《Hollow Thorn》 ONE - Kissed by Fate Gaunt and worn, the young man¡¯s peach-beige skin carried the unmistakable signs of a life spent teetering on the brink. His knuckles, roughened and callused, spoke of hard labor, while faint, crescent shadows beneath his eyes betrayed sleepless nights spent chasing meager threads of survival. He stood at the very heart of an immense arena¡ªan architectural marvel framed by towering white pillars and a pristine floor polished to mirror-like perfection. Above him, streams of ethereal blue light flowed gracefully, forming ghostly figures and hazy scenes that flickered briefly into existence before dissolving into nothingness. Each illusion faded gently, only to be immediately replaced, filling the air with an endless dance of phantom silhouettes. Yet Myrddin couldn¡¯t savor this breathtaking spectacle. Pressed from all sides by a vast, restless crowd, he could barely draw breath, let alone move freely. The sheer number of bodies created a suffocating pressure, their combined voices rising into a thunderous murmur that vibrated through his bones. His pulse raced, anxiety mingling with awe at the immensity of Stage 10¡ªan expanse so immaculate and grand that it felt utterly alien compared to the cramped gloom of Stage 6. ¡°There must be more people here than in all of Stage 6 put together...¡± he muttered softly, brushing stray strands of dark brown hair from his forehead. His fingertips lingered briefly at his temple, massaging away the stirrings of an inevitable headache. ¡°How long do they plan to keep us waiting?¡± Minutes crawled forward like hours as he endured the oppressive heat and clammy discomfort of too many bodies pressed together. He scanned the crowd, noting the remarkable variety in dress and appearance. Many wore plain black attire similar to his own, their skin tones and hair colors echoing familiar shades. But scattered throughout the sea of faces were others whose vivid clothing and eccentric hairstyles marked them as outsiders from distant stages, their expressions all unified by the same weary desperation he¡¯d known his whole life. Fragments of whispered conversation drifted above the clamor, catching his ear. ¡°Do you think this is about those rumors?¡± ¡°What rumors?¡± ¡°They say there¡¯s going to be a new Monarch of the Tower!¡± ¡°Quiet! Are you trying to get us executed?¡± Myrddin¡¯s heart quickened at the murmurs. A new Monarch of the Tower¡ªcould such an absurd rumor even hold truth? Life in Stage 6 had taught him caution: stories from above rarely reached them without distortion. But still, something about this one resonated deeply, igniting a spark of impossible hope within him. It was exactly that hope¡ªthe promise of a future worth fighting for¡ªthat had compelled him here in the first place. If these whispers contained even a sliver of truth, it could mean a life defined by more than merely surviving each day. Yet if the entire event was a cruel farce, merely an excuse to cull the growing ranks of lower-stage dwellers, then he¡¯d still face that bitter truth head-on. Either way, Myrddin had finally found what he¡¯d longed for most: A purpose beyond mere survival.
It was unprecedented¡ªa moment without parallel in recorded history, where every inhabitant from Stages 6 through 9 had been simultaneously summoned. The gates to Stage 10¡ªa bridge suspended between the despair of the lower stages and the hope promised by the higher ones¡ªopened with whispers of an "unforgettable event," pulling countless desperate souls who grasped at even the thinnest thread of fate¡¯s mercy. Representatives from the great Houses¡ªthe mighty families whose influence defined the Tower¡¯s rigid hierarchy¡ªwere confirmed to attend. For anyone born in the lower stages, even glimpsing a House member was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Actually joining one? Practically a fantasy. Yet, the dream stubbornly persisted. Earning a House¡¯s favor meant being granted a transfusion of its blood¡ªthe key to obtaining a Thorn. This precious infusion bestowed physical prowess and abilities far surpassing ordinary human limits. To those starved for opportunity, that alone was worth any danger¡ªworth willingly placing themselves at the mercy of whatever trials awaited at this mysterious gathering. Their ambitions stretched beyond the suffocating mediocrity of the middle stages, beyond even the fabled highest reaches of the Tower. They craved its pinnacle, a place rumored to promise genuine power, absolute freedom, and truths hidden from all below. Others might dismiss them as mere dreamers, chasing fantasies. Yet Myrddin recognized something deeper: he saw the same raw, unyielding determination reflected in every gaze around him. These were people who had survived the brutal realities of the lower stages¡ªhardships that forged their will into iron, sharpened their resolve into a weapon. And now, they would seize this chance, whatever it might cost.
As the minutes crawled by, Myrddin briefly considered sitting on the polished arena floor. His legs throbbed from standing for hours, and the relentless crush of bodies only worsened his fatigue. But would that be¡­ disrespectful? Inappropriate? He honestly couldn''t tell. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Before he could decide, a soft hum resonated through the immense coliseum. Overhead, massive ceiling panels slid gracefully open, revealing an immaculate sky so brilliantly blue it stole the breath from his lungs. ¡°How¡­ beautiful¡­¡± he breathed, eyes wide with awe. All around him, murmurs of wonder rippled through the crowd, their voices blending into a shared, reverent sigh. Even hardened survivors from the lower stages¡ªaccustomed to darkness, dust, and despair¡ªwere spellbound by the crystalline clarity of a perfect sky. From that dazzling blue expanse, pristine white platforms gently descended, drifting serenely like divine chariots borne on invisible currents. Each carried figures of otherworldly grace, robed in silks and adorned in finery so intricate that human hands seemed incapable of creating such splendor. The mere presence of these ethereal beings radiated quiet authority, settling upon the crowd like the gentle press of an unseen, inevitable tide. Myrddin¡¯s chest tightened with a strange mixture of hope and intimidation. Even at a distance, the newcomers'' flawless features and the elegant precision of their movements suggested a beauty that transcended limits. Whispers rustled through the massed crowd like leaves stirred by a gentle breeze: ¡°Those¡­ they must be from the Houses.¡± ¡°They¡¯re incredible¡­¡± ¡°To glimpse them just once¡­ I could die happy.¡± As though guided by an invisible hand, the hovering platforms swept in graceful arcs around the arena, settling into positions at opposite ends. Only the center of the azure sky remained conspicuously empty. No¡ªnot entirely empty, Myrddin realized with a jolt. Squinting, he caught sight of a minuscule speck floating impossibly high, no larger than a single marble. In an instant, that tiny speck burst outward in a dazzling explosion of luminous blue light. Before Myrddin could even react, a towering figure composed entirely of radiant brilliance took form, hovering regally in midair. The apparition shaped itself into the majestic figure of a bearded man, features noble yet stern, framed by flowing hair that shimmered like liquid starlight. Despite his ethereal form, his presence was overwhelmingly real, exuding an aura of absolute authority. ¡°You stand honored,¡± the glowing figure declared, his voice a powerful yet soothing resonance that filled every corner of the vast arena. ¡°Accept my gratitude for gathering here today. I am Ygdrion Domus Yggdrasil¡ªMonarch and Guardian of the Tower.