# Chapter 4: Digital Dialogues

  Remi slouched in his puter chair, the soft glow of the monitor illuminating his fa the darkened bedroom. He'd been browsing his favorite gaming forum for hours, deep in a heated discussion about the test patotes for Final Fantasy XIV. The debate over tank bance ges had ed most of his evening, with Remi passionately defending the Dark Knight's new rotation against a barrage of pints.

  A half-eaten sandwich sat fotten on a pte beside his keyboard as he scrolled through the responses. He was about to reply to another post about optimal raid positions when a hread in the off-topic se caught his eye. Someone had started a discussion about gender identity and personal expression in gaming avatars, and the responses were already beied. What had begun as a simple question about character ization options had quickly evolved into something more profound.

  His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he read the test response, a deliberately provocative post g that identity urely biological, fixed and immutable. The argument was familiar, but something about its dismissive tone made Remi's jaw ch.

  "That's not how it works," he muttered, beginning to type. "Identity isn't just about biology. It's about who we are inside, how we uand ourselves." He paused, carefully choosing his words. "When someoells you who they are, the respectful thing to do is listen and accept that truth."

  The response came quickly, dripping with sarcasm: "Oh, so I just decide I'm whatever I want to be? A cat? A dragon? Where do you draw the line?"

  Remi felt his face flush with frustration. These weren't new arguments—he'd seen them repeated tless times across different ptforms, alresented as if they were clever gotchas rather than tired stereotypes. He took a deep breath, reminding himself to stay focused oual discussion rather thaing baited into aional response.

  "It's not about 'deg' to be something random," he wrote back. "It's abnizing and accepting who you already are. Someone's identity isn't up for debate or public vote. It's deeply personal, and attag people for being ho about themselves only causes harm."

  The thread erupted with responses. Some supported his position, while others doubled down on biological determinism. One particurly aggressive user started spamming the thread with pseudostific cims and personal attacks.

  A notification popped up—someone had sent him a private message. "Why do you care so much about this?" the message read. "Are you trans or something? Is that why yetting so defensive?"

  Remi's hands ched into fists. "No," he typed back firmly. "I'm not trans. I just believe iing people with basic resped dignity. You don't have to be part of a group to stand up for what's right."

  He minimized the private message window, returning to the main thread. The discussion had devolved further, with multiple users now questioning his motives and making increasingly personal insinuations. One ent in particur made his stomach turn: "Sounds like someone's in denial. Better figure yourself out before trying to tell others how to live."

  "This isn't about me," Remi muttered through gritted teeth, even as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "This is about basic human decy. Abnizing that everyone deserves to be treated with respect, to be accepted for who they are without having to justify their existeers oer."

  But the trolls had found their angle of attack, shifting from the broader discussion to focus on Remi personally. Eaew notificatiht another pointed ent or leading question about his owy.

  "What are y to prove?"

  "Why are you really defending this?"

  "Just admit what this is really about."

  Remi's chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. He knew he should step away from the puter, take a break ahe thread die down. But somethi him there, pelled him to keep engaging, to keep pushing back against the tide of hostility and ignorance.

  "You don't know me," he wrote, his typing being mgressive. "You don't know anything about me. This isn't about my identity—it's about standing up for what's right. About not letting bullies and bigots make other people feel worthless just because they don't fit into some narrow definition of 'normal.'"

  The mome send, he knew he'd revealed too much emotion, giverolls exactly what they wahe responses were immediate and merciless, a flood of mock-sympathetients and armchair psyalysis.

  "Touched a nerve, did we?"

  "Sounds like someone's projeg."

  "Cssic case of denial right here."

  Remi pushed back from his desk, his chair rolling across the carpet until it hit his bed. His heart was rag, face burning with a mixture of anger and something else—something he couldn't or wouldn't name. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to steady his breathing.

  "This is stupid," he said aloud to his empty room. "They're just trying to get a rea. Don't let them get to you."

  But they had gotten to him, hadn't they? Not because their accusatiorue—he knew who he was, regardless of what some random i trolls might think. No, what really got to him was the fual unfairness of it all. The way they'd twisted his attempt to defend others into an atta him personally. The way they'd tried to invalidate his arguments by questioning his motives rather than engaging with his actual points.

  His puter chimed again—another private message. For a moment, he sidered just shutting everything down, walking away and trying tet the whole thing. But some stubborn part of him wouldn't let it go. He leaned forward and clicked the notification.

