Multiversal Hotel

Arthur reached toward the counter, his fingers brushing lightly over the envelope's gleaming surface. The golden letter seemed untouched by the dust and decay that clung to every other part of the old desk. Its seal—a deep, swirling blue and purple—shimmered like an unspoiled night sky, flecked with faint, glimmering stars.

It felt out of place, almost as if it had been plucked from a different world and dropped here in defiance of the ruin around it. Everything else—the faded wallpaper, the worn wood, the cracked countertop—had long ago surrendered to time's indifferent touch. Yet, this letter stood apart, gleaming like a promise of something hidden, maybe something grand. Or a trap.

A sliver of doubt crept into Arthur's mind. 'A trap', he thought, and his hand recoiled as if the envelope were a serpent waiting to strike. He cast a wary glance around the lobby, his gaze settling on the glass door across the room. There had to be a way out. He didn't need to play along with whatever this twisted game was.

Crossing the lobby, stepping on the old carpet, he tried the door handle, tugging firmly. Locked. Frowning, he pressed his face against the cold glass, peering out. Instead of the night street he expected, or even the endless black of a strange afterlife, all he saw was a swirling, silent vortex—a twisting mass of deep blues and purples, dotted with flickering stars and occasional flashes of lightning-like energy.

Arthur's chest tightened. He tried the door again, harder this time, and then moved to the window beside it, pressing his hands against the cool glass. It was the same—the swirling void stretched out in all directions, giving the sense of being suspended between worlds, or stranded somewhere that defied reason entirely. There was no way out. Only that letter, the lobby, and a silence that seemed to grow heavier the longer he stood there.

Reluctantly, he turned back to the counter, feeling like a man who'd failed a test he hadn't known he was taking. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply.

"All right," he muttered to himself, his voice barely breaking the stillness. "Guess I don't have much of a choice."

He crossed back to the counter, the musty scent of the old carpet linger, his footsteps echoing in the empty lobby. The letter gleamed under the dim light, waiting, as if it had known he'd come back all along.

He hovered over it a moment longer, half-expecting it to vanish if he looked away, before letting out a sigh that echoed in the empty lobby.

"I guess I'm committing to this," he murmured, almost to himself. The words felt strange on his tongue, as if spoken by someone else, someone far braver—or maybe more foolish—than he felt just then.

There was a part of him that wanted to leave it there, to walk away and ignore whatever this "commitment" might be. But where would he go? And who was he now, anyway?

Arthur's fingers brushed against the envelope, and he noticed the surprising chill of it—this wasn't just colored paper. It was real gold, delicate yet sturdy, shimmering faintly in the dim light. He hesitated only a second longer before peeling open the midnight-colored seal, a faint tingle running up his fingers as the wax broke.

Then, without warning, a burst of sparks shot out of the envelope like a miniature fireworks display, crackling in the air. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the walls seemed to breathe, stretching and shifting around him. Arthur stumbled back, gripping the edge of the counter as the lobby transformed before his eyes.

The peeling wallpaper melted away, replaced by a soft, clean shade of blue that added a fresh warmth to the space. The old, sagging couches were replaced by simple, plush armchairs in a matching tone, their wooden legs sturdy and polished. A long rug unfurled itself along the cracked floor, its intricate patterns woven with deep reds and golds, giving the room a subtle elegance that felt almost inviting. The dusty reception desk shed its grime, revealing a modest but solid wood surface, polished to a soft gleam, with a small, unobtrusive bell sitting neatly atop it.

The space hadn't turned grand, not by any stretch—this was no five-star hotel lobby. But it held a charm, the look of a modest guesthouse or an inn at the edge of town, just comfortable enough to feel inviting but humble enough to seem forgotten by time.

Arthur looked around, momentarily stunned by the transformation. He could hardly recognize the room he'd first awoken in. Just as he began to take in the details, a warm, steady voice filled the air, resonating gently through the space.

"Welcome, Arthur Peterson," it intoned, rich and somehow comforting, as though spoken by an old friend. "I am your hotel—a place beyond worlds, existing between them. You are my new Concierge. It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

Arthur blinked, his gaze darting around the room as he tried to locate the source of the voice. He took a step back, a mix of intrigue and disbelief tightening in his chest.

"The… hotel?" he echoed, his voice nearly swallowed by the stillness of the transformed lobby.

"Yes," the voice replied, with a soft, almost knowing hum. "I've been waiting quite some time for you. You are not my first manager, but you are, perhaps, my most interesting one. We have much to learn from each other."

Arthur's head swam with questions, but he managed to grasp at one, blurting out, "What… what exactly do you want me to do here?"

"Your role is simple," the hotel explained, its tone even and patient. "I am a haven for travelers from every world, every story. Your task, as my Concierge, is to guide and welcome them, to give them a place to rest, to recover. In time, you will understand more."

Arthur took a steadying breath, taking in the newly polished wood, the quiet lighting, the warmth of the rug underfoot. He couldn't shake the feeling that this hotel, this odd yet enchanting place, was giving him a second chance at something he hadn't quite grasped.

"All right," he said softly, more to himself than to the hotel, though he felt it listening. "I suppose I could use a fresh start…"

Arthur ran his hand along the polished wood of the counter, his fingers tracing the smooth surface as he tried to shake off the remnants of sadness clinging to him. He forced a small smile, looking around at the room that had transformed before his eyes.

"Guess we're going to be… buddies from now on," he said, half to himself, half to the voice that had greeted him. He chuckled a bit, an attempt to lighten his own spirits. "Do you have a name?"

