The clamor began to fade, slowly giving way to a stunned silence as the reality of my miraculous recovery took hold. Yet my mind remained entangled in the memory of that cryptic encounter with Janus. Why had he summoned me only to offer a warning? What was that place? Why had he been there at all?
But there was no time to unravel the threads of that mystery. The heavy doors creaked open on one side of the room.
A man entered, his frame gaunt and time-worn, each step marked by a subtle limp that hinted at old wounds or deeper ailments. His eyes swept across the room with his first slow step, and his smooth, snow-white beard shifted gently with the pendulum motion of his gait. All movement ceased. Even Griffith’s grip on me loosened as every gaze turned to the newcomer.
It wasn’t his appearance that held us still. Not the gleaming bald crown of his head, nor the cloudy film veiling his eyes like a misted window. No one moved to assist him as the rhythmic clink–clink of his cane echoed against the polished floor with each deliberate step.
It was his presence. His aura flooded the room, saturating every corner with a pressure that couldn’t be measured by weight or spirit, but simply was. It existed with an undeniable authority. Silent. Sovereign. Absolute.
“What is going on?” asked the man, clearly the Elder that Drema had raged about only moments before.
His gaze landed on Serith first, freezing the air itself. Not a single person dared to speak. I could feel the tension radiating from Drema, could all but hear the words burning on his tongue, desperate to twist the truth in his favor. But the Elder’s intangible force left no room for falsehoods.
Serith placed her hands calmly at her sides, but not before lifting one to tame the wild nest of her wind-tossed hair. She offered a respectful bow and spoke with careful control. “Drema’s champion attacked my own without provocation. Outside of sanctioned combat, and... he killed him.”
The Elder’s clouded eyes shifted to me.
The world contracted.
Everything beyond those glazed orbs and my own existence faded to a void of black. What lasted only a moment stretched into something timeless. It wasn’t like being stripped bare under the gaze of the Great Ancestor—no prying, no forced unraveling of secrets. Instead, there was curiosity. A hunger. An unanswered question growing more urgent with every silent second. It was a colder feeling than divine judgment. More like Ramus: an old man inspecting a rare insect under glass, not out of cruelty, but a strange fascination.
Only when his gaze returned to Serith did I realize I had been holding my breath, shoulders wound tight like drawn wire.
“He appears to be fine, but you wouldn’t lie to me,” the Elder said. It wasn’t a challenge or suspicion. Just a simple, unquestionable truth.
He turned to Drema’s Guardian. “Drema?... Lower the barrier.”
The shimmering red field cracked and dissolved into silence, fragments of light sparkling briefly before fading into nothing.
Drema hesitated, then sighed as if exhausted. “What she says is true.”
My eyes widened at his concession, but I knew better than to believe it was the whole of it.
“But the boy retaliated,” he added quickly. “My champion has been poisoned.”
The Elder nodded slightly, considering. “Will he survive?”
“Yes, but—” Drema began, only to be cut off like a breath caught mid-sentence.
“The matter is done, then,” the Elder declared, voice stripped to its barest clarity. “But Drema… this is not the first time that boy has caused problems.”
The atmosphere rippled, the once-static pressure igniting into palpable tension. My chest tightened, and my breath slipped away.
“I am growing tired of solving your problems.”
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. No flare of light, no parting word, only the echo of his presence.
Serith shot one final, razor-edged glare at Drema and the groaning Kris before striding toward us. Griffith, Serith, and I stood together in silence, waiting as Amei moved with careful reverence to lift Mei into her arms, the barrier surrounding the girl dissolving.
When Amei rejoined us, Synthia trailing behind in quiet obedience, no one said a word. As a group, we turned toward the exit, the silence between us loaded with too much left unsaid. But just as I stepped through the threshold, Drema’s voice cut through the stillness like a knife.
“I’m not sure what treasure you used, Peter, but news of it will spread.”
I paused mid-step, glancing back over my shoulder. His eyes burned with veiled accusation, heat radiating from his stare. I met his glare with my own, steady and unflinching. “At least I’ll know where the news spread from. Hope Kris recovers well.” And with every ounce of anger I could muster: “That’s the last time he’ll strike me.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned and continued forward. We all moved toward the elevator.
When the machinery jolted into motion, I turned to Serith, my voice even but pointed. “I’d like to stay for a bit.”
Her brow creased immediately, resistance flickering across her face. I couldn’t pin down the cause of her hesitation, but whatever it was, it didn’t seem serious enough to stop me, so I pressed on.
“Help from your side might be restricted,” I reasoned, “but I can take a loan from Mei, can’t I? Have her buy me some new clothes?”
It wasn’t just that we wanted to find a way to communicate—Mei and I. But I wanted to see how she was doing too. Let her know in person that I wasn’t a corpse… Ease her mind a bit.
“It’s fine, Serith,” Amei murmured with a weary sigh. “They can stay for a little while. We can take the time to go over our plans anyway.”
That word… plans. I was growing tired of being kept in the dark about them. The exclusion was starting to grate, so this time, I didn’t wait for crumbs of information.
“What exactly needs to be discussed?” I asked, my voice clipped with frustration.
