“Fuck!” Viper spat, her eyes fixed on Shellshock’s unconscious form. “If only he hadn’t used that scroll…”

  “To think you pushed him this far,” Rain observed, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. “You’re more formidable than I anticipated.”

  “So, he finally resorted to it,” Seroshi murmured, his gaze also on their fallen leader.

  “They’ll pay for this!” Viper snarled.

  Rain knelt beside Shellshock, checking his pulse. “Is he…alive?” he asked quietly.

  “No, he’s done,” Viper replied, her voice heavy. “It’s a fate worse than death.”

  Monica, ignoring the Elites, quickly unrolled the Scroll of Recovery and activated its magic.

  The Scroll of Recovery bathed her in a healing light, restoring eighty percent of her health, speed, dexterity, strength, defense, and mana.

  The Scroll of Recovery costs thirty gold bars.

  Viper’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how you survived,” she hissed, her gaze shifting to Monica. “That damned scroll…You used it repeatedly, didn’t you? You’re disgustingly rich, aren’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Rain said, his expression hardening. “They’re finished.”

  “Indeed,” Viper agreed, her voice cold. “They’ll die here.”

  Viper’s team advanced, their expressions grim.

  “Ultimate Technique: Heaven’s Agony!” Viper hissed, unleashing her dark magic.

  “Ultimate Technique: Tears of Heaven!” Rain cried, his voice echoing through the chamber.

  Viper’s Heaven’s Agony manifested as swirling, ominous dark clouds that quickly enveloped the entire area. The attack itself seemed to have no immediate effect. But then, Rain’s Tears of Heaven joined the fray, and the true horror of the combined technique was revealed. The dark clouds began to weep a chilling, bck rain. Each drop was a curse, a debilitating poison that sapped the very life force of its victims. The rain relentlessly eroded health, speed, strength, dexterity, defense, and even mana, reducing each by five percent every second. It was a death sentence, a slow, agonizing decay. Only a powerful shield could offer protection from this deadly downpour.

  “Fuck! If only Tiffany were here,” Zivgor cursed, his voice filled with despair.

  “Holy Healing!” Monica chanted, her voice strained.

  “Shield of Light!” she cried, summoning her ultimate technique.

  The “Shield of Light” shimmered into existence, a dome of protective energy encompassing her allies. It was designed to ward against curses and debuffs, offering a ten percent resistance to dark magic and a ten percent healing boost every five seconds for twenty seconds. The spell, however, was costly, consuming twenty percent of Monica’s mana reserves and requiring a twenty-second cooldown.

  “Your healing and shield are a futile effort,” Viper sneered. “They’re just draining your mana. Why prolong the inevitable? Why not just accept your fate and die? Hahaha!”

  “Indeed,” Seroshi chimed in, a cruel smile pying on his lips. “I’m enjoying watching your futile struggle.”

  “As am I,” Viper added, her eyes gleaming with malice.

  “Albert, snap out of it!” Zivgor shouted, shaking his friend roughly. “She’s gone! Damn it all… why now?” He gnced around frantically. Penelope was clearly in no condition to fight, consumed by grief. Monica’s healing, while helpful, was barely enough to keep them alive against the relentless dark rain. Think, Zivgor, think! What can I do? His mind raced, searching for a solution, but his thoughts were scattered, his panic rising.

  “Monica, do something!” he pleaded, his voice desperate. “We’re dying!”

  Monica, her face etched with exhaustion and despair, suddenly remembered something. “Wait,” she said, her eyes widening. “Tiffany…she gave me something. She told me to open it only if absolutely necessary.”

  “She gave you something?” Zivgor excimed, his voice ced with hope. “What is it? Hurry!”

  Monica fumbled in her space pocket, pulling out a small, intricately carved box.

  “Why is it in a box?” Zivgor asked impatiently. “Open it, Monica, hurry!”

  Zivgor’s eyes widened in disbelief. “The…the Scroll of Stolid?” he breathed, his voice a mixture of awe and trepidation.

