You Already Won

A moment passed, then Caroline sighed and leaned back. "Okay. So… what's the plan?"

Sšurtinaui stared at her. "I don't have one."

Caroline nodded. "Kinda hard to make plans when we don't even know what day it is anymore." She tapped her screen, then leaned back. "But! We can do some theorycrafting."

Sšurtinaui frowned. "Is that a spell?"

Caroline laughed. "No. It's like… educated guessing. Strategy stuff. On Earth we had this place called Reddit—kind of like a big archive-slash-tavern of madmen. People used to post wild predictions, theories, mechanics breakdowns. All that."

Sšurtinaui blinked. "Red-dit? That's a realm?"

"No," Caroline said, giggling. "It's a website.

Sšurtinaui nodded slowly. "We have something… loosely similar here. But it's rare. Most of it's censored or delayed across realms.The Net-Everlines. It's rare. Only certain cities have full access. But I've read fragments."

"Really?" Caroline leaned forward, excited. "That's so cool. You guys have a version of the internet. Can't believe I never ran into it and been using my personal Ryun hotspot."

"Well that's because it's limited," Sšurtinaui said. "Most of Requiem doesn't rely on it. Too many realms have inconsistent variables. But I always found Earth's version fascinating. So many people connected. So much potential. And… waste."

Caroline laughed. "That's accurate."

Sšurtinaui leaned back. "Still… let's try it I guess."

Caroline's eyes lit up. She slid her UI aside and conjured a glowing thread of light with a flick of her finger, sketching little moving sigils in the air. "Alright. Step one—get out of this death forest. Step two—find another gem, preferably purple or red, because screw hunting black gems unless North wants to lose another arm. Step three—prep for day fifteen."

Sšurtinaui squinted. "What happens on day fifteen?"

"No clue," Caroline said brightly. "But something always happens. These kinds of games escalate in two-week cycles. So I'd bet my last stat reroll that something big is gonna shift."

"But we don't know what day it is anymore."

"We'll put a pin in that one then."

"Hahaha…. You're ridiculous."

Caroline summoned a small projection of the Fortune Holder map and pointed at several marked locations. "Three more purples opens a trial quest that leads to a red. We can agree that's our next move."

Sšurtinaui nodded. She didn't say anything else for a moment.

Then: "That's… logical."

Caroline blinked. "Why you say it like that?"

"Hmmm."

They both smiled, watching the fire flicker.

"But we're not the only ones aiming for reds." Sšurtinaui added, bringing the conversation back.

"Nope. But we might be the only team dumb enough to try it from underground." Caroline tapped her chin. "Speaking of teams… are we still joining a faction or nah?"

Sšurtinaui shook her head. "Not sure anymore."

Caroline exhaled. "Yeah. Thought so. Honestly, I think we should wait until the boys wake up before we make any moves."

Sšurtinaui smiled. "Oh? Do we need them to make decisions now?"

Caroline grinned. "You know I'm not saying that!" "But it's only fair. Jonathan can be an asshole sometimes sure, and Tinsurnae literally tried to murder us—but I don't know. They're not that bad. After that damn boss battle we are definitely a team."

Sšurtinaui raised an eyebrow. "Is that your standard for companionship?"

"Pretty much," Caroline said. "Low bar, high loyalty."

Sšurtinaui snorted.

"What?" Caroline said innocently.

"You talk like this is a party game."

"It kind of is. Just… with murder."

The fire popped.

They shared another laugh before Sšurtinaui tilted her head again, studying her. "You've got focus. But it's not… obsession. You don't seem like someone who craves the heights. So why do you want to be a Ranker? I've been curious about that since you mentioned coming to this event."

Caroline's smile dimmed but didn't vanish. She looked down at her new outfit—a white cropped tee and red shorts that looked almost too modern for this world. With sneakers with her games logo on them. Sšurtinaui herself wore black ripped shorts and a long-sleeve black-and-white shirt from Caroline's stash. She didn't wear any shoes and that seemed to fit her aesthetic well.

Caroline ran her fingers through her hair. "I need Ranker status to reach Intermediate Ranker. Once I do, I can apply for missions that go into closed-off realms."

Sšurtinaui narrowed her eyes. "Closed-off realms?"

Caroline nodded. "Yeah. The ones locked down by the Royal Family Mobocracy. Even my scrolls can't pop me in there."

