You might assume I was grieving. Those who've only shared brief moments with me—or who've never glimpsed the less presentable parts of my character—might expect sorrow, maybe even guilt, over the death of a friend. But the truth is far less sentimental.
In the world we've been thrust into, survival is no longer a right—it's a privilege. And people like him, reckless to a fault, were never built to last. His death stirred something—a faint tremor, a passing ache—but I've long since learned that holding onto loss is a luxury I can't afford. Emotional attachment, in a place like this, is little more than a noose you tighten yourself.
What troubled me wasn't the pain—it was the pointlessness. The entire ordeal felt hollow. What exactly were they trying to accomplish?
Yes, perhaps they've seen fragments of the future—visions of how things might unfold—but to what end? Even with that knowledge, it's madness to put so much effort into something they know ends in their erasure. Once we're gone, they will be wiped out.
Unless, of course, this was never about the outcome. Perhaps it's about escape.
That theory holds water, especially considering the shamans have Cooper's exam bracelet—the same one issued to all of us when we arrived. That detail alone reframes everything. If the bracelet is the key… then they weren't trying to fight us. They were trying to escape.
I was mulling over all of this while perched atop a tree, hidden beneath its canopy, watching the forest breathe in silence.
Tom had suggested we split up—scatter ourselves across the area to avoid any head-on clashes with the squads Roger had sent out. The idea was simple but clever: lead them out, misdirect them, and eventually draw them into a place of our choosing, where we could take them down together.
It was a solid plan. Risa had tagged each of us with her insects—tiny alarms that would signal if someone was in danger. The moment one of us was cornered, the rest would know.
Do you think any of the other major families would join him? Moriarty asked all of a sudden, breaking the silence.
"Other than the rest of the Silverhearts… I don't think he has any real enemies," I replied, resting my head against the tree trunk. "They could side with him if he gave them a good reason."
I exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the rustling leaves above.
"And at this point of the story, he's already made contact with Samuel. If everything's gone according to plan, they should be on the same side by now."
When all of a sudden, the tree beneath me moved.
At first, it was subtle—a groan in the wood, a strange shift in balance—until the entire trunk rose, lifting from the earth like it had never belonged there. Bark peeled, and roots snapped like tendons tearing.
Before I could react, a thick branch coiled around my right leg and yanked—hard. I was ripped from my perch, spun upside down, and left dangling in the air like some poorly hung ornament. Blood rushed to my head, and the world flipped with it.
I activated my ability and sliced through the tree branch with my sabre, dropping to the ground in a controlled fall—only to find myself face-to-face with someone I really didn't want to see right now.
Standing before me was a young woman, no older than seventeen, with bright golden eyes that shimmered with unnatural clarity. Her blonde hair framed a face as delicate and pale as porcelain. She wore a sleek yellow combat suit—no visible insignia, no model number. Custom-made, most likely.
"Sigh... Yelena, have you joined Roger as well?" I exhaled, letting out a tired breath as I deactivated my ability.
"Ray?" Her golden eyes widened. "I didn't realize that was you! Wait—are you on Roger's side?" she asked, already reinforcing herself with a shield spell to counter my ability before I even made a move.
"What makes you think I'd ever join him of all people?" I said, keeping my tone measured. "And I could've eliminated you the moment you appeared, so please—stop casting that shield."
But she had already formed it. A compact dome of hardened wood enclosed her, solid and protective, faintly pulsing with defensive energy.
"You two are really close, so..." Yelena started to explain, her voice soft and uncertain.
I didn't care. I had no interest in this conversation.
I wanted to scream—that he'd tried to assassinate me over a hundred times—but fortunately, I kept that truth hidden. Just barely.
"But that said… we'd still have to fight each other, right?" Yelena asked, her voice hesitant, almost apologetic.
"…Let me guess," I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. "You haven't killed a single thing during this entire exam. And now you're short on points because everyone you've run into didn't have enough for you to pass."
She offered a sheepish smile. "Maybe?"
Can we just kill her? Moriarty asked, his voice laced with irritation.
No… actually, this might be better, I replied, a slow breath escaping me. I think I needed this—to let off some steam.
As I spoke, I flicked the insect off my shoulder, sending it skittering into the air. Couldn't risk it getting hurt and alerting the others.
Yelena was a Life Path witch, which meant her primary spells revolved around plant manipulation and animal control. There was an old saying: nothing born of nature could resist the charms of a Life Path walker.
And fighting a Life Path walker in a forest? Not exactly the wisest decision. But I wasn't in the mood to retreat.
I knew my emotions were clouding my judgment. Still, something told me that suppressing them would only lead to a worse outcome—one I wouldn't be able to control.
Accende.
My sabre ignited with a burst of flame as storm clouds began to churn overhead, dark and heavy.
Weather manipulation spells… A clever cover for her elemental weakness. Still, I wasn't too concerned. In fact, I'd been meaning to test out the Water Path spells I copied from Tom during our fight.
Despite being an aura user, his mastery over the Water Path made me realize just how much I'd been missing and elevated my understanding of it.
"Did you know," I said, letting the stormlight gleam off the blade now sheathed in water. "The Wisdom Path is a strange, misunderstood Path. It's not flashy. It doesn't burn like Fire or crush like Earth. It doesn't swarm you with insects or strangle you with vines. No… it lingers. It waits. And when the moment is right, it becomes whatever it needs to be."
I stepped forward, water rippling from my blade in slow arcs.
"See, Wisdom mana doesn't counter any Path. It's useless in a direct contest of brute force. But—and here's the marvel of it—it adapts. If the caster can remember every nuance, every minute thread of a different Path's essence… the mana reshapes itself accordingly. A scholar's spellcraft. A dangerous game of memory and precision."
The last flicker of flame vanished from the edge of my sabre, leaving behind a fine, glistening veil of water.
"Fortunately, I remember everything." I said with a smile.