Friday, August 29th, 2042, Capitol Hill, Seattle, Washington.

Emmy barely had time to breathe after the call with Maya ended. Her phone buzzed again, vibrating against her palm like it was demanding more than she had left to give. Heart racing, she recoiled, body still wired and nerves raw. The weight of the earlier conversation still sat like a stone behind her ribs, pressing against her lungs and rising into her throat like it wanted out. Maya's call had knocked her this far off-balance—of course, it had.

Her hand hovered over the phone, her thumb hesitant. She was pretty sure she could not handle any more this morning, but she looked anyway.

A new message. From Soraya. "YAAAAS! Hey girl! Good morning! So it's really happening??"

Emmy groaned and flopped back onto the bed, covering her face with both hands.

Ugh, I should've known!

She could not remember what she had expected would happen after she sent her the confirmation of her pointy ears earlier. Considering their conversation last night, it made total sense Soraya would respond this way—No panic, no tiptoeing around it. Just excitement.

Emmy separated her fingers, allowing herself to peek through at the screen from behind the flimsy fortification. Three little dots pulsed under Soraya's message.

The second message appeared. "Are you freaking out? You're freaking out, right? I bet you're freaking out. OH MY GOD WAIT—are you HOT?"

Emmy half-choked, caught somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

That's where you're immediately going to?

Reluctantly, she lowered her defences, picked up the phone, and typed her reply. "Soraya…"

"What? Those are important questions!!!"

"I—" Emmy stopped herself. Stared at the blinking cursor.

Stop deflecting, Emmy. Just tell her.

Then, with a sharp breath, she hit backspace, erasing her first reply, and tried again. "Yeah. It's happening. I woke up and… it's real. I can't—I can't pretend it's not, anymore."

The typing bubbles did not appear for a moment. "Holy shit."

The shift in tone sent a fresh wave of anxiety curling through Emmy's stomach.

Did she also stop joking? Are we getting serious now?

Soraya's next message came quickly. "Okay. First of all—breathe."

Emmy realised belatedly how she had, indeed, been holding her breath. She sucked in a shaky inhale, forcing her lungs to work.

"Second—how do you feel? Like, for real?"

Emmy stared at the words.

How do I feel? Like my world was just split in half. Like I'm standing on the precipice of something huge with a wall at my back, and that I'm this close to spiralling out in a panic attack.

But also…Like I can breathe, like I no longer need white noise playing in the background just so I can just exist all by myself in a silent room. I feel like something finally clicked into place.

She did not know how to express and type all that. So she gave her best shot. "I don't know."

A pause. "That's okay. You don't have to know yet."

The words hit like a weight being lifted off her chest.

You too, Soraya? Maya already used that attack against me.

… but somehow, it's still super effective.

She was teasing, but she meant it. And hearing it again mattered more than she wanted to admit. Two different voices had told her the same thing this morning—that she did not have to know yet. Simply existing, staying alive, was enough for now.

"So. Back to the important stuff—have you taken a good look at yourself already? How cute are you, from 1 to 5?"

For fuck's sake…!

Emmy let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"SORAYA. TIME AND PLACE!"

"I AM ASKING THE QUESTIONS THAT MATTER. SEND A PICTURE, LET ME SEE THIS NEWLY MINTED GIRL IN ALL HER GLORY."

Emmy groaned, applying pressure on her forehead with the cool screen of her smart phone.

Oh my God.

"You are IMPOSSIBLE."

"And yet, here I am, making your crisis at least 20% more fun. You're welcome."

Emmy shook her head, wiping at her eyes.

God. Soraya's a lifeline—exactly the person I need right now, isn't she?

"Give me a sec. If I take a picture now, I'll look like I just rolled out of bed."

"Bitch, you just woke up as the YOU you always deserved. I don't CARE if you have a bedhead. SEND. THE. PICTURE."

Emmy laughed, breathless and unsteady, but lighter than she had felt since waking up.

How can I say no to her?

