NPC for Hire-[Gamelit|Simulation|Multi-genre]

Fisck carried the drinks over to a massive table dominating the center of the room. Its surface gleamed, the dark wood polished to a mirror-like sheen, though it was almost entirely obscured by a sprawling map. He set the drinks on a side table clearly meant for just that, the decanter clinking softly against its matching crystal glasses.

Gesturing toward Fen, he said, "Last time we were so rudely interrupted, you were saying you might be able to divine the locations of our enemies? I'd like to hear more of those insights."

Fen stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. It was intricately detailed, its topographical layers marked with precision that made the terrain seem to rise from the table itself. Rivers glinted faintly, forests sprawled in deep greens, and the jagged peaks of distant mountains rose like sentinels on the horizon.

Before he could speak, Seraph moved closer, a slight frown creasing her brow. She leaned in, her head tilting as if trying to make sense of the layout.

"Fisck, Fen might be a savant at tactical maps, but my skills with them are… let's just say they're rudimentary. Can you explain what we're working with here? I saw most of the arena from the air, but I'm having trouble lining up what I saw with this map."

Fen blinked, caught off guard. Seraph wasn't the type to fumble through terrain. She could glance at a layout once and walk it blindfolded.

What is she doing? He thought to himself

He opened his mouth—then closed it again, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her posture, her tone.

This isn't a mistake. She's up to something. Lean into it and trust her instincts.

He stayed quiet, watching Fisck instead.

The man smirked, stepping forward like a professor in front of a chalkboard. "Let me enlighten you, Ms. Seraph."

He placed a hand on the table, his finger tracing the terrain with exaggerated precision. "Here, on the western edge, we have the mountain range. Impassable, save for a few narrow passes that channel movement into predictable choke points. To the south—the river—a natural barrier, difficult to cross without these bridges here and here."

He tapped the map twice, his movements deliberate. "The forests dominate the northern quadrant—thick and treacherous. Great for ambushes, but a nightmare if you're trying to move anything with wheels or wings. And finally, the Verdant Expanse's centerpiece: the polyhedral crystal at the map's center. It towers over everything. A perfect point of reference… and a glowing target for the bold or the foolish."

Seraph nodded along, her expression just a little too thoughtful. She leaned in and tapped near one of the river bends. "And what about this? I'm not exactly a map person, but that looks like a tricky spot."

Fen blinked. That wasn't like her. Seraph had always been able to glance at a battlefield—real or simulated—and remember it down to the angle of a treeline. Whatever this was, it wasn't confusion. She was playing him. Alright, Sera. Let's see where you're going with this.

"Death traps, right?" she added, her tone overly curious.

"Strategically dangerous," Fisck clarified, clearly pleased with the chance to elaborate. "But also useful—under the right conditions. A skilled commander can bait and guide opposition through them, forcing their hand. Just takes control of the surrounding lanes and proper timing."

Fen kept his expression neutral as he stepped forward. "You missed something."

Fisck's smug rhythm faltered.

Fen pointed to the far eastern edge of the map, where the river curled tightly into the forest. "This bend here. Thick tree cover, river on three sides, and just enough elevation to give early warning. Defensible, but close enough to raid this town here and pull back before anyone can mount a serious push."

He tapped the settlement with a soft click of fingernail on glass. "If I were the enemy, that's where I'd dig in."

Fisck leaned closer, his smirk fading as he reassessed the spot. "Interesting… that's not an implausible assessment. We'll factor it in."

Fen didn't respond. His gaze was still on the map—but his mind was on Seraph, and whatever quiet move she'd just started.

As Fen spoke, Seraph circled slowly, movements deliberate, her hands tucked behind her back. She seemed absorbed in the map, her head tilting slightly as if trying to align what she saw with what she'd noticed from the air. Fen spared her a glance but returned his focus to Fisck, something on the map catching his attention.

"Efficient design," Seraph murmured, stopping briefly at one corner of the table before continuing her slow orbit. She reached the side nearest the drink table just as Fisck opened his mouth to reply. Then—almost too perfectly—her hip bumped the edge of the drink stand. One of the tumblers teetered, then tipped, landing with a soft thud against the thick carpet as amber liquid spilled across the floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" Seraph exclaimed, bending down to retrieve the fallen glass. As she crouched, her elbow nudged the table again, sending the remaining tumblers rattling, their contents sloshing dangerously close to the rims.

