The Nihilos: Trash Player Who Rewrote Reality

The moment Raven stepped outside, the breeze hit different.

Not cold.

Just… sharp.

Like it was cutting through the layers of comfort he had built around himself in the last two years. The streets looked the same. Ava was beside him, nervously checking her phone. Sol, unusually quiet, trailed behind.

But the park ahead didn't look the same.

Not anymore.

Police lines had been set up, though no real officers guarded them. Just drones. Red lights blinked lazily as they hovered. People gathered nearby with their phones, whispering about the "gate that wasn't a gate." Others tried filming — only to have their screens glitch and die.

Sol squinted toward the shimmering air at the center of the park. "That's… not a dungeon."

Raven didn't reply.

Because he already knew.

It wasn't a dungeon. It wasn't a tear. It was a call.

Like something on the other side knew he was here.

> "Do you remember yet?"

That voice again. Not out loud. Inside him.

Ava stepped forward. "Raven, maybe we should leave—"

The light pulsed.

And then… it blinked.

Not flashed — blinked, like a living eye.

Suddenly, his HUD popped up.

He hadn't triggered it.

>

Raven's heart pounded so loud he could feel it in his throat. The park had fallen unnaturally silent. Even the distant hum of traffic seemed muted.

"Raven," Ava whispered, gripping his arm. "What do we do?"

He glanced back at the wavering air where the girl had stood. Now it was just breeze and grass. No trace of her—or the gate's earlier flicker.

Sol exhaled forcefully. "We left her there. We shouldn't have—"

Raven shook his head. "We didn't leave her. She left us." He turned to the shimmering space. "And she was trying to show me something."

A low vibration thrummed through the ground. The "gate" pulsed, faintly this time, like a heartbeat. Several bystanders backed away, phones in hand—none recording.

Without warning, the shimmer stretched into an archway of pale light. Leaves whipped into the air as a cold wind tore through the clearing.

Ava stepped forward, trembling. "Raven…"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Stay behind me."

They approached the arch. The air inside it swirled with motes of dust—or data? The colors weren't quite real.

Something heavy pressed against his mind. A memory tried to force its way in: laughter, a broken corridor, Sol's face illuminated by code—

Raven clenched his jaw. "No." He shut his eyes and forced the image away.

When he opened them, the arch had split. On the far side stood the girl, arms outstretched.

> "Raven… don't forget me."

Her eyes—Ava's eyes—locked on his. Then she stepped forward.

Raven lunged, grabbing her wrist.

Her hand slipped through his fingers like smoke.

And the arch vanished.

In its place: a single, black feather drifting to the ground.

Raven dropped to his knees, heart racing. Sol and Ava knelt beside him.

> "She's waking more than we ever did," Raven whispered.

Behind them, the park returned to normal: children playing, birds calling, the city's distant roar.

But Raven knew the truth: something had crossed the threshold—and it was still waking up.