Lyra walked around the glowing hologram of Project Underworld, inspecting the content. Her analytical mind was already breaking it down, processing the data. She swiped a hand, moving to the next file, a character portrait.
"This is Zeus, right?" she said, pointing to an illustration of a regal, bearded man wreathed in lightning. "The god of all gods you used to tell me about? When I was little?"
Dorian, sitting on her bed, chuckled. "When you were little? Lyra, that was one and a half years ago. You are still little."
Lyra's cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, and she spun around. "Ugh! Are you asking for my help or are you just here to tease me?"
"Okay, okay, sorry," Dorian said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Yes, that is Zeus. Though... I do leave a lot of my old nighttime stories scattered around, huh?"
"Besides that point," Lyra said, turning back to the holograms, her expression now serious and focused. "I think this will work. But you are going to have a very hard time telling the story."
"Oh?" Dorian said, leaning forward, genuinely interested. "Tell me more."
Lyra zoomed in, pulling up the character files for Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. "I have some background knowledge on these guys," she said, tapping each portrait. "Courtesy of your stories. So I can follow the main conflict. But the general population? The people playing the game? They do not know who these gods are. Are you going to make the game while also having to introduce this entire, complex mythology? Personally, I barely kept up with that Lord of the Rings story you tried to tell, and that was just one story."
Dorian put his hand to his chin, thinking. "Hmmmm. I think you underestimate the general public."
"What makes you think that?" Lyra challenged, crossing her arms.
Dorian picked up his heliopad and connected it to the holographic puck. The images of the Greek gods were replaced by a new, vibrant feed: the Stardew Valley community forums.
"Look," he said, pulling up a thread. It was a gallery of fan art. But then he swiped again. It was a forum for fan fiction, thousands of pages of stories written by players, expanding on the simple lives of the pixelated villagers. He swiped again.
"Look at this," he said, pointing to a specific post. "This person... they saw the in-game character, Leah, doing wood carving. So they went out, bought a set of tools, and started carving Stardew chickens out of real wood."
He pulled up another. "And this. A cooking thread. People taking the simple, pixelated 'Strange Bun' recipe and trying to create a real, edible version. People are planting small herb gardens in their tiny Accord-regulated apartments, all because of this game."
He turned off the feed, the image of Zagreus returning to the center of the room. "They were given constraints inside the game," Dorian said, his voice quiet but intense. "The story flows the same for everyone. But these people... they built upon that simple base. They used their own creative minds to build the world out, to make it their own. So, I believe they will do the same with this new project."
Lyra was silent for a long moment, staring at the hologram, then at her brother. She let out a long sigh. "Okay. I see your point." She walked back to the holographic display, her mind already working, analyzing the new problem. "But I do have more story adjustment suggestions, to make the introduction smoother."
Dorian smiled, a look of pure, unadulterated pride on his face. "That is what I am here for. Throw it on me."
Lyra and Dorian, two brilliant, creative minds, smiled. Surrounded by the glowing, ethereal images of ancient gods, they got to work.
While Dorian was busy mapping out the complex family tree of his new game's divine protagonists, the fate of a small planet in the distant Outer Rims was about to change dramatically.
…
We shift to Dagma, a planet covered in a single, continent-spanning jungle. Horus, a young Dagmani hunter, ran for his life. His people were unique, with dark, rich skin and fingers that ended in sharp, obsidian-like claws. His long, black hair was unbraided, a sign that he was not yet bonded. All his life, he had been a simple hunter for his tribe.
Hundreds of years ago, as the legends told, the first "sky people" had landed their ships on Dagma. The technology they brought; water purifiers, medical synthesizers, long-range communication had given the Dagmani comfort and health they had never known. Life, for generations, had been good.
Until last night.
New ships came, not the sleek, silver ships of the old stories, but heavy, gray, menacing vessels. New sky people emerged, with big, imposing statures, clad in armor as white as bone. Horus's tribe had greeted them as honored guests, as they had been taught. Their platoon leader, a cold-faced man, had asked to meet with the tribe's king. They were led into the great hut, and the tribe waited.
But when the platoon leader emerged, he was spattered with the king's blood. His eyes were cold. He gave a single, simple command to his white-armored soldiers.
"Clear the area."
Horus ran. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the screams of his tribe echoing behind him, his only thought to get to the neighboring tribe, to warn them.
