Yes and Introductions

Stephen’s hand trembled as he reached for the glowing Yes button on the translucent window, his fingers brushing the air where the text hovered. The screen shimmered at his touch, registering his choice with a faint chime that echoed softly in the quiet room. The words vanished, leaving the window blank for a heartbeat before new text began to scroll across it, each sentence unfurling like a revelation etched in light.

“Your world, one ignorant of magic or beasts, was once a sanctuary shielded by certain Gods,” the message began. “It was even infiltrated by one man, known in your texts as Jesus—a figure from another realm where magic and supernatural abilities flourished. Weary of his own world, he came to yours, retaining his powers to heal the sick and transform water into wine. He sought to foster peace and prosperity. But when a realm grows too steeped in war and malice, it is drawn into the Realm Contest Queue. Jesus has not returned since his time among you. His current whereabouts, actions, or even his existence are beyond my purview—I do not spy on those outside the Contest.”

Stephen lay frozen, his pulse thundering in his ears. The heat of his regenerating body mingled with a electric jolt of shock. Jesus—a realm-traveler with powers like his own? The idea rewrote everything he thought he knew, blending myth, history, and this cosmic game into a dizzying truth. His spine tingled, not with pain but with the faint hum of his nerves knitting themselves anew. The window pulsed, and the text continued, unrelenting.

“Your world, unversed in magic or mystical creatures, will receive a boon: portals to dungeons where you can level up and gain experience. Your stories and games often revolve around such concepts of levels and growth, and this will function similarly. Approximately 10% of your realm’s population will be granted boons by The System. Far fewer will attract the attention of heroes from other realms, who may bestow additional gifts directly. The rest—too old or incompatible with The System—will remain powerless. These portals will connect to other worlds, some competing in this Battle Royale of the Realms, others uninvolved. Failure to conquer these dungeons will unleash their inhabitants into your world, sowing chaos. It falls to you and others awakened to protect your realm from destruction. Only one realm will survive.”

Stephen’s breath hitched, his mind reeling under the weight of the words. Dungeons? Levels? A battle across realms where failure meant annihilation? The scope was overwhelming, yet a part of him—perhaps the part that had always craved adventure—stirred with a reckless thrill. He imagined portals tearing open, spilling out creatures of claw and flame, and himself, somehow, standing against them. His shock was a live wire, sparking questions that tumbled over one another. One rose above the rest, clear and insistent: Realms, like Norse mythology?

The System responded instantly, as if plucking the thought from his mind. The window flared, and new text appeared. “You are correct. The Norse mythology of realms mirrors this reality. Asgard was once a competing realm, fighting for survival—and they triumphed. To avoid future contests and the loss of countless lives, they reshaped their empire to champion peace, rendering them ineligible for the Battle of Realms. Yet their heroes sometimes intervene, offering boons to those they favor. In a past Realm Royale, Ullr, an Asgardian hero, granted his boon to a bowman from a competing world: unparalleled accuracy, the ability to traverse ice effortlessly, immunity to cold, and a hunter’s instinct for danger. These gifts, alongside other heroes’ aid, secured that realm’s victory, sparing it from obliteration. Such favor could befall your realm, should a human earn the notice of past heroes.”

The words faded, leaving the window dim but still present, as if waiting. Stephen sank deeper into his pillow, his mind a whirlwind. Asgard, Ullr, boons—it was too much, a deluge of cosmic truths that drowned his ability to process. He stared at the ceiling, the faint glow of the System’s window casting shifting patterns across the room. His body, still warm with the quiet work of Regeneration, felt like a stranger’s—stronger, alive in ways he hadn’t dared dream. Yet the weight of the Contest loomed, a shadow over the spark of his newfound power. He needed time to unravel it all, to decide what to ask, what to do. For now, he could only lie there, caught between awe and the dawning realization that his world—and his place in it—had changed forever.