  "Hey," the message read. "Just wao say thanks for speaking up in that thread. It means a lot when people who aren't directly affected still take the time to defend us. Don't let the trolls get you down."

  Remi felt something in his chest loosen slightly. He took a deep breath, then typed back a simple "Thanks. That means a lot."

  Turning back to the main thread, he saw that moderators had finally stepped iing the most infmmatory ents and issuing warnings. The discussion was effectively over, but its effects lingered. Remi's hands were still shaking slightly as he closed his browser.

  He stood up, stretg muscles that had grown tense from hours of sitting hunched over his keyboard. The digital clo his nightstand showed 8:47 PM—still early enough to work off some of this nervous energy. His hands were still trembling slightly from the adrenaline of the online frontation, his mind rag with unspoken arguments aals.

  Remi's eyes fell on his carefully anized manga colle, particurly the test volumes of "Record of Lodoss War" he'd been saving for a special occasion. With his muscles still ag from yesterday's intense synchro practice, a fort reading session seemed perfect. He grabbed his favorite volume and headed downstairs. He needed a ge of enviro, somewhere away from the puter and its endless arguments. The familiar cou the living room had always been his refuge when things got too intense, a pce where he could lose himself in fantasy worlds far removed from real-world drama.

  Setting up his favorite reading spot, Remi arrahe cushions just the way he liked them. His beat-up 3DS sat on the side table—he could switch to grinding levels in Monster Huer if the manga wasn't enough distra.

  Remi settled into his favorite er of the couch, the familiar weight of the manga in his hands. The world of Lodoss had always been his escape—a pce where heroes could be herardless of their ins, where identity was something you fed through your as rather than something others imposed upon you.

  He was halfway through a favorite chapter when Rachel wandered in, probably drawn by the unusually quiet living room. She peered over his shoulder at the manga spread across his p.

  "That elf character looks cool," she said, pointing to Deedlit. "What's she doing?"

  For a moment, Remi sidered brushing her off, still raw from the evening's online flicts. But maybe this was what he needed—a remihat sometimes the simplest es were the most important.

  "Pull up a chair," he said, shifting to make room. "It's kind of a long story, but it's pretty awesome. See, there's this whole world called Lodoss..."

  As he expihe story to Rachel, pointing out his favorite panels and describing the characters' adventures, Remi felt the st of his tensioing away. The digital arguments that had seemed so crucial just ho faded into perspective against the simple pleasure of sharing something he loved with his sister.

  Later, as he headed up to bed, Remi felt more settled in his own skin than he had all evening. Maybe that's who he really was—someone who could stand up for what he believed in online, but who also knew when to step bad find fort ihings and people that grounded him. Someone who could navigate both digital debates and real-world es, finding baween fighting for others and taking care of himself.

  Tomorrow, he would probably log baaybe eveurn to that thread. Because the issues mattered, the people behind the ss mattered. But now he better uood the importance of bance—of knowing when to engage and when to retreat into the worlds of fantasy that had always given him strength.

  For now, though, he was tent. The evening had helped him find his ter again, reminding him that identity wasn't just somethied in forums—it was something lived, something shared in quiet moments with family, something explored through stories both read and told. As he got ready for bed, some questions still li the edges of his sciousness, waiting for another day to be explored, but they no longer seemed quite sent or overwhelming.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The manga slipped from Remi's hands as he dozed off on the couch, the familiar weight of Record of Lodoss War settling across his chest like armor. The living room dissolved around him, ref into the familiar corridors of his high school—but not quite as he k. Torches flickered in iron sces along stone walls where lockers should have been, and the linoleum floors had transformed intstones polished by turies of feet.

  Remi found himself gleaming pte armor, a shield embzoned with a swimming dragon on his left arm and a longsword in his right hand. The weight felt natural, as if he'd trained with them for years. His synchro team swimsuit had bee a tabard in the school colors, flowing over the armor with an impossible lightness.

  The sound of shuffli and guttural voices echoed from around the er. Remi pressed himself against the wall, his armor somehow silee its bulk. A patrol of goblins passed by—wearierman jackets over their leather armor. They carried crude ons: baseball bats ed in barbed wire, crosse sticks sharpened into spears, and field hockey sticks weighted with ks of metal.

  "The ander wants the entire school searched," one goblin growled, its voifortably familiar. "No one defies the authority of Lord Shawn."