Sšurtinaui's expression changed. "You don't mean—"

"I do," Caroline said. "There's a shop there. My friend owns it. The one I mentioned before… I thought she was dead for the longest time, but someone passed through recently and had food from her place. They described her. Said she's alive."

Caroline's voice softened.

"So I'm going. I'll rank up, get in, and stay there with her if I can. It's the only reason I'm "enduring" this event. I think my system is melding with my desire."

Sšurtinaui said nothing for a long moment. Then finally—soft, but sincere:

"…Good."

Caroline smiled again. Not the bright, teasing kind. A quiet one.

"So is that all theorycrafting is?" Sšurtinaui asked, arms crossed.

Caroline grinned as she plopped down onto a beanbag, feet kicked out. "Not even close."

Sšurtinaui tilted her head.

Caroline leaned forward dramatically, like she was revealing a war secret. "Okay, imagine this. The Supreme Families are pressuring the realm not just to test the outlanders, but to flush out someone—or something—they can't directly find. Maybe a doomsday beast. Maybe a rebel god. Or maybe," she twirled a finger above her head, "they're trying to awaken some dormant system. Something that needs mass pressure to function."

Sšurtinaui blinked. "So you're just… guessing. With friends."

"That's literally what I said earlier," Caroline said with a snort, tugging up her red shorts and adjusting her half-white top. "But with more passion."

They both chuckled and returned to the small cooking node spawned from Caroline's UI. A sleek neon box hummed and buzzed softly before dispensing perfectly warm food and drinks. They ate like they had time—normal time. Not survival time. For a moment, it almost felt peaceful.

The conversation shifted to the places they'd been together. How Bourage kept accidentally setting off traps. How Senten never admitted he was lost. How Tyzel once chased a living sword and almost proposed to it.

Sšurtinaui actually laughed—an unguarded, low sound that she quickly covered with a cough. "It's strange. We only known each other for two years. But it feels longer."

"That's trauma bonding," Caroline said casually, biting into her food. "Or maybe we're just good at being stuck with each other."

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Then they both froze.

Not because of a sound.

Because there wasn't one.

But because someone had sat down beside them—so quietly, so precisely, that their senses couldn't track it.

A woman.

Tall. Composed. Wearing a strange white robe laced with crimson thorns and ink that moved like it was still being written. Her skin glowed faintly, her aura coiled like a serpent.

She looked at them both, slowly, then smiled.

"Mind if I join the theorycrafting?" she asked softly.

Sšurtinaui's hand drifted toward Caroline. Caroline's UI flickered in silent alert.

But the woman made no move to attack.

Only smiled again—this time with teeth that shimmered just a little too brightly.

Caroline didn't hesitate. Flames spiraled from her palms, her three fox tails snapping into existence behind her with a crackle of heat. A fiery orb formed instantly in her hand, coiled and growling.

Sšurtinaui was already in motion—daggers flashing into her grip as she landed in a crouch a few feet back.

Both of them stared in horror.

How hadn't they noticed her?

How had she found them?

"Who are you?!" Sšurtinaui barked, eyes narrowed, weapons raised.

"Yeah, who the hell—" Caroline began.

The woman calmly lifted a single hand. "I am Givena. A native to this realm—more precisely, this region. Apologies for listening in, but I had to be sure you wouldn't attack me on sight."

Caroline's fingers twitched, embers dancing across her orb. "Yeah, well next time—knock."

"There's no door—"

"Bitch, you know what I mean."

"I'd prefer we not devolve into vulgarity."

Sšurtinaui's daggers shifted, merging into a sleek Ryun bow with thorns curling along the string. "Fifteen seconds," she said coldly. "After that, I shoot."

Givena smiled, calmly, eyes flicking between them. "I'm not here to fight. My Lady sent me—and others—to recruit, not slay."

Her smile faded slightly. Her voice lowered.

"We want survival. Not submission. My Lady—Civen—extends a hand to competitors and natives alike. We believe the fight shouldn't be against each other, but against those truly responsible for what's happening here."

Sšurtinaui didn't blink. "Ten seconds."

"There's a woman," Givena continued, unfazed. "A danger to this land. A source of terror. Her name is Destiny Vari. Vari's Jujisn."

Caroline frowned. "You're blaming one person for this entire mess?"

Givena's gaze sharpened. "Not blame. Cause. The land began to fracture once she stepped into it. Her aura carries Vari's signature—her Domain. Her death could end this."

Caroline rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, we know all about Jujisns, thanks. But I'm pretty sure I speak for both of us when I say we're not interested in jumping some girl just because her 'godly self" sucks."

