Crimson & Light

Jane sat by Changra's bedside in the infirmary, her eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of his chest. The antiseptic scent of the room mingled with the rhythmic beeping of monitors, creating an atmosphere of tense anticipation. Doctors had informed her that while his condition had stabilized, he remained in a delicate state.

The door creaked open, and Thorne and Aria entered, their faces etched with concern. Thorne hurried to Changra's side, his brow furrowed.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Jane shook her head, her expression troubled. "I don't know. I was unconscious during the fight."

Before Thorne could respond, the door swung open again, and Berethia stepped in, her presence commanding. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, scanned the room before settling on Changra's still form.

"How is he?" she inquired, her tone measured as she approached the bed.

Jane stood, her hands wringing nervously. "The doctors say he's stable but still in danger. They're doing everything they can."

Berethia nodded, her gaze lingering on Changra. "He's stronger than he looks. We must trust in his resilience."

Thorne glanced at Berethia, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Ya know wha' happened?"

Berethia's expression remained neutral, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. "The arena can be unpredictable. Challenges arise that test one's limits."

Aria, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Berethia turned to her, a faint smile touching her lips. "For now, your support is what he needs. Be here for him when he wakes."

As they stood in somber silence, the door opened once more, and Seth entered, his demeanor calm yet authoritative. He approached the group, his eyes briefly meeting Berethia's before focusing on Changra.

"I've spoken with the medical team," Seth announced. "They're optimistic about his recovery, but it will take time."

Jane looked up at Seth, her eyes pleading. "Is there anything more we can do?"

Seth placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Continue to be here for him. Your presence is more powerful than you realize."

As the group settled into a watchful vigil, Berethia's gaze remained fixed on Changra, her thoughts hidden behind a composed exterior. The room was filled with a tense anticipation, each person grappling with their own fears and hopes for Changra's recovery.

In the quiet moments that followed, the only sounds were the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the soft whispers of encouragement from his friends.

Changra found himself enveloped in an expanse of pure white, reminiscent of freshly fallen snow under a bright sun. This wasn't his first encounter with this boundless void; the last time he wielded the Crimson Dagger, he had been drawn into this very space. However, this time, a solitary chair awaited him, its stark presence contrasting the emptiness around.

Seated, he pondered his return to this enigmatic realm. Directly before him stood a white, amorphous figure, its form vaguely childlike. Unlike their previous meeting, the figure now possessed eyes—featureless yet unmistakably present.

"Back here again?" Changra mused, his thoughts echoing in the silence.

The figure's eyes, though devoid of color, seemed to pierce through him, as if searching for something deep within his soul. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of unasked questions hanging heavily between them.

Changra's mind raced, trying to recall the events that led him here. The last thing he remembered was the searing pain of battle, the overwhelming surge of rage, and the Crimson Dagger's ominous hum. Now, in this surreal whiteness, he felt both detached and intensely aware.

As he grappled with his thoughts, the figure remained motionless, its gaze unwavering. The silence stretched on, amplifying the rhythmic sound of Changra's own breathing.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, his voice sounding foreign in the vast emptiness.

The figure offered no response, its eyes continuing to bore into him. Changra felt a shiver run down his spine, the sensation both familiar and unsettling.

He clenched his fists, the memory of the Crimson Dagger's hilt pressing into his palm. The weapon's influence had brought him here before, and now, its power seemed to resonate within this space.

"What do you want from me?" Changra demanded, frustration edging into his voice.

Still, the figure remained silent, its presence both enigmatic and oppressive.

Changra's mind churned with questions, each one spiraling into the next, forming a labyrinth of uncertainty. He yearned for answers, for clarity, but the white void offered nothing but its own emptiness.

As the moments dragged on, a realization began to dawn on him. This place, this figure—it wasn't just a manifestation of the dagger's power. It was a reflection of his own inner turmoil, a mirror to the conflicts raging within his soul.

With this newfound understanding, Changra took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew that to escape this void, he would have to confront not just the figure before him, but the darkness within himself.