¡± A collective gasp of disbelief swept through the crowd. Even Myrddin¡ªraised far from civilization, in the isolated bleakness of Stage 6¡ªrecognized the legendary name. Ygdrion, the Tower¡¯s Monarch, ruler of all Houses. Considered by many the strongest and most revered figure alive. But before awe could fully take hold, a second voice crashed into them like a tidal wave: "BE SILENT." The command slammed into Myrddin¡¯s skull with brutal force. He doubled over, a lance of pure agony piercing through his mind. All around him, people screamed in anguish, falling to their knees or collapsing outright. Some clutched their bleeding ears, others slumped unconscious. The raw power infused within those simple words was devastating. ¡°My¡­ ears¡ª!¡± ¡°Stop¡­ please!¡± A low, indulgent laugh resonated from the towering Monarch, rich with mild amusement. ¡°Hahaha, gently now, Sylvaris. Fault them not for their awe. They are merely unaccustomed to the majesty of their Monarch.¡± His tone softened, becoming almost fatherly. ¡°Child of the Lotus¡ªgrant them restoration.¡± Through a haze of pain and blurred vision, Myrddin glimpsed threads of vivid green light weaving gracefully along the gleaming white floor. He couldn¡¯t see the conjurer clearly, but the sensation that followed was unmistakable. Warmth, tender and healing, enfolded him like an embrace, easing away the searing agony from moments before. Around him, gasps of relief echoed softly as people gingerly touched ears no longer bleeding, bodies no longer wracked with pain. Myrddin straightened slowly, heart hammering in awe and fear. Whatever awaited them, one thing was now terrifyingly clear: this was no mere ceremony. They stood at the threshold of something extraordinary¡ªand profoundly dangerous. For several agonizing seconds, no one dared disturb the silence. ¡°Now then,¡± the Monarch resumed, his voice smooth yet absolute, cascading through the air like ripples on still water. ¡°Let us delay no further.¡± His words hung in the arena with the solemn weight of finality, each syllable etched into the minds of those listening. ¡°I shall now impart the knowledge you require. Quiet your hearts¡ªand speak no further.¡± He paused deliberately, allowing anticipation to coil like a serpent in the breathless quiet. Then, when the suspense was at its peak, he spoke words that set the crowd trembling with a cocktail of awe and fear: ¡°All who stand before me have been kissed by fate. This day heralds your destiny¡ªa pivotal moment that will not merely shape your lives, but also the lives of your descendants for generations yet unborn. Yet, to seize this destiny¡ªto tread the path of power¡ªyou must first demonstrate your worth.¡± Myrddin¡¯s heart raced, each heartbeat hammering the Monarch¡¯s words deeper into his chest. Demonstrate your worth. The phrase echoed relentlessly. ¡°We must observe you,¡± the Monarch pressed on. ¡°We must discern your true selves. And above all else¡ªwe must find favor in you.¡± With an elegant flick of his fingers, the Monarch summoned the floating platforms to move once again. They drifted with graceful, synchronized motions, displaying the regal, silent figures atop them in clearer view. ¡°As you can plainly see, esteemed high-ranking members of the Representative Houses have graced us with their presence. They have come to assist an aging Monarch in guiding the Tower¡¯s future.¡± A breathless quiet settled, profound enough that even heartbeats seemed too loud. When he spoke again, it was with the force of a sovereign decree: ¡°However, the future is reserved solely for those who prove themselves deserving. I¡ªand the Houses¡ªshall evaluate your every decision in the trial to come. Your fate shall be determined not merely by survival, but by the potential you reveal.¡± Myrddin swallowed hard, his mouth dry with apprehension. The air pressed in around him, heavy and expectant, silently questioning if he carried within himself even a fragment of that elusive potential. ¡°Step forward,¡± the Monarch intoned, his voice ringing like a bell tolling judgment. ¡°Demonstrate your worth. Earn the favor of the Houses. Seize this moment to forge destiny itself¡ªto unlock the path toward power, and awaken the Thorn that lies dormant within.¡± His words ignited a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within the gathered thousands¡ªexcitement, dread, uncertainty. Myrddin¡¯s mind spun furiously, caught between hope and suspicion. ¡°Now¡ª¡± the Monarch¡¯s voice suddenly shifted, cold and sharp as a blade, ¡°having accepted your fate, your trial begins immediately. On this stage¡ªthe Tenth Floor¡ªyou shall face beasts, horrors, and indeed¡­ your fellow humans. Some stand beside you now; others await you in shadow.¡± He paused briefly, allowing the dread of his words to fully seep in. ¡°Understand this,¡± he continued mercilessly. ¡°Survival alone is insufficient. You must unveil the greatness within. Prove it to us.¡± Then came his final, haunting benediction: ¡°May destiny favor you.¡± No further explanations came. Instead, the colossal figure of luminous blue began to flicker, dimming slowly as if overcome by a silent wind. It wavered and warped, dissolving in cascades of sparkling azure motes drifting gently downward like embers caught in the breeze. Myrddin stared in disbelief, his pulse pounding in his ears. He blinked rapidly, fighting off the surreal sensation of awakening from a feverish dream. What just happened? Was that real? Then the floor beneath his feet split open. A bone-chilling crack tore through the stunned silence like thunder. For one breathless instant, confusion paralyzed him¡ªuntil his eyes widened, horror-stricken, at the gleaming white floor fracturing violently, splintering as though crushed beneath a titan¡¯s foot. ¡°Wha¡ª!?¡± was all he managed, the breath ripped from his lungs as reality smashed into him with merciless force. With an earsplitting CRACK, the floor shattered, erupting in a hailstorm of glittering fragments. Thousands of figures vanished instantly into darkness, their cries lost amid chaos. In a heartbeat, Myrddin felt the earth vanish from beneath his feet, replaced by a gut-wrenching plunge into oblivion. They were falling. Wind shrieked in his ears, deafening, merciless. His dark hair whipped violently around his face, the rushing air searing his eyes and stealing his breath. Panic exploded within him, an overwhelming surge of primal terror that crashed through every nerve and fiber. He gasped desperately, choking as air battered his lungs. His vision blurred, the chaotic spiral of bodies, debris, and dazzling shards blinding him with overwhelming sensation. This can¡¯t be real¡­! Yet it was undeniably real. He twisted in the air, helplessly tumbling amid screams and howls of despair. Thousands fell around him, a horrific storm of thrashing limbs and shrieking voices, melding together into one monstrous sound of chaos. His mind screamed questions¡ªIs this the trial? Was it all a trap?