You Already Won

The cave pulsed with quiet life, its walls glimmering with veins of violet ore and half-lit moss that shimmered faintly with Ryun residue. Caroline's voice bounced from the stone, offering tidbits about the cave's mineral resonance and how the layers curved unnaturally—a byproduct of the guardian's long-standing aura influence. But this time, she wasn't the only one talking. Tinsurnae added in calmly, pointing out where ambushes might have occurred, where the earth was softer from prolonged Ryun pressure, and which areas to avoid due to unstable ground.

It was strange how naturally he had fallen into place with them. He didn't act like a threat. If anything, he was a little awkward and overly cautious, but he went with the flow. And, more importantly, he hadn't tried to kill anyone. That counted for something.

Sšurtinaui glanced over at Jonathan, who was quietly walking behind the group, hands by his sides and a faraway look on his face.

"Enjoying the peace?" she asked softly.

Jonathan didn't look at her. "You stay in my business, elf."

"I have a name."

"I know."

She chuckled, her steps light across a narrow ledge, the path narrowing before widening into a jagged basin. They passed over a bridge of clustered roots, climbing a brief incline scattered with broken gear and fossilized bones—leftovers from those who had tried this route before them.

The calm was… eerie. No beasts, no freelancers, no cults—just the four of them. The only reason they weren't being hunted was because Tinsurnae had already slaughtered or diverted everything in the guardian's domain.

Sšurtinaui kept pace beside him. "It's kind of nice," she admitted. "Going for a casual stroll to go kill a ranker."

Jonathan laughed under his breath. "When you say it like that, it sounds downright cozy."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "You've made a lot of progress, you know. For someone who's only been here a week and a day? That's insane."

He scratched the back of his neck, not used to praise. "Yeah, it's been a ride."

"What helped you learn Sryun so fast?"

His face twitched. "…Ya know. The usual stuff."

Her brow rose, but she let it go.

Ahead, Caroline and Tinsurnae quieted. They'd reached a bend in the path where the stone turned glassy, and the air grew colder. Faint lines carved by footsteps over centuries webbed out from the center like spider cracks. The ceiling arched high overhead, disappearing into a misty void.

Tinsurnae raised a hand. His voice was hushed but firm. "Beyond here… the guardian patrols."

They all went silent. The only sound was the quiet drip of cave water and their own breathing.

Jonathan stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

They went over the plan one final time, crouched in a shallow alcove just shy of the guardian's domain. Sšurtinaui traced patterns in the dirt with one finger, her expression calm but focused. The crude lines marked terrain features, attack ranges, and estimated movement paths. It was nothing fancy—but it was clear.

"Jonathan and Tinsurnae up front," she said, her voice clipped. "You draw him out, keep him distracted. Caroline comes in mid-phase to chip away with long-range support. If it gets dicey, she uses her new ability. Last-second contingency only."

Caroline nodded. "It's got a long cooldown. I'm not burning it unless it's our Hail Mary."

Sšurtinaui tapped another mark. "I'll stay back and provide suppression—phantasm arrows only. High-density Ryun, no distractions. We focus everything on his timing windows."

Tinsurnae knelt beside her, correcting a small arc in the diagram. "He favors right-side faints. And there's a quarter-second tell before he uses that blade amplification technique. If you see his right boot shift—brace or dodge."

"Any surprises we should expect?" Jonathan asked, already guessing the answer.

Tinsurnae's voice lowered. "This'll be my sixty-ninth try. I know most of his strategies, but we leave room for the unexpected. He's a sword paladin, and he buffs himself with Ryun. No flashy moves. Just speed, strength, and lethal precision."

Jonathan let out a long sigh. "I'm not even a Sryun master. I just learned how to not blow myself up two hours ago."

"You don't need to be a master," Sšurtinaui said, wiping the dirt clean. "You just need a few clean hits. The rest of us will handle the rest."

"Still feels like this is happening way too fast," Jonathan muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Fast is normal here," Tinsurnae said simply.

Caroline added, "Besides, this is Requiem. Most outlanders don't last four minutes on their first day."

Jonathan looked at them, at the grim determination in their faces, and found his own nerves slowly settling. If they were willing to trust him, he'd have to trust himself.

"Don't worry, we'll be using Sryun after he tires himself a bit."

