Thorin's First Thundersday of Harvestfall, 1442, Halls of summoning, City of Umbraholme.

Umbraholme's portal room shimmered into being around him.

The last traces of teleportation static clung to Leoric's fur and clothes like spider silk, dissolving into the damp air a heartbeat later. The transition from Myrknar woods' suffocating darkness to the quiet underground gloom of Umbraholme was almost gentle by comparison—but it was still dark.

Always dark here.

The cavern walls—part natural stone, part compacted soil—absorbed the weak glow of the lichen that passed for light. Moisture gathered on his boots, each step leaving shallow prints on the soft, uneven floor. The air smelled of rain that would never end.

Stacks of wooden crates lined the far walls, each marked with the violet wax seal of Umbraholme's trade guild. A statuesque Full-blood felinae worker waved one arm towards a large stack of boxes, clipboard in the other. A few Shadow sylvani couriers listened, the elder at the head of the group nodding along with every explanation.

Other than that, the tunnels were habitually quiet.

Leoric rolled his shoulders, shaking out the residual hum that always followed teleportation, and took a slow breath.

He opened his chat interface and immediately noticed a staggering amount of notifications next to the Club Weirdo group chat.

"Looks like Halver has been busy…" Leoric murmured under his breath.

A group chat to help people whose transformations reached beyond the game. Judging by the flood of messages, he might actually have found some.

Hopefully, none of the members of the group had joined under false pretense. It would be fairly challenging to ascertain the identity of any member invited. Webcams had faded into obscurity after the advent of VR, and in this era of computer-assisted image and video-editing, it was fairly straightforward to generate extremely convincing evidence.

Leoric started with the list of participants. The group only had a handful of new users—he recognised the name of two of Halver's party members; Neva the shifter and Chester and kensei. The last name, Caelhan, was probably their healer.

He skimmed through the conversation, screenshots, audio clips. At a glance, the channel appeared mostly filled with a mix of disbelief and panic at the change, as well as relief at not being alone in this. Except for Neva, who, just like Leoric, appeared quite nonchalant about the whole thing.

So just like us, his whole team is affected? I wonder if this is spreading?

He closed the chat with a slow exhale. He would have to let Elyssia and the others know, but whatever Halver had uncovered could wait until everyone was safe and rested. His immediate responsibility was watching over Esen until the group reunited.

As if on cue, the portal pulsed once, a column of light flaring in the gloom. Leoric turned just in time to see Esen's slender form materialise within the runic circle, the lenses of the mask resting against his hip flashing briefly as the light faded.

Esen staggered one step forward, catching himself against a nearby pillar. His gloved fingers trembled; the teleport had clearly taken more out of him than expected.

Leoric stepped closer, voice calm but steady. "Easy there. First-time teleport can be rough if you're not used to it."

Esen's breath rasped faintly. "I have… dealt with worse forms of travel," he said at last, straightening. "But yes, disorienting."

The older burrovian's posture remained wary but not hostile. His dark attire and leather gloves made him appear as if he belonged in this city of shadows. Yet there was something about the way he took in his surroundings, curious despite himself.

Leoric offered a small nod toward the exit corridor. "Let's clear the place. They don't like when we crowd the arrival rune."

Esen nodded, then followed Leoric. Together they headed toward a slightly sloped corridor lined with moss-covered stone, where the lichen glow turned the air a muted green.

Esen walked slowly, still steadying himself. "Well, we are here," he murmured. "What next?"

"We go above ground and wait for the others at the edge of town." Leoric folded his arms, his ears twitching slightly. "Stay on your toes. Umbraholme does not station agents at checkpoints. Instead, the entire town watches your every step."

The doctor raised an eyebrow and glanced behind him, over his shoulder. More than a few pairs of eyes followed the two burrovians as they left the main room. "I see."

They walked the rest of the way in silence—the low echoes of distant conversations surrounding them.

