The training room shivered with light, every surface bleeding gold until shapes began to unmake themselves.
Brat’s laughter echoed through the glow as the air itself bent into code.
[SYSTEM LOG: CLASS CONFIRMED | CHAMPION]
[SYSTEM LOG: ATTRIBUTE BASELINES ESTABLISHED]
[SYSTEM LOG: SOCIAL SYNC | 10.00]
[SYSTEM LOG: STATUS | ACTIVE]
Will squinted at the text. “Status active?”
For a split second, the text stuttered—one symbol dissolving into unreadable glyphs before correcting itself. Will blinked, but the system was already smooth again.
Brat leaned closer, stage-whispering as if sharing a secret. “Ah, the classic prompt. Means the system finally knows you’re alive.” He straightened, then snapped his fingers.
A chair materialized behind Will—high-backed, smooth leather over polished wood, as if the room had been waiting for the cue. “You might want to sit for this part,” Brat said, grinning. “We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Will hesitated, then lowered himself into it. The leather was supple beneath his hands, cool and perfectly real. The faint creak of wood grounded him in a way nothing else had since he’d woken here.
“Basically, it just means your digital body and your brain are finally talking to each other,” Brat said. “Always good news.”
The letters above them pulsed once, and a subtle hum rolled through the room.
Will felt something settle into him—a deep, resonant vibration that wasn’t sound but pressure.
His breath hitched. Invisible threads drew taut through every nerve and muscle. “What’s happening?”
Brat’s grin turned almost proud. “Attributes. Fifteen across the board. Perks of being royalty. The system’s syncing your baseline stats.”
Will blinked. “And that means?”
“Think of it as calibration,” Brat said. “Strength, dexterity, constitution—all the fundamentals your old body worked hard to maintain. The game gives you perfect equilibrium, vigor and focus.”
A quiet rush of power spread through him, not overwhelming but precise. His thoughts sharpened. His pulse steadied. The world seemed to tighten around him, crisp and ready. His digital body wasn’t just stronger, exactly; it was efficient, perfectly balanced. Every movement carried weight and control.
Will flexed his hands. “Feels like someone tightened the bolts.”
“Exactly,” Brat said. “You’re officially recognized as a fully functional user of Project Haven. Congratulations, Your Highness.”
The light rippled again. A new line of text appeared, smaller, framed in faint silver.
[DESIGNATION: THE DREAMER PRINCE]
Will’s eyes caught on the words. “Dreamer Prince?”
Brat tilted his head, his face flickering with a touch of confusion before smoothing into amusement. “Has a nice poetic touch, doesn’t it? Guess the system knows you better than I do.”
Will shook his head, but the words lingered—strange, haunting, too fitting.
Before he could say more, both the hovering text and light dissolved, replaced by something new.
A faint royal crest icon now rested in the upper-right corner of his vision—a shield of gold, etched with the falcon of House Valcairn spreading silver wings above three stylized blue waves. The waves symbolized Belhaven, a reminder of the port city and Prince William’s stewardship over its waters.
The crest glowed once, then dimmed again, waiting.
From his spot off to the side, Brat leaned forward, eyebrows raised in theatrical impatience. “Well?” he said, gesturing broadly at the hovering sigil. “What are you waiting for, Your Highness? Activate your menu.”
Will drew in a slow breath and shifted his focus back to the crest. He focused on it, instinctively thinking of the word. Menu.
The shield brightened, spilling light outward like a flare as a circular golden band materialized at the center of his vision, hovering like a suspended halo. The middle of the ring remained transparent, leaving the room beyond visible through it like glass.
Soft text formed at the upper-left corner of his vision in pale gold:
[CHAMPION | DREAMER PRINCE]
[LEVEL: 1 | XP: 0 / 100]
On the right side of his vision, beneath the still-glowing crest, three horizontal bars shimmered into place—green for health, yellow for stamina, and blue for mana—each sliding outward as they filled.
