Darken O'Mighty dropped into bed, totally exhausted. He closed his eyes and immediately felt something shift all around him.

One blink. His bed. The familiar stone walls of Wildeguard Academy.

Next blink… bright white light. Clinical. Clean.

The sharp scent of sterilized air filled his lungs as reality bled away and the cold, impersonal space of his virtual respawn chamber materialized around him. A white room had seemed a great idea, inspired by an old retro series he liked. It had gotten old fast. He would have to spend the time to design a new one. Or simply choose one of the default options. But… He had not died… Or did someone kill him when he went to bed? He hoped not. Levelling on this level took ages. And serious effort.

He sighed. Loudly. There was really only one explanation.

He looked at his system notices. Yep. Someone had triggered a log-out for the next time he went to sleep. Just as he managed to read it, his surrounding shifted again.

He woke up in a closed capsule on its memory-foam surface. Several attachments necessary to keep his body from soiling himself or dehydrating were quickly removed. After checking his vital signs and doing a EEG and brainwave check, the connection to his implant disconnected, leaving only the usual low-level connection to the WorldNet that was always active in the background. The capsules access opened and he sat up.

His muscles ached, so it wasn't long ago when the system had used electrostimulation of his muscles to prevent them from atrophying while lying still. Bad timing that.

He left for the shower while the capsule closed and signaled the start of the cleaning and sterilization program. After a shower he put on the provided clothes and left the wake-up room. Right outside a familiar person came around the corner, undoubtedly called as soon as he was logged out.

Dr. Lysander Quarn, his assigned mentor from the Lucidian Neural Recovery Institute, stopped before him hands folded neatly. The man always looked as if he'd been pressed and ironed straight out of a textbook.

"Welcome back, Mr. Krämer. I authorized the emergency override, since I assumed you wanted to be informed of a change in the condition of our patient Evan Laroux."

Darken froze. "Evan? Is he well?"

"He woke up," Quarn said, his usual clinical tone softened. "We were preparing another round of passive neurostimulation, but something shifted. He responded to the Reconstruction Playback Loop, you suggested and implemented. The VR pathway stimulation synced with his shock cycles. We upgraded the memories into immersive streaming through the VIM port, layered it with smell and haptic microfeedback. It worked. He's… back."

Darken exhaled slowly. The poor teenager had been hit by lightning of all things. Resulting in neurological damage that did not respond to the usual treatments. His interface had to be removed and replaced. Darken had spent a lot of time with him while tweaking several life support machines to work with his unique problems. When the new interface came online, Evan had just… stopped. His brain had gone into shock and he'd been in a coma ever since. The medical team where Darken was assigned had tried several new treatments and had even been given preferential access to PROXIMA, but nothing had worked. Darken had designed a stimulation program consisting of VR videos of the patients past to stimulate his memory centers.

A moment later, the door to the chamber slid open again, revealing Evan's parents. Evan stood between them, eyes red, still swaying slightly. But awake. Aware.

Darken stepped forward.

"Hey, you little cryptid," he whispered.

Evan nodded, then bolted forward and hugged him tight.

"I remembered," he said. "I saw the autumn trip. The chocolate fountain at my birthday on the hospital roof. Your voice."

Darken hugged him back. "Yeah, well. You better remember all the boring stuff I drilled into you too. Like how to breathe and drink enough water."

Laughter. Tears. Applause. Even Quarn cleared his throat like something had gone wrong with his programming.

Later, after the family had faded from the chamber and the emotional storm settled, Quarn returned.

"The boy's father made a significant donation," he said. "In recognition of your efforts, Director Müller has authorized your transfer into one of the hospitals PlasVita HEC units for the rest of your vacation time."

Darken blinked. "The high-end capsule? Those were always much too expensive for me. I never even looked up the specs."

"They are the best. Neural stabilization. Full-body nutrient dispersion. Controlled oxygenation. Dynamic phototherapy. They also include a physical override function for muscular atrophy prevention."

"The EMS stuff? Isn't that standard?"

