I sat slouched at Nina’s kitchen table, poking half-heartedly at a bowl of warm rice and sweet beans. The food was good, lightly spiced, cooked with real care, but my appetite wasn’t there. Even the sunlight filtering through the windows felt too loud.

  Nina leaned against the doorframe, watching me with the sort of quiet I rarely saw from her.

  “I have no idea what you did,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “But you look like a Dreamer who abused her powers.”

  I didn’t argue. “Just tried sending two messages. That’s all. Or was it three? I’m not sure.”

  “That would do it,” she said. “You’re what, an eighth Dreamer? That’s more than you can handle.”

  I nodded slowly. “I didn’t think it would hit this hard. I just wanted to let them know I was alive.”

  Nina slid a fresh cup of tea toward me. “Your sanctuary is still too weak for that. You don’t even have a door to the Great Dream yet.”

  “Dreamer magic doesn’t run on mana, Alice,” she added. “It runs on impetus. You poured your heart into those messages, and that costs more than most people could pay.”

  I sipped. It helped. Barely.

  “I’m supposed to check in with Nakera,” I said, voice dull.

  “Then we’ll both go. I’m not leaving you when you’re feeling this bad,” Nina said, already pulling on her coat. “You’ll check in, and then we’ll find you something entertaining. Inspiration is the only thing that heals a Dreamer crash.”

  The Freelancer Guild looked the same as always. Kan, Vena, and Calr were already there, seated around one of the tables with Nakera and Kuru. Kan looked sharp, as always, her chain coiled neatly around one wrist. Vena was sipping ginger tea. Calr was halfway through a new sketch of something that looked like a spider in a silk bikini.

  Nakera glanced up as I approached. “Alice. You look like you wrestled a troll.”

  “She overused Dreamer magic,” Nina said before I could speak. “She’s running on tea and guilt.”

  Nakera’s gaze flicked from me to Nina, then back again. Her expression softened.

  “I didn’t know she was a Dreamer,” Nakera said slowly.

  “Technically, I’m not,” I muttered. “Barely one-eighth.”

  “That makes it worse. Like stabbing yourself with a dull knife,” said Kuru. She didn’t look angry, just resigned. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

  Nakera studied me a moment longer, then gave a small nod. “Keep lying low for now,” she said. “Kuru and I are still digging into some things. When we’re ready, we’ll call you.”

  With that, the two of them rose and left, leaving the five of us alone in the morning buzz of the guildhall.

  “Well,” Nina said, turning to the rest of us. “Now that work is off the table… Alice needs entertainment. Who is ready for a day off?”

  “Did someone say entertainment?” said Ja’a, who appeared behind Nina like a summoned creature lured by the promise of diversion in a new city.

  She practically bounced into the circle, looping an arm around Nina’s shoulder and tucking herself neatly under one wing. “I’m ready to be entertained.”

  Raik trailed in a second later, smiling in that exasperated, fond way older siblings did. “Ja’a, aren’t we supposed to meet your sister today?”

  Katar followed last, arms crossed, and scowled at Ja’a’s back. “Don’t act so familiar with someone when you don’t even know her name.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind her being friendly,” Nina said, tightening one wing over Ja’a’s shoulders, then smiled at Katar. “You can slip in on the other side if you like, mister. Although…” she turned toward Raik and winked at him, “your friend over here is more handsome.”

  “Oh, you are trouble!” Raik laughed and slid onto the bench next to Kan, “You’re going to get a long way too well with Ja’a.”

  “I’m Nina, by the way,” Nina said cheerfully. “We’re taking Alice out. She overused Dreamer magic and needs inspiration to recover.”

  Raik gave me a sympathetic look. “Dreamer magic, huh? Heard that stuff hits hard.”

  “Only when you get overzealous,” I muttered.

  Kan gave me a small smile. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “We need something new,” Nina said, tapping her chin.

  “How about swimming?” Calr offered.

  Vena shook her head. “Green Fever’s still in the water. Pass.”