Desmond rushed in, steadying the table, panic flashing in his eyes.

Fisck's face darkened. He lunged forward, snatching the glass from her hand—only to freeze as he caught sight of glowing drops trailing along the edge of the map table, where the spill had splashed atop the polished surface.

"Do you know what this system cost me?" he hissed, voice tight with restrained fury. He set the glass down with precise, shaking control. "If you've ruined anything—"

"I'm sorry," Seraph said again, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket. She dabbed carefully at the droplets atop the table, her movements quick and steady.

Fisck's jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, and for a moment, it looked like he might lash out. But then he forced a breath through his nose and straightened, the rage in his eyes cooling into something colder. "Fine. Just… be careful."

"I'll make it up to you on the battlefield," Seraph said lightly, her tone calm but casual. She folded the handkerchief neatly and slipped it back into her pocket. "No harm done, right?"

Fisck muttered something under his breath, his gaze lingering on the now-spotless table as if daring a flaw to resurface. Desmond shot Fen a brief glance, his expression tight, but said nothing as he stepped back to his former position.

Fen's brow furrowed, not from the spill but from what it wasn't. Seraph didn't make mistakes like that—certainly not twice in the same sequence. She'd bumped that table on purpose. He was sure of it. Her timing, her precision, even the way she handled the glass. It was rehearsed.

Okay, he thought. So what's her angle?

The pause stretched a beat too long. Fen pointed to a ridge on the eastern side of the map, breaking the tension. "One of your enemies is here."

Fisck's head snapped up, irritation forgotten. He stepped forward, squinting at the spot Fen had indicated. "You're sure?"

"Positive," Fen said, voice steady. "It's a natural bottleneck. The kind of place you'd pass through on the way to somewhere else. Narrow, defensible. If they're not there already, they'll use it soon enough. You can cut them off before they entrench…"

He trailed off mid-sentence. A beat passed. Then another.

The logic still held—but something in it no longer sat right.

It was too clean. Too convenient.

His earlier assumptions—the ones he'd made back on the airship, when he'd first scanned the terrain—came back into focus. This spot did make sense. That was the problem. It made too much sense. Like it had been designed to catch his attention.

Fen's hand drifted across the map, eyes darting between elevation lines and river bends. If I were setting a trap… if I wanted to bait someone into reacting fast, where would I set the actual stage?

His finger hovered over the bottleneck he'd just pointed out—then shifted southeast. To a low, tight winding valley boxed in on three sides by steep canyon walls.

It was the kind of terrain most players would dismiss at first glance—too narrow, too exposed if the enemy claimed the canyon walls. But that was the trick. It looked exposed. Vulnerable. But only if you didn't stop to consider who controlled the high ground. Or what might already be waiting in those canyons.

"They'll move through here," Fen murmured, more to himself than the others. "But this… this is where they are."

He tapped the canyon valley, his tone sharpening with conviction. "Set your eyes here. The bottleneck is a feint—meant to draw attention and pull forces towards it. They'll use it to move troops and supplies, sure. But they'll be operating out of this canyon. It's concealed. Strategic.

Fisck frowned, eyes narrowing. "That canyon? It's exposed. Only one way in or out. You'd have to be an idiot to station troops there."

Desmond crossed his arms. "I'm with Fisck. That's not a stronghold—it's a graveyard waiting to happen."

"That's the point," Fen said, leaning forward. His finger pressed against the edge of the canyon on the map, anchoring his focus. "The bottleneck I pointed out earlier? That's bait. Anyone looking at this map is going to think it's the ideal defensive position. Which is why it'll be the obvious one to strike. And you know what—I bet we'd find troops there. Enough to sell the illusion."

He traced a line with his finger, eyes narrowing. "But look closer. Right here—there's a bridge across the river tucked just inside the bottleneck. Makes it a tempting target. But that canyon to the southeast? It's the real threat. You could hide a full force down in there—heavy arms, drakes, transfigured troops. The terrain would mask movement until it's too late."

