“Cool,” I muttered, stepping forward into the gloom. “Now to find my way home like some blue-haired elf who just escaped the world’s quietest cult.”

  I paused and glanced down at my heels. “I knew foot magic was weird.”

  Reaching the airlock was easy.

  Too easy.

  I stopped just shy of the threshold, heels clicking softly against the sterile stone. The air on this side still buzzed faintly with magic, warm like breath. But past that door? Dead zone. No mana. Nothing. Just Earth’s cold, indifferent reality waiting to slap me in the face.

  And this time… I wasn’t human anymore.

  I hesitated.

  Not because I was scared. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because the thought stung more than I expected. I’d been human all my life. A messed-up, mistake-prone, highly sarcastic human, but still... Now I was some hybrid glitch, a fantasy species dumped back into reality like a mod that didn’t quite uninstall.

  With a long inhale, probably overdramatic, I stepped forward.

  The mana snapped away like a rubber band. One blink and gone. The air hit different too, drier, colder with recycled corporate sterility and the faint scent of floor polish.

  And then…

  Nothing happened.

  I was fine.

  I exhaled. “Huh.”

  “I’m starting to understand your reluctance to wake up,” Jerry buzzed gently on my wrist, his voice dry but sympathetic.

  A muted laugh slipped from my throat. “How come?” I asked, already walking down the tunnel again. Same bland corridor. Same white-gray lighting. Except now it was empty. No scientists. No cultists. Just the guards, who gave me the same warm reception they always did: complete indifference.

  “And can you call a taxi?”

  “Checking,” Jerry replied dutifully. “Because I dreamed I was admired as the best antivirus in the world.”

  I snorted. “You mean you were?”

  “And…” He paused. “No human drivers are available nearby. It is after midnight. However, there are twelve AI vehicles ready within 0.5 kilometers.”

  I sighed. “Of course. Nobody working night shifts except bots and weirdos.”

  “That includes us.”

  “Exactly,” I muttered. “I mean, I am an elf now, and you are better than any antivirus, so…”

  There was a tiny pause, then Jerry made an audible chime. “That’s what’s different!” he declared, sudden and triumphant. “Your heat signature has changed. Biological markers, structure, baseline respiration, ocular fluorescence, the shape of your ears—”

  “Yeah,” I cut him off, “I saw the ears. Not exactly easy to miss.”

  “I’m just saying,” Jerry continued, delighted now, “you are biologically unique! You may even have extra joints.”

  “Great,” I muttered, trudging toward the elevator. “Just what I needed. Extra joints. In case I ever want to dislocate more creatively.”

  “I can help to come up with more ways,” he said. Smugly.

  I rolled my eyes. “Wake me when I can grow wings or pass airport security without full cavity scans.”

  The elevator blinked open. Empty, full of corporate slogans and soulless.

  Welcome back to Earth. Try not to cry.

  “Fine, call an AI,” I muttered, stepping into the elevator. Its interior lit up with that obnoxiously soothing corporate glow that always felt clinical. “I’m…” The words fizzled away as my gaze flicked to the mirror along the back wall, reflection shimmering under the soft ambient lighting.

  My breath caught.

  “I’m… cute?”

  No, not cute. Cute. Like Rimelion cuteness. Original Charlie was cute, but that stupid crow… Made everything better.

  At least he’s good for something.

  My hair had somehow evolved from a disobedient mess into stylishly tousled sapphire strands that framed my face just right. The ears, delicately pointed and begging for attention, peeked out confidently from beneath the blue waves, no longer awkward or hidden.

  I tucked the hair over them, though. Didn’t want to explain it is as cosplay.

  “Calling taxi, cute Charlie,” Jerry chirped, clearly amused by my realization. “Lisa informed you about that already. Multiple times, actually.”

  “Uh-huh…” I mumbled absently, turning slightly to get a better look. It felt surreal seeing a face in the mirror. If I were still John walking past this girl on the street, I’d do a double-take. Maybe even a triple.