Summoning his courage, he met the figure's gaze head-on, ready to face whatever truths awaited him in the boundless white expanse.

As he locked eye contact with the figure, only three words escaped its mouth.

"It's your fault."

Changra's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft light of the infirmary. He felt a gentle weight on his legs and looked down to see Jane asleep, her head resting on him, her breathing steady and calm.

A tender smile spread across his face as he reached out to gently stroke her hair. The light touch stirred her from slumber; she rubbed her eyes, momentarily disoriented. Realization dawned, and she sprang up, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

"Thank God," she whispered, her voice trembling with relief. "I know we just met and all, but you sacrificed yourself for me. I owe you."

Changra's mind raced. A girl was hugging him? That had never happened before. He didn't know what to do.

His arms remained at his sides, paralyzed by uncertainty. The warmth of her embrace was both comforting and bewildering, stirring unfamiliar emotions within him.

As Jane pulled back slightly to look at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, Changra felt a surge of protectiveness. He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that he would always be there for her, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he managed a small, reassuring smile, hoping it conveyed the depth of his feelings.

Jane seemed to understand, her own smile breaking through the remnants of fear and worry. She squeezed his hand gently, a silent promise passing between them.

In that moment, amidst the sterile surroundings of the infirmary, a bond was forged—a connection that transcended words, born from shared experiences and unspoken understanding.

Changra struggled to piece together the events that had transpired. His memory was fragmented, recalling up to the moment the Crimson Dagger seemed to overtake him, but everything beyond that was shrouded in obscurity. The vividness of the white room lingered in his mind, yet the specifics of what occurred within it eluded him.

Changra bolted upright in his infirmary bed, startling Jane. "Wait!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with urgency. "How did the other matches go? Did we make it to the end?"

Jane chuckled softly at his sudden outburst. "Yes, we made it," she replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "The other matches never happened. Seth postponed them for good. There were supposed to be others, but they didn't happen."

Changra's brow furrowed in confusion. "Postponed? Why would he do that?"

Jane shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe he thought we'd set the bar too high. Didn't want the others to feel bad."

Despite the lingering soreness in his body, Changra couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, because nothing says 'fair competition' like canceling matches after our stellar performance."

Jane grinned, her earlier worry easing into lightheartedness. "Exactly. We're trendsetters now."

As they shared a moment of levity, the weight of recent events seemed to lift slightly, replaced by the comfort of camaraderie and shared humor.

Seth entered the infirmary, his presence commanding attention. "Ah, you're awake," he remarked, a glint of intrigue in his eyes. "That's good. Your injuries should be healed by now; we have the best medics in the village here."

Changra shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his recent experiences pressing on him.

Seth continued, "The final exercise has been canceled, so we're proceeding directly to the draft. Each guild boss is here, and they'll make their decisions based on the final rankings we'll announce once you're all assembled."

A wave of disappointment washed over Changra. He recalled his poor performance in the initial exercises and the loss of control during the third. The prospect of being selected by a guild seemed increasingly unlikely.

Noticing Changra's downcast expression, Seth's lips curled into a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. "Remember," he said, his tone carrying an undercurrent of something unspoken, "every experience shapes us. The guilds value potential as much as performance."

Changra nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at him. As Seth turned to leave, a fleeting shadow crossed his face, leaving Changra with an uneasy feeling about the events to come.

Changra and Jane stepped out of the room, Jane still clutching the hem of Changra's shirt like a lifeline. If he tripped, she'd probably go down with him, but at least he'd have someone to blame.

They walked into the training hall, and there it was—the final ranking board.

Changra's stomach churned. He didn't even want to look at it, but for Jane's sake, he hoped she was ranked high enough to get picked, maybe even above the mysterious "Apple."

He glanced at the list. At the very top was Aria, which made sense. She'd shown off her skills like a pro. Then it went to Rock, who'd somehow managed to make it to the top despite losing. Changra narrowed his eyes at the rankings. Was there some sort of weird pity system in place?

