It was quiet, contemplative, not meant for anyone but herself, yet it carried clearly across the water. "It's never the same, is it? No matter how many times you see it."
Eon’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up on his elbows.
She had stood up in the waist-deep water, turning to face the shore. The moonlight painted her in silvery relief. She was almost the same height as him, perhaps an inch or two shorter. Her skin was pale, like polished alabaster, a stark contrast to the dark water. Her hair was black and cut short, hovering just above her shoulders, looking sleek and wet. But it was her eyes that held him they were a luminous, piercing silver that seemed to capture the moonlight itself, regarding him with a calm, unnerving intensity.
She waded toward the shore, and as she emerged, he saw the two long, elegant swords strapped to her back in an X-shaped harness. They were simple, unadorned, and looked lethally practical. Water streamed from her simple, dark combat attire, which clung to a lean, powerfully built frame. She moved with a predator's grace, completely at ease, as if she owned the clearing.
She stopped a few feet from where he lay, water pooling at her feet. Her silver eyes scanned him, taking in his own new clothes, his likely exhausted expression, and the fact that he was here, in this hidden spot.
She didn't look angry or annoyed. Just… curious.
"You're new," she stated, her voice even, devoid of mockery or warmth. It was a simple observation.
Eon could only manage a numb nod, his brain struggling to catch up. He had just achieved his greatest triumph, and now he was facing his most unexpected encounter.
Eon continued to look at her, then back up at the moon, its serene light a stark contrast to the frantic beating of his heart. The exhaustion was a heavy blanket, muffling his usual social anxiety and leaving behind a strange, raw honesty. The words came out slow, soft, pushed by a curiosity that overrode his caution.
"Who... or what are you?"
The girl didn't smile, but her intense silver eyes seemed to soften almost imperceptibly. She followed his gaze upward. "Just someone admiring the moon." Her answer was simple, echoing his own reason for being there. It was an answer that was no answer at all, yet it felt like the only truth that mattered in this place.
A moment of silence passed, filled only by the waterfall's whisper.
"How did you know of this place?" Eon asked, his voice a little stronger now, his eyes fixed on her.
She looked back at him, her head tilting slightly. "I could ask you the same thing." Her gaze swept over the secluded clearing. "I found it a long time ago. When the world outside the walls got too loud. It's a good place to be quiet."
Another question answered with a question, yet it felt like a exchange. A sharing.
Eon found himself nodding, the motion slow and tired. "Yeah," he breathed, the word carrying the weight of his entire experience. "Too loud." He was too drained to guard his thoughts, to keep up the walls. "I found it... a week ago? Maybe. I lost track. I was just... punching slimes. Got lost. Found peace."
He was telling a stranger his story. The simplicity of it, the sheer mundane truth of it, hung in the air between them. He wasn't a hero on a quest. He was just a guy who punched slimes and found a quiet spot to rest.
He finally looked away from the moon, his dark eyes meeting her silver ones. "Since when have you... have you been coming here?"
The conversation continued, a slow, quiet exchange in the moonlit clearing. She would ask a simple question in her even, calm voice.
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"Quiet," Eon mumbled, his head nodding forward before he jerked it back up. "No one... laughs here."
She took a slow, deliberate step closer. The distance between them shrank. "You farm the slimes. The rabbits. Why?"
"Stats," he sighed, the word heavy with countless hours of repetition. "No class. Nothing else to do."
Another step. She was close enough now that he could see the subtle details the moonlight revealed: a faint, silvery scar along her jawline, the way her short hair feathered against her neck. "You do not party?"
"Tried once. They leveled up. I... didn't." The memory was a dull ache. "Just got... loot."
She was only a few feet away now, looking down at where he sat slumped against a tree. Eon was too tired to care about the proximity, too sleepy to put his guard up. The constant vigilance he maintained in the village and the fields had been completely abandoned here, in this place he thought was safe. His eyes were half-closed, his responses becoming slower, more slurred.
"You are strong for one who is alone," she observed, her voice a low murmur that blended with the sound of the water.
"Fifty," he whispered, almost to himself. "Fifty and fifty. Took forever."
He didn't see the faint, intrigued arch of her eyebrow. He was already mostly asleep, lulled by her voice and the rhythm of the waterfall, confessing his secrets to the moon and the mysterious, silver-eyed stranger.
The world was fading at the edges, the serene sounds of the clearing blending into a soft hum. Eon’s head lolled against the tree trunk, his eyelids far too heavy to hold open. The girl’s silhouette was the last thing he saw, a moonlit statue against the dark tapestry of the forest.
