You Already Won

Tinsurnae always hated attention.

Back on Earth, attention meant exposure — a sign that screamed target. It wasn't about being shy or humble. It was about defense. Hiding who they were wasn't a habit. It was a survival tactic. A shield against stares, laughter, cruelty.

It didn't stop them from getting thrown down a well.

They caught the memory like a branch and snapped it in half. Not now. That was then. This was now. And here in Requiem? Here, identity didn't come with labels and lockers and screams behind closed doors. Here, they had strength. Purpose. A role in something more. Like Rhan said, "Be more."

They exhaled slowly and looked up.

Caroline and Sšurtinaui were both still staring at them — wide-eyed, stunned. But it wasn't fear.

So they shoved that last worry out of their mind and stood up.

"…So," Tinsurnae muttered, brushing off their robe. It hung awkwardly now — too big at the shoulders, sleeves drooping down past their hands. They pulled the hood back. Their hair was longer now, layered and wild, framing sharp features and striking green eyes. A little softer than before. A little sharper, too.

Caroline blinked, lips twitching into an awkward smile. "Ummm. You gonna explain, or…?"

Sšurtinaui crossed her arms, head tilted. "Yeah…"

Tinsurnae sighed and tugged at the robe sleeve. "I have two souls. During the battle… I burned out one of them. Used up everything it had. It's still healing."

"Okay," Caroline said, processing. "But that doesn't explain the—"

"I switched," Tinsurnae cut in. "Gender. Biologically. Mentally. Everything. This soul's always been the other half. And it's not a choice thing. It's just… how I'm built."

There was silence for a beat. The cave echoed faintly with the sound of distant wind and crackling fire.

Tinsurnae glanced down at herself. Two inches shorter. The same emerald gaze. The same sharp mind. But her posture had shifted. Shoulders looser. Aura more fluid. The familiar Rituain robes now draped awkwardly, oversized on her smaller frame. It would take a second for the robe's adaptive enchantment to work.

"…Huh," Caroline finally said. "Honestly? You look good."

Sšurtinaui laughed.

Not a chuckle. A full-bodied, almost feral burst of amusement that echoed off the cavern walls like a bell struck at just the right angle.

Tinsurnae blinked. "What's funny?"

Sšurtinaui shook her head, wiping a corner of her eye. "Just—this whole damn situation. One minute we're fighting a Ranker, next thing I know you're… smaller, sassier. It's surreal."

Caroline grinned. "She's not wrong."

Tinsurnae crossed her arms under the oversized robe. "You act like I asked for this glow-up. I'm just tryna heal without combusting."

"But you're definitely moving differently now," Caroline said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "Bit more hip sway. Bit more attitude. I'm not judging, just observing."

Tinsurnae rolled her eyes and flipped the hood up, striking a pose. "Don't hate just 'cause I'm thriving."

"Oh she thrivin' now, huh?" Caroline laughed, exchanging a glance with Sšurtinaui.

"I mean," Tinsurnae shrugged, "when my soul settles, a little attitude comes with the territory."

Sšurtinaui sobered a bit, thoughtful. "I've heard of races with dual souls. Even some old Rituain war-techniques where a second soul was cultivated through combat bonding or resurrection rites. But… Outlanders? Naturally born with two? That's new."

Caroline tilted her head, gears visibly turning. "There's a rumor. One of the Three Musketeers — a Outlander Intermediate Ranker — supposedly has dual-soul resonance. Though that might just be posturing. Hard to tell with how people mythologize everything."

Sšurtinaui hummed.

Caroline turned back. "You think it's from Earth? Like, maybe you were always like this but Requiem just made it… manifest?"

Tinsurnae stiffened slightly, eyes shadowed beneath the hood. "…Can we not?"

Sšurtinaui raised a eyebrow. "What can be so bad about —"

Caroline held up her hands. "Okay, okay. Dropping it."

"Thanks," Tinsurnae muttered, then cleared her throat and looked around. "Now—how about you fill me in? Me and Jonathan have clearly been out a while. What'd I miss?"

Sšurtinaui stepped forward, her expression calming. "Quite a bit. And not all of it's good."

Tinsurnae nodded, voice quieter now. "Of course it isn't."

She pulled the robe tighter around her, standing a little straighter, aura settling into something poised.

Sšurtinaui knelt by the low fire and stirred the coals with a twig, her voice steady but tired. "After the battle, I carried you all to a safer spot. We were too exposed, and Caroline was barely holding onto consciousness. I couldn't do much more than hide and patch what I could until she came to."

