Key Story (2) - Chapter 19
The room was dark, lit only by the muted glow of a low-hanging light fixture, casting long shadows that seemed to crawl along the walls. The quiet tick of a clock in the corner was the only sound breaking the heavy silence, marking the passing seconds as though counting down to something inevitable. The fog outside the window pressed up against the glass, swirling in the dim light, making the world outside look almost non-existent, swallowed by the haze.
The door to the room clicked softly as it opened, and Zenith stepped inside.
Every motion he made was deliberate, calculated, as if the very act of walking was part of a larger design. He moved with the kind of quiet authority that demanded attention without ever raising his voice. The black turtleneck he wore clung to his form, highlighting his tall, lean frame, while his dark overcoat hung perfectly, its sharp edges moving just slightly with his every step. His gaze was forward, unwavering, eyes sharp as they scanned the room, taking in every detail with swift precision.
He did not rush. Zenith never rushed. Time bent to his will, and those who waited on him—whether allies or enemies—would be granted their moment when he deemed it so.
He reached the center of the room, his hands briefly coming together as he adjusted his cufflinks, polished silver that glinted in the light. A quiet, subtle gesture of control. Nothing about him was out of place. Everything was perfectly curated to project the image he needed—the mastermind who never lost sight of the bigger picture.
Behind him, the figure of Lynx slipped in, lingering by the doorway like a shadow. His posture was less composed, almost restless. His hood was drawn up, casting half of his face in darkness, the rest illuminated by the faint light that revealed his sharp jawline and the predatory smirk that seemed ever-present. But even Lynx, with all his brazen confidence, hesitated in the presence of Zenith.
Zenith didn't acknowledge him at first. Instead, he walked over to the large window that dominated one side of the room. His hands clasped behind his back, he stared out at the fog-covered landscape, the world beyond hidden, much like his own intentions.
Without turning, his voice broke the silence.
"They're starting to feel the pressure." His tone was quiet, but there was an undercurrent of satisfaction, as if the unfolding chaos was nothing more than a well-played move in his game. "Milo, Fayne, Raxian… they think they're close. They think they can stop what's coming."
Lynx shifted slightly behind him, his smirk faltering for just a moment. "I could have finished them by now," he muttered, though there was a hint of caution in his voice.
Zenith didn't respond immediately. He stood perfectly still, his reflection merging with the fog on the other side of the glass. When he finally spoke, it was with the weight of someone who was already ten steps ahead.
"They're useful, Lynx." His words were calm, measured. "Let them believe they are making progress. It will make the fall all the more satisfying."
Lynx's smirk returned, but this time it was laced with something darker—understanding, perhaps even admiration. "You've always been a patient man," Lynx remarked, though there was an edge to his tone, as if testing the boundaries.
Zenith's gaze remained fixed on the swirling fog outside. He didn't need to respond to the unspoken challenge. Instead, he turned, his movements smooth and deliberate, until his eyes locked onto Lynx. The moment stretched, the air between them heavy with the silent power dynamic.
"There is no room for impatience," Zenith said, his voice like silk over steel. "The pieces are where they need to be. We are not reacting. We are shaping the future."
Lynx tilted his head, his grin widening, though his eyes flickered with something close to reverence. "So, what's next?"
Zenith stepped away from the window, each stride purposeful as he approached the center of the room once again. He lifted his wrist slightly, glancing at the sleek silver watch adorning it. The time was immaterial, but the gesture was significant—his time, his control.
"The stream. Let Nyx proceed," Zenith said, his tone now firm, brokering no argument. "It will serve its purpose, and Milo will be distracted. As for the rest—"
He paused, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly, the weight of his thoughts evident in the silence that followed. "The next phase begins soon. Everything will fall into place. They'll realize too late that they were always playing my game."
He began to walk again, this time circling the room slowly, his voice low but commanding as he continued. "The tournament was just the beginning. Their personal vendettas, their emotional investments… those are weaknesses. And weaknesses, Lynx, are always exploited."
Lynx's smirk faded as he nodded, his usual bravado quieted in the presence of the man who had orchestrated everything. Even he, reckless and chaotic, knew that Zenith was not someone to cross.
Zenith stopped just a few feet from Lynx, his eyes sharp as they bore into him. "You've done well so far," Zenith allowed, though there was a warning beneath the compliment. "But do not let your impatience undo what we've built."
Lynx nodded, and for a moment, his expression was serious, his usual cockiness tempered. "I won't."