  The Scroll of Stolid. A dangerous, double-edged artifact. It severed emotional ties to whatever or whomever caused the user trauma and extreme mental fatigue, effectively erasing any lingering attachment. The effect was permanent, a lifetime bond broken in an instant. But the scroll was a desperate measure, a st resort. The severed connection could reactivate under extreme duress, when the user was on the verge of breaking.

  The Scroll of Stolid costs fifty gold bars.

  “Oh my…” Zivgor whispered, his voice trembling. “Is this…the end?”

  “This is my st mana potion,” Monica said, her voice strained. “Holy Healing! Shield of Light!”

  Suddenly, a blur of motion. Seroshi lunged forward, his bde aimed at Monica. “I can’t watch you prolong this any longer,” he snarled. “I’m ending this now.”

  “Shield of Protection!” Zivgor roared, throwing himself in front of Monica. A shimmering barrier of energy erupting before him. The shield was powerful, capable of absorbing sixty percent of incoming physical attacks. But its protection was fleeting, sting only twenty seconds, followed by a ten-second cooldown. Ten seconds… Zivgor thought grimly, it has to be enough.

  “Monica, do something!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I can’t hold him off much longer!”

  A sudden, unnerving silence descended over the battlefield.

  “Ohoho,” Seroshi chuckled, his voice ced with anticipation. “Finally, the cat decides to py.”

  A blur of motion. A poisoned dagger, unched with deadly accuracy, streaked towards Seroshi’s head. He reacted instantly, deflecting the projectile with a swift flick of his katana.

  “Phantom Killer!” a voice hissed. Penelope, a wraith-like figure emerging from the shadows, unched her attack.

  “Phantom Killer” was her ultimate technique, a silent, deadly strike designed to leave no trace. It was a guaranteed kill—inflicting one hundred percent physical damage—if it connected, and even a gncing blow would inflict a debilitating poison, draining the victim’s health by ten percent every five seconds.

  “Single Sword Technique: Kumo no Tategami!” Seroshi countered, his katana fshing. The Kumo no Tategami or “Cloud Dragon’s Mane” technique was a fluid, defensive maneuver, designed to not only deflect but also counter incoming attacks.

  Penelope pressed her attack. “Ultimate Technique. Vanishing Move: Lethal Strike!” she hissed, disappearing into thin air.

  “Vanishing Move: Lethal Strike” was her ultimate technique, a near-imperceptible strike aimed at vital points, delivered with blinding speed and force.

  “Dual-Sword Technique: Guren no Tsurugi!” Seroshi roared, his katana fshing.

  “Guren no Tsurugi” (Crimson Twin Bdes) was his ultimate technique, a brutal, overwhelming assault designed to crush his opponents with sheer power.

  Penelope reappeared, her strike seemingly connecting, but Seroshi had anticipated her move. He countered with brutal force, sending her tumbling backwards several meters.

  “Arckk!” Penelope gasped, blood spurting from her mouth. The Fog of Concealment, its purpose served, dissipated.

  Zivgor rushed to Penelope’s side, his face etched with panic. “Oh fuck! Penelope’s dying!”

  “It’s a futile effort,” Seroshi said, his voice cold and dismissive as he advanced towards them.

  “Dual-Sword Technique: Tenchi Renzan!” he cried, unleashing his final attack.

  “Oh shit!” Zivgor excimed, bracing himself for the inevitable.

  “Tenchi Renzan” (Heaven and Earth Twin Peaks) was a devastating, simultaneous strike with both katanas, aimed at multiple targets.

  “Dancing Bde!” Albert cried, his voice ringing out across the battlefield.

  “Albert! You’re here!” Zivgor excimed, relief flooding his voice. Tears welled up in his eyes. “We thought…”

  “Sorry for the dey,” Albert said, his expression grim. “And for…worrying you all.”

  “Did you…?” Zivgor began, but Albert cut him off.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I used it.”

  “Dancing Bde” was Albert’s ultimate technique, a swift and fluid series of strikes designed to overwhelm his opponents.

  “Zivgor,” Albert said, his gaze shifting to his friend. “You still have your Scroll of Recovery, right?”

  “Right here,” Zivgor replied, pulling the scroll from his space-pocket.

