The oppressive humidity of the Venom-Swamp faded, replaced by a gentle, cool breeze carrying the scent of storm-scent and rain-washed pine. We had stepped into a Rest Zone.

  It was a hidden glade, sheltered by massive, glowing willows that draped their leaves like curtains of light. The ground wasn't mud; it was soft, mossy velvet.

  "Sanctuary," Lady Olenka sighed, leaning heavily on her staff. "My old bones thank the System."

  In the center of the glade sat a Loot Box. But it wasn't the usual metallic crate. It was made of polished thunder-wood, carved with the crest of the Duchy of Kaledon.

  "Supply drop!" I announced, doing a little jig. "And by the smell of it, mates, it’s not supplies. It’s dinner."

  I kicked the lid open.

  Steam poured out. Not just steam, …aroma. The smell of home. The smell of the Stormsong capital, Tempestspire.

  "By the Gods," Brandan roared, his eyes lighting up. "Is that... Thunder Kebab?"

  "Dig in!" I shouted. "Courtesy of the Anunnaki Catering Service!"

  We sat in a circle on the moss. For the first time in days, we weren't soldiers or politicians. We were just a family eating dinner.

  Pontifex Malachia flickered onto my shoulder, eyeing the dessert tray. "If anyone touches the caramel, I will delete their save file."

  Melina Milkwright sat down next to Mary Berg. Melina was beaming, her dress still stained but her spirit radiant with joy.

  "This is amazing!" Melina chirped, grabbing a Stormfruit Salad. "Oh! The apples sparkle! Look, Mary! It's like eating a little firework!"

  She took a bite, giggling as the static electricity tickled her tongue.

  "It tingles! Mary, you have to try it!"

  Mary was sitting quietly, staring at her Lightning Soup. She looked exhausted. The aftertaste of the Spark-Plug she had eaten earlier was still metal and rust in her mouth. She wiped a speck of blood from her lip before Melina could see.

  "I'm not... very hungry," Mary murmured, forcing a smile.

  "Oh no!" Melina frowned, her face falling instantly. She leaned in, putting a hand on Mary’s forehead. "Are you feeling sick again? Is it the... the thing I did?"

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  "I'm so sorry, Mary. I'm a monster. I hurt you."

  Mary froze. She looked at the girl who was literally radiant, the girl whose very existence was killing her.

  Mary took a deep breath. She picked up a spoon of the soup.

  "I'm fine, Melina," Mary said, her voice steady. "See? I'm eating. It's just... battle fatigue. You didn't do anything wrong."

  She swallowed the soup. The Thunderroot broth was spicy and electric. It masked the taste of the iron she had chewed.

  Melina brightened up instantly. "Yay! You need your strength, Mary! We're going to be best friends forever!"

  I watched them from across the circle. The guilt hit me like a physical blow, but I drowned it in a massive bite of Thunder Kebab.

  "Spicy!" Brandan bellowed, tearing meat from a skewer. "Hah! This tastes like the summers of '92! Remember, Gutrum? The Festival of Sparks?"

  Duke Gutrum nodded, tearing a piece of Thunderbread. It crackled like static in his hands.

  "I remember," Gutrum said softly. "You ate three pounds of spicy goat and tried to wrestle a storm-bear."

  "I won!" Brandan laughed, crumbs flying.

  "The bear felt sorry for you," Gutrum corrected, a rare smile touching his lips. "It let you win because you were crying from the chili sauce."

  "Slander!" Brandan roared, throwing a piece of bread at him. "Lies and slander!"

  Baldur sat perfectly straight, eating his soup with mechanical precision.

  "The viscosity is perfect," Baldur noted dryly. "And the nutrient density is optimal for stamina recovery. A logical meal."

  "Oh, lighten up, Uncle," Bastian sighed, nibbling on a Stormwind Caramel. "It’s not nutrients. It’s art. This sugar work? Divine. Though it is terrible for my complexion."

  Gerald was sitting near Astrid. He cut a piece of meat and placed it on her plate.

  "Eat, little scorpion," Gerald said gently. "You need to grow."

  Astrid looked at the food. She took the pebble out of her pocket the one from the slum children and set it on the ground beside her.

  "Thanks," she whispered. She took a bite. "It's good."

  I leaned back against a tree, watching them. The King laughing. The Wolf smiling. The Grandmother drinking tea. The kids bonding.

  I took a bite of Stormwind Caramel. It sizzled on my tongue, sweet and sharp.

  "Full tank," I whispered.

  "It is a nice scene," Malachia said, sitting on my knee and licking a lollipop. "It’s a shame it’s just a loading screen."

  "Don't ruin it, flicker," I muttered. "Let them have this."

  I looked at Mary again. She was laughing at something Melina said. It was a weak laugh, but it was real.

  "Just a bunch of misfits eating electric soup," I said, tipping my hat over my eyes. "But damn... it's a good crew."

  For an hour, the war didn't exist. The Shadowgroves didn't exist. The Rot didn't exist.

  There was only the crackle of Thunderbread and the warmth of family.

  "Eat up, lads!" I called out. "The next round is going to be a bumpy ride!"

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  The peace of the glade was shattered not by a roar, but by a polite cough.

  We looked up from our Thunder-Kebabs. Standing at the edge of the mossy clearing, looking like a flock of well-dressed vultures, was House Shadowgrove.

  Duke Silas led the pack, leaning on a cane, smiling his yellow-toothed smile.

  Kordula stood beside him, licking a smear of sauce from her lip.

  Alexander and Konstantin stood behind, the Golden Knight and the Crippled Inquisitor, silent as statues.

  "My Lords," Silas wheezed, spreading his hands. "We did not mean to interrupt your... picnic."

