Key Story (1) - Chapter 10
The early morning sun is just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden light over the city streets. Fayne walks to school, her breath visible in the cool air as she pulls her jacket tighter around herself. The streets are quiet, with only a few early commuters passing by, and the atmosphere feels peaceful, but Fayne's thoughts are anything but.
She glances down at her phone out of habit, unlocking the screen as she walks. Her footsteps slow when she notices a new message from Milo, sent late last night. Her brows furrow as she opens it, and a small smile tugs at her lips despite the chill in the air.
Milo:
Hey, just wanted to check in. Hope things are going okay.
And if you're worried about Raxian, don't stress too much. He's stubborn, but I think he's starting to get it.
Fayne reads the message over a couple of times, feeling a warmth spread in her chest. She knows Milo isn't one to reach out without a reason—he's always been more reserved, keeping his concerns to himself. The fact that he's reaching out now, even if it's just a simple message, means a lot to her.
As she walks, her thoughts drift to her recent conversations with Raxian and Raze. It's been difficult, navigating this uncertain path, but there's a small sense of hope now—like maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time. Milo's words linger in her mind: He's starting to get it.
I hope you're right, Milo, she thinks, slipping her phone back into her pocket. She isn't ready to fully trust Raxian again, but maybe she can take one more small step forward, for the sake of their history and the hope that he might be changing after all.
Before she reaches the school gates, Fayne pulls out her phone again, typing out a quick response:
Fayne:
Thanks, Milo. I'm trying to keep an open mind. Just hope it's worth it in the end.
She hesitates for a moment, then adds:
Fayne:
And thanks for checking in. It means a lot.
She hits send and takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the message settle. It's a small exchange, but it gives her a bit of reassurance as she starts her day.
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The school is buzzing with energy, more lively than usual. Fayne navigates the crowded hallways, weaving through groups of students who are gathered in animated conversations. As she moves past them, snippets of their chatter reach her ears, and she catches the same words over and over: "League tournament," "local qualifier," "grand prize." It's all anyone seems to be talking about today.
Her curiosity piqued, Fayne finds herself wondering how the rumor started and whether there's any truth to it. If it's real, there's no way Raxian hasn't heard about it, she thinks, her gaze drifting down the hallway toward the classroom. Knowing Raxian's competitive nature, she's almost certain the news would grab his attention, even with everything that's been going on between them.
She sighs, trying to push the thought away, but as she approaches the classroom door, she can't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. Maybe he's already planning his next move.
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Fayne steps into the classroom, a little later than usual. The chatter from the hallway follows her in, and she quickly spots Raxian across the room. His friend group is gathered around his desk, talking animatedly about the rumored tournament. Fayne pauses in the doorway for a moment, observing the scene.
Raxian is leaning back in his seat, listening to his friends with a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. He's not dominating the conversation like he might have before, letting others take the spotlight for a change. There's a relaxed air about him that catches Fayne off guard. She notices the small changes—the way his hair isn't perfectly swept to the side, his tie hanging a little looser than usual. It's subtle, but it's there. He seems… different, like some of the pressure he used to carry has lifted.
He's starting to act more like his old self, Fayne thinks, but there's a difference this time. The edge that had made him seem constantly on guard is gone, replaced with something that almost looks like acceptance. He's not trying so hard to impress everyone anymore.
Fayne catches his eye for a brief moment as she crosses the room, but she quickly looks away, not wanting to draw too much attention. She slips into her usual seat near the window, trying to refocus on her own thoughts, but the change in Raxian lingers in the back of her mind.
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Just as Fayne settles in, her friends Leah and Mira enter the classroom, spotting her right away. They hurry over with wide smiles, eager to catch up. Leah, always the more talkative of the two, wastes no time in launching into a recap of the latest school gossip.
"Did you hear about the tournament, Fayne?" Leah asks, her voice barely containing her excitement as she leans in closer. "Everyone's talking about it! I heard the qualifiers are happening soon, and there's a huge prize pool."
Mira nods enthusiastically, adding, "Yeah, apparently some of the top players in the city are planning to compete. Do you think Raxian will go for it? He's always talking about his rank, so this seems right up his alley."
