Chapter 1 – The Game I Never Played

The box felt lighter than he expected.

Held between his fingers, the sleek, glossy packaging reflected the neon lights of the game store. A bold, stylized title stretched across the front—"Eternal Reverie: Spirits of Fate." Below it, an image of a grand battlefield, legendary heroes clashing alongside mythical beasts, their eyes glowing with elemental power. The long-awaited RPG, the one game he had been waiting years for, was finally in his hands.

A smirk played at his lips as he ran a thumb along the embossed lettering. "Finally."

He turned the case over, scanning the back. A fully customizable protagonist. A massive open world. Spirit summons that evolved alongside their summoners. Multiple branching storylines with romance routes and hidden lore paths. This was the kind of game that could consume weeks, months of his life—and he was more than ready to let it.

He shoved it into his bag, pushing past the automatic doors into the cool night air. The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rolling by, neon billboards flickering, groups of people chatting outside convenience stores. The streetlamps cast a dull orange glow, flickering slightly, just enough to make the edges of the sidewalk feel uneven.

The buzz of excitement still filled his chest. He had preordered this game months ago, enduring endless delays, watching gameplay leaks online, and arguing in forums about potential plot twists. And now, all that waiting was over.

Tomorrow, he'd wake up, boot up his console, and finally dive into the world of Eternal Reverie.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"Watch where you're going, jackass."

The sudden bark of irritation pulled him from his thoughts. He barely had time to register the impact—his shoulder colliding with another person's as they passed each other on the sidewalk. He staggered slightly, his bag shifting against his hip.

He turned, frowning, to see the other guy doing the same. A man—probably mid-30s, built solid but not particularly tall—stood there, scowling at him. His jaw was clenched, his lips curled in irritation, his hands still half-stuffed into the pockets of his dark hoodie.

"Sorry, man," he muttered, already moving to walk away.

But the guy didn't let it go.

"The hell was that?" the stranger snapped. "You just plow through people and don't even look?"

His patience thinned instantly. He was not in the mood for this.

"It was an accident," he said flatly, adjusting the strap on his bag. "Maybe don't take up the whole damn sidewalk."

The guy scoffed. "Oh, so it's my fault now? You weren't even looking where you were going."

He exhaled slowly, trying to will himself to just walk away. Not worth it. Not worth the effort. He had a new game to get home to, a whole world waiting for him. But something about the guy's tone, his posture, made it clear he wasn't about to let this go.

"Look, I said sorry," he said, keeping his voice even. "Drop it."

The guy let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, real sincere." His eyes flicked to the bag slung over his shoulder. "What, too busy thinking about your little video game to pay attention to the real world?"

His fingers tightened around the strap. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," the guy said, voice casual, but his stance was anything but. "Just saying, people like you—head in the clouds, think you're better than everyone—need a reality check sometimes."

Something about the way he said it—low, bitter, almost personal—sent a prickle of irritation down his spine.

He scoffed. "Oh, right. Because accidentally bumping into you on the street makes me some kind of arrogant asshole?"

The guy tilted his head slightly, like he was weighing his next words. "Maybe you just don't think about anyone but yourself."

A flicker of something darker in his tone.

He should have walked away. He knew that. He had better things to do, better ways to spend his time than trading insults with some random self-important asshole on the street. But his patience was fraying at the edges, and the rush of excitement from getting his game was rapidly souring into irritation.

"You know what?" he said, crossing his arms. "You're right. I don't think about anyone else. Because why the hell should I? People like you are always looking for something to be pissed about. You got bumped. Move on with your life."

The guy's jaw clenched. "And what if I don't?"

His stomach tightened slightly. There was something off about him. The way he lingered, the way his body tensed like a coiled spring.

Then, he saw it.

A glimpse of metal, half-concealed in the guy's hoodie. The glint of streetlight on steel.

His breath stalled.

Shit.

The guy wasn't just angry.

He took a step back, pulse spiking. "Hey, man. Not looking for a fight."

"Yeah?" The guy's lips curled, but his hand was already moving. "Could've fooled me."

The world flashed white-hot.

