Deckard blinked against the sting in his eyes. This was one of the good days—one of the rare moments when his mother remembered who he was.

  “Deckard, you haven’t been eating well. You look older, too,” she said, her voice soft as she stroked his hair with her wrinkled hands.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve been taking good care of myself,” he said gently. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Not too bad,” she replied, then paused. “Where…?” Her voice trailed off, confusion clouding her expression as she looked around.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay,” Deckard reassured her. “How about we take a walk together in the garden. Would you like that?”

  “Sure. I could use some fresh air.”

  Deckard took her arm and guided her outside. She moved with cautious steps. Slow, but steady, thanks to his support. He savored the moment. The days when she remembered were becoming fewer.

  “It’s cloudy today. Looks like it will rain,” he said.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked suddenly.

  Deckard nearly stumbled. It struck him how her memory faltered, yet her motherly instincts endured. She was still worried about his love life.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said, smiling. “I’ve got that handled.”

  “You’ve always been a loner. That’s not good for you, son,” she said. “There’s a nice girl here. What’s her name?” Her voice faltered again. “I don’t recall…”

  “She’s nice,” she added after a beat.

  “Okay, Mom,” Deckard said. “Tell you what—next time, you introduce me, alright?”

  She nodded, satisfied.

  After a few minutes, he brought her back to the building. Even that brief walk had left her winded.

  Inside, he led her to her usual armchair by the window. She eased into it with a small sigh, her fingers gripping the armrests until she settled. Outside, the garden shimmered faintly from the drizzle that had begun to fall. She looked out the window, her gaze distant, as if searching the shifting light for something half-remembered. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Just a faint smile.

  Deckard crouched beside her and held her hand. “I’ll come back soon to visit, okay, Mom?”

  “Okay, baby. You take care of yourself. Make sure you eat properly. You’re too thin.”

  He laughed softly. “I will.”

  He left the building and jogged toward the bus stop. The rain was picking up—not a downpour, but the kind that soaked through if you didn’t keep moving.

  Luckily, the bus arrived just a minute after he reached the stop. He stepped inside and found a seat, letting the warm air from the AC dry his damp jacket.

  His mother’s words echoed in his mind. He’d always brushed off her matchmaking attempts without a second thought. But today, it stuck. It wasn’t that he didn’t want someone in his life. The idea had always been there, buried under obligations. But where would he find the time? And more importantly, what could he offer someone?

  He was already stretched thin—between caring for his mom and helping Uncle Arnold, there wasn’t much of himself left to give. Even if someone wanted to share that burden, what kind of life would he be offering them? The hard life of a caretaker?

  He pulled out his phone and tried to distract himself. He couldn’t let the weight of it all pull him under.

  He opened his social media feed. His posts while playing AstroTerra had gathered a modest number of likes and comments. Most came from longtime followers who remembered him from his Nova Cardia days, wishing him well on his new journey. The rest were comments from Nexus, thanking Deckard and leaving open invitations for other players to check out the game.

  He set the phone down and shifted his focus back to the game.

  During the ride to his mother’s nursing home earlier, he’d researched the cities in the Water Caves region. Most of the differences were cosmetic—some cities were submerged, others above the surface—but the underlying structure remained the same. The dungeons and creature zones were also similar.

  Given Ronan’s recommendation letter, this wasn’t much of a decision. He was going to Aquascape.

  The only question was when. Should he teleport right away or stay a bit longer to finish the quest tied to Ratu and his mysterious backer: the Jungle’s Puppetmaster?

  He still hadn’t uncovered the Puppetmaster’s identity. Rare quests were hard. The rewards had to be worth the effort.

  But how much longer could he justify staying in a beginner region? He’d already spent over a month on the island, combing it end to end.

  If there were clues, he’d missed them.

  Although he’d already asked Ronan about Ratu’s backer, he hadn’t spoken to the other NPCs in Stiltwave. He’d assumed that if Ronan didn’t know anything, the rest wouldn’t either. But maybe that was a mistake. Maybe it was worth asking.

  That would be his final move. His reputation with the village was solid. He might as well use it and ask around.

  If that didn’t turn up anything new, then he’d leave for Aquascape.

  One last try before moving on.

  Outside, the landscape blurred past. He was nearing Uncle Arnold’s stop. He stood up, and signaled the driver. The bus screeched to a halt, and Deckard hopped off.

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  *

  After a night of real-world sleep, Deckard logged back into the game and began his final attempt to uncover the identity of the Puppetmaster.

  He started with Laisenia, the shopkeeper at Silver Shell.

  “Hello, Laisenia.”

  “Hallo, foreigner! You lookin’ for fruit, trinkets, or maybe somethin’ sweet today?”

  “No. Thank you,” Deckard said. “I was just wondering… do you know anything about a Puppetmaster that lives in the jungle?”

  Laisenia blinked, confused. “Puppet-what, now?”

  “A puppetmaster. A puppeteer,” Deckard repeated.

  Laisenia chuckled. “Nah, nah. No puppets in the jungle, friend. Only macaques and birds—but no puppetwhats.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  The rest of his inquiries went about the same. No one had heard of a puppetmaster or anyone who lived out in the jungle, for that matter.

  When he asked about Ratu, the villagers all gave the same kind of answer—no one had seen him in a long while, and several wondered where he might’ve gone off to.