  "Get out, Silas," Brandan growled, standing up. "Before I finish what I started in the hallway."

  "Now, now, Your Grace," Silas chuckled, waving a withered hand. "No need for violence. We came to... apologize."

  "Apologize?" Gutrum scoffed, his hand on his axe. "For torturing children?"

  "For the misunderstanding," Silas corrected smoothly. "We realize that our... farming methods... were offensive to your delicate sensibilities. We have ceased operations for the night. As a gesture of goodwill."

  He stepped aside, pushing Kordula forward.

  "But we wish to go further. We wish to heal the rift between North and Shadow. We propose a union."

  Kordula stepped toward Gerald Falken. She wore a dress of black silk that looked like spilled oil. Her eyes were wide, predatory, and fixated on the Ranger.

  "Gerald," Kordula purred. "You look so... tense. Marry me. I can help you relax. I know exactly which tendons to cut to make a man go limp."

  Gerald shuddered, stepping back. "I am not interested, Lady Kordula."

  "We refuse," Gutrum stated flatly. "House Falken does not mix blood with torturers."

  Silas didn't look disappointed. He looked like a merchant who was about to open the velvet curtain.

  "Hastily spoken, Wolf," Silas murmured. "Perhaps the dowry is insufficient?"

  He snapped his fingers.

  Alexander stepped forward, carrying a heavy iron chest. He set it down.

  THUD.

  "One million Gold," Silas whispered.

  My ears perked up. The Bastard instinct twitched.

  "One... million?" I repeated, drooling slightly.

  "And," Silas continued, his eyes gleaming, "a gift for the Alliance. A weapon from the deepest vaults of the Shadowgrove."

  Konstantin stepped forward. He held a long object wrapped in chains and black cloth.

  He unwound the cloth.

  The temperature in the glade dropped ten degrees. The light from the willows seemed to bend and be sucked into the object.

  It was a Greatsword. But it wasn't made of steel. It was made of Void-Matter. It looked like a tear in reality, a jagged piece of the abyss given a hilt.

  I choked on my caramel.

  "Plus... two... thousand?" I squeaked.

  "Impossible," Baldur whispered. "That breaks the physics engine."

  "It is an Admin Weapon," Silas grinned. "A relic from the Age of Myths. It cuts mountains. It kills gods. And it is yours, Wilhelm... if Gerald says 'I do'."

  Silas looked at me. He knew I was the greedy one.

  "Would you like to... test it?" Silas offered, holding the hilt toward me.

  I shouldn't have. I knew it was a trap.

  But the number. +2,000.

  "Just... just a little swing," I whispered, my eyes wide.

  I grabbed the hilt.

  The power rushed into me. It wasn't like the Cinderbrand's fire. It was cold. Absolute. I felt like I could punch a hole in the moon.

  Suddenly, the trees to the left crashed down.

  A Roaming Guardian wandered into the glade. A massive Golem made of diamond and adamantite. Level 60. A raid boss.

  "Perfect," I breathed.

  I didn't use a skill. I didn't shout.

  I just swung the sword. A lazy, one-handed flick.

  The blade touched the Golem.

  There was no sound of impact. No CLANG.

  The Golem simply... vanished.

  The force of the blow unmade it instantly. The air pressure shockwave flattened the forest for a mile behind it.

  WHOOOOSH.

  I stood there, holding a sword that could end the world.

  "I need this," I whispered. My eyes were swirling with black greed. "I need this sword."

  I quickly opened my menu.

  I turned to Gerald. I looked maniacal.

  "Gerald!" I shouted, pointing the Void-Sword at him. "Marry her! Marry the crazy lady! Look at this! I just deleted a boss with a sneeze!"

  "Wilhelm!" Brandan roared. "Put it down! It's corrupting you!"

  "It's efficient!" I argued, hugging the sword. "Gerald, please! She's pretty! She just likes to skin things! You can work around that! Think of the DPS, Gerald! Think of the loot!"

  Gerald looked at the sword. He looked at Kordula, who was licking a knife and winking at him.

  He looked at the empty spot where Vera should have been.

  "No," Gerald said.

  His voice was quiet, but it cut through my greed like a razor.

  "Gerald!" I pleaded. "One million gold! Plus TWO THOUSAND strength! I will buy you a new planet! Just kiss the psycho!"

  "I said no," Gerald repeated, stepping forward. He looked Silas in the eye.

  "I am a Ranger. I walk the path of the wild. I do not sell my heart for metal, and I do not marry monsters for power."

  He looked at me.

  "Put it down, Wilhelm. That isn't a sword. It's a leash."

  I looked at Nightbane. It pulsed. It wanted me to kill everyone. It whispered that I could be King. I could be God.

  But I looked at Gerald. My friend. The man who gave his cloak to a sad princess.

  With a scream of effort, I threw the sword into the dirt.

  THUD.

  "Take it," I panted, sweating cold fear. "Take it back, Silas."

  Silas’s smile vanished. He signaled Konstantin, who picked up the weapon and wrapped it in chains again.

  "Disappointing," Silas hissed. "You choose poverty and weakness."

  "We choose not to wake up with a knife in our kidney," Gutrum growled. "Leave. Now."

  Silas bowed mockingly.

  "As you wish. But remember this moment, Stormsong. When Alexander breaks you... remember that you could have held the Void."

  They left.

  I stood there, shaking. I had leveled up. I was stronger.

  But for a second... I had almost sold my brother for a stat stick.

  "Sorry," I whispered to Gerald. "It was... really shiny."

  Gerald clapped me on the shoulder. "It's okay, Wilhelm. You're a Master of Coin. You can't help it."

  "I hate that you're right," I muttered. "Now pass me a Thunder-Kebab. I need to eat my feelings."