Eghosa lay on her back, one arm draped over her eyes, the faint glow of the I.D. Net hovering just above her palm. The feed wouldn't stop moving—clips, messages, lists, names she didn't recognize, and some she did.
Short videos from Zone 3. Blurry recordings from spectators who were far too excited for something that had already gone wrong.
18 confirmed dead.
She exhaled slowly. Someone had pinned a breakdown of zones. Another had uploaded a shaky explanation of group limits—2 to 6 recommended. A comment thread argued whether the academy should have warned them more clearly. Another dismissed it entirely.
They signed up for this.
Eghosa scrolled past it. A familiar name flashed by—injured, not dead. She paused, read it twice, then once more before continuing.
There was no silence in the villa. Just distant movement. Voices. Life continuing like nothing had happened.
She closed the feed for a moment. Then opened it again. Someone had posted a map guess for Zone 3. Someone else corrected it. A third laughed at both. The mystery was already thinning—not because it was solved, but because people needed it to be.
Eghosa let the projection fade. "Figures," she muttered. People always talked after. Always explained things once it was safe enough to speak.
She rolled onto her side, staring at the wall. Training tomorrow. Zones after that. Or maybe not. For now, it was just information. And information, she knew, didn't keep anyone alive by itself.
The next morning, Eghosa came downstairs wearing an orange robe with brown pant-trousers. The atmosphere in the villa had shifted. Everyone was invested in the I.D. Net. To Eghosa, she had seen all she needed—but that evidently wasn't the case for the others.
Except Rekthar.
He was in a corner, orange fur dulled, green eyes half-lidded, seemingly bored. She considered ignoring him and heading to Amos for a discussion; every time she spoke to him, he had some shockingly real insight.
A slight grunt from the huge feline drew her attention. She sighed. "Here goes nothing."
Rekthar was at the extreme corner of the villa. She had been standing there for some time, and he hadn't noticed—or perhaps he didn't want to interact.
"Hey," she said softly. No response.
"Hey," she repeated. Still nothing.
Finally, frustrated, she shouted, "HEY!"
"What?" Rekthar muttered groggily, finally lifting his gaze.
"Okay, I'm going," she turned to leave.
"Waaaaaait," he growled.
"Hmph! Now you call me back?" Eghosa scoffed.
She waited. He said nothing.
"Okay, why did you call me back?" she asked again. Silence. She turned to leave.
"Bored," his voice called out.
Ah. She sighed. "Okay, you're bored. I get it. But there's really nothing to do here. We could tell stories, play a game of stones…" She looked at his eyes, checking for a reaction. None.
"Okay… then what do you want to do?" she pressed.
"Bored," he said again.
She laughed under her breath. "I know you're bored… but I've exhausted options. Wait—how about training? A duel. Me and you."
This time she saw a flicker in his eyes.
"You like that, don't you?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"Fine. Let me get my sword."
As she stood, Rekthar sighed, returning to his brooding mood.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He turned, staring at her intensely. Eghosa froze. He's sizing me up.
"Wait, are you calling me weak?"
"Maybe," he said softly.
"Okay, that settles it. We must have this duel," she said, dragging him outside.
The villa's open expanse was simple but beautiful. A single tree stood at the center, casting a long shadow across the terrain. The rest of the villa's occupants ignored them, absorbed in the I.D. Net. Cairn lingered quietly at the edge, silent, observing.
Eghosa got into her battle stance, gladius raised. "Your turn."
Rekthar groggily mirrored her stance.
For a moment, tension tightened like a wire.
She studied him: his relaxed stance, his oversized scimitar, the confidence in his eyes. This isn't like the others she had fought, the instructor or theran…
She dashed forward, striking fast. He barely blocked before pushing her back. She feinted left, then struck right. He dodged.
She pressed again and again, overwhelming him with feints. Her mind raced. Impossible… he's holding back. There's no way he's this weak.
Curiosity won. She tossed her gladius.
The blade spun violently. Rekthar twisted aside, it slicing fur and drawing blood.
"Ah! I knew it!" she shouted. "You weren't giving it your all!"
He said nothing.
"I'm asking you—were you?" she demanded. "Where is your honor? Holding back like this?"
"I have my reasons," he said.
"You can share."
"You're right. I can. But first… a proper duel."
Eghosa chuckled, gripping her gladius tighter. "That's more like it. Prepare yourself."
Suddenly, the air seemed to thicken. Daylight dimmed as tension bled into the atmosphere. Blood-scented wind swept past. Rekthar's green eyes glowed brighter, presence amplified.
She felt it. Fear—not from him striking, but from his very being.
If there's something you can't contend with… all you can do is run.
"I surrender!" she cried.
Instantly, the pressure eased. She dropped to one knee, gasping.
Rekthar frowned. "We didn't even exchange blows."
She laughed breathlessly. "That was the blow."
"Now I see why you didn't fight me," she said.
"…And why is that?" he asked.
"Because you weren't afraid of losing."
"No. I was afraid of winning," he replied.
She blinked. "That makes no sense."
"It does," he said, "just not yet."
She stood slowly, brushing dirt from her clothes. "…You owe me an explanation."
"I said I'd give you one."
"When?"
"When you stop looking at strength like it's something to prove."
She muttered softly, "Big cat."
"…What's a cat?"
She smiled faintly. "I'll tell you later, after you tell me yours."
Cairn stepped back silently, expression unreadable, a shadow among the sunlight.