You Already Won

The next morning was about as comfortable as a cave recently redecorated by death could get. Jonathan stirred, groaning as his limbs reminded him of the prior day's chaos. He blinked up at the stone ceiling, rolled his neck, and stretched until something in his back popped with the satisfying crack of life barely regained.

Sšurtinaui was already up—because of course she was. Her silver hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, every strand somehow perfect even after crawling through a pit of monsters. Her green eyes, sharp and clear, glinted faintly in the low light. Elvish charm never took a day off, apparently.

Caroline, too, was awake, standing off to the side adjusting the new outfit her system had apparently conjured. A sleek orange and black cloak hugged her frame, shifting subtly with her movements. Her sandpaper hair was down now, a reversal from the ponytail she'd worn before. Funny, Jonathan thought, how one always had their hair tied when the other didn't. Unspoken coordination. Probably a girl thing.

They gathered for a quick breakfast, sharing pieces of spiced jerky and drinking from canteens filled with magically purified water. Small talk floated easily—half about nothing at all, half about how Jonathan had slept like a rock.

Caroline stretched and looked up toward the roof of the cavern. "The gem's still here. Which means the guardian probably hasn't moved. So yeah, still a problem."

Sšurtinaui nodded. "The other contestant too—no way he left if the gem's unclaimed."

Jonathan finished chewing and raised his hand lazily like a student in class. "Before we get back to the monster parade… Ryun training. Proper Ryun training."

Sšurtinaui arched a brow.

He sat forward. "I know we're on a clock, and yeah, the guardian's still there, but I don't want to be possessed, or screaming like a lunatic again."

Caroline winced. "Yeah, no thanks on the screaming relapse."

Jonathan nodded seriously. "I need to build a base. Strengthen my aura. Get sharper. If I'm gonna fight with you two, I have to carry my weight. No dead weight in this trio, right?"

Sšurtinaui considered him, then gave a small nod. "Control and flow first."

Caroline exhaled and rolled her shoulders. "Still recovering some stats, anyway. So stalling for a bit won't kill me."

Jonathan grinned. "Great. Just, uh, don't kill me either."

Sšurtinaui smirked. "No promises."

They descended further into the pit—now a crater more than a battlefield, with charred stone, melted veins of ore, and shattered fragments of rocks. Jonathan glanced around at the wreckage of their previous madness and whistled.

"Nothing like turning a near-death arena into a classroom."

Sšurtinaui smirked. "Ruin is the best teacher in Requiem."

She led them to a semi-stable ledge near the crater's edge. Caroline sat cross-legged, still recovering aura and stats, while Jonathan stood opposite Sšurtinaui, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his arms.

"Alright," she said, her tone crisp. "Ryun isn't just energy—it's the breath of Requiem itself. The Dead Gods' energy, still flowing through the bones of this world."

Jonathan smirked. "God juice."

Sšurtinaui smirked and nodded. "Long dead. But their essence lingers. Everything—every being, structure, storm, breath—runs off Ryun. It's channeled through aura, which acts as your filter and limiter."

She drew a quick diagram in the dirt with her boot. "There are four classes of Ryun users. You're somewhere between the first and second."

"Classes of Ryun Users," she recited as she marked four rings in the ground.

Animists — "Basic users. Strength buffs, aura armor, sensory sharpening. Most soldiers, civilians, and early cadets fall here. This is where you started—Ryun enhancing your speed and strength."

Imaginers — "A step above. You start visualizing what you want Ryun to do. Elemental bursts. Constructs. Guided intent. Your lightning and those spears? That's Imaginer-level."

Jonathan's eyes lit up. "So I'm already there?"

"Barely," she said, raising a brow. "You're winging it. That's not mastery. Imaginers use focus, not flailing guesses."

She moved to the third ring.

Reality Shapers — "These ones bend physics. Distort gravity. Alter probability. Imposing fate, unweaving attacks mid-launch. They don't fight reality—they edit it. These are your high rankers and standard gods."

Jonathan nodded slowly. "So broken is what you're saying."