The tunnel opened into the dim light of Umbraholme proper, the city mostly lit by fungus-lantern hanging off chains and ropes. The air was thick with humidity, and the faint scent of lumber and sawdust drifted from the carpenter's guildhall.

Leoric led Esen toward a quiet garden that overlooked the river that split the town in two. Above, the surface light was only a rumour—filtered through the thick canopy until it became little more than a grey halo.

"This city wouldn't be my first pick for a fresh start," Leoric said, sitting on a bench and leaning back. "Too humid, dark and lonely."

"I disagree," Esen replied, joining him on the bench. "Darkness and humidity promote decay. Decay is the promise of renewal; things must rot before they can grow again."

"That's one way to look at it." Leoric chuckled softly. "I just think it's… a little oppressive and depressing."

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He checked the group interface. Elyssia's status marker had faded to grey—Offline.

That's odd…

Vaelith and Ryan still appeared in the Myrknar woods.

"The others are on their way," Leoric said. "Probably ten, fifteen minutes out. We'll wait here."

Esen inclined his head, folding his hands neatly in front of him. Despite his earlier fatigue, he stood with a kind of ritual composure—like someone perpetually at attention.

For a time, neither of them spoke. The faint drip of water and the distant creak of wood filled the silence. A pair of Shadow sylvani children darted past, laughing as they chased a glowing moth. Their laughter echoed for a heartbeat before vanishing into the tunnels.

Leoric found himself staring into the distance. The stillness gave his mind just enough room to catch up. So much had happened—too much for a single day—and it was not even one o'clock yet.

The last half-hour had been a blur of survival and reflexes, but now, with no one demanding his focus, more important questions began circling again.

What was the game trying to accomplish? Why had it blurred the line between who they were and who they played?

The avatar glitch remained; he still carried Leoric's body everywhere in VR spaces, like a shadow that refused to detach. But the line had started to vanish in the real world. Before long, his body would match his avatar.

Even now, he was not overly concerned about that part. But how would he even prove who he was if someone asked for his papers or identity? Would the government still recognise him as "Sophie Kim," or would they update their database to match his new self?

What would his parents say when he finally agreed to walk up to their door?

The thought made his ears lower slightly, a quiet gesture of unease he quickly disguised as a sigh. Every new answer only seemed to unearth another question, and each one cut closer to home.

But instead of seeking answers to any of those questions, he now had to figure out what to do with the doctor. While he agreed with Vaelith that reform was an ideal solution—far better than execution—Leoric simply did not have the mental capacity to juggle yet another plate.

He rubbed his temples, trying to corral his thoughts before they tangled any further. Philosophy could wait. Outside, the real world was still ticking, indifferent to divine mysteries or avatar glitches.

And that was when it struck him—he had never done his morning run. Between spending the night at his sister's, breakfast together, and that detour to the mall, he had completely skipped it.

A quiet laugh escaped him. Of all the things to worry about, that was what his brain clung to. Maybe it was muscle memory, or maybe he just needed to feel the wind on his face.

Umbraholme's air felt like a weight on his chest.

His ears twitched at the echo of approaching footsteps.

Two silhouettes emerged from beyond the tree line: one tall, one shorter. Vaelith's faint luminescence gave her away first—the soft golden glow that clung to her scales like starlight on water. Ryan still leaned heavily on the smaller dracan, the glow in his emerald eyes entirely dulled by his distress.

"They're here," Leoric murmured, getting up.

Vaelith spotted him and raised a hand in greeting. "Hey! I see you two got here safely."

"All thanks to you. Didn't run into any trouble, I trust?" Leoric asked, gesturing toward the shadowed woods beyond the gate. Then, with a nod to the doctor, he added, "Our guest behaved. Didn't even try to bolt."

Still seated on the bench, Esen inclined his head politely. "I am far too tired for dramatics," he said, his voice low but dryly amused all the same.

Vaelith's lips curved into the faintest smile, the light from the lanterns catching her scales. "Good. Elyssia had to log out for lunch. She'll be out for a bit."

