*I haven’t published any fiction in a while, and decided to try this out. I will be posting a webnovel here one chapter at a time, and editing it here and elsewhere, once I have chapters finished enough to share. Will see how this goes!*

*Warning, chapter one of this story includes discussion of suicide and could be triggering to some individuals. Reader discretion is advised.*

Book 1 – Vikom’s Story

Chapter 1 – Welcome to Xaranya

It’s amazing, how in a second everything can change. One second, Vikom was alive and an actual person, a son, a brother (to two sisters, no brothers), a loving husband.

Then, one day, he fell off a ladder and died.

Looking back on the experience later, long after the pain of his death faded, long after he started to forget what Susan looked like, how her hair smelled after she stepped out of the shower, long after … all of that, he can still remember the sensation, the dream-like sequence where he got to choose his starting class. He started – like every other foreigner – outside his body, staring a computer screen, playing one of those games where you got to choose race, name, et cetera. Except, the only choice he got was class. Out of the available options, including all the standard ones like [Mage] and [Cleric], he chose [Paladin] because it seemed cool – the kind of thing Susan would choose, if she were here.

Once he completed his class selections, the screen went away. His physical body returned, and then….

Suddenly, Vikom stood on a beach, wearing khaki pants and a linen shirt and … not much else. A gentle wave slid up onto the shore and over his bare feet, grains of sand swept away as the wave swished back into the water. Nearby, a [Fisher] with a long pole stuck in the water turned to another [Fisher], one a guy with olive-toned skin and long, braided hair and tattoos all along his bare arms, the second a red-haired, pale-skinned woman. He knew they were both [Fisher] types because of the … invisible(?) no that was not the word, the visible but in another way(?) signs over their heads that told him that – in brackets, for some reason.

The guy [Fisher] said, “Not another one.”

The female [Fisher] turned to face Vikom and … sighed.

Music, a song that reminded him of a string quartet he had heard once, a pleasant song rose up from water. Glowing golden words appeared in front of him, words in a pretty, glittering cursive: “Welcome to Xaranya.”

The music and the words both faded and Vikom started getting the starter prompts, little messages on the edge of his vision telling him where to go next. Those messages went away once he reached Level 5 [Commoner], but he still remembers them vividly, to this very day. He remembers the first starter apartment he received in his first starter town, remembers examining his new-old body, his two hands, no longer scarred over the left pinky from that unfortunate fall. His hair stopped growing on its own. He decided to keep it the length he died, coarse and dark brown, face clean-shaven and smoother than it had ever been.

He would never need to shave again. Absent some magic, he remains five feet nine inches forever. He started with the same, decent build, flat-chested and broad-shouldered, but frequent training turned him into, well, he would eventually become quite proud of this body. For whatever that might be worth.

Vikom could never be sure at what point, at what time Xaranya started to feel real to him. Maybe it was the first moment, the smell of things, the way things felt, the annoyed look on the [Fishers] faces as they saw him on the shore, like a piece of driftweed.

Mostly though, he’d have to say it was the day he lost Karol, his first and thus far only real friend.

Perhaps that would be as good a place as any to start.

To be clear, Karol didn’t die. Xaranya has never been and never will be one of those worlds, like earth, where people actually die. Xaranya has high-level [Clerics] to cast [Resurrection] on you for one thing, and then there is the [Death Penalty] debuff if you don’t have a [Cleric]. If you don’t have a high-level [Cleric] around, you lose a level and automatically go back to the place where you last woke up.

Karol had attained Level 5 [Warrior] when they first met. As one of the Merfolk, Karol had run-of-the-mill blue-green skin and dark green hair he wore in braids. His large oval eyes and broad lips looked somewhere between fish and human. Karol was much shorter than Vikom but fast, moving through air like water as he sometimes joked. At times, he did seem to float or to fly while moving.

Among the low-level fighting classes, they both developed a reputation for being fearsome fighters, unbeaten in their respective classes. Karol was a dazzling fast [Warrior], so fast sometimes Vikom couldn’t even follow with his eyes, but Vikom – oh Vikom knew how to take a flurry of blows, how to track feints and lunges. They both favored the same kind of broadsword, two-handed. They both respected each other’s form and less than a  year after Vikom’s arrival they were actively seeking each other out as dueling partners. Karol was fifteen years old and Vikom was twenty-five but it all depended on how you measured time, and Vikom was less than one year old to Xaranya, and no one measured his age in any other way.