Within the golden band, nine icons flared to life, each glowing faintly with motion:
A crown for Status
A set of scales for Attributes
A four-ring knot for Skills & Abilities
An open chest for Inventory
A compass rose for Map
The shield-shaped royal crest for Social Sync
An embossed book for Codex
A crescent moon with a keyhole for DreamQuests (grayed out)
Two speech sigils crossed by static for Chat & Communication (grayed out)
The icons drifted in slow orbit, a current of light connecting them—gold edged with blue.
Brat gestured toward the circle. “That’s your standard VIP layout. Everything branches from your royal crest. When you say or think Menu, the system blooms from there.”
Will tilted his head. “Feels like it’s waiting for me to choose.”
“Exactly,” Brat said. “The center stays clear until you select something. Focus on an icon or say its name; it’ll expand to fill the center.”
Will nodded, watching the icons rotate like a gilded clock. “Elegant and simple.”
“Welcome to Haven’s royal user experience,” Brat said, half in jest, half in pride.
Brat paced a slow circle, hands clasped behind his back like a patient instructor.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s break down what you’re seeing before you go pressing things you shouldn’t.” He gestured to the crown icon, and it shimmered brighter.
“First tab—Status.”
The center of the ring filled with light, revealing a translucent panel.
[NAME: WILLIAM VALCAIRN]
[TITLE: PRINCE OF AELORIA, LORD OF BELHAVEN]
[DESIGNATION: THE DREAMER PRINCE]
[CLASS: CHAMPION]
[LEVEL: 1 | XP: 0 / 100]
[SOCIAL SYNC: 10.00]
[STATUS: ACTIVE]
[VIP BUILD: ACTIVE]
[HEALTH: 210 / 210 (100%)]
[STAMINA: 145 / 145 (100%)]
[MANA: 105 / 105 (100%)]
[REGEN: 10% PER HOUR | ROYAL SIGNET BONUS (+50%) → 15% PER HOUR TOTAL]
[ARMOR CLASS: 25 (PASSIVE) | 25 (MAX ACTIVE)]
[DAMAGE MITIGATION: 25%]
[ELEMENTAL RESISTANCE: FIRE 0% | WATER 0% | AIR 0% | EARTH 0% | ARCANE 0%]
“This is your core profile,” Brat explained. “Health’s obvious—lose it all and the system shuts you down.” He added with a crooked smile, “Except here in Belhaven. Technically, you can’t die. But it’ll make you uncomfortable.”
Will frowned. “Uncomfortable? You mean I can feel pain?”
“There’s an element of pain in the main game,” Brat said. “Dialed down, obviously. Actions have consequences. Here in Haven, it’s more like pressure.”
Will lifted his fist and slammed it back down on the arm of the chair. The wood cracked, and a pressure rippled up his hand, making him slightly wince.
Brat blinked. “Whoa. Careful there, bruiser. Furniture’s expensive.” He snapped his fingers, and the chair knitted back together. “Good to know you’re already stress-testing the environment.”
Will flexed his hand, surprised at his digital strength. “Feels real enough.”
“Good,” Brat said. “Means the calibration’s working.”
He motioned toward the hovering panel again. “All right,” Brat said, clapping his hands once. “Quick refresher before your brain melts—health, stamina, mana, all sitting pretty. You know the basics: green bar for health, yellow for stamina, blue for mana. Standard fantasy color-coding, because why break tradition?”
He flicked to the next line. “Your Armor Class isn’t bad either.”
Will frowned. “Armor Class?”
Brat motioned towards the number with one finger. “That’s direct reduction—each point roughly equals one percent off incoming damage. You’re sitting pretty at twenty-five.”
Will glanced down at himself. “From what? I’m not even wearing armor.”
“That’s the fun part,” Brat said. “Your royal garb does more than look pretty. Everything in your closet’s stitched with embedded defense runes—twenty-five percent mitigation before you even lift a shield. And speaking of, you’ll find a small one in your weapons cabinet later. That’ll tack on another ten.”
Will raised a brow. “Twenty-five AC in silk? That’s a hell of a lot for a fashion statement.”
