ARKAN

“It’ll get better, Arkan,” a familiar voice comforted while a hand landed gently on their shoulder. “One day...”

And just like that, there was a sound of an announcement. They all gathered around to see what it was. Arkan read the words slowly, realizing that all of the time spent waiting and hoping... had been for nothing in the end. Comfort couldn’t change fact.

Arkan was to be terminated in one year.

The countdown had already begun.

It had always been akin to sitting in a waiting room. Getting a number. Filling a seat. The silence and seconds tick by, turning into minutes. Watching others get called up. They get helped, only to receive a new number and return to their place. Before long, everyone has been called up. Once. Twice.

One figure just sits, unmoving, their original number still clutched tightly in their hand.

They never get called up.

Then, as if by miracle, they do. Waved over to the service desk, they are asked, yet again, what they are waiting for.

They sit again, the same number, the same seat, never moving as the world changes around them, lively and uninviting. Bracing themselves for the inevitable and endless wait, they gather dust.

A character with poor skillsets is discarded at first chance, used as a last resort that nobody has hope for once they’re relied on to win. Looking at their abilities makes one shake their head in pity for the poor character, whose creators just threw together in a rush to fill the final spot. Powers that make no logical sense in battle. Stats too low to make a difference, even with leveling up, even with equipping artifacts and armor to boost them.

Those that are lacking use are tossed aside and ridiculed. People choose the character just to bash them more, to prove just how bad they are, to show how they’re inadequate.

If twelve characters in a video game were sitting in a room, waiting for their number to be called, to finally unsheathe their sword and fight monsters, a boss, or other strong characters like them, what do you imagine they’d all be thinking?

Waiting.

Hoping.

At last! Their number!

The glee, the glory, the swell of pride as they pick up a lance, a longbow, or a broadsword would be nearly contagious.

But what of them?

Waiting endlessly, only to be used and discarded on a whim, a laugh.

Pitied by the other characters who left with barely a second to rest, a moment to close their eyes, to sit and let out a sigh, they instead gathered dust upon their clothes, their blade as new as the day it was created.

What would they be wondering?

Of uselessness?

Of anger?

Would they relish the wait, or wish they never had a number at all?

Or, might they wish to show, to prove everyone wrong, to take over the controls and enlighten everyone of their worth and strength that none took note of before?

Could they do it?

Or would they end in failure?

Being the odd one out all this time, dirt smeared on their name, they held out for a miracle. Just one.

Someone to understand.

Someone to put their fingers to the controls and use those hard-earned skills properly for once.

Just one... to prove an existence worthwhile.

...

It was the world finals, the biggest event that had taken over the hearts of people across every continent. National teams, different leagues to train and reach higher, recruitment. It had boomed in recent years. E-sports became more than a dream, it became a mission, an accomplishment, a journey to rise to the podium on a global stage.

Defenders of Existence had been created nine years before. What started as a small group expanded into a global phenomenon. Competitions began popping up randomly until the developers created a world stage for those skilled enough to perform. A professional gamer’s training and use had limited years when considering reaction time and repetitive injuries. Once aged out, it was the next dream - to be hired to train, to strategize, to manage a team. Or, if one was incredibly successful, winning and rising to the top of rankings, proving their work and effort was worth every bead of sweat, they could retire, having a drink inside their own mansion as they watched new rookies leap into the spotlight.

Set for life.

One man, doing just that, sitting next to his wife, a scotch in a crystal glass that his fingers gripped tightly. He’d been the leader of a team that won three straight years at worlds for Defenders of Existence. Knowing the game inside and out, it was a curious thing to retire, sitting back into the cushions and watch someone else play. It had been one year since he’d decided his time was done, but it only took one match of seeing someone else play, not even a competition that counted, that he finally understood all those people who went crazy over physical sports, yelling at the television as if the player would hear it.

“What do you think they’ll do this year?”

His wife, an avid supporter who had been with him from the start of his career, always asked what he thought of the pairings and choices, regardless of how much she already knew.