Of course, when Karol got his First Big Break, he had to take it, training with legendary [Samurai Warrior] Alistan. Of course, Vikom was still trying to cope with being in a strange new world back then, after just three years in Xaranya. Karol was seventeen, and Vikom was 28 going on 3, feeling very much both/neither.

Karol gave his friend the news outside, in a public area called The Gardens, which … was someplace like the Xaranyan version of a park. Little children played and defeated bunny-shaped creatures there. In all fairness to Karol, this was about as neutral a place as they were likely to find, the two of them sitting outside, Vikom trying not to notice the small child crying because it did not want to kill the fuzzy bunny, while the child’s mom explained – ever so patiently – that the bunny wasn’t a real bunny. Look, the mom was saying in the background, while it stabbed the bunny with a dagger.

The child only started to cry harder. Karol didn’t even notice. Vikom did, though. Vikom couldn’t not notice. What the hell kind of messed-up place was this?

The bunny re-appeared a second later and the mom tried to hand the child the knife, but the child refused – point blank. No way. Not so secretly, Vikom cheered the child on. And … Karol was still talking.

“This is a really great opportunity for me,” Karol pointed out, and he was right, of course, totally right. Not emotionally healthy – at all – to have just one friend.

“Do you even see that?” Vikom asked.

“See what?” Karol asked, looking around, seeing the child stomping its foot, having a temper tantrum. Seeing other kids playing catch with a ball. Seeing the mountain peak beyond, because The Gardens had an excellent view of the broader world.

“Nothing,” Vikom said. “Never mind. You were telling me about this … great opportunity you have.”

“You’re a better fighter than me,” Karol said, turning back to face him. “Look, Vikom, all you need to do is train in the dungeon a couple of times. You are so good at this, Vikom. You need to get over this fear, man. Your fear of these stupid starter fights.”

Vikom was not afraid of – for crying out loud. He simply found violence morally wrong. Of any kind. To anyone. Why couldn’t any of them understand this? He wanted to go over to the small child and give the small child a hug. To tell the small child it was okay, that there were other classes that would not require … killing things. Not everyone should have to spend time killing things.

“I am not afraid of the dungeon,” Vikom said. “I am afraid of God. I serve God. That’s why I chose [Paladin] not [Warrior].” None of that was remotely true, well not at first, but it was simpler than trying to explain….

“Cool, cool,” Karol said. “If you think your – um – God or whatever is that against ‘violence,’ it’s not too late to change classes from [Paladin] to [Cleric].” Another suggestion his friend kept making.

“No thank you.”

“I don’t know why you have to be so stubborn about this. I know things were different where you were, but seriously man. Didn’t you have boring, standardized tests that everyone has to take?” Vikom had mentioned this a couple of times in conversation, and Karol remembered that part.

“It’s not the same thing.” Vikom started to get up, wanting to leave this conversation, but he stopped himself. “I’m talking about tests that involve sitting down with pen and paper-“

“Well, of course. We have those too, but you need to finish at least one or two practicals.”

“You need to KILL people. And … I refuse, okay? Killing people is always wrong, and I know this is all a test, and I know it is a test that I am failing no matter what I do, because I know maybe – am I in hell. Would you tell me, if I were?”

Karol stared, open-mouthed at his friend, because he could tell Vikom was deeply, deeply upset about … something. And, frankly, talking a bit crazy now.

“Vikom,” he said quietly. “What is hell? What does that word mean? It’s an Erath thing, isn’t it?”

Oh yeah, Karol constantly mispronounced earth. Most people didn’t even bother to try to learn the word, at all, and why should they? At least Karol tried.

“Yes,” Vikom said. “It is one of those earth things.” He emphasized the correct pronounciation – not for the first time.

“Have you thought about joining one of those foreigner groups. They even have a few good [Healers] who specialize in … foreigner adjustment issues. Some of them were born on Erath like you. Maybe they could….”

“Never mind,” Vikom said. “It’s not important.” Vikom had – in fact – tried and … he didn’t even want to think about that now.

“Are you sure, because….”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. Look, it’s not a big deal. We’ll keep in touch, right?”

“Sure.”

