The clash of weapons and the endless grind of bone on steel ceased. Silence hung thick in the air as the final skeleton crumbled into dust at their feet. The dimly lit cavern seemed to breathe with them, the oppressive weight of the horde's relentless assault now lifted.
Woomilla stood still, her bow glowing faintly, its usual hum drowned out by the eerie quiet. She squinted toward the far end of the chamber, where doors had creaked open on their own—no enemies, no sub-boss waiting to ambush them. It was strange. Too quiet, she thought.
Firelez took a cautious step forward, his senses on high alert. He'd been expecting another wave, a sub-boss, something. But there was nothing. No lingering presence, no pulse of danger. Even the ominous energy that had been watching them from the shadows had disappeared, leaving behind only silence.
"What the hell?" Firelez muttered under his breath, glancing at Woomilla and Tenza. "This doesn't feel right. I was sure there'd be more."
Pinchitavo, leaning against a crumbled pillar, gave a weary smirk. His avatar looked as worn as he felt. "Maybe they just ran out of skeletons to throw at us." His usual sarcasm was undercut by exhaustion.
Woomilla approached, concern etched on her face. "Tavo, you alright? You're pushing too hard."
Pinchitavo chuckled, though it was thin. "I'm fine, Milla. Just need a breather."
Before she could argue, a new sound cut through the quiet—the unmistakable ping of a server-wide announcement.
"Global Announcement: Congratulations to Firelez! The first player to reach Level 999 on the Latin American server!"
The message flashed across their eyes, accompanied by celebratory effects that bathed the cavern in color. Firelez's name lit up across the server, fireworks sparkling in the dark. Yet, Firelez barely reacted. His gaze was fixed ahead, scanning the next chamber. The achievement felt hollow.
Woomilla, however, ignored the announcement. She knelt beside Pinchitavo's avatar, her voice tight with worry. "Daemon, initiate shutdown procedure."
"Shutting down interface," the AI responded smoothly, and Pinchitavo's avatar began to flicker. The DRD sensed his fatigue and initiated the shutdown process, signaling his exit from the game.
Firelez watched as Pinchitavo's form shimmered, the celebratory noise fading into the background. The weight of the moment pressed down on him—not the server achievement, but the silence that followed. His eyes drifted to the gauntlet on his arm, heavy with more than just metal and leather.
"Sky," Firelez said softly, activating the private voice chat. The line connected immediately. Sky never made him or any of his friends wait.
"What's up, Firelez?" Sky's voice was as calm as ever, though Firelez could sense something deeper beneath it.
"They're gone," Firelez murmured, his gaze fixed on the empty chamber. "Whatever was watching us… it's gone. And now this." He gestured at the level 999 announcement still glowing on his HUD. "I reached the top. But you didn't."
There was a brief pause on Sky's end, then a sigh. "I know."
Firelez frowned. "You held back."
"I did."
"Why?"
Sky's silence stretched on for a beat before he answered, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken truths. "It's not my time anymore. I've been fighting other battles, Firelez. Ones that don't end with a leaderboard or a victory screen."
Firelez's gaze shifted to the gauntlet on his arm, the weight of it no longer just physical. "This gauntlet… it pointed at Tenza, not me."
Firelez's name blazed across the server as the first to reach level 999. The global announcement filled every screen, every HUD. But in the quiet space of a private voice channel, none of that mattered.
"I chased that number for so long…" Firelez's voice cracked slightly. "But it feels kind of empty."
Sky's reply was calm but firm. "It's never been about the number, Firelez. You know that."
Firelez exhaled slowly, his voice lowering. "But you didn't need to hold back. You should've taken the top spot, Sky. You were at 998 for weeks. Why let me take it?"
Sky chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "I've had my time. This was always meant to be your moment."
Firelez shook his head, frustration bubbling up. "But why? You're the one always leading the charge, pushing us through impossible odds. You should've been the first. The server expected it."
Sky's voice softened, carrying the weight of deeper struggles. "I didn't need to, Firelez. I'm not fighting for the top spot anymore. Not after everything… not with what's coming."
The silence that followed was thick, the unspoken truth hovering between them.
"You didn't tell me," Firelez murmured, his voice tightening. "About the experience medallion. About why you really let me win."
