“Wait—Cocoon can detect Players? How is that even possible?”
September 23rd, Cycle 11—the Endless Sea.
At the Warner Estate, in a garden lined with laurel trees, Ethan Vale shared what he’d learned from the merfolk chieftain: the Magma Lord known as Cocoon wasn’t just waking up—he could notice Players.
Ethan hesitated over the rest of it. Over the truth.
Skye knew him. Delanna knew pieces. But Hazel Wynn… Hazel was different. She was his childhood friend, sure. Someone he trusted. But she was also an official Player—one of the Institute’s people.
If he told her he was Rhine, if he told her he was Player 0067… what then?
Ask her to help him hide it? To lie to the organization she’d pledged herself to? To carry that weight for him?
Or do the opposite—walk into the Institute’s net with his hands up, and confess what he’d done. Who he’d killed. The lines he’d crossed.
Like Jory Fell.
Because of Hazel’s prayer—and the Life-and-Wisdom Goddess’s revelation—the official Players already knew the one who’d engineered Jory’s downfall was “Rhine.” They’d even pieced together the method: making it look like Jory wasn’t the Governor’s son, letting the city turn on House Viss and House Moros.
From the Institute’s perspective, it was native-on-native bloodletting. Not their problem. Their only interest in “Rhine” was information.
Even so… Hazel wasn’t “the Institute.” She was Hazel.
Ethan kept his voice steady. “Do you remember what you said in the chat? That the System is damaged—that it’s choosing Players to help fix it?”
Hazel nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“Then Cocoon’s probably old enough to see the seams,” Ethan said. “A creation-era being. Something that remembers what this world looked like before it was… patched together.”
Horror crawled up Hazel’s spine.
“A native can spot us,” she murmured. “And it’s the kind of native that hates us.”
“That’s not the worst part.” Ethan leaned in. “That stowaway you mentioned—X. Cocoon could notice him too. Especially if he’s planning to seal Cocoon.”
Hazel’s expression tightened. She was already thinking of her colleagues, her team lead, her report channels.
Ethan made himself continue. If he stopped now, he’d be choosing comfort over survival—for all of them.
So he told her everything he’d held back.
That the merfolk weren’t just “a race”—they were the remnants of angels. That they didn’t worship the Seven Gods at all, but the Creator—what Ethan suspected was the System itself. That the merfolk had their own word for Players: travelers. That they believed the Seven Gods were false gods, wearing stolen crowns. And that the merfolk were cursed for refusing to kneel.
By the time he finished, Hazel sat frozen beneath the bright afternoon sun, laurel leaves flickering overhead.
Her first words, finally, were simple. “I’m reporting this. Immediately. To the Institute.”
Ethan nodded. He didn’t argue. He’d known she would.
“And there’s one more thing,” he added. “I learned the Endless Sea is a Tier-5 world.”
“Tier five?” Hazel blinked, genuinely startled.
Ethan took that as confirmation the Institute hadn’t known. “I think the System ranks worlds. I don’t know whether five is high or low. X might.”
“He definitely does,” Hazel said, and the frustration broke through. “He keeps things from us. Even on missions he wants our help with, he hides parts of it—rewards, conditions, how Level-2 Players even work. We’re always reacting instead of planning.”
Ethan listened. And while Hazel vented, he made his decision.
He would not place his face and fingerprints into the Institute’s hands.
But he would not leave them blind, either.
*
Ethan returned to his house in the Outer City after midnight.
Two nights ago, the strange insects and the endless ash had pushed Windrest City into chaos. Red Falcon had asked Ethan for help with cleanup and containment.
Ethan had agreed—not out of kindness alone, but because cleanup meant information. Where the bugs came from. Why a volcano had risen out of the sea. Whether it all traced back to Cocoon, as Ethan suspected.
He lit the gas lamp upstairs. Warm yellow filled the bedroom, dimmed only by the ash caking the windowpanes.
