''Next Up'':
''<div class="choice">[[Pronouns]]</div>''
<!-- ANY LINKS FOR THE MENU GO HERE -->
<<link "Persona" "Persona">><</link>>
<<link "Health" "Health">><</link>>
<<link "Navigation" "Navigation">><</link>>
<<link "Achievements" "Achievements">><</link>>
<<link "Information" "Information">><</link>>
[[CREDITS + RESOURCES|Credits]]<h1>LUCID FATE</h1>ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍɴᴇꜱɪᴀᴄ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜᴢᴢʟᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏʟᴠᴇ. ʜᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ go?LucidfateIF (Tumblr) <<widget "are">><<switch $plural>><<case true>>are<<case false>>is<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "were">><<switch $plural>><<case true>>were<<case false>>was<</switch>><</widget>>
<<widget "s">><<switch $plural>><<case true>><<case false>>s<</switch>><</widget>><!-- ANY CONTENT FOR THE SIDEBAR THAT ISN'T A LINK GOES HERE - WILL APPEAR ABOVE THE LINKS -->
//''↛ᴏʀ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ?''//<div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/64/20/09/642009638aad2b46b989158fbd768c49.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode">
<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fd/31/84/fd318401d859fb8e5972380508e9d203.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><h2>Your Characteristics</h2>
Charismatic vs Aloof:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Charismatic<span id="charismatic-value"> $Charismatic</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Aloof <span id="aloof-value">$Aloof</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="charismatic-bar" style="width: $Charismatic%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="aloof-bar" style="width: $Aloof%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
Resilient vs Fragile:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Resilient <span id="resilient-value">$Resilient</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Fragile <span id="fragile-value">$Fragile</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="resilient-bar" style="width: $Resilient%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="fragile-bar" style="width: $Fragile%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
Honest vs Deceptive:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Honest <span id="honest-value">$Honest</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Deceptive <span id="deceptive-value">$Deceptive</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="honest-bar" style="width: $Honest%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="deceptive-bar" style="width: $Deceptive%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
Empathetic vs Callous:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Empathetic <span id="empathetic-value">$Empathetic</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Callous <span id="callous-value">$Callous</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="empathetic-bar" style="width: $Empathetic%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="callous-bar" style="width: $Callous%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
Confidence vs Insecurity:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Confidence <span id="confidence-value">$Confidence</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Insecurity <span id="insecurity-value">$Insecurity</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="confidence-bar" style="width: $Confidence%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="insecurity-bar" style="width: $Insecurity%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
Team Player vs Individualist:
<div class="stat-bar-group">
<div class="stat-bar-container">
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Team Player <span id="teamplayer-value">$TeamPlayer</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar-overlay-right">Individualist <span id="individualist-value">$Individualist</span>%</div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="teamplayer-bar" style="width: $TeamPlayer%;"></div>
<div class="stat-bar" id="individualist-bar" style="width: $Individualist%;"></div>
</div>
</div>
"ꜱᴛᴇᴘ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪɢʜ-ꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏᴜʀɴᴀᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴘᴜᴢᴢʟᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴄʟᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴀᴅᴠᴇʀꜱᴀʀʏ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅꜱ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴʏ. ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴅᴇᴇᴘᴇʀ, ʜᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀʙʏʀɪɴᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇ ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴏᴜꜱ,
//''↛ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴏꜱᴛ?"''//"Your hair is ''<<cycle "$hairlook" autoselect>> <<option "straight">> <<option "wavy">> <<option "curly">> <<option "coily">> <</cycle>>'' and ''<<cycle "$haircolour" autoselect>> <<option "inky black">> <<option "buttery blond">> <<option "ashy blond">> <<option "strawberry blonde">> <<option "nordic white">> <<option "ombré">> <<option "light brown">> <<option "Auburn">> <<option "maroon">> <<option "cherry red">>> <<option "peachy red">> <<option "Pastel balayage">> <<option "lilac" "hair">><</cycle>>"<div class="choice">''
''[[Next|Clothes]]</div>''
<h1><div class="cookieMonster">✘Clothing Option✘</div></h1>
<div class="poiretone">In the world of Lucid Fate, attire speaks volumes. From the proud heritage of the Traditional Kobat to the allure of The Vassal Novs, each choice carries weight. Rustic Attire beckons with promises of creativity and wanderlust, while the enigmatic Noirwear hints at secrets yet unveiled. Remember, your selection shapes not only your character's appearance but also how others perceive them. In this interactive journey, every thread woven into your garment holds significance, offering clues to the path ahead. So choose wisely, for destiny awaits, intertwined with the fabric of your choice. </div>
''<div class="choice">[[Next|Your Name]]</div>''What's your name, traveler?''<<textbox "$name" "">>''
''<div class="choice">[[Next|nickname]]</div>''
Your height is ''<<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "short">> <<option "middle">> <<option "tall" "height">><</cycle>>''
''<div class="choice">[[Next|Eye colour]]</div>''
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 1</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Awaken $name</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>10:01 pm</h3></span>
"...let...happen"
"....doing...we can..help...."
"$gender's waking up"
//'Waking up?'// Was the last bit of the conversation the you heard before fluttering your eyelids open only to stare back at an old, creepy-looking woman with four lost teeth and a huge pimple on her nose ready to explode and splat stuff across your face at any second.
<hr>
[["w-who are you!?"]]
[[umm...i think you got a grape on your nose|"grape up your nose"]]
[[try to shove past|try to shove past]]
[[stare blankly at her|stare blankly at her]]<<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $distractingValue to Math.clamp($distractingValue + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue+ 20, 0, 100)>><<set $weaponmasteryValue to Math.clamp($weaponmasteryValue + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $health to 100>>"Your eyes are pretty! What shade is that?"
"Oh thanks. It's ''<<cycle "$eyecolour" autoselect>><<option "black">><<option "grey">> <<option "baby blue">> <<option "sapphire blue">> <<option "brown">> <<option "chestnut brown">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "emerald green">> <<option "jade green">> <</cycle>>"''
''<div class="choice">[[Next|Hair choices]]</div>''
''<span style='font-family:times'><h1>''Disclaimer''</h1></span>''
<hr>
//<<timed 1s>>I - This game includes scenes and storyline elements that some might find disturbing and heavy throughout gameplay.//<<next>>
//<<next>>II - It contains offensive language, bullying, drinking (optional to Mc), smoking, drug intake, a fictional dipiction of hate towards a specific group (not racially motivated), death, blood and body horror.//
//<<next>>III - This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual happenings is purely coincidental. Of course.//
//<<next>>IV - ''Warnings before Chapters including any of the mentioned above will be added in the future!''//
<<next>>''With all things considered, hope you have a good gaming experience!''
''<<next>><span style='font-family:times'><h2>''[[Continue|Pronouns]]''</h2></span><</timed>> <hr>
last but not least! surname?''<<textbox "$lastname" "">>''
''Complete!<div class="choice">[[would you like a mirror?|Complete, would you like a mirror?]]</div>'' or would you like to ''<div class="choice">[[carry on?|Complete!]]</div>''"W-who are you!?"
"Hah. You hit your head or something, kid?" She lightly chuckled before standing up straight and looking down at you with confusion.
"And why do you always look so paranoid..." The lady sighed as she stretched before walking off.
Her steps were slow but not staggered one bit as she walks ahead, nursing an aching back but somehow keeping her strong aura with her.
Her absence gives you enough time to see your surroundings with ease. The wind blows lightly as the grass below you shifts around.
You were at an open field?
"That lady is creepy..." a small voice piped up. You turned to see a boy.
It was your best friend Dante.
Dante was a boy around your age who lived all the way up near the Castle Of Kabot but stayed in Silversvale a couple of weeks occasionally with his extended family, often for business that doesn't require a child's presences but he does tag along passing to meet up with you here. With the small yet troublesome distance, you both unfortunately never made it a habit to meet as often as you'd liked, but it was enough for you two to cement your friendship.
He had a dark shade of skin, with striking blue eyes currently filled with concern. His hickory shade of brown hair was tousled, giving him a mischievous appearance that contrasted with the wariness in his tone. What caught your eye were the beauty marks dotting his face - four prominent ones along his cheekbones and jaw, and about six fainter marks scattered across his skin like constellations. Even at his young age, he was quite the catch with the young villagers already.
Even so, no one bothered to try their luck as he was from a wealthy family of sorts. Not the same could be said for a lot of people in your village, as they either had less, minimum or a very slight upper hand.
"It's fine I guess. She didn't...do anything strange...right?"
"Nu-uh, I would've fought her!" He responds with blind loyalty as he fakely punches the air, only for strands of his dark hair to make their way onto his eyes.
"Ack- time out. This wouldn't have happened in the fight." He mutters, desperately trying to get the few hair strands out of his eye while talking.
<hr>
[["Nag Walan usually has a wooden spoon..."]]
[["hmm..."]]
[["sure it wouldn't"]]
[["you're an idiot"]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile + 5, 0, 100)>> "uhh..think you got a grape still stuck on your nose from your previous meal, Nag"
"Haha, very funny" she rolled her eyes before straightening up, entertainment clear in her eyes. The same red ones people seemed to be scared of were so warm now...
"Aight, 'm off"
Her steps were slow but not staggered one bit as she walks ahead, nursing an aching back but somehow keeping her strong aura with her.
Nag Walan. The village "crazy lady", as everyone likes to put it. She was a bit brash and straightforward forward but you never understood why everyone didn't like her.
Her absence gives you enough time to see your surroundings with ease. The wind blows lightly as the grass below you shifts around.
You were at an open field?
"That lady is creepy..." a small voice piped up. You turned to see a boy.
Dante was concerned for you. As always.
Dante was a boy around your age who lived all the way up near the Castle Of Kabot but stayed in Silversvale a couple of weeks occasionally with his extended family, often for business that doesn't require a child's presences but he does tag along passing to meet up with you here. With the small yet troublesome distance, you both unfortunately never made it a habit to meet as often as you'd liked, but it was enough for you two to cement your friendship.
He had a dark shade of skin, with striking blue eyes currently filled with concern. His hickory shade of brown hair was tousled, giving him a mischievous appearance that contrasted with the wariness in his tone. What caught your eye were the beauty marks dotting his face - four prominent ones along his cheekbones and jaw, and about six fainter marks scattered across his skin like constellations. Even at his young age, he was quite the catch with the young villagers already.
Even so, no one bothered to try their luck as he was from a wealthy family of sorts. Not the same could be said for a lot of people in your village, as they either had less, minimum or a very slight upper hand.
"It's fine. She didn't do anything strange...right? Like curse me to have my feet turn into cabbages every blue moon? "
"Nu-uh, I would've fought her!" He responds with blind loyalty as he fakely punches the air, only for strands of his dark hair to make their way onto his eyes.
"Ack- time out. This wouldn't have happened in the fight." He mutters, desperately trying to get the few hair strands out of his eye while talking.
<hr>
[["Nag Walan usually has a wooden spoon..."]]
[["hmm..."]]
[["sure it wouldn't"]]
[["you're an idiot"]]
<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>"Now off you go $name , enjoy your stay! But remember, Truth they say is sometimes stranger than fiction."
"Fiction they say is sometimes the tonic to escape."
''//Blue Pill?//''
''//Red Pill?//''
"come on, you have to pick one..."
"You //have// to pick one!"
"Red seems nice don't you think?"
''//"FUCKING PICK RED"//''
"Pick blue! I'll do it if you it first."
"which one to take before one considers it is all too late."
try not to get gaslight :)
''[[Prologue]]''
Your skin shade is...
''<<cycle "$skinshade" autoselect>> <<option "porcelain">> <<option "ivory">> <<option "bisque">> <<option "medium">> <<option "beige">> <<option "sienna">> <<option "amber">> <<option "honey">> <<option "almond">> <<option "chestnut">> <<option "brown">> <<option "dark-hued" "Skinshade">><</cycle>>''
''<div class="choice">[[Next|Your Height]]</div>''
"..."
"Y-you killed $name!"
"Oh, don't be a wuss little one." The lady sighed as she stretched before walking off.
Her steps were slow but not staggered one bit as she walks ahead, nursing an aching back but somehow keeping her strong aura with her.
Nag Walan. The village "crazy lady", as everyone likes to put it. She was a bit brash and straightforward forward but you never understood why everyone didn't like her.
Her absence gives you enough time to see your surroundings with ease. The wind blows lightly as the grass below you shifts around.
It seems that you are right at the outside field of your village.
"That lady is creepy..." a small voice piped up. You turned to see a boy around your age with striking blue eyes currently filled with concern. His hickory shade of brown hair was tousled, giving him a mischievous appearance that contrasted with the wariness in his tone. What caught your eye were the beauty marks dotting his face - four prominent ones along his cheekbones and jaw, and about six fainter marks scattered across his skin like constellations.
It was Dante.
Dante was a boy around your age who lived all the way up near the Castle Of Kabot but stayed in Silversvale a couple of weeks occasionally with his extended family, often for business that doesn't require a child's presences but he does tag along passing to meet up with you here. With the small yet troublesome distance, you both unfortunately never made it a habit to meet as often as you'd liked, but it was enough for you two to cement your friendship.
He had a dark shade of skin, with striking blue eyes currently filled with concern. His hickory shade of brown hair was tousled, giving him a mischievous appearance that contrasted with the wariness in his tone. What caught your eye were the beauty marks dotting his face - four prominent ones along his cheekbones and jaw, and about six fainter marks scattered across his skin like constellations. Even at his young age, he was quite the catch with the young villagers already.
Even so, no one bothered to try their luck as he was from a wealthy family of sorts. Not the same could be said for a lot of people in your village, as they either had less, minimum or a very slight upper hand.
"It's okay."
He seemed to read something in your eyes as he spoke next
"Don't worry much! She didn't do anything witchy, I would've fought her!" He responds with blind loyalty as he fakely punches the air, only for strands of his dark hair to make their way onto his eyes.
"Ack- time out. This wouldn't have happened in the fight." He mutters, desperately trying to get the few hair strands out of his eye while talking.
<hr>
[["Nag Walan usually has a wooden spoon..."]]
[["hmm..."]]
[["sure it wouldn't"]]
[["you're an idiot"]]
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>You move your hand to shove her away, not expecting to freeze on the spot.
Not by choice.
Your skin felt like it was stiffening, beginning from your hand on her shoulder to your feet. It felt like you were turning into stone...
Staring into her crimson red eyes, fear slowly started to set in. She was just looking. Calmly waiting as if she was expecting. Observing in uneasy silence-
"H-Hey! Stop that right now!" A panicked voice shouted close by. You couldn't turn your head, but your $eyecolour eyes could freely move. It was your friend, Dante.
She moved away. Her shoulder no longer in contact with your hand.
You gasped in a breath, once again looking up at the unnerving lady. She seemed disappointed.
Disappointed at you maybe?
After one glance at the scared- yet determined boy beside you, she began walking off without a word.
Her steps were slow but not staggered one bit as she walks ahead, nursing an aching back but somehow keeping her strong aura with her.
Nag Walan. The village "crazy lady", as everyone likes to put it. She was a bit brash, straightforward, and made you uneasy in every way possible. You weren't dumb enough to not know why she would react like that.
Nag Walan. The village "crazy lady", as everyone likes to put it. She was a bit brash, straightforward, and made you uneasy in every way possible. You weren't dumb enough to not know why she would react like that.
She'll be "nice" if you're nice. That's how she's always been.
Her absence gave you enough time to see your surroundings with ease. The wind blows lightly as the grass below you shifts around. It seems as tho Dante had been talking for a while, assuming you were listening.
"Ack- time out. This wouldn't have happened in the fight." He mutters, desperately trying to get the few hair strands out of his eye while talking.
Dante was a boy around your age who lived all the way up near the Castle Of Kabot but stayed in Silversvale a couple of weeks occasionally with his extended family, often for business that doesn't require a child's presences but he does tag along passing to meet up with you here. With the small yet troublesome distance, you both unfortunately never made it a habit to meet as often as you'd liked, but it was enough for you two to cement your friendship.
He had a dark shade of skin, with striking blue eyes currently squinted shut as he attempted to remove hair strand from his eyes. His hickory shade of brown hair was tousled, giving him a mischievous appearance. What caught your eye were the beauty marks dotting his face - four prominent ones along his cheekbones and jaw, and about six fainter marks scattered across his skin like constellations. Even at his young age, he was quite the catch with the young villagers already.
Even so, no one bothered to try their luck as he was from a wealthy family of sorts. Not the same could be said for a lot of people in your village, as they either had less, minimum or a very slight upper hand.
<hr>
[["Nag Walan usually has a wooden spoon..."]]
[["hmm..."]]
[["sure it wouldn't"]]
[["you're an idiot..." you mutter, irritated.]]
<<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>> <<if !$tusslingAchieved>>
<<set $tusslingAchieved = true>>
<<run unlockAchievement("tusslingOffTheStart")>>
<</if>> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>"Nag Walan usually has a wooden spoon..." you mutter, worried.
Dante looks around nervously, his eyes darting from side to side as he scans the field for any sign of Nag Walan. "I heard she once turned Mr. Thompson's cow into a giant block of cheese!"he exclaims, his voice a mix of awe and amusement.
"Can you imagine that? A cheese cow!"
As he chuckles at his own joke, you can't help but stifle a laugh. Despite the looming storm, Dante's lighthearted nature never fails to bring a smile to your face.
"Nag Walan's probably brewing up some potion to turn us all into frogs," he continues, his voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "But don't worry, I've been practicing my frog jumps! Ribbit, ribbit!"
His playful antics provide a brief moment of levity, easing the tension caused by the encounter with Nag Walan. As you both quicken your pace, Dante keeps up a steady stream of jokes and exaggerated tales about the infamous "town witch," each story more outlandish than the last.
As you reach the village, the first drizzles begin to fall, prompting Dante to shield you with an imaginary umbrella made from a large leaf. "Don't worry $nickname, I've got you covered!" he declares, grinning mischievously before abruptly changing back to a neutral expression and slowly shifting to a look of realization. He often does this when he remembers something too late.
"but we might need to jog, apparently this tunic is worth more than my life, or something like that. I can't believe that's what my mom said, //This tunic is more valuable than you little imp if I catch you ruining another again, I'll feed you to the pigs!//" he speaks in a tone as though he is his mother. He goes on to rant some more, forgetting the whole point of why he even suggested to get home faster.
<hr>
[[Abandon him, goodbye.][$Callous += 1]]
[[clear your throat]]
[[scream "DANTE!" and immediately regret it.]]
[[Silently point at his attire with a small smirk]]You open your mouth, likely to remark on something utterly obvious again, but Dante cuts you off with a despairing groan.
"Why do I even bother?" He bemoans, though his tone is fully teasing. "Talking to you when it's pouring buckets is like... is like..."
He falters, struggling to find an appropriately hyperbolic analogy. You simply blink at him, basking in innocent obliviousness.
Finally, Dante shakes his head with a resigned chuckle. "Ah, forget it. Let's just find some shelter, yeah? Before I'm washed away entirely by this melancholic deluge."
Looping his arm protectively through yours, he guides you along, good-naturedly keeping the leafy cover over your head despite his own soaked state.
As you trudge through the rain, Dante launches into another nonsensical story, filling the air with grand gestures and silly voices. You offer the occasional blunt interjection, somehow managing to find the most unintentionally humorous perspectives.
Despite the unrelenting downpour and your vastly different conversational styles, warmth blooms in your chest. With Dante, you never have to worry about being judged or misunderstood.
Your eccentricities, however unintentional, are simply par for the course in this uniquely charming friendship.
<hr>
[[It was perfect.|Now that's a wild story.]]
"Sure it wouldn't," you said with a teasing smirk, responding to Dante's proclamation that he would have fought off Nag Walan.
"Oh ye of little faith!" Dante exclaims dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded by your teasing jab. "Don't you know by now that I'm the fiercest fighter this side of all the districts?"
He drops into an exaggerated fighting stance, throwing a few mock punches and kicks into the air. "Why, if Nag Walan had tried anything, I would have had her running for the hills with my incredible spin kick!"
Dante punctuates this by executing an overly theatrical pivot and nearly losing his balance, which draws a chuckle from you. Undeterred, he immediately launches into an exaggerated tale to keep the banter flowing.
"You know what I overheard? Granny Pru saying just last week - apparently Nag Walan snuck into the blessed building and turned all the holy water into gin!"
He staggers around, feigning drunkenness. "Can you picture it? The whole congregation, tipsy as can be, slurring their hymns and stumbling out of the pews!"
You shake your head, laughing at Dante's nonsensical tales. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
Dante simply winks conspiratorially. "A magician never reveals his secrets. But speaking of magic..." He leans in, his voice dropping to a scandalized whisper. "Have you heard the one about Nag Walan turning the stable boy into a donkey?"
As you raise an eyebrow skeptically, he hurriedly continues, "No, no, I'm deadly serious! They say one minute he's mucking out stalls, the next he's braying and growing furry ears right before their eyes!"
His eyes dance with mischief as he awaits your reaction. You can't help but crack a smile at Dante's animated storytelling, his silly voices and wildly exaggerated tales playing.
<hr>
[[He is a really good friend.]]
"You're an idiot," you blurt out bluntly as Dante regales you with another wild tale about Nag Walan turning the stable boy into a donkey.
He stops mid-sentence, blinking at you owlishly. "Wh-what? Me? An idiot?"
You roll your eyes impatiently. "Yes, you. Do you really expect me to believe that nonsense?"
Dante's expression shifts to one of feigned indignation. "Well excuse me for trying to liven things up with a few embellished tales! You could stand to crack a smile every once in a while, you know."
Scoffing, you wave a dismissive hand. "Don't be so dramatic. I smile plenty...probably."
At your rare hint of uncertainty, Dante's eyes twinkle with warmth rather than spark with humor. "Is that so? Then let's see that award-winning smile of yours right now!"
<hr>
[[Try to smile|Try to smile for Dante.]]
[[Refuse to smile.|Refuse to smile for Dante.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 2</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>march, march, march. </h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>11:23 am</h3></span><hr>
Stall owners and merchants rushed around you and Dante, making it difficult not to get stomped on at your fragile height. You were still a kid after all. The calling out from sellers trying to outsell their neighboring competition and babbling of young ladies near their local debut gossiping loudly drowned out most of your calm thoughts. The outskirts of Kabot were just as busy as the inside.
But no matter how many similarities it had, there was always something Kabonions would have a conflict about. One, in particular, you could recall would be the relation between the people of the Esrada league and the common folk. You never really understood what exactly was the deal between the two groups but the common folk avoided them like they were the black plague.
The uneasy shifting from mothers as they pulled their kids closer to them and the hateful looks men sent them couldn't even get past the densest person. It was crystal clear. Something happened at some point before your birth. Or at least that's what you assume.
Woken up by a panicked Dante and a friend of his four years ago, you, after some checkups, have concluded that...you couldn't remember anything no matter how hard you tried.
And you couldn't try much without blacking out and having a nosebleed. The pain felt like a dozen of needles, prick after prick being stuck into your delicate skin before a sudden large puncture, a sudden stab unbearable enough to have you double over.
You remember how you didn’t even have money to your name—all your amnesiac self could find in your pockets was a locket. Your name had been crudely scratched onto it, uneven and rushed, next to what you assumed was your surname, which was beautifully engraved as if it had always belonged there. Along with the locket, you had two coins.
You remember some Silversvale women had arranged for you to see some doctors after Dante had brought their attention to you, and you recall that clearly. The district doctor had warned you not to force your memory—to not try to remember at all.
<hr>
[[You didn't listen|You didn't listen][$lashOutCount += 1]]
[[You were interested in knowing more but left it alone]]
[[You didn't try to remember]]You remember getting your first compliment from a passing noble lady, she had noticed you glancing at her curiously, dirt from playing with the other common folk's kids still smeared across your cheeks and small hands. You were sure she would be revolted a bit or even pitiful, as most are when they find out your orphan background and- this one always seems to get them- your lack of memories.
But this lady wasn't disgusted with dirt on your hands as she didn't shrink away and wasn't cautious of being seen with you by wealthy bachelors that might stroll past as most would. She simply rested her hand on your chin and complimented you with a warm smile before heading back into the Inn and soon paying Off your stay for a few months before strolling away.
You don't remember much about how she looked but you remember the compliment well as you spot your features every time and wonder if any of your parents had similar features too. Your loving mother? Maybe even your silly father? You didn't know, and no matter how much you wanted to.
<hr>
[[you decided not to press yourself. |Scene 3]]
You were a new person now, is what you told yourself back then, alone at night as your gaze moved over your reflection in the river water, imprinting every facial feature.
You were not sure if the person you were before was the same as who you are now or if you had changed at all, but then again, you didn't want to know.
You were happy- or at least okay with the type of person you were now and you didn't want to go digging in old graves when you didn't need to.
Your silhouette shifted with the river's slow current. The water had shaded your figure a dark blue.
You were a new person now and you were more than ready to accept a new start, whether it was out of an actual need for it or a fear of not wanting to know something you wished to forget.
<hr>
[[And forget you did|Scene 3]]
𝐿𝓊𝒸𝒾𝒹 𝐹𝒶𝓉𝑒''<h2>IF updates</h2>''
//Prologue - 12/05/2022//
//Chapter 1 - 8th/06/2022//
//Chapter 2 - 9/06/2023//
//Chapter 3 - 28/10/2024//
You didn’t heed their warnings and tried to recall something, anything.
Ambling through your life, unaware of anything before, made your legs feel weak in a deeply unsettling way.
Something just felt wrong.
No matter what the doctors had told you, you kept trying to remember.
But the very thought of your many failed attempts brought an ache behind your eyes, nearly making you tear up.
To call it painful was an understatement. Each effort to recall the past resulted in a suffocating pressure building at the base of your skull, creeping forward like a vise clamping tighter around your head.
Your breath would catch, chest tightening, as if the very act of remembering had stolen the air from your lungs. The room would spin, your vision tunneling into nothingness, leaving you grasping at anything to stay grounded.
No scream would escape. Only gasps. A voiceless, desperate reach for relief as your mind swam in darkness, your body collapsing into the black void of a full blackout.
It used to end before it got this bad—just enough of that crushing pressure to scare you away for a month. But last week’s attempt lingered, leaving you dizzy, as if the aftermath had crawled its way into your bones and refused to let go.
<hr>
[[And you weren't ready to try again. |Scene 3]]
<<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $lashOutCount to Math.clamp($lashOutCount + 5, 0, 100)>> "Hey, $nickname!" You felt a tug on your sleeve. "There's Juno."
He sports a distinctive look that sets him apart. His blond hair, styled in a medium-long, curtain bangs, gives him a refined air. His most striking feature, however, is his pair of golden eyes that seem to pierce through anyone they land on.
His gaze is sharp, observant, and often carries an undercurrent of calculation or disdain.
Juno, You recall this boy being with Dante when you had awoken in the forest that day.
He was behind the panicked kid, just observing you silently before obeying his order to call for assistance. He didn't work for Dante as a servant or anything but he sure acted like he was.
Dante thought- and still thinks, it's a //friend thing// to do from Juno's side but you had decided to keep shut. You barely knew Dante back then and had chosen to keep out of other people's business.
But you and the loud kid aren't just strangers anymore, so should you ask now?
"You seem unwell."
That was a statement, not a question.
The slightly spiteful yet lax tone could only belong to Juno.
"Unwell? She seems fine to me."
<hr>
[["I'm not feeling unwell, Juno."]]
[["is that so?"]]
[["Oh, I'm alright. How are you doing?"]]
<h3>''Select your gender:''</h3><p style="font-size: 10px;">''<div class="choice">[[Boy|Skin shades][$plural to "him",$belong to $his, $belongtwo to "his", $gender to "he", $Gender to "He", $nick to "boy",$formal to "sir", $letter to "Mr.", $refer to "his", $Refer to "His", $referinconvo to "he's", $child to "son", $ladiesfirst to "after you", $worrior to "MAN", $themselves to "himself" ]]</div>''''<div class="choice">[[Girl|Skin shades][$plural to "her",$refer to "her",$Refer to "Her",$gender to "she", $Gender to "She", $nick to "girl",$formal to "Miss", $letter to "Miss" , $belong to "hers" , $belongtwo to "her", $referinconvo to "she's", $child to "daughter", $ladiesfirst to "ladies first", $warrior to "WOMAN", $themselves to "herself"]]</div>''</p><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 4</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Chicken bon voyage</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>02:20 pm</h3></span><hr>
"Now what?" You huffed. As always, Dante would suggest something but have little to no plans on how to accomplish it.
The crisis of the day was, what are you going to wear?
To say your current wear was…improper for a fancy festival was an understatement. Your pants weren't your size- being held up by your trusty worn out shoelace, same goes for your auburn colored t-shirt.
You still remember Dante stealing it from a servant that worked at his family's manor. You still feel bad for that man.
You couldn't go in the oversized clothing you currently owned.
This wasn't one of those Village festivals you often stumbled upon with the other village but one inside the town.
Actually //inside// the town.
You've never stepped foot into that part and always parted with Dante right outside your district after both of you had your fill of fun for the day, the thought of stepping in and seeing more…
<hr>
[[It made you nervous]]
[[You didn't care much for it]]
[[You were ecstatic]]
You? //Inside// the town //near// the castle? The idea was almost laughable to you.
No way that was about to happen. And in a few minutes much less.
Your stomach felt like it was flipping over, legs feeling buzzy.
The castle had high walls, easily towering over the town, and the town itself was no joke too.
Its outer walls were made of a dark stone and stretched all around the town, leaving only an entrance clear. This wall alone was intimidating enough.
You could refuse to go if you wanted but…
[[it wasn't just any festival.|carry on chapter 1]] <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>>You didn't care much for it. It's just another one of those fancy festivals those rich people that pulled their pants all the way above their bellies went to.
Nothing to cry or make a fuss about.
Nothing //you'd// make a fuss about at least.
Dante was ecstatic, unlike you and when he saw a lack of excitement in your eyes, his baffled expression almost had you snickering. Almost.
It was something he had suggested that made you stop in your tracks.
<hr>
[[Continue|carry on chapter 1]]<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>The blood rushing around your veins hasn't stilled for the past three minutes.
The town was huge and had a lot of luxuries, based on your observations from the people going in and out plus word from your friend himself. Dante. You were actually going inside the town yourself!
You remember holding Dante's hand and jumping up and down while screeching with him. An annoyed Juno next to you cursing at you both to stop embarrassing him as he inched away from you both.
You barely heard him after listening to what Dante had to say to you.
<hr>
[[Continue|carry on chapter 1]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>You'd hear the baker's bashful son getting praised for being accepted to be a contestant, A drunk body builder bragging about it to no one in particular as he wobbled past you, trying not to fall over in his feverish state.
You also remember seeing a farmer's daughter practicing with a staff, few years back.
when you went to ask why she had been whacking at the poor scarecrow for the past three hours, she laughed.
//"I'm finally going to try out at the Kabot Tournament!" She clarified, caressing the turquoise staff in her grasp "and what better weapon than my uncle's baby"//
Everyone seemed to look forward to attending it as a contestant, and for those who either couldn't enter financially, were in a very unfortunate circumstance or just weren't interested, they'd cheer on those who got accepted as potential candidates.
They were met with the occasional free beer or the //"Make us proud!"// from that one uncle that would always sit by his porch with a glass of beer. You often never saw what exactly had happened //at// the tournament and this was your first time.
And you were dressed as a poor Silversvale urchin…to which you were- but they didn't need to know that!
"I'll.. I'll see if that servant boy- Robert was it? I'll see if he's bought some new clothes!" Dante quickly suggested, nodding as if he had conjured up the most brilliant plan ever.
"Leave the poor guy out of our problems.." you deadpanned.
"Right. Then…" he muttered, eyebrows and lips scrunching. He had a habit of thinking the more you clench your jaw, the better ideas you'd get.
You never told him how much of a nonsense idea that was but you decided to let him keep his innocent thoughts. It seemed to motivate the boy.
"Aha!" He blurted out, pulling you by your wrist in a hurry and setting you near a stall. Amal's stall.
"Stay here! I'll be right back!"
You deadpanned once more. That's what he said when he left to go rob the poor Robert.
Not giving you enough time to respond, the brunette bolted off. You were alone now.
<hr>
[[Talk to Amal]]
[[Play with the locket in your pocket]]
[[Zone out]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 3</h1></span>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Face The Tall Man</h2></span>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>07:56pm</h3></span>
//A man and a young boy occupied the room. One silently seething, the other, quite afraid for his life in the back of his head. It didn't matter if he lived here, every second he feared for his possible death.//The stall owner next to you was named Amal, as you had heard from the people around.
She had no kids and had refused to be in a relationship this far, much to her mother's irritation.
You never understood what was the rush to marry someone as soon as you're of age in this village but you never bothered asking.
You seemed to not be //from here// so you had always concluded to "let them do whatever"
Anyone and everyone should do whatever they want after all, it's their life, right?
"What are you gaping at $lastname?"
It was Amal.
You had been staring at her for a few minutes now…
<hr>
[[Apologize]]
[[Compliment her]]
[[Grumble]]
The locket was a bit battered, you had found in your pocket when you woke that day.
You carefully brush your thumb across your name that had been carved in an untidy fashion. //'$name'//.
Had you done that yourself?
You didn't know what it meant, a likely important meaning gone just like that due to your memory.
<hr>
[[It bothered you]]
[[It didn't bother you much]]
You just decided to lean against a wooden pillar, pull out the locket and zone out. Thinking about random stuff. Thinking about nothing at all sometimes.
It felt nice for your brain.
But of course you didn't have too long of alone time.
Amal wanted to say something.
"$lastname, what's this?" She asks, not even looking at you. //This// being your current behavior.
The stall owner next to you was named Amal, as you had heard from the people around.
She had no kids and had refused to be in a relationship this far, much to her mother's irritation.
You never understood what was the rush to marry someone as soon as you're of age in this village but you never bothered asking.
You seemed to not be //from here// so you had always concluded to "let them do whatever"
Anyone and everyone should do whatever they want after all, it's their life, right?
<hr>
[["I'm zoning out"]]
"My bad."
"It's whatever child." She sighs, glancing behind you curiously.
"That fancy chap ditch you early today?"
"He said he'd return, and I should wait here."
"Hmh…Did you have anything?" She half mindedly asks, already knowing the answer as she starts packing some meat skewers in a small packet.
"Not, not yet."
You choose saying //yet// just to keep her from worrying much.
There are lucky and not so lucky days.
Today wasn't so promising.
<hr>
[[With a light sigh, you scratch your locket out of your pocket.|Meet Kaisen]]
"It must be tiring" you mutter, faking a sigh as you lean on her stall, prompting her to raise an amused brow.
"What's this?"
"Being so pretty AND single, I mean" you //casually// explained, stretching your arms.
"How do you do that e-ve-ry-day?"
"Ah, what a charmer you are, $lastname." She tuts, snickering a bit before turning back to her work.
"Did you have any food yet, kid?" She mutters half mindedly, already packing some meat skewers in a small packet.
"I haven't" you groan, remembering you were broke of your three useless coins today.