Sky's response came with a sigh, a sound that spoke of both resignation and resolve. "It wasn't about winning. I'm fighting for something bigger now. Ramiel, the Old Gods… fate itself. I'm not playing their game."
Firelez's chest tightened, his fingers brushing the gauntlet. "But this gauntlet, Sky… it wasn't meant for me. It's pointing to Tenza, not me. She's the one it's calling for. She is a Star of Destiny."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with realization. Sky remained silent, the weight of Firelez's statement settling over him. He had always known, deep down. But hearing it aloud made it undeniable.
"You've always fought against fate," Firelez added softly, "but this time… maybe it's about preparing the one who will fight it beside you."
Sky's voice hardened, but there was vulnerability beneath the defiance. "You're saying I should accept your fate?"
"No," Firelez said quietly. "I'm saying you don't have to fight alone. I'll help her. I'll pass on what I can. But she's the one who will climb this mountain. I'm just the bridge."
Another long silence followed, thick with the weight of their shared understanding.
"And Sky," Firelez whispered, his voice trembling slightly, "you're not just fighting fate for me. You're doing it for all of us. For Tenza. For the ones who'll come after us."
Sky's breath came through the mic, steady but strained. "Yeah… I guess I'm just too stubborn to let fate win."
Firelez chuckled softly. "That's the gamer in you."
The voice chat fell silent, but the connection between them felt stronger, deeper than words could express. They were brothers-in-arms, fighting not just for themselves, but for a future that stretched beyond the game, beyond their own lives.
Firelez's heart tightened, knowing what Sky was alluding to. "You're coming here, aren't you?"
"I have to," Sky replied. "There's something there I need to confront. My shadow."
Firelez let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "How many times have you fought him?"
"Once," Sky replied. And with that, the voice chat ended.
Firelez stood in the quiet cavern, the gauntlet on his arm feeling heavier than ever. The server announcement still flashed across his HUD, fireworks exploding in the distance. But to him, none of it mattered. All that mattered now was what came next—the battle against fate, the legacy he would leave, and the one who would carry it forward.
At the same time, Tenza felt a swell of bittersweet emotion as Woomilla's friendship request pinged softly in her HUD. The avatar waved goodbye, pixels flickering like fireflies before fading into the ether of the necropolis. It felt like a small piece of her heart vanished with it, but in its wake, she found herself staring at her growing list of allies, each name a step of her ongoing journey—a collection of virtual beacons in the vast darkness of her solitude.
With a mix of pride and nostalgia, she scrolled through the names: Godslayer, Luctolome, Firelez, Woomilla, and Pinchitavo. Each represented a connection, a shared experience, a reminder that even in this fragmented world, she was no longer alone. In this sanctuary of dreams and quests, she felt seen, heard, valued—something that had long eluded her in the real world.
Yet, the juxtaposition of her digital camaraderie against the stark reality of her life weighed heavily upon her. Raising Camilla alone, estranged from her own family, the tangible bonds she once cherished now lay frayed and distant, a memory she could scarcely grasp. Here, in this realm of escapism, her avatar danced through vibrant landscapes, unfettered by the heavy chains of her past. But once the screen or the DRD dimmed, reality would set back in, a relentless tide threatening to wash away the fragile connections she had forged.
Dision's night stories echoed in her mind, tales of heroes and quests, as she unlocked her new title, "Argonaut." The prize for accompanying Firelez in reaching level 999. It was a moniker steeped in myth, an acknowledgment of the journey she was on—a modern odyssey through the magnificent world of Eschenfrau. If Jason had once sailed the seas for glory, she now traversed the depths of her own struggles, fighting not just for gold or glory but for her place in a world that had often overlooked her.
As her thoughts drifted, she felt a familiar stir in her chest, a longing for more than just fleeting interactions, more than mere victory points. This game had become a lifeline, a refuge from the gnawing loneliness that clawed at her. Yet, the more she achieved in this realm, the sharper the contrast with her real life became.
Suddenly, the soothing ambiance of the necropolis shattered as a new notification blinked into view—a private training session invitation from Sensei Leonardo, his presence looming large in her thoughts. The dojo, though closed to the world now, felt like a realm of uncharted territory, a space where her true strength would be tested, where she would be molded, not into a lady, but a warrior.