Fayne forces a small smile, shrugging as she tries to downplay her curiosity. "Maybe. I haven't really talked to him about it." But even as she says the words, her mind drifts back to Raxian's relaxed demeanor earlier. Would he even care about the tournament now? she wonders. Or is he trying to focus on something else?
As Leah and Mira continue to chat, Fayne finds herself only half-listening, her mind pulled in two directions—one part engaged in the lively conversation with her friends, and the other still trying to make sense of Raxian's subtle shift. She watches the morning light spill through the window, lost in thought, until Leah's voice finally pulls her back.
"Hey, earth to Fayne!" Leah teases, waving a hand in front of her face. "You seem distracted. What's up?"
Fayne shakes her head, forcing herself to refocus. "Nothing, just… thinking about a lot of stuff, I guess." She offers a sheepish smile, and Leah gives her a knowing look, but thankfully, she doesn't press further.
For now, Fayne decides to let the questions simmer, knowing that sooner or later, she'll find the answers she's looking for—whether it's through Raxian, the tournament, or the new paths she's starting to explore herself.
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The sun streams through the large classroom windows, casting warm patches of light onto the desks. Sable sits near the back, her high ponytail catching the light as she leans over her notebook, pretending to take notes. Around her, students are chatting excitedly, the rumors of the upcoming League tournament buzzing through the room like static.
She glances up, catching snippets of conversation from the students nearby. "...I heard the prize pool is huge..." "...local qualifiers start next month..." "...pro players might show up!" The energy is palpable, and even though Sable isn't one to engage in gossip, she can't help but pay attention.
This could be my chance, she thinks, tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook. She knows the stakes of a local tournament. The prize money could make a real difference—help cover some of her dad's expenses, take some of the weight off his shoulders. The thought of winning, of contributing something tangible, sends a flicker of determination through her.
It's not just about the money, she reminds herself, glancing out the window at the clear sky. It's about showing that I'm good enough to go pro, that all those hours of practice weren't for nothing. The tournament could be a stepping stone—a way to prove to herself and to the local scene that she's more than just a rumor or a talented solo player.
But there's a catch. The tournament isn't something she can enter alone. She needs a team. And not just any team, she thinks, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling for a moment. A team that understands what it takes, that's willing to put in the work. She's learned enough to know that individual skill can only take her so far. To win, she needs people she can trust on the Rift—players who won't just play for themselves but for each other.
It's not about finding perfect players or those who won't make mistakes. It's about finding people who share her passion, who are willing to push through the rough patches together. The thought makes her stomach twist with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. Who do I know that could fit that?
For a moment, her thoughts drift to Raxian, the confident but rough-around-the-edges player she's encountered both online and in real life. He's got the drive, she muses, remembering their encounters and his determination to improve. But can he work as a team? Can I? It's a question she's still trying to answer, but she knows it's worth considering.
She shakes her head, pushing the thought away. It's too soon to think about that. They've barely started to understand each other, and she's not even sure if he'd want to join forces. Still, the idea lingers, planting a small seed of possibility in the back of her mind. Maybe it's time I started looking for allies, not just rivals.
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The classroom is filled with chatter, the excitement of the rumored tournament spreading through the hallways like wildfire. Raxian sits at his desk, slumped slightly, his eyes distant as he listens to the conversations around him. He's not participating, but it's impossible to ignore the buzz in the air.
They're all talking about it, he thinks, glancing out the window as if that could somehow drown out the noise. A local tournament, a chance to prove yourself. It should excite him—he used to jump at the chance to show off his skills, to prove that he was better than the rest. But now, all he feels is a dull ache in his chest, a sense of uncertainty that refuses to go away.
He runs a hand through his hair, thinking about his recent games with AkarisLite. I finally made it to Diamond 4, he tells himself, but even in his mind, the words ring hollow. He remembers the feeling of barely keeping up with AkarisLite's moves, how he'd relied on teamwork rather than outplaying them directly. It had been a win, sure, but not the kind of decisive, skill-driven victory he used to crave.
They're ahead of me, he admits to himself, clenching his fists under the desk. Way ahead. It's a bitter realization, one that grates against the competitive side of him that still yearns to be the best. Was it too soon to even think about entering a tournament like this? The thought gnaws at him, a new kind of self-doubt creeping in—one that's not just about proving himself, but about whether he's ready to take on a challenge that might be bigger than him.
