Chapter 4

Aamon's hospital stay became an unexpected battleground. Not against some monstrous beast, but against the crushing boredom of bed rest. However, Dr. Reyes' daily visits offered a far more... intriguing challenge. Every conversation was a carefully crafted dance. Aamon, channeling his inner bard (with limited success), would pepper her with compliments.

"You know, Doctor," he'd croon, voice slightly hoarse from disuse, "your eyes are the color of a dragon's hoard in the morning sun."

Dr. Reyes, ever the professional, would raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in her emerald depths. "And yours, young man, remind me of polished obsidian."

Aamon, internally preening at the comparison, would feign a cough. "Indeed, Doctor. A terrible side effect of my… uh… near-death experience."

Their daily sparring sessions were a source of amusement for the nurses, who exchanged knowing glances behind sterile masks. Aamon, despite his frustration with his weakened state, couldn't help but find himself drawn to the doctor's intelligence and humor. There was a spark in her eyes, a sharpness that hinted at a hidden strength. Perhaps a kindred spirit, he mused, trapped in a world of stethoscopes and blood pressure cuffs.

Finally, the day of his discharge arrived. Mr. Walker, relieved to have his son back, bustled in with a bouquet of flowers for Dr. Reyes. Aamon, internally rolling his eyes at the cliché, decided to go out on a high note.

"Doctor," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I must confess, you've made my stay here far more bearable. I am, without a doubt, the luckiest patient in the whole world, to have such a beautiful lady taking care of me."

Dr. Reyes chuckled, a warm sound that sent a pleasant tingle through Aamon (or was that just the residual effects of the hospital food?). "Well, Adrian," she said, her eyes twinkling, "If becoming king of the world is the prerequisite for me to take care of you, you have a long way to go."

Aamon's eyes narrowed for a fleeting moment. He had, during their conversations, shared some of his dreams of conquering and ruling. Dr. Reyes, under the assumption it was youthful fantasy, had indulged him with lighthearted jokes. But her words sparked something within him, a flicker of his old ambition.

He gave her a slow, measured smile, a smile that promised more than a teenage crush. "One of these days, Doctor," he said, his voice a low rumble, "I might just take you up on that offer."

Dr. Reyes blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. But before she could respond, Mr. Walker cleared his throat, oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

Leaving the hospital, Aamon settled back in the car, a plan already forming in his mind. This world, this strange game, had its own rules. He would learn them, exploit them, and rise to power. And perhaps, along the way, he might just win over the captivating Dr. Reyes. After all, a king needed a queen by his side, didn't he?

As they pulled away from the hospital, Aamon stole a glance at his father's focused profile. Needing more information, he cleared his throat.

"Dad," he began, his voice still a bit raspy, "tell me about Dr. Reyes."

Mr. Walker, caught off guard, blinked. "Dr. Reyes? Well, she's an excellent doctor, Adrian. Very skilled and dedicated."

Aamon feigned disinterest, but perked up his ears. "Is she married?"

His father chuckled. "No, Adrian. Dr. Reyes is quite young for that, as brilliant as she is. Already making waves in the medical field. A world-renowned genius, some would say."

Aamon's internal monologue crackled with intrigue. A brilliant doctor with a sharp wit and undeniable beauty? This Dr. Reyes was proving to be far more fascinating than he initially anticipated.

They arrived at a luxurious apartment building, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital room. A smile played on Aamon's lips. This human world might have its limitations, but it certainly offered a comfortable existence.

"Welcome home, Adrian," his father said, a hint of relief in his voice. "This place is all set up for you. It's closer to the hospital in case..." He trailed off, his face clouding over.

Aamon understood. In case Aamon, the fragile human boy who housed a god, showed any more signs of… abnormality. He suppressed a sigh. This charade was growing tiresome, but necessary.

"Thanks, Dad," he said, forcing a grateful smile.

As they entered the apartment, a sleek VR headset gleamed on the coffee table. A note stuck to it read: "Welcome back, Adrian. Hope you're feeling better. Your world awaits – The Eternity's Gate Dev Team."

Aamon's eyes narrowed. The game. His father had mentioned it before, a world he'd created for Adrian, a world where his sickly son could experience strength and adventure. Now, a tremor of unease ran through him. He was Aamon, the Devourer of Gods, not a character in a game. And his "disappearance" had the developers in a tizzy.

"Dad," he said, his voice low and serious. "Tell me about the game. What happened to the Devourer of Gods?"

Mr. Walker looked startled, then sighed. "Let's just say," he began, rubbing his temples, "that the explosion you experience caused a bit of a problem in Eternity's Gate. The game's flagship boss, Aamon, has vanished. The developers are in a frenzy, trying to figure out how to explain it to the players and come up with a new challenge."

A cold smile touched Aamon's lips. This game, this world he was trapped in, held more secrets than he initially thought. And he, Aamon, the Devourer of Gods, had a feeling he was about to become a major player in both.