I sat in front of it until almost morning. The screen flickered with a soft light, distorting the colors as if the image were passing through water. The games on this console were strange. Not exactly scary, but rather unfamiliar. As if they were made not for entertainment, but for something else. I couldn't remember where I got it. I thought I found it in the basement of an old house while helping a friend move... or bought it at a garage sale from an elderly couple moving to Florida. The memories were jumbled, like dreams you only remember before breakfast.
That night, I didn't feel tired. Just a slight detachment, as if everything happening wasn't quite my life. As dawn broke outside, I noticed the coffee was gone. This became an excuse to interrupt my gameplay. I pulled on my jacket, stepped outside, and found myself in the cool, gray morning. The city was still asleep, the stores were closed. I didn't want to go home - it was still quiet, filled with the echo of the late-night sounds from the TV.
I decided to just go.
The morning was chilly, the sky heavy and leaden. The asphalt glistened with the overnight rain, and every step echoed in the damp air. I wandered aimlessly until I found myself in the city park. It was empty. The benches were wet, the grass was dripping, the trees were black silhouettes against the gray sky. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed. I felt like I was the only person in this city. Or maybe in the whole world.
I sat down on a bench under an awning and pulled a crumpled chocolate wrapper from my pocket. I examined it as if it could explain something. My thoughts returned to that game, to that console. There was something... wrong about it. Or, conversely, too right. It was as if she knew what I wanted to see even before I started playing.
And the more I thought about it, the more I felt like today would be a day like no other.
Walking through the park, I didn't notice how I'd turned onto a side path, almost hidden by fallen leaves. It led deeper into the trees, where the park gradually transitioned into something wilder, less well-kept. The path meandered, disappeared, and then reappeared, as if testing whether I really wanted to go further.
A cool autumn breeze swayed the tree branches. The path was strewn with fallen leaves. The forest smelled of damp earth, bark, something ancient and tranquil. Ahead, between the tree trunks, a small, old altar appeared. It was made of stone, covered in moss and time. On it lay coins - mostly small change - a few candies in brightly colored wrappers, and strange little toys: either figurines or amulets. Its origin was almost impossible to determine. No crosses, no hieroglyphs, no pentagrams. Just a place that someone deemed important.
It was most reminiscent of the so-called saverooms from old console games - a safe place where you could save your progress, catch your breath, and escape the enemies that roamed the rest of the world.
I stood before the altar, listening to the silence. Then I pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from my pocket, pulled one out with my teeth, and lit it. The smoke gently dissipated in the cold air. After checking how much was left in the pack, I, without thinking, placed it near the altar. As an offering. Maybe it would actually work. Maybe it meant something.
After that, I turned around and walked back, trying to remember where exactly I had come from. The park was still the same—gray, quiet, as if frozen. Only now there was something barely perceptible in the air. It was as if I'd passed through a thin film and returned, but brought a little foreign air with me.
I glanced at my watch.
And that's when it got strange.
The entire walk - from the house to the park, to the altar, and back - couldn't have taken more than an hour and a half. I'd left around seven, so it should have been just after eight. But the watch said 10:03. I even stopped, rereading the numbers, as if they could be wrong. Two extra hours. Where had they gone?
The shops were already open. I went into the nearest one, bought a coffee, and lit another cigarette, this time not at the altar, but on the corner by the pharmacy. People passed by, cars honked, the city was waking up. Everything looked the same as always.
But something inside had changed. Subtle, imperceptible. As if someone had saved my game somewhere - and now I was picking it up from a different point.
I returned home. And the first thing I did was turn on the console.
I continued playing, but something nagged at me. There were no bugs, no obvious changes—everything looked almost the same. But the feeling of something shifting didn't go away. As if someone had quietly opened a long-boarded door in a familiar house. As if the game knew I was beginning to understand.
I played until I began to nod off. Somewhere at the edge of my attention, the numbers on the clock flashed—it was around five in the evening. I didn't turn off the console, I simply leaned back, my eyes closing of their own accord. Sleep came imperceptibly, as if someone had gently nudged me.
I woke up in the dark. It was pitch black outside, and the room was silent, broken only by the faint hum of the television. I wanted to pop into the video game store - the one on the corner, where the clerk always played old trailers on the small screen. The digital clock on the dresser blinked - a quarter to nine. The store must have closed already.
I sat motionless, feeling a strange uneasiness growing inside. And then a thought occurred to me—strange, almost insane, but too logical to dismiss.
What if I went to the altar again?
