Saturday sun washed in pale over Maple & 8th, catching dust in the air and turning it into slow, drifting pixels. The “OZMART” sign buzzed faintly, roof of its letters accumulating snow.
Inside, Eathan stocked shelves on autopilot, sleeves rolled up and the newest Identity Log entry prompt hovering at the edge of his vision.
[IDENTITY LOG – ENTRY #283]
Dormancy Protocol Day 348 - 07:10
Prompt: What does your ideal future look like?
Behind the counter, Chewie sat cross?legged on her high stool, a horse anatomy book propped open on her knees, pencil stuck in her mouth. Her hair was yanked into a lopsided short ponytail.
“You know horses have five hearts?” she said suddenly, not looking up.
“They don’t,” Eathan said, sliding a row of kimchi ramen into place.
“The hooves are auxiliary pumps,” she declared. “Which means technically five. Which means they’re overengineered prey animals. I respect it.”
“So you,” he said. “With more hooves.”
She took the pencil out of her mouth to point it at him. “Keep talking. See what happens to your mortal cardiovascular system.”
The antique clock ticked on. Neon bled a little colour across the floor. For a second, it could have been any other morning—arrays humming quietly in the walls, spirit customers yet to arrive, Chewie pretending not to like the equestrian course she’d been keeping up with for almost a year now.
Then Chewie’s wristpad vibrated.
A sharp, specific tone that didn’t belong to RealmNet or mortal group chats. For half a second, the only sound was the fridge hum and the faint click of the clock. The twelve-year-old lowered her eyes to the screen. Eathan watched the way her shoulders twitched before she even checked the screen.
Her expression smoothed out into something almost too calm as she read.
“Let me guess,” Eathan said. “Equestrian instructor finally filed a complaint.”
“Immediate Area 001 recall order.” She hopped off the stool, book snapping shut around her finger. “Meng Yao says ‘urgent rift escalation’ with three exclamation marks. That’s practically screaming for her.”
Immediate.
Eathan glanced at the shop window.
“Now?” he asked, even though the answer was obvious.
“Gate window in twenty,” Chewie said. “Captain’s sending a car to get me to the local transfer point.” She tried for her usual eye?roll and almost got there. “As the resident war relic in a child body, I’m apparently ‘uniquely suited’ to help.”
Eathan leaned the last cup noodle in place and set the box aside.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.
“What, getting called to smack the shit out of angry mob spirits?” Chewie snorted. “Better than calculus.”
“Language,” Eathan said.
“English,” she replied.
“…”
For a beat, Chewie held his gaze. It felt strange for her too, he knew. They’ve spent practically every day together since the Nightmare. This parting would be the first time in eleven months. There was a lot in that pause, unspoken words etched behind her amber eyes.
Then the twelve-year-old shrugged, too casual. “We’re out of time,” she said. “Dormancy clock’s going to hit zero whether we hide or not. Might as well move before someone else decides what happens next.”
“Yeah,” Eathan said quietly. “I know.”
Outside, a sleek black vehicle eased to the curb, unmarked but unmistakable in its Area 003 neatness. The driver got out and pretended not to see the way COZMART’s windows occasionally flickered with glyphs instead of reflections.
Chewie followed his gaze and scoffed, like the car had offended her too. “He’s early.”
Slinging her bag one shoulder, she hopped off the stool and walked toward the door. Eathan followed instinctively, stopping a few steps behind her.
At the door, Chewie stopped.
“You’ll be okay alone?” she asked, nodding at the shop. Her voice came out lower than usual. Not softer—Chewie didn’t do soft, but… more careful.
“Define ‘alone,” Eathan said with a smile. “The fridge and the clock are both pretty clingy.”
Chewie’s mouth twitched—barely.
She looked back, amber eyes scanning him like she was checking for fractures.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.
“Same to you.”
Chewie stared at him for a beat longer, then she turned and yanked the door open.
The bell chimed.
For a second, sunlight flooded in, washing the shop in warm gold that didn’t belong in a winter air.
The bell over the door chimed when she left. The sound hung in the air a little too long.
Eathan watched the car pull away until it disappeared around the corner, then let out a breath he didn’t remember holding.
He flipped his wristpad open again.