<hr>
[[The only thing you were able to dig out of your pocket being a locket.|Meet Kaisen]]
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof- 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
"..I wasn't staring at //you//.." you lightly. Grumble, crossing your arms as you look down at your feet that were interested in digging lightly in the dirt below you.
Be careful not to have a rock slip in your worn out slippers though…that would be annoying.
"Pfft ha, you sure do have the blood of an arrogant posh kid don't you?" She titters, rubbing your head like how an affectionate mother would.
She was used to your cold behavior and didn't find it offensive.
"You eat or not, $lastname?" She questioned half mindedly, already packing some meat skewers in a plastic bag for you.
You barely found a piece of bread today..
<hr>
[["...I guess I haven't.." You mutter, pulling out your locket.|Meet Kaisen]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>You dropped the locket by accident.
It was made of gold…you think?
You're broke but you have a gold locket…
Okay, it wasn't. //what mattered// was that the locket was quite slippery and it fell out of your tiny grasp quite often.
You were quite clumsy…
No wonder it had so many dents.
<hr>
[[Pick it up]]
"Don't forget to look around though. Rumor has it the farmer lost Aloeus." She tells you, a teasing smile clear on her face.
Aloeus, the strange chicken in the village. It was said to be 35.1 inches tall, 8.1inches taller than your average chicken.
And what you found ironic was the meaning of his name, Aloeus meant "father of giants" in Greek mythology.
The farmer was obsessed with all things Greek-ish after all.
//Every// kid was afraid of that chicken and it was very well known by adults.
And they sure did use that to their advantage.
You had witnessed several accounts of parents using that chicken to scare kids into listening and obeying.
Saying stuff like "if you don't finish up that plate, big ol' Aloeus is going to chase you all the way out into the woods."
And locking a child out for a few seconds to scare them while saying "Aloeus is gonna get you because he doesn't like naughty kids!" Followed by a teary eyed kid begging to be let in the house.
Amal mentioned that to tease you, not teach you a lesson, of course.
<hr>
[["I'm waiting for someone."]]
"The loud boy?" She asks, no rude remarks behind her question.
She was aware of your friendship with Dante.
Almost the whole village knew.
Dante's traditional clothing didn't really hide his wealth well, the only person not realizing being him. Of course.
People often ask you questions like "is he making you…//slave away for free//?" because he would have you walk around with him.
They had good intentions. Not wanting a "rich boy" to overwork a person from their village. A motherless child to make it worse.
"Yeah"
"Ah, right" she half mindedly responds, set on packing some meat skewers in a bag. "You eat anything yet $lastname?"
The meat skewers were for you.
You shake your head, a no. Not even sure if she caught that.
Finding three meals a day as a parent-less child here is not easy.
There are many with parents that still struggle due to the inflation rates from the Town up ahead.
You sometimes wonder how you're still alive when you woken a few years ago with nothing but a locket.
Right the locket.
You had developed a habit of looking at it as if you had places to be.
It was fun.
<hr>
[[Pull out the locket|Meet Kaisen]]
You wanted to know more about yourself but the restrictions hurt you.
Both mentally and physically.
The thought of losing something's meaning that most likely had an important background stung.
But what could you do?
<hr>
[[That's just life.|Amal calls you]]
//"A locket is a locket"// you told yourself. It was nothing more.
Why dwel on something unavoidable? Why mourn for something you can't fix?
The outcome is what you were destined with.
<hr>
[[What mattered now what, what were you going to do with this situation?|Amal calls you]]
"Oi" someone called out to you. It was Amal, The stall owner.
The stall owner next to you was named Amal, as you had heard from the people around.
She had no kids and had refused to be in a relationship this far, much to her mother's irritation.
You never understood what was the rush to marry someone as soon as you're of age in this village but you never bothered asking.
You seemed to not be //from here// so you had always concluded to "let them do whatever"
Anyone and everyone should do whatever they want after all, it's their life, right?
"Are you hungry?" She asks, not wanting to question your concerns for the sake of not messing your potentially dampened mood further.
"Yeah."
She hums in return. She heard you.
Amal begins packing some meat skewers in a packet. Were they for you?
<hr>
[[The locket suddenly slips out of your grasp.|Meet Kaisen]]
Reaching down, you decide to pick it up.
It doesn't look like it was dented this time.
Fortunately. Butterfingers.
<hr>
[[Look under Amal's stall]]One curious peek under the stall, and you froze in your tracks.
Sitting beneath it was a boy around your age, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees as he rested his head in silence.
<hr>
[[Tell Amal]]
[[Continue staring]]
[[Whisper to him]]
"Uhh, Amal," you began, your voice faltering as the words caught in your throat.
The soft sound was enough to alert the boy. He lifted his head slowly, his purple bangs falling away to reveal more of his pale face. A beauty mark near his lip drew your eye, but it was the vivid pink scar on his cheek that truly captured your attention.
This wasn't an ordinary scar. Its bright hue stood out starkly against his pallid skin, lacking the typical rough texture or signs of healing. It resembled a birthmark more than an injury, an enigmatic feature that only added to his mysterious allure.
His eyes met yours, and you found yourself frozen in place. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth that spoke of untold stories. His expression remained a cipher, a delicate balance of vulnerability and wariness that left you unable to discern his thoughts.
Light filtering through the gaps in the stall played across his features, casting a soft, ethereal glow. It accentuated the stark contrast between his pale skin and the deep, rich color of his hair, creating an almost otherworldly effect.
<hr>
[[He was pretty good looking, you had to admit.|Explain Yourself]]You found yourself transfixed, caught in a moment of silent fascination. How should you approach this unexpected encounter? What words could possibly bridge the gap between you and this mysterious figure?
The sudden shadow you cast alerted him, and he languidly raised his gaze. As his face came into full view, you were struck by the interplay of unique features before you.
Vibrant purple hair cascaded over his pale visage, framing features that exuded an ethereal elegance. A delicate beauty mark graced the area near his lower lip, drawing attention to the soft curve of his mouth. But it was the distinctive pinkish scar on his right cheek that truly captivated you—a clean, almost luminous mark that blurred the line between scar and birthmark.
To call him merely beautiful would be an injustice. There was an undeniable magnetism about him, amplified by the enigmatic allure of that scar. You found yourself wondering about its origin, about the story behind this boy's presence here.
"And what is it that you want exactly?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of wariness and intrigue as he leaned back casually on his palms. The question hung in the air, challenging you.
<hr>
[[It seemed that he wasn't bothered that you found him alone under the stall.|Explain Yourself]]"Psst!"
A beat of silence hung in the air, thick and expectant.
"Psst!" you tried again, your whisper more urgent this time.
Still no response. Was he genuinely oblivious, or deliberately ignoring you?
"PSSSST!" The sound finally pierced his bubble, causing the boy to startle. His head snapped up, eyes wide as he registered your presence.
His tousled purple hair fell in unruly waves, casting intriguing shadows across his features. Your gaze was drawn to his lips, adorned with a delicate beauty mark that seemed to accentuate their soft curve.
But there was more to his face than just this subtle adornment.
Etched on his right cheek was another marking - or was it a birthmark? It boasted a hue of soft pink, its edges so precisely defined that it resembled the careful brushstroke of an artist rather than the jagged reminder of an injury.
"What do you want?" he queried, tilting his head. His tone carried a blend of lazy nonchalance and faint intrigue, mirrored in the depths of his enigmatic eyes.
There was an undeniable air of elegant allure about him. Handsome seemed too simple a word to encompass the magnetic pull of his presence, leaving you momentarily at a loss for words.
<hr>
[[You had to admit.|Explain Yourself]]
"Oh, nothing. I just dropped my stuff and saw you under... Amal's stall?" You try to keep your voice casual, but curiosity seeps through.
"Don't look too deep into it..." He responds, his tone a mixture of warning and weariness.
"Right..." you mutter, more to yourself than him. The tension in the air is palpable, and you're not sure how to diffuse it.
"Who're you?" His blunt question catches you off guard. It's not the usual 'what's your name,' but a more probing 'who are you.' The distinction isn't lost on you, adding to the boy's air of mystery.
"$name," you answer, your own name suddenly feeling foreign on your tongue.
"$name... okay," he mutters. The way he says your name is different, almost as if he's testing how it feels. It sends an inexplicable shiver down your spine.
"Alright, up we go." He sighs, a hint of resignation in his voice. He gathers his small dark brown satchel, movements fluid and practiced. Without waiting for you to step aside, he emerges from his hiding spot, forcing you to stumble back.
As both of you straighten up, the realization hits you - Amal has been waiting patiently to give you the food. Your cheeks warm with embarrassment at having forgotten her.
"Where'd you disappear off to?" Amal asks, her eyes darting between you and her busy hands skimming over her stall.
<hr>
[[Ask for more]]
[[Demand more]]
[[Point at the stall]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 3</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Face The Tall Man</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>13:00 pm</h3></span><hr>
Cold air rushed in from below the dark room's door. It was a nice door, made of strong wood, a few elegant engravings decorating it and finally being coated with a shiny liquid. polyurethane maybe. But no matter how elegant the door might be, it was unable to keep away the cold currents it welcomed in the room.
The room itself matched the wind's description. Cold and unwelcoming. Would turn away everyone. at least, almost everyone.
A man and a young boy occupied the room. One silently seething, the other, quite afraid for his life in the back of his head. It didn't matter if he lived here, every second he feared for his possible death.
The tall man was cracking but not unstable, calm but not lenient, macabre in a sense but had a way of making you sound like you were seeing things in other's eyes. Make you seem like you were creating fantasies, ''make you seem crazy.''
<hr>
[[Just as was done to him]]
<div id="ellipsis-container">
<span class="fade-in" id="dot1">...</span>
<span class="fade-in" id="dot2">...</span>
<span class="fade-in" id="dot3">...</span>
<span class="fade-in" id="chat">But he did let it happen, and he knew he would answer to the tall man tonight.
//''"sorry?"''// the tall man snickered, his dried lips forming a lopsided grin. Both his eyes were still glued to the trembling boy, both eyes never blinking.
The tall man walked closer.
The boy voiced out a whimper.
Closer, came the tall man.
The boy began strugglin.
The tall man held the boy by his neck, holding him up against the wall right beside the pretty door, the pretty yet old door.
//''"Eight"''// The tall man began, his nails digging in the boy's flesh. The boy didn't retaliate, the boy didn't struggle one bit. Paralyzed on the spot. The tall man had never gotten this close. //''"You've got eight years to fix this"''//
What…was happening? The boy was sure he would be on his deathbed a minute later. He had time…//he had time//.
//''"I dare you, young blood. Mess up"''// the tall man once again grinned eerily, his emotions had switched too much, the boy couldn't keep up.
<hr>
[[slip]]</span> </div>
<<timed 2s>> <<script>> document.getElementById("dot1").classList.add("show"); <</script>> <</timed>> <<timed 4s>>
<<script>> document.getElementById("dot2").classList.add("show"); <</script>> <</timed>> <<timed 6s>> <<script>>
document.getElementById("dot3").classList.add("show"); <</script>> <</timed>> <<timed 6s>>
<<script>>
document.getElementById("chat").classList.add("show"); <</script>> <</timed>>The tall man let go, sending the boy crashing to the ground from the height. The boy had landed awkwardly, one hand pressed on by his pinky finger, the other having landed on his wrist but he didn't dare cry. He //couldn't//.
He clenched his eyes shut, he couldn't cry. ''he couldn't cry''.
He was almost out. The broken Terrarium rolled to bump his leg. Mocking him for breaking it. Both the boy and the Terrarium sat on the floor, broken.
Slowly he begins to open his eyes. The tall man wasn't in the room. The boy didn't hear him leave. //What a relief//.
<hr>
[[Juno had to fix this...Juno didn't want to die|Chapter 1]]
"Um, Amal," you begin cautiously, fully aware you're testing her patience now.
"What? This isn't your last meal ever," she gestures dismissively. "I'll give you more later so you don't have to scavenge."
"No, that's not it," you add nervously, fidgeting with the package in your hands.
"Then?" Amal's eyebrow arches, curiosity piqued.
You pause, caught in a moment of indecision. You could make up some excuse about being extra hungry, or simply ask for food for the boy. But a nagging thought persists - Amal isn't wealthy, and this meal probably cost her a good 70 Kilons.
Still, the boy looked hungry. Surely one extra meal wouldn't hurt... right?
"I wanted just a little more for that boy over there," you finally blurt out, pointing at his retreating figure. As if on cue, he nearly trips over a stray newspaper, his nose so high in the air he doesn't see where he's going. You bite back a laugh, remembering your mission.
"The little guy... looks hungry too, ya know," you add lamely, cringing at your own words.
"Little guy?" Amal chuckles, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You're little too, $name."
"You get what I mean!" you burst out, flustered and frustrated. Persuasion clearly isn't your strong suit.
Amal's laughter grows, filling the air around her stall. You can't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and affection at her reaction.
"Alrighty," she finally says, catching her breath. "I'll pack more before you lose your little Romeo. But you owe me," she adds with a wink, already reaching for more food.
As she packs, you feel a rush of gratitude. Amal might not be your mother, but in moments like these, her care for you shines through, warming you more than any meal ever could.
<hr>
[[His name is Romeo??]]
"I want more," you blurt out, surprising even yourself with your directness.
"Wha-" Amal begins, before a huff of laughter cuts her off. "What the- $name. This isn't your last meal ever, you know. Calm down," she says, shaking her head and turning back to her work.
"That's not why I'm asking, Miss Amal!" You call out, wincing at how desperate you sound. You hadn't meant to yell, but your urgency got the better of you.
Amal pauses, turning back with a raised eyebrow. Her expression is a mix of surprise and curiosity. "And what is this extra food for, then?"
You point in the direction of the boy you just met. He's walking away, his nose so high in the air that he nearly trips over a newspaper wrapped around his feet. You stifle a laugh, remembering your mission to convince Amal.
"He was hiding under your stall just now," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady. "He looks hungry, so I wanted to give him something too." You feel a twinge of guilt as you say this, knowing Amal isn't rich and this food probably cost her around 70 Kilons.
The boy is clearly not from your village - you know everyone here. He seems to be just passing through, which makes you even more curious about his story.
Amal studies you for a moment, her expression softening. "Alright," she says, turning to her equipment. "I'll give you some more, but you owe me, yeah?"
"Sure," you agree quickly, relief washing over you.
"Good." She flashes a warm smile before abruptly changing gears. "Your options for the day are a Gala Pie, Fried Fish Cakes, Hostess Pudding Pie, and a Quiche Lorraine. Which one do you want?"
The sudden shift to menu options catches you off guard, but you're grateful for Amal's generosity. As you ponder your choice, you can't help but wonder what the strange boy would prefer.
<hr>
''<div class="choice">[[Gala pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a gala pie , this type of pie is made with gammon and is pork-based, with a row of hard-boiled and salted eggs running straight through the centre encased in a crisp, golden pastry." , $FN to "gala pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[fried fish cakes][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a fried fish cake, a savory delight made from flaked white fish mixed with mashed potatoes, herbs, and spices. The mixture is shaped into patties, coated in breadcrumbs, and fried to a crispy, golden brown. The inside is tender and flavorful, offering a satisfying contrast to the crunchy exterior. Perfectly seasoned, these fish cakes are a comforting and hearty snack." , $FN to "fried fish cakes"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Hostess Pudding Pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a hostess pudding pie, this is a type of pastry filled with either chocolate or vanilla pudding before being dipped in chocolate, making a crusted thin layer over the little pie itself.", $FN to "hostess pudding pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Quiche lorraine][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a quiche lorraine, this is a type of tart that is filled with savory custard and bits of swiss cheese and meat, which is then covered with pie-like pastry." , $FN to "quiche lorraine" ]]</div>''
g67You point below the stall as Amal raises an eyebrow. "I mean I did see that already- but okay."
"more please." You simply ask. Why complicate things when it's easier to ask directly.
"Is there a reason why you need more //today// specifically?"
"The boy over there looks like he isn't from around here and he was hiding under your stall. Probably hungry." You mutter, glancing over as he walks, away, almost tripping over a newspaper that wrapped around his feet as he was walking with his nose so high up.
You snickered. He was quite strange, you had to admit.
"Hmm…" Amal hums in thought. Looking over at the boy you pointed at. "Poor thing…"
"Alrighty," she begins, turning to her equipment. "I'll give you some more but you owe me, yeah?"
You nod in agreement.
"perfect. Now." She abruptly changed her tone from soft to business-like. Amal was really different that way. "What's your pick? A Gala Pie, Fried Fish Cakes, Hostess Pudding Pie, or a Quiche Lorraine?"
<hr>
''<div class="choice">[[Gala pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a gala pie , this type of pie is made with gammon and is pork-based, with a row of hard-boiled and salted eggs running straight through the centre encased in a crisp, golden pastry." , $FN to "gala pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[fried fish cakes][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a fried fish cake, a savory delight made from flaked white fish mixed with mashed potatoes, herbs, and spices. The mixture is shaped into patties, coated in breadcrumbs, and fried to a crispy, golden brown. The inside is tender and flavorful, offering a satisfying contrast to the crunchy exterior. Perfectly seasoned, these fish cakes are a comforting and hearty snack." , $FN to "fried fish cakes"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Hostess Pudding Pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a hostess pudding pie, this is a type of pastry filled with either chocolate or vanilla pudding before being dipped in chocolate, making a crusted thin layer over the little pie itself.", $FN to "hostess pudding pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Quiche lorraine][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a quiche lorraine, this is a type of tart that is filled with savory custard and bits of swiss cheese and meat, which is then covered with pie-like pastry." , $FN to "quiche lorraine" ]]</div>''"His name is Romeo?" You ask, oblivious to her reference.
"Uh-uh $name. You should read more." She tuts, snickering at the futility of saying that.
Silvervale was not known for having libraries like Emperor's Arcanum. Not even a small book house plus a proper district center, much less a whole library.
"I'll go once we have one!" You anxiously respond, turning your head back continuously and forth between the kid and Amal. The boy was about to disappear…
"Good." She flashes a smile before abruptly carrying on. "your options for the day are A gala pie, Fried Fish Cakes, Hostess Pudding Pie, and a quiche lorraine. Which one do you want?"
<hr>
''<div class="choice">[[Gala pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a gala pie , this type of pie is made with gammon and is pork-based, with a row of hard-boiled and salted eggs running straight through the centre encased in a crisp, golden pastry." , $FN to "gala pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[fried fish cakes][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a fried fish cake, a savory delight made from flaked white fish mixed with mashed potatoes, herbs, and spices. The mixture is shaped into patties, coated in breadcrumbs, and fried to a crispy, golden brown. The inside is tender and flavorful, offering a satisfying contrast to the crunchy exterior. Perfectly seasoned, these fish cakes are a comforting and hearty snack." , $FN to "fried fish cakes"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Hostess Pudding Pie][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a hostess pudding pie, this is a type of pastry filled with either chocolate or vanilla pudding before being dipped in chocolate, making a crusted thin layer over the little pie itself.", $FN to "hostess pudding pie"]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[Quiche lorraine][$fpfk to "add sentence here",$atr to "add sentence here" ,$wp to "You picked a quiche lorraine, this is a type of tart that is filled with savory custard and bits of swiss cheese and meat, which is then covered with pie-like pastry." , $FN to "quiche lorraine" ]]</div>''The air hung heavy and still, warm and thick with the scents of spices and sun-baked stone. As you hurried through the narrow streets, the only movement was the occasional flutter of colorful awnings and tapestries adorning the simple mud-brick and sandstone houses. These vibrant fabrics, ranging from deep crimsons to rich indigos, served as both decoration and practical shade from the relentless sun.
You passed a circle of men and women huddled on the porch of a building, their voices a low murmur as they engaged in a card game. The aroma of fresh bread wafted from nearby, unmistakably from the bakery owned by Amal's mother. Though you'd never stepped inside, tales of her legendary pumpkin bread were as common as the dust on the streets.
Weaving through the growing crowd, you caught sight of your goal - the strange boy from earlier. Despite the distance between you, his distinctive gait was unmistakable. He moved with a curious blend of purpose and nonchalance, his body swaying slightly as if in tune with some unheard melody.
His eyes, safely hidden beneath his purple fringe, seemed to take in every detail of the bustling marketplace around him. There was an ease to his movements that suggested familiarity, as if he'd walked these winding alleys a thousand times before.
Suddenly, the air was split by a rhythmic clanking, growing louder with each passing second. The sound of hooves striking the packed earth in a steady beat followed, and you realized with a jolt that a carriage was bearing down on you from behind. The already narrow street seemed to constrict further as people pressed themselves against walls and into doorways to make way.
<hr>
[[Dodge to your left]]
[[Dodge to your right]]
In a swift motion, you dart to your left, your shoulder colliding with a large wooden gate's latch. The gate swings open with a loud thump, and pain explodes through your arm. Your small frame shudders as waves of sharp, hammering agony radiate from your shoulder.
Clutching your injury, you look up at the approaching carriage. Its pristine white exterior is adorned with intricate gold filigree, a stark contrast to the dusty streets of Kabot. The opulent design immediately marks it as belonging to someone of great importance or wealth.
The blonde, elderly horseman steering the carriage fixes you with a nasty glare. His eyes, cold and hard, seem to bore into you with unmistakable disgust. You recognize that look - it's the same one often directed at those who live just beyond Kabot's boundaries. To many within the town, your life is deemed less valuable, not worth the concern of being run over or even kidnapped.
As the carriage rolls past, you notice it's heading towards the western border of Kabot, in the direction of Nov. A chill runs down your spine as you recall the whispered gossip that often circulates through the marketplace. The western Novs, they say, are a bitter and resentful people, still smarting from their defeat in the war and chafing under Kabot's rule. Though forced to hide their animosity, their disdain seeps through in looks and gestures just like the one you've just received.
The horseman offers no apology or show of remorse for nearly running you down. Instead, he snaps the reins, urging the horses to pick up their pace as if eager to leave Kabot and its people behind. As the carriage disappears down the street, you're left nursing your throbbing shoulder and pondering the complex tensions that simmer just beneath the surface of daily life in your world.
<hr>
[[Plus, you are just an orphan child after all|Meet Kaisen Fr]]
<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 5, 0, 100)>>
With a sudden burst of instinct, you veer sharply to your right. The carriage, caught off guard, swerves left, its wheel catching on a potted plant and dragging it into a nearby farmer's gate with a loud clatter.
Pain shoots through your elbow as you stumble and fall. Without even looking, you know the damage - the first layer of skin likely scraped clean off, leaving raw, stinging flesh exposed.
The carriage driver, an older man with blonde hair, doesn't even pause. His eyes, cold and filled with disdain, flick over you briefly. There's no hint of concern, no rushed apology, not even a perfunctory check to see if you're alright. Instead, all you receive is a look of unmistakable disgust.
This treatment isn't surprising. Living just outside Kabot's boundaries, you're used to being treated as less than human. The driver's lack of concern is par for the course - your well-being simply doesn't register as important to him.
As he snaps the reins and urges his horses onward, you notice the carriage's opulent white and gold design. It's clearly headed towards the western border, towards Nov. A chill runs down your spine as you recall the rumors about the western Novs - bitter and resentful after losing the war, forced to hide their animosity towards Kabot but doing a poor job of it.
The carriage disappears down the street, leaving you nursing your injuries and pondering the complex web of tensions that define your world. To many within Kabot, especially those from Nov, your life is deemed expendable - not worth the concern of being run over or even kidnapped. It's a harsh reality, but one you've grown accustomed to navigating daily.
<hr>
[[As expected. You are just an orphan child after all|Meet Kaisen Fr]]
<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 5, 0, 100)>>
Finally catching up to the boy, you find him sitting on a dark-shaded box, arms crossed and leaning back with an amused grin. It's clear he was aware of your chase all along.
"Almost got run over there," he remarks, his voice clear and confident for someone his age.
He hops off the box unhurriedly, hands slipping into his pockets as he strolls towards you with a casual air. His leisured approach seems to say he has all the time in the world.
Suddenly self-conscious, you fidget with your worn shirt. His clothes, while not fancy, are noticeably better kept than your beat-up attire. Clearing your throat, you produce the $FN you'd chosen.
"This is for you," you offer, trying to keep your voice steady.
"Hmm?" he hums, his eyebrows lifting in what seems like surprise. But is it genuine, or just another part of his playful act?
You wonder if he'll accept food from someone like you, hoping he isn't too picky.
<<if $FN is "fried fish cakes">>He takes the back, peeking into it. His eyes seem to widen slightly, flickering his gaze between you and the fried fish cakes as if confirming if it's really his before nodding with a small smile. "Thanks, $name was it?" <<else>>"Thanks, $name was it?" he says, eyeing the bag's contents without any sign of dislike for your modest offering. It's no fancy treat, but then again, nothing in this district is particularly fancy.<</if>>
Suddenly, you realize you never asked for his name in return. The earlier rush to convince Amal must have pushed it from your mind.
"Yes, that's my name. And yours?" you ask, trying to match his casual tone.
A mischievous glint appears in his eyes as he responds, "Who's asking?"
His playful deflection catches you off guard. 'Who's asking?' The question hangs in the air, challenging you to engage in his little game.
<hr>
[["I already told you my name!"]]
[[Tell him your name again]]
[[Just say your last name]]
<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $FN === "fried fish cakes">>
<script>
showKaisenFavoriteFoodNotification();
</script>
<</if>>"I had already given you my name!" You exhale in exhaustion, a mix of frustration and bewilderment coloring your voice. Did he really ask again after confirming your name just moments ago?
"Did I?" He asks, tilting his head slightly sideways. The movement causes his purple hair to shift, nearly revealing the eyes that have remained hidden. For a brief moment, you think you might catch a glimpse of them, but the strands fall back into place. "My bad," he adds, his tone dripping with faux innocence.
Just from the lilt in his voice and the barely suppressed smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, you can tell he's just messing around. His playful demeanor is both infuriating and oddly charming, leaving you unsure whether to be annoyed or amused.
"You know," you start, trying to keep your composure, "most people would just introduce themselves after someone gives them their name."
He shrugs, the movement casual and fluid. "Most people aren't me," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of pride mixed with playfulness.
You find yourself caught between wanting to press further and playing along with his game. This boy is unlike anyone you've met in the village, and you can't help but be intrigued by his mysterious air.
<hr>
//[[cluck cluck]]//
"My name is $name," you declare, your voice firm and clear. You emphasize each syllable, wondering if perhaps he genuinely forgot in the short span of time since you first introduced yourself.
"Oh? What a pretty name," he responds, the corner of his lips inching higher and higher until a full-blown smirk takes over his face. You imagine his eyes, hidden behind his purple fringe, sparkling with mischief.
It dawns on you then - he's just messing around with you. His playful tone and the barely contained grin on his face make it clear that he remembers your name perfectly well. He's simply enjoying this little game of his.
"You're teasing me, aren't you?" you ask, a mix of exasperation and amusement coloring your voice.
He lets out a soft chuckle, confirming your suspicion. "Maybe a little," he admits, his voice light and playful. "It's not every day someone chases me down to give me food."
You find yourself torn between irritation at his antics and a growing curiosity about this enigmatic boy. His carefree attitude is so different from the usual seriousness of life in your village.
"Well, since you know my name," you press on, determined now, "isn't it only fair that I know yours?"
He pauses for a moment, as if considering your request. His head tilts slightly, causing his hair to shift, you catch a fleeting glimpse of his eyes through the parting strands of his purple hair. They're pitch black, startlingly so, like two obsidian marbles set against his pale skin. The sight is both mesmerizing and slightly unnerving, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
<hr>
//[[cluck cluck]]//
"$name $lastname?" He mutters, his tone suddenly more serious. He waits patiently, his head slightly tilted as he anticipates your confirmation.
As he moves, you catch a fleeting glimpse of his eyes through the parting strands of his purple hair. They're pitch black, startlingly so, like two obsidian marbles set against his pale skin. The sight is both mesmerizing and slightly unnerving, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
A nod from you is enough to satisfy him. His lips curl into a small, knowing smile.
The realization hits you like a sudden gust of wind - he already knew your full name, and yet he still asked? Your mind races, trying to piece together this puzzle. How could he know your last name when you hadn't mentioned it?
"You... you knew my name all along?" you ask, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. "But how?"
He shrugs, the movement casual but somehow graceful. "I hear things," he says cryptically, that mischievous glint returning to what little you can see of his eyes.
You find yourself even more intrigued by this mysterious boy. Not only does he seem to enjoy playing little mind games, but he also appears to have knowledge he shouldn't possess. The questions multiply in your mind: Who is he really? Where did he come from? And most importantly, why is he here?
"So," you start, trying to regain some control of the conversation, "since you know so much about me, isn't it only fair that I know something about you? Like your name, perhaps?"
He seems to consider this for a moment, his head tilting again, but this time his hair remains stubbornly in place, denying you another glimpse of those intriguing black eyes.
<hr>
//[[cluck cluck]]//
Your eyes dart towards the boy, a silent warning to stay still, as if any sudden movement might trigger the impending chaos. The air seems to vibrate with tension, heavy with the promise of pursuit. The boy's curious gaze, however, remains fixed on the source of the ominous clucking, his ignorance of the local legend almost palpable.
The sound grows louder, more insistent, and you can imagine the ground tremble beneath your feet as Aloeus, the notorious town chicken, begins its menacing approach. The boy's eyebrows raise, a mixture of fascination and fear creeping into his expression, as he takes in the sight of the gargantuan fowl before muttering a "what...is that?"
Aloeus's plumage, a fiery blaze of orange and red, seems to glow with an otherworldly intensity, as if fueled by a malevolent spirit. The chicken's beady eyes, fixed intently on you both, appear to bore into your souls, calculating the best route for the chase. Its wings, strong and muscular, flex in anticipation, casting long, ominous shadows on the ground.
The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetation, a primal aroma that seems to awaken a deep, primal fear within you. Your heart pounds in your chest, as if trying to escape the confines of your ribcage, and you can feel the boy's eyes on you, searching for a cue, a sign of what to do next. The only sound is the low, ominous clucking, growing louder, more menacing, as Aloeus prepares to unleash its wrath upon you both.
<hr>
[[Scream and run|ScreamAndRun]]
[[Warn the boy, then scream and run|ScreamWarnThenRun]]
[[Just start running|JustRun]]
[[Warn the boy and run|WarnAndRun]]
Suddenly, you spot it - the village's notorious chicken, Aloeus. Your heart leaps into your throat, and before you can think, a high-pitched scream escapes your lips. You know instantly that you've made a mistake; the sound will only excite Aloeus further, but fear overrides reason.
Without warning, you bolt, leaving the confused new boy behind. The chill racing up your spine propels you forward, your feet barely touching the ground as you flee. You're vaguely aware that you should have warned him, but terror has taken the wheel.
"What in the world is that thing?!" His voice, tinged with a mix of heavy confusion and slight amusement, tells you he's keeping pace behind you. You chance a quick glance over your shoulder.
The boy is there, his eyebrows knitted together in a blend of concentration and bewilderment. His eyes dart between you and the pursuing chicken, clearly seeking an explanation. You notice his gaze lingering on your trembling hands, understanding dawning on his face.
"J-just don't let it catch you!" you manage to stammer out, your voice shaky with adrenaline. You duck under low-hanging planks and weave around rolls of rugs displayed outside shops, your local knowledge giving you a slight edge.
The boy, despite being new to the town, matches your frantic pace with surprising agility. His movements are fluid and purposeful, a stark contrast to your panicked scramble. You can hear the frustration in his voice as he calls out again.
"A little more warning next time would be nice!" he shouts, deftly sidestepping a barrel without losing speed. "Is this a normal day for you folks?"
You want to explain, to apologize for dragging him into this bizarre chase, but all your energy is focused on escape. The thunderous clucking behind you grows louder, Aloeus gaining ground with each passing second.
As you round a corner, you realize you owe this boy more than just an explanation - if you both survive this, that is. For now, all you can do is run and hope that your local knowledge and his unexpected athleticism will be enough to outpace the terror that is Aloeus.
<hr>
[[You couldn't slow down unless you wanted to get pecked to death by the deformed chicken.]] <<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<if !$panicAtTheFarmAchieved >> <<set $panicAtTheFarmAchieved = true>> <<run unlockAchievement("panicAtTheFarm")>>
<</if>>"Run!" You scream, your voice cracking with urgency. The boy flinches at your volume, his eyes widening in surprise before understanding dawns on his face. Without hesitation, he bolts, and you're right behind him.
You know you shouldn't have yelled - it'll only make Aloeus more frenzied - but the chill racing up your spine overrode all reason. The thunderous clucking behind you confirms your fears: the chase is on.
To your amazement, the boy keeps pace easily, his strides long and effortless. While you're already panting, he's barely broken a sweat, his breathing steady and controlled.
"What is that thing?!" he shouts, a mix of excitement and disbelief in his voice. It's the typical reaction of any newcomer to the village, and you've been anticipating this question.
"Just don't let it catch you!" you manage to gasp out between labored breaths. You duck under low-hanging planks and weave around rug rolls displayed outside shops, your local knowledge helping you navigate the impromptu obstacle course.
But your stamina is failing fast. Your legs feel like lead, and each breath burns in your chest. Aloeus is gaining ground, its beady eyes fixed on you with terrifying intensity.
Just as you think it's over, the boy springs into action. In one fluid motion, he snatches a bucket from a nearby stall and pivots. With pinpoint accuracy, he tosses it over Aloeus's head, momentarily halting the chicken's pursuit.
Laughter bubbles from his throat as he watches Aloeus stagger about, disoriented. "Come on!" he says, grabbing your arm and pulling you along. "Nice warning, by the way. Saved us both from being sitting ducks... or chickens, I guess!"
His infectious grin and the adrenaline coursing through your veins give you a second wind. As you both sprint away from the temporarily incapacitated Aloeus, you can't help but feel a mix of relief and exhilaration.
"Thanks," you pant, matching his pace as best you can.
<hr>
[[You couldn't slow down unless you wanted to get pecked to death by the deformed chicken.]] <<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<if !$screamAndSprintAchieved >> <<set $screamAndSprintAchieved = true>> <<run unlockAchievement("screamAndSprint")>>
<</if>>Instinct kicks in and you start running, your feet pounding against the dusty street. You leave behind a confused kid, guilt nipping at your heels along with the infamous Aloeus.
It doesn't take long for the chicken's unnatural, jerky gait to register as a threat to the boy. He springs into action, his initial bewilderment morphing into focused determination.
To your surprise, he catches up quickly, his speed impressive. He shoots you a silent, reproachful look before turning his attention to the path ahead. It's clear he doesn't appreciate being left behind without warning, and something in his eyes tells you he's not one to forget such slights easily.
"What is that thing?!" he shouts, his voice a mix of exasperation and excitement.
You've been waiting for this question - it's the typical reaction from any newcomer to the village.
"Aloeus!" you yell back, your breath coming in short bursts. "Just run and don't look behind you!"
You're too busy navigating the obstacle course of your village streets to elaborate further. You slide under low-hanging planks and dodge rug rolls displayed outside shops, your familiarity with the terrain giving you an edge.
But the boy... he's something else entirely. He leaps over obstacles with a grace that seems almost unnatural, his movements fluid and precise. Where you dodge, he vaults. Where you weave, he seems to glide.
