Warm, bright light bled through his tightly closed eyelids, and the scent of dry dirt mixed with old sweat stung his nose. Arron gagged, his throat coated in so much dust, it might as well have been made of sand paper.

Groaning, he sat up and put a hand in front of his face, giving his aching eyes the leeway they needed to adjust.

“Weapons, armor, and training manuals for sale. Best gear in Glendale!”

“The Noble Hobo is recruiting!” Someone else shouted. “We’re a guild of top-tier try-hards! Daily dungeon runs, consistently in the raid leaderboards. Try outs are tonight at the main arena. Bring your A-Game!”

“LFG. DPS. Top level gear. Looking to run the new content.”

Arron found himself in the middle of the street, in what looked to be a town square like one of those renaissance festivals he’d seen on TV. All around him, hundreds of “people” held signs, shouting all manner of nonsense. Arron stared at the scene speechless.

A thin man bent down, blocking his view of the sea of bodies. “Excuse me, do you know where the weapons trainer is?”

“The what?” Arron asked.

“The weapons trainer. I’m looking to add in a combat staff now that I got my class and can use them magically, ya know?”

“Jenkins, he’s over here!” A thin elven girl shouted from Arron’s right. The man immediately looked up and ran off in her direction, his unusually long ears bobbing as he ran.

Arron took a deep breath, mentally pushing back the sensory overload.

There were humans, what he recognized as elves and dwarves from his character creation, and a bunch of… something else. A wolf-man like the one from that old movie, a few he swore were made of fire, water, or stone, and some guy who was way too into “Team Edward.”

Well, that’s unfortunate…

Tinkerbell crossed his path and Arron did a double take. A literal fairy. Flitting through the crowd. What the living hell is this place? These must be the players Franklin mentioned. Why would anyone want to be a friggin’ rock monster, or a hairy—Holy crap that dude looks like Godzilla!

What… the… hell!

Overwhelmed, Arron scooted backwards, his body moving on instinct. Barely a moment passed and he was up on his feet, backing away from the scene. He froze and held his breath, staying perfectly still. A tension settled into his muscles as his body and mind were simultaneously hyperaware. An incredible, terrified anxiousness fluttered through his chest.

Slowly looking down, he wiggled his big toe.

A huge grin spread across his face, and he all but danced as he first stepped, then jumped back and forth from foot to foot. Laughter bubbled out of him. He did some squats, took a runner’s start and sprinted a few yards.

“Blue 42, Blue 42!” Arron dropped into a football snapping position. “Hut-Hut!” He ran backwards, pretending to look for someone to throw to. Spinning, he avoided an imaginary tackle, and ran for the imaginary end zone, dodging fantasy players the whole way.

That tight pressure disappeared from his shoulders as he played. This was incredible—no, phenomenal! The relief damn near brought him to tears. He hadn’t allowed himself to pay attention to that tiny voice in the back of his mind, telling him he was a cripple. Ignoring it didn’t make it go away though. It had still been there. That muted track refusing to play anything other than burden. It festered in the background, waiting to drown him in the words, ‘you will never again be truly free.’

That voice… It had tried to drag him down, but he wasn’t what mattered. No matter how tempting it was to fall into that pit of despair, his focus was on Bella. And only Bella. On her recovery.

He thought he’d done a decent job of keeping those poisoned thoughts at bay. But in this place—Arron forced himself to focus, he wasn’t here for this. He wasn’t here for himself.

The sooner he found Bella, the sooner he could bring her home. He would have his Bella… if she would still have him.

“I know what you seek, traveler,” an old man said, as if reading his thoughts, startling Arron out of his mental whirlwind. He peered at Arron intently from his hunched stance a few feet away. “I know your desire,” the old man continued, leaning in. “You seek, her.”

“Her? Wait, do you mean Bella?” Arron asked.

The old man nodded sagely. “Yes. That is what you seek.”

“How do you know that? Who are you? Did Franklin send you with some information to help me find her?”

The old man stared unblinking at Arron for several moments before he dramatically swept an arm in front of him. “Stay awhile and listen! A dangerous road lays ahead of you, if you seek to aid the Silent Siren of Glendale. It will take the most determined and noble of character to pass the trials needed to succeed on this quest!”

“I’m not worried about trials, old man. This Silent Siren, that’s Bella? That’s what you’re saying? Where is she?”

The old man lifted his hands, raising his voice with his next words. “Many years has the Black Keep encroached on the lands around it. A creeping shadow on our borders standing against all that is good and just. A bastion of The Darkened Lands, a vile place of terror and evil, overrun with beasts unnatural and grotesque!”

“What does this have to do with—”

“It is there,” the old man pointed at Arron, “inside the heart of Shiver the Black’s stronghold that you will find what you seek. You must rescue her, hero. You must rescue her for all our sakes! For if she remains a captive…” The man leaned ever so slightly into Arron, holding him with a conspiratorial stare and whispered, “Only doom will follow.”