His gaze flicks to the other students in the room, laughing and chatting casually. This isn't just some solo queue grind, he thinks, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle in his gut. Pro players might show up. And if I mess up... if I'm not ready... I'll make a fool of myself in front of everyone.
But then, he shakes his head, trying to dispel the doubts. No, I can't think like that, he tells himself, a flicker of stubborn determination sparking inside him. If I want to get better, I have to push myself, right? The words feel like a reminder, something he's heard before—echoing back to his conversations with Sable, and the way AkarisLite had pushed him to think beyond his own ego.
The memory of those moments gives him a small surge of confidence. Yeah, I've grown. I've changed. I can take on something like this. But even as he thinks it, the doubts linger, like shadows creeping at the edge of his mind.
And then there's the other issue—one that feels even more daunting. I don't have a team. He frowns, leaning back in his chair as he recalls the words he typed out in frustration last night, venting in a League Discord chat. It's hard to find people who want the same thing as you—who actually want to put in the time and effort. The words had felt raw, real, like he was admitting something he hadn't fully come to terms with before.
Sure, Raze would be up for it, he muses, thinking of his friend's easygoing attitude. He's always down to play, and I know he'd have my back. The thought is comforting—Raze's support is one of the few constants he can rely on. But that's just one role, the ADC. What about the rest?
Raxian's thoughts drift to the other players he knows—most of them casual, more interested in having fun than in climbing or competing seriously. I need people who are willing to grind, who aren't going to back down when things get tough. He scowls, the frustration bubbling back up. Where the hell am I supposed to find that?
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He runs a hand over his face, feeling the weight of the uncertainty pressing down on him again. Maybe I'm not as ready as I thought, he admits to himself, the words bitter on his tongue. But if I don't try, I'll never know. It's a thought that feels like a challenge, one he's not sure he's ready to take on—but one that he can't ignore either.
Raxian glances back toward the back of the classroom, catching a glimpse of Fayne sitting with her friends. For a moment, he wonders if she's heard about the tournament too, and if she's thinking the same things he is. Maybe she's not as invested in all this as I am, he thinks, but he can't help but wonder how she fits into everything that's happening.
What if she could be part of this too?
He dismisses the thought almost as soon as it crosses his mind, telling himself it's too far-fetched. But the seed has already been planted, and as he shifts in his seat, he feels the faint stirrings of something new—an idea that hasn't quite taken shape yet, but that lingers in the back of his mind, waiting to be explored.
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Raze is sitting in his art classroom, surrounded by the familiar chaos of sketches, half-finished sculptures, and jars of paint splattered with every color imaginable. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, catching flecks of dust in the air and bathing the room in a warm, golden light. Unlike his usual laid-back, almost rebellious look, today Raze has leaned into his art-student side. His clothes are more relaxed, with a certain creative flair—his jeans are paint-splattered, frayed at the hems, and his shirt is an oversized button-down in a faded pastel, sleeves rolled up to reveal his ink-stained wrists.
His normally messy, streaked hair is pushed back with a fabric headband, a habit he's picked up to keep it out of his face while working. The headband's a deep, inky blue—one of his favorite colors to use in his paintings, and it matches the dark streaks in his hair. A silver chain peeks out from under his shirt, catching the light whenever he moves, adding a touch of his usual edgy style to the otherwise artsy look. Even his backpack has a unique twist—covered in pins, patches, and a few doodles he's drawn on the straps during moments of boredom.
Raze's classmates are used to his style—part art kid, part street-smart—but today he feels a little more focused, a little more grounded. As he sits at his desk, adding a few final details to a charcoal sketch, he can't stop thinking about the tournament. A chance to compete, to prove myself, he muses, feeling a spark of excitement he hasn't felt in a while.
It's been a long time since he's felt genuinely motivated by something like this. League has always been a way to connect with Raxian, to keep a foot in the door of a competitive world he's never fully immersed himself in. But the thought of entering a real tournament, of taking things seriously for once, has his heart racing in a way he can't ignore. Maybe it's time to actually push for something.