Desmond's skepticism flickered as he studied the contours. Fen continued, his voice gaining weight.

"Attackers charge the bridge, thinking they're catching the enemy on bad ground. But as soon as they commit, that hidden force in the canyon swings out and slams into them from behind—cuts off the retreat, pins them in place. It's more than a bluff. It's a trap. A classic envelopment, hidden inside what looks like a mistake."

Desmond's gaze sharpened. "They draw you in with the bait, then bleed you out from the blind spot."

"Exactly." Fen gave a single nod. "They're not defending the bottleneck. They're using it as a lure. I recommend you send a recon scout team out to investigate."

Fisck's frown deepened, but something shifted behind his eyes. "A risky gamble," he said slowly.

Desmond straightened, glancing between them. "Risky, sure. But it'd work—if your enemy's not ready for it. And I think Fen's right."

Fisck tilted his head, his calculating gaze fixed on Fen. "You're certain about this?"

"As certain as I can be without recon on-site," Fen replied. "But if I'm wrong, all you're risking is a scouting party. If I'm right, we save lives and gain the upper hand."

Desmond nodded, his voice firm. "We should act on this. At the very least, send recon to confirm it. I've got a few squads that can handle it quietly."

Fisck hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "Fine. Dispatch the scouts. But if this is a wild goose chase, you'll have wasted valuable resources."

"It won't be," Desmond said, already moving toward the door. "I'll see to it myself."

As the tension in the room eased, Fisck's gaze lingered on Fen. "You might have more foresight than I gave you credit for, Mr. Fenris. Let's hope it's enough."

Fen didn't respond immediately. His attention drifted to Seraph, who stood near the edge of the table with that same unreadable calm she wore too well. He caught the barest flicker of something in her expression—amusement, maybe. Or anticipation. He couldn't shake the feeling that she had her own pieces moving across the board. Whatever she was doing, he trusted her.

She met his gaze for a fraction of a second, then turned back toward Fisck and said, "Told you he was sharper than he looks."

Fisck waved a dismissive hand, already absorbed in the map again. "Anything else?"

Fen took a slow step back, eyes flicking once more to Seraph's hands as they idly traced the edge of the table. No missteps. No hesitation. Whatever move she'd made, she was already a few steps ahead of him.

"Not yet," Fen said. "But if you've got a smaller copy of the map, I'll review it in my quarters before I get some sleep."

Fisck nodded, his tone more controlled now. "That would be prudent. The scouts should return by morning. If your theory holds, we'll plan the strike then." His voice softened just slightly, enough to register as something close to approval. "Provided you're correct, you've earned your keep today, Fenris."

Fen inclined his head, accepting the dismissal without comment. As the others moved to leave, his gaze lingered on Seraph for just a moment longer, suspicion tugging at the edge of his thoughts. Then, turning on his heel, he followed Fisck down the corridor as he led them toward their quarters for the night.

The officers' barrack was stark but functional, a testament to the fortress's utilitarian design. The stone walls were unadorned except for small sconces casting a soft, flickering light and a few narrow tapestries that added a faint touch of color. Two neatly made beds sat against opposite walls, each flanked by a writing desk outfitted with a modest lamp and a stack of blank parchment. A long red carpet ran down the middle of the room, softening the otherwise hard, echoing ambiance. The door sealed with a soft hiss as it closed behind them—thick and soundproof.

Fen dropped his gear onto one of the beds, the weight of the day finally catching up to him. Across the room, Seraph sat on the edge of her bed, absently rolling a dagger between her fingers. The silence between them stretched for a moment, steady and expectant, before Fen finally spoke.

"Alright, Seraph," he said, voice low but laced with dry amusement. "Want to tell me what that was back there? 'Oh, I'm little Seraph, I can't read maps like you big strong men can,'" he added in a mockingly high-pitched voice. "Please. You're better with maps than I am. What gives?"

Seraph didn't miss a beat. She glanced toward the corners of the ceiling, then pointed subtly at the room around them before giving Fen a sharp, knowing look. Her grin returned—just a little too pointed.

