When the light dimmed, I found myself standing on a white tiled floor stretching out in every direction. The room around me was wide, high-ceilinged, and sterile. The room was so bright that it caused my eyes to water while they struggled to adjust.

  I wasn’t alone.

  I could see people in front of me, trapped like statues, each locked in whatever position they had been in a second before arriving. The diversity was jarring: office clothes, pyjamas, gym wear. One guy was naked and dripping, fresh from a shower. Another hugged a grocery bag to his chest. Someone in a suit had frozen with their phone halfway to their ear.

  Everyone was like me, ripped from their lives. And all of us were immobile, but we weren’t the only thing that was stopped.

  Any kind of sensation or feeling I had for reaching out to others was frozen too. It was so, so good. I was free from my condition for the first time in my life; no all-consuming emptiness, no depression, no force was pushing me to give and give and consume myself to help strangers I didn’t care one bit about.

  I was enjoying the moment when a soft chime echoed in the space, and another blue box of translucent light materialized in front of my face. I couldn’t even blink as the text formed:

  As the message faded, time snapped back into place.

  The unfinished splash of rum fell into my glass with a soft, anticlimactic plip. People around me gasped and stumbled as control returned to their bodies. Everyone erupted instantly into a frantic motion, calling and crying and looking around to find something familiar in this sterile room.

  A woman sobbed uncontrollably, clutching her arms.

  Two men argued in panicked shouts.

  Someone behind me was hyperventilating.

  Someone else began praying loudly, pleading for deliverance.

  And then, my condition woke up again. It hit me like a cold spike driven up through my ribs, hollowing out my chest. A pull. A hunger. A frantic, expanding pressure demanding I help, now.

  Help them, all of them. It seemed to say.

  No! Not again, dammit!

  My pulse spiked. My grip tightened on the bottle until my knuckles whitened. Fifty people in distress was like drowning in a tidal wave of need, my instincts screamed to run to the nearest shaking form, then the next, then the next...

  No. Breathe.

  Logic was my lifeline. It had always been... I couldn’t save everyone individually, attempting to save everyone that way would consume me. But if I could understand where we were, what was happening, and what the rules were, and if I could talk to this guide the message promised, maybe I could help them in a way that mattered.

  I could assist not just one or two individuals, but all of them.

  And that would satisfy the blasted thing gnawing at me.

  The message had promised a guide.

  As if in answer, the air at the end of the chamber shimmered. Light gathered, white with a faint blue undertone, folding inward, condensing into a humanoid shape. When the glow faded, she stood there floating in the air.

  Tall. Slender. Graceful.

  A woman, or something shaped like one. Her skin was smooth and metallic, a pale silver catching the light like moonlit steel. Her hair drifted gently even without wind, shifting through colours like opal, subtle violets, soft golds, pearlescent sheen.

  Her eyes glowed softly, not bright but deep and layered, like polished stone lit from within.

  She was alien. Unmistakably alien.

  And somehow… beautiful.

  She radiated calm and authority, a strange, soothing resonance that eased the jagged edge inside me. I felt myself trusting her without reason.

  Which was absurd.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I barely trusted the people I knew.

  Trusting an otherworldly woman made of metal? Ridiculous.

  Something was influencing us. A psychological effect or pheromonal equivalent. Whatever trick it was, I noted it immediately and held on to that awareness like an anchor.

  She pressed a hand over her chest, a gesture similar to a greeting.

  When she spoke, her voice was clear, melodic, and warm enough to quiet the room.

  “Humans of Earth,” she said, “welcome. I am Aurelia, a guide of the Nexus. I am here to assist you in your initiation and preparation for your tutorial and later, for your integration.”

  My curse throbbed under my sternum, urging motion, urging action. I had to think fast.

  The clamouring continued, directionless and useless.

  So I started walking forward until I was nearly at the forefront of everybody and lifted my voice, not loudly or forcefully. That was not the way of capturing the crowd.

  “Ms Aurelia,” I said, projecting calm into the tumult. “Before we drown in panic, may I clarify something important?”

  The effect was immediate. Confidence is contagious. A few heads turned. Then more. People quieted almost on instinct, as though desperate for a tone that wasn’t frantic.

  Aurelia looked at me as though she had expected this.

  “Yes, Elias Mercer. You may speak.”

  A murmur at the use of my name. Irrational comfort washed through the room; they weren’t anonymous here. Someone, something, knew them.

  I lowered the bottle of rum and set the glass aside on the glowing floor tiles.

  “First,” I said, “are we safe for the moment? Is this space secure, and are we expected to fight or survive immediate threats?”

  Aurelia inclined her head. “This room is entirely safe. No hostile beings or hazards will appear here. You will remain unharmed until you choose to exit.”

  A wave of relief washed through the crowd.

  Good. Step one: eliminate the immediate fear.

  My curse eased slightly; I was helping them all at once. In my way, but it was working.

  “Then,” I continued, “you mentioned preparation. What, specifically, must we accomplish before we leave this starting area?”

  Aurelia’s smile was serene, almost proud. “You must select a class. You may also purchase items from the Tutorial Shop and ask questions of me. Once you pass through the exit gate, the challenges will begin.”