Zenith turned once more, walking back toward the window, his hands clasped behind his back again. The fog outside still swirled, a perfect metaphor for the unseen forces he controlled.
"Good. Now go," Zenith ordered, his voice calm but final. "And remember, Lynx… we always stay two moves ahead."
Without a word, Lynx slipped back into the shadows, disappearing through the door as quietly as he had entered.
As the door clicked shut, Zenith stood alone in the room, the weight of his plans heavy in the stillness. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, breathing in the silence, the anticipation. Everything was in motion, and nothing could stop it now.
A faint smile touched his lips as he opened his eyes, his gaze returning to the fog-shrouded world beyond the glass.
"It's almost time," he whispered to himself.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the screens blinked to life, each member of Zenith's operation found themselves face to face with the shadowed virtual presence of their leader. The interface was sterile—simple black boxes, with only the dim glow of faces illuminated in each frame. It felt as though the very life had been drained from the conversation before it had even begun.
Nyx's eyes flickered briefly as her image settled onto the screen. She adjusted the mic by her cheek, her face half in shadow, as though mimicking the cold distance between them all. Lynx's box showed only the side of his face—his hands fidgeting idly with something off-screen, as though his attention was elsewhere. Solace appeared composed, unmoving, her image centered perfectly in the frame. Even across a virtual platform, her quiet presence demanded attention.
And then there was Zenith.
His screen remained black for a long moment, until finally, his image appeared. He was backlit by a dim, indistinct light, casting long shadows across his sharp features. The distance in his gaze made it clear that he wasn't really speaking to them—he was speaking through them, as though they were just tools to be directed.
"Report," Zenith's voice cut through the digital space, icy and unyielding. There was no need for greetings or pleasantries. He wasn't interested in wasting time.
Lynx's frame shifted, his head turning slightly toward the screen. "The situation with Sable—" he began, but he hesitated when Zenith's cold eyes pinned him in place.
"—has been mishandled," Zenith finished for him, his tone devoid of warmth. "You've caused unnecessary complications."
Lynx opened his mouth to retort, but his screen crackled slightly with a brief distortion—a reminder that Zenith controlled everything in this space. His presence was so commanding that even through a screen, Lynx's usual bravado seemed to falter.
The others stayed silent, watching. Nyx's fingers twitched near her keyboard, and Solace remained perfectly still, her expression unreadable.
"Your impulsiveness is becoming an obstacle," Zenith continued, his gaze never wavering. "From now on, the Sable situation is not your responsibility."
Lynx's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond. He knew better than to argue. Zenith's calm, quiet voice held more authority than any raised voice ever could.
Zenith's attention shifted without pause. "Nyx," he said, as though the previous conversation had never occurred. "Your stream tomorrow—are we still on schedule?"
Nyx cleared her throat softly, adjusting her posture. "Yes. Everything is prepped. Milo is focused on it, just as planned."
Zenith's head tilted slightly, his gaze narrowing. "Good. But remember, even distractions must be handled with precision. Don't lose sight of the larger picture. You may be the star of your little show, but the true game is far bigger."
Nyx gave a small nod, her normally poised demeanor giving way to a slight nervousness. Even though she was used to the spotlight, being under Zenith's control was something else entirely.
Solace sat quietly through it all, observing. She had learned early on that it was often better to speak only when spoken to, and even then, to choose her words carefully.
"Solace," Zenith's voice turned to her, finally. "Your silence is appreciated. Continue as you have been. Watch. Listen. Report only when necessary."
"I will," Solace replied, her voice calm and measured.
The tension in the room was palpable, even across the virtual connection. Zenith didn't need to raise his voice, nor did he need to be in the same physical space to exert his control. They were all in their own corners of the world, but they were tethered to him by a fine thread—one that he could cut at any moment.
Zenith leaned back slightly, his sharp features softening as he delivered his final words. "Tomorrow, we initiate the next phase. This stream is only the beginning. You each have a role to play, and I expect nothing short of perfection. Failures will not be tolerated."
The silence that followed his words was deafening. Each of them knew what that meant. Zenith wasn't one for second chances.
Without another word, his screen blinked off, leaving the rest to sit in the darkness of their own thoughts. The meeting was over, but the tension lingered like a weight around their necks.
Lynx disconnected immediately, no doubt cursing under his breath. Nyx hesitated for a moment before following suit, her fingers brushing the keys one last time. Solace was the last to leave, her expression unreadable as she clicked out of the call.
