Adrian squinted at the screen, his groggy brain struggling to process the message blinking in front of him.
[Please wait for a single day to recalibrate your progress in the game.]
He stared at it. Then blinked. Then stared again.
Slowly, the realization crept in, and with it, a deep, simmering frustration.
"What kind of nonsense is this?" he muttered, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
His eyes flicked toward the corner of his screen, where the time read 13:00 in the international format. He had woken up at 1 PM, which wasn't surprising considering he had only collapsed into bed at 7 AM. The exhaustion still clung to him, a dull weight behind his eyes, but beneath that was something else—excitement.
The moment he had opened his eyes, the first thought in his head had been about playing the game. War Crown. He had been making real progress, inching closer and closer toward mastering its brutal mechanics.
And now this.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply. The game had been very clear—he had one month to complete Act 1. A strict, unrelenting deadline. Every second counted, and losing a full day to some arbitrary cooldown felt like a slap in the face.
He gritted his teeth, debating whether there was some way to bypass the restriction, but he knew better. The game was designed to force patience.
Adrian exhaled sharply and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV. Static flickered for a moment before the screen settled on a newsroom, the anchor's serious expression framed by a red breaking news banner.
"We begin with our top story today. A coordinated series of terrorist attacks have struck multiple cities across Europe. Officials confirm explosions in Berlin, Paris, and Madrid, with initial reports estimating over two hundred casualties. Authorities suspect extremist groups, but no organization has officially claimed responsibility."
Adrian's frown deepened as a shaky, low-resolution clip played—a street engulfed in flames, people running, emergency sirens wailing in the background. The camera panned frantically before cutting to black.
He flipped the channel, but the sense of unease only grew.
"In Asia, a disturbing trend continues as authorities struggle to contain the rise of fringe cults engaging in ritualistic human sacrifices. Police in Jakarta uncovered an underground temple with over a dozen victims, while in Mumbai, law enforcement dismantled what they called a 'Doomsday Sect' attempting a mass self-immolation. Officials warn that these groups are growing more coordinated, using online networks to recruit and spread extremist ideologies."
The screen transitioned to a press conference, where a grim-faced police chief addressed a crowd of reporters.
"These organizations are no longer isolated incidents," he said, his voice clipped and controlled. "We have reason to believe they are connected. Their methods are evolving, and we urge the public to remain vigilant."
Adrian shut off the TV. The room fell into silence, but his mind buzzed.
The world had always been chaotic, but the past month had turned it into something far worse. Crimes surged, violence spread like wildfire, and cities were no longer the safe havens they once were. Adrian had seen it firsthand—not just on the news, but in the empty spaces around him.
His roommates had left one by one, abandoning the shared apartment like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Their families had been caught in the crossfire—some attacked, others missing. It made sense that they'd leave, but it didn't make it any less eerie to live alone in a space once filled with noise and life.
Fortunately, he was an orphan. There was no one for him to worry about.
That thought should have been comforting, but instead, it left an odd hollowness in his chest. Adrian shrugged it off. No point dwelling on things that didn't matter.
His stomach growled, pulling him from his thoughts. He stretched, rubbed his face, and dragged himself toward the bathroom. That gramps across the flat, would probably had started to sell his dosa. Thinking of the food, Adrain's feet moved a little more faster.
Brushing his teeth, rinsing his face, throwing on a hoodie—his morning routine blurred together. Soon, he was stepping outside, the stale air of his room replaced by the crispness of dawn.
Meanwhile...
Light-years away, on a distant planet.
The air was thick with the scent of scorched earth, the remnants of battle still lingering. But here, in the quiet of a small village untouched by war, a moment of peace unfolded.
"Dada!"
"Dear!"
A man stood frozen as two figures rushed toward him. He barely had time to react before they crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around his battle-worn body. He held them just as fiercely, as if he feared letting go would make them disappear.
His wife clung to him, her head buried against his chest. She was trembling, silent sobs shaking her small frame. She had always been strong—so strong that he could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her cry. Even now, she shielded her face, not wanting their daughter to witness her tears.
Despite the grime, dust, and dried blood on his face, the man smiled.
His daughter, however, had no patience for sentimentality. She squirmed in his grip, her eyes scanning him with expectation. When she realized his hands were empty, her small face scrunched into disappointment.
With a dramatic sigh, she smacked his leg—a light, playful punishment for returning home empty-handed.
And just like that, her interest in him was gone. She turned away, already lost in her own little world, completely unaware of how precious this moment truly was.
After his wife had recovered, she raised her head to look at the man whom had been lived for the past 5 years, seeing that he was dazed more than ever, she dragged him into the home of humble origins, and prepared a bath for him.
But she had already noticed something amiss on her husband.
His body...
It was powerful...
More than ever...
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I just want to make one thing clear—although I'm Indian, this novel will have no nationalism. My focus is solely on the story, and I won't mix it with personal patriotism.
There will be no direct or indirect defamation of any nation, nor any favoritism. I want readers from all nationalities to enjoy this novel without discomfort.
From your dearest Author.