Despite your head start, he's pulled ahead now, his agility on full display. You can't help but admire his speed and coordination, even as you struggle to keep up. A glance at his face shows that his initial annoyance has given way to amusement - he's actually enjoying this bizarre chase.
"Is this how you always greet newcomers?" he calls back, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he effortlessly sidesteps a cart.
You want to respond, to explain, but you're too winded. All you can do is push yourself to match his pace, marveling at how he's turned this panic-inducing flee into what looks like an exhilarating game.
<hr>
[[You couldn't slow down unless you wanted to get pecked to death by the deformed chicken.]] <<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<if !$coldFeetAchieved >> <<set $coldFeetAchieved = true>> <<run unlockAchievement("coldFeet")>>
<</if>>"Start running," you order, your tone matter-of-fact. Without waiting for a response, you swiftly move around him and break into a run.
This is routine for you, and to anyone unaware that he's not from around here, it might seem like it's routine for him too. But you know better.
As you run, you can't help but notice his effortless pace. He's keeping up with you easily, and you suspect he could run much faster if he wanted to. It's clear he's not exerting himself fully.
You watch as he swerves past a pole with fluid grace, a small smile of amusement never leaving his face. While you're focused on escape, he seems to be enjoying the thrill of being chased by the infamous Aloeus.
A near collision with a stall jolts you back to your own predicament. You narrowly avoid it, reminding yourself to pay attention to your surroundings.
"What is that thing?!" he calls out over the rush of wind, a hint of confusion in his voice despite his apparent enjoyment.
It's a question you've heard countless times from newcomers to the village. So common, in fact, that you were waiting for him to ask.
"Aloeus!" you shout back, your voice steady despite your exertion. "Just run and don't look behind you!"
You're too preoccupied with navigating the obstacle course of your village to elaborate further. You slide under low-hanging planks and dodge rug rolls displayed outside shops, your familiarity with the terrain evident in your movements.
The boy, however, moves with an almost supernatural agility. He leaps over obstacles you have to duck under, his movements fluid and precise. Despite your local knowledge, he's pulling ahead.
"You're not bad at this!" he calls back, his voice barely strained. "Do you practice running from chickens often?"
You don't respond, partly because you're conserving energy, and partly because you're not sure if he's complimenting you or teasing you. Either way, you maintain your silent demeanor, focusing on the chase.
As Aloeus's angry squawks echo behind you, you find yourself grudgingly impressed by this strange boy's abilities. Not that you have the breath to verbally admit it, of course.
<hr>
[[You couldn't slow down unless you wanted to get pecked to death by the deformed chicken.]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>><<if !$braveLittleHeroAchieved>> <<set $sbraveLittleHeroAchieved = true>> <<run unlockAchievement("braveLittleHero")>>
<</if>>Tap this passage, then the pencil icon to edit it.<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>???'s POV</h1></span>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>12:22</h3></span>
His legs felt relaxed, finally stretching in a proper run. This was fun, and it had only begun.
From the corner of his eye, he could see $name still running beside him. $gender looked tired, $refer breathing labored, while he felt like he could go on for hours.
It had only been forty-one seconds so far.
Yes, he was counting. It was a habit he'd picked up from someone special, someone he knew long ago. The familiar rhythm of numbers in his head was comforting amidst the chaos.
'Forty-two.'
He dodged a wooden ladder with fluid grace, barely breaking his stride.
'Forty-three.'
He leapt over a little kid carving... on the ground? The peculiarity of it made him smile. This district was full of surprises.
This place seemed fun. Way more fun than... that place. Yusei would've loved to see this with him...
The thought of Yusei sent a pang through his chest, but he quickly shook it off. Now wasn't the time for memories.
He had glanced over to his companion once more. $gender was still going, determination etched on $refer face despite $refer fatigue.
He found himself impressed by $refer resilience. Most people would've given up by now, but $gender kept pushing forward. It made him curious about what other surprises district 5- and this $nick - might hold.
As they rounded another corner, dodging startled villagers and upended carts, he felt a surge of exhilaration. This was more than just a chase; it was an adventure. And for the first time in a long while, he felt truly alive.
The chicken's squawks behind them only added to the thrill. He laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. This District, with its bizarre situations, was turning out to be exactly what he needed.
$name's voice called out, pulling him back to the present.
<hr>
//[['who in the world is this!?']]//You notice a figure pop up a few meters ahead. Squinting through the dust kicked up by your frantic running, you recognize Dante's familiar mop of dark brown hair.
He's walking towards you, an obliviously bright smile plastered on his face as he shifts a lump of clothing away from his eyes.
"HEY! $nickname! I got your-"
"RUN!" you bellow, your voice cracking with urgency.
Dante's smile freezes, confusion replacing his cheerful expression as he sees you and the strange boy barreling towards him at full speed. For a moment, he stands there, clothes clutched to his chest, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
It's only when he catches sight of the deformed chicken behind you, its beady eyes glinting with murderous intent, that reality sinks in. He's either going to meet the Aloes fate or in a few seconds he was going to turn into roadkill.
Dante's eyes widen comically, his jaw dropping open. In a panic, he spins around so fast he nearly topples over. The clothes in his arms go flying, and he does an awkward dance trying to catch them mid-air while simultaneously attempting to run.
He manages to snag most of the garments, but a sock lands precariously on his head as he finally finds his footing. With a yelp that sounds more like a squeaky toy than a human, Dante takes off, his legs pumping furiously.
He seemed to have gotten <hr>[[the message now.]]Aloeus was getting uneasy. You had to lose him and fast.
"Let's go here" the new boy suggests, nudging a thumb towards a run down building up ahead as he simply jogged near you. You still wondered at the back of your head how he wasn't breaking a sweat.
"Or here! It's closer!" Dante's voice cracks from nervousness. It must be uncomfortable to run in his over decorated dress shoes. It seemed like black cavellas were the new obsession.
The place he suggested was cleaner and had a gate all around it except for a small bit. You were sure you could all fit.
<<if $mode is "detailed">><hr>
[[Go into the cleaner building|Production Speaking]]
[[Run into the rundown building|Production Speaking]]<</if>> <<if $mode is "immersive">>
<hr>
[[Go into the cleaner building|Go into the cleaner building][$selectedMentor = "The Overseer"]]
[[Run into the rundown building|Run into the rundown shack][$selectedMentor = "Nag Walan"]]<</if>>
<<set $waxnaMentor to 0>><<set $nagwalanMentor to 0>><<set $theoverseerMentor to 0>> "Go in there!" You call out, your voice a mix of excitement and urgency as you guide both boys towards the ornate gate.
Dante ducks in first, his haste rewarded with a dull thud as he collides with the flat edge. A pained whine escapes him as he covers his forehead and nose immediately, but he presses on by stumbling in. The new boy follows, his strength surprising as he effortlessly hauls you in before swinging the gate shut with a resounding clang. You catch a glimpse of Aloeus's frustrated scowl before it's fully shut as he turns back towards the farm, his pursuit thwarted.
The three of you collapse onto the cool, cemented ground, chests heaving as you gulp down air. You sprawl flat on your back, eyes fixed on the lazily drifting clouds above. A sense of triumph washes over you – you've escaped the clutches of the dreaded Aloeus. Well done, indeed.
As your breathing steadies, you take in your surroundings. The house before you is a marvel of two stories, its rock facade artfully painted to mimic marble. It stands as a testament to wealth and importance in your humble district, its grandeur unmatched by any other platform. This, you know, can only be the home of one person – The District's Overseer.
A pang of envy flits through you as you admire the sturdy construction, so different from the modest homes you're used to. Your gaze wanders, drinking in every detail, until suddenly, it locks with another pair of eyes.
<hr>
[[someone's sharp eyes]] <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>
<<set $chosenMentor to "The Overseer">>
<<set $health to clamp($health + 30, 0, 100)>>"Let's go in here!" you shout, frantically gesturing towards a dilapidated shack. You and Dante practically dive through the doorway, the new boy sauntering in behind you with infuriating calmness.
You grab the door, ready to slam it shut, but... it won't budge. You push, you pull, but the stubborn door refuses to cooperate.
Dante, still clutching his armful of clothes, joins your futile effort. Together, you throw your weight against the door, faces scrunched up in determination. The door creaks mockingly but doesn't move an inch.
Meanwhile, the new boy leans casually against the doorframe, observing your struggles with detached amusement. "It's going away," he drawls, stifling a yawn as he gives the retreating chicken a lazy wave goodbye.
You pause your door-wrestling match to see Aloeus, the terror of the village, suddenly looking... spooked? The usually fearless fowl is backing away from the house, its feathers ruffled in what can only be described as chicken anxiety.
//''Aloeus is scared...''//
A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns. Creaking floors beneath your feet, a rusted metal chair in the corner, paint peeling from the walls like old scabs... Oh no.
"Right, and what is all this?" a voice like gravel being dragged over more gravel croaks from behind you. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees instantly.
You turn slowly, your heart sinking to your shoes. There, emerging from the shadows like a vengeful spirit, is the owner of this decrepit domicile. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's and twice as mean, bore into you.
<hr>
[[You broke into Nag Walan's house]]<<set $chosenMentor to "Nagwalan">> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script> <<set $health to clamp($health + 30, 0, 100)>>"Are you all okay?" The Overseer asks, his voice laced with genuine concern as he ushers the three of you onto a plush couch in his sitting room.
As you settle into the soft cushions, you can't help but study the man before you. The Overseer cuts an impressive figure, standing at 6'1" with a well-maintained physique that speaks of both authority and approachability. His attire is impeccable – clearly of finer make than anything found in the village, yet not ostentatious. It's a subtle reminder of his elevated status and his time spent in The Vassal Novs' Court.
His brown hair is neatly styled, not a strand out of place despite the unexpected commotion. But it's his eyes that truly capture your attention – a warm, sharp red that seems to see right through you. They hold a mix of amusement and curiosity as they flit between you and your companions.
You recall the whispers and excited chatter that always seem to follow the Overseer around the village. Both men and women, regardless of their relationship status, seem to hang on his every word. It's not hard to see why – his demeanor exudes charm and competence in equal measure.
As he takes a seat across from you, you're reminded of the stories you've heard about his arrival a few years ago. Sent from the Western Novs to serve as both mayor and advocate for the villagers, he quickly became a beloved figure in the community. His role as a spokesperson has given many hope that their voices might finally be heard by those in power.
<hr>
[[You didn't really care much about him]]
[[You wanted to be like him when you grew up]]
[[He seemed nice.|He seemed nice. You like nice. You want to be nice.]]
He seemed to be perfect, yes. Even you had to admit that. But that wasn't enough for you. It didn't matter much it seemed, maybe if you had a personal understanding of his character then? But for now you'd rather save your judgment.
<hr>
[[The jury is still out,|BackOn]]You never really tried to hide it.
What's there to be embarrassed about? He was really cool!
He was rich, handsome or something and really nice to people.
Of course you'd like to be him.
<hr>
And you weren't shy to scream it [[to the world.|BackOn]]
He was nice.
You liked nice.
That was a perfect pass for you. Already observing his habits, you concluded that he was impressive.
You took note of how he treated people. Both rich and poor, and they were exactly the same. Other than that though, you thought nothing more of him. One, due to not knowing him personally to be able to deduce whether he was this saint he seemed to be on serface and not expecting to be able to meet him and conclude further firsthand.
<hr>
[[For now, You were satisfied.|BackOn]]
"I'm tired..." Dante manages between gasps, his fingers fumbling with his shoelaces. With a sigh of relief, he slips off his uncomfortable shoes, quickly adding, "Sorry, sir," to the Overseer.
The Overseer's warm chuckle fills the room, a sound that seems to ease some of the tension from your shoulders. His keen eyes scan over the three of you, checking for any signs of injury. His gaze lingers on your attire - the clothes Dante had given you earlier. A flicker of something - curiosity, perhaps - passes across his features.
"I'll fetch some tea for you three," he says, his voice carrying a note of gentle authority. As he speaks, he absently adjusts the carpet with his foot, smoothing out a wrinkle caused by your abrupt entrance. "You're free to change if that's what you intended."
With that, he turns and strides out of the room, his movements graceful and purposeful. The sound of his footsteps fades, leaving the three of you alone in the opulent sitting room.
You exchange glances with Dante and the new boy, a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment passing between you. The plush couch feels almost too luxurious after your mad dash through the village, and you find yourself marveling at the fine craftsmanship of everything around you.
As you catch your breath, your mind races. What will you say to the Overseer when he returns? How will you explain your unexpected intrusion into his home?
The quiet is broken only by the soft ticking of an ornate clock and your gradually steadying breaths. You can hear faint sounds of the Overseer moving about in another room, likely gathering the promised tea.
Just as you're about to break the silence, perhaps to confer with your two companions about what to say, you hear someone speak.
"I'm going to head off." The other boy speaks through bites of the $FN, his voice a mix of contentment and drowsiness, letting out another yawn as his hand dug in the bag to get another. He's casually munching on the food you gave him earlier with slow blinking eyes, the bag crinkling softly in his hand. For once he genuinely looks like a tired kid rather than a mischievous stranger that he was moments ago.
<hr>
[[Keep safe!]]
[[Nod]]
[[Okay]]
"Keep safe," you respond, the words leaving your mouth almost automatically.
At this, the boy pauses. For the first time, he seems to really look at you, his gaze sharp and focused despite his sleepy demeanor. A moment of genuine appreciation flickers across his face.
"Thanks," he says, his tone sincere and a touch surprised, as if he's not used to such concern. "you keep safe as well, $nickname."
The use of your nickname stops you short. It's the first time he's used it, and somehow it feels significant. The casual familiarity of it contrasts sharply with his mysterious demeanor, making the moment feel unexpectedly warm.
Then, with a playful salute that contrasts with the seriousness of his previous expression, he turns and saunters off, disappearing through the doorway and into the village beyond.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 3, 0, 100)>>
You simply nod, not sure what to say. He shrugs in response, turning towards the door with languid movements.
As he reaches the threshold, you're struck by the realization that this might be the last time you see him. A moment of indecision grips you. Should you say goodbye?
<hr>
[[ Yes |Say goodbye to kaisen]]
[[ No |Don't say goodbye to kaisen]] "Okay," you reply, offering a light wave to the boy as he prepares to leave.
He returns the wave halfheartedly, his movements slow and drowsy. Without his usual bravado and slyness, he looks surprisingly young and vulnerable. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and a yawn escapes him as he takes another bite of food. In this sleepy state, he resembles any other tired pre-teen, a stark contrast to the mysterious figure from earlier.
Without another word, he ambles out the door, his purple hair catching the light one last time before he disappears from view.
As the door swings shut behind him, you're left standing there, clothes in hand, pondering the strange encounter. You find yourself wondering what he's going to do now and when you'll see him again. Despite his sleepy departure, you have a feeling this isn't the last you'll see of this enigmatic boy.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now]]
You close the door behind you, turning to face a bathroom that takes your breath away. White tiles gleam under soft lighting, reflecting off two shower stalls—a curious feature for a home with a single occupant. Your eyes are drawn to a luxurious bathtub, then to a full-body mirror flanked by an elegant white counter.
And this is //just// the bathroom.
You catch yourself before you can drool, quickly setting your fresh clothes on the counter before peeling off your current attire. As you undress, your thoughts drift to Dante's worker and his missing shirt and pants. A chuckle escapes your lips as you imagine his bewildered face, concocting absurd theories about a highly selective robber targeting his wardrobe.
The mental image is so ridiculous that you find yourself laughing out loud, catching your own amused expression in the mirror. Your $haircolour $hairlook hair is tousled from your recent escapade, and you run your fingers through it in a futile attempt to tame it. Your $eyecolour eyes roam over your reflection, seeing yourself as others might.
<<if $height == "short">> Your shorter stature is evident as you look at yourself. Memories of walking through the bustling paths of Silvervale come to mind. You recall how easily you could slip through the crowd unnoticed, weaving between people with minimal effort. Your height has proven useful more than once in such situations. But you had to admit, the teasing heavily outweighed the cons.<</if>> <<if $height == "middle">> Your reflection shows a person of average height. In your mind's eye, you see yourself moving through Silvervale, blending in with the crowd. You remember being at eye level with most kids your age, making it easy to navigate the throng. Your height allows you to move comfortably and unobtrusively.
<</if>> <<if $height == "tall">> Your tall frame is visible in the mirror. As you look at yourself, you recall walking through Silvervale, where you often stood out. You remember catching glimpses of the stalls and happenings over the heads of other kids. <</if>>
Unbidden, memories of passing nobles surface—their compliments, their offers of employment. Even at your young age, you recognized the undercurrent of danger in their honeyed words. The world beyond your village holds both opportunity and peril, and you've learned to tread carefully.
A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips. Here, in this moment, you feel safe. Protected not just by the walls of the Overseer's home, but by your own growing wisdom and the loyalty of friends like Dante.
<hr>
[[You could smile.]]
You stand before the array of bathing options, momentarily overwhelmed by the choice. The dual showers and inviting bathtub all beckon, but a sense of respect for The Overseer's home guides your decision. You opt for the shower, not wanting to leave even the slightest mark on his pristine tub.
As the warm water cascades over you, you begin to scrub away the day's adventures. Layers of dirt and sweat wash away, revealing your natural $skinshade skin beneath. The transformation is almost magical – your skin emerging shiny and perfectly moisturized, as if you've just stepped out of a high-end spa.
Through the steam-fogged glass, you catch glimpses of your silhouette in the mirror. The blurred outline is a tantalizing hint of luxury, a fleeting taste of a life so different from your own.
A wistful sigh escapes your lips. How wonderful it would be to have this level of comfort every day. But reality gently reminds you that such indulgences are rare treats, not daily occurrences.
Reluctantly, you turn off the water, savoring the last moments of warmth before stepping out. A cloud of steam follows you, clinging to your skin as you reach for a soft, plush towel. As you dry yourself, your thoughts turn to the clothing Dante provided.
You approach the neatly folded pile on the counter, your fingers trailing over the fabric. It's a stark contrast to your usual attire – cleaner, of better quality. As you slip into the fresh clothes, you savor this fleeting moment of peace and security. The soft fabric against your skin is a reminder of Dante's kindness, of the bonds you're forming in this district.
With a final glance in the mirror, you straighten your shoulders. Whatever questions or explanations await you outside this luxurious bathroom, you feel ready to face them. You turn towards the door, your hand on the handle, preparing to rejoin the others
<hr>
[[exactly what you wanted]]
Walking out of the bathroom, you're greeted by the sight of The Overseer and Dante engaged in friendly, and animated on Dante's end, conversation. The atmosphere seems to have relaxed considerably since your hasty entrance.
The Overseer's attention shifts to you as you approach. His warm red eyes crinkle slightly at the corners as he asks, "$name, correct?" He gestures towards a steaming cup of hibiscus tea on the table and mentioning something about it being loaded with Vitamins and liver Health, simultaneously inviting you closer with a gentle nod.
"Have a seat," he offers, his voice carrying a mix of authority and hospitality.
Before you can decide where to sit, Dante's excited voice cuts through the air. "Sit here!" he calls out, enthusiastically patting the space next to him on a single-person couch. Despite being designed for one, there's a good amount of space that could potentially accommodate you, though it would be a snug fit.
You glance around, noting the several empty seats scattered about the room. Each offers a different vantage point and level of comfort. The choice of where to sit suddenly feels loaded with unspoken significance.
Your gaze flicks between Dante's eager face, the Overseer's composed expression, and the array of seating options before you.
<hr>
[[Sit with Dante]]
[[Sit elsewhere]]
You make your way to Dante, squeezing into the small space beside him on the single-person couch. There's a brief moment of shuffling and adjusting as you both try to find a comfortable position in the limited space. Your shoulders press together, and you can feel the warmth radiating from your friend.
Dante's reaction is immediate and unmistakable. His face lights up with an infectious, childish grin that stretches from ear to ear. It's as if he's won some unspoken competition, his eyes dancing with delight as he reaches for his glass. The satisfaction radiating from him is almost palpable, filling the air with a buoyant energy.
The Overseer watches this display with keen interest, his sharp red eyes taking in every detail of your interaction. After a moment of silent observation, he breaks the silence, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
"Mr. Laval had mentioned your venture to the town," he says, the words hanging in the air with subtle weight.
The town. The simple phrase immediately conjures images of bustling streets, excited chatter, and most importantly, the looming presence of the Tournament. The air in the room seems to shift, charged with the unspoken significance of this topic.
Dante's giddiness seems to intensify at the mention of your shared adventure. He practically vibrates with excitement next to you, clearly eager to recount your experiences. His enthusiasm is a stark contrast to the Overseer's measured tone, creating an interesting dynamic in the room.
<hr>
[[NEXT|The town, where the Tournament was being held.]]<<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 + 5, 0, 100)>>
You decide to take a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs, gently grasping the offered cup of tea as you settle into your chosen spot. As you make yourself comfortable, you can't help but notice Dante's crestfallen expression. His earlier excitement has dimmed, replaced by a look of disappointment that he tries, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hide.
The Overseer's keen gaze follows your movement, his sharp red eyes taking in every detail of the scene before him. For a moment, the room is filled with a pregnant silence, broken only by the soft clink of your teacup against its saucer.
Finally, the Overseer breaks the silence, his measured voice cutting through the tension. "Mr. Laval had mentioned your venture to the town."
The town. The simple phrase immediately conjures images of bustling streets, excited chatter, and most importantly, the looming presence of the Tournament. The air in the room seems to shift, charged with the unspoken significance of this topic.
You feel a subtle change in the atmosphere, as if the mention of the town has brought the outside world rushing into this quiet, opulent room. Dante's demeanor changes too; despite his initial disappointment at your seating choice, his eyes now spark with interest at the mention of your shared adventure.
The Overseer leans forward slightly, his posture indicating keen interest in what you might say next.
<hr>
[[NEXT|The town, where the Tournament was being held.]]<<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 - 2, 0, 100)>>
"Did you maybe need a lift?" The Overseer asks, his eyes flicking between you and Dante. His interest and suspicion is evident, clearly finding it unusual for two ten-year-olds to venture to town alone.
"Oh no, we have a lift!" Dante interjects quickly. This is news to you, and you can't help but raise an eyebrow at your friend's assertion.
The Overseer's brow raises slightly, lips shifting in a small smile. "Oh, I see. Is it your father?"
Dante chokes on his tea, clearly caught off guard by the question. After a moment of sputtering, he manages to compose himself. "Oh no, father doesn't really approve of me going to see the tournament. Something about barbaric behavior and murders." There's a hint of exhaustion and irritation in his tone, suggesting this is a frequent point of contention at home.
"It isn't a lie though..." The Overseer's voice takes on a different quality now - silkier, yet somehow more intriguing. The shift in his tone sends a subtle chill through the room.
He rises gracefully, reaching for the teapot. His hands, elegant but firm, cradle the pot for a moment before pouring out some hibiscus tea. You recall the villagers often mentioning the Overseer's penchant for this particular brew, citing its benefits for liver health.
"So are any of you personally interested in the tournament?" he asks, his back still turned as he tends to the tea.
"Nope," Dante answers swiftly, draping himself over the chair's arm in a show of nonchalance. "Sounds like a lot of rough work."
The Overseer chuckles softly. "Ah, I see. And what about you?" He directs the question at you, still focused on the tea preparation.
You had to admit, you've thought about this a lot.
<hr>
[[Continue|More Des]]
Not being able to think about the tournament in this village was unheard of.
There would always be times where it was lightly mentioned here and there in between jokes or references.
But there was always a peak where everyone would be buzzing.
You'd always see uncles and other family members asking parents if they or their kids were planning on attending.
Either participating or watching, people wanted to be there.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to attend.
"Yes," you answer, glancing down at your cup. Your reflection ripples in the tea, a small smile playing on your lips at the thought of the tournament.
You catch Dante's head snapping in your direction from the corner of your eye. His face is a picture of surprise - clearly, he hadn't anticipated your interest.
"Actually," Dante begins to backtrack, his attempt at nonchalance almost comical, "it does sound kind of intriguing..."
The Overseer sets his cup down gently, his face a mask of calm composure. "I see. If I may ask, have either of you heard of the term 'Freedom Zone' or maybe specific, the 'death line'?"
"Death line?" Dante echoes, confusion evident in his voice.
You shake your head slightly, equally puzzled by the unfamiliar term.
The Overseer nods, as if expecting this response. "I see. The Death line is a concept that the organizers, I must say, have done a remarkable job of obscuring from public knowledge." He pauses, his tone measured and factual, yet tinged with a hint of respect for your curiosity. "Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to understand this aspect of the tournament. However, I want to preface this by saying that the information I'm about to share might be considered... unsettling."
<hr>
[["what does it mean?"]]
[[Wait for him to carry on]]
[["get to the point!"]] "Thank you for your inquiry, $formal $lastname," he begins, his words carefully chosen. "The Tournament comprises various intricate challenges and stages, but the initial phase is of particular significance."
He leans forward slightly, his red eyes reflecting the dancing flames of the fireplace. "Imagine, if you will, being placed outdoors, ostensibly with your 'teammates'." A slight pause follows the word, accompanied by a barely perceptible sigh and a soft click of his tongue. "I should clarify - these individuals are not truly your allies. Nevertheless, you're presented with a challenge."
"What type of challenge?" you ask, curiosity piqued.
"The nature of this challenge varies," the Overseer responds, his tone academic. "This year, I believe a scavenger hunt is the most probable scenario."
Dante's optimism shines through as he interjects, "Isn't that a good thing? Nothing scary about a scavenger hunt... right?"
The Overseer's lips curve into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Indeed, Mr. Laval. Nothing more entertaining than a scavenger hunt to the death."
"Death?" The word hangs heavy in the air, your voice barely above a whisper.
"And this, Mr. Laval, is where the concept of the death line becomes relevant," the Overseer continues, the firelight casting stark shadows across his features. "It's crucial to understand that any events transpiring outside the palace grounds are deemed beyond the organizers' jurisdiction."
He pauses, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "This area is colloquially known as the 'Freedom Zone'. It's a rather euphemistic term for what is essentially a legal loophole. Within this zone, the usual rules of engagement... shall we say, do not apply."
The Overseer's voice remains steady, almost detached, as he continues. "Casualties occurring in this area are conveniently classified as outside the tournament's 'immediate responsibility'. It's an effective method of reducing the number of participants before the main event, without the burden of accountability."
<hr>
[[Out of sight out of mind]]
As the Overseer poses his question about the death line, you remain silent, your eyes fixed on him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Dante glances at you, perhaps expecting you to speak, but you maintain your composure, waiting for the Overseer to continue.<<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor + 5, 0, 100)>>
Noting your attentive silence, the Overseer nods slightly, a flicker of approval in his eyes at your patience.
"Very well," he begins, his voice measured and clear. "The 'death line' is a term not widely known, but crucial to understanding the true nature of the tournament."
He leans forward slightly, his hands clasped together on his lap. "The initial phase of the tournament takes place in what is euphemistically called the 'Freedom Zone' - an area outside the palace grounds where participants are ostensibly grouped with 'teammates'." His tone carries a hint of irony at the word 'teammates'.
"In this zone, participants are given a challenge. This year, I believe it will take the form of a scavenger hunt. However, this is no ordinary game." The Overseer's red eyes gleam in the firelight as he continues. "The Freedom Zone is, in essence, a legal loophole. Any casualties or injuries occurring within this area are deemed outside the tournament's 'immediate responsibility'."
He pauses, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in. "It's an effective method of reducing the number of participants before the main event, without the burden of accountability. The organizers maintain a facade of non-involvement in what can often be... fatal outcomes."
<hr>
[[Out of sight out of mind]]
The Overseer's eyebrows raise slightly at your outburst, but his composure remains unruffled. He sets his cup down with a gentle clink, the sound emphasizing the sudden tension in the room.
"Patience, young one," he says, his tone carrying a hint of admonishment but no real anger. "Understanding requires context."
Dante quickly jumps in, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I'm sorry about that, sir." He shoots you a pleading look, silently urging you to mind your manners.
The Overseer waves off the apology with a graceful gesture. "No need for apologies, Mr. Laval. Curiosity, even when expressed... enthusiastically, is not a fault." His red eyes fix on you, carrying a mixture of understanding and subtle warning.
"To address your request for directness, $formal $lastname," he continues, his voice measured and clear, "the 'death line' refers to a system that allows the tournament organizers to maintain a facade of non-accountability for certain... unfortunate events."
He leans forward slightly, his tone becoming more precise. "The initial phase of the tournament takes place in what they euphemistically call the 'Freedom Zone' - an area outside the palace grounds where the usual rules of engagement are suspended."
The Overseer's gaze flicks between you and Dante, ensuring he has your full attention. "In simple terms, deaths or injuries occurring in this zone are considered beyond the tournament's 'immediate responsibility'. It's a convenient method to reduce the number of participants before the main event, without the burden of official liability."
<hr>
[[Out of sight out of mind]]
As the dust settles from your abrupt entry, a figure emerges from the shadows. Nag Walan, the village's infamous resident, stands before you. Her vibrant red dress swishes around her ankles, matching the bonnet atop her head. Her face, a map of wrinkles, is set with eyes that seem to peer right through you. In her gnarled hand, she clutches a brown walking stick that seems to hum with an energy all its own.
"Who're you?" your new companion asks, his voice a blend of curiosity and cool composure. His eyes, partially hidden by his purple fringe, sparkle with intrigue rather than fear. You realize with a start that you still don't know his name.
"The owner of this house. Who're you?" Nag Walan responds, her gravelly voice matching the boy's directness. She crosses her arms, looming over him like a weathered old tree. The boy, unruffled by her imposing presence, meets her gaze steadily.
There's an odd symmetry to their standoff - youth and age, each as unyielding as the other. It's almost amusing, in a terrifying sort of way.
Dante, ever the peacemaker, stumbles into speech. "S-sorry for rushing in, unannounced ma'am! We were being chased by that fiendish beast and wanted somewhere to hide and-"
"Oh shut up, for gods sake," Nag Walan interrupts with a yawn that sounds more like a growl. You wince, knowing the 'ma'am' has only stoked her ire. "And don't call me ma'am, kid."
You stand corrected.
You and Dante exchange a quick, panicked glance. His face is flushed with embarrassment, hands clutching your bundled clothes like a lifeline. Despite the tension, you can't help but notice the clothes look nice, even if you can't make out exactly what they are.
Nag Walan's sharp eyes turn to you, her gaze raking over your disheveled appearance. "You look like a mess," she states, her tone oddly calm. The shift in her mood is jarring, like the sudden eye of a storm.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Continueit]]
"Keep safe," you respond, the words leaving your mouth almost automatically.
At this, the boy pauses. For the first time, he seems to really look at you, his gaze sharp and focused despite his sleepy demeanor. A moment of genuine appreciation flickers across his face.
"Thanks," he says, his tone sincere and a touch surprised, as if he's not used to such concern. "you keep safe as well, $nickname."
The use of your nickname stops you short. It's the first time he's used it, and somehow it feels significant. The casual familiarity of it contrasts sharply with his mysterious demeanor, making the moment feel unexpectedly warm.
Then, with a playful salute that contrasts with the seriousness of his previous expression, he turns and saunters off, disappearing through the doorway and into the village beyond.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now|Nagwalan clothing change]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 3, 0, 100)>>
You simply nod, not sure what to say. He shrugs in response, turning towards the door with languid movements.
As he reaches the threshold, you're struck by the realization that this might be the last time you see him. A moment of indecision grips you. Should you say goodbye?
<hr>
[[ Yes |Say goodbye to Kaisen]]
[[ No |Don't say goodbye to Kaisen]]
"Okay," you reply, offering a light wave to the boy as he prepares to leave.
He returns the wave halfheartedly, his movements slow and drowsy. Without his usual bravado and slyness, he looks surprisingly young and vulnerable. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and a yawn escapes him as he takes another bite of food. In this sleepy state, he resembles any other tired child, a stark contrast to the mysterious figure from earlier.
Without another word, he ambles out the door, his purple hair catching the light one last time before he disappears from view.
As the door swings shut behind him, you're left standing there, clothes in hand, pondering the strange encounter. You find yourself wondering what he's going to do now and when you'll see him again. Despite his sleepy departure, you have a feeling this isn't the last you'll see of this enigmatic boy.
You find yourself wondering what he's going to do now. Where is he heading in that drowsy state? And more importantly, when will you see him again?
The question lingers in your mind, a mix of curiosity and anticipation. This boy, whose name you still don't know, has left an impression that you can't quite shake. Despite his sleepy departure, or perhaps because of it, you have a feeling that this isn't the last you'll see of him.
For now, though, all you can do is turn your attention back to the bizarre situation at hand - standing in Nag Walan's house, with permission to use her bathroom, after the most unusual chase of your life.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now|Nagwalan clothing change]]You close the door behind you, the ancient hinges groaning in protest. Just like the front entrance, this door seems to challenge your very existence, reluctant to yield to your touch. You can't help but marvel at Nag Walan's strength – to navigate these stubborn doors with such ease, she must possess the might of ten men.
Your eyes fall upon a mirror, comically small even for your diminutive stature. 'It'll have to do,' you muse, fingers working at the clasps of your borrowed clothing. As the fabric falls away, the thought of Dante's worker, Robert, confused flashes through your mind.
A wry smile tugs at your lips as you imagine his perplexed expression. What tale did he concoct to explain the mysterious disappearance of his clothes? A daring thief, perhaps, who skimmed past countless treasures to pilfer a single shirt and pair of trousers? The absurdity of it all bubbles up inside you, and before you know it, a laugh escapes your lips.
Catching sight of yourself mid-mirth, you pause to truly look. Your $haircolour hair, usually $hairlook, is now a wild tangle from your earlier flight. $eyecolour eyes, bright with barely contained amusement, dance over your reflection. You try to see yourself as others might – the passing nobles who've cast appraising glances your way, even offering positions in their households.
But beneath the laughter, a shadow of wariness remains. You've learned early that the world can be cruel, its gilded promises often hiding barbed hooks. Those same nobles, quick to offer employment, would think nothing of trading you away like a prized horse. You'd be just another possession, surrounded by strangers indifferent to your fate.
You were smart, though. You kept your head down, blending into the background like a shadow at noon. And now, in this moment of relative safety, you allow yourself a genuine smile. It may be fleeting, but for now, you are free..
<hr>
[[You could smile.|Nw]]
A cold bath was all you could get. There was no warm water in Nag Walan's house, but you were grateful for the chance to clean up nonetheless. The chill of the water made you gasp as you lowered yourself into the modest tub, your small frame shivering despite your best efforts to stay still.
With determination, you set about scrubbing away the grime of your journey. Bit by bit, your natural $skinshade began to emerge from beneath layers of dust and dirt. It was a satisfying process, watching your true self slowly reappear.
You made do with what little the old lady had provided - a rough cloth and a sliver of soap that had seen better days. But it was more than enough for you. After all, you were used to making the most of meager resources.
As you washed your $haircolour hair, you couldn't help but reminisce about the rare occasions when you'd experienced the luxury of a warm bath. Those memories felt like distant dreams now, but they brought a small smile to your face.
The cold water did its job, leaving your skin clean and refreshed, if a bit numb from the chill. You marveled at how soft and shiny your skin looked now, a far cry from the street child who had arrived at Nag Walan's doorstep.