And just like that, the meeting ended—not with a bang, but with a cold, suffocating silence.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Lynx disconnected from the virtual meeting, his fingers tightened around the edge of his desk, knuckles white. The soft hum of the screen fading out did nothing to ease the tension in his chest. Zenith's words echoed in his mind, each one laced with control, precision—and dismissal.
Mishandled. Impulsiveness.
The words gnawed at him like a slow-burning fire, stoking the fury simmering just beneath his surface. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to unclench his jaw as he stared at the blank monitor. The usual smirk he wore, the one that masked his anger with charm, was gone. In the privacy of his room, Lynx didn't bother hiding the storm brewing inside him.
Zenith had the audacity to brush him aside. To say the Sable situation was no longer his responsibility?
The hell it wasn't.
Lynx leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the small window on the far side of the room, where rain softly tapped against the glass. His reflection stared back at him, distorted by the streaks of water. The smirk he had worn during the call now felt hollow, like a mask that had slipped.
You've done well so far, but do not let your impatience undo what we've built. Zenith's words played over in his mind again, each one a needle under his skin. Lynx's fingers twitched, itching to lash out, to reclaim control in a situation that was rapidly slipping away from him.
Zenith thought he was in control—always in control. And he was, to an extent. Lynx couldn't deny the brilliance of his planning, the way he bent people to his will without raising his voice, how he always seemed to be two steps ahead.
But even Zenith couldn't see everything.
Lynx's smirk slowly crept back onto his face, though now it was laced with something darker. Zenith underestimated him. That was his first mistake.
Leaning forward, Lynx pulled out his phone and stared at the unread messages from Nyx, Milo, and the others. Pieces on a chessboard. That's how Zenith saw them all—pawns to move as he saw fit. But Lynx was no pawn. Not anymore.
I could have finished them by now, he had told Zenith earlier, and it wasn't just arrogance. He could have. He'd been watching—waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to prove that his way was faster, more decisive. But Zenith had stopped him, claiming patience as a virtue, claiming the game wasn't ready to end yet.
But Lynx wasn't interested in the long game. He was tired of waiting.
Let them believe they are making progress. It will make the fall all the more satisfying, Zenith had said, and Lynx had played along, nodding in agreement. But inside? Inside, he was seething.
Lynx's fingers tapped idly on the armrest of his chair, the rhythmic sound filling the quiet room. He had to admit—there was a thrill to all this. The cat-and-mouse chase with Milo and the others had been fun, exhilarating even. Watching them scramble, thinking they were making progress while all the while, he was the one pulling the strings? That had been satisfying.
But now? Now, Zenith was cutting him out. Slowly, subtly, like it was nothing. And that? That didn't sit right with him.
The thought of being sidelined was intolerable. His entire life, he had thrived in chaos, in bending the rules, in making his own path. And now Zenith wanted to clip his wings, all for the sake of some larger game? It made Lynx's blood boil.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to settle. Zenith wasn't a fool. He was meticulous. If Lynx pushed too far, too fast, Zenith would know. He always knew. And yet, Lynx couldn't just sit back and play the obedient soldier either.
No, I have my own plan.
The smirk widened on his face. Zenith thought he had all the pieces in place. He thought everyone was falling in line. But even the best-laid plans had cracks. And Lynx? Lynx was always good at finding cracks.
Maybe the Sable situation wasn't his responsibility anymore. Maybe Milo was no longer his primary target. But that didn't mean Lynx was out of the game. Far from it.
Slowly, he picked up his phone and swiped through the messages. He knew which strings to pull. He knew which pieces to move, without Zenith even realizing what was happening.
"Two moves ahead?" Lynx muttered to himself, his voice dripping with amusement. He glanced back at his reflection in the rain-streaked window, the smirk etched on his face now fully returned.
Maybe it's time I start playing my own game.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In his own space, Zenith sat back in his chair, the ambient glow of multiple screens reflecting off his sharp, composed features. The conversation with Lynx played back in his mind, each word calculated, each response crafted with precision.
Lynx had been irritated—expected. The man was impulsive, reckless, and it was what made him useful in the right circumstances. But Zenith knew how to harness that energy, how to steer it just enough to keep Lynx in line.
A slow, cold smile crept across Zenith's lips. Lynx thought he was hiding something. Thought he could pull the strings without Zenith knowing. But Zenith had been watching Lynx for far longer than the boy realized.