She opened the camera application and switched to the forward facing camera. This was the first time today she saw her reflection, and not just a silhouette on a darkened screen. She looked at the current, temporary self. She did not hate what she saw, which was a new, unfamiliar feeling. Maybe this was not the end of the world. It was just the start.

She ran a hand through her messy green hair, took a deep breath. She tried a few angles, imitating the younger crowd, and picked the one she hated least. The selfie was still classic dumpster-fire—but she hit send anyway, before she could second-guess herself.

That's the second time I take a picture and send it to a coworker in two consecutive days. When was the last time I took a selfie before that?

For the life of her, she could not recall.

As soon as the icon marking Soraya had received her message and seen the picture blinked on into view, Emmy regretted it.

Too late to go back now.

She almost tossed her phone on the opposite corner of the bed, planning to ignore whatever came next—except Soraya's response arrived first. "Oh?" There was a pause before her proper response. "So you look like an older, taller Shadow sylvani instead of a small cute Link-lookalike. A funny mix of the old M-E and the lovely Wind sylvani I'm totally crushing on."

Emmy exhaled. Soraya had just described the halfway point between her old life and the new one. Upon reading her message, she finally noticed how she currently looked like a typical fantasy high elf. But… yeah. The description was about right. She was not Elyssia yet. Not fully—her ears were not long enough. The freckle density on her skin was still far from what it should be. Her green hair was not as long and bright as she remembered it being. And she was still too tall, still stuck somewhere between.

The typing bubbles pulsed again. "How do you feel about this version of you? If you could stay there, would you?"

Emmy swallowed. Her fingers tightened around the phone. She should have an answer to this question. It was an easy one.

Why am I unable to form any coherent answers this morning?! How is it that a famous top-tier raider tank gets rolled over in two PVP matches back to back against utter noobs?

"Are you excited to get your longer pixie-ish ears soon? Or to lose another half a foot?"

"Oh my god, Sora."

"WHAT? Again—these are IMPORTANT QUESTIONS."

Emmy buried her face in her pillow and groaned.

God, she's just too much.

She pulled the phone closer again, heart hammering as she tried to untangle what she was even feeling.

Am I excited, horrified, or both?

She had spent so long dreaming of this moment—walking home late at night, a portal opening, a glowing elven sorceress stepping through and claiming her as a lost princess. It was silly—but beautiful. It made no sense, but that was the prerogative of fantasies.

Emmy smiled. This was not exactly the same as her childhood fantasy. But why did the idea of finally reaching the finish line feel like it was too much to process? She hesitated.

"I don't know how to feel about it yet."

"That's fair, I get that."

No pushing or teasing. Soraya was giving her the time to process the change. Emmy exhaled.

"But also… You're gonna be SO CUTE, bitch. I am BEAMING for you right now. I hope you are too!"

Emmy burst out laughing, unable to contain it. Her heart was still a mess. Her brain was still scrambling to keep up with everything.

But at least—at least—she was not spiralling alone.

"You're ridiculous."

"And you love me for it. Now. I expect updates. And more, better selfies. Seriously girl, you need to improve your selfie game. Because I NEED to document this glow-up."

Emmy shook her head in disbelief. For the first time since waking up, the weight pressing on her chest eased. Maybe she had time to figure things out, and did not have to do it alone—Soraya and Maya were on her side.

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Emmy stared at the message. Soraya had called what happened to her a "Glow-up."

She probably meant it as a joke. A good joke. A kind joke. But it still lodged itself somewhere deep in Emmy's ribs, sitting there like a weight pressing against her lungs. She had spent the last few years knowing who she was. Not an egg anymore. But she had not acted on it. She had just kept surviving.

And from the sidelines, she had seen what happened to trans folks supported and loved by their family. The ones who had friends who cheered them on. Families who adjusted and tried. People who said "You are real. We see you, support you. You are enough."

She had scrolled through countless posts—trans girls getting their first prescriptions, their first affirming haircuts, their first photos where their smiles were finally genuine. She had watched so many transition timelines where girls glowed—where they became.

And she had been happy for them, even when it hurt. Even when she knew—deep down—she could never be like them. Because only a few lucky ones were at the right place, at the right time, under the right circumstances.