Finally, unable to bear the cold any longer, you quickly stood up, water cascading off your small form. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably as you reached for the towel, wrapping it around yourself completely like a protective cocoon. The fabric was rough but blessedly dry, and you hugged it tightly, trying to coax some warmth back into your trembling limbs.
With chattering teeth and unsteady hands, you gathered up your clothing. The borrowed garments felt heavy and slightly damp from the humid air of the washroom. You knew you'd have to put them back on soon, so you had to hurry up and slip into the clothing Dante had brought for you.
<hr>
[[He knew your taste well.]]
Emerging from the bathroom, you're greeted by an unsettling tableau. Dante sits across from Nag Walan, his eyes wide with barely concealed discomfort. Nag methodically sharpens a stick, her focus unwavering.
"Join us, $nick," she says without looking up, tilting her head towards Dante's occupied seat.
Your friend smiles a bit, patting the space next to him. It's a one person seat, meant for one individual.
But of course he can't take up an adult single couch, so naturally it had some space.
There was also two more empty seats, you noted, glancing a few inches away.
<hr>
[[Sit next to Dante|Sit Next to Dante]]
[[Pick another seat|Hecks no]]
You feel a surge of anticipation coursing through your veins as the tournament draws near. Your eyes flicker to the ornate timepiece on the wall, silently counting down the minutes.
Nag Walan's sharp gaze catches your poorly concealed excitement. Her weathered face creases into a knowing smirk, a glint of something keen and calculating in her eyes. The old woman's fingers never cease their deft movements as she continues her intricate work, her efficiency apparent in every motion.
"So," she begins, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and intensity, "you've got that look about you. The one that says you're itching to jump into the fray yourself." Her eyes narrow slightly, assessing your reaction. "You want to test your mettle in the arena one day, or are you content to remain a spectator?"
The question hangs in the air, weighted with unspoken implications. Nag Walan's tone suggests she's probing for more than just a simple yes or no answer, perhaps already formulating strategies based on your response.
<hr>
[[You've always thought about the tournament|More Details]] <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 3, 0, 100)>>You shrug, your shoulders rising and falling in a deliberate display of indifference. The gesture is almost exaggerated, as if to emphasize your lack of enthusiasm for the tournament fever gripping the district.
Nag Walan's eyes narrow, her nose scrunching up in confusion. The old woman's weathered hands pause momentarily in their work, her fingers hovering over the intricate piece before her. Her piercing gaze seems to bore into you, searching for something beyond your facade of disinterest.
"So?" she prods, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment mixed with challenge. "You wanna have at it yourself or wah? Or are you of the Vassal Novs type?"
The question hangs in the air, loaded with unspoken judgment. Nag Walan's tone suggests she finds your apparent apathy perplexing, perhaps even irritating.
As her words sink in, you find yourself pondering a possibility you've never seriously considered before. The idea of actually participating in The Kabot Tournament flickers to life in your mind. You weigh the potential risks and rewards, your thoughts racing despite your outward show of indifference. Is it worth entering? The question echoes in your head, a new and unexpected consideration.
<hr>
[[You've always thought about the tournament|More Details]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>>
The Kabot Tournament was an inescapable topic in the village, its presence as constant as the air you breathed. It wove itself into the fabric of daily life, surfacing in jokes, casual references, and idle chatter. But as the event drew near, the buzz intensified, becoming a palpable energy that electrified the air.
You'd witness the familiar dance of uncles and relatives, their eyes alight with excitement as they cornered parents, pressing them about their plans or their children's involvement. The question was always the same: "Will you be there?" Whether as a participant or a spectator, the pull of the tournament was magnetic.
Despite your outward nonchalance, you couldn't deny the allure. The thought of attending tickled at the edges of your mind, a temptation you found increasingly difficult to ignore.
<hr>
[[It was a dream]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Scene 6</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>To the town we go</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>03:30 pm</h3></span><hr>
As you and Dante approach the outskirts of the town, the grand, medieval-style arena comes into view, its imposing structure dominating the skyline. The air buzzes with excitement, the distant sound of the crowd growing louder with each step.
Dante's enthusiasm is palpable. His eyes are wide with wonder, darting from one sight to another as he takes in the spectacle. "Can you believe it, $nickname? We're actually here!" he exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. He grabs your arm, pointing eagerly at the various sights. "Look at those banners! And the people – there are so many of them!"
The town unfolds before you like a vibrant tapestry. Colorful banners representing different kingdoms flutter in the gentle breeze, their intricate designs catching the sunlight. The streets are alive with activity, a kaleidoscope of people from all walks of life converging for the event.
As you draw closer, the details come into sharper focus. Vendors line the streets, their stalls overflowing with tournament merchandise and local delicacies. The air is thick with the mingled scents of exotic spices and sizzling street food.
Dante can barely contain himself, bouncing on his toes as he talks animatedly about all the things he wants to show you. "We have to try the food from The Kabot Kingdom – it's supposed to be amazing! Oh, and wait until you see the pre-tournament exhibitions. I've heard they're spectacular!"
You find yourself on the threshold of a new experience, about to step into this world not just as an outsider looking in, but as a participant in the excitement. The beige and maroon themed arena looms ahead, a promise of spectacle and adventure.
Dante turns to you, his face alight with joy and anticipation. "This is going to be incredible, $nickname. Your first tournament watch! I can't wait to share it all with you." He pauses, studying your face, clearly eager to gauge your reaction to this new world opening up before you.
<hr>
[[This made you feel confused]]
[[You were excited]]
[[It wasn't that much of a big deal.]]
You felt... conflicted.
The bustling town before you was a stark contrast to the quiet familiarity of your village. The warmth and comfort of known faces and routines suddenly seemed distant, replaced by a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed your senses.
Your eyes darted from one unfamiliar scene to another, struggling to process the sheer volume of new information. The excited chatter of the crowd, once inviting, now felt like a disorienting buzz in your ears. The colorful banners and elaborate decorations, which had seemed so alluring from afar, now felt almost garish up close.
A knot formed in your stomach, a mix of anxiety and uncertainty. You were used to knowing your place, understanding the rhythms and expectations of village life. Here, in this sea of strangers, you felt adrift, unsure of how to act or where you fit in.
The realization that you were truly outside your comfort zone hit you suddenly. The familiar faces of your village, the well-worn paths, and the predictable routines that had shaped your days were all absent. In their place was a world of unknowns, exciting to some, but daunting to you.
You found yourself longing for the simplicity of home, even as part of you recognized the potential for new experiences. The conflicting emotions swirled within you - curiosity warring with caution, excitement tempered by trepidation.
Dante's enthusiasm, usually infectious, now felt slightly overwhelming. His rapid-fire commentary and eager gestures seemed to highlight your own uncertainty, making you acutely aware of how out of place you felt.
As you stood on the precipice of this new world, you realized that change, even when anticipated, could be disorienting. The tournament and town, once a distant dream, were now a very real and immediate presence, challenging your perceptions and pushing you into uncharted territory.
You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself amidst the chaos of emotions and sensations. Part of you wanted to embrace this new adventure, while another part yearned for the safety of the familiar. As Dante looked to you expectantly, you found yourself at a crossroads, unsure of how to reconcile these conflicting feelings.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Reassured by Dante]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>You feel a surge of exhilaration coursing through your veins, barely able to contain your excitement. The urge to squeal with joy bubbles up inside you, and you have to bite your lip to keep it in check. You're finally here, in the town you've dreamed about for so long.
Everything around you feels like it's sprung to life from the pages of a storybook. The vibrant colors of the banners, the intricate architecture of the buildings, the diverse faces in the crowd - it all seems almost too vivid to be real. Your eyes dart from one spectacle to another, trying to drink in every detail.
The newness of it all is intoxicating. Each sight, sound, and smell is a fresh experience, igniting your senses in ways you never imagined. The distant roar of the crowd from the arena sends shivers of anticipation down your spine.
Dante, sensing your excitement, becomes even more animated. His enthusiasm, already brimming, now overflows as he sees his own joy reflected in your eyes. He grabs your arm, his voice pitched high with excitement.
"Can you believe it, $nickname? We're actually here!" he exclaims, practically bouncing on his toes. "Look at that fountain! And those performers over there! Oh, and the smell - can you smell that? I think it's those famous pastries I told you about! Can't be better than Silversvale's though. "
His excitement is contagious, amplifying your own. You find yourself grinning from ear to ear, your heart racing with the thrill of new discoveries waiting around every corner.
The tournament, once a distant dream, is now a tangible reality before you. The prospect of witnessing the spectacle firsthand fills you with a giddy anticipation. You can almost feel the energy of the crowd, the tension of the competition, the glory of the victors - all waiting for you to experience.
As you stand on the threshold of this new world, you feel a sense of limitless possibility. The familiar confines of village life seem to fall away, replaced by the promise of adventure and discovery. Your mind races with all the things you want to see, taste, and experience in this vibrant new environment.
Dante tugs at your sleeve, eager to start exploring. "Come on, $nickname! Where should we go first? There's so much to see!" His eyes shine with excitement, mirroring your own sense of wonder and anticipation.
You take a deep breath, savoring this moment of pure joy and excitement. The town, with all its marvels and mysteries, lies before you, ready to be explored. You feel as though you're on the brink of something truly extraordinary, and you can't wait to dive in.
<hr>
[[NEXT|See The Family]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive + 5, 0, 100)>>
The town unfolds before you, its grandeur and excitement failing to elicit much of a reaction. While objectively more elaborate than your village, it strikes you as just another place - a different setting, but ultimately populated by the same sorts of people you've always known.
You observe the bustling crowds, the colorful banners, and the ornate architecture with a detached interest. It's nice, you suppose, but not particularly moving. Your calm demeanor stands in stark contrast to Dante's bubbling enthusiasm.
Dante, noticing your lack of excitement, nudges you playfully. "Hey, $nickname, you're doing it again! Where's that 'old person energy' coming from?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You're acting like you've seen it all before. Come on, lighten up a bit!"
His teasing reminds you of the older sisters back in the village, who often joked about your mature outlook. But their words, like Dante's, roll off you easily. You've never seen the need to manufacture excitement just because it's expected.
You watch as Dante's eyes light up at a nearby vendor's stall, filled with tournament memorabilia. Before he can be drawn in by the flashy merchandise, you gently but firmly grasp his arm.
"Let's not get carried away with the vendors, Dante," you say, your voice calm and reasonable. "We should save our money for something truly worthwhile, not just the first shiny thing we see."
Dante looks at you, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. "You really are an old soul, aren't you? Fine, fine, lead the way, oh wise one," he jokes, allowing you to guide him away from the tempting displays.
As you navigate through the crowd, you find yourself unconsciously planning the most efficient route to see the important sights without getting caught up in unnecessary distractions. It's not that you don't appreciate the spectacle; you simply process it differently, seeing beyond the surface excitement to the practical realities beneath.
Your measured approach might not match the frenetic energy around you, but it gives you a unique perspective on the town and the upcoming tournament. While others might get lost in the moment, you're already thinking ahead, considering the implications and potential outcomes of what you're about to witness.
Dante, for his part, seems to have accepted your calm demeanor, occasionally shaking his head in amusement at your mature observations. As you make your way towards the arena, you can't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. Your "old person thoughts" might not be conventional, but they've always served you well, and you see no reason why they won't continue to do so in this new environment.
<hr>
[[NEXT|See The Family]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>>Looking around, you take note of the diverse crowd streaming through the gates. Travelers, tourists, and representatives from various kingdoms all converge, drawn by the allure of the tournament.
Your attention is particularly caught by a group that stands out from the rest - The Nordians from District One are unmistakable in their presence, standing out amidst the colorful crowd. Their pale blonde hair, almost silver in the sunlight, contrasts with their naturally pale skin. Many are adorned in pristine white garments or luxurious white-furred shawls that shimmer with movement.
Three Nordians stand together nearby, their voices direct and assertive above the general hubbub. Their posture exudes a natural grace, and even in casual conversation. Despite their refined appearance, there's a hint of strength and determination in their posture. This is only the second time you've seen Nordians in person, and their otherworldly appearance is just as striking as you remember.
As your gaze wanders, you observe the various groupings of people - friends laughing together, couples holding hands, and families sharing in the excitement. One family in particular catches your eye: a husband and wife, their $nick between them, holding onto $refer mother's arm. The child's face is alight with wonder as $gender points eagerly at the looming castle ahead.
The sight stirs something within you, a feeling you can't quite suppress. Suddenly, painfully, you're reminded of your own situation. The absence in your life becomes glaringly apparent amidst the family units surrounding you.
What would it be like, you wonder, to have a mother waiting at home, ready to scold you for staying out too late? Or a father, eager to share his hobbies, his face beaming with pride at your accomplishments? These are experiences you've never known, voids in your life that you usually manage to ignore.
But here, surrounded by the joy and togetherness of others, the reality of your situation hits you anew. You have none of this - no parents, no family to call your own. The cruelty of life strikes you in this moment, denying you even the peace of uninterrupted thoughts.
The contrast between the bustling, excited crowd and your internal melancholy is stark. As families and friends share in the anticipation of the tournament, you find yourself grappling with a renewed sense of loss and loneliness, a harsh reminder of the pieces missing from your own life story.
<hr>
[[missing your own memory.|kid Dante's POV]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Dante's POV</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>03:35 pm</h3></span><hr>
Dante's excitement is palpable as he watches you take in the sights of the Town. Although he's been here countless times, seeing it through your eyes makes everything feel fresh and new. He can't contain his eagerness to show you around, to share all his favorite spots and experiences.
As he turns to gauge your reaction, he notices your gaze fixed on a family nearby. The change in your demeanor is subtle, but Dante catches it immediately. His heart sinks as he realizes what's going through your mind.
No words are needed; he understands the weight of your thoughts. Your situation has always struck him as deeply unfair, heartbreaking even. The memory of finding you unconscious all that time ago resurfaces, as vivid as if it happened yesterday.
A knot forms in Dante's stomach, discomfort mixing with a fierce protectiveness. He can't bear to see you lost in these painful thoughts, not when this day was supposed to be filled with joy and new experiences.
Without hesitation, he reaches for your hand. His grip is gentle but firm, a physical anchor to pull you back from your melancholy. A smile appears on his lips - not entirely genuine, but born from a desperate desire to lift your spirits.
"Hey!" he says, injecting enthusiasm into his voice. "There's a food stall nearby. Wanna go see?"
As he tugs you along, Dante's mind races, determined to find a way to dispel the sadness he sensed in you. He's resolved to make this day special, to create new, happy memories that might, even for a moment, overshadow the pain of what you've lost.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Carvela Crisis]]
As you and Dante round a corner, you find yourselves in a passage adorned with maroon and beige banners bearing the Kabot Tournament insignia. The air here feels different - charged with a mix of excitement and tension. You've inadvertently stumbled into an area clearly meant for contenders and staff, specifically a preparation space filled with what appear to be personal storage units for the competitors.
A group of people are gathered near one of the ornate archways, their presence exuding an aura of importance. These must be some of the accepted competitors for the tournament.
Your presence doesn't go unnoticed for long. A woman with a vibrant personality spots you and Dante, her face lighting up with a warm smile. "Hey there little $nick!" she calls out cheerfully, her voice carrying a melodic lilt. She leans forward, as she reaches to pat your head affectionately. The scent of floral perfume wafts around you as she straightens up, reaching into a pouch at her hip to reapply her lip balm with practiced ease. "you kids...lost?"
This woman, Tanisha, is a striking figure. Despite her short stature, she carries herself with confidence. Accentuated by her form-fitting attire, she has waves of fiery red hair cascade freely down her back and over her shoulders, framing her tan skin beautifully.
A man's voice cuts through the air, tinged with playful sarcasm. "Tanisha, this isn't a make-up battle." His comment earns him an exaggerated eye roll from Tanisha, who retorts without missing a beat, "And this isn't your mother's basement, Rebel."
Their banter ignites a chorus of laughter and more teasing remarks among the group, creating a lively atmosphere that contrasts sharply with the formal setting.
Amidst the friendly chaos, your attention is drawn to a man standing slightly apart from the others. He seems content to observe the scene, a bright smile playing on his lips as he takes in the camaraderie around him. There's something about his demeanor that sets him apart - a quiet confidence that draws the eye.
As if sensing your gaze, the man turns towards you and Dante. His smile widens as he begins to make his way over, his movements smooth and purposeful.
"Hey there!" he greets warmly, raising a hand in a friendly wave as he approaches. His voice is rich and welcoming, immediately putting you at ease despite the strange situation you've found yourselves in.
Beside you, Dante's response comes out as an excited squeak. "Hi!" His voice cracks noticeably, a telltale sign of his nervousness or excitement. You glance at your friend, wondering what about this man has him so worked up.
<hr>
[[Elijah|Elijah Intro]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Elijah</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Finally here</h2></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>03:50pm</h3></span><hr>
"So, you two are here to watch? Rooting for anyone?" Elijah asks, glancing down at the both of you as he walked ahead.
"not yet," you reply honestly "I don't really know anything about the contenders yet."
"I can think of a few, but not that loud man." Dante clarified, recalling Rebel's loud tone with a wince.
"is that so?" He laughs in return, brushing a braid out of his face. He had a really pretty smile, with two dimples on his cheeks. "would you like to cheer me on in the mean time?" He cheekily asks, getting a laugh from the both of you.
"You can count on it!" Dante cheers, waving his small black and gold colored hankerchief in the air as though it was a flag, receiving a chuckle from your guide.
<hr>
[[Walks and more walks]]
You finally take your seat, inhaling deeply to absorb the grandeur of your surroundings. The domain ring sprawls before you, a colossal arena that seems to stretch endlessly. The seating area is even more vast, rising in tiered levels that disappear into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. For a moment, you wonder how anyone could possibly see the action from such a distance.
Then your eyes fall upon the orb nestled in the armrest of your chair.
Arcana.
The orb, a flawless sphere of crystal, pulses with a soft, ethereal light. As you lean closer, you see that it's not just reflecting the arena below – it's projecting a perfect, miniature version of the entire domain ring. Every detail is crisp and clear, as if you're hovering just above the action. The crystal seems to hum with barely contained energy, its surface cool to the touch yet somehow alive with possibility.
Puzzled by the mechanics of this marvel, you ponder the source of its input. Your thoughts are interrupted by Dante's excited nudge. He points skyward, and your gaze follows.
Floating high above the arena are what appear to be clouds. But these are no ordinary wisps of vapor. They shimmer faintly, their edges too defined, their movements too purposeful. False clouds, you realize – magical constructs designed to observe and relay every moment of the tournament, even for the outdoor portions of the first round.
The ingenuity of it all
<hr>
[[leaves you breathless.]] ''<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Chapter 2</h1></span>''
↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛
<hr>
Hero Or foe
It's hard to tell,
almost impossible to know
The battle against good and evil
Who will prevail?
The force awakens and fights
Trying to darken the light
Will the chaos take over and prevail?
Will the light take off to sail?
The darkness attempts to engulf the light
And so they battle and fight
But who will prevail?
And who will fail?
<hr>
↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛
<hr>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>[[The choices are yours|Ch 2 warnings]]</h3></span>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Zephyr</h2></span>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>11:31pm</h3></span>
Carefully he touches your forehead, grazing his fingers tips across your temple to slowly brush off the hair strands across your face.
"... Looks so beautiful" he mutters, resting his arm on the chair's edge before relaxing into his own. Chin between his crossed arms.
He could watch you all day.
//'My Love'//
//'My beautiful Love'//
And could you give me your nickname please?''<<textbox "$nickname" "">>''
''<div class="choice">[[Next|Lastname]]</div>''$wp
"Sure." She yawns. Must've been a tiring day.
After packing your food, Amal sends you off with a pat on the back and a quick reminder that the boy should be a few blocks down by now.
<hr>
[[A reminder that you should probably start running around, now]]$wp
"Sure." She yawns. Must've been a tiring day.
After packing your food, Amal sends you off with a pat on the back and a quick reminder that the boy should be a few blocks down by now.
<hr>
[[A reminder that you should probably start running around, now]]$wp
"Sure." She yawns. Must've been a tiring day.
After packing your food, Amal sends you off with a pat on the back and a quick reminder that the boy should be a few blocks down by now.
<hr>
[[A reminder that you should probably start running around, now]]<h1><div class="days36">''Dante Laval| Slick-Tongued Heir''</div></h1>
✘Male ✘21 ✘The Main Nexus/The Kabot Kingdom
<hr>
<h2>Appearance</h2>
<i>Dante exudes a warm, inviting charm that instantly puts others at ease. His tousled dark cacao locks frame a boyishly handsome face with striking blue eyes that sparkle with mischief. Glowing bronze skin appears smooth and unblemished. While his style could be described as effortlessly cool - a sheer grey long-sleeved shirt, gold bracelets adorning his wrists, and sleek black high-waisted pants - Dante's approachable aura shines through. A unique grey and black choker accentuates his neckline, drawing the eye to his bright, perpetual smile. Delicate gold jewelry glints from his hands and wrists, completing an aesthetic that seamlessly blends laid-back and refined.</i>
<h2>Personality:</h2>
In true golden retriever fashion, Dante overflows with a puppyish zest for life that lights up any room he enters. A nonstop torrent of commentary and terrible (but enthusiastically delivered) jokes pours from his lips as he cheerfully narrates the world around him. Dante's warm, calming presence alone has an inexplicably soothing effect on others. He seems constitutionally incapable of containing his affection, lavishing those he holds dear with effusive appreciation and happy tales meant to buoy their spirits. While he may lack an imposing personas, Dante's genuine kindness, eternal optimism, and bright joie de vivre more than make up for it. He's a true friend that can always be counted on for loyal compassion and much-needed levity.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Nag Walan | The Town's personal witch</div></h1>
✘Female ✘75 ✘District 5
<hr>
Appearance:
Nag Walan is a striking figure that embodies the essence of a village witch. Her vibrant red dress, adorned with darker red polka dots, swishes around her ankles as she walks. A matching red bonnet sits atop her head, framing a face etched with the wisdom of years. Her skin, a tapestry of wrinkles and age spots, tells stories of a life lived fully. Slightly bulging eyes, partially hidden by heavy lids, seem to hold secrets of the arcane. A prominent mole on her nose adds to her mystical aura. Despite missing a few teeth, her smile radiates warmth, and her dark brown eyes twinkle with mischief and kindness. In her gnarled hand, she clutches a brown walking stick - an artifact that hums with magical energy, amplifying her innate abilities.
Personality:
At first glance, Nag Walan fits the stereotype of the fearsome village witch, but those who dare to look closer find a complex character beneath. Her brash exterior and blunt speech often catch people off guard, yet there's an undeniable warmth to her interactions. Nag Walan believes in the power of tough love, preferring to dispense wisdom through frank, sometimes biting, observations rather than gentle platitudes. Her decision to assist you in the Kabot Tournament comes as a surprise, leaving you to wonder about her true motivations. Is it mere whimsy, or does she see something in you that others don't? Despite her gruff demeanor, there's a sense that Nag Walan genuinely cares for the village and its inhabitants, even if her methods of showing it are unconventional. Her knowledge of ancient magics and herbal remedies is unparalleled, making her both feared and respected in equal measure.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">''Kaisen | The Sleepy official''</div></h1>
✘Male ✘21 ✘??? / The Vassal Novs
<hr>
Kaisen's Looks:
Kaisen cuts an intimidating figure, clad in a crisp navy and black suit adorned with an array of badges reminiscent of a high-ranking military general. His once unruly locks that shrouded his eyes in youth have been meticulously slicked back, exposing sharp features. Greying amber eyes glint with a sadistic, calculating gleam. Kaisen's formerly tousled purple curls now hang in severe straight lines, strengthening his aura of authority and control.
Kaisen's Personality:
One of the Opératifs de l'Ombre in charge of overlooking the tournament. Sarcasm and teasing quips drip from Kaisen's lips with a biting wit. He doesn't soften blows, favoring a bracingly blunt honesty over niceties. Yet, his narcissistic tendencies seem more comedic than malicious - he simply knows he's brilliant. Kaisen excels at psychologically sizing people up, always appearing ten steps ahead as if he can predict your words before they're spoken. An air of secrecy shrouds his motives, allowing him to revel in his mystique. Above all, he's happiest when steering any interaction into his personal brand of mischievous chaos.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Valket | The Overseer</div></h1>
✘Male ✘36 ✘District 5
<hr>
Appearance:
The Overseer presents an impeccably professional image. Hailing from the prestigious Vassal Novs region, he stands at an striking 6'1" with perfectly coiffed brown hair and piercing red eyes that seem to entrance all who look upon him - man or woman, married or single. His wardrobe consists of perfectly tailored, high-society ensembles reflective of his status: pristine cream satin dress shirts, navy blue trousers, and other hallmarks of nobility's formalwear from centuries past. The Overseer forgoes any hint of casual attire, as if being well-dressed is simply part of his permanent essence.
Personality:
The Overseer possesses an aura of refined poise, his aristocratic demeanor commanding respect yet tempered by sincere concern for the village under his charge. With a warm smile and measured tones, he has a knack for easing the townspeople's worries through patient discourse. The Overseer savors life's finer details - taking the time to sip fragrant hibiscus tea or practice the delicate art of calligraphy in his study. His rich voice and precise enunciation hint at a worldly dignity. However, the Overseer clearly finds satisfaction in shepherding Silversvale's welfare, balancing cultured sophistication with an accessible, reassuring presence. He moves fluidly between refining his noble pursuits and connecting with the community through caring conversation.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">''Juno | Your Unrequired antagonist''</div></h1>
✘Male ✘20 ✘The Main Nexus / ???
<hr>
Appearance:
Juno sports a distinctive look with his blond hair verging on a golden hue, styled in a small, tousled mullet. His fiery orange eyes seem to blaze with an intense, sharp gaze. Favoring a casual yet stylish look, he's often seen in ruffle trim, flouncy sleeved white shirts paired with long black pants or dark brown trousers. There's an unmistakable edge to Juno's appearance.
Personality:
Juno is the best friend of your best friend making you his mututal friend. unfortunately for him, and maybe you? With an unwelcoming aura, Juno is not one for frivolous chatter or empty laughter. He reserves such expressions for only those closest to him - essentially just his friend Dante. Juno has little patience or warmth for most people, including you, though the reasons remain a mystery. His curt tone and clipped manner of speaking frequently make you feel small or ridiculous when conversing with him. Juno seems to prefer keeping people at an icy distance.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
You restarted? No worries, I'm sure you'll be satisfied with your choices this time around!
<hr><h1><<timed 4s>>//"Guys look $gender forgot what $gender looks like!!"-//<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://media4.giphy.com/media/3HCQcqALBv6CY/giphy.gif?cid=6c09b952t8488deq8wtvclgelipdclflar5za3ofvzq6obkw&ep=v1_internal_gif_by_id&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://media4.giphy.com/media/3HCQcqALBv6CY/giphy.gif?cid=6c09b952t8488deq8wtvclgelipdclflar5za3ofvzq6obkw&ep=v1_internal_gif_by_id&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><</timed>></h1><span style='font-family:times'>''[[Continue|Pronouns]]''</span>
<hr> <<if !$mirrorAchieved>>
<<set $mirrorAchieved = true>>
<<run unlockAchievement("mirror")>>
<</if>><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1> $name $lastname</h1></span>
↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛↛
''<span style='font-family:cursive'>☠Gender-Specific :</span>'' $plural , $gender , $nick . $formal , $refer
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Skin shade'' :</span> $skinshade
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Height'' :</span> $height
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Eye shade'' :</span>$eyecolour
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Hair texture'' :</span> $hairlook
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Hair shade'' :</span> $haircolour
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Wardrobe choice'' :</span> (not available yet)
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Name'' :</span>$name
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Nickname'' : </span>$nickname
<span style='font-family:cursive'>''☠Surname'' :</span> $lastname
<hr>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>This is you! are you satisfied?</h2></span>
''<div class="choice">[[Yes|Complete!]]</div>''
''<div class="choice">[[No|Restart again]]</div>''
<<if $m is "Miioni">>
<h1><div class="days36">Miioni Aisara Peru| The Vexatious Noble</div></h1>
✘Female ✘21 ✘The Vassal Novs
<hr>
Appearance:
Miioni has a regal, refined aesthetic. Her typical attire consists of blue and orange royal-inspired outfits, though she opts for simple cream-colored clothing when formality isn't required. Miioni wears a long cream dress with a tailored, non-fluffy coat on top, completing her look with sturdy brown boots.
Personality:
Like her counterpart, Miioni's first impression is one of snobbish, self-important airs and a short fuse. Her attitude seems cultivated by the hothouse environment she grew up in. Yet there are glimmers that she is somewhat misunderstood as well. For all her apparent self-obsession, Miioni remains fiercely devoted to defending those precious few in her inner circle, revealing an underlying loyalty.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<<else>>
<h1><div class="days36">Miokai Aisara Peru| The Vexatious Noble</div></h1>
✘Male ✘21 ✘The Vassal Novs
<hr>
Appearance:
Miokai has a regal, refined aesthetic. His typical attire consists of blue and orange royal-inspired outfits, though he opts for simple cream-colored clothing when formality isn't required. Miokai, on the other hand, dons cream-colored pants and a beige dress shirt, topped with a brown coat. His outfit is finished with a pair of black boots.
Personality:
Miokai initially comes across as thoroughly snobby, self-centered, and quick to anger - qualities likely shaped by his privileged upbringing. However, there are hints he has been slightly misunderstood. Beneath the bravado lies an individual intensely loyal to those he cares for most. He will steadfastly stand by the people closest to him, despite his prickly exterior.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<</if>><h1><div class="days36">Akiyo Yeom | The Scribe's Neice </div></h1>
✘Female ✘23 ✘Emperor's Arcanum (District Two)
<hr>
Appearance:
Akiyo's delicate features are often accentuated by striking red paint artfully swept across her eyes and brows, contrasting her pale, porcelain skin. Long raven tresses cascade over her shoulders in a glossy wave. Her typical attire consists of pristine white flowing garments with a vibrant red shawl or coat lending elegant splashes of color. However, for the tournament, Akiyo forgoes her usual ethereal aesthetic for a layered red shirt paired with black pants adorned with brown accents - a look befitting the practical demands of combat.
Personality:
As the niece of the famed scribe Aspen Koil, Akiyo prioritizes facts and logic over feelings. She is extremely disciplined, composed, and chooses her words precisely. Following her uncle's murder, Akiyo has adopted an intense reserve and drive to uncover the truth at all costs. She sees empirical facts as the only certainty in an unjust world.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Saeko | The Vengeful Executor</div></h1>
✘Female ✘22 ✘Nordians (District One)
<hr>
Appearance:
For battles, Saeko's hair is tightly braided into a crown atop her head. She favors thick, furry wolf coats to combat the chill of her homeland, though she wears lighter layers in The Kabot kingdom's warmer climate. Green high-waisted pants and loose light brown linen shirts with stand collars complete her utilitarian look.
Personality:
Known as the Vengeful Executioner, Saeko is defined by her blunt, aloof demeanor. She lacks understanding of social cues and customs, singularly focused on her goal-driven existence. Saeko lives minimalistically, her stoic reserve and emotional distance a byproduct of her intent pursuit of personal training and ambitions. Saeko's driving purpose? Avenging her fallen chieftain father against those she believes murdered him unjustly.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Zephyr Everheart| Glad-of-War </div></h1>
✘Male ✘25 ✘The Kabot Kingdom
<hr>
Appearance : Zephyr commands attention with his striking features and regal bearing. His navy blue hair, styled with meticulous precision, frames a face that speaks of both strength and refinement. Sharp orange eyes, rimmed with kohl in the manner of ancient warriors, seem to pierce through any facade. His ears are adorned with intricate jewelry - delicate cascades of orange and blue gems that catch the light like miniature constellations. Though one of the highest-ranking soldiers, Zephyr forgoes traditional armor for a sleek ensemble of jet-black garments that emphasize his lean, muscular build. The dark palette serves to accentuate the vibrant hues of his hair and eyes, creating an aura of controlled power and subtle intimidation.
Personality:
As befits his status as an elite soldier, Zephyr carries himself with an air of quiet authority. His demeanor is often serious and focused, but those who earn his trust may glimpse a dry wit beneath the stern exterior. Zephyr values discipline and competence above all, holding both himself and others to exacting standards. While not outwardly warm, he possesses a strong sense of loyalty to those who prove their worth. In battle or training, Zephyr moves with a fluid grace that belies his deadly skill, his orange eyes alight with the thrill of strategic challenge. Despite his intimidating presence, there's an underlying current of honor to Zephyr's actions - a code that guides his decisions both on and off the battlefield.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">''Fai | The Gentle Mute''</div></h1>
✘Male ✘21 ✘Greenforge (District Four)
<hr>
Appearance:
Fai's aesthetic displays a whimsical traveler or wandering bard with his ensemble of earthen browns, warm beiges, and crisp whites. Soft black tresses are styled in an effortless, straight cascade past his shoulders. However, Fai's most striking feature may be his soulful eyes, framed by lush, pretty lashes that would be the envy of many. Despite his disarming ethereal beauty, he carries himself with an almost nervous energy.
Personality:
A gentle soul, Fai navigates the world as a mute - his only vocalizations are expressed through expressive gestures and subtle nods. He seems to move through life with a lingering hesitance, as if constantly bracing for overstimulation. While unfailingly kindhearted, Fai much prefers the calm companionship of animals to the overwhelming cacophony of human interaction. Yet he could never bring himself to coldly turn anyone away. Behind his quiet presence lies a tender, thoughtful spirit who expresses his affection through small, simple acts of sweetness.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Vie | The Unhinged strangerr</div></h1>
✘Female ✘25 ✘The Vayga (District Three)
<hr>
personality :
Vie exudes an aura of menacing allure. A wicked grin seems permanently etched across her face, her eyes shining with wicked delight at the prospect of battle. She appears to revel in chaos, her relaxed tone belying the terror she inspires - as if she doesn't sound threatening, yet there's an unmistakable darkness about her that sets hearts racing with inexplicable fear.
Appearance : With her ear-length curly green hair and almond skin, Vie cuts a striking figure. She favors skintight black outfits, from her laced crop top that accentuates her curves to the leather pants that cling to her form. After the first trial, her formerly long tresses are shorn into a messy chin-length style. Vie forgoes unnecessary layers like jackets...until after a fight, when she dons her signature shearpa fleece-lined leather jacket with its high collar obscuring the lower half of her face.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
sorry to break it to you buddy buuut, you got none. you'll get there though...one of these days...<h1>Chapter 2, Scene 1</h1><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1><<if $m is "Miioni">>Mionii's POV<<else>>Miiokai's POV<</if>></h1></span><h2>Off to the pigs castle</h2><h3>7 years ago</h3><span style='font-family:cursive'><h3>02:25 pm</h3></span><hr>
<<if $m is "Miioni">>The carriage swayed and jolted, each movement sending waves of irritation through Princess Mionii's slender frame. The thirteen-year-old royal glared daggers at the passing scenery, her delicate features twisted into a mask of disdain.
"Utterly ridiculous," she hissed, adjusting her intricate coiffure for the hundredth time. "One would think these peasants could at least clear a path fit for their betters."
