Level One God

The procession through Thrask felt like a march to execution.

Slaves in chains. Aspirants in worn leathers. Nobles in gleaming armor. We moved through the streets in three distinct columns, separated by guards who ensured no group mixed with another. The symbolism wasn't subtle. Even in this death march, the social order had to be maintained.

Final selections were made yesterday, and I had easily made the cut among Aspirants, along with Lyria. Despite rising rapidly through the ranks, I'd managed to avoid suspicion from most and never had to show more than my Elemental Spike and Mana Shield abilities to members of the guilds.

I'd also earned a top ten ranking, which meant my entry fee was completely covered for the guild. Lyria barely made the cut, but it was a big relief.

"They're like animals," Lyria noted, voice hard to hear over the crowds crammed in every spare space along the sides of the street.

"This tourney means something different to all of them," I said absently. "Hope for the lower classes and… justice for those on top, I guess."

Until today, the tourney hadn't quite felt real. I was too focused on working toward this moment to stop and think about the consequences. But now… now I could feel how heavily the odds were stacked against all of us. Aspirants weren't supposed to win.

We were extra fodder for entertainment, meant to quickly be eliminated. Worse, the slaves weren't even given the false promise of protection. Death for them would be real inside the tourney, and the expectation was for them to be slaughtered within hours of the tourney's start.

None of this was particularly new knowledge, but the weight of it felt heavier today. More visceral. Real enough to turn my stomach and make a cold sweat break out beneath my helmet. Maybe it was the crowds of Thraskians shouting and jeering as we were marched past. I could see the bloodlust in their eyes. Smell the stench of their sweat as they pumped fists and occasionall threw objects at us.

Tomte children sat on their parents' shoulders, pointing and cheering. Merchants closed their stalls to get a better view. Painted skin and bright clothing marked residents of Gloomglow and the fancy robes and layers of well-made clothing proved even the nobility had come to watch. The grommets had also emerged, their hair-covered forms creating fuzzy brown patches in the sea of spectators.

"Blood for the stones!" someone shouted.

"Death to the weak!" another voice called.

"This one feels excitement!" a shaky grommet voice yelled.

The nobles waved like conquering heroes. Some aspirants tried to match their bravado, while others kept their eyes forward and their expressions grim. The slaves knew what the crowd wanted from them. They were the appetizer before the main course.

I had at least confirmed one thing: Zahra, Ramzi, Thorn, and Sylara were definitely among the slaves. I didn't want to risk drawing any extra attention, but I did manage to give them a nod of affirmation. I assumed my purpose for being here would be clear enough. I was going to find a way to help them.

"This is disgusting," Lyria muttered beside me. "Don't they realize a lot of us are going to wind up dead? And they're cheering?"

"I plan to give them a fucking show," I said through my teeth, surprised by the anger I felt. But this was another reminder of what I hoped to change about Eros. Returning to godhood wasn't just a selfish desire for more power or self preservation. I wanted the ability to fix what was rotten here. Frontier towns left to fend for themselves against dangerous infestations, noble power going unchecked, and now this… I felt my lips twisting. "But I doubt the show I want to give them is the one they want."

Naia pressed closer on my other side, and for the first time, I noticed the white-knuckle grip she had on her sword hilt. "Wave back," she said, her voice lighter than her expression. "Show confidence. The crowd's favor can matter in the tournament."

When I didn't wave, she added quietly, "Must be nice, being top ten. Having the guild pay your way." Her practiced smile never wavered as she waved at the crowd. "My family sold our forge to cover my entry fee. Rank fifteen doesn't get you sponsors, just debt."

She finally looked at me directly. "I'll smile and flirt and do whatever it takes to get an edge in there. But don't mistake that for weakness, Brynn. Some of us can't afford to be mysterious lone wolves. Some of us have to use every advantage we can get."

For the first time, I saw something beyond a mindless flirt in her. There was something sharp beneath the long eyelashes and easy smiles. Something I wasn't sure I trusted, but I could at least respect.

Despite Naia's advice, I didn't wave to the crowds. Neither did Lyria. We weren't here to play their games.

The procession climbed higher through the city, winding up the spiral paths I'd explored over the past weeks. But when we reached the palace tier, we passed through gates I'd never been allowed near. The magical curtain of water that fell from the sky thousands of feet above surrounded this innermost section of the highest tier. The flowing liquid glowed faintly blue, and I could sense a complex matrix of mana within, forming a protective shell.

