S?urtinaui’s eyes fluttered open.

  Light filtered through her vision in slow layers. For a moment she thought she was still trapped inside the ship.

  She was in a hovering cot, suspended a foot above a cave floor. Beneath her, a woven lattice of coral and Ryun constructs formed a flexible cradle, glowing faintly with stabilizing sigils. Above her, angular frameworks of light hovered in careful alignment, projecting soft pulses that synced with her breathing. At each corner, stabilizers hummed quietly, not loud enough to intrude.

  She turned her head slowly.

  Her right arm was still gone.

  The stump, however, was clean—healed over with smooth, newly formed flesh that felt strange and distant, like her body had accepted the loss but hadn’t forgiven it yet. She lifted her left hand and brushed her cheek.

  The scar was still there.

  A ugly line running from lip to ear. Permanent.

  Exhaustion weighed on her, bone-deep and heavy, but it was no longer the crushing void she’d expected. Just… tired. The kind of tired that came after surviving something you weren’t supposed to.

  She looked to her side.

  Tabia stood there, silent.

  The coral-crowned woman watched her intently, crimson eyes sharp but not unkind. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Tabia didn’t rush her. Didn’t smile. Didn’t pretend this was anything other than what it was.

  Reality slowly snapped into focus.

  A cave—wide, reinforced with Ryun-carved stone and faintly glowing veins that stabilized the air. Far in the distance, through a jagged opening, S?urtinaui could see it.

  A Signal Tower.

  Before she could speak, Tabia stepped forward.

  “Do not strain yourself,” she said calmly. “Let’s take it slow.”

  She began asking questions—simple at first. Name. Awareness. Sensation. S?urtinaui answered hoarsely, each response grounding her further. Tabia placed two fingers lightly near her sternum, crimson and teal Ryun flaring as she tested her aura flow.

  S?urtinaui flinched as a knot of instability was gently unraveled.

  “Your Ryun was fractured,” Tabia explained. “Not broken. Stabilizing it now.”

  She guided the flow carefully, precise and practiced. No wasted motion.

  After a moment, S?urtinaui swallowed. “Where… is everyone?”

  Tabia didn’t hesitate.

  “Training.”

  That single word carried weight.

  She continued, filling in the gaps with measured efficiency. The evacuation. The regrouping and fighting. North’s outrage. Ozzy’s intervention. The Tower.

  “In one day,” Tabia said, voice steady, “perhaps two, we will move on Civen. The tournament will end.”

  S?urtinaui stared at the cave ceiling.

  So much had happened.

  North was training again.

  Preparing to end it.

  She felt something twist in her chest—relief, dread, guilt, gratitude—all tangled together.

  “…I see,” she murmured.

  Tabia watched her carefully. “You are not expected to move yet. Or decide anything.”

  S?urtinaui exhaled slowly and let her head sink back into the light-cradle of the cot.

  “Good,” she said quietly. “Because I’m…. About the crew…” she began, her voice barely more than breath.

  Tabia raised a hand.

  “Please,” she said quietly. “Wait for the Captain. And the others. This is not a conversation to have while your soul is still stitching itself together.”

  S?urtinaui hesitated, then nodded. The words retreated back into her chest.

  “…Okay.”

  Silence settled again, softer this time.

  After a long moment, S?urtinaui spoke once more. “Thank you.”

  Tabia paused.

  Then, unexpectedly, she inclined her head. “And thank you.”

  S?urtinaui frowned faintly. “For… what?”

  Her fingers curled against the light-cradle of the cot. “I didn’t do anything. I’m just—” Her throat tightened. “I’m the one who lived. That’s all I ever am.”

  Tabia turned fully toward her then. The crimson glow in her eyes dimmed, becoming something warmer.

  “You are mistaken,” she said.

  She stepped closer, her voice lowering.

  “You are not a burden,” Tabia continued. “You are a testament.”

  S?urtinaui’s breath caught.

  “The crew fell fulfilling their will,” Tabia said, each word deliberate, almost ceremonial. “But will alone fades. Stories do not.”

  She placed a hand lightly over her chest, then gestured toward S?urtinaui.

  “You are the last living vessel of their intent. Their choices. Their defiance. As long as you breathe, their actions remain true.”

  S?urtinaui’s eyes burned. She didn’t trust her voice.

  “To survive,” Tabia went on, “is not cowardice. It is continuity. You carry their names forward even if you never speak them aloud. You ensure that what they gave was not wasted.”

  A pause.

  “That is why I thank you.”