Givena opened her mouth to respond—

"Five seconds," Sšurtinaui said calmly.

Givena's irritation finally cracked the surface—but before she could move, a hand landed on her shoulder.

Heavy. Calm. Unrelenting.

"I think you should leave," said a voice behind her. "Thanks for the invitation. We'll get back to you."

Givena froze. Then, without another word, she vanished like vapor—no ripple, no sound.

Caroline and Sšurtinaui slowly turned to the newcomer.

They stood casually, one hand still raised, the other brushing tangled hair from their brow. Their aura was heavy with recent recovery but sparked with familiar threads of energy.

They all stared at each other.

"What?"

Caroline blinked. "Um. Who are you? Wait—why are you…?"

Sšurtinaui squinted.

"It's me. Tinsurnae." They frowned. "Better question—who the hell was that? And why did I hear something about murdering a Jujisn?"

Caroline summoned a UI mirror with a flick of her hand.

Tinsurnae caught it. Stared.

Their eyes went wide.

"Well… shit."

———

"Come on, come on, Johnny!"

Jonathan groaned. "Okay, okay—damn, kid, can I breathe for one second? Maybe grab a drink before the show?"

"But I wanna go now!"

"Acting like a little punk isn't gonna get you anywhere," he shot back, leaning against the counter.

"You're a punk!"

"You're a baby!"

"And you're old!"

They bickered, fast and sharp, voices overlapping like a worn-out sitcom rerun.

"Jonathan!" a firm voice snapped from the doorway.

He froze, turned halfway. "What?!"

An older woman stood there, arms crossed and brow raised in perfect maternal judgment.

"You are twenty-two years old, and you're arguing with a six-year-old."

"She started it."

"No, he started it!"

Jonathan threw up his hands. "See?! This is what I'm dealing with! Not my fault you decided to have her like—what—900 years after me!"

"Don't test me, Jonathan."

He grinned, catching the twitch at the corner of her mouth.

"Sorry, Mom. Seven hundred. My bad."

His mom was beautiful in that timeless, composed way that didn't need effort. Hair tied into a loose bun, a few elegant streaks of gray framing her temples like silver threads of wisdom. Her eyes were calm but sharp, the kind that missed nothing and forgave easily. She wore a cream cardigan over a floral dress, subtle makeup, and a smile that made everything around her feel lighter.

Beside her, Elena ran in chaotic little circles, darting between Jonathan and the edge of the festival grounds. Her hair was freshly dyed—a cotton candy swirl of pink and blue that shimmered when the sunlight hit it just right.

"Elena," their mom called, voice firm but affectionate. "Stay close."

"I am close!" Elena shouted, already skipping backward toward them. "And we're almost late! Fluff Parade starts in ten minutes!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Fluff Parade? That's the band name?"

"Yes!" she shouted proudly. "And they're not just a band—they're a movement!"

"A movement of toddlers and animal hats," he muttered, but even he couldn't help the laugh as she puffed her cheeks at him in mock outrage.

The three made their way through the gates, festival energy thick in the air—balloons tied to railings, face-paint booths already mobbed with excited kids, and the scent of funnel cake, kettle corn, and fried everything hanging heavy over the chatter.

Colorful banners rippled above the stands, and music pulsed gently from the main stage. Booths selling glow sticks, foam swords, rainbow slushies, and tiny plush keychains lined the path like candy-colored traps.

They stopped at the first stall—a make-your-own-ice-cream setup—and stood in line behind two parents and their sugar-crazed twins. Elena bounced on her toes.

"I'm getting marshmallow banana swirl," she declared. "With gummy worms. And cereal on top!"

Jonathan made a face. "That's a war crime."

"You're a war crime."

"Wow," he said, glancing at their mom. "She's got your attitude."

His mom chuckled. "Only when she's right."

They made their way through a few more booths. Jonathan bought Elena a light-up headband with floppy animal ears, then snagged a paper tray of fried dumplings for himself. While Elena ran off to get temporary tattoos at a nearby stand, Jonathan and his mom sat on a picnic bench beneath a soft purple awning.

She looked at him, warmth behind her eyes. "You seem tired."

He exhaled. "Work's been a lot lately. Numbers, deadlines, same cycle every day. But… I've got plans."

She tilted her head. "Plans?"

"Nothing dramatic. I'm thinking about switching departments. Maybe something data-adjacent, more creative. Also thinking of applying for that out-of-state position. Pay's better."