  “Give it to Monica,” Albert instructed.

  Zivgor quickly passed the scroll to Monica.

  “Monica,” Albert continued, “you’re out of mana potions, aren’t you? Use the scroll to replenish your reserves. Then, we proceed as pnned.”

  Monica nodded, her expression determined.

  She used the scroll activating the scroll’s magic.

  “Holy Sanctum! Holy Healing!” she followed, channeling her power to heal and strengthen her allies.

  “Zivgor!” Albert called out, gncing over his shoulder. “Protect Monica at all costs!”

  He turned to Penelope, who stood ready, her dagger gleaming in the dim light. “Penelope,” he asked, “ready?”

  “I am,” she replied, her voice firm. The color had returned to her face, thanks to Monica’s healing.

  “Fog of Concealment!” Penelope whispered, the battlefield once again shrouded in mist.

  “Ultimate Move. Mana Form: Astral Strike!” Albert cried, channeling his mana into a devastating attack.

  Seroshi, anticipating the assault, countered with “Single-Sword Technique: Kumo no Tategami!” His katana fshed, deflecting the incoming energy. He immediately followed up with “Inazuma no Ken,” a lightning-fast strike aimed at Penelope. She narrowly evaded the attack, her movements fluid and precise.

  Albert, seizing the opportunity created by Seroshi’s focus on Penelope, leaped into the air, his sword crackling with concentrated mana energy. He swung the bde down in a powerful arc.

  Seroshi, realizing the danger too te, attempted to counter with “Inazuma no Ken” once more.

  “Ha! Using a single sword? You’ll pay for that!” Penelope taunted, her voice echoing through the fog.

  Albert capitalized on the opening. “Ultimate Move. Mana Form: Warrior’s Dash!” he roared, unching his final attack.

  “Warrior’s Dash” was a technique focused on momentum and speed, a powerful charge designed to create chaos and destruction. Seroshi, caught off guard, was a fraction of a second too te to react. He could only brace himself for the impact.

  The force of the attack smmed into him, sending him tumbling backwards, heavily damaged. “Ackk!” he gasped, cursing the pain.

  “It’s over, Seroshi,” Albert stated, his voice cold.

  “Not so fast!” Seroshi retorted, reaching for a scroll—the Scroll of Opening!

  The scroll fred to life, its magic washing over Albert and Penelope. They felt a sudden heaviness in their limbs, their movements sluggish. The Scroll of Opening had reduced their movement and dexterity by fifteen percent for the next thirty seconds.

  The Scroll of Opening costs five gold bars.

  The scroll’s effect was particurly devastating against warriors and those who relied on blunt weapons, hindering their speed and weapon handling.

  “Dual-Sword Technique: Ryusei Ranbu!” Seroshi roared, unching his attack.

  “Ryusei Ranbu” (Meteor Shower Dance) was a flurry of coordinated strikes, a relentless rain of blows from both katanas. The reduced movement and dexterity made it difficult for Albert and Penelope to evade the onsught.

  Seroshi pressed his advantage, his bdes fshing, inflicting significant damage.

  “Hahaha,” Seroshi taunted, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Looks like it’s you who’s going to die.”

  Albert, ignoring the taunt, tossed a health potion to Penelope. “I know you’re out of potions,” he said. “Take this.”

  “But…what about you?” Penelope asked, her voice filled with concern.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Albert replied, a determined glint in his eyes. He gave her a reassuring nod, and she, understanding the unspoken message, quickly drank the potion.

  “Ultimate Move. Mana Form: Indomitable Warrior!” Albert roared, charging forward.

  “Ultimate Move. Phantom Killer: Double Strike!” Penelope hissed, unching her attack in perfect synchronization with Albert’s.

  “Indomitable Warrior” was a relentless barrage of strikes, each blow delivered with incredible speed and force. If it connected, it would inflict devastating damage. Combined with Penelope’s “Phantom Killer: Double Strike,” the attack was a truly overwhelming force. Her enhanced version of “Phantom Killer” delivered double the lethality of the standard technique, also granting her increased speed and dexterity while inflicting a debilitating poison on her targets.

