Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

The meeting had begun an hour before the Ordeal of the Dusk.

My confidantes—Charis, Verina, Viviane, Lupina, and Kuzunoha—were present as expected.

But tonight, there were two additional presences.

Erika, my ever-faithful owl.

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And Primus—the first Cognitive Engine I had ever activated.

Unlike other Cognitive Engines that functioned as extensions of the Neuromorphic Network, Primus was unique. Her presence here wasn't just symbolic—she was a manifestation of the bastion's awareness itself, directly interfacing with the Neuromorphic Network in real-time. With her in this room, the Landship itself listened.

But none of that was the primary focus tonight.

Viviane had something to say.

I leaned back in my seat, swirling my tea in slow, lazy motions, my ever-shifting smirk curling in anticipation. "Viviane, since you were the one to request this meeting, the floor is yours."

Viviane exhaled deeply, her fingers lightly drumming against the table. "I would have, but someone else in this room already knows everything I'm about to say," she said with a pointed glance.

Kuzunoha.

The woman in question chuckled, resting her chin in her palm, crimson eyes glinting with amusement as she stretched in her seat.

"Ah, my dear Viviane, you wound me." She let out an exaggerated sigh. "I would have gotten to it eventually, you know. But since you insist, I shall take center stage."

She turned toward me, her expression unreadable yet playful in a way that made it clear she was enjoying this far too much.

"Narcissus," she said smoothly, "Your newest recruit is undeniably tied to the Unloving Sea."

A pause. I let the silence linger, let the weight of that statement settle. Then, with a calm, expectant smile, I tilted my head slightly. "Elaborate."

Kuzunoha grinned. "Ah, I do love it when you say that."

She straightened, her tone shifting into something richer, more deliberate.

Kuzunoha's voice held a rare, deliberate weight—the kind that demanded attention without force, but through sheer presence alone.

"Ishmael," she said, her tone smooth and measured, "Is what I would classify as a Rift Voyager—a voyager of all things beyond Carcosa that can still be reached without divine interference."

Rift Voyager.

The term was unfamiliar, but the meaning behind it should be obvious enough to settle deep into the marrow of the discussion, relative to Kuzunoha's theatrical tale. Even without prior knowledge, it carried an undeniable gravity—one that none of us could afford to ignore.

Verina, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.

"You're saying Ishmael is a Rift Voyager for the Unloving Sea," she said, her voice neutral but sharp, like a scalpel slicing straight to the heart of the matter.

Kuzunoha purred in approval, the barest flicker of satisfaction crossing her features. "Precisely."

Lupina furrowed her brows, her sharp eyes flickering between us. Unlike Verina's calm, her expression carried something uneasy—something unspoken yet visible in the way her shoulders tensed ever so slightly.

"Is that even a real thing?" she asked, skepticism threading through her voice. "Rift Voyager? What kind of person just… sails into places like that?"

Kuzunoha let out an exaggerated gasp, bringing a hand to her chest in mock offense.

"Oh, sweet Lupina," she drawled, eyes glinting with amusement, "you think the Unloving Sea is the only abyss worth crossing?"

She leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table, slow and rhythmic—like a heartbeat marking the tempo of an approaching revelation.

"My dear," she continued, voice laced with something silken yet dreadful, "There are many such places, each as horrifying and enigmatic as the next."

"There is!?" Charis seemed to be extremly excited to hear that.

Her crimson gaze sharpened, the air around her shifting ever so subtly, as if the weight of her words carried an unseen force.

She lifted a single finger.

"The Cradle of Hollowed Suns—where the sky itself forgets light ever existed. A place where even the concept of illumination is devoured, and those who venture too far lose the memory of warmth, of sight, of their very own existence until they are nothing more than shadowed remnants of forgotten selves."

"Ooooh!"

A second finger.

"The Fractured Spiral—a realm that loops upon itself like an ouroboros, an infinite coil of cause and effect. It is a place where time is not a straight line, where those who enter find themselves trapped in a cycle—forever feeding their past into their future, and their future into their past, never knowing which version of themselves is the original."

"Ooooooh!"

A third.