¡ªbut each thought splintered beneath raw terror, barely coherent in the overwhelming rush of falling. Then, amid the storm of panic, one terrible realization pierced his mind with ruthless clarity: I¡¯m going to die. The thought resonated through every fiber of his being, utterly inescapable. Even as he spun helplessly downward, he tried instinctively to brace himself for an impact he couldn¡¯t yet see or even comprehend. But terror soon gave way to rage. Fury surged up from deep within him, a final, defiant roar tearing from his throat: ¡°DAMN YOU AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!!!¡± TWO - A Forest of Feathers Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Myrddin¡¯s mind was a frantic storm, a loop of panic repeating endlessly as he plunged through the air. Every gasp felt like daggers scraping his lungs, the roaring wind ripping through his clothes and tossing his dark hair wildly around his face. Yet he forced his burning eyes open¡ªhis vision was the one strength he could truly rely upon. But even that keen sight found only darkness, an abyss punctuated by tiny flecks of eerie violet light. Those distant sparks blinked like mischievous spirits, offering fleeting moments of false hope as he plummeted toward whatever grim fate awaited him below. Relax¡­ relax, damn it, he urged himself, but his pulse thundered, deaf to reason. All around him echoed the horrific symphony of human terror¡ªagonized screams, cries for mercy, and sickening impacts when falling bodies collided midair. Myr refused to look anywhere but straight ahead, downward into the endless black. Witnessing others¡¯ despair would only shatter whatever thread of composure he still clung to. This can¡¯t be random. The Monarch wouldn¡¯t lie. There must be a reason for this madness. Yet even as that desperate thought formed, a harsh truth crushed it. Figures streaked effortlessly past him, moving through the air with astonishing ease: some with shimmering wings unfolding gracefully behind them, others propelled by crackling jets of flame beneath their feet, soaring as if riding invisible waves. A few drifted serenely upon enchanted carpets, untouched by gravity itself. ¡°¡­¡± Realization struck him harder than any physical blow, a cold, cruel awakening slicing through his chest. So that¡¯s how it is. Even among those labeled as lower-stagers, some possessed miraculous artifacts. He¡¯d lived in ignorance, isolated and sheltered. Stage 6 had kept him blind¡ªunprepared. Now, as he plummeted helplessly, the bitter truth mocked him: others had come ready, while he and many more were condemned to this helpless, screaming free fall. I¡¯m doomed. The thought slithered into his consciousness like poison¡ªbut then something deeper surged through him: defiance. A stubborn refusal to accept such a fate without a fight. Not yet. He narrowed his eyes, heart pounding violently as he fixed his sight on the approaching purple lights below. As he grew nearer, those distant pinpoints of violet sharpened into enormous feathers, black as midnight and streaked with luminous violet veins. Their serpentine forms spread outward, forming a strange, otherworldly canopy beneath him. Could those feathers soften my fall? The desperate thought flared briefly, quickly extinguished by doubt. Would the Houses truly rely on luck to determine who lives and dies? Yet what other choice was there? His jaw clenched, and determination surged through him. Myrddin inhaled deeply, ignoring the icy ache in his chest. He pressed his arms tightly to his sides and locked his legs together. With a tilt of his head, he angled his body straight downward, becoming a human arrow slicing through the wind. The gale lashed violently against him, yet he welcomed the brutal sting, accelerating his descent. It¡¯s this or nothing! He dismissed the idea of grabbing someone midair¡ªthat would only doom them both. Instead, Myr aimed directly for one of those massive feathers, praying that whatever strange magic they contained would spare him from a swift, violent end. The roaring wind filled Myrddin¡¯s ears, drowning out everything else as the feathers surged upward, rapidly engulfing his vision. Each colossal plume was thick as an ancient tree, quivering softly, their glossy surfaces shimmering with strange, luminous patterns in the dim light. His pulse quickened, hammering in rhythm with the gale. Adrenaline sharpened his senses, every detail magnified, vivid¡ª Then, with shocking speed, one of the enormous feathers suddenly shifted, uncoiling toward him like a living serpent. ¡°What¡ª!¡± Myrddin choked out, but the rest of his voice was crushed from his lungs. In an instant, the feather enveloped him, wrapping him in its fibrous embrace. The force knocked the breath from his chest; its grasp was powerful, constricting yet strangely warm, a sensation neither fully plantlike nor animal. It tightened relentlessly, pinning his arms painfully against his sides. "Mmph!" Raw panic surged through him, survival instincts screaming for escape. Struggling wildly, he tried to reach the small dagger concealed within his boot, but each movement seemed only to tighten the feather¡¯s suffocating grip. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°Let go¡­ you damned tree-feather!¡± he rasped through clenched teeth, lungs burning, each word choked by the crushing pressure. With sheer determination, Myrddin forced his trembling fingers downward, reaching desperately into his boot for the hidden blade. Darkness swam at the edges of his vision; his chest felt ready to burst. Almost¡­there¡­! Finally, his fingertips brushed the dagger¡¯s hilt. With a fierce, desperate pull, he wrenched the blade free and slashed upward, carving deep into the fibrous material. Purple threads exploded outward like shredded silk, and the feather shuddered, loosening its grip as if recoiling in agony. In a sharp, spasmodic jerk, the feather released him. ¡°Finally¡ª!¡± Myrddin gasped out¡ªbut gravity seized him again, sending him plunging downward. He struck the earth with brutal force, a dull, heavy thud reverberating through his body as dust billowed up around him. ¡°Damn this¡­¡± he muttered, voice muffled by dirt as he lay sprawled, half-buried in dry, orange-brown soil. Pain radiated through his bruised limbs¡ªbut he was alive. Winded, shaken, but undoubtedly alive. He didn¡¯t waste a second longer lying prone. Ignoring his throbbing body, Myrddin scrambled unsteadily to his feet, his gaze quickly sweeping across his strange new surroundings. A bleak, unsettling forest stretched endlessly around him, filled with thin, leafless trees, their branches heavy with massive black feathers. He glanced warily upward. Now motionless, those same feathers that had attacked him swayed gently, as if suddenly innocuous. Yet their earlier violence lingered clearly in his mind. ¡°What in the Tower is this Stage¡­?¡± He¡¯d expected Stage 10 to be more refined, more structured¡ªperhaps less obviously deadly. Yet here the darkness pressed down, oppressive and omnipresent, the massive feathers blotting out the sky, broken only by thin shafts of pale, weakly glowing light that pierced the canopy in jagged patterns, painting ghostly shadows on the soil. ¡°Fine¡­¡± Myrddin sighed, gripping his dagger tightly before slipping it back into its sheath. With no plan other than survival, he stepped forward, deeper into the shadowy forest. The Monarch¡¯s vague promise echoed bitterly in his mind: "to test your potential." But how? To wander aimlessly, hoping to prove himself worthy? Yet, beneath his frustration lingered a small flame of hope. _Surely there¡¯s a higher purpose to this madness._ Because otherwise, he truly was doomed.