  “Shopping’s always fun,” Ja’a grinned.

  “Yes, but Alice has already been to most of the city’s markets,” Vena replied.

  “There’s always the musical theater,” Nina suggested with a theatrical flourish.

  “Booo,” groaned both Calr and Katar in perfect sync.

  “There’s a dance hall that opens at noon,” Nina added.

  “Oh, that sounds fun,” Ja’a said brightly, already tugging Kan’s sleeve. “I have a cute silver dress you could borrow.”

  “I don’t wear dresses,” Kan deadpanned, unmoving.

  That’s when a familiar voice cut through the group.

  “You want entertainment?” Yon said. “I’m fighting in the arena today.”

  His sudden presence startled me. He was only wearing loose shorts and rolled-up bandages across his hands and sleeves. Still, he looked like he could knock someone out with a look.

  “The arena?” I asked, blinking.

  Yon nodded. “The main event’s at the third bell. But if you want to warm up with some blood sport, there’s a cool exhibition match that starts at lunch.”

  “I vote arena,” Katar said immediately. “Watching other people punch each other sounds like a good time.”

  “I could go for a good fight. Seeing the styles in Hano might be useful,” Raik agreed, rolling his neck.

  Calr sighed. “Beats shopping.”

  I hesitated, then relented. “Just as long as it’s not a fight to the death. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

  “These are civilized lands, mostly,” Calr assured. “Death matches were banned in Hano over a hundred years ago.”

  “That settles it,” Nina said, brushing off her hands. “To the arena it is. Is everyone good with that?”

  I gave a faint smile. “Yeah. Let’s go see something I haven’t seen before.”

  Ja’a looped her other arm through mine as we headed out. “Perfect! Let’s go bet on blood.”

  “Yeah. Civilized… for the most part,” Vena murmured.

  The arena wasn’t what I expected.

  Instead of a single towering coliseum, it was more like a sprawl of open-air fighting courts, each ringed by stone seating. The central plaza was still some distance off, so we found seats at one of the smaller arenas to catch a match before the main event.

  Vendors circled the edges selling skewers of grilled meat, cold drinks, and something that looked like fried dough. The smell of spice, sweat, and dust gave the place a chaotic energy. It felt alive.

  We settled under the shade of a curved arch. Raik leaned back on one elbow. Kan sat with arms crossed, while Nina handed me a chilled drink and propped her wings like a parasol to keep the sun off both our heads.

  The current match was already in motion.

  A winged Valkeren man soared overhead, his black crow-like wings beating powerfully as he rained javelins down from above. His flight was graceful, his movements practiced. Every javelin flew like it had a target already picked. Between throws, he scattered feathers from his wings, which fluttered gently toward the arena floor like glittering black snow.

  I narrowed my eyes at those feathers.

  I remembered how Nina invited me into her sanctuary, how her feathers tugged at my eyelids, pulling me toward sleep.

  “Dreamer feathers,” I muttered. “They put people to sleep.”

  “Sharp eyes,” said Nina, nodding. “He’s a precision fighter. Trying to stall his opponent and disable them.”

  But his opponent was ready.

  The other fighter was a cheetah-like Kindred girl with short dreadlocks, lithe and lean. She didn’t have the cat ears, but golden fur covered her neck; she also had a tail longer than she was tall. She wore leather armor built for mobility, and every ten seconds, she vanished in a blur, breaking the sound barrier with a sonic pop.

  She weaved through the javelins with fluid motion, zigzagging across the court like a dancer. When the Valkeren dropped feathers, she burst forward, staying ahead of the fallout. The timing was perfect, always moving and never caught.

  “She’s baiting him,” Raik murmured. “Waiting for him to run out.”

  Sure enough, the Valkeren retrieved his last javelin. He hovered higher this time, squinting, wings flapping with strain. Then he hurled it in a clean arc meant to corner her near the edge of the ring.

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  She vanished with a thunderclap.

