The operations room glowed with the cold light of a dozen looping screens. All showing the same three videos the interrogation, and the viral videos of Kris.
The atmosphere was tight, brittle, and one wrong word away from snapping.
Four developers stood around the holographic table, each one visibly unraveling.
Dr. Miriam Harlow — Systems Architect
leaned over the console, fingers flying across the keys, jaw clenched so hard it looked painful.
"Every time I run a trace the data corrupts. Every time I isolate the IP signature, the system crashes. Every time I try to stabilize a pod link..."
The screen flickered violently.
"...THIS happens."
Static.
Blackout.
Reboot.
She threw her hands up.
"I swear something is actively fighting me."
Jin Park — Gameplay Director
rubbed his temples, staring at the slowed‑down footage of Kris's movements.
"His footwork isn't motion‑captured. It's not animation blending. It's real biomechanics. The metadata says the video was recorded on three different devices at once."
He pointed at the timeline.
"And the timestamps don't match. They're off by... I don't even know. Minutes? Hours? Days?"
He exhaled sharply.
"This shouldn't be possible."
Lila Moreno — PR & Containment
scrolled through the comments on her tablet, her expression a mix of irritation and exhaustion.
"People online have already named him. 'Frost Princess.' 'Elf Girl.' 'The Ice Maiden.' There's fan art. There are conspiracy threads. There's a subreddit. Someone has connected the dots but no one's taking it seriously."
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"And half the theories are more accurate than our internal reports."
She tossed the tablet onto the table.
"We're losing control of the narrative."
Marcus Vale — Security Chief
stood stiffly, arms crossed, glaring at the footage like he could intimidate it into giving answers.
"Vincent can't find the boy. Our trackers can't find the boy. Our databases can't find the boy."
Jin Park zoomed in on Kris's avatar — the frost‑elf girl with glowing eyes.
"Let's review," he said. "In‑game, the subject presents as female. Out‑of‑game, the subject is male?"
Marcus nodded. "Correct. Vincent confirmed the boy's physical appearance at the college."
Lila raised an eyebrow. "He confirmed his appearance, and that he goes to college...Great data."
Dr. Miriam Harlow paced like a caged wolf.
"Every time we try to pull more than the basic college record, the system crashes....Crashes."
Lila leaned back in her chair, unimpressed.
Marcus Vale scowled. "Vincent confirmed his appearance in the college database. That's enough."
Harlow spun on him.
"No, it's not. We have a name, a major, a student ID photo, and that's it. Every other file medical, housing, emergency contacts, and class schedule gets wiped the moment we open it."
Jin Park muttered, "Like someone's deleting it in real time."
He jabbed a finger at the hologram and growled. "He's either hiding, or someone is hiding him."
Harlow muttered, "Someone 'IS' hiding him."
Marcus ignored her.
Jin nodded. "Someone intelligent."
Lila muttered, "It's got to be her..."
Marcus glared. "We don't know that."
Harlow shot back, "We don't know anything, because every tool we have is being bricked."
The room fell into a tense, simmering silence.
Then—
The door opened.
And everything shifted.
The operations room went dead quiet.
Adrian Cross Horizon veil CEO stepped inside, calm, immaculate, and unreadable.
The kind of man who could walk into a hurricane and ask why the wind was slightly inconvenient.
He looked at the four leads.
"Progress."
No one answered.
Harlow finally spoke.
"We're running into walls. Every angle. Every method. Every system."
Jin added, "It's like something is actively blocking us."
Lila muttered, "Or someone."
Marcus crossed his arms. "Vincent can't find the boy either."
Cross didn't react.
He simply walked to the hologram of Kris's interrogation video.
Cross watched the footage silently, hands clasped behind his back.
"At least we know what he looks like in-game. Even though we didn't get enough time to get answers." Lila mused.
Harlow muttered, "For all of thirty seconds before Hestia threw us out like trash."
Their voices crackled through the speakers as the recording played.
"Name."
"Who are you people?"
"What are you?"
"I don't— I don't know—"
OVERRIDE DETECTED
ACCESS REVOKED
"BEGONE, LITTLE THIEVES."
"SHE.....kerrkrrrrr....MY CHILD"
The room winced as the audio cut out with a thunderous magical blast.
Lila rubbed her temples. "I still have nightmares about that voice."
Harlow muttered, "She bricked three servers with a sentence."
Silence...
The room shifted again.
Because now the devs weren't looking at the footage.
They were looking at him.
Marcus Vale broke first.
"Sir. We all know what DLO is. We all know what we're tapping into, and we've been on board since day one."
He stepped forward.
"But what we don't know is why you want this kid."
