Prologue

  Monday mornings have never been, and never will be, pleasant.

  My name is Lartaro, though in truth, names lose meaning when life itself feels meaningless.

  Five years ago, I earned my Master's degree in Computer Science.

  It feels like a different life.

  A life that belonged to someone else.

  Now, every morning begins the same:

  A blank stare at a glowing phone screen, the bitter taste of black coffee, and the hollow silence of a dying routine.

  I work remotely for an IT company.

  Nine to six.

  Five days a week.

  Fifty weeks a year.

  The same meaningless cycle.

  Like a machine whose only reward is rust.

  In the beginning, I was foolish enough to be excited.

  I told myself I was stepping into adulthood — a future paved with gold, built by my own two hands.

  But reality was colder.

  Reality was heavier.

  I never excelled at anything.

  I never stood out.

  I simply... endured.

  And endurance is not the same as living.

  Now I am stuck.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Chained to a desk.

  Bound to a life so empty that even time itself seems eager to leave me behind.

  The days melt into weeks.

  The weeks collapse into months.

  The months rot into years.

  All of it fading faster and faster, like sand slipping through cracked fingers.

  I remember childhood.

  Every day, a new world to discover.

  Every moment, an adventure.

  Now, every morning feels like waking into the same tomb I fell asleep in.

  Wake up.

  Perform the rituals.

  Submit to labor.

  Collapse into bed.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  Until even dreams are tired of visiting me.

  What I lack is not money.

  Not comfort.

  Not even love.

  What I lack... is purpose.

  And life without purpose is nothing but a slow death.

  Money was never my goal.

  It was supposed to buy me freedom, not chain me to this lifeless existence.

  I never understood those who chase luxury, who flash their hollow victories for all to see — expensive cars, shiny gadgets, empty smiles.

  They are prisoners too.

  Some cages are just more polished than others.

  The only place I still feel alive is inside a digital world, a world of swords, monsters, and endless battles.

  There, I grow stronger.

  There, I fight.

  There, I live.

  Sometimes, I wonder:

  Was I born for that world instead of this one?

  Or has this world already killed me, and I simply refuse to lie down?

  If there is another life beyond this grey, crumbling existence, I would give anything to find it.

  Even my soul.