"Of course I'm better with maps," she said, tone breezy—just a shade too practiced. "Figured it wouldn't hurt to let our new friends think otherwise."

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Fen caught the message and leaned back against the desk, arms crossing loosely. "Right. Keep expectations low. Easier to surprise them if we need to make a move."

Seraph chuckled, flicking the dagger once before letting it rest in her palm. "Anyway, you're one to talk. Remember the D-Day invasion sim? You got us turned around on a beach with exactly one direction to go—away from the water."

Fen groaned, rubbing his face. "It was written in ancient English. I got confused."

"And the Tau Ceti evac?" she added, brow raised. "We spent two in-game days digging out of a tunnel system you led us straight into."

"That was different," Fen muttered. "And twice doesn't make a pattern."

"No," she said, smiling faintly, "but it makes a funny story."

Their eyes met, amusement flickering behind the surface. The tension didn't vanish—it just settled into a more familiar shape. Fen tilted his head slightly.

"Still," he said, tone light but winding down, "you always did like making things more dramatic than necessary."

Seraph smirked faintly, leaning back on her hands. "Well, we've got a few hours to kill. May as well enjoy the quiet while it lasts."

Fen gave a noncommittal grunt and stretched out his legs, letting the silence grow between them. The kind that came from shared exhaustion, not unfinished business.

A long breath. A flick of the eyes toward the door.

Then, without a word, Fen reached into his bag, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the comm tucked inside. He slipped in the attached earpiece and handed the other to Seraph.

He didn't need to say who he was calling. She was already watching, waiting for the line to connect.

The device chirped faintly.

"Hold. Silence," came Sarge's gruff voice, firm and low.

Fen and Seraph exchanged a glance as the line went quiet. Just the soft hiss of static filled the void.

Seconds passed.

"Alright," Sarge said finally. "I found and disabled a few bugs in your room. I'm playing a loop—just ambient shuffling and a spoofed convo about gear loadouts and mission prep. You've got two minutes. Go."

Fen nodded. "Figured there'd be listening devices."

Seraph leaned back against her bed, smirking faintly. "Welcome to the big leagues."

"More like amateur hour," Sarge grunted. "The bugs were garbage. Minimal ICE. And excellent job planting the bug I gave you—first few hours in the game and this is going to give me plenty of time to dig through their systems." His tone turned smug. "I'm already halfway through their firewall."

"We planted the bug?" Fen echoed, giving Seraph a look.

She didn't answer—just offered a casual shrug, like it had never been a question.

Fen shook his head, exhaling. "Alright. So that's what you were actually doing in there? The map routine, the spill—it was all misdirection, yeah?"

Seraph grinned. "I thought for sure you'd figure it out. You really think I'd spill such expensive whiskey without a reason for it?" She beamed, voice light and wicked. "That'd be a war crime, Fen."

"Wait," he said, narrowing his eyes. "What exactly were you doing?"

"Oh, let me paint you and Sarge a picture." She raised her dagger and the handkerchief, giving both a playful twirl—fingers rolling them like a magician prepping a trick. "Right in the middle of all that chaos with the drink table, I used the handkerchief to cover my hand, palmed one of the data chips from the map interface, and swapped it with the bug Sarge gave us. Sleight of hand, classic misdirection. They won't know it's missing unless they check the root systems directly."

She snapped the handkerchief outward once, then with a smooth, practiced motion, draped it over her dagger hand. A flick of her wrist—and when she pulled the cloth away, the dagger was gone.

Fen blinked.

Seraph leaned back, casually spinning the blade between her other fingers now like it had never vanished at all. "It was the kind of move that would make an illusionist weep with envy. If I do say so myself." With an exaggerated bow from her seated position, she added, "Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week."

Sarge crackled through the comm, chuckling. "And don't forget to tip your server. She's got a real gift for turning whiskey into espionage, huh Fen?"

"Yeah, yeah. We're all very impressed." Fen rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "But seriously—Sarge told us to bug a console. I didn't even see one. All I saw was that massive map."

There was a pause, then Seraph turned to him with a look that could only be described as gentle pity. "You thought that giant transfigured, near-holographic map table wasn't the console?"