  “Dual-Sword Technique: Kumo no Tategami!” Seroshi countered, his katanas fshing. This enhanced version of his “Cloud Dragon’s Mane” technique was designed to deflect even the most powerful combined attacks.

  Despite Seroshi’s defenses, the sheer force of the combined assault managed to break through. “Arckk!” he gasped, blood spurting from his mouth. “Fuck! I still took heavy damage,” he thought, reeling from the impact. How…how was that attack so powerful? He gnced at his battered opponents, a smirk twisting his lips. Their demise is inevitable, he thought. The Rain of Death has weakened them. All I have to do is stall… He gnced at his teammates, who were focused on maintaining the deadly downpour.

  The “Rain of Death” was a terrifying combination of “Heaven's Agony” and “Tears of Heaven.” Maintaining this devastating technique required constant focus and manipution, leaving the casters vulnerable. They were completely reliant on Seroshi to defend them.

  This is my st health potion, Seroshi thought grimly, swallowing the st drops. Damn it all. If only I’d known they were coming…

  “Penelope,” Albert called out, “your Scroll of Recovery!”

  A silent understanding passed between them. Penelope tossed the scroll to Monica.

  With a sense of urgency, Monica unrolled the scroll. “Holy Sanctum! Holy Healing! Shield of Protection!” she cried, channeling her remaining mana.

  “Fuck it!” Seroshi muttered under his breath. Just how much money do these bastards have?

  “Holy Healing” was a slow but steady restoration, gradually mending the wounds of her allies until they were almost fully healed. (80%)

  Penelope and Albert took their positions, their eyes locked on Seroshi. He mirrored their stance, his katana gleaming. The tension crackled in the air.

  Then, the attack began.

  “Fog of Concealment!” Penelope whispered, and the battlefield was once again shrouded in an eerie silence. From the swirling mist, a flurry of poisoned daggers streaked towards Seroshi.

  “Vanishing Move: Poison Daggers!” she hissed. The attack was a rapid series of strikes, not immediately lethal, but each dagger carried a deadly, slow-acting poison. If even one found its mark, death would be a slow, agonizing creep. (-50% health in 10 seconds every 10 seconds)

  “Dual-Sword Technique: Sakura Fubuki!” Seroshi roared, his katanas fshing in a flurry of precise strikes. The Sakura Fubuki or “Cherry Blossom Blizzard” technique was a whirlwind of motion, deflecting every poisoned dagger that threatened his life. But he knew the attack was just the beginning.

  Even as the daggers were deflected, Albert’s attack was already upon him.

  “Ultimate move. Mana Form: Spartans’ Battle Cry!” Albert cried, channeling all his remaining power.

  “Spartan’s Battle Cry” was a devastating technique, a surge of raw power drawing on every ounce of his strength, defense, dexterity, and speed, pushing them to their absolute limit—one hundred percent—and further amplifying them based on the damage he had already sustained. But the cost was immense. The technique would drain him completely, leaving him utterly spent. And if his mana reserves hit zero, it would begin to consume his very life force. Once initiated, the attack could not be stopped; it was a one-way ticket to victory…or death.

  Seroshi, anticipating the devastating force of the attack, knew he couldn’t evade it.

  “Ultimate Move. Heavenly Sword: Tsuki no Hikari!” he roared, meeting Albert’s charge head-on.

  Penelope, sensing the imminent collision, reacted instantly. She unrolled a scroll. A Scroll of Demonic Evade.

  “Shield of Protection: Aegis!” Zivgor shouted, protecting himself and Monica. His enhanced shield, a bulwark against magical and physical attacks, would cost him ten percent of his strength, but it was their only chance.

  The shockwave from the csh of ultimate techniques was immense. Even Viper and Rain, focused on maintaining their “Rain of Death,” were forced to break their concentration and erect their own defenses.

  “Ice Shield!” Rain cried.

  “Dark Shield!” Viper hissed.

  “Tsuki no Hikari” (Heaven’s Moonlit Piercing). A forbidden technique of the Heavenly Cult. A single, devastating thrust, powerful enough to shatter mountains. Legend even whispered that it could reach the moon itself. But the price was horrific. Using this forbidden art would inflict devastating backsh on the user’s body: broken bones, melted internal organs, and a thirty-second paralysis.

