Kings War

The air hung heavy and oppressive, thick with the volatile remnants of battle. Frost crystals drifted in the haze, refracting light from erratic sparks that snapped like miniature fireworks.

Aether shivered as faint white veins of light threaded through him, patches of frost clinging to his arms like crude, shimmering armor.

Then came Adad's lightning—crackling across his forearms with a deceptively playful snap. His fingers twitched, arcs of static leaping between them. His body trembled under the opposing forces, muscles straining, veins glowing erratically, teeth clenched against the surge of foreign power fighting for dominance.

Elara's voice pierced the silence, edged with alarm. "What's happening to him?"

Anna crouched, eyes sharp, assessing. "Adaptive Evolution," she muttered grimly. "But he's still Rank 1. His body's mimicking the energy—it's not processing it. That's… not sustainable."

Aether staggered forward, uneven, like the ground itself resisted him. "Feels… weird," he murmured, barely audible.

Inside, his Rasvian core pulsed violently, struggling to harmonize with the surrounding chaos. His bloodstream shimmered—icy blue currents laced with golden sparks. His heart hammered an irregular rhythm, each beat flooding him with unstable energy.

Microscopic frost crystals bloomed within his blood, slicing vessels before melting into raw power. Lightning surged along his nerves like fire through wires.

He grimaced, muscles convulsing as his body fought to adapt. His veins darkened, glowing faintly—frost-blue and electric-yellow racing beneath the skin in rhythm with his erratic heartbeat.

He gasped. The air burned like ice in his lungs. Frost crept along his respiratory walls, his breath visible as thick vapor. His lungs expanded, compensating for the cold, his frame trembling under the strain.

The energy surged. Sparks erupted near his heart, crackling with each beat. Frost hardened over his limbs, forming a crystalline rigidity. His tendons stretched and crackled, infused with latent electricity—ready to snap, to strike.

The transformation peaked.

Patches of his skin turned translucent. Frost crawled across his shoulders and arms, forming jagged armor. His fingers elongated slightly, static arcs snapping between sharpened knuckles.

His eyes flared—irises now a fierce swirl of ice blue and burning gold.

Frost streamed from the corners, and sparks danced in his pupils like distant stars. His aura blazed into visibility—a storm of mist and light. The air chilled further, burn marks sizzling wherever sparks struck.

Then—it passed.

The power faded, leaving only echoes. Aether collapsed to his knees, breath heaving. Frost melted on his brow. He gave a weak, crooked smile.

"Guess I'm not ready for that… yet."

Anna knelt beside him, voice taut. "That wasn't evolution. That was survival. Your body barely kept up." She shot Elara a look. "If he's like this now, imagine when he hits Ascendant."

Elara rested her hands on his shoulders, her expression caught between awe and worry. "If he survives."

Aether's consciousness returned slowly. He blinked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, frost melting from his lashes. Sitting up, he spotted Ryuji nearby, arm stiff at his side.

"The playground," Aether muttered, not fully aware he'd spoken.

"It's fake," Ryuji replied flatly. "A fake Revival War. For fun."

Aether frowned as he stood. "Fun? How many insane things does this place have? I should stop asking…"

Ryuji smirked faintly. "Might be the smartest thing you've said all day." He stretched his good arm, masking the pain. "Come on. I'll explain while we walk."

They moved down a narrow corridor lined with mirrors. As they walked, Ryuji spoke quickly.

"Retrieval War is basically chess—but bloodier. Six players per team. Objective? Capture the enemy Leader. Catch? You don't use your actual skills. Just their manifestations."

Elara jogged up beside them. "When did you get so talkative, Ryuji?" she teased.

Anna followed, smirking. "Give him 24 hours. I bet 400 draws he's back to being a total ass by tomorrow."

Elara laughed. "Deal." They shook on it.

Aether trailed behind. Faint whispers echoed around him—unintelligible murmurs rising and falling like waves. Shadowy figures within the mirrors turned their heads, blank gazes following them silently.

He hesitated. "They're not attacking," he said warily. One figure tilted its head unnaturally as it tracked them. "Maybe… they only react if a mirror's broken," he speculated, quickening his pace.

"Shut it," Ryuji snapped. "Are you even listening?"

"I am!" Aether said quickly. "So—six players. Five fighters, one Leader?"

"Exactly," Ryuji said sharply. "The Leader doesn't fight. Sits on a throne—acts as the anchor. The rest have roles—Navigator, Amplifier, Veil User, and so on. Movement depends on your manifestation. How do you not know this? Every kid does."