¡°Damn it, screw this place!¡± Myrddin finally burst out, frustration boiling over after two hours¡ªby his own increasingly desperate count¡ªof trudging through the endless, suffocating forest. Nothing ever changed. The same dusty, orange-brown soil stretched endlessly beneath thin, lifeless trunks crowned by drooping black feathers. They loomed overhead like silent guardians, mocking his attempts to find anything resembling a landmark. His breath came in ragged gasps, echoing softly through the oppressive silence as he fought back the urge to punch the nearest tree in exasperation. This can''t possibly be the test the Monarch spoke of¡­ can it? And what about the countless others who¡¯d plummeted alongside him? He hadn¡¯t seen a single person¡ªnot a living soul, not even a corpse, nor any sign anyone else had ever walked this bleak terrain. It was as if the fall had scattered them across an endless wasteland. A sickening unease twisted his stomach. Were they trapped in those feathers, as he himself had nearly been? Had they already been devoured by some unseen, monstrous presence? Or were they merely scattered, lost somewhere in this grim, sprawling maze? Frustration giving way to exhaustion, he rubbed his temples and sank down onto the gritty soil, the tiny grains digging uncomfortably into his legs. It hardly mattered¡ªhis head ached far worse. He drew in slow, steadying breaths, trying to quiet the chaotic swirl of thoughts inside him. As he exhaled, his gaze drifted absently across the monotonous landscape, left, then right¡ª ¡°¡­?¡± He froze. Something had moved, subtly yet unmistakably. A distant feather quivered slightly¡ªso slightly, he almost dismissed it as the breeze. But then, beneath the dense black plumage, came another twitch: frantic, desperate. Someone¡¯s trapped! ¡°Dammit!¡± Myrddin hissed, launching himself upward, dagger already flashing in his grip. Without a second thought, he sprinted forward, closing the distance in seconds. The thick fibers resisted his blade at first, but with a fierce burst of determination, he drove the dagger through, slicing cleanly across the feather¡¯s constricting coils. The enormous plume shuddered, releasing its captive¡ªwho tumbled out, sprawling gracelessly into the dirt in a heap. Breathing hard, Myrddin stepped back warily, dagger held at the ready, watching as the stranger coughed violently, spitting grit and dust from his mouth. After a moment¡¯s struggle, the man rose shakily to his feet, brushing himself off with an oddly casual air, as though being nearly devoured alive was little more than a minor inconvenience. Myrddin¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly. The man wore baggy beige trousers beneath a dark brown coat, all layered over a simple black shirt¡ªan odd ensemble, but not altogether remarkable. Yet it was the oversized, puffy hat with two floppy, ear-like folds dangling comically at either side of his head that drew Myrddin¡¯s incredulous gaze. What in the Tower¡­? He kept his dagger raised, muscles tense, ready for anything. Yet the stranger seemed utterly unfazed by his brush with death, rolling his shoulders and giving Myrddin an unexpectedly cheerful, almost childlike grin. ¡°Ah, my sincerest gratitude for the timely rescue, friend,¡± the stranger chimed in an oddly high-pitched voice, brushing himself off as if he''d merely tripped on the street. ¡°No need.¡± Myrddin''s reply was clipped, wary, his dagger still raised cautiously. The man waved off Myrddin''s tension with an airy sweep of his hand. ¡°Well, then. Many thanks again, but I really must be off!¡± Without another word, he spun neatly on his heel and started away. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± Myrddin snapped, incredulous. ¡°You almost died, and now you¡¯re just going to stroll away?¡± The stranger paused mid-step, peering back over his shoulder with exaggerated confusion. ¡°Would you rather I remain here indefinitely?¡± Myrddin stared at him, speechless with irritation. He''s utterly mad. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Myrddin exhaled slowly, gathering what little patience he had left. ¡°Look, I''ve been wandering this damn place for hours. There''s nothing but dirt and feathers¡ªno paths, no landmarks. Exactly where do you think you''re going?¡± With theatrical grace, the stranger pivoted back to face him, a curious glint brightening his eyes. He took a long, leisurely appraisal of Myrddin, eyes tracing from head to toe as if inspecting a valuable but unusual artifact. ¡°Hmm¡­¡± he finally murmured. ¡°So you''ve encountered nothing at all? Just feathers and dirt?¡± ¡°Yes. That¡¯s exactly what I just said.¡± A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of the stranger''s lips. ¡°Then you must be one lucky fellow indeed.¡± Myrddin¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously. ¡°And what exactly does that mean?¡± Instead of answering directly, the stranger pressed a thoughtful finger against the bridge of his nose, eyes squinting theatrically as if analyzing an intriguing puzzle. ¡°You look sturdy enough to serve as an excellent meat sh¡ªI mean, companion." Myrddin¡¯s grip tightened sharply around the dagger¡¯s hilt. ¡°You were about to call me a meat shield, weren''t you?¡± Feigning wide-eyed innocence, the stranger raised his hands defensively. ¡°Oh, perish the thought! Just a slip of the tongue, my friend.¡± Myrddin¡¯s expression remained cold, suspicion darkening his gaze. The stranger quickly adjusted his tone, sensing he''d pushed too far. ¡°Look, friend, your good fortune today is truly remarkable. You''ve saved exactly the right person from a truly miserable fate.¡± He stood straighter, puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride. ¡°Come along, now. I have valuable information that you really need.¡± Without waiting for a response, he turned once again, striding confidently into the bleak forest ahead as if he were marching down a familiar, bustling street rather than a shadowy maze of living feathers. Myrddin lingered, tension and irritation warring within him. He ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair, releasing a resigned sigh. Not like I''ve got a better option¡­ With reluctant acceptance, he sheathed the dagger back into his boot, casting one last wary glance at the silent, swaying feathers around them. Then, with an air of grim determination, he hurried after the strange figure. ¡°If this turns out to be a waste of time,¡± Myrddin muttered under his breath, ¡°I¡¯ll personally shove him back into one of those damned feathers.¡± THREE - Beneath Silent Wings ¡°Are you finally going to talk?¡± Several minutes had passed since Myrddin began trailing the peculiar stranger through the oppressive gloom of Stage 10¡¯s feather-forest. The man walked with an oddly carefree bounce, causing the wide brim of his oversized hat to sway rhythmically. For reasons Myr couldn¡¯t quite articulate, the sight set his teeth on edge. He was usually patient¡ªproudly so. Yet something about this stranger¡¯s overly casual demeanor and theatrical gestures threatened to erode his composure entirely. ¡°How about introducing yourself first, my friend?¡± The stranger¡¯s voice was bright and lilting, tossed casually over one shoulder, further irritating Myr. He exhaled slowly. ¡°Fine. Myrddin¡ªbut just call me Myr.