Arron nodded soberly. Several nearby players watched the exchange with knowing smiles.

Arron ignored them and the old man didn’t seem to notice.

“You must hurry, hero! Save the girl, save the world!”

“Save the cheerleader, save the world!” the players shouted together, pumping their fists above their heads in a strange, group-wide facsimile of the old man’s gesture. The players laughed, patting each other on the back and returned to whatever they were doing. One even clapped Arron on the shoulder as he walked off.

“I love when newbies get the zone quest,” the man chuckled to himself.

Arron barely shoved down his disgust. What the hell was wrong with these people?

He turned back to the old man, but he was nowhere to be seen. Arron spun, searching, peeking between milling players, and standing on his toes to look over some dwarves. Nothing.

Arron grabbed a passing elf by the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, help me out for a second, have you seen—”

A wave of force exploded from the elf, thundering into Arron’s chest, sending him flying, winding through the air before he landed unceremoniously, and painfully, in the street.

“Fuckin newbs,” the elf grunted as he walked away.

Arron shook his head to clear his vision. Grinding his teeth, he rose slowly and deliberately, a violent intent settling into his muscles.

Red began to tint his vision, and an old anger he’d long learned to deal with reared its ugly head. The image was so clear, the sensation of the bone in that dude’s jaw cracking under his knuckles instantly tangible. His hands clenched and unclenched, his breathing growing deep and ragged as he counted to ten and forced himself to remember why he was here.

Fuck that guy. Fuck him all day. But find Bella.

The elf disappeared into the crowd at a casual pace. Arron made a point to remember him for the future. Right now, finding Bella was his only concern. Several moments went by while he regained his control, repeating the words until his heart rate went down.

“You ok, lad?” asked a burly voice with a light brogue.

A dwarf, no more than four feet tall, was looking up at him, quite concerned. He was thick with muscle, being almost as wide as he was tall, and covered in scars. He sported a huge beard, with a braided mustache tucked behind his ears, where it joined into a warrior’s braid running down his back. The strange dwarf wore a brown cloak over a green, patchwork outfit of leathers and cloth. Bags in a variety of colors, and in a variety of places, crisscrossed around his frame. On his shoulder was a gun a full foot longer than he was tall, its barrel curved outward in a bell shape at the end. It was an old-style weapon, the sort of thing you’d expect at a historical reenactment. Arron recognized it immediately.

Blunderbuss. Early form of a rifle. It was a black powder weapon with no rifling in the barrel, and historically very inaccurate. It certainly wasn’t his Remington 7600, but he was glad to see something at least somewhat familiar here.

“Sevrin can be a right dick sometimes, lord only knows. But you should be alright. Healed up by now, actually. That particular spell is flashy, and good for getting some distance, but the only real damage it does is from the fall, so…”

Arron realized the dwarf was right. He wasn’t sore anymore. Whatever damage he’d taken was gone.

“Guess so,” Arron said, looking back to where that elf, Sevrin, disappeared into the crowd.

The dwarf must have caught the look in Arron’s eye because he raised his hands. “Look lad, Sevrin is a dick, but he isn’t wrong either. You’re new. You wouldn’t stand a chance against his levels, and getting sent to respawn this early will lose you the only gear you have to get going on your character progression.”

“My what?” Arron said, growing more annoyed at being lectured, and these so called “players” inability to recognize he had an actual life and death problem at hand.

“Your character progression. Leveling, choosing skills and such. Building your character. The first few quests—”

“Look, I’m not really interested in character progression,” Arron interrupted. “I’m trying to get to the Black Keep. Do you know where that is?”

The dwarf laughed. “Well, trying to get ready for the Black Keep, are ya? But yea, once you’re ready, you can get there by caravan. The western gate I think is best for near the border, outside Shiver’s zone if I remember,” the stocky dwarf said, rubbing his beard in thought.

“Great, thanks, I owe ya.”

Arron started walking off but the dwarf stepped in front of him.

“You aren’t ready for the Black Keep, lad. Hell, you just got here. Got a long way to go before you’re ready for that place.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Arron replied coldly. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think you really understand. It’s not—”

“No, I don’t think you understand! I’m going to the Black Keep. Not later, tomorrow or ‘when I’m ready.’ Now. Do you understand?”

“Yea. I suppose I do,” the dwarf replied softly.

“Yes. You do,” Arron confirmed.

The dwarf looked at him for a moment, smiling sadly for a second before his face became serious again. With a tight nod, he turned and walked away without another word.

Arron watched for a moment, crushing the guilt churning in his stomach, then headed in the direction the dwarf indicated. Bella was in the Black Keep, and he was going to save her.