Umber’s First Darksday of Harvestfall, 1442, market plaza, city of Luminara.
As soon as Jason secured the neural link at the base of his neck, Vaelith opened her eyes. For the first time since character creation, she felt grounded. Solid. She was not in another memory this time. She was sure of it.
Vaelith stood at the edge of the grand market plaza at the centre of the magical metropolis of Luminara. Floating magical orbs in a myriad of colours and smaller magical lamps kept the area well lit, almost turning the night into day. This was the city of lights, after all. Market stalls with colourful silk draperies and shining gold ornaments lined the impressive walls and formed a labyrinth in its centre.
Despite the late hour, people of all shapes and sizes, though mostly homini, bartered, milled about or made their way through. Merchants, adventurers, citizens, and guards weaved through the crowd, their numbers blending into the lively chaos of the plaza.
Appetising scents of baked bread, sizzling meats and grilled vegetables mingled with the stench of filth and sweat. Vaelith’s extra sensitive nose was all but begging for her to escape. Her fins picked up conversations all around her, each word clear, but the cacophony made her resent her sharp dracan hearing.
It did little to uplift her mood, but she could not blame herself for the challenges that came with her species. The game, or perhaps Luxoria, had taken that choice away.
She looked down at her body. She was no longer wearing the humble hempen robes from her childhood memories. Those had been too tall and loose, with a neckline much lower than she liked. She was sure young Vaelith wore that out of necessity rather than choice.
Today, she wore a sleeveless, light-blue robe, tailored perfectly to her size and form. Embroidery ran down the centre of the cloth. The robe hugged her waist and flared with her hips. The contours of her breasts were visible, but they were neither downplayed nor highlighted. A strong leather belt and bandolier combined their efforts to distribute the weight of a heavy, leather-bound grimoire sitting in a satchel on her left hip. Over the robe, she wore a navy-blue cape that covered her arms and shoulders. She could see her reflection in the glass windows of the stores that circled the plaza. Vaelith thought she gave off the vibe of a proper mage, albeit a short one.
She scowled, realising her youthful appearance would probably lead people to mistake her for a teenager. How old am I, anyway? The answer surfaced in her mind unbidden: Vaelith had turned twenty just a little over two months ago. Her birthday was on Blazebirth—the summer solstice. Fittingly, that was also Luxoria’s most sacred day: the Day of Radiance. Vaelith sighed. Of course, it had to land on a day steeped in significance like that. Just my luck.
She had quickly discovered one downside to sharing her birthday with the city’s grandest religious celebration: people were always too preoccupied to spare much attention for her. Not that it mattered—most of the attention she typically received came from bullies or envious classmates. Being practically invisible for a day had been, strangely enough, the best gift she could hope for.
The thought of birthdays and gifts nudged her mind to search for happier memories. Memories of family and celebrations. But all she could summon were depressing images of small and austere events at the academy. Dutiful gatherings with tutors and teachers. Is that all? She wondered. Do I even have a family? Am I an orphan? The questions churned inside her, and a familiar ache stirred in her chest as she held onto that thought.
Okay, sensitive topic. Let’s drop it and focus on something else.
Returning her attention to her surroundings, she scanned the crowds. The first thing she noticed was how she could not easily tell apart players from non-player characters. When simply looking at them, she actually thought it was impossible to do so. This game leaned towards high immersion over user experience, it appeared. That meant there was no floating text above people’s heads. No easy way to tell someone’s name, class, level or guild.
But judging from the way they moved and dressed, she quickly realized most of the crowd were not players. However, she noticed the locals always seemed to know who were. The way they looked at them—on edge, reserved—gave it away. It was not quite hostility—more like tense wariness. The same reaction you would expect from a father who suddenly saw an armed stranger walking to his family’s home.
She kept scouring the crowds, reminded of M-E’s request to find a healer. She felt like the task had just multiplied in difficulty. This was not spamming the trade chat channel with a series of three letter acronyms until someone responded. She giggled at the image of her little self climbing on a barrel, shouting over the sound of the crowd until something happened.
