The screen went pitch black. Then, a low, rhythmic thrumming sound began to vibrate through his desk. It didn't sound like a digital effect; it sounded like a heavy, organic heartbeat.
The reflection wasn't of a game character. It was Janis. He was sitting in his chair, staring at the monitor, but the background behind him in the reflection wasn't his room—it was the dark, towering pines of the forest. A branch snapped loudly behind him, in his actual room.
At that moment, the temperature in his room plummeted. He could see his breath frosting in the air. On the screen, the character stopped moving. The camera slowly panned around, but Janis wasn't touching the mouse. It turned until it was looking directly at a reflection in a dark puddle on the forest floor. MeЕѕs LejupielДЃdД“t datorspД“li
The response was instant: Šī nav spēle. (This is not a game.)
Driven by a mix of boredom and curiosity, he clicked it. The progress bar zipped to completion in seconds, despite the file size being unusually large. Without a second thought, he launched the application. The screen went pitch black
The monitor cut to black, and the room went silent. When Janis's roommate came home an hour later, the computer was off and the room was empty. The only thing left behind was a faint smell of pine needles and a single, wet leaf resting on the keyboard.
Suddenly, a text box appeared at the bottom of the screen: Kāpēc tu ienāci? (Why did you enter?) The reflection wasn't of a game character
He pressed the 'W' key. The character stepped forward, and the sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot was so crisp Janis found himself looking down at his own floor. He navigated deeper into the digital woods. The trees were twisted, their bark scarred with strange, glowing symbols that looked like ancient Lielvārde belt patterns gone wrong.