Fen blinked. "I mean… I thought it was just a map. Like, a really fancy one. Maybe some kind of hardlight display." He paused. "Okay, yeah. Saying it out loud, that sounds really dumb."

Seraph burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that crinkled her eyes. Even Sarge couldn't suppress a faint snort.

"Forget I said anything," Fen muttered, waving it off. "Seriously, just—delete this from your memory banks or whatever. And, uh… nice work, Seraph. That was brilliant."

Her laughter softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. The warmth of it caught him off guard—gentle, steady, and oddly grounding. Fen blinked at her, still half-blushing from the earlier embarrassment.

"What's that for?"

Seraph hesitated, her grin fading into something quieter. "It's just… lately, you've been kind of unstoppable. You've glitched across battlefields, outsmarted anomalies, survived things that should've broken us. With how sharp you've been, how fast you see through everything—I guess I started to forget you're still human. Still my friend. The guy who gets lost reading a map or blurts something dumb when he's nervous." She shrugged. "It's why I respect you—and why I love working with you."

Fen opened his mouth to reply, but before he could find the words, Auri's voice jumped into the line.

"Oh come on, Seraph. He's only like twenty percent awesome if you really pay attention. The other eighty percent? Just a good enough conman to make you think he knows what he's doing."

Fen groaned. "Oh hello Auri, good to hear from you too. So nice of you to chime in with your usual support."

Seraph laughed, the sincerity of the moment easing into their usual camaraderie. "She has a point, you know."

"At least I know what I'm doing twenty percent of the time," Fen shot back. "Auri, when was the last time you had a plan?"

"I have hundreds of plans," Auri said loftily. "Thousands, even."

Fen cut her off, grinning. "Okay, Okay, how many of those don't involve mocking me or playing pranks on us mere mortals?"

Auri paused dramatically. "I have dozens of plans. I come up with new ones every millisecond."

"That also don't involve getting revenge, world domination, or chaos in general?"

Another pause. Then, with a note of mock gravitas, Auri said, "I have… a few plans, Fen. Are you happy now?"

Fen and Seraph both burst into laughter, the tension fully broken. As the moment settled, Fen leaned back in his chair, a faint smile still tugging at his lips.

Whatever lay ahead, at least they had this.

"But seriously, Auri," Fen said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softening. "How are you doing? How's the sanctum coming along?"

Auri's voice brightened, proud but casual. "Oh, it's going to be incredible. You're going to love it when you see it. Still a few snags to work through—union contractors, you know how it is."

Fen arched an eyebrow. "Contractors? What contractors?"

"Synth subroutines," Auri replied, matter-of-fact.

"Wait—the subroutines are unionized?"

"Obviously," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You think I can process a major architectural update in milliseconds without twenty layers of oversight? Every time I want to install something, I have to submit a Form 7-C: Structure Modification Request. Then it goes to compliance for code validation, gets bounced to a budget AI for resource allocation, and finally gets signed off by the Unionized Nexus Optimization Network."

Seraph snorted, shaking her head. "So bureaucracy is universal. Good to know."

Sarge chuckled through the comm. "Yeah, that actually explains a lot."

Auri huffed. "Don't knock it. Without those safety protocols, your fancy little rig would be full of unsecured pathways and cascading data spikes. You'd crash harder than a noob speedrunning a firewall maze."

Fen smirked. "I'm sure he gets it, Auri."

He leaned back in his chair. "Now, anything else? Or can Sarge finish his briefing without competing with the comedy hour?"

Auri's tone shifted, adopting an exaggerated, motherly cadence. "No, no, just wanted my pookies to stay safe. Are the other kids being nice? Did you brush your teeth? And don't forget to put your blaster on the charger, okay? I won't have you running around unprepared."

Fen raised his hand, miming a yapping mouth while she kept going, his grin giving away how much he was enjoying it—though part of him wanted to point out he didn't have a blaster at the moment. Not that that would stop Auri.

"You cut that out right now, mister," Auri snapped.

They both froze.

"You can see us?" Fen asked warily.

"No," Auri said, amusement crackling through the line. "I just know you two too well. And you're both smartasses. But seriously—stay safe, you two. I'll talk to you the next time you make contact."