Somehow, she knew she would probably receive a stern talking-to by the surprisingly many armed guards keeping watch. Their gaze locked with unrelenting severity on each adventurer all across the bazaar. She then wondered if players had actually tried that earlier in the day. It would explain the heavy atmosphere that lingered. The first shouting lunatic might have caused the locals to laugh dismissively or in confusion, but if a few dozen people started shouting over one another, it would explain the feeling of the place. Was a divide forming between players and non-player characters?
Frowning at herself for her wandering mind, Vaelith returned her attention to trying to locate a priest. She picked a direction at random, scanning small pockets of merchants and regular folks, following their gaze to the ones they seemed wary of. This would lead to players. She just had to find a priest now.
Over on one side, she spotted a tall, hulking Full-blood felinae wearing dark furs and carrying a two-handed hammer on his back, stomping his way through the crowds. That way, a robed homini used his crystal-tipped rod as a walking stick while examining magical foci at a stall. Up here, a cloaked homini perched on a flat roof, scanning the crowds from her vantage point, a bow slung over her shoulder. Nearby, a petite Kindred dracan waded confidently through the crowd. She was unlike Vaelith in almost every way; she had red scalding scales, was wearing gleaming heavy armour, a massive tower shield on her back. The shield bore the brand of the god of earth, Gaius. Vaelith did not know how she recognised it, but she knew she did.
Vaelith hesitated, her gaze locking onto the guardian. Despite her short stature, the dracan radiated authority. The crowd parted around her, not out of fear, but with a quiet reverence.
Vaelith saw her, and she really wanted to talk to her. Someone with an avatar of the same species she played. Did she also have trouble adjusting to her character? It might distract her from finding a priest, but this was important, too. She really hoped the armoured dracan was a player—all signs pointed to it. M-E would surely understand the delay. Vaelith had more pressing personal issues to solve. She stepped cautiously towards the girl in shining armour.
Vaelith headed in her direction. A few moments later, she stood face to face in front of the guardian. She had not noticed the crowd dispersing in front of her until she was all alone in front of the stranger. The other dracan raised an eyebrow inquisitively at Vaelith as she smirked. The young mage had to crane her neck upwards to meet her eyes—the guardian was several inches taller than she was. Vaelith realised she was blocking the path of the players, even though that notion was laughable. She was trembling from anxiety, and felt as if the tiniest of breeze could sweep her off the ground.
“Need something?”
The guardian’s voice oozed confidence. She sounded amused and quite relaxed, clearly not feeling threatened by the mage’s presence.
Vaelith broke eye contact immediately, her heart pounding. Her interlocutor’s intense yellow eyes intimidated her, almost forcing her to look away. She focused her gaze on a random, misshapen cobblestone near her feet.
“I… couldn’t help but notice you’re like me,” she said as an explanation, not really answering the question. Her heart beat as if her very life was in danger.
The guardian’s face softened, tilting her head slightly.
“In a few ways, yes. And in others, not at all,” she said, smiling.
At least the guardian appeared friendly, and unlike Vaelith, could apparently form coherent sentences. She let out a sigh of relief as her heart slowed down.
“Could we… talk?”
As soon as she asked, Vaelith regretted everything. Why? Why am I bothering some stranger like that? She started sweating, noticing the many gazes studying the two of them. Her eyes darted left and right as she tried to assess the intention of the curious onlookers. Am I danger?
But then Vaelith reminded herself that the danger would be the woman standing in front of her, half-a-head taller than she was. She was wearing heavy armour, a heavy mace at her hips. If anyone here was a threat, it would be her, not the merchants and curious bystanders.
But the guardian showed no hostility. She considered Vaelith for a moment, then tilted her head, pointing at a stall a few steps away from them. Glancing at it, Vaelith saw the man behind a grill, preparing sizzling, spicy meat kabobs. Next to the stall, there were a couple of empty tables and seats that they could use to chat in a less attraction-grabbing location.
