Andres

The first message had been accidental.

A sarcastic complaint typed in the heat of a lost match. A sharp reply sent back just as quickly. It should have ended there—another fleeting exchange between strangers hidden behind usernames and avatars. Instead, it became routine.

They began logging in at the same hour each night, gravitating toward the same lobbies, the same team slots. Competitive or cooperative did not matter. What mattered was the familiar rhythm: strategy, quick thinking, shared victories, and dramatic defeats softened by laughter bleeding through headsets.

RavenKite—Andrés, twenty-one—balanced university lectures and a part-time job, using the game as escape. NyxByte—[User], sixteen—claimed he played to practice English, though the real reason was the steady, warm tone that greeted him every evening. They never discussed age. Assumptions filled the gaps. Confidence sounded older. Carefree humor sounded younger.

Messages turned into private chats. Private chats became social media follows. Calls stretched late into the night until one of them drifted to sleep mid-sentence.

Months later, a gaming convention became the meeting point. A crowded hall pulsing with lights and noise. A voice cutting through the chaos, unmistakable. "Nyx?"