Brat smirked. “Perks of being the Prince. The system spoils its nobles. Most players would kill for numbers like that.” He flicked his wrist again, and the golden text scrolled upward, replaced by a new set of glowing lines.
[STRENGTH: 15]
[DEXTERITY: 15]
[CONSTITUTION: 15]
[INTELLIGENCE: 15]
[WISDOM: 15]
[CHARISMA: 15]
“Ten’s average,” Brat said. “You start at fifteen—royal privilege. Every ten levels you earn one attribute point of your choice.”
Will studied the numbers. “I’ve never felt stronger. Thought it was just the digital body.”
“Partly,” Brat said. “The rest’s the stats. Reflexes sharper, focus tighter—it’s the blend of both. Think of it as the crown and the code working together.”
A shimmering, glowing grid appeared in front of his vision, overlaid onto the real world but visible only to him. Within the grid, ten squares were brightly lit and functional—the starting block of a larger matrix—with three coin icons at the top—Platinum, Gold, Silver—each marked at 100.
“Ten slots to start,” Brat said. “You gain one per level. And you’re starting flush.”
Will drew the dagger from his belt, focused; it shimmered and vanished, reappearing neatly in the first slot.
He willed it back, and it reformed in his hand. “Efficient.”
Brat chuckled. “And easier than carrying a backpack.”
A miniature of Belhaven unfurled between them, alive with golden light—streets, terraces, and the harbor below. Beyond the town, everything was shrouded in soft gray mist.
“Belhaven’s fully mapped,” Brat said. “Ten thousand souls, give or take, plus harbor, markets, taverns. The rest? Unexplored fog until you wander it.”
“So the kingdom’s not here?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Project Haven’s a pocket world,” Brat explained. “Just Belhaven, the hills, the forests, and the coast. No wars, no politics, no empire to run. Think of it as the quiet corner of creation.”
“Vacation paradise,” Will murmured.
“Exactly,” Brat said. “Regeneration’s simple here too—ten percent an hour across all pools. Your fancy ring boosts that to fifteen. Potions and items can push it higher.”
Will looked down at his left hand. The royal signet ring gleamed gold and blue, sapphire core pulsing faintly. Curious, he focused on it.
[ITEM: ROYAL SIGNET OF THE PRINCE]
[RARITY: RARE | RANK: 1]
[SOULBOUND: WILLIAM VALCAIRN]
[EFFECT: REGENERATION +50%]
[STATUS: ACTIVE]
“Soulbound?” Will asked.
“Means only you can use it,” Brat said. “If this were the main game, even a PvP kill couldn’t loot it. Only rare items and above can bind that way.”
Will traced the edge of the ring with his thumb. “Convenient.”
Will’s eyes drifted toward the bottom of the golden band.
The Chat & Communication icon sat there, gray and unresponsive.
“What’s that one?” he asked. “Can I contact my family? Or access the WorldNet?”
Brat’s smile faltered. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” Will pressed.
“The system you’re running on is closed-circuit,” Brat said carefully. “External data can’t be introduced until your neural pathways are fully stabilized. You’re insulated—for now.”
“So I can’t reach anyone,” Will said quietly. “Not my brother. Not the twins.”
Brat clasped his hands behind his back, looking suddenly older despite his boyish frame.
“No. Not yet.” He hesitated. “The nanos are still rebuilding your neural matrix, and the system is working to stabilize your cognitive network. If outside data interfered now, it could corrupt everything.”
Will stared at the dim icon. The world outside felt impossibly far away. “How long?”
“When the nanos finish their work,” Brat said softly. “When the reconstruction’s stable.”
Will nodded, jaw tight. “When,” he echoed.
The Social Sync icon pulsed next. The royal crest appeared again—gilded and flawless, the falcon’s wings spread above rolling blue waves.
It hovered for a breath, brilliant and whole—then dulled. The light faded; cracks webbed through the gold shield, the silver wings losing their luster, the blue waves dimming to a restless pulse.
“This represents your resonance—your Social Sync,” Brat said. “The brighter and steadier it glows, the stronger your neural alignment with this environment. Think of it as calibration. Every connection you make here helps rebuild the pathways that will eventually let your mind rejoin your body.”
