[INT. NEUROSPHERE CAPSULE — 12:00 AM]
The capsule vibrated gently beneath Carl as the system came to life, enveloping his body in a soft warmth. A wave of light poured in behind his closed eyelids, and then—
Everything turned black.
A second later, a glowing blue interface materialized in front of him, suspended in darkness. Faint orchestral music played in the background, it was haunting and majestic.
[SYSTEM VOICE – FEMALE, SOFT AND CALM]
"Welcome, Adventurer. Neural synchronization confirmed. Conscious transfer complete."
A pulse of light surged across the void.
Suddenly, stars appeared, there millions of them scattered across a pitch-black sky. Planets and nebulae swirled in the distance as if the entire cosmos had been summoned for this moment.
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"You are among the first to walk the path of creation, chaos, and conquest... Welcome to New Eden Online."
A golden logo slowly emerged in the center of the stars:
[NEW EDEN ONLINE]
Where Reality Ends, and Legacy Begins.
With a soft chime, the stars around him shattered like glass and the void gave way to a breathtaking view:
A massive floating continent, suspended in a sky of shifting colors. Lush forests, towering mountains, sprawling medieval cities, ancient ruins, and crystal-blue oceans all merged into one vast world teeming with life and mystery. Dragons soared in the distance. Airships drifted lazily over cities. Players appeared, first by the dozens, then by the hundreds, materializing in glowing light across various floating platforms."
Carl felt the wind on his skin, listened to the birds calling through the trees, and breathed in the scent of pine mixed with the faint smoke of distant campfires.
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"Initializing base parameters... Please choose your starting continent."
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"Initializing base parameters...
Three sovereign interfaces detected. Each represents a unique ideology, history, and destiny. Choose carefully your path will shape not only your nation, but the world itself.
Please choose your starting nation:
[Republic of Virelia]
A democratic republic in an age of gears, steam, and idealism where the will of the people fuels the engine of state.
The Republic of Virelia stands as a bold experiment in self-governance amidst an age dominated by kings and emperors. Modeled on classical republican ideals, Virelia is governed by a constitution, elected officials, and a Senate representing the diverse provinces of the republic.
Its cities bustle with railways, printing presses, and the hum of early industry. A free press, public discourse, and civic institutions shape the lives of its citizens, who pride themselves on liberty, enterprise, and moral purpose.
But Virelia is not without its shadows — bitter partisanship, class divides, and struggles over expansion and reform challenge the strength of its democratic foundation. Can a republic endure in a world ruled by crowns and conquest?
[Aurexian Empire]
An iron-fisted autocracy forged in war and fire, where obedience is strength and the Emperor is eternal.
The Aurexian Empire is a colossal power built on conquest, discipline, and centralized control. From the black-stone capital of Caelvaris, the Eternal Emperor rules with absolute authority, his will enforced by elite legions and a secretive bureaucracy.
Law and order are paramount; dissent is crushed before it can take root. The Empire's might comes not only from its armies, but from its ability to impose structure and purpose on all aspects of life.
Citizens are raised to serve some with pride, others with fear. Behind its grand monuments and marching banners lies a question none dare speak aloud: how long can one man hold the world in his grasp?
[Kingdom of Eldrath]
A realm of noble bloodlines, sacred rites, and ancient oaths, standing tall in the fading light of a mythic age.
The Kingdom of Eldrath is steeped in tradition, where kings and queens rule by divine right and the lineages of old still carry the weight of destiny. Vast countryside fiefdoms bow to the high crown in the citadel of Halemoor, and noble houses guard their honor as fiercely as their lands.
Magic lingers faintly in Eldrath's forests and mountains, woven into the rituals of druids and the symbols etched into castle walls. The Code of Chivalry binds knights to their lords, and the word of the crown is law.
But the world grows restless. New ideas whisper through merchant caravans and foreign emissaries. Will Eldrath cling to its glorious past or dare to face a future it cannot yet comprehend?
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"Nation interfaces successfully initialized. Identity, governance, and legacy await your command.