Behind the magic stood something I hadn't yet seen.

It was a massive coliseum. The arena rose in concentric circles that could hold tens of thousands, with strange red crystals floating at various points around the arena, serving some purpose I could only guess at.

I inspected one that rose high enough to see as we approached the structure, descending stairs on our way toward the front entrance.

[Amplification Stone (Rare) (Wood)] Feeding mana to this stone will amplify sounds and project them at increased volumes.

Interesting. I hadn't yet wondered how a world without microphones and speakers would communicate to such a large crowd, but I supposed it wasn't a shock to learn magic was the answer.

We were walked closer and I could see and hear just how packed the arena was.

Guards led us through a series of tunnels and passageways beneath the arena for a few minutes before we finally climbed a set of stairs toward an iron gate. It clattered and rose as the nobles at the front approached, and the rising gate made the crowd inside the arena release a deafening roar.

I stepped into the light beside Lyria and Naia, squinting against the sudden brightness flooding the arena from high above, where I could see a circle of daylight and sun surrounded by falling water. It really was a remarkable sight, but my eyes quickly turned to the spectators filling every available space in the arena.

It was a sea of faces hungry for blood that hadn't even been spilled yet. Banners fluttered in some sections of well-dressed nobility, showing house colors or sometimes painted representations of people I assumed were other nobles or family members they were rooting for.

We were herded onto a raised platform in the arena's center.

All around us, small portals ripped themselves open in the air. Each gave a view into places across the city and crowds of people watching from other areas of Thrask.

"What are those?" I asked Lyria.

"Never seen them," she said. "I guess it's how people will watch the tourney, though."

I stared for a while, drawn in by the novelty of it. It was like fantasy TV, but I was pretty sure I could've reached through those portals and touched the people on the other side if I got close enough. I guessed they'd be able to hear through those things, too, which explained why the portals were drifting closer to the Amplification Stones.

My attention was drawn upward to the royal viewing box that jutted from the arena's wall like a crystalline growth. A tomte sat on a throne that dwarfed his small frame, wearing elaborate robes that glittered and shifted with prismatic colors. A crown of silver and sapphires marked him as royalty, and the way everyone in the box deferred to him confirmed it. This had to be the tomte king of Thrask I'd heard about. King Theon.

[Tomte, Level 50 (Gold)]

Gold… Damn. I had only ever seen a few Golds in all my time on Eros. I found it quite surprising that a king would get himself to Gold, given the risk that had to be involved. But maybe there were ways to game the system for those with enough power. I could imagine powerful adventurers being hired to coddle him and carry him up in power just so he would have the status and personal strength to survive most assasination attempts.

But I could see King Theon was only one of many powerful people in the viewing box.

A woman at his side drew my attention next. Even from this distance, I thought I could see a resemblance in her. She reminded me of Vitus Ra-Set. The woman stood like a weapon merely pretending to be human, her armor catching light in ways that hurt to look at. The four platinum stars on her shoulder seemed to bend reality around them.

[Human, Level 50 (Diamond)]

I'd never even seen a Diamond before, even in the last weeks of wandering the city. Even from here, her presence pressed down on me like something physical. It felt like the tip of a blade poised at my throat, as if the only reason I lived was because she couldn't be bothered to end me.

I wondered if someone with her power could've obliterated the Forsaken lich back in the ruins with ease. How simple would it be for her to travel to the outer rings and clear dangers, protecting thousands of lives? And yet she was here, standing beside the king and residing over a pointless fucking tourney.

But then I felt something else.

Behind her, standing unassumingly in relatively simple robes, was a man. Nobody seemed to be paying him much mind, but when I inspected him, an icy chill ran up my spine.

[Human, Level 50 (Mythril)]

I had to read it twice. Mythril. A rank so far above me it might as well be another species. From everything I'd heard, it was the final rank before godhood. And he was level 50 as well.

What the hell was a demi-god doing standing in the viewing box while being practically ignored by everybody around him? Was it possible they didn't know?

It seemed unlikely, given the prevalence of identification tools I'd seen. But maybe someone with power like his could shield himself against simple methods? Maybe Voidgaze was giving me a unique glimpse into something I wasn't supposed to be seeing?

