Chương 4: Sunbeams

Sunlight slowly began to slide across Lloyd's face — thin, morning rays, almost lazy. They crept through the gap between the curtains and settled right on his eyelids, as if someone were deliberately shining a flashlight into his face. His eyelids twitched. Once. Again. And then slowly, reluctantly, opened. Lloyd stared at the ceiling.

"I hate mornings." He lay there for another minute, motionless, just gazing at the crack in the plaster above him — it ran from the corner and ended somewhere above the wardrobe. He knew that crack by heart. He'd seen it every morning for several years now. Sometimes it seemed to him that it was a little longer than before. Finally he sat up and rubbed his face with his hands. His hair stuck out in every direction, and there was that unpleasant taste of sleep in his mouth that not even coffee could fix.

Outside the window the sun was shining — brightly, shamelessly, without any warning. Yesterday it had poured all day, the sky heavy and grey, and today — here you go. The weather in this city never bothered with logic. Lloyd stood up, tugged at his wrinkled t-shirt and began making his bed — without much enthusiasm, out of habit. He straightened the pillow, smoothed out the blanket, even though it still bunched up on one side. Good enough.

Leaving his room, he headed toward the bathroom, squinting at the light in the hallway. But the door swung open just then, and Rozi appeared from a cloud of warm steam — towel over her shoulders, hair damp, cheeks flushed. She looked at him without particular surprise. — You're right on time. I just finished. Lloyd nodded. In the mornings he wasn't much disposed to conversation. Words seemed to get stuck somewhere halfway between his brain and his mouth, and pulling them out felt like too much effort.

Rozi had apparently long since gotten used to this. He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind him and stood there for a moment, breathing in the lingering warmth and moisture. Then he picked up his toothbrush, squeezed paste onto it and began brushing his teeth, watching himself in the mirror with the expression of someone mildly irritated by the whole affair.

"A hundred years have passed and toothpaste still hasn't changed. Same bitter taste as always. In a hundred years couldn't anyone come up with something decent?" He studied his reflection — dark circles under his eyes, dishevelled hair, the look of a man who needed about three more hours of sleep. His usual morning face. He splashed cold water on his face, winced inwardly, but immediately felt a little more alive. He hung the towel on the hook and went out.

On his way to the kitchen he glanced automatically at his father's door. Closed. So he was home. And judging by the silence behind it, still asleep — or simply lying there, too worn out to get up. After shifts like that his father could sleep for twelve hours and only emerge in the evening, sullen and quiet, coffee mug in hand. Lloyd had never really asked him about his work. He only knew the general outline: something to do with dungeons, but not directly. His father wasn't a Player — that much was certain.

After the Veil Incident a lot had changed, and a whole range of new professions had sprung up around dungeons — analysts, cartographers, suppliers, clearance coordinators. What exactly his father did, Lloyd didn't know. And he never felt the urge to ask. Some things in their home existed under a silent agreement — don't touch. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. In the kitchen, Rozi was sitting at the table staring at her phone.

Her fingers slid quickly across the screen, occasionally she'd raise her eyebrows slightly or smile soundlessly at something. Social media. As usual. Lloyd opened the cupboard, took out a box of cereal, set it on the table. — Want breakfast? There's cereal. — Not without milk, — Rozi replied, not looking up from her screen. — I bought some yesterday. A pause. The phone went down on the table. Rozi looked up, and her eyes lit up with the speed that only happens when someone hears genuinely good news.

— Then of course I will! A few minutes later they were sitting at the table across from each other. The sound of spoons against bowl edges, the quiet splash of milk, morning light on the tabletop. Rozi picked up her phone again — but more casually now, half-heartedly. Lloyd scrolled through the news feed on his. Nothing interesting. Another Player had cleared a dungeon in the neighbouring district. Party rankings. Gear advertisements.

Someone's story about how they barely survived a yellow-category dungeon — with photos and tearful details. Lloyd scrolled past without reading. He switched to the jobs section. Warehouse. Courier. General labourer on a construction site. Kitchen assistant. Shopping centre security guard.

"Is that it? Break your back every day for money like that?" He wasn't lazy — or at least that's what he told himself. He just had a firm conviction that if you were going to spend your health, it ought to be on something worthwhile. Not minimum wage and aching bones. His eyes drifted back to the article about the Player. Yellow-category dungeon, cleared in four hours, reward — a decent sum.

"Dungeons. Maybe something related to them? After all, I'm already partially connected to them..." He looked up from his phone and stared at the wall.

"Though who am I kidding. I wouldn't even survive a green-category dungeon. For that you need to become a Player, and to become a Player you need a feat. Something significant. And I'm clearly not the type who pulls off feats over breakfast." He frowned.

"Although... maybe I could try something adjacent. Not dive in myself, but be near those who do. Supply, analytics, support... Dad managed to get set up somehow. So that kind of thing exists." — What are you thinking about?! Rozi asked this with the suddenness she brought to everything she did — a little louder than necessary, a little sharper than expected. Lloyd flinched. The spoon slipped from his fingers, clipped the edge of the bowl — and milk splashed directly into his face. Cold. Awful.

He slowly looked down. Then looked up at his sister. — Well, thank you, Rozi. Rozi snorted. Then burst into full laughter — head thrown back, palm slapping the table. Lloyd sighed. And immediately shot his hand forward, covering her mouth with his palm. — Shh. Dad's sleeping. Rozi stopped instantly. She pressed both hands over her lips and nodded, eyes still laughing. — Right... you're right... — she mumbled through her fingers. They looked at each other.

And almost simultaneously let out a quiet snort — soft, nearly soundless, hands over their mouths. Then they went back to breakfast. Lloyd wiped his face on his t-shirt sleeve. Rozi smiled quietly into her spoon. Outside the window the sun climbed higher, and a long patch of light spread across the table, slowly creeping toward the cereal box. After breakfast Lloyd lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Same crack. Same corner. Same thoughts that had been going around in circles for days now. Dungeons.

The word was simple, familiar — over the past few decades it had entered everyday speech as naturally as the word "work" or "shop." Dungeons appeared, Players cleared them, the world moved on. It had long since become background noise, part of the ordinary hum of city life. But for Lloyd it was something more than background. He didn't quite understand himself — what exactly.

"Dungeons, then. Right?" He tucked one arm behind his head.

"So what now."