Next was Thorne, who stood proudly at third, followed by the twins, who looked like they were on their way to take over the world one synchronized move at a time.

"Wait, why is everyone on this list still?" Changra thought to himself. He scratched his head. Did I get lied to?

He moved his gaze down, hoping for some good news. The list continued: Roll, Rowan, and Lisia, followed by Jane, who had made it due to her exceptional magic ability. Changra could feel the pang of disappointment sink in.

At least she made it. That's a win.

After Jane, the list got a little messier. In ninth place was one of the girls who had been defeated almost immediately. The other girl was in tenth, and it made Changra wonder if the ranking was based on how long they lasted or something entirely different.

There were only 12 spots left. Changra's hopes were waning.

In 11th place was "Apple." Changra blinked. Really? What's with all the weird names? He laughed nervously to himself. Was this some kind of naming convention? Was he gonna meet a "Grapefruit" next?

And finally, at the very bottom of the list was Changra Leville. Last place. Again. He stood there, staring at his name, almost like it was mocking him. His entire journey felt like this moment—always at the bottom, never quite getting anywhere.

"Just like old times," he muttered under his breath.

He tried to keep the humor going, but it was hard when the weight of his failure was hanging over him like a giant anvil.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile, "At least I have nowhere else to go but up, right?"

Jane, still gripping his shirt like her life depended on it, shot him a concerned look but didn't say anything. She just squeezed his hand a little tighter. Changra sighed. At least someone believed in him, even if he couldn't believe in himself.

"Alright," he said, straightening up. "Time to get rejected... like my entire life."

Changra and Jane stepped into the training grounds, Jane's grip on his shirt as unyielding as ever. Before them, atop the bleachers, sat five formidable figures—the guild bosses—each exuding a distinct aura of authority.

Guild Bosses:

Eldric Stormrider: A towering man with a mane of wild, silver hair and a beard to match. His piercing green eyes seemed to see through to one's very soul. Clad in weathered leather armor adorned with storm motifs, Eldric was renowned for his mastery over elemental magic and his unpredictable temperament.

Lady Seraphina Nightshade: A lithe and graceful woman draped in flowing midnight-blue robes that shimmered like the night sky. Her raven-black hair cascaded down her back, framing a face marked by sharp, elegant features. Known for her expertise in shadow arts and espionage, Lady Seraphina's presence was both alluring and intimidating.

Garrick Ironfist: A burly dwarf with a braided auburn beard and a bald head that gleamed under the lights. His muscular frame was encased in intricately crafted plate armor, each piece etched with ancient runes. Garrick's reputation as a master blacksmith and formidable warrior was well-earned, and his stern expression brooked no nonsense.

Elara Windwhisper: An ethereal elf with long, flowing blonde hair and eyes the color of a clear summer sky. Dressed in verdant robes that seemed to blend with the surrounding flora, Elara was a revered druid and healer, her demeanor serene yet commanding respect.

Aetterus "The Trickster" Voss: A slender man with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes and a perpetual smirk. His attire was a patchwork of colorful fabrics, and a myriad of trinkets dangled from his belt. Known for his cunning and expertise in illusion magic, Thaddeus's unpredictable nature made him both a valuable ally and a potential threat.

As Changra and Jane joined the other contestants, the weight of the guild bosses' scrutiny pressed upon them. Each boss represented a potential future, and their discerning gazes assessed every aspirant's worth.

Changra's heart raced, a mix of anticipation and anxiety swirling within him. He straightened his posture, determined to make a favorable impression despite his earlier doubts.

Beside him, Jane's grip tightened, her own nerves evident. Changra offered her a reassuring smile, though he wasn't sure if it was more for her benefit or his own.

The murmurs of the contestants filled the air as the guild bosses conferred among themselves, their expressions inscrutable. The anticipation was suffocating, and Changra could only hope that his efforts, despite the setbacks, would be enough to secure a place among them.

The moment of truth was imminent, and the future hung in the balance.