"You shouldn't be here!"
Anthony turned, searching for the source of the voice.
A chill ran down his spine, as though the air itself had suddenly grown colder. He stumbled backward, bumping into the floating table behind him.
Movement caught his eye — from one of the corners, a white-gray mist spread outward, condensing into the form of a giant-like figure.
That's when he saw him.
Tall, with short, messy silver hair and eyes in a shade of green that didn't seem human, the man stared at him. The casual, simple clothes he wore contrasted with the density of his presence — heavy, suffocating.
The stranger took a few slow steps forward, as if he could barely believe what he was seeing.
Without hesitation, Anthony parted his lips and whispered,
Inrud Zelah, Veyrael.
By instinct, he spoke the words that had brought him here, now with the intent of leaving.
"Inrud Zelah, Veyrael!!" he shouted, his voice full and reverberating throughout the vast hall.
Anthony immediately shuddered, grinding his teeth. He had only meant to whisper, yet against his will, it had erupted like a fierce war cry.
With the steady, deliberate steps of a predator, the figure emerged from the mist.
Watching the man approach, Anthony's chest heaved, and he opened his mouth once more.
"Inrud Ze…"
His jaw went numb, locking up and cutting off the words.
He closed his eyes, hoping to vanish from the place, but of course, his body remained firmly in place.
Shit. No, no.
"How did you get in here? Who brought you?" The voice echoed once more, ethereal and transcendental, wavering between fury and disbelief.
As the giant advanced, the ground seemed to tremble beneath Anthony's feet, as if even the stones recognized the authority of this being.
His muscles quivered, feeling as though they might be crushed at any moment.
In the blink of an eye, the towering man was suddenly before him.
Before Anthony could react, a hand shot out, grabbing his neck and lifting him off the ground as if he were a mere puppet.
"Answer me!" The green eyes blazed.
Anthony choked, gasping for air.
Fuck, this guy is way too strong! What am I supposed say?! Tell him this line is from a video game?
And then—
"Veyrael."
A second voice spoke — calm, clear, and resonating through every stone in the hall.
Veyrael?!
The silver-haired man froze. His furious expression shifted into one of restrained tension.
Still holding Anthony, he slowly turned his head, as if confirming something he had already suspected.
The mist that had followed Veyrael gathered toward a single point, condensing as though about to take human form.
"He's not an intruder," the new voice declared, like a statement of judgment. "He was called."
Veyrael closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath, and released Anthony, who used the floating table to steady himself.
"Oh…" the man muttered, stepping back, still visibly annoyed.
A brief silence followed.
Anthony rubbed his sore neck, glancing between the strange mist and the intimidating figure before him.
"Anthony Lemark," the mist spoke, its voice calm yet commanding. "Your past experiences have led you to a new world and a new life. Now, I offer you the chance to forge a new destiny, and, should you desire it, a path home. Do you accept?"
Ever since I arrived in this world, I've been blown around like a leaf in the wind, no control over anything… And going home… that would be amazing.
Anthony thought of his old life — and wondered if all of this wasn't just some fever dream after a motorcycle accident.
Either way, he had nothing to lose by accepting the offer.
He straightened up, resolve burning in his chest.
"Yes!" he declared, loud and clear.
The condensed mist twisted into a tornado, and the wind roared around him. From within the storm, a hand extended — its palm open, a bright point of light floating above it.
"Go," Veyrael said flatly, folding his arms.
Obeying, Anthony stepped forward.
Each step made the pain return — sharp, overwhelming, threatening to break him. His instincts screamed to stop, but his will urged him onward.
The closer he got, the more he could make out — green rings orbiting the glowing point like miniature halos.
Less than a meter away, his knees gave out.
"Argh… Cough!Cough!"
A piercing pain struck his head, like needles stabbing into his skull.
Anthony crawled forward, nearly collapsing, every nerve screaming for mercy — but still, he refused to stop.
With trembling fingers, he reached out and grabbed the light, clutching it as if his life depended on it.
The raging storm softened into a gentle breeze. The pain dulled.
And even though the being before him no longer had a human form, Anthony could feel it smiling.
"May the will forever dwell within your heart, Anthony," the tornado said — serene and profound.
I did it… I really did it. I could've died just now. What is that thing, a god?
A strange satisfaction filled his chest.
Lowering his hand, he watched the luminous orb — with its orbiting rings — sink into his skin, leaving behind a tingling sensation.
The tornado vanished, and the mist dispersed. Its master was gone.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!"
The loud laughter made Anthony flinch — his head snapping up though his body still ached too much to move.
First you almost kill me, then you laugh at me? Oh men.
Veyrael stood nearby, hand on his stomach, laughing heartily as the floating table drifted beside him. To him, the entire scene had been more than entertaining.
"Anthony… Maybe there's a bit more to you than weakness."
What kind of compliment is that? Anthony frowned inwardly.
Veyrael placed the table beside him and offered his hand.
With his help, Anthony stood and leaned once more against the floating surface.
Veyrael touched the map with his fingers, and a glowing line materialized — forming a sleek, modern interface with a blinking cursor.
"Huh…?"
"Choose your title," the man said, brushing his silver hair back. "Once you choose it, you won't be able to change it — not for a long time. Or rather, think of it as permanent."
It's like picking a username… Wait — a permanent one? He suddenly remembered his lost Dragon Sword account.
After a few moments of thought, he made his choice.
"I'll be The Voyager!"
The words The Voyager appeared across the glowing interface.
Veyrael raised an eyebrow, studying him, as if silently asking if he was sure. Anthony nodded firmly.
"Very well," Veyrael said, clearly amused.
Confirming the title, the interface faded. The edges of the floating map glowed in shades of white, blue, and green.
The luminescent dust that filled the air drifted toward Anthony, drawn into his body. His veins shimmered in the same colors, running up his arms and neck before fading back to his natural bronze tone.
Veyrael smirked — watching, not Anthony, but the glowing map.
"Some instructions for you," he finally spoke.
"That pain you felt earlier was because your body lacks 'hods'. Strengthen it before coming back here."
He paused. "And be careful who you trust. If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone about this place."
"Got it," Anthony replied, still wary — his instincts screamed that this man was far above him.
"You already know how to get here, so when you return, further instructions will be waiting." Veyrael continued, his emerald eyes glinting.
"Now then… Voyager, welcome to The Superiors and Ascendants Yard — the Game of Gods, TSAY!"
Anthony clenched his fist, determination rekindled.
The same thought passed through both their minds.
Anthony looked forward with certainty.
Veyrael pressed a hand to his temple.
This might actually be fun.
With a wave of Veyrael's hand, mist coiled around Anthony — and with that thoughtful expression still on his face, the man watched as The Voyager vanished from sight.
—
Opening his eyes, he was met by the darkness of night and the familiar surface of his bed.
Lying on his back, face toward the ceiling, the air moving heavily in and out of his lungs, he tried to process what had just happened.
That place, Veyrael, the being within the mist — one thing he knew for certain: it was not human.
Quickly checking his own body, all he noticed was the damp palm of his hand that had held the glowing object, and the cold drops of sweat on his back.
"Alright… I'll take a closer look at this tomorrow," he said, closing his eyes wearily. "Damn it. First the captain, now the guy from the hall. My weakness is a problem."
Reflecting on his situation, he struck his chest with a clenched fist, murmuring to himself:
"You need to get stronger, Anthony. Remember, if you want to go home, you must beat this game of gods."
Turning his head to the side, sleep finally claimed him.