Make your selection."
Without a second thought, Carl chose the Aurexian Empire.
There was no hesitation. No moral crisis. No weighing of ideals. The other choices barely registered because Carl wasn't here to play the hero. He was here to survive... and profit.
Empires, he knew, were built on blood but more importantly, they were built on opportunity. Every time an empire expanded, cities were razed, palaces looted, libraries burned to ash. And from the rubble, those loyal to the Empire, the opportunists, the clever ones got rich.
He didn't care if the Empire ruled through fear. He didn't care about the cries of the oppressed or the speeches of the righteous. Morality was a luxury for those who could afford to lose.
He could already see the game: powerful nobles, petty rivalries, border conflicts, secret plots. And Carl? He would slide right in a blunt instrument when needed, a silver tongue when it paid. He'd kneel when it was useful, flatter the right lords, and take the quests others feared. Bandit suppression, tax enforcement, border pacification, the kinds of missions that came with gold, blood, and a rising reputation.
Honor wouldn't feed him. Gold would.
He considered the Kingdom of Eldrath for a moment the romanticism, the old gods, the nobility of it all. But his instincts screamed louder than any fairytale. Eldrath was a relic. Smaller, slower, drowning in tradition. A kingdom like that clings to the past while the world burns around it. It might offer pride, maybe even beauty, but it would collapse before long, choked by its own honor and outdated customs.
And as for the Republic of Virelia...
Carl sneered.
He had lived under democracy once or at least, under something that called itself that. He remembered the speeches, the slogans, the shiny posters plastered across crumbling brick walls. Politicians parading through the streets like saviors, promising reform, justice, opportunity for all.
Every election brought a new face, a new anthem, a new promise that this time would be different.
It never was.
The rich stayed rich. They always did. Tucked away in marble estates behind iron gates, they dined on imported delicacies, toasted to "progress," and watched the world burn from their balconies, untouched, unmoved, and unchallenged.
The poor bled in wars they didn't start. They were promised glory, honor, a better life for their sacrifice but came home maimed, broken, or not at all. Those who remained were manipulated, fed propaganda by silver-tongued officials and loyal newspapers and media, told their suffering was noble, necessary, even patriotic.
But it wasn't nobility. It was exploitation. And they sank deeper into debt, into hunger, into desperation.
The poor got poorer. Always.
And the middle class?
They clung to illusions for a time. They stood up in crowded town halls, raised their voices, signed petitions, and wrote letters that were never answered. They marched for reform, begged for justice, and believed that if they just voted harder, the system would fix itself.
But belief has limits.
Some gave up. Quietly. They stopped reading the news. Stopped hoping. Stopped voting.
They buried their ideals and learned to survive in silence.
Others weren't so lucky.
More and more were squeezed dry by taxes, crushed under rising costs and stagnant wages. They slipped through the cracks, losing homes, jobs, futures until they too joined the ranks of the forgotten.
The middle class was vanishing.
The press screamed about progress while the streets fell apart, hunger in the alleys, unrest in the factories, whispers of revolt buried beneath polished headlines. The system propped itself up with noble words and empty rituals, while corruption oozed through every level of government like rot beneath fresh paint.
Carl had seen it. Lived with it and hated it.
Democracy, he'd learned, was a stage play for the masses, a theater of smiling liars in tailored coats, where nothing ever truly changed, and everyone pretended it could.
He'd rather serve under a tyrant who made no excuses… than under a senate full of cowards pretending to care.
Carl had seen the cycle, and he wanted no part of it.
Democracy, to him, wasn't broken, it was rigged by design.
And that's why he turned his back on Virelia. Without regret. Without hesitation.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
All governments were flawed that much he knew. But at least the Empire didn't hide it.
It embraced its strength. It rewarded loyalty. It made no apologies for conquest. And Carl could respect that.
He wasn't idealistic. He wasn't noble. He didn't need to feel good about what he will do.
He just needed coin in his pocket, a sword at his side, and a system that made sense.