There was a pause, as though the hotel was considering the question, and then a subtle warmth filled the air around him, almost like a gentle smile. Arthur waited, but no response came. It was as if the hotel was holding its breath.

He cleared his throat, thinking. "If you don't have one, I could… well, I could name you, I suppose." He looked around, a hint of a wry smile creeping into his expression. "But only if you're okay with it, of course."

The silence persisted, but something in him felt an unspoken approval. He searched his mind, trying to think of a name that would suit this strange, mysterious place. The letters came to him unbidden, a whisper on the edge of his thoughts.

"Avalon," he murmured, the name slipping from his lips like it had always been there, just waiting for him to find it. He almost laughed at how natural it felt, how perfectly it seemed to suit this otherworldly refuge.

The air in the room seemed to hum, a soft, pleased vibration. "Avalon," the hotel echoed, its voice warm with the hint of a smile. "So you've chosen my name."

Arthur blinked, realizing for the first time that he'd named something he didn't fully understand, something both ancient and alive in ways he was only beginning to glimpse. The hotel—Avalon—seemed to let out a contented sigh, as if they'd been waiting an eternity for him to speak that word aloud.

'Is it fate?' Avalon's thought to themselves. Arthur could sense a hint of satisfaction in the tone, as if he'd just unknowingly answered a question they'd never asked.

"Well then, Avalon," he said, his voice steadying, "I guess we've got work to do." And for the first time since he'd arrived, a flicker of hope stirred in him, a sense that maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

As Arthur took a step back, a translucent, purple panel shimmered into existence before him. Its digital, almost futuristic glow reminded him of a role-playing game menu, complete with segmented tabs and icons that he instinctively understood at a glance.

"Uh… Avalon? What… what is this?" he asked, reaching out tentatively to swipe at the panel.

"It's a helper," Avalon's voice replied warmly, as if amused. "A way for us to track your progress, your strengths… and a few of my functions as well."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "A helper? Like, to keep tabs on me? So… you're saying I've got stats now?"

Avalon gave off a pleased hum, and Arthur couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he scanned the panel more closely.

Name: Arthur Peterson

Role: Concierge (Multiversal Hotel Manager)

Level: 1

Core Traits:

Adaptability – 5/10

Hospitality – 6/10

Coordination – 5/10

Resilience – 4/10

Intuition – 3/10

Skills:

Guest Relations – Beginner

Basic Multiverse Navigation – Beginner

Conflict De-escalation – Intermediate

Basic Space Arrangement – Beginner

Mystical Maintenance – Not Acquired

Current Status:

Physical Condition: Stable

Mental Condition: Calm, Curious

Notable Possessions: None (Inventory feature available once acquired items are present)

Objective Progress: Initiating

Arthur's eyes widened as he took it all in. He wasn't sure how he felt about having traits and skills assigned to him like he was a character in a game, but something about it felt… useful. If he really was starting a new chapter, a fresh slate, then maybe it made sense to get a little guidance.

"So," he began, scratching the back of his neck. "Is there… a quest? Like in RPGs? Some kind of task or goal?"

Avalon's presence around him felt encouraging, and just as Arthur sensed this, a new panel materialized beside the character sheet.

Quest: Opening Doors, Finding Paths

Objective: Prepare the lobby for its first guest arrival.

Tasks:Clean and organize the lobby space to create a welcoming atmosphere.Arrange seating and lighting to maximize comfort. Ensure all entry points are functional and secure.

Reward: Unlock access to the first guest realm

Time Limit: None (Recommended: Complete within 42 hours)

Arthur read the quest text and felt a flicker of excitement. Simple, straightforward, yet somehow momentous. He glanced around the now somewhat improved lobby, eyeing the tarnished furniture, the still-lingering dust, and the empty chairs. A smile crept onto his face as he realized the task was far from impossible—it was, in fact, the perfect starting point.

Just as he was about to dive into his tasks, Avalon's gentle but firm voice stopped him.

"Arthur," Avalon urged softly, "before we get started, I'd strongly advise you to rest for a bit. There's a room for you just behind the counter."

Arthur looked at the counter skeptically. "I'm still energized, though. I don't think I need a break."

Avalon's tone shifted, filled with a warmth that almost felt like concern. "Not for your body, Arthur. For your mind. You've been through a lot, and I believe a little time to reset will help you face what's ahead."

Arthur hesitated, glancing around the lobby and then back to the counter, where a barely visible door was now open, leading to a small room in the back. Reluctantly, he gave in. "Alright, Avalon. But just a quick rest."

The room was simple but cozy, with a worn bed, a small side table, and an old lamp casting a warm glow. As he lay down, exhaustion he hadn't even noticed began to settle over him. The events of his "death," the strange hotel, the foreign world he found himself in—all of it weighed down on him as he drifted into sleep.

0~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~0

When Arthur awoke, he felt a single tear slip down his cheek, remnants of a dream he couldn't quite remember. Wiping it away, he sat up slowly and noticed something that hadn't been there before: a uniform, neatly folded on the bench at the foot of the bed. Its fabric looked clean and crisp, with subtle gold accents that mirrored the seal on the mysterious letter from earlier.

He smiled as he picked it up, feeling an odd comfort in the fact that Avalon had left it for him. After changing, he straightened the collar and took a steadying breath before stepping out into the lobby.

"Alright, Avalon," he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's make this place ready for whoever's coming."

Avalon's presence around him seemed to brighten in response, an unspoken agreement between them forming. With newfound energy, Arthur set to work—dusting, arranging furniture, adjusting the lighting, all with Avalon subtly guiding his steps. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of purpose stirring in him, and, as he glanced around at the improving lobby, he couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this place could become something worth holding onto.