"Let him believe he has freedom," Zenith muttered under his breath, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. "Let him think he's pulling the strings."
He leaned forward, adjusting one of the screens in front of him. Data streamed across the monitor—communications, interactions, locations. Everything was connected. Everything was monitored. Lynx wasn't the only one who knew how to exploit weaknesses.
In the end, they were all still playing his game.
And Zenith? He had already planned for every possible outcome.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The weather was calm but not entirely clear, a thick layer of clouds hanging in the sky, muting the brightness of the late afternoon. Sable had been sitting in her room when the impulse hit her—an idea that both surprised and unnerved her. She hesitated for a moment, her finger hovering over her phone's screen, before finally typing out a message to Raxian:
"Do you want to go for a walk?"
The moment she hit send, her heart raced, and she almost regretted it. But the truth was, she trusted him, and she wanted to test the waters. She didn't know if she was ready to face the world on her own yet, but with Raxian by her side, it felt possible—manageable, even.
Raxian had been sprawled out on his bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone when her message popped up. He blinked at it, sitting up almost immediately, unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. Sable? Initiating something? It had been months since the incident, and while they had spent time together, she hadn't once taken the lead in reaching out. He felt a strange mix of excitement and cautious optimism bubble up inside him. Without thinking twice, he texted back:
"I'll meet you in 15."
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They walked side by side, their steps quiet, as if testing the ground beneath them. Sable's hand rested loosely in Raxian's, her grip occasionally tightening, though she didn't say much. Raxian glanced at her now and then, keeping a watchful eye on her expression. She seemed okay—more than okay, really. He felt a small spark of hope grow with every step.
The sun was hidden behind clouds, casting the world in a cool, muted light, but it wasn't unpleasant. The air was fresh, and for the first time in a while, Sable wasn't overwhelmed by the fear that had kept her inside for so long. Her steps were careful at first, but as they wandered aimlessly through the neighborhood, something inside her started to unwind.
When Raxian noticed her relaxing, the tension in his shoulders eased. He was cautious, though, making sure to check in with her subtly, his gaze flickering toward her face every so often. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride—she had asked him to be here. She had chosen him to help her take this step.
They eventually reached a quieter part of town, the streets less crowded. Raxian's heart skipped a beat when he realized where they were headed: the street that passed by the school. He wondered if Sable had noticed, but as her eyes flickered to the familiar building, he knew she had. Her steps slowed, her grip on his hand tightening.
Sable's gaze lingered on the school grounds, and a quiet worry gnawed at her. The thought of returning had crossed her mind more than once in the last few weeks, but she knew she wasn't ready yet. She couldn't help but think about how far behind she had fallen, not just with her classmates but with herself. She hadn't been able to focus on anything related to school, and now... she wasn't sure she ever could catch up. Would she have to retake a year? And if so, what would everyone think? She told herself she didn't care about their opinions, but the knot of anxiety in her chest told a different story.
Raxian sensed the shift almost immediately. He had been attuned to her for months now, and the way her pace had slowed and her expression grew more distant told him something was wrong.
"Sable?" he asked softly, his voice pulling her from her thoughts.
Her eyes met his, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. The weight of everything—the school, her future, the uncertainty—it was all pressing down on her, but how could she explain that? She trusted Raxian, but even now, some things were hard to put into words.
"I just…" she began, her voice quiet, "I don't know what's going to happen next." Her gaze flicked back to the school before returning to his. "With… everything. I haven't been able to keep up with school work. I'm probably going to fall behind a year."
Raxian's heart ached at the sound of her voice. He tightened his hold on her hand, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "So what if you fall behind a year? It's just school, Sable. We'll figure it out. And I'm not going anywhere. We'll get through this—together."
His words felt like an anchor, pulling her back to the present, away from the spiral of anxiety that threatened to consume her. She looked at him, really looked at him, and the sincerity in his eyes made the weight on her chest lift just a little.
They stood there for a moment, the school looming in the background, but it didn't feel as suffocating now. Raxian's presence, his steady hand, reminded her that she didn't have to face it alone. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders began to ease again.
The clouds above them started to part, just a little, allowing the sun to peek through, casting a soft, golden light on the path ahead. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind her that there was still light—still hope.
Sable squeezed Raxian's hand in return, her voice softer now but more certain. "Thank you," she said. She didn't need to say more. He understood.
