Alistair landed on solid ground with a soft crunch of dirt.

  He blinked.

  No blinding light. No falling sensation. Just a quiet pop of reality reasserting itself and the familiar hum of the Arena pressing in again.

  He looked down.

  Dry.

  He touched his sleeves. His hair.

  Still dry.

  “…Right. Magic pool with optional towel service. Makes sense.”

  He stood in a grove he recognized. Tall trees loomed overhead, and the faint scent of moss and old mana clung to the air. The ground around him was scattered with blue mushrooms, the same kind that had marked the threshold of Vellura’s cave.

  Only… they were different now.

  Wilted.

  Fading. Their glow sputtering out like candles at the end of a vigil.

  Alistair crouched beside one, inspecting it.

  It looked drained, like something had used it to anchor the divine space. Maybe the entire grove had been part of the godling’s tether.

  Only one mushroom still glowed.

  Faintly. Weak, but alive.

  Just as he reached for it, a delayed system notification slammed into his vision like a hiccup in the air.

  [System Alert: Pending Notifications Unlocked.]

  …

  Reconnecting to Arena Core…

  Connection stabilized. Displaying flagged data.

  Alistair frowned. “Wait, were you blocked that entire time?”

  More text followed, scrolling rapidly, but most of it was garbled, like it had been queued and forced through a clogged pipe.

  He blinked it away and focused on the mushroom instead.

  A new notification chimed softly.

  [You have discovered a Legendary Item!]

  Name: Faded Mycolight

  Type: Environmental Catalyst

  Rarity: Legendary

  Description: Once used to anchor a divine fold in reality, this twilight-born mushroom carries traces of forgotten paths and frayed dimensions. While weak, it still holds the spark of planar resonance.

  Effects:

  ? Can be fed mana to locate or stabilize hidden boundaries.

  ? When charged properly, it may allow short-distance interplanar travel.

  ? Warning: The Mycolight is dormant. Its next use may consume it entirely.

  Lore: “All gates begin with a threshold. This one just happens to glow.”

  Alistair stared.

  Then slowly, gingerly, he reached out and plucked it from the soil. The stem was rubbery. Warm. It pulsed once in his fingers like a tiny heartbeat.

  “Okay, you’re definitely going in the pouch.”

  He tucked it carefully into his dimensional bag and straightened, just in time for his [Treasure Seeker] trait to finally speak up.

  [Treasure Detected.]

  83 meters north-northeast

  147 meters west by northwest

  “Two? Alright. Welcome back, buddy. Glad you’re talking again.”

  He didn’t head toward either.

  Not yet.

  Instead, he turned back, toward the place he’d left his companions. Brimma and Kael.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been gone.

  Time in the divine fold could’ve stretched or snapped or bent sideways. For all he knew, it had been five minutes or five hours.

  As he jogged lightly through the trees, keeping low and silent, his thoughts drifted, reluctantly, back to Vellura.

  Godling.

  Beautiful.

  Terrifying.

  Desperate.

  And yet… dangerously close to something real. A sliver away from full divinity. Her words still echoed in his mind.

  “The Pantheon is divided.”

  “Good gods do unspeakable things.”

  “I protect what’s mine.”

  He didn’t trust her.

  But he believed she was telling the truth.

  At least part of it.

  And the reveal about Kael… that wasn’t bait. That was a warning.

  So now what?

  He couldn’t choose her.

  He couldn’t leave the Bloodmistress.

  But he could keep watching. Listening.

  Waiting.

  Just like every other game he’d been forced to play since the day he was born.

  He ran faster.

  Alistair found them where he had left them, in the cave, resting.

  Or rather, Brimma was resting.

  Kael looked like he was being interrogated by his own stomach.

  The wood elf was seated awkwardly on a flat rock, back stiff, arms limp, as Brimma force-fed him a handful of gnarled, mud-streaked roots that looked like they had lost a fight with a troll’s sock.

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  Kael spotted Alistair instantly.

  His desperate eyes locked onto him like a lifeline.

  "Alistair," Kael rasped, mouth half-full of something purple and vaguely steaming, "please. Help."

  Alistair stopped mid-step. "Wow. That looks edible. In a 'my corpse is already decomposing, might as well' kind of way."

  Brimma didn’t look up. "It’s a detoxifying infusion. He's lucky I know the recipe."

  Kael coughed. “It tastes like burnt moss and foot.”

  "That’s the healthy part," Brimma snapped.

  Alistair folded his arms. "You know, I was gone for maybe twenty minutes and somehow missed the part where we switched from assassins and arena champions to herbal torture therapists."

