DANTALIAN (THE SCHOLAR DUKE): Observation: In the face of systemic annihilation, the subject chooses a non-optimal, resource-inefficient activity with zero strategic value. Hypothesis: This is either profound psychological resilience or critical system failure.
FOCALOR (THE DROWNED DUKE): The tide of bloodlust crashes against a shore of sand and a ghost's whim. A beautiful, quiet resistance.
EURYNOMUS (THE FLESH-EATER): SAND IS NOT MEAT. I AM BORED.
CAGN (THE GOD-TRICKSTER): The best stories have detours. Even the Arena must pause for a castle.
Yael's hands slowly started carving out details of the human sized castle he made with Celia. She meanwhile was floating around, adding sand.
The colossal timer overhead continues its relentless descent.
07:21:18
07:21:17
Each beep is a heartbeat of the Arena, counting down to the moment the Theme of [BLOODLUST] will snap taut and the slaughter will begin. Somewhere in the vastness, Ascendors are sharpening their digital knives. Victors are lounging in their private, inviolable lobbies, waiting for the cattle to be driven into their killing floors. Legacies are not even a thought here—they are myths, watching from a higher plane entirely.
Slowly the Arena starts filling up. No one fights, they all talk like they'd be life long friends. But no one trusts no one. Everyone is acting fake. Everyone gives smiles to others, knowing that they might kill them when the countdown hits zero.
And here, in a pocket of calm where the cable dips low like a weeping willow, a Kenju and a ghost build a castle.
"It needs a flag," Celia declares, critically examining their work. She plucks a single, shimmering strand of light from her own form—a thread of her 4% soul—and plants it atop the central tower. It stands upright, a tiny, defiant beacon in the gloom.
Yael feels the action in his core. It's not a system transaction. It's a declaration that this small, pointless beauty belongs to them, in this place built for taking things apart.
UNREGISTERED ACTION: [TERRITORIAL CLAIM - MINOR].
AFFECTED AREA: 3 SQUARE METERS.
CLAIMANTS: YAEL (KENJU), CELIA (ANCHORED SPIRIT).
EFFECT: TEMPORARY NULLIFICATION OF [THEME: BLOODLUST] WITHIN CLAIMED AREA.
The constant, subliminal pressure to fight, to hunt, to win... it fades within the imaginary walls of their sandcastle. Here, there is only the scratch of sand, Celia's focused hum, and the immense, ticking silence of the waiting Arena.
Yael looks from their fragile castle to the monstrous server stacks, to the timer, to the ghost who sacrificed 4% of her soul's integrity to make a small castle.
He knows. The Arena Games aren't just a monthly event.
They are the engine of the Sandbox.
They are the grindstone that sharpens the suffering, that creates the hierarchies, that generates the endless content for the demons and the Curator. The arena isn't just their cable; it's the primary power source for this entire cycle.
And they have just been thrown into the furnace as the newest fuel.
"Brother," Celia says softly, not looking up from where she's carving a tiny doorway. "When the beeping stops... will we have to fight?"
Yael places a final handful of sand, sculpting a crude, protective wall. "Yes," he says, his voice quiet but clear. "But not for the sake of survival. Even if i do die. i'll return normally with a class and a rank."
He meets her luminous eyes.
"But don't worry. I'll make sure you stay safe."
The timer ticks.
07:20:01
The sandcastle stands.
The flag of soul-light flickers.
The game is almost upon them.
And for the first time, Yael knows exactly what his objective is.
He is not here to play.
But to protect.