He leans back, stretching his arms over his head as he glances at the clock. Lunch break, he thinks, his stomach growling in agreement. Normally, he might have skipped out on class entirely, but today he actually stuck around, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. I'll just tell the teacher I'm grabbing lunch off-campus.
Raze heads to a fast-food joint nearby, a popular spot for students looking for a quick bite between classes. The place is bustling with noise—students laughing, cash registers ringing, and the faint hum of pop music playing over the speakers. Raze leans against the counter, waiting for his order, his artsy appearance standing out a bit among the more casually dressed crowd.
As he glances around, Raze pulls out his phone, flipping through his messages absentmindedly. His thoughts drift back to the tournament rumors and the potential it holds—not just for himself, but for Raxian too. He knows his friend well enough to understand that Raxian is probably torn about it, questioning whether he's ready. But he's got it in him, Raze thinks, a small smirk playing at his lips. He just needs a little push.
Without hesitating, Raze taps out a quick message to Raxian:
Raze:
Yo, you hear about that tournament?
Just imagine you and me wrecking kids in a local. You in?
He hits send, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The thought of competing alongside Raxian makes him feel oddly energized, like he's tapping into a part of himself he's kept on the backburner for too long. It's not just about winning, he tells himself, glancing at the bustling scene around him. It's about seeing if we're good enough to take on something bigger.
His order number is finally called, and he steps up to grab his tray, feeling a sense of determination settle into his chest. If I can get Raxian to believe in himself again, maybe we've got a shot. He heads to a table with his friends, already planning out how he might convince Raxian to take the plunge.
As he digs into his food, Raze's mind is already racing with possibilities—strategies, potential teammates, and the thrill of facing real competition. He's not usually the one to make the first move, but for this, he's willing to step up. And who knows, he thinks with a grin, taking a sip of his drink, maybe we'll surprise everyone—even ourselves.
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Milo's apartment is quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of his computer as he scrolls through League forums and Discord servers. The glow of his monitors cuts through the dim light in the room, casting long shadows over the cluttered desk piled with notes and empty coffee cups. The sun is high outside, filtering through the half-drawn blinds, but it feels distant, a world away from Milo's dim, familiar space.
He leans back in his chair, his hazel eyes darting over the countless messages in the Discord server he frequents. The buzz about the local tournament is everywhere—people sharing speculation, forming teams, and discussing strategies. It's the kind of excitement he used to feel, back when competing was still something he dreamed about. Now, he just scrolls past it, his thoughts quieter, more subdued.
Everyone's all worked up about this tournament, he muses, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. It's always the same hype whenever these things come around. He pauses on a post discussing the potential prize money, his eyes lingering on the numbers. Decent pool, he thinks, enough to attract some serious players.
His gaze flickers back to the chat, where dozens of users are excitedly talking about potential team lineups. And here I am, just sitting on the sidelines, he thinks, the thought carrying a hint of bitterness he doesn't like to admit. It's easier that way, right?
Milo shifts in his chair, glancing around his small apartment. It's become his whole world—comfortable, predictable, isolated. Maybe I'm not cut out for all that anymore, he tells himself, thinking about the competitive grind he left behind. Coaching, solo queue, the occasional game with Fayne—those have become his routine. And he's fine with that. Mostly.
But then his mind drifts back to Fayne's recent concerns about Raxian. She mentioned he's been pushing himself hard, Milo recalls, frowning slightly. Probably trying to prove himself again. He knows Raxian well enough to recognize that drive—it's the same one that's kept him grinding for years, through wins and losses alike.
As Milo's eyes flit over more posts about the tournament, a thought begins to form—quiet at first, but persistent. If Raxian's serious about this... maybe he'll need more than just a boost of confidence. He thinks of Fayne too, and the progress she's made, even if she doesn't quite see it herself. She's got potential, even if she's not there yet.
For a moment, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to join them—not necessarily as a player, but as a guide, someone to keep them focused when the pressure mounts. I could keep them from making the same mistakes I did. It's a strange thought, but it sits in the back of his mind, refusing to fade away.
Milo taps his fingers against the desk, thinking about how Fayne had been working hard lately, even while dealing with Raxian's ups and downs. He pulls up his direct messages and types out a quick note, knowing she's probably still in class:
Milo:
Hey, you hear about this tournament everyone's talking about?
