ProlixalParagon awoke to the scent of crushed herbs, bitter and sharp, stinging the back of his throat. His whole body ached — a deep, pervasive soreness that clung to his bones like an old wound remembered.
For a moment, he lay still, his mind floating somewhere between waking and dreaming.
The last thing he remembered clearly was the city’s broken sky, the final strike against the Wraith-Knight, and the golden flood of system notifications blinding his senses.
I survived.
The thought drifted up from the slow churn of his mind, fragile, disbelieving.
He cracked one golden eye open.
Muted light filtered through the patched roof of a familiar Conestoga wagon, the cloth canopy dyed in the soft reds and golds of the Vermillion Troupe's colors. The comforting sway of travel rolled beneath him — gentle, rhythmic.
His body was swathed in poultice-soaked bandages, the cool touch of healing pastes clinging to his skin beneath his worn tunic. Clean linens were tucked around him with surprising care, and someone had set a small clay jar of water within arm’s reach beside his cot.
Home.
Or as close to home as he had, in Ludere Online.
He shifted slowly, gritting his teeth against the aching protests of muscle and mana-burned nerves, and reached for the water. His hands trembled as he drank, the coolness sharp and almost painfully real against his parched throat.
Outside the wagon, he could hear soft voices — Ralyria’s halting, musical tones, the low murmur of Kaelthari's measured speech, Marx's rough laughter.
The Troupe had survived too.
Relief loosened something tight in his chest.
The system chimed softly in the corner of his vision — a delayed notification, gentle, as if reluctant to disturb him further.
Another prompt blinked open:
>Subclass Evolution Available!<
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>Gravetide Binder — Weave the forces of entropy and renewal, commanding constructs and wards shaped from soul-laden remnants.<
>Echoesworn Architect — Shape and manipulate fractured realities, building structures and barriers from mirrored possibilities.<
>Ashen Veil Savant — Master the interplay between decay and protection, wielding fields of dissipating energy that shield, destroy, and mend.<
- You may delay this choice indefinitely.
- Further subclasses may be revealed through future actions, study, and hidden quests.>
Prolix stared at the floating prompt for a long, slow moment.
Each option shimmered faintly — not just words, but suggestions, possibilities unfolding like unseen wings behind the letters.
Gravetide Binder.
Echoesworn Architect.
Ashen Veil Savant.
None demanded an answer now.
There was no pressure — only the quiet certainty that the paths were open, and that more might yet unfold.
Choose when you are ready, the system seemed to whisper.
Or choose to keep becoming.
He let the prompt fade to the side of his vision for now, heart still too heavy with exhaustion to weigh such decisions yet.
But the seed had been planted.
The cycle had not ended with the saving of Sern Ka’Torr.
It had only begun.
As he rested back against the thin mattress, listening to the muffled sounds of the Troupe preparing for their journey, a stray thought brushed against the edges of his mind — delicate and weighty at once.
Somewhere in the vast weave of the continent of Varethis, Dedisco’s presence had not fully faded.
It lingered.
Watching.
Waiting.
Not as a hunter.
But as a witness.
And whatever came next, ProlixalParagon would face it with open eyes, scarred hands, and a soul no longer afraid of breaking.
Because breaking — he understood now — was just the beginning of becoming.
The scent of the crushed herbs intensified, a wave of coolness spreading through his aching limbs. Someone had likely seen to their post-dungeon recovery. He appreciated the quiet care, a hallmark of the Vermillion Troupe’s familial bonds. He could hear their muffled voices outside, a comforting sound of normalcy returning after the chaos. The journey, wherever they were headed now, continued.
Despite the relative safety and the care he was receiving, a familiar tug began to assert itself. The vividness of Ludere Online, the intensity of the past hours, often left a lingering residue in Bennett’s senses upon waking in the real world. He wondered what time it was back in the storage room. Had he been immersed for long? The longer he stayed in the game, the more pressing his real-world responsibilities at Alluring Realms became. Dave Smith’s unexpected interest in his experiences, his sanctioned full day of immersion, had created a delicate balance he needed to maintain. He had a wealth of new experiences to process, not only for his own understanding of his new class and the events in Sern Ka’Torr but also for his eventual reports.
A soft groan escaped his lips as he pushed himself up, the canvas of the wagon rustling around him. The dim light filtering through the seams illuminated the familiar bundles of desert fabrics. He needed to get his bearings, to check his in-game time and then the real-world implications. The weight of his dual existence, ProlixalParagon the unlikely hero and Bennett the night janitor, settled back upon him.
With a mental command, the familiar translucent shimmer of his character sheet materialized before his glowing eyes. He scanned his vitals – health and mana were slowly regenerating, a testament to the healing efforts. He noted his new level, eighteen, a significant jump reflecting the magnitude of their accomplishment. The unspent attribute points blinked invitingly, a promise of further customization, but his focus was elsewhere. He flicked his gaze to the small digital clock displayed within the system interface. Late morning. He had been under for a considerable amount of in-game time.
A quick mental calculation based on the 4:1 time dilation ratio sent a jolt of mild concern through him. Several real-world hours had likely passed. He needed to be mindful of his schedule, his duties at Alluring Realms. Lingering too long could raise questions, especially now that his immersions were sanctioned, yet still under scrutiny.
He considered his next steps within Ludere Online. There was much to discuss with Lyra and the others about the fall of Sern Ka’Torr and their future. His transformation into an Umbral Synthete also warranted exploration and understanding. The invitation to join PillowHorror’s guild, ‘Waffles’, still lingered in his thoughts, a potential avenue for new experiences and knowledge. However, the immediate need to ground himself in reality, to ensure his real-world obligations were met, took precedence.
With a sigh, a decision formed in his mind. He needed to log out, to step back into the familiar, if less fantastical, world of Alluring Realms. He needed to process the whirlwind of recent events, to formulate his thoughts for Dave, and to simply reconnect with his life as Bennett. The digital world, with its triumphs and tribulations, would still be there when he returned.
Another mental command brought up the system menu, the crisp white text a stark contrast to the lingering images of the dungeon. His mental cursor hovered over the familiar “Logout” option. A fleeting sense of leaving something unfinished tugged at him, the lure of further exploration always present. But the weight of his real-world responsibilities was a stronger pull. With a final, decisive thought, he selected “Confirm Logout.”
The soft hues of the conestoga wagon began to dissolve, the familiar textures of the canvas and bundled fabrics fading into a swirling vortex of light and shadow. The gentle sway beneath him ceased, replaced by the unsettling sensation of weightlessness as his consciousness began its rapid transition back to the physical realm. The faint scent of crushed herbs receded, leaving a neutral, almost sterile void in its wake. Bennett’s awareness flickered, anticipating the abrupt return to the muted reality of the storage room and the low hum of the D.I.V.E. Pod.