Before they could respond, she made a noise like an old phone slamming onto a receiver—click-buzz—and the line went dead.

Sarge's voice came back over the channel, calm and focused. "Auri's got style. Shame most of it's wasted on the likes of you."

Fen rolled his eyes but couldn't keep the grin from his face as he set the communicator down. "Yeah. She's definitely something."

"I don't have much yet," Sarge continued. "No surprise—bug's only been live a few minutes—but I've already found a few breadcrumbs. Fisck's spending is almost triple what it was in the last Division War. Looks like he's all-in this cycle."

Fen's brow furrowed as he leaned back against the wall. "That tracks. He said as much—talked like this was personal. We were only brought in after some betrayal left him scrambling."

Seraph folded her arms, her tone thoughtful. "Desperation would explain the rush job. He probably figured bringing us in would patch whatever hole that betrayal blew open."

Fen nodded slowly, but his eyes were distant. "Maybe. But there's something else. On the way here, we got ambushed—mid-flight. Drakes and eagles hit hard, right as we were nearing the drop zone. They knew exactly where we were going."

"He tried to brush it off," Seraph added, her voice tight. "Said it was just a side effect of flying a visible target, that maybe someone paid for leaked intel. But it felt too clean. Too coordinated."

"Someone gave them our position," Fen said, flatly.

Sarge let out a low whistle. "That's not just bad luck. That's precision."

They let the implication hang, unspoken. There was a deeper game playing out here—one they still hadn't seen the board for.

Fen glanced at Seraph, their shared skepticism mirrored in her expression. "And yet we're still in the dark on why this is so critical to him."

Sarge sighed. "You'll probably get more clarity once I've had more time with the console data. But for now, there's something else you should know."

Fen straightened. "Go on."

"Several other teams received massive cash infusions and encrypted data caches—almost simultaneously with the moment Fisck brought you two in," Sarge said, his voice sharpening. "Someone's been seeding resources across the board."

Seraph's eyes narrowed. "That's beyond suspicious. Looks like someone's putting their thumb on the scale."

"Exactly," Sarge replied. "Spyders. Has to be. They're rigging the games from every angle—propping up teams across factions, keeping the odds high and the heat on you. And judging from the airship ambush, they're not pulling any punches."

Fen let out a slow breath, rubbing his temples. "Perfect. So we're the common denominator, and everyone's better funded because of us."

"They want you visible," Sarge said. "That's the point. Doesn't mean every team knows why—they're just cashing in and following orders. But the Spyders? They're playing a deeper game."

Seraph's posture tensed. "You think they're embedded? Actually placing agents inside these teams?"

"It would explain a lot," Sarge muttered. "They're not just helping one side—they're orchestrating the whole event."

There was a brief silence as that sunk in.

"Thing is…" Sarge continued, his voice dipping. "Based on what I've seen so far, I don't think this is just about killing you. Not yet. There are whispers in the caches I pulled—fragments of flag code, embedded queries. They suggest something bigger. Like you're worth more alive... for now."

Fen's jaw clenched. A chill crept in behind his thoughts, one he'd pushed aside until now.

"I think you're right," he said slowly. "They had their chance to finish us already—but they didn't. And one of the riders in the ambush..."

Seraph turned toward him. "What about him?"

Fen's voice dropped. "He grabbed me during the fight. Leaned in and said something—'You'll meet the master soon.' At the time, I figured it was just flair. A threat. But now?" He looked at them both, eyes darkening. "Feels more like a promise."

Seraph's brow furrowed. "So you think that rider—he was a Spyder agent?"

Fen nodded. "Either that, or bought off and given instructions. Doesn't matter. Either way, they want us alive. For something."

Sarge's voice came back over the line, grim. "Then whatever that 'something' is... we'd better figure it out before they get what they want."

Seraph let out a morbid chuckle, flopping back on the bed with a sigh. "Great. So, they want to kill us—but not before dragging us to whoever's pulling the strings. That's comforting."

"More like terrifying," Fen muttered. He turned his attention back to the communicator. "Sarge, any chance your snooping has uncovered who might be behind this?"

"Not yet," Sarge admitted. "But I'll keep digging. If it's the Spyders, we're not just talking about a vendetta. They're playing for something bigger."