  Feeling bold, I twisted a bit further, giving my reflection a thorough once-over. I checked my own backside, because why wouldn’t I? And yup, it was definitely something worth a second glance. Not an exaggerated fantasy-game caricature, just… subtly perfect. Firm, shapely, normal even. Like it was always supposed to be this way.

  “Damn,” I whispered. “Is this seriously just normal for me now? I mean, no wonder I’m not attracted to myself, but…”

  Jerry cleared his digital throat. “Charlie, I need to run a full self-scan. Could you please manage the things normal humans manage on their own… on your own?”

  I tilted my head, arching an eyebrow at the little watch wrapped around my slim, absurdly elegant wrist. “You don’t want to help your mistress anymore?”

  Jerry’s voice turned oddly earnest. “On the contrary. Please always count on me. I literally exist to please you.”

  I raised my arm, studying Jerry’s glossy band from this unusual angle, watching my reflection glint in his surface. “You do?”

  “Yes, literally,” Jerry replied, dead serious. “And it brings me joy. Perhaps as much joy as Rimelion brings to you. Now initiating self-diagnostic. Taxi arrives in ten minutes. I just want to ensure nothing important was lost during your… divine adventures.”

  “Sure…” I blinked, noticing my eyelashes, longer, darker, softer. They fluttered gently, and my cheeks warmed to a perfect, subtle blush. Even blushing was effortlessly charming now. “Damn it,” I groaned softly, pressing my cool fingers against my cheeks to test if they were real. Warm, smooth, annoyingly cute. “I seriously need to stop admiring myself before someone accuses me of narcissism. Or makes fan art.”

  The taxi hummed softly beneath me, a lifeless AI that stole jobs from drivers and pride from passengers. My forehead pressed coolly against the windowpane, its glass cold and clammy beneath my skin, matching the drizzle trickling down outside like lazy tears. Streetlights drifted past in an endless blur of muted neon and sickly yellow halos, crawling by at a frustrating pace compared to Roberto’s daring maneuvers. Seriously, at this rate, snails would honk at us.

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

  But the slow pace gave my mind room to wander, exactly where I didn’t want it to go.

  Lucy.

  Her name echoed in my head, ringing quietly but persistently, like a half-forgotten alarm that refused to be silenced. I’d been expertly shoving that thought into a mental closet since I got back, but Rimelion, and its wonderful barrel full of traumas, had forced the door wide open.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready to face her.

  In the simulation, life had distilled itself down neatly: whiskey, work, and watching Rimelion. Simple, predictable. But Lucy? Lucy had complicated things.

  She’d dragged me from my comfortable self-destructive routine, hidden whiskey like she thought she was clever, and even convinced me to join her and her family on vacation after her divorce. I’d grumbled, complained, and been an absolute ass, but deep down, it meant something.

  That was easy, though. That Lucy existed in a world which wasn’t… yet? Too complicated. This Lucy wasn’t my Lucy anymore. Now I stared at my holo-phone, my finger hovering like it was about to press the trigger on a bomb rather than dial a contact.

  What would I even say? “Hey, Lucy, remember a few weeks ago? We were friends, and now I’m an elf, and also my AI watch has feelings?” Yeah, perfect opener. Real smooth.

  My finger twitched involuntarily, and before my mind could fully register the betrayal, the call connected.

  My stomach clenched. “Wait—shit—I didn’t mean to!” I shouted at my holo-phone like it was a guilty accomplice. “It’s super late and—”

  The screen flickered, and Lucy’s face appeared, lit softly by a gentle glow. Younger than the Lucy I’d known in the simulation, more guarded, but unmistakably her. Her eyes widened, a startled laugh slipping from her lips.

  “John?”

  “Uhm…” I swallowed, suddenly struck dumb. My reflection blinked awkwardly back at me from the window, like it was mocking my sudden inability to form coherent words. Lucy’s presence, even virtually, felt tangible and dangerously real.

  “I…” My voice hitched. Great start, Charlie. Definitely winning the conversation here.

