They followed the trail.

  Broken branches. Flattened shrubs. Scorch marks leading out of the narrow canyon and deeper into the woods like something angry and enormous had barreled through. Judging by the spacing of the boot prints and the occasional bloody drag mark, the champions had been injured and in a hurry.

  Alistair crouched low and ran a finger through a smear of dried blood on a rock. “Mmm. Arena vintage. Pairs well with trauma.”

  Kael sighed behind him. “Why are you like this?”

  “Coping,” Alistair said brightly. “Don’t judge.”

  The trail curved through the trees and ended in a hollow surrounded by jagged black stone.

  At the center stood a stone platform, overgrown with moss and weeds. A stone arch glowed with runes that spiraled across it in lazy arcs, dim but unmistakable. The air shimmered faintly above the platform, like heat rising from summer roads.

  Alistair stepped forward.

  “Another portal,” he murmured.

  Kael looked confused. “Another?”

  Alistair turned to face them, gesturing toward the platform. “Yeah. I found one of these earlier. Stepped in. Got yanked through space, dropped in a gladiator pit, and had to fight some hopped-up champion one-on-one. It was fun. Almost died. Good times.”

  Brimma arched a brow. “And you didn’t mention this why?”

  “I was busy bleeding,” Alistair said, deadpan.

  Alistair took the medallion from Kael’s hand and showed it to Brimma. “These are keys. Five are needed to open the portal.”

  Brimma’s eyes narrowed. “And how many do we have?”

  Alistair looked at Kael.

  Kael held up the new one he’d found. “With yours, we have two.”

  Brimma’s face twisted. “I’m not giving you mine.”

  Alistair blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me,” she said, folding her arms. “You’re not charming it out of me, bloodboy.”

  “I wasn’t... bloodboy?”

  “Don’t start.”

  Alistair stepped closer. “Brimma. We need five. If you don’t hand yours over...”

  “Then you have one,” she snapped. “Just one.”

  He took a slow breath. Tried for diplomacy. It didn’t go well.

  “Look,” he said, “this portal is awakened when all five medallions are placed into these holes. It’s one medallion per activation. And the Arena’s twisted. It wants drama. Blood. Probably a cheering crowd of invisible gods watching us scratch each other’s eyes out. So if we do get five medallions and open that thing, someone’s going in.”

  Brimma’s gaze was razor sharp. “And who would that be?”

  Alistair licked his lips. “I vote Kael.”

  Kael nearly choked. “What?!”

  “Kidding,” Alistair said, grinning. “Obviously it’d be me. I’m the only one with the main character aura.”

  Brimma barked a laugh that was somehow both mocking and full of venom. “Oh, is that what this is about? You just want all the loot for yourself.”

  Alistair’s smile dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t play coy. You think if you go in, you get all the rewards. All the gear. You walk out shinier and smugger than before.”

  He stepped in, close enough she had to tilt her head up to glare at him. “You’re more than welcome to go instead, Brimma. Just be sure to scream dramatically when you die.”

  “Die? Ha! How hard could it be? You survived.”

  Alistair’s eyes flared. “I survived because I’m built different!”

  “You’re built annoying.”

  “You’re built like an angry kettle!”

  Kael put his hands up. “Alright, that’s enough. Time out.”

  They both turned to him.

  “We only have two medallions,” Kael said, voice dry. “So unless you’re planning to fight over the imaginary third, fourth and fifth one, maybe table the drama.”

  Brimma sniffed and stepped back.

  Alistair straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “Fine. But when we get the fifth one, we are having this conversation.”

  “Looking forward to it,” Brimma muttered.

  Kael shook his head and started walking again. “Gods, I’m traveling with two cursed squirrels in a sack.”

  Alistair followed, muttering under his breath.

  “Better than being the bottom of the sack.”

  ***

  The beast collapsed in a thrashing heap, tail thudding once, then again before going still.

  Kaelren backed off, breathing hard, the gnome’s short sword slick with blood in his hand. Not his usual style, but he moved well with it. Efficient. Measured.

  Brimma stood nearby, leaning on her staff with a tired grunt. She’d cast [Stonehide Bark] on Kael right before the fight began, and tossed up a small [Spire Bloom] to throw off the beast’s charge.

  Alistair hadn’t lifted a finger.

  He sat crouched on a mossy boulder at the edge of the clearing, watching the fight with growing unease. Not because they were in danger, they weren’t. But because that was the third beast they’d taken down since sunrise.

  Still no medallion.

  Still no champions.

  And the sun was already inching toward the horizon.

  Kael wiped his blade on the grass. “That’s the third one.”

  “I can count,” Brimma muttered. “Still smells like a rotted boot.”

  “It’s a swamp crawler,” Kael offered. “Better than the stinkbear.”