As for Emmy? She had been stuck with Claire. She had lived in a world that had already made up its mind about who she was allowed to be.

However, now, she had support at last. Now, through some kind of miracle, she had the body she wanted. Or rather, she had something which closely matched—partway there. A middle ground based on the body she had only ever allowed herself to borrow and live in vicariously.

But most importantly—she was still alive. Despite it all. She swallowed, fingers tight around her phone.

Could that… could it be my turn? For the stars to align and finally get my shot, my chance?

The thought felt wrong, like she had stolen something. Like the universe had made a mistake by handing this to her instead of someone more deserving. How many trans girls would kill for this and spent years—decades, even—fighting to be seen, only to be told no at every turn? How many people deserved this more than she did?

Emmy let out a slow, uneven breath. She knew the answer. Tens—No, hundreds—of thousands. More than she could ever count. And yet—she was here, living this, breathing this.

What does that make me? Lucky? Privileged? A fraud?

Her chest tightened. She had done nothing to earn this or deserve this, but she looked at Soraya's message again. "You're gonna be SO CUTE, bitch." There had been no hesitation or jealousy here. Just joy. She thought about Maya's voice: "You're not alone." About the way her body felt—lighter, like a guitar string finally sounding true.

I'm not stealing anything from anyone, am I? I'm just here, living my life.

Was that even allowed?

I don't know.

But for the first time in a very, very long time—She was curious to find out. Soraya's last message still sat at the bottom of the app. Emmy had yet to reply.

The thoughts kept circling, looping back to the same unbearable conclusion.

This gift was meant for someone else. It shouldn't have happened to me.

But, it had. And she was unsure how to hold that truth without it cracking.

Stop asking yourself why. Don't think of the water under the bridge. Look downstream instead. Find where you want to steer this ship from this point.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, unsure what to say, how to answer, how to even exist in this moment, but Soraya beat her to the punch. "You know... I meant everything I said yesterday."

Emmy gasped.

Oh, no… Is she pivoting back to THAT talk…?

"And just so you know, this? I am happy for you—envious, a bit—but mostly happy. I really am. This is probably the best day of your life—"

Emmy clenched her jaw. Today was just too much. Far too much undeserved kindness and reassurance.

Damnit Soraya, I don't know if I can hold it in…

"—But my love was never conditional on any of this ever happening."

That word, again. A word only Soraya can throw so casually in a conversation, as if it meant nothing.

Emmy's whole body went still. She read the words once. Then again. Each time, it hit like a hammer to the ribs. She had known—logically—Soraya had meant what she said. Because yesterday, when they had their chat over lava-hot poutine? Neither of them even had any way to predict her miraculous, overnight transformation.

Soraya probably did not even care if Emmy had the means or intent to transition medically. But reading it the words, spelled out, clear as day? "My love was never conditional." Not conditional on this happening, or anything else.

Before Emmy could even process the sheer weight of that, another message arrived. "I know what you're thinking, Freshmint."

Freshmint? That's a first!

Emmy snickered, but she understood immediately the double entendre. She was a freshly minted woman. And her green hair had the colour of freshly plucked mint leaves. A two-syllable nickname, but it meant everything. A monicker that meant, "I see you."

"You are currently thinking something along the lines of 'Why me? Why not someone more deserving?'"

Emmy squeezed her eyes shut. She did not answer.

But Soraya kept writing. "You know, it doesn't work like that, right?"

Emmy's fingers trembled.

"—Life isn't a zero-sum game. You can have good things happen to you. You're not stealing anything away from someone else. There's no leaderboard in the game of life."

The words sank in slowly, like rain on dry earth. Soraya's words were something she dearly needed to hear, but had never allowed herself to believe. Her chest ached, and she wanted to argue. She wanted to say, "But it feels like I am. But there are so many people who deserve this more. But—"

But…

She had no excuses. She only had a feeling—that she did not deserve this new reality or this new body. But right now, against all expectations, someone who loved her was telling her—without hesitation, resentment or pity—she could have this.

