I reached for the loot. Because of course I did.

  It sat there on the pedestal, waiting. Beckoning. Like some tragic little treasure forgotten behind a wall of dullness and sadness. The Mourning Spirit Amulet—simple, unassuming, and humming with a faint energy that sent a shiver up my spine the moment my fingers brushed against it.

  And then—because nothing could ever be easy—came the voice. “Stranger.”

  I stiffened.

  The priest’s tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t shocked. It was worse. It was disappointed.

  My fingers curled around the amulet as I turned back toward him, suddenly feeling like a kid caught sneaking cookies from the temple pantry.

  Come on man, I just had the grand temple theft and the only thing you say is stranger?

  “We are in the simple mourning home,” he continued, his voice measured, his eyes locked onto me like he was willing me to feel guilty. “What did you do?”

  Yeah, okay. That wasn’t unsettling at all. I hesitated before pointing awkwardly at the pedestal. “Uh. This.”

  A pause.

  “The amulet,” I clarified, lifting it just slightly. “I mean, it was just lying here behind a wall? Not exactly prime relic security.” I gave him a sheepish grin, trying to ignore the growing tightness in my chest. “I’ll put the [Mourning Spirit Amulet] to good use, I promise.”

  The silence that followed was thick—the kind that made my stomach twist into a knot I had no hope of untangling.

  And then—finally—the priest reacted. His eyes widened, his calm mask cracking, his hands trembling as if I’d just casually announced I was going to use the sacred relic to decorate my bathroom. “No!” His voice carried weight now, a sudden force that made the already-still temple feel like the air had been sucked right out of it. “Stranger... this... this is a relic of the church! You cannot—”

  I pulled the amulet.

  His breath hitched. The shock, the horror—it wasn’t just outrage.

  It was grief.

  My throat tightened. I swallowed hard and exhaled slowly, the weight of the amulet pressing into my palm. “I can take it,” I mumbled. “And I will.” I forced myself to meet his gaze, feeling something awful settle in my chest. “And I’m sorry for it.”

  He didn’t speak, but I saw it in his eyes—the disbelief, the heartbreak, the heavy realization that I was going to do this anyway. “I promise to give it back,” I added softly.

  A beat of silence.

  Then, quieter still — “…Eventually.”

  The shift in space was immediate—one second, I was in a temple full of judgmental stares and crushing guilt, and the next, I was standing at the edge of a breathtaking seaside cliff, the complete opposite of where I’d just been.

  The air here was different. It carried the scent of salt and the crisp, clean sharpness of the sea. A steady breeze rolled in from the vast, open waters, carrying the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against rugged rocks below. It wasn’t violent, though—no raging storm, no thunderous destruction.

  Just soothing, like a song after fifth whiskey.

  The sun was warm but not scorching, casting a golden hue over everything. The sky stretched infinitely above, a brilliant blue with only the softest wisps of clouds lazily drifting by. It was the kind of place where time felt slower, where the world didn’t press in so hard.

  And yet, despite all that peace, I still had an angry prince in my head. “Pretender.” His voice was heavier than usual. It wasn’t his usual brand of haughty amusement or barely contained irritation. No, this time, it was weighted—like he was carrying something just as heavy as the air between us.

  “From all that you have done… Why did you rob that temple?” I exhaled, rubbing my temples. I could already feel the incoming lecture. “You could have chosen any temple, but you committed the worst crime.”

  And there it was.

  I turned toward the sea, watching the waves break against the shore, trying to find a way to phrase this that wouldn’t make me sound entirely awful.

  “I… thought it would be empty,” I admitted, as if that somehow made it less bad.

  The prince scoffed, his presence in my mind like a storm cloud looming overhead. “And you believe that makes it acceptable?”

  I cringed. “No. But I did it for you.”

  Silence.

  A long, heavy silence.

  Then, finally, his voice came again—measured, slow, but unmistakably disbelieving. “For me?” I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it, watching the waves roll in, their endless motion a stark contrast to the stillness in my chest.

  “There is nothing I want,” the prince continued, his voice sharp as the cliff’s edge. “And nothing that could justify robbing a mourning temple.”

  I winced. Yeah, when he put it like that, it sounded so much worse.

  I turned my gaze toward the horizon, watching as the sun dipped lower, its reflection shimmering over the water. The sea didn’t care what I’d done. The waves would keep coming, the wind would keep blowing, and somewhere out there, a priest was probably still standing in stunned disbelief at my grand act of spiritual theft.

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  “…It’s fine, I will return it, but the looks sucked,” I muttered.

  The prince’s voice in my mind was tight, mixed with something between disbelief and outright disapproval. “Pretender, this is… If the priest had called the temple guards from the other room, you would not have survived even a second. I am almost amazed you haven’t been smitten by the gods for this.”

  His words weren’t exaggerated.

  The temple guards were ridiculous—the kind of NPCs that made you question if balance even existed in this world. They weren’t just high-level warriors; they were divinely sanctioned executioners. Each one had a detailed backstory about how they were chosen by the gods to wreck people like me.

  I shook my head, exhaling slowly.

  Yeah, yeah, overpowered guards, divine punishment, the wrath of a thousand grieving grandmas—I got it. But the thing was? It would’ve taken them a minute or so to even investigate before executing me.

  Probably.

  Huh, it’s a relic, not legendary?

  And if the prince ever bothered to learn more about players, he’d realize that we didn’t care. We would rob anything that wasn’t bolted down—and sometimes even then.

