The lights flickered once before settling into a steady, warm glow that spread gently across the room, leaving the corners dim as if the place didn’t care to welcome anyone in.

  Somewhere, a faint breeze found its way through, just enough to nudge the thick curtains and remind you that the room was still breathing.

  The air carried the scent of old books, settled dust, and something harder to place—faint, familiar, and just a little off.

  Then the door creaked open.

  “Sir?”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Middle-aged, with grey streaks lining the edges of his slicked-back black hair, he sat still in his cushioned chair, elbows on the rests, fingers laced. His sharp amber eyes stayed locked on the projection hovering in the air before him—a wavering shimmer of pale blue light that showed a blurred but live image of a teenage boy clashing with a giant worm across a desert.

  The door closed behind the subordinate with a soft thump.

  “Sir… if I may?” the assistant repeated, clearing his throat.

  Still nothing.

  Then, a slow exhale. The man leaned back, chair creaking under his weight. “What is it?”

  The subordinate stepped forward, hesitant. “I know it’s a dumb question but… is there anything we can do about that girl? The guests are starting to get... uncomfortable.”

  The man didn’t look at him, just raised an eyebrow slightly. “And you think I’m not?”

  The projection shimmered again, the view shifting. The lens panned slowly to the side, drawing a pale blue outline around a still figure in the distance. She stood perfectly motionless, watching the boy without expression.

  “Whoever she is… she’s out of bounds.”

  The subordinate—Gary—licked his lips, unsure. “But why is she even here? With the kind of investment behind this… couldn’t we reach out discreetly? Find out who’s backing her—see if there’s a way to... ease the tension before it affects the show?”

  “No.” The man’s tone was dry. He finally turned toward Gary, and the full weight of those flickering amber eyes made him stiffen. “We can’t. I don’t know who she is, but I know one thing—whoever sent her is someone we can’t afford to offend. And that means we have no cards to play.”

  Gary shifted uncomfortably. “Then… what do we do? She’s disrupting the narrative. If this keeps up, the guests are going to start pulling their funding. I mean, what’s the point of curated chaos if the chaos isn’t curated?”

  The man raised a hand, rubbed his temple with a sigh. “Gary, either tell me something I don’t know, or shut the fuck up.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Radley.”

  The projection shimmered again, the desert scene dissolving into smoke-like wisps before re-forming into the image of a veiled figure cloaked in shadow. The glow lit his sharp features from below, casting an unnatural gleam in his eyes.

  “You know the issue. Give me a solution.”

  The cloaked man’s smile curled slowly, unnaturally calm—more serpent than human. “Sir, I don’t believe we’ve encountered a problem. I believe we’ve been gifted something far more valuable. A moment. An opening. A chance to peel back the skin of the stage and show our guests what they came to see.”

  The man in the chair leaned forward slightly. “Go on.”

  “Violence,” the cloaked one began, “is not what draws them in. Not truly. Blood is cheap. Screams are easy. They’ve seen Crawlers scream, beg, and die in a thousand ways. That isn’t what keeps them watching.

  “What they crave—what they hunger for—is collapse. The kind that stirs something foul and familiar in their gut. They want to see the good falter. The strong break. The bright extinguished.

  “They want proof. That all things fall. That every virtue is a mask, and every mask cracks in time.”

  His voice lowered, more intimate now.

  “They don’t watch to be entertained. They watch to feel justified. That their bitterness is valid. That their weakness is shared. They want to see the world burn—because if someone else burns first, they don’t feel quite so cold.”

  He gestured softly, a slow sweep of fingers through the air. “We don’t need to make the girl disappear. No, let her be—let her presence ring out like a discordant note in a familiar symphony. A spark misplaced, yes, but a spark nonetheless.”

  “The boy is ripe,” he continued. “He bleeds all the things they long to see—virtue, doubt, spirit. A reluctant blade, still clinging to the idea that meaning can be carved from a broken world. A name that dares to mean something. And she… she’s the shadow at his side. Unreachable. Watching. Judging. What better mirror than the one you cannot touch?”

  The man in the chair stayed silent, but his knuckles flexed against the armrest.

  “So let’s test the boy,” the cloaked man whispered, his smile widening. “Let’s tilt the stage. Turn principle into ruin. Force the blade where it does not wish to go. Show them the world as it truly is. Let the guests lean in. Let them wonder. Let them ache. And… let the girl have the front seat.”

  Red light danced across his teeth as his grin stretched wider, casting half the projection in a hungry crimson hue.

  “After all… what is tragedy, if not the slow and beautiful ending of Hope?”

  Silence settled over the room as the man’s fingers tapped against the armrest. Seconds passed.

  “All right… a bit too poetic for my taste,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But fine. Do what I pay you to do. Gary will assist.”

  “Sir?”

  He gave a lazy flick of his fingers. Gary vanished without ceremony, and the projection before him rippled once—then snapped back to the scorched desert feed.

  Let’s see if you’re worth it, kid.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  The man leaned back, smiling to himself.

  Entertain me.

  Hope yanked his spear back as blood seeped from the wound. The sandmaw jerked violently, then dropped with a heavy thud into the sand below.

  Level 30 ? 31

  He looked at the spear in his hands and the lingering Air Magika still around it. Not quite there yet.

  Even if his more recent attempts had slowly improved his control, the benefit to his thrusts was not worth the concentration effort.

