The hall hummed with the low murmur of voices and the faint glow of the orb at its center. Zibbit had taken his place once more, his large figure commanding the attention of all. The weekly gathering began much as it had the week before, with lights bursting forth from the great orb, illuminating the newly arrived Masters who had survived their first week.

Kael leaned back against his chair as he watched. He’d been through this before—the lights, the quiet whispers of approval or derision, the subtle glances of envy or dismissal. The hall’s air carried a familiar tension, the unspoken knowledge that every survivor here had blood on their hands, some more than others.

The light shifted, casting its glow on a figure seated just in front of Kael. This Master was small, shorter than Kael by a head, and rounder, his yellow skin gleaming faintly in the orb’s light. His posture was stiff, his shoulders hunched as if the light itself bore down on him with unbearable weight. He flinched at the sudden burst of brightness, his hands gripping the edge of his seat so tightly that his knuckles turned pale.

Kael leaned forward, reaching out to pat the yellow Master on the back.

The reaction was immediate. The smaller Master jolted in his seat, nearly leaping to his feet as he let out a soft, startled yelp. His wide eyes darted back to Kael, his entire frame trembling as though he expected another blow to follow.

“Apologies,” Kael said quickly, raising both hands in a gesture of peace. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I just wanted to say… congratulations. Surviving the first week is no small thing.”

The yellow Master stared at him for a moment, his expression caught between suspicion and relief. Slowly, he nodded, his shoulders sagging as the tension began to fade. “Oh, um, thank you,” he said, his voice high and nervous. “Sorry. I… I’m very jumpy. At everything.”

Kael gave a faint smile, leaning back slightly to give the smaller Master some space. “It’s okay,” he said. “The first week is rough.”

The yellow Master hesitated, then offered a timid smile in return. “I’m Rova,” he said, his voice still quivering slightly. “And… sorry again. I didn’t mean to—well, to jump like that.”

“Kael,” he replied, nodding in greeting. “And no need to apologize. It’s only my second week here, so I’m pretty new myself.”

Rova’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. “Second week?” he asked. “Do you… think it gets easier?”

“No,” he said honestly, his voice steady. “But you get stronger. And smarter. We can learn together. If you want.”

Rova’s round face broke into a tentative smile, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “I’d… like that,” he said. “Thank you.”

Kael leaned back in his seat as he let his gaze wander across the gathering. He glanced back at Rova again, noting the way the smaller Master still wrung his hands nervously, his yellow skin glinting faintly under the light.

“Slimes or spiders?” Rova asked, turning back to glance at Kael.

Kael blinked at the question, surprised by its abruptness. “Slimes,” he said simply, the answer instinctive. “They’re tougher.”

Rova nodded slowly, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his robes. “I went with spiders,” he admitted, his voice a touch regretful. “But… now I wonder if I should’ve gone with slimes too. I thought… I thought the sand would slow the slimes down.”

“Sand?” Kael asked, the word hanging in the air between them. He leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued.

“Yes. My square is… well, it’s all sand. A desert. Nothing but dunes and dust as far as you can see.”

“Your square is in a desert?”

“Completely. No trees, no grass, just… sand. Everywhere. It’s been a nightmare.”

Kael’s mind raced as he considered the revelation. His own square was dense with towering trees, its underbrush thick with moss and roots. The forest provided cover, natural defenses, even food for his slimes.

“I didn’t know the squares could be so different,” Kael murmured, more to himself than to Rova.

“What about yours?” Rova asked, his voice rising slightly with curiosity. “What’s it like?”

“It’s a forest,” Kael said after a moment. “Thick with trees, the kind that make you feel like you’re always being watched. There’s a human village nearby—Newvale. That’s where my invaders come from. Farmers, hunters, swordsmen. Always poking their noses into my square, looking for gold or glory.”

The look of confusion on Rova’s face was almost comical. “Humans?” he repeated, as though the word itself was foreign. “I haven’t seen a single human.”

Kael frowned, his curiosity deepening. “Who, then? Who’s invading your square?”