A particularly violent lurch sent Mionii tumbling against the carriage door. As she righted herself, cheeks flushed with indignation, a pained cry from outside caught her ear. Peering through the window, she caught sight of a $haircolour headed commoner child sprawled in the dust, clutching $refer shoulder with a grimace and question in $refer eyes as $gender peered at the retreating carriage.
Before Mionii could fully process the scene, the carriage had already left the $nick far behind.
"Driver!" she snapped, her voice dripping with aristocratic contempt. "What was that dreadful noise?"
The weathered man at the reins barely inclined his head. "Just some debris on the road, Your Highness. Nothing to trouble yourself over."
Mionii's eyes flashed dangerously. "I wasn't aware that 'debris' had taken to wailing like a banshee," she said, her tone icily sweet. "Or perhaps your wits have addled along with your ability to navigate a simple road?"
The driver's knuckles whitened on the reins, but he kept his gaze forward. "My apologies, Your Highness. Likely just some street rat who failed to clear the way. Nothing of consequence."
"Nothing of-" Mionii cut herself off with a derisive laugh. She settled back against the plush cushions, her posture rigid with annoyance. "I suppose it's too much to ask for even a modicum of competence in this godforsaken backwater district."<<else>>The carriage lurched and jolted with each turn of its ornate wheels, every movement grating on young Miokai's already frayed nerves. The thirteen-year-old prince scowled, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the plush velvet seat.
"Incompetent fools," he muttered under his breath, glaring out at the bustling town beyond his gilded prison. "Can these simpleton locals not even maintain a proper road?"
Another violent jerk of the carriage sent Miokai sprawling across the seat. As he righted himself, smoothing his immaculate doublet with a huff, a startled yelp from outside caught his attention. Pressing his face to the glass, he caught a $haircolour headed commoner child sprawled in the dirt, clutching $refer shoulder with a grimace and question in $refer eyes as $gender peered at the retreating carriage.
Before Miokai could process the scene, the carriage had already sped past, leaving the unfortunate $nick in a cloud of dust.
"Driver!" Miokai barked, his voice sharp with irritation. "What in the blazes was that commotion?"
The grizzled man at the reins barely spared a glance backward. "Naught but some rocks and rubble, Your Highness. Pay it no mind."
Miokai's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I wasn't aware that 'rocks and rubble' had taken to yelping like wounded animals," he sneered. "Or perhaps your hearing is as addled as your driving skills?"
The driver's shoulders tensed, knuckles whitened on the reins, but he kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead. "Apologies, Your Highness. Likely just some urchin who didn't clear the way fast enough. No cause for concern."
"No cause for-" Miokai cut himself off with a derisive snort. He slumped back in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Clearly, finding competent help is beyond the capabilities of this backwater district."<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|Clearly no one could do their jobs right around here.]]
<<if $m is "Miioni">>Princess Mionii adjusted her elaborate gown with a frustrated sigh, her gaze finally landing on the stone-faced woman seated across from her. The royal attendant met her look with practiced indifference, which only served to fuel Mionii's irritation.
A meeting with the king. With her...//father//.
The mere notion of addressing that pompous windbag as "Dad" or "Father" was enough to make Mionii's skin crawl. A derisive laugh escaped her lips, causing the attendant to quirk an eyebrow.
"Something amuses Your Highness?" the woman inquired, her tone carefully modulated.
Mionii's smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, just pondering the tedious charade that awaits us at the palace," she purred. "Tell me, does His //Majesty// still preface every utterance with that atrocious throat-clearing?"
The attendant's face remained impassive, but Mionii pressed on, her voice dripping with venom. "You must know the one - like a sow attempting to dislodge a acorn from its gullet. Invariably followed by that infantile 'err...' as if stringing together a coherent thought is beyond his //regal// abilities."
She demonstrated with an exaggerated "HRRRK-err..." that filled the carriage. The attendant's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly.
Mionii's eyes glittered with malicious glee. "And let's not overlook his obsession with that monstrosity masquerading as facial hair. Forever pawing at it like some kind of senile cat." Her fingers twitched, mimicking the motion. "Oh, how I yearn to take a pair of shears to that unkempt disaster. Perhaps then we might actually glimpse his face beneath all that... wild shrubbery."
The attendant cleared her throat, a sound unnervingly reminiscent of the one Mionii had just mocked. "Your Highness, it might be prudent to-"
"To what?" Mionii cut in, her brief amusement evaporating. "To feign respect? To express gratitude for the ''privilege'' of His Majesty's attention?" She leaned forward, eyes flashing dangerously. "Pray tell, what has that man ever done to merit my esteem? To be anything more than the bumbling oaf who happens to wear a crown?"
A heavy silence descended upon the carriage. The attendant's gaze dropped to her lap, clearly unwilling to engage further. Mionii reclined, a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of her painted lips. Let them all marinate in discomfort. It was the least she could do to inject some entertainment into this tedious journey.
As the carriage rolled onward, Mionii's thoughts turned to the impending audience. She envisioned the king, bedecked in his gaudy regalia, stumbling through pleasantries and hollow attempts at fatherly affection. The mental image made her stomach roil with disgust.
"Well," she murmured to herself, too softly for the attendant to hear, "let the farce commence."<<else>>With a petulant huff, Miokai shifted in his seat, his gaze finally settling on the stoic figure across from him - the assistant assigned to escort him to this dreaded meeting. The man's impassive face revealed nothing, which only served to irritate the young prince further.
A meeting with the king. With his...//father//.
The very thought of addressing the pompous old fool as "Dad" or "Father" was enough to make Miokai's lip curl in disgust. He let out a derisive snort, earning a raised eyebrow from the assistant.
"Something amusing, Your Highness?" the man inquired, his tone carefully neutral.
Miokai waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, just contemplating the farce that awaits us at the palace," he drawled. "Tell me, does His //Majesty// still begin every sentence with that ridiculous throat-clearing?"
The assistant's face remained impassive, but Miokai pressed on, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know the one - like a pig trying to dislodge a turnip from its gullet. Followed by that infantile 'err...' as if forming coherent thoughts is beyond his //kingly// capabilities."
He mimicked the sound, an exaggerated "HRRRK-err..." that echoed in the confined space of the carriage. The assistant's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
Miokai's eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. "And let's not forget his obsession with that monstrosity he calls a beard. Always pawing at it like some sort of demented squirrel." His fingers twitched, pantomiming the motion. "Oh, how I long to take a pair of shears to that scraggly mess. Perhaps then we'd be able to see his actual face beneath all that... untamed foliage."
The assistant cleared his throat, a sound unnervingly similar to the one Miokai had just mocked. "Your Highness, perhaps it would be wise to-"
"To what?" Miokai snapped, his momentary amusement evaporating. "To show respect? To be grateful for the ''honor'' of His Majesty's attention?" He leaned forward, eyes flashing. "Tell me, what has that man ever done to earn my respect? To be anything more than the bumbling fool who happens to wear a crown?"
A tense silence fell over the carriage. The assistant's gaze dropped to the floor, clearly unwilling to engage further. Miokai leaned back, a smug smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Let them all stew in discomfort. It was the least he could do to make this tedious journey somewhat entertaining.
As the carriage rolled on, Miokai's mind wandered to the impending meeting. He imagined the king, resplendent in his royal finery, fumbling through pleasantries and hollow attempts at paternal affection. The thought made his stomach churn.
"Well," he murmured to himself, too quietly for the assistant to hear, "let the farce commence."<</if>>
<hr>
[[But that could wait.]]<<set $TKK to Math.clamp($TKK + 100, 0, 100)>><<if $m is "Miioni">>But those thoughts of the impending audience could wait. Something else was prickling at Mionii's awareness, an irritation that grew with each passing second.
Her leg trembled subtly, an involuntary betrayal of her mounting tension. Mionii's gaze hardened as she realized the common-born attendant had noticed this nervous habit. The very notion that this insignificant servant could perceive her disquiet made Mionii's skin crawl.
As if sensing the princess's rising displeasure, the attendant hastily averted her eyes, fiddling with her collar in a transparent attempt to appear occupied.
"As she should," Mionii thought acidly. "Peasants and their insufferable gawking." She turned her attention to the window, watching the countryside rush by without truly registering any of it.
The carriage jolted onward, each moment an eternity as they drew nearer to the palace. Mionii's thoughts drifted back to the odd behavior she'd observed in the king of late.
The old buffoon had always been peculiar in Mionii's estimation, but recently, there was something... off. She'd caught glimpses of her father beaming like a fool while reviewing documents he typically abhorred. The king had taken to lingering over his wine, actually savoring it instead of swilling it down like the drunkard he was.
Naturally, Mionii had never stooped to inquire about this shift. Why should she give a fig? The old man could drown in his precious spirits for all she cared.
And yet... something about it all needled at Mionii. An unsettling suspicion that this abrupt summons, this "matter of importance," was somehow linked to the king's bizarre new conduct.
Mionii's manicured nails tapped a staccato rhythm against the carriage door, her mind whirling with scenarios, each more vexing than the last. Whatever the truth might be, she knew one thing with certainty - it would come to light soon enough.
As the palace's imposing silhouette appeared on the horizon, Mionii braced herself for the confrontation ahead. Whatever scheme the king was hatching, she refused to be caught unawares.<<else>>But those thoughts of the impending meeting could wait. Something else was gnawing at Miokai's consciousness, an irritation that grew with each passing moment.
His leg bounced involuntarily, a telltale sign of his mounting anxiety. Miokai's eyes narrowed as he realized the commoner across from him had noticed this nervous tic. The very idea that this insignificant assistant could perceive his unease made Miokai's blood boil.
As if sensing the prince's rising ire, the assistant hastily averted his gaze, adjusting his spectacles with trembling fingers.
"As he should," Miokai thought bitterly. "Old people and their damnable staring problems." He turned his attention to the window, watching the landscape blur past without really seeing it.
The carriage rattled on, each minute stretching into an eternity as they drew closer to the palace. Miokai's mind wandered back to the peculiar behavior he'd observed in the king recently.
The old fool had always been eccentric in Miokai's eyes, but lately, there was something... different. He'd caught glimpses of his father grinning like a simpleton while poring over documents he usually despised. The king had taken to savoring his wine, actually tasting it instead of guzzling it down like the lush he was.
Of course, Miokai had never deigned to inquire about this change. Why should he care? The old man could choke on his precious vintage for all it mattered to him.
And yet... something about it all nagged at Miokai. An unsettling feeling that this sudden summons, this "important discussion," was somehow connected to the king's strange new demeanor.
Miokai's fingers drummed against the carriage door, his mind racing with possibilities, each more unpleasant than the last. Whatever the truth might be, he knew one thing for certain - it would reveal itself soon enough.
As the palace loomed into view, Miokai steeled himself for the encounter ahead. Whatever game the king was playing, he refused to be caught unprepared.
<</if>>
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[Continue|BooksBooksBooks]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[Continue|ColdDustAndDuppies]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Cold dust and duppies</h1></span><h2>present time</h2><h3>17:01 pm</h3><hr>
The dust right ahead of you shoots up from the impact of the shot as you run for cover, the dust making its way into your nose and eyes.
Just barely you had managed to skid to a stop before sliding behind a large barrel, the spot you had just been standing at now smoking from heat. The smell of burnt wood filling in your nostrils after a few coughs.
She was being relentless for the past what? Three hours? You could feel sweat making your shirt stick onto your back, your boots uncomfortable against your toes from all the running and your hair sticking on your neck and forehead. The cold air of the evening did nothing too comfort your skin, aiding in discomfort by causing you to feel a chill.
"COME OUT AND BE A $warrior!" Nag Walan roared out and her footsteps neared. You had to do something fast.
It's been a few years of training with Nag Walan, through all the intense training and somewhat harsh lessons, you have learned a lot about her and yourself in a way.
<hr>
[[Continue|you have learned a lot about her and yourself in a way.]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>><<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 20, 0, 100)>><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Books, books, books!</h1></span><h2>present time</h2><h3>17:01 pm</h3><hr>
"Focus, $name," the overseer's voice carried softly across the room, a gentle reminder rather than a reprimand as he watched you over his cup. You could hear the subtle clink of his teacup being set down on the polished wooden desk behind you.
The air in the study was thick with a heady mixture of scents - the sharp tang of ink, the crisp aroma of freshly bound pages, and the sweet, floral notes of hibiscus tea. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room and highlighting motes of dust that danced in the air. It was the late afternoon sunlight that was always beautiful.
<hr>
[[Learn with Overseer]]
Her name had confused you when you had found out about its meaning. Nag Walan meaning Crazy Lady, in Somalian specifically. You still had no idea why she proudly called herself by that name after it was given to her, by her own elders no less.
It wasn't a pleasant name, people often cherished the opportunity to give their child a name. Picking one with the best meaning with some excitement.
It seemed this wasn't the case for her.
Though, that did not mean it was her birth name. Bilan was her name, after finding out five years after meeting her. Immediately, you had been warned not to use it under no circumstances. As a preference, apparently. Getting personal information from her had been a struggle of its own, but you acknowledged everyone's boundaries are different. You just hoped she was comfortable with you soon as you were with her...
She had been a wonderful person to observe though, learning more about her habits, traits- both good and bad. She helped you adapt with new concepts with surprising patience, drilling it into your brain until it had become second nature. That was the theme for every lesson. Every task.
Repeat and repeat until you begin dreaming about the answers, dreaming about Nag chasing you down with her sharp porcupine stick, that's what she decided to name her artifact.
<hr>
[[Continue|WhatSC]]
You pause in your practice, catching your breath as you adjust your shoes behind a barrel. Your mind wanders to the broader implications of artifacts. These special items have been a part of your world for as long as you can remember, but it's only recently that their true significance has become clear.
People with unique abilities can bond with artifacts, enhancing their natural talents to extraordinary levels. While many use these tools for combat, others apply them to more mundane tasks, their enhanced skills transforming everyday work into something remarkable.
A wry smile crosses your face as you consider the Vassals' recruitment tactics. They eagerly snatch up anyone with these rare enhancements, leaving the districts feeling hollowed out. It's as if those without artifacts are somehow less valuable, too "plain" to be worthy of notice.
Your grip on your shoes tightens slightly as you mull over the inequality. The Vassals seem to be hoarding all the talent and potential, leaving the rest of the population to scrape by with whatever's left. It's a stark reminder of how things operate in the Districts - always coming up short compared to the opulent Main Nexus, the Kabot Kingdom, and the Vassal Novs Kingdom.
"Dirt," you mutter under your breath, the word laden with frustration. That's how it feels sometimes, being from the Districts - like you're nothing but dirt beneath the feet of those in power. And the worst part is, everyone knows it. Some deny it, some choose blissful ignorance, and others silently accept their lot.
You shake your head, refocusing on the present. It wasn't all bad; some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.
<hr>
[[Continue|some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.]]
Nag Walan stands before you, a living legend who once denied an offer from The Vassal Novs. The details of that offer remain a mystery, but you know she now uses her artifact solely to train you and Dante.
Speaking of Dante, he found his artifact a few years ago - a whip discovered during his adventures in the kingdom. You, however, still await your own. The absence weighs heavily on your mind as you approach your twentieth birthday, the traditional cut-off for artifact manifestation.
What if you don't have one at all?
You push the doubt aside, recalling Nag Walan's unwavering confidence. After all, you can read spells from books - a feat only possible for those destined for an artifact. It's your sole defense against the brutal onslaught of training.
Nag Walan's voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and demanding: "YOU'VE GOT TEN SECONDS! COME OUT AND BE A <<print $warrior.toUpperCase()>>!"
Training. Right. You snap back to the present, crouched behind a huge crate in Nag Walan's sun-baked backyard. The ground beneath you is a mix of sand and small rocks, uncomfortable against your knees as you frantically flip through your small handbook.
Your eyes dart across the pages, desperately seeking a spell, any spell, that might give you an edge. The pressure mounts with each passing second. You need a plan, and fast.
Just a few feet away, Dante watches from the porch of Nag Walan's wooden home. You can feel his gaze, a mix of curiosity and concern, as you prepare to face whatever challenge awaits.
<hr>
[[ ҉ Enchanting Attack, use dark fox phantom|Enchanting1]]
[[ ҉ Distraction, use faux duppy Doppelgänger|Distraction1]]
[[ ҉ Physical attack, use your surroundings|Physical1]] With a deep breath, you slip out just as the barrel explodes into splinters. Your palm presses firmly against the page, and a surge of energy courses through you. Small fox phantoms materialize, their shadowy forms a blend of human and vulpine features. They streak towards Nag Walan, their ethereal bodies leaving trails of darkness in their wake.
The phantoms converge on Nag, slashing with ghostly claws. She reacts with lightning speed, her cane erupting with arcane energy. Bolts of magic blast through the air, dissipating your constructs one by one. You hear her teeth clench, letting out sharp hisses as she fends off the assault.
Your mind races, searching for an opening. The heat in your palm intensifies as you channel more energy, summoning one last, larger phantom. It hurtles towards Nag, aimed not at her body, but at her hand. The impact is precise - her cane clatters to the ground with a resounding thud.
"Surrender," you demand, your voice rough from exertion. Your heart pounds in your ears, adrenaline surging through your veins.
Nag's eyes lock onto yours, then flick to your palm still pressed against the page. A small chuckle escapes her lips, a sound that sends a chill down your spine despite the heat of battle.
"I don't need to have my artifact to beat you," she teases. Her face hardens, eyes narrowing with determination.
Before you can react, she launches into a gut-wrenching sprint. Her speed belies her age, catching you off-guard.
'Shit,' you think, frantically trying to conjure another spell. But it's too late.
The world spins as Nag closes the distance. You feel the impact before you register what's happened. Your back slams against the ground, the rough pavement scraping against your skin. The air rushes from your lungs, leaving you gasping.
"That's it," Nag declares, her voice a mix of satisfaction and pride.
As you lie there, catching your breath, Nag settles onto a nearby cart. Her eyes, usually so stern during training, now hold a glimmer of affection. She nods encouragingly in your direction, a silent acknowledgment of your effort and progress.
Slowly, you push yourself up, wincing at the fresh scrapes and bruises. Nag approaches, her purple and black dress swaying as she walks. She extends a hand, helping you to your feet. Then, with a gentle motion that contrasts sharply with her earlier ferocity, she ruffles your hair.
"Not bad $nick," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth turning up in a rare smile. "But remember, you better prepared for anything. Even loss should be studied intently. No moping."
You nod, absorbing the lesson as you brush the dirt from your clothes. Despite the ache in your muscles, a sense of accomplishment warms your chest. You may not have won, but each training session brings you one step closer to mastering your arcane abilities. Plus you held off without back up for a full hour. Nice.
<hr>
[[Guess that was it]]<<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 10, 0, 100)>>The book in your hand grows warm, almost pulsing with energy from overuse. You steel yourself, convinced you can muster one more enchantment.
Closing your eyes to concentrate, you feel the magic surge through you. With a silent command, two duppies slip from the pages of your book. Dark figures materialize, quickly morphing into perfect replicas of you. Their $skinshade skin and $hairlook $haircolour hair match yours exactly, but there's an unsettling difference. Their bodies exude a chill, their clothing and skin damp to the touch, a stark contrast to your warm, living flesh.
The duppies stare at you with vacant eyes, their chests barely moving as they await instruction. The eerie stillness sends a shiver down your spine.
"Alright, you attack Nag," you command the first duppy. $Refer rises silently, awaiting further orders. Turning to the second, you continue, "And you attack using an object. A rock, stick - anything."
Without a sound, they spring into action. The first duppy bolts forward, arms flailing in an uncoordinated assault. It unleashes a flurry of punches at Nag Walan, but the old woman's movements are fluid and precise. She dodges each blow with a grace that belies her age.
The second duppy follows closely behind, scooping up a wooden stick from the ground. It charges at Nag, swinging the makeshift weapon at her face. But Nag is ready. Her walking stick, imbued with arcane power, comes up in a swift parry. The crack of wood on wood echoes through the yard.
As soon as they make contact, the duppies begin to evaporate. Their single instructions fulfilled, they dissolve into thick, black smoke that engulfs Nag Walan's face. For a moment, she's blinded, her usual keen gaze obscured.
This is your chance. Heart pounding, you sprint forward. The ground shifts beneath your feet, sand and small rocks threatening your balance. You push through, focused on your target - Nag's staff.
Your foot connects, kicking the artifact away from her grasp. A surge of triumph courses through you, but it's short-lived. Before you can capitalize on your advantage, you feel a iron grip on your collar. The world tilts as Nag's leg sweeps under your feet.
Time seems to slow as you fall. The sky above spins, and then - impact. You slam backward onto the hard ground, your head connecting with a sickening thud. Pain explodes through your skull, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears.
Through the disorientation, you make out Nag Walan's figure looming above you. She stands tall, her usual hunch absent, adding to her imposing presence. Her long red and black dress sways gently in the breeze, a contrast to the intense focus in her eyes.
As the ringing subsides, you hear Nag signal the end of training. Her serious expression softens for just a moment, a quick, approving grin flickering across her weathered features. She reaches down, her calloused hand gently ruffling your $haircolour hair as you remain sprawled on the ground, catching your breath.
The sun beats down, your chest heaving as you process the whirlwind of the past few minutes. Despite the ache in your body, a small sense of pride blooms. You held your own, if only for a few hours, against one of the most formidable trainers you know. As you slowly sit up, sand clinging to your clothes.
<hr>
[[Guess that was it]]<<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue + 10, 0, 100)>> Wrapping your hand around the slab of wood, you grasp a handful of sand in your palm before bolting out, running straight for nag as you swung the piece of wood over your head.
You could see the look of confusion then amusement as you got closer before switching hands and sending the sand flying towards her face.
Unfortunately for you she closes her eyes and dodges your attack before slamming her staff against your wrist, making you drop your weapon with a hiss before you feel a stinging sensation behind your calf, sending you down on your knees and a staff pointed right at your neck.
"You're dead." She sighed, glancing down at you with an acknowledging nod.
<hr>
[[Guess that was it]]<<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 10, 0, 100)>>"You still want out?" Nag asked Dante, her piercing gaze shifting to where he stood on the sidelines. Throughout the training, he had been gripping the railings, his knuckles white with tension.
Dante swallowed hard, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. "Oh? No way. I think I'm good." His voice wavered slightly, betraying his unease.
Nag's eyes narrowed, her tone sharpening. "You'll need to train one way or another." She bent to retrieve her staff, her movements deliberate as she gathered her essentials. As she turned towards her cabin, her arm came to rest on her lower back, a subtle reminder of the toll years of combat had taken.
Before disappearing inside, she muttered, "You can't rely on free chances forever." The words hung in the air, a pointed jab at Dante's tendency to depend on luck rather than skill. Though harsh, there was an undeniable kernel of truth in her assessment.
As soon as Nag vanished into the cabin, Dante rushed to your side. He gently draped your arm over his shoulder,immediately doting on you and supporting your weight as he helped you to your feet. His eyes, filled with concern, flickering over your figure to deduce a sore spot before he meets yours. "Are you alright?"
<hr>
<<if $Charismatic >= 55 && $Charismatic >= $Aloof>><<set $charismaticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $charismaticPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Callous >= 55 && $Callous >= $Empathetic>><<set $callousPassage = true>><<else>><<set $callousPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Empathetic >= 55 && $Empathetic > $Callous>><<set $empatheticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $empatheticPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Aloof >= 55 && $Aloof > $Charismatic>><<set $aloofPassage = true>><<else>><<set $aloofPassage = false>><</if>> <div id="choices"><<if $charismaticPassage>>[["Yeah. Just a few scratches"]]
[["Yeah. Just a few scratches. ♡"]]
[["I'm in painuhh ♡"]]
[["I'm in painuhh."]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">"Yeah. Just a few scratches"</span>
<span class="disabled">"Yeah. Just a few scratches."</span>
<span class="disabled">"I'm in painuhh ♡"</span>
<span class="disabled">"I'm in painuhh."</span>
<</if>>
<<if $aloofPassage>>
[["I'm fine."]]
[["I'm fine."♡]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">"I'm fine."</span>
<span class="disabled">"I'm fine."♡</span>
<</if>>
<<if $empatheticPassage>>
[["Oh- umm, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. ♡"]]
[["I'm fine, don't worry.]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">"Oh- umm, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about. ♡"</span>
<span class="disabled">"I'm fine, don't worry."</span>
<</if>>
<<if $callousPassage>>
[['does he think you're weak or something?']]
[['does he think you're weak or something?'♡]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">'does he think you're weak or something?'</span>
<span class="disabled">'does he think you're weak or something?'♡</span>
<</if>>
</div>
"Yeah" you say with a sigh, letting him lead you to a crate. "Just a few scratches here and there."
"Shit, that must hurt.." he hisses, as if experiencing the pain before pulling out a first aid kit and setting it down next to you before taking a seat himself.
"That looked like a whole war zone."
"And based on what Nag is saying, the tournament is way worse." You tease, watching him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his fingers working on patching you up and your eyes.
"Gosh, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Over four years? Six? " He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.]]
"Dante, I'm in pain," you whine, exaggerating your distress as you lean into him, playing the damsel in distress.
Dante's eyes widen, a mix of concern and surprise flashing across his face. "What? Of course, I'll take you inside $name," he says, his voice filled with warmth and worry.
You can't help but laugh at his reaction, noticing the slight darkening of his cheeks. "I was just kidding, I'm fine," you admit with a light smirk, patting his arm before detaching yourself and making your way to a nearby crate to rest.
"Right," Dante says, a hint of relief in his voice. "You had me worried there for a second."
"Exactly why I did that," you reply, your smile fading as you glance down at the bruises forming on your arm.
Dante's eyes follow yours, and he winces sympathetically. "Ouch, that looks like it hurts," he says, his voice soft with concern. In a flash, he's pulled out a first aid kit and set it down next to you, taking a seat himself.
As he begins tending to your bruises, you can't help but tease him. "And based on what Nag is saying, the tournament is way worse."
Dante's hands pause for a moment, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the bruises he's treating. "My word, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean, I know I've been asking this for what? Over four years? Six?" he mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
The familiar argument hangs in the air between you, Dante's opposition to the tournament as present as ever. Yet, despite his worries, his touch remains gentle as he cares for your injuries, his proximity sending a subtle warmth through you.
You find yourself studying his face as he works, noticing the way his brow furrows in concentration, the slight quirk of his lips as he focuses. There's something comforting about his presence, a sense of safety that goes beyond the physical care he's providing.
"You know," Dante says, breaking the silence with a sudden grin, "if this tournament thing doesn't work out, we could always start a two-person circus act. I'll juggle, and you can be the daredevil who survived Nag's training. We'd be a hit."
His flimsy idea, delivered with typical Dante enthusiasm, brings a genuine smile to your face. It's moments like these - his unwavering support, his ability to bring light to any situation - that make your heart flutter in a way you're not quite ready to examine.
As Dante finishes patching you up, his hand lingers for just a moment longer than necessary. But as quickly as it appears, the moment passes. It seemed that he was still uneasy about the tournament.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|Flity, why tournament]]<<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>"Oh- umm, I'm fine! I'm doing fine, nothing to worry about." You quickly speak, glancing down at both your boots as you neared the crate. Trying your best to ignore how warm his hand was around your wrist.
"You look beat up," he pointed out, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Do I?" You ask alarmed, glancing at your reflection on a window nearby.
"No, no. I was messing around. You look perfect. You always do." He blurted out, pausing as to process his words, causing the both of you to glance at each other with wide eyes before glancing away, awkwardly shuffling around each other.
Your nerves leave your body as you glance down at the few bruises forming on your arm.
"Shit, that must hurt.." he hisses, as if experiencing the pain before pulling out a first aid kit and setting it down next to you before taking a seat himself.
"And based on what Nag is saying, the tournament is way worse." You sigh before noticing him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his fingers working on patching you up and your eyes.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|Shy, why tournament]] <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>"I can walk on my own you know." You grumble, ignoring his laugh as he carries on.
"Nah, I don't know about that. Imagine you trip over a whimsy acorn and die." He says, watching you from the concern of his eye with amusement as you scrunched your face up.
"An acorn? Out of all things"
"Yup, an acorn." He lets you go, letting you sit on a crate before his eyes shift down at the few bruises forming on your arm.
Without a word he walks off to fetch the first aid kit and sets it next to you before taking a seat in front of you.
"Shit, that must hurt.." he hisses, as if experiencing the pain himself.
"This craps nothing, besides, the tournament is way worse." You huff, watching him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his fingers working on patching you up and your eyes.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|angry, why tournament]] There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course the rah shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"What you should be worried about is yourself, Dante." You sigh, watching him work with perfect precision. He was good at patchwork, you noted.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" You urge, resting a hand over his as he glances at anything but you.
"I don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can, the way you're approaching it is what's making you worried."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but physical training, avoiding it like the plague" you say, standing up to rest a hand on his shoulder. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["Looks like you're right..."]]There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course the idea was shot down instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"What you should be worried about is yourself, Dante," you sigh, watching him work with perfect precision. You note how good he is at patchwork.
"I know but...I just..." he sighs. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" you urge, resting a hand over his as he glances at anything but you.
"I don't think I can do //this//," he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can, the way you're approaching it is what's making you worried."
"What do you mean?" he asked, though something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but physical training, avoiding it like the plague," you say, standing up to rest a hand on his shoulder. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["Looks like you're right..."]] There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course the rah shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"What you should be worried about is yourself, Dante." You mutter, watching him work with perfect precision. He was good at patchwork, you noted.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" You softly urge, resting a hand over his cautiously as he glances at anything but you.
"It's just- don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can! the way you're approaching it is what's making you stressed out..."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing great, don't get me wrong! but...if i have to be honest you're doing anything and everything but physical training, it's like you're avoiding it like the plague"
you say, standing up. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["Looks like you're right..."]]There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course the rah shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"What you should be worried about is yourself, Dante." You sigh, watching him work with perfect precision. He was good at patchwork, you noted.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" You urge, resting a hand over his as he glances at anything but you.
"I don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can, the way you're approaching it is what's making you worried."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but physical training, avoiding it like the plague" you say, standing up to rest a hand on his shoulder. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["Looks like you're right..."]]"Hmm, let me think on that," you say, tapping your chin in an exaggerated display of contemplation. Your eyes narrow playfully as you draw out the moment. "How about... No."
Dante bursts into laughter, his whole body shaking with mirth. He wipes away tears of amusement, his eyes sparkling with barely contained glee. "Why?" he manages to ask between chuckles.
You roll your eyes dramatically, but can't quite hide your own amusement. "You know why. That thing tastes like a goblin's armpit wrapped in sugar."
Dante's face contorts into an exaggerated pout, his lower lip quivering comically. "That's sad to hear. Thought best friends were supposed to share their favorites with each other." He struggles to maintain his wounded expression, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fights back another fit of laughter.
Your eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, your voice rising an octave. "You're- it's your favorite?!" The disbelief in your tone is palpable, mixed with a hint of horror at the implications.
<hr>
[["You both are so easy to find with all your yelling"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>> "Nope. Nu-uh. Not hearing this again." You shake your head vigorously, dramatically shrugging off Dante's arm from your shoulders. Your exaggerated movements belie the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Dante's eyes dance with mischief as he launches into his defense. "What? Why? It's—" He breaks off, doubling over in laughter at your exaggerated expression of disgust. When he catches his breath, he continues, "It's literally the best thing ever invented!"
You arch an eyebrow, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, warm and sticky. The best thing invented. Right up there with moldy bread and stubbed toes."
"Warm and sticky...//what?//" a familiar voice interjects from behind you both. The crisp, refined tones cut through the air, each word enunciated with precision. It's the kind of accent that conjures images of tea parties and tailored suits, a stark contrast to the dusty street around you.
<hr>
[[Continue|Juno secret warning TO]]
"I'm sure it'll be nice but..." you mutter, your mind racing to find a diplomatic way to express your distaste without hurting Dante's feelings.
What if your opinion makes him doubt himself? What if he feels embarrassed or thinks less of what brings him joy?
You want to be truthful yet considerate, but the thought of disappointing him weighs heavily on you. The last thing you want is to make him feel embarrassed about something he enjoys.
Your internal debate is interrupted by Dante's warm, soft voice. "Hey," he says, followed by a gentle press of a thumb to your forehead.
<<if $height is "short">>You glance at him to see dante bent forward, bringing himself to eye level with you. His smile is gentle, eyes gleaming with warmth as they meet yours. The closeness allows you to catch the faint scent of parchment and ink that always seems to cling to him after his lessons. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his breath ghosting across your face.
<</if>><<if $height is "middle">>You turn to see dante's smile is gentle, his eyes gleaming with warmth as they lock with yours. You're suddenly aware of how the afternoon sun catches the flecks of gold in his irises, a detail you've never noticed before. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your worries.
<</if>><<if $height is "tall">>You turn to see dante tilt his head up slightly to meet your gaze, his smile gentle and eyes gleaming with warmth. From this angle, you're struck by how the light catches his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone and the slope of his nose. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his voice carrying up to you like a warm breeze.<</if>>
"What's wrong?" a familiar voice asks from behind you both, the crisp, refined tones cutting through the moment.
<hr>
[["what's wrong"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous - 5, 0, 100)>>
"Hell no, no fucking way," you declare emphatically, shoving Dante away with more force than necessary. He teeters for a moment, arms windmilling comically before he regains his balance, erupting into a fit of laughter.
"It's not that bad, $nickname, come on!" Dante wheezes between chuckles, his hands darting out to poke at your sides. You swat his hands away with the practiced ease of someone who's endured years of such playful attacks.
Your eyes narrow as you fix him with an incredulous stare. "Yes, it is. Have you actually tasted that disgusting concoction for once instead of just chugging it like it's the elixir of life?"
Before Dante can formulate a response, a familiar voice cuts through your banter. "Dante?" The crisp, refined tones carry a note of surprise.
<hr>
[["Dante?"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>> <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Don't come back if you lose kid</h1></span> <h3>03:01 pm</h3><hr>
Throughout the next month, your training intensifies significantly. The grueling regimen only eases up in the final week when Nag decides you've endured enough beatings - a decision Dante wholeheartedly supports.
Today finds you at The Viscount Inn, navigating the bustling crowd with a laden tray of drinks. The bar is a hive of activity, filled with both familiar faces and newcomers drawn by the approaching tournament. Business is booming, and with your co-waiter out sick, you're facing not just a rush hour, but an entire day of non-stop commotion.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" The booming voice of Mr. Okly, your employer, cuts through the din as he emerges from his private office. It's a cramped space where he meticulously guards his files, payment slips, and - most importantly to him - his stashes of money.
Mr. Okly is a study in contrasts. Standing at a mere 4'8", his stout frame is always impeccably dressed in a crisp white waistcoat and perfectly pressed grey suit pants. His meticulously groomed grey hair and dapper little French mustache give him an air of distinction, further enhanced by the polished brown walking stick he carries. But it's his voice that truly startles - a deep, resonant boom that seems impossibly large for his diminutive stature.
"How's the money going, kid?" he inquires, attempting to lean an elbow on the tall table beside you as you mix another drink. His arm falls comically short, but his enthusiasm is undiminished. His eyes gleam with an almost manic light, reflecting his boundless passion for profit.