Aether hesitated, then forced a sheepish grin. "Homeschooled. Different city."

Ryuji slowed, suspicious. His aura flared. "Are you lying?"

Aether's chest tightened. "No! I… I barely know any history. My tutors focused on eras and—" He blurted, "I'm the tour guide's son."

Ryuji studied him a beat longer, then turned away with a shrug. Aether exhaled in relief as Anna pulled him aside.

"What the hell was that?" she hissed, grabbing his cheeks. "Tour guide's son? Really? You could actually die here!"

"Look at him!" Aether whispered. "If I said the wrong thing, my head would be rolling!"

Anna sighed, releasing him. "You're lucky you're stupidly good at bluffing."

Shadows in the Distance

Elsewhere in the Mall, Altan leaned against a cracked stone wall, long shadows slicing across his face. He chewed lazily on a strip of unidentifiable meat, eyes gleaming white.

A voice echoed from beyond the wall—calm, cold.

"If the tour guide had a son," Altan drawled, "you'd think he'd hide him better. Instead, he let the kid roam around like bait. And now?" He bit into the meat again. "He's dead. I'm certain."

"How sure?" the voice asked.

Altan smirked. "Sure enough. I smelled it—death, despair, agony, regret. That stench doesn't lie."

"Good," came the reply, final and satisfied.

Altan tapped his claws against the wall, then pushed off it. "By the way," he said casually, "the Central District war still dragging?"

A pause. "The Deacons are still under the King's thumb, Cloudspine is ever avoidant and nexus is...the same. Full alignment is inevitable."

Altan chuckled. "Predictable." His grin widened. "And the 100th City? Still delightfully chaotic?"

"The demons have reclaimed most sectors. Rumors say dragons stir. Their target now is the Wonder of the Seraphiel Monuments. If they seize it, the balance tips further."

Altan's eyes lit up. He sprang forward, boots slamming the ground. "Now that's entertainment. The King's war bores me—but demons and dragons?" He spun his spear. "I suppose we're headed for the 100th City soon?"

The voice softened, but urgency crept in. "Big brother is already preparing. We may leave sooner than expected."

"Perfect," Altan purred, vanishing into shadow. His laughter lingered—cold and triumphant.

Departure

Ryuji walked briskly, speaking as he moved. "Retrieval War has two main goals," he said. "Primary: capture the enemy Leader. Secondary: earn points by seizing zones or eliminating key players. Do both, and you win faster."

He gestured at the corridoar of mirrors. "The board's massive—500 by 500 squares though fake ones are usually smaller. Zones vary—some amplify energy, others drain health, slow movement, or teleport you into enemy range. Total chaos if you're not careful."

Aether, still clearly exhausted, frowned. "And the Leader just sits back?"

"Exactly. Back-center of the grid. Symbolic—but lose the Leader, lose the game."

Elara listened, focused. Anna, meanwhile, grew increasingly restless.

"Each team has six members," Ryuji went on. "Roles match your manifestations. If you have several, pick the strongest. Your pattern, movement, everything depends on it."

They reached a spiraling staircase. Ryuji's voice lowered. "The game plays out in four phases. First, Initiation—teams set players and their Cores. Then Tactical—you position and set traps. Then Action—all hell breaks loose. Barriers, strikes, power everywhere. Finally, Resolution—hits land, points scored, and the board updates."

Anna raised an eyebrow. "Points? Isn't it just about capturing the Leader?"

"In real wars, yes," Ryuji said slowly. "But fake Retrievals like this have a cap—100 points. Strategy counts just as much as firepower."

They approached the bibliotheca where they'd first dropped in. Whispers grew louder, mirroring their steps. Ryuji halted at the mirrors, staring.

Aether glanced around. "How do we get out?"

Elara tapped his shoulder gently. "It's an illusion," she said. "The exit's wherever you believe it is." She stepped into a mirror. The surface rippled like water—and she vanished.

Aether stared at his reflection. "Why is it always me?" He sighed, stepped forward, and slipped through the glass.

He emerged into a stark, metallic corridor. The air was sterile and cold—jarringly calm. Ahead, Ryuji waited beside the lift, leaning slightly against the wall.

Aether approached. "So that's it? No more surprises?"

The lift dinged. The doors opened. Inside, a small group of strangers stood silently. A boy, no older than twelve, clung to a man's trousers.

The man—tall, imposing—nodded at Ryuji.

Ryuji stepped in. The boy stared at Aether, unblinking.

Aether paused, unsettled.

"Hm," Ryuji murmured.