POV: André Castor
I'm lying in bed right now, wearing the VR headset to dive into the new game I bought earlier today.
The game is called Dynastie Online, and it's incredibly detailed—perfect for anyone who loves strategy games.
Tonight, my goal is to create my character. I want to build the strongest, most powerful warrior this world has ever seen.
I'm sitting in a white room, clean and infinite, speaking with the AI who's guiding me through every step. It's surprisingly helpful, answering each of my questions without hesitation.
I ask about the available species, and the AI replies that there are eleven in total—including orcs, humans, elves, dwarves, goblins, hobgoblins, and various half-human hybrids.
I pause to think. I weigh the pros and cons of each race—speed, strength, intelligence, adaptability.
In the end, I choose Hobgoblins. They're stronger and more disciplined than their smaller goblin cousins, and built for war. Military-focused, strategic, efficient—just like the legacy I intend to create.
The AI seemed visibly pleased with my decision. A soft pulse of light ran through her form, as if she acknowledged something greater than just a simple selection.
"An excellent foundation," she said. "Hobgoblin blood carries strength, structure... and ambition. Now, choose your path."
New symbols appeared before me, spinning slowly in the air: icons representing professions, destinies, ways of life.
"These are your classes," the AI continued. "You may select two: a primary and a secondary. Your primary defines your role in the world. The secondary adds flexibility, depth... uniqueness."
I studied the options:
Mercenary – hardened by war, trained in all forms of combat, loyal only to coin.
Tactician – a master of battlefield control, formation strategies, and troop leadership.
Hunter – swift, silent, deadly at range.
Warlock – a wielder of forbidden magic, at the cost of trust and purity.
Blacksmith – builder of weapons and armor, vital for war economies.
Diplomat – silver-tongued and calculating, capable of turning enemies into allies.
Beastmaster – one with the wild, commanding creatures in battle.
I didn't hesitate long.
"Primary class: Mercenary."
A warrior who sells his blade to the highest bidder. Ruthless, experienced, feared. It fit perfectly.
"Secondary class: Tactician."
I wouldn't just fight—I'd lead. My mind would be my weapon, my soldiers the sharpest blades in my arsenal.
The AI's glow brightened once more. "Mercenary and Tactician. A deadly combination. You're not just building a character—you're laying the first stone of a legend."
The ground beneath my feet began to shift. The white room dissolved into mist.
"Prepare yourself, André Castor," the AI said one last time. "Your dynasty begins now."
Before I could finally enter the world, one last choice remained.
"Now," the AI spoke, "name your dynasty. The name will carry your legacy. It will be remembered—or feared."
I stood in silence for a moment, letting the weight of that sentence sink in.
This name wouldn't just be cosmetic. It would echo through the lands of Dynastie Online. It would appear on banners, in war reports, in whispered tales around campfires.
I wanted something that felt goblin-born. Something raw, proud, ancient.
Ogodai.
It came to me naturally. Harsh and powerful. The sound of iron and ambition.
"Dynasty name: Ogodai," I confirmed aloud.
This wasn't just a dream anymore.
It was my purpose.
I would carve Ogodai into the foundations of this world—stone by stone, battle by battle.
And one day, the world would kneel before the Goblin King.
Me.
I will be a king someday—
That much is certain. That is my choice. My destiny.
But before I can claim a throne, I must decide the origin of my dynasty.
Who I am, and where my bloodline begins.
Dynastie Online made it clear: this was the next task.
A prompt appeared before me:
"Describe the founding story of your dynasty."
I began to write, my fingers steady, my mind clear.
"The Ogodai Dynasty was born from the Hobgoblin Narûn and his younger brother Kar.
Two sons of the stone hills, hardened by clan wars and endless hunger.
Their dream was simple: to become mercenaries—not for gold alone,
but to see the vast world beyond the marshes and ruins of their homeland."
Their story wasn't one of nobility or divine right.
It was one of grit, ambition, and the will to rise above obscurity.
Their journey would begin in Vallegrad, the great trading state.
A place of coin, chaos, and opportunity.
There, they would earn their name—not through birth, but through steel and strategy.
The Ogodai would be remembered.
Not as beggars, but as blades for hire.
And someday… rulers.
I looked back at the AI, who had been guiding me with calm determination.
There was one more thing I needed to know—something essential.
"What exactly is the task?" I asked.
"What must I do to shape my destiny?"
The AI turned to me, her expression unreadable, yet her presence steady and grounded.
She paused for a brief moment before answering,
"That," she said softly, "is different for everyone. From person to person."
Her words echoed in the white silence.
"Some build through war. Others through trade, politics, or loyalty. The path to power has no map—only choices. And each one reveals who you truly are."
I nodded slowly, understanding.
There was no single way forward—no right answer. Only my decisions would define what the Ogodai would become.
And with that, the light around us began to dim—
signaling that the world of Dynastie Online was ready for me.
Ready to test my will.
Ready to remember my name.
"And what will my task be?" I asked again, my voice calm but firm, unwilling to let the question go unanswered.
The AI turned her head slightly, as if studying me from a different angle. Then she smiled—or something close to it, a flicker of understanding in her shifting features.
"You've already chosen it," she replied. "It was delivered the moment you named your dynasty."
A pause.
"Survive as a mercenary in the city of Vallegrad.
Forge your name into its stones.
No matter the means."
Her voice grew deeper with those last words. Not threatening—but heavy with consequence.
"You may deal in honor. Or fear. Trade in steel, blood, or gold. It matters not to the system. Only that your name echoes."
I stared at her, a spark of something fierce rising within me.
Vallegrad.
A city of power, of shadows, of shifting loyalties.
That would be my crucible.
And Ogodai—my legacy.