Ryan shifted his weight beside her, leaning heavily on his staff. His posture wavered, eyes glassy and unfocused. "I… I have to log out now," he murmured, voice thin. "Need to get out…"

"Ryan—" Vaelith began, reaching toward him, but before she could touch his arm, his avatar fractured into particles of light and vanished.

The dracan's hand lingered in the empty air for a moment before she let it drop. She exhaled slowly and looked up, meeting Leoric's gaze. Her expression was calm, but the shimmer of concern behind her sapphire eyes did not fade.

"You look like you could use a break too," she said quietly.

Leoric's ears flicked, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. "That actually sounds divine…"

Now that she had said it, the exhaustion hit him fully. The air here was thick and heavy, pressing against his lungs. Umbraholme always felt like a place that forgot what sunlight was. He had not realised how much he missed the wind until he noticed its absence.

"But what about you?" he asked.

"I'll stay online," Vaelith replied, brushing a lock of silver hair from her face. "Keep an eye on our friend here. I've got a few new gear ideas for Ryan, anyway."

Leoric frowned. "Are you sure? You're allowed to take a break too, you know."

Vaelith smiled, but it was the small, weary kind—the one that said she had already made up her mind. "It's fine. Crafting calms me. Besides, I'd feel awful taking it easy, knowing how miserable Ryan's been. Not when I can actually do something for him."

Leoric planted both hands on his hips, giving her a look halfway between fond exasperation and genuine respect. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Occupational hazard," she said lightly.

He sighed in surrender. "Fine. I'll try to be back soon so you can pass me the baton."

"I'll be fine," Vaelith said, waving him off. "Go on—go stretch those legs, ranger-boy."

Leoric chuckled under his breath and raised a hand in farewell. With a thought, he opened his menu. A ripple of light surrounded him, and for a heartbeat, his body was half there, half gone—the echo of a smile still on his lips as he initiated the logout sequence.

Light washed over him—first green, then white—until the world collapsed into a single tone and blinked out.

When Lee opened his eyes again, the hum of the FullDive rig was the only sound in the room. The gentle vibration faded as the neural sync disengaged, leaving him in stillness. For a few seconds, he just sat there, palms on the rig's armrests, feeling the ghost of the game still echoing in his body.

His heart was racing like he had just run miles, though the only thing he had done was breathe and think.

With a low grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the chair and stood. The movement felt natural—more than natural. Every step carried a rhythm that used to take stretching and caffeine to find.

He entered his bedroom and found neat piles of folded laundry waiting for him on the bed—Melanie's handiwork.

He flipped through the clothes until he found something suitable: some running shorts and a dark grey compression shirt. The outfit was a little loose—it had been picked to handle his shifting body over the next two days. Still, it felt different from his previous running attire. Not wrong. Just… new.

He grabbed his phone, slipped it into an armband holster, and patted his pocket for his access keycard. The movement felt automatic, muscle memory catching up to his new proportions.

At the dresser, his reflection caught the edge of his vision. He tied his soft hair tied back. One by one, he slipped earbuds into his new ears. The partial fur along their edge twitched when they connected, pulsing faintly with the beat of the K-pop track that started up.

He paused a moment, just to listen. The music thudded in his chest—not from the speakers, but from inside, like his pulse syncing to the rhythm.

"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see how much I improved since yesterday."

He pulled a beanie, tucking his ears as best he could, stepped out of his apartment, and locked the door behind him.

Like yesterday, he went straight for the stairwell and jogged down, skipping two, three, then four steps at a time, sneakers hitting concrete in a steady percussion. The building smelled faintly of detergent and ocean air leaking through the vents.

By the time he reached the ground floor, his body had already switched gears. Whatever doubts lingered in his mind stayed upstairs. Out here, the day was bright, cold, and real.

He burst through the lobby doors and into the street; the wind cutting across his cheeks like a promise. Stanley Park waited just beyond the seawall, a ribbon of sunlight and open space—everything Umbraholme was not.

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