  Reappeared directly beneath him.

  And with a leap fueled by her momentum, she spun midair and kicked his wing at full speed.

  He dropped like a stone.

  The referee whistled sharply and raised his flag.

  Victory to the cheetah girl.

  The crowd cheered wildly. Even Ja’a jumped to her feet with a gleeful squeal.

  “I knew she’d win!” she said, running off toward the betting booth with a spring in her step.

  When she returned, she was counting coins with the sort of smug satisfaction only Ja’a could manage.

  “How’d you guess she would win?” I asked.

  She winked. “Soul Seer. I can always tell whose soul is stronger.”

  Katar crossed his arms. “Soul strength isn’t everything. Experience and instinct, that decide fights.”

  Ja’a grinned. “Sure. But it’s a lot easier to win when your soul is bigger.”

  I leaned back in my seat. The crowd, the heat, and the noise were working. It pulled me out of my head, anchored me in the now.

  “This is working,” I said quietly.

  Nina gave me a soft smile. “That’s why we’re here.”

  A low bell echoed across the arena.

  “That’s for the exhibition match,” said Raik, rising to his feet.

  “Main plaza’s just up the stairs,” Vena added. “Come on. Yon’s fight comes after. He’s probably already warming up.”

  The main arena was bigger than all the side courts combined. Built into the slope of a hill, it rose in smooth tiers of white stone, arched with banners fluttering in the breeze. Stalls lined the outer edge, selling everything from food to cold drinks, and a shaded vendor booth stood above it all, reserved for nobles, guild leaders, and arena sponsors.

  We found seats on the mid-tier, high enough for a full view but close enough to feel the dust when fighters hit the ground. The bell rang again, two deep and sonorous notes.

  The exhibition match was about to begin.

  Two fighters entered from opposite gates.

  They weren’t wearing armor. The man had a muscled frame and a long scar across his torso, dressed only in a linen wrap around his waist. The woman was in a dancer’s costume: barefoot, with silver bangles around her wrists and a gauzy, see-through wrap tied like a veil across her chest. Both carried dual khopesh swords, curved and gleaming.

  “They look like stage performers in a cabaret,” I whispered.

  “I met her once,” muttered Vena. “Back when I was in the Mythic Realm.”

  “They used to be Holy,” Vena said, voice low. “He was a knight. She was a cleric.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “They were from the Holy Kingdom of the Crown. She became the second wife of a noble to get resources for her clinic. She made it clear: no intimacy. She wanted to keep the Sacrifice, just in case.”

  “The Sacrifice?” Raik asked.

  “She wanted to remain pure. Eligible to perform the Final Miracle, to give up her life to save others.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked, though I already had a bad feeling.

  “The noble's first wife gave birth to a stillborn. He demanded she use the Sacrifice to bring the baby back. She refused, calling him selfish. Said she’d only use it to save a town from plague or natural disaster. That healing a thousand people a year was worth more in the grand scheme of things. He threatened to kill her. Her friend, the knight, protected her. They fled together.”

  “Good for her,” Kan muttered. “Her life doesn’t belong to her husband.”

  “If they’d run straight to the Grand Temple or a Holy Inquisitor, everything would have been fine. The noble would’ve been punished, she could’ve gotten a divorce and been free.”

  “I guess that didn’t happen,” I sighed.

  “In the heat of the flight, when tensions are high… they crossed the line.”

  “They fell in love?” Ja’a guessed.

  “They committed adultery,” Vena said, her expression unreadable. “Two people chosen by the Holy, engaging in a Taboo. They forgot their oaths and their purposes. Their love blinded them to only see here and now.”

  On the field, the woman swung first, sharp, fast. Her partner blocked, spinning with a grin. Blood flew where the blade bit his shoulder. He didn’t flinch. Just laughed and retaliated.

  The match wasn’t staged. It was brutal.

  Steel clanged on steel, arms moved like blurs, and blood painted the sand. A cheer rose from the stands as the woman lunged and sank a blade into his gut.