She nodded slowly. "And your drawings?"

He blinked. "You remember my doodles?" He chucked. "A better word for them would be scribbles?"

"I'm your mother. Of course I remember."

He smiled, looking down at his cup of lemonade. "It's just something I do sometimes. Not sure if I'm any good."

"Well," she said gently, "I've always been proud of you. No matter what path you take. But I do think the best paths are the ones where you're honest with yourself."

Jonathan looked over at Elena, who was now showing off her temporary arm tattoo of a glittering pink octopus to a very impressed four-year-old. She caught his gaze and beamed at him.

"Hey Johnny!" she shouted. "You gonna dance during the Fluff finale?!"

"God, I hope not," he muttered.

His mom laughed. "You will if she drags you."

"I will not."

"You will."

He smirked. "We'll see."

They sat there as the breeze picked up, carrying the smell of cotton candy and sun-warmed grass. For a brief, perfect moment, nothing mattered but this—his family, the silly music, and the memory they were quietly building. No deadlines. No pressure. Just them.

Just a festival.

And a little girl who believed in glittery octopuses and bands named after clouds.

The concert was… fine. As good as a concert aimed at toddlers and elementary schoolers could possibly be for a 22-year-old. The songs were catchy enough. The crowd was mostly dancing parents and sugar-high kids. And Jonathan? He danced. Not because he wanted to. Because Elena did.

She made him sing along. Made him do the silly hand motions. Made him jump during the chorus of "Bunny Hop Thunder." And he did it—he did all of it—for her. Because the way she smiled up at him like he was the coolest person in the world made the mild humiliation worth it.

By the time they left, the sun was setting in streaks of gold and pink, and Elena was practically vibrating with energy. She darted ahead on the sidewalk, her fluffy light-up headband flickering wildly with every hop and skip.

"Johnny, Johnny, did you see me? I did the full glitter-hop—twice!"

"You did," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "You also ate a whole bag of sour gummy sharks, three cake pops, and an unholy amount of soda. You're a menace."

"I'm the cutest menace!"

"You're not wrong."

They made their way toward the parking lot, weaving through streams of other families heading home. Jonathan kept a lazy eye on his sister while scrolling through his phone. His mom had stopped a few feet back, chatting with a woman and her husband—apparently some coworker with kids of their own. Jonathan could already hear it before it began: "Oh my god, is this your son now? He's so grown!" And "Remember when you used to bring his lunch to school?" That whole script.

Nope. Not today.

He fired off a message to his friends' group chat.

JNorth:

Getting out now. What's the move tonight?

Two messages popped up instantly. Then he messaged someone else—her. The girl he'd been meaning to see again, casually, of course.

She responded almost immediately.

Sure, I'm down if you're free. :)

Jonathan grinned and quietly fist-pumped the air. "Hell yeah."

He typed back:

Just got out of this concert thing. I'll head your way around 9.

Then quickly added to the chat:

Raincheck, boys. Got better plans.

Cue the playful flood of betrayal memes and fake heartbreak emojis from the boys. He chuckled, already half-drifting off into thoughts of the night ahead. How her hair looked in the low light. That grin she did when teasing him. Yeah. It was shaping up to be a good—

His eyes flicked up.

His mom was still talking, gesturing animatedly. But—

Where's Elena?

His gaze snapped across the street. There—across the road, at the edge of the opposite sidewalk—Elena was talking to another little girl, their conversation a swirl of giggles and exaggerated expressions. Probably comparing glow sticks or stickers or whatever festival currency they were into.

The other girl's family was already heading off. Elena gave a quick wave, then turned—

And darted into the street.

Jonathan's stomach dropped.

He saw the blur first. White. Fast. A car whipping around the corner, going way too fast for a festival zone.

"Elena!" he shouted.

She didn't hear him.

His legs moved before thought caught up. Phone slipped from his hand. He ran.

Not fast enough. Not careful. Just running with everything he had.

He saw her in the middle of the road—her little feet hitting pavement, unaware.

Then he reached her.

He pushed.

And—

THUNK.

The impact was a hollow, sickening sound. The kind that echoed. The kind that stuck in your chest like something tearing loose.

Jonathan didn't hear the screams. Not his mother's. Not the crowd's. Not even Elena's.

Everything turned black at once.

His only thought—the last flicker of consciousness as the world folded inward—was a silent, desperate hope:

Please let her be okay.

Then silence.