Kain's breath caught in his throat like a hook snagging on something sharp, and the word came out before he could stop it, barely a whisper, barely a sound.
"Angels?"
His father nodded slowly, and there was something in his eyes that Kain had never seen before, not guilt, not shame, but something closer to wonder, like he was still trying to believe what he had witnessed with his own eyes.
"Yes," his father said, and his voice was quiet, almost reverent. "I know it's hard to believe, Kain. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen it. But I did. We both did."
His mother was nodding beside him, her hand still resting on Kain's arm, her fingers warm despite everything.
"The twins," she said, and her voice caught on the word, trembling slightly. "They were barely breathing after the crash. I could see them, I could see their little chests moving, but just barely, just barely. And then the light came."
Kain shook his head, pulling back slightly, looking from his father to his mother and back again. "What does that mean? How is that even possible? Angels aren't, they're not." He stopped, rubbed his face with both hands, tried to find words that didn't exist. "Why would angels appear? For them? For you? What's so special about."
"We don't know," his mother interrupted gently, and her voice was soft, soothing, the kind of voice she must have used when he was small and woke up from a nightmare. "We don't have the answers, Kain. We only know what we saw."
His father picked up the thread, his voice low and steady. "The last thing I saw, before everything went dark, before I died, was our children in the arms of someone who looked like light made flesh. Wings, Kain. I saw wings. And then nothing."
Kain stepped back from them, his hands rising to his head, pressing against his temples like he could feel his thoughts trying to escape.
"I can't understand this," he said, and his voice was rising now, cracking at the edges. "None of this makes sense. First I died, I actually died, in that room, with those pills, and then I woke up in a game I've never even played. A game I only heard about from customers at a café where I ate garbage out of the trash."
His parents were watching him, their faces full of a pain that mirrored his own, but he couldn't stop.
"Then I get pulled into this trial, this Veilborn Expanse, this mist, this church, and I find out that you two are here. Real. Dead, but real. And now you're telling me angels came down and took my siblings, siblings I never even knew I had, and I'm supposed to just." He gestured wildly, helplessly, his hands falling back to his sides. "What? Accept it? Understand it? I don't even know where to start."
He grabbed his head with both hands, his fingers tangling in his hair, pulling slightly, the pain grounding him in a body that felt like it belonged to someone else.
"Why do I feel like I've been played?" he asked, and his voice was smaller now, younger, the voice of a boy who had been abandoned too many times and was tired of not knowing why. "Why does it feel like someone set all of this up? Like I'm a piece on a board and I didn't even know the game started?"
His father moved toward him, his arms opening, and Kain let himself be pulled into the embrace. His mother was there too, pressing against his back, her hand in his hair, and the three of them stood like that, folded together in the middle of the church, holding each other up.
"Calm down," his father murmured against his hair. "Just breathe, son. Just breathe."
"We're here," his mother said, her voice soft against his shoulder. "We're not going anywhere. Just breathe."
Kain's chest heaved. His breath came in ragged gasps that slowly, slowly began to steady. His father's hand was rubbing circles on his back, and his mother was humming, humming something he hadn't heard in years, something from before the apartment, before the debt, before everything fell apart.
"I don't understand," Kain said again, but his voice was quieter now, the panic receding like water draining from a cracked bowl. "I don't understand any of this. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know why any of this is happening to me."
"Maybe you're not supposed to understand yet," his father said. "Maybe you're just supposed to survive."
The words hung in the air between them, and Kain felt something loosen in his chest, not the pain, not the fear, but something else, something that had been wound too tight for too long.
Hours passed. Or maybe it was minutes, time moved strangely in the church, the candles never burning down, the shadows never shifting, the light through the stained glass windows frozen in place like a painting. Kain sat on the stone floor with his parents, their legs stretched out in front of them, their shoulders touching, and he talked.
He told them about the café where he had worked, about the scraps he had eaten from the garbage, about the loan sharks who had come to collect a debt that wasn't his. He told them about the pills, about the darkness, about waking up in a body that wasn't his, in a world that wasn't his, with a name that belonged to a dead prince.
He told them about Cassian and the palace, about the guards who watched him and the maid who tried to kill him and the wolf that ate him alive. He told them about Sera and Garret and Tim, about the bread she had baked and the knife he had stolen and the note he had left behind.
He told them about the system, its uselessness and its unexpected moments of help, its voice that could blush and its warnings that came too late. He told them about the Cursed Clover Tree and the dogs and the dungeon that had almost killed him before the trial even began.
His parents listened. They didn't interrupt, didn't ask questions, didn't try to explain or fix or make sense of any of it. They just listened, their hands holding his, their shoulders pressed against his, their presence a warmth he hadn't felt since he was small.
By the time he finished, his voice was hoarse and his throat was raw and his eyes were dry because he had no tears left to cry.
"That's everything," he said. "That's all of it."
His father was quiet for a long moment, and then he sighed, a deep, heavy sound that seemed to come from somewhere far down.
