In the city of Amania, on a quiet Monday morning, in a simple house with windows always shut and heavy curtains drawn, the sound of an alarm shattered the silence, followed by a muffled groan. Lutero opened his eyes, yawning as he sat up in bed. His gaze immediately locked onto the game capsule across the room, and a surge of excitement rose within him.
Today was another day in the world he truly loved—where everything was under his control, where he was the absolute ruler.
Wearing a satisfied smile, he settled into the capsule, feeling the familiar hum of the system and the soft glow of the display. The seconds dragged by as he waited for the loading screen—the gateway to his virtual kingdom.
Then, the pain hit.
Brutal. Unforgiving. A sharp jolt tore through his chest like an invisible blade driven in without warning. The air fled from his lungs, and his hands trembled as he tried to move. Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.
His heart pounded erratically, as if it were rebelling against his own body. The world around him began to blur—the walls, the bed, the capsule—everything distorted into a warped smear.
The screen before him finally flickered to life with a familiar message.
"Welcome, Master Lutero."
The words glowed against the growing darkness, the last thing his eyes could see before his body gave in.
And then, everything went black.
...
Some time later, Lutero began to regain consciousness. There was something different—yet oddly comfortable. A soft, almost luxurious fabric wrapped around his body. But when he touched it, he noticed something strange—it was dense, strong, unlike anything he'd ever worn.
His eyes cracked open slowly, greeted by gentle sunlight. Above him, a pale blue sky filtered through the canopy of countless trees, forming a serene, unfamiliar landscape. Dazed and disoriented, he murmured to himself:
— Where... where am I? What happened? Did I go into a coma after the pain and now I'm hallucinating?
His chest still felt heavy. His breath, uneven. He needed proof that he was awake. Without thinking, he pinched his own arm.
The pain was real. But his skin... was not.
Lutero's eyes widened. His hands were firm and pale—too smooth, too flawless. They weren't his. Where were his sun-browned, calloused hands?
Something was very, very wrong.
Rising slowly, Lutero felt a strange weightlessness in his body—a restrained strength in his muscles that hadn't been there before.
Looking around, he was stunned to find seven figures lying unconscious nearby. Their faces were strikingly familiar. Could it be...?
The first he recognized was Adric Silver—jet-black hair and emerald-green eyes. Always buried in ancient tomes, shut away in the library, a true scholar—a sage among elves, with a mind as sharp as any blade.
Next to him was Ragnar Silver, the embodiment of controlled fury. A master swordsman, his long crimson hair sprawled across the ground, and his blade—Kalifa, the Dragon Slayer—rested by his side. His explosive temper made him a warrior feared across realms.
Beside Ragnar, Roberth Silver held a serene posture even in sleep. Green as the deep woods were his hair and eyes, a brilliant archer whose silence often spoke louder than words. His precision and patience made him one of the empire's deadliest weapons.
Farther on, a frail-looking figure lay still. Youthful, almost delicate in appearance. But Lutero knew better—this was the empire's most lethal assassin, cloaked in innocence but harboring a blade in every shadow.
Yet it wasn't just warriors who surrounded him. Three radiant female figures glowed with power and mystery, each one distinct in presence and essence.
The first was Elyra Silver, with soft pink hair and gentle rose-hued eyes that shimmered beneath the leaves. Her face, sweet and serene, bore the kindness of a healer. She was the divine cleric of the group, able to summon celestial light and restore life with a single touch. Where Elyra walked, suffering receded.
Beside her lay Nyssia Silver, her golden hair cascading like molten light and violet eyes glowing even behind closed lids. Her very posture exuded grace and dormant force. An archmage and master alchemist, her spells could ignite the skies or poison a kingdom. Vials glinted at her belt; sealed grimoires whispered secrets in silence.
And lastly, like a silver phantom, there was Althaea Silver. Her argent hair danced with the breeze, and her violet eyes shimmered with dreams beyond sight. A spiritual elemental mage, she didn't merely command the elements—she communed with the ancient spirits behind them. Fire and wind whispered to her soul. She was silence, fury, and the living bridge between the material and the arcane.