She gave a small grin. "Now the fourth—"

Domain Bearers — "They don't just shape reality. They own it. Within their domain, their will is law. Your aura touches their space, and you bend. These are Kings, Supreme Family Heads , and some elite gods. Maybe thirty exist."

Jonathan took it all in, eyes trailing over the etched rings.

"So how do I stop being a flailing idiot and actually get better?"

Sšurtinaui pointed at the second ring. "Start here. Your aura is the pen. Ryun is the ink. You need to learn how to write your intention before you try rewriting reality."

"Great," Jonathan said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's begin the Ryun literacy program."

"Start small," she said, her voice sharper now. "Shape a spark. Form it with intent. No brute force. Controlled flow."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "Alright then."

He hovered his hands above the stone as red-and-black Ryun sparked erratically from his fingertips like a live wire. His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line as he tried—emphasis on tried—to manifest a steady stream.

"Channel the aura first, then tell it what to do," Sšurtinaui reminded, standing just behind him with arms crossed, her voice patient but unimpressed.

"I am telling it what to do!" he grunted, the energy puffing out like a short-circuited lightbulb.

"Does screaming at it in your head count as instruction?" she teased, stepping to his side. "You're flaring, not shaping."

"Oh, great," Jonathan muttered. "Now it's Ryun parenting. Let me guess: it doesn't respond to yelling, only positive reinforcement?"

She flicked the side of his head with a tiny Ryun strand, making his ear buzz like a malfunctioning walkie-talkie. "Try being less dumb."

"That's abuse."

"That was discipline."

He staggered. "Okay, abuse with precision. Got it."

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Caroline sat cross-legged on a broken rock slab, her game-like interface shimmering in front of her. Unlike Jonathan, she wasn't struggling—she was refining.

Her stats panel had updated after completing the Ember Tincture Quest:

[Magjesti]

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Level: 255 (Outlander – Coded Sigil Mage)

Aura Capacity: 87,000 → 98,000

Sigil Synchronicity: +3%

Tail Manifestation Limit: 4 → 6 (Locked pending Tier 4)

Clairvoyance Tier: Upgraded (Map Range +30%, Mood Detection added)

Arc Infusion: [NEW STATUS] Grants lightning-based synergy to existing sigils.

Skill Upgrade Choices:

Sigil: Heaven's Chain Rewrite – A trap-based glyph that reprograms the next ability cast. High risk, high versatility.

Arc Glyph Cascade – Automatically chains caster sigil attacks together for high-speed combo barrages.

System Override – Temporarily disables enemy aura control in a localized space. Cooldown: 10 minutes.

The Fortune Holder gem quest was still pending. She'd wait for that one.

Her system activity pulsed in rhythm with the world, and for now, waiting felt like the smartest choice—even if every fiber of her being wanted to rip it open. The completist in her was screaming for the reward. Especially after almost dying to those stupid wolves.

She shoved the urge aside. First things first: pick a skill.

Even that wasn't an easy choice.

She gnawed her lip. "Override's busted, but it's got a long cooldown. Cascade would boost DPS. But Rewrite's so freaking fun. Ugh."

She glanced at the timer ticking down toward Day 8's Rule Shift.

"Three hours to go," she muttered. "Whatever it is, it just better be major."

Her eyes flicked to Jonathan, who was now pacing like a man giving a TED Talk to the floor.

"I think I figured it out," he declared.

Sšurtinaui blinked. "Figured what out? You still can't shape a basic construct without being on death's door."

"No, no. Hear me out." Jonathan raised a finger like he was conjuring prophecy. "What if the key to controlling Ryun isn't just thinking… but storytelling? Like… giving your Ryun a narrative. Set the scene. Frame the moment. That's how I've been doing the lightning stuff, I think—I imagine how I want it to look as if it's in a story."

Sšurtinaui tilted her head. "You sound like a philosopher with brain rot."

"You don't even know what brain rot is."

Caroline snorted. "He sounds like a wannabe power scaler. Next you'll be saying you scale your Ryun based on your emotional state."

Jonathan blinked. …Why was he thinking like that? Was it from the visions? The blood movies? Had he accidentally tapped into some divine storytelling mechanic?

He looked down at his hand, the Ryun flickering faintly between his fingers like threads of red lightning ink.

