The preparation chamber dimmed slowly, walls fading from bright silver to a dull, exhausted gray as the system finished logging Riley out. The roar of the arena vanished—replaced by a silence so thick he could hear the faint hum of the servers far below.
Riley didn't move.
Not when his HUD dimmed.
Not when Andy's respectful nod flickered out.
Not even when the system politely informed him he'd earned:
+2,000 Tournament Consolation Points.
Two thousand points.
Some players earned that during lunch break.
He peeled off his gauntlets with stiff fingers. His breathing had steadied, but his chest still felt tight—like someone had shoved a stone slab under his ribs.
A notification blinked in the corner of his vision.
Guild invitation received: Iron Flock Private Room.
Sender: Harry Tomkins.
Of course it was Harry.
Riley swallowed, accepted, and the world blurred.
A streak of blue light swallowed him and dropped him into the Iron Flock Ready Lounge—a space modeled after a medieval war tent. Dark crimson banners drooped from the rafters. Cosmetic weapons lined the walls, more a display of purchased prestige than player achievement. A round table dominated the center, holographic projections of brackets and stats rotating slow and cold.
Conversation died instantly when Riley materialized.
A cluster of avatars stood waiting.
Harry Tomkins stood in front.
Tall. Athletic. Blonde hair styled with the precision of someone who cared more about appearance than performance. His armor gleamed—decorated with a crest he didn't earn, but bragged about like he did.
He crossed his arms.
"Well, look who finally logged back in," Harry said, voice sharp. "Took you long enough."
Riley opened his mouth. "Harry, I—"
"Don't." That raised hand cut sharper than any blade. "We all watched the match. Two minutes, Riley. You lasted two minutes."
"It was two forty-seven," Riley muttered without thinking.
Harry barked a humorless laugh. "Oh, sure. The extra forty-seven seconds really saved us."
Snickers rippled through the guild.
Heat crawled up Riley's neck.
Harry stepped forward, circling him like he was inspecting damaged merchandise.
"Iron Flock gave you a sponsored slot. Do you understand that? Do you know how many players would die for that?"
"I know," Riley whispered.
"Do you?" Harry snapped. "Because you walked out there with a Stoneback Brute."
He said the name like a curse.
"A. Stone. Back. Brute." Each word slower, heavier, like he was talking to a toddler. "What were you thinking?"
"It's my strongest Spirit," Riley said quietly.
Harry leaned in, voice dripping with contempt.
"Your strongest Spirit is mid-tier trash. And because of you, people think our guild picks weaklings."
Murmurs behind him. One voice whispered, "Embarrassing."
Riley's fists tightened.
He'd expected frustration. Maybe disappointment.
Not this.
Not poison.
"I tried my best," Riley said, and hated how small it sounded.
Harry laughed so loudly the banners shook.
"Your best got you flattened on the biggest stage of the year. Even Andy Lendrim looked bored."
That wasn't true.
Andy hadn't belittled him.
Harry was the only one swinging the knife.
Harry stepped close enough that Riley could see the faint shimmer of his avatar's high-end shaders.
"You're average, Riley. You've always been average. You rode our coattails to get here, and you know it."
Anger trembled through Riley's hands.
But before he could speak, another voice—heavy, tired—cut in.
"Enough," said Marcus, the guild leader.
But there was no conviction in it.
Riley turned toward him. "Marcus—"
"We talked it over," Marcus said. "With the officers. We're… removing you from Iron Flock."
The words froze Riley's breath.
"What?"
Marcus looked anywhere but Riley's eyes.
"You're not a fit for competitive play. We've arranged a transfer to a casual guild—"
Harry cut in loudly, "—Because that's where he belongs."
More snickers.
Each one a blade.
Riley felt something inside him fracture.
The raids.
The late-night grinding.
The camaraderie.
The encouragement.
The trust.
All of it… gone.
Marcus coughed awkwardly. "Turn in your guild gear. You keep your points but lose access to our chat, resources, and sponsorship."
Riley opened his menu with numb hands.
He unequipped the Iron Flock tabard and insignia. They dissolved into pale particles, erased from his inventory.
A soft system chime.
Just like that.
Harry clapped slowly.
The sound echoed like mock applause at a funeral.
"Goodbye, Riley. Try not to break anything on your way out."
Laughter.
Pain hammered Riley's chest. "I gave everything to this guild."
Harry shrugged. "You should've given more."
Riley stared at him—this boy who used to joke with him during dungeon runs, who used to cheer when they beat a raid boss, who pretended to be his friend.
Now he was the one twisting the knife.
Riley turned and walked toward the exit.
No one stopped him.
No one apologized.
No one even looked remotely sorry.
At the door, Harry called out one more time.
"Hey, Riley?"
He paused.
Harry smirked.
"Next time—pick a Spirit worth using."
The door sealed behind him.
Silence swallowed the corridor outside the guild hall.
No crowd.
No cheers.
No warmth.
Just hollow light and cold air.
Riley's vision blurred.
He leaned against the wall, slid the VR visor off, letting it dangle from his trembling fingers. Sweat trickled down his face. His chest hurt more than his pride.
His phone buzzed.
NOTIFICATION — Tournament Feed
ANDY LENDRIM ADVANCES TO ROUND 2
A replay auto-played: the Skyrazor Wyvern soaring triumphantly.
Riley stared… numb.
Then something glinted beneath the hallway bench.
A tiny crystal.
Fractured.
Glowing softly.
He frowned and knelt, picking it up.
Warmth pulsed through his fingers.
Gentle at first.
Then stronger.
Rhythmic.
Almost like… a heartbeat.
"What…?"
The light inside the crystal swirled like captured starlight—alive, shifting, beckoning.
Holding it made something deep inside him ache.
Like longing.
Like loss.
Like the moment before tears.
He curled his fingers around the gem.
"I just wish…" Riley whispered, voice cracking.
"I wish I could go back to day one."
The crystal throbbed—once.
Then it erupted in blinding light, swallowing the corridor whole.
And everything went black.