Chapter 3: Beginnings

The sky over Floor 0 burned gold with sunrise, and the plains shimmered with dew.

A bell tolled from the heart of the tutorial town—deep, solemn, final.

One week had passed.

The time had come.

Lyra

She tightened the drawstring on her leather bracer and adjusted the quiver over her shoulder. The Archer Pavilion was already empty—only the instructors remained, observing from the towers above as the players filtered toward the main square.

Lyra stood still at the edge of the archery field, her eyes fixed on a distant target far beyond standard range.

One breath in.

One exhale.

The arrow flew.

It struck dead center.

The instructor atop the Pavilion nodded to himself, arms crossed.

Lyra didn't need his approval. She already knew what she was capable of.

Archery had come easily to her—far more naturally than anything she'd ever done on Earth. The instructor had remarked on it on Day 3 and began offering more difficult moving targets. By Day 5, she was blind-firing by sound alone. Others in the Pavilion had cheered, whispered, pointed. She didn't care.

She trained every day, rising before the sun. No one else kept up.

Except for one swordsman on the far side of town.

She had passed by the Swordsman Hall each evening and always found Jett still there, still moving, still training. Alone. Steady. Silent.

It stuck with her.

And now, as she adjusted the grip on her custom-carved shortbow—earned through consistent high-score performance—she found herself wondering:

Will he still be like that when things turn real?

She hoped so.

She was counting on it.

Emily

The Mage Spire was nothing like the rest of the town.

A spiraling tower of ivory stone and floating crystal staircases, the structure had no doors—only an ethereal pulse of energy that accepted or rejected each player as they approached. Emily had walked through its light like water, trembling the first time.

She had entered last of her group. She was the only one still there on Day 7.

Most of the others had fled back to the town square after learning the first spell.

Magic wasn't easy.

It wasn't flashy. It wasn't forgiving.

It was technical—layered with theory, internal rhythm, structure. The spells didn't just come from willpower. They came from understanding. From discipline.

That suited her.

She spent her week mastering the fundamentals: control of mana channels, memorization of incantation structures, precision targeting. She wasn't the most powerful in her class.

But she was the most precise.

When the instructor offered her a wand custom-aligned to her mana signature on Day 6, she hadn't smiled. Just nodded.

She still didn't know what her role would be in this new world.

But she knew this: She wouldn't fall behind.

Not again.

Jett

He stood at the front of the plaza, a modest pack slung over his shoulder, his training sword sheathed across his back. Others had upgraded their gear—bought sleek armor or ornamental weapons with what little currency they'd earned.

Jett hadn't.

He hadn't trained to look stronger.

He had trained to be stronger.

Around him, nearly two thousand players gathered, all facing the towering structure that loomed at the town's edge.

The Gate to Floor One.

It looked like a colossal pair of iron doors embedded in a sheer stone cliff, veined with glowing script. A ramp led to a platform before the gate. Carved into the ground was the number:

1

The number pulsed faintly—alive, waiting.

Kael stood near the ramp with the other instructors, watching the crowd.

Beside him stood the Archer Pavilion master, a weathered elf with silver eyes.

And the Mage Spire's instructor, a robed figure of indeterminate age, whose face flickered slightly with every glance.

Jett found Lyra in the crowd a moment later. She looked sharp, focused—like she was built for this world. Her eyes met his briefly. She gave a half-smile and nodded.

Farther back, Emily caught his gaze too. Her staff was simple, but her posture radiated calm.

They didn't wave. Didn't call out.

But in that moment, they all understood:

This was the real beginning.

The gate began to glow.

The platform in front of it shimmered with energy, and the runes etched into the stone began to rotate in a silent spiral. A chime rang out from the system.

[SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT]The Gate to Floor One is open. Proceed through the gate in groups or as individuals. No return is possible once entered.Prepare for live combat. Prepare for consequences.

Some cheered. Some trembled.

A group of ten well-armored players marched up the ramp and vanished through the gate in a burst of light. Others followed quickly after—guild hopefuls, cocky duos, confused loners swept along by the tide.

Jett exhaled.

And stepped forward.

Lyra joined him before he reached the base of the ramp.

"You didn't take a better sword?" she asked casually, falling into stride beside him.

He shrugged. "Didn't need it."

She grinned. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Emily joined them seconds later—quietly, with a slight lift of her chin. "We're going in together?"

Jett looked between them. "If you're good with that."

Lyra answered first. "I wouldn't trust anyone else to cover me."

Emily gave a small smile. "Just don't slow me down."

They walked side by side to the platform.

No system prompt appeared. No forced party registration. This wasn't a scripted mission.

Just a door.

And a decision.

Together, the three stepped onto the platform.

The light engulfed them.

FLOOR ONE

The first thing Jett noticed was the smell.

Pine. Dirt. Cold mountain air.

They stood on a rocky path winding through a deep evergreen forest. Snow-capped peaks towered in the distance, and a chill wind cut through the trees like whispers. The sky above was darker—still blue, but shadowed with drifting clouds.

Ahead, the path led to a wooden outpost—its gates shut, its torches lit.

And around them… were no others.

The crowd hadn't followed here.

Jett checked his system map.

Fog of War Active. Nearby Players: 0

Lyra tensed, scanning the trees.

Emily raised her staff slightly.

From deep in the woods, a low, inhuman growl echoed.

And then:

A red system warning flared across their vision.

[ALERT – HOSTILE ENCOUNTER INITIATED]Beasts of the Ridge have marked your location.

Jett unsheathed his sword, eyes narrowing.

The real climb had begun.

And there was no going back.