[IDENTITY LOG – ENTRY #283]
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Dormancy Protocol Day 348 - 07:28
Prompt: What does your ideal future look like?
“Ideal future, huh…” he muttered.
He turned the OPEN sign around, straightened the counter, and went back to work.
***
Late morning brought in the regular brand of weird.
The door chimed, and Eathan glanced up as a tall, lanky creature ducked inside. Cloak dragging, limbs a little too long, the kind of awkward that screamed ancient forest thing wearing a mortal body like an ill?fitted suit.
[Calamity Radar ω] painted the air around it in soft green.
He recognised the figure from CHN 104 as Jueyuan.
“Welcome to COZMART,” Eathan greeted mildly. “Can I help you find anything?”
The limby monkey spirit shuffled up to the counter and very carefully set down a handful of glowing marbles. They chimed against the laminate, humming with faint starlight.
“Do you…” The creature’s voice rasped like leaves in wind. “Accept celestial currency?”
Eathan leaned on the counter, squinting at the spherical objects. [Ledger Tap] helpfully overlaid exchange rates. They were wildly in his favour.
“We do,” he said. “Congratulations, you’ve found one of the only corner shops in New York with multi?realm payment support. What are you looking for?”
“Peach gummies,” the Jueyuan said immediately, then hunched, embarrassed. “They… remind me of blossoms.”
He bagged two packs, added a third on impulse, and slid them over. “Special today,” he said. “Buy two, get one existential crisis free.”
The Jueyuan blinked, then clutched the bag like treasure. “Thank you,” it whispered, and shuffled out, cloak whispering against the floor.
Five minutes later, Erzhong Ren materialised between aisles, borrowed human body wearing a cardigan that had seen better decades. He held up an already?opened packet of seaweed crisps like it was incriminating evidence.
“I, ah… sampled to confirm freshness,” he said. “I will of course pay for this one and the replacement. Again.”
Eathan’s HUD blinked; the door node pulsed faint amber where it had just scrubbed a hitchhiking spirit off Erzhong Ren’s shoulders and shuffled it harmlessly out through the back array.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Just don’t eat anything with a warning label you can’t read. We’re still sorting out multilingual compliance.”
Erzhong Ren bobbed his head, relieved, and scuttled to the register.
The afternoon brought Mister Jin Chan back, the golden frog-humanoid hopping unsteadily into the shop, trench coat flapping theatrically despite there being no wind.
A loud crash soon followed as he accidentally knocked over an entire display of instant coffee.
“My apologies,” Jin Chan croaked, trying to pick up sachets with webbed fingers. “These mortal shelves are treacherous.”
“Occupational hazard,” Eathan said, kneeling to help. “At least you’re not dripping gold all over the floor this time.”
Jin Chan croaked a laugh, paid in exact mortal change, and left the display only mostly lopsided. When the door closed behind him, COZMART settled into a lull. The arrays he planted in the walls with [Node Imprint] hummed with a familiar pitch he now found comfort in.
Eathan slid his wristpad up with his thumb. The mortal group chat was bustling with activity.
[GROUP CHAT — E.L.S.E]
[LUKETAM]: @EATHAN-LIN bar tn? u’ve been extra ghost lately.
[EMILY]: co?sign. intervention time.
[DREAMERA]: I’ll bring camera. purely to document the roast.
A month ago, he might have made an excuse. Today, the knot in his chest loosened a little at the thought of their voices.
[EATHAN-LIN]: sure. orchard @ 8?
[LUKETAM]: bet.
He stared around the shop for a second. The counter. The fridge glow. The missing C.
He then peered into the city. It was early—New York outside was just sliding toward evening, sunlight spilling generously through its winter streets.
Eathan drew in a long breath, and flipped the sign to CLOSED early. The click echoed.
“Back soon,” he told the empty air, and locked the door.
***
Orchard bar glowed like a warm pocket in the winter evening.
By the time Eathan pushed the door open, the city had already dove into night—streetlights smearing halos on the wet pavement, exhaust clouds hanging low. Inside, the bar buzzed with music, clinking glasses, and the vague smell of citrus and old wood.
“Behold,” Luke announced from their usual corner booth. “The myth, the legend, the guy who finally remembered how to socialize.”