"Okay," he muttered to himself. "Maybe less divine author… more obedient student. Get Ryun down first."

He took a breath. Focused.

The sparks stabilized.

Sšurtinaui nodded slowly. "Finally."

Jonathan grinned. "Hey. Told you I'm a fast learner."

She shrugged. "You're a disaster with good instincts. That's all."

From her seat, Caroline cheered, "Look at the future King."

Jonathan threw her a wink, then immediately lost focus and zapped his own leg.

Sšurtinaui sighed. "Class dismissed—for five minutes. Then we try shaping."

Jonathan groaned as he limped to sit. "I need hazard pay…"

For the next two hours, the cave echoed with flashes of energy, bursts of laughter, and occasional swearing—mostly from Jonathan.

Sšurtinaui stood at the center of the pit, her feet planted firmly on the stone, guiding Jonathan through the process of shaping Ryun. "Alright," she said, drawing a green strand from her palm like thread, "area shaping is about context. Make your aura understand the space—not just your body."

Caroline, seated on a rocky ledge nearby, was lazily conjuring sigils in the air, letting them swirl and dissolve like lazy fireflies. "Yeah," she chimed in with a smirk, "not everything has to revolve around your hands. Your aura isn't a lightsaber—it's a mood ring with daddy issues."

Sšurtinaui snorted. "That's… honestly accurate."

"I try."

Jonathan grunted in concentration, standing in a circular stance, trying to push his Ryun outward into the ground. "Okay, so… context. Space. Not just me. Got it."

Red-and-black Ryun flickered along his arms, flowing down into the floor around him. It spread unevenly at first—pulsing like spilled ink across broken stone. He clenched his jaw, narrowing his focus.

The field expanded six feet. Then ten. A dome of faint electricity buzzed around him. "Yes!"

Sšurtinaui raised a brow. "Good. Now give it intent. What does that zone do?"

"Uh…"

Caroline chuckled, leaning back. "He didn't think that far."

"Shut up, I'm getting there."

Jonathan closed his eyes. "Slow movement… increase pressure… weight."

The aura hummed, and the dome pulsed heavier. The ground cracked slightly beneath Sšurtinaui's feet.

She nodded in approval. "Now that is a shaping field."

Jonathan exhaled and let the field disperse. "That felt… draining."

Caroline twirled sigil between her fingers. "Shaping your aura takes more than blasting it around. You're a painter now. With limited paint."

He wiped sweat from his brow. "So what about that next level—what's it called? Reality shapers? Can I try?"

Sšurtinaui looked at him like he'd asked if he could bench-press the moon. "You're joking."

Caroline snorted. "He's not."

Jonathan, stubborn, crouched down and channeled his aura again—this time trying to bend the angle of a nearby rock so it would fall upward rather than down. He pictured it clearly. Imagined the gravity flipping.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

The rock shook, but it didn't obey.

Sšurtinaui sighed and walked over. "You don't just tell reality to change. You have to convince it."

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"You're negotiating with a universe that thinks you're a toddler with a crayon. Besides that's made for gods and high-rankers. I can't even do it yet."

Jonathan collapsed onto the floor. "Okay. Imaginers it is."

"You're not bad," Caroline admitted. "Faster than my old tank buddy. He took four days just to make a mana bubble."

"High praise," he muttered.

They laughed. The mood had relaxed. Even with the pressure of the 8th day rule looming, there was something grounding about training, about slowly understanding the chaos around them.

Jonathan looked down at his hand again. The blood wasn't surging. His aura was stable. For now, he thought, he wouldn't rely on the blood.

He'd build strength the old-fashioned way.

The air in the cavern shimmered faintly with leftover Ryun from their training. Jonathan cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.

"Alright," he said, grinning. "Let's spar. I learn faster when stuff's trying to hit me in the face."

Sšurtinaui raised a brow. "You're sure?"

Caroline, still on her ledge, looked up sharply. "What about me?!"

Jonathan glanced her way, smirking. "You cheat. Your UI is probably pulling secret combos from your old loadout. You're probably worse than me when it comes to this."

Caroline's mouth dropped. "You suck."