Of course, Vikom was not okay. From The Gardens he walked to the local church, which was dedicated to St. Brendan the Navigator, someone Vikom had never even heard of before moving here. Speaking of things that no one here thought was strange – but it was definitely strange – everyone here “believed in God” and was Christian, but in some kind of medieval church kind of a way, where there was only one church and therefore no one called it Catholic or Presbyterian or Orthodox. It was just … church. Also, he was pretty sure the saints they were dedicated to were real saints on earth, but no one paid much attention to that.

Anyway, he often went to the church to pray, to ask God for something, for a sign.

Never, not once, did he get a sign.

And yet, this was the day Vikom began to believe this place was real, that this was not some dream, that he was not just in a coma, dreaming.

“God,” he said, kneeling down on the altar rail before the tabernacle, beside which a single candle in a single red candle-holder flickered. He knelt alone on the padded kneeler, arms resting on the solid wood railing, the silence of the space endlessly mundane. He might as well have been on earth right now for all the good this did. What was the point of this place? Why was he in this place? What even was this place?

These were all questions he had asked so many times – and gotten no answer, and then…. Every time he started to think, as he had just started to think, that he could go through one day and another day, not because he understood what was going on, but because he was used to it now. Every time, there was another reminder.

Every time.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, looking up at the crucifix, at the figure he knew so well, and what was it even doing here in this fantasy video game world? Was this place even real?

With a grunt of frustration, Vikom lifted himself up from the altar and went out into the cool darkness of approaching night. Eyrin’s Peak was not far, a five-minute, steep walk to the edge of the ravine just north of town. Vikom had considered this many times, as a kind of test, of this world, of … his resolve. He paused for only a second on the edge, paused to … no, he was not even going to pray. He didn’t pause, didn’t stop to think.

He lifted one foot and then another and let himself fall into open air that felt real as it rushed past him, real as the jagged rocks that flew past his face, real as the ground his body hit with a thud and then several loud cracks as his body broke and bounced and came to a halt.

He died alone, at the bottom of the tallest ravine he could find, and it was a stupid, painful thing to do. His spirit immediately detached from his broken body, which gradually faded away, leaving behind his possessions (he would return to his grave later to reclaim them, a pouch with the cash he had on him, the clothes he had been wearing, not much else). 

Due to not having a [Cleric] around to cast [Resurrection], after an hour he came back to life alone, in his room, having lost one level.

He was now a level 9 [Paladin], with 0 experience points toward Level 10, and of course Karol would notice.

Of course, Karol did notice the next time he happened to see Vikom, two days later on the street in front of the baker. Vikom needed to eat and loved fresh bread and….

“There you are! You had me worried for a minute.”

Of course, Karol noticed he had lost a level and made the assumption that anyone would make.

Vikom had been dreading this conversation, hoping he would get himself to Level 10 before seeing Karol.

“So,” Karol said, smiling. “Where have you been for the past couple days? Other than getting killed. Darn it.”

He was tempted to lie, to say oh yeah, stupid, he was out killing bunnies by the western wall and Arbinger, that one Goblin [Raider] that occasionally showed up, popped up nearby and he … He built a story in his brain, one that his friend would totally believe. No one would ever know otherwise.

And he couldn’t. He could not lie about killing starter mobs.

He could not do it.

Something deep inside himself refused to do it.

Maybe it was that stupid, noble [Paladin] class at work.

Karol saw the look on his friend’s face and frowned slightly, STILL misreading the situation. “Look, man, whatever happened. First of all, good. You got out there, got bloody. Second, we all do stupid things. You don’t even need to tell me about it. It’s fine.”

“I … jumped off Eyrin’s Peak,” Vikom said, the words tumbling out of him. “I was hoping that I would … escape if I did. I woke up in my room instead.” There. Total honesty.

Karol – kind and well-meaning Karol stared at him.

“Man,” Karol said. “Look, Vik. No pressure. I have – a friend of mine gave me a number to give you because … you remember Leem, right?”

Leem was a Novice [Healer] and one of the nicest, kindest people Vikom had ever met. Yes, he remembered her.

“Well, I mentioned you were having … adjustment issues or whatever, and she gave me contact information for a really great [Healer]. Someone from Erath like you. Here. Take it.”

He handed Vikom the paper, and Vikom.

“Get some help,” Karol said. “And then … maybe, well, you have my information, and I will see you again, okay? But get some help first, please. Tell me that you will.”

Vikom let the paper fall to the ground. And left. And, that would be the last time he saw Karol.

For a while. Anyway.