Got any thoughts?
He sends the message, knowing she'll probably see it during a break or after school. It's not urgent, but the thought of involving Fayne in this makes it feel more real. Maybe it's time to see where this could go, he thinks, leaning back in his chair as the familiar hum of his computer fills the quiet room again.
Milo sets his phone down, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. If Raxian and Fayne want to take this seriously, maybe I can help them keep it together. He knows it's a risk—stepping out of the safety of his routine—but the thought of being part of something bigger, even from the sidelines, gives him a small sense of purpose.
For now, he'll wait to hear what Fayne thinks. Whatever happens, the tournament is about to change things, and Milo knows he won't be able to stay on the sidelines forever.
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Raxian sat at his desk, the glow of the computer screen casting shadows across his face. AkarisLite's message lingered in his mind—So, thinking about the tournament?—the words felt like a challenge and an invitation at the same time. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, trying to calm the tangle of thoughts in his head.
Can I really do this? he wondered, thinking back to his climb through the ranks and the hard-fought games that had brought him to Diamond. He still remembered how it felt to win against AkarisLite, but he also remembered how much he had to rely on his teammates to make it happen. The idea of competing on a bigger stage, against better players, made his chest tighten with a mix of excitement and fear.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that this was his chance to prove himself—not just to others, but to himself. He glanced at the chat window on his screen, where Raze's message from earlier still glowed. You and me wrecking kids in a local. Raze's words had been so confident, so sure that they could make this work.
Maybe he's right, Raxian thought, taking a deep breath. He knew that he couldn't compete alone, and that meant swallowing his pride and reaching out to someone he wasn't sure would even want to hear from him.
He opened the chat with Fayne, his fingers hesitating over the keyboard before he finally started typing. He kept it short, trying not to overthink it:
Raxian:
Hey, Fayne. Heard about the tournament? I'm thinking about giving it a shot, but... I could use some help. You in?
He hit send before he could second-guess himself, leaning back and exhaling slowly. It felt like a small but significant step forward, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to feel a flicker of excitement. Whatever happened next, at least he was trying.
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Fayne leaned against the window frame in her room, her phone buzzing softly in her pocket. She pulled it out, expecting a message from Leah or Mira, but her eyebrows raised when she saw Raxian's name instead. She opened the message, reading it twice, the weight of his words sinking in.
Raxian:
Hey, Fayne. Heard about the tournament? I'm thinking about giving it a shot, but... I could use some help. You in?
A few weeks ago, she wouldn't have believed he'd even ask her for something like this. But the Raxian she'd been seeing recently, the one who seemed to be trying, made her think twice. She thought back to how he'd apologized, to the awkward but earnest conversations they'd had since then. Maybe he's serious about changing, she thought, though doubt still lingered at the edges of her mind.
She glanced out the window, watching the last light of the afternoon fade into twilight. Raxian wasn't perfect—far from it—but he was reaching out, trying to bridge the gap between them. And maybe this tournament could be a chance for both of them to find something they'd lost.
With a small, hopeful smile, she typed back:
Fayne:
Yeah, I've heard about it. I'm in. Let's see if we can make this work.
She hit send, the words carrying a weight that she hadn't realized she'd been holding onto. It wasn't a full return to the way things used to be, but it was a start—a chance to see where they could go from here.
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Night draped itself over the city, turning the bustling streets into a wash of neon and shadows. Raze leaned back in his seat at the cinema's food court, a few movie tickets tucked into his pocket. He and his friends had just finished watching the latest blockbuster, their voices buzzing with excitement as they debated their favorite scenes. He joined in, a wide grin stretching across his face as he sipped his soda, but his mind kept drifting back to his phone.
Every few minutes, he pulled it out, glancing at the screen for updates. The message finally came through—a ping from Raxian, and his grin only widened as he read it. She's in.
He tucked his phone back into his pocket, leaning forward with renewed energy. "Yo, you guys better watch out," he said, his tone cocky but playful, as he picked up the conversation again. "Got a feeling we're about to wreck some people in this tourney. Time to dust off my best picks."
One of his friends rolled their eyes, nudging him playfully. "Yeah, yeah, we get it, Mr. Pro Gamer. Just make sure you don't choke under pressure," they teased, but Raze just shrugged it off, his mind already racing ahead.
