Nash sat in his living room, the faint hum of a passing car outside breaking the silence. He frowned, staring at his phone on the coffee table. Kyle’s call had been… odd. They hadn’t talked much in the past month, and now Kyle was practically pleading for him to join some VR game. It wasn’t like him. Kyle was confident, self-assured—not the type to ask for help, let alone beg for it.


    The unease lingered. Something wasn’t adding up.


    The next day, while working in his mechanic shop, a delivery guy dropped off a package. Nash frowned as he wiped his hands on a rag and opened it, revealing the sleek, glossy curves of a VR headset. He scoffed. Of course Kyle would skip subtlety.


    Later that evening, the headset sat on the workbench, catching the dim light from the hanging bulb. Its surface gleamed sharply, but as Nash stepped closer, a shadow flickered across its reflection—quick and fleeting, like something moving just out of sight. He froze. His breath hitched as his eyes darted around the garage, searching for the source, but nothing was there. Just silence.


    He leaned in, staring at the headset. His distorted reflection stared back, warped by the curve of the device. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, shaking his head. But his gaze kept drifting back, the unease gnawing at him.


    Kyle’s voice echoed in his mind: Just try it, Nash. Please.


    With a sharp exhale, he rubbed his temples. “I already said I would, didn’t I?” he muttered. “Might as well get it over with.”


    Grabbing the headset, Nash stomped up the stairs to his loft. The small space, usually his retreat from the chaos of the day, felt heavier tonight, like the walls were pressing in. He dropped onto his cot with a groan, turning the sleek device over in his hands.


    Its weight felt grounding, yet something about it set him on edge. The glossy surface gleamed under the dim light, distorted reflections staring back at him like ghostly fragments. He frowned, running a thumb along its edge. It was just a game, wasn’t it?


    Kyle’s words lingered in the back of his mind, unshakable. Just try it, Nash. Please. The uncharacteristic urgency in Kyle’s voice still bothered him. Kyle wasn’t someone to act on impulse—or desperation. Whatever had gotten into him, it was enough to push Nash past his usual skepticism.


    He sighed, gripping the headset tighter. “All right,” he muttered to himself, his jaw tightening. “Let’s see what’s so damn important.”


    With a steadying breath, Nash slipped the headset on.


    <hr>


    At first, there was only darkness. The cushioned interior fit snugly against his head, the faint hum of the device filling the void. He frowned. Is this thing broken?


    Then, a flicker.


    The hum deepened, turning into a low vibration that thrummed through his skull. A soft, glowing light pierced the darkness, growing brighter until it enveloped him completely. The air around him felt charged, tingling like static electricity against his skin. His breath quickened as warmth prickled at the edges of his perception.


    Suddenly, the world shifted. It wasn’t a jolt, but a smooth, weightless sensation, as though he’d been plucked from reality and gently set down somewhere else. When he opened his eyes, his garage was gone.


    He stood in an endless void, the air cool and crisp. A soft, ambient light illuminated the space, though there were no discernible sources. Strange, glowing glyphs hovered before him, their faint, rhythmic pulses hypnotic. The symbols shimmered like they were alive, beckoning him forward.


    “What the hell is this?” Nash muttered, flexing his fingers. The cool, solid ground beneath his feet felt too real, the clarity of his breathing too precise. His pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a game.


    “Welcome to Eidolon, player,” a voice echoed around him, mechanical yet strangely warm. “Please proceed with character selection.”


    <hr>


    Floating icons appeared before him, each shimmering with an otherworldly light. A towering warrior materialized first, clad in gleaming armor and wielding a massive sword. Nash raised an eyebrow. “Muscles and a big sword. Real creative,” he muttered, dismissing it with a wave.


    The figures continued: a hooded mage crackling with fire and lightning, a nimble thief twirling daggers, a stoic paladin radiating divine energy. They were impressive, sure, but Nash couldn’t help but feel they were too… preordained. Like choices meant for someone else.


    “Come on,” he muttered, swiping through the options. “Give me something different.”


    At the edge of the menu, a faint icon flickered. It wasn’t flashy like the others—just a subtle glow, almost hidden. Intrigued, Nash reached out. The text beneath it read: Dream Creation.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    “Now we’re talking,” he murmured. His curiosity outweighed his skepticism as he selected the option. The other choices vanished, replaced by a blank mannequin suspended in midair. Its smooth, featureless form seemed to shimmer, awaiting his input.


    A prompt materialized: Shape your desires. Bring them to life.


    Nash chuckled, unease giving way to a mischievous grin. “All right. Let’s see what kind of chaos we can cook up.”


    He started tentatively, testing the waters. “Make him… unsettling,” he said, watching the blank mannequin shimmer in response. It was subtle at first—a dark haze forming around its edges, the faint suggestion of movement in the shadows that clung to its figure. The effect deepened, the haze thickening until it seemed to swallow light, twisting and shifting as though alive.


    Nash’s grin widened, his earlier skepticism melting into intrigue. “Invisible unless he wants to be,” he added, pacing around the figure. “But not just invisible—like he’s part of the shadows themselves.”