A streak of blinding, blue-white light, a Photon Burst sizzled past his head, vaporizing a giant jungle leaf in his path. He looked back. Two of the white-armored beasts were chasing him, their Radiant Carbines already raised for another shot.
He ran, his heart hammering in his chest, his lungs on fire. He saw it, an unfamiliar cave, hidden behind a curtain of thick vines. He made a loud beeline to the left, a feint to distract them, then, at the last second, dove through the vines and into the cool, dark safety of the cave.
He pressed his back against the stone, his breathing ragged. As his eyes adjusted, he saw carvings on the cave wall near the entrance. It was a strange language, one he had never seen before. But as he stared at the glowing, unfamiliar runes, the symbols seemed to shift, to rearrange themselves in his mind, until, impossibly, he could read the message.
'Only a master of the five ways may enter.'
He looked at his sharp, hunter's hands. He did not know what the cave meant. 'What five ways?' Was this a trap? A mechanism to punish him if he did not... qualify?
His hesitation was shattered by the sound of heavy, armored footsteps and the crash of foliage just outside the cave entrance. He had no choice. He scrambled deeper into the darkness.
The narrow tunnel opened into a large, perfectly circular chamber, lit by a soft, ethereal glow. In the center were five massive, carved stone pillars. Horus stared, his hunter's mind trying to make sense of the carvings. One was a Sword. The next, a heavy Axe. The third, a strange, spouted Watering Can. The fourth, a Fishing Rod. And the last, a simple Pickaxe.
In the very center of the pillars was a single, smaller pedestal. A new line of runes glowed upon it.
'The Last Path'
As he scanned the pedestal, he saw it. A single, simple piece of paper, looking impossibly clean and out of place, resting on the cold stone. He snatched it up.
He heard the crunch of boots at the cave's entrance. "He came in here. Spread out."
Horus dove behind the massive stone pillar carved with the Sword, his heart hammering against his ribs, his hand clutching the strange piece of paper as he tried to silence his own, terrified breathing.
…
Two Legion troopers entered the cave, their white armor a jarring, sterile intrusion in the softly glowing, ancient chamber. Their helmet-mounted lights cut sharp, white beams through the dimness.
"Whoa," the first trooper said, his voice a tinny crackle over the comm. "Look at this. A little pedestal."
"That is what you are focused on?" the second trooper, the veteran, snapped. "There is clearly something else more pricey here." He gestured with his Radiant Carbine at the five massive, carved pillars.
The first trooper, the rookie, walked over to the Pickaxe pillar and brushed his armored fingers over the carving. "Hmmm, this one looks... brand-new-ish."
"How do you know?"
"The carving," the rookie said, his voice full of feigned expertise. "It is too neat. Too precise for these primitives."
Just then, a voice crackled over their private comm. "Squad 3, we have a visual on a male Dagmani, northeast of your position, moving towards the river."
The veteran trooper tapped his helmet. "Oh. I guess he did not come in here after all. Let's move."
The two started to walk out. But then, the rookie paused. "Wait."
He turned and walked back, his heavy boots echoing in the chamber, walking straight towards the Sword pillar.
Horus was right behind the sword pillar. He was pressed so flat against the stone he felt he had become part of it. He held his breath, his sharp claws digging into his own palms, a single, agonizing drop of sweat rolling down his temple. He could feel the ozone from the trooper's armor, the recycled air from his helmet's ventilator.
The rookie stopped, his helmet's black visor an unfeeling, terrifying void. He was staring at the intricate carving of the Sword.
"I have seen this sword shape before," the rookie mused, tapping the pixelated carved pommel with his gloved finger.
"You said that every time you want to skip sweeping an area," the veteran's voice called, full of annoyance, from the cave entrance.
The rookie chuckled, a nervous, tinny sound. "Is it obvious?"
"Better to pull that trick on the new recruits, not me," the veteran sighed. "Let's go. The commander's getting antsy."
"Fine, fine," the rookie said.
They both left, for real this time.
Horus did not move. He did not breathe. He listened, his entire being focused on the sound of their heavy boots crunching on the gravel outside, the sound fading, fading, until it was gone, replaced by the distant, panicked cries of jungle birds.
He was alone. He was safe.