  “Prince, oh mighty and resourceful,” I said, plopping down onto a flat sun-warmed rock. The wind ruffled my hair, carrying the scent of the ocean—fresh salt, damp stone, and the lingering hint of something green from the cliffs above. “Do you know the difference between a legendary item and a relic?”

  “Don’t try to change the—”

  “Just answer,” I interrupted, waving a lazy hand as if dismissing his outrage. I wasn’t in the mood for another morality debate.

  Instead, I let my gaze drift toward the horizon. The sunlight danced on the water’s surface, golden streaks shimmering across the deep blue expanse. The distant roar of waves colliding with craggy rock formations filled the air with a rhythmic pulse, steady and unbothered by mortal nonsense.

  It didn’t matter.

  The temple didn’t even know that stupid amulet was there. They wouldn’t know for a few years. When that happened in the game, I had rushed back to the temple on the test servers, trying to exploit it. But…

  I frowned slightly, fingers absently tracing the grooves in the rock beneath me.

  It was hard. The function was limited—frustratingly so. Even knowing what I did now, even having it in my possession, I wasn’t sure if I could make it work.

  The prince sighed, and I could almost feel the irritation rolling off him like a wave. “Very well…”

  “The difference between a relic and a legendary item…” the prince began, like a professor explaining something painfully obvious to the world’s most insufferable student—me.

  I smirked, leaning back on my hands, letting the warm stone seep through my fingers. The salty breeze tugged at my amazing clothes, the distant cries of… bird creatures mingling with the endless, rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs below.

  If I was about to get lectured, at least it was happening in a postcard-worthy location.

  “A legendary item,” the prince continued, “is born of mortal hands, but it ascends beyond its origins. A blade forged by the greatest smith, a staff that hums with boundless magic—these become legendary through their deeds, through the ones who wield them. Like me.”

  I nodded along, pretending to be fascinated, when really, this was basic knowledge.

  “A relic, however,” the prince continued, and there was something different in his tone now—something almost reverent, “is not forged by man, nor beast, nor magic alone. It is a piece of the divine. Relics are shaped by belief, by worship, by centuries of devotion woven into their very essence. They do not simply exist. They endure.”

  A piece of the divine, huh?

  I tilted my head, watching the way the sunlight bounced off the water, how the seafoam curled and retreated like fingers grasping at the shore.

  “So basically,” I said, tapping a finger against my knee, “legendary items are from mortals, but relics? Relics are sacred and bound to gods. They’re not just things—they’re concepts made physical.”

  That could be why it was legendary on a test server. The gods didn’t have power there?

  The prince scoffed. “Crude, but accurate. A relic is tied to its faith. It cannot be owned, only held. To steal one is to wound the god it belongs to—however small the cut may seem.”

  I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “Ugggh. So what you’re saying is… I didn’t just commit grand larceny. I pissed off an actual deity?”

  “Yes, pretender. That is exactly what I am saying.”

  I winced, my gaze drifting toward my bag, where the Mourning Spirit Amulet was safely tucked away.

  Great. Just great.

  Not only did I rob a temple, but I literally injured some god’s pride in the process. That was bound to come back and bite me.

  “Okay,” I sighed, blowing out a breath. “But! Counterpoint—nobody knew it was there. If a relic falls behind a secret wall and no one remembers it existed, does it even count as stealing?”

  The prince was silent for a long moment. “You are the worst kind of heretic.”

  I grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Okay, time to do what I actually stole it for.”

  I clapped my hands together, figuratively dusting off the last remnants of guilt—not that there was much to begin with—and stretched, my grin widening. This was going to be fun.

  “Are you ready?” I asked the ring, my voice practically dripping with excitement.

  “Ready for what?” the prince’s voice came through, spiked with suspicion. For once, he actually sounded nervous. “Pretender, you are scaring me.”

  I snickered. “Oh, shut up. You’ll love it.”

  The Mourning Spirit Amulet felt heavier as I pulled it from my bag, the weight of it pressing against my palm like a quiet warning. The smooth pendant pulsed ever so slightly, as if aware of what I was about to do. Or maybe just judging me for robbing its holy home.

  Well, too late for regrets.

  I looped the chain over my neck, the cool metal resting against my collarbone. “I have no idea how this works, but let’s hope it does.”

  A sharp inhale. A shift in the air. Then I focused, sending mana into the amulet.

  Unlike the ring, which was temperamental and finicky like a spoiled noble, the amulet drank my mana without hesitation. It was effortless, natural—like breathing, like exhaling a secret into the wind.

  “Pretender—” the prince started, his voice tight with something I almost mistook for panic.

  Too late. The moment my mana reached its peak, I yanked at the connection between the amulet and the ring.

  Pop.

  The world tilted for a fraction of a second. My stomach lurched like I’d just stepped off a ledge, and then— He was there. A burst of energy swirled before me, coalescing into something solid, something regal, something unmistakably him.

  The prince.

  He stood on the flat rock next to me, no longer a disembodied voice in my head but tangible, real. He was dressed in a royal hunter’s hide armor—dark, supple leather stitched with gilded thread, accented with faintly glowing arcane sigils.

  The armor wasn’t just protection. It was declaration of his status, his power, his untouchable might. His high collar framed his sharp jawline, and the cape flowing from his shoulders gave him the air of a monarch who had just stepped onto the battlefield, ready to claim his due.

  His golden eyes, deep and ancient, flickered with disbelief as he glanced down at his own hands, flexing his fingers as if testing their reality.

  For a moment, he just stood there, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

  I let the moment settle. “Hi.“ Let him drink it in. Let him realize he was back.

  Then, with a sweet smile, I took a step forward—

  —and slapped him.