A deafening crack rang through the street. A jolt of pain, sudden and searing, exploded through his chest.

He staggered. His legs felt weak, distant, like they no longer belonged to him. He tried to speak, but the words got lost somewhere between his throat and his tongue.

He hit the ground hard, the impact barely registering through the numbing shock. His vision swam, colors bleeding together. Above him, the guy took a step back, disappearing into the shadows as people started screaming in the distance.

Pain burned through his ribs, spreading outward, each breath sharper, shallower than the last.

He should've just gone home.

He should've played his game.

His fingers twitched. The bag—the game—lay just out of reach, the bright, untouched case catching the light.

A strange, almost bitter thought flickered through his mind as his vision began to fade.

Guess I won't be playing Eternal Reverie after all.

Then, the world went dark.

Everything was cold.

Not the biting chill of winter, nor the artificial cool of an air-conditioned room, but something primal, absolute—a frost that wrapped around her being, sinking into the marrow of her bones. Or at least, what should have been bones.

She tried to move. Something felt wrong. Her body wasn't the same.

She was smaller. Lighter. Different.

She forced her eyes open. The world around her was vast and endless, but not in the way she remembered. The sky wasn't a sky at all but a swirling mass of shifting lights—ethereal blues, violets, and silvers, twisting like a frozen aurora against an endless void.

Her limbs trembled as she tried to move, her entire body foreign yet familiar. Her vision was strange, sharper than it should have been. Colors were clearer, deeper, and she could feel the presence of things around her—shadows that had no shape, beings that lingered in the distance, whispering in a language she didn't understand.

Something stirred inside her. A deep, instinctive knowing. A truth carved into her very existence.

Skadi.

The word settled into her mind like an undeniable fact, filling the empty spaces of her fractured thoughts. It wasn't just a name—it was her name.

Skadi.

As soon as she thought it, something inside her clicked—a surge of awareness rushing through her. It was like a dam breaking, instincts flooding her mind, drowning out fragmented pieces of a life she could no longer grasp.

There had been something before this, hadn't there?

The faintest, fading memories fluttered at the edges of her thoughts—blurry images of a place with tall structures, bright lights, a feeling of anticipation, and then—pain. A dull echo of something hot and sharp, a sudden impact, the taste of iron.

But the past was already slipping away, dissolving like melting snow, until nothing remained but the present.

And in the present, she was Skadi.

She inhaled, her breath coming out in a visible mist, curling in the air before vanishing. The scent of this place was… unearthly. Crisp like untouched ice, yet thick with the presence of something ancient.

She looked down at herself.

She had paws. Fur. A coat of thick, silvery-white fur that gleamed faintly in the soft glow of the shifting sky. Her body was small—a newborn cub, but already brimming with something powerful.

She moved, shifting onto unsteady limbs, her claws scraping against the frozen ground beneath her. She had claws. Sharp ones.

Instinct drove her to move, to test the limits of this new form. Her ears twitched, catching faint sounds in the distance—whispers, movement, the rustling of unseen things.

A presence stirred.

She turned her head sharply, every sense instantly locking onto the figure that materialized from the mist.

It wasn't human.

Nothing here was.

A towering figure loomed before her, its form shifting, translucent, like a spirit made of swirling frost and stardust. It had no true face, only the vague suggestion of eyes—deep, endless voids filled with knowing.

It regarded her in silence, and though it never spoke, its presence alone sent a wave of understanding through her.

This was the Spirit Realm.

And she was not just any spirit.

Empress-Class.

The words settled into her mind as effortlessly as her name had. She didn't fully understand what it meant, but she felt it. Felt it in the way the air seemed to hum around her, in the way the ground trembled slightly beneath her small paws, in the way the unseen whispers in the distance seemed to hush in her presence.

She wasn't just born here. She was something greater. Something feared.

A cold thrill ran through her.

Power.

Raw, untamed, waiting to be shaped.

The towering spirit regarded her for a long moment before fading into the mist, leaving her alone once more.

She exhaled, steam curling from her snout, and took her first step forward.

The frost beneath her paws did not melt.