"The Nameless Reverie—a land where dreams are born but never die. The cast-off fragments of thought, the unfulfilled wishes of all sentient beings, the stories that never reached their endings… they linger. They fester. They grow. And within that endless, pulsing realm of possibilities, reality itself bends to the whims of dreams that were never meant to be made real."

She paused, her smirk deepening as her gaze found mine.

"I could go on."

It was dense, filled with the weight of unseen places, of names spoken into existence that carried the scent of something both wondrous and nightmarish.

"Please don't," I mused with a smile.

Lupina, on the other hand, looked vaguely unsettled.

Her arms crossed over her chest, her tail flicking once—a telltale sign of discomfort.

"That's horrifying," she muttered under her breath.

"It is," Kuzunoha agreed far too cheerfully, her smile unfaltering.

Lupina shot her a look of deep suspicion.

I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the armrest of my seat. The rhythm of my touch was neither impatient nor idle—it was a motion of thought, of sorting through the information given and slotting it into place.

Rift Voyager.

The term still lingered in my mind, an unfamiliar designation wrapped in undeniable significance.

A title seemed not given lightly. A title that carried meaning beyond mere occupation. A title that, even now, shaped Ishmael's existence in ways she herself did not remember.

"Ishmael has no memory of this," I stated, breaking the moment of contemplation. "I have already wrung as much information about her background as I could before recruiting her. I turned my gaze to Kuzunoha, watching her carefully, searching for any flicker of withheld knowledge. "And I have no access to her past as a demigod."

A rare thing.

Something—or someone—had severed that knowledge from me.

Kuzunoha's grin turned sharper. "That, my dear, is what makes this so interesting."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "If I had to take a guess? It's not just because she's a Rift Voyager. It's because of what she encountered in the Unloving Sea."

Charis, who had been listening carefully, spoke with her usual measured calm instead of her deliberate excitement. "And your assumption is that this is related to a Foreigner's influence."

Kuzunoha clicked her tongue, nodding. "Exactly."

I considered this for a moment.

"Do you know which Foreigner?" I asked.

Kuzunoha smirked. "Unfortunately for you, my love… I don't."

For a moment, there was no amusement in her voice—just blunt honesty, albeit still hidden beneath a haughty smile. She leaned back in her chair, gaze turning contemplative.

"The Unloving Sea isn't something I ever bothered with. Not even when I was the infamous Collector."

Verina raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Kuzunoha gave her a lazy glance. "Because I didn't care for it."

A simple, matter-of-fact statement.

But then, a more important revelation followed.

"Besides," she murmured, "The Unloving Sea is far worse than even the Time of Nihil when it comes to distortions."

That caught Erika's attention. She turned slightly, her golden, owl-like eyes narrowing. "Worse?"

There seemed to be an intent behind her response, as if she didn't really want to know the truth behind it herself, but to alert the topic so that it was delved even further.

Kuzunoha nodded. "The Time of Nihil is bad, yes. But it has patterns, cycles, and an eventual end. The Unloving Sea? Its time and space are in a constant state of collapse and rebirth. It isn't just unpredictable—it's actively unstable."

"And yet," I mused, "Ishmael survived, huh."

Kuzunoha's smirk returned. "Hence why she is a Rift Voyager for a reason."

I exhaled, my ever-shifting smile deepening as I glanced around the room.

"Any thoughts on what to do with her?"

Silence.

Then—Viviane spoke.

"For now?" She sighed, folding her arms. "There's nothing to be done."

I arched an eyebrow. "Nothing?"

Viviane met my gaze evenly. "Until she distorts, there's no point in acting. Especially with how chaotic her emotions already are."

Logical.

I turned my gaze toward Primus, who had been silent throughout the conversation, her holographic form faintly flickering with the shifting processes of the Neuromorphic Network.

"Primus, what do you think?"

Primus' voice was even, precise. "I concur with Viviane. Predicting distortion events is impossible without active variables. There is no current benefit to excessive interference."

I inclined my head slightly, accepting the assessment.

Viviane, however, wasn't done.

"There is one thing we must do," she added, her voice gaining weight.

I lifted an eyebrow. "And that is?"

Viviane's expression was uncharacteristically serious.

"She must never be left unsupervised."