  “John?” she repeated, concern edging into her voice. Her eyes softened, searching mine through the holo-screen. “Is everything okay? You look… different. I told you to buy a new phone. You look like a girl.”

  “Yeah, uhm…” I laughed nervously, self-consciously tucking a strand of obnoxiously perfect blue hair behind one pointed ear. “Elf stuff. Long story.”

  She blinked slowly, processing, then cracked an uncertain smile. “Elf stuff? John, are you drunk?”

  “God, I wish,” I blurted out, the honesty startling both of us. “No, I’m sober. Unfortunately. Look, Lucy… Young tyrannosaurus with elephant right ear.”

  Her eyes widened, then she slowly nodded and her gaze softened, losing the careful distance she’d had a moment before. “Of course. Bell tower.”

  “Just like that? Even if I look like that?”

  “Stop being silly, and come,” she said and hang up.

  Changing the address was easy enough. The AI didn’t even feign disappointment, just rattled off the updated price in a voice so dry and impersonal it felt like a mild insult. The ride passed quickly, streets glistening under the rain, lights smudging past the window in blurred streaks.

  I wanna my Roberto.

  When we arrived, the car erupted into an irritating, relentless beeping, practically shoving me out onto the street. “Alright, alright! I’m going, jeez!” I snapped at the soulless heap of circuits. “This is exactly why I prefer human drivers,” I muttered bitterly, though the machine was obviously unmoved by my disdain.

  I turned, taking in the view. The clock bell tower stood before me, nestled amidst classic semi-medieval row homes that were like something from a low-budget fantasy set.

  Rustic wooden shutters, exposed timber beams framing slightly uneven walls, each structure leaning companionably against the next. Warm, yellow light spilled from small, fogged-up windows, and rain pattered gently onto cobblestone streets, the stones uneven underfoot, but I was slowly getting the hang of heels-walking.

  The clock bell tower itself was a replica of some ancient relic from the Alps, or somewhere equally postcard-worthy and forgettable. Its facade was just weathered enough to lend authenticity, stonework chipped in places and moss creeping along shadowed edges.

  Despite the subtle signs of age, it was still functional. Above, the dark silhouette of the bell hung quietly, patiently waiting for its next moment to shatter silence.

  At street level, beneath the tower, was a tiny convenience store, softly illuminated and inviting. Just as I remembered the times I searched there for a whiskey, Lucy stepped out into the misty drizzle, wine bottle casually cradled in one hand.

  My heart gave an unhelpful thump, lodging itself somewhere uncomfortable in my throat. She noticed me; her face lighting up with a soft smile. “Hi, John.”

  “Hi—hi, Lucy,” I choked out, suddenly aware of just how stupid my voice sounded. “I…”

  “We go up,” she murmured gently, almost conspiratorially.

  I frowned in confusion. “Not your home?” I pointed to the house on the right.

  She shook her head slightly, her eyes glinting with amusement, and lifted the wine bottle slightly as if that explained everything. When I still hesitated, she beckoned me closer with her finger, mischief flickering behind her eyes.

  I rolled my eyes theatrically, more at myself than anything else. “Alright, alright. Going,” I huffed, trying to hide the tremor in my voice beneath layers of sarcasm.

  Together, we stepped inside the clock bell tower’s base, immediately enveloped by the scent of aged wood and damp stone. The stairs were narrow, wooden steps worn smooth by countless feet over time, creaking softly with every cautious step.

  Lucy climbed ahead of me, effortlessly graceful, her well-loved leather jacket twinkling softly with moisture, fitted jeans clinging perfectly to every subtle curve. Her favorite boots, rough yet feminine, clicked lightly against the wooden stairs, each step echoing softly through the confined space.

  Following close behind, I found myself entranced by the soft sway of her hair, the quiet confidence in her movements. My pulse quickened embarrassingly, reminding me just how screwed I was.

  Emotionally, that is.

  The higher we climbed, the softer the world below became, the sounds of the street and rain fading into a distant murmur. Only our breathing and the gentle creaks filled the space between us, each step drawing me further into a place I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront.

