Chapter 3

A few months passed. "Aetheria 2.0" was starting to make small waves. A dedicated community had formed around Ethan' s open development process. They loved his transparency, his willingness to listen, and the sheer passion evident in every update. He wasn't a celebrity, he was just a developer building a game for people who loved games.

The small buzz was enough to get Sarah's attention.

An email appeared in his inbox one morning. The sender was `sarah.official@streamnet.com`. His finger hovered over the delete button, a reflex born of months of pain. Curiosity, cold and detached, made him click it open.

The tone was sickeningly sweet. She was "so proud" to see him getting back on his feet. She "always knew" he had it in him. Then came the real reason for the email.

"Mark and I were talking," she wrote, "and we'd love to have a chat. We think there's a way we can all move forward from the past. For old times' sake."

He knew it was a trap, but he agreed to a video call. He needed to know what they wanted. He needed to look them in the eyes.

The next day, their faces filled his monitor. Sarah was in their pristine white office, Mark sitting just behind her, trying to look casual.

"Ethan! You look... good," Sarah began, her voice dripping with fake sympathy.

"I' m busy," Ethan said, his voice flat. "What do you want, Sarah?"

Her smile tightened for a fraction of a second. "Straight to business. I like it. Look, we see what you' re doing with your little project. It' s cute. Your fans are very... loyal."

"It' s a great little niche you' ve carved out," Mark chimed in, his tone condescending. "But we think it' s time to think bigger."

Ethan waited, saying nothing.

Sarah leaned forward, her professional mask sliding into place. "We want to acquire your 'developer' s blessing.' That little core you' re building 'Aetheria 2.0' on. That unique creative energy. Mark has analyzed it from what your community has shared. It' s... interesting. We' ll give you a generous one-time payment. You sign it over to us, we integrate it into 'Chrono Rift,' and you can walk away with a nice nest egg. No more struggling."

Ethan stared at them, the audacity of the request sucking the air out of the room. They weren't just content with stealing his past work, now they wanted to buy the very essence of his creativity, the one thing he had rediscovered in his darkest hour. They wanted to rip out his soul and sell it as a DLC.

"You want to buy my passion?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"We want to buy your code," Mark corrected him. "Let' s not get dramatic. It's just a feature. A very marketable one."

"You don' t understand," Ethan said, trying to maintain his composure. "This 'blessing,' as you call it, isn' t a piece of software you can just plug in. It' s a philosophy. It' s a way of building. It' s tied to the community, to open feedback, to a process you have actively worked against. If you take it and lock it inside your microtransaction-filled shell, you' ll corrupt it. You' ll destroy it."

Sarah sighed, a theatrical display of patience. "Ethan, always the artist. We have the biggest platform in the world. We can make your 'philosophy' a global phenomenon. Isn't that what you always wanted?"

Mark leaned into the camera, his smugness radiating through the screen. "Or you can keep it for your hundred players in a Discord channel. Your choice."

As Mark spoke, Ethan' s eyes caught something. A glint of silver around Sarah' s neck. It was the necklace. A custom pixel-art charm of Aella, the main character of the original "Aetheria," forged in sterling silver. He had given it to her on their second anniversary, a symbol of the world they were supposed to build together. She was wearing it like a trophy from a conquered enemy.

Suddenly, an alert popped up on his second monitor. A DDOS attack. A clumsy, brutish attempt to knock his development server offline. It was weak, easily deflected by the basic security he' d set up, but the timing was no coincidence.

Mark was smirking. "Seems like you' re having some technical difficulties over there. It' s a tough world out there for a solo dev."

The attack was so transparent, so pathetic. It was Mark's petty show of force.

"That necklace," Ethan said, his voice cutting through their posturing. "You' re still wearing it."

Sarah touched it instinctively. "Oh, this old thing? I just..."

"I made that," Ethan interrupted, his voice cold as ice. "I designed the charm. I paid a jeweler to cast it. That is Aella. From my game. The one you called a disaster."

The revelation hung in the air. Mark' s smirk vanished. Sarah' s face was a mask of confusion, as if she' d forgotten the origin of the trinket around her neck.

"So?" she said, her voice turning sharp and defensive. "It' s just a piece of jewelry. It looks good with this outfit."

She looked down at the pixelated face of Aella, a character born from his heart and soul, and dismissed it as a fashion accessory.

"We' re not here to talk about jewelry, Ethan," she snapped, her patience gone. "We' re here to make you a life-changing offer. Yes or no? We want the core of 2.0."

That was it. The last thread of any shared history, any lingering sentiment, was severed. He saw her not as the woman he had loved, but as a stranger. A predator who saw his passion as nothing more than a resource to be harvested.

"No," Ethan said.

He reached for the mouse.

"And lose my number."

He ended the call, leaving their shocked faces frozen on his screen for a second before they vanished into black. He sat back, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind a profound, cleansing emptiness. The past was finally, truly, dead.