I stared at him, shocked to find how ordinary he looked compared to the others.

How was someone that powerful just... standing there like a random observer?

"Welcome!" The tomte king's voice boomed through the amplification crystals. Despite his small stature, his presence filled the arena. "I am King Theon, and I welcome you to the 347th Grand Tournament of Thrask!"

The crowd's cheer was so deep and powerful that it shook through my chest.

"This year, we honor tradition while embracing innovation. You see before you one hundred and fifty souls who dare to seek glory. But glory demands sacrifice. Blood demands blood."

Naia licked her lips beside me, the white knuckle grip on her sword so tight I could hear the leather straining even against the noise.

"Now," King Theon continued, "let me introduce this year's participants!"

What followed was torture by ceremony. Each noble was announced with full titles, their family histories recited, their tournament odds displayed on massive crystal screens that a pair of mages summoned in a show of sparks and power.

The crowd cheered for some nobles, booed others, and seemed to be placing bets with designated officials planted throughout the arena.

Kalcus Rathborne drew massive cheers. "The Flesh Render! Ranked 87th among Irons!"

He stepped forward and gave a slight bow. When he straightened, his eyes found mine across the platform, their dark depths burning with obvious hatred.

I recognized Marcia Anukis when she stepped forward to be introduced. She was one of the Azure Guard traveling with Vitus back from Beastden. She'd been quick to point out how important she was and how impressed I should've been to be talking to her. My failure to react hadn't left the best impression on her.

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She didn't acknowledge the crowd, standing with perfect poise as if this was beneath her. When her upturned eyes found mine, they promised retribution for the slight I'd given her in Beastden.

Then came the surprise.

"Lord Cassian Valdris! Unranked by choice!"

Whispers rippled through the crowd. I straightened, recognizing him immediately—the mysterious Iron from Beastden who'd given me that comm card and promises about contacting me when I was "strong enough." The one who had been traveling with Rake and the half-Forsaken. What the hell was he doing here?

And that was when I noticed someone else who stood apart from the aspirants with his hood drawn and his face in shadow. But I knew exactly who he was, and felt mingling anger and fear.

Rake.

He was here, just like Bloody Steve's contact had warned.

And he was currently staring at Cassian with murder in his eyes. I guessed they hadn't parted on exactly friendly terms. Rake's hands clenched and unclenched as if he was imagining them around Cassian's throat. Either he hadn't noticed me yet, or he had been glaring at me before I noticed him.

Thankfully, when I inspected him, I saw he was still Iron. That, at least, was a relief. Only Irons and Woods were supposed to be able to compete in this tourney, and one Wood was let in for every Iron. Still, I wouldn't have been shocked to see that Rake had found some way to slip around the rules.

When the nobles were finally done, King Theon waved a dismissive hand toward the aspirants. "Fifty aspirants also compete for glory. May they provide adequate entertainment."

That was it. No names, no rankings.

The slave introductions were worse—each given official odds of surviving the first hour.

"Number thirty-seven! Sekmeti female! Odds of survival: two hundred to one!"

Zahra stepped forward, her purple skin gleaming under the arena lights, faint star-like marks winking in and out of view. Someone in the crowd whistled. Someone else shouted something obscene. She kept her cat-like eyes forward, expression carved from stone.

They went through all fifty slaves like livestock at auction. By the end, the crowd was practically frothing.

"Now," King Theon said when the introductions finally ended, "for this year's special innovation!"

The giant crystal board shifted, and suddenly we could all see it: a massive tactical map of the tournament grounds. Forests, clearings, rivers, and scattered throughout, structures glowing with different colors.

"The Suppression System! Upon entry, all participants will be limited to one active ability of their choice. Passive abilities will be completely sealed. Equipment beyond a single chosen item will be blocked as well."

The nobles' outrage was immediate and loud. Several shouted protests.

King Theon raised a hand, and silence fell like a hammer.

"However! Scattered throughout are strategic locations. Outposts marked in blue will unlock one passive ability slot when captured. Strongholds marked in red unlock one active ability slot. Certain tasks will allow participants to bring in additional items of their choice from their slip spaces. And the castle at the center..." He paused for dramatic effect. "That unlocks something special."