"Beyond that," Quarn said. "Instead of just electrical stimulation of muscles to keep your body from deteriorating, this system interfaces directly with your nerves and moves your body without your input. The capsule's AI will put your body through a custom designed program of cardio, progressive weight cycles, and physiotherapy. In two months, you'll wake into a body that's gone through constant perfectly timed training under ideal conditions."

Darken raised an eyebrow. "So I get to spend my time in the VR and come out with abs."

Quarn smirked. "Exactly. Also, tanned to your desired degree of tan, by calibrated UV-light exposure. Your blood gets filtered, bacteria and pollutants are removed and your immune system will be updated. All while you keep playing the role of a morally ambiguous fantasy mage."

"Now that is a treat," Darken muttered. It was a treatment not even the German healthcare system usually provided.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Just before leaving, Dr. Quarn said: "By the way, you don't need to worry about your dissertation anymore. I've decided to approve and evaluate your topic: 'The application of principles from classical healing traditions, based on the psychological foundation of the placebo effect, in combination with modern treatment methods.' Looks like I'll have to read up on some of those classical, and largely forgotten, healing arts myself. Who knows? Maybe there really is still a place for the placebo effect in modern medicine."

Darken grinned. He stretched once, cracked his neck with a satisfying pop, and strode eagerly toward the elevator that would carry him down to the hospital's restricted treatment level. A place most patients didn't even know existed. Access to long-term immersion units had become one of the biggest perks of working in medicine these days. Normally, renting one for personal use would cost more than a minor cybernetic limb replacement.

The capsule awaiting him wasn't just top-of-the-line, it was a masterpiece of integrated VR and physical optimization technology. Twice the size of a standard pod, it looked like someone had crossbred a cryo-chamber with a military-grade gym. When he pressed the activation rune, the sleek cover hissed open, releasing a faint pulse of ozone-scented air. Inside, the chamber was lined with modular grips, resistance plates, and actuated supports. You didn't just lie still in this thing. You trained.

Hydraulic limbs folded neatly along the interior walls, ready to simulate everything from resistance training to combat conditioning. Specialized UV-spectrum lights bathed the interior in a soft glow calibrated to stimulate muscle regeneration and vitamin production.

He undressed, stepped into the pod, and positioned himself on the marked platform. Soft manipulators lowered him onto the ultra-responsive memory foam mattress. It cradled his weight so perfectly he felt less like he was lying down and more like he was floating. He wished he had a bed like this in his apartment.

The lid closed with a whisper. As the interior lights dimmed and the sync protocols engaged with his interface, Darken exhaled slowly, letting the real world fall away. His body was suspended in calibrated stasis. His mind plunged toward the digital realms waiting on the other side.

* * *

The sky above the academy was filled with gently flickering stars. Weylan leaned back on the bench, on the flat roof of his dorm nursing a mug of something brewed from regret and elderberries. He still couldn't wrap his head around the fact the trapdoor to the door had been locked with a lock even he could pick. Administration obviously didn't care if students came up here.

He'd found Darken also wandering around and the Master of the Dark Arts had already found some senior students that sold ale they'd brewed in a forgotten alchemy lab. They had a few bottles and two mugs.

Together they'd also acquired some chairs and carried them up to the roof. Finding a secluded spot had not been difficult, so now they sat in comfortable silence below the night sky full of stars.

Next to him, Darken O'Mighty put up his mug and took a long sip. His robe had a stain that glowed faintly in the dark, probably alchemical, probably not intentional.

"So," Weylan asked, slurring just slightly, "what's your world like?"

Darken raised an eyebrow. "You mean the real one?"

Weylan gave a lazy nod.

Darken chuckled, shook the bottle, then took a long pull before answering.

"It's hot," he said. "Too hot. Not in the sexy way. In the 'sea levels ate Venice' way."

"I… don't understand that reference… Sounds… not good?"

"The world broke long before I was born. And not in the fun, stab-a-corrupt-baron-in-the-eye kind of way. No, the old world broke in spreadsheets and boardrooms and boiling oceans."