Her eyes burned. She inhaled sharply, thumbs finally moving. "I don't know how to believe that yet."

"That's okay," Soraya replied. "…I'll just believe it for you until you do."

Emmy exhaled, and for the second time since waking up—since seeing her reflection, since feeling her ears, since realising there was no hiding from this anymore—she felt light and supported. She no longer felt alone against the world. She no longer had to handle self-healing, tanking and DPS all by herself.

Emmy had barely caught her breath when her phone vibrated again. "Hey HotStuff? I'll see the real you at work in a bit? I'm on lunch duty today. Hope you like Persian cuisine!"

Emmy blinked, the shift in tone throwing her off for half a second.

Work? Oh shit, I totally forgot. It's a workday today…

She glanced at the clock on her phone. There was still enough time to prepare. She did not have to rush to get ready yet. Emmy stared at Soraya's message. "I'll see the real you at work." Soraya had not said the new you or different you. She had said "the real you."

Emmy swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You're gonna make me cry at work, you menace."

"GOOD. Now wipe your tears, fix your hair, and get ready for some bomb-ass Persian food. Love you."

God. I'm really not alone in this, am I?

Emmy exhaled, a soft, shaken laugh escaping her lips. She shifted her legs off the side of her small bed—which thankfully no longer felt as constrictive thanks to her new size—and prepared to hop off. But the phone in her hands buzzed with another message.

Letting out a sigh, she settled in a seating position and brought the phone at eye level. She stared blankly at her hands—at the shape of them, the way her fingers looked slimmer, the way even the smallest details felt different now.

She raised an eyebrow. There was no new message in Soraya's chat. So she swipe back to the previous page. There she saw it was a new message from her son, Ewan. Her stomach dropped. She did not know if she could take much more of this. Determined to face her troubles head-on, she swiped over to Ewan's tab, her heart hammering against her ribs as she read the newest message. "Maya says you're an elf now. That true?"

Emmy let out a slow, shaking breath. How much had her daughter told him? Emmy had not yet considered how to explain this to her son.

Maya, are you pulling adds again?!

She debated what to say for a couple of seconds, but then decided to go with a simple, honest answer. "Not fully, buddy. Not yet. But yeah. It's happening."

The typing bubbles appeared instantly. "Huh, okay. But wait, does that mean now do we get to call you Mom, or what?"

Emmy's throat went tight. She had no answer for that. She had not thought that far ahead yet. Until this morning, this had only been a fantasy, and in her dreams, she did not have to deal with the logistics of names. As for Ewan's question—she had barely figured out how to answer to herself, let alone the people in her life.

But before she could spiral further… "Also, me and Maya, we're still waiting for that screenshot of you in your rule 63'd Fierce Deity Link cosplay. You promised us!"

Oh, my god. Internet rule number 63: For every fictional character, there exists a gender-swapped counterpart of that character.

Emmy choked. To care about a screenshot at a time like this? This was one hundred percent Ewan. The world could crumble, and he would be worried about breaking his daily login streak on a silly smartphone game.

Emmy chuckled and wiped away tears running down one cheek. He had remembered how she had mentioned, two days ago during their call, that she would look for a silly hat, and send them a screenshot of Elyssia pretending to be one of Link's alter ego.

Well, now I have a custom order for Vaelith. I wonder just how close to the real deal we can get.

"That's it? You remember me promising a screenshot, but you never remember to do your homework? You little gremlin."

"I happen to have an EXCELLENT MEMORY! I don't FORGET about my homework, I just push it to the last minute, okay? So. When are we getting that screenshot??"

Yeah, definitely my kid. The apple didn't fall far from the tree—I was the same at his age.

A flood of worries suddenly assaulted her. Emmy pressed a trembling hand against her mouth, biting back a sound that was too much, too raw.

He's not freaking out or panicking. Ewan's still acting like nothing happened. Like I'm still his parent. This was just one more thing for him. It doesn't change who I am. I'm still Dad to him.