  S?urtinaui stared at the ceiling, lips trembling, the weight of it pressing down in a way that hurt—but also held her upright.

  “I… don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

  Tabia nodded once. “You are not required to.”

  She stepped back, already turning toward the cave entrance.

  “Rest,” she said. “The Captain will want to see you. And the others should know.”

  As Tabia walked away, her footsteps steady and purposeful, S?urtinaui remained suspended in the hum of the machine—aching and alive.

  Tabia had barely stepped back into the cave when North was suddenly there.

  His face filled S?urtinaui’s vision as he leaned over the hovering cot, hands gripping the coral lattice like it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground. For a moment she just stared.

  Huh, she thought distantly.

  His black hair was longer now, falling messily around his face. His eyes—once just brown and sharp—now red and held rotating sigils in their pupils. A single red line ran beneath each eye, while faint red veins traced up his neck and disappeared beneath his collar.

  He looked different.

  Not monstrous.

  Just… changed.

  She chuckled softly, the sound surprising even herself, thinking back to the first time she’d met him. Standing in line. Awkward. Annoyed. Human.

  That felt like another lifetime.

  Before she could say anything, North leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, careful but desperate, pressing his forehead briefly against hers.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, voice rough. “I—fuck—I was worried.”

  She lifted her remaining hand and rested it weakly against his shoulder. “Thanks… for saving me.”

  North pulled back just enough to look at her properly. His eyes softened, sigils slowing.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. “None of it. I wanted to tell you that before you passed out.”

  Her breath caught.

  “I learned what happened,” he continued, jaw tightening. “About the crew. About—”

  “Wait,” she said quietly.

  The single word stopped him cold.

  He searched her face, then nodded once, forcing himself to still.

  “Let’s wait until everyone’s here,” she said. Her voice trembled, but she held it together. “I want Ozzy and Tabia to hear it too. What really happened.”

  North exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction.

  “…Okay,” he said. “We’ll wait.”

  She leaned back into the light-cradle of the cot, exhaustion washing over her again, but this time it wasn’t lonely.

  North stayed right there, one hand still resting on the edge of the cot like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

  Everyone filed in quietly, Ozzy entered first, immaculate despite everything. His white outfit was freshly cleaned, his cape restored and draped with casual reverence over one shoulder. His locs spilled forward, framing the glowing white X on his forehead above the white blindfold.

  Destiny followed, wearing North’s cape reshaped into dark, flowing pants, her blue hoodie loose around her shoulders. Her blonde hair looked platinum, like light burned pale by strain. Golden eyes sharp, but tired.

  Crisper leaned against the cave wall, combat uniform snug, rainbow hair pulled into a tight bun. She wore a smirk that didn’t quite hide how badly she wanted movement. Jamal came in next, several of his locs tied back, the rest falling loose around his face. The grey outfit Aulura had given him sat strangely well on him—half robe, half track suit, clean lines meeting street comfort. He said nothing, but his eyes had depth now.

  North stood near the cot, restless. Sith-like armor clinging to his frame. Red veins pulsed faintly along his hands and vanished beneath his sleeves. His foot tapped against stone, impatient, restrained only by will.

  Tabia took a seat beside Ozzy, exhaling slowly, coral crown dimmed but intact.

  And at the center of it all, suspended in the hovering cot of coral and Ryun light, lay S?urtinaui.

  She inhaled shakily.

  Then she began.

  She told them about the zombie dungeon—about the rigged rules and the sense that the game itself wanted them to fail. How Jack’s awakening cracked the system just enough. How Tinsurnae’s Sryun had burned everything. How they’d used something as absurd as PHD Flopper to kill a boss that should’ve wiped them.

  She paused, swallowing.

  “Tinsurnae wasn’t the same after,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what changed her. I don’t know where she is now.”

  No one interrupted.

  She went on.

  After they left the dungeon, everything went to hell. Another crew attacked them—people hunting Jack for something he’d done, something she still didn’t understand. Then the ship…

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Her voice broke.

  “The ship was trying to kill us,” she whispered. “Not malfunctioning. Not sabotaged. It was like reality decided we were done. Like we weren’t supposed to live.”

  Ozzy’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

  She told them about Bebele. About the betrayal. About how he hadn’t wanted to do it. How something had controlled him. How Lythra died by his hands.

  Tabia’s fingers curled slowly into her palm.

  Ozzy remained still.

  S?urtinaui wiped at her face and continued. She spoke of the woman she fought—how she killed her, how her arm was taken, how her cheek was carved open. North’s hand found her shoulder then, grounding her.

