Alex sat motionless in the middle of the crest trimmed into the grass. He had been there for three days. Three days without thirst, hunger, or fatigue. Three days spent staring at the orb, his mind a churning mess of logic and lunacy. He knew that this must be his imagination, yet the solid feel of the grass, the warmth of the sunlight, and the pressure of the wind were all too real to be a dying dream.

  The sun rose and fell, marking time, but Alex remained unmoving, his mind standing on the thin wire between sanity and madness. His entire life—the opulent past, the public ruin, the final, desperate moment—played on repeat. He started thinking out loud, his voice flat, monotonous.

  “So, this is real. I am currently in the middle of nowhere, magically teleported here right after I committed suicide. If this is true, then either I am insane, or this is some kind of world-changing magic… shenanigans.”

  He reached out and tentatively touched the orb. The cold, emotionless voice, which he had heard countless times over the last seventy-two hours, immediately sounded in his head.

  “ITEM – GIFT OF THE WORLD. USES LEFT – 1/1. RARITY – RELIC. ACCEPT OR REJECT.”

  He paused, a sudden, final certainty settling in his chest. He didn't have to fear. He had already chosen death.

  “Accept,” he said, the word barely a whisper, yet firm.

  “If I am dead and this is my imagination, then I am safe,” he thought. “If this is real, then what do I have left to lose?”

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  The system voice responded instantly:

  “ITEM – GIFT OF THE WORLD, ACCEPTED. GIFTS 6/6 RECEIVED.”

  A blinding beam of light—black, gold, and silver—slammed down from the sky. It was so intense it made the sun look like an unpleasant glare, and its origin seemed to be far beyond the atmosphere of the planet he was standing on. The crest under his feet and the strange crest etched onto his chest glowed violently in response, bathing the small clearing in ethereal light.

  As the light began to fade, the voice returned, sounding less like a robot and more like a prompt:

  “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE YOUR INVENTORY?”

  Alex blinked, his vision adjusting. He had been so focused on his survival—or lack thereof—that he hadn’t considered practicalities. Inventory. He had no bag, no pockets; he had assumed he was stranded with nothing.

  “Yes,” he spoke, without delay.

  Instantly, a translucent screen materialized before him. It was a grid, ten boxes wide and ten boxes deep. The top row held six filled boxes, shining faintly.

  “DO YOU WANT THE LIST OF THE ITEMS YOU RECEIVED?” the voice asked.

  “Yes,” Alex repeated, his curiosity finally winning over his lingering despair. He was fed up with inaction; at least new information meant new thoughts.

  The voice began the recitation:

  “ITEM – SOUL THRONE (BROKEN), RECEIVED.” “ITEM – BOOK OF THE WORLD, RECEIVED.” “ITEM – CORE OF HEGEMONY, RECEIVED.” “ITEM – MEDALLION OF THE REAPER, RECEIVED.” “ITEM – ARMOUR OF THE STARS, RECEIVED.” “ITEM – SKILL STONE OF THE WORLD, RECEIVED.”

  “PLEASE TOUCH THE BOX HOLDING THE ITEM TO READ A DETAILED DESCRIPTION.”

  Alex, his hand trembling slightly, reached toward the second box, which displayed the image of a massive, ancient tome.

  As he touched the representation, a second, smaller screen appeared before the first, displaying:

  ITEM – BOOK OF THE WORLD. USES LEFT – 1/1. RARITY – RELIC. ACCEPT OR REJECT.