This is gonna be fun, he thought, popping a fry into his mouth as the anticipation bubbled in his chest. Even as the conversation shifted back to the movie, Raze found himself more excited for what was to come—both on and off the Rift.
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Across town, the quiet hum of computers filled Sable's room, her monitors casting blue shadows over the walls. She shut down her game client, stretching her arms above her head as the screen faded to black. A small smirk tugged at her lips as she thought back to her conversation with Raxian earlier, the way he seemed to stumble over AkarisLite's cryptic messages.
Sable leaned back in her chair, a hint of mischief sparking in her green eyes. Let's see if you're ready, TimeWarped, she thought, her smirk deepening. She had always enjoyed games, but this one was different—more personal, more layered. It wasn't just about climbing the ranks; it was about seeing how far she could push him.
With a soft sigh, she rose from her chair and crossed the room to her window. The city spread out before her, alive with flickering lights and distant sounds. She let herself get lost in the view for a moment, feeling the cool air slip through the open window and brush against her skin. He'll figure it out eventually, she mused, her expression softening as she watched the world outside, but until then, it's fun watching him try.
She closed the window gently, leaving the city to its glow as she turned off the last light in her room.
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In a quieter part of town, the glow from Milo's monitors was the only source of light in his small apartment. He scrolled through the tournament discussions, the familiar buzz of excitement coming through in the chat channels. His hazel eyes skimmed over the messages, but his mind was elsewhere.
He stopped scrolling when he came across a post about the tournament's prize pool, his hand lingering over the mouse. It was the kind of thing that used to light a fire in him, but now, it just brought a dull ache of nostalgia. He let out a breath, leaning back in his chair as he thought about the conversation he'd had with Fayne earlier. Her words played back in his mind—how she'd seemed hopeful, even uncertain, about the idea of teaming up with Raxian.
Maybe they'll surprise me, he thought, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The idea of getting involved again, of helping them navigate the chaos of the tournament, had crossed his mind more than once. He wasn't sure if he was ready to commit, but the thought lingered all the same.
Milo's gaze drifted to the cluttered desk in front of him. He shook his head, letting out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. Guess we'll see, he muttered to himself, before turning back to the screen, feeling the tiniest flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time—hope.
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Raxian shut down his computer, the screen fading to black and leaving the room in near darkness. The faint glow from the city lights filtered through his window, casting long, jagged shadows across the walls. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the tension in his shoulders start to ease, though his mind was still racing with thoughts of the tournament and everything that lay ahead.
He moved to his bed, dropping onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. The familiar ache of uncertainty tugged at him, but this time, it felt different—less like a burden and more like a spark that wouldn't quite go out. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind replaying Fayne's message over and over, her words echoing in the quiet of the room.
I'm in. Let's see if we can make this work.
He couldn't help but smile at the memory, a small, almost reluctant grin that he hadn't worn in a long time. He thought back to AkarisLite, to the way they'd pushed him and challenged him, and to Sable, whose steady presence lingered at the edges of his mind, like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
Maybe I'm not as alone in this as I thought, he mused, a surprising warmth spreading through his chest.
He pulled the blanket over himself, letting the weight settle around his shoulders. His mind drifted to the tournament, to the pressure and the stakes, but instead of the usual knot of anxiety, there was a different kind of weight—one that felt solid, grounding him.
No regrets, he thought, clenching his fist under the blanket, the promise echoing in his mind like a vow. It was a small phrase, but he held onto it like a lifeline, repeating it over and over until the words felt like they belonged to him.
Raxian closed his eyes, his breathing slowing as he allowed himself to settle into the darkness. For the first time in a long while, the doubt wasn't the last thing on his mind before sleep took over. It was the thought of the challenge, of the climb, of the unknown future that stretched out before him.
This is my chance, he thought, the words slipping into the quiet spaces of his mind as sleep finally began to pull him under. And I'm going to face it head-on.
The city outside continued its hum, a distant heartbeat in the night, but Raxian's world had narrowed to the feeling of his own breath, steady and calm. He drifted off with a faint smile still playing at his lips, a sense of determination settling deep in his chest—one that wouldn't fade with the morning light.