¡± ¡°Myr it is, then! Now¡ª¡± Without warning, the stranger leapt into the air, twisting gracefully mid-spin before landing dramatically in a low crouch. An instant later, he sprang upright, the oversized hat nearly tumbling from his head as he whirled to face Myr directly. Myr flinched instinctively, taken aback by the bizarre display. ¡°What the¡ª?¡± With exaggerated flair, the stranger puffed out his chest and placed a thumb theatrically against his sternum, as though issuing a royal proclamation. ¡°My name is Sage. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± Myr forced himself to take a calming breath, regaining some measure of his composure. ¡°Alright then¡­ _Sage._ You clearly know more about this entire ordeal than I do.¡± ¡°Indeed, I do!¡± Sage chirped enthusiastically, spinning once more and resuming his buoyant stride. Together, they ventured deeper into the unsettling expanse of forest. The thick canopy of oversized black feathers rustled quietly overhead, casting fragmented beams of dim light onto the dusty earth beneath their feet. ¡°This charming place is Stage 10¡ªas you¡¯ve probably gathered,¡± Sage explained cheerfully. ¡°But more specifically, it¡¯s known as the Nest of Silent Wings. Rather ominous, isn¡¯t it?¡± He paused dramatically, savoring the moment before continuing. ¡°Legend says this stage once housed an ancient flock of giant, sentient birds. Their wings made no sound, created no breeze¡ªjust carried the silent weight of forgotten knowledge. They neither sang nor cried out. Instead, they whispered directly into your mind¡­but only if they deemed you worthy.¡± Myr shot a skeptical glance at one of the oversized feathers nearby, twitching eerily despite the lack of any obvious breeze. ¡°That sounds made up.¡± Sage turned his head sharply, giving Myr a playful but pointed grin. ¡°Oh, my friend, I assure you¡ªmy intel is far from a fairy tale. I happen to be a proud and dedicated member of the Lower Stages Information Guild.¡± ¡°The what?¡± Myr asked skeptically. ¡°Does something like that actually exist?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Sage replied with a flamboyant sweep of his arms, as though unveiling some grand, hidden masterpiece. ¡°Based primarily out of Stage 9, the Guild¡¯s purpose¡ªand livelihood¡ªis information. Anything worth knowing about the lower stages is ours to uncover. If there¡¯s a secret hidden down here, we¡¯ll sniff it out!¡± Myr let out a noncommittal grunt. He¡¯d never heard of this ¡°Information Guild¡± during his isolated life in Stage 6, though admittedly his home was notoriously secluded¡ªcut off even from basic contact with other stages. Just as Myr began mulling over the implications, Sage abruptly spun around again in another extravagant, unsettling twist. Startled, Myr instinctively stepped back as Sage¡¯s gaze snapped onto him with intense curiosity. Up close, Sage was slightly shorter than Myr and looked young¡ªperhaps in his early twenties. But his near-childish enthusiasm made it difficult to pinpoint his exact age¡ªor sanity, for that matter. Myr couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the dramatic behavior was genuine, or simply an elaborate act. Either way, something about Sage¡¯s bright, unsettling smile left Myr distinctly uneasy. ¡°Aha!¡± Sage suddenly exclaimed, pointing dramatically toward Myr¡¯s tunic. His eyes sparked with genuine delight. ¡°Long, black tunic¡ªbuttons down the front, intricate patterns woven subtly into the fabric, and a rather distinguished high collar.¡± Myr glanced downward, momentarily puzzled by the sudden, intense scrutiny. ¡°Though I must admit, that violet pattern is new to me,¡± Sage continued, tracing imaginary shapes in the air. ¡°Three wavy lines on the right side, hm? Almost like miniature rivers flowing... or gentle waves lapping against shorelines.¡± Myr¡¯s gaze lingered on the delicate embroidery, stitched meticulously in fine violet thread. It was a small emblem, one he had seen often on the clothing he''d inherited¡ªgarments whose origins had always been uncertain. He¡¯d always assumed it was a family crest, though no family remained to confirm or deny its significance. Sage¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing smile playing across his lips. ¡°Still, I¡¯ll trust my hunch¡ªyou¡¯re from Stage 6, aren¡¯t you?¡± Myr¡¯s posture stiffened instantly. ¡°How did you¡ª?¡± Sage¡¯s smile widened triumphantly. ¡°Well, aside from your reaction practically screaming confirmation¡­ it¡¯s rather elementary. Clothing styles vary distinctly from stage to stage. Different materials, unique cuts, regional markings¡ªif you have a trained eye, pinpointing origins becomes a simple game of deduction.¡± Before Myr could fully process the implications, Sage leaned in abruptly, tilting his head to inspect Myr¡¯s face at an uncomfortable closeness. Myr instinctively drew back, the sudden invasion of personal space making his skin prickle. ¡°And those eyes¡­¡± Sage murmured thoughtfully, his voice quieter now as he studied Myr carefully. ¡°Hazelnut, flecked with a striking orange sheen. Not exactly common, are they?¡± A ripple of unease stirred within Myr¡¯s chest. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He cleared his throat, forcing his features back into a neutral mask. ¡°Let¡¯s just keep moving,¡± he urged curtly, trying to deflect the discomfort. ¡°But... I¡¯ll admit your Guild¡¯s insight is impressive. Identifying someone¡¯s stage simply from their clothes isn¡¯t trivial.¡± Despite his outward calm, Myr¡¯s mind buzzed uneasily. Stage 6 was isolated, notoriously closed off from external information and trade. This man knows far more than he should. Yet Myr could see no benefit in openly challenging Sage¡¯s expertise¡ªnot now, anyway. For better or worse, Sage¡¯s broad knowledge might prove useful in the Tower¡¯s unpredictable depths. Sage accepted the acknowledgment with an oddly graceful nod, as though savoring some unseen applause. Then, without warning, he dropped fluidly to the dusty ground, legs folded beneath him as if settling onto a luxurious cushion. Myr blinked in confusion. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Sitting,¡± Sage responded breezily, patting the hard-packed dirt as though it were a comfortable seat. ¡°Need I remind you? I nearly became lunch for a giant feather earlier. You can¡¯t expect me to shrug that off immediately. A little empathy would be appreciated.¡± Myr pressed his lips into a tight line but said nothing. With a quiet sigh, he lowered himself to sit nearby, muscles aching and stiffening in protest. The lingering terror of being trapped beneath one of those monstrous feathers still sent chills down his spine. After a short pause, Myr spoke cautiously. ¡°So these feathers¡­ they really devour people?¡± ¡°Oh yes,¡± Sage said matter-of-factly. He stretched leisurely, interlacing his fingers and pushing his palms skyward. ¡°Dark Feathers suffocate their prey first, then secrete a particularly nasty toxin designed to dissolve flesh. Bones, organs¡ªeverything is absorbed. Quite efficient, really.¡± A queasy wave rolled through Myr¡¯s stomach at the vivid imagery. He cast a wary glance upward, uneasily eyeing the enormous feathers rustling ominously in the gloom above. What in the Tower is Stage 10¡­? ¡°But hold on,¡± Myr said after gathering his thoughts. ¡°I wandered around this forest for hours without knowing. How is it you¡¯re still alive?¡± Sage smiled ruefully, shrugging with playful nonchalance. ¡°Simple. I knew to dodge them when I landed. Anything falling from above is fair game for them, after all.