“Sure, I’ve got a few minutes before I’ve gotta bounce,” she said in a friendly tone. “Why don’t you find us a table?”
The way she expressed herself removed any doubt Vaelith still held about whether she had found another player. She nodded and made her way to the seating area. There, she found an empty table with two seats, and took one.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Meanwhile, the guardian had headed to the stall, most likely ordering some food.
Vaelith frowned. She felt like a kid at a grown-ups’ table. She really could use a cushion to boost her height. And honestly, she would not mind the extra padding. Those seats were pretty uncomfortable. Perhaps I should look to buy one after that... She idly wondered if the mage class would give her access to some kind of astral storage space or bag of holding. That would be convenient.
Vaelith caught herself salivating over the smell coming from the stall. Her stomach gurgled. Clearly she could feel hungry despite Jason having had supper only moments ago. That made her wonder how important of a game mechanic was eating?
She glanced back at the stall. The guardian was leaning with both elbows on the counter, chatting up with the skewer master. The man occasionally used tongs to flip the meat. He responded jovially to her questions and nodded energetically as she talked. This surprised Vaelith, as she expected the locals to be more on edge with adventurers. She wondered if it was because the guardian was more respected than others, or if that merchant was just friendlier with players.
Vaelith felt the stares of strangers still on her. Embarrassed, she fidgeted with the hem of her robe. Her eyes flicked between the guardian’s massive shield to the uneven cobblestones beneath her feet. Why were people still looking at them? Just give us girls some privacy, please?
The guardian finally returned and plopped down a plate piled with skewers on the table. The brusque force startled Vaelith, brushing away her concerns. A tantalising aroma wafted from the freshly delivered plate and filled her sensitive nose with an overwhelming mix of spices and charred meat. The fat glistened in the market’s many lights, small beads of grease dripping onto the wooden plate in satisfying pops. The vegetables—charred onions, glistening tomatoes, and deep-green peppers—were vibrant against the backdrop of the dark meat. Even the skewers themselves, perfectly blackened in places, looked crafted with care.
The guardian did not hesitate and immediately picked one up, tearing away a mouthful of meat. She chewed deliberately, a blissful smile on her face. Vaelith heard the crunch of the outer skin echoing faintly and it sent a pang of hunger through her mind. The guardian then gestured with her free hand, inviting the mage to help herself.
Vaelith tentatively took one stick with both hands and brought it slowly towards her. The weight of it was familiar but strange, her new body responding eagerly to the sensory overload. As it drew closer to her mouth, fat dripped from the meat, pitter-pattering on the table. Vaelith quickly moved one hand under the dripping meat, hoping to intercept the droplets and protect her clothes.
As it neared her face, she closed her eyes and drew a long breath, inhaled the scent. It was almost too much—her nose twitched, overwhelmed by the intensity.
Vaelith bit into the charred meat, its crisp exterior giving way to a tender, juicy centre. The burst of intense seasoning made her flinch, discovering her heightened senses of taste. The intensity faded slowly as she chewed, acclimating herself one bite at a time. She felt a profound satisfaction. The taste grounded her, yet each bite only raised more questions. Why does this feel so familiar? Who was I before today? She wondered what other memories might resurface, waiting to pull her deeper into this world?
She caught the guardian’s eye as she finished her first bite. The latter grinned, already halfway through her second skewer. “Good, right?”
Vaelith nodded slowly. “Yeah... It’s... very good,” she said, a little breathless, not just from the food but from the realisation that this food held some special meaning for her.
The guardian polished off two skewers before Vaelith even finished her first. Throughout the meal, her yellow eyes remained fixed on her, as if expecting something. It made Vaelith’s skin prickle. She trembled at how self-conscious she felt under the silent scrutiny. At the oddest times, the guardian would smile warmly at her—almost like an owner watching their pet eat. That unsettled Vaelith even more, and all that focus on her every move did little to improve the speed at which she went through her meal.
