Void Lord: My Revenge Is My Harem

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There was silence for a few moments. It wasn't reverent, exactly. It was the kind of quiet that teams give themselves after they get through a thing without telling the world how difficult that thing was. Then Fizz ruined the solemnity by performing a tiny victory dance that looked like a pastry shop achieved sentience.

"Lets get to the core," Rhea said briskly. "Slip, tag, move."

Ray scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing dirt into a new family portrait of humility. He looked at John and didn't attempt a smile because smiles are fragile and this wasn't one. "Thank you," he said, and the words sounded like he had spoken a language he'd despised until now.

"Eat something," John said. "And drink, or your legs will lecture you."

Fizz hovered up to Ray's eye level, paws on hips. "Lesson one," he announced. "Fire waits. Pride runs. You will choose fire. Also if you bring sweets to class you pass faster."

Ray blinked. "I am not bribing a guest professor."

"You are not bribing," Fizz said loftily. "You are encouraging your master."

Rhea let them have the theater for ten heartbeats, then cut the curtain. "Keep it small," she said. "We are not alone out here."

They were not.

Elsewhere in the green, Fartray of the Aura family leaned on a tree like it owed him money and listened to his underlings invent confidence. He wore hunting leathers that had never seen a hunt and a smile that had seen too many mirrors.

"You saw him," he said, soft enough that the leaves bent toward the sound. "You swear you saw him nearby."

"Yes, young master," muttered the one who always muttered. "With the spark."

"Good," Fartray said. "Then we write his story for him." He tossed a skin of animal blood to the boldest coward among them. "Streak this on the path he takes. Make a line to the briar sink and a line to the hornets' nest. Let the beasts do the courtesy I pay them so well for. If he dodges, we add noise behind. If he fights, we offer him choices until he chooses badly."

"And if he does not die," asked the one who liked questions because he thought questions counted as thinking.

Fartray's smile worked very hard to be kind and failed. "Then we help the dying along," he said. "And when the proctors ask, we tell them the jungle is a sadly hungry place. Nobody would care about a commoner. John you will die…"

They moved off like thoughts nobody should have had.

Far to the north edge where the path became a pretense, Ned White did not think about anyone but Ned White. Light gathered at his fingers with the clean obedience of servants who had had no choice in generations. He split a tree-leaper's leap with a prism's indifference and let his most vocal followers collect the core to feel useful.

"Five," said a boy who had never been allowed to be a man. "Well led, Lord Ned. Very well led."

"Do not call me lord outside, Berlo," Ned said, lightly bored. "It confuses the peasants."

They laughed as if humor had applied for a permit and been approved. Ned lifted his hand, chasing a mote of sun in the air like it might try to leave. He didn't see John yet with Rhea flame. He would soon. The world liked a bad reunion.

Back in the breathing green, Team Lord Fizz plus two took their last planned beast of the day. They didn't display. They didn't write an essay. They did a job.

Rhea held the Snaptail's attention with a long-burn line that smelled like caramelized mistakes. Fizz drafted a tunnel of cool along the ground so the first rush slid instead of struck. Ray, remembering that compression existed, made his fists weapons instead of fireworks and hit when hitting mattered. John took the place where the creature's spine met its stupid pride and turned the meaning of weight sideways for half a breath.

It was not beautiful. It was effective. Sometimes those are the same thing.

"Cores," Rhea said again. "Slip, tag."

They stood in the cross-hatched shade as the day lowered itself into the promise of a second camp. Rhea's red ribbon had loosened; she retied it with a motion that said this was not for anyone else's benefit. Ray tested his ankle and found that humility did good physical therapy work. Fizz licked a smear of sugar off his paw he swore he had not stolen and kicked a seed pod like a small victory.

John looked east where the jungle's hem trembled with rumors that had not learned to hush yet. He felt the egg tug in the black hole, patient and hungry; he felt the bike sleeping like a folded road; he felt the way Fizz's presence steadied the count and the way Rhea's competence made the air less foolish.

"Register and rest," Rhea said. "We go again in the morning. No heroics. We need total thirty third class cores."

"No heroics," John agreed.

Fizz saluted with a cookie he definitely had not stolen from Rhea's pouch. "We only do heroics when they are funny," he declared.

Ray opened his mouth to argue, then remembered the ear. He closed it again and settled for grumbling that sounded suspiciously like gratitude.

They set off toward the staging ground together, looking like nothing special and moving like people who had started to learn the good kind of special. Above them, the leaves applauded a show that had not ended yet.

Somewhere behind, a boy with a family name and bad plans thought the forest worked for him. Somewhere ahead, a half brother with light in his fists believed light could not be wrong. He didn't recognize John yet. Who knows what will happen when he recognizes the low born of white family. A child who got bullied by his half brother and vanished at the age of fifteen. Three years had changed him in a way nobody in the white State could imagine.

Only time will tell what fate has decided for John. What type of future is waiting for him to be the dark hero?

For now, four pairs of feet and one set of very opinionated cute furry friend wrote a simple sentence in the loam: few done, more to do.