Cross didn't answer.
Harlow crossed her arms. "We've interrogated dozens of NPCs. We've mapped half the continent." She gesticulated wildly. "We've siphoned magic for years. We even boosted the siphoning effect by letting the players in, and you've never once batted an eye."
Jin nodded. "You didn't even flinch when the rips started destabilizing. But the moment this kid appears—"
Lila finished, "—you start acting like the world is ending."
Cross finally looked up.
"It is."
Harlow frowned. "Sir, that doesn't explain—"
Cross cut her off.
"It explains everything."
He tapped the hologram of Kris — glowing, frost‑rimmed, divine.
"Hestia didn't just claim the child. She gave him her essence, she recognized him."
Marcus frowned. "Recognized them as what?"
Cross didn't answer.
Lila narrowed her eyes.
"You knew something was coming. Before the tears appeared. Before the magic bleed through. Before the NPCs started pushing back."
Cross didn't deny it.
"You built DLO as a siphon," she continued. "We all agreed. We all knew the risks. But you—"
She pointed at him.
"—You were waiting for something."
Cross finally spoke.
"I was waiting for him."
The room froze.
Jin blinked. "Him? You mean—"
"Yes."
Cross tapped Kris's image again. "Hestia's child."
Harlow stepped forward.
"Sir... what does the kid trigger?"
Cross exhaled slowly.
"The convergence."
Marcus stiffened. "You mean the merging of the worlds?"
Cross nodded.
"Yes."
Jin whispered, "But that's decades away."
Cross shook his head.
"No. It's happening now."
He pulled up a map, dozens of rips pulsing like heartbeats across the city.
"The moment Hestia gave him her essence, the rips accelerated. The boundaries weakened. The bleed increased."
Lila swallowed.
"So the kid is... what? A catalyst?"
Cross's voice dropped. "A catalyst. A key, an Achilles heel...."
He turned to them.
"And the only being on this side who can open the rips fully."
Marcus stepped closer.
The room went still.
Lila whispered, "You want him to open the way for you."
Cross nodded.
"And once he does... we use him to take everything on the other side."
Marcus asked quietly, "And if he refuses?"
Cross didn't hesitate.
"Then we make him."
He turned away, voice cold as frost.
Find the boy
"Alive is preferable," He paused. "Dead works too."
They all looked at each other their thoughts the same.
'...Dead...?'
Vincent stood in the darkened hallway outside the ruined apartment, the unconscious man slumped at his feet.
He hesitated before he dialed. The line didn't ring. It just connected, instantly.
"Report," Cross said.
No greeting.
No breath.
Just that cold, measured tone that made Vincent shiver.
Vincent glanced down at the man — the one who had stepped through the tear, crossed worlds, and filmed Kris like he'd stumbled into a miracle.
"I have him," Vincent said. "The one who recorded the target. The one who crossed over."
A pause.
A pause, like Cross was processing the information at a speed no human mind should.
"Alive?" Cross asked.
"For now."
Another pause.
Then Cross's voice sharpened.
"Describe him."
Vincent nudged the man with his boot. Male. Early twenties. Nothing special. Has signs of magical exposure before the crossing."
"And after?"
Vincent hesitated.
The man's skin still shimmered faintly, like it remembered the tear.
"He's... wrong," Vincent said. "Like the crossing left something on him. Or took something off."
Cross exhaled softly — not tired, or annoyed. More like someone savoring a piece of information they'd been waiting for.
"Good," Cross murmured. "Very good."
Vincent frowned. "Sir, he claims he didn't mean to cross. Says he was just filming. Says the tear opened in front of him."
"It did," Cross said.
Vincent stiffened. "You knew?"
"I predicted," Cross corrected. "The rips responded to her weakening. She can't keep it up forever, she's slowing down it seems."
Vincent didn't say her name.
He didn't have to.
Cross continued, voice low and precise
"The moment she shared her essence the boundaries weakened. The rips began seeking anchors."
Vincent looked down at the unconscious man.
"Anchors," he repeated.
"Yes," Cross said. "A carrier. A messenger. A proof of concept."
Vincent's jaw tightened. "He saw her. He filmed her. He crossed because of her."
"No," Cross said.
And his voice changed — not in tone, but in temperature.
"He crossed because of me."
Vincent felt something cold slide down his spine.
Cross continued
"Bring him in. I want to see what the crossing did to him. And what he brought back."
Vincent nodded. "Understood."
"And Vincent," Cross added.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do not let him die."
Vincent blinked. "I thought you said no loose ends.
A beat.
"This one is different."
Vincent waited.