Finally done with the first, Vaelith set the dirty hook down with a quiet clink. As the last bite settled in her stomach, a faint warmth spread through her body. Vaelith could not say what, but she knew something about these skewers evoked some nostalgia within her. Fond memories. And she knew these memories did not belong to Jason. No, the skewers stirred memories that were deeply tied to Vaelith’s past, of that she was certain.
Jason had grown up in a well-to-family; his father, a lawyer, and his mother, an accountant. He tried to think of a meal that reminded him of growing up. Grilled salmon with wild rice pilaf, perhaps?
He wondered if Vaelith’s relationship to this meal was the same. No. It felt different. Skewers was not something she associated with growing up. No, it was a celebration of her independence and autonomy. This is it! This is a meal young Vaelith had saved up for, and purchased for herself. Something she had wanted to eat and then worked hard for. It all came back to her now. How proud she had felt when she had counted and handed over the exact count of cuprum shards to the owner. And even though the meal had only lasted a few minutes, the memories stayed with her to this day. Skewers were a reward to her.
It was hard for Jason not to get swept up in Vaelith’s memories now.
She wiped away at tears and noticed her greasy hands. She quickly glanced around for something to clean them. The guardian silently handed her a wet cloth, still smiling as she silently observed her. Vaelith blushed, nodded in thanks and wiped the grease from her fingers. When she was done, she discreetly rubbed at her eyelids and locked her gaze on the last skewer—she could still feel the weight of the other woman’s gaze on her.
“Are you going to eat the last one, then?”
Vaelith shook her head. “I’m good,” she said as she started wiping the few stains of fat that had dripped on the table earlier.
“In that case…,” The guardian picked the last skewer. Vaelith could not help but notice how much of a voracious eater she was.
“Zyra Talovren. Frostspire. You?” she said, as if it were a formality, her tone casual as she took a huge bite.
Vaelith quickly checked her clothes for any stains, but then turned to face Zyra and bowed down her head slightly.
“Nice to meet you, Zyra. My name is Vaelith Dawnscale.”
A quiet pride swelled inside of her heart. Saying her name aloud felt strange—but also affirming. Yes. I am Vaelith Dawnscale. That’s my name.
She smiled, but her voice wavered with uncertainty. “I’m from Luminara, I think?”
Am I really from this city? She had no memories of any city, so she had to be?
Still chewing, Zyra gestured for her to continue. She probably expected her to explain why she wanted to talk, now that they had introduced each other, and almost done with their meal.
“You’re a Kindred dracan, right?” Vaelith asked.
Zyra raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
Vaelith gestured at herself, her fins and scales. “How are you handling… you know… All of it?”
“How do you mean?” Zyra answered between bites.
“The way this body feels? The weird sense of balance, the wrongness of the body, the hearing…”
Zyra stopped chewing for a moment, then swallow her bite.
She shrugged. “It’s just a game. I feel normal? How about you? Are you okay, dude?”
Vaelith’s mouth hung wide open. Was it that obvious?
Her breathing hitched at the thought of not being seen as a woman. But wait, am I not supposed to be okay with that? Yet, the idea left her feeling hollow, as if she were losing something important.
“How would you know…? Are you a guy, too?” she said, stuttering in whispered words.
“Relax, dude—everyone’s a dude here. Me too.” Zyra’s melodic voice did not quite match her laid-back Californian drawl, making the contrast all the more jarring.
Oh. The whole dude thing again—both neutral and gendered at once. There had to be a guide, somewhere, on how to tell them apart, but Vaelith had never stumbled on it.
Okay. So if Zyra is a guy, and she’s doing fine, then maybe this feeling has nothing to do with gender at all. Could it be the disorienting strangeness of being so much smaller? Vaelith’s limbs were much lighter and her steps felt so delicate in this new body. Is it possible that Zyra’s player is around the same height as her character?