You can practically see the gears turning in Mr. Okly's head, no doubt concocting some new money-making scheme. He's taken to treating you as something of a protégé lately, freely dispensing business advice and financial tips.
<hr>
''[["We might even afford to fix that leaky roof soon."]]''
''[["Amazing, look at all this money!"]]''
''[["It seems to be going great! Or at least I hope."]]''
''[["Okay."]]''
"It's a great day, Mr. Okly," you drawl, your focus intently on the intricate cocktail you're mixing. "Business is booming. We might even afford to fix that leaky roof soon."
Mr. Okly's boisterous laugh fills the air. "That's the spirit, $lastname! Always thinking ahead. Keep raking in those coins!"
You can't help but roll your eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "Oh yes, I live for the thrill of serving overpriced drinks to rowdy patrons. It's my life's calling."
Mr. Okly chuckles, clearly enjoying your banter. His expression shifts slightly, and you brace yourself for what's coming next.
"Say, $lastname," he begins, his tone deceptively casual, "I've been thinking about that lady again. You know, the one who paid for your stay all those years ago?"
You suppress a sigh. This familiar line of questioning never fails to pique your own curiosity, even as it irritates you. "Ah yes, my fairy godmother. Sadly, my memory of her is about as clear as the bottom of a whiskey barrel."
Mr. Okly's eyes gleam with interest. "Come now, surely you remember something? A name, perhaps? Or why she took such an interest in a mud-covered urchin?"
You shrug, maintaining your nonchalant facade despite the questions swirling in your own mind. "Maybe she mistook me for a rare, dirt-dwelling creature. Thought she'd struck gold in the cryptozoology market."
Mr. Okly laughs heartily, but you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "You're a card, $lastname. But seriously, if you ever remember anything..."
"You'll be the first to know," you finish for him, already moving to serve another customer. "Right after I inform the town crier and throw a parade."
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh? "]]''<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
"Amazing," you respond in a singsong tone, pulling out your tips from your pocket with a flourish. "I mean, look at all this money."
Mr. Okly's eyes light up, sparkling with unbridled avarice. His sausage-like fingers reach out instinctively, but you deftly pull the cash out of his reach.
"Uh-uh, this is my tips, bud," you say with a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah," he replies, playfully rolling his eyes before twisting his mustache thoughtfully. "You keep on collecting all that money, kid."
There's a brief pause as Mr. Okly's expression shifts, a familiar glint of curiosity appearing in his eyes. You brace yourself, knowing what's coming next.
"Speaking of money," he begins, his tone casual but his gaze intent, "I've been meaning to ask you something. Do you remember anything about that lady who came here years ago? The one who paid for your stay?"
You sigh internally. This isn't the first time Mr. Okly has broached this subject, and you doubt it'll be the last. The memory of that day is hazy at best - a beautiful woman, a grand carriage, and a kindness you couldn't comprehend at the time.
"Mr. Okly," you say, your voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "we've been over this. I was just a kid playing in the mud. I don't know why she helped me or who she was."
Mr. Okly nods, but you can see the wheels turning in his head. The mystery of your benefactor has been a source of fascination for him ever since that day. "It's just curious, you know? A fine lady like that, taking interest in a mud-covered child. Must have been someone important to have that kind of money to throw around."
You shrug, turning back to your work. "Maybe she just felt like doing a good deed that day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more drinks to serve and more tips to earn."
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh? "]]''<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>
"It's going well, I think," you say with a hesitant smile, your eyes darting to Mr. Okly's face. "At least, I hope it is."
Mr. Okly chuckles, his grey mustache twitching. "You're doing splendidly, my dear! No need for doubt." He gives you a hearty pat on the back, causing you to stumble slightly and slosh your drink.
"Keep up the excellent work!" he adds enthusiastically, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of pride and calculation.
You nod, wiping up the spilled liquid with a nearby cloth. Mr. Okly leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Say, I've been thinking about that lady again. The one who paid for your stay all those years ago."
You pause, a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at the memory. "The blonde woman? With the carriage?"
Mr. Okly's eyes light up at this morsel of information. "Yes, exactly! I've never seen someone do something like that for a stranger. Do you remember anything else about her?"
You pause briefly, trying to grasp at the fading wisps of memory. "She... she found me playing in the mud. Cleaned me up, spent the day with me..." You direct your eyes, meeting Mr. Okly's eager gaze. "But it was so long ago, and I was just a child."
"Fascinating," Mr. Okly murmurs, stroking his mustache. "A whole day, you say? And then she paid for years of your stay before leaving? Most peculiar indeed."
You nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and an inexplicable longing. "I wish I could remember more. She seemed to care so much, but I don't know why."
Mr. Okly pats your hand, his expression more attentive than usual. "Well, if you ever recall anything else, you'll let me know, won't you? It's quite the mystery!"
"Of course, Mr. Okly," you reply, managing a small smile. "You'll be the first to know if I remember anything."
As you serve another customer, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze following you. The questions about the mysterious lady linger in the air, unanswered but ever-present.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh? "]]''<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
You glance up, your expression unchanging. "Okay."
He grins, twirling his mustache. "Still practicing your statue impression, I see. You know, you could make a fortune if we marketed you as a living gargoyle."
You pause your wiping, fixing him with a deadpan stare. "Fascinating business proposition."
Mr. Okly chuckles heartily. "Oh, come now! Throw me a bone here. How about a smile? Just a tiny one?"
You maintain your stoic expression, resuming your cleaning. "I'm saving it for a special occasion."
"Ah, of course! Wouldn't want to waste such a rare commodity," Mr. Okly quips, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "But let me tell you, that brooding look of yours? Pure gold! The customers can't get enough of it."
You raise an eyebrow slightly. "Thrilling."
Mr. Okly leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I overheard a group of young ladies and men yesterday. They were convinced you must be a misunderstood artist or a secret royal in disguise. Keep it up, and we'll be swimming in coin!"
You nod solemnly, only half listening as Mr. Okly's laughter booms through the inn. Once it subsides, his expression shifts, curiosity replacing humor. "Say, speaking of mysteries... I've been meaning to ask you something."
You brace yourself, knowing what's coming.
"Do you remember anything more about that lady? The one who paid for your stay all those years ago?"
Suddenly, fragments of memory flash through your mind - a beautiful blonde woman, an ornate carriage, the feeling of being lifted out of the mud. The warmth of her smile, the gentleness of her touch as she cleaned you up. The vague recollection of her speaking with the innkeeper, then disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared.
You blink, pushing the memories aside. "Not really. I was just a kid."
Mr. Okly's eyes gleam with interest. "But surely you must remember something? A name, perhaps? Or why she took such an interest in you?"
You shrug, your voice soft. "She was kind. That's all I know."
Mr. Okly strokes his mustache thoughtfully. "Most peculiar. A fine lady appearing out of nowhere, paying for years of lodging for a child she just met... It's quite the mystery, wouldn't you say?"
You nod silently, picking up your cloth and resuming your wiping of the bar.
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh? "]]''<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>>
"Service!" You hear a familiar voice call out amongst the customers, followed by banging on a table. Snapping your head in that direction you spot Nag walan at a booth, smirking at you as she carries on to make a scene.
She sure loved embarassing you didn't she?
Rushing over to her with a waddling man just behind you, you stop right infront of her, setting your platter of drinks down on her table.
"Finally." She yawns. "Took you long enough. What horrible service kid?"
"Why you!" Mr.Okly calls out, raising a small baby fist up at the old lady as smoke puffed from his nostrils "what are you even talking about? It's working hours so what business do you have with the kid?"
"Oh pipe down short stack." Nag grins, shifting her eyes to you as she stood up. You could never get used to her height as she towered over most. "You're coming with me."
"What!?"
"Right now?" You asked, baffled but not as much as the man next to you practically having a seizure.
"Yeah, got some stuff we gotta do. Change up, I'll be outside." Walking towards the exit, she stops before looking over her shoulder "Oh and Okly? Might want to get better bar tables. Those things almost fell apart from one smack."
"The sheer audacity! Can you believe this!" He rants alone, taking platters himself and thinking of finding a quick replacement somehow.
<hr>
''[[Well so much for lots of tips…]]''Walking out of the Inn, your eyes squint for a bit from the sudden harshness of the sun before adjusting. There stood Nag, like a statue of sorts.
Slowly turning around, she spots you. "Finally. Let's go." and begins speed walking.
Not really speed walking but she had been a naturally fast walker without actually trying so <<if $height is "short">>you had often found yourself walking a way faster than usual just to keep up.<</if>><<if $height is "middle">>you had often found yourself walking a bit faster than usual.<</if>><<if $height is "tall">>you had found it easy to walk beside her and keep up.<</if>>
"I know a guy that knows a guy that knows //another guy// that knows a woman who sells weaponry and clothing." She explained, scanning everything and everyone she walked by out of habit. "I'm buying you clothes for the tournament, squirt."
<hr>
[[You had forgotten about that.]]
"Oh yeah, didn't think about that." You admit, finally stopping right outside a shop after the short walk.
"Of course you did airhead," Nag wrapped an arm around your neck, pinching your cheeks as you attempted to escape her grasp, but she only ignores it as she sighs in mock sadness "How will you survive at the tournament without me kid?"
"I'm sure I'll survive." You grunt, finally escaping her death grip before entering the store with her.
"You better survive."
<hr>
[["Welcome Nag!"]]
"How’d you know?" you ask, genuinely curious.
"You're a celebrity," Nag replies in her usual deadpan, the corners of her mouth twitching as if she’s holding back a smirk.
Simsim’s hearty laugh fills the shop, a sound so warm it momentarily makes you forget the towering presence of both women. "No, no, don’t mind that grouch." She waves her hands in front of her with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if trying to physically push away Nag’s sarcasm. "People mention you, all good things, I promise!"
Nag rolls her eyes but there’s a flicker of amusement in them. "Sure, because being the talk of the district is always a good thing."
Simsim reaches over to adjust a dress on the rack, her tone turning playful as she adds, "You leave your customers entertained is all." She throws a wink your way, her friendliness balancing out Nag’s sarcasm. "And, well, it’s a small district. Word travels fast when you stand out."
Nag leans slightly toward you, her voice dropping in mock conspiracy. "Especially when you’ve got friends who can't keep their mouths shut."
Simsim feigns an exaggerated gasp, hand to her chest. "I would //never!//" She gives you a wide grin. "See what I have to deal with?"
<hr>
[["So. What did you need for today?"]]
"Yeah," you nod with a polite smile. "What about you?"
"Oh, mine’s Simbia. Simsim is just a nickname," she says with a soft smile, as if she's said it a thousand times but still finds it amusing.
Nag, lounging casually by the racks, doesn't miss a beat. "A weird one," she jabs, her tone dry as ever.
Simsim tuts, turning her head with mock offense. "Not as weird as 'crazy lady'," she fires back, eyebrows raised in playful defiance. The retort hits its mark, and for once, Nag falls silent—though the smirk tugging at her lips gives her away.
You sense this is an old, well-worn exchange between them, one that's probably happened a hundred times over the years.
Simsim, clearly enjoying the small victory, straightens up and suppresses a grin, her tone becoming more cheerful. "So," she begins, eager to shift the conversation, "let’s focus on you instead." She gestures toward the various fabrics and outfits around the shop, her energy bright and inviting, as if she’s resisting the urge to gloat about silencing Nag—this time, at least.<hr>[["So. What did you need for today?"]]Simsim gestures toward the array of clothing options, her tone upbeat and welcoming. "So, ready to find something that suits you?"
"Yes," you reply, your voice steady and expression unchanged.
There’s a beat of silence. Simsim blinks once, then twice, her cheery demeanor momentarily faltering as she glances between you and Nag, clearly expecting more.
Nag doesn’t miss a thing, eyes on the both of them as she's already made her way around the counter and is leaned on her elbows. "Give it a second," she mutters under her breath.
Simsim blinks two more times, clearly waiting for you to say more. When nothing comes, she tilts her head in confusion. "Oh..." she finally says, the realization slowly dawning.
Nag shakes her head with a smirk. "Told you. $referinconvo always been like that—don't bother trying to get more."
Simsim snickers, her previous confusion dissolving into amusement. "I see! Well, I guess we'll work with 'yes' then, won't we?"
<hr>
[[You are left to ponder a bit|"So. What did you need for today?"]]<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>"Clothing for $plural," Nag says, her tone more matter-of-fact as she nods toward you. "$referinconvo about to enter the tournament soon."
"The Kabot Tournament?" Simsim’s eyes light up in joyful surprise as she turns to you. "Well, my gosh! That’s exciting! Good luck with the trials first—I’ll be rooting for you."
You grin, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm. "I’ll definitely need it."
Simsim chuckles at your response and waves you toward a small wooden stool. "Come on, hop up here. Let’s see what we’re working with." As you step up, she busies herself with measuring your shoulders, arms, hips, and legs, her movements quick but precise.
"You know, I’ve got eight brand new sets, and they look just about your size," she says, her eyes glinting with pride. She hands over the neatly folded garments, eight bags full of clothing, before gesturing toward the changing area. "Try them out, okay? I’ll be having a little chat with this grump over here." She nods toward Nag with a playful smirk. "But call me if you need anything! I’m just over there."
As you head toward the changing area, you catch Nag rolling her eyes, her arms crossed. "Chat, huh? More like gossip," she mutters, but you can hear the fondness in her voice.
<hr>
[[Well here goes nothing.]]
''Introducing, clothing wear!!''
//Clothing choices may have little or major impacts in future updates! They may open or close doors for you depending on the crowd you're willing to fit into. Choose wisely $name ☻//
<hr>
<<if $mode is "detailed">>[[Noirwear|Noir Wear explination]]
[[Rustic Attire|Official Rustic Wear explination]]
[[Vassal Novs Wear|Vassal Novs Wear explination]]
[[Traditional Kobat Wear|Traditional Kabot Wear explination]]<</if>> <<if $mode is "immersive">>[[Traditional Kobat Wear|Official Traditional Kobat Wear]]
[[Vassal Novs Wear|Official Vassal Novs Wear]]
[[Rustic Wear|Official Rustic Wear]]
[[Noir Wear|Official Noir Wear]]<</if>><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>''〘 Western Novs Wear 〙''
</h1></span>
''For a masculine option:''
҉ A fitted, knee-length tunic or doublet made of fine wool or silk in a neutral color, with a high collar and long sleeves
҉ Loose-fitting woolen or linen trousers in a matching or coordinating color
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ A practical woolen cloak or hooded coat to keep warm
҉ A leather belt with a metal buckle to cinch the tunic or doublet at the waist
҉ A decorative brooch or pin at the collar for a touch of style
''For a feminine option:''
҉ A long-sleeved, high-necked dress made of fine wool or silk in a neutral color, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt
҉ A matching woolen or linen underskirt or petticoat
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ A practical woolen cloak or hooded coat to keep warm
҉ A leather belt with a metal buckle to cinch the waist of the dress
҉ A decorative brooch or pin at the collar or waist for a touch of style
҉ A practical coif or headdress to cover the hair and protect it during combat.
✘✘✘ Note: it is advisable to remove the ''//woolen cloak//'' and for the feminine option to wear an alternative for the ''//long-sleeved, high-necked dress made of fine wool or silk in a neutral color, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt//'' for practicality during combat. These are an option as the IF goes on outside Tournament grounds so it won't be an issue to wear unpractical clothing.
҉҉//<h2>Is this what you would like to wear?</h2>//
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[Yes|Vassal Wear Overseer]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[Yes.|Spoiled Apples]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>>
[[No.|Well here goes nothing.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>''〘 Rustic Attire 〙''
</h1></span>
''For a masculine option:''
҉ A linen tunic with simple embroidery
҉ Woolen hose or leggings
҉ A leather belt with a metal buckle
҉ Leather boots or sandals
҉ A simple woolen cloak or hooded coat
''For a feminine option:''
҉ A linen or woolen dress with a modest neckline and long sleeves
҉ A woolen or linen apron
҉ Woolen stockings or tights
҉ Leather shoes or ankle boots
҉ A simple woolen cloak or hooded coat.
҉҉//<h2>Is this what you would like to wear?</h2>//
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[Yes|Rustic Wear Overseer]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[Yes.|Bard Apples]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> [[No.|Well here goes nothing.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>''〘 Noir Wear〙''</h1></span>
''For a masculine option:''
҉ A fitted, knee-length tunic made of heavy wool or linen in a dark color, with a
҉ high collar and long, fitted sleeves
҉ Fitted woolen or linen trousers or leggings in a matching dark color
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ A thick, fur-lined cloak or hooded coat to keep warm
҉ A leather belt with a metal buckle to cinch the tunic at the waist
''For a feminine option:''
҉ A long-sleeved, high-necked dress made of heavy wool or linen in a dark color, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt
҉ A matching woolen or linen underskirt or petticoat
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ A thick, fur-lined cloak or hooded coat to keep warm
҉ A leather belt with a metal buckle to cinch the waist of the dress
✘✘✘ Note: it is advisable to remove the ''//thick, fur-lined cloak/hooded coat//'' for practicality during combat. These are an option as the IF goes on outside Tournament grounds so it won't be an issue to wear unpractical clothing.
҉҉//<h2>Is this what you would like to wear?</h2>//
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[Yes|Noir Wear Overseer]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[Yes.|Depressed Apples]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>>
[[No.|Well here goes nothing.]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>''〘 Traditional Kobat Wear 〙'' </h1></span>
''For a masculine option:''
҉ A long-sleeved silk tunic in a neutral or jewel-toned color, with a fitted waist and a slightly flared hem
҉ Loose-fitting woolen or linen trousers in a matching or coordinating color
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ Four jewelry pieces: a gold chain necklace, a signet ring, a gold cuff bracelet, and a gold and gemstone brooch worn at the collar of the tunic
''For a feminine option:''
҉ A long-sleeved silk dress in a neutral or jewel-toned color, with a fitted bodice, flowing skirt, and a slightly flared hem
҉ Leather boots or shoes with a low heel for comfort and good traction
҉ Four jewelry pieces: a gold chain belt with decorative charms, a pair of gold hoop earrings, a gold and gemstone pendant necklace, and a gold and pearl hairpin worn at the side of the head to secure loose hair.
✘✘✘ Note: unless there is ''//head covering//'', it is advisable to tie hair back or wear a ''//circlet//'' or hair accessory for practicality during combat. The ''//body chains//'' should also be secured tightly to prevent them from getting in the way during combat.
҉҉//<h2>Is this what you would like to wear?</h2>//
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[Yes|Kabot Wear Overseer]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[Yes.|Kobat Apples]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>>
[[No.|Well here goes nothing.]]"Wonderful, wonderful," Mr. Okly says, flashing a crooked grin. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about that upcoming tournament you're entering. Sounds like a real opportunity, huh?"
You nod, flashing a quick smile. "Yeah, it's a pretty big deal. There's a lot of prize money up for grabs."
His eyes light up at the mention of money. "Prize money, eh? Well, you know, I've been thinking about getting into the tournament game myself. It's a great way to make some extra cash, you know?"
You raise an eyebrow in question. The last thing you'd expect to hear about is Mr.Okly wanting to go into a Tournament like this one were chances of winning were low for even experienced players, to top it off for the worst, he didn't even have an ounce of casting abilities or an artifact. "Really? I didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Mr. Okly."
He chuckles, rubbing his hands together. "Oh, I'm into all sorts of things. And if there's money to be made, well, count me in! Say, how about we team up for this tournament? I'll provide some funds, and you can do all the legwork. We'll split the prize money 50-50, what do you say?"
There it was.
Of course you'd expect him to jump at any opportunity available to make some money.
You consider his offer for a moment before responding, your voice still and neutral. "I appreciate the offer, Boss, but I think I can handle it on my own. Besides, I don't want to take advantage of you, you know?"
Mr. Okly nods, a smile still on his face, but his eyes darken slightly. "Oh, I understand, I understand. No hard feelings, my kid. But you know, if you ever change your mind, you just come to me! I've got a knack for making money, and who knows? You might make it big with my help."
<hr>
[[Service!]]"So, the tournament, huh?" Mr. Okly's voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn your gaze towards him, really taking in the man.
Mr. Okly leans in, his polished walking stick tapping an eager rhythm on the floor. "There's a prize amount, yeah?" His eyes sparkle as he watches you, waiting for confirmation.
You nod almost imperceptibly, your mind already racing ahead to what you know will come next. Mr. Okly's fingers drum on the bar top, his other hand absently stroking his mustache - a sure sign he's concocting some scheme.
<hr>
''[[And it seemed like he was already scheming.]]''
"well would you look at that?" You hear Nags tone just as you step out of the fitting room.
The two old ladies sat by the couch, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Nag Walan delicately held her teacup with her frail fingers, while Simsim took big sips from her mug. The sound of the biscuits crunching mixed with the soft rustling of their clothing as they awaited your arrival. The room was dimly lit, with a faint yellow light that cast a warm glow over their faces.
"Looking all ominous, kid. Don't you look like a walking funeral," she teased, grinning mischievously at you before sighing like a parent in distress "I remember when you used to wear those bright colors like a proper kid. Oh how times have passed."
<hr>
[["whatever."|rude with nag and simsim]]
[["I'm still the same!"]]
[["I'm just trying to match the color of my soul."]]
[["I'm sorry, I didn't realize my fashion choices were causing such grave concern."]]
<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile- 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $clothing = "Noirwear">> <<set $ODO to Math.clamp($ODO + 5, 0, 100)>>“Whatever,” you respond, a trace of annoyance coloring your voice. “I’m just here to get this over with.”
Nag Walan’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks you up and down. “And $gender’s got the energy to match,” she says, her tone devoid of humor. The words come out sharper than she probably intended.
For a moment, the air feels thick with unspoken tension. Your throat tightens, and you sense regret creeping in, but you keep your mouth shut. Nag, on the other hand, doesn’t seem phased. She brushes off the exchange with a slight wave of her hand, as if she’s dealt with this kind of interaction countless times before.
The room’s atmosphere remains tense. Simsim, sensing the weight of the moment, keeps her gaze fixed on Nag, trying to gauge her reaction. Finally, Nag lets out a small, exasperated sigh and gets up from her seat with a grunt.
“Anyway,” she says, turning to Simsim. “How much will it be?”
Simsim, still holding a soft smile, starts calculating, while Nag’s demeanor remains unperturbed by the earlier exchange.
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"|So bad! Kibir]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 10, 0, 100)>>You step out of the fitting room, and Nag’s eyes widen with playful disbelief. “Well, would you look at that?”
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize my fashion choices were causing such grave concern."
Nag rolls her eyes dramatically. “It is when I’m walking with you. I’ve got street cred, you know? Can’t have you muddling up my name, but whatever, I guess. It’s said that ‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ but I guess we’re past that.”
You glance at Simsim’s fond grin and ask, “How do you act more like a teenager than me?”
Simsim chuckles, shaking her head. “When has she not been like this? She could be a thousand years old and still behave like a newborn.”
Nag huffs, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’ve still got a reputation to uphold.”
You smirk. “Reputation? You mean the one where you’re known for being a grumpy old timer?”
Nag gasps in mock horror. “A grumpy old timer? I’ll have you know, I’ve still got plenty of spark left!"
Simsim bursts into laughter. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. She’s as grumpy as a cat that’s been woken up from its nap.”
Nag swats playfully at Simsim. “Hey, don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to maintain a semblance of dignity here.”
You chuckle, enjoying the banter. “Looks like you’re doing a great job of it.”
“Alright, alright, you two are having too much fun,” Nag interrupts, rising from her seat with a grunt. “How much will the $nick's clothes be?”
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]<<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 5, 0, 100)>>“I’m just trying to match the color of my soul,” you respond jokingly, the corners of your mouth twitching in a smirk.
Nag pauses, blinking at you. “Is that so? And here I thought you were just going for ‘broodingly stylish.’” She frowns, clearly puzzled as she tries to come up with the right compliment. “Though... I suppose it does fit you... in an odd way.”
Simsim bursts into soft laughter, clearly finding Nag’s confusion amusing. “Oh, Nag, you’re terrible at this!”
Nag glares playfully at Simsim. “Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to be supportive here.”
Simsim giggles harder, shaking her head. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered, you know that?”
Nag grumbles as she turns to check out other racks but can’t hide a faint smile. “Whatever. How much will it be?”
Simsim, still chuckling, reaches for her pen and paper. “well it's your lucky day!”
<hr>
[["It's on the house!"|"Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]“I'm still the same!” you say worriedly, a hint of worry in your voice.
“Of course you’re still the same, it's a sarcastic joke.” Nag deadpans, barely containing a grin as she shakes her head. It’s clear you’ve missed the sarcasm entirely.
“$referinconvo adorable,” Simsim giggles, reaching for a pen and paper as she tries to stifle her laughter.
“Adorable?” Nag echoes, she pauses, blinking a few times, and you can almost hear her brain clanging and whirring as it comes to a realization. Her eyes finally widen slowly as she processes your slightly bashful demeanor.
“Hey, stop that!” she says, waving a hand in front of your face as her eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you back and forth. “None of that soppy shit! You’re going to a ruthless tournament!”
“Oh, let the $nick be!” Simsim laughs, clearly enjoying the interaction.
“Whatever,” Nag says, rolling her eyes as she let's you go, feeling dazed. “How much will it be?”
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]As you both made your way to the exit after paying, you noticed the creak of the wooden door as you walked out of the store. Also taking note of a group of teenagers walking by, their laughter ringing in his ears as they talk about many things. One constant topic around this time of the year being the tournament.
Nag Walan strides confidently ahead of you, her words dripping with sarcasm and a hint of teasing. "Well, well, Kid, aren't you just a bundle of potential," she quips, without so much as a glance in your direction. "Well, let's hope that potential isn't just a bunch of hot air. But if you want to actually make something of yourself, you need to stop obsessing over failure. You're entering this tournament for you and only you. So quit whining and start fighting. Don't let trivial nonsense trip you up on the way to the top."
As Nag Walan's words sink in, you feel a small thrill of excitement and determination start to bubble up inside you. Despite Nag Walan's sarcastic and teasing demeanor, you know that your mentor is right. You needed to stop letting your fears and doubts hold you back and start focusing on what you wanted to achieve.
For a moment, you allows yourself to feel grateful for Nag Walan's tough love approach, knowing that it's the kick in the pants you needed to get your head in the game. With a deep breath, you quicken your pace to catch up with your mentor, feeling more determined than ever to make your dreams a reality.
"Thank you for everything, Nag," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.
"Ew-!" She shoves you away with her cane, ignoring your snickering as she rubs at her sleeves like your affectionate tone germs crawled up her arm.
<hr>
[[you'd miss Nag walan too much once you enter the tournament.|Life is rather like a carriage of sardines.]]
"well would you look at that?" You hear Nags tone just as you step out of the fitting room.
The two old ladies sat by the couch, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Nag Walan delicately held her teacup with her frail fingers, while Simsim took big sips from her mug. The sound of the biscuits crunching mixed with the soft rustling of their clothing as they awaited your arrival. The room was dimly lit, with a faint yellow light that cast a warm glow over their faces.
"Already feeling rich, kid? Don't get too carried away now," she teased, grinning mischievously at you before sighing like a parent in distress "I remember when you used to wear ragged ugly clothes like a proper humble kid. Oh how times have passed."
<hr>
[["Hmm, I don't remember ordering a side of jealousy with my new outfit."]]
[["Yeah, I guess I am looking pretty posh. But don't worry, I'll still slum it with you sometimes."]]
[["Glad to know my style is finally catching up to my class."]]
[["I don't get it, why do I look like a posh kid? Is it the way I'm standing?"]]
[["I don't think so."]]
[["Let's get this over with."]]<<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest - 20, 0, 100)>><<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Vassal Novs Wear">>
<<set $TVN to Math.clamp($TVN + 5, 0, 100)>>You arch an eyebrow, a smirk playing at your lips. “Hmm, I don’t remember ordering a side of jealousy with my new outfit.”
“Oh my,” Simsim exclaims in a dramatic whisper, peeking between you and Nag with a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “You’re really gonna let that slide?”
Nag’s sharp grin only widens as she rises from her seat with a grunt. She gives you an approving look, though her tone remains playful. “Youngsters these days, am I right?”
Simsim chuckles warmly, shaking her head as she approaches with a paper and pen in hand. “Oh my dear,” she says, still amused by the banter, “you two are quite the pair.”
Nag immediately shakes her head, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t start with that comparison nonsense. I’m nothing like this $nick,” she says with a playful huff, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “$referinconvo got $refer own style, even if it is a bit too flashy for my taste.”
You chuckle at Nag’s denial, not wanting to be compared to her either. “Glad to hear it. I’m not sure I’m ready for your level of…eccentricity,” you respond with a smirk.
Nag’s approving grin remains as she turns to Simsim, still in playful high spirits as she waves you off with her cane like a fly. “Alright, enough of this nonsense. How much is it going to be?” she asks, her voice carrying a blend of mock irritation and genuine curiosity.
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]<<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 5, 0, 100)>>You glance at your reflection with a smirk and say, “Yeah, I guess I am looking pretty posh. But don’t worry, I’ll still slum it with you sometimes.”
Nag Walan’s face stretches with a smirk as she sets her tea cup down after her last sip and slowly rises from her seat with a grunt. “You better,” she says, her voice teasing yet affectionate.
“My back…damn,” she mutters to herself, stretching slightly and shaking her head at the effort of getting up. Her playful demeanor remains, though her grumbling is genuine.
Turning to Simsim, she waves her hand dismissively. “Alright, enough chit-chat. How much will the kid’s clothes be?”
Simsim chuckles softly, clearly amused by the interaction. She glances at the price list, enjoying the easy-going rapport between you and Nag. “Let’s see, shall we?” she says with a smile, ready to provide the final details.
Nag’s fondness for Simsim is evident in the way she looks at her—appreciative of her presence and the light-hearted banter.
<hr>
[["seems like it's your lucky day, it's on the house!"|"Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]You straighten your back and grin, “Glad to know my style is finally catching up to my class.”
Nag Walan raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “Oh is it now? Finally you’ll look as good as me, $nick.”
Simsim, with a twinkle in her eye, interjects with a playful tone, “Let’s calm our egos now,” and waves her pen between you and Nag, clearly enjoying the banter.
Nag, not entirely deterred by the playful interruption, shoots Simsim a mock glare but can't suppress her own grin. “Alright, alright, don’t burst my bubble,” she says, then turns her attention back to Simsim with a more serious expression. “How much will the kid’s clothes be?”
Simsim, still chuckling softly at the light-hearted exchange, glances at the price list with a smile.
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]With an air of confusion, you ask, “I don’t get it, why do I look like a posh kid? Is it the way I’m standing?”
“The way…you’re?” Nag mutters, her eyebrows scrunching up in confusion as she looks at you for a minute in silence.
A snort escapes from Simsim’s direction. She shakes her head, clearly exasperated but amused. “I’ll never get used to this kid,” Nag says, her tone half-disbelief, half poorly hidden affection. Her comment elicits a soft laugh from Simsim, who’s clearly enjoying the exchange.
“Oh, your interactions are so cute and funny,” Simsim coos, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she looks between you and Nag. “Oh my dear, you really do bring out a different side of her.”
Nag’s expression shifts to mock horror, though she’s clearly not upset. Her eyes widen slightly as she raises her hands in a dramatic gesture, clearly mortified at the idea of being considered cute. “Cute!? Excuse you. We’re tough, not cute,” she retorts, her voice full of denial and a scoff escaping her lips. She’s clearly reluctant to admit it, but there’s a hint of fondness in her eyes as she argues with Simsim.
You find yourself enjoying the rare, relaxed side of Nag Walan, seeing her so stress-free and at ease. It’s a side of her you don’t often get to witness, and it makes you feel more at ease as well.
Simsim, not letting up, teases Nag further. “Oh, come now, Nag. Admit it, you’ve grown quite fond of our little posh kid here.”
Nag rolls her eyes, her mock horror shifting into a playful scowl. “I’ll admit nothing. Now, enough with the nonsense. How much is this set going to cost?”
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]You tilted your head slightly, uninterested but still wanting to know. “I don’t think so.”
Nag’s grin faltered, and she blinked, momentarily speechless. “I was joking,”- she began, then trailed off after stopping abruptly, her confusion evident. She glanced over at Simsim after a moment, a look of exasperation on her face. “See what I have to deal with?”
Simsim laughed softly, a hand over her mouth as she shakes her head. “Yes, I do. But you can’t be any more easy to deal with.”
Nag’s expression turned to one of exaggerated disbelief. “You’re defending //the $nick// over me?!”
You looked between them, clearly not grasping the full context, and said nothing. Your lack of reaction only seemed to add to the chaos.
Nag’s playful frustration mixed with incredulity as she struggled to find the right words. “Well, whatever. How much for the clothes?”
Simsim's eyes twinkled with amusement as she scribbled down the price. "You should really try to get through to $refer, Nag."
Nag shook her head, a small smile breaking through her faux irritation. "Yeah, yeah. Just get me the total."
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]“Let's get this over with,” you respond, annoyance coating your tone. “I don't have time for this.”
Nag Walan’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks you up and down. "Oh? The spoilt behaviour is already setting in." she says, her tone devoid of humor. The words come out sharper than she probably intended.
For a moment, the air feels thick with unspoken tension. Your throat tightens, and you sense regret creeping in, but you keep your mouth shut. Nag, on the other hand, doesn’t seem phased. She brushes off the exchange with a slight wave of her hand, as if she’s dealt with this kind of interaction countless times before.
The room’s atmosphere remains tense. Simsim, sensing the weight of the moment, keeps her gaze fixed on Nag, trying to gauge her reaction. Finally, Nag lets out a small, exasperated sigh and gets up from her seat with a grunt.
“Anyway,” she says, turning to Simsim. “How much will it be?”
Simsim, still holding a soft smile, starts calculating, while Nag’s demeanor remains unperturbed by the earlier exchange.
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"|So bad! Kibir]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>"well would you look at that?" You hear Nags tone just as you step out of the fitting room.
The two old ladies sat by the couch, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Nag Walan delicately held her teacup with her frail fingers, while Simsim took big sips from her mug. The sound of the biscuits crunching mixed with the soft rustling of their clothing as they awaited your arrival. The room was dimly lit, with a faint yellow light that cast a warm glow over their faces.
"I thought you were supposed to get a fancy set," she teased, grinning mischievously at you. "looking a bit lackluster, Don't you think?"
<hr>
[["Yeah, I like to keep it simple. I don't want to outshine everyone, like you."]]
[["What do you mean? I think I look great!"]]
[["Well, I didn't realize I needed your approval to dress myself."]]
[["I'm comfortable and that's all that matters to me."]]<<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Rustic Attire">> <<set $AD to Math.clamp($AD + 5, 0, 100)>>“Like me!?” Nag exclaims, glancing behind her to see if someone else is there before tutting out a “I know you’re not talking to me right now, with your simple sample slippers.”
Before you can retort, Simsim bursts into a chuckle, waving a white tissue between you and Nag. “Alright, let’s calm down now!” she says, her voice light and soothing.