He could not hold it in anymore. His knees buckled, and he slid down the pillar, his body collapsing against the cold stone. A sound, a terrible, choked, silent wail, ripped from his throat. He cried. He cried for his king, for his tribe, for the life that was gone. He cried in gratitude for the cave, in happiness that he was alive, and in the profound, agonizing grief of being the only one who was. All the emotions he could not even imagine, all the feelings he had suppressed to survive the chase, broke out of him in a long, silent, body-wracking wave of mourning.
After a long time, the storm passed. He felt empty, exhausted, but alive. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm and then realized he was still clutching the crumpled piece of paper he had snatched from the pedestal.
He carefully uncrumpled it. The strange, glowing runes were there, and just like before, he could read them.
"My dear Bepoo,
If you're reading this note, you've found the secret room I've prepared for you. Within these walls are tips, recipes, and even some of my most cherished tools... all the very best from the many happy years I spent in the valley.
By coming this far, you'll have proven that you possess the skill and wisdom to make good use of these powerful secrets. I hope my discoveries help you in your journey to making Asgard a shining star of the whole world!
Make me proud!"
Horus stood, his exhaustion forgotten, replaced by a stunned, profound confusion. Bepoo? Asgard? The names meant nothing to him. He looked up from the note. He saw the walls of the chamber. They were not just stone. They were covered in diagrams, in schematics for tools, in recipes for food he had never seen, in blueprints for structures he could not comprehend.
He looked back at the five pillars, and then at the pedestal. The Last Path. He was a hunter. His entire life had been defined by his skill with a spear and rifles, his knowledge of the jungle. He looked at the Sword pillar, and he felt it. A pull. A connection. A strange, humming resonance, as if the cold stone were calling to him.
He muttered to himself, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Does it... want something from me?"
He slowly walked towards it, his hand outstretched.
…
The morning sun of Friton, bright and unfiltered, streamed into the spacious dining room of the new Kepler home. The family was gathered around a large, wooden table, a stark contrast to their old, cramped apartment. John was just placing a final plate of sizzling, scrambled Zilka Hen eggs on the table, a proud, domestic smile on his face. He had begun to learn to cook, with Leo dutifully prepping the ingredients and setting the table each morning.
Marcus, however, was already looking past breakfast.
"Brother," he said, "can we take Sister Lyra to school with your new ship?"
Dorian was hunched over his heliopad, his brow furrowed in concentration as he rapidly tapped and swiped. "Huh?" he said, not looking up. "Oh, sure, yeah. We can drop her at the Astra Nova orbital station." He paused, his fingers still moving. "Wait... isn't this just a trick so you can get another ride in the Millennium Falcon?"
Marcus just chuckled. "Ehe."
"Why are you still playing?" Lyra sighed, sipping her Teebu. "Eat your breakfast, brother."
"Ah, okay, okay, in a minute," Dorian said, still tapping. "It is just because of someone's genius idea to add a community leaderboard, my 'Asgard' farm has to stay at number one."
Lyra, who had indeed suggested the feature, sighed again, this time with a hint of exasperation. "Can you not just... I do not know... inject your farm with a ridiculous amount of money and be done with it? You are the developer."
"No, we can't!"
The response was instant, and it came from both Dorian and Marcus, in perfect, scandalized unison.
Dorian looked at his little brother with a new, profound sense of respect and gave him a solid fist bump. "See? We, as men," he said, his voice full of mock-serious drama, "have pride in our words and our actions. We have to be honest." He leaned in closer to Marcus. "If we cannot be honest in our game, what would that reflect on our real lives?"
John chuckled, bringing the last plate over from the kitchen. "Alright, alright, philosophy lesson is over," he said, ruffling Dorian's hair. "Put the heliopad down. Breakfast."
"Okay, okay," Dorian said, finally looking up. He handed the heliopad over to Marcus. "I just sold all the Starfruit wine. We are back at the top of the leaderboard for now."
"You share an account with Marcus?" Lyra asked, her expression one of pure, older-sister disbelief.
"Lyra," John said, his voice a simple, gentle warning.
"Fine," Lyra huffed.
Dorian, sitting at the head of the table, looked around at his family. At his father, no longer a miner, but a father. At his brother, a cheerful brother anyone would've hoped for. At his sister, a brilliant, annoying genius. He smiled.
"Okay," he said, his voice clear in the quiet room. "Thank you for the food."
The family echoed the sentiment, their voices joining together. "Thank you for the food."
**A/N**
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
**A/N**