“And you’re feeling… normal? Are you this short in real life?”
“Nah, dude. Not short. I’m from Cali, five-ten.”, she answered.
Zyra stood around five feet tall, almost a full foot shorter than her real-life self. That was far from the drastic gap between Jason and Vaelith. He towered nearly two feet over her.
That could explain some of the strangeness she had felt. Perhaps it’s a question of mass. At her height and with her slim frame, Vaelith weighed at most a third of what Jason did.
“Well, I’m shorter than you are. And I used to be taller than you were. Maybe that’s why,” Vaelith said, explaining her theory.
“‘Why’ what? Other than being proper girly and shy, you seem fine?” Zyra asked.
Girly? Shy? Is that how people read me?
Jason would have hated being called girly. He would have brushed it off, laughed awkwardly, or said something to deflect. But as Vaelith, I like it, don’t I? She was not sure why it mattered so much to her now. Or maybe she had just never allowed it to matter before.
“I’m trying to understand why my body feels so odd,” she said.
But does it feel odd? It had been a while since she had felt any kind of weirdness or disorientation, had it not? While she ate, while she sat here, chatting or watching the crowd, had anything felt wrong? Each action had been so natural—eating the kabob, cleaning the table, even the noise of the bazaar… Ever since she dived back, after her chat with Lisa, everything had simply been normal, right?
Zyra’s gaze was steady, her quizzical look more curious than concerned, as if Vaelith’s worries were as distant to her as the stars. She seemed completely at ease, her body an afterthought in a way that made Vaelith feel even more self-conscious. “I don’t know, dude. I feel great—calibration’s perfect on my end.”
Vaelith let that statement sink in.
She now regretted asking Zyra about anything. I must sound like some kind of idiot. I’m made a fool of myself and outed myself. Again. Twice this evening, she had told to someone that was a guy playing a girl character. Lisa first, and now Zyra.
Sure, it really was not that unusual. Heck, Zyra herself, right in front of her, was also cross-playing. It was so common, people joked that the acronym MMORPG meant “Mostly Men Online Role-playing Girls.”
Vaelith let out a long sigh. Other than a ridiculously tasty skewer, she felt she got nothing out of the conversation.
Well, that was not entirely fair. Talking over with her, this conversation allowed her to realise that Zyra had been right when she said she looked fine. After taking a second look, this body was like a second skin to her. The calibration thing indeed worked great.
Now, all she had to do was address the minor issue of being perceived as a woman or not. Vaelith still had some questions about how she should feel about that.
Zyra had called her a dude. The word felt neutral on her lips, but it still hit Vaelith with a jolt of strangeness. Was it meant to dismiss her womanhood or just smooth over the edges of identity? In this world, maybe it did not matter. But here, in this body, it did. She was not sure why it stung so much.
But then again, Zyra also called her ‘Proper girly’. Vaelith felt rather flattered, if not a little embarrassed by Zyra’s comment. It sounded sincere, but the word dug up memories of awkward moments when Jason had never quite fit the masculine mould people expected. “Girly” felt... close. But not quite right. Vaelith wanted something more solid. She wanted to be seen as an independent woman, as someone sure of herself. Someone grown. Is that why I feel so unsettled? Was it that simple? Or am I overthinking all of this?
Regardless of the answer, she really had no reason to keep Zyra tied up with her any longer. She smiled shyly, trying to ease any concern may have about her.
“You know what? I think you’re right. Sorry for bringing it up. I think I feel just fine.”
At first, she had believed none of it. She had simply spoken those words to placate Zyra. But when she spoke, she heard it. The truth behind her words. Or at the very least, the ring of truth. And it startled her.
I feel fine? She asked herself, echoing the words in her head. And even upon hearing it a second time, it really felt like she did. She beamed her best smile at Zyra. Perhaps this had not been a waste of time, after all.