The park was serene. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows over the neatly trimmed grass. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and in the distance, the faint laughter of people enjoying their break from the Tournament echoed through the air.

  Nigel and Nyx sat on a wooden bench, a small pond stretching out in front of them, its surface barely rippling. Between them, two cups of a local Delta Zone brew rested on the bench’s armrest—neither had taken more than a few sips.

  Yet, despite the peaceful surroundings, a thick, awkward silence hung between them.

  Nigel tapped his fingers against his knee, his gaze locked on the water. Nyx folded her arms, stealing glances at him every few seconds, as if expecting him to suddenly vanish.

  Eventually, she broke the silence.

  "I thought you’d hate me," she admitted. Her voice was low, hesitant. "Or at least resent me."

  Nigel sighed. "I did. For a while."

  Nyx tensed, but he continued before she could say anything.

  "After the accident, after being left on my own in the Eleventh Ring for more than six years… I had a lot of time to think." His amber eyes flickered to her, then back to the water. "I know you weren’t at fault. You were just another soldier. The ones responsible were our superiors. The ones who gave the orders. The ones who treated us like we were disposable."

  Nyx clenched her fists, staring at the ground. "Even if that’s true, I’m still sorry."

  Nigel didn’t reply right away.

  "The Wardens changed after that, you know," she continued, her voice quieter. "After what happened, after losing you and Martin, there was an internal shift. The higher-ups were replaced. But it didn’t matter. We still kept decaying."

  A bitter chuckle escaped Nigel. "Figures."

  Silence settled again, but this time, it wasn’t as suffocating.

  Nyx hesitated before asking, "How was life in the Eleventh Ring?"

  "Peaceful." Nigel’s lips curled slightly, as if in amusement. "Until it wasn’t."

  Nyx arched an eyebrow. "Until it wasn’t?"

  Nigel leaned back against the bench, exhaling through his nose. "I killed a High Official of the Sentinels."

  Nyx stiffened.

  "The Sentinels retaliated by wiping out the entire city."

  She turned fully to him, eyes wide. "You—" She stopped herself, exhaling sharply. "How did you survive?"

  "Someone called me over the radio," he said. "Told me what I had to do. And, luckily, the High Official I killed had an entry ticket to the Chaos Tournament."

  Nyx ran a hand through her violet hair, her mind racing. "Damn… killing a High Official isn’t easy, Nigel. Even for someone like you."

  He didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, Nyx wondered if she had said something wrong.

  Then, he let out a small, almost imperceptible smile.

  "You’ve still got some fire in you," she said, crossing her arms. "Looks like it never really died out after all."

  Nigel’s smile faded. He shook his head. "It’s not the same."

  Nyx frowned.

  "Back then, I wanted to be stronger," he continued. "To improve. To push myself further. But after the accident…" He looked down at his hands. "I stopped. I don’t know how to move forward anymore."

  Nyx studied him, feeling something tighten in her chest.

  She had always known Nigel to be relentless—someone who never stopped, never settled. Seeing him like this, stuck in place, was almost unreal.

  For the first time, she wondered… was he even here to win?

  Nigel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers intertwined as he stared at the ground, his expression unreadable.

  "I escaped," he said. "But I don’t even know why I bothered."

  Nyx turned to him, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

  "A part of me wanted to get stronger," he admitted. "Stronger than I was back then. Maybe even strong enough to get revenge against the Sentinels."

  Nyx remained silent, listening.

  "When I first entered the tournament, I thought that drive would be enough to push me forward. Maybe I’d find a reason along the way. Maybe I’d actually become something more."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

  "But then, as the first stage progressed… that feeling started dying out." His amber eyes lifted to the horizon, distant and unfocused. "This tournament is beyond anything I ever imagined. The people here… the things they can do…"

  Nigel clenched his hands into fists.

  "I’m nothing in comparison," he said quietly. "I feel like a totally movable object trying to do something against an unstoppable force."

  Nyx watched him carefully. She had never heard him talk like this before, and it bothered her.

  She leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose. "I’ve seen people who give up, Nigel." Her voice was calm but firm. "You’re not one of them."

  Nigel didn’t react.

  She glanced up at the artificial sky above them, then back at him. "The Nigel I knew wouldn’t be sitting here, saying he’s ‘nothing.’ He’d be out there, proving himself wrong."

  A beat of silence.

  Then, finally—Nigel huffed a quiet, almost amused breath. "You’re making this sound simple."

  Nyx smirked faintly. "It is. You either give up, or you don’t."

  She stood, stretching slightly before stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. "Come on. We’ll figure this out. Together."

  For a moment, Nigel just stared at her.

  Then—he stood too.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe, despite everything, there was still a way forward.

  And for the first time in a long while…

  He was willing to take a step.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the group had found a very different way to spend their time.

  The beach-themed bar was buzzing with conversation, the sound of waves playing softly from hidden speakers. Sam leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink with a lazy motion as he explained.

