After guide’s explanation of the Genesis Sandbox, Liam found himself faced with three choices.
The first was to enter a tutorial world where he could learn the basics of building. The second was to check out the public creation hub, where players could visit the worlds of others who had set their plots to public — though for now, it was empty. He was still the only registered player. And the third, the one that truly mattered, was to step onto his own island: his personal sandbox, a blank canvas.
Each new player was given one of these small islands. They started simple — a floating stretch of land surrounded by endless sky — but they could be expanded over time. Progress was persistent. Every tree, every wall, every piece of furniture placed would remain, ready to be built upon whenever the player returned.
The game’s tools were intuitive. Basic builder kits came preloaded: shape tools for adding or removing blocks, terrain sculpting to raise hills or carve valleys, object placement for trees, rocks, walls, or furniture. There was even an avatar customization station.
But since the sandbox game was tied to the Gear Glass account, the avatar wasn’t some alternate persona. It was the account avatar — in Liam’s case, his own face and body.
The effect was almost unsettling. Looking down at his hands, then catching his reflection in the still water at the island’s edge, Liam saw himself staring back, rendered with impossible precision.
There were more advanced functions too, though simplified for beginners: physics toggles for gravity, light, and sound. Presets like "realistic gravity" or "low-gravity playground." Templates and presets for structures: houses, shops, castles, even parks. Theme packs ranging from sci-fi to medieval, from modern skyscrapers to lush fantasy forests.
And for those who needed guidance, there was a clear learning path:
Beginner: Build a house.
Intermediate: Add NPCs or animals.
Advanced: Layer in logic — opening doors, creating quests, scripting puzzles.
Every player was also assigned an AI helper — their personal assistant, the same AI bound to their Gear Glass account. It would walk them through tools, demonstrate features, and even generate starter assets if requested.
Liam stood on his little island, the wind tugging at his hair, listening to Lucy’s calm explanation. The skies stretched endlessly above and below, a twilight void painted with soft clouds. The silence was absolute, but not unpleasant.
"Lucy," he said, "summon me something. A tree. A large Oak tree."
At once, the ground beside him shimmered. In an instant, a towering oak tree grew out of nothing, its branches swaying naturally, its bark rough and detailed enough that Liam could see every fissure.
He reached out and touched it, running his fingers across the grooves. It felt solid, real, like any tree he might find outside Bellemere Mansion.
"Good. Now a house. Something simple."
Before his eyes, planks of wood appeared one after another, assembling themselves into a cabin-like structure. Walls rose, a roof formed, windows slotted into place. Within seconds, a neat house stood waiting for him. He stepped inside. The interior smelled faintly of pinewood, the floor creaked realistically under his weight, and shafts of light streamed through the window panes.
Actually, this wasn’t how the game was to be played exactly. The tree’s seed is planted and allowed to grow. Player can use time acceleration to speed up its growth. The house have to be built step by step by themselves, but the players can bypass that if they have a builder character.
"This..." Liam murmured, "this is really dangerous."
He didn’t mean it in a bad way. He meant it in the way visionaries did when they realized they were standing at the edge of a cultural revolution.
A child given this game wouldn’t just play. They would create. Build their own towns, sculpt their own worlds, share them with friends. They would stop being consumers and start being architects of digital civilizations.
Even adults would find it irresistible. With infinite freedom, infinite possibilities, who wouldn’t want to create?
Satisfied, Liam exited the sandbox. He had seen enough to know: this game alone would dominate the industry. And it wasn’t even the flagship.
Back in the Gear Glass lobby, Liam’s gaze drifted across the glowing icons. His eyes fell on the largest of them with the image of Earth rotating in space.
"Terra," he whispered.
He focused on the icon and it expanded, engulfing his vision.
Liam blinked and found himself... in his bedroom.
For a split second, his mind stuttered. He looked around, confusion creeping in. The bed, the desk, the lamp on the nightstand — everything was exactly as it should be.
But no. His real body was still lying on that same bed. Here, he was in the game.
Terra had spawned him into an exact replica of his surroundings. Not a generic template, but his actual room, down to the smallest detail.
He touched the desk and felt the smooth wood. He brushed his hand across the lamp and saw the faint smudge of his own fingerprint.
"This is... unsettling," Liam muttered.
For ordinary players, the first spawn point would be their real-world location too — their homes, their streets, their cities.
The Glass mapped reality itself, grounding the game in the familiar before inviting players to expand outward.
But his bedroom spawn point is actually something unique to Liam because other players will be spawned on their first time in a general location of their real-time location.
Liam stood, walked out of his bedroom, and descended the stairs. The mansion was empty, eerily silent. He opened the front doors and stepped into the street.
The cool night air hit his face, real enough to make him pause. He walked down the familiar road until he reached Sunset Boulevard.
It was nighttime here as well. The neon lights were dim, stores shuttered, and the streets were empty. No pedestrians or cars. Just silence. Eerie silence.
If not for the faint markers glowing in his vision — the UI elements reminding him he was inside the Gear Glass — he would have believed he was awake in a city where humanity had vanished overnight.
The emptiness was haunting. A deserted Earth.
And yet, Liam could already see the potential. Terra wasn’t just a game. It was a simulation. A 1:1 recreation of Earth itself, with the possibility of expansion into the stars.
It was a platform where players could live second lives, explore alternate realities, or create entire civilizations.
He exhaled softly and returned to the lobby.
One icon remained. The last game.
"Eternal Realms," Liam murmured, selecting it.
The world around him blurred. When it cleared, he was standing in a small village. Cobblestone streets wound between timber-framed houses. NPCs bustled about — vendors shouting from stalls, children running past, guards patrolling with spears.
The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and fresh bread. The sound of blacksmiths hammering echoed from a forge nearby.
Liam’s smiled to himself when he saw this. It was all too familiar. It was like straight out of the fantasy MMORPGs web novels he had read, except here, it wasn’t through a screen. He was experiencing it.
The NPCs weren’t stiff models or clumsy animations. They looked human. Their eyes moved naturally, their gestures fluid.
When one villager accidentally bumped into him, she bowed her head and muttered an apology, her tone weary yet polite.
"This..." Liam whispered. "This is it."
He didn’t need a full explanation. He knew how it worked. Eternal Realms was the first true fantasy MMORPG in history. Quests, dungeons, exploration, magic, combat — all rendered with a realism no developer on Earth could ever match.
He walked toward the blacksmith, with his curiosity piqued. The man greeted him with a nod.
"Need a blade, traveler?" the NPC said, his voice rough, his expression sharp, as he pointed to the already made swords on display.
Liam reached out and grasped the hilt or one of the sword. It was heavy but perfectly balanced — according to his Formless Combat Doctrine skill. He swung the sword once, feeling the weight shift naturally in his hand.
Liam sat on his bed in the real world, removing the Gear Glass and setting it on the nightstand, and he let out a long breath.
"All seven games..." he murmured. "Every single one of them is a hit."
He didn’t even need to think too deeply. The children’s arenas would dominate the younger market. Football and basketball would ignite esports on a scale the world had never seen. Sandbox would unleash creativity. Terra would become the foundation for a new digital civilization. And Eternal Realms? That was fantasy brought to life.
"Lucy," he said softly, "you really outdid yourself."
"Thank you, sir," Lucy replied warmly.