He gestured toward the fading crest. “Social Sync isn’t just reputation or roleplay metrics. It’s a mapping process. The system mirrors your neural responses through social input—conversations, choices, emotions—and uses that data to fine-tune your cognitive pattern. The better the alignment, the smoother your transfer back will be.”
“Ten’s just the scaffold,” he added lightly. “It doesn’t shine until you live the role and reach 90.”
Will frowned. “I knew who Marin was. I remembered her, her voice, her laugh. That wasn’t just coding.”
“That’s the magic of the NeuralSync,” Brat explained. “Soft memories seeded to anchor immersion. Social Sync builds on that—it maps your reactions, calibrates your emotional range. By playing out your assigned role as Prince, your neural mapping strengthens, your calibration improves. The system learns how your mind works when it’s whole.”
He grinned faintly. “You don’t just pretend to be him. You give the system data it can use to rebuild you. The more authentic you are, the faster it figures out where everything belongs.”
Will’s gaze lingered on the tarnished crest. “So my immersion—my adherence to the story—repairs it?”
“Exactly,” Brat said. “Social Sync is the bridge. NeuralSync brought you here, but Social Sync is what rewires you back together. Every bond, every choice, every honest reaction strengthens the feedback loop between Haven and your real neural tissue. When the crest burns steady, that means your cognitive map is complete—resonance full, signal stable.”
“That’s when they can bring you back.”
Will nodded, thoughtful.
A flicker caught his eye: a faint gray icon at the edge of the circle. “DreamQuests?”
Brat hesitated. “System-generated, adaptive experiences keyed to your Social Sync. They’re deep-map exercises—simulations built from your emotional data to accelerate the rebuilding process. The main system added them before my build went live. I wasn’t really briefed on the details.”
He looked sheepish. “It’s weird. Even for me.”
Will studied him, then reopened the Status tab with a thought, pointing to the text near the top. “And this—Dreamer Prince—that came from the same system?”
Brat nodded slowly. He shifted his feet on the ground, looking suddenly awkward. “Yeah. Whatever’s running those quests gave you that title. I can’t access that part of the code.”
The Codex unfurled next, materializing as a great golden tome.
The pages turned by themselves until one stopped, gleaming softly.
[NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: “Explore Belhaven”]
Objective: Acquaint yourself with the town and its people.
Reward: 100 XP + Codex Entry + Social Sync Increase
Will read it twice. “Simple enough.”
“Everything starts small,” Brat said. “One hundred gets you to level two, two hundred to reach level three, three hundred to reach level four—you get the idea. Linear progression. Simple and steady.”
The tome folded shut, the golden band fading back to the resting shield-shaped crest in the upper-right corner of Will’s vision.
“That’s your default state,” Brat said. “If the crest pulses, something’s waiting. Your energy pool bars only appear when they’re changing—invisible means full. Clean and efficient.”
Will nodded. “Cleaner than I remember.”
Brat smirked. “That’s because Haven wasn’t built for hardcore gamers. It’s a VIP build—a sandbox for the crown to breathe in.”
Will smiled faintly. “Guess I could use a little air.”
Brat’s expression brightened. “In a bit, but we’re not quite done yet.”
Will exhaled, staring at the crest in his vision. Somewhere behind him, Brat’s voice sharpened with mischief. “Next up: Skills and Abilities.”
The royal crest brightened again as the familiar outer ring spun back into view with unhurried precision, a smaller circle shimmering to life within it, its icons drifting counter to the first—three simple emblems marking the options before him.
Crossed Blades for Class Skills
Open Hand and Quill for Common Skills
Starburst Sigil for Abilities
Brat nodded approvingly. “There it is. The Skills and Abilities suite. Inner ring handles your growth: Class Skills, Common Skills, and Class Abilities—the framework that makes you, well, you.”
He gestured toward the first icon, the pair of crossed blades gleaming as they spun. “Class Skills define how you fight and defend—how the system reads your style. They refine with use, but true advancement comes when you complete your Champion trials.”
