The silence between them lingered for a moment before El Ritch, his curiosity itching at him, finally broke it. "How did… we swap places?"
Jol grinned, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. "Curious now, are we? I'll tell you, but only if you give me something of equal value in return."
"I really don't have anything—" El Ritch began, but Jol interrupted him.
"Of course you do! You came from the south, didn't you? None of us have been there. Flex your brains, El—can I call you El? Of course I can. You've got to have something interesting to tell me."
Jol had already started using the nickname before El Ritch could respond, his words leaving no room for argument.
"Well… kind of," El Ritch began hesitantly. He recounted his story, carefully leaving out certain details.
He told Jol about being attacked by a beast capable of mimicking speech and how he was thrown out of the guild of The Stalking Murder, left to fend for himself in front of the Hornet's forest. Julian had saved him, and the Creeping Dolls took him to the witch, where he learned many things—but not in detail.
He deliberately avoided mentioning his adoptive parents, Aldric and Adeline.
"You're telling me," Jol exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement, "that you were taught by Chief Julian himself? Our tribe's greatest hunter?!"
El Ritch nodded.
"Never thought Chief was bad at teaching people…" Jol mumbled to himself, but the words were loud enough for El Ritch to hear.
"It was my fault!" El Ritch insisted. "I told you—"
"And I told you," Jol snapped back, cutting him off, "that a teacher is responsible for their student's mistakes, too...Unless…" His eyes narrowed as he looked El Ritch up and down, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Never mind. It's my turn, right?"
Jol stood, and when El Ritch moved to follow, Jol motioned for him to stay seated. "Behold, my magnificence!" he declared, his voice exaggerated and theatrical, his hands extended wide.
There was a soft pop, and something wriggled out from beneath Jol's shirt at his neck. A small hare crawled out, its ears twitching as it perched on his shoulder.
El Ritch blinked, confused, and shrugged.
"Do you not get it?" Jol said, exasperated. "It's my—oh, wait. I forgot. You're an outsider." He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand and flopped back onto the ground beside El Ritch.
"This is me," Jol said, gesturing to the hare perched on his shoulder with his thumb.
El Ritch tilted his head, confusion written across his face.
Jol sighed, rubbing his temple as if El Ritch had just asked the most obvious question in the world. "This hare is me, and I am him," he clarified.
The hare leapt down from Jol's shoulder, landing gracefully on the ground. To El Ritch's disbelief, the creature seemed to arch an eyebrow—judging him.
"Yes," Jol said, as if reading his thoughts. "That is exactly what you think he's doing. He's judging you. Bad behavior of his. My apologies."
Jol flicked one of the hare's long ears, causing the creature to hop back, holding its ear in what looked like mock indignation. The hare glared at Jol, but he paid it no mind.
"I've already contracted with a beast," Jol continued, his excitement evident, "unlike most of the students here. Because of that, I can use a good deal of his authority."
The hare pounced on Jol, batting at him with its small paws. Jol simply laughed, fending it off with one hand while speaking to El Ritch.
"It's supposed to be a secret," Jol said with a wink, "but I'll tell you anyway. I can swap places with things—or make other things swap places—with the limits being… well, my little secret. This is the hare's given authority as a beast."
"That is amazing!" El Ritch exclaimed, genuine awe lighting up his face.
Before Jol could reply, the bush behind them rustled. Both boys snapped their heads around toward the sound.
"Amazing indeed," a deep, smooth voice remarked. "Might as well tell everyone what advantage you have over them while you're at it."
A dark-tanned woman emerged from the thicket, her movements fluid and deliberate. She was dressed in loose, leather armor over her chest, stomach and legs, each separate and cotton cover under the leather that was big for her and wind could freely move in and out giving her excess unrestricted movement, and twin blades were strapped to each side of her hips.
Her sharp eyes flicked toward El Ritch, sizing him up. "And who's our mighty companion here?" she asked, gesturing toward him with a tilt of her head.
Without missing a beat, Jol grabbed El Ritch by the shoulder and pulled him closer. "This," he announced dramatically, "is the man who joined the tournament from the south. His name is El Ritch, but it's perfectly fine to call him El. Right El? He says, yes."
El Ritch gave a small, awkward nod, unsure how to respond to Jol's sudden enthusiasm.