  "Quiet," Brimma said, stuffing another root into Kael’s unwilling hands. "You vanish without a word, and now you want commentary privileges?"

  "I brought good news," Alistair said cheerfully. "My [Treasure Seeker] trait pinged. Two loot signals nearby. Might be gear, might be coins, might be another nightmarish encounter with a soul stealing beast. Who knows?"

  He definitely didn’t mention the godling. Or the hidden cave. Or the fact that someone in the Pantheon was quietly breaking the rules to talk to him.

  That was information better kept sealed, especially while he could still feel divine eyes watching.

  “Anyway,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Kael, “you alive?”

  Kael groaned, swallowed hard, and gave a thumbs up. “I’ve suffered worse.”

  Brimma rolled her eyes. “You just stopped sweating through your clothes. You need more time.”

  “We don’t have more time,” Alistair said, glancing at the sky. “Sun’s already dipping. Cleansing Day Two starts soon.”

  Kael stood. Too fast.

  Braced himself. Nodded.

  “I’m fine. Let’s move.”

  Brimma stared at him like he’d just tried to kiss a basilisk.

  “Brainless, pointy-eared twit,” she muttered, but she stood too, grumbling as she leaned on her staff like it had personally betrayed her.

  Alistair smirked. “Knew you’d be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable’s dead,” Brimma said. “I buried her next to my patience.”

  Alistair chuckled and turned to her, tone softening.

  “Which way is the medallion leading you?”

  Brimma blinked. Her expression fell into a blank mask, lips tightening as she reached out with that strange sixth sense the medallions awarded.

  A few long seconds passed.

  Then she raised a crooked finger and pointed.

  “West.”

  Alistair nodded. “Then west it is.”

  He tapped the edge of his pouch, where the mushroom pulsed faintly.

  “Let’s go find something worth killing.”

  They moved quickly.

  The sun had started its descent, painting the forest floor in long, angled shadows. The trees whispered in the breeze, quiet but watching. Always watching.

  Alistair’s [Treasure Seeker] trait pulsed against his senses like a low hum, guiding them forward.

  Louder. Closer.

  He could feel it, just a little farther...

  Then it stopped.

  Abrupt. Like someone had ripped a string out of his head.

  Alistair froze mid-step. “Wait.”

  Brimma halted behind him, nearly bumping into his back. Kael stopped too, already tense.

  “What is it?” the elf asked, hand near his sword.

  Alistair tilted his head, eyes narrowing. The trait was silent. Not faint, gone. He reached inward, trying to coax the thread back. Nothing.

  Well, not nothing. The second ping was still there, farther off. But the one they’d been following?

  “Vanished,” he muttered.

  Brimma grunted. “Did it break?”

  “No. Someone beat us to it.”

  She slammed her staff into the ground with a sharp crack. “Of course.”

  Kael groaned. “Seriously?”

  Alistair didn’t respond right away.

  He stood still, thinking.

  If the treasure was gone… that meant it was claimed. By a champion. Which meant...

  “There’s a good chance whoever grabbed that loot has a medallion,” he said aloud.

  Kael snorted. “Wow. Real big leap there.”

  But Brimma, to his surprise, nodded. “He’s right.”

  Kael blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Champions don’t pick over random gear. If they followed the same signal he did, it means they’re scavenging. Actively. And someone looking for loot this close to cleansing? They’re prepping. Medallion’s likely.”

  Alistair gave her a smug glance. “Thanks, Gran.”

  “Don’t thank me. Just don’t get us killed.”

  He turned to Kael. “So. Shall we try to meet this mystery looter? Possibly murder them and take their stuff?”

  Kael sighed. “We never don’t do that.”

  Alistair grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

  They adjusted course, heading in the same direction the ping had been leading them before it cut out. The forest thickened slightly, and Alistair’s hand strayed toward the hilt of his sword.

  Someone was out there.

  And if they had a medallion?

  He planned to leave with it.

  The laughter came first.

  Low, distant. Echoing off the trees.

  Mocking.

  Then voices, multiple. Talking, jeering, some too loud, too confident for a battlefield.

  The group stopped dead in their tracks.

  Kael’s ears twitched. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.

  “Hold here,” he whispered. “I’ll scout ahead.”

  Before Alistair could reply, Kael was already gone. A blur in the shadows, his new cloak melting into the fading light like a whisper swallowed by dusk.

  Alistair and Brimma stood in silence.

  Even the wind felt hesitant.

