Disclaimer
This work of fiction is entirely a product of the author's imagination. All characters, events, locations, and situations are fictional and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The story, its settings, and its content are created for entertainment purposes only. The author does not intend to offend or promote any beliefs or ideas. Please do not take the events or themes presented in this work seriously; it is meant purely for fictional and recreational enjoyment.
Chapter 1: The Shadow of a Thief
My life is nothing extraordinary. My name is Gim Duck-Hwan, I'm 24 years old, and I live in a modest studio apartment near the city center. I finished high school without fanfare, completed my military service like any proper citizen, and soon after secured a job at a local fast-food restaurant. I'm not complaining. I never had grand ambitions or dreamed of achieving greatness—I was content with having a roof over my head, regular meals, and time to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.
In my apartment, I have everything I need: a bed, a small kitchen, and my favorite nook reserved for my gaming setup. Video games have always been my passion. Since childhood, I've been remarkable only at handling a controller or keyboard. They offered me solace and made me forget the rest of the world…until that infamous player shattered that peace.
My parents live in the neighboring town, and I visit them every week, yet I mostly lead a quiet, solitary life. I never felt deprived—until that fateful evening changed everything.
It started like any other day. After finishing my shift at the fast-food joint, I was walking home beneath the dim glow of streetlights, lost in thought. That's when something unusual caught my eye: a small, abandoned box lying on the sidewalk beside a trash can.
Curiosity piqued, I stopped. What was it doing there? I glanced around to ensure I wasn't being watched. Crouching down, I opened the box and found an object that made my heart skip a beat: a game.
The package was sleek and black, its title engraved in golden characters: "Shadowveil: Chronicles of Orvhalis." It didn't resemble an ordinary game; its mysterious appearance was almost inviting. Without a second thought, I slipped the box into my bag and hurried home.
That evening, after a quick dinner, I installed and launched the game. Instantly, I was captivated by its hyper-realistic graphics. Every element of the game felt alive—each decision, every interaction carried weight. It wasn't one of those casual, aimless adventures; it demanded strategy and thought.
I took on the role of a formidable warrior navigating a cruel, treacherous world. Every decision was a fight for survival, and every battle, a test of will. Thus began my journey in Shadowveil.
Five years passed in what felt like a flash. I devoted every free moment to the game, pushing through its challenging phases, steadily improving my character, overcoming near-impossible obstacles, and forming alliances along the way. I eventually reached Rank 9—a milestone achieved by only a few. Finally, I felt ready to face the ultimate challenge.
That evening, as I sat in front of my screen, my heart pounded with anticipation. I had reached the final phase. Then, a message appeared:
"Are you sure you want to proceed? This decision is irreversible."
I hesitated momentarily, then clicked "Yes."
In an instant, my surroundings erupted in a blinding light, accompanied by a deafening roar, as if the very world was collapsing. Then… darkness.
I awoke to a cold wind against my face. Slowly, I opened my eyes and found myself lying on a cold, stone-paved street. Above, the sky was a perpetual slate, heavy with clouds poised to burst. Tall, narrow houses of dark brick rose on either side, their dirty, small windows observing a desolate scene. No one was in sight—only the haunting whistle of the wind moving through deserted alleys.
"What the hell...?" I murmured as a dull pain pulsated in my head. I tried to recall: I was in my apartment, I was playing… then that blinding light.
I sat up, disoriented and strangely weighed down. Everything felt off. I looked around for a hint of familiarity, but nothing belonged to my world. I lowered my gaze to my hands, and my heart nearly stopped. They were not my hands at all—longer fingers, calloused, and scarred as though through years of relentless struggle. Panic surged through me.
"These... aren't my hands. What's happening?!" I shouted, my voice cracking with terror. I staggered to my feet, the ground beneath swaying—or perhaps it was just my spinning thoughts. Desperately, I needed to find a reflection, to see my face.
Running without direction, I eventually came upon a small fountain. The murky water offered a fleeting mirror. I bent over, heart pounding fiercely, and when I finally saw my reflection, my breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't me.
The face staring back was unfamiliar—eyes darker and deeper than my own, encircled by perpetual shadows as if sleep had long evaded them. A straight, sharp nose and a thin scar cutting across the right cheek defined it. The messy, wavy black hair, the taller, more muscular frame—the clothes were all unfamiliar. I was wearing a long, worn black coat buttoned up neatly, topped with a top hat; a leather belt adorned with small pockets, dark trousers, and sturdy, scuffed boots completed the ensemble. Around my neck, a faded red scarf served almost as a symbol. The overall look was mysterious, even menacing.
"What the hell..." I whispered, retreating from the reflection as though it were a ghost.
In that moment of disorientation, a luminous window materialized before me, suspended in mid-air. I jumped in surprise, nearly losing my balance.
Name: Doruuk VelorRank: 9Profession: Unemployed
The word "unemployed" sent shivers down my spine. Was I inside the game? No, it couldn't be—could it? I knew all too well what it meant to be jobless in Shadowveil: vulnerable, unprotected, completely exposed.
"Unemployed?" I echoed incredulously. "No… no, it can't be."
The window continued its silent display:
Class: ThiefUnique Ability: Escape"Enables you to evade danger. Upon activation (30 seconds), increases movement speed and muffles your steps."