Nag, however, isn’t quite done. She sets her tea cup down and leans forward, a teasing grin spreading across her face. “Better sleep with one eye open,” she warns, her tone half-serious, half-amused.
You fire back with equal energy, “I could say the same for you, senior.”
Simsim, always the peacemaker, smiles fondly at both of you. “Oh, don’t be like that,” she says, her eyes twinkling with affection for the playful banter. It’s clear she enjoys watching the two of you spar, a lighthearted dynamic that she’s come to appreciate.
Nag’s expression softens as she turns her attention back to Simsim, but her grin remains. “Anyway,” she says, a note of finality in her voice, “what’s the price, hun?”
<hr>
''[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]''<<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 5, 0, 100)>>"What do you mean? I look great!" You respond, completely oblivious to the teasing.
Simsim nearly spits out her drink, choking a little before snickering behind her hand. Nag Walan, on the other hand, stares at you with a wide, amused grin.
"I mean, if you say so," she quips, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Would you like me to buy a pair of glasses too while you're at it? Might help you see what you're wearing."
"Oh, stop being mean," Simsim nudges her friend, rolling her eyes. "She's just jealous," she adds, shooting you a reassuring smile.
Nag snorts, waving her off. "Jealous? Of this... 'masterpiece'? Please, I’ve seen scarecrows dressed with more flair. Even I could."
Simsim laughs. "You? Pull off anything without those polka dots? I’d love to see it."
Nag crosses her arms, eyeing you with exaggerated disbelief. "You're siding with $name over me now? Unbelievable. What happened to loyalty?"
"Maybe because you keep picking on the poor $nick," Simsim teases back, shaking her head. "You really should stop building them up just to tear them down."
Nag grumbles, throwing her hands up in mock defeat. "I am //not// being a bully! I’m just... giving constructive criticism!" She glances back at you, her playful glare softening just a bit, but her pride clearly intact. "Besides, someone has to keep you grounded."
Simsim chuckles, patting her friend's shoulder. "How about you ground yourself for a moment and let them be, hm?"
Nag Walan huffs, finally relenting with a sly smirk, but still not quite ready to let you off the hook. "Fine, fine. But seriously, how much for these... unfortunate rags?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
<hr>
''[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]''“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Nag smirks, her eyes sparkling with a blend of sarcasm and genuine amusement. “I’m sure the rest of the world is just thrilled that you’re comfortable.”
Before you can respond, Simsim, her laughter dancing in her eyes, wags a finger at Nag as she makes her way over. “Don’t make me come over there,” she warns with a playful tone, her grin widening. “Let the poor kid be, you bully.”
Nag, caught off guard by Simsim’s approach, raises her hands in mock surrender. “I’m not bullying,” she protests, though the affection in her voice is unmistakable. She looks over at Simsim with a hint of exasperation, clearly enjoying the interaction.
You’re momentarily taken aback, unused to seeing this softer, more fond side of Nag. Her usual sharpness is softened when she’s with Simsim, and it’s an unexpected but endearing contrast to her typical demeanor.
Simsim, with her warm smile still intact, chuckles at Nag’s half-hearted protest. Simsim then turns her attention to the task at hand. “So, the price?” she asks, her voice gentle.
Nag, still with a faint smile as she looks at Simsim, nods in agreement. “Yes, let’s get back to that,” she says, her playful demeanor giving way to a more practical stony tone. “So, how much is it?”
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]
"well would you look at that?" You hear Nags tone just as you step out of the fitting room.
The two old ladies sat by the couch, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air. Nag Walan delicately held her teacup with her frail fingers, while Simsim took big sips from her mug. The sound of the biscuits crunching mixed with the soft rustling of their clothing as they awaited your arrival. The room was dimly lit, with a faint yellow light that cast a warm glow over their faces.
"I'm gonna guess your buddy will be over the moon. Sharing his taste and all," she teased, grinning mischievously at you before sighing like a parent in distress "Don't expect a set of jewelry and accessories every week though, this old lady is broke. Having a kid is expensive as hell."
<hr>
[["Don't worry, I'll settle for a handwritten note of appreciation every week instead."]]
[["That's okay, I don't need jewelry and accessories. Your company is more than enough."]]
[["Don't flatter yourself."]]
[["I don't need jewelry every day."]]
[["Oh, I already bought a jewelry store yesterday, so we're good for a while."]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Traditional Kobat Wear">>
<<set $TKK to Math.clamp($TKK + 5, 0, 100)>>"Don't worry, I'll settle for a handwritten note of appreciation every week instead," you suggest with a playful grin.
Nag Walan's reaction is instant and over the top. "Oh hell no." She stands up with a grunt, dramatically dusting off her dress as if shaking off the idea. "Don’t even try to break into my me time with that nonsense."
Simsim bursts into laughter, giving Nag a playful nudge. "No, but that would be good for you! A little note of gratitude, keep you grounded."
Nag shoots her a sharp look, grumbling under her breath. "//Hell no, woman//. My me time is sacred. I don’t need any flowery notes cluttering it up."
Simsim just giggles while Nag Walan shakes her head, muttering as she turns back to you. "Whatever. How much will the stupid dress be?"
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]"That's okay, I don't need jewelry or accessories. Your company is more than enough," you say with an innocent smile.
Nag Walan freezes mid-sip, eyes widening as if you'd just cursed her entire lineage. Her hands slowly lower the teacup, shaking her head in exaggerated disgust. "Ugh, don't—just... don't." She scrunches her nose like she’s just smelled something foul. "What is this? A love letter? I don't need that kind of mushy nonsense in my life. Especially from you!" She points her cane at you, as if threatening to ward off any more affectionate words.
Simsim lets out a hearty laugh, practically doubled over as she clutches her side. "Aww, that's the sweetest thing I've heard all day!"
Nag rolls her eyes dramatically, shifting as if the seat beneath her suddenly became uncomfortable. "Save it for someone else, kid. I'm not running a hugging charity here. You’re heading to The Kabot Tournament, not a tea party! Toughen up already!"
She gives you a stern, almost motherly glare, but it's softened by the awkwardness of the moment, clearly uncomfortable with the affection. "How much will the stupid clothes be already?" she snaps, eager to escape the horror of sentiment.
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]"Don't flatter yourself," you snap, the words slipping out more harshly than you intended.
Nag Walan raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wry, sarcastic smile. "Oh, trust me, Kid, flattery isn’t my style." Her tone is sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade, but she doesn't break her stride.
For a moment, the air feels thick, an unspoken tension lingering between the two of you. Your throat tightens, regret already creeping in, but you hold your tongue. Nag doesn’t seem phased, though, brushing off the exchange like she’s seen it all before.
Simsim, ever the buffer, shifts in her seat with a light chuckle, but the tension still lingers. Nag Walan rolls her eyes dramatically, breaking the silence.
"Anyway," she sighs, turning toward Simsim, "how much are we coughing up for the kid’s clothes?"
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"|So bad! Kibir]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 10, 0, 100)>>Your blunt reply causes Simsim to pause for a moment, blinking in mild surprise. "You don’t need jewelry every day?"
Nag snorts, shaking her head. "No, Simsim, clearly the $nick has bigger concerns."
Simsim grins, still processing your response, her tone a little softer. "Well, most people don't //need// it, no. But you know, a little sparkle here and there doesn’t hurt, right?"
You tilt your head, still slightly puzzled by the whole conversation. "I suppose."
Nag crosses her arms, giving you a playful side-eye. "Don’t worry, $refer. No one's forcing you to bedazzle yourself."
Simsim chuckles again, clearly entertained by the exchange. "You really keep us on our toes, huh?"
Nag grins and shrugs. "Keeps life interesting."
With that, she stretches lazily before looking over to Simsim. "So, how much will it be, Simsim?"
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]"Well, aren't you just rolling in dough? I guess we'll have to step up our game, huh?" Nag teases with a tut, shaking her head.
"Oh, you bought a jewelry store? And here I was thinking we were going to have to sell some of your precious coin collection to make ends meet." Simsim sighs in mock stress.
"I guess we'll have to find a new hobby to fund our retirement. Any suggestions?"
"How about we start making our own jewelry and compete with your store $name? We could be the next big thing!"
"Or we could just sit back and enjoy our retirement while you run your new business." Nag lazily suggests, stretching on the couch "We'll be sure to visit and give you some business."
"Sounds like a plan." You snicker "I'll make sure to give you the family discount."
"Oh, thank you!" Simsim laughs, nudging nag with her shoulder. "I'll always remember your generosity."
"Anyways," Nag cuts in with a huff. "How much are we talking?"
<hr>
[["Don't worry, it's on the house!"]]"Ugh, not again," you groan with a dramatic sigh, stretching your arms overhead. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth as you add, "At this rate, I'll be writing love letters for the entire kingdom before I master this."
Your quip draws a chuckle from The Overseer, who shakes his head in amusement. "Perhaps we should market your services, then?" he suggests dryly.
You flash him a grin, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Only if you'll be my first customer, Overseer. I'm sure you have a secret admirer or two."
It's been about four hours of nonstop calligraphy practice. The afternoon light has softened, casting a warm glow across the room. Your desk is littered with countless attempts, each sheet a testament to your persistence.
Over and over, you've been at it, your hand moving in the same careful patterns. The repetition is mind-numbing, but you inject each attempt with a fresh burst of energy, determined to improve.
The cause of this intensive training is clear: you haven't owned an artifact yet. While others, like Dante absorbed in his books nearby, have discovered their magical tools and are honing specific skills, you're still in search of yours. The calligraphy practice is meant to develop the discipline and precision that will serve you well when you finally obtain an artifact.
As you reach for another sheet of parchment, your movements are infused with renewed determination. The challenge before you is clear, and you face it head-on, your spirit undiminished despite the setbacks.
<hr>
[[more specifically- you hadn't found yours.]]
You turn your head towards The Overseer, your expression a mix of mild frustration and matter-of-fact acceptance. Without a word, you gesture to your failed attempt, your movements efficient and to the point.
"That's alright," The Overseer responds, a soft gust of air escaping his nose - his version of a laugh. He approaches your desk, leaning in to examine your mistake. His proximity brings with it the faint scent of hibiscus tea and old parchment.
Your gaze drifts to the ornate clock on the wall. Four hours have passed since you began this calligraphy practice. The afternoon light has shifted, casting long shadows across the room, and a substantial stack of practice sheets has accumulated beside you.
Your hand has repeated the same careful patterns countless times. Each attempt brings minute improvements, though they often escape your critical eye.
This intensive training stems from a simple fact: you haven't found your artifact yet. While Dante, engrossed in his books nearby, hones skills specific to his whip artifact, you continue your search. The calligraphy practice aims to develop the discipline and precision necessary for when you finally obtain your own magical tool.
As The Overseer studies your work, you remain still, your face betraying little emotion.
<hr>
[[more specifically- you hadn't found yours.]]
"Ah... I messed up again," you mutter, a sheepish smile spreading across your face as you scratch the back of your head. Your cheeks warm slightly, not from nervousness, but from the mild embarrassment of //another// mistake.
Despite the setback, your inherent good mood bubbles just beneath the surface. The ruined parchment before you is just another step in the learning process, after all.
Glancing at the ornate clock on the wall, you realize it's been about four hours of nonstop calligraphy practice. The afternoon has slipped away, marked by the shifting shadows across the study floor and the growing stack of practice sheets beside you.
Over and over, you've been at it, your hand moving in the same careful patterns. Each attempt brings minute improvements, even if they're not always apparent to your eager eyes.
The reason for this intensive training is clear: you haven't found your artifact yet. While others, like Dante, have discovered their magical tools and are honing specific skills, you're still in search of yours. The calligraphy practice is meant to develop the discipline and precision that will serve you well when you finally obtain an artifact.
As you reach for another sheet of parchment, your movements are infused with renewed energy. Each mistake is just another opportunity to improve, and your optimism remains unshaken.
<hr>
[[more specifically- you hadn't found yours.]]
"This little peace of"- You bite back the rest of your frustrated exclamation, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. The air fills your lungs, heavy with the scent of ink and parchment, before you exhale slowly. With a swift, aggressive motion, you flick the ruined page off the desk. It flutters to the floor, a testament to hours of wasted effort.
The soft clink of porcelain catches your attention. You don't need to turn around to know that The Overseer is hiding his amusement behind his teacup. His poorly concealed chuckle only serves to heighten your irritation.
Your eyes drift to the window, noting the change in the quality of light. Has it really been four hours? Four hours of nonstop calligraphy practice, your hand cramping and your patience wearing thin with each passing minute.
Over and over, you've repeated the same strokes, chasing an elusive perfection. The repetition has become almost meditative, but the frustration simmering beneath the surface threatens to boil over.
The root of this tedious exercise lies in a simple, yet profound fact: you haven't found your artifact yet. While others, like Dante, have discovered their magical tools and are honing specific skills, you're still searching. The calligraphy practice is meant to develop discipline and precision, skills that will supposedly serve you well when you finally obtain an artifact.
As you reach for another sheet of parchment, your movements are tinged with a mix of determination and resignation. The day isn't over yet, and neither is your quest for mastery – both of calligraphy and, eventually, your own unique magical ability.
<hr>
[[more specifically- you hadn't found yours.]]
You pause in your practice, your mind wandering to the broader implications of artifacts. These special items have been a part of your world for as long as you can remember, but it's only recently that their true significance has become clear.
People with unique abilities can bond with artifacts, enhancing their natural talents to extraordinary levels. While many use these tools for combat, others apply them to more mundane tasks, their enhanced skills transforming everyday work into something remarkable.
A wry smile crosses your face as you consider the Vassals' recruitment tactics. They eagerly snatch up anyone with these rare enhancements, leaving the districts feeling hollowed out. It's as if those without artifacts are somehow less valuable, too "plain" to be worthy of notice.
Your grip on the brush tightens slightly as you mull over the inequality. The Vassals seem to be hoarding all the talent and potential, leaving the rest of the population to scrape by with whatever's left. It's a stark reminder of how things operate in the Districts - always coming up short compared to the opulent Main Nexus, the Kabot Kingdom, and the Vassal Novs Kingdom.
"Dirt," you mutter under your breath, the word laden with frustration. That's how it feels sometimes, being from the Districts - like you're nothing but dirt beneath the feet of those in power. And the worst part is, everyone knows it. Some deny it, some choose blissful ignorance, and others silently accept their lot.
You dip your brush in ink, your strokes becoming more forceful as you consider the possibilities. Unity could change things, you think. If the districts could overcome their divisions and work together, they might be able to build themselves up. But the current leadership seems more interested in maintaining the status quo than making any bold moves.
With a shake of your head, you refocus on your calligraphy. It wasn't all bad, some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.
<hr>
[[Continue|But it wasn't all bad, some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.]]
The overseer was a special case though, he had been sent over from The Vassal Novs. A direct recommendation by the king for him to work as a mayor. You hadn't expected them to willingly give away a pretty impressive individual like him so easily.
The Overseer had claimed you owned one too. An artifact. But //where// was it?
Your artifact was still not found unfortunately, people often found it somehow throughout their life from the age of birth up to their twentieth birthday.
Well you were nineteen right now so the pressure was starting to set in. When were you gonna get yours?
If you even had one.
<hr>
[[If you even had one.]]
The Overseer came across as certain about you having one though, you could read out little spells from books for god's sake. That's something only someone with an artifact could do and that's what you had been studying so far.
Mapping out spells on parchment paper perfectly. It was pretty exhausting, you had to admit, but it would be worth it once it was practical time.
"Your writing is getting better $lastname," He muses, red eyes reading over the spell quickly. The spells were fashioned in a way were they went in circles instead of lines like normal writing. Words mixing together, some smaller than others.
"$gender is?" Dante speaks, walking over to check the work out before scrunching his face in confusion. "Uhh, good luck with //that//"
"You'll have to start focusing on these if you aren't willing to try combat, Mr.Lahar." The older muses, shifting his attention on the brunette now. "You can't keep on avoiding it."
"I…yeah. I'm aware of that." Dante shifts around, eyes glancing down at his book as a distraction.
"You two can have a break and head out any time you want, you're done for the day." And with that, the door closes behind him.
<hr>
[[And with that, the door closes behind him.]]
"Don't tell me you developed a fear for papers." You lightly tease, hoping to lighten the air but instead you watch him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his books and then to you.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.
There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course he stubbornly shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training or at least perfecting his calligraphy.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"Dante, I'm gonna be honest here. What you should be worried about is yourself." You sigh, watching him put his books away by tossing them in their spots with precision. Something The Overseer would be against, but you couldn't help but note that he was pretty good with precision as a talent.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"You can tell me anything you know? I'm not a tattletale" You try to reassure him, resting a hand over his as he stops working on the books. Glancing at anything but you.
"I don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can, the way you're approaching it is what's making you worried."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"Let's be honest. You're doing anything and everything but the hard stuff like physical training and calligraphy, avoiding it like the plague" you try to explain, "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall shelf him.
<hr>
[["I guess you're right…"|Secrets from him]]
"Maybe, maybe not." He vaguely answers, noticing him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his books and then to you.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.
There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course he stubbornly shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training or at least perfecting his calligraphy.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"I'm worried about you Dante…" You mutter, watching him put his books away by tossing them in their spots with precision. Something The Overseer would be against, but you couldn't help but note that he was pretty good with precision as a talent.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" You softly urge, resting a hand over his as he stops working on the books. Glancing at anything but you.
"It's just- don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can! the way you're approaching it is what's making you stressed out..."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but physical training and calligraphy, avoiding it like the plague" you speak more clearly, trying your best to encourage him. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["I guess you're right…"|Secrets from him]] He startles a bit from your sudden stony tone before sighs, leaning on a desk next to yours, you silently watch him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his books and then to you.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.
There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course he stubbornly shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training or at least perfecting his calligraphy.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"What you should be worried about is yourself, Dante." You speak in a steady tone as to not scare him off, watching him put his books away by tossing them in their spots with precision. Something The Overseer would be against, but you couldn't help but note that he was pretty good with precision as a talent.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What is bothering you specifically?" You question once again, resting a hand over his as he stops working on the books. Glancing at anything but you.
"I don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the training so far.
"Of course you can. Dante from what I've been seeing so far, the way you're approaching it is what's making you worried."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but the hard stuff like physical training and calligraphy, avoiding it like the plague" you try to explain, "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden shelf behind him.
<hr>
[["I guess you're right…"|Secrets from him]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Secrets from him</h1></span><h3>18:38pm</h3><hr>
After a few minutes of patching up, you wait outside the entrance of the Overseer's mansion, waiting for Dante as he speaks to him.
You lean against the oiled wooden fence outside The Overseer's home, idly tracing patterns in the dirt with the toe of your boot. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the dusty street as you wait for Dante to finish his session.
A wry smile plays on your lips as you reflect on your recent job-hunting adventures. The need for money had driven you to seek employment, your pride not allowing you to continue relying on Amal's generosity for meals. But in a district like this, options were limited. You now worked at the bed and beer tavern you lived in.
Your brief stint at the stables flashes through your mind, coaxing a snicker from your lips. Stables didn't work so well after you had frightened the horses with your duppies once you had the brilliant idea to train on the job. You got fired. Immediately.
Who knew horses would react so poorly to duppies? The memory of your hasty dismissal is still fresh, but you can't help finding humor in the absurdity of it all.
Now, you find yourself working as a waiter at The Viscount Inn. It's not glamorous, but it pays, and that's what matters.
Your musings are interrupted as Dante finally emerges, skipping down the stairs, his face split by a wide grin. He slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a companionable half-hug as he steers you down the street.
"That's it for the day, I guess," he announces cheerfully. "Let's go get some bug juice." His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Bug juice. Right.
The memory of your last encounter with the bizarre concoction is still vivid - the sticky sweetness, the unexpected cold to warmth as you drink, and the coughing fit that followed. Meanwhile, Dante had cheerfully continued drinking, oblivious to your struggle.
All in all, a very strange drink you'd rather stay //far// away from.
<hr>
''[["Uhh, how about no?"|"Uhh, how about no?" TO]]''
''[["Nope. Not hearing that again."|"Nope."]]
[["I'm sure it'll be nice but…"|"I'm sure it'll be nice but…" TO]]''
''[["No fucking way."|"No fucking way." TO]]''
Dante sat at a desk in the quiet library, staring down at the sheet of parchment in front of him. He had never been good at calligraphy, and the swirls and loops of the letters seemed to mock him as he tried to recreate them.
"Ugh," he muttered, dipping his quill in the inkwell and trying again. But the result was no better than before.
You let out a soft chuckle from across the room, making him glance up. You were sitting at a nearby table, your own calligraphy sheet spread out before her.
"Need some help?" You asked, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.
Dante hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Yeah, that would be great, thanks."
You get up from your table and make your way over to Dante's desk and leaning over his parchment to give him pointers.
The Overseer had left the room to make some copies of an assignment, and the library was quiet except for the occasional sound of a page turning, soft muttering between you and Dante or a quill scratching across parchment.
"Okay, so try holding your quill at a different angle," you say, guiding his hand. "And make sure you keep your strokes even."
Dante tried again, feeling a bit more confident this time.
<hr>
[[Help him out]]
[[Assist his hand ♡]]
<<set $targetPassage = "DefaultTedTalk">>
<<set $charismaticPassage = "">> <<set $aloofPassage = "">> <<set $callousPassage = "">> <<set $empatheticPassage = "">> <<set $honestPassage = "">> <<set $deceptivePassage = "">>
Dante tried again, feeling a bit more confident this time. "I think I'm getting the hang of it," he said, a hint of relief in his voice.
You nodded encouragingly. "See? You're doing great."
You walked over to his desk, pointing out a few corrections. "Try holding your quill at a different angle," you said, demonstrating. "And make sure you keep your strokes even."
Dante adjusted his quill as you suggested. "Like this?" he asked, giving it another try.
"Exactly," you replied with a smile. "Now you’re getting it."
Dante grinned. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he said, his voice light and sincere.
"You'd probably turn your parchment into a piece of modern art," you teased, shaking your head.
Dante laughed, the sound filling the quiet library. "Hey, abstract calligraphy could be a thing!" he defended himself playfully, pretending to be offended.
You chuckled. "Sure, it could. Maybe you'll start a new trend."
"Just you wait," he said, still grinning. "Everyone will be doing it."
But as his laughter faded, a shadow of concern crossed his face. You noticed the change immediately, the way his shoulders tensed and his gaze shifted away. Something was bothering him, and it was clear from his body language.
<hr><<if $Charismatic >= 55 && $Charismatic >= $Aloof>><<set $charismaticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $charismaticPassage = false>>
<</if>><<if $Callous >= 55 && $Callous >= $Empathetic>><<set $callousPassage = true>><<else>><<set $callousPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Empathetic >= 55 && $Empathetic > $Callous>><<set $empatheticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $empatheticPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Aloof >= 55 && $Aloof > $Charismatic>><<set $aloofPassage = true>><<else>><<set $aloofPassage = false>><</if>>
<div id="choices"><<if $charismaticPassage>>
[[Continue with "You good Dante?"|charismaticPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "You good Dante?"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $aloofPassage>>
[[Continue with "Speak"|aloofPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "Speak"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $callousPassage>>
[[Continue with "Oi, what's wrong?"|callousPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "Oi, what's wrong?"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $empatheticPassage>>
[[Continue with "...Dante? Are you okay?"|empatheticPassage]]
<</if>>
</div>
[["...Dante? Are you okay?"]]
Dante tried again, feeling a bit more confident this time. "I think I'm getting the hang of it," he said, a hint of relief in his voice.
You nodded encouragingly. "See? You're doing great."
As you leaned closer to adjust his hand, your shoulders brushed against each other. It was a small touch, but you couldn't help but notice the warmth of his presence. Your fingers lingered on his a moment longer than necessary, guiding his quill across the parchment.
"Just like that," you said <<if $gender is "she">>softly<<else>>smoothly<</if>>, your voice barely above a whisper. The proximity made you acutely aware of the steady rhythm of his breath.
Dante glanced up, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second. There was something in his gaze—perhaps curiosity, perhaps something more—but it was quickly masked by his usual playful grin.
"Thanks," he said, his voice light but sincere. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
You smiled, feeling a slight flutter in your chest. "Who else would keep you out of trouble?" you replied, your tone teasing yet warm.
Dante laughed, the sound filling the quiet library. "True, I’d be lost without my partner in crime," he said, shaking his head with a smile.
But as his laughter faded, a shadow of concern crossed his face. You noticed the change immediately, the way his shoulders tensed and his gaze shifted away. Something was bothering him, and it was clear from his body language.
<hr><<if $Charismatic >= 55 && $Charismatic >= $Aloof>><<set $charismaticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $charismaticPassage = false>>
<</if>><<if $Callous >= 55 && $Callous >= $Empathetic>><<set $callousPassage = true>><<else>><<set $callousPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Empathetic >= 55 && $Empathetic > $Callous>><<set $empatheticPassage = true>><<else>><<set $empatheticPassage = false>><</if>><<if $Aloof >= 55 && $Aloof > $Charismatic>><<set $aloofPassage = true>><<else>><<set $aloofPassage = false>><</if>>
<div id="choices"><<if $charismaticPassage>>
[[Continue with "You good Dante?"|charismaticPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "You good Dante?"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $aloofPassage>>
[[Continue with "Speak"|aloofPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "Speak"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $callousPassage>>
[[Continue with "Oi, what's wrong?"|callousPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "Oi, what's wrong?"</span>
<</if>>
<<if $empatheticPassage>>
[[Continue with "...Dante? Are you okay?"|empatheticPassage]]
<<else>>
<span class="disabled">Continue with "...Dante? Are you okay?"</span>
<</if>>
</div> <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>
"Nope. Nu-uh. Not hearing this again." You shake your head vigorously, dramatically shrugging off Dante's arm from your shoulders. Your exaggerated movements belie the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Dante's eyes dance with mischief as he launches into his defense. "What? Why? It's—" He breaks off, doubling over in laughter at your exaggerated expression of disgust. When he catches his breath, he continues, "It's literally the best thing ever invented!"
You arch an eyebrow, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, warm and sticky. The best thing invented. Right up there with moldy bread and stubbed toes."
"Warm and sticky what?" a familiar voice interjects from behind you both. The crisp, refined tones cut through the air, each word enunciated with precision. It's the kind of accent that conjures images of tea parties and tailored suits, a stark contrast to the dusty street around you.
<hr>
[[Continue|Juno secret warning TO]]
"I'm sure it'll be nice but..." you mutter, your mind racing to find a diplomatic way to express your distaste without hurting Dante's feelings.
What if your opinion makes him doubt himself? What if he feels embarrassed or thinks less of what brings him joy?
You want to be truthful yet considerate, but the thought of disappointing him weighs heavily on you. The last thing you want is to make him feel embarrassed about something he enjoys.
Your internal debate is interrupted by Dante's warm, soft voice. "Hey," he says, followed by a gentle press of a thumb to your forehead.
<<if $height is "short">>You glance at him to see dante bent forward, bringing himself to eye level with you. His smile is gentle, eyes gleaming with warmth as they meet yours. The closeness allows you to catch the faint scent of parchment and ink that always seems to cling to him after his lessons. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his breath ghosting across your face.
<</if>><<if $height is "middle">>You turn to see dante's smile is gentle, his eyes gleaming with warmth as they lock with yours. You're suddenly aware of how the afternoon sun catches the flecks of gold in his irises, a detail you've never noticed before. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his voice a soothing balm to your worries.
<</if>><<if $height is "tall">>You turn to see dante tilt his head up slightly to meet your gaze, his smile gentle and eyes gleaming with warmth. From this angle, you're struck by how the light catches his features, highlighting the curve of his cheekbone and the slope of his nose. "Relax, $nickname," he says, his voice carrying up to you like a warm breeze.<</if>>
"What's wrong?" a familiar voice asks from behind you both, the crisp, refined tones cutting through the moment.
<hr>
[["what's wrong"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous - 5, 0, 100)>>
"Hell no, no fucking way," you declare emphatically, shoving Dante away with more force than necessary. He teeters for a moment, arms windmilling comically before he regains his balance, erupting into a fit of laughter.
"It's not that bad, $nickname, come on!" Dante wheezes between chuckles, his hands darting out to poke at your sides. You swat his hands away with the practiced ease of someone who's endured years of such playful attacks.
Your eyes narrow as you fix him with an incredulous stare. "Yes, it is. Have you actually tasted that disgusting concoction for once instead of just chugging it like it's the elixir of life?"
Before Dante can formulate a response, a familiar voice cuts through your banter. "Dante?" The crisp, refined tones carry a note of surprise.
<hr>
[["Dante?"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>>
"Hmm, let me think on that," you say, tapping your chin in an exaggerated display of contemplation. Your eyes narrow playfully as you draw out the moment. "How about... No."
Dante bursts into laughter, his whole body shaking with mirth. He wipes away tears of amusement, his eyes sparkling with barely contained glee. "Why?" he manages to ask between chuckles.
You roll your eyes dramatically, but can't quite hide your own amusement. "You know why. That thing tastes like a goblin's armpit wrapped in sugar."
Dante's face contorts into an exaggerated pout, his lower lip quivering comically. "That's sad to hear. Thought best friends were supposed to share their favorites with each other." He struggles to maintain his wounded expression, the corners of his mouth twitching as he fights back another fit of laughter.
Your eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, your voice rising an octave. "You're- it's your favorite?!" The disbelief in your tone is palpable, mixed with a hint of horror at the implications.
<hr>
[["You both are so easy to find with all your yelling"|Juno secret warning TO]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>> Glancing behind you, you both spot Juno. He often arrived around this time to walk with Dante to their homes as you split to the Inn. Dante immediately releases you, bounding towards him with the enthusiasm of a puppy. He envelops Juno in a bear hug, despite the height difference that's become more pronounced over the years.
Juno has indeed grown tall, his once-soft curtain bangs now transformed into a stylish blond mullet. But his golden eyes remain unchanged - hard and calculating, especially when they land on you. The unspoken words in his gaze are all too familiar. His dislike for you is as palpable as ever.
You've learned to brush it off, mostly. Still, there are times when you can't help but wonder what you've done to deserve such treatment.
"It's too hot for this, Dante," Juno grumbles, his refined accent making even his complaints sound elegant. He comically pushes his palm against Dante's face, but your friend refuses to let go.
A muffled "What the hell? I missed you!" emerges from the tangle of limbs as Dante struggles for a proper hug.
You can't help but find their interaction amusing, even as you wonder if Juno acts differently when you're not around. You've never seen him genuinely smile in your presence - only sharp, spiteful grins meant to dig under your skin.
"Guess we gotta go," Dante sighs, finally releasing Juno and glancing at the darkening sky. The expectations that come with being distantly related to The Kabot Family are clear, even if unspoken.
"You go on ahead," Juno interjects, his golden eyes scanning the district before landing on you. "I want to speak to $plural."
Dante's eyes widen in surprise, darting between you two before a grin spreads across his face like he's just won the lottery. "Wait- you two have been bonding after all."
"What are you talking about-" Juno begins, but Dante cuts him off with a wink.
"No worries, I'll get out of your way," he says, walking backward before turning to trot off playfully. "Don't have too much fun without me!"
His departure leaves you and Juno in silence, alone in the growing twilight. The tension in the air is almost tangible as you wait for Juno to speak, wondering what could possibly be important enough for him to seek you out.
<hr>
[["What is it?"|what is it?]]
[["I have a name you know."|i have a name you know]]
[["...Are you okay? Juno?"|are you okay? juno?]]
[["..."|...]]
"What is it?" You sigh. This is a strange occurrence, you had to admit.
Whenever the blond would come over he'd remind Dante of the time, exchange a few words with him before completely taking him away, back to the castle.
He never //stayed behind//.
"Are you actually going to the tournament?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched you, brows scrunching a bit.
"Yeah, I am."
"You should really reconsider that." He shot, unease clear across his face.
"Why? Why're you so stressed with me going to the tournament?" You pipe up, crossing your arms. If you were going to get answers from him it was going to be today.
"Because tryouts are next month and you're- you're not ready!" He hissed out, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows.
"Oh don't give me that, I know there's something else. Something you don't want to say." You press on, walking closer to him and taking note of his cautious steps backwards.
''〘 [["What's your motive, Juno?"]] 〙''
''〘 [["What's your motive, Juno?"♡]] 〙''
"I have a name you know" You frowned. This is a strange occurrence, you had to admit.
Whenever the blond would come over he'd remind Dante of the time, exchange a few words with him before completely taking him away, back to the castle.
He never //stayed behind//.
"Are you actually going to the tournament?" He ignored what you had said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched you, brows scrunching a bit.
"Yeah, what's it to you?"
"You should really reconsider that." He shot, unease clear across his face.
"Now why the fuck would I do that? Why're you so obsessed with me going to the tournament?" You demanded, crossing your arms. If you were going to get answers from him it was going to be today.
"I'm not obsessed with //you//. Tryouts are next month and you're- you're not ready!" He hissed out, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows.
"Oh don't give me that load of bullshit, I know there's something else. So why don't you stop wasting my damn time and spit it out?." You press on, walking closer to him and taking note of his cautious steps backwards. "What the hell are you plotting in that weird head of yours, Juno?"
<hr>
[["Plotting?" ♡]]
[["Plotting?"]]
//Is he okay?//
The question seemed to have caught him off guard, his eyes widening slightly as his words cut off. Breath hitching instantly.
A few seconds pass by before he appears to compose himself, focusing on the cuffs of his white shirt as he had some internal discussion.
This is a strange occurrence, you had to admit.
Whenever the blond would come over he'd remind Dante of the time, exchange a few words with him before completely taking him away, back to the castle.
He never //stayed behind//.
"Are you actually going to the tournament?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched you, brows scrunching a bit.
"Huh?I guess? Yeah."
"You should really reconsider that." He shot, unease clear across his face.
"Why?" You nervously questioned, pressing your palms together as a distraction.
Talking to him directly was sometimes pretty intimidating, but if you were going to get answers from him it was going to be today.
"Because tryouts are next month and you're- you're not ready." He hissed out, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows.
"Are you sure…that's the only thing?" You make sure to speak softly but this doesn't help him destress one bit, you note. You press on anyways, walking closer to him and taking note of his cautious steps backwards. "What are you plotting, Juno?"
<hr>
[["Am I sure? What are you going on about?"♡]]
[["Am I sure? What are you going on about?"]]<<set $junoFriendship to Math.clamp($junoFriendship + 2, 0, 100)>>
You glance at him wordlessly. This is a strange occurrence, you had to admit.
Whenever the blond would come over he'd remind Dante of the time, exchange a few words with him before completely taking him away, back to the castle.
He never //stayed behind//.
"Are you actually going to the tournament?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched you, brows scrunching a bit.
" I am."
"You should really reconsider that." He shot, unease clear across his face.
"Why? Does it bother you??" You questioned, crossing your arms. If you were going to get answers from him it was going to be today.
"Because tryouts are next month and you're- you're not ready." He hissed out, glancing around as if expecting someone to jump out of the shadows.
"That's not true, I know there's something else.." You press on, walking closer to him and taking note of his cautious steps backwards. "What are you hiding, Juno?"
