But the more Elias built Elyria, the less he cared about the real world.
He forgot homework. He stopped talking to classmates. He barely ate some days. His mother noticed only a sliver of it, but even that sliver looked like a shadow creeping over her son.
One night, the shouting in the house grew intolerable. Elias pressed his face into his pillow, wishing he could disappear into Elyria instead of merely viewing it through glass.
His phone glowed faintly beside him.
When he picked it up again, a message flashed across the screen—a message he didn't type.
"Come home."
He blinked, confused.
Then the screen brightened.
The world of Elyria expanded, filling the display from edge to edge. The trees waved at him. The cottage lights flickered like welcoming lanterns.
He reached for the screen.
And the world reached back.