  “We survived,” she said softly. “For a moment. Caroline won her fight. Bebele came back to himself. I killed him before he lost himself again.”

  Her eyes lifted, hollow.

  “And then… the being in black came.”

  The room seemed to dim.

  “One by one, everyone else stayed behind,” she said. “They sacrificed themselves so we could run.”

  She turned her head toward Ozzy, meeting the space where his eyes would be beneath the blindfold.

  “Your crew loved you,” she said. “They did their duty until the end. None of them hesitated.”

  Ozzy bowed his head. Just once.

  Then she looked at North.

  That was as far as she made it.

  The tears came then—silent at first, then shaking, wracking sobs that bent her shoulders inward. North tightened his grip on her shoulder, jaw clenched hard enough to ache.

  For a long moment after S?urtinaui’s words, no one spoke.

  Then Ozzy exhaled slowly “…It fits,” he said at last.

  Everyone looked toward him.

  “The pattern,” Ozzy continued. “The escalation. The inevitability. A crew that should’ve survived being erased in a way that felt… authored.”

  Destiny’s golden eyes narrowed. “Authored is the right word.”

  North nodded, jaw tight. “Mi’Lentra confirmed it. The Supreme Qui Tensigon—the one tied to Story. Did this….”

  Jamal clicked his tongue. “So we was in a book?”

  “A bad one,” Crisper muttered.

  “The orange dome,” Destiny said, piecing it together. “That was a chapter boundary. It's why that elf thought he had us.”

  Ozzy inclined his head. “Exactly. A closed arc. No deviation allowed. Until you all Unraveled it.”

  S?urtinaui hugged herself slightly as the implication settled in. “So the thing that attacked us was a…”

  North’s eyes hardened. “Same source. The Story didn’t end when you escaped the dungeon. It escalated. Along with the curse placed on y’all.”

  “Which explains the Herald,” Tabia said quietly. “A Land’s Herald doesn’t manifest randomly. It appears when a region is grieving.”

  “Grieving my ass,” Jamal snapped.

  North’s mouth curled into something sharp. “And the cherry on top?” He looked around the cave, anger finally spilling through the cracks. “Jack. That bitchass wasn’t just playing his own game.”

  Destiny’s gaze flicked to him. “A Chosen.”

  “Yeah,” North said flatly. “Qui Tensigon’s chosen. A protagonist slot that helps delude his dumbass.”

  Ozzy’s posture stiffened. “That would explain why the Story bent around him instead of crushing him.”

  S?urtinaui’s fingers trembled. “So… all of this was meant to happen.”

  “No,” North said immediately.

  The word landed hard.

  “It was written to happen,” he corrected. “That’s different.”

  The room went quiet again.

  North looked down at his hands, red veins pulsing faintly beneath the skin. “Mi’Lentra said Supremes don’t just interfere. They overwrite. Qui Tensigon didn’t want survivors. Didn’t want witnesses. The crew wasn’t collateral.”

  “They were edits,” Destiny said softly.

  North looked up, eyes burning. “And the Land’s Herald?”

  He smiled—but there was no humor in it.

  “That thing’s gonna die.”

  Ozzy nodded once. “Then our path is clear.”

  “Body Civen,” Jamal said.

  “Kill the Herald,” Crisper added.

  “And break the Story,” Destiny finished.

  North’s gaze drifted, distant for a moment—

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “And when this is done?”

  The air around him seemed to tense.

  “I’m coming for the author.”

  Destiny raised her hand, palm open, cutting through the rising edge of voices.

  “Let’s breathe,” she said. Not loud—but firm enough that the room obeyed. “We don’t win this by spiraling.”

  Silence settled, tense but listening.

  “From everything we’ve heard,” she continued, eyes moving from face to face, “Jack is already operating on a level most of us aren’t ready for. Civen still wants me dead—and she has an army willing to make that happen. And on top of that, we don’t even know where Tinsurnae is.”

  Crisper leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Then we leave her.”

  North’s head snapped toward her. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No,” Crisper shot back, unbothered. “It’s necessary. We don’t have time to play search-and-rescue while the golden wave is literally rolling closer. You want to save everyone, you’ll save no one.”

  Tabia nodded slowly, coral crown catching the low light. “As much as it pains me… she is correct. We act with what we have. Not what we wish we had.”

  North opened his mouth, then stopped. His jaw tightened, frustration burning behind his eyes.