"This is outrageous!" someone shouted from the noble section. "This puts us on nearly equal footing with these insects."

"Then prove your training matters more than your equipment," King Theon said coldly. "Or fail trying. The choice is yours."

The crowd loved it. They were chanting now, a rhythmic pounding that made the platform vibrate.

"BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

"The tournament begins at dawn," King Theon announced. "You have tonight to prepare, to choose your item and ability wisely. But remember—"

The temperature in the arena plummeted.

Not gradually. Not naturally. Between one heartbeat and the next, the air became winter given form. My breath misted. Frost spread across the platform in fractal patterns. The crowd's chanting died as if cut by a blade.

He entered from above.

No fanfare. No announcement. One moment the space was empty, the next, an armored figure drifted downward to land at the front edge of the royal box without a sound. Reality itself seemed to hold its breath.

He wore armor that shifted and caught the light like prismatic glass. It moved easily, shaping itself to him as if it was made from liquid instead of solid material. He gave off power like the sun gives off light. It was hard to even look at him.

But I knew exactly who he was.

Ithariel. I knew him instantly from the memory I'd had back in the Black Wood. Even without the memory, I would've known I was looking at a god.

I tried to inspect him and was greeted by a simple word.

[Error]

Even looking at him felt dangerous, like staring into an eclipse and feeling a gravitational pull, as if it might suddenly suck you inward and swallow you whole.

He wasn't physically imposing. Average height, gray hair, features that would be unremarkable on anyone else. But power radiated from him in waves that made everyone else in the royal box, even the Diamond and Mythril ranked individuals, seem like candles next to a star.

The crown above his head wasn't made of metal or gems. It was formed from something that ate light, a circlet of absolute darkness that made my eyes water to perceive.

"Continue," he said.

One word. Soft. Calm. And yet it hit the arena like a physical force. Several people in the crowd fainted. On the platform, nobles and aspirants alike swayed. One of the slaves actually collapsed, blood running from his nose.

King Theon, who moments before had commanded the arena, now looked like what he was: a small person playing at authority in the presence of an actual god.

"Y-yes, Your Divinity," King Theon stammered. "As I was s-saying, remember that glory demands sacrifice. May the strongest survive, and may your deaths bring honor to—"

"Me," he said, the word cutting through the king's speech like a sword through silk. For one horrible moment, I thought he was looking at me. My skin crawled.

But his gaze continued to sweep over all of us, and the disinterest there was palpable. This was a being of supreme power and age. A being to whom something like a tourney must seem like a complete triviality.

So why was he here?

"Continue," Ithariel said, and then there was a deafening rip sound.

Ithariel disappeared into the air, leaving only a slightly warped space where he had stood moments ago. White motes of light flickered, extinguished, and then everything was back to normal.

Except I didn't feel normal.

I could barely draw a full breath. It felt like two fists were clutching my insides, refusing to let up.

"You okay?" Lyria asked me quietly, putting a hand on my arm.

Naia wrapped an arm around my side, too, helping to hold me upright.

"I'm fine," I said, shaking off their offers of help. "I'm good."

Lyria watched me doubtfully, then glared at Naia before looking back to the royal box, where King Theon was trying to regain his composure.

Naia leaned in, lips close to my ear. "Stay upright, Stygos. I'm hoping to have you fighting at my side in there. I need you at my side."

It wasn't the flirtatious, airy tone she normally spoke in. Naia sounded serious. Business-like. And then she let me go, but not without her fingertips dragging across the small of my back lightly.

Slowly, the pressure in the arena seemed to lift. I saw others gasping for air as if they'd been holding their breath. The frost crackled and snapped around my feet, melting and turning the dusty arena to mud.

King Theon cleared his throat. "The... the tournament begins at dawn. Glory to the victors. Honor to the dead." He visibly swallowed, chubby face more white than it had been before. "Dismissed!"

The crowd erupted, but it was different now. Excited, yes, but also fearful. They'd been reminded that gods walked among them, and gods had taken interest in their bloody entertainment.

As we filed off the platform, herded back into our segregated groups, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Cassian had drifted closer during the chaos of departure.

"Still alive, I see," he murmured, barely moving his lips. "Good."

"What are you doing here?" I whispered back.

A ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Keeping an eye on my investment."

Before I could respond, he was gone, melded back into the flow of nobles.