  The csh of the two ultimate techniques was cataclysmic. The resulting explosion sent tremors rippling outwards, shaking the very foundations of the cave. The ground bucked and heaved, and the shockwaves were felt even in the nearby vilges and the distant city.

  The relentless rain of death abruptly ceased. A thick cloud of smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the battlefield. An unnerving silence descended. Then, a figure emerged from the haze.

  “Albert!” Penelope cried, her voice raw with anguish. She rushed to his side, falling to her knees beside him. Tears streamed down her face as she cradled his head in her p.

  Albert’s injuries were gruesome. Blood poured from his mouth, ears, nose, and eyes. He coughed, a thick, crimson spray. His armor, shattered by the force of the csh, offered little protection. His chest was a charred mess, and his hands and legs were badly burned. He tried to move, to reach for something in his pocket, but his limbs felt like lead. Penelope, understanding his intent, gently took his hand and guided it to his space-pocket. Inside, nestled amongst the remnants of his gear, was the st Scroll of Recovery. Penelope knew what she had to do.

  The shockwave from the csh had bsted through Viper and Rain's combined shields. While the damage they sustained was minimal, it was enough to stagger them. Viper, however, was already moving, rushing towards Seroshi. The sight that greeted her, for the first time, made her stomach churn. Seroshi’s body was twisted at unnatural angles, his limbs askew. Blood flowed freely from every orifice, and…she couldn’t be sure, but it looked as though some of his internal organs had been forced out. His flesh was a charred ruin, burned from head to toe.

  “Ultimate Move. Dark Possession: Mourning Soul!” Viper chanted, her voice tight with grief and desperation.

  “Dark Possession: Mourning Soul” was a powerful ritual, a dark pact with grieving spirits. It allowed her to bind a spirit to the dying body of Seroshi, forcing it to move. Viper quickly retrieved a Scroll of Repair from her space pocket and thrust it into the hand of Seroshi’s possessed body. The scroll fred to life, its magic surging through Seroshi’s form. The sound of mending flesh was sickening, accompanied by the faint, agonizing wails of the trapped spirits. Seroshi’s body began to knit itself back together, bones realigning and wounds closing. But the charred skin remained.

  Scroll of Repair costs 20 gold bar.

  Viper, her face contorted with rage, heaved Seroshi’s unconscious body onto her shoulder. She gred at Albert’s team, her eyes burning with hatred. “This isn’t over!” she snarled. “I swear, I’ll have my revenge. You’ll pay for what you’ve done!”

  “They’re getting away!” Zivgor excimed, drawing his weapon. He took a step forward, ready to pursue, but Penelope grabbed his arm, stopping him. She shook her head, her gaze fixed on Albert, who y motionless on the ground.

  Monica, her face etched with worry, quickly unrolled another scroll: The Scroll of Recovery, activating the magic. Then, she channeled her remaining power. “Ultimate Move. Holy Healing: Divine Grace!”

  “Holy Healing: Divine Grace” was a potent, single-target version of her healing technique. It instantly restored the recipient to full health and strength, mending even the most grievous wounds. But the power came at a cost; it could only be used on one person at a time and had a long, twelve-hour cooldown.

  Penelope and the others watched anxiously as the healing magic washed over Albert. His wounds, even the horrific burns, began to close. Slowly, his chest rose and fell, and his eyes fluttered open. Relief washed over Penelope as she saw the spark of life return to his gaze. She gently helped him sit up, then pulled him into a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re alive…I thought…I thought we’d lost you.”

  A heavy silence settled over the battlefield as Albert’s team began the grim task of searching for Tiffany. They found fragments of her lower body scattered amongst the rubble. After a painstaking search, they discovered her upper body, miraculously intact, though her face was pale and still. The devastation, however, was clear; her ribs were crushed, and it was evident that her internal organs were missing. As they gently wrapped her remains in a white cloth, a wave of grief washed over the team. Monica gnced at Albert, expecting to see the same sorrow reflected in his eyes. But his expression was bnk, distant. He moved with a quiet efficiency, helping to prepare Tiffany’s body for burial, but showing no visible emotion. It was as if he were handling the remains of a stranger, not the woman he loved. The others noticed it too, a chilling detachment in his movements and his gaze. They exchanged silent, uneasy gnces, understanding the heavy price he had paid.

