READY OR NOT.

- Ugh, here we go again.

SOMEONE IS STICKING A FINGER in my nose. Again.

"Knock it off!"

I yank the creature's hand from my nose and stumble back when it flutters towards me like a honeybee. "Stay back, monster!"

I never knew meatballs could have facial muscles that pull up in expressions of horror. But guess you learn a new thing everyday. The meatballs's face contorts like lightning and a look of absolute terror washes it over as it spins around.

"Monster? Oh no, where?!"

Weirdly enough, it has the voice of a young boy and the words turn into a frenzied screech, ripping through my eardrums.

"I'm talking about you, meatball!" I shout back.

It pauses, and then, "Did you just call me a meatball..?" No, I just called you a monster.

It slowly flies to me and I take a step back. Unfortunately, an open space in the wild is only so big and my back soon hits the trunk of a tree before I can put a mile in between us. I look back at the forest, quickly weighing the pros and cons of taking off in the middle of night. The trees answer me back with vile, dangerous whispers– exuding an enigmatic dark aura. Extremely off putting. Definitely not a great idea.

God, maybe I should've gone to those camping trips Shin Woo always invited me to. I literally can’t make a fire to save my soul.

"Take it back!"

I don't dare reply. A boyish huff enters my ears and I see the meatball kick an indignant leg while flying. This can't get weirder than that.

"You do realise that is food-shaming, right?"

My genius tongue throbs to point out that it is actually body shaming. But I'm still in shock that I just freeze in response.

"Do you?"

Its big eyes go bigger, as it leans towards me, peering down like I was an ant. You know what, I take it back. More than a flying meatball, it looks more like an actual scary Mike Wazowski if Disney and Pixar decided to greenwash this creature and take an eye out so he'd look more approachable. Maybe this is all a dream. It better be a dream.

Wake up, I urge in my head.

Suddenly, two eyed Mike Wazowski shoots away from me with excited eyes. “Look! A snowpale butterfly. It’s off season!”

Wake the hell up, Rudra.

But it is at this brilliant moment that the same decadent voice decides to speak. This time, I feel it infiltrate my mind. Like a slow tendril of fog that aches to move, the voice enters my consciousness, echoing closer than comfortable. It sounds mostly like a tired woman with a bad case of common cold. Yet, I feel my body petrify as the foreign sensation of having a voice in my head overruns me like cobwebs that won't go.

"New quest detected," the female voice drones. "Reach the city gates of Brumdn Cove to proceed. I repeat, reach the city gates of Brumdn Cove."

The voice goes away as slowly as it comes, leaving me with an unshakeable chill. My legs give out and I sink to the ground. As self-deprecating as it sounds, my brain didn't have the capability to conjure actual words while I’m sober, let alone when I’m sleeping. This can't be a dream.

"Brumdn Cove is miles away. You'd better start now if you want to reach there by morning," the flying pest hums.

"You heard the voice?"

"The voice? Oh, you mean the System? Of course I did. We're best pals!" For unfathomable reasons, it looks smug, like being best friends with a tired, creepy voice was the friendship of the century.

Swallowing, I finally look around me, taking in the dark forest and the eerie sky. The trees are higher than anything I’ve seen, rising above me like a steep mountain range of mosses, the colour of a raven. From the top, feeble moonlight peers down, barely enough to light anything. The meatball– creature had a torch planted on the damp ground so at least, we weren’t drenched in absolute darkness.

I pinch myself. If this is indeed a dream, I will wake up, right? I pinch more. Harder, harsher. Nope. Nothing. The creature looks at me curiously. Maybe it is the boyish voice or the big eyes, but I get a feeling that if there are a horde of these creatures, it might be on the younger side of its species.

I glance at the forest again and sigh. There is no way in hell that I can get out of this scary canopy of leaves by myself. Even Shin Woo and his camping skills may not be of any use against the aberrant darkness. And staying in this miniscule clearing forever is definitely not the way to survive.

So I make up my mind.

“Do you have a name?” I ask.

Its lips pull into what is the scariest and ugliest smile I’ve ever seen. I stop myself from shuddering as I stare at it with a straight face. With a highly pleased flourish, it bows its head. Or more like, bows the only part of its body that aren’t limbs.

“Of course I do, silly. I go by Foras. Sounds dainty, doesn’t it?”

“Foras?” It did not suit a flying piece of meat. Foras nods again with his whole body.

“I totally love it!” I bet you do.

“So, how do we get to Brumdn Cove?” I ask. The cold dips, adding sudden urgency to my mind that is already a mess. Foras extends two thin hands while shrugging like an actual crook. “Oh, I don’t know. I was hoping you’d know. Since you’re the Chosen One and all that jazz.”

Chosen one? Now, what does that even mean? Forget it. One thing at a time.

Sighing in exasperation, I look around once again, trying to miraculously find a well lit exit. Maybe I should gather some dry twigs and cook this unhelpful floating meat while I’m at it.

Ignoring Foras, I walk around the clearing with the torch in my hand. The bark of the trees are obsidian, merging with the dark, like night solidified. Beyond the trunks, I see nothing. The trees are a wall of barren black covered in climbers and I feel a bursting frustration creep in.

Perhaps, it felt my internal chiding or the System was simply doing its job but it decides to grace me with its presence again. This time, I’m ready when the sense of fog engulfs me and I don’t resist when it reaches inside my head.

“Congratulations hero, you’ve unlocked the beginner’s kit. Equipping: a level one D grade armour, a level one D grade sword, a level one D grade boots, a level one D grade cape and a level one D grade helmet. You can view the items in the inventory.”

Before the System can ditch me again, I question back. “How do I reach Brumdn Cove?” I ask in my head, deducing telepathy might be the key for communication. “And how do I access the inventory?”

There’s a pause and a throat clear. When the System speaks again, it sounds tired, borderline annoyed and a whole lot slower. “East. Brumdn Cove is in the east. And about the inventory–” it stops. Sighing, it continues. “You are wearing it.”

After all this time, I finally notice the flimsy backpack I’m wearing. It is in tatters and the zip is broken. “This is the inventory?” I don’t care to hide the incredulity.

There isn’t even the slightest hint of a hitch as the System replies. “Doing a B grade quest is mandatory to earn the mental inventory. This is simply the beginner’s one.” AKA beggars can’t be choosers.

“Um, so, what exactly is the purpose of having Foras float around me?”

“System cannot compute.” Can I punch you? Will that make you compute?

With each growing second, I start feeling the impatient System creep away. Having no clue when I can access it again, I blurt out the question that has been bugging me since I woke up here. “System, wait! Is this . . . is this real? How do I get out of here?”

It’s a feeling but I know the System precisely understood what I meant. I don’t get a reply and the seconds trickle away. The foreign chill accompanying the System is almost gone and a sense of devastation pushes me hard. I feel the frustration finally break in, in the form of hot tears on the verge of falling, when I hear a faint answer.

“Are you real?” The System asks me back. It’s faint. Almost a whisper. “Maybe, you already know how to get back.

t o b e c o n t i n u e d

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

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