  “I don’t like it,” Brimma muttered after a beat. “Too many voices.”

  Alistair nodded. “Too casual. You don’t crack jokes unless you’re very sure no one’s coming to stop you.”

  It took Kael longer than expected to return.

  When he did, his expression told them everything.

  Grim. Tight. Pale with fury.

  Alistair straightened. “Bad?”

  “Worse.”

  Kael knelt, breath steadying.

  “There was a fight,” he said. “A big one. Ground’s littered with corpses, champions. Gear everywhere. Someone hit a team hard.”

  Brimma didn’t flinch. But her knuckles whitened on her staff.

  “But that’s not the worst part,” Kael added. “They left some alive. Bound. Stripped of gear.”

  He looked away. Like just repeating it soured his tongue.

  “They have a ritualist. A blight mage. They’re... feeding on them.”

  Alistair’s brows lifted. “Feeding?”

  Kael’s jaw clenched. “Sacrificing. Slowly. Like offerings. For some kind of boost.”

  The word blight hit Brimma like a slap.

  Her whole body tensed.

  “Blight?” she echoed. Low. Dangerous.

  Kael nodded.

  Brimma’s eyes narrowed into hard lines of hate. Earth mages and blight magic were natural enemies. Life and rot. Creation and decay. Nothing twisted her the wrong way quite like it.

  She was the first to speak.

  “How many?”

  Kael hesitated. “Hard to say. A dozen, maybe more.”

  “Damn it,” Alistair muttered. His fangs had slipped out without him noticing.

  “Too many.” He muttered.

  Too loud.

  Too soon.

  Brimma turned to him. “What do you mean? We can’t just leave them there. Not with a blight user alive.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Alistair snapped. “There are too many.”

  Brimma's expression darkened. “And?”

  “And we’re not martyrs. We’re not here to play savior.”

  They stood locked for a breath.

  Then the screaming started.

  Raw. Real. Desperate.

  The kind that wasn’t meant for show.

  Brimma turned without another word and started walking. Her steps were solid. Final.

  Kael looked after her.

  Then glanced at Alistair.

  “I’ll join her.”

  Alistair stared, jaw tightening. “You too?”

  Kael met his gaze. Calm. Steady. Resolved.

  “We can’t just leave them.”

  “You hear yourself?” Alistair said. “How hypocritical that sounds? We were just talking about killing whoever stole our loot. And now you want to be a hero?”

  Kael didn’t flinch.

  “It’s different.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “It is,” Kael said, voice harder now. “Killing in battle is one thing. Trying to survive? That’s life in the Arena. But this… this is torture. They’re doing it for power. Or worse, for fun.”

  He turned.

  “I’m going.”

  Alistair stepped forward, desperate now.

  “You’re my companion,” he said.

  Kael paused.

  Looked over his shoulder.

  “I am your companion, Alistair,” he said softly. “Not your slave.”

  And then he was gone, disappearing after Brimma, following the screams.

  Leaving Alistair standing alone in the dark.

  Again.

  Alistair stood in the dark.

  Still. Alone.

  Well, not entirely alone, he had sarcasm. And trauma. Great company, those two.

  “They left,” he muttered. “They actually left.”

  He looked around, like the forest might disagree with him. The trees were silent. Judgy.

  “My companions. My Soulbound allies. Gone. Just like that.”

  He raised a hand and waved vaguely in the direction they’d vanished.

  “Bye, Brimma. Bye, Kael. Have fun charging into a death cult. I’ll just stay here and cry into my vampire cape.”

  Silence answered him.

  Alistair sighed.

  “Fantastic. Now I have abandonment issues. Again.”

  He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. His boots sank slightly into the mossy ground.

  This was stupid.

  Three against a dozen? Maybe more?

  Even if he went with them, they had no real chance. No potions. No backup. No plan.

  Just a cranky earth mage, a half-healed elf, and a vampire with a flair for sarcasm and questionable decision-making.

  They’d die.

  And yet...

  His fingers twitched.

  He knew.

  A soft sigh slipped out.

  He didn’t want to admit it. Not even to himself. But somewhere, deep down in the hollow pit where his old emotions liked to hibernate, the decision had already been made.

  He was going.

  “Damn that bond,” he muttered. “If I ever find out this Soulbinder thing is actually hijacking my free will, I’m going to kick its metaphorical ass.”

  He started walking.

  Slow at first. Then faster.

  “Fine. Let’s do this. Let’s go die heroically or whatever.”

  A pause.

  Then, grumbling under his breath...

  “Emotions suck.”

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