So he picked the Empire.
And he didn't look back.
As soon as Carl confirmed his selection, the screen pulsed deep red, like the glow of a dying hearth or the flicker of torches along a fortress wall.
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"Selection confirmed. Initializing imperial allegiance protocol..."
A heavy mechanical sound followed — clank-clank... hiss, like a steel gate opening within the system. Then, the interface shifted. The screen dimmed, and a single black box faded into view, trimmed in silver and embossed with the crest of the Aurexian Empire: a two-headed eagle clutching sword and flame.
A field appeared at the center of the screen:
> DESIGNATE IDENTIFICATION: [ ]
Carl stared at the empty field.
He could've typed anything. A title. A moniker. Something flashy like "Ironfang" or "The Black Wolf" — the kind of name mercenaries and warlords wore like armor to mask their fear.
But he didn't need that.
He didn't need a mask.
He typed five letters. Nothing more.
C A R L
A plain name. A simple name. But to him, it was enough.
Why? He couldn't fully explain it maybe it was instinct, maybe arrogance, maybe something deeper, older. But in his gut, he knew that this name will echo one day.
It wouldn't stay small. It would spread across maps, across enemy lips, across generations. Spoken in war councils. Etched into stone. Feared in rebel whispers. Admired by soldiers. Hated by traitors. Revered by those smart enough to follow instead of fight.
He didn't need grandeur. He didn't need a title, not yet.
One day, "Carl" would be enough to silence a room.
He hit Enter.
The name locked in with a satisfying click, as though the system itself had sealed a pact with fate. The screen flickered, and the Empire's sigil pulsed to life — the twin-headed eagle casting its shadow over his name.
[SYSTEM VOICE]
"Name accepted. Imperial dossier created. Rank: Uninitiated. Clearance: Level I. Welcome to the Aurexian Empire, Citizen Carl. Glory is earned."
The words lingered, and then, everything disappeared.
There was no sense of transition. No dissolving graphics, no fade to black. The screen, the chair, the room, all of it simply ceased to exist. It was as if the world had blinked, and Carl along with it.
When sensation returned, it did so slowly.
He was lying down. The surface beneath him was hard, rough, and unwelcoming stone, most likely. His cheek rested against it, and he could feel the grit of sand and flakes of old rust against his skin. The air was cold, damp, and filled with a heavy, stale scent like soil that had never seen the sun.
He opened his eyes. Or perhaps they had been open the entire time. The darkness was nearly total, broken only by a faint, unsteady orange glow from somewhere beyond. As his vision adjusted, shapes began to resolve around him. Walls are close and irregular, made of dark stone, rose on either side. Iron bars stood directly ahead of him, casting long shadows into the room.
A cell. He was in a cell.
Carl sat up slowly, his body stiff, head pounding with a dull throb. His clothes were the same, but his surroundings were entirely alien. There was no sign of a console. No trace of the room he had been in. Only the stone floor, the cold air, and the iron bars, silent witnesses to his arrival.
He moved toward the front of the cell, heart heavy with a quiet dread. There was no lock on the door. No chain or bolt holding it shut. The bars ended in a hinged frame, and the frame stood slightly ajar.
The cell was open.
He paused.
Not kicked in, not broken — just… open.
He reached out and pushed it gently. The metal groaned, not from disuse, but from age. The door swung outward with a reluctant creak, revealing a narrow corridor beyond, lit intermittently by torches set high in the stone walls. Their flames hissed and swayed in unseen drafts, casting shadows that danced like figures just beyond reach.
He looked back at the space he had awoken in a simple stone chamber, empty save for a rusted bucket and a heavy iron ring set into the floor.
Why was the door open?
Why bring someone here, only to leave them unbound?
He stepped into the corridor, barefoot against the cold stone. The air was heavier out here, but it moved not freely, but as though something deeper in the complex was drawing breath.
There was no sound beyond the torches and the occasional drip of water. No voices. No footsteps. No sign of life.
Carl smiled faintly.
That suited him just fine.