“The gods are real.” —Anonymous.

Kyran stared unblinkingly at his monitors.

His body was still and tense. Sweat dripped unheeded down his brow. His concentration was absolute. In his ears, his teammates’ chatter was a cacophony of sound, likewise ignored.

Perched on the edge of the padded leather chair, he waited. Unmoving, but for the near-constant sweep of his eyes across his screens and the furious dance of his fingers across the keyboard.

The moment had finally arrived, the moment unto which this marathon-stretch of gaming had been building all night. His opponent had taken the bait. Kyran watched with avid attention as the enemy’s red emblazoned troops raced left, chasing his decoys.

Yes, he exulted.

His opponent had made a fatal error. Calmly, and ever-so-carefully, despite his almost violent surges of adrenaline and bottled excitement, Kyran swept his forces on the left flank out of their concealment and into the enemy’s unprotected base.

As his troops hacked into the enemy structures, Kyran collapsed back into his chair and exhaled a pent-up breath.

It was done.

Even if his opponent turned his forces around now, he would not be able to stop the destruction in time. Kyran had run the numbers in his head, and was confident the damage-output of his troops was sufficient to get the job done.

The game was over.

A little later, the game servers reported exactly that. The words, “The Yellow Loon clan has been defeated. Victory is yours!” splashed across Kyran’s screens.

Around him, his teammates surged out of their chairs, exuberant at the win. Laughing and hollering, they backslapped each other in celebration. Kyran remained seated.

He closed his eyes and savoured the taste of their clan’s first major victory. It felt surreal. For a small, unsponsored amateur team to win a major tournament was unheard of these days.

A hand clamped down on Kyran’s shoulder. Terry. “Kyran! We did it. You did it! I can’t believe we won. I thought we were done for there. That final manoeuvre against their base was brilliant! Well done, mate.”

Kyran opened his eyes, and removing his headphones, stood up. He turned around and returned Terry’s clasp. “You too, Terry. You guys did a great job holding them off until that sucker punch landed.”

Cheerful laughter sounded from behind, followed by Anthony’s large arm draping itself around Kyran. “Ha! Sucker punch is correct. I imagine the Loons are raging hard right now. They should have had that one in the bag.”

“Yep,” said Mina, the only girl in their clan. “But they didn’t reckon with boy-wonder here. Great job, Kyran.”

“You too, Mina. I swear I could almost hear LoonU’s crying from the damage your archers inflicted on his armsmen. Nice microing.”

Before Mina could respond, Terry butted in. “Enough self-congratulations people. Let’s go celebrate! The drinks and food are waiting in the kitchen. We can dissect the game later.”

Wordlessly, Mina and Anthony rushed off, but Kyran hung back. Noticing Kyran’s hesitation, Terry turned around. The smile slipped off his face. “You have to leave already? You can’t stay for a little while at least?”

Kyran shook his head. “I’ve stayed too long as it is. I have to go. Will you let the others know?”

Terry nodded. “I will. They’ll understand. We all do.”

Kyran squeezed Terry’s shoulder, grateful for his support. He collected his meagre belongings and packed them away into his backpack.

The team had gathered at Terry’s house to play in the online-tournament. While Anthony and Mina could have joined from their own homes, Kyran did not have that luxury. He didn’t have a suitable gaming rig at his own…abode and depended on Terry’s generosity to compete.

When Kyran was ready to leave, Terry led him out of the study, past the dining room and through the receiving hall to the imposing entrance.

At the front door, Kyran paused. Biting his lip, he began, “Terry...” Then he stopped, unsure how to go on without appearing greedy.

But Terry understood. “Don’t worry, Kyran. I will sort out the paperwork immediately, and make sure your cut of the winnings is wired to you as soon as possible.”

Kyran nodded his thanks, grateful that Terry had not made him spell it out. He shouldered his backpack to a more comfortable position and walked out the door.

“Good luck with the studies,” Terry called to his retreating back. “Make sure you pass!”

Kyran lifted a hand and waved in response. “Thanks, Terry. For everything. See you tomorrow.”

As the door closed behind him, Kyran looked up into the night. It was blisteringly cold. The wind howled and storm clouds gathered overhead. It will rain soon, he thought. Pulling up his hoodie, he bowed his head against the wind and hurried away.

✽✽✽

Kyran trudged wearily home.

Around him, the city was unnaturally quiet, absent the rumble of cars and shouts of merriment from raucous crowds. It’s the unseasonal cold, he thought. No one wanted to be out in this weather, least of all him.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tight again. He had been walking for thirty minutes already, but still had a long way to go. He and Terry lived on opposite ends of the city.

Theirs was a strange friendship, Kyran reflected. The two were in almost all respects dissimilar. Terry had been born into money, lived in an affluent neighbourhood, and wanted for naught, whereas Kyran lived hand-to-mouth and barely scraped by most months. Orphaned young, Kyran had spent his early life on the streets. Yet despite their obvious differences, the two were firm friends, bound together by their shared joy of gaming.

As Kyran left the wealthier city blocks, and neared the humbler quarters of his own district, he considered the course of the evening. It had been a long night—and day.

The team had gamed nearly non-stop for over eight hours. When they had begun, none of them had considered winning a possibility. They had believed their clan would put in a strong showing in the tournament, no more.

But as the night progressed and they racked up victory after victory, their belief in themselves had strengthened. And then, Terry had given voice to the words they all were thinking, but had not dared to utter. “We can win this.”

From that point on, the tenor of their gameplay had changed. Each had elevated their game to yet unreached heights, surpassing even their own wildest expectations. Kyran smiled at the memory. It had been a good night, he thought.

The clan would be the talk of chat rooms and forums for some time to come. And then there was the unlooked-for bonus of the prize winnings. Kyran could put that money to good use.

The others must be well into their cups by now, he thought. He wished he was still at Terry’s place with them, enjoying the camaraderie and hard-earned celebrations—he wrinkled his half-frozen nose—instead of being out here in the freezing night and heading back to cold hearth.

But all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change the hand life had dealt him. He stomped forward through the darkened and litter-scattered streets. His life was what it was.

Now that he had opened the door, matters of life other than gaming intruded. Stifling a groan, Kyran reluctantly turned his thoughts to his neglected responsibilities. He had been avoiding thinking of his upcoming finals—and the consequence of failure.

Failure is not an option, he told himself sternly.

It would spell disaster. Failing would mean the loss of his promised job and the income that went with it. Income he desperately needed. His finances teetered on a knife’s edge as it was.

Kyran eked out a living in the city’s poorest quarter, with all his money going to his education, and he admitted guiltily to himself, his gaming. Alright, he conceded to the scolding inner voice that so often reminded him of Jonas—he would be most displeased—I should have been studying.

Gaming was not a luxury Kyran could afford. Yet at times its allure was too strong for him to resist. At twenty-two years of age, Kyran had no means of support in this world other than himself. Jonas had done so much for him already, and Kyran could not—would not—lean on the old man for help again. Jonas had enough problems of his own.

I will pass tomorrow, he told himself firmly. He was certain of it—well, almost certain. Gaming though, was a habit he couldn’t seem to kick. When he was immersed in his games’ virtual worlds, Kyran forgot the drudgery of life, and living was made all the more bearable. No matter how much his games disrupted his life, Kyran knew he would never easily, or willingly give them up.

He shook his head to clear his mind of distracting musings. His gaming problems were a matter for another day. He needed to funnel his energy into passing his finals tomorrow. He gazed at his watch—today, actually.

He had a few hours still before his exams. He had best make good use of the time. He fell deep into thought, prioritising what needed to be done when he got home.

That’s when he heard the scream.