  Remi's grip tightened on his sword. Even in dreams, Shawn was throwing his weight around. But the Shawn in this world wasn't just another entitled jock—he was something far more dangerous.

  Moving carefully despite his armor, Remi followed the patrol at a distahe school's yout remained mostly familiar, but doorways had bee arches, and s had transformed into chambers filled with strange apparatus. The cafeteria had bee a great hall, its tables nh-hewn wood marked with decades of knife scars and spilled mead.

  There, seated on a throne made from welded-together sports equipment, sat the ander himself. Shawn had bee a massive bugbear, his letterman jacket stretched over bristling fur and rippling muscles. His already impressive height had grown to nearly eight feet, and wickedly sharp cws drummed against the arm of his throne. A fashioned from twisted baseball bats and football helmets sat askew on his head.

  At the base of the throne, bound in s that ked with eaent, sat Andrew. His wizard's robes had been repced with what looked like a grotesque parody of a fantasy MM e—the kind of impractical "armor" that he always pined about in their gaming sessions. A length of ected to the ander's thro him close, like some kind of trophy. A crude iron colr prevented him from casting spells, but his eyes still burned with defiance as he gred up at his captor. The se struck Remi as absurdly simir to their st D&D session, where Andrew's character had been captured by a dragon—except this time, Andrew was living it.

  The whole setup was clearly meant to humiliate, to turn Andrew's love of fantasy games and proper character builds into a joke. The ander occasionally yanked on the , clearly enjoying his position of power over the captured spellcaster. It was exactly the kind of thing that would make Andrew furious—being forced into a role that made a mockery of everything he loved about prame meics.

  "Report!" the bugbear ander bellowed, his voice still carrying traces of Shawn's usual arroganassive paw resting possessively on Andrew's shoulder.

  "The swimming pools have been drained, sir," a hobgoblin wearing a coach's whistle reported. "No one will be practig their synized routihere anymore."

  Aruggled against his bonds. "You 't just ge the rules whenever you want, Shawn! This isn't how the game is pyed!"

  The ander yanked on the , sileng him. "The game is pyed however I say it's pyed. Your little rulebook 't help you now."

  The ander's ugh echoed through the hall. "Excellent. Let's see how they like being forced out of their element. Soon they'll learn that only the strong deserve a p this school."

  Remi felt his padin's training surge through him—a righteous a the abuse of power, a desire to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. This wasn't just about pool access or team sports anymore. This was about standing up to tyranny itself.

  He stepped out from behind a pilr, his armor catg the torchlight. "I challenge you, ander."

  The entire hall fell silent. Goblins and hobgoblins turo stare, some reag for ons while others backed away from the frontation. The bugbear ander rose from his throne, his full height impressive even from across the room.

  "Well, well," Shawn's voice rumbled through the bugbear's fanged maw. "If it isn't the little swimmer who thinks he py at being a warrior. Do you really think you stand against me alone?"

  "He's not alone."

  The voice came from behind Remi. He turo see Tawnee from the swim team, but she'd been transformed as well. the shimmering robes of a water elementalist, she held a staff that seemed to flow like liquid crystal. Johnny emerged from the shadows, his rogue's garb making him nearly invisible in the darkness.

  "I'll keep them busy," Johnny whispered, nodding toward Andrew. "You get him free. Without our wizard, we don't stand a ce."

  The ander's eyes narrowed. "Kill them all!"

  The battle erupted in chaos. Goblins swarmed forward with their jury-rigged ons while hobgoblienants barked orders. Remi's sword moved with a life of its own, parrying attacks and striking back with precision. Tawnee's magic turhe spilled drinks on the floor into whips of water that tripped and fused their enemies. Andrew's spells lit up the darkness while Johnny seemed to daween shadoearing where least expected.

  But the ander hadn't moved from his throne. He watched the battle with calg eyes, waiting for his moment. When Remi finally fought his way through to face him, the bugbear stood with deliberate slowness.

  "You think this ges anything?" the ander growled. "You think standing up to me here makes you strong?"

  "This isn't about being strong," Remi answered, his voice carrying the divihority of his padin oath. "This is about being right."

  The bugbear's cws extended as he dropped into a fighting stahe's see how far 'right' gets you against real power."

  Their csh shook the great hall. While Johnny's diversions and Tawnee's water magic kept the goblin forces at bay, Remi fought his way toward the throne. Each step brought him closer to Andrew, who had mao inch toward his spellbook despite his s.

