It's hard. It's hard being so invested in something that you're no longer a part of. The first year, you go back and visit often. You miss them, and they miss you. Each reunion is a joyous occasion and you have fun playing with them, and teasing them, and giving out pointers. You feel at home there, and they introduce you to their fresh young blood. They have heard so much about you that it's like they know you. But you don't quite know them as well as your former teammates.
You keep up with the news and check up on their progress. They're doing well this year, just fine without you. You watch their matches on TV and lament when you see them make a mistake. Oh, I would have used this skill instead, you tell no one in particular. The season ends with a disappointing finish, and you lay on your bed and wonder what would have happened if you were still there. If you were still onstage, in the player booth, surrounded by the the high energy audience. You miss it.
The next year, you visit less often. You're busy, and so are they. They introduce you to their new members. You try your best to remember their names— they're your teammates' precious juniors after all— but it's inevitable that you mix them up. So to avoid embarrassment, you don't refer to them by name, instead choosing to refer to them by the class they play. For a while, chatting with your old teammates, it's almost like the old days, and you talk about tactics and the rival teams and the progress of the guilds. You feel comfortable, as if you could take this team and raise it once more to the top, until your sister, the new captain, takes control and confidently leads the team in an exercise. You're a bit blindsided. You're very proud of her of course, but it hits you again, how you're no longer a part of this.
You log into the game every so often. You're greeted by a chorus of your old online friends and you decide to dungeon together. You joke around with them and reminisce about old times until the talk turns to real life: jobs, relationships, future prospects, and you wonder whether you're the only one who's stuck in the past instead of moving forwards with their life.
You visit them again. They introduce you to their newest members, and they look so young. They're practically babies with their round faces and big eyes. But then you realize. It's not they who are young, but you who is old. The young'uns are excited to play a match with you and you indulge them. They still have a long way to go, but there is a lot of potential there. As you rub your aching knuckles, you wonder how far their careers will take them.
Eventually you stop visiting. At some point, you would stop being everyone's beloved senior, and would become that weird person who only one person knows but keeps coming back. Your youngest teammate, now the oldest on the team, is a confident leader. You're heart is so full of pride. He doesn't need you anymore, but sometimes you wish that he did. You half wish that he was still the shy, timid boy that you once knew, but then you berate yourself again for being selfish. You should be proud that they've come this far. You are proud.
You once said that you could never be bored of Glory. That you could play for another 10 years. And it's true, you've never gotten bored of Glory. It's just that Glory got bored of you. After several updates over the years, the game no longer supports the well worn account cards that you still carry around in your wallet. The technology is outdated, just like you.
It's hard when your Glory-days are long past. You try to fit in with the rest of society, but a part of you will always be in that world. Little things remind you of it, remind you that you miss being there, in the thick of things. You can watch as a spectator, but you still remember how your heart beat when you were the one onstage, surrounded by your teammates, all working together to achieve your goal. You don't want to let go, but eventually you do. Time marches mercilessly forward, and you make peace with yourself. Yes, you are no longer part of that world, but it has shaped who you are and who you hope to be, and you have helped shape it in turn. You're grateful that you got to spend even a fraction of your life among these people, like stars that burn dazzlingly bright before they fizzle into darkness.
You gather together with all of your old teammates. A reunion of sorts. You don't talk about it at all. In some ways, you have never gotten over it. And neither have they. But in the end, you are so, so happy to see them. Bonds forged in sweat and adversity and joy. This is your real legacy, you think. They look at you expectantly, waiting for you to join them. You blink and you can see them, how they looked at you like that in the past. You blink again and you see their present selves, faces still smiling, eyes still sparkling. You close your eyes, and finally, you can see the future.
/AN: Hi so last night I was in a kinda sad angsty mood and somehow hashed this out within two hours when I should have gone to bed early. Luckily, I feel much better now that I've slept for six and half hours, but I felt like I might as well post this. Didn't expect to post a third work this week, so don't expect this pace in the future