Silver light rushed back to him, invisible to everyone save himself. Rays of light shaped a map in his head, one line at a time. A massive clump of black surrounded him, the Arena thick with it. Faint traces of black traced the roads around the Arena, vanishing into the city.

Twain frowned. That’s not good, but it could be worse. From the intensity, those people shouldn’t be badly infected. It should be fine for now.

The city spread out before him. Faint sparks of black blotted out the silver here and there, holes in a shining fabric. The further it stretched from the Arena, the thinner the lines grew, the smaller the blots became.

Just as his spell hit its limit, a pillar of black surged to the sky. All around it, the silver fabric of the spell deteriorated, eaten up by black holes until it became lace. Like mold, the blots clumped together and spread, almost organic, spreading through the city.

Twain’s eyes shot open. He stood, and slammed his head on the ceiling. “Ow…”

“What? Is something wrong?” Fell asked, standing.

Rubbing his head, Twain slid off the bed. “There’s… something out there. A pillar of blight, an infection, I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve never seen anything like it. The blight is so thick that I can’t see any details of the street it’s on. It’s eating away the world, as if a giant moth ate it away. It’s… unimaginable.”

“Shit. What do we do?” Spar asked.

“I don’t know. It was one thing when we were investigating the Arena, but now we have evidence it’s spreading… not just spreading, but that virulently? I…” Twain paced the floor, turning tight circles in their small room. He pushed his hair back, distracted. The tail of his braid caught Fell in the face.

“We… shouldn’t we carry on for now? To make sure we have enough evidence,” Fell offered.

Twain nodded, pointing. “Right. Right. If we don’t have definitive proof, the king won’t listen. He won’t believe some poisonous drow’s spell alone. What we need is…”

“Is that vial of blight you downed,” Spar deadpanned.

“I got one, I can get another. Though I’m pretty sure he’d make it out to be me bringing in the blight, somehow, if I brought it to him… No, I need something better. Some way…” Twain bit his lip.

“What if… the king came to the Arena?” Fell asked.

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“Even if he came, what would he see? A good fight? Humans can’t see blight the way moon elves can. They don’t have our blight-detection spells, or the ability to see the aura of blight on someone badly blighted. No, if we wanted to convince him, we’d have to make it obvious, but how?” Twain bit his lip. Short of forcing the blight to activate and turning everyone in the Arena into darkfoe like Sidd, is there anything we can do? If it gets that far… He shook his head. I don’t even want to think about it. An army of darkfoe, high-tier darkfoe at that, spontaneously spawning in the human capitol? With darkfoe in the heart of the Barrier Alliance, we’d be pressured from both inside and outside the Barrier. It could very well bring down the barrier and the alliance together. We must avoid that at all costs.

“Like… uh, pouring a vial out? Then everyone knows there’s blight.” Fell suggested.

“Pour out a vial? What would that do? Toast to the fallen blighted? If we brought blight out in the center ring…” Twain stopped mid-sentence. “Fell, you’re a genius.”

Fell nodded, confused, but happy.

“How the hell does he know more about this than I do?” Spar muttered.

Twain chuckled. “Keep up, Spar, c’mon.”

“Do… do we have any more fights today?” Fell asked hesitantly.

Spar shook his head. “Not until tomorrow.”

Fell nodded again. “I have, uh, somewhere to be…”

“Go on. As long as you’re back before the fight tomorrow, it’s fine,” Twain allowed.

Ducking his head, Fell pushed off the wall. Spar stepped away from the door, and the pillowcase-masked man vanished.

“An odd duck, that one,” Spar commented.

“You’re such a normal duck yourself,” Twain shot back.

He waited a few moments for Fell to be out of earshot, then raised a hand and touched the earring. “Cel, you there?”

“She’s resting, currently. Do you need her?” Dayander asked.

“Yes. It’s important,” Twain replied.

Grumbling under his breath, Dayander’s voice moved in and out of focus as he fiddled with the earring. One last wobble, and the earring went silent. There was a long pause.

“Where do you think Fell rushed off to, anyways?” Spar asked.

Twain shrugged. “Probably had some human things to take care of. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Twain? What is it?” Cel asked. Her voice slurred, half-asleep.

“Can you invite the princesses to the Arena tomorrow?”

“Huh? I thought you wanted me to keep everyone away from the Arena?”

Twain shook his head. “That’s the old plan. New plan, we need the princesses.”

“All of them? Even Sabelyn?”

“Especially Sabelyn.”

Cel grumbled under her breath. “Alright, fine. Fine, whatever. Time?”

“Er… time for tomorrow’s fight?” Twain looked at Spar.

“When did I become the schedule guy?” Spar grumbled.

Twain lifted an eyebrow.

“Afternoon. Three pm.”

“Three pm. Can you do that, Cel?”

She grunted. “I’ll try my best.”

Twain nodded. He started to lift his finger off the earring, then pressed it down again. “Cel, actually—make sure not to invite Sabelyn. Invite everyone else. Aggressively. Loudly. If possible, in front of her floozies. But do not invite Sabelyn. Understood?”

“Invite, don’t invite, what am I doing?” Cel muttered.

“Just do what I said, okay?”

“You’re the boss. I’m not the smart one, I just follow orders,” Cel yawned.

“Right. Thanks. Couldn’t do it without you, Cel.”

She grunted again. The link went silent.