"What did he want?" Lyria whispered.

"I'm… not sure," I said, but I was desperately trying to figure out why he would be here. That, and trying to figure out how I was going to survive a tourney where Rake, Kalcus, and Marcia Anukis were probably going to be looking to eliminate me. Rake would know my connection to the slaves. Knowing him, he was likely going to go after them first just to watch me suffer.

Fuck.

As we descended from the arena, the three columns of participants naturally began to separate. Nobles headed for their family compounds and luxury accommodations. Aspirants dispersed under their own power, most wearing grim expressions.

The slaves were herded toward the holding pens in chains and led by guards. I caught Zahra's eye one last time as our paths diverged. She mouthed a single word: "Thank you."

#

Back at the guild hall, the atmosphere was tense. Everyone had watched the announcement and proceedings through the portals.

Even though it had been a few hours now, I still couldn't shake the unease I felt from actually seeing Ithariel in the flesh. In my memory, I had stood on equal footing with the others. Today, though… I felt like less than an insect in his presence.

How the hell had I ever reached that kind of power? What had made me give it up? What could threaten or frighten someone with that kind of eye-watering strength?

They were pointless questions for now, but I couldn't stop them from swirling in my head.

"Well," Bloody Steve said, breaking the silence. "You're proper fucked. Rake alone probably would mean you were fucked. But every person you've ever pissed off seems to be participating. If you do get killed, can I keep Hoot?"

Hoot puffed up indignantly. "I am not transferable."

"Fine," Bloody Steve said. "Then I want your rock. Puddle."

"Pebble," I said. "And if I die, I won't be here to summon him for you."

"Then give me the rock you use to summon him from. I like it. Has a cute little face on it."

"Brynn isn't going to die," Lyria cut in. "I'm going to make sure of it."

"Aww," Kass said. "Young love is so sweet."

Lyria glared at him. "Don't test me, Kass."

He raised both palms. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Ithariel," Perch said simply.

"Yeah," I sighed. Even though Lyria was the only one who knew I was Seraphel and had extra motivation to avoid notice by Ithariel, it didn't feel particularly good for anybody. "Does he normally show up to watch the tourney?"

Minara shook her head. As usual, she wore her white robes trimmed in red from the Radiant Order. She wasn't an official member of the guild, but it didn't mean we couldn't invite her in. "Ithariel hasn't made a public appearance that I know of in several years. It's unusual for him to be here."

"Great," I said. "Just what we need. More unusual shit."

"Maybe he was just bored," Lyria suggested without much hope.

Hoot drifted closer, his cosmic eyes swirling with unusual patterns. "The Divine rarely act without purpose. His presence changes the fundamental nature of the event."

"Changes it how?" Lyria asked.

"Unknown. But the dimensional threads around tomorrow's dawn are turbulent. Many possibilities collapse into few. Many lives end in all variations I perceive."

"That was really specific and helpful, Hoot," I said.

"We could try to smuggle you out of the city," Kass suggested. "Now that you're officially registered, they would try to… well… hunt you down and capture you as a slave if you were caught. But it would beat going into that bloodbath knowing what we know, right?"

"Look," I said, trying to project more confidence than I felt. "Nothing's changed. I go in, survive the first day, find the slaves if possible and try not to die. And there are going to be protective spells. Chances are pretty good they'll work for me unless I get unlucky. Ithariel's presence doesn't change that."

"How do you plan to get the slaves out of there alive?" Kass asked.

"Hide them. We'll gather as many allies as we can and take up defensive positions. With any luck, the nobles can war with each other and dwindle their numbers. By the time they come for us expecting weakness, maybe they'll find they can't put us down anymore."

"Hmm," Minara said. "Most years, one noble is worth about ten aspirants and all the slaves. You would need them to really weaken themselves for this plan to work."

"We'll figure something out," I said. "We have to."

The meeting broke up slowly, everyone drifting away to process what we'd witnessed. Soon only Lyria remained, sitting across from me in the empty hall.

"You're scared," she said. Not a question.

"Terrified," I admitted, though my thoughts were still on Ithariel more than the tourney itself. "Did you feel that power?"

She nodded. "It felt like he could have just… erased me and everything in that arena without breaking a sweat. Like a thousand swords held to my throat."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"And you're still planning to show up tomorrow and participate, aren't you?"