My legs trembled and I sank to my knees. "A thief? Why a thief?" I cried, my voice echoing eerily off cold stone. I remembered how thieves functioned in the game—starting with nothing, weak and ill-equipped, relying on swift escapes rather than brute force.
Nervously, I rifled through the pockets of this strange wardrobe. In one, I found a small dagger—a simple, unremarkable blade, far too short for decisive strikes, typical of a common thief's armament. In another, I discovered a few copper coins and a crumpled scrap of paper. With trembling hands, I unwrapped it to reveal:
City of Residence: DrakathenOccupation: UnemployedNotes: No affiliations.
The document solidified my new status. The dagger, now a heavy reminder of my inadequacy, confirmed it: I wasn't a hero with astonishing powers—I was merely an unemployed thief, thrust into a ruthless world that spared no one.
A torrent of emotions overwhelmed me: fear, confusion, anger. How had I ended up here? And, most importantly, why? Desperation clawed at me; I paced, unable to quell the rising panic. Every fiber of my being insisted that this couldn't be real—it must be a nightmare. Yet the stone underfoot, the weight of the dagger, the chill in the air—everything screamed otherwise.
"It can't be a game," I muttered through gritted teeth. "It can't be real..."
I looked down at my unfamiliar hands once more—hands that had once mastered controllers now trembled, soiled with dust and uncertainty. I wasn't prepared for this new reality; I had no plan for survival in a world so brutal.
Leaning against the fountain's edge, I stared into the murky water that now bore my transformed visage. I needed answers, and fast. But first, I needed to regain control.
I closed my eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay, Duck-Hwan—no, Doruuk Velor. If this is the game, then its rules bind me. And if I'm to survive, I must adapt."
Though the words felt hollow, they were a beginning. I had always played Shadowveil to escape reality, yet now reality had dragged me in. And it showed no mercy.
Hunger soon reminded me of a more immediate need. My stomach growled, its pangs mixing with the chill of panic and fatigue. In the game, hunger was trivial—but now it was all too real.
"First rule: Find food and discover where I am," I said aloud, as though the sound of my voice could organize my scattered thoughts.
Looking around, I saw deserted streets suffused with the heavy scent of damp decay. In the distance, an orange glow—perhaps a torch or lantern—flickered against the gloom. Slowly, I made my way toward that fragile light. Each step echoed on cobblestones, and every small noise sent a jolt through my nerves. The city was a labyrinth of narrow alleys and dead ends, its towering buildings designed to intimidate, their windows small and fortified with iron bars.
Finally, I reached a crossroads that opened into a small, bustling square. In stark contrast to the lonely streets, dozens of people swarmed under suspended lanterns. Vendors called out from colorful stalls, their voices mingling with the aromas of freshly baked bread, roasted meats, and exotic spices.
Not only were humans gathered here—tall, slender elves with pointed ears, sturdy dwarves with braided beards and heavy armor, beast-men with fanged features, and women adorned with iridescent scales mingled with hooded figures shrouded in mystery.
I stood frozen at the square's edge, overwhelmed by a scene I had only ever witnessed on screen. I was no longer a detached player; I was here, flesh and blood, in the world of Shadowveil.
Aware of the suspicious glances my unfamiliar attire drew, I searched for a discreet food stall. Eventually, I found an elderly man peddling bread and cheese. His wrinkled face and weathered hands suggested hardship; he eyed me warily.
"How hungry are you, stranger?" he rasped.
Unsure of what else to do, I withdrew a few copper coins from my pocket and asked, "Would this be enough?"
He eyed the coins and then burst into a rough laugh. "With this, you might score a crust of bread," he said, offering me a small, stale piece. "Good luck, boy. Life's unkind to those with so little."
Clutching the bread as if it were my last salvation, I walked away, determined not to waste a moment. I needed to survive, and soon.
As I searched for a quiet corner to eat, a new window flashed before me, its details more elaborate than before:
Main Mission: Survive in DrakathenWelcome to Orvhalis, Doruuk Velor. You have been chosen to walk in the void between shadows. Survive, adapt, discover your destiny.
Objectives:
Get a job.
Earn at least 50 void stars.
Avoid detection by the guards.
The command "avoid detection by the guards" made my blood run cold. Though unexplained, I understood its implications—all too well, from the game, that being caught could lead to prison, punishment, or worse.
I found refuge on an abandoned bench beside a crumbling building and sat down. The bread was hardly satisfying, but I needed energy. As I tried to regain my composure, a distant murmur caught my attention. A crowd had gathered in the square around a small stage. A hooded figure knelt before a man in heavy armor wielding a gleaming sword.
My heart raced. I recognized the scene from the game—the execution of the main character.
"No… no, it can't be," I murmured, edging closer despite the throng. From my vantage, I made out the kneeling figure clearly: the game's protagonist, the hero destined to save the world.
Then the armored man raised his sword. For an instant, the blade caught the lantern light before descending in a swift, final arc. The hero collapsed, his head rolling off the stage.
A surreal hush fell over the square. I stood frozen, unable to breathe. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen—this moment had never existed in the game.
If the hero was dead… what did that mean for me?
The luminous window returned with a startling update:
Main Mission Update: The destiny of Orvhalis has changed. You are the Walking Shadow. Prepare yourself.
The message vanished, leaving no doubt: this was no dream, no error. Something dark and irrevocable had pulled me into this world, and now everything rested on my shoulders.
I didn't know how or why, but I had a single objective: survive.
End of Chapter 1