Will focused on the blades. The inner circle brightened, expanding slightly as the rest of the interface dimmed.
A low hum rose through the air. With a snap of Brat’s fingers, a collection of choices materialized between them—weapons, tools, and shimmering symbols of pure technique.
Swords, spears, axes, bows, staves, and shields rotated beside glowing icons marked Parry, Focus, and Evasion, among others.
Brat smiled. “Your choices. As a Champion, you’ve got flexibility. One primary discipline—your main weapon—and one secondary for defense or technique.”
Will watched the holographic weapons spin slowly, gold light tracing their outlines. The greatsword pulsed with raw power; the spear gleamed with calm precision. Then he saw it: a short sword, slender and elegant, its pommel engraved with the falcon of House Valcairn—identical to the one resting in the royal suite.
He motioned toward it, and the blade flared gold before materializing in his hand.
“Light Blades,” Brat said. “Nice choice. It’ll also cover that dagger on your hip.”
Will turned the shimmering weapon in his hand, feeling the balance. “And for a secondary?”
“Depends on your temperament,” Brat said. “You could go ranged and pick archery, or a technique like Cleave or Focus. Most champions chase brute force with long swords and a skill like Slam. Or you could choose something more elegant to pair with your short sword like a small shield. That leads to more intimate fighting and requires more finesse. Very regal.”
Will’s memory offered an image—the small silver-and-gold shield hanging beside the sword in the cabinet. Balance, precision, protection. He reached out and selected the round shield. It brightened, spinning once before locking onto his left wrist.
“Shield Defense,” Brat confirmed, grinning. “Rhythm and anticipation. Redirect what hits you instead of trying to outmuscle it.”
Will nodded. “Seems fitting.”
The sword and shield dissolved into streams of light that drifted away. A low hum rippled through the space, then the shift—the system adjusting, immediate and precise. A subtle charge ran through his arms, awareness sharpening as if his reflexes had been rewritten.
[PRIMARY SKILL: LIGHT BLADES — BASIC]
[SECONDARY SKILL: SHIELD DEFENSE — BASIC]
Will flexed his fingers. “Feels like I already know the moves.”
“That’s motor mapping,” Brat said. “The system syncs your reflexes to the input model. You’ll refine them through practice, but tier upgrades need validation—your class quests handle that.”
He gestured toward the Open Hand and Quill emblem still turning in the interface. “Common Skills handle everything else. They auto upgrade every ten levels.”
Will nodded.
The crossed-blades icon dimmed, and the next symbol in the inner ring brightened—an open hand resting over a quill.
Light rippled outward from the icon. The air shimmered, filling with faint, chiming tones as text and symbols flickered into view.
At first, there were only a few entries, the words arranging themselves in a slow orbit: Craft, Trade, Lore, Exploration, Expression, Mind, Arcana, Artisanry, Survival, and Society.
Then the list grew.
Each category unfolded, spinning outward into subcategories, which branched into still more.
Craft alone divided into Metallurgy, Tailoring, Enchanting, Carpentry, Brewing, Cooking, and twenty more. Trade fractured into dozens of specializations: Appraisal, Logistics, Market Law, Negotiation. Exploration bloomed with mapping, tracking, cartography, archaeology.
By the time the final categories loaded, the entire training room shimmered with layered light and text.
Will lifted a hand against the glow. “That’s ridiculous.”
Brat’s grin widened. “That’s Elysion Online. The system mirrors every working economy, profession, and craft in the global network. Billions of users, infinite variation. Every skill ever written into the framework.”
Will watched the lattice of skills climb toward the vaulted ceiling. “And I’m supposed to pick from that?”
“Technically, yes,” Brat said, clearly enjoying himself.
Will squinted at the endless lists. “Yeah, no. I’d rather not spend eternity scrolling. You got a recommendation?”
Brat brightened. “Now you’re thinking like a prince.” He clapped his hands once. The storm of words and icons froze in midair, light rippling outward in a single controlled wave.
Then, one by one, a selection of icons detached and drifted forward, glowing brighter than the rest.
