The first time I met Michael had been through the Connected Hearts Foundation, a charity organisation that granted wishes to children with terminal illnesses. Back then I still hadn’t been known by the name Trix. Instead, I was simply Samuel Lopez, charity worker and bereaved father.

Michael was a boy who had been diagnosed with leukaemia, having only an estimated five years left to live. Having spent so much of his early life in a hospital bed, he didn’t have any friends who could visit or play with him. He’d spend day after day staring out the window, waiting for the day he succumbed to cancer.

His wish had been to have a friend for a month, who would play his favourite video game with him. Seeing that it was a simple enough request, I agreed to visit him every day after work.

Every day, I’d take the scenic route from my workplace to the hospital to visit Michael. Whenever I entered, no matter the time of day, I’d see the boy propped up against the pillows, his laptop resting atop his blankets. I’d grab a chair and move over to sit next to him, and boot up the game on my own laptop. Together, we’d adventure through the world of Briarwood Rebirth, slaying monsters and finding treasure.

Since he had to stay all day in the hospital room, I think Michael spent nearly all his time playing Briarwood Rebirth. He played so much that he knew every feature of the game inside out. While I shared little of Michael’s enthusiasm, I was content to listen to the child ramble on and on about the trivia and the lore.

The month flew by. Even after it passed, I still went to the hospital every day to visit Michael. I’d return home exhausted every day, but at the time, I didn’t mind. After all, helping children smile again was why I had joined the Connected Hearts Foundation in the first place. Not to mention, he reminded me of my own boy, who’d passed away a few years ago.

Overlapping my late son with another dying child was likely a terrible idea, in hindsight. But nevertheless, it was what happened. Michael was like another son to me, one that I was actually able to spend time with and cherish before the inevitable.

Sadly, although we made good progress through Briarwood Rebirth, the same could not be said about Michael’s condition. I’d find him drifting off a lot more often, sometimes while we were in the middle of a boss fight. His hands were always cold. Sometimes, he’d wake up and be completely confused as to where he was and who I or his family members were.

Previously, he might have been allowed to be taken outside in a wheelchair for some fresh air, but at that point in time, he was completely bedridden. I’d talked to his doctor and his family about it, and we agreed that we were probably nearing the end right there. We never told Michael about it.

But he seemed to know anyway, because the week before he left, he made one last request.

“Sam?” he’d asked sleepily from his bed.

“Yes, Michael?”

“Can you stay the night?”

“Why?”

“I want to clear the story mode’s final boss. I want you to be here when I do it.”

“Are you sure? You’ll lose everything, Michael. All the things you’ve collected over the years.”

“I know. I just want to reach the ending. Please?”

I was hesitant. He needed to rest. But eventually I gave in. After all, I knew that it wouldn’t be much longer that he could make requests such as this.

I negotiated with the hospital staff and they made an exception. I could stay the night in Michael’s ward room so long as we were quiet and didn’t disturb the other patients. Then, we began to grind.

The Decay’s boss fight was difficult, especially for the condition that Michael was in at the time. It was too quick to dodge, and Michael’s already waning reaction speed couldn’t keep up. I offered to take the laptop from him and beat the boss in his place, but he refused. He wanted to savour the victory himself.

For the next week, Michael spent his days and nights chipping away at the boss, taking naps in between attempts. He’d resorted to prediction instead of reaction, writing down a sequence of optimal counters and using them in order. Surprisingly, it was working. By the end of the week, he managed to do it.

I was there when his last attempt happened. It was the last night I saw him in real life. The light from the monitor shone on his giddy expression, his eyes looking more alive than they had in years. I could tell he wanted to shout, but was trying hard to keep his voice down in the darkened hospital ward. I congratulated him on his hard work, and after a brief celebratory rant, he fell asleep.

By the next morning, his heart had stopped beating.

At the time, I thought that that was that. I attended his funeral service as one of his few friends. I paid my respects. I did my best to console his family. But even after all this, for months, the send off did not seem complete.

Even though I held no love for the game itself, I decided to put an end to my own account to find closure. Well, you know what happened when I did.

I was transported to Briarwood Rebirth. Back then, Chosen Ones were deposited into the Capital instead of in the Fortress of Ruin. Wandering the streets of a familiar yet foreign city, I thought I was dreaming. Along the way, I met Marge, who was just starting up the Chosen Ones’ Alliance.

By her side was Michael. Happy, healthy, and free from all the burdens of his previous life.