Caroline stretched, still sore. "Once I could walk, we started cycling between healing and nursing you both. Took hours just to stabilize your aura, by the way. You're welcome."

Tinsurnae nodded, absorbing it all. "Thanks. How long were we out?"

"Four days," Sšurtinaui said. "Maybe a bit more. We rotated shifts. Wildlife avoided us. Probably due to your aura lingering. They helped, in a weird way."

Caroline gestured vaguely to the trees outside the cave. "Yeah, I think some creatures followed your commands even while you were unconscious. Led us to clean water. Kept scavengers away. So, thanks, I guess."

Tinsurnae blinked. "Wait… really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," Caroline added with a wink. "Still had to deal with weird birds and some crawling jaw-thing I never want to see again."

Tinsurnae leaned back, still adjusting to being awake. "What about the rest? I remember we were close to the gem…"

"Yeah," Caroline nodded. "After we secured the purple, the sky sort of… cracked."

Tinsurnae blinked. "What do you mean?"

Caroline sat cross-legged, her tone somewhere between awestruck and horrified. "Something hit near Curtenail—and then the world just… changed."

Sšurtinaui added. "Signal Towers dropped everywhere—massive things. You can't leave freely unless you pass through one. They litter almost the whole region."

"Gold spread," Caroline continued, "like a tide that didn't care about matter or mana or meaning. Entire towns turned to statues. People… animals… everything. We saw it from the ridge. One second the ocean was moving. Next second—glass. No noise. Just golden wind and stillness."

Sšurtinaui's expression darkened. "We don't even know how far it's reached."

Tinsurnae's jaw tightened. "…Golden Primordial Viper."

Caroline looked up. "You know what this is?"

Tinsurnae didn't answer at first. Instead, she stood slowly and turned to the fire, lips parted in thought.

"It's venom from the Golden Primordial Viper."

"Oh shit…"

Sšurtinaui nodded and continued, a little softer now. "We used the downtime to theorize a path forward," Sšurtinaui said, cutting in. "Three purples. Then we start targeting reds."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Caroline grinned. "Old fashion theory crafting. Which, by the way, Sšurtinaui still thinks is just a fancy word for guessing."

"I know it is," Sšurtinaui shot back, smirking.

"Whatever works." Tinsurnae nodded. "That woman from earlier… who was she? She must have teleported because I can't sense her. And no wildlife has reported her in a four hundred meter radius."

Caroline hesitated, then said, "Apparently, she was sent by someone named Civen."

Tinsurnae went rigid.

"Shit."

Both Sšurtinaui and Caroline turned to her instantly.

"What is it?" Sšurtinaui asked, eyes narrowing.

Tinsurnae's voice came quiet, haunted. "If Civen's involved… this really is a hunt." She created a Ryun water barrier around them. Canceling out sound and aura reading.

The girls stared at her confused.

"I didn't say this before," she continued, her voice quieter now. "Rhan brought me to this place. It wasn't here. It was nowhere. Like a blank world."

Both Caroline and Sšurtinaui leaned in.

"There was this endless field. Grass grew only where I looked. And this creature—some kind of elk. Four heads, and each one had three faces. It kept staring at me while Rhan spoke."

"Sounds like something from a dream," Caroline muttered.

Tinsurnae shook her head. "It was called metaphor. A paradox realm. A space made of contradictions. Not real, not fake. Just a place to talk freely."

Sšurtinaui crossed her arms. "What did they say?"

"That people would come after us," Tinsurnae said. "Me. Jonathan. Vari's Jujisn. That not everyone was playing by the rules." She looked away. "But Rhan didn't give names."

"So you think that woman—Givena—was one of them?" Sšurtinaui asked.

"I think she was sent by one of them," Tinsurnae corrected. "She mentioned Civen, didn't she?"

Caroline nodded slowly.

That made Tinsurnae flinch. "Then it's her. I didn't think it would be someone like her, but it adds up."

"Okay, but who even is Civen?" Caroline asked. "I've only heard the name once or twice."

"She's a Ranker," Sšurtinaui answered, a little hesitantly. "Higher end, too. Maybe not quite at the guardians level, but close. People call her the Flayer of Three Rivers."

Caroline blinked. "That's… unnecessarily dramatic."

"Because she is dramatic," Tinsurnae cut in. "She got the name after orchestrating the collapse of three countries each separated by a different river system. She didn't burn them down or smash them. She dismantled them. Subtly. Slowly. In less than three weeks."