  It must have been unimaginably difficult for him to use that scroll, Zivgor thought, his heart aching for his friend. He watched Albert, a mix of pity and understanding in his eyes. The scroll had done its work, severing the ties that would have otherwise shattered him.

  “Let’s go,” Albert said, his voice ft and devoid of emotion.

  Zivgor gently lifted Tiffany’s shrouded body, his own grief a heavy weight in his heart.

  They scoured every corner of the byrinth, the air thick with the stench of something rotten. In hidden chambers, they uncovered the source of the foul odor: a cndestine drug manufacturing operation. Skirmishes with the guards—a mix of hardened thugs and desperate bandits—were swift and decisive. Their real work y elsewhere.

  In the byrinth’s depths, they found the cages. Children, their eyes hollow and haunted, huddled together. Mothers, their faces etched with despair, clung to their young ones. And in separate cells, they discovered the hostages: sons and daughters of noble families, their presence a bargaining chip in some twisted game of power. The sight of these innocent victims fueled their resolve.

  Guiding the freed captives out of the byrinth’s maze, they reached the entrance. Albert held up a rge, ornately decorated scroll. The Scroll of Fre. This wasn’t just any signal fre; this was a beacon, a symbol of their success—or failure. Costs one thousand gold coins.

  He unfurled the scroll, releasing a magical fre. Not long after, the guild master himself arrived, accompanied by a contingent of seasoned adventurers and a company of the King’s own guard. A brief, hushed conference took pce, then, with the rescued innocents in their care, they turned and as they were about to leave, a child dashed forward and grabbed Penelope’s hand. The girl, six or seven years old, was a beastkin. Large, floppy ears nearly obscured her dirty, heart-shaped face framed by a shock of silver hair. Her torn and worn white cloth was more gray than white, and her small body was covered in bruises, except for her face. Though clearly malnourished, her piercing silver eyes, when they met Penelope’s, revealed a surprising courage and strong will.

  “I have no family left,” the girl said. “My father was killed protecting me from the abductors, and my mother died three days ago. Please, take me with you.”

  Penelope knelt, her eyes level with the girl’s. “What’s your name?”

  “Alice.”

  Penelope gently brushed a hand across Alice’s hair and the rge ears that framed her face. “Alice, I can see you’re strong and brave. But we adventurers are constantly on the move.”

  “Don’t you have a home?” Alice asked.

  “I did, once, in my parents’ house. But adventurers don’t stay in one pce. We take commissions from different kingdoms, sometimes for just a few days, sometimes for months. We usually rent houses when we need to stay somewhere for a while.”

  There was a brief silence. Penelope gnced at Albert.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Alice. “I promise to take you to my parents’ home. I’m sure they’ll love you. You’re a very sweet child.”

  “But I want to come with you,” Alice insisted. “I can be an adventurer too! I’m strong. I’m reliable.”

  “Alice, you’re just a child. You’ve been through so much. You need to rest and recover,” Penelope said.

  “I can help!” Alice pleaded. “I can wash clothes, cook… I’ll do anything you ask.”

  Penelope smiled, not at Alice’s earnestness, but at the fierce determination shining in the girl’s eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll take you with me.”

  “Really?” Alice breathed, her eyes widening.

  “Hold on,” Penelope cautioned. “I’m not finished. I’ll take you with me after Albert and I have settled down.” She gnced at Albert, who smiled warmly at Alice.

  “Promise?” Alice asked, her gaze fixed on Penelope.

  “Promise,” Penelope confirmed, pcing a hand on Alice’s cheek.

  In a field abundant with wild green Gardienant and blue Skaliant flowers, Alice asked, gazing up at Penelope, “Who is she?”

  “She was a close friend,” Penelope replied, her voice thick with emotion. “And… she was Albert’s lover.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Tiffany.”

