Genuine freedom

Aether plummeted toward the stadium, the rush of wind roaring in his ears. Unlike the controlled flights with Rasvian-powered tubes, this was different. No tether, no guiding force—just the raw sensation of freefall. Genuine freedom, he thought. Though maybe not quite flight.

Mid-descent, he twisted, adjusting to the air currents like a bird riding thermals. His hand shot out, catching Mirakos by the collar with practiced precision. The sudden jolt barely fazed him as he steadied mid-air.

His attention snapped to a figure perched on the metal walls lining the arena. Ryuji.

"Ryuji—" Aether began, but the words died in his throat.

Ryuji sat still, katana across his lap, gaze unfocused yet intense. His trembling fingers traced the blade's edge.

Aether noticed something faint but undeniable—tears trailing silently down Ryuji's face. Droplets slipped from his chin, disappearing into the wind.

He didn't flinch. He didn't move. Whatever storm raged within him had consumed him whole.

"Anna owes Elara four hundred draws," Aether said quietly.

Mirakos looked up at him, confused.

Aether hovered, watching Ryuji. The arena roared below, but between them, the silence felt deafening. Ryuji didn't react—lost in a realm Aether couldn't reach.

Then, with a subtle shift, Aether let gravity reclaim him. He fell again, streaking past the frenzied crowd like a comet. Hands reached toward him, desperate just to touch his presence. One brushed against his. Accident or not—it passed.

Aether landed on the elevated, cube-shaped room perched at the distant edges of the circular stadium. The room, unlike the seats encased by fences and barriers meant to keep the crowd safe and separate from the action, was part of the game itself.

Suspended above the battlefield like a sentinel, it provided a vantage point only a few could claim. The impact of his boots hitting the metallic surface echoed sharply, reverberating through the enclosed space. The weight of Mirakos, dangling limply in his grasp, felt inconsequential against the sheer magnitude of the noise surging around him from the crowd.

The audience roared in waves, their cheers and jeers blending into an overwhelming cacophony. Yet, for Aether, it was all background noise. His focus drifted to the distant figure of Ryuji. Even from here, where Ryuji looked no more than a speck on the horizon, Aether could tell—he hadn't moved. He was still seated in the exact same pose, his sword resting across his lap, his head slightly bowed.

The moment replayed in Aether's mind: the tears falling silently, the storm behind Ryuji's stillness. Aether's grip on Mirakos tightened ever so slightly, as if grounding himself.

The sound of boots clicking against the metal floor drew his attention back. Anna approached with a stormy expression, her steps heavy and her posture radiating frustration. 

"Before you even ask," she started, waving a dismissive hand, "Ryuji suddenly had a freaking withdrawal or something. That guy needs serious help." Her tone was sharp, cutting through the dull roar of the crowd as she stopped a few feet from him.

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and headed toward the center of the cube. 

A circular object embedded in the floor hissed as it activated, a swirling vortex of energy forming within. Anna stepped onto it without hesitation, and with a sharp hum, the mechanism engaged, drawing her downwards into the depths of the structure.

A moment later, a soft chime heralded another arrival. Elara emerged, the circular platform lifting her effortlessly to the surface. She stepped off with a spring in her step, her usual cheer starkly contrasting Anna's earlier mood. "You coming?" she asked brightly, tilting her head as her gaze fell on Mirakos, who hung limply by his hair from Aether's grasp.

Mirakos, for his part, seemed oddly resigned to the indignity, his expression blank as if he had already accepted this as his current state of existence.

Elara's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "I think I'll start calling him Litter Aether from now on," she teased, glancing at Aether for a reaction. When he raised an eyebrow, clearly not following, she chuckled and continued.

"One of the perks of being a Heir," she explained, her voice lilting with amusement. 

"Free VIP, VIP, VIP! Extra passes for everything in the system. That includes naming rights." She gave a playful wink before stepping back onto the circular platform. "Catch up when you're done brooding," she said lightly before disappearing in a flash of light as the platform carried her away.

Aether turned his gaze back to the audience. The deafening hum of their voices filled the air, their enthusiasm unrelenting as they gestured and shouted from their seats. 

The barriers and fences kept them at bay, yet their fervor made them feel like a living tide, pushing against invisible walls.

"If I was born in this world," Aether murmured to himself, his voice barely audible amidst the noise, "I'd probably be one of them. Just another face in the crowd."