"You love me."

"Regrettably."

Sšurtinaui chuckled softly. "I won't go easy on you."

Jonathan stepped into the center of the pit, hands raised, flickers of red and black lightning dancing across his knuckles. "Good. I need that."

Sšurtinaui moved first, her green Ryun cloaking her arms as she vanished into a dash—no sound, no warning, just sudden motion. Jonathan's instincts barely caught up. He rolled under her slash, the air splitting just above his head as two Ryun daggers hummed to life in her hands.

He retaliated with a crackling jab, lightning searing toward her like a coiled whip. She deflected it with a sweep of her left dagger, twirling low into a hunter's crouch. Jonathan leapt back, dragging a trail of lightning behind him like a lasso. He swung it around and hurled it like a spear.

She ducked, closed the gap, and struck with a flurry of green arcs.

He blocked—once, twice—but the third slash grazed his side. Pain bloomed like fire across his ribs.

"You're favoring your right," she said mid-strike.

"Lies," he muttered, shifting his stance to southpaw. He launched a sweeping kick charged with Ryun.

She stepped inside it, slammed her shoulder into his chest, and they both went tumbling.

Jonathan flipped backward, skidding across the pit, and landed in a crouch, panting. He smirked. "That was good."

Sšurtinaui spun the daggers and threw one—it arced mid-air, powered by her intent, homing in. He ducked it just in time, charging forward with a red-and-black aura flaring around his fists.

He moved like a boxer, hands up, but every swing carried the crackling weight of compressed Ryun. His blows carved minor craters into the ground as she danced around them. Still, he was learning. Adjusting. Matching her rhythm.

And then—

She vanished.

He blinked.

Too late.

Her blade stopped just short of his neck.

Jonathan froze. One of her slashes had torn through his defense—if it had landed clean, he'd have needed to heal. Probably with his blood.

He looked down, chest heaving. "…Damn."

Sšurtinaui stepped back, lowering her weapon. "If you hadn't hesitated, I would've lost my arm."

He exhaled. "Yeah… but I would've needed to use the blood. That counts as a loss for me."

Caroline whistled from the ledge. "Honestly? Not bad, future king. You gave her some work."

Jonathan grinned, breathing hard. "I'll win next time."

Sšurtinaui smiled faintly. "Good. Because you're improving—fast."

Jonathan nodded, eyes gleaming. This was what he needed.

Caroline plopped down onto a conjured seat made of interlocking crimson sigils and snapped her fingers—three bottles of lemon-mint water and a spread of crunchy starfruit snacks appeared beside her in a swirl of digital particles. She passed one to Jonathan and held out the other to Sšurtinaui, who took it with a polite nod.

"Okay," Caroline said between sips, "so our next move is… wait. A very aggressive, strategic wait."

"How much time until the rule?"

"New rule in twenty."

Sšurtinaui nodded, eyes narrowed toward the ceiling like it might peel open and reveal something. "Whatever it is, it's going to shift everything. Again. So waiting is for the best."

Jonathan didn't respond at first. He was crouched nearby, elbows on his knees, chin resting in one hand, staring at the floor with a faint smile on his lips.

He was replaying the fight.

The footwork. The instincts. The timing.

He had held his own.

That was real.

But so was the truth—Sšurtinaui hadn't gone all in. She hadn't even used her bow.

And despite that, it had still been close.

He smiled wider. That didn't discourage him—it excited him.

For the first time since landing in Requiem, he didn't just feel like he was surviving. He was fighting. Learning. Growing. On his own terms.

He stretched his shoulders and rolled his neck. His body was whole again. Not just healed, but humming with balance. No open wounds, no blood drips, no lingering fractures. The only remnants were phantom aches—echoes of Jafar's chaos from his trip through memory purgatory. But even those felt… faded now.

He exhaled. And laid back.

"Five minutes left," Caroline eventually muttered, glancing at her UI's countdown.

Jonathan stood, lightning still faintly flickering under his skin. "Cool. Can't wait to see what fresh hell they roll out for us this time."

Sšurtinaui nodded.

They all stood now—gems packed, expressions steeled.

Because in five minutes, the world was going to change again.