¡± He chuckled, a self-deprecating glint in his eye. ¡°Unfortunately, knowing something doesn¡¯t always protect you from your own curiosity. Let¡¯s just say I _may_ have been experimenting with one of these Dark Feathers, got a bit careless, and ended up trapped before I could reach my trusted partner.¡± ¡°Your partner?¡± ¡°My weapon, of course,¡± Sage clarified cheerfully, rolling his eyes as if the answer were entirely obvious. With a casual flourish, Sage reached up and removed his oversized, fluffy hat, revealing a neatly bound bun of blond hair beneath. Yet what truly captured Myr¡¯s attention was the strange, translucent sheet perched oddly atop Sage¡¯s head. Myr watched, confused and curious, as Sage gently took the thin, plastic-like material into his hands. Raising it to his lips, he blew softly across its surface¡ªand to Myr¡¯s astonishment, the material inflated like a delicate balloon, quickly taking the shape of a small, rectangular box. Sage flipped open the newly formed lid, revealing two neatly wrapped pieces of fresh bread inside. With a genial grin, Sage extended one toward Myr. "Hungry?" Myr eyed the offering warily, suspicion flickering in his hazelnut eyes. "It¡¯s not poisoned, is it?" Sage chuckled, shaking his head in exaggerated exasperation. "If it were, would I really tell you?" A brief silence settled between them, taut with Myr¡¯s guarded hesitation. Yet hunger soon outpaced caution, gnawing relentlessly at the edges of his resolve. Slowly, Myr took one of the bread packets¡ªbut deliberately waited until Sage took a confident bite of his own before cautiously unwrapping it. "No need to be quite this paranoid, you know," Sage remarked between hearty mouthfuls, cheeks puffed from the food. "Perhaps not," Myr conceded reluctantly, still scrutinizing the bread in his hand. "But you¡¯re using strange items I¡¯ve never seen before, in a stage I know almost nothing about. Given this strange trial we¡¯re in, caution seems... smart." He stopped just short of openly accusing Sage of malicious intent. For all the stranger¡¯s flamboyant theatrics, Myr had a nagging sense that Sage was not the type to kill without reason¡ªor perhaps at all. Taking his first cautious bite, Myr nearly sighed aloud in relief. The bread was fresh, far tastier than the stale scraps that usually passed for food in Stage 6. After endless hours of tense wandering, this small reprieve was surprisingly welcome. "So," Myr said after swallowing, "I assume you don¡¯t actually know what the Monarch meant by ¡®testing our potential¡¯? That information is likely only held by higher stages." "You assume correctly," Sage replied, dusting crumbs off his lap with a carefree flick of his wrist. "Everything at this point is mere speculation. Lower-stagers being abruptly summoned, promised the chance to join Houses? Completely unprecedented. Rumor in Stage 9 is that even the middle stages are experiencing something similar. My theory? The Monarch might be searching for an heir¡ªa worthy successor. Perhaps he¡¯s decided to let the Tower itself identify the most deserving candidate." Myr absorbed the information quietly. Politics within the Tower, the Houses¡ªhe felt no strong attachment to any of it. Yet, a faint spark flickered within him. He¡¯d never had anything substantial to strive toward in Stage 6, but now¡ªeven if this was all some elaborate gamble¡ªhe found himself drawn forward by something resembling purpose. "That said," Sage continued, tossing the remaining crumbs aside casually, "I¡¯m certain the Houses are observing us somehow. Those illusions and the tech in the arena? Far beyond anything you¡¯d see in the lower stages." Myr thought back to the coliseum, recalling vividly the shifting displays, the eerie announcement of names, the feeling of countless unseen eyes watching. "Then you believe they''re watching us even now?" Sage gave a short, humorless laugh. "Would that really surprise you? Is it any different from how things always are inside the Tower?" He allowed the rhetorical question to linger briefly in the air before shrugging, dismissing its significance. "In any case," Sage said, lowering his voice with conspiratorial enthusiasm, "I¡¯m also quite certain this stage is crawling with Flawed Bloods. Which is precisely why you''re fortunate you stumbled across me¡ªand why I¡¯m equally fortunate you did." Myr finished the last bite of bread, brushing crumbs from his fingertips. "Flawed Bloods?" "Most people know them as Mutants." Recognition dawned in Myr¡¯s gaze. "Ah, Mutants. I¡¯ve heard that name." "They show up in every stage," Sage continued knowingly. "At least, according to all accounts I''ve gathered. If memory serves me, Stage 6 is divided into two regions, isn''t it? Licht, and¡ª" "Finster," Myr quietly confirmed. "That''s correct." His voice lowered instinctively, an uneasy shadow crossing his features at the mere mention of that cursed, dark region. Myr had grown up fearing these so-called Mutants¡ªpredators twisted by hunger and madness, creatures said to devour anything that dared to move, sometimes even each other. He''d always considered himself lucky to live in Licht, where Mutant sightings were rare enough to become mere stories whispered by firelight. So they''re not just confined to Finster. They''re everywhere in the Tower. Before Myr could dwell too deeply, a sudden, bloodcurdling scream shattered the eerie silence. Both men jolted upright, instincts taking over as their hands reached instantly for their weapons. Sage''s gaze darted toward the sound, wary but curious. "Should we help whoever that was?" Myr shot him a skeptical look. "Why would I?" Sage raised his eyebrows slightly, feigning surprise. "You saved me, didn''t you? I thought you might have a heroic streak." "Not even close," Myr said bluntly. "I helped because you were helpless, and it was convenient. But if that scream reached us, then it wasn''t the Feathers. Whatever caused this is hunting. Loudly." "Still," Sage pressed gently, "we should at least take a look." "And why, exactly?" A faint smile ghosted Sage''s lips. "Because if we spend the trial hiding, do you really think the Houses would offer us any kind of reward? They''re watching to see how we handle ourselves¡ªwithout Blessed Blood, without a Thorn, without special powers. Running toward the danger may be exactly the kind of action they expect." Myr hesitated, grudgingly acknowledging Sage¡¯s logic. If the Houses truly were observing¡ªand by now, he had little doubt¡ªthey likely weren''t rewarding caution. Besides perhaps the stories exaggerated these Mutants. "Fine," Myr relented finally, eyes narrowed as he scanned the shadowy depths of the forest. "Better to face whatever''s out there head-on than wait to be ambushed. Let''s just hope that scream belonged to a human, not something else." Sage nodded approvingly, but his expression turned serious. "You know about the Food Chain, don''t you?" Myr shrugged uneasily. "Only that if you see a bigger Mutant, you''d better run faster. That''s all the wisdom Stage 6 offered." Sage chuckled dryly. "Close enough. Officially, they''re Flawed Bloods¡ªbut ''Mutants'' stuck because, well, look at them. The bottom of their hierarchy is the Strain. Believe me when I say even a single Strain can rip through a hundred normal people if it''s desperate enough." "And yet, you still want to chase after whatever made someone scream?" "Curiosity is a powerful motivator," Sage replied, the levity now absent from his voice. Behind his casual facade, a tension simmered, revealing that Sage knew exactly how dangerous their decision was. Perhaps he believed they could handle a single Strain¡ªor at the very least, survive long enough to flee. "Fine. You lead, I''ll follow." "Gladly," Sage said, his voice now tight with sobriety. "But listen closely: if we see anything even a hair stronger than a Strain, we run. No noble heroics. Just pure, unapologetic escape." A shiver traced down Myr''s spine. Sage''s newfound seriousness made the oppressive darkness around them feel even deeper, the towering black feathers above even more suffocating. He nodded again, slower this time. "Understood." Taking a steadying breath, Sage gently patted the expandable case at his side. "Then let''s get moving." FOUR - Hunger in the Dark ¡°Sage, look at this.