"I have to. You saw those slaves. You know what happens to them if no one tries to help."

"You can't save everyone, Brynn."

"No," I agreed. "But I can try to save some of them. That has to be enough. And I won't think any less of you if you back out."

Lyria smiled out of one side of her mouth. "Yeah, not happening. I'm also not going to leave you alone in there with Naia. I don't trust her."

"She said some things this morning. I don't think she's the mindless flirt she wants people to think."

"No shit," she said. "She is trying to manipulate people. You included."

"I'm aware," I said. "But if somebody thinks they're manipulating you, it's pretty easy to read them."

She snorted. "Good. So you're not falling for it?"

"Not a bit."

Lyria was quiet for a moment. "Have you decided which item and ability you're going to pick for the tourney?"

I nodded. "It has to be the bedroll." The decision had come pretty quickly once I heard the tournament could possibly take weeks. If I lasted that long and didn't have my bedroll with me… "Can't have it waking up while I'm gone and turning into a Diamond level threat that eats everything within reach. Besides, the benefits do probably outweight almost anything else I could bring. One hour of sleep? Cleansing dark mana from my system if I have to use it? Healing each night? Yeah. It feels like a no-brainer."

"I'm not arguing. Just be careful. People are going to be watching our every move. They'll see you sleeping on that thing."

"I'm aware," I said. "And I know having powerful items will mark me as a curiosity. But I can't bring Voidgaze with me. My face is going to be on full display in there."

Lyria's eyes widened. She hadn't thought of that. "Oh… fuck."

"Yeah," I said softly. "If Ithariel does take an interest and watch… or if any other powerful people who would recognize Seraphel are watching…"

Lyria swallowed hard. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to try to find a way to hide my face as quickly as possible. Maybe the chaos of the first hour will be enough to help me avoid notice."

"I could bring in a helmet. I could make it my one item."

I shook my head. "No. You need something better than that. Your Spear of Torment or your Basilisk's Shield. I'll figure it out. It's okay."

"I don't like this, Brynn."

"Trust me. I'll find a way to stay invisible. That's the plan, at least."

She laughed, short and bitter. "Avoiding notice is hardly a strength of yours."

"Fair point," I admitted.

#

Later, alone with my nightly ritual, the dark mana flowed differently. Stronger. The Burned Man's presence felt almost gleeful.

"Did you see him? Did you feel it? The weight of true divinity?" His laughter was like acid on my consciousness. "That's what we gave up, thanks to you. That's what we threw away for this pathetic second chance."

"I had reasons."

"Oh yes, the great threat. The coming doom. Tell me, Seraphel, when you struggle to survive the insects tomorrow, will those reasons comfort you?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You're not bringing your little helmet, are you? You'll be exposed. Your face in full view… I wonder how many will recognize you. Ithariel certainly will."

"I've got a plan for that."

"Oh, I'm sure you do. Seraphel was always the smart one. Always the one with a plan. Always scheming and plotting. And yet here you are, rolling in the shit with the rest of us."

"I'm sure you had your choices. Nobody had to prestige. Don't blame me if you're not happy with the path you chose."

"Hah. Of course. Wipe your hands clean of it. I'm sure it's quite easy when you don't remember the things you've done… the horrors of what we all had to do. Are you sure you didn't choose this just so you could forget? To hide from what you were?"

It was like this most nights. He pressed and prodded. Planted ideas in my mind like poison seeds. But learning to deal with the dark mana was also learning to deal with him. He never gave me what I asked for. The only information I could ever glean was what he wanted me to hear. And I was almost certain it was all an elaborate manipulation.

But I could cut the connection with him as soon as I slept, feeding my bedroll the dark mana and shutting him out again.

And I knew what he was trying to do. I'd let him keep trying so long as he kept feeding me trickles of useful information. And most importantly, I'd learn to build walls against him just like the dark mana. I'd learn until I could use it as a weapon without fear. One more tool to help me on my path back to godhood.

So I climbed into the bedroll and closed my eyes, willing sleep to come quickly tonight. The burned man still ranted and raved in my mind. I ignored him, focusing on my decision of the item and ability I would choose.

I thought I knew the correct choices, but I was still going to keep calculating for as long as I could. Because dawn could come too soon, and with it, the tournament.