Serith met my gaze, her tone soft but resolute. “It’s not important for you to know.”
I shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “Then the next match I’m in, I’ll forfeit. So far, this place hasn’t offered anything I find remotely worthwhile.”
She stilled. Her lips pressed together in a line of thought, the expression unreadable on her sculpted, nearly too-perfect face. Her beauty made her hard to read, but whatever was behind that mask, it wasn’t anger.
“Amei will lose custody of her territory,” Serith finally said, surrendering the truth like an admission dragged from her unwillingly.
“And that’s bad?” I asked, already anticipating the answer but forcing it into the open.
Amei gave a humorless laugh, deflated. “For me? Yes. For—” she glanced down and lifted her arms slightly, drawing attention to the unconscious Mei cradled within them, “—them... maybe.”
Serith shook her head, the gesture sharp and decisive. “Drema will take over if I don’t. Or one of his subordinates will.”
I blinked, confusion curling in. “But isn’t he above you in rank?”
“Surpassing your master,” she replied, “doesn’t always inspire pride.” She let out a bitter breath. “I took this world from him before he even got a few years to steward it. I’ve never quite understood the depth of his attachment to it, but…”
Whatever thought hovered on her lips was swallowed before it could be voiced. She shook her head lightly and continued, “I don’t act in this world, Peter. It’s not my place to.”
I had my own thoughts about that—disagreements already forming, but I held my tongue for now.
“My role is to maintain the world’s energy stability,” she continued. “But he?”
Amei picked up the thought seamlessly. “He’ll take direct control through loopholes. Involve himself in every proceeding. And with the protections he enjoys, those smaller misdeeds we’ve seen? They’ll be just the beginning.”
“Who would care about what are essentially no more than ants?” I mumbled under my breath. Maybe the champions were more closely watched. An apparent testament to the power of a world. Maybe with the care that was placed into the ‘stability’ that Serith spoke of, but I can’t imagine that man would do anything good for anyone but himself.
“Exactly,” Serith said quietly, her tone confirming every bitter suspicion.
I looked up at her, the tension in me rising. “And what exactly is going to happen? I’m getting sick of the veiled warnings. Just say it.”
She huffed through her nose, the sound oddly reminiscent of a frustrated teenager caught in an argument they didn’t want to have.
“Fine,” she snapped. “If you think where Lucan is from was bad. Where this girl—” she gestured toward Synthia, “—has lived through was bad, then you lack imagination, Peter. I’m not talking about oppression. I’m talking about a calamity. A cleansing. A culling. He will kill anyone he deems useless. Using the excuse of increasing the world’s stability in order to perform the genocide.”
The elevator came to a halt with a hushed thud.
“Why have you been hiding this?” I asked, voice low and edged with a quiet growl. I hadn’t even considered that this could spiral into something with such catastrophic consequences. “You never mentioned any of this before. How do you even know it?”
Her eyes narrowed, stepping out first. “I wasn’t sure. I’m still not. But, Peter. There is the Calamity first. Then. The blood. Acting directly for some isn’t just a rule to follow—it’s impossible. But for my level? His level?...”
Griffith placed a firm hand on my shoulder. His expression remained hollow, still caught in quiet awe each time his eyes met mine. His mouth opened just slightly, his voice low.
“This won’t help anything right now. Let’s find somewhere safe to regroup.” He glanced around, his gaze dim but searching, ever-vigilant despite the exhaustion in his features. “You should know better than most how easily others can listen in.”
His voice dropped instinctively as a figure passed by.
A creature humanoid in shape but made of elemental fire moved past us. Flames flickered along its arms and danced atop its head like fire-woven hair. Its body was stone-like, fissured with glowing veins of molten orange and ember-red.
I gave a small nod and turned back to Serith.
“Sorry.”
Her lips twitched at the corners, lifting into the faintest smile, but before she could lead the way, I spoke again.
“We’ve talked about this before. If you want my help in anything , there can’t be any more secrets. If there are rules, just say there are rules. If not, then tell me what’s actually going on. Working with you, training under you—”
“I understand,” she said quickly, cutting me off mid-sentence.
Just before we reached the gate, Synthia drifted over to my side. She didn’t speak, just walked beside me in quiet contemplation, her eyes flickering now and then to the ragged hole torn through my shirt.
After the fourth or fifth glance, I finally asked, “What?”
As the gate began to close behind us, she reached out slowly, her fingertip pressing gently against the center of my chest.
She poked me.
Paused. Then blinked and poked me again.
“You’re real.”
Her words were soft, almost childlike in their simplicity and yet, they turned heads. Everyone’s attention shifted to her.
Her face flushed a deep, burning red, color climbing rapidly up her neck and into her ears.
“What?!” she half-shrieked, flailing slightly. “How are all of you so calm about this?! HE. WAS. DEAD!”
…Huh. Maybe that was the natural reaction. Had she even heard any of the conversation we just had?
“So,” Serith said, cutting in just as the infernal machinery of the gate began to grind and whir to life, “you are going to explain that, right?”
Her tone was almost dry, but firm. “You already said it. No more secrets.”