You Already Won

The night sky was still—unnaturally so. As if all of Delark was holding its breath, wind caught in its lungs. But then, a soft breeze whispered through the land, carrying the faint scent of ash and old blood. It swept over battlefields littered with corpses, over the wreckage of broken promises, over the weight of emotions that clung to the soil like dew.

That same breeze teased strands of Tinsurnae's hair, making them ruffle gently as she leaned back against the smooth rocks framing the spring. Her eyes traced the sky above, half-lidded, as if waiting for it to blink first.

She and Caroline had undressed and slipped into the steaming water. The surface hissed faintly where it lapped against their skin, steam curling into the cool night air. Both of them could have refreshed themselves instantly—Caroline through her system's neat, gamified convenience, Tinsurnae through a hundred quiet Ryun techniques.

But this?

A natural spring. A rare, unclaimed pocket of warmth in a world sharpening its teeth.

Sometimes, it was worth indulging in the simple things.

In a life surrounded by grandeur—deadly battles, divine schemes, tournaments stacked like dominoes in someone else's game—the mundane moments felt almost… sacred.

Caroline tipped her head back, letting the steam soak into her sandpaper colored hair. Neither of them spoke at first. The silence wasn't heavy. It wasn't awkward. It just… was.

Tinsurnae's gaze lingered—just for a moment—on Caroline, who looked like she might've fallen asleep, head tilted back against the stone, steam curling lazily around her face. The spring's water bubbled softly, but Tinsurnae's sharp eyes could still make out the shape of her beneath the surface. Petite frame. Athletic tone. The kind of detail that was only a pixel-perfect transfer from Earth's games to Requiem.

Tinsurnae smiled faintly. She loved observing. Studying. It had been a while since she—

"What ya staring at, Tinny?"

The voice snapped her back.

Caroline hadn't moved much, but her lips curved into a sly grin.

Tinsurnae froze. "Ummm—"

"Are you looking at me under the water?"

Heat rushed to her face. "I—I'm sor—"

Caroline laughed, loud and unbothered. "Aww, you're a big pervert!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Once a guy, always a guy, huh?" Caroline teased, her voice sing-song.

"I'm not a guy!" Tinsurnae snapped, the water suddenly hissing a few degrees hotter.

Caroline raised an eyebrow and yelped. "Ohhh! Don't do that!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"You just made the spring change setting!"

"It wasn't in that way!"

"Why are we yelling?!"

"You yelled first!"

"You were peeking first! And then started doing demi-god hacks. That's not fair!"

Tinsurnae frowned. "First off, we are both demi-gods, in context—"

Caroline cut her off with a smirk. "Nah, nah, don't even. You're like NG+ DLC level content. I'm still running around as base game Caroline. I'm just a gamer stuck at endgame with grindy quests. You're basically a raid boss!"

Tinsurnae groaned. "That's not how it works."

"Uh-huh," Caroline said. "Says the literal God Mode player who just dropped a water wyrm army like you were doing an FFXV summon."

"That was necessary!"

"Mhm. And making jokes is necessary for my morale." She chuckled. "Speaking of which!" She splashed water at Tinsurnae. "Team buff."

The water stopped mid-surge in front of Tinsurnae.

"Don't cheat!" Caroline smirked, leaning forward.

"The water just did it on its own," Tinsurnae protested, raising a hand as if that somehow proved her innocence.

"Uh-huh," Caroline drawled, leaning back lazily. She watched Tinsurnae try to push the water toward herself again, but it refused, slipping away like it had a mind of its own. She had to admit—this form of Tinsurnae was strong, sure, but different. The male form had carried more confidence in its aura, more precision. And back then, the animals bent to his will like instinct. This form? The control wasn't as sharp. And there was something else—no earth, no fire. Maybe she could control the wind, maybe not. Caroline filed that thought away.

"Hey," she said suddenly.

Tinsurnae looked over. "See? I told you—the water won't attack me."

"Not that, you goof." Caroline leaned forward now. "Don't take this the wrong way—"

Tinsurnae tilted her head, confused.

"What?!"

Caroline sighed, rubbing her temple. "Listen, I'm not—"

"I'm sorry for looking at you through the water!" Tinsurnae blurted suddenly, her voice cracking slightly. "Honestly!"

"Tinny—" Caroline stopped, a bit taken aback. That wasn't the reaction she expected. Now she really had to ask.

"I'm just trying to ask if you're okay," Caroline said, softer this time.

Tinsurnae blinked, caught off guard. Her lips pressed into a thin line, then she bit her lip in thought. The spring steam curled between them.