Cross finished
"He is the first human to cross and survive. That makes him valuable."
Another beat.
The line went dead.
Vincent stared at the phone.
Then at the man.
Then at the faint shimmer on the man's skin — the residue of a world that wasn't theirs. And he didn't like it one bit.
"valuable indeed," Vincent muttered.
He hauled the man over his shoulder and walked into the night.
Vincent adjusted the unconscious man on his shoulder, the weight awkward but manageable. The shimmer on the man's skin pulsed faintly in the dark hallway, like an afterimage of the tear refusing to die.
The building was silent. Too silent.
Vincent stepped over broken plaster and shattered glass, boots crunching softly as he moved toward the stairwell. The emergency lights flickered overhead — not from damage, but from interference. The same interference that had been crawling through Horizon Veil systems for days.
He muttered under his breath, "dammit cross... you're making this difficult."
He pushed through the stairwell door.
The moment it shut behind him, the man on his shoulder twitched.
Vincent tightened his grip and descended quickly, every sense sharpened. The stairwell echoed with each step, the sound bouncing strangely, like the acoustics were wrong. Like the space wasn't entirely stable.
He reached the ground floor and nudged the exit door open with his shoulder.
The parking lot was empty except for a single black sedan idling under a flickering streetlamp. Horizon Veils standard issue — reinforced frame, tinted windows, magically shielded interior.
Vincent approached, shifting the man's weight again.
"Almost there," he muttered, mostly to himself.
He opened the back door and lowered the man inside. The shimmer on the man's skin pulsed again, brighter this time, like it sensed the car's shielding.
Vincent frowned.
"Don't start glowing now," he said. "Cross will have my head if you melt the upholstery."
He reached for the restraints.
That's when the man jerked violently.
His back arched, eyes still closed, breath catching in his throat like he was drowning in air.
Vincent grabbed his shoulders. "Hey. Hey. Stay with me."
The shimmer spread across the man's arms, crawling like broken glass.
Vincent swore under his breath and slapped a stabilizer patch onto the man's neck. The device hissed, injecting a cocktail designed to suppress magical residue.
The convulsions slowed.
Then stopped.
The shimmer dimmed.
Vincent exhaled, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
"Good. Stay quiet. Stay alive."
He secured the restraints, shut the door, and moved around to the driver's side.
He slid in, started the car, and pulled out of the lot.
For a moment, everything was quiet.
Vincent's hands tightened on the wheel.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He already knew what the man meant. He needed to report this. Things were starting to get out of hand.
"Cross... you bastard," he muttered.
Vincent kept one hand on the wheel, the other gripping the radio mic that wouldn't stop hissing with static. The lights faded behind him as he turned onto the access road.
In the rear‑view mirror, the man lay slumped across the back seat, wrists bound, head lolling with the motion of the car.
Then—A low groan.
He was waking up.
Vincent muttered under his breath. "Not now, man..."
The air changed, the air pressure dropped.
A metallic taste made Vincent pause.
The dashboard lights flickered like they were afraid.
The man's eyes snapped open. Not fully aware. Just awake enough to panic.
"Hey—hey, stay down," Vincent warned, glancing back.
The man didn't listen.
He scrambled upright, his whole body sinking back into the seat. His breathing turned sharp, ragged, animal‑fast.
"Calm down!" Vincent barked.
The man's gaze shot past him.
To the empty air in the middle of the car. A thin white line was forming. Right behind Vincent's seat.
The man screamed.
"NO—NO—NO—!"
Vincent whipped around just in time to see the line widen, splitting open like a wound in the world.
Light poured out.
Cold wind sucked inward.
The car's interior warped like heat haze.
"SHIT—!"
Vincent slammed the brakes.
Tires shrieked.
The car fishtailed.
The man was lifted off the seat as if gravity forgot him.
He struggled at his bonds, at the window, at the air—
"NO—NO—HELP—!"
The tear roared open. The man was yanked backward, screaming as he was pulled toward the light.
"What the fuck!!!"
Vincent lunged over the seat, fingers brushing the man's sleeve—
Too late.
The man was ripped out of the car.
Gone, and then he heard a voice like existence itself.
"You're fighting on the wrong side Vincent..." The voice sounded amused.
It was her, he knew it, there was no doubt.
Then the tear snapped shut with a thunderous us CRACK, blasting Vincent backward into the dash. The shockwave rattled the entire vehicle, rocking it on its suspension.
Silence crashed down.
Vincent sat there, chest heaving, hands shaking on the wheel.
The back seat was empty.
The air still tasted like lightning.
"FUCK..!" he roared, slamming his fist into the dashboard. How the hell was he going to explain this?