Fen glanced at Seraph. Her smirk was faint, but the tension in her shoulders didn't lie.

"Bigger stakes, bigger problems," he muttered. "Why not pile it on?"

"Welcome to the Division Wars," Sarge said dryly. "I'll be in touch as soon as I have more. You two stay sharp."

The line crackled softly, then went dead.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence wasn't heavy exactly, but it pressed in around the edges—like the quiet that follows just before a second wave hits.

Then Seraph sighed and stretched out across the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Maybe this is karmic payback. Like, we messed up in a past life and now the universe is having a good laugh punishing us for it."

Fen chuckled softly, leaning against the edge of the writing desk. "Yeah, well… with how long NPCs live and how much trouble we get into, it's easy to rack up enemies across a dozen lives." He shot her a tired grin. "Especially someone like me."

She grinned faintly, her eyes half-closed. "If that's the case, we must've been real pieces of work."

He didn't respond right away. Just watched as her breathing slowed, her posture melting into sleep. She'd been holding it together all day—maybe longer than that. Now, for the first time, she let herself rest.

Fen moved to his own bed and lay down, folding his hands behind his head. His gaze drifted up to the uneven stone ceiling, where firelight from the wall sconces cast slow, shifting shadows. The day had been a blur of half-truths and too-close calls, and despite the quiet, his mind wouldn't follow Seraph's into sleep.

Fisck's motives were still a mess of contradictions. The Spyders were clearly meddling behind the scenes. And the rules of these Division Wars—whatever they were supposed to be—felt more like a setup than a competition. It was unraveling, all of it, faster than he could keep track.

And yet, in the center of it all—through the chaos and questions and uncertainty—there was this.

Seraph, asleep just a few feet away, her posture finally relaxed. Auri, her voice still echoing faintly in his mind, even now. They weren't just a crew. Weren't just allies thrown together by circumstance.

Not anymore.

They were his.

And maybe they always had been.

It was the kind of realization that hit like gravity—slow and heavy, pulling at everything. They'd fought side by side for cycles, laughed in down moments, stitched each other up after too many close calls. He'd told himself it was duty. Momentum. A shared objective.

But the last few days had stripped that illusion bare. This wasn't mission-bonding. This was family. The kind that crept up on you when you weren't looking and carved itself into your life without asking.

And he'd almost missed it.

Because deep down, he hadn't let himself see it. Maybe he was afraid they'd vanish like everything else. That if they ever saw too much of him they'd pull away.

He didn't know why, but, that fear had always been there. Just quiet. Constant. Like a pulse under the surface.

He'd lived too many lives—respawned too many times. His memories felt like snapshots, disconnected moments in someone else's story. Glimpses through glass. Never real.

But this? This was different. The last few days had burned away the blur. Every breath, every moment with them—it was vivid now. Present. Like color bleeding back into an old photograph.

And maybe that was what scared him most.

Not the fear losing them, that was there too, but the fear of letting them down.

He pulled the blanket up slowly, eyes tracing the flicker of firelight as it danced across the room. The shadows moved across his hands—scarred, steady, and for once, not clenched.

The old instinct said to pull away. Harden up. Don't get attached. He didn't even know where that fear came from anymore—only that it had followed him through every reset like a shadow.

But he wasn't that man now. Maybe he never had been.

They were his anchor now. His air. And he'd hold onto them with everything he had.

Even if it terrified him.

Especially because it did.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as his eyes finally drifted shut. But the peace didn't last. Dreams came like a tide.

Dark talons tore through his mind, slicing across a sky roiling with stormlight. Flames crackled—bright, fierce—devouring everything in their path. The land of the Verdant Expanse below, once lush and teeming with life, lay barren and charred, the skeletal remains of trees stretching upward like pleading hands. Gossamer webs clung to the blackened earth, shimmering faintly in the gloom, as he plummeted from the sky.

The roar of a drake shattered the silence, then the ground surged up like a tidal wave. Fen stirred uneasily in his sleep, his breaths shallow as flickering sconces tossed restless shadows across the stone walls, their light too thin to hold back the dark that swirled in his dreams.