The first thing Vikram did the moment he stumbled into his new alien apartment was search for Duck.
That damned snake was too stupid to survive on its own. For all its attitude, Duck had been with him through thick and thin, and after everything Vikram had endured lately, he couldn't stomach the idea of losing it too.
"Duck?" he called, voice hoarse, eyes scanning every corner of the room with desperation that didn't belong to a man but a lost child.
And then—movement. A lazy coil uncurled from beneath the bed, followed by a small hiss that sounded almost... excited?
The moment Duck slithered up to him with its usual, idiotically energetic demeanor, Vikram let out a long, shaky breath.
"You snake-faced bastard," he muttered, scooping the creature into his arms. "Don't pretend you missed me. I know you're just waiting to grow long enough to eat me in my sleep. I saw that reel. Loud and clear."
Duck flicked its tongue innocently, curling itself comfortably around his arm as if mocking him.
With that taken care of, Vikram finally allowed himself to sit down. The apartment was strange—alien walls, unfamiliar layout, and that faint sterile scent common to government-owned units. But at least it was quiet. For now.
He wasn't overly troubled by the sudden shift in his life. After everything that had happened, another relocation barely scratched the surface of his mental exhaustion.
What did ache, though, was the realization that his days as a streamer were likely over. The laughs, the rants, the late-night chats with strangers that somehow became friends—gone. Just like Earth. Just like everything else.
But even sorrow, when piled too high, turns to apathy.
Vikram leaned back, eyes heavy. "I'm done," he muttered. "I don't want to feel anything tonight. No grief, no anger. Nothing."
He collapsed onto the bed, pulling over the softest blanket he'd ever touched—an absurd luxury in such a cold place. Outside the window, a foreign sky darkened slowly, quietly, the stars flickering like strangers.
Wrapped in warmth, Vikram curled up on the bed like a hurt animal. Small. Alone. Tired beyond measure.
He closed his eyes.
But sleep refused to come.
Instead, a slow irritation crawled through his body. Like something was under him. Sharp. Unnatural.
He shifted, frowning. The discomfort grew until it felt like a rod of cold metal was embedded beneath his spine.
He opened his eyes—only to find darkness.
Not the kind that came with sleep or night.
A different darkness. A suffocating void that pulsed with dread.
"…No…" Vikram whispered, voice cracking.
He tried to sit up—but the moment he moved, his entire world twisted.
He was no longer in his apartment.
He was nowhere.
The despair hit him like a tidal wave, cold and final.
"To hell with it all!"
A flicker.
Then light.
Hovering in the abyss, Vikram found himself facing a screen suspended in space—simple, almost archaic in design, but ominously clear.
[New Game][Save Game][Load Game]
The moment he saw these options, it was as though his body that was tense relaxed subconsciously, because this was a game's Main menu.
The background behind the options shimmered faintly, an old scratched CD spinning endlessly in the void like some forgotten relic of the past. It rotated slowly, humming with static energy, as though waiting for a command.
Vikram blinked. Or at least, he thought he did.
That was when he realized—he had no body. No arms. No legs. Not even breath.
He wasn't in his physical form anymore.
He floated like a wisp, ethereal and weightless. A presence without mass, consciousness without flesh. The realization didn't scare him—at least, not yet. Something deeper told him this wasn't death.
It was something else.
He focused his mind, and with a thought alone, he selected the first option.
[New Game]
The instant his will brushed the command, the CD behind the screen rippled like water. The image distorted and twisted until it cracked apart like glass, swallowing Vikram whole into the whirl of cascading pixels.
He didn't fall. He transferred.
When Vikram opened his eyes again—if they could still be called eyes—he stood in a vast cathedral of stone and silence. Three statues towered before him, each one impossibly tall, their carved forms glowing faintly with inner life.
To his left stood a hulking figure wrapped in a tattered wolfskin coat. Muscles bulged under the cracked stone, and primal rage poured off the statue like steam. Its mouth curled in a hungry snarl, its fingers curled into fists as if ready to leap from its pedestal and rip the world apart.