  Tears streamed down Penelope’s face as she sank to her knees. Alice embraced her from behind, while Albert pced a comforting hand on her shoulder. Monica wept openly, and Zigyor, though clearly fighting back tears, reached out and pulled Monica into a comforting embrace. Despite his efforts, tears began to flow down Zigyor’s face as well.

  Alice gnced at Albert. She knew from Penelope that the person buried here was his lover. Seeing him so calm and composed, without a single tear, baffled her. Nevertheless, she did what felt right. Turning to Albert, she hugged him tightly. He looked down at the child clinging to him and gently rested a hand on her head, a silent reassurance.

  In the living room of their rented house, Zigyor asked Monica, “Is Alice asleep?”

  “Yes, darling,” she replied. “Is it alright with you if she sleeps with me tonight?”

  “Of course,” Zigyor said. “I can always sleep on the floor.”

  Just then, Albert and Penelope arrived.

  “You’re here,” Zigyor greeted them. “We asked you to come over because Monica has something to discuss.”

  Albert sat down and asked, “What is it, Monica?”

  Monica stood and, gesturing towards the teapot, said, “Let me pour you some tea. I just brewed it; it’s very rexing.”

  After everyone had taken a few sips, Monica began.

  “I’ve asked you here because I have something important to tell you,” Monica began. “The day before our mission… I started having visions.”

  “What kind of visions?” Albert asked.

  “Visions of death.”

  “What?” Penelope gasped, taken aback.

  Monica met Albert and Penelope’s serious gazes. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “I have… an inherent skill. It’s called Omen.”

  Zigyor started, surprised that Monica was revealing a skill unknown even to him. But Monica gently squeezed his hand, stopping him from interrupting.

  “I always thought Omen was useless,” she expined. “It never activated, not once in my entire life… until the day before our mission.”

  “Is that why you couldn’t sleep that night?” Zigyor asked, his voice filled with pain and regret. “And why you seemed so unlike yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was going to tell you all. But Tiffany found me first. I confessed everything to her—the visions I’d seen. I begged her not to go on the mission. I even considered forfeiting the quest entirely if she didn’t agree. But after I told her everything, she told me to keep it a secret.” Monica paused, wiping at her eyes. “I didn’t understand. ‘I saw you die,’ I told her. ‘Why would you still insist on going?’ Her answer was simple: ‘Because I know if I evade this death, one of you will die in my pce.’”

  A shudder ran through Monica. “I was stunned. How could she be so sure? Then, to my surprise, Tiffany revealed her own inherent skill: Augury. It’s reted to Omen, but it allows her to glimpse possible near futures, to see cause and effect. She told me she’d looked at our future, at all the different outcomes. She saw a future where she didn’t go on the mission, but Penelope died instead. She saw another where we forfeited the mission, and the Shellshock group grew even more powerful. And then… she showed me the future where we did go. We took a commission to investigate Shellshock’s drug operations. We fought Seroshi and his subordinates. We defeated Seroshi and one of his men, but… Zigyor died in the battle.”

  Tears streamed down Monica’s face. “So, instead of trying to avoid her fate, she chose to accept it. But she knew Albert would never understand. She knew he could never bear the thought of her dying, let alone… hold her lifeless body. She thought that far ahead. That’s why she spent her life savings on the Scroll of Stolid, all in secret. Later that day, before we left to meet the guild master, she gave me a small, oblong box. I asked her what was inside, but she refused to tell me. She just made me promise not to open it unless… ‘Unless necessary?’ I asked. Her face turned somber. ‘Unless necessary,’ she repeated, her voice… so full of pain.”

  Tears streamed down Penelope’s cheeks. Zigyor was also stunned into silence, unable to express his feelings. Every time he tried to speak, the pain in his chest overwhelmed him, and the words died in his throat. Albert, however, simply listened, nodding occasionally. It pained Penelope, Monica, and Zigyor to see him so seemingly unaffected. But they understood. It was Tiffany’s wish—to save them all. It was because of that wish, because Albert, despite his agony and grief, accepted her st wish, the very reason they were still alive.