Nigel closed his eyes for a moment.

  Stillness was a double-edged sword. It gave him a chance to breathe—to step away from the endless fighting and adrenaline. But it also left him vulnerable.

  With nothing to distract him, the memories crept in. Guilt resurfaced, and his resolve wavered.

  He exhaled slowly, already debating whether to get up and find something to do—anything to keep his mind occupied, then, he felt someone sit beside him.

  Nyx.

  She hesitated before speaking. “It’s been rough.”

  Her voice was calm, but there was something beneath it.

  “Hope I’m not invading your space,” she added.

  Nigel shook his head. “Sit. It’s fine.”

  For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

  Then, quietly— “How are you?”

  He glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes betrayed concern.

  “Tired,” he admitted. “Tired of all of this… but there’s no choice but to keep going. I started this. Now I must see it through.”

  He paused, then shifted the conversation away from himself.

  “Speaking of which… why did you come to the Tournament?” He glanced at her. “How did you even get in?”

  Nyx stiffened.

  For the first time, she didn’t meet his gaze.

  She took a breath, staring at her hands as she clasped them together. Thinking. Choosing her words carefully.

  “Your mother… she was a role model to me,” she said finally. “She gave everything for the cause. She saved my life more times than I can count. Without her, I wouldn’t be who I am today. Maybe… I wouldn’t even be here at all.”

  Her fingers curled into tight fists.

  “After the accident—the one where we lost Martin, and nearly lost you…” she hesitated, voice just above a whisper. “She came to me. She asked me that if anything ever happened to her, I’d be there to help you move forward.”

  A bitter exhale.

  “But I didn’t.”

  She shook her head, jaw clenched.

  “I lost track of you. And when I finally found out you were living peacefully in the Eleventh Ring… I couldn’t bring myself to interfere. I thought… I thought it was better if I stayed away.”

  She swallowed hard, then forced herself to continue.

  “I came here—”

  Her voice faltered.

  Nigel studied her, then shook his head.

  “You don’t have to tell me yet.”

  Nyx looked up at him, almost surprised.

  He let out a long, tired sigh.

  “…I didn’t know she asked you that.”

  He looked away, staring at nothing in particular.

  “But I appreciate it.”

  A brief silence stretched between them before he exhaled again, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Maybe… with you and Sam around, things might actually get a little better.”

  His voice was hesitant. Not quite convinced. But not dismissing it, either.

  Nyx said nothing, but the faintest shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

  Just as Nyx was about to speak again, a woman in heavy, battle-worn armor appeared in front of the Coalition’s booth.

  “New recruits!” she called out, her voice brimming with excitement.

  She removed her helmet, revealing a young-looking face—she couldn’t have been a day over thirty. Golden hair tumbled down to her shoulders in wild, untamed waves, and her bright gray eyes shone with joy and warmth.

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  And, to everyone’s surprise—she was even taller than Dovak.

  “I’m Layla Hatkins! Proud founder of the Coalition!”

  Dovak leaned toward Sam, whispering, “Didn’t Lars say the founder was over fifty? She looks younger than me. And seriously, why is she so tall?”

  Sam just shrugged.

  Layla’s sharp gaze flicked toward them.

  “Oh, Lars didn’t lie. I’m fifty-nine.” She winked at Dovak. “And I’ve got excellent hearing.”

  Dovak froze.

  Layla laughed, then clapped her hands together. “I see you’ve all got the Coalition mark already—fantastic! It’s been so long since we’ve had new members.”

  Her grin widened. “For the first time in this faction’s history, we’re officially twelve strong! Hurrah!”

  A moment of silence.

  Then, Layla threw her fists into the air.

  “Come on—hurrah!”

  A few half-hearted "hurrahs" echoed from some in the group.

  Layla sighed dramatically. “I’ll work on that. Anyway—names! Let’s hear ‘em!”

  One by one, they introduced themselves.

  Layla nodded along, occasionally throwing in a comment or two—“Nice name!” “You look like trouble—good, we need that.” “Dovak, still confused about my age? Thought so.”

  After a bit of casual conversation, her expression sobered just slightly.

  “Alright, now that you're officially part of the Coalition, let’s talk about what that actually means.”

  She folded her arms, her cheerful demeanor still present, but her tone now carrying a weight of experience.

  “Now that you’re in, you’ve got two choices. Every few days, we receive missions. These involve searching for Lost Treasures.”

  She raised two fingers.

  “One—you can search for them on your own. Go solo, take your own risks, make your own way.

  Two—we go as a team. Strength in numbers. You decide.”

  She let that sit for a moment before continuing.

  “To advance to the Third Stage of the Tournament, you need to collect ten Lost Treasures.”

  A pause. Then—her smile dimmed, just slightly.

  “Or… there’s another way.”

  Her fingers dropped to one.