Aether sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly as he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Alright, Mirakos," he began, his tone laced with forced levity. "Until the game's over, let's just stay here, yeah?" His smile stretched unnaturally across his face, wide and heavy, as though he were trying to shield both of them from something far darker gnawing at the edges of his mind.

Inside, though, it was chaos. Aether's mind twisted in on itself, a storm of voices tearing through the calm façade he desperately clung to. 

Somewhere deep within, another version of himself clawed at the walls of his sanity, shrieking accusations and anguish.

"You liar! Where is Ronald? Where is Dad?" The specter of his own voice echoed endlessly, tearing through the recesses of his thoughts. 

He could almost feel his other self grabbing him, shaking him violently, ripping at his clothes in sheer desperation.

But on the surface, Aether remained composed, a thin veneer of control masking the turmoil beneath.

"It's going to be alright," he said softly, more to himself than to Mirakos. His words were hollow, a fragile reassurance that didn't even convince him.

As they walked toward the circular object embedded in the floor, Aether glanced at the boy beside him, desperate for distraction.

"Where are your parents, anyway?" he asked, forcing a lighter tone. "Is Hector your uncle?" His words hung in the air, trying to bridge a conversation that neither of them seemed capable of sustaining.

Mirakos hesitated, his steps faltering. His lips moved, but no coherent words formed. His attempt to speak dissolved into stifled cries, choked sobs that he seemed to fight with everything he had. 

"Ah… ahh… ahhh…" Mirakos stammered, clutching his arms tightly to his chest as though holding himself together.

Aether immediately reached out, his hand brushing against Mirakos's shoulder in concern. "Hey, are you—" he began, but Mirakos jerked away violently, curling in on himself like a wounded animal.

"Are you okay?" Aether asked again, his voice softer this time, his concern genuine. 

The hum of the circular mechanism beneath them began to grow, the platform stirring to life. The rings expanded, opening like an iris, ready to draw them into the lower levels.

Mirakos didn't respond, only clutched himself tighter as the platform engaged. Aether sighed, giving him one last glance before taking his hand firmly—not forcefully—and guiding him onto the platform. "Alright," Aether muttered, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "Let's go."

As they descended, the air shifted, the sterile hum of the upper levels giving way to a vibrant cacophony below. 

When the platform came to a halt, Aether blinked in surprise, his breath catching at the sight before him.

They were standing in a sprawling underground space teeming with life and noise.

The atmosphere buzzed with energy, reminiscent of an upscale restaurant fused with the chaos of a bustling marketplace. 

Soft, ambient lights bathed the area in a warm glow, while sleek, polished surfaces gleamed under the illumination.

Booths and tables were scattered across the space, filled with people eating, laughing, and talking animatedly. 

Waiters moved deftly through the crowd, their uniforms crisp and immaculate, carrying trays laden with steaming dishes and exotic drinks.

But it wasn't the lively restaurant-like atmosphere that stole Aether's attention. His eyes were drawn to the massive wall dominating one side of the room, a screen so enormous it seemed to stretch endlessly across the horizon. It displayed an overwhelming array of statistics and graphics, data points flashing in vivid neon colors.

Percentage of victory—72%. 

Chance of becoming "Player of the Match"—45%. 

Probability of entering a high-risk zone—13%. 

Calculated odds of survival—81%.

The sheer volume of information was staggering, each number ticking up or down in real-time. Even before the match had officially begun, the screen dissected every possibility, every variable, every outcome.

Aether's jaw tightened, his chest constricting under the weight of what he was seeing. "What," he breathed, his voice low and incredulous.

He took a step forward, his eyes scanning the screen, trying to make sense of the flood of data that seemed to reduce human effort and emotion into cold, calculated probabilities.

The display felt almost mocking, as though the lives of the participants were nothing more than statistics to be analyzed and consumed for entertainment. His grip on Mirakos's arm loosened as his thoughts spiraled.

Is this what the world has become? A place where people's fates were nothing more than equations on a screen? Aether's mind reeled, the screaming version of himself in his head louder now, taunting him.

"Liar! You said it was going to be alright!"

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to look away from the screen. He turned his gaze to Mirakos, who stood silently beside him, his face pale, his eyes wide as if the display had stripped away what little strength he had left.

"It's just numbers," Aether muttered, more to himself than to Mirakos. "It doesn't decide anything. We do."

But even as he said it, the shadow of doubt loomed over him, a heavy presence he couldn't shake.