Her thumbs trembled unsteadily over the keypad as she typed her reply. "You'll have your screenshot before the day's over. Pinky swear. I'll ask Jason for help."

"Ah, uncle Jason's playing with you too? Alright, then! Because of your failure to deliver your promise on time, I'm charging you interest: make it a collab picture with Jason's character too."

"You'll get my picture. No promise for Jason, okay? But look forward to it."

Emmy tried to picture a shot featuring both Elyssia and Vaelith? The dracan could easily pull off a Nayru cosplay. She would have to ask Jason about this later…

"I'll be holding you to that. No take-backs!" Seconds later, another message. "Also, just so you know. You were always cool, but you just got like 100% cooler."

"…You are such a nerd."

"And you're even nerdier—look who turned into an elf. I win."

Emmy let out a broken, breathless laugh, and let tears flow freely. She dropped her phone on her bed and wiped at her cheeks repeatedly, as the tears would just not stop. Not that she wanted them to.

When was the last time I had a good cry like this? I must have been twelve years old… Thirteen, maybe?

Then her phone vibrated again—another text message. She wiped at the tears one last time and picked up the phone with her dripping fingers. On the screen, she read another name she had not expected to see today. Sam.

Baby brother? Oh, no. Oh no no no no no—

She stared at the screen, heart in her throat, fingers trembling before she even opened the message. "Maya told me—"

MAYA! For the love of all that is holy, stop aggroing everything in sight! Is there anyone in the family who doesn't know yet?!

"—So, my big brother is now my big sister??"

Could… Maya, could you let me come out on my own terms? I beg of you…

Emmy's pulse spiked, her hands went clammy. She had braced herself, expecting accusations, rejection, disappointment. But, instead, all she got was the following message: "That's kinda sick, not gonna lie. Does this mean I get a cool fantasy elf sibling now? I'm going to be the coolest teacher out there."

Emmy let out an actual choked laugh.

What the fuck, bro!

"Sam, what the hell?"

"What?? You always liked elves."

I hate that he's not wrong…

"That is NOT the point here."

"I mean, it kinda is?? Also, Mom and Dad know. They're… I dunno. Mom was all quiet and weird about it. Dad said something about making sure you're okay. That's all I got so far."

Emmy's stomach twisted.

Mom? Quiet? That was never a good sign. But, Dad? He asked if I'm okay?

It was not rejection, it was better—concern. Her father cared. She swallowed hard, fingers shaking as she typed. "Okay. Thanks for telling me."

"Duh! What else is little bro duty for? And hey, I got your back. If they start acting weird, I swear I'll make them sit through the full SexEd slideshow, with the animations. Also, I love you, y'know. Even if you're, like, an elf now."

Emmy clutched the phone so hard it hurt and her whole body trembled. "I love you too, you little shit."

Sam only responded with a laughing emoji, and Emmy set the phone down. She sat there, in the quiet of her apartment, breath shaky, body still too new, too real. This was happening, and she was not ready. This was too much, too big, too fast. But at the same time, she had waited all her life for this moment; she was SO ready. She did not know what to do.

Why is this so complicated? Why can't someone take my agency away from me, so that I can point at them and say it's not my fault, my choice?

But then Emmy realised—her agency had been stripped. She did not know why, but the game—or the game company—had forced her in this situation, without asking for her consent. She was not in this situation by choice. And because it had been imposed on her, she could be fully absolved of the burden of having to justify or explain herself.

The thought lead her to a chilling realisation. What if none of this was intentional? What if this was all an accident and, like the avatar glitch, they would try to fix it? Could they reverse it all? Undo everyone's transformations?

No! No, no, no, they are not taking this away from me. Not after I've finally accepted it. This isn't the first level of a game where you start fully loaded and then get stripped of all your gear. You don't get to let me taste this and then yank it away.

She would fight tooth and nail to keep it. And for the first time, she would not be doing it alone. She was not fighting for a dream. She was fighting for something real. Something hers. She had backup now—Maya, Ewan, Soraya, Sam. Even Priya.

Please, let that be enough.

Because if even it was not—Emmy would still fight anyway.

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