  Destiny exhaled and pressed on. “And gunning straight for a Supreme? That’s suicide right now. Especially when Civen isn’t alone, from what you told us. She’s aligned with Caelus The Calmbrand and Eirian, The Blade of Dawn.”

  S?urtinaui stirred on the cot, voice quiet but steady. “Caelus’ blade… it stacks inevitability. Five to seven clean strikes and the kill becomes absolute. No regeneration. No reversal.”

  The room shifted—weight settling in places no one wanted it.

  They argued after that. Not shouting, but sharp. Angles and counters. Risk versus necessity. Every option bleeding into another problem. Until finally—

  North sighed.

  Not in defeat. In decision.

  “We’re thinking too small,” he said.

  Every eye turned to him.

  “If we try to outmaneuver the world, it’ll crush us. Civen expects resistance. The Story expects heroes. Supremes expect set outcomes.” His gaze hardened. “So we don’t give them that.”

  A pause.

  “We hit them fast. Hard and brutal. We don’t posture—we destabilize. Panic is leverage. Numbers don’t matter if no one knows where to look or who to trust.”

  The idea hung there…

  Jamal broke the tension with a shrug. “Fuck it. They opps. Whoever wit ’em gonna get rocked. I ain’t come all this way to play defense.”

  A few snorts of grim agreement followed.

  Crisper tilted her head toward Jamal, smirking. “Still not gonna tell us who gave you those clothes?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t. Name hit so hard I lost the right to speak for a minute.”

  Destiny frowned. “That sounds like a Supreme.”

  “Nah,” Jamal said easily. “I told y’all. Aulura said they above that.”

  That earned a few looks—but no one pressed it. Not now.

  The plan wasn’t clean.

  But it was real.

  And as the golden wave crept closer, reality itself tightening around them, one thing became clear:

  They weren’t going to survive by playing the game as written.

  They were going to tear the board apart.

  Ozzy raised a hand, the motion calm but authoritative, and the room slowly quieted.

  “Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight behind it. “Looks like we’ve got our enemies lined up and a path forward, ugly as it is.”

  He paced once, white cape whispering behind him.

  “Civen,” he continued, “working under a washed-up snake goddess and Familiane, the Veiled Luminara. Both answering—directly or not—to Qui Tensigon. A Supreme who decided the best way to move the board was to write a Story that dooms everyone involved.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “And she chose Jack as her Chosen.”

  Ozzy turned toward S?urtinaui, Jamal, and North. Some of the levity drained from his face. “Sorry for the rush, Naui. Truly. But we need to make sure you’re combat-capable as soon as possible.”

  S?urtinaui gave a small nod. She didn’t look ready—but she looked willing.

  Then Ozzy’s gaze slid to Jamal and North. A grin crept back in, sharp and unapologetic.

  “As for you two? You’re training with me until your eyes bleed.”

  He paused, glancing at North’s face. “…Well. For you, North, I guess that’s more of a feature than a threat.”

  North snorted. “Can we start in thirty minutes?”

  Ozzy nodded without hesitation. “Thirty.”

  He straightened and looked to Tabia. “Walk with me please?”

  Tabia rose immediately, no questions asked.

  Destiny caught the shift and pushed herself up from the ground. “Hey, there’s a river near here,” she said, glancing at Jamal and Crisper. “Mind checking it out with me?”

  Jamal scoffed but stood anyway. “Always getting dragged into cardio.”

  Crisper just nodded, already moving.

  As they passed, Destiny shot North a look—something quiet and grounding.

  Then they were gone.

  The room emptied faster than it had filled, footsteps fading until only the low hum of the cave and the distant song of the Signal Tower remained.

  North exhaled and turned.

  It was just him and S?urtinaui now.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. All the bravado he’d been carrying cracked just a little.

  “You… uh,” he started, then stopped. Tried again. “You holding up?”

  She studied him, really looked at him—the longer hair, the rotating sigils, the veins like fault lines beneath his skin.

  “You changed,” she said quietly.

  He huffed a humorless laugh. “Yeah. Apparently that’s my thing now.”

  Another silence fell, heavier than the last.

  Finally, he stepped closer to the cot and rested a hand on its edge. “I meant what I said earlier. None of this was your fault.”

  Her throat tightened. She stared at the ceiling for a second, then back at him. “I know. Doesn’t stop it from feeling like it should’ve been me.”

  North shook his head immediately. “No. Don’t do that. They chose what they chose. Caroline especially. She died with no regrets I bet…”

  At her name, S?urtinaui’s eyes shimmered.