  She made a disgusted sound. “Everything’s better than the stinkbear. That thing farted death.”

  Alistair raised a hand. “Can we not relive the scent trauma?”

  “Why not?” Brimma snapped. “We’ve had nothing else to celebrate.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She stomped past the creature’s corpse, nose wrinkled. “At this rate, I’ll die of old age or boredom before the next cleansing starts.”

  Alistair gave her a lazy grin. “Aww. You miss the action?”

  “I miss enemies that drop something other than indigestion.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “The next monster will be polite, fragrant, and gift-wrapped.”

  Brimma glared. “You’d better hope I never find a spell for turning vampires inside out.”

  Kael sighed, stepping away from the kill. “I leveled up.”

  That made Alistair pause.

  “Skill or character?” he asked.

  “Both,” Kael said, sitting down on a flat stone. His eyes glazed slightly as he focused inward, letting the system interface bloom in his vision. “Short sword’s climbing steadily.”

  Alistair nodded, half-distracted. He circled the dead beast, a six-limbed crawler with plated skin and barbed spines along its back. The blood was thick, dark, and steaming slightly where it pooled.

  He crouched beside it and glanced over at Brimma. “Think there’s anything worth looting?”

  Brimma waddled closer and gave the body a once-over. “Unlikely. These things aren’t magical, they’re just mean.”

  The crawler had put up a decent fight, but its armor had cracked under Kael’s strikes and Brimma’s buffs.

  He ran a hand along its flank.

  “Thick plating,” he muttered. “Could be good for crafting.”

  Brimma snorted behind him. “If we had a full forge, three days of spare time, and the patience of a dead elf.”

  Alistair didn’t argue. She was right.

  Even if they skinned it, they had nowhere to process it. And no time.

  Brimma glanced at him, sharp, loaded. “We’ve got other priorities.”

  Alistair met her gaze, then looked away.

  Medallions.

  Time was running out. And everyone knew it.

  Alistair exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Still no medallion.

  Still no sign of another champion.

  And the time was ticking down.

  He didn’t want to say it out loud, but the thought had been clawing at him all day.

  If they didn’t find another medallion… someone wouldn’t make it through the cleansing.

  And he hadn’t asked Kael about it. Not yet. Their bond was still too fresh. Too fragile. Bringing it up now might shatter something before it had a chance to grow.

  So he kept his mouth shut.

  For now.

  Once Kael finished assigning his points, they moved on.

  The forest was quieter now. Still. Not in a peaceful way, more like a stage waiting for something to step into the spotlight. Alistair kept his senses sharp, his eyes scanning the undergrowth, his ears straining for the snap of a twig, the hum of a ward, the...

  Nothing.

  His [Treasure Seeker] trait stayed completely, unnervingly silent.

  No pings. No loot-sense. No subtle tingles of direction.

  Just trees.

  Thick, gnarled roots and damp earth.

  “What’s going on…?” he muttered under his breath.

  That was when Kael stumbled.

  It wasn’t dramatic, just a misstep, a sudden wobble.

  Alistair caught his arm instinctively. “Easy there.”

  Kael blinked, clearly trying to shake something off. “I’m fine... just a bit...”

  Brimma was already waddling toward them, her staff thumping against roots.

  The look on her face made it very clear he was not fine.

  “Sit,” she barked, eyes narrowing. “Now.”

  Kael opened his mouth. Closed it. Sat.

  Brimma bent over him, muttering, sniffing, squinting like she was inspecting a bad mushroom. Then, with a final snort, she straightened.

  “He’s poisoned.”

  Alistair frowned. “What? When?”

  “Probably during that last fight,” she said. “Minor scratch, bad venom. It’s slow-acting, would’ve crept up on him quietly. Good thing he stumbled. Idiot.”

  Kael scowled. “Hey...”

  “You don’t have a spirit guide,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at his forehead. “If you did, it would’ve warned you. Given you a system ping. Instead, you’re just blindly trusting your internal organs to do the thinking.”

  Alistair raised his hands. “Okay, okay, lecture later. We need a place to rest. Now.”

  Brimma nodded sharply. “Somewhere dark and cool. And mossy. The sweat’s already coming on.”

  Alistair didn’t wait.

  He turned and sprinted moving so fast the forest blurred around him. With 63 points in Agility, he ran like a myth. Vaulting rocks. Dodging branches. Feet barely kissing the moss.

  It took him three minutes to find the perfect spot.

  A moss-covered cave, hidden beneath a fallen stone arch. Cool air drifted from its mouth. Dry. Shaded. Quiet.

  He returned in record time and led them straight there.

  Brimma grunted her approval, already digging through her pouch. “I’ve got the [Alchemy] skill,” she muttered, “but only a few levels. Still, there’s one recipe I know. Works on most common poisons.”

  “What do you need?” Alistair asked.