  He staggered… but didn’t fall.

  Then, with a growl, he drove one of his khopeshes into her chest.

  She gasped, stumbled… collapsed.

  I leaned forward, heart racing.

  Her body lay still. A breath passed. Two.

  Then her eyes opened.

  She stood.

  The wound was gone.

  My mouth went dry.

  “She died,” I whispered. “And she stood back up.”

  “They’re Unholy now,” Vena said. “As long as one of them lives, the other can’t die. It’s a twisted version of their miracles. Selfish in a way; they can no longer help people, only themselves.”

  On the sand, the man smiled with blood on his lips.

  “Don’t blink,” Nina murmured. “It’s not over yet.”

  The woman turned and, with a savage cry, decapitated him.

  His head rolled. The body slumped.

  Silence.

  Then the head flowed back and attached itself to his shoulder.

  He was whole again.

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  The two stood shoulder to shoulder and took a bow, blood-slicked and smiling. Then they kissed, long and theatrical.

  It should have been disturbing.

  It was.

  But it was also… beautiful?

  “I never knew Mythic magic could do that,” I said, stunned.

  “There is always a trade-off,” Vena said. “She threw away the power to save thousands in the name of lust.”

  Ja’a let out a long whistle. “Now that’s commitment.”

  I didn’t know what I was feeling. Awe, horror, fascination, all tangled up. Ideas crossed my mind on how someone could orchestrate powers like this one using greed or pride. But one thing was sure:

  If the inspiration bar didn’t fill after that, it never will.

  The main event was up next.

  A trumpet blared three times, and the crowd surged with renewed excitement. Vendors darted up and down the aisles selling chilled fruit juice, roasted peanuts, and fried eel crisps. Children waved wooden replicas of weapons, and someone near us wore a Yon-themed headband with little paper fists.

  I blinked. “Yon has fans?”

  “Of course he does,” Nina grinned. “Most high-ranking freelancers do.”

  Down on the main floor, a voice echoed from a conical speaker crystal held by a robed announcer. “Today’s main match! Lieutenant Khoka Karda, Swift Fist of Fury, versus Sergeant Yon, the Brawler of Hano!”

  A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  “Wait… Karda?” Ja’a said, brows rising. “Isn’t that the name of one of the rebellion’s commanders?”

  Raik’s smile faded instantly. “Don’t be insensitive, Ja’a.” His voice dropped. “A Karda is sitting right next to us.”

  I turned to Kan. Her face had gone completely still.

  “So you knew?” she asked Raik quietly.

  He nodded. “Of course. Your name’s not exactly common.”

  Kan’s shoulders tightened. “And you don’t hate me? Your father died in the uprising.”

  “My father died stopping a coup from the Old Realm,” Raik said evenly. “Your father led a rebellion. That wasn’t the same thing, and they should’ve never executed him. If my father had survived, he would’ve made sure of it.”

  Kan blinked fast. Her jaw clenched.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  In the arena, both fighters stepped into the center circle.

  Khoka was a stylish and flamboyant fighter with tall, spiky blond hair that stood straight up like a supercharged pompadour. He was lean and muscled, like a runway model meets street fighter.

  He threw a few test punches into the air, each one creating a sonic pop that rattled the flags overhead. His fists were wrapped in reinforced spirit cloth, his knuckles visibly glowing with kinetic magic.

  Yon, in contrast, looked relaxed, barefoot, sleeveless, with his usual calm aura. But his eyes were sharp. Focused. Deadly.

  The bell rang.

  Khoka came out swinging.

  His fists were fast, almost invisible to the eye. He dashed in, threw a hook, and darted out again. A burst of speed carried him from one side of the arena to the other, fists blurring with aura.

  Yon blocked the first three hits and let the fourth graze his shoulder. He stepped in, turning his whole body into a rising kick that almost caught Khoka’s chin. The lieutenant flipped backward, barely avoiding it.