Last time, I wanted coffee. The price was a cigarette. It was simple. Now I wanted a game. The very one that should have been on the store shelf. I took a twenty out of my wallet and looked at it. The paper was a little wrinkled, but intact. I hesitated. This was stupid. But still...
I started rummaging through the things in the room. An old joystick, broken during one of those sleepless nights. A cartridge from a game I'd never been able to finish. A letter from a friend I'd once played with but hadn't spoken with in a while. It all seemed appropriate. Equivalent.
I chose one item - the one that evoked a strange, aching sense of loss. I wrapped it in a cloth and put it in my pocket. I took the money, too. Just in case.
The park was different at night. Silent, almost timeless. The path, hidden by the foliage, was back in place, as if waiting. I walked along it, feeling the air grow thicker, as if the park itself were holding its breath.
The altar was there, the same one - stone, moss-covered, strewn with offerings. I didn't bend down—the altar was at chest level, as if it were meant for simply walking up to it and leaving something. I took out the package and placed it next to the candy and coins. Then a twenty. I paused for a second, hesitating. This was just a game, wasn't it? Or was it?
I didn't say a word. I simply turned and walked back, feeling a strange calm, mingled with anxiety, spreading through my chest.
I was almost to the main path when my gaze caught on something in the grass. A small box, half-hidden by leaves. Someone might have dropped it. Or thrown it away. Or... left it.
I bent down and picked it up. The box was gray plastic, slightly scratched. The sticker with the name was half torn off. All that was visible was the hilt of a sword, reaching into the bright blue sky, and a red plaque with the words "Exclusive: limited edition."
I stood there, looking at the find, and a thought popped into my head that somehow seemed obvious:
This isn't just a game. This is the answer.
I wasn't in a hurry. Quite the contrary. I returned home slowly, as if I didn't want to frighten the fragile feeling that had settled somewhere inside me - a mixture of anticipation, anxiety, and... respect, I suppose. For what, I didn't know. But I felt there was no need to rush.
I didn't rush to the console, as I would have done in another situation. Instead, I headed to the kitchen, turned on the kettle, and made myself some coffee. Regular instant coffee, slightly bitter, just the way I like it. While it steeped, I took out the box and placed it on the table.
Exclusive: limited edition.
The gray plastic was warm to the touch, as if someone had just handled it. The sticker was half torn off, but what remained looked strangely familiar. The sword hilt, reaching upward, toward the sky, as if piercing it. The bright blue background. The red plaque with the inscription. It all seemed simultaneously new and long forgotten.
I ran my finger along the edge of the box. I didn't open it - I just looked. There was something... right about it. Games on this console weren't exactly ordinary anyway - each one left a mark, as if pulling out a piece of something personal. But this one... This one stood out even among them. It felt alien. Or rather, too much like home to be just a game.
I took a sip of coffee. The bitterness burned my tongue, but it didn't drive away the feeling. I knew there was more than just a disc inside. And more than just a story. Whatever was inside, it had already begun to work. It had already changed something - in me, around me, in reality itself.
I stood up, picked up the box, and headed into the room. The console was still on - the screen was dark, but a slight hum betrayed its presence. I sat on the floor, just as I had as a child, when games were more than just entertainment. Back then, I believed they could be portals.
I opened the box.
Inside - a disc. No name. Just a gray circle with the same torn sticker as the outside. I inserted it into the console. The mechanism whirred, and the screen came to life.
A logo appeared - unfamiliar, yet somehow evoking a strange sense of deja vu. Then a black screen. And only one message:
"Continue?"
I held the gamepad in my hands, but I didn't press anything. I just watched. Because I knew: this wasn't just a question. It was an invitation. Or a test.
I took a deep breath. My finger hovered over the button.
And I pressed it.
An image slowly began to appear on the screen. The same as on the box - a sword hilt, reaching upward into the bright blue sky. But... now I saw that part of the screen seemed to have been torn away. Not obscured, not hidden - torn away, like a torn edge of paper, like a hole in fabric. And only then did I notice: the sticker on the box wasn't damaged at all. It was a complete image. Whole. The bright sky, the sword, and - a break. As if everything I saw on the screen was just part of something larger. As if the game wasn't just a copy, but a reflection. And in this reflection, something was missing.
As I stared at this, text began to appear in the black part of the screen. Little by little, letter by letter, as if someone on the other side of the screen was typing it out by hand, without rushing:
"The price has been paid and the way is open... But before I leave my home... Let me ask—what should I take with me on my journey?"
I froze.
Just a question. No options. No cursor. No prompt to press a button. The screen didn't flicker, didn't demand action. It waited. As if I actually had to answer. Not as a player - as a person. As if it mattered.