He tilted his head, thinking, considering the two teams that had made it.

“It would be best for CXL to get both Tang and Bright.”

“Because they have the top ranked player for both on their team?”

Nodding, he considered the counterattack by the opposing group, Risky Defenders.

“RD needs Mista.”

“They’d need a long-range defender as well, like Hark?”

“Yes.”

There were no bans on characters, but they were chosen by order of importance to the team and their strategies. It was a match of five vs five, leaving only two characters unchosen. Teams were generally a mix that took into account long-range, mid-range, and hand-to-hand combat. Though each character was capable of each, they had specialties that boosted the damage they could cause to another player.

“Do you think anyone will choose Arkan?” she asked as they watched the thematic video playing on the screen. It was the introduction to the championship match, made new each year, including every character in the game.

An instant laugh bubbled out of him at her question.

“That would be like forfeiting the match. Everyone knows that.”

The ten players walked out onto the stage, a few waved with bright smiles, while some stood solemnly, already focused in on the game.

“Didn’t someone boast about winning a match as Arkan recently?”

He shook his head. “It was found to be staged.”

“Really?”

Nodding, he took another swig from his glass before setting it down on the coffee table. His eyes remained on the television, reminiscing about his own journey on that stage. As he watched others go and sit, he could remember the headphones that brought crystal-clear audio, the cushions in the chairs fresh and new, the feel of his fingers on the keyboard in front of him.

Like it was yesterday.

He’d been the first to jump online and watch the viral video of Arkan’s new gameplay, but it had seemed odd. The movements, the timing of the skills, all of it had an odd resonance in him. It reminded him of the very first mock battles, where each character was put perfectly in place and used their skills in a way to teach what would happen if you were in the AoE, or area of effect, of the opponent.

Arkan’s character itself was a like mystery that none could seem to solve. All of the base stats were right down the line of average, none standing out or lacking terribly. At first, when the game came out, everyone flocked to him, picking him partly because of the idea he was well-rounded. But, the craze died quickly. Arkan just wasn’t really good at anything. In the end, average didn’t win the match.

Average was the starting place, not the finish line.

That’s always how it had been. In the game as well as reality, especially when it came to professional sports. Everyone always wanted the best. And more than that, excellence. When it came to the championship match of Defenders of Existence, Arkan just didn’t make the cut.

“And the first choice for CXL is Bright!” an announcer exclaimed on the television.

As expected, the man thought to himself, picking up his drink again.

“The first pick of RD is Hark!”

They continued down the line, choosing back and forth, CXL getting Tang, just as the man predicted would be best for the team lineup. One last pick remained, the last for the RD Team.

“And the final pick of RD is...”

As the name was called, the man nearly dropped his drink in his lap. Rather than a cheer, which had been present in the background for each of the other picks, silence filled the audience at the arena as well as rooms all across the globe.

It wasn’t just unexpected, it was foolish.

An image appeared on the screen, showcasing the final choice. With blond hair and sharp eyes, their face and expression exuded both beauty and confidence.

Arkan.

They had actually chosen him.

“What?”

The man stared at the television, setting down his drink slowly, and shook his head as if the image were a figment of his imagination. Only, it wasn’t.

Nine years.

Nine championships.

He’d been chosen a total of four times, including this. Each and every time, the team with Arkan lost. Horribly.

“Maybe they’ve discovered a strategy,” his wife suggested.

“Nobody chooses Arkan if they want to win.”

It wasn’t even worth the watch, he told himself as he rose to his feet. Heading to the kitchen as the countdown began behind him, he sighed. He knew all too well that the match was going to be ugly, not for CXL, but for the Risky Defenders. Clearly, they were taking the risk too far.

He snatched and apple out of the bowl on the counter and tossed it in his hands a few times, hearing the distant sounds of a battle being lost and won.

“RD can use Arkan’s ultimate now!”

“But will he?” the other announcer replied.

The man shook his head.

Nope.