  After a couple of hours with nothing to show for it, Deckard decided to call it quits. He returned to the teleportation pad and selected Aquascape from the list.

  Are you sure you want to teleport to Aquascape?

  Deckard’s hand hovered over the prompt. Just as he was about to press it, a player walked up to Makoa—the trainer who helped beginners with basic combat skills.

  Makoa turned and greeted the player with the same line he always used.

  “Ah, welcome, foreigner! You come to learn island warrior ways, yah? Smart choice. Pick what you like, and even the fiercest p’ret be no trouble to you.”

  Deckard froze.

  Wait a minute…

  He dismissed the system window. Something about that line echoed from his first visit to Makoa. Pirates. He’d mentioned pirates. He hadn’t seen any pirates anywhere on the island.

  What if they were hidden somewhere? And what if the puppetmaster was one of them?

  He stepped forward. “Hello, Makoa.”

  “Hello, warrior. You come for more fightin’ moves, yah? Good skills to help bash dem p’rets.”

  “Actually,” Deckard said, “I was hoping you could tell me where they are. I want to fight them.”

  Makoa raised his brows, then gave a slow, impressed nod. “Ooh, bold boy. You got fire. But listen—dem p’rets? They not easy fight. Even I no go after them. Best I can do is keep them from reachin’ the village.”

  “That’s fine. Just tell me where they are. I’ll handle it.”

  Makoa leaned in slightly, glancing left and right, like he was about to spill a secret. “You go south, follow the river. Take path upstream. On the east bank, there’s old dead tree—folk call it Deadman’s Tree. That’s where p’rets hang ‘round.”

  And just like that, Makoa returned to his usual routine, calling out to the next player in line, his tone bright again.

  Before wasting time chasing pirates through the jungle, Deckard decided to dig for information online.

  Pirates, beginner islands.

  Several posts popped up. Turns out he wasn’t the first to notice that Makoa mentioned pirates in his dialogue. Other players had gone in search of them.

  None of them found any.

  The most anyone reported was a small buried chest near the tree Makoa described, worth ten silvers and a random piece of common gear. A small fortune for a beginner.

  Deckard tapped his foot, thinking.

  So players think there are no pirates. The consensus is that the beginner islands don’t have any. But I know something they don’t.

  He recalled what both Ronan and Ratu had said. Ratu had spoken in fear of “They.” Ronan had clarified that although Ratu’s “They” weren’t directly responsible for the Rain of Fire, they were still connected to the group who was.

  What if the “they” Ratu was referring to were pirates?

  It made sense. And maybe the reason no one else had found them was because they hadn’t triggered the right quest. His quest.

  My quest to discover the identity of the Puppetmaster. Perhaps it’s the piece that other players have been missing!

  Deckard bit his lip, weighing the risk. Should I skip this and just go to Aquascape?

  His foot stilled.

  No. It couldn’t hurt to check it out first.

  Besides, he had gathered every card available on the island. His stats were stronger than ever, and his deck was in excellent shape.

  He turned away from the teleportation pad and followed Makoa’s directions.

  He remembered the river. Back when he first hunted seagulls, he’d come this way to find a quiet grinding spot. Hardly anyone ever traveled in the direction opposite to Gull Rock. He’d stopped short of the river back then, too focused on hunting his first seagulls.

  Now he kept to the riverbank, pushing into the dense jungle. The foliage thickened quickly, the trees rising taller, the light filtering through in patches. Visibility dropped, but staying close to the water helped him keep his bearings.

  He scanned the area. If a tree stood out, he’d know it.

  When I hunted the Wandering Macaque, I came through here, he realized. I even swam across this river. But I don’t remember a weird tree. Maybe I missed it back then.

  Deckard kept moving, pushing vines aside and brushing off ferns until he spotted something. There was a boat. He rushed toward it. It was tied to a tree.

  Deckard recognized the sun-burnt paint and the oars. He’d been aboard this boat once. It was Ratu’s!

  Seeing that his suspicions were being confirmed, Deckard got excited. “I must be close!”

  He started looking around the area. It didn’t take long to find the Deadman’s Tree. It was a black, dead thing. Its bark was split and curled like dried paper, and its bare limbs reached toward the sky like twisted tendrils.

  That’s got to be it.

  He looked around. The Deadman’s Tree was in a clearing, but the vegetation around it was thick. He could have very well passed by this location while searching for Wandering Macaques and not noticed it. He approached.

  The moment he did. The ground trembled beneath him.

  A deep roar rang out—low and full of pressure.

  Deckard staggered. He knew this feeling.

  Reality cracked. The air shimmered. The world shifted. It was the same feeling as when he touched the stone tablets that transported him to the dungeons.

  In an instant, he felt as if he stood indoors. The air had grown still and heavy. The jungle sounds disappeared.

  He gulped.

  I triggered it. The next step of the quest.

  It was the kind of quest that activated a cutscene once you stepped into the right area.

  Deckard heard it again—the heavy, thudding stomps from before. They grew louder. Closer.

  Then they stopped. Just like last time.

  Deckard braced himself, expecting Ratu to emerge from the treeline.

  But it wasn’t Ratu.

  Instead of sending only its puppet, the puppeteer himself stepped forward.

  Deckard took a step back and gulped dryly.

  This wasn’t a pirate.

  This was something else entirely.