He was barely conscious, existing in the hazy space between the game and sleep. He felt more than saw her move, the soft rustle of grass as she closed the final few inches between them. She didn't touch him. Instead, she simply sat down cross-legged in front of him, her back straight, her silver eyes watching him with an unreadable intensity as he lost his fight with exhaustion.
His breathing evened out, becoming deep and slow. He was fully asleep, utterly vulnerable, in the presence of a complete stranger armed with two swords.
She just watched. Minutes passed, measured only by the cascade of the waterfall and the rhythm of his breath.
Then, the system took over. His body, inactive and his vitals indicating deep sleep, began to dissolve into countless motes of soft, golden light. The automatic logout sequence, a safety feature to prevent players from languishing unconscious in the game, had activated.
The golden particles lifted into the air, swirling gently before vanishing entirely, leaving the clearing empty save for the girl and the moon.
She remained seated for a long moment, staring at the space where he had been. The faintest hint of a smile, curious and enigmatic, touched her lips. Then she rose fluidly to her feet, turned, and melted back into the shadows of the trees, leaving the hidden lake to its solitude once more.
The sound was a violent, electronic shriek, tearing him from a deep, dreamless void. Eon’s hand shot out on instinct, slamming down on the source of the noise with a grunt of irritation.
His palm met the smooth, cool interior of the VR capsule lid.
The disconnect was jarring. For a heart-stopping second, he didn’t know where he was. Then reality snapped into place. He was in his capsule. In his apartment. The alarm on his bedside table was blaring, unanswered.
He pushed the capsule lid open, the hydraulics hissing softly. The familiar, dim sight of his messy bedroom greeted him. Morning light bled through the blinds.
And then the memories of the previous night flooded back. Not the stats, not the grinding, but the end. The hidden lake. The girl. The conversation he could barely remember, his words slurred with exhaustion. Him falling asleep. Her sitting there, watching him.
A hot wave of pure, unadulterated embarrassment washed over him, so intense he actually groaned aloud and covered his face with his hands. He had practically confessed his entire, pathetic life story to a complete stranger. He’d passed out in front of her like a helpless child. He’d been so vulnerable, so… unguarded.
He’d spent years building walls to avoid exactly that kind of situation, and in the one place he felt safe, he’d let them all crumble in a matter of minutes.
He stumbled out of the capsule, the blaring alarm finally piercing his humiliation. He crossed the room and silenced it with a more vicious slap than was necessary. The sudden quiet was deafening.
He stood in the center of his room, the events of the virtual night playing on a loop in his mind. The memory of her silver eyes, watching him, was burned into his brain.
The embarrassment was paralyzing. For the first time since he’d started playing Illusion Tree, he felt a genuine reluctance to log back in.
The urge to retreat was overwhelming. Logging back into Illusion Tree meant potentially facing her, and the cringe of that memory was too fresh, too potent. Instead, he fell back on his oldest habit: digital immersion.
He slumped into his desk chair, the glow of the monitor a familiar shield against the real world. He mindlessly clicked through his usual circuit: the forums, the game guides, the cooking tutorials. It was all noise, a distraction to keep from thinking about silver eyes and his own humiliating vulnerability.
Then a new, official post from the Illusion Tree development team caught his eye. It was a sleek infographic, a "State of the World" update. His eyes, glazed with distraction, scanned over it.
The first pie chart was simple, dividing the entire player base into three broad roles: Damage Dealer, Tank, and Support. The Damage Dealer slice was massive, dominating the chart. He skimmed the accompanying data: lists of the most-played classes (all high-damage or flashy spellcasters), total cumulative gameplay hours (a number so large it was meaningless), how many millions of certain mobs had been killed. It was a celebration of the game's most popular path, the one everyone else was on.
Then his gaze dropped to a smaller, secondary pie chart tucked in the corner. The title was: Craftsmanship & Non-Combat Pursuits.
The data was stark. A tiny, sliver-thin slice of the pie was labeled Primary Crafters. The vast majority of the chart was labeled Secondary/Sub Crafters. The description below explained: "Over 99% of players who engage in crafting do so via a subclass or secondary profession. Very few choose a crafting class as their primary identity."
He stared at the graphic. It was a visual representation of everything he was not. He wasn't a Damage Dealer, a Tank, or a Support. And he certainly wasn't one of the minuscule few who primaryed as a crafter.
He was a blank. A statistical anomaly so small it didn't even warrant a sliver on the pie chart.
The embarrassment from before began to curdle into something else. A stubborn, defiant spark. They had their charts and their roles and their well-trodden paths. He had a hidden lake, a reputation with a village, and fifty points in Strength and Dexterity earned with his bare hands.
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and then Add to home screen.