You Already Won

"How amusing," the voice whispered, smooth as silk and older than silence.

"That storyteller really thinks they're ahead."

Beside the voice, Tinsurnae stirred.

His eyes blinked open into blinding white.

Light poured down on him—not sunlight, not artificial, just light. Pure. Indifferent.

He squinted and groaned.

"Am I dead?"

"No, my little wanderer."

The voice was warm and strange. It had depth but no sound. Meaning without noise.

Tinsurnae sat up. All around him, wherever he looked, the terrain shifted: patches of vibrant brown grass blinked into rippling purple fields, as if the ground couldn't decide on its own palette. The horizon was… absent. White blankness stretched in all directions.

Except for one thing.

A creature. A throne. A presence.

Atop a hill—if you could call it that—sat Rhan.

They perched with impossible grace on the back of a beast: an elk, if elk had four heads, each crowned with three rotating faces—canine, feline, and avian.

Ten legs supported the massive body. Four tails danced behind it, woven from sheer aura, shifting through memory and color. The creature breathed in cycles of soundless wind.

Tinsurnae just… stared.

So did Rhan.

Seconds passed. Maybe more. Maybe less. This place had no clocks. Only breath.

Rhan opened their mouth to speak—

"What the hell is going on?!"

Tinsurnae shot up, arms flailing.

"Why am I here? Why are you now just showing up!? What is this a memory? A vision? I just survived a boss fight?! You can't just drop me in the middle of a soul-flaying event, then yoyo me into ghost-elk purgatory like it's normal!"

He pointed wildly at the white void.

"What the hell is this place? Why does the grass keep changing colors? Are we inside a metaphor?"

Rhan blinked. All twelve faces blinked in sync. The elk rumbled beneath them, unmoved.

"Finished?"

"No!" Tinsurnae snapped.

He took a breath.

"…Yes."

He looked at Rhan and realized they weren't in their usual attire.

No longer in robes, but something stranger. Vines twisted around their form like sentient garments, woven from blooming abyssal flora, each stem thrumming with faint starlight. The vines looped over their chest like ceremonial armor, pulsing gently with black and violet. Their hair was a windlass river of white gold, and their golden eyes shimmered like dying suns in a far-off cradle of time.

This was no longer the mentor who gave cryptic hints. This was a fragment of the myth—the god-beast behind the curtain.

"You're in a paradox," Rhan said, voice smooth, like a tide that only spoke in riddles.

"I didn't want anyone else listening."

Tinsurnae raised a brow.

"So… basically a metaphor."

Rhan smirked.

Tinsurnae didn't sit. He crossed his arms instead, tired and angry and far too done with cryptic bullshit.

"There's no point filling you in. You saw it all."

His voice didn't shake.

"So just tell me: why didn't you say anything about Jonathan?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"And what's the real reason you pulled me in here?"

The elk let out a slow exhale. One of its heads turned to watch the nonexistent horizon.

Rhan tapped a vine draped over their knee.

"First," they said, "congratulations. You beat a Ranker." Their eyes crinkled slightly. "Not many can say that at your range and live to tell the tale."

Tinsurnae didn't flinch at the compliment. He waited.

"But more importantly," Rhan leaned forward, the vines shifting in a slow slither, "what have you learned so far?"

The question hung in the air like gravity made of thought.

Tinsurnae didn't answer right away.

He stood there—still, small, and simmering in that endless white-violet field of paradox—watching the being before him, feeling the edges of his own power like a splinter under skin. His arms crossed, jaw tight.

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"Nothing."

His voice was low.

"I've barely had time with the group I just met. Barely understand why I'm even here. And now the entire region's under a death sentence?"

Rhan's expression didn't change. But the elk exhaled, all ten legs shifting beneath it. "That isn't my decision."

Rhan's voice was calm.

"Vari's heads play cruel games. And the Jafar Empire—they were going to destroy the planet."

A pause.

"But they conceded to a request. From her."

Tinsurnae's brow twitched.

"So what, this whole world is just collateral?"

"Eventually, yes." Rhan shrugged, the vines around their arms swaying like mournful willow branches.

"For now, only the region will corrode. Later… the rest will follow."

Tinsurnae clenched his fists.

"That's just cruelty."

"That's just how it goes." Rhan gestured outward, as if referencing timelines only they could see.

"In another timeline, this planet was devoured by an End Beast before anyone ever landed here. Before that, it froze over. Some things… are simply fated."

Tinsurnae exhaled through his nose, grounding himself.

And that's when it hit him.

This wasn't the usual Rhan.

No teasing riddles. No strange jokes or roundabout lectures.

This was an avatar.

Which meant…

Something was serious enough for the real Rhan to be paying attention.

Rhan's eyes glimmered with private amusement.

Then they spoke, their voice quieter.

"I've been shielding you, my little wanderer."

Tinsurnae narrowed his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because another thought they could interfere. So I indulged myself."

They looked into the empty sky.

"They're spinning a tale of demise. You and Jonathan will be hunted. And soon… another will have a target burned into their back."

Tinsurnae didn't even blink.

"Vari's Jujisn."

Rhan nodded once.

"Figured." Tinsurnae sighed. "Everyone and their grandmother would hate anything to do with Vari right now. So let me guess… this is where you give me a cryptic speech and tell me to get stronger, walk the line of chaos, and survive the hurricane or whatever."

Rhan chuckled.

The elk stirred, starting to walk through the paradox grass, heads turning like clocks ticking in four directions.

"Become more, my little wanderer."

Rhan's voice echoed with something deeper now—less whimsy, more finality.