Rova hesitated again, his hands wringing together. “Ardurans,” he said at last, the word heavy with frustration.

“Ardurans?” Kael repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

Rova nodded, his expression growing more animated as he continued. “They look like moving rocks. Big, bulky things with arms and legs made of stone. When they’re angry, they can make themselves even larger. It’s terrifying.”

“They sound like a pain.”

“They are. My spiders don’t stand a chance against them. They try to spin webs, but the Ardurans just tear through them. I’ve barely managed to hold them off.”

“They sound tougher than humans,” Kael said after a pause. “It sounds like you’ve had it worse than me.”

“Really?” Rova asked, his tone hopeful.

“Really,” Kael said, his gaze steady.

Rova nodded slowly, his round face softening into a faint smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I think… I needed to hear that.”

Kael didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted to the orb at the center of the hall, its pulsing light casting long shadows over the gathered Masters.

“As you know,” Zibbit said, his voice echoing through the chamber, “we measure greatness by action, by dominance, by numbers. And this week…” Zibbit said, “the leaderboard.”

Zibbit clapped his small, clawed hands, and the orb shimmered, its surface rippling like water, and then names began to appear, carved in glowing letters. Kael’s eyes darted to the top of the list, already knowing what he would see.

1. Vor — 15,134 Kills

2. Pathox — 7,236 Kills

3. The Dark Lord — 5,623 Kills

Kael frowned. The numbers were far lower than the last meeting, when Vor’s count had reached six figures. Around him, other Masters whispered among themselves, their voices tinged with confusion and speculation.

Zibbit clicked his tongue, a sharp and impatient sound. “Pathetic,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You are the so-called leaders, the apex of the Masters’ hierarchy. And yet this—” He waved a dismissive hand toward the numbers. “This is what you bring me? A pitiful display.”

“It’s his fault!” Vor bellowed, his molten eyes blazing as he jabbed a clawed finger in Pathox’s direction. “That sniveling wretch poisoned my army. A traitor! A backstabbing Master!”

"Enough!” Zibbit’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. “Save your hostilities for outside these walls. Here, you follow my rules.”

Vor growled, but he sank back into his seat, his molten glare fixed on Pathox. Zibbit’s expression didn’t soften as he turned his attention back to the room.

“And Vor,” Zibbit added, his voice dripping with mockery, “you drop the orb this week. Do not blame others for your failings..”

Vor’s glare deepened, but he remained silent, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

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“Still,” Zibbit said, his tone shifting to something more measured, “not all is lost. While the rest of you have wallowed in mediocrity, there was one event this week worth celebrating.”

Kael stiffened. He felt the weight of the hall’s attention shift, a thousand eyes turning toward the orb as it shimmered and changed.

“This week,” Zibbit announced, “we introduce a new segment: Play of the Week.”

The orb pulsed, and the glowing words formed: Play Of The Week: Kael

“Let us see,” Zibbit said, his voice dripping with amusement, “the highlights.”

Kael’s pulse quickened as the orb shimmered, its light projecting vivid scenes into the air above it. The images moved with a dreamlike clarity, replaying the moments he had lived just days before but now viewed through the eyes of the world.

The first scene unfolded—a lone green slime darting through the forest, its gelatinous form glistening in the dappled light. Behind it, a group of hunters gave chase, their weapons drawn, their faces twisted in determination. But then another slime replaced the first, its seamless arrival unnoticed by the hunters. And then another, and another. The crowd in the hall murmured, their whispers swelling as they realized the truth: a relay of slimes, each taking the place of the last to exhaust their prey.

The scene shifted to Jello falling from the treetops with the limp corpse of the archer encased in his gelatinous body. The hunters’ shock was palpable even in the projection, their desperate cries echoing faintly in the air. The hall erupted into murmurs, a few cheers breaking through the noise.