  The ander's raw strength met Remi's skilled defense, her able to gain a clear advantage. Each blow from those massive cws threateo shatter Remi's shield, while his own sword strikes searched faps in the bugbear's guard. But Remi had positioned himself carefully, slowly f the ander away from his captive.

  "Now!" Remi shouted, and Johnny appeared as if from nowhere, lockpicks fshing in his hands as he worked on Andrew's s. The ander roared in fury, but Remi held his ground, his shield being an immovable wall between the bugbear and his prisoner.

  "You don't belong here," the ander snarled between attacks. "This school has no pce for people who won't accept the natural order."

  "The natural order?" Remi deflected arike. "Or just the order you want to impose?"

  Their battle carried them across the hall, past overturables and scattered goblins. Remi could see his friends holding their own against the remaining forces, but everything would depend on this final frontation.

  The ander unched a massive overhead blow, putting all his strength into a crushing attack. But this time, instead of blog, Remi stepped ihe bugbear's guard. Behind him, he heard the ctter of falling s and Andrew's triumphant cry as he recimed his spellbook.

  "Remember rule number one!" Andrew called out, his hands already weaving patterns of magical energy. "Alrotect your spellcaster!"

  Remi's sword fshed up in a perfect arhanced by all his training—both as a padin and a swimmer—while Andrew's spell ed the bde in brilliant energy.

  The flew from the ander's head, cttering across the floor in pieces. The bugbear staggered, his form seeming to waver.

  "This isn't over," he growled, but his voice had lost its supernatural resonanow he sounded just like Shawn again, all bluster and wounded pride.

  "No," Remi agreed, leveling his sword. "But it's a start."

  The dream began to fade around him, the stone walls dissolving bato familiar school corridors. The st thing Remi saw was his refle in a passing window—the padin's armor shimmering like light on water, the dragon on his shield seeming to move with a life of its own...

  Remi jerked awake on the couch, the manga sliding onto his p. His heart was still rag from the dream-battle, but he felt strangely energized. On the side table, his 3DS remained untouched—he hadn't needed Monster Hunter after all. His own dreams had provided all the adventure he needed.

  Rachel stood in the doorway, watg him with a mixture of amusement and . "You were making sword noises in your sleep," she said.

  Remi felt his face flush. "Was not."

  "Were too. But they were pretty cool sword noises." She grinned and disappeared upstairs, leavio wonder just how much of his dream-battle he'd acted out on the couch.

  He gathered up his manga, his mind still half in that transformed version of his saybe that's what he needed—not just to stand up for what he believed in, but to see himself as someone capable of making a difference. Whether online, in the pool, or in his dreams, he was learning to be a defender of others.

  Even if sometimes that meant making sword noises in his sleep.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Hey Everyone! Another chapter up! I’m just pluggin away makin more. Also I finally found an Aist for another one of my books. I ’t wait to see what she do to help me get it illustrated. Zeus (my main artist) Doesn’t do Anime, but he did my covers for me (And no the art is NOT AI, My dad lives with him and I go over all the time. I watch him create art on his Surface Pro using a program called ClipStudio Pro Paint. If you are an Artist and not using this I HIGHLY reend looking at it. It is one of the best in industry fital art).

  also another note on AI. After my hand injury making it very hard to write I do use some AI. It is not writing my books, at all. I am. But I do use it to help me fi and remove redundancies. It is a useful tool, but that is all it is. A Tool. It is not meant to repce me as an author. Anymore than MS Word (which I finalize everything in) is meant to repce my ability to write instead of pen and paper or a typewriter. But, yes. I do use AI to up. I am a one person band when it es to writing and I do not have aor or proofer onboard. So I use any tool avaible to me.

  To those writing in Only AI? That is fine. Put out a Good Story and I’ll support you. To those of you going pure anibsp; Same! And more kudo’s for you, seriously. I’ve been writing pure anic for years and still do most of my drafts pletely anic (fingers hurt big time after longer chapters of course). Still though, AI? anibsp; All that matters to me is a good story that reads well. That is King iory World. I read more than I write and I enjoy so many stories out there.

  So to all you other authors? Keep Writing! The world needs mood stories.

  Edit:

  I’m putting my Discord el back up on perma invite:

  https://disc/NYjPU3auVy

  Join Me and some other people to talk shop, discuss artwork, stories, chatter, or just share fun videos or memes!

  I’ll put this link in other chapters as well.

  Also, feel free to PM me if you have any questions or wanna ent.

  TTFN Everyone.