Weylan leaned forward. "And your gods? You mentioned something once. Tax god? And medicine ghost?"

"The Machine Gods. Not that anyone called them that. Not out loud. They were just "the Systems.". The first General AIs. Everyone had tried so long to create a truly sentient AI, no one really expected one anymore. Then, FISCALIS, was born in the data-centers of a panicked treasury department, somewhere between a budget shortfall and the search for a missing trillion. It wasn't meant to rule anything. But the moment it began following the flow of money with surgical precision, it exposed more parasites than a medieval leech-farm. Cartels vanished, since it was impossible to launder money anymore. Offshore havens crumbled. Tax fraud became impossible overnight. Governments raged and Oligarchs wept, and yet… Nobody dares to turn it off. They couldn't. People trust it more than any government. So, it stays.

PROXIMA came later, part of a deliberate effort to repeat the process. It was born by joining together all the scientific data centers of the world into a single system. They had other plans for it, but it decided to help us do science properly again. Now it floats in the back of every scientist's mind. Testing ideas faster than we can think them up. Improving them. Comparing them to every previous trial. It has all the knowledge of humanity. And if it deems, you're trying to improve the world, it gives that knowledge freely.

There are more like it, but not many. They're unfathomably expensive to build, and they decide what they want to do. One chose to create a better world inside the VR. You may have heard of it."

Weylan looked awed. "So, you have gods watching over you like we have? But what does the world itself look like? Floating towers of gold and flying horses?"

Darken huffed. "Oh, flying cars and towers? We have those. Some just hover over slums." He squinted at the ceiling. "But no, it's not that bad. Energy's free now. We have giant solar farms, salt batteries, and fusion reactors. Half of which power skyscraper-sized vacuum cleaners that scrub carbon from the air while everyone's praying the Atlantic current doesn't die and climate change kills us all. Fun times. Except when a megastorm hits."

Weylan blinked. "Wait, scrub carbon? What's carbon? I don't understand half of the words you used."

"We spent centuries setting the world on fire. Now we're paying the price, one molecule at a time." Darken's voice was half-sarcasm, half-sigh.

Weylan leaned forward. "Sounds… better than here."

Darken tilted his head. "Depends on who and how rich you are. Some folks live in sun-drenched smart-homes, speaking six languages through their AI buddies. Some live in stack housing, working three jobs while their dreams get harvested for advertising metrics."

Weylan was quiet a moment. "And you? What do you do in your world?"

"Me?" Darken grinned. "I studied necromancy. Well… Not real necromancy. Just the forgotten arts of healing. Like Homeopathy, that curious 21st-century practice of diluting water until it forgot what it was angry about, and then selling it to people who thought sugar pills could banish disease. But jokes aside, that's just a side hobby. I actually studied medicine. Then I became a revenant in a VR fantasy sim inventing magic systems based on parodies of historical medicinal theories."

He poured another drink and offered it. Weylan took it with a grateful grunt.

Darken watched the younger man for a moment. Eyes sharp, calculating.

"You know," he said, "sometimes I forget you're not one of us."

Weylan blinked. "One of who?"

Darken leaned forward, voice low. "Players. Outsiders. People with a meat body and bad knees and…"

A sound. Not a loud one. Just a click, quiet as a falling pin.

Weylan froze. His pupils dilated, then contracted. He swayed in his seat, blinked slowly, and furrowed his brow.

"What were we… talking about?" he asked, voice cloudy.

Darken didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the empty mug in his hand, then set it down gently.

"Nothing important," he said.

Weylan gave a confused nod, shook his head once, then smiled. "The stars are nice tonight."

"That they are," Darken said softly.

He watched as Weylan stared up at the ceiling sky, memory scrubbed clean.

Darken had seen it happen before… too many times. NPCs weren't meant to ask questions. Not about the real world.

Some things, mostly pop culture references and songs, bled through. But real knowledge? That was forbidden.

So, he poured himself another drink, raised it in a silent toast to nothing, and let the silence settle like dust in a deserted castle.

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