Ritso stood at the front of the hall, her posture rigid, her gaze sweeping across the assembled faces. "Everyone!" she announced, her voice firm and clear, cutting through the low murmur of conversation. The chattering of children, Kelly among them, ceased, and all eyes turned towards her.
"Do you all know why you've been called to this hall?" she asked, her tone demanding an answer.
Those who had lived in the hall prior to the invitation, along with Myre and Lyla, who were privy to the plan, remained silent, allowing the others to speak. A tense quiet settled over the room.
When no one stepped forward, Ritso closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to quell the surge of anticipation within her. Kelly, meanwhile, grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischievous amusement.
"Does anyone have even a small idea?" Ritso asked, her voice laced with a hint of impatience.
A hesitant hand rose from the crowd. It belonged to a skinny girl with dual braids, her eyes wide and nervous. "Yes?" Ritso prompted.
The girl glanced around the room, her gaze darting from face to face. "Are we... are we going to live in one place?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Ritso shook her head, a gesture mimicked by Kelly, eliciting nervous laughter from the crowd. The girl, her cheeks flushed, fiddled with the edge of her worn frock.
"Silence," Ritso commanded, her voice sharp. The room fell quiet. She bent slightly, offering the girl a gentle smile. "What's your name, dear?"
The girl avoided eye contact. "Cy... Cynthia," she stammered.
"What a beautiful name you have, dear," Ritso said, her voice warm. Cynthia's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink, and she nodded, still looking at the ground. "Don't be nervous. Everyone here is a friend, okay?" Cynthia nodded again, understanding the implicit reassurance.
Ritso straightened, her gaze sweeping across the room. "We are leaving..." she began, her voice trailing off, leaving a pregnant silence. The people exchanged confused glances, some whispering amongst themselves. Those who knew the plan watched Ritso with a mixture of hope and apprehension, hesitant to fully embrace the possibility without confirmation. Ritso, sensing their anticipation, suppressed a laugh, her smile widening.
Suddenly, Kelly darted forward, kicking Ritso's backside with surprising force, nearly sending her sprawling. "Having too much fun, Rito?" she asked, her voice laced with playful mockery.
Myre stifled a laugh. Ritso regained her balance, her expression a mix of annoyance and amusement. "What the heck, Kelly? Why did you do that?"
Kelly shrugged, her expression nonchalant. "Kelly making sure Rito says what she needs to say."
Ritso steadied herself, rubbing the sore spot where Kelly had kicked her, before exhaling sharply. "Alright, listen up."
She let her gaze sweep across the hall, taking in the faces before her—young, old, wary, hopeful. Some had already pieced together what she was about to say, while others still lingered in confusion.
"We are leaving," she declared.
The weight of those words dropped like a stone in still water. A hushed wave of disbelief rippled through the crowd, some whispering among themselves, others standing frozen in stunned silence.
Kelly grinned, rocking on her heels. "There it is."
"We're leaving the Underpaths," Ritso continued, her voice unwavering. "All of us. We're stepping into the World of the Living."
A sharp intake of breath came from somewhere in the crowd. A women near the back scoffed. "Impossible."
"We can't—" another voice murmured.
"How?" Cynthia's small voice trembled as she clutched the hem of her frock.
Ritso looked at them, at the fear and uncertainty twisting in their eyes, and she softened—just a little. "I know it's terrifying. Some of you have never seen the sky, never felt the wind on your face. The Underpaths have been our cage and our shelter, but it is not our home and not to mention, what we all suffered here is unbearable."
Myre crossed her arms, nodding slightly, while Lyla remained still, studying the shifting tide of emotions in the room.
"But the World of the Living—" an older woman spoke hesitantly. "They will hunt us. They always do."
"And we will survive no this time we will thrive," Ritso answered firmly. "But not as shadows. Not as ghosts clinging to tunnels and whispers. We will carve a place for ourselves. A real place."
A heavy silence followed. It was the kind of silence where doubt warred against longing, where the weight of history pressed against the fragile thread of hope.
Then, Kelly clapped her hands. "Kelly, for one, kelly is tired of eating scraps and breathing stale air. Soooo… anyone else up for finally feeling the sun or whatever old people call it?"
She threw up her arms dramatically, earning a few chuckles, though they were nervous, uncertain.
Ritso smiled slightly before looking back at the crowd. "We have a plan. We have a way. But this only works if we do it together."
Another beat of silence. Then—
"I'm in." A voice from the side.
A murmur of agreement.
Then another. And another.
Hope, fragile yet undeniable, sparked in the room.
A dull, throbbing pain spread through Meave's body as she slowly blinked awake. The harsh ceiling light struck her sensitive pupils, forcing her to raise a trembling hand in front of her face, shielding herself from the glare. Her vision swam, still blurry from exhaustion and blood loss, and every breath she took made her ribs ache.
A soft rustling of fabric, then footsteps. One of the nurses tending to the ward noticed her movement and hurried to her bedside. "You're awake," the nurse said, her voice calm yet laced with concern. "How are you feeling?"
Meave swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. "Not good," she admitted, her voice hoarse. "I can't move my lower body… my eyes still sting." The memory of blood streaming from them during the fight flickered through her mind.
The nurse checked her over, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. "That's to be expected. You pushed yourself too far. Your body needs time."
Meave exhaled sharply, frustration creeping in. Her injuries meant she was vulnerable, and in a place like this, weakness was dangerous. "Who saved me?" she asked.
The nurse glanced at her before responding, "Mister kezek, A dwarf. He brought you here after the battle."Meave frowned. "Why?"
The nurse simply shrugged. "It's his duty. No hidden motives. You won. If you died right after, it wouldn't look good for the tournament."
Meave's face hardened. Of course. She was just another fighter—she was entertainment. A spectacle. They weren't keeping her alive out of kindness. They wanted her to fight again, to bleed for the crowd once more. This reminds her why she hate this place till her core.
Pushing those thoughts aside, she shifted the conversation. "Who's fighting now?"
The nurse glanced at the time, then answered, "Norman the Iron Fist. He's from the Northern Cylics lands. His opponent is—" she hesitated slightly, "Ash."
Meave's breath hitched.
[Ash?]
Her fingers clenched the thin blanket covering her. "I want to see his fight," she demanded.
The nurse shook her head. "You need to rest. Healing comes first. Your body won't last the next round if you—"
"I don't care," Meave cut in, her voice sharper than before. "Show me."
A brief moment of silence passed before the nurse sighed in reluctant defeat. She lifted her right hand, and the gem embedded in her palm pulsed with faint light. A small projection shimmered into existence above it, forming a clear image of the battlefield.
Meave blinked away the remaining blur in her vision, clearing her gaze—and what she saw made her eyes widen.
On the screen, Ash stood in the center of the arena, his clothes torn and tattered, barely clinging to his body. His wild, flame-colored hair whipped in the wind, strands glowing like embers. But that wasn't what stunned her.
It was his tail.
A thick, muscular appendage covered in dark molten, scaled plating extended from the base of his spine, swaying behind him like a serpent waiting to strike. It flexed, the movement eerily controlled, almost predatory.
Meave's breath caught in her throat.
She had watched him move, seen him bleed—but she had never once noticed this.
He had hidden it.
And now, in the heat of battle, with his body pushed to the brink, it was exposed for all to see.
She tightened her jaw, her pulse quickening.
A Swamp Drake.