    The mannequin rippled again. Shadows flowed over its form in liquid waves, pooling in its joints and blurring its outline. It moved slightly, the motion so fluid and silent it sent a chill down Nash’s spine. He paused, rubbing his chin. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”


    The game’s responsiveness both thrilled and unnerved him. It wasn’t just adapting—it was anticipating, building on his suggestions in ways he hadn’t fully articulated. He waved the thought away, feeding the interface more ideas. “No basic daggers, though. Give him weapons that flicker in and out, like they’re barely tethered to reality. Make them unstable—chaotic.”


    As though answering a challenge, the mannequin’s hands morphed. Tendrils of darkness spiraled out from its palms, coalescing into jagged, spectral blades. They pulsed faintly, their edges rippling like heatwaves in the air. Nash stepped closer, tilting his head as he studied the chaotic energy coursing through them.


    “Holy hell,” he muttered, his breath catching. He reached out, half-expecting to feel the blades’ energy, but his fingers passed through them like smoke. “That’s… creepy. But good.”


    Encouraged, he pushed further, layering on abstract ideas. “Let him phase through walls,” he said, pacing again. “And visions—yeah, let him see memories, but not his own. Something freaky.”


    The interface shimmered, as if taking a moment to process. Then, the avatar shifted again. Its form grew even more ethereal, its edges blurring like a figure out of focus. A notification flashed: Phasing unlocked: pass through objects intermittently. Another followed: Vision skill unlocked: glimpse forgotten memories tied to hidden places.


    Nash stared, stunned as the rogue’s glowing eyes pulsed faintly, radiating a quiet, unnerving energy. Shadows coiled around its legs, rippling upward like they had a will of their own. The figure looked wrong—not in design, but in presence. It didn’t belong here. It was a distortion, a ghost given substance.


    He stepped back, rubbing his hands together, his grin returning. “Okay, you’re officially creepy. Creepy, but awesome.”


    But the unease crept back in, tightening at the edges of his excitement. The game wasn’t just following commands—it was responding too perfectly. As if it understood him. Too much.


    “Are you reading my mind?” he muttered, circling the figure again. His voice was half a joke, but the thought lingered, unsettling him. The responsiveness was almost… intimate.


    Shaking his head, Nash leaned in one more time, studying the avatar with a mix of fascination and wariness. “You’re either the smartest AI I’ve ever seen, or I’m way too good at this. Either way…” He trailed off, straightening. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”


    “Name?” a prompt appeared.


    Nash hesitated before typing: Vargan. It was a name he’d dreamed up years ago, something that felt right now.


    Satisfied, he stepped back. A glowing doorway materialized, swirling with ethereal light.


    “Guess there’s no turning back now,” he muttered, stepping through.


    <hr>


    The void dissolved into a bustling town square. The transition was seamless, the world bursting into vivid color and sound. The air was rich with the aroma of fresh bread and smoke, the chatter of merchants blending with the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer. Sunlight filtered through vibrant awnings, casting dappled patterns on cobblestones so textured they felt almost too real beneath his boots.


    Nash flexed his gloved hands, the supple leather creaking under his grip, the weight of his weapons grounding him. “This… is insane,” he muttered, his earlier doubts fading as wonder took over. He turned slowly, taking in the scale of it all. It wasn’t just immersive—it was alive. NPCs moved with purpose, their expressions shifting subtly as they bargained, laughed, or scowled. Even the shadows seemed to breathe, stretching and shrinking with the sun’s arc.


    A notification blinked into view at the edge of his vision: First Quest: Locate the Wayfinder’s Guild.


    “Figures,” Nash muttered, rolling his eyes as a marker appeared, glowing faintly above the heads of the bustling crowd. He stepped onto the path it indicated, weaving between merchants hawking wares and players haggling over glittering loot. Yet, even as he moved through the lively streets, a peculiar sensation settled in his chest—like a string, taut and unseen, was pulling him forward.


    The sensation deepened as he passed an alley. He paused, glancing over his shoulder. It was dark, unnaturally so, the light from the square failing to penetrate its depths. He thought he saw movement—a faint ripple in the shadows—but when he blinked, it was gone. Nash frowned, shaking his head. Get a grip.


    Still, the feeling lingered, gnawing at him as he reached the central plaza. He slowed, glancing up at the sky. The sunlight felt warm against his skin, but there was something strange about it—an odd flicker, like static interrupting a broadcast. He rubbed his temples, his eyes narrowing as the flicker passed.


    “Whatever this is,” he murmured, his voice low and uncertain, “it’s not just a game.”


    The words felt heavy, more truthful than he cared to admit. As he turned back to the quest marker, a faint whisper brushed past his ear—a voice too soft to make out but insistent enough to send a chill down his spine. He spun around, his eyes scanning the crowd, but no one paid him any mind. The noise of the square carried on, oblivious.


    With a sharp exhale, Nash tightened his grip on his weapons and strode forward, the marker now pulsing faintly, almost like a heartbeat.


    This world wasn’t just waiting for him. It had been watching.