They were alone here. In the twilight, of both the day and this little island’s existence, they shared what seemed like their last meeting. It was the stuff of fairy tales. A boy — almost an adult now — who was here, in this world, because in the real world he was a damaged and broken shell. And she was something else, human but not human; artificial intelligence with a little bit too much personality and character to be a Non-Player Character.

For the last four weeks, she was the only soul he talked to. After the accident, he was awake, and part of the real world, only two hours a day; in those two hours, he was in too much pain to speak to anyone. But here, things were different. There was no pain here. In this world, he didn’t have to be a weakling or a nobody. In this world, he didn’t have to be bullied or ridiculed. In this world, he could be someone else.

Although, at first, he didn’t think of it that way. At first, this world was a pointless chore — a government mandated project to quell civil unrest over the fact that machines took over 99% of the world’s jobs and industry. It turned out, people living off Government Stipend and with nothing better to do would riot and become revolution agitators threatening the established balance and peace of the world. Eventually, the Commonwealth mandated, for "health reasons", that everyone under the age of thirty spend at least two hours in the virtual world, and introduced many benefits and incentives to stay longer. For example, rendering services in the virtual world would obtain them better stipends, increase their social class, and in some cases, for exceptional services, earn them citizenship and the right to vote.

In the ripe age of rebellion, he thought of it as something to keep him sedated and mindlessly happy on a dopamine dose made of fantasy and adventure — something he was unwilling to participate in.

But like many other things, this opinion also changed after the accident. The reason was because of Priscilla, the friend he had made and spent most of his time with in the past four weeks. After all his classmates had graduated, six weeks ago when he was still in a coma, he was the only living being on the Island of Beginnings, a small subset of the larger world for those who were underage — a tutorial of sorts. The Mayor was gone, and so were the rats in the sewers that he always needed exterminating. The Innkeeper had also departed, presumably with his sweetheart to whom many a person had delivered the Innkeeper’s love letters to. The Innkeeper’s wife also departed, hopefully to find a better, more loyal husband. In short, not a soul was here, or supposed to be here. No players; no NPCs.

Just him. Until she appeared.

Because of his accident, this Island’s annihilation was postponed — it was part of his rehabilitation. Due to complications of his surgery and cybernetic implants — experimental technology developed for the Mars and Europa Colonization Project — he had become a bit of a lab rat. What they called rehabilitation was part experiment and part healthcare. For two hours, each day, he would answer questions whilst screaming in agony. What color is this dot? What does this text say? Can you, with a glance, count how many marbles I am holding? What am I thinking right now?

The questions’ answer was reliably the same: I don’t know.

However, the other twenty-two hours he spent in this virtual world, away from all that nonsense. Away from his frail, disfigured self and into the mortal coil of someone else. Someone arguably good-looking, potentially strong, possibly quick-witted. All the limitations of mortal existence stopped on the threshold between virtual and real, and after spending so much time here, the distinction became difficult to separate. Before long, he stopped thinking of her as a Non-Player Character, and more as a Character, as if she was a living creature, with a living soul. If anything, she had more compassion and sense than real living people, with real living souls, in the real world.

Perhaps, he even might have fallen in love with her.

Besides, what did such distinction matter anyway? Real or virtual? Artificial or genuine? He could not call himself entirely genuine anymore — not when he had an Artificial Intelligence governing a large chunk of his brain, installed in what was once his right eye.

So they sat there, on the bench where he and his childhood friend used to sit, idling away their childhood, while all their classmates went around and slaughtered rats, or helped the Innkeeper cheat on his wife. He and his childhood friend were perfectly satisfied with spending their time in this place like that. But now, he regretted it. He wished he had done something back then — now that the real world was robbed from him.

More than anything, now he wished he had more time to spend with this new person that was sitting next to him, watching the twilight with him and the ever-encroaching black fog of annihilation that would destroy this island soon; a few hours, give or take. He wished he had met her sooner.

And they sat so, mostly in silence. She held his hand, and he was all too aware of its kind warmth. Their shoulders were almost touching, and this close, he could sense the dichotomous scent of winter and spring on her. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long, black hair spilled over her shoulders and onto the front of her black, gothic dress. She wore a black, sheer lace veil that concealed her features, but he could still clearly see her icy, blue eyes. She was like a fairy, or a goddess; human, but not entirely. There was something different about her. He assumed that she was a goddess of some sort, because she came when the fog appeared on the horizon. Those two must be related somehow, or so he thought.

“I really enjoyed listening to your stories about the other world,” she finally said, breaking the long spell of silence. “I wish we had more time.”

He nodded. “Me too,” he said. “I barely scratched the surface.”

She looked towards the sky, where the first faint glimmers of stars had appeared. “I cannot even imagine it,” she said with her beautiful, melodic tone. “A world where people travel to other stars.”

“Well, not quite other stars,” he said. “We are going to a planet called Mars.”

She smiled faintly. “I wish we could go together. On that journey.”

He understood now why she had that sparkle in her eye. It was sorrow. This was the farewell, after all. “Mm,” he hummed affirmatively.

And that was the difference between them, and why such distinctions as real and virtual were important. He could do all these things — travel to other stars and have achievable dreams and hopes and have infinitely many possibilities in the future.

She could not.

She would be erased with this island, most likely.

“What is Mars like?” she asked.

It is basically a rocky desert, he could’ve said. But the question was phrased as if it would be the destination of their honeymoon, so he got creative. “It is like a paradise. There is no pollution there. It’s full of forests with trees that reach into the clouds. There are lakes and seas with crystal clear waters.” In four hundred years or so, that description wouldn’t be wrong. Sooner, in certain places, underneath carbon-fiber domes.