Emily looked up from her drink, dark lipstick, darker under?eye circles. “We were starting to think you’d merged permanently with a cash register.”
Sera raised a hand in a tiny wave, camera set on the table beside her. “I told them you’re still mortal,” she said. “Mostly.”
“Some days I’m not sure,” Eathan said, sliding into the seat next to Luke. “The cash register and I have been through a lot together.”
Luke shoved a menu at him. “Order something fun. And by ‘fun’ I mean anything above ‘sad beer.’”
“Bold of you to assume I have money,” Eathan said. “I work retail.”
“You also have mysterious side?contracts,” Emily pointed out. “Which you’re very bad at explaining, by the way.”
“It’s an internship,” he said automatically.
“A shady convenience store that still accepts cash payments,” Emily said. “In 2045. During a global techno-spiritual evolution. Totally normal.”
Sera hid a smile behind her glass.
Banter rippled easily around their small table. They complained about all kinds of things—about professors, about Westpoint’s administration, about Emily’s latest disaster of a group project. Luke threatened, again, to drop out and start a food truck selling IV drips for immortality. Sera showed them a set of photos from her latest assignment—subway platforms, reflected faces, that one shot of COZMART at dusk where everything looked like it was holding its breath.
For a while, it felt almost like last year. Before the Realm-Barrier Games. Before rifts and paladins and golden light chewing through his bones.
Before the [SYSTEM] latched onto his soul.
Almost.
The difference was in the seams.
In the way Luke’s jokes kept looping back to when you’re done with that internship, not if. In Emily’s glances, the way she looked like she wanted to ask something and kept not doing it. In Sera’s quiet watching, eyes more serious than her mouth.
They were trying, Eathan realised. Consciously or not, they were trying to make this easy. As if they knew he was balancing on some edge and were determined to make the view less terrifying.
The knowledge warmed him and hurt, both at once.
He rolled the glass between his hands, watching the ice melt. Words lodged somewhere under his ribs.
“Hypothetical,” he said finally. “If you knew you weren’t going to see someone for a while. You didn’t know how long, just… long. What would you say to them?”
Luke paused, glass halfway to his mouth. “Dude, that’s… emo,” he said, but without much bite.
Emily frowned. “Is this about your boss?”
“It’s about… stuff,” he said. Which was technically true. “Hibernation season. Life. Whatever.”
Sera tilted her head. “Are we talking ‘gap year’ not seeing, or ‘sent to Mars’ not seeing?”
“Somewhere between,” Eathan said. “Not permanent. Just… uncertain.”
A quiet settled around their table. Luke paused mid-sip, glass lowering slightly as he glanced at Emily. The latter leaned her elbows on the table, thinking.
“I’d probably make a list,” Emily said. “Of all the things I’d be mad at myself for not saying later. Then say them so I don’t have regrets. Very efficient.”
“Of course you’d spreadsheet your emotions,” Luke muttered.
Sera considered. “I think I’d just tell them I’m glad,” she said softly. “That I met them at all. Even if it ends up being a short chapter.”
“I’d send memes,” Luke said, making a face. When both girls stared at him, he added, “What? That’s like my love language. And then I’d punch them in the arm and say ‘don’t forgive me, you’ll be missing out.’”
Eathan huffed a laugh.
“You?” Sera asked gently.
He looked at them—their tired faces, their familiar bickering, the bar’s lamplight turning their hair warm.
“I’d say thanks,” he said. “For putting up with me. And then I’d probably make a dumb joke and leave before I cry.”
Luke snorted. “Coward.”
“Accurate,” Eathan said.
The moment stretched, oddly fragile.
Then Luke clapped his hands together, forcibly brightening. “Okay, enough sentimental indie monologue. Toast to hypothetical departures and non?existent Mars trips.”
They raised their glasses, ice clinking together like bells, and laughter rose again.
Amid renewed chatters at their table, Eathan’s wristpad buzzed again. For a split second, he expected another message from Luke (sent from across the table, because of course) or maybe Chewie complaining about Area 001’s cafeteria.
Instead, the notification pane snapped open on its own, overriding his settings.
[REALMNET BREAKING ALERT]:
Chewie Jiang (Area 001) confirmed dead in Rift T-1444!