Her heart raced at the prospect, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through her veins.
With a deep breath, Tenza let the emotions wash over her—a blend of courage and vulnerability, of determination to embrace the warrior within. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to feel the weight of her choices, the sacrifices made for both her daughter and herself. This training would not just be another quest; it would be a pivotal moment in her journey, a step toward reclaiming the fragmented pieces of her identity.
As she accepted the invitation, waving Firelez goodbye, the virtual world shimmered around her, a portal to the next chapter of her odyssey. In that instant, she felt the digital realm transform from a mere escape into a powerful catalyst for change. The bonds she had forged would guide her as she navigated this new challenge, and for the first time in a long while, hope flickered within her—a spark igniting the path toward the warrior, Sensei Leonardo and Sky wanted her, needed her to become.
As the last echoes of Woomilla's farewell faded, Tenza felt a new wave of determination wash over her. She had faced the shadows of her past, yet here she stood, on the precipice of becoming more than she had ever imagined. The invitation from Sensei Leonardo flickered before her, pulsating with promise and challenge.
Taking a steadying breath, she steeled herself. This was it—the moment where she could step beyond the confines of her solitude and forge a path defined not by her circumstances but by her choices. She accepted the invitation, the world shimmering as it transported her to the virtual dojo.
The dojo loomed like a fortress, its walls steeped in tradition and the echoes of countless battles fought within, in here she is Fiona, once again. Sensei Leonardo awaited her, his presence commanding and filled with the weight of expectation. Fiona's heart raced with anticipation and trepidation, knowing that she was about to be pushed to her limits, not just as a human but as a warrior.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination. The sensei, in his younger self, a stern figure with eyes like steel, stood before her, his presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure. He had seen potential in her—a single mother, isolated and burdened, yet with embers of a wish that refused to be extinguished, a future for her daughter. Today, he will start pushing her beyond her limits.
There was no salute, only the commanding voice of the sensei "Drop to the floor. Push-ups, until I say you can stop." She replied with an "Osu, sensei." She dropped, her arms already trembling from exhaustion. She pushed through the pain slowly. One became ten, then fifty and her arms started to give in. Time seemed to dilate, every second stretching into an eternity of pain and perseverance. She felt the burn in her muscles, the fire in her veins, but she continued, driven by a respect for her sensei who believed in her potential, no matter how insignificant she may be.
"Stand up," he commanded, and she obeyed, her legs quivering beneath her. "Jump squats," he ordered. She lowered herself, then pushed upwards, over and over, her breath ragged. Sweat poured down her face, her vision blurred by the sting of salt. Yet she did not stop.
"Mountain climbers," came the next command. She dropped into position, her knees driving towards her chest in rapid succession. Her body trembled, but she pressed on, her determination as unyielding as the sensei's gaze.
Finally, the exercises culminated in a grueling series of burpees. Each movement was testing her willpower, each repetition challenging her endurance. Her mind screamed for respite, but she silenced it with the mantra that Sensei Leonardo drilled into her: "Bleed in training, so you can win in battle."
As the grueling physical exercises drew to a close, the sensei's gaze softened imperceptibly, yet his stern demeanor remained. "Enough," he commanded, his voice a mixture of authority and subtle pride. She collapsed onto her knees, gasping for breath, her body trembling from the relentless exertion. But her spirit, though battered, was unbroken.
"Stand," the sensei ordered. With great effort, she rose to her feet, her legs unsteady. He took a step back, nodding towards the center of the dojo. "We move on to kihon."
Kihon—the fundamental movements and techniques of any classical martial art—required precision and discipline, very different from modern martial arts which relied on flashy spectacle rather than mastery, they evolved into show business instead of encouraging self discovery and spiritual growth. As she positioned herself, the sensei began to demonstrate, each move a fluid combination of power and grace. His eyes, sharp and discerning, missed nothing.
"Watch closely," he instructed. "Every movement has a purpose. Every stance must be perfect."
She mimicked his movements, her form far from flawless. The sensei's corrections were immediate and exacting. "No, your stance is too wide. Feet closer together. Again." His hands gently but firmly adjusted her position, correcting her posture and her balance.