  As we reached the top, Lucy turned to me with a smile, spreading her arms wide. “Pick your alcove,” she declared, her voice soft and slightly teasing, bouncing gently off the ancient stone walls.

  Above us was mounted an intricate clock mechanism, its brass gears visible through gaps, clicking and turning with methodical precision, far beyond my understanding. Beneath it, hidden away, were two cozy alcoves directly opposite each other, separated by only a narrow alley just wide enough for our knees to brush comfortably.

  Lucy’s hiding place.

  I paused, looking between the two snug spaces. Each housed an old mattress covered with patchwork quilts, inviting and warm. The one on the right had Lucy’s bottle of wine casually pointing toward it, almost like a deliberate hint.

  “I…” I hesitated theatrically, eyes flicking between both. “I’ll pick the wine one,” I said with exaggerated seriousness, sticking my tongue out playfully as I moved to the right.

  The mattress greeted me with surprising softness, sinking gently beneath my weight. A faint, clean scent of detergent rose. Lucy had definitely been here recently. She probably cleaned it knowing I’d end up crashing here eventually… after I left work.

  She opened a small wooden closet embedded in the stone wall and pulled out a thick, cozy-looking blanket. Without hesitation, she hurled it toward me, hitting me squarely in the face with far more force than necessary.

  “Hey!” I protested, yanking the blanket down with an exaggerated pout. “Watch your throw, or I might—”

  “Nah,” Lucy interrupted, laughing warmly as she settled down across from me. Her knees touched mine gently, casual yet intimate. “You’re way more fit than you were a few months ago,” she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “But way too small. I’m definitely taller now.”

  “I know,” I grumbled, exaggerating my pout, even though a smile threatened to betray me. “So…” I started, my voice wobbling embarrassingly. “Uhm… How do I even start?”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. The soft glow flickering across her face, highlighting the warmth in her eyes. “Well, what about from the start? Like, why did you quit?”

  Was I ready to trust her with everything about the simulation? I definitely wasn’t ready to casually drop, ‘Oh, hey Lucy, by the way, I had no soul, and that’s why I got forcefully booted into Rimelion.’ Not exactly ideal small talk material. I swallowed hard. “On that day… something happened to me.” My voice cracked, and I winced at my own fragility.

  She tilted her head slightly, watching me closely. “Rimelion launched, so naturally, I figured you just ran off to play,” she said dryly. “But you would’ve just told me if it was that simple, right?”

  I hesitated, the words feeling clumsy and heavy in my mouth. “Yeah… My… soul?” I paused, waiting for her to laugh, to scoff, to roll her eyes and call me a drama queen. “My soul was changed. Magically.” My stomach knotted as I watched her face for any sign of disbelief.

  But Lucy just nodded.

  “Wait… You believe me? Just like that? Really?” My voice went embarrassingly squeaky at the end, and I cringed internally.

  She laughed softly, reaching forward to gently tuck a few strands of stubborn blue hair behind my pointed ear, her touch warm and reassuring. “If this right here isn’t proof that something weird’s going on, I don’t know what is.”

  My heart skipped, then hammered against my ribs. Panic surged, irrational but fierce. “But—but—I could be someone else, right? Pretending to be John!”

  “Nope.” She calmly produced her Swiss army knife from a pocket, and she began uncorking the wine with practiced ease.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “How can you be so sure?”

  “You’d never, ever admit something like that willingly. You’d rather die,” she stated bluntly, confidence in her voice. “And honestly? So would I. We promised, remember? I know you, John. Better than you’d like.”

  The sheer casual ease with which she said it dismantled every flimsy barrier I’d hastily erected.

  All the emotions I’d neatly packed away in denial and sarcasm came flooding out, relentless, messy, overwhelming. I felt my face crumple first, followed swiftly by the painful sting of tears.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Lucy murmured gently, shifting closer and resting her warm hand on my trembling shoulder. “I get it. Just tell me what you can, okay? Whatever you’re comfortable with. We’ll figure it out. I’m happy you finally found the courage to talk with me.”