  “She told me to tell you goodbye,” she said softly. “And that you’re not allowed to die before you beat your… cosmic daddy.”

  North let out a weak laugh. “That sounds like her.”

  The laugh faded, but something steadier took its place.

  He leaned in, resting his forehead briefly against the edge of the cot. “I’m not done. Not even close. And I’m not letting what happened be the end of her story.”

  S?urtinaui swallowed, then nodded. “Good. Because if you did, I’d haunt you.”

  He glanced at her, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Deal.”

  S?urtinaui’s fingers tightened against the edge of the hovering cot as she spoke, her voice quiet but steady, like someone forcing words past a dam.

  “Caroline was… happy,” she said. “Genuinely happy. Especially with Mekiea. She laughed more than she ever did before. Complained, sure—but she was living. I just wish…” Her throat hitched. “I wish I hadn’t been so weak.”

  North shook his head immediately. “No,” he said, firm, almost sharp. “That’s bullshit. You weren't weak. You made it this far. She decided to fight. She chose her friends over survival every single time. That’s strength most of this world doesn’t have.”

  S?urtinaui stared at him, her green eyes glassy. “I’m tired,” she admitted. “I’m tired of this tournament. Tired of watching people die because gods want entertainment or leverage or legacy.” Her jaw clenched. “I hate the Supremes. I didn’t before. I really didn’t. But now?” The fear that once lived there had curdled into something darker. Rotten. Burning. “I hate them.”

  North saw it then—not hysteria, not weakness. Resolve shaped by loss.

  He exhaled slowly. “I don’t blame you,” he said. “Not even a little. I got a few issues of my own.”

  Silence settled between them, heavy but not empty.

  “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he added, softer.

  Her composure finally broke. She leaned forward, resting against him, and the tears came—quiet at first, then shaking. North wrapped an arm around her without hesitation, steady and grounding, letting her cry into his shoulder without comment, without rushing her through it.

  His gaze drifted forward, past the cave walls, past the distant glow of the tower, into something colder and far more focused. The sigils in his eyes turned slowly.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered, low enough that only she could hear.

  His grip tightened just slightly.

  “Everyone involved in this is going to pay.”

  ————

  The forest swallowed sound the deeper they walked.

  Light filtered down in fractured bands from the three suns above, catching on leaves that shimmered faintly with residual Ryun. Every step Ozzy took was measured, his boots barely disturbing the moss beneath them. His freshly cleaned white cape moved like liquid behind him, pristine despite everything that had happened.

  Tabia walked at his side in silence, coral crown dimmed but steady, crimson eyes sharp even in the calm. She was the first to speak.

  “So,” she said quietly, “a Story killed the crew. And Jack truly is the enemy.”

  Ozzy nodded once, the motion slow. “Out of our hands, sadly.”

  His smile didn’t reach his face.

  Tabia studied him from the corner of her eye. She had followed Ozzy for a long time—long enough to know the difference between his easy grin and the one he wore now. This one meant blood.

  “But,” Ozzy continued, voice light as if discussing the weather, “North also told us Mi’Lentra gave permission.”

  Tabia’s lips curved upward. “So we may remove our mittens.”

  Ozzy chuckled softly, pleased. “Exactly.”

  They stopped at the edge of a small clearing. The trees here were scorched at their bases, blackened from earlier battles, yet still standing—twisted survivors clinging stubbornly to life. Ozzy tilted his head back and looked up at the sky. The three suns burned brightly, uncaring, their light washing over the land.

  “I’m glad North’s plan aligns with my own ideas,” he said. “It saves time.”

  Tabia folded her arms, aura pulsing faintly. “You intend to make an example.”

  Ozzy’s grin widened.

  “Oh, absolutely.” He spread his hands as if embracing the world itself. “I really want to show those fools how much I love them.”

  ————

  The creek murmured softly, water sliding over smooth stone. Jamal sat with his boots half in the water, skipping pebbles that vanished into the current. Destiny crouched on a fallen log nearby, elbows on her knees, chin resting in her hands. Crisper leaned back against a tree, arms folded, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

  “So,” Crisper said at last, breaking the quiet. “This Aulura girl.”

  Jamal groaned. “Here we go.”

  Destiny didn’t look away from the water. “I don’t recognize the name. Not from any Supreme Family. Not from any pantheon I’ve heard of either.”

  “That’s ‘cause she not like that,” Jamal said. “She said it real casual too. Like—oh yeah, my family could beat Vari. No big deal.”

  Crisper blinked. “Beat Vari.”