  Perhaps he just needed more Magia?

  In any case, he’d keep practicing. Small steps—but they were still steps.

  But damn, this desert was dragging. He was moving fast—real fast—and still no sign of the next region.

  He paused for a breath, boots pressing into the sand before he started up again.

  At least there was no star blazing overhead to cook him alive. Compared to the desert back then, this one felt like child’s play. Just flat, endless, boring, and—

  The ground suddenly vanished.

  “What—!”

  His foot dropped into nothing, and before he could even curse, the sand swallowed the rest of him.

  The world tilted. He was falling.

  The wind rushed past his ears for barely a second before his back slammed into something solid.

  A brutal thud.

  Air ripped from his lungs.

  He hit and bounced, rolling sideways, coughing hard as dust filled his throat.

  “Fuck—!”

  Hope groaned, sitting up slowly, brushing sand off his arms and neck.

  What the hell was that!?

  He sat up, brushing the grit from his arms and legs. The floor beneath him was solid, maybe stone, maybe something else. Hard either way.

  He looked up. The hole he’d dropped through still let in a bit of light, and sand was still trickling down like a lazy stream.

  A moment later, Eve’s head appeared at the edge.

  “Hey,” he called, pointing up. “You don’t happen to have a rope or somethin’, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  Before he could say anything else, she just stepped off.

  Hope flinched, but her body slowed mid-air, surrounded by concentrated Magika that held her up as she floated down like it was nothing.

  She landed beside him with a quiet thud.

  “Alright,” he muttered. “That was smooth, but… not sure if jumping down was the right call, Eve.”

  She just stared at him with that same half-smile and didn’t say a word.

  Yeah right… sometimes I forget she’s… well… she’s she.

  He stood up and took a better look around. The place was wide and dark—real dark. Couldn’t see much past a few steps. Just rough stone walls and some stale air that hadn’t moved in a while.

  “Well,” he sighed. “No clue where the fuck we are, or how to get out of this pit. Like—what even is this shit? Who the hell builds a hole in the middle of a desert? And out of all the sand, all the spots I could’ve walked on—I step right on the one patch that gives way.”

  He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Just… perfect.”

  Hope sighed and started moving, eyes scanning the place. He ran his hand along the surface—rough, dusty, old.

  He kept tracing the wall, following it around, half-hoping for a ladder, a door or something, until—click.

  “Huh?”

  Torches suddenly burst to life. Orange light spilled across the space, flickering shadows in every direction.

  Hope flinched, turning in a slow circle.

  “Okay… that’s not creepy at all.”

  The room looked enclosed—no doors, no exits—just more stone and sand. But then—

  CRSHH!

  A deep grinding noise echoed from behind him as one of the walls started sliding open.

  Dust rolled out from the gap as the wall pulled aside, revealing a tunnel beyond.

  Hope didn’t move for a second.

  “Yup. Seems legit.”

  But of course he walked in. Because what else was he gonna do? Sit down and wait?

  The tunnel was short, just enough to make him duck slightly, and then—

  Fwoom!

  One torch lit up on the wall with a sharp hiss.

  Fwoom!

  Then another.

  Fwoom! Fwoom! Fwoom!

  A ripple of fire shot around the edge like a fuse, one flame chasing the next until the whole place lit up in a bright ring.

  Hope stepped out, blinking.

  The place was massive! A wide circular space, stone columns holding up a heavy ceiling, and sand spread across most of the floor like someone dumped half the desert in here.

  He walked toward the center, boots crunching over the grit, and ran his fingers through the sand.

  “I’ve seen some wild shit before, Eve, but this might be top five… no, top ten just to be safe,” Hope muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “So—huh?”

  No one there.

  “Eve?”

  He looked around, frowning, then started heading back toward the tunnel—only to freeze.

  Eve was still there, standing in the passage, palms pressed against the air like she was leaning on glass.

  What the…?

  “Yo, Eve—what the hell you doin’ just standin’ there like that?”

  She opened her mouth, clearly saying something, but no sound reached him.

  Hope squinted. “The hell…”

  He stepped closer, but his boot hit something solid. He looked down—nothing there. Just air. He leaned forward and pressed his hand out.

  It didn’t move.

  An invisible wall?

  He looked at her, confused. “Can you hear me?”

  She shook her head, pointing at her mouth, then shook her head again.

  No sound. No way through. What kinda freaky magic—

  CRSHH!!!

  Before he could finish the thought, a harsh grinding noise blasted from above. Hope looked up just as the ceiling split open and sand came pouring down in waves.

  His eyes widened as light poured in, and through the dusty cascade, he caught a glimpse of the blue sky.

  The opening kept growing, stone sliding apart until a vast circle hung overhead like a second sun, far too high to reach.

  Hope narrowed his eyes, scanning for anything to climb, any grip or edge—but the walls were smooth, steep, and slick with dust.

  He turned back and spotted Eve still at the tunnel’s edge, hands pressed against the invisible wall. Her expression had changed. Less confusion now. Something colder. Something like…

  Anger?

  As Hope tried to piece it all together, a sharp red beam burst into existence at the center of the chamber, shooting clean into the sky above.

  Then a voice tore through the air, loud and sharp, with something in it that didn’t sound fully human.

  “March to the red. One survives. One claims the power.”