Pain.

  A deep, aching pain spread through every inch of Nigel’s body.

  His head throbbed, his limbs felt like lead, and his breathing was shallow and strained.

  Slowly, he forced his eyes open and was met with a brilliant blue sky. For a fleeting moment, he thought—Maybe it was just a dream.

  Maybe the cavern, the battle, the agony…

  Maybe none of it had been real.

  But then—

  He turned his head.

  And the emptiness where his right arm should’ve been reminded him that it was.

  His breath hitched. Reality crashed down all at once.

  He tried to sit up, and a sharp, tearing pain shot through his body, nearly making him black out again.

  “Whoa, whoa! Stay down, dumbass!”

  A familiar voice snapped at him.

  Nigel shifted his dazed gaze to the side.

  Sam.

  The silver-headed was kneeling beside him, arms crossed, looking both relieved and incredibly irritated.

  “You know how many times I’ve had to close the hole in your gut? Three. Freaking. Times.” Sam huffed. “And here you are, trying to move when you’re one step from passing out again.”

  Despite the scolding, his tone softened.

  “But hey. Glad you’re awake.”

  Nigel’s mind was still sluggish, fogged over from pain and exhaustion.

  “Where… are we?” His voice was rough, barely above a whisper.

  “Out at sea.”

  “…How?”

  Sam rubbed the back of his head. “Long story. And honestly? You’ll probably pass out before I can tell you.”

  Nigel frowned. “Just… tell me wha—”

  His body seized up.

  A sharp, sickening wave of nausea hit him, and before he could stop it—

  Blood surged up his throat.

  He vomited.

  The moment his body convulsed, his vision dimmed. Consciousness slipped away instantly.

  Sam acted fast, catching Nigel’s head and tilting it to the side so he wouldn’t choke.

  With a sigh, he muttered, “Told you.”

  Meanwhile, at the helm of the ship, Dovak stood with one hand gripping the wheel.

  “We’re almost at port!” he announced over the wind.

  William moved swiftly, reaching for a rusted lever near the railing.

  “Wait—don’t pull that!” Dovak warned.

  William pulled it anyway.

  With a loud clank, the ship’s anchor dropped, causing the entire vessel to lurch violently before coming to an abrupt stop just beside the pier.

  Dovak stumbled forward.

  William dusted off his hands.

  “We would’ve crashed into the dock if I didn’t,” he pointed out.

  Dovak scowled. Then sighed.

  “…Yeah, fair. I still have no idea how to steer this thing.”

  The moment the ship was secured, everyone climbed off, feeling the familiar, solid weight of land beneath their feet.

  Relief.

  Sam and Nyx carried Nigel’s unconscious form on a makeshift stretcher as they stepped onto the pier.

  Just as they did, a figure approached them.

  A middle-aged man, with salt-and-pepper hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a well-kept uniform.

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  He adjusted his monocle before speaking.

  “Pardon me.” His voice was professional but not unkind. “I am Matthew Campbell Jr., the Dockmaster. If you intend to leave your vessel here, there is a docking fee—A hundred and fifty credits per day.”

  Dovak didn’t hesitate.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got plenty.” He casually transferred the fee through his bracelet.

  Matthew nodded appreciatively.

  “Much obliged.”

  The moment the transaction was confirmed, two massive ropes shot up from the water, securing the Mustafar in place.

  “They will ensure your ship remains protected from thieves or vandals,” Matthew explained.

  Dovak raised a brow. “Huh. Guess that makes the price worth it.”

  With nothing more to discuss, the group set off toward the inn.

  The walk was long—about thirty minutes.

  And with each step, exhaustion weighed heavier.

  When they finally arrived, Layla retrieved a rusted key from her pocket, fitting it into the aged wooden door.

  As she turned it—

  The hinges groaned.

  The door swung open, revealing the dim, stale interior.

  The scent of damp wood and dust hit them immediately.

  The first thing they did was open every window, letting in the crisp ocean air to chase away the lingering staleness.

  Layla moved toward the old, wooden table at the center of the room.

  She pulled out a chair at the far end and sank into it, shoulders slumping.

  Her head dipped forward, hands gripping her knees.

  And then—

  For the first time since the battle—

  She let herself cry.

  "I've been a terrible leader," Layla whispered.

  Her voice was hoarse, barely above a murmur.

  Nyx, leaning against the wall, crossed her arms.

  "No one could have been prepared for what happened," she said, trying to offer some comfort.

  Layla shook her head.

  "No. I failed. All of it—Edda, James, Lawan, Lars… It was all on me."

  Her fists clenched on her lap.

  "If I had paid more attention to James, if I had guided the team better—maybe they’d still be alive."

  She swallowed, her breath unsteady.

  "If I had been stronger, Lawan and Lars wouldn’t have had to sacrifice themselves."

  Silence settled over the room.

  Then—

  "That’s true."

  Everyone froze.

  The voice had come from the makeshift stretcher.