From Mind, a faint blue symbol shaped like an eye.
From Expression, a golden quill.
From Exploration, a compass rose.
From Arcana, a silver sigil pulsing with coded light.
From Resolve, a calm flame enclosed in glass.
Brat flicked his wrist, and each expanded into text.
[INSIGHT — BASIC]
Perceive emotion, intent, and deception. Enhances connection and dialogue resonance.
[RHETORIC — BASIC]
Improves persuasion, argument, and formal communication. Governs diplomatic and social outcomes.
[PERCEPTION — BASIC]
Heightens environmental awareness. Reveals anomalies, clues, and hidden elements in the world.
[ARCANE LITERACY — BASIC]
Allows interpretation of magical, alchemical, or coded runes across systems.
[COMPOSURE — BASIC]
Maintains emotional equilibrium. Reduces Social Sync penalties under stress or provocation.
“These,” Brat said, “are your foundation. Five starting Common Skills. Non-combat disciplines that shape how you interact with the world and how the world interacts with you.” He flashed a grin. “Perfect skills for the perfect prince.”
Will exhaled. “So… read people, talk better, notice more, decode magic, and don’t lose my cool?
Brat’s grin turned sly. “Exactly. They level on their own now—every ten levels, the system pushes all your common skills up a tier. You might unlock new ones along the way, if the story feels generous.”
Will studied the floating runes. “And all of this feeds into Social Sync?”
“Everything does,” Brat said. “Common Skills govern connection—your tone, your intuition, your reactions. The better you use them, the more real the world feels back.”
Will gave a short laugh. “So even talking is a skill tree.”
Brat winked. “In Belhaven, conversation can be deadlier than a sword.”
The open-hand icon faded, and the final symbol in the inner ring brightened—a starburst sigil pulsing softly between gold and blue.
Brat nodded. “Abilities. These are class-specific, not general skills. They modify how your class behaves and unlock as you advance.”
Will studied the glowing sigil. “When do they start appearing?”
“At level twenty-five,” Brat said. “You’ll receive your first Class Ability then. In the main world, new abilities unlock every twenty-five levels after that, but Belhaven is level-capped at twenty-five.”
Will frowned slightly. “So this is as far as the sandbox goes.”
“Pretty much,” Brat said. “The limitation keeps Project Haven stable. Anything else requires full integration with the live servers.”
The icon dimmed, folding back into the inner ring.
Brat brushed his palms together. “Just for the sake of completeness, there’s one more category worth mentioning. You won’t see it yet—there’s no icon for it until it’s earned.”
Will looked over. “Something hidden?”
“Not hidden—conditional.” Brat’s grin returned. “Titles.” He stepped closer and lifted his hand. The golden interface collapsed, the concentric rings folding inward until only the royal crest remained faintly in the corner of Will’s vision.
“They’re awarded for exceptional accomplishments or being the first to achieve something new. Some are purely cosmetic, others grant passive bonuses or change how the world responds to you. Most of the global ones have already been claimed in the main game, but Haven’s its own instance. Its title registry is empty.”
Will’s expression softened. “So there’s still room for discovery.”
Brat smiled. “Exactly. Every world needs its firsts.” He straightened, the grin turning mischievous. “And that concludes this part of the tutorial. Time for the next lesson. Explore the palace.”
He started to turn, then shot Will a wink. “See you outside.”
Brat flickered once—pixels unraveling from his edges like drifting dust—then vanished.
Will began to rise when a soft chime resonated through the air, followed by a brief golden prompt:
[SOCIAL SYNC: +2.50]
[CURRENT: 12.50]
The glow faded as quickly as it came, leaving only the faint echo of the sound.
Will finished standing, and the chair beneath him dissolved in a shimmer of light. He glanced toward the Champion statue—still glowing faintly in its alcove—then crossed the room and pulled open the door to the sitting room.
Brat was already there, leaning against the window ledge and tapping his foot.
“Took you long enough,” he said. “Come on, Your Highness. Time to see how the world feels beyond the menu.