"You've been through hell, son."
Kain almost laughed. Almost. "Yeah. I guess I have."
His mother squeezed his hand. "And you're still here. Still fighting."
"I don't know how much longer I can."
"Longer than you think," his father said. "You're stronger than you know, Kain. You always were."
Kain let out a long, slow breath, and for the first time since the trial had begun, the weight on his chest felt a little lighter. Not gone, probably never gone, but lighter, like someone had finally helped him carry it instead of leaving him to struggle alone.
"I finally feel relieved," he said, and the words came out soft, almost surprised. "After telling you all of that. I didn't think I would."
His father was rubbing his chin, his brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on some middle distance between the candles and the cross. "I still can't believe we're in a game, son," he said, and there was wonder in his voice, the kind of wonder that came from having your understanding of the world turned inside out and being too tired to be afraid of it anymore.
Kain almost laughed. "I know, Dad. It's hard to believe. Trust me, I've been living it, and I still don't believe it half the time." He lifted his hand, palm up, and called out into the flickering light. "System."
The blue screen flickered into existence, hovering in the air between them, its glow casting pale shadows across his parents' faces. His father's eyes went wide, and he reached out slowly, tentatively, his fingers stretching toward the light like a child reaching for a butterfly.
"This is real," he breathed, and his hand passed through the screen, through the light, through the interface that existed and didn't exist all at once. He tried again, slower this time, as if he could catch it if he was careful enough, but his fingers slipped through the same way they had before, finding nothing but air.
"Kaelan!" His mother's voice cut through the church, sharp and exasperated, and Kain's father jerked his hand back like he had been caught stealing. "Stop doing that. You look ridiculous."
"Sorry, dear," he said, but he was still staring at the screen, still fascinated, still reaching even though he had pulled his hand back. "I was just trying to see if I could awaken something. Like in the games I used to play. You know, get a system of my own. Become a hero."
His mother threw her hands up in the air, her frustration breaking through the grief and the fear and the confusion of the past hours. "You don't understand the situation we're in, do you? We're dead, Kaelan. We're souls in some kind of magical trial, and you're worried about becoming a game character?"
Kain laughed. He couldn't help it. The sound bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest, unexpected and warm, and it felt so strange on his lips that he almost didn't recognize it.
His mother turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, Mom." He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. "It's just, I've never seen anyone make Dad look like that before. Like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar."
His mother sniffed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Someone has to. He's been like this since the day I met him. Always chasing something shiny, always getting distracted by the next big thing."
"Your father," his mother said, shaking her head, "was an addict. A gaming addict. He would sit at his computer for hours, hours, Kain, while the world fell apart around him. While I was begging him to help with the bills, while you were waiting for him to come read you a story, while everything was crumbling, he was off saving imaginary kingdoms and fighting imaginary dragons."
"That's not fair." His father's voice was defensive now, but there was no real heat in it. "I was playing because of stress. Because I was trying to figure out how to save us. You make it sound like I was ignoring Kain on purpose, like I didn't care, and that's not."
"Stress?" Her voice rose, and Kain could see the old arguments flickering behind her eyes, the ones that had played out in cramped apartments and cheap motel rooms, the ones that had been interrupted by phone calls and doorbells and the ever-present weight of debt. "You were spending money we didn't have on games we couldn't afford, Kaelan. You were staying up until three in the morning clicking at a screen while your son was."
Kain laughed again, louder this time, and his parents stopped talking, both of them turning to look at him with matching expressions of confusion.
"Tons of games," he said, and his voice was light, almost teasing. "You played tons of games, Dad?"
His father blinked. "Well, I wouldn't say tons."
"He had a shelf full of them," his mother interrupted. "Stacked to the ceiling. Every time I turned around, there was a new one. And he would play them over and over, even the ones he had already beaten, even the ones that made him throw his controller at the wall."
"I never threw a controller."
"You threw three."
Kain was grinning now, a real grin, the kind that made his cheeks hurt and his eyes crinkle at the corners. His parents were arguing about video games, here in this impossible church, in this impossible trial, in this place between life and death, and it was the most normal thing he had experienced since waking up in the palace.
"Dad," he said, and his voice was more serious now, though the smile hadn't faded entirely. "Have you ever played a game called Game of Crown? Before all of this, before the debt and the loan sharks and everything, did you ever play it?"
His father's brow furrowed, his hand coming up to rub his chin again, and Kain watched him think, watched him dig through years of memories, years of games, years of late nights and early mornings spent in front of a glowing screen.
"Game of Crown," his father said again, slower this time, tasting each syllable like he was trying to recognize a flavor he hadn't experienced in years. "Game of Crown."
Kain leaned forward, barely breathing. "Do you remember it, Dad? Please. Try to remember."
His father closed his eyes, his face scrunching with the effort of recollection. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, and Kain could hear his mother breathing softly beside him, could hear the faint crackle of the candles on the altar, could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears.