To his right stood a figure cloaked in shadows—tall, gaunt, and draped in a long overcoat. A wide-brimmed hat covered its eyes, and though its face was obscured, Vikram felt its calculating gaze pierce him from beneath the brim. A silent predator. Mysterious. Dangerous.
In the center stood a knight. Regal, immovable. A long sword rested tip-down in front of him, both hands placed reverently on the hilt. His armor was polished yet worn, etched with ancient runes. He radiated duty and quiet strength—a sentinel frozen in time.
Above them, a prompt hovered in glowing script:
[Select your Class][Barbarian][Knight][Mage]
Vikram stepped forward instinctively, heart beating faster. He could feel the weight of each path pressing down on him, as though the statues weren't choices—but destinies.
He lingered, then turned to the left.
Barbarian.
Vikram saw darkness first—thick, endless, swallowing all.
Then, a faint sound emerged.
A heartbeat.
Not his. Not anyone's. The world's.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
Vikram heard a voice—low, raw, eternal—whispering from the depths beyond time:
"When the First Silence cracked...the Great Curtain stirred."
Vikram saw the black fade into a vast tapestry—stars unraveling across a boundless void. Threads of gold spun and twisted, weaving a world from the nothingness. Mountains burst forth like newborn dreams; seas poured from the yawning mouths of slumbering gods; skies ignited with fresh light.
"From the veins of the World-Titan, creation bled.And so began the Age of the Curtain's Breath."
Vikram saw great cities floating, tethered by shimmering threads of crystal. Colossal beasts, armored in stone and steel, marched through oceans of mist. Trees of flame soared like spires, their roots pulsing with molten life. Humanity thrived beneath the gaze of the Curtain, a delicate, vast fabric binding fate itself.
"But no weave holds forever.And the Curtain... began to tear."
Vikram saw the fabric shudder and fray. The golden threads dimmed, the sky cracked open.
"Some blamed the Hollow Stars.Others whispered of the Broken Seers."
A crown tumbled. A god knelt. Silence swallowed their breath.
"But in truth...the Curtain was ripped."
Vikram saw a shadow move—not a shape, not a form, but a Presence—older than time, colder than the void. It slid unseen across the lands, unraveling reality not with hunger, but with purpose.
"And thus began the Unbinding."
Vikram saw the sky unravel like thread pulled loose. Cities fell like shattered dreams. The Curtain fluttered its last fragile flicker—and was torn apart.
No dawn followed.
"The gods fled.Stars screamed behind shattered veils.And the world... dreamed of silence."
Flames guttered and died.
Vikram saw a woman in black robes kneeling by a broken pillar. Her lips moved in a forgotten tongue.
She raised a dagger to her throat—
But then a single ember drifted down from the void, landing on her palm.
She stopped. Her eyes widened.
"But in the ash,one spark wanders still."
Vikram's vision shifted abruptly—he found himself staring into the depths of a cavern, suffocating in its gloom. The air hung heavy, thick with the weight of silence and decay.
Before him lay a mountain of corpses, twisted and broken, a testament to battles long lost and hopes long crushed. The stench of death clung to everything.
Yet amidst that endless heap, something caught Vikram's eye, a single pale hand, resting lifelessly on the edge of the pile, the body of the hand buried inside the pile of corpses.
And then, softly, almost tenderly, a thread of golden light descended from above. It floated like a whisper, a fragile spark, before settling gently upon the outstretched hand.
The hand remained still for a moment, as still as death itself.
Then, faintly...
A twitch.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The fingers twitched with growing purpose, as if the spark wove life back into forgotten sinew and bone.
And then, abruptly, the hand clenched into a fist—gripping the thread of fate, refusing to let go.
"You, The Untethered OneAwakened without a threadA soul unbound, a fate unsaidYou walk the path none dare to tread."