It wouldn’t be worth it.

“Arkan’s ultimate is known to be the worst. Ah! They chose the next highest skill! A good move I’d say!”

“Look at his health bar. I don’t see him lasting long in this match.”

He leaned with his back against the counter, taking a bite of the apple. It wasn’t something that needed to be seen to know. And, just three minutes later, the long-awaited championship was in the hands of CXL. The game was over.

“How bad?” he asked as his wife came over to him.

“You know.”

“I do.”

“Come on,” she said, taking his free hand and pulling him along. “They said there was supposed to be an important announcement after the game.”

“Alright, alright,” he replied, a smile on his face.

As they sat down in the living room, he couldn’t help but notice his wife’s gaze.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

For a few seconds, she didn’t say a word, and then, in a rush, it all came out.

“I recruited a few kids.”

“Hm.”

He followed her gaze back to the television, only to feel his on confusion rise as her words registered without context.

“What for?”

There was a small smile on her face. “A team. For this,” she said, nodding to the screen before them, displaying the lineups for the championship teams as they recapped the horrific finale to a year-long series of battles between characters and players.

Defenders of Existence?

A team?

“But...”

Bringing in a new team, out of nowhere, was difficult, especially with the already well-established teams and big-named sponsors that had their hands full with them.

“Think of it as a hobby,” she said softly. “Teach them skills for the real-world as much as skills in the game.”

“What if we lose every match?”

“Failure isn’t the end, it’s a learning experience. You teach them to handle loss gracefully and they’ll go far no matter what they do when the year is up.”

Though part of him wanted to fight, to try for the championships that he’d once won, it wasn’t so realistic. But, if the kids could have fun, if they could be inspired in some way by the game or come to love it as much as he did, wasn’t that worth it?

“Alright.”

“Good. You’re meeting them tomorrow.”

He froze, only to then turn and face his wife’s mischievous grin.

“Tomorrow?”

She lifted her glass.

“I thought you might agree.”

He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he laughed.

“One might think you’re trying to do something by suggesting this team business.”

“Oh?”

“Like get me out of the house more?” he said, a sly grin on his face.

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before rising to her feet.

“No?”

However, instead of laughing, her expression turned to concern. He knew what it meant.

“Get me involved so it takes my mind off of not playing?”

Reaching down, she put her hands on either side of his face.

“You look sad when you watch them play.”

“You know why I had to quit.”

She patted his cheek fondly.

“I think you can manage teaching, can’t you?”

The sound on the television cut out, drawing their attention to the lack of noise. A man was on stage, standing with a microphone in hand, preparing to make an announcement. He recognized the man at one glance. The owner. Chairman for the tournament.

“It is with great pleasure that I announce a new character to join the ranks in Defenders of Existence!” When the cheers died down, his tone and demeanor changed. “Thus, has been unanimously decided that a different chapter will end.”

He cleared his throat and nodded amidst the confusion.

“A year from this day, at the end of the championship tournament, the character Arkan, will be officially retired and removed from the game.”

It was clear by the reaction of the audience, that it was unclear to them whether they were meant to cheer or be silent.

“Removed?

Standing from the couch slowly, he stared in shock as they brought Arkan’s image onto the screens behind the man. It crossed his mind that the sole developer of Arkan wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Ever.

“I need to prepare.”

He moved to leave the room, his wife now the one standing stunned.

“Prepare?”

He peeked back around the corner at her with a smile, a renewed energy his step.

“You said I’m meeting the kids tomorrow?”

He had already disappeared completely before she could respond.

“But that’s tomorrow? What’s there to prepare?”

“I might be rusty with the gameplay!” he called back to her.

With a sigh, she shouted, “You play it every other day! I doubt you’re rusty!”

Not upset in the slightest, she smiled hearing his laughter echo down the hallway. She picked up his glass from the coffee table and glanced at Arkan’s image, still showing on the television, before she shut it off.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of the next season of Defenders of Existence, and with it, a powerful competitor would rise.