He exhaled, sat at his desk, and wrote.
Not as Ethan Vale.
Not as Rhine.
He wrote as a voice without a face—careful, deliberate, and honest in the ways that mattered.
“Hazel Wynn,” he began, in the Endless Sea’s common script, so his handwriting from another world couldn’t betray him.
“I’m not sure whether you’ll believe this, but you deserve clarity.
“I am Player 0067.
“In the Endless Sea, I’m known as Rhine.”
He didn’t sugarcoat it after that.
He admitted he was a Returner. That he possessed an S-rank or higher Talent. That based on what Hazel had said in chat—about the System’s damage—he suspected the Institute had encountered a Stowaway.
“So you likely already know about Returners, S-rank Talents, the Earth Core, and Level-2 Players,” he wrote. “You’re not missing intelligence. You’re missing access.”
He explained how he’d obtained an Earth Core and, by sheer coincidence, became a Level-2 Player.
He explained how the System changed for him—how its tasks shifted into a single, relentless purpose: acquiring Creator Shards.
And he explained the new currency the System paid in.
“Contribution Points,” he wrote. “With CP, a Level-2 Player can exchange for items—Divine Sparks, Divine Spark fusion, and more.”
He copied every exchange he could remember. Not in poetic detail—just enough to be usable.
Finally, he copied his own mission panel, word for word.
[PANEL]
Quest 1:
Contribution Quest—Acquire a Creator Shard
Objective: Seal the awakening Magma Lord, Cocoon. After success, use a Talent on Storm Island to obtain a Creator Shard.
Reward: 5 Contribution Points (usable for Divine Spark / Divine Spark Fusion, etc.)
Quest 2:
Divine Spark Quest—You have found a Divine Spark scattered beneath the earth. This is extremely rare.
Objective: Replace Governor Panglos Fell. Become the de facto ruler of Storm Island.
Reward: Once you control Storm Island, you may use the Earth Core to extract the Divine Spark within the land under your rule.
[/PANEL]
He wrote one line after the other, refusing to let X’s lies remain unchallenged.
“As you can see,” he continued, “these missions are massive. I’m not asking you to help me complete them. I’m giving you context—so you can make informed decisions.”
He made the boundary explicit.
“I have plans, but I cannot promise success. The risks are real. And Cocoon can detect Players. I do not want other Players—especially official Players—pulled into my line of fire.”
He didn’t pretend his motives were pure.
“You can believe I’m protecting others. You can also believe I don’t want dead weight. Both are true.”
He laid out what he could, without handing the Institute his throat.
He suspected Panglos Fell had used forbidden soul-fusion. He admitted, plainly, that he’d orchestrated Jory Fell’s death—partly to pressure the Governor, partly to settle an old debt: Jory and his mother had killed a friend-of-a-friend, and Ethan had chosen vengeance.
He acknowledged the moral gap.
“I won’t argue that I always follow your rules. My prior life taught me different lessons. But I do understand how rare order is. If you need help maintaining stability, I will do what I can.”
He said the truth at the heart of it.
“I’m not suited to be an official Player. I don’t want my personal details exposed in any world.”
Still, he offered cooperation—on his terms.
“If we need to contact each other, we can use alternative channels. I will continue sharing what I learn about Level-2 Players and Contribution Points. If my CP is ever sufficient, I’m willing to exchange an Earth Core for the Institute—because I don’t want our worlds to collapse.”
“But I need mutual respect. No coercion. No forced recruitment.”
He sealed the letter tightly.
And, because the Institute needed it, he added everything else he could safely give: creation myths as the merfolk understood them, the angel-war against the Magma Lords, dragons, the Seven Gods, the truth behind Faraneer, the Sorrow Theater—threads the Institute could cross-reference and verify.
When the ink dried, he walked the letter out and handed it to the courier.
As the man rode off into the ash-choked street, a black cat stepped out of the shadows beside Ethan.
Skye was back.