Then came the pit. The image of Ryan thrashing within the cramped trap, his silver sword useless in the confined space, drew laughter from the crowd. One Master, Kael saw, was wiping away tears from all of his six eyes.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the next image played out—a crossbow bolt striking the cleric mid-motion, her body crumpling to the ground as Kael loomed in the background, crossbow in hand.

"FIRST BLOOD!" boomed a thunderous voice from the ceiling, echoing across the vast hall. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers mingling with the reverberation of the announcement. Kael's chest tightened, pride swelling within him as the memory played out.

Gasps rippled through the hall as the orb lingered on the scene of Kael narrowly dodging the bolt that had been thrown back, his quick reflexes saving him by mere inches.

And then, the final moment. The wizard—Shem—standing tall, his hands crackling with flame, only for Kael to emerge atop his shelter, jumping down behind the wizard unseen and his sickle flashing as it found its mark.

"RAMPAGE!" the announcer bellowed, sending the hall into a frenzy. The backstab was as brutal as it was efficient, and the crowd roared in approval as the scene froze on Kael’s figure, the bloodied sickle in hand, standing victorious over the fallen adventurers.

The hall exploded with noise, the Masters on their feet, their cheers and cries echoing against the high ceilings. “Kael! Kael! Kael!” they chanted, the name reverberating through the chamber like a drumbeat.

Kael sat frozen, his claws gripping the edge of his seat as he stared at the orb. He had expected some recognition, perhaps even a few murmurs of approval, but this—this was beyond anything he had imagined. The weight of the attention pressed down on him, the chanting filling his ears like a deafening tide.

“Kael! Kael! Kael!”

Kael’s claws gripped his sickle tighter as his name reverberated through the hall. He glanced around, seeing faces alight with admiration and approval. Even those who had seemed disinterested or scornful before were now caught in the momentum of the crowd.

“Kael,” Zibbit called, his voice rising above the chant, “I don’t know what fire was lit under you this week, but whatever it was, keep it up.”

Skrindle materialized beside him, his translucent form bouncing with glee. “See that, Master?” he said, his voice brimming with pride. “They’re chanting your name! They love you! And it’s all thanks to my brilliant—”

“Enough.” Zibbit’s sharp tone cut through Skrindle’s excitement like a blade. The imp froze, his grin faltering as Zibbit fixed him with a pointed glare. “This was not your doing, Skrindle. This was your Master’s plan. A true Master at work.”

Skrindle stammered, his usual confidence reduced to a quivering defense. “I-I only—”

“Disappear,” Zibbit commanded, his tone final. Skrindle vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Kael alone in the spotlight.

Kael exhaled slowly, his heart still pounding as he looked around the hall. The faces that surrounded him were a mixture of admiration, envy, and curiosity. Rova turned in his seat, his round face alight with awe.

“You’re so cool,” Rova said, his voice barely above a whisper, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

Kael opened his mouth, but no words came. He was saved from replying by a glance across the hall—Lira, standing near the center of the hall, her mechanical wings shimmering faintly under the orb’s light. She smiled at him, a quiet, genuine expression that sent a warmth through his chest.

For a moment, the noise of the hall faded, the chants and murmurs falling away as Kael locked eyes with her. He thought of the first gathering, of her nervous laugh and her dream of flying. Now she stood taller, her wings a symbol of her growth, her courage. And here he was, standing taller than he’d thought possible, his name carried on the voices of Masters from across the hall. He nodded to Lira, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Cool,” Kael muttered under his breath, the word feeling strange and foreign.

******

The great hall began to empty as the meeting came to its end, Masters filing out in groups or alone, their conversations buzzing with whispers of the orb’s spectacle. Kael lingered near one of the towering columns, his sickle tucked into his belt, the faint echoes of his name still ringing in his ears.

“Kael!” Rova’s voice rang out, bright and eager. The round, yellow-skinned Master trotted up to him, his face alight with enthusiasm. “How did you do it? The pit, the ambushes, all of it! You’ve got to tell me your moves!”

Kael scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin flickering across his face. “I just… winged it, really,” he said, his voice modest. “It wasn’t anything special.”