"I don't think so," his father said finally, opening his eyes. There was apology in them, regret, the kind of helplessness that came from wanting to help and not knowing how. "I don't think I've ever played a game by that name. I'm sorry, son. It doesn't sound familiar at all."
Kain's hope flickered, but he didn't let it die. "Think harder, Dad. The one that was impossible to beat. Everyone talked about it online. People said no matter what choices you made, the demon side always won. It was supposed to be the hardest game ever made."
His father shook his head slowly, his hand dropping from his chin to rest on his knee. "I played a lot of games back then, Kain. Too many, according to your mother." He glanced at her, and she didn't argue, just kept her eyes on Kain's face. "But that name, Game of Crown, it's not ringing any bells. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you, but I don't remember."
Kain sat back, the hope in his chest dimming but not extinguishing. He had known, somewhere deep down, that it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing in his life had ever been that easy. The answers wouldn't come gift-wrapped, handed to him by a father who had died years ago in a car crash on the way to save him.
"It's okay, Dad," he said, and he meant it, even though it hurt. "I just thought, maybe if you had played it, you might know something. Some secret. Some way to beat it that no one else had figured out."
His father reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, warm and solid and real. "If I had played it, son, I would tell you. I would tell you everything I remembered. But I don't think."
"No," his father said finally. "I don't think I, wait."
Kain's breath caught.
"Wait a second," his father said, and his voice was different now, sharper, more focused, like someone who had just spotted something moving in the corner of their eye. "There was a game. A similar game. I played it years ago, before you were born, maybe when you were very small. I can't remember the name, but."
"What game, Dad?" Kain leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees. "What was it called?"
His father shook his head, frustration flickering across his face. "I don't remember the name. But I remember, it was hard. So hard. I couldn't get past the first few levels. Everyone online was complaining about it, saying the developers had made it impossible on purpose. There was this one boss, a demon king, I think. Or something like that. You had to fight him at the end, but no matter what you did, no matter how strong your character was, he would always win."
Kain froze.
Demon king. Hard game. Impossible to beat.
No way, he thought. No way it's the same one.
"Dad," he said, and his voice was trembling now, barely under control. "Tell me about it. Please. Anything you remember. The graphics, the gameplay, the story, anything."
His father closed his eyes, his face scrunching with the effort of recollection. "I can't remember much," he said. "It's been so long. But I remember that it was different from other games. The choices you made mattered, or they seemed to matter, until you realized that no matter what you chose, you ended up in the same place. People online said the game was cursed. That the developers had put something in it, something hidden in the code, something that made it play differently than anyone expected."
Kain's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "What else, Dad? What else do you remember?"
His father opened his eyes, and there was something there now, a glimmer of recognition, a spark of something that might have been memory or might have been hope.
"I remember that people were obsessed with it," he said. "There were forums dedicated to trying to beat it. Thousands of posts, millions of views. People would spend months, years, trying to find a way to win. And then." He paused, frowning. "And then one day, the forums went quiet. The discussions stopped. Everyone just... moved on to other games. I never understood why."
Kain's mind was racing, pieces clicking into place like a lock finally turning.
The game had been unbeatable. People had tried and failed. And then.
"Dad," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Do you remember anything about the world? The setting? Was there a kingdom called Austrai? A prince named Cassian? A place called the Veilborn Expanse?"
His father's eyes went wide.
He stared at Kain, his mouth hanging open, and for a moment he didn't speak, didn't breathe, didn't do anything except sit there with something like recognition dawning behind his eyes.
"Wait," he said, and his voice was barely a whisper, fragile and thin. "How do you know those names? That game is twenty years old, Kain. Twenty years. How do you know about those characters?"
Kain felt something cold settle in his chest, something that was half hope and half fear, tangled together so tightly that he couldn't tell them apart.
"It's a game, Dad," he said, and his voice was quiet, steady, though his hands were shaking. "The world I'm in, the world I woke up in, it's a game. Game of Crown. The one you're talking about. It has to be."
His father stared at him, and Kain could see the realization spreading across his face like sunrise, slow and inexorable, lighting up shadows that had been dark for twenty years.
"That game," his father whispered. "That impossible game."
"Yes, Dad." Kain leaned closer, his eyes locked on his father's. "Please. Tell me everything you know. Every detail, every secret, every rumor you heard back then. I know it's been a long time, but anything, anything at all, might help me understand what's happening to me."
His father was quiet for a long moment. The candles flickered. The shadows deepened. His mother reached out and took her husband's hand, and Kain could see her squeezing it gently, silently encouraging him.
"Okay," his father said finally, and his voice was steadier now, more certain. "Okay, I will. I'll tell you everything I know. Every last thing."
Kain nodded, his heart pounding, and settled in to listen as his father began to speak.
The candles burned low. The shadows gathered at the edges of the church. And somewhere in the darkness, the demon king watched and waited.
But Kain wasn't afraid anymore. For the first time since waking up in this world, he had something he hadn't had before, a path to follow, a thread to pull, a reason to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out.
To be continued....