¡± They had been jogging through the eerie silence of the Nest of Silent Wings for only a few minutes when Myr suddenly stopped, eyes locked onto something beside a towering, gnarled tree. The trunk bore deep, jagged grooves carved into its bark, clearly fresh and disturbingly high. Sage jogged a few steps ahead before turning back, curiosity creasing his brow. ¡°What is it?¡± Without speaking, Myr pointed to the fresh marks. Each claw mark spread wide, cutting deep into the bark at unnatural heights. ¡°Claw marks?¡± Sage murmured, stepping closer. Myr nodded, tracing the edges of splintered bark with careful fingers. ¡°Too deep for any small animal, and definitely higher than something that crawls on the ground.¡± He paused thoughtfully, examining the shredded edges. ¡°These marks are recent¡ªvery recent.¡± Sage watched with genuine surprise at Myr¡¯s sharp deductions. Myr caught his glance and offered a quiet explanation. ¡°I hunt my own food sometimes,¡± he admitted. ¡°Not Mutants. Regular animals back in Stage 6¡ªwolves, deer. Wolves can claw trees like this, but...¡± ¡°But wolves don¡¯t usually attack so high, right?¡± Sage finished for him. ¡°Exactly,¡± Myr said, leaning even closer as something else caught his eye. Gingerly, he plucked a thin, fibrous strand from between the splinters. ¡°And there¡¯s this¡ªplant fiber. Looks like vines.¡± Sage¡¯s eyes narrowed instantly. ¡°Then that confirms it¡ªa Flawed Blood. They¡¯re like Thorns, but twisted and corrupted by nature. Most likely a Strain.¡± Myr¡¯s throat went dry as he let the vine slip from his fingers. So this is what we¡¯re dealing with¡­_ His hand instinctively dropped to his boot, drawing the small dagger concealed there with a faint metallic click. Sage glanced down skeptically. ¡°My friend, that tiny blade won¡¯t accomplish much.¡± Myr raised a finger sharply to his lips. ¡°Quiet. If it¡¯s nearby, we move slowly. Stay low and silent.¡± Sage gave a quick, tense nod, slipping behind Myr as they advanced cautiously, eyes scanning every shadow for movement. Beneath the canopy of massive black feathers, the darkness seemed oppressive, suffocating¡ªeach rustle of leaves an unspoken threat. Before long, Myr stopped again, crouching to inspect loose soil near the tree¡¯s roots. He lifted his hand, and his glove glistened darkly red. ¡°Blood...¡± Grimacing at the sight and the iron scent it carried, he quickly wiped the stain against the dirt, covering it. The droplets thickened as they moved onward, dread coiling tighter in Myr¡¯s stomach with each new step. They soon reached the grisly source of the blood trail. Even in the dim light filtering down through feathered branches, the violence was unmistakable. ¡°Well,¡± Sage breathed softly, halting in place, ¡°that¡¯s one way to go.¡± Myr¡¯s chest tightened. A mangled corpse lay slumped against the base of a tree, limbs twisted and broken, its face utterly unrecognizable. One arm was completely torn away, the right leg shredded by deep, savage bites. His stomach churned violently at the sight. He¡¯d encountered death before, but never this savage¡ªthis grotesque. Myr forced himself to speak, though his voice emerged hoarse and strained. ¡°We should bur¡ª¡± ¡°WATCH OUT!¡± Sage¡¯s shout came just an instant too late. A sudden, violent impact struck Myr from the side, hurling him to the ground. Pain detonated through his shoulder, vision blurring as he gasped for air. An ear-splitting, inhuman shriek filled the air, drowning out all rational thought. Myr rasped for breath, heart hammering wildly as he struggled against the creature pinning him down. Its wiry, skeletal frame was entangled in twisting vines, limbs gnarled and warped. Where eyes should have stared down at him, there was only hollow, merciless darkness. A Strain. Up close, it was more horrifying than any tale Myr had ever heard. The creature¡¯s emaciated frame writhed with thick, vine-like tendrils that sprouted grotesquely from its skin, oozing a stench of decay. The vines quivered hungrily, thorn-like teeth snapping mere inches from Myr¡¯s face. Gritting his teeth, Myr thrust both arms against the creature¡¯s jaw, straining desperately to keep it from biting clean through his flesh. He drove his knee into its abdomen repeatedly, each strike fueled by adrenaline and terror. Yet the Strain was relentless. With an unnatural hiss, several barbed tendrils erupted from its torso, arching overhead like living spears¡ªeach razor-sharp tip aimed squarely at Myr¡¯s skull. For a heartbeat, sheer panic wiped Myr¡¯s mind blank. Then a deafening crack split the air, rattling his ears and jolting him from terror¡¯s grip. Warm, black blood splattered across Myr¡¯s face, and the creature went slack. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. It collapsed atop him in a putrid heap, its sudden weight knocking the breath from his lungs. Myr lay there, chest heaving violently, limbs trembling beyond his control. For a moment, his thoughts refused to form clearly, shock overwhelming his senses. Slowly, he turned his head. Standing several feet away, calm and composed, was Sage. He wore a faintly amused smile beneath his tilted, wide-brimmed hat, blonde hair still neatly pulled back. In one hand rested a slim, silver weapon, smoke gently curling from its tip. Myr forced himself to swallow, struggling to regain control. With effort, he shoved the limp corpse aside, rolling onto his side and gasping for air. The fallen Strain twitched briefly before going utterly still. Revulsion surged through Myr anew as he took in the creature¡¯s remains¡ªits bark-like flesh ruptured, dark sap leaking from countless wounds. Its skull was punctured cleanly, the edges burned black. Moments later, the body began to collapse inward, dissolving into the soil like ashes scattered to the wind. Soon, nothing remained but a dark residue quickly absorbed into the earth, vanishing without a trace. Sage exhaled calmly, one hand resting casually on his hip. ¡°Lucky for us, it was starving. Flawed Bloods become reckless when hunger drives them. It didn¡¯t think¡ªjust attacked.¡± Myr wrenched his gaze from the spot where the creature had vanished, heart still pounding painfully in his chest. His voice came out sharper than intended. ¡°What in damnation is that thing you¡¯re holding?¡± Sage, unfazed by Myr¡¯s harsh tone, twirled the silver weapon in an exaggerated flourish before raising it to eye level. ¡°This?¡± A sly grin spread across his face, eyes glinting mischievously. ¡°It''s called a revolver, my dear friend. Think of it as a bow and arrow, but faster, more precise¡ªand, if you ask me, a great deal deadlier.