"Ummm…" Caroline hesitated, tapping a wet finger idly on the spring's rock edge. "I know Jonathan's going through his whole… whatever that is. But he's not the only juju—"

"Jujisn," Tinsurnae corrected automatically.

"Shut up. Shadow Clone Jujutsu, same thing," Caroline deadpanned.

That earned a shared chuckle, the steam puffing between them like punctuation.

"I'm serious though, Tinny," Caroline said, her tone softening. "I don't want to neglect what you're going through just because Johnny Man is hogging all the spotlight. You said being a girl is a complete change. Just wondering if you're alright."

Tinsurnae sank lower into the water, her black hair fanning out like ink in the steaming pool until only her green eyes peeked above the surface.

"I'm fine, just… I'm not sure." Her voice was quieter now, steam and water muffling the words. "I've never been in my girl body this long. And I… prefer my male self. It's more refined. More familiar." She glanced sideways at Caroline, hesitating.

"…Am I a burden?"

"What?!" Caroline's shot up, water dripping off her body. "No! No! What—? I'm genuinely asking as a friend—"

"Friend?!" Tinsurnae shot upright in the water, her eyes wide, a mix of surprise and something else in her tone.

"Yeah, dummy!" Caroline splashed a little water at her. "First off, I'm well aware I'm the weakest in this group. So if anyone's the burden, it's me. Second—" she pointed, water dripping off her finger "—you can make a literal Killer SeaWorld. I'm just asking if you're okay. Why is that so hard for your demi-goddess head to get around?!"

Tinsurnae sank back into the water again until only her head showed. "I'm… not used to having friends. Or people caring about me in that way."

"Huh? But ain't you a princess—or prince—at times?"

"It doesn't matter," Tinsurnae said quietly. "Being Rhan's Jujisn means people decide how they feel about you before you even speak. Respect, or hate. There's no in-between. And they always think that because they know Rhan, they know me." She gave a bitter laugh.

Caroline tilted her head, ears twitching as she thought about that. Jonathan had said before that Jafar was distant. It hadn't clicked until now that Tinsurnae might be living in the opposite shadow—judged for things she didn't do. Or, well… she did do them, technically. Just not her. Other her. "Damn," Caroline muttered, "even simple stuff's complicated for you two."

She hesitated before asking, "What about on Earth? Was it any better?"

"No," Tinsurnae said simply. "On Earth… I was an unwanted child. That's all." She turned her gaze away. "I don't want to go further into it."

Caroline frowned. "That's a shame," she said softly. Then a faint smile tugged at her lips. "I didn't have the best time on Earth either. But at least my family loved me. I guess that counts for something."

"Bragging now?" Tinsurnae asked, one brow arched.

Caroline smirked. "Let me have something. One of us became a god of reality."

"That doesn't bother you?"

"Not really. You and Jonathan may be flawed, but I don't think either of you are evil." Caroline hesitated, then added, "Now… I can't say the same for that other girl. Vari seems evil as hell."

Tinsurnae chuckled. "She's a bit much. But… thanks, Caroline. I think you're my first true friend."

"Naw. Sšurtinaui and Jonathan—"

"Not the same," Tinsurnae interrupted gently. "As much as I respect Sšurtinaui, she's still an elf. Elves—and all life in Requiem—comes from Rhan."

"I didn't come from Rhan."

Tinsurnae gave her a flat, deadpan look. "I know that. I said all life in Requiem. Aside from the Royals, Outlanders, and the Supreme Families' direct bloodline."

"Oh. That makes sense. But how does that affect Sšurtinaui?"

"She's an elf. Like I said, in more ways than one I am her god and her connection to Ryun. Even though I'm the unlightened version, I'm still Rhan."

Caroline frowned. "But I thought—"

"I told you. We are of our gods, but we are not our gods. The moment we came to Requiem, we became them. Since they were already here, our powers and abilities work significantly different than when they came here for the first time."

Caroline just stared blankly.

Tinsurnae gave a small smile. "That's why Sšurtinaui and I can't really be chalked up as friends. We may argue or disagree, but she does have a different reference point for me. And as for Jonathan…" she sighed, ripples breaking around her shoulders. "Imagine knowing someone longer than you've been alive. We fought together, had fun together. But I've just met him here—yet I know him pretty well. So I'm not sure what we are. He calls us friends, but he also doesn't seem to understand himself fully, so how can I take that wholeheartedly?"

Caroline tilted her head. "Maybe you're overthinking it?"

