The inn was called "The Wanderer's Rest."
It was a modest building, tucked between two larger structures, its walls covered in the same glowing runes that adorned the rest of the city. A weathered sign hung above the door, depicting a figure walking beneath a field of stars.
Aurelion pushed open the door.
The interior was warm, cozy, and surprisingly clean. A fire burned in a hearth at the far end, casting flickering light across the common room. A few beings sat at scattered tables, their guides floating beside them.
The innkeeper was a stout, four-armed being with a cheerful expression. It looked up as Aurelion entered.
"Welcome! Are you here for a room?"
"Yes," Aurelion said. "One night. Maybe more, depending on how my next fight goes."
The innkeeper's eyes widened. "You're the fighter from the Coliseum! The Demon King!"
Aurelion blinked. "Word travels fast."
"The Coliseum broadcasts every match across the city. Everyone saw your victory." The innkeeper leaned forward conspiratorially. "You defeated a Dust Lurker on your first try. That's not easy. Most fighters don't survive their first match."
Aurelion shrugged. "It wasn't that hard."
The innkeeper laughed. "I like your confidence! A room is fifteen credits per night."
Aurelion looked at K-7. The robot beeped.
"That is within your budget," it confirmed.
"Great." Aurelion handed over the credits. "I'll take it."
The room was small but comfortable.
A bed, a desk, a window that looked out over the city. The walls were warm, covered in soft fabric that seemed to absorb sound. It was quiet, peaceful, a welcome respite from the chaos of the Coliseum.
Aurelion sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees. The shards beneath his skin pulsed faintly, their light dim.
K-7 hovered beside him.
"You seem thoughtful," the robot observed.
"I'm thinking about what comes next," Aurelion admitted. "I'm stuck in a city on a giant starfish in the middle of the void. I have no idea how to get home. And I have to fight monsters to survive."
"That is an accurate assessment."
He shook his head. "I've been through worse. But this is... different. I don't have a goal. I don't have a plan. I'm just... surviving."
"Surviving is a valid goal."
"Maybe. But it's not enough. I need to find a way back to Earth. Back to my friends. Back to—" He paused. "Back to Ami."
K-7 was quiet for a moment.
"Your companion," it said. "The one you spoke of earlier."
"Yes." Aurelion's voice was soft. "She's waiting for me. She thinks I'm dead. She doesn't know where I am."
"Then you must find a way to return to her."
"I know." He stood, walking to the window. "But I don't know how."
The city stretched before him, its crystalline spires gleaming in the artificial light. Beings moved through the streets below, their guides floating beside them. Life was continuing, peaceful and normal.
He was the only one who didn't belong here.
"The Coliseum," K-7 said. "It may provide an opportunity."
Aurelion turned. "What do you mean?"
"The Coliseum attracts beings from across the Great Structure. Fighters, spectators, merchants, information brokers. Someone there may know the location of the pathways. Or they may know someone who does."
Aurelion considered this. "So I need to keep fighting. Keep winning. Build a reputation."
"That would be an effective strategy."
Aurelion smiled. "Okay. Then that's what I'll do."
He looked out at the city again.
"I'll fight. I'll win. I'll build a name for myself. And eventually, someone will notice me. Someone who can help me find my way home."
K-7 beeped. "That is a sound plan."
"Thanks." He stretched his arms. "Now, I need to rest. I have a feeling my next match is going to be a lot harder."
The next morning, Aurelion sat in the common room, eating breakfast.
The food was strange—some kind of grain-based porridge with a sweet, floral aftertaste. It wasn't terrible. It wasn't great. But it was warm and filling, and after everything he had been through, that was enough.
He was halfway through his bowl when the door burst open.
Three figures strode in, their boots heavy against the wooden floor. They were large—easily twice Aurelion's size—with thick, muscular bodies and faces that looked like they had been carved from stone. Their eyes swept the room, dismissive and cold.
The innkeeper's expression shifted from welcoming to fearful.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I wasn't expecting—"
"You know why we're here," the lead figure said. His voice was deep, grating, like rocks grinding together. "You're late on your payment. Again."
The innkeeper's face went pale. "I—I just need a few more days. Business was slow last week. I can—"
"Few more days?" The figure laughed—a harsh, ugly sound. "You said that last time. And the time before that. We're done waiting."
One of the other figures stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe we should teach him a lesson. Remind him what happens to people who don't pay."
The innkeeper stumbled backward, his hands raised in surrender. "Please—"
Aurelion sighed.
He set down his spoon.
He picked up the knife.
It was a simple thing—small, sharp, meant for cutting food. But in his hands, it might as well have been a sword.
He stood.
"I'd stop if I were you," he said.
The three figures turned.
The lead figure's eyes narrowed, studying Aurelion with contempt. "Who the hell are you?"
Aurelion smiled—a cold, easy smile. "Just a guest. But I'm not a fan of people threatening my host."
The figure laughed. "Look at this. A hero. A little offworlder who thinks he can play savior."
"Heard about you," another figure added. "The Demon King. Pretty big name for a guy who fought a Dust Lurker."
"Big names don't scare me," the third said. "And neither do little men with table knives."
Aurelion looked at the knife in his hand. "You're right. It's not very impressive."
He turned it over, examining the blade.
"But it gets the job done."
He moved.
It was fast—faster than they could react. One moment he was standing at the table. The next, he was in front of the lead figure, the knife already in motion.
The figure's head left his shoulders.
It hit the floor with a wet thud, rolling to a stop at the feet of the second figure.
The second figure stared.
He opened his mouth to speak—
Aurelion's knife found his throat.
The third figure tried to run.
Aurelion threw the knife.
It embedded itself in the back of his skull.
He crumpled.
The common room was silent.
Aurelion stood in the center of the carnage, his hands empty, his expression calm. The three figures lay dead at his feet, their blood pooling on the wooden floor.
The innkeeper stared, his face pale, his hands trembling.
"Wh-what..."
"Don't worry," Aurelion said. "They won't bother you anymore."
He walked over to the third figure, retrieved his knife, and wiped it clean on the figure's shirt.
K-7 floated down from where it had been hovering near the ceiling.
"That was an efficient resolution," the robot observed.
"Thanks." Aurelion tucked the knife into his belt. "I figured it was better to make a statement. Let people know that threatening this place isn't a good idea."
The innkeeper was still staring.
"You... you just killed them," he whispered. "Just like that."
"They were going to hurt you," Aurelion said. "I couldn't let that happen."
He paused, looking at the bodies.
"Besides, I've been looking for a workout."