  “Once a month, a Chaos Mission is announced.”

  A strange tension settled over the group at those words.

  Layla didn’t miss it, and her voice softened. "If you complete even one, you’ll move on to the next stage immediately."

  Then, with a quiet sigh—

  “But let me be clear. These missions are brutal. Almost no one survives them.”

  The warmth in her eyes was still there. But beneath it, a deep, quiet frustration. One that had been there for a very, very long time.

  “Well, anyone got any other questions?” Layla asked, hands on her hips.

  Dovak raised an arm. “Yeah—what’s the deal with this logo?”

  Layla grinned. “Glad you asked.”

  She gestured to the mark on their arms. “A triangle, three smaller circles at each point, all surrounded by one big circle.”

  Her tone shifted slightly—not lecturing, but thoughtful.

  “Unlike the flashy emblems of other factions, I wanted something simple.” She tapped the design on her own arm.

  “The triangle? That’s the body. The foundation. The physical self.”

  She pointed at the smaller circles.

  “Each one represents something essential—strength, soul, and energy. The three things that drive us forward.”

  Finally, she traced an imaginary circle around the whole thing.

  “And this? The whole. The balance that holds everything together.”

  She crossed her arms. “Makes sense, right?”

  Dovak blinked. “…Yeah. I think so.”

  Sam leaned toward Nyx, muttering, “Kinda over-explained, but not bad.”

  Layla’s ear twitched.

  Without missing a beat, she turned, clapping her hands together. “Alright! Now that the grand speech is over—”

  She stretched. “We’re heading to our inn for some rest. Tomorrow, I’ll introduce you to the other Coalition members, and we’ll get ready for our next mission.”

  She ignored Sam’s comment entirely—despite hearing it loud and clear.

  The group followed her through the streets until they arrived at a run-down-looking inn.

  It was… questionable. But at least it had beds.

  And after the chaos at sea, that was more than enough.

  Fatigue took over everyone, so they didn’t miss the chance to sleep until the next morning.

  And after everything they had been through, that was enough.

  Nigel lay down, letting exhaustion take him.

  For the first time in a long while—he allowed himself to lay in a comfortable bed.

  There was no task, no mission. He could just lie there, and he quickly fell asleep.

  But peace never came.

  The floor beneath him was cold.

  It was neither night nor day—the sky above was an empty, muted gray, and yet, he could see everything with unnatural clarity.

  Nigel stood in the middle of it all, but he couldn’t move.

  Then, they appeared.

  Dozens of shadows drifted past him, faceless silhouettes of human figures, their forms shifting and warping as they floated along the ground.

  They were moving toward something far in the distance—a flickering red glow on the horizon.

  The further they moved, the more chaotic they became.

  The shadows collided into each other, their paths tangled and violent, but they never stopped moving forward.

  Something about it—all of it—filled Nigel with a slow, rising panic.

  His body refused to respond.

  His lungs tightened.

  He tried to force himself free—but the more he struggled, the sharper the pain in his skull became.

  Then he tried to scream. And all at once, the shadows stopped.

  The air turned heavy, suffocating.

  From the silent crowd, one figure detached itself.

  It moved toward him. Slowly. Deliberately.

  Nigel’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  As the figure drew closer, he recognized her.

  His blood ran cold.

  Nazli.

  His mother.

  Her face was gaunt and hollow, twisted in grief and something worse. The once sharp, unbreakable warrior now stood before him—a lifeless husk.

  Her eyes, once filled with fire, were now dim and empty.

  And they were looking straight at him. With hate, with resentment.

  Nigel’s body screamed to run. But he couldn’t move.

  She reached for him.

  A trembling, bony hand extended toward his face, inch by inch.

  Around him, the other shadows turned. Though they had no eyes, he felt their stares.

  Felt their grief… their rage… their hatred…

  The second Nazli’s finger touched his forehead—

  Everything collapsed.

  Wood.

  Cracked, uneven.

  His vision snapped back to reality as he gasped for air.

  The inn.

  The wooden ceiling above him was splintered and warped with age. His body was drenched in cold sweat. His heart hammered violently against his ribs.

  His breath came ragged, uneven.

  He sat up abruptly.

  Eyes still adjusting, he barely registered the worried stares of his companions.

  “You’ve been screaming for almost two hours.”

  Dovak’s voice was quieter than usual as he handed him a towel.

  Nigel took it with slightly trembling hands.

  “We tried to wake you,” William added, his concern evident. “But Layla told us it could be dangerous to interrupt a nightmare like that.”

  Nigel barely heard him.

  His fingers tightened around the towel, his breathing still unsteady.

  The feeling hadn’t left him.

  Nazli’s gaze, the weight of the shadows, the burning touch on his forehead.

  It still felt real.

  Nigel wasn’t sure if it was just a dream.

  A lot is coming.