¡± He let the weapon drop casually to his side, glancing pointedly at the now-empty space where the Strain had fallen. ¡°So,¡± Sage continued lightly, eyes meeting Myr¡¯s tense gaze, ¡°how was your first real encounter with a Flawed Blood?¡± Myr¡¯s expression hardened instantly. ¡°Instead of asking pointless questions,¡± he snapped, ¡°why not explain why you waited so long to do something? You had that¡­ thing¡­ the whole time.¡± He stepped closer, scrubbing roughly at the drying blood on his face. The bitter scent still filled his senses, leaving his stomach twisting uneasily. ¡°My friend,¡± Sage replied calmly, smile fading slightly, ¡°that was also _my_ first encounter with a Flawed Blood. Frankly, I¡¯m surprised I reacted fast enough to keep it from tearing your head off.¡± Myr¡¯s eyes narrowed dangerously. ¡°Are you certain of that? Or did your curiosity get the better of you¡ªdid you wait intentionally, just to watch?¡± Sage¡¯s eyebrow arched, amusement dancing openly in his gaze. ¡°You realize I saved your life, don¡¯t you? That has to count for something.¡± ¡°All it does is balance the scales,¡± Myr shot back bitterly. ¡°Now you owe me nothing¡ªno guilt, no morality holding you back. You¡¯re free to use me however suits you.¡± A tense silence settled between them, Myr¡¯s fierce hazel eyes locked onto Sage¡¯s steady, unreadable gaze. Eventually, Sage released a quiet, resigned chuckle. ¡°Such a pessimist.¡± Myr held his stare a second longer, then exhaled sharply, tension draining slightly from his posture. ¡°Haa¡­ Sorry. My head¡¯s still spinning.¡± In response, Sage offered a small, understanding nod. Brushing away a clump of dirt with his boot, Myr spotted the dull gleam of his dagger lying several feet away. He knelt to retrieve it, embarrassment flushing through him at how useless the blade had been in the heat of battle. ¡°Guess you were right,¡± he muttered, sliding it quietly back into its makeshift sheath. ¡°A little knife¡¯s not much against a Strain.¡± Sage allowed himself a faint, wry smile. ¡°If you had a Thorn, things might¡¯ve gone differently. It¡¯s not a mark against you¡ªjust the harsh reality of facing monsters.¡± He gave the revolver¡¯s barrel an affectionate tap, then slid it back inside his dark brown coat. ¡°And before you ask, no, I don¡¯t have a spare. Weapons like these are rare¡ªespecially at my rank.¡± They both glanced upward, noticing how the already dim surroundings had grown darker still. The Nest of Silent Wings became eerily quiet, the towering black feathers above them shifting restlessly, blotting out even more of the waning light. Sage cleared his throat uneasily. ¡°It¡¯s getting darker quickly. More creatures¡ªor worse¡ªwill start lurking. We should find shelter for the night.¡± Myr cast a look around. In every direction loomed the same oppressive scenery: twisted trees burdened by immense black feathers, faintly lit by unsettling patches of violet glow. ¡°Sure,¡± he muttered sarcastically. ¡°We¡¯ve got so many scenic options.¡± Without a word, Sage moved toward the mangled corpse slumped against a nearby trunk¡ªthe unfortunate victim whose screams had led them here. He crouched down, briefly rummaging through the shredded clothing, before wrapping his hands firmly around the ankles. Then he shot Myr a meaningful glance. ¡°Help me?¡± Suppressing a sigh, Myr joined him, gripping the corpse beneath its arms. Together they lifted the lifeless body, carefully trying to avoid dwelling on the horrific injuries. As the limbs swung limply between them, Myr felt a fresh wave of revulsion churn his stomach. He couldn¡¯t help asking, bitterness creeping into his voice, ¡°Is this for survival or because you¡¯re still curious?¡± Memories of Sage¡¯s dangerous fascination with the feathers lingered unpleasantly. A mischievous glint flashed in Sage¡¯s eyes. ¡°A little of both. Leaving the body exposed would just draw more Flawed Bloods¡ªor anything else out here with an appetite.¡± He glanced upward meaningfully at one of the enormous feathers swaying gently overhead. ¡°Better to¡­dispose of it properly.¡± Grunting under the weight, Myr and Sage lifted the corpse toward the canopy until, as if sensing a fresh meal, one of the massive black feathers unfurled with disturbing speed. Like a predator striking, the feather wrapped itself fluidly around the lifeless body, swallowing it whole. Sage¡¯s expression twisted into grim fascination. ¡°I suppose,¡± he mused quietly, watching as the feather constricted tightly around its prey, ¡°it¡¯ll be quicker this time. No need to suffocate what¡¯s already dead.¡± Myr winced, nausea rising at Sage¡¯s detached commentary. Given a choice, he would have buried the stranger, affording him some dignity in death. But practicality ruled here, forcing sentiment aside. The sickening sounds of crunching and wet, greedy slurping filled the air, each noise more stomach-turning than the last. Myr quickly turned his head, fighting a wave of bile rising in his throat. _This damned place¡­_ Finally, the feather loosened with a soft, shuddering exhale. The corpse was gone. All that remained was a pitiful heap of shredded clothing, sliding silently onto the dirt. ¡°Huh,¡± Sage remarked quietly. ¡°That was fast.¡± Myr fought down another wave of nausea at the casual remark, the acidic taste of bile still bitter on his tongue. ¡°Let¡¯s just... find somewhere to rest.¡± Sage shrugged, entirely unruffled. ¡°Sure. But as you¡¯ve said, everything here looks pretty much identical.¡± Myr swept his gaze across the bleak surroundings¡ªthe spindly, twisted trees, drooping black feathers, and the endless glow of faint purple embers overhead. The landscape offered no landmarks, just monotonous repetition as far as the eye could see. ¡°Then we pick any tree,¡± he decided quietly, forcing strength back into his voice. ¡°Lean against it, take turns keeping watch. I only need three hours of sleep anyway.¡± ¡°Works for me,¡± Sage said with easy agreement. ¡°Any particular tree call out to you?¡± Myr didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he stepped away from the grisly scene, eager to escape the lingering scent of blood and the gruesome memory of the stranger¡¯s fate. As he walked, he dragged the toe of his boot through the dirt, kicking loose soil over scattered droplets of blood. Eventually, he settled on a random tree¡ªno different from its neighbors, save for its slightly thicker trunk and fewer low-hanging feathers. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, each step feeling harder than the last. He sank down slowly, pressing his aching back against rough, uneven bark. Sage followed and dropped to the ground beside him, casually stretching out his legs with a lazy grin. ¡°Relax,¡± the blond man joked lightly. ¡°I¡¯m like an eagle¡ªready to hawk at the first sign of trouble.¡± Myr didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he watched Sage through half-lidded eyes, uncertainty coiling in his chest. Once more, he was struck by Sage¡¯s unnerving ease in the face of danger¡ªand that hidden revolver beneath his dark coat. Am I really safe with someone like him? But he¡¯d already reached the limits of his endurance. The day¡¯s chaos¡ªthe plummet from the arena, nearly being devoured by a Strain, witnessing horrors he¡¯d scarcely imagined¡ªhad stripped him to the bone. Wariness gave way to overwhelming fatigue, pulling him down into darkness. With an unsteady exhale, Myr finally let his eyes close. Sleep claimed him almost instantly.