"Wait, she took down three countries in three weeks?" Caroline asked, eyes wide. "Talk about a speed runner."

"She convinced leaders to turn on each other," Tinsurnae said. "Poisoned supply lines. Spread false information. Started a minor cult in one. Let the people destroy themselves. She didn't just beat them. She rewrote their endings."

Sšurtinaui was frowning now. "And she joined the tournament… at the last second."

"That's what doesn't sit right with me," Tinsurnae said. "She's not the type to care about the Fortune Holder's prize. She's a schemer. A manipulator. If she sent Givena and others to gain more power, then there's a plan in place."

"A plan that ends with Jujisns dead," Sšurtinaui muttered.

"So… what now?" Caroline asked, brushing some dirt off her shorts. "If Civen really is moving against the Jujisns, she'll probably end up with the biggest faction. Resources, power, influence—hell, she might already have sleeper agents in place. We'd be at a huge disadvantage."

Tinsurnae, sitting and catching her breath, offered a tired smile. "Thanks for not abandoning us."

Caroline gave her a playful side glance. "Well, I mean…" She wavered her hand in a mock-so-so gesture.

Sšurtinaui sighed and cut in. "Anyway. Once Jonathan wakes up, we can start putting together a real plan. Until then, we focus on letting you finish healing and regrouping our strength."

Caroline nodded. "Good. It's nice to see we're all on the same page for once." Then she tilted her head. "But is it true? If the Vari Jujisn dies, this whole thing ends?"

Tinsurnae shook her head. "No. We're of our gods, but we're not our gods. If we die, maybe we'll embarrass them—but that's it. The Fortune Holder continues."

"So…" Caroline trailed off.

"Our fates are our own," Tinsurnae said firmly. "Besides, I've only met Vari Jujisn once. I think her name's Destiny? Yeah. Something like that."

Caroline leaned forward. "You think she'd join us?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Sšurtinaui said, arms crossed. "If people are actively hunting her, bringing her in paints a target on all of us. The last thing we need is a walking divine target."

"But if she's that powerful," Caroline said, "and already a threat to Civen's plans, wouldn't it make more sense to combine forces?"

"And risk Civen speeding up her timetable?" Sšurtinaui asked. "We don't know what Destiny wants. Or if she'd even listen."

Tinsurnae nodded slowly. "Let's play it by ear. For now, we focus on what we can control. Get more gems. Stay off the radar. And eventually, find a path to one of those towers."

"If they're still standing…"

"Still standing?" Tinsurnae raised a brow. "You mean someone's destroying them?"

Caroline nodded, face more serious now. "Yeah. At least forty were shattered on the outskirts."

Sšurtinaui exhaled through her nose. "It means there's more than just Civen and the Fortune Holders to worry about. If someone's breaking towers, they're either powerful enough to reject the system or stupid enough to think they won't need it later."

Tinsurnae frowned. "Or maybe they already have their own way out."

Caroline tilted her head. "Which makes them a threat to everyone. Those towers might be our best bet if the rules keep changing."

"And they will," Sšurtinaui added.

"For the towers… does anyone have a god to call on?" Tinsurnae muttered. "Rhan won't be helpful going forward."

Sšurtinaui nodded quietly. "Mine won't. They watch, but they don't interfere—not unless they see a bigger picture worth touching."

Caroline frowned. "Neither do I and Jonathan… but the way he talks about Jafar…" She sighed. "So that's also a dead end. Damnit."

"Yeah," Tinsurnae said darkly. "Doesn't sound like Jafar's the divine intervention type. From what I heard he's an asshole."

"So no gods. No guarantees. No safe exits. And possibly a Ranker warlord with a vendetta against people like us," Caroline summed up. "Fantastic."

Tinsurnae smirked. "We've survived worse."

"Sure," Sšurtinaui muttered. "But not much worse."

Caroline glanced over at Jonathan, still lying motionless near the wall of the cave. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, untouched by the growing tension around them.

"Wonder when he'll get up," she murmured.

"Should be soon," Tinsurnae replied, adjusting the robe as it adjusted to her now smaller frame. "I only took long because Rhan beckoned me. He didn't get that kind of… detour."

"Should we try smacking him awake?" Caroline said, raising a hand.

Sšurtinaui raised an eyebrow. "No… But if this goes on for another day, then yes—"

Her voice stopped.

A ripple tore through the air.

Jonathan moved.

Just a shift—barely more than a breath, a subtle curl of his fingers—but the moment he did, a pulse of aura exploded outward.

It wasn't Ryun. It wasn't blood.