  Nigel was awake.

  His gaze was distant, fixed on the ceiling.

  "But it’s not just your fault," he continued.

  "It’s all of ours."

  His voice was calm, emotionless.

  "We were weak. All of us. Lawan and Lars were, too. Edda, even. And if we don’t change, we’ll all be dead before we reach the Third Stage."

  His words hung heavy in the air.

  Sam sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

  "Way to cheer everyone up, pal."

  Layla let out a slow breath.

  "That’s why… I have to step down."

  Everyone turned to her.

  "I can’t be the leader of the Coalition anymore."

  Claire immediately objected.

  "What?" she snapped, taking a step forward. "And who’s supposed to lead us, then? You founded this faction! You’re just running away from responsibility!"

  Her usual stoicism and dryness were gone, replaced by something far more raw.

  Layla didn’t respond right away.

  Instead, she slowly lifted her hand—

  And pointed at Nigel.

  "Him."

  A beat of silence.

  Then Sam laughed.

  "Woman, the guy can barely breathe and you want him leading a faction?"

  "I'm serious," Layla insisted. "I have a feeling. He’s the strongest among us."

  Sam snorted. "Nyx could knock him out with one punch."

  "Then why don’t we just ask him?" William suggested.

  Everyone turned toward Nigel.

  And waited.

  No answer.

  Nyx sighed, glancing at his unconscious form.

  "Well. That lasted long."

  Layla, however, didn’t waver.

  "I’m not just talking about physical strength."

  She looked at each of them.

  "You all saw it."

  "You saw what Nigel is capable of."

  Claire scoffed.

  "Did you also have a feeling when you led us into the Raven’s Trench?" she shot back. "Because look how that turned out."

  Tension thickened in the room.

  "Hey! No need to be like that!" Dovak interjected.

  But Layla didn’t flinch.

  "No… she’s right."

  She exhaled, lowering her head.

  "But this is different."

  She looked back at Nigel.

  "I don’t want to force this onto him, but… I know he’s the right person for this."

  Her voice was steady. And for the first time since the battle, she looked certain.

  “At the end of the day, it’s just a title,” Nyx muttered.

  Layla shook her head.

  “Not for long. One day, the title of faction leader will carry weight and prestige,” she said. “The Coalition will become something great—I’m sure of it.”

  Claire scoffed.

  “Not if its members keep dying on every mission,” she said bitterly.

  “Don’t say that,” William reprimanded, though his was weaker than usual.

  He sighed, rubbing his temples.

  “Like it or not… we’re in this together.” A pause. “Which means we should at least try to watch each other’s backs.”

  Jin, who had remained quiet, finally spoke.

  “Let’s continue this conversation after we’ve rested.” His voice was even, calm. “We’re all too exhausted and on edge right now. No point in arguing further.”

  No one objected.

  They were too tired to.

  One by one, they retreated to their rooms, eager for sleep.

  Only Nyx remained behind, settling into a chair in the common area, her gaze fixed on Nigel’s sleeping form.

  His breathing was steady, but his body was still fragile.

  So, she stayed.

  She changed his bandages every few hours, watching over him in silence.

  And just like that—two days passed.

  By the time the others had recovered, Nigel had done more than that.

  To Nyx’s surprise, he had healed almost completely.

  She frowned, studying him as he sat up with ease.

  “…Do you have some kind of healing ability you never told me about?” she asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

  Nigel flexed his fingers experimentally.

  “Not that I know of,” he admitted.

  But he wasn’t entirely sure. And that bothered him.

  “I’ve seen you heal quickly before… but never like this,” Nyx said, arms crossed as she studied him.

  Her voice was light, but her eyes were sharp.

  “You lost an arm, nearly died several times, and yet—two days later, here you are, looking bright as the sun.”

  Nigel let out a breath.

  “Bright as the sun… but missing my right arm.”

  There was no bitterness in his tone—just exhaustion.

  He flexed his remaining hand, staring at the space where his other should’ve been.

  “I still feel it.”

  Nyx’s gaze softened.

  “Like it’s still there?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “I can still imagine moving my fingers, but… there’s nothing.”

  A phantom limb. An absence that refused to feel absent.

  Nyx shifted, leaning back against the chair.

  “Claire put some kind of weird device on you,” she said. “Supposed to keep your nerves intact in case you ever get a bionic prosthetic.”

  Then, in typical Nyx fashion, she added with a smirk—

  “In the meantime, guess you’ll have to get used to touching yourself with your left hand.”

  She expected him to roll his eyes. Maybe scoff. Maybe even fire back with his own sarcastic remark.

  But—

  Nothing.

  Nigel didn’t react at all.

  He wasn’t blushing, wasn’t irritated—wasn’t anything.

  His gaze was fixed somewhere past her, lost in the dim glow of the dining hall.

  Two days ago, a comment like that would have made him awkward and flustered.

  Now? It was like he hadn’t even heard her.

  And that unsettled her more than anything else.