"So we're waiting for the second phase?"

"Sure that's one way to see it."

They rose as one, checking gear(which was mostly just tattered cloaks and robes), adjusting stances, mentally bracing. No more planning. No more waiting. Just action now.

And with a final breath held in the chest, they crossed the threshold—marching into the silent dark where the ranker waited.

Jonathan had a million questions.

There were other Jujisns out there?

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Obviously. Tinsurnae was proof enough—but he hadn't had a chance to ask about it. Every time he tried to slow down, Requiem shoved him into the next trial, the next fight, the next impossible situation. He got it. That was the nature of the place.

Still… it was kind of annoying.

And yet, undeniably thrilling.

Everyone around him moved with steady purpose. They seemed ready. Prepared. Focused. And Jonathan? He wanted a good fight. Something worthy of the person he might become. A chance to prove he belonged here—despite the chaos swirling in his chest.

But as they got closer, the air grew heavier. That quiet hum of dread, like something was watching. Judging.

Caroline moved with quiet speed, making last-minute adjustments, her sigils pulsing faintly around her sleeve . "All good," she murmured.

Sšurtinaui stepped beside her, slipping her mask back on with a sharp exhale.

Tinsurnae, usually calm in that odd, half-awkward way, closed his eyes and began breathing slowly in and out. Centering himself.

And then—

A voice rolled out from deeper in the cavern. It wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be.

"So… you brought friends, little one."

It was spoken almost fondly.

But every word hung heavy in the air. Like it had weight. Like it had teeth.

Jonathan sighed as they pressed forward. Okay. Beat this guy, get the gem, and maybe—just maybe—get some answers. After this, I'm taking control of the narrative.

The tunnel narrowed ahead. Tinsurnae took the lead, his steps slowing with each meter. The voice had come from just beyond the bend. He muttered under his breath, something quiet and respectful—but not fearful.

As the group approached, heart rates climbed. Sšurtinaui's fingers twitched with green Ryun. Caroline's tails flicked into a tighter coil. Jonathan tried to swallow down the tension.

The voice continued, calm and steady, not the slightest bit hostile.

"I was wondering when you'd return, little one," it said. "But I never thought you'd bring friends."

They rounded the final turn.

The stone widened into a broken enclave. Massive slabs of carved architecture loomed—half-buried by fallen earth and time. A shattered arch marked what used to be the entrance to an ancient temple. Behind it, a dark passage pulsed faintly with Ryun energy, like something sacred still lingered within.

And standing before it all…

The guardian.

His armor was weathered but regal, shaped like overlapping bark and bone. Ornate, spiraling engravings twisted down his curved blade. Gold-cloth wraps draped from his waist like ceremonial ribbons, stained from years of battle. His helmet, horned and insectile, framed his head like the crown of a forgotten king. One arm bore a massive, polished shield, and his stance was that of someone who had never known defeat—relaxed, yet absolute.

He looked like a walking monument to war.

Jonathan blinked, then muttered, "Well… shit."

Beside him, Tinsurnae exhaled quietly. "That's him."

"Well obviously."

And the guardian stepped forward, voice steady.

"Let's see if your new companions are worth the cost of bringing them here."

"Woah! I just realized he speaks English."

"Of course, I know many tongues throughout the realms and I heard you talking before you arrived."

Caroline muttered a soft prayer under her breath, one of those half-remembered ones her mother used to say and it somehow still felt sacred even here in Requiem. Her fingers hovered near her sigils, tails low and tense.

Sšurtinaui, despite the intensity radiating from the guardian, held position in the rear, her bow half-drawn but not raised. She was calculating, watching. Waiting.

But that didn't stop the guardian from noticing.

"You there," the guardian said, voice cool and echoing slightly beneath the cave's breath. "With the mask and the hesitation. Don't think hiding in the back will spare you."

Sšurtinaui's grip tightened, but she said nothing.

Tinsurnae stepped forward, exhaling with familiarity. "Still dramatic."

The guardian tilted his head slightly. "And you still talk too much."

"Only because you never talk enough."

"I speak with purpose," the guardian replied.

Tinsurnae smirked. "Then we'll get along worse than usual."

Before the back-and-forth could keep going, Jonathan took a step forward, lightning crackling faintly under his boots.