  “Some ingredients. Stay with him. If he starts convulsing, smack him.”

  “Got it.”

  Brimma waddled out of the cave, staff in one hand, determination in the other.

  Alistair sat beside Kael, who looked somewhere between sweaty and sullen.

  “You alright?”

  Kael grunted. “I’m poisoned.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  A pause.

  “…You sure you weren’t trying to get out of the medallion discussion?”

  Kael cracked a weak smile. “If I was, it worked.”

  They sat in silence for a beat.

  Then Kael muttered, “I still don’t want a spirit guide.”

  Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Brimma’s going to throw you off a cliff when she hears that.”

  “She can try. I’m still taller.”

  “I dunno,” Alistair said. “That staff of hers? Pretty sure it’s a sentient club with opinions.”

  Kael smirked. “You’re not wrong.”

  Brimma returned a few minutes later, huffing, cheeks pink, with a fistful of herbs and a battered cup of water.

  She didn’t say anything. Just went to work.

  Brimma muttered something under her breath as she crushed the herbs into the cup. It wasn’t a chant. Just irritation in its purest form.

  The mixture fizzed faintly as it met the water. The smell was sharp, wet leaves and iron.

  “Drink,” she said, shoving the cup toward Kael. “You’ll either feel better or die. But probably better.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “Comforting.”

  He drank it in two gulps, grimacing like it tasted worse than troll sweat.

  Brimma wiped her hands on her robe. “If it worked, you’ll start sweating like mad and feel like you got kicked by a horse. That means it’s cleaning you out. You’ll be upright in ten minutes.”

  Alistair sat nearby, barely breathing.

  His mind was spinning.

  Time’s ticking.

  They were supposed to be searching. Fighting. Looting.

  Instead, they were hiding in a cave like fugitives, and every second wasted felt like someone chiseling numbers into his spine.

  And yet… he hadn’t gone.

  He’d thought about it. Almost said the words, I’ll scout ahead.

  But something in him refused.

  Was it the Soulbond? Was that what this was? That strange tightness in his chest, like leaving Kael behind would snap something invisible?

  Gods, he hated this.

  He stood abruptly and forced a smile. “I’ll shut my eyes for a bit. Wake me if the poison tries to crawl out of his ears.”

  Brimma snorted.

  Alistair walked deeper into the cave. Not far, just enough for some space. He lay back on a bed of dry moss, one arm behind his head, the other resting near his sword.

  He closed his eyes.

  Didn’t sleep.

  Couldn’t.

  And after a few minutes, the voices drifted to him.

  Soft. Meant to be private.

  But he was a vampire.

  And vampires heard things.

  Brimma’s voice, low and tight: “Do vampires actually sleep?”

  Kael, uncertain: “I don’t know. He might just be pretending so we leave him alone.”

  Then a pause.

  Then Brimma again. “You trust him?”

  Kael didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet, but steady.

  “I think he’s scared.”

  That wasn’t what she’d asked.

  But it landed anyway.

  “Scared of what?” Brimma asked, skeptical.

  “Of failing,” Kael said. “Of being the wrong choice. Of being left behind again.”

  Brimma grunted. “He’s a Soulbinder. That’s not a small thing. You know the stories.”

  “I know the rumors,” Kael replied. “But I’ve seen him fight. I’ve seen the way he looks at us when he thinks we’re not watching.”

  Another pause.

  “He’s not trying to control us. He’s trying to hold on.”

  Alistair exhaled slowly through his nose.

  He didn’t open his eyes. Not yet. But the next words came out anyway.

  “You ever grow up in a castle full of predators, Kael?”

  Silence. Then rustling, Kael shifting, Brimma probably glaring.

  He kept going.

  “Because I did. Every room had sharp corners and sharper people. And when you’re not the favorite son, when you’re the one with the broken trait, you don’t get taught how to win. You get taught how to survive.”

  His voice was flat. Not bitter. Not angry.

  Just real.

  “When the Soulbinder trait showed up in me, they didn’t celebrate. They studied me. Measured me. I couldn’t even form bonds. They thought I was defective.”

  Kael didn’t say anything. Neither did Brimma.

  Alistair opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of the cave.

  “So yeah. I’m scared. Scared that I’ll lose this chance. Scared I’ll screw it up. That I’ll be the last champion standing with nothing to show for it. No bond. No medallions. No god who gives a damn.”

  He sat up, slowly.

  “But I’m not power-hungry.”

  He looked at them now, both of them. His voice softening.

  “I’m just… trying. And I’d rather try with you two than alone.”

  For a second, nobody moved.

  Then Brimma snorted. “Ugh. That was disgustingly heartfelt. Say something rude before I cry.”

  Alistair smirked. “You smell like earthworm soup.”

  Kael chuckled. “There he is.”

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