He staggered forward, each step sending an aching throb throughout his injured leg.
His steps were uneven, pulled sideways by the pain from the earlier run.
The surrounding forest, or what used to be one, was way too quiet now. The kind of silence you witness at graveyards, like the world had paused.
The trees that lined the path ahead weren't green or full of life; They were sick, their trunks white and stripped of bark. Their branches sagged low, draped in gray rot and strands of something like spider silk.
The impact with the ground turned the remaining leaves to ash instantly. The wind brought more of it down. They looked like snowflakes, but warmer when they touched the skin.
The air smelled like poultry and animal dung, making it hard for him to breathe. He had to wrap his clothes around his face to filter the air.
He didn't know how long he'd been walking — minutes? Hours? Or probably days? There was no way to tell.
The star (sun) that lit up the sky was dim, as if something was blocking most of the light from reaching the ground, making the environment look gray. And that felt disturbing.
At first, he didn't notice the ground was sloping upward, it was slow and steady, making it hard to realize. Each step took a little more effort than the last, and his ankle started to ache more than before.
He paused for a minute, sitting on a tree trunk, taking in air. He didn't dare sit for too long, though.
Eventually, the trees began to thin out, the branches stopped scraping the sky, and the path began to open slowly. Not a clearing, more like the edge of a cliff, broken and jagged, as if the earth had split in two a long time ago and hadn't recovered.
He climbed up, one hand at a time, but the sprain in his ankle made it harder to reach for the cracked stones ahead.
By the time he reached the ridge, he was breathing in short, sharp gasps. His throat was dry, and his chest ached.
He felt hungry and tired, but he didn't dare stop, not after what he'd just gone through. He was staggering forward, hoping to find a Cinder Shrine.
Just as he climbed up the cliff, he saw something massive ahead of him.
Far across the broken lands… it was a tree... the Root Spire, or what it was supposed to be.
In the game, it was always shimmering gold and warm, almost untouchable. It was the heart of everything in this world, the crown of the Witherlands.
But it didn't feel like that anymore. It felt like a hollow, empty version of what it once had been.
Black stems, rotten leaves. It was obvious it was sick with a disease he didn't recognize, nothing like what he remembered from the game.
It was heartbreaking seeing the tree look so dead. Maybe it was because this was the moment it all became real.
Not just the monsters or the dead bodies littering the path, but this.
If something as holy and golden as this could become whatever it is now, then nothing in this world is safe.
He dropped to his knees, as if someone had ripped something out of him. There was no music, no HUD, no narrator saying, "You've attained a new zone." Just him in this lifeless world.
Streams of tears rolled down his face as he stared at his hands. "What have I done?" he cried out.
He stayed like that for a while, his hands hovering over dirt and dead roots.
Then, he noticed a mark inscribed on his palm, a faint rune that had burned itself into him. It had appeared after he clicked "Claim."
More tears streamed down his face. "I should have just listened to Mom and Dad and stayed away from games. I should have read my books like I was told to. Who cares about rank, anyway? At the end of the season, they would take it from you. It didn't matter to prove them wrong, what was I thinking?" he screamed, pain evident in his voice.
It echoed across the land. His breaths became slower, as if life were leaving his body.
This world had ripped him out of his room, away from his normal life, and thrown him into a survival nightmare. It had taken the game he loved so much and twisted it into something cruel.
"I'm paying for my mistakes," he muttered, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "There's no turning back now. There's only moving forward from now on."
He stood up slowly, his muscles stiff with pain. His ankles still ached, but he ignored the pain; What was this minor ache compared to the realization of his potential death?
He looked down the hill, toward the jagged, lifeless path leading away from the ridge.
The forest had thinned out below, the land opening up into what looked like ruins.
He didn't know where he was going or what he would find along the way, but he took it step by step.
Because whatever this world had become— corrupted, broken, or twisted—he was fully in it now. And he wasn't planning on getting killed anytime soon.