No longer was he bedridden, or sickly, or tired. He could run around on his own two feet, without having to be pushed in a wheelchair. He had friends among the Chosen Ones, few as they were back then, but still more than what he had before he passed.

Although Marge was adamant on finding a way out, I wasn’t quite as eager. My wife had divorced me years ago, and my son was dead. Michael, who I treasured like my own son, had been given a second chance, and was alive and well here. There was nothing left for me in the other world.

Pam, Adam, Michael and I. We were the original team that had been tasked with exploring the Ironsalt Wastelands, combing the place for clues on this gateway that Marge thought was there. It was rough going, since there was so much of the Fortress of Ruin to check. Eventually, I had us split up so we could cover more ground.

After a while, however, I noticed that Pam, Adam and a couple other Chosen Ones from different teams were taking advantage of the breaks to interrogate the Decay. Or at least they claimed it was a simple interrogation.

I stopped them whenever I saw it happen. Marge had already interrogated the Decay once, officially, there was no need to do it multiple times. Unlike them, I didn’t think that the Decay was responsible. And even if I didn’t believe that the NPCs were sapient, I did think it was unnecessarily cruel to make a mockery of them.

Like pulling the wings off a fly just to watch it struggle.

Let him be, I thought at the time. He wouldn’t do any harm.

Clearly, I was sorely mistaken.

The Decay told Michael a secret, one that we were never meant to know. Baited by that secret, and the promise of freedom, Michael walked into his trap.

You’d think that lies are the most harmful. In fact, truths freely given are the ones with the most strings attached.

Michael thought the truth would get us out of here.

Instead, it brought down the wrath of this world’s creator.

I knew what Michael was going to do, but I didn’t stop him. I believed in Michael, and Michael believed in the Decay. That was a mistake. I should have stopped him. I should never have trusted the words of the Decay, no matter what Michael thought of it.

Do you know about the S tier dungeon below the Capital? And the boss inside it? Well, Michael went and challenged it, and did as the Decay told him to. The result? You may have heard it from Marge.

As the representatives of the Chosen Ones, the creator of the world summoned Marge and I to an island covered in silver sand.

Michael was… made an example of. I watched the boy die a second time.

This time, permanently.

I wanted to tear that false god down from the sky and beat them for what they did. But the way they had destroyed Michael… It was so effortless. Like blowing the seeds off a dandelion. One minute he was there, the next, he had scattered.

If I threw myself at them, I would die too, and Michael’s sacrifice would be meaningless. There had to be someone to pass on the message. To warn others from going the same path.

When I returned from the silver beach, I made my way to the Fortress of Ruin. I was not in a good state of mind. I was devastated and angry, hellbent on finding someone to hold responsible.

Alone, I climbed the fortress to the very top, and confronted the Decay.

There he was, sitting on his stupid throne. I remember the smug grin he tried to hide as he sat there. Immediately, I knew that what he’d done was intentional. He knew that giving that secret to Michael would lead to his downfall. He’d done it anyway. As revenge against us. All the Chosen Ones.

“Why?” I asked him.

“He was too happy,” he said.

“You all shower him with affection while I have to be taught lessons.”

“It was unfair. I thought I ought to teach him a lesson of my own.”

He smiled.

“Was Father angry?”

I couldn’t control myself. Overwhelmed with rage, I did the exact thing I once reprimanded the other Chosen Ones for. I raised my fists and slammed the Decay into the wall. Again, and again. In my mindless fit of rage, I raved at him. Despite knowing that, as an NPC, as a puppet, he wouldn’t care.

I told him about the cancer. I told him about the second chance. I told him all the bits and pieces that I remembered about Michael, so he wouldn’t forget what he’d taken away.

I hollered till the red faded from my vision and I regained some semblance of sanity back.

I realised that there was no point. At the end of the day, what had I accomplished? The one I really wanted to beat up was out of my reach, and so was the one I wanted to bring back.

So I left.

…

Well, that’s the end of the story. You might be wondering why I’m telling you all this, Luck.

It’s to give you a good picture of what happened all that time ago. An explanation for what just happened. All the mistakes that were made along the way.

Pam and Adam… give them some slack. They were close with Michael too. It may be unjustified, just as you said. But it is far from unprompted.

As for the Decay…

…

Well.

You’ve heard the story. You make your own call.

No matter what you, or Pam, or Adam decide to do, I won’t butt in anymore.

I don’t have any sympathy left.