  More whispers. Questions were forming, trembling, and chaotic.

  I raised a hand, not commanding, just to attract attention.

  People focused on me again. They needed structure. They needed someone who sounded like he knew what he was doing.

  “Then everyone, let’s be systematic,” I said. “Let’s gather information before shouting questions. Ms. Aurelia, what information is most critical for us to understand so we do not make irreversible mistakes?”

  There were more murmurs, a few people nodded. Someone muttered, “Yeah… good point.”

  The curse loosened further, delicious relief, like a muscle unclenching.

  Helping them all at once through clarity.

  Aurelia lifted one graceful hand, and the room dimmed slightly, enough to draw every eye back to her.

  “For all humans of Earth,” she said, her voice calm but carrying undeniable authority, “there are several critical facts you must understand before anything else.”

  The crowd hushed.

  Even the loudest panickers fell still, as if something ancient pressed gently but firmly on their minds.

  “The Tutorial,” Aurelia continued, “is mandatory.”

  A ripple of dread passed through the room.

  “You cannot return to Earth,” she said, “until your planet completes its awakening phase. That process has already begun. Earth, as you knew it, is temporarily inaccessible.”

  Someone gasped. A man shouted, “What do you mean we can’t go back?!”

  Aurelia didn’t react. “When the process ends, you may return, but only if you complete the tutorial. Your completion is both a requirement and an opportunity.”

  Panic started to rise again, loud, useless and exhausting.

  My curse stirred, tightening like a vice in my ribs. The urge to intervene… to stabilise… to soothe the storm of incompetence before it dragged me down with it – it built fast, sharp, and painful. I clenched my jaw.

  Aurelia continued over the growing noise.

  “The tutorial prepares you. Trains you. The Tutorial equips you with power, skills, and magic. You will need these to survive in the world that awaits you, or the multiverse, if you choose to travel.”

  Magic. Skills.

  The words should have sounded absurd, but they didn’t, not after everything we’d seen.

  She pressed on.

  “The Nexus is vast,” she said. “But it’s not peaceful. It is not equal. It is ruled by those who have the strength, intelligence, or influence to shape their worlds. You are being given the rare opportunity to carve a place for yourselves. Whether you like it or not… you must adapt, or you will perish.”

  That broke whatever thin calm remained.

  Voices exploded.

  Cries, protests, cursing, denial.

  A woman sobbed into her hands. A young boy backed into a corner, trembling.

  The emptiness inside me twisted painfully, demanding I act. But helping individuals would drown me; there were too many. I needed an angle, something that would help all of them at once.

  Then a realisation clicked, sharp and clean.

  Not everyone here was a fighter.

  Most didn’t look like they could kill a rabbit, much less survive a hostile world.

  So I lifted my voice again, aiming for clarity over comfort.

  “Ms Aurelia,” I said, stepping slightly forward, “if this is mandatory, and the world outside these walls is dangerous… does that mean every one of us is expected to become a warrior? That can’t be sustainable.”

  People quietened just enough to listen.

  Aurelia looked at me with the faint approval one gives a bright student.

  “No,” she said. “There are many Classes. Combat is a possibility, yes, essential even. Others may choose craft-focused classes, administrative or logistical classes, or supportive or magical specialisations. The Framework or System the Nexus provides accommodates an infinite variety of skills and paths.”

  A middle-aged man let out a shaky breath of relief. A few others nodded, clinging to the idea of a life without blades and monsters.

  Then a teenage girl raised her hand, voice trembling but curious.

  “This sounds like a video game, with classes and magic and stuff. Is this all real?” Classes and magic and stuff. Is this all… real?”

  While the question was legit, it wasn’t really something I was having trouble believing, not after being teleported and talking to a metalling floating alien woman that appeared from nothing.

  Aurelia tilted her head, thoughtful.

  ”It is,” she said simply. “The System predates many universes,” she said. “It brought the wonders of magic to all the worlds it touched, and it is still expanding to this day. But understand this: along with the wonders, the danger it brings is entirely real too. This is not a game; every choice will have consequences, and every decision is final.”

  The panic only partially returned. But there was tension, the tightness of people trying to digest too much.

  So I asked the question I knew they all silently feared:

  “And if someone chooses poorly… can they, for example… change their class?”

  Aurelia shook her head. “No. Class evolution is possible, but your initial choice cannot be undone.”

  A few people sucked in sharp breaths, while others were just confused.

  I nodded slowly, letting the weight settle.

  Then I spoke again, measured and calm, framing the situation in a way they could manage.

  “Then before anyone panics or makes rash decisions, let’s extract every piece of information we can. We should understand what types of Classes we can choose, what determines compatibility, how the Shop works, how much danger we face outside, and what exactly the Tutorial tests.”

  More nods.

  People were listening.

  Even the previously screaming ones had quieted.

  Aurelia watched me in silence, her face unreadable.

  My feelings felt muted for the moment.

  “Very well,” Aurelia said gently. “I will explain everything I can.”

  And just like that, I had the room.