  “No holding back today,” Nina said, eyes gleaming. “They’re testing each other already.”

  Khoka changed stance. He moved lower, more compact, then came in with a flurry of body blows. Yon took two to the ribs, grunted, and returned with a spinning elbow that sent a shockwave through the crowd. Dust kicked up in a ring around them.

  The audience roared.

  I was leaning forward, heart pounding.

  Khoka ducked under a kick, swept Yon’s legs, and went for a ground strike, but Yon rolled, launched himself off his back, and delivered a brutal axe kick that slammed into the arena floor when Khoka dodged at the last second.

  Cracks spiderwebbed through the stone.

  “These guys,” I whispered. “They’re like living weapons.”

  “It’s not about strength alone,” Katar murmured. “This is pure instinct and experience.”

  The fight raged on. Every blow shook the stands. Every dodge was a whisper from death. Yon started jumping away, realizing he couldn’t keep trading punches with a powerhouse like Khoka. He was more mobile than his opponent, despite looking wider and more sturdy. Khoka’s strength was focused on his arms, and he couldn’t perform the kind of acrobatics Yon was showing.

  And then, in the final stretch, both men stood across from each other, battered, breathing hard, eyes locked.

  They charged.

  Two fists flew. Two strikes landed. Both of them hit the other in the middle of the face.

  For a moment, time froze.

  Then Yon fell to one knee.

  Khoka staggered… but stayed standing.

  The bell rang. Match over.

  Applause thundered from every side.

  I felt myself smiling despite the outcome. Yon had lost, but it was a fight that earned everyone’s respect.

  He stood slowly, face bruised but proud, and offered Khoka a handshake. The lieutenant clasped it tightly, then drew him in sideways and raised Yon’s hand with his in a great showing of sportsmanship.

  As the two left the arena, I turned to look at our group.

  Kan was openly cheering for her older brother. Raik was smiling at her. Vena almost jumped over to heal Yon. Calr had to stop her. Ja’a was collecting more winnings, of course, and Nina leaned closer to me.

  I was surrounded by people I respected.

  Friends.

  And even though I’d lost a bit of myself in that Dreamer crash depression, something about this day had brought me back.

  I nudged Nina gently. “Thanks. I needed this.”

  “I know,” she said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve been through a Dreamer crash or two… maybe ten.”

  Ten minutes later, we found Yon sitting on a stone bench just outside the arena’s northern gate, a towel draped over his neck and a water flask half-drained in one hand.

  Vena was already fussing over him, her hands glowing faintly with healing light as she examined a bruise along his jaw.

  “You might have a mild concussion,” she said sternly, inspecting his eyes. “Tell me if you feel dizzy. Or if the light hurts. Or if you forget your name.”

  Yon chuckled awkwardly, trying to lean away from her glowing fingers. “I’m fine. Just sore. It’s nothing.”

  “That’s not for you to decide,” she said firmly, brushing sweat-matted hair from his forehead and checking for any cuts. “Let me work.”

  The man who could throw punches that cracked stone was blushing.

  It was adorable.

  Kan dashed off toward the fighters’ corridor, probably to find Khoka and congratulate him. She’d seemed tense during the match, but now her steps had a lightness to them.

  Raik looked like he was about to follow her, maybe to introduce himself properly, but Ja’a stepped in front of him.

  “Guess who just tripled their money?” she sang, waving her arena bet slip like a flag. “I’m buying dinner!”

  Raik groaned. “You’re going to be unbearable for days.”

  “Correction: I’m going to be rich and unbearable for days,” Ja’a winked.

  Meanwhile, Katar had cornered one of the arena workers, already deep in conversation about registration protocols, weapon restrictions, and the prize pool structure.

  Nina was flying overhead, stretching her wings after sitting all day.

  I smiled, watching Vena fuss over Yon like a mother hawk while Ja’a bragged and Raik tried to escape her orbit.

  Maybe being here is where I’m meant to be.