And together, they continued walking, the path ahead still uncertain but no longer as daunting.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Sable and Raxian continued their walk, the world around them seemed to slow down, the quiet between them settling into something familiar and comfortable. It felt good to be outside again, especially with Raxian by her side. The weight of her past, while still present, didn't feel so unbearable in his presence.
Raxian glanced at her occasionally, making sure she was alright, but for the most part, he let her set the pace. The clouds above cast a muted light over the city, and while there was no real destination in mind, they found themselves wandering closer to familiar places—places that held memories, both good and bad.
As they approached the gaming café, Sable walking quietly beside him, Raxian couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. The soft hum of machines, the neon signs flickering above the counter, and the scent of coffee and pastries in the air—it all reminded him of the last time he was here. It had been months ago, after the fallout with Fayne.
Back then, he had been different. His mind had been clouded with frustration and confusion, and the tension between him and Fayne had eaten away at him. They had fought, like they always did, but that fight had been worse. Words they couldn't take back were exchanged, and it left Raxian with a gnawing sense of regret.
He remembered coming here with Raze, the way his friend had sat across from him in the same booth, listening to him vent. The conversation had been eerily similar to the one they just had—about how he didn't know how to fix things, how he was afraid of making it worse. Back then, it had been Fayne. Now, it was Sable.
The café had always been a refuge for him, a place where he could escape and bury himself in games or mindless chatter with Raze. But this time, it didn't feel like an escape. This time, the weight of everything with Sable pressed down on him as they entered the café. The familiar space seemed to echo with memories of conversations past, of the mistakes he had made, and of the slow, painful process of trying to put things right.
They had wandered here unintentionally, their steps bringing them to this familiar place. And now, as they crossed the threshold, Raxian couldn't help but feel like something was coming full circle.
He glanced at Sable, who was quiet but observant, her eyes scanning the room as if she was seeing it for the first time. She had never been here with him before, and the thought stirred something in him. This was one of his places—a piece of his world that she was stepping into, and it felt... significant.
Raxian's phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the quiet moment. He frowned, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. It was from Fayne.
Fayne (text): Rax, I don't want to alarm you, but something's come up. Milo's been digging around… He thinks Lynx is back.
Raxian's heart skipped a beat, the familiar weight of dread settling over him. Lynx. His mind immediately flashed back to Sable, to everything she had been through because of him. Lynx had haunted her—haunted both of them for months. The name alone was enough to bring back memories of fear and helplessness.
He glanced over at Sable, who was still looking around the café, unaware of the message he'd just received. His first instinct was to keep it from her, to shield her from the storm that was brewing once again. She had made so much progress—she had initiated this walk, had taken the step to come outside, and he didn't want to disrupt that.
But he couldn't lie to her. Not now.
"Sable?" he said softly, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the café.
She turned to him, her expression curious, but as soon as she saw the look on his face, her gaze sharpened with concern. "What is it?" she asked.
Raxian hesitated, then handed her his phone, letting her read the message for herself.
As Sable's eyes scanned the screen, her body tensed. The name—Lynx—brought a shadow over her face, the same one he had seen so many times before. But this time, there was something different. Yes, there was fear, but there was also a glimmer of something else—something stronger.
After a moment, she handed the phone back to him, her expression unreadable. "What do we do?" she asked quietly.
Raxian didn't know what to say. Part of him wanted to tell her they didn't have to do anything—that she didn't have to be involved. But another part of him knew better. This wasn't something they could run from. Lynx wasn't just a ghost from the past; he was still out there, still a threat. And Milo, Fayne, and the rest of the group were counting on him.
"We don't have to decide right now," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Let's figure out what Milo knows first. Then we'll go from there."
Sable nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before she met his eyes again. "I'm not running from this, Rax," she said, her voice steady despite the fear he knew she must be feeling. "Not this time."
Raxian's chest tightened with a mix of pride and concern. He knew how hard this was for her—to face the monster that had nearly destroyed her. But seeing her stand here, ready to confront it head-on, reminded him of just how strong she really was.
"You don't have to face this alone," he reminded her gently.
"I know," she said, and this time, when she reached for his hand, there was no hesitation.
They sat down at one of the booths, the same one where he and Raze had talked months ago. The air was thick with unspoken tension, but for the first time in a long while, Raxian felt like they were on the same page—like they were facing this together, not just as individuals fighting their own battles, but as a team.
As the sun began to set outside the café, casting long shadows across the floor, Raxian knew that whatever came next, they would face it together. Lynx might be back, but so were they. Stronger. United.