"Maybe," Tinsurnae admitted.

"Yeah, you're overthinking it," Caroline decided. "Let's talk about other stuff." She pushed through the water, a grin breaking across her face, and wrapped Tinsurnae in a warm hug. "And, I'm honored to be your first friend, Tinny."

Tinsurnae froze for a moment, then slowly hugged her back. It was strange—finding affection from someone who wasn't forced into it. She didn't even mind that they were both naked.

"I have a request," Caroline said softly.

Tinsurnae pulled back slightly. "What?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Can I say your name?"

Tinsurnae blinked. "Um… sure."

Caroline smiled, then hugged her tighter. "Glad we're friends…" she whispered.

"Rhan."

———

Sšurtinaui crouched low, pressing her palm to the soil as the last trap flared to life—its Ryun-etched edges vanishing beneath a carpet of pine needles. That made three hundred forty-five.

Three hundred forty-five carefully placed hunter's snares, woven into a one-hundred-fifty-meter radius.

This should do.

Her hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting the tension in the final trigger. The faint hum of green Ryun spread outward in a perfect lattice, every pressure point and trip line forming a web no predator would survive.

She leaned back, exhaling, her mask catching the faint curl of breath.

With everything going on, they couldn't afford to be anything but cautious.

This group was good. This group was—

She cut the thought short and exhaled through her teeth.

Jonathan.

Once again, his actions had bent their plans.

According to Caroline, an event had triggered around him. The sort that shifted the board in ways few could anticipate. And Sšurtinaui was starting to understand why he'd been the way he was when he woke up. He wasn't acting erratic for the sake of it—he was bracing for a fight.

One he clearly didn't want to drag them into.

…Well he would possibly bring Tinsurnae.

That thought lingered.

The old fables came to mind—of the Hunter God beyond the Veil, and of Fate itself, working in tandem behind the Curtain. Such tales always felt like just that: stories. But Tinsurnae's quiet loyalty to Jonathan, the subtle pull between them—it felt like more than coincidence.

Lord Rhan's will, perhaps.

And leaving?

Leaving was a very real possibility.

Civen was formidable. Cawren was still out there. Zog and others of that caliber were still out there. And now… apparently they wanted Vari's Jujisn to join as well.

She felt her jaw tighten.

Sšurtinaui had never liked the House of Vari. All they ever did was destroy and take.

Who was to say that her Jujisn was any different?

She reset her stance, scanning the perimeter one last time. Every trap shimmered in her Ryun-sight, patient and waiting.

She decided to head back.

There was no point in overthinking—not now, not when the board was still shifting under their feet.

They'd defeated a Ranker together. That fact alone was staggering. Off almost pure luck, coordination, and sheer refusal to die, but still.

Promising was an understatement.

So were the repercussions.

Siding with this many Families—and worse, a Royal Family—could make life far harder for her in the long run. Enemies stacked quickly when the Houses were involved.

Unless she capitalized on this moment.

The thought lingered as she stepped carefully over the line of traps. This was the kind of opening warriors spent decades waiting for: survival against impossible odds, enough to put her name into the right conversations.

But capitalizing on it now?

At this point, she wasn't sure if it was worth it.

Moving like a shadow, slipping from branch to branch. The forest passed in a blur beneath her feet, the faint hum of her Ryun threads coiled and ready.

Then—she felt it.

A presence.

Jonathan.

His aura burned faintly off to her right, far from the others. She could feel Caroline and Tinsurnae still at the hot spring—steady, grounded. But Jonathan… his signature was different. Sharp at the edges. Untethered.

She angled her path toward him, only to veer past his location entirely. Her instinct was to leave him to whatever storm brewed inside him. Space, she told herself, was sometimes the best way to keep people alive.

But then she stopped.

A flicker of memory slipped past her guard. Her hand tightened on a branch.

Stupid.

She reminded herself how stupid this was, how much smarter it would be to keep her distance.

And still, she turned.

Sighing under her breath, she pushed off the branch and angled toward Jonathan's aura, heading for him through the darkening canopy.

The closer she drew, the slower her steps became.

Jonathan's aura pressed against her—oppressive, but not in the way of a predator baring its fangs. No, this was different. It wasn't trying to hurt her. It was simply… there. Heavy, vast, like standing beneath a mountain and being reminded how small she truly was.

Sšurtinaui stopped.

Getting closer didn't feel wise. Every instinct told her to turn around, to keep her distance. It would be easier—safer.

She almost did.

Until she saw him.

