Chapter 2 - Party Request
1041 Words
The next night, Avegail Montelco was waiting.
Her computer hummed softly as the clock on her desk ticked toward midnight. She had spent the entire day restless, drifting through classes with her mind elsewhere. Even while sipping coffee in the university library or pretending to listen to her professors, her thoughts kept circling back to AFK: Eternal Realms. More specifically—to him.
EmmettMalcolm.
It was strange. She had met countless players before, some of them even familiar names in the community. But none of them had left her with this bubbling sense of anticipation. She tried to brush it off as silly—it was just an online party, just another gamer. Yet, her heart betrayed her with its quiet thudding as midnight drew near.
Finally, the clock struck twelve.
With practiced ease, Avegail logged in. Lunaria materialized in the moonlit fields outside the capital city. Fireflies glowed along the riverbank; NPC merchants called out their usual scripted lines. Everything looked the same as always—but tonight, it felt alive in a new way.
Almost immediately, a party request appeared on her screen.
[Party Invite] EmmettMalcolm has invited you to join his party. Accept?
Avegail smirked. He hadn’t wasted a second. With a click, she accepted.
The party chat opened instantly.
EmmettMalcolm: Midnight, as promised.
Lunaria: You’re on time. Impressive.
EmmettMalcolm: I told you I’d be here.
She could almost imagine his voice in her head—calm, steady, and maybe just a touch playful.
“Ready for another dungeon?” he typed.
“Always,” she replied.
This time, instead of recruiting strangers, Emmett suggested they run something easier—just the two of them. A smaller dungeon where coordination mattered more than brute force. Avegail agreed, curious to see how well they’d handle challenges without a full team.
They entered The Hollow Grove, a dark forest teeming with corrupted beasts. The twisting trees cast eerie shadows across the path, their branches clawing at the sky. The air shimmered with faint green mist.
From the first encounter, their synergy was undeniable. Avegail launched precise spells to weaken enemies while Emmett shielded her from ambushes. Their movements seemed instinctively linked—as if she already knew when he’d charge, and he already knew when she’d cast.
Halfway through, Avegail typed with a grin:
Lunaria: You play like we’ve been teaming for years.
His reply came quickly.
EmmettMalcolm: Or maybe you just read me well.
That made her pause. A simple line, yet it carried weight. She couldn’t explain why it warmed her cheeks, but it did.
As they progressed, their chat drifted beyond game mechanics.
“So, Avegail… what got you into AFK?” he asked.
She blinked at the message. Most players didn’t care about stories; they cared about loot. But something about the question felt different.
She hesitated, then typed: “Honestly? I just wanted an escape. Real life is noisy. Here, it’s quiet. Peaceful. I can be… someone else.”
His reply was thoughtful.
EmmettMalcolm: Not someone else. Just a part of yourself that deserves more space.
Avegail stared at the screen, surprised. No one had ever phrased it like that before.
“What about you?” she asked.
After a moment, he responded.
EmmettMalcolm: I play because I like connections. Not the shallow ones, but the kind you build slowly. A friend of mine once said, ‘Pixels fade, but the people behind them stay.’ I guess I believe that.
Her chest tightened slightly. His words carried a sincerity she rarely saw online.
By the time they reached the final boss—a corrupted treant with branches like blades—the dungeon had become more than a quest. It was a conversation wrapped in gameplay, a rhythm of fighting monsters while weaving pieces of themselves into the space between keystrokes.
When the treant fell, Emmett typed,
EmmettMalcolm: Nice work, partner.
She smiled, her fingers hovering before replying.
Lunaria: Partner, huh? That has a nice ring to it.
EmmettMalcolm: Then it’s settled. From now on, we run together.
It wasn’t a question—it was a promise.
Over the next week, “midnight runs” became their ritual.
Every night, no matter how exhausting her day had been, Avegail would log in at midnight and find Emmett waiting. Sometimes they raided dungeons. Sometimes they just wandered the open world, watching the virtual sunrise together. And sometimes, they didn’t play much at all—they just talked.
Avegail learned that Emmett was a year older than her, studying computer science. He lived in another city, far enough that meeting in person wasn’t simple, but not impossibly far either. He had a dry sense of humor that often caught her off guard.
He learned that Avegail was juggling university with part-time work, that she had a younger sister who occasionally peeked into her room during gaming sessions, and that she loved coffee to an unhealthy degree.
One night, he asked, “Do you ever wonder if the people you meet online are real? Like—not just their characters, but the actual person behind them?”
Avegail thought about it before replying: “Sometimes. But with you… I don’t wonder. I feel like I already know.”
There was a pause before his response appeared.
EmmettMalcolm: Same here.
Her heart skipped.
It was small things that deepened their bond. The way he’d always whisper, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” when enemies swarmed her. The way she’d crack jokes to lighten tense battles, making him type laughing emotes. The way they began to anticipate each other’s moods even through text.
And one evening, after a long dungeon run, Emmett whispered something that made her stop cold.
[Whisper from EmmettMalcolm]: You know, Avegail, it’s strange. Midnight used to feel lonely. Now, it feels like the best part of my day. Because of you.
Her fingers froze over the keyboard. Her pulse raced. For a long moment, she just stared at the screen, overwhelmed.
Finally, she typed back:
[Whisper to EmmettMalcolm]: …Same.
It wasn’t a confession, not yet. But it was the first step toward something deeper.
As she logged off that night, Avegail whispered aloud to her empty room, “Partner, huh?” and smiled softly to herself.
- Writer