"I'm simply here to alert you. The trials ahead are not part of the original system. You've drawn attention. And attention always comes with cost."

Tinsurnae scowled.

"You're literally no help. I swear, this might be your worst one yet. What was the point of this?"

Rhan stopped. Their smile lingered.

"Time for you to be challenged, Tinsurnae."

That stopped him cold.

Rhan rarely called him by his name. Usually child. Or little wanderer. Last time if he remembered correctly, it ended up with him in this event.

Tinsurnae felt something strange stir in his chest.

A pressure he hadn't realized was always absent.

"…You mean," he muttered, "I could actually die now."

Rhan didn't answer. They didn't need to.

"You've always had the comfort of my presence," they said.

"Even when you didn't know it. But now… if you live or die—that's entirely yours to decide."

Tinsurnae's throat tightened. Not fear.

Not quite.

But it felt close.

And then—

The paradox cracked like shattering glass.

Rhan's final smile lingered like a constellation folding in on itself.

Tinsurnae was gone.

Back to the mortal realm.

To the ruin. His journey had truly begun.

And far above it all, Rhan—wherever their true self truly sat—chuckled to themselves.

"Fate," they whispered.

"Or perhaps… something else."

"Perhaps…"

———

Sšurtinaui checked the last of her Ryun traps, crouching low beside a thick root knot where the energy hummed faintly. No disturbances. Still safe.

Four days of hiding. Four days of low movement and shallow breathing. It helped that the forest critters seemed unusually cooperative—chirping alerts, scampering toward danger like scouts. She figured that had something to do with Tinsurnae. Being Rhan's Jujisn probably came with perks, whether he liked it or not.

She slid her mask on, eyes narrowing, and carefully treaded back toward the campsite.

It wasn't much. Just a narrow dip near a half-swallowed cave—enough cover for Caroline to summon a cozy camp via her UI emotes. Gamer magic was weird like that. The first day and a half, Caroline had been out cold, but now? She was already bantering again.

Typical gamer types. Fast to crash. Faster to reboot. As long as their health bar didn't hit zero.

Sšurtinaui had learned early on in training—put them down quick or deal with the consequences later. They were tenacious in all the wrong ways. She respected it, even if it annoyed her.

The thought of their current squad—two mini-gods and a game addict—almost made her laugh. Almost.

The mask hid her grin, but not the spark behind it. She never thought she'd fight a ranker and live to complain about the clean-up. Sure, the ranker was old. Not exactly bloodthirsty. But he was still Zavrien. And she still lived.

That counted for something.

Surviving, though? That wasn't exactly relaxing.

Dragging unconscious bodies across uneven terrain, setting traps, keeping an ear out for cursed beasts or worse—it was exhausting. But, once again, Tinsurnae's weird animal aura had been a saving grace. The local wildlife practically worshipped him. No, not worship. Listened. Like they knew what he was.

And maybe they did.

She reached the edge of camp, crouched low, and triple-checked her surroundings.

Movement: none.

Sound: natural, maybe too natural.

Aura: quiet, but alert.

Good. Nothing followed her.

She slipped into the hollow, where the campfire flickered gently—an illusion of warmth maintained by Caroline's last emote combo. The others were still resting, their breathing calm. She allowed herself a breath, finally relaxing her shoulders.

But she didn't take off her mask.

Not yet.

Sšurtinaui spotted her across the firelight—Caroline, hunched over something, fingers dancing in midair. Sšurtinaui couldn't see the screen. Probably a crafting menu, or one of those private stat trees that made no damn sense unless you were born into a game engine.

She slipped off her mask and walked over.

Caroline looked up, smirked. "How was the check-up, Doctor Leaf?"

"Quiet," Sšurtinaui said, crouching beside her. "No signs of movement. The Ryun traps are holding. And the birds didn't act weird, so… all clear."

"Great. That's what we like to hear." Caroline stretched her arms, then cracked her knuckles before flicking her fingers through more invisible options. "Still trying to figure out how to evolve this new tail mod. Apparently I need ten more kills, two Rucsnark hearts, and something called a Bound Ember. No clue what that is, but it sounds spicy."

Sšurtinaui gave her a look. "You're really making jokes at a time like this?"

"Hell yeah, if I don't laugh, I cry," Caroline said with a wink. "Besides, we're currently squatting in a literal death jungle while the sky turns gold and the world explodes. Gotta stay on-brand."

Sšurtinaui exhaled slowly, not quite a laugh. "Speaking of… I saw more gold creeping along the cliffs to the east. Still moving slow, but it's spreading."

Caroline's smile thinned. "Yep. Guess the Midas Apocalypse is right on schedule."

Sšurtinaui shook her head. "That's not all. I noticed something else."

Caroline looked up.

"Another tower," Sšurtinaui said. "It was destroyed."

Caroline blinked.

Sšurtinaui nodded.

"Are… are contestants doing that now? I thought those were protected."

"It would seem not…," Sšurtinaui said. "Which is why it doesn't make sense. Unless…"

Caroline tilted her head. "Unless what?"

"It's not a competitor doing it," Sšurtinaui said. "It's a native."

Caroline went still.

"They'd be enhanced by the realm. And they'd have every reason to strike back now. Especially with the Families involved."

Caroline leaned back, processing. "That's… bold. Insane. Impressive. Stupid." Counting off four fingers.

"All of it," Sšurtinaui agreed. "But it's something. Someone's fighting back for their home. I can't fault them for trying."

They both sat in silence, watching the flicker of the fire against the stone. Beyond the cave, the world cracked like old paint—gold creeping, fallen towers, and eyes watching from higher realms.