Jonathan's frame was slightly hunched, shoulders stiff.

And then her ears caught it.

A sound.

Soft. Halting.

Sniffling?

Her eyes narrowed, vision tightening in, her perception focusing like a drawn bow. The image sharpened—Jonathan, alone, unmoving, but there was a tremor in the air that hadn't been there before.

Now she had to get closer.

The moment she moved within range, she knew he sensed her. Jonathan didn't turn, didn't tense—just stayed as he was, shoulders hunched.

She closed the distance anyway.

By the time she reached him, she could see his face clearly. Jonathan, catching sight of her, immediately wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"Are you crying?" she asked, voice flat and direct.

"What—no!"

She stepped closer, leaning forward slightly to meet his eyes. "You sure—"

"I'm not in the mood," he cut in, the words sharp but not quite hostile.

"I'm not trying to start anything," she replied evenly, her gaze dropping briefly to the earth beneath him, "but the droplets on the ground say a different story."

Jonathan followed her line of sight. His lips twitched, and then—unexpectedly—he let out a low chuckle.

"Awwww," he said softly, almost to himself. "I see."

She sat beside him on the rock. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching just enough to feel heavy.

Finally, she went with the simplest thing. "How are you feeling?"

Jonathan's head turned slightly, his voice low. "You want the real answer?"

Her brow arched. "Did you just answer my question with a question? Obviously, I'd like the real answer."

He cupped his hands over his mouth and nose, inhaling deeply. She frowned, watching him—until his eyes widened, horror flashing across his face.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT!" His voice cracked sharp through the air. "What the fuck—why can't I stop doing this? I don't even act like this!"

He turned to her abruptly and laughed, brittle and too loud. "Wanna know how I feel? Okay, thanks for asking—I feel like shit. Like I don't exist. Like this whole world's just an echo anyway! I've already done this! I've already proven I'm made for this!"

His pacing started, sharp and agitated, words tumbling out without restraint.

"And how do I know? How do I understand everything? Because of fucking Jafar—the prick I met ONE FUCKING TIME and whose name just won't stop popping up!"

She opened her mouth to interject, but he kept moving, voice spiraling louder.

"Everything I do is something he did. Literally, psychologically, physically, emotionally, even fucking meta-fucking-phorically. I can't do shit without—"

He stopped suddenly, staring down at his own hands. His knees hit the dirt with a dull thud.

"Goddamnit…" His voice cracked quieter now. "I'm not even myself anymore. I'm not Jafar. But I'm not Jonathan either…"

His gaze lifted to hers, raw and searching.

"Do I even look like the same me from that day in line?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. This wasn't what she expected. Jonathan always had things under control—or at least looked like he did. She'd figured he would hold that streak until this was over.

But then it hit her.

This would never be over.

She'd always assumed Tinsurnae being Rhan made things easier for her. That kind of power came with its own set of burdens, sure, but it was still rooted in control. Jonathan… didn't have that luxury. She'd thought his unpredictability was just him being reckless—maybe even arrogant.

Now she saw it for what it was: survival.

Seeing him like this, it clicked how horrible it must be. Living a life where nothing you did was truly yours. Where your victories weren't yours, your instincts weren't yours, your future wasn't yours. Every triumph just an echo of something someone else had already done… someone you didn't even remember being.

She sighed softly and motioned for him to sit next to her.

When he didn't move, she just stared at him.

He was waiting for an answer.

She looked him dead in the eyes, her voice steady.

"No," she said. "The man I met in line is not in front of me."

He smiled. And then he laughed—low, raw, the kind of laugh that wasn't joy at all. His fingers dug into the soil, nails pressing into the dirt until his knuckles strained pale. Tears cut down his face and soaked into the ground.

She kept watching. Unsure how to act. But knowing she had to.

Jonathan wasn't going to last long like this. Not with so much stacked against him—being an event, being Jafar's Jujisn. As much as she wanted to comfort him, she knew words alone wouldn't save him. Comfort could be a death sentence here.

So instead, she reached for something else.

"There's an old tale my people tell," she said quietly, voice steady. "About a wanderer who walked until the world ended beneath their feet. They reached the edge, and found the wind there waiting for them. The wind told them, 'You cannot keep walking with the weight of every name you've worn.'"

Jonathan glanced at her, eyes wet, confused.

"In the story, the wanderer buried each name they'd carried—child, warrior, traitor, king—one by one, at the edge of the world. They kept only the pieces of those names that still felt true, and left the rest in the void. When they stepped forward again, they weren't the person who had left. They were… something new. Something more."

