The morning felt usual in the inn—quiet, almost peaceful.

  The group shared breakfast prepared by Layla, the scent of sizzling meat and toasted bread weaving through the air like a gentle thread. Bits of conversation floated around the table, unhurried and warm.

  Claire leaned forward, exchanging thoughts about technology with William, who listened with quiet intensity, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. Sam and Dovak, seated across from them, seemed engaged in a full-blown competition—each tale more exaggerated than the last, each punchline louder and more theatrical. Their laughter echoed across the room, drawing faint smiles from the others.

  Nyx, however, ate alone.

  She sat near the edge of the common room, her plate barely touched. Her usual companion during breakfast—Nigel—wasn’t there that morning.

  Jin glanced around, arms folded. “Have you seen Nigel? We’re supposed to train in ten minutes, but I haven’t seen him anywhere.”

  Nyx shook her head, her fingers toying absently with a piece of bread. “No. He told me he’d reserve a room for solo training. Maybe he forgot to tell you.”

  She didn’t look up when she said it.

  The room was silent.

  Wooden walls framed the narrow chamber, their grain worn smooth by time and the weight of memory. A single paper candle swayed gently from the ceiling, its soft glow casting elongated shadows across the floor—lines of gold and ink spilling over the polished boards.

  Nigel sat in the center, legs folded beneath him. His shirt lay neatly on a mat by the wall, revealing the lean musculature of his torso—and the absence of his right arm.

  He had gotten used to the way people stared. Used to the adjustments. The balance shifts. The sharp, sudden stops in muscle memory.

  But what he hadn’t gotten used to was the feeling.

  Because he could still feel it—his arm.

  Not the pain. Not the wound. The presence.

  Fingers that weren’t there curled instinctively. Tendons that no longer existed flexed with silent command. His shoulder would twitch, reacting to sensations that had no origin. His mind knew the truth.

  His body disagreed.

  He exhaled, slow and steady, and closed his eyes.

  Aetheris, he reminded himself. Start with breath. Focus inward.

  Energy present everywhere, but not accessible by anyone.

  Then, from the silence, memory rose.

  His mother’s voice. Calm. Sharp. Uncompromising.

  “You were born with the gift of being a skill user, unlike me. But that does not mean you have to rely on your skills. It is important to learn energy manipulation too. That is the reason you lost.”

  He had been thirteen, angry, bleeding from a split lip after sparring. She hadn’t comforted him. She never did. Instead, she’d crouched beside him, taken his hand, and pressed it to his chest.

  “Feel what’s in there. Not just the anger, go deeper.”

  Nigel took a deep breath.

  At the center of his chest, he could feel it—a warm point, a flush of light.

  His energy core. And from it, Aetheris flowed outward, threading through every part of his body.

  But there was a break. An abrupt cut. A place where the fine, intricate veins of energy were twisted and torn: his right shoulder.

  He exhaled slowly, and as he did, he imagined those damaged veins expanding outward—reaching, healing, restoring.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw a new arm.

  An arm forged from his own, unique attribute—blood.

  The scarlet limb shimmered beneath the soft glow of the paper lantern, and Nigel stared at it in silence for a few seconds, watching the way it caught the light.

  Thanks to Claire’s device, the process was somewhat easier. She said he might be able to get a bionic arm, but it could take months, years, or a lifetime to get one. He couldn't afford to wait.

  Then, it unraveled. Dissolving completely.

  Nigel gasped for air, chest rising with effort.

  “This is harder than I thought,” he muttered to himself.

  But he was making progress.

  He wanted to fight again. To wield the Reaper once more.

  There was no other choice—he would keep trying, until he reclaimed his right arm.

  After getting dressed, Nigel stepped out of the room.

  Before leaving entirely, he paused to offer a polite bow to the workers who had allowed him to rent the space.

  Outside, the warm air of Hizuru met him like a soft breeze. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply.

  There was still so much left to do, but somehow, the weight he carried felt lighter.

  He began walking toward the inn where the others were staying when a soft chime sounded from his wristband.

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  Erebus? Was that the name of the bracelet’s system?

  Curious, he raised his hand and expanded the notification with a simple gesture.

  It was the first time the bracelet had displayed so much at once.

  He reached toward the “participant status” option—and, to his surprise, the holographic message was solid. He could feel it respond beneath his finger as he pressed down.

  Incredible.

  The system had analyzed him with stunning precision.

  Nigel recalled the words of the announcer before the start of the second stage. It seemed that this was only the beginning of the Chaos Bracelet’s system expansion.

  The only thing that bothered him was his combat level... Intermediate Mortal? That didn’t sound particularly impressive. But it was something he could improve.

  And the Chaos Rank... a question mark?

  What did that mean?

  Maybe the system didn’t have enough data yet to determine it.

  Or maybe... it was something else entirely.

  He closed the message and continued on toward the inn.

  The moment he stepped through the door, Dovak’s booming voice was the first thing to hit his ears.

  “My Chaos Rank is A, and my combat level is Beginner Warrior. What do you think of that, huh?” he shouted, clearly aiming the comment at Sam.

  Sam, arms crossed, rolled his eyes. His own Chaos Rank was B+, and Dovak wouldn’t stop reminding him.

  “What about you, William?” Sam asked, ignoring Dovak completely, hoping the boy’s rank was lower than his.

  “Uh... my Chaos Rank is SS,” William said, timidly.

  Sam’s eyes widened like saucers. His jaw dropped.

  He hadn’t been expecting that.

  Still stunned by William’s status, Sam turned just in time to see Nigel walking through the door.

  “What about you, Nigel? What’s your Chaos Rank?” he asked, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice.

  Nigel didn’t answer right away. He paused, as if considering whether the question even deserved an answer.

  “A question mark,” he replied at last.

  Sam blinked. “What the hell does that mean? Maybe... maybe you’re just not cool enough to have a rank,” he offered, grasping for some shred of dignity.

  “And your combat level?” Dovak asked, leaning forward with a grin.

  Nigel didn’t reply.

  Instead, he gave a small, quiet smile—the kind that could mean anything, or nothing at all.

  He wasn’t about to reveal his combat level. Especially not to Dovak.

  “We should start training together—as a group,” Nigel said, ignoring Dovak’s persistence.

  “That’s an excellent idea!” Layla chimed in as she stepped into the dining room, holding a massive pot filled to the brim with steaming soup.

  “It’s important to stay properly nourished if we want to be strong enough to fight! This is my specialty soup, made with—”

  She never finished the sentence.

  A low, resonant chime rang out across Hizuru. It echoed through the wooden walls, hollow and heavy, like the tolling of a distant bell in a funeral rite.

  Layla’s expression darkened instantly.

  They all recognized that sound.

  A new mission had been assigned.

  Their Chaos Bracelets vibrated almost in unison, and as the message unfolded in the air above them, the warmth in the room evaporated like breath on cold glass.

  The shift was immediate. From laughter to dread. From light to shadow.

  “I told you the next one would be some insane bullshit,” Sam muttered, already regretting his accuracy.

  “The Chaos Tournament always lives up to its name,” Dovak said with a grim half-smile, one hand dragging slowly down his face.

  “Is this some kind of sick joke?” Nyx asked, her eyes scanning the text.

  The message faded, but the silence it left behind lingered like a stormcloud.

  That day, there would be no more laughter.