Every misstep was met with a swift critique, his tone unwavering. "Wrong. Your strikes are too weak. Channel your energy, focus your power." Yet, despite his harsh exterior, there was an undeniable undercurrent of care. He wanted to forge a warrior out of her—not just in physical prowess, but in resilience and spirit.
As they continued, the dojo echoed with the sound of their practice. The sensei's corrections, though stern, carried an invisible purpose, he believed in her potential. He saw in her the strength she had yet to fully recognize in herself. In Sky's words, he was believing in the girl that believes in herself.
The sensei's voice sliced through the stillness like a sharpened blade. "To the bag," he commanded, and Tenza stumbled toward the heavy punching bag, her body protesting with every step. Each movement sent waves of pain coursing through her, a stark reminder of the burns that marred her skin in the real world. In the DRD, her avatar felt light, yet the remnants of her suffering clung to her like a shadow, weighing her down.
As she approached the bag, she could feel the heat of her exhaustion radiating from her core, a chilling echo of her flesh-and-blood struggles. With a grimace, she lifted her fists, preparing to strike, her technique faltering as fatigue settled into her bones. The sensei observed her closely, his expression unreadable yet focused.
"Focus," he urged, stepping beside her and placing a hand on the bag. "Feel the weight. This is not just a bag; it's a representation of everything you fight against. It embodies your fears, your losses—your daughter."
The weight of his words crashed over her like a tidal wave, stirring something deep within. Her breath caught as she pictured the Archknight, the Grand Lodge, the faceless entities that loomed in her life like dark clouds. Anger flared in her chest, igniting a primal urge to fight back.
"See them," Sensei Leonardo continued, his voice steady but fierce. "See the ones who threaten your world."
Fiona's knuckles whitened around the bag's surface as she closed her eyes, visualizing her adversaries. Each imagined strike echoed with the roar of her heart, a rhythm that pushed her beyond the boundaries of pain. With every punch, she felt the air around her thickening with intensity, her focus sharpening into a singular point of determination.
But as her fists began to pound the bag with unrestrained fury, her technique devolved into reckless abandon. The world around her blurred; she was consumed by a visceral need to destroy, to reclaim what had been taken from her.
"Enough!" Sensei Leonardo's voice broke through her haze, his presence an anchor amidst the storm of her emotions. He seized her fists in his hands, blood seeping from her knuckles staining his palms. "This is where your limit stands. The moment you lose yourself is the moment they win." His grip was firm, yet his eyes softened with understanding, a juxtaposition of strength and compassion.
In that moment of connection, Fiona felt the weight of her rage dissipate, replaced by the sting of reality. She was bleeding, not just in the game, but in her life—fighting battles that left scars deep within her soul. Sensei Leonardo, unflinching, continued, "Let's push your limit to where they can't reach."
He released her fists, and she stood there, panting, the adrenaline slowly giving way to clarity. Fiona's heart raced, a tumult of emotions coursing through her. It was a reminder that her fight was not just physical; it was a fight for her identity, her future, and her daughter's safety. The lines between her real self and virtual self blurred, but here, in this dojo, she would reclaim her birthright—not through mindless rage, but through controlled strength.
As Fiona steadied her breathing, the intensity of her emotions began to settle. But just as a sense of calm threatened to wash over her, the sensei stepped back, a glint of determination sparking in his eyes. "Now we move to the next phase."
Her heart raced again, the weight of his words sinking in. A practiced confrontation with him was no ordinary training session; it was a rite of passage, a test that would push her beyond every limit she thought she had. The air in the dojo shifted, charged with anticipation.
"You've shown strength in spirit," he said, his voice low and steady, "but let's see how strong you are in body. Prepare yourself, Fiona."
Fear and excitement twisted within her. She had braced for the rigors of training, but the thought of facing him—a warrior in his own right—sent a thrill of anxiety coursing through her veins. She had fought against the darkness that threatened her daughter, but now she would face a different kind of darkness within herself, one that could only be unveiled through the clash of their bodies and wills.
As she squared her shoulders, readying herself for the challenge, a single thought resonated in her mind: This was not just about physical strength; it was about discovering the depths of her resilience and the true essence of her warrior spirit.
At that moment, Fiona understood that this confrontation was not merely another training exercise; it was a battle for her identity—a step toward embracing the warrior she wanted, and she needed to become.