"Okay, time out. If we're gonna fight—and let's be honest, we are—I at least wanna know your name before you try to split me in half."

The guardian turned his head fully to Jonathan for the first time. The air between them thickened.

"…A fair request."

He planted the tip of his blade into the ground. Dust shifted. Energy rippled outward like a held breath.

"I am called Zavrien. First Blade of the Hollow Sanctum. Guardian of the Eighth Gate. Now—I simply stand where others fall."

Jonathan gave a half-nod.

Zavrien didn't move, his helm tilting slightly as Jonathan's voice echoed across the fractured stone.

"So Zavrien," Jonathan called, lowering his stance just slightly, "why guard a broken temple in a region that's about to be erased?"

The armored warrior didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned his gaze to the narrow passage behind him—the remains of a once-hallowed place carved into the mountain, its entrance cracked and faded from time and forgotten wars. Moss clung to old stone like memory refusing to fade. Behind him, something faintly glowed—just out of sight.

"The gem you seek," Zavrien began, "wasn't meant to be part of this contest. It was once a gift. Jewelry. I bought it for her in another realm. Purple and gold lattice, infused with minor aura. Useless in battle. Precious to her."

He let the words settle like dust. "I buried her here. Behind me. This temple belonged to her ancestors."

Jonathan blinked. It hit him like a falling stone—these gems weren't just points. They were mementos. Trophies. Personal relics, turned into scoring systems by divine hands. Another way to humble the region. Turn legacy into leverage.

Sšurtinaui narrowed her eyes. "So you'd throw your life away for it?"

Zavrien's head didn't move. "I heard the voice of Vari, same as you. I know what's coming. The region will be erased. Devoured by design. This is how I choose to go—guarding her rest. Not fleeing like the others. Not dying in a scramble for points. On my feet. Sword in hand. If that offends the gods… they can come tell me themselves."

Jonathan stepped forward, his voice quiet. "You don't have to do this. It doesn't have to end here."

Zavrien finally turned back to him.

"I've lived over six hundred years. Fought in thirteen realms. Became a ranker before your ancestors' ancestors were born. I have tasted glory, known love, buried comrades, and seen kingdoms rise to then fall. What else is left but choice?"

He planted his blade once more.

"It just so happens that the gem I brought back for my wife has become part of this divine game. That's not tragedy—it's irony. And I've always appreciated a poetic end."

The words struck Jonathan harder than expected.

For all the talk of fate and gods and bloodlines, this man… wasn't bitter. Just ready. There was power in that. A clarity that Jonathan didn't have yet.

And maybe… something he'd need to understand.

Zavrien stood tall, the light from the cave flickering over the dark metal of his armor. His voice echoed low and steady.

"I'd like to know the names of those who'll try to take me down. Seems only right. Especially the little one."

Caroline shifted first, stepping forward with her usual bravado dulled by the moment's gravity. "Caroline. And… I feel bad about fighting you now."

Zavrien gave a soft chuckle that carried no mockery. "That's kind of you."

Sšurtinaui hesitated, then spoke. "I am Sšurtinaui of Varics."

"Ah," Zavrien interrupted gently. "Varics. Your father… Drelvak Varics, I presume?"

Sšurtinaui's eyes widened. "You knew my father?"

"Of course," Zavrien said with a fond nod. "A fine warrior. Tell him, if fate allows, that I died guarding what I loved. Not in shame. But in peace."

The weight of those words hit harder than any blow. Tinsurnae stepped forward next, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Tinsurnae. Should've said that the first time I came here."

Zavrien tilted his head. "It suits you. That name carries storm."

And then all eyes turned to Jonathan.

He sighed, as if bracing himself. "Jonathan North."

The guardian looked at him long and hard, saying nothing for a beat too long. Then: "There's kindness in you. But deeper still… something buried. A name. A destiny not yet tamed. I wonder—"

He shifted his stance.

"—what it'll take to bring it to the surface."

Jonathan blinked. "Now I feel bad about this whole thing."

Zavrien's helmet dipped, the curve of his aura suggesting a smile behind the visor. "Don't let that be the reason I defeat you… rising star."

And then he moved.

Like a landslide wrapped in silence, the guardian launched forward. The earth screamed underfoot.

And just like that—

Chaos exploded.

The battle had begun.