It was him.

Pressure poured out of him like a tidal wave through a pinhole. A metaphysical presence, raw and primal, filled the cave and spilled out into the surrounding woods. The air grew heavy, bending inward. Leaves curled. Dirt cracked. Even the fire dimmed, as if afraid to be seen.

Tinsurnae stumbled back a step as their dome collapsed and splashed, eyes wide. "What the—"

Caroline flinched, covering her mouth. "Was that… him?"

Sšurtinaui dropped low into a defensive crouch, instinct flaring before reason caught up.

Jonathan sat up.

His eyes were still half-lidded, his breath uneven. Sweat clung to his brow. But that aura—ancient and furious, regal and ragged—clung to him like a storm waiting to break.

He blinked.

And then he looked at them.

Not through them. At them.

As if seeing them again after something long, distant, and terrible.

He walked past them.

Out of the cave. Barefoot. Bare-chested. Moving like water—fluid and silent, not a single wasted motion. Like gravity forgot how to hold him. Tinsurnae's breath caught as she tried to follow his rhythm with her eyes. She couldn't. It wasn't that he was fast. It was that he was ungraspable.

"Jonathan—?" Caroline called, already on her feet.

He didn't answer.

The sunlight bathed him—three suns casting gold and crimson across his frame. Red veins flared across his arms, crawling like living branches before vanishing beneath the skin. He stopped at the edge of the clearing, stretching his hands outward as if embracing the world.

And then—he laughed.

It wasn't joy. Not madness. Something in between.

A laugh full of release.

Caroline slowed her approach. Sšurtinaui came up beside her, gaze wary but calm. "Are you okay?" she asked, keeping her voice steady.

He didn't answer.

His head fell back, neck limp, face up toward the light like he could drink it.

"North?" she said.

No response.

"Jonathan…"

Still no answer.

But slowly—unnaturally slow—he turned his head to the side. His face contorted in a way none of them had seen before. Eyes bulging, wide and bloodshot, crimson irises swirling with something wrong. His mouth was peeled into a grin far too wide, too sharp—like it had been carved there. The skin on his face stretched with twitching glee, and a small vein pulsed violently near his temple.

Sšurtinaui took a half-step back, heart catching in her chest. Caroline felt fear wash over her like waves.

"…Jonathan?"

——

Danger was close—and danger was far.

In this war-torn region of Delark, the damned still clawed toward something brighter. Toward meaning. Toward fame.

Here, even the broken dared to reach for absolution—some for liberty, some for love, and others just to scream that they existed.

To defy fate. To defy kings. To defy those who had already won.

But far, far above—above this battlefield, above this realm—there was another place.

A sanctuary suspended beyond time, no longer untouched by war or mercy.

It was not Heaven. Not Hell.

Just a ring of divine seats carved from truth, ruin, memory, and now silence.

There, surrounding an endless scrying pool that rippled with the fate of universes, sat gods and demi-gods, emperors and tyrants, CEOs of galaxies, presidents of collapsed nations, monarch beasts, exalted children, crowned stars.

They watched.

But today, something changed.

Another ripple no one predicted.

A new Jujisn—not logged in the events codex, not approved by the Basingal.

And that—that—was cause for alarm.

A gap in the Basingal's report? That was something that should have never been possible.

But who among these gods would dare question those Supreme to divinity?

And yet… as the anomaly grew in influence, as its name began threading throughout the realms, more of those Supreme beings turned their gaze.

Watching.

Waiting.

Sensing something deeper behind the shift.

——

Far above even that divine chamber, in a realm no concept could reach, a presence stood.

A space between existence. Between realms. Between pages.

Not a god. Not Supreme.

Something far above all those worthless phrases.

An Absolute Being. A Law given form.

A King

It did not rule.

It defined.

Where it stood, even Supreme Families could not reach without ritual and ruin.

And from this place beyond all comprehension, it looked down upon the great lattice of reality.

The 245 million realms, vast and impossible:

Realms built from fear. From desire. From failure. From war.

And some, like Requiem, had been sealed.

Encapsulated.

A cocooned region in the far reaches of the spiral network, wrapped tight in The Veil—a translucent boundary not just of law, but of authorship.

Not meant to be broken. Not meant to be escaped.

A safeguard.

A cage.

The Being stared at it. Not with eyes, but with intention.

It raised its hand. Pressed it against the invisible wall. Fractures webbed across the veil.

Not enough to break it.

Just… another reminder.

A smile—too wide, too calm—stretched across the Being's face.

Everything was going according to plan.