"Well then, El, let's hope you've got some fight in you. You'll need it if you're hanging around Jol." Bada shrugged.
"How many did you kill?" Jol asked, releasing his grip on El Ritch's shoulder and turning to the woman.
"On my way here? Four beasts," Bada replied nonchalantly, brushing off the dirt clinging to her dress. "The others are way ahead of us. They've already reached the checkpoint."
"They've reached the cave already?" Jol groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "We've got to start moving then."
"How many did you kill?" Bada asked, her tone pointed, as she adjusted her twin blades.
"…One," Jol muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Bada's lips twitched, and she stifled a chuckle behind her hand.
"Hey!" Jol protested, his voice rising in indignation. "I was busy saving him!" He gestured dramatically toward El Ritch.
Bada smirked, waving him off with an air of superiority. "No excuses, remember?"
Jol sighed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Oh, well. El, let's go."
El Ritch scrambled to his feet, doing his best to keep up with them as they set off. He moved efficiently, his strides deliberate and his energy carefully managed. But no matter how well he paced himself, Jol and Bada were always ahead.
It wasn't his technique, he realized—it was them. They were simply, physically superior to him in every way.
The sun began its descent, casting a dim, muted light over the snowy forest. The sky was heavy with clouds, and as dusk settled, the snow began to fall.
El Ritch had noticed the pattern by now: the snow always started at dusk, paused briefly, and returned with greater force by midnight. The urgency to keep up weighed heavily on him, knowing that losing them in this snowfall would be disastrous.
He pushed himself harder, abandoning his careful preservation of energy.
"JOL!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he ran, the snow blurring his vision. "Where are you—"
His words were cut short as a hand gripped the collar of his leather armor and yanked him backward.
Jol's face was stern, his eyes sharp as he held El Ritch aloft. "This is why I said to stay behind me, El." He nodded downward. "Look."
El Ritch's gaze dropped, his breath catching in his throat.
Below him was a gaping hole, its jagged edges concealed by the snow. Inside, sharp spikes jutted out at irregular angles, their points glistening with frost and blood. The bodies of several students lay impaled, lifeless.
"This is what the tournament is, El," Bada said, her voice steady and cold as she approached the edge. "Everyone here, including the other students, is your enemy. So stay sharp."
She gestured to a safer path ahead, her movements precise and unhurried.
El Ritch nodded, his chest tightening as he tried to steady his breath. The image of the pit and the bodies below it burned into his mind.
This wasn't a game. This was survival.
Chilling.
___________________
The group finally emerged into a small clearing, surrounded by trees whose branches reached out like skeletal arms. The snowfall had slowed, but the chill in the air remained sharp.
"We have no choice but to camp here," Bada declared, scanning the area with a practiced eye.
Jol nodded and got to work immediately. He dug into the snow near the base of a tree, his hands moving with efficient precision. Bada began passing down cut branches to him, their movements synchronized as though they'd done this countless times before.
Jol worked quickly, sticking the branches into the snow and fastening them to the tree to form the frame of a makeshift shelter. Bada layered the structure with more branches, some covered in thick leaves, creating a rudimentary roof to block the falling snow.
Inside the shed, El Ritch sat near Jol, helping him arrange leafy branches into a soft bed. The scent of pine mixed with the earthy smell of the damp wood, grounding El Ritch's thoughts despite his exhaustion.
Jol moved toward the far corner of the shelter and began constructing a small stone fire pit. Moments later, Bada struck flint to steel, sparking the kindling within. The flames caught quickly, and soon the shed was filled with warmth that chased away the biting cold.
As the fire crackled, Bada and Jol began preparing their dinner. Chicken jerky sizzled over the flames, the savory aroma filling the small space. Bada turned the meat with practiced ease, her sharp eyes darting occasionally toward the opening of the shed, scanning for any signs of movement.
El Ritch, however, couldn't keep his head up any longer. His body, still aching and battered from the day, gave in to the exhaustion.
He slumped against the wall of the shed, sitting upright but fast asleep, his breath steady as the warmth of the fire lulled him into rest.
Jol glanced at him, a small smirk curling his lips. "He's out already," he muttered, turning the meat over the flames.
Bada hummed in agreement. "Let him rest. He'll need it for tomorrow."