  “Yeah,” Jamal said. “Like she was talkin’ about winnin’ a pickup game.”

  Destiny finally looked up. “That’s not something you say unless it’s true. Or unless you’re insane.”

  “She ain’t insane,” Jamal muttered. “Annoying. Arrogant. Fine as fuck. But not crazy. Fully….”

  Crisper tilted her head. “What was her full name again?”

  Jamal waved a hand. “Aulura somethin’-somethin’. Long as hell. Tryin’ to say it made my mouth feel like it was laggin’.”

  “Try again,” Crisper said. “Slow.”

  He inhaled, squared his shoulders. “Aulura… Raphana… Wake—”

  His lips twitched. The word caught, stuttered, then slipped sideways.

  “Wakeisamess?” he tried. “No—wait—Wriangeth… wraithisamess…”

  He stopped, scowling. “Nah, that ain’t right.”

  Destiny’s eyes narrowed. “Say that part again.”

  “Which part?”

  “The middle.”

  “Wake… wraith… whatever that shit is.”

  Crisper frowned. “Wake and wraith aren’t even similar.”

  Jamal threw his hands up. “I’m tryin’, damn.”

  Destiny’s posture stiffened. Her gaze snapped to him. “You mean… Wraithingamous?”

  Jamal nodded reflexively. “Yeah! That weird shi—”

  “Stop,” Destiny said sharply.

  The air around them seemed to tighten, like a breath held too long.

  Jamal froze. “What?”

  Destiny stood slowly. “Don’t insult that name.”

  Her mind was racing now, gears slamming into place. Old warnings from Vari. Names that weren’t just identifiers but vectors—keys that opened things you couldn’t close.

  “How can you say it at all?” Jamal asked. “My mouth keeps mutin’ me.”

  Crisper tried to say it too and failed. “Eww… what the hell?!”

  Destiny exhaled. “Because I’m not… normal. I’m a Significant being. Names like that don’t fully bind me.”

  Crisper’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s weird. How do you have a passcode over your name?”

  Jamal looked between them. “So shawty family really like that?”

  Destiny nodded once. “Yes. Jamal—remember when I told you there was the one Family Head who couldn’t be compared to the other Supremes?”

  “Yeah a little. You was mysterious as hell…” he said slowly.

  “That family,” Destiny continued, voice low and careful, “is them.”

  Crisper pushed off the tree she was leaning against. “You’re saying—”

  “I’m saying,” Destiny finished, “their family head is functionally equal to a King.”

  Silence fell heavy over the creek.

  Jamal let out a low whistle. “Well… damn.”

  Crisper stared at the water, then smirked faintly. “And she wants you to survive the tournament and join them.”

  Jamal shrugged. “Sheeeeit it don’t sound so bad now.”

  Destiny looked out toward the horizon, where the golden wave crawled closer by the minute. “This is getting insane.”

  “It already was, but honestly it makes sense the Fortune Holder is meant to get people discovered.” Crisper said.

  Jamal nodded. “I guess I lucked out.”

  The creek kept flowing.

  ————

  S?urtinaui had fallen asleep again.

  North didn’t stop her.

  The gentle rise and fall of her breathing was enough to tell him she was still here—still fighting, even in rest. The coral-and-Ryun cot hummed softly beneath her, casting pale light across the cave walls.

  North sat nearby, arms resting on his knees, gaze unfocused. His thoughts churned—Caroline, the crew, Tinsurnae missing, Mi’Lentra’s promise, Ozzy’s blade in his chest. Having sex with Destiny. All of it stacking, pressing, tempering him like steel in a forge.

  This was the calm before the next storm.

  A presence brushed the edge of his senses.

  Ozzy peeked his head into the cave, white blindfold catching the light, the faint glow of the X on his forehead steady and watchful. His expression was light, almost playful—but North knew better. That smile had weight behind it.

  “Ready, rough rider?” Ozzy asked.

  North stood, rolling his shoulders. The red veins beneath his skin pulsed faintly, answering the call of motion, of conflict. He glanced once more at S?urtinaui, then back to Ozzy.

  “Yeah,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  Ozzy’s grin widened.

  North stepped forward, past the cave’s threshold, into the open air where the world still burned and bent and waited to be claimed.

  This was all ending soon.

  And until it did, he would train until his body broke, until his aura screamed, until the gap between who he was and who he needed to be vanished entirely.

  He wasn’t surviving this tournament.

  He was winning it.

  Thanks for reading and enjoy your weekend.