“I wish we had more time,” she said, again.

That time, the words really hit him. The looming finality dug into his heart like a serrated knife. It eviscerated him, figuratively speaking.

“Aren,” she said, and turned her head to look at him. “Thank you for keeping me company all this time. You’ve made me very happy.”

[Quest completed: Priscilla’s Loneliness.]

The pop-up was a rude, but effective reminder that he was in a virtual world.

“You helped me too,” he said. “You helped me pick up my own pieces and accept myself. If it wasn’t for you… I…” he trailed off. His heart was pounding out of his chest. This was it. This was the last time he would have the chance to say the words he wanted to say to her.

She pressed her index finger to his lips. She stared into his eyes, as his courage, determination and desperation evaporated away, all the time holding a kind smile on her cherry lips.

She shook her head. As if she knew what he wanted to say. The fact that they held hands like this now was proof enough that she knew. But then he realized that he was foolish.

How could he have been so foolish?

In the wake of the gut-wrenching sorrow, the realization lit up his brain like a stroke. He could not tell her. He must not tell her. The reason was simple. In a few hours, her existence would come to an end, along with this island. She would rather die not hearing those words, than accept his feelings and respond to them, only to leave him with a broken heart.

Some things must be passed over in silence, he realized. Some things, even if they are meant well, can only bring hurt.

“Aren,” she called him out of his reverie. “The world out there is dangerous. Other than monsters, the people you meet might not be friendly to you. I cannot protect you, but I can teach you how to protect yourself.”

He blinked. He hadn’t spared a single thought towards what would happen after this island is erased.

“You don’t have a guild, and you are not part of an alliance. You should know that learning a class from those like me —” and by that, she meant NPCs, most likely, “has significant drawbacks.”

“Drawbacks?” he asked. It wasn’t a conscious decision to ask that question. In that moment, he was so overwhelmed by it all, that he just blurted the question out, whilst trying to maintain an unaffected appearance — for both their sakes.

“Guild and alliance classes offer potent and versatile skill-sets while those you obtain from quests and NPCs are very specialized,” she explained. “I am probably not allowed to do so, but if you are certain that you don’t want to join a guild or an alliance, I can teach you my class.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I would love to,” he said. He didn’t care about guilds or alliances. He didn’t care about the arguments for and against learning classes from NPCs — it was generally considered a terrible idea. This was a part of Priscilla; one that he wanted to carry with him forever. In a way, she was the one who saved him.

In the waning light of day, the sky became even darker as a luminescent, white glow surrounded Priscilla. She placed her hand against her heart, and as the light and aura dimmed, shrinking towards her hand, a crystal, black rose formed in her hand. "Protect this at all costs, Aren," she said, as she placed the rose in his hand.

[Class learned: Lightning Blade]

Immediately, new knowledge flooded his mind. This was the first time he experienced something like this, and it was supremely disorienting. His brain could suddenly access knowledge on swordsmanship and manipulating a lightning buffer to enhance his body and mind. In particular, he could use this buffer to perform two abilities: [Flash] and [Fade].

She remained silent as he struggled with the profound knowledge ricocheting in his mind like a stray bullet. It took a dozen minutes before he even became aware of what happened, but still remained too dazed and stunned to do anything more than helplessly remain collapsed against Priscilla's shoulder. And dutifully, she lightly stroked his hair, and held his hand throughout the discomforting experience.

But as the sun set far enough to no longer paint the sky in its brilliant colors, and the fog approached the island to the point that the first house on the outskirts of the village was obliterated, she looked at him and took both his cheeks into her hands.

"Aren," she whispered. "I don't want to die." The last vestige of light was trapped in the shell of a forming tear in her eye. "I don't want it to end like this."

With all his might, he struggled against the paralyzing daze of his mind, and the lightning crawling up his spine, setting his neurons on fire. He wanted to respond to her, but he couldn't.

"If there was a way," she began, "would you come find me out there? Would you come for me?"

Goosebumps patterned his forearms like constellations. His heart burst open, overflowing with determination and hope.

Perhaps she saw the answer in his eyes, or perhaps she sensed it in his pounding heartbeat. She squeezed his hand harder.

"Then there is one final thing I can give you, Aren," she said, looking into his eyes. "My blessing. But to you it might come as a curse. If other adventurers find out you have it, or that you learned my skills from me, they will never let you live. But you will walk in my grace, and in my grace, you will find the path that leads to me, out there."

There was a long pause, as the fog approached closer and closer; now just over a hundred meters away.

"Do you want it?"

[Unique Quest offered: Revival of the Queen of Monsters]

[Warning: If you accept this quest, you will never find safety in Sanctuaries. Other adventurers will have incentives to hunt you down, based on your Calamity rank. Should you accept this quest and become a Calamity, you will become a special character with many advantages and disadvantages. If you fail this quest, you will never be able to accept it again.]

A shock ran through his body. He wasn't sure if this was part of the Lightning Blade skill set that allowed him to do so, but in that moment, the daze cleared, and he felt as if he could think and move freely, but he knew, instinctively, that it would not last forever.

"Yes," he said. "I will come find you, Priscilla. No matter where you are. I will come find you."

She smiled, and the tear trapped in her eye finally slid down her cheek. She nodded. "Then I give you my blessing." Her lips lightly pressed against his, and time stopped. Everything faded away into a black fog.

[Unique Quest started: Revival of the Queen of Monsters]

[Perk received: Priscilla's Blessing]

[You are now a rank E Calamity.]

"I will wait for you, Aren." Her faint voice reached him, as the fog annihilated his existence.