In the empty chamber....
Elior lay back on the broken bed, his right arm stiffly wrapped in makeshift bandages. His head throbbed with every heartbeat, a dull reminder of the rock that split his skin.
The strips of fabric holding him together weren't proper dressings. They were pieces of Grace's coat. Torn unevenly, tied with shaking hands.
She sat close, too quiet, her eyes fixed on his chest rising and falling. He broke the silence first, forcing a crooked smile.
"Well… I've had softer pillows," he muttered, tapping the splintered board under his head with his good hand. "And prettier nurses too. But I guess I'll survive."
Grace's lips tightened. She didn't laugh. She only looked down at her hands, which were still stained with his blood.
Elior sighed. "Don't give me that face. I've walked away from worse. At least this time I didn't lose the other arm."
"You can't go again." Her voice was sharp, but beneath it trembled fear. "You'll die out there, Elior. You've already done enough."
"Enough?" His smile faltered. He stared at the cracked ceiling, eyes unfocused. "If I stop now, then what was the point of all the blood, all the nights I chose to keep breathing? Strength that doesn't protect anyone and shows negligence isn't strength. It's betrayal! We all are traitor to someone, but I prayed, can't let this one go."
Grace shook her head, gripping her skirt as though to anchor herself. "You don't need to bear everything."
He turned to her then, and though his face was pale, his eyes burned with something unshakable.
"I'd rather die carrying the weight than live knowing I dropped it."
For a moment she couldn't speak. The words cut deep, because she saw how much they cost him to say. His voice wasn't pride, it was exhaustion wrapped in stubbornness.
"People like me," Elior whispered, softer now, "we don't get the luxury of choosing peace. We just… fight, until the existence forgets us."
Grace's chest ached. She wanted to shout, to force him to stop, but instead she reached out and took his uninjured hand. Her grip was trembling, but carefully enough.
"You're not alone," she whispered.
Elior's eyes softened.
The silent remained.
....
Vincent sat heavily on the wooden chair in the corner of the dimly lit room. His jacket was half-unbuttoned, sleeve rolled, blood still seeping through the gauze at his ribs. He didn't flinch.
it was the kind of wound a man like him wore as a reminder rather than a burden. The room smelled of dust and iron.
Sassy Star was the only one inside, perched lazily on a desk, her boots swinging against the wood.
She didn't even look up at first, just toying with a dagger, letting the steel catch what little moonlight seeped through the cracked shutters.
"Where's Azmaik?" Vincent finally asked, reaching for a jug of water sitting far across the room. But instead of standing, he lifted two fingers.
A faint azure glow shimmered in the air, and the jug slid toward him, gliding noiselessly across the floor until it hovered into his palm.
Sassy chuckled. "Show-off. One day you'll get lazy enough you won't even walk to the door."
Vincent poured water into a cup, his movements precise, aristocratic. "Why question when the heaven itself answers to you?" He sipped, then leaned back. "I asked—where's Azmaik?"
Her smile thinned. "Said he went somewhere. Didn't bother explaining. Only thing he told me was my turn's next, right after you." She twirled the dagger once before stabbing it lightly into the desk, the blade quivering upright. "He likes keeping people blind, don't you think?"
Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Or he's hiding something."
"Oh, he's hiding plenty." Sassy's tone was playful, but her words heavy. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Said he'll take everyone who's willing and go on a little 'journey' tonight. Out into the desert. Said he's going to… collect shards. You know what that means."
Vincent's jaw tightened. He set the cup down slowly. "He plans to hunt survivors?"
"Bingo." She tapped the hilt of the dagger like it was the punchline of a joke. "Families. Lone wanderers. Doesn't matter who. He thinks he can sweep the wastes clean, feed the abyss by himself ."
For a long moment, Vincent didn't speak. His reddish hair fell across his brow as he stared at the floorboards. Then, softly, he said, "Azmaik underestimates how long men like us can hold grudges."
Sassy tilted her head, watching him with catlike curiosity. "You're not scared of him?"
Vincent smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Fear is for those who believe they'll live forever. I've already accepted I won't."
She laughed, light and sharp. "Always the noble knight routine with you. Broken ribs, blood still dripping, but you talk like you're carved from marble."
He looked at her then, his voice dropping. "And you, Sassy… you hide your dread behind jokes. Why?"
Her grin faltered, just a fraction, before she leaned back again, shrugging. "Because laughing at the end of the world is better than crying in it."
The silence after that was thick. Only the creak of the building around them filled the space.
Vincent reached for the jug again, lifted it with another subtle flick of magic, and poured more water into his cup.
"Drink?" he offered.
Sassy raised an eyebrow. "Are you courting me, noble Vincent?"
"Hardly," he muttered, handing her the cup with a faint smile. "Just making sure the jester doesn't choke before her act."
She laughed again, softer this time, but she took the cup.
Here's the scene, written with weight and tension, keeping the item mysterious:
---
Elior stood by the cracked window, his right arm bandaged and hanging uselessly at his side. The night outside pressed in like a silent ocean, the stars drowned behind heavy clouds. His reflection in the glass looked foreign—half his face bruised, eyes sunken yet burning with a quiet fire that refused to die.
He exhaled slowly and raised his left hand, pulling up the pale-blue shimmer of the System interface. The menu flickered, expanding into the familiar grid of options,
[ Shop ]
[ Inventory ]
[ Status ]
His finger hovered before tapping Shop.
The list unfolded like an endless corridor. Weapons, relics, strange consumables. Each radiating faint descriptions that promised salvation, dominance, or madness.
Every single one of them demanded a price far beyond what most could dream of paying. The numbers made his chest tighten.
Elior's gaze shifted to the top corner of the screen.
Rank: [ Uptie 2 ]
Level 2: The Pathfinder
EXP: 21,580
Exactly the same as Azmaik. He hated that detail.
He scrolled, his good hand trembling slightly, more from fatigue than hesitation. Blades glimmered, armors pulsed with alien light, potions whispered promises he dared not believe.
Yet nothing called to him not truly. Not until his eyes stabled on one listing.
It didn't shine like the rest. No elaborate description. Only a name, written in plain text that almost seemed… wrong, as though the system itself struggled to contain it.
The price was high. Too high.
Almost laughable. And yet, compared to everything else, he could afford it barely.
Elior's fingers hovered over the option. A storm of doubt hit him, What if this destroys me? What if it's useless? What if it's exactly what I need?
He stopped overthinking and checked the info about the items.
His jaw dropped, glanced once more at the empty horizon beyond the window, and then tapped.
The room seemed to darken, the System stuttering for a split second as though reality itself objected.
Something had been bought but nothing appeared.
Elior closed the shop with a slow, steady breath.
Whatever it was, it wasn't meant to reveal itself just yet and that unsettled him more than anything else.
Elior exhaled, the flicker of the interface still lingering in his eyes. He dragged his gaze to the bottom corner of the screen.
[ Remaining Currency: 9,400 Coins ]
Half of what he had gone in a single tap. For something unseen, something that didn't even whisper a name after purchase.
The tension in his jaw deepened. He closed the menu with a slow swipe, the cold night air slipping through the cracks of the window and brushing his face like a warning.
Outside, the arena loomed in silence. Next battle would demand life.
Elior flexed his left hand, staring at his broken reflection.
Whatever it takes, he thought. Even if I vanish trying.
The windowpane quivered in the midnight wind.