The phone cord tangled around Eugene’s fingers as he cradled the receiver against his ear. The patterned hum of the dial tone echoed faintly as he replayed the conversation that had just ended.

  “Sorry, man. Something came up. Next week, for sure,” Matt’s voice had said, tinny and apologetic.

  Eugene sighed. That was the third cancellation this month.

  He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced at the table in the corner of his tiny living room. A hexagonal grid sprawled across its surface, scattered with painted miniatures frozen mid-charge or mid-incantation. Next to them sat his DM binder, meticulously organized, and the thick, spiral-bound rulebook he had almost memorized.

  It wasn’t just a game to Eugene. It was the game. His players relied on him to craft intricate worlds, to breathe life into heroes and villains alike, to weave storylines that left them laughing, arguing, or gasping in awe. Yet, lately, it felt like no one else cared.

  “Next week, for sure,” Eugene muttered under his breath, mimicking Matt’s tone.

  He hung up the phone, the receiver clicking into place. For a moment, he sat there in the quiet, the distant sound of his upstairs neighbor’s TV barely audible.

  It wasn’t that Eugene minded solitude. He thrived on it, in fact, with his books stacked high and the local library’s return slips tucked neatly as bookmarks. Jung, Wolfe, Le Guin—they all had a place on his cluttered shelves, nestled among well-worn VHS tapes of fantasy epics and cult classics. But tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, Eugene had planned to sit at the head of the table, clutching his twenty-sided die, commanding attention like the dungeon masters he idolized.

  Now, Friday night stretched ahead of him, void and dull.

  He tugged at the hem of his Figeraldo’s Video polo shirt, still slightly wrinkled from his earlier shift. The idea of going back there, even for a rental, made his skin itch. He needed something to distract himself, something new.

  Eugene grabbed his coat and keys. “Blockbuster it is,” he muttered, stepping out into the cool evening air.

  The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as Eugene pushed through the glass doors of Blockbuster. He wasn’t proud of being here; Figeraldo’s prided itself on its homey charm, a place where the staff actually cared about movies, unlike this corporate chain with its endless rows of plastic cases. Still, Eugene figured he could allow himself this one indiscretion.

  He wandered the aisles, trailing his fingers along the spines of DVDs. Big-budget action movies sat cheek by jowl with rom-coms, horror flicks, and straight-to-video oddities. Nothing jumped out at him yet, but the browsing was half the fun.

  “Hey, babe, how about you give me your number?”

  The voice came from the far side of the store, where a group of teenagers stood by the comedy section. Eugene turned his head slightly, catching sight of the source: a man in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered and scruffy, leering at two high school girls.

  The girls exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes. “Hard pass,” one of them said, her tone dripping with disdain.

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  “Come on,” the man persisted, his grin widening. “Don’t play hard to get.”

  Eugene froze, his stomach twisting. He hated confrontation. More than that, he hated men like this one—loud, entitled, the kind of guy who thought the world owed him attention.

  One of the girls turned on her heel, her friend close behind. “Creep,” she muttered under her breath as they walked away.

  Eugene snickered, barely more than a puff of air through his nose. He couldn’t help it. The man’s expression—equal parts confusion and wounded pride—was ridiculous.

  “What’re you laughing at?”

  The man’s gaze snapped to Eugene, who instantly regretted his tiny act of defiance. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

  “You think that’s funny?” the man demanded, stepping closer. His voice was sharp now, cutting through the ambient noise of the store. “You got something to say?”

  “N-no,” Eugene stammered, taking a step back. “I—I didn’t mean—”

  The man swung.

  Eugene yelped and ducked, tripping over his own feet as he scrambled backward. His shoulder clipped a low shelf, sending DVDs cascading onto the floor in a plastic avalanche. He spun, arms flailing, crashing into a cardboard standee of The Matrix, which toppled over him like an omen of his own incoming beatdown.

  He tried to regain his footing, but his sneakers slid on a stack of fallen cases. "Wait, wait! Hold on, man!" he sputtered, his voice rising in pitch as he scrambled away. His hands found purchase on another rack—only for it to betray him, teetering over with a groaning creak. More cases clattered to the floor, scattering around him like fallen leaves.

  The man advanced, stepping over the wreckage with slow, deliberate movements, his expression darkening with each second. Eugene turned on instinct and tried to make a break for the exit, but his foot caught on a twisted mess of power cords from a display. He pitched forward, landing in a graceless sprawl, knocking over a stack of bargain-bin VHS tapes in the process.

  A few customers gasped. Someone near the counter mumbled, "Jesus, dude, just run."

  Eugene tried. He really did. He scrambled on hands and knees, his breath coming in panicked gulps. His fingers barely brushed the edge of a shelf for support before a shadow loomed over him. The man was there, towering, fists clenched.

  Then came the impact.

  Pain exploded across Eugene’s face as he stumbled backward, knocking into a display rack. Cases rained down around him as his glasses flew off his face. He hit the floor hard, the taste of copper flooding his mouth. Around him, the world was a blur of fluorescent light and muffled gasps.

  The man loomed over him, fists clenched, face twisted with anger. Eugene scrambled back, knocking over more shelves. DVDs scattered, the store clerk yelled something, and customers turned to stare.

  Then, it happened.

  A strange warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward like the first rays of dawn. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought he might be having a heart attack.

  But it wasn’t pain he felt—it was something else, something vast and overwhelming.

  Light poured from his mouth and eyes, brilliant and blinding. The man staggered back, shielding his face, while the rest of the store erupted into chaos.

  Eugene didn’t scream. He didn’t even feel afraid. The light consumed him, filled him, until he was nothing but brightness and heat and power.

  And then, with a deafening crack, he was gone.

  There was no up. No down. No air, no weight. Eugene wasn’t floating. Wasn’t falling. He simply… was.

  Then, the voices came.

  “A bit sudden, don’tcha think, sugar?”

  “Not sudden. Precise.”

  “Mmm. Feels sudden to me.”

  “Only because you prefer a slow reveal. I prefer the moment things align.”

  A pause. A sense of unseen figures leaning in.

  “Poor boy looks lost already,” the warm voice mused. “Ain’t even stepped through the door, and he’s wonderin’ whether to knock.”

  “A door is merely a passage. He need only walk through.”

  “Uh-huh. Or trip right over the threshold.”

  “He will adjust.”

  “He better. ‘Cause he just went and got himself invited to a very interestin’ game.”

  “Indeed. The dice have been cast.”

  “A place has been set for him.”

  “And the pieces are already in motion.”

  “Bless his heart. Let’s hope he rolls high.”

  Light surged. The voices faded.

  Eugene fell.