I leaned back and placed the gamepad on my lap. My mind was racing with thoughts. What should I take with me? What could I possibly need where I was going?
I looked at the box again. At the sword. At the sky. At the cliff. They all seemed like symbols, but the decipherment eluded me. I remembered the cartridge I'd left by the altar. Remembered how it lay in the rag, how I'd doubted it. And I realized: the game had already begun then. Not with the press of a button. But with the decision - to give it up.
What should I take with me?
I thought about things - my phone, my keys, the old keychain I'd carried since childhood. But it all felt... wrong. Too material. Too here.
I thought about feelings. About fear. About hope. About memories. Maybe I should take the question with me? Or, conversely, the answer?
I picked up the gamepad. The screen was still waiting
"Memory," I said out loud. Not knowing if the game would hear. Not knowing if it was right.
Nothing happened. No sound, no flash. Only the text on the screen slowly faded, letter by letter. And in its place a new line appeared:
"Accepted."
The image changed. Now on the screen was a tower. Simple, round, built of gray stone, with narrow loopholes, like scars on the body of forgotten times. Clouds drifted behind it, slowly, majestically, as if the sky itself were breathing. I felt the wind. Not heard - I felt. It touched my face, tickled my hair. I stood at the foot of the tower, looking up, squinting from the light. But at the same time, I was sitting in my room. On the floor. With a gamepad in my hands. The coffee had gone cold.
Reality melted at the edges of perception, like ice in the sun. Still familiar, but no longer reliable. It was as if I were looking at the world through glass that was about to crack.
The text appeared on the screen again. In the same ragged, vibrant rhythm, as if someone on the other side was typing, thinking over each word:
"Fear or doubt has settled in my soul... What lies ahead? Will it be possible to return? But will fear and doubt be an obstacle?"
I wasn't thinking. The answer came to me.
"No," I said. "They won't. I'm ready."
There was silence on the screen. The tower still stood, and the clouds still drifted. And then a new line:
"Then tell me: what will you part with to pass?"
I felt something tighten inside me. This was no longer a game. This was a deal. Not an offering, not a sacrifice. A choice.
What should I part with?
I thought. Everything around me froze - the room, the screen, even the wind I felt - as if they were waiting. I thought about things, but realized: it wasn't about things. It was about something deeper. About what I carried within me.
I could give up the hurt. Or the pain. But that would be too easy. I could give up the fear - but I'd just admitted it wasn't an obstacle. Then... what?
"Regret," I said. Quietly. Almost a whisper. "I will part with regret."
The screen flickered. The tower grew a little closer. The clouds a little brighter. And again - the text:
"Accepted."
And then:
"What are you looking for?"
I froze. This question was different. It didn't demand sacrifice. It demanded the truth.
I closed my eyes. Inhaled. And allowed myself to feel.
What am I seeking?
Not victory. Not an answer. Not salvation.
"Myself," I said. "I'm seeking myself."
The perspective shifted, and the tower drew closer, as if it were taking a step toward me. The stone of its walls became closer, clearer, more alive - I could discern the cracks, the moss in the seams, the traces of time, as if the tower had stood here for centuries, waiting just for me. At its base stood a door. Simple, wooden, with a worn brass handle. It seemed neither ancient nor magical. It was real. Like something from childhood. Like a dream.
New text appeared on the screen:
"A dream world beyond these gates... Only one final step remains... Do you wish to leave this hateful, boring world?"
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't know what to say. But because words no longer mattered. I already knew everything I needed to know.
I reached out. Not to the button. Not to the gamepad. Just forward. To the screen. To the door.
My fingers touched the glass - and it wasn't glass. It was a surface. A threshold. And my hand passed through. Without resistance. Without a sound.
I took hold of the handle. It was warm. As if someone had held it before me.
I turned it.
The door opened without a creak. Simply - opened. And there was nothing frightening behind it. Only light. Soft, warm, inviting. Like a morning you weren't expecting, but which had come.
I entered.
"Welcome."
A voice - not a voice. A thought. A whisper. Inside.
The door closed softly behind me. No click. No lock. Simply - vanished. As if it had never been there.
I stood on the threshold of something else. The air here was different. It smelled not of air, but of possibility. I couldn't feel the ground beneath my feet - ut I stood. The light wasn't blinding - but everything was visible. And everything was new. Even if I already knew it.
Ahead lay a path. Not a road. Not a trail. But a path. And I knew it would be difficult. It would be strange. But it would be mine.
And all that remained was to take the first step.
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