  "A margarita," he said, voice carrying a dramatic flair, "is the perfect balance of sweet, sour, and strong. A refined cocktail. The salt rim enhances the flavors, the lime adds that fresh kick, and the tequila—" he raised his glass, "—brings it all together in a harmonious dance of alcohol and citrus."

  Dovak, who had just taken a sip, made a face. "This barely qualifies as alcohol." He set the glass down, unimpressed.

  Sam sighed, exasperated. "Of course you’d say that."

  Dovak grinned, reaching into his inventory with an anticipating motion. "That’s because you haven’t tried real liquor yet."

  Then, he pulled out a small, unmarked bottle filled with a deep, scarlet-red liquid. The color shimmered slightly under the dim lights, almost hypnotic in its richness.

  Sam narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me that’s wine."

  Dovak chuckled. "Oh, it’s something better." He set the bottle down with a satisfying clink. "Gentlemen, prepare yourselves. You are about to taste the finest liquor to ever exist, a drink that surpasses everything else in the Rings."

  William, curious, leaned in. "What is it called?"

  Dovak smirked. "Some call it Liquid Death. Some, the Widowmaker. But me?" He tapped the bottle. "I like to call it The Juice of Life."

  With a flick of his wrist, he uncorked it.

  The smell hit them instantly.

  A wave of pure, unfiltered foulness crashed over Sam and William, their faces twisting in sync. It was as if something had died, fermented, and then was set on fire—all at once.

  Sam gagged, covering his mouth. "You’re trying to kill us."

  Dovak, on the other hand, took a deep inhale and exhaled in satisfaction. "That’s the good stuff."

  "You’ve gotta be joking," William muttered, his stomach churning.

  Dovak ignored them, pouring a small amount into three glasses. The thick, almost syrupy liquid settled at the bottom, swirling as if alive.

  William, fueled by a mix of courage and sheer stupidity, picked up his glass. "Alright… screw it."

  He downed the drink.

  Instant regret.

  William’s throat burned like molten metal had just been poured straight down his esophagus. His stomach twisted violently, his vision blurred, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he genuinely wondered if this was how he died.

  He doubled over, coughing uncontrollably. "That’s—" he gasped between wheezes, "—that’s actually liquid death."

  Dovak erupted into laughter, slapping the table hard enough to make the glasses tremble. "Oh, you lightweight! Come on, try another sip."

  Sam hesitated, eyeing his own drink like it was a ticking time bomb. "You know what? Fine."

  With a deep breath, he steeled himself and downed a mouthful.

  Instant regret.

  The moment the liquid touched his tongue, his body rejected it. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to spit it out, but his pride refused to let him. He forced himself to swallow, his throat searing in protest. His entire face twisted in agony, his lungs burned, and for a split second, he considered punching Dovak in the face.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he croaked. "This should be illegal!"

  Dovak just grinned. "Go on. Take another."

  Sam glared at him, ready to throw his glass into the nearest wall—

  But then, against all logic, he did.

  And everything changed.

  The once repulsive scent now carried something rich and inviting. The harsh, burning sensation was gone, replaced by an intense warmth that spread through his chest like a comforting fire. The taste—complex, deep, layered—was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

  "Holy shit," Sam breathed. "This is… incredible."

  William blinked, still wiping his watering eyes. He hesitated, then took another sip. His reaction mirrored Sam’s. "Wait, what? It doesn’t taste the same anymore."

  Dovak leaned back, smug. "Happens every time."

  William peered into his glass, fascinated. "Why does it do that?"

  Dovak swirled his drink, the thick liquid shifting hypnotically. "It’s because of the main ingredient. The Niur Flower."

  Sam raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

  Dovak’s smirk lingered, but something else flickered in his expression. "Not surprising. It’s been extinct for decades."

  Both Sam and William paused.

  Dovak continued, his voice quieter now. "The Niur Flower had some… interesting properties. Invigorates the body, sharpens the senses. A natural stimulant with no side effects. Like downing a gallon of caffeine but without the crash."

  William looked down at his drink, suddenly feeling as if he were holding something priceless. "Wait, if it’s extinct, then how do you have this?"

  Dovak’s expression darkened, just for a second. The easygoing grin faltered, replaced by something harder—something bitter. Then, just as quickly, the mask returned.

  "Because my people—the Debianites—were the ones who cultivated it."

  Silence settled between them, heavier than before.

  Sam tapped the rim of his glass. "So, you’re telling me that we’re drinking something worth more than half the Rings combined?"

  Dovak raised his glass. "More or less."

  William exhaled, shaking his head. "This tournament is insane."

  Dovak clinked his glass against theirs, his grin returning. "Then drink up, boys. We’re living history."

  Nigel and Nyx walked through the lively streets, their steps slow and steady. The air was cool, carrying the scent of salt from the artificial beach nearby, mixed with the faint aroma of food stalls offering all sorts of exotic dishes. The sun had begun to set, casting an orange hue over the entire place, the neon lights of the resort district flickering to life.

  The brief moment of quiet between them felt oddly… normal.

  But normal never lasted.

  The bar was loud before they even stepped inside. And the moment they did, the sight before them was… less than dignified.

  Sam, Dovak, and William were completely drunk.