“Not special?” Rova said, his wide eyes bulging. “That was genius! If I could pull off half of what you did—”

“Kael!” Lira’s voice cut through Rova’s rambling. She approached with Avaris at her side, her mechanical wings gleaming faintly in the hall’s dim light and Avaris, his granite face as unreadable as ever. Rova froze mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto Lira, his round face turning a faint shade of orange.

“Kael,” she said, her crimson skin catching the light. “That was amazing. I didn’t know you were so… hands-on.” Her eyes flicked briefly to the sickle at his waist, her smile widening.

Kael felt his face heat, though he managed to offer a faint smile in return. “I did what I had to,” he said simply.

“You should join our conclave,” Lira said, her tone earnest. “It’s been so great for me. Avaris has taught me so much, and the others—” She glanced behind her, where Rova was staring at her with an expression of open admiration. “You’d fit right in.”

Before Kael could reply, Avaris stepped forward, his granite frame casting a shadow over them both. “Kael,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “A word.”

Kael glanced at Lira, who gave him an encouraging nod, then at Rova, whose grin had grown impossibly wide.

“Think about it, Kael,” she said, her tone soft. “We’d love to have you.”

Kael nodded mutely as Avaris gestured for him to follow. The granite Master led him to a quieter corner of the hall, away from the murmuring crowd. The distant hum of the orb fading into a faint buzz.

When they were alone, Avaris leaned against a pillar, his one eye studying Kael intently. “You made quite the impression today,” he said, his tone measured. “What you did—turning an introductory square into a death trap—that’s no small feat.”

Kael shifted uncomfortably under the praise. “I just did what I had to,” he said, his voice cautious.

“Modesty,” Avaris said with a faint smirk. “Rare among Masters. But let’s not play coy, Kael. You know as well as I do that what you’ve done will attract attention. Other conclaves will try to poach you, offer you deals that sound too good to be true. But my conclave? We take care of our own. You’ve seen Lira. She’s thriving.”

Kael’s gaze flickered back toward Lira, a golden card in her hand, talking to Rova.

“Speaking of thriving,” Avaris continued, his voice dropping slightly, “have you ever heard of a Wallbreaking ritual?”

Kael frowned, the unfamiliar term pulling his attention back to the granite Master. “No,” he admitted.

Avaris chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Of course you haven’t,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “The Wallbreaking ritual, Kael, is how you escape the prison of your square. It allows the residents of a square to break through the walls, to spill into the outside world and wage war on the kingdoms beyond.”

Kael stiffened, his mind racing. The blue walls of his square, the endless forest, the relentless invaders—he had never imagined leaving, had never thought it possible.

“The effects are temporary,” Avaris continued. “A day at most. But sometimes a day is all you need.”

Kael’s claws tightened around the edge of his robe. “You’re saying… I could leave my square?”

Avaris nodded slowly. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said. “And I’m planning to cast the ritual soon. If you join my conclave, Kael, you can be part of it. Imagine it—a chance to see the world. To learn, to grow, to claim power you never dreamed of.”

He reached into his leathers and withdrew a golden card, its surface etched with intricate runes. “Take this,” Avaris said, holding it out. “Press it to your chest if you decide to join.”

Kael hesitated, his gaze lingering on the card. Beyond Avaris, he saw Rova and Lira standing near the portal. Rova was laughing, his round face alight with joy as he held out his arm. Avaris’s brand burned into his skin, faint wisps of smoke rising as he grinned through the pain. Lira stood beside him, her mechanical wings shimmering, her smile warm as she watched Kael.

Kael’s fingers brushed the edge of the card as he glanced back at Avaris. The granite Master’s one eye gleamed with calculated patience, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll think about it,” Kael said finally, his voice low.

Avaris nodded, his smirk returning. “That’s all I ask,” he said. “But don’t think too long. Opportunities like this don’t wait.”

He turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing softly. Rova and Lira followed, the portal’s shimmering light swallowing them as they vanished into its depths. Lira turned at the last moment, her smile lingering as she waved to Kael.

******