Her gaze drifted toward the trees. "You don't feel like Jafar. You don't feel like Jonathan. So maybe…" She let the thought hang. "Maybe it's time to bury both names. Take what you need from them. Leave the rest. Be something else."

"Easy for Rhan's seeds to say," Jonathan muttered.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing in shock.

"Burying a name to make a new one?" He barked a laugh, bitter and sharp. "I'm Jonathan. I'm not just settling for putting my name away. Jafar already did that. I'm not Jafar! That's the whole point. It circles and loops and yeah, I know I need to—" he flung his hands out in a dramatic gesture, "—do something. But I doubt burying my name will fix that."

"You asked," Sšurtinaui said, voice taut, "and I'm simply answering. Besides—"

"Besides what, Sšurtinaui? You can't possibly—"

"Don't." Her voice cut through his words like a blade. She stood now, her shadow falling over him. "Don't tell me what I possibly can't understand. I may not be a Jujisn, but I've worked around the families. I've experienced loss. I've been told I'm not good enough or capable of being on my own."

She stepped closer, looking down at him, her jaw tight.

"I lost my team, Jonathan. My friends." Her voice broke, just barely, and her eyes shone wet in the low light. "I thought being with you would ensure their survival. It didn't. We were strong enough—at least I thought we were. But they died. That's my reality, all the time. I also understand—"

"As much as that's unfortunate, I still—"

She cut him off with a sharp, flowing stream of Elvish. It rolled like water—harsh and beautiful—catching him off guard. His brow furrowed. He understood her, even if he shouldn't have.

"I understand what it means to change your name."

Jonathan froze.

"I wasn't always Sšurtinaui of Varics," she said, her voice quieter now but firm. "I used to be Aelentien of Varics. Aelentien was weak. Aelentien was naïve. Aelentien was seen as incompetent and unreliable."

Her voice trembled—just slightly—as tears finally broke free and trailed down her cheeks.

"Sšurtinaui is a fix to all those things. And yet…" she clenched her fists, "I still have aspects of her I can't deny. So I improve them. That's—" her breath hitched, "that's what I was trying to say, you dumbass."

Jonathan stared at her.

He remembered standing in line before this all began, her getting in his face, bluntly asking why he'd joined the event. Telling him he wasn't ready. And then later, when she saved him from that sand Joan of Arc—saying that she couldn't stand to see a dumbass die.

So that was Aelentien.

The cold, detached Sšurtinaui was just armor. A hunter's mask. A way to cope in a world where caring could get you killed.

His thoughts slid to Jafar. The name. The weight of it. How it had started as nothing more than an old war game gamer tag he used with his friends. And how, once he came here, it became a shield.

It was probably safe to assume Jonathan died a long time ago. If he from back then, looked at himself now, he wouldn't recognize the man staring back. And that was just two weeks in. In another week—hell, another day—he'd change again.

Was Jonathan built for that?

Who was Jonathan?

Jonathan had been a kind, semi-lazy guy. Good family. Decent job. Friends who called him dependable. But those same traits, here, had been twisted into tools for survival. He'd killed. Betrayed his friends' trust. Used others for his own gain. Was that still Jonathan?

Jafar felt like someone else entirely. And yet… he didn't feel like himself either now.

His thoughts churned—turning over everything he had endured and everything still ahead. Maybe this wasn't about choosing between Jonathan and Jafar. Maybe this was about something else entirely: integrating what he'd learned, carrying both pain and growth forward.

Back home there was an old saying—about when you've traveled far, survived storms, and come out changed on the other side. Similar to Sšurtinaui story. It was a season of life. A moment where everything you'd endured became part of you—not to erase who you were, but to shape who you'd become.

Jonathan let that thought settle. Integration. Reflection. Spiritual growth.

Maybe he didn't have to bury his name. Maybe he just had to evolve it.

He sighed and got up, then stepped forward, and before she could react, pulled Sšurtinaui into a hug.

Her green eyes widened. "Huh?"

He held her there, firm yet gentle. "You could make this less awkward and hug me back," he said after a moment.

"Hugs are not common," she said stiffly. "Especially in Elvish culture."

"Then screw the culture," he said, his voice low but sure. "That was for Aelentien. Sšurtinaui can make her own rules, right?"

There was a pause—then, slowly, she hugged him back.

Jonathan's thoughts whirled in the silence. About everything. About the man he was, the man he wasn't, the man he might still become.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, steadier. Yet clear and certain.

"If you don't mind… at least for the time being…"

"Call me North."