And this time, they wouldn't let him win.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The soft clatter of coffee cups and the muted hum of gaming machines filled the air as Raxian and Sable sat in their booth, both still processing Fayne's message. The weight of the moment hung between them, the name "Lynx" lingering like an unwanted shadow. Raxian was about to say something to break the tension when he noticed a familiar figure stepping through the café's entrance.
Solace.
Raxian blinked in surprise, his attention immediately drawn to her unmistakable appearance. Though it had been a year since the tournament, and their encounter had been brief, her presence was impossible to forget. The sleek black hair with green nuances, the sharp yet quiet intensity in her green eyes—she stood out, even in the most casual of settings. Her entrance wasn't loud or attention-grabbing, but something about her commanded the space in a way that made it hard to look away.
Raxian stared at Solace as she made her way further into the café, her quiet confidence as striking as ever. He wasn't the type to get easily shaken, but seeing her here—so unexpectedly—triggered something in him, a mix of caution and curiosity. He leaned in toward Sable, his voice low, almost hesitant.
"Solace," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Sable's brows furrowed at the name. She tilted her head slightly, following Raxian's gaze toward the figure who had just entered. Solace. The name didn't strike any chords at first, and for a moment, Sable felt like she was missing something.
But then Raxian added, "ThornBlossom. From Zenith."
That name hit harder.
Sable's eyes widened slightly as recognition clicked into place. ThornBlossom. Of course, she remembered the infamous Support from Zenith, known for her strategic mind and her cool, almost detached playstyle. But seeing her in person like this? It felt strange. ThornBlossom had always been just a presence on the other side of the screen—an opponent, an avatar in the game. Not someone Sable had ever expected to encounter face to face.
Her gaze lingered on Solace—no, ThornBlossom—and she felt a sharp pang of something she hadn't quite realized was there until now. A disconnect. It wasn't just the fact that she didn't know Solace personally. It was the fact that her connection to the game itself—the game that had once defined so much of her life—felt distant now. Months had passed since she'd last logged into League. What had once been her escape, her passion, had become something she couldn't even think about without feeling a weight on her chest.
Sable's fingers unconsciously flexed against her knee, a small gesture of frustration. She remembered how she used to be just as—if not more—dedicated to the game than Raxian. Every match, every strategy, every move had felt crucial back then. She and Raxian had practically lived and breathed the game together. And now… it had been months since she even touched her accounts. The idea of playing again, of immersing herself back into that world, felt foreign. It wasn't just the trauma; it was as if part of her had simply… let go.
"Sable?" Raxian's voice broke through her thoughts, his expression tense. He had noticed the flicker of something in her eyes and was watching her carefully.
Sable blinked, shaking herself from her daze. "I remember ThornBlossom," she said quietly, her voice tinged with an odd sense of detachment. "But I don't think I ever paid attention to what she looked like."
Raxian nodded, his gaze still fixed on Solace. "She's hard to forget once you see her."
Sable's mind raced, caught between the memory of ThornBlossom as a rival in the game and the reality of seeing her here, in the same café, not as a character but as a person. The contrast unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
"It's strange," she murmured, more to herself than to Raxian. "I used to be so immersed in all of this. The game, the competition... but now, it feels like another life."
Raxian turned to look at her, concern flickering in his eyes. "You've been through a lot, Sable. It makes sense."
Sable nodded, though the disconnect still gnawed at her. She had been one of the best, someone who could match Raxian move for move. And now, even thinking about League felt like a step too far. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get back to that place again—or if she even wanted to.
Meanwhile, Solace—or ThornBlossom—had settled into a booth not too far from them. Though she hadn't acknowledged their presence, Sable could sense the subtle awareness in the way Solace carried herself, like she knew they were watching but didn't find it necessary to engage. It was as if this was all part of some larger plan, one that Sable and Raxian weren't fully privy to.
Raxian leaned closer to Sable, his voice quiet but urgent. "What do you think she's doing here?"
Sable shook her head slightly. "I don't know. But it's not just a coincidence."
Their eyes met, and for the first time since they'd started walking together that day, Sable felt a new layer of tension settle between them—one that wasn't just about her recovery or their relationship. It was about the larger game they were still unknowingly a part of, the one that involved Zenith, ThornBlossom, and Lynx.
And suddenly, it felt like the quiet, peaceful walk they'd been on was coming to an end.