''〘 [["Hiding? What are you going on about?"♡]] 〙''
''〘 [["Hiding? What are you going on about?"]] 〙''
The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
You hear a faint rustling of papers and cans, and you feel something brush against your ankle. Looking down, you see a rat scurrying away, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shudder at the sight, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust.
"Motive? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it? Huh? What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You demand once again, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and almost fall over before he reaches over and steadies you by your forearm.
"Just stay away from ruins, and stop questioning everything for once." is all he says before walking away towards the town.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
"Motive? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it? Huh? What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You demand once again, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and tip backwards.
Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you feel Juno's hand yank you forward unceremoniously, his muscular frame pinning you against the wall to keep you still. The rough texture of the bricks scrape against your back, sending chills down your spine.
As Juno's hot breath tickles your face, you could sense the rage emanating from his body, making the air around you thick and tense. Your skin prickles with fear, but you stand your ground, determined to confront him.
Juno's intense gaze holds you captive, and for a moment, you are lost in the abyss of his orange eyes. His grip on your forearm is firm, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. You feel a strange mix of emotions: fear, anger, confusion, and even a hint of something else.
"Just stay away from ruins, and stop questioning everything for once, genius." is all he says as he turns to walk away towards The Town, you catch a whiff of his cinnamon cologne, the scent lingering in the air long after he's gone. You are left standing in the eerie darkness, the sound of your own breathing the only thing keeping you company.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> <<set $junoRomance to Math.clamp($junoRomance + 1, 0, 100)>> <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Good luck $lastname</h1></span> <h3>03:01 pm</h3><hr>
Throughout the next month, your training intensifies significantly. The grueling regimen only eases up in the final week when Nag decides you've endured enough beatings - a decision Dante wholeheartedly supports.
Today finds you at The Viscount Inn, navigating the bustling crowd with a laden tray of drinks. The bar is a hive of activity, filled with both familiar faces and newcomers drawn by the approaching tournament. Business is booming, and with your co-waiter out sick, you're facing not just a rush hour, but an entire day of non-stop commotion.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" The booming voice of Mr. Okly, your employer, cuts through the din as he emerges from his private office. It's a cramped space where he meticulously guards his files, payment slips, and - most importantly to him - his stashes of money.
Mr. Okly is a study in contrasts. Standing at a mere 4'8", his stout frame is always impeccably dressed in a crisp white waistcoat and perfectly pressed grey suit pants. His meticulously groomed grey hair and dapper little French mustache give him an air of distinction, further enhanced by the polished brown walking stick he carries. But it's his voice that truly startles - a deep, resonant boom that seems impossibly large for his diminutive stature.
"How's the money going, kid?" he inquires, attempting to lean an elbow on the tall table beside you as you mix another drink. His arm falls comically short, but his enthusiasm is undiminished. His eyes gleam with an almost manic light, reflecting his boundless passion for profit.
You can practically see the gears turning in Mr. Okly's head, no doubt concocting some new money-making scheme. He's taken to treating you as something of a protégé lately, freely dispensing business advice and financial tips.
<hr>
''[["We might even afford to fix that leaky roof soon."|It's a great day Mr.Okly, business is good]]''
''[["Amazing, look at all this money!"|Amazing, look at all this money]]''
''[["It seems to be going great! Or at least I hope."|It seems to be going great! Or at least I hope]]''
''[["Okay."|Okay...]]''
The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
"Plotting? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it? Huh? What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You demand once again, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and tip backwards.
Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you feel Juno's hand yank you forward unceremoniously, his muscular frame pinning you against the wall to keep you still. The rough texture of the bricks scrape against your back, sending chills down your spine.
As Juno's hot breath tickles your face, you could sense the rage emanating from his body, making the air around you thick and tense. Your skin prickles with fear, but you stand your ground, determined to confront him.
Juno's intense gaze holds you captive, and for a moment, you are lost in the abyss of his orange eyes. His grip on your forearm is firm, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. You feel a strange mix of emotions: fear, anger, confusion, and even a hint of something else.
"Just stay away from ruins" is all he says as he turns to walk away towards The Town, you catch a whiff of his cinnamon cologne, the scent lingering in the air long after he's gone. You are left standing in the eerie darkness, the sound of your own breathing the only thing keeping you company.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...<<set $junoRomance to Math.clamp($junoRomance + 1, 0, 100)>>
<</if>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
You hear a faint rustling of papers and cans, and you feel something brush against your ankle. Looking down, you see a rat scurrying away, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shudder at the sight, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust.
"Plotting? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it? Huh? What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You demand once again, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and tip backwards.
"Just stay away from ruins, and stop overanalyzing for once." is all he says before walking away towards the town.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
"Plotting? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You question once again, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and tip backwards.
Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you feel Juno's toned frame pinning you against the wall. The rough texture of the bricks scrape against your back, sending chills down your spine. Though it does break your fall.
As Juno's breath temporarily warms your face against the cold air, you could sense the rage emanating from his body, making the air around you thick and tense. Your skin prickles with fear, but you stand your ground, determined to confront him.
Juno's intense gaze holds you captive, and for a moment, you are lost in the abyss of his eyes. His grip on your forearm is firm, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. You feel a strange mix of emotions: fear, anger, confusion, and even a hint of something else.
"Just stay away from ruins and stop using that smart head of yours." is all he says as he turns to walk away towards The Town, you catch a whiff of his cinnamon cologne, the scent lingering in the air long after he's gone. You are left standing in the eerie darkness, the sound of your own breathing the only thing keeping you company.
That would be the last time you'd see Juno in long time.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> <<set $junoRomance to Math.clamp($junoRomance + 1, 0, 100)>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
You hear a faint rustling of papers and cans, and you feel something brush against your ankle. Looking down, you see a rat scurrying away, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shudder at the sight, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust.
"Plotting? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"What about me has you so worked up every time you see me?" You question once again, walking forward some more, not expecting Juno to press forward suddenly causing you to slip on some liter and almost fall over before he reaches over and steadies you by your forearm.
"Just stay away from ruins, and quit trying to figure everything out. " is all he says before walking away towards the town. That would be the last time you'd see Juno in long time.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
You hear a faint rustling of papers and cans, and you feel something brush against your ankle. Looking down, you see a rat scurrying away, its beady eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shudder at the sight, trying to shake off the feeling of disgust.
"Hiding? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it?" You question with a calm tone once again, not expecting Juno to suddenly press forward causing you to slip on some liter and almost fall over before he reaches over and steadies you by your forearm.
"Just stay away from ruins, and stop picking everything apart." is all he says before walking away towards the town.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> The dim light in the alleyway casts long, eerie shadows that dance on the walls, filling your vision with dark and foreboding images. The stench of stale garbage assaults your nose.
"Hiding? What are you going on about?" He seethed out from his clenched jaw, glancing around once again as his back hit the wall behind him before looking straight at you once again.
"You've always had a problem with me, what is it?" You question with a calm tone once again, not expecting Juno to suddenly press forward causing you to slip on some liter and tip backwards.
Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you feel Juno's muscular frame pinning you against the wall. The rough texture of the bricks scrape against your back, sending chills down your spine.
As Juno's hot breath tickles your face, you could sense the rage emanating from his body, making the air around you thick and tense. Your skin prickles with fear, but you stand your ground, determined to confront him.
Juno's intense gaze holds you captive, and for a moment, you are lost in the abyss of his eyes. His grip on your forearm is firm, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. You feel a strange mix of emotions: fear, anger, confusion, and even a hint of attraction.
"Just stay away from ruins" is all he says as he turns to walk away towards The Town, you catch a whiff of his cinnamon cologne, the scent lingering in the air long after he's gone. You are left standing in the eerie darkness, the sound of your own breathing the only thing keeping you company.
<hr>
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.|That was the last time you had seen Juno. TO]]
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>
[[That was the last time you had seen Juno.]]
<<else>>
...
<</if>> <<set $junoRomance to Math.clamp($junoRomance + 1, 0, 100)>> "It's a great day, Mr. Okly," you drawl, your focus intently on the intricate cocktail you're mixing. "Business is booming. We might even afford to fix that leaky roof soon."
Mr. Okly's boisterous laugh fills the air. "That's the spirit, $lastname! Always thinking ahead. Keep raking in those coins!"
You can't help but roll your eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "Oh yes, I live for the thrill of serving overpriced drinks to rowdy patrons. It's my life's calling."
Mr. Okly chuckles, clearly enjoying your banter. His expression shifts slightly, and you brace yourself for what's coming next.
"Say, $firstname," he begins, his tone deceptively casual, "I've been thinking about that lady again. You know, the one who paid for your stay all those years ago?"
You suppress a sigh. This familiar line of questioning never fails to pique your own curiosity, even as it irritates you. "Ah yes, my fairy godmother. Sadly, my memory of her is about as clear as the bottom of a whiskey barrel."
Mr. Okly's eyes gleam with interest. "Come now, surely you remember something? A name, perhaps? Or why she took such an interest in a mud-covered urchin?"
You shrug, maintaining your nonchalant facade despite the questions swirling in your own mind. "Maybe she mistook me for a rare, dirt-dwelling creature. Thought she'd struck gold in the cryptozoology market."
Mr. Okly laughs heartily, but you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. "You're a card, $lastname. But seriously, if you ever remember anything..."
"You'll be the first to know," you finish for him, already moving to serve another customer. "Right after I inform the town crier and throw a parade."
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh?"]]''<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
"Amazing," you respond in a singsong tone, pulling out your tips from your pocket with a flourish. "I mean, look at all this money."
Mr. Okly's eyes light up, sparkling with unbridled avarice. His sausage-like fingers reach out instinctively, but you deftly pull the cash out of his reach.
"Uh-uh, this is my tips, bud," you say with a smirk.
"Yeah, yeah," he replies, playfully rolling his eyes before twisting his mustache thoughtfully. "You keep on collecting all that money, kid."
There's a brief pause as Mr. Okly's expression shifts, a familiar glint of curiosity appearing in his eyes. You brace yourself, knowing what's coming next.
"Speaking of money," he begins, his tone casual but his gaze intent, "I've been meaning to ask you something. Do you remember anything about that lady who came here years ago? The one who paid for your stay?"
You sigh internally. This isn't the first time Mr. Okly has broached this subject, and you doubt it'll be the last. The memory of that day is hazy at best - a beautiful woman, a grand carriage, and a kindness you couldn't comprehend at the time.
"Mr. Okly," you say, your voice a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "we've been over this. I was just a kid playing in the mud. I don't know why she helped me or who she was."
Mr. Okly nods, but you can see the wheels turning in his head. The mystery of your benefactor has been a source of fascination for him ever since that day. "It's just curious, you know? A fine lady like that, taking interest in a mud-covered child. Must have been someone important to have that kind of money to throw around."
You shrug, turning back to your work. "Maybe she just felt like doing a good deed that day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more drinks to serve and more tips to earn."
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh?"]]''<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>
"It's going well, I think," you say with a hesitant smile, your eyes darting to Mr. Okly's face. "At least, I hope it is."
Mr. Okly chuckles, his grey mustache twitching. "You're doing splendidly, my dear! No need for doubt." He gives you a hearty pat on the back, causing you to stumble slightly and slosh your drink.
"Keep up the excellent work!" he adds enthusiastically, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of pride and calculation.
You nod, wiping up the spilled liquid with a nearby cloth. Mr. Okly leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Say, I've been thinking about that lady again. The one who paid for your stay all those years ago."
You pause, a familiar warmth spreading through your chest at the memory. "The blonde woman? With the carriage?"
Mr. Okly's eyes light up at this morsel of information. "Yes, exactly! I've never seen someone do something like that for a stranger. Do you remember anything else about her?"
You pause briefly, trying to grasp at the fading wisps of memory. "She... she found me playing in the mud. Cleaned me up, spent the day with me..." You direct your eyes, meeting Mr. Okly's eager gaze. "But it was so long ago, and I was just a child."
"Fascinating," Mr. Okly murmurs, stroking his mustache. "A whole day, you say? And then she paid for years of your stay before leaving? Most peculiar indeed."
You nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and an inexplicable longing. "I wish I could remember more. She seemed to care so much, but I don't know why."
Mr. Okly pats your hand, his expression more attentive than usual. "Well, if you ever recall anything else, you'll let me know, won't you? It's quite the mystery!"
"Of course, Mr. Okly," you reply, managing a small smile. "You'll be the first to know if I remember anything."
As you serve another customer, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze following you. The questions about the mysterious lady linger in the air, unanswered but ever-present.
<hr>
[["So, the tournament huh?"]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
You glance up, your expression unchanging. "Okay."
He grins, twirling his mustache. "Still practicing your statue impression, I see. You know, you could make a fortune if we marketed you as a living gargoyle."
You pause your wiping, fixing him with a deadpan stare. "Fascinating business proposition."
Mr. Okly chuckles heartily. "Oh, come now! Throw me a bone here. How about a smile? Just a tiny one?"
You maintain your stoic expression, resuming your cleaning. "I'm saving it for a special occasion."
"Ah, of course! Wouldn't want to waste such a rare commodity," Mr. Okly quips, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "But let me tell you, that brooding look of yours? Pure gold! The customers can't get enough of it."
You raise an eyebrow slightly. "Thrilling."
Mr. Okly leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I overheard a group of young ladies and men yesterday. They were convinced you must be a misunderstood artist or a secret royal in disguise. Keep it up, and we'll be swimming in coin!"
You nod solemnly, only half listening as Mr. Okly's laughter booms through the inn. Once it subsides, his expression shifts, curiosity replacing humor. "Say, speaking of mysteries... I've been meaning to ask you something."
You brace yourself, knowing what's coming.
"Do you remember anything more about that lady? The one who paid for your stay all those years ago?"
Suddenly, fragments of memory flash through your mind - a beautiful blonde woman, an ornate carriage, the feeling of being lifted out of the mud. The warmth of her smile, the gentleness of her touch as she cleaned you up. The vague recollection of her speaking with the innkeeper, then disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared.
You blink, pushing the memories aside. "Not really. I was just a kid."
Mr. Okly's eyes gleam with interest. "But surely you must remember something? A name, perhaps? Or why she took such an interest in you?"
You shrug, your voice soft. "She was kind. That's all I know."
Mr. Okly strokes his mustache thoughtfully. "Most peculiar. A fine lady appearing out of nowhere, paying for years of lodging for a child she just met... It's quite the mystery, wouldn't you say?"
You nod silently, picking up your cloth and resuming your wiping of the bar.
As you move into silence, you can feel Mr. Okly's gaze on you. You know this won't be the last time he brings up the mysterious lady, but for now, you have a job to do and money to earn.
<hr>
''[["So, the tournament huh?"]]''<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> "So, the tournament, huh?" Mr. Okly's voice pulls you from your reverie.
You turn your gaze towards him, really taking in the man's appearance. Despite his small stature, Mr. Okly's presence seems to fill the room. His meticulously groomed grey hair and dapper French mustache twitch with barely contained excitement. You've known him long enough to recognize the telltale signs of his entrepreneurial mind at work.
Mr. Okly leans in, his polished walking stick tapping an eager rhythm on the floor. "There's a prize amount, yeah?" His eyes sparkle as he watches you, waiting for confirmation.
You nod almost imperceptibly, your mind already racing ahead to what you know will come next. Mr. Okly's fingers drum on the bar top, his other hand absently stroking his mustache - a sure sign he's concocting some scheme.
<hr>
''[[And it seemed like he was already scheming...]]''
"Wonderful, wonderful," Mr. Okly says, flashing a crooked grin. "I couldn't help but overhear you talking about that upcoming tournament you're entering. Sounds like a real opportunity, huh?"
You nod, flashing a quick smile. "Yeah, it's a pretty big deal. There's a lot of prize money up for grabs."
His eyes light up at the mention of money. "Prize money, eh? Well, you know, I've been thinking about getting into the tournament game myself. It's a great way to make some extra cash, you know?"
You raise an eyebrow in question. The last thing you'd expect to hear about is Mr.Okly wanting to go into a Tournament like this one were chances of winning were low for even experienced players, to top it off for the worst, he didn't even have an ounce of casting abilities or an artifact. "Really? I didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Mr. Okly."
He chuckles, rubbing his hands together. "Oh, I'm into all sorts of things. And if there's money to be made, well, count me in! Say, how about we team up for this tournament? I'll provide some funds, and you can do all the legwork. We'll split the prize money 50-50, what do you say?"
There it was.
Of course you'd expect him to jump at any opportunity available to make some money.
You consider his offer for a moment before responding, your voice still and neutral. "I appreciate the offer, Boss, but I think I can handle it on my own. Besides, I don't want to take advantage of you, you know?"
Mr. Okly nods, a smile still on his face, but his eyes darken slightly. "Oh, I understand, I understand. No hard feelings, my kid. But you know, if you ever change your mind, you just come to me! I've got a knack for making money, and who knows? You might make it big with my help."
<hr>
[["and who knows? You might make it big with my help."]]As the conversation continued, a man in a suit suddenly appeared behind Mr. Oklu. With his tall stature and imposing presence, commanded the respect of all those who knew him. His eyes, a piercing wine shade, seemed to flicker with something, making him seem both intimidating and intriguing at the same time. His slicked-back dark brown hair, which was always styled to perfection, gave him a sophisticated air, while he shared a sharp smile.
He wore a crisp black suit, tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean physique, and carried himself with the grace of a predator on the prowl. Despite his imposing presence, however, the Overseer was known for his fairness and integrity, and those who worked under him trusted him implicitly. His authoritative demeanor and sharp smile seemed to make Mr. Okly's stomach churn in unease.
It was The Overseer, Valket.
<hr>
[["Am I interrupting an informal business meeting?"]]
Mr. Okly smiles, though it is strained "No, sir, just discussing some private ideas with $name here."
The man's gaze flicked over to you, just as you had stopped wiping the tables and was now stood at attention. "Is that so? And what do you think of these ideas, $lastname?"
<hr>
[["I'm not sure I'm the right person to speak on that, sir. Mr. Okly has his own vision for things."]]
[["I respectfully declined sir."]]
[["I think Mr. Okly has always had the best interests of the business at heart, sir."]]
After a while you wiped down the last table in the bustling tarvern, the scent of freshly cooked food still lingering in the air. You felt the weight of the day's work settle in your bones, your feet sore from running back and forth to serve customers. But you knew you were looking forward to training with your mentor, The Overseer, who had been waiting patiently outside like always.
It had been a habit of his to come pick you up ten minutes before your shift had ended, taking that time of waiting to have a talk with a few sylvalians naturally as their representative. They'd tell him anything they needed improving on or just have a normal chat with him. And as soon as you walked out he'd excuse himself and attend to you, like a parent waiting for their pre-school kid to walk out of school to ask how their day has been.
As you stepped out of the building, you felt the warmth of the sun on your face and a light breeze ruffling your hair. You saw The Overseer waiting for you, just as you expected, standing tall and straight. A book and pen in hand as he spoke to the tailor that had worked down the street. You couldn't help but notice the sleek black leather of the book and the way it shone in the sun.
"Good work today, $lastname," The Overseer said, his voice crisp and professional. "But we have work to do. Come, we need to buy you a new set of clothing for the tournament."
"New clothes?"
"Yes. Other participants will walk in with gear or paddings that might give them an upper hand," he explained as you both walked up the pathway. "The last thing we need is for you to fall behind after all that training, am I not correct?"
<hr>
[["Oh yeah, that's right!"]]
[["I was hoping to go for the 'I just rolled out of bed' look, but I guess I can settle for something more presentable."]]
[["My clothes are none of your concern."]]"Oh yeah?" The Overseer asks, baffled as he lets out a confused but surprised snicker. "What do you mean //'oh yeah'//? You're three days away from the Trail Tournament and you're in a 'oh yeah' mindset."
"My bad," you chuckle out nervously, rubbing your hands together as he shakes his head before whispering playfully "And to think, I was worried I might be speaking a different language for a second there."
"Well, I must admit, I've been feeling pretty confident about my skills lately," you reply with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe a little too confident."
The Overseer lets out a chuckle and shakes his head. "That's the spirit. Confidence is key, but don't let it get to your head. You still have three days to train and prepare for the tournament. You don't want to end up like that one guy who showed up in sandals and a t-shirt last year."
You can't help but laugh at the thought. "Sandals and a t-shirt? That's bold."
"Or just plain foolish," The Overseer adds, the corner of his lips twitching up. "At least the guy had confidence."
You nod, still chuckling. "I'll make sure to at least wear proper shoes."
The Overseer nods approvingly. "Good call. And don't forget to hydrate, get enough rest, and eat well. You don't want to be too sluggish during the tournament."
"Got it." you reply, feeling more at ease now that you had a conversation about preparation.
<hr>
[[The Overseer is reassuring as always.|Continue walking with TO]]"I was hoping to go for the 'I just rolled out of bed' look, but I guess I can settle for something more presentable," you say with a chuckle, rubbing the back of your head.
"Ah, yes, the 'I just rolled out of bed' look is quite popular these days. Unfortunately, it's not the most appropriate attire for a tournament setting. But don't worry, we'll have you looking presentable in no time."
"Well, I guess it's a good thing we're heading to the store," you say with a chuckle, trying to break the tension. "I don't think I have anything presentable in my bag."
The Overseer grins at your comment. "Don't worry, we'll have you looking like a professional in no time. Who knows, you might even be mistaken for a seasoned competitor."
"I wouldn't hold my breath on that one," you reply with a smirk, taking in the sights and sounds around you. The bustling marketplace was alive with vendors hawking their wares, customers haggling over prices, and the faint scent of spices and incense wafting through the air.
The Overseer nods in agreement. "Well, it's always good to have a little humor, especially when you're nervous. It helps to break the tension."
You nod, grateful for his advice. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And speaking of tension, do you hear those merchants in the background? They sound like they're haggling over the price of a castle."
The Overseer laughs. "I wouldn't be surprised if they were. These merchants can be quite vocal when it comes to making a sale. But don't worry."
<hr>
[["we'll make sure to steer clear of the more persistent ones."|Continue walking with TO]]
"My clothes are none of your concern" you spitefully respond, a sudden irritation washing over you.
Taking quick note of this, his explanation comes just as relaxed and natural as before. "Hmm, I don't think the judges are going to be too impressed with your outfit…I know you want to be taken seriously in the tournament, and that starts with your clothing choices."
The soft hum of the merchants and people on the streets outside seems to fade into the background as your thoughts consume you. You realize that you've become an incredibly rude and spiteful person in the past few months for no obvious reason. Or at least no reason you could think of.
It felt uncomfortable. You can't help but feel the sour taste of regret lingering in your mouth, and the weight of your actions feeling heavy on your chest. You wonder what has caused you to act this way and why you can't seem to stop.
The sudden sound of silence between you and The Overseer is deafening, and you feel completely lost in your thoughts. The pungent smell of remorse fills the air, and you know that something needs to change before you push everyone away.
"Remember, $name," he begins, his voice steady and calming as always. "Our emotions can either fuel us or consume us. It's essential to find a balance and to take a step back when we feel overwhelmed. You have the strength within you to control your emotions and not let them control you. Remember, a true successor knows how not to let their emotions control them."
The Overseer's words have a calming effect on you, and you feel a sense of clarity wash over you. However, you know that this is not an issue that can be fixed overnight. It will take time, patience, and a lot of self-reflection to get to the root of your anger.
Still, you appreciate The Overseer's guidance and the fact that he never takes offense or judges you for your flaws. His relaxed demeanor and soothing tone make it easy for you to confide in him, even without words, and you know that you can always count on him for sound advice.
As you both reach the tailor, you feel grateful for The Overseer's presence in your life, and you know that his words have given you the strength to keep moving forward.
<hr>
[[even when things get tough.|Continue walking with TO]]<<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor - 3, 0, 100)>>
After a while you focus on feeling the pavement under your feet, the rhythm of your steps keeping you entertained for a while, the chatter between The Overseer and some random lady that had decided to have a short walk-and-talk with him drifted to background noise. You caught a whiff of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, making your stomach growl. A little lunch break wouldn't hurt after this, right?
As you walked into the tailor store, you were hit by the scent of new clothes, the smell of freshly cut fabric filling your nose. The Overseer immediately began to scan the racks for the perfect outfit for you.
"Oh, The Overseer!" A lady plain right screeches out, shoving a huge box bold, bright and clearly labelled as woman's underwear into a closet before shutting it with a loud bang.
With her fiery red hair falling in soft waves around her face, the lady a few feet away wore a pair of round glasses that emphasized her striking gold eyes. Her face was dotted with delicate freckles. A light green apron wrapped around her waist, a clear indication of her occupation in the tailor store. Despite her petite frame and short stature, the force with which she threw the heavy box was impressive in a way.
You could almost feel the second hand embarrassment as she lets what had just happened sink in and stays planted on her spot.
<hr>
[[Poor thing...]]
The Overseer only sends you a look, holding back a chuckle as he politely smiles at the nervous woman. "Ah , yes. And this would be $name. We're here for a new set of attire and would need your help, Maddison?"
Her eyes widen, as though asking //'you know my name!?'// before composing herself as a new coworker of hers walks in and nudges her. "Yes, she'll- I'll help you out."
"Right, thank you." He only smiles, gesturing for you to follow the red head as she takes you around the store. The Overseer constantly pulls out clothing as she speaks, holding it up to your chest to check the fit before either placing it back on the rack or laying it across his free arm.
"These will do nicely," The Overseer says, his eyes glinting with satisfaction as he glances down at the eight sets of clothing he had picked out. "You'll make quite an impression at the tournament."
<hr>
[[Time to try these on then|Well here goes nothing.]]
The Overseer sat patiently outside the waiting room of the upscale clothing store, lightly tapping his pen as spoke. He looked the very image of professionalism, but his warm smile and easy demeanor belied a kind and approachable personality. Beside him sat Madison, who seemed to be fidgeting nervously in her seat.
As they chatted, The Overseer noticed you walking in and out of the dressing room making sure you picked out the right set. He turned to the red head with a fond smile, "There's $name now. I've been mentoring $plural for a while now, and I must say, $referinconvo doing exceptionally well."
The red head looked up at you and then back at The Overseer. "Is that your $child?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Overseer chuckled softly. "No, no," he replied. "That's just one of my students. But thank you for the compliment. That's the first time anyone's ever mistaken me for a father."
The red head blushed and looked down at her lap, clearly embarrassed. But The Overseer quickly put her at ease, "it isn't a fuss, I promise. You need not worry."
<hr>
[[am I interrupting something?|Kobat Apples TO pt2]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Traditional Kobat Wear">>
<<set $TKK to Math.clamp($TKK + 5, 0, 100)>>The Overseer sat patiently outside the waiting room of the upscale clothing store, lightly tapping his pen as spoke. He looked the very image of professionalism, but his warm smile and easy demeanor belied a kind and approachable personality. Beside him sat Madison, who seemed to be fidgeting nervously in her seat.
As they chatted, The Overseer noticed you walking in and out of the dressing room making sure you picked out the right set. He turned to the red head with a fond smile, "There's $name now. I've been mentoring $plural for a while now, and I must say, $referinconvo doing exceptionally well."
The red head looked up at you and then back at The Overseer. "Is that your $child?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Overseer chuckled softly. "No, no," he replied. "That's just one of my students. But thank you for the compliment. That's the first time anyone's ever mistaken me for a father."
The red head blushed and looked down at her lap, clearly embarrassed. But The Overseer quickly put her at ease, "it isn't a fuss, I promise. You need not worry."
<hr>
[[am I interrupting something?]]
<<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Rustic Attire">> <<set $AD to Math.clamp($AD + 5, 0, 100)>>The Overseer sat patiently outside the waiting room of the upscale clothing store, lightly tapping his pen as spoke. He looked the very image of professionalism, but his warm smile and easy demeanor belied a kind and approachable personality. Beside him sat Madison, who seemed to be fidgeting nervously in her seat.
As they chatted, The Overseer noticed you walking in and out of the dressing room making sure you picked out the right set. He turned to the red head with a fond smile, "There's $name now. I've been mentoring $plural for a while now, and I must say, $referinconvo doing exceptionally well."
The red head looked up at you and then back at The Overseer. "Is that your $child?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Overseer chuckled softly. "No, no," he replied. "That's just one of my students. But thank you for the compliment. That's the first time anyone's ever mistaken me for a father."
The red head blushed and looked down at her lap, clearly embarrassed. But The Overseer quickly put her at ease, "it isn't a fuss, I promise. You need not worry."
<hr>
[[am I interrupting something?|Spoiled apples TO pt2]]
<<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive + 20, 0, 100)>><<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest - 20, 0, 100)>><<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $clothing = "Vassal Novs Wear">>
<<set $TVN to Math.clamp($TVN + 5, 0, 100)>>The Overseer sat patiently outside the waiting room of the upscale clothing store, lightly tapping his pen as spoke. He looked the very image of professionalism, but his warm smile and easy demeanor belied a kind and approachable personality. Beside him sat Madison, who seemed to be fidgeting nervously in her seat.
As they chatted, The Overseer noticed you walking in and out of the dressing room making sure you picked out the right set. He turned to the red head with a fond smile, "There's $name now. I've been mentoring $plural for a while now, and I must say, $referinconvo doing exceptionally well."
The red head looked up at you and then back at The Overseer. "Is that your $child?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Overseer chuckled softly. "No, no," he replied. "That's just one of my students. But thank you for the compliment. That's the first time anyone's ever mistaken me for a father."
The red head blushed and looked down at her lap, clearly embarrassed. But The Overseer quickly put her at ease, "it isn't a fuss, I promise. You need not worry."
<hr>
[[am I interrupting something?|Depressed apples TO pt2]]
<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile- 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $clothing = "Noirwear">> <<set $ODO to Math.clamp($ODO + 5, 0, 100)>>With a chuckle he says, "Well, you did interrupt me tapping my pen, but I think I can forgive you this time."
"That looks lovely on you!" Madison responds, eyes shining as she stands up.
"You look so beautiful! That piece really brings out your best features, and the way you've styled it is so chic and sophisticated! You have amazing taste, and you wear it well!"
<hr>
[["You think so? I was going for more of a 'I got dressed in the dark' look, but I guess I missed the mark."|dress in the dark]]
[["I don't need your approval to know I look good, your opinion means absolutely nothing to me."|"Didn't realize I needed your approval to dress myself."]]
[["I think I just hit my daily limit of compliments, but keep 'em coming anyway!"|daily comp]]
[["I didn't…do anything though?"]]
<<set $clothing = "Vassal Novs Wear">>
With a chuckle he says, "Well, you did interrupt me tapping my pen, but I think I can forgive you this time."
"That looks lovely on you!" Madison responds, eyes shining as she stands up.
"Wow, you look incredible! That piece fits you like a glove, it's like it was just waiting for you to come and find it! You're absolutely glowing, it's clear you feel confident and beautiful in that outfit!"
''〘 [["You think so? I was going for more of a 'I got dressed in the dark' look, but I guess I missed the mark."]] 〙''
''〘 [["Didn't realize I needed your approval to dress myself." ]] 〙''
''〘 [["I think I just hit my daily limit of compliments, but keep 'em coming anyway!"]] 〙''
''〘 [["But this outfit doesn't come with gloves?"]] 〙''
With a chuckle he says, "Well, you did interrupt me tapping my pen, but I think I can forgive you this time."
"That looks lovely on you!" Madison responds, eyes shining as she stands up.
"Oh my gosh, you look stunning! I'm getting major boss vibes from you in that outfit! The way it fits and flatters your body is just perfect, you look like a total powerhouse!"
<hr>
[["You think so? I was going for more of a 'I got dressed in the dark' look, but I guess I missed the mark."|dark darkk]]
[["Didn't realize I needed your approval to dress myself."|angryyyyy]]
[["I think I just hit my daily limit of compliments, but keep 'em coming anyway!"|daily limit]]
[["I look like a what?"]] <<set $clothing = "Noirwear">>
With a chuckle he says, "Well, you did interrupt me tapping my pen, but I think I can forgive you this time."
"That looks lovely on you!" Madison responds, eyes shining as she stands up.
"Oh my goodness, that looks absolutely amazing on you! You were made to wear that color, it complements your skin tone so perfectly! I'm so glad you tried it on, it's definitely a winner!"
<hr>
[["You think so? I was going for more of a 'I got dressed in the dark' look, but I guess I missed the mark."|DaRk]]
[["I don't need your approval to know I look good, your opinion means absolutely nothing to me."| "Didn't realize I needed your approval to dress myself."]]
[["I think I just hit my daily limit of compliments, but keep 'em coming anyway!"|heheh comps]]
[["thank you."]]
<<set $clothing = "Rustic Attire">>"Oh, you should expect more once you step outside!" Madison giggles, eyes sparking even more as little tear drops blur her vision.
"Alright, alright. You have poor Madison in tears." The Overseer playfully tsks, causing the short woman to stop wiping at her eyes and shake her head.
"No! That's- I'm not crying at all! Don't worry!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you tear up." You join in the teasing, faking a pout as she continued to deny your shared allegations with oblivious persistence.
"We should probably stop teasing you now, as endearing as it is." The Overseer shakes his head, smiling to himself secretly as he changes the subject with ease "what's the bill?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
"This outfit doesn't come with gloves?" you reply in a questioning tone, taking a double check in the bag you had been given.
//if there were any gloves, you're pretty sure you would've seen them.//
"No, no! that's not what i meant." she hurriedly clearifies, moving to stop you from searching for the nonexistent gloves.
"hmm?"
"Don't mind this one," The Overseer smiles fondly, ruffling your once neat hair. " $referinconvo always been like this. Pretty blunt and all, hope it isn't too much of a bother."
"Oh, no, no! That's totally cool." She shakes her head, her curly orange hair moving along with every shake. "Would you like the bill?"
"Ah, yes. That would be delightful."
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]"Oh, I see. Well, I still think you look great! But I totally understand what you mean about aiming for a certain look and not quite getting there."
"Thanks." You say, feeling a bit more giddy over your clothing. You've always found them interesting with all the jewelry it comes with. There was never a set of kobat clothes that never came with at least one accessory.
"It does look great," The Overseer mutters, focused on writing some stuff down. It was clear that he wasn't really too into fashion in general and didn't know exactly what to say other than a polite encouragement. A strange contrast to how his clothes seemed to always be on point.
"If you don't mind me asking, how much is the first set?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
A soft "Oh." Is all she responds with, sneaking a glance at The Overseer who's relaxed stature switches to a more assertive one, his smile still present but a bit less genuine.
Your shoulders tense once again as you realize what you had just said. //When// would you stop this? You could already feel your throat tightening as you avoided eye contact with The Overseer. A wave of disappointment in yourself washing over you.
"I'm pretty sure that was unnecessary, don't you think, $name?" He asks, tone similar to a teacher lightly scolding a student. Not wanting for a response, he turns to Madison. Offering a remorseful smile, "sorry about that."
"Oh no, it's okay." She shakes her head, eyes wide as she peers between you and The Overseer. "It's probably just exhaustion, you know?"
"Ah, yes," He smiles, already aware of how that was not true and your…struggles as a person. "It has been a long day at work after all. Speaking of a long day, we should get going. How much will it be?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"|Kibir part 2]]"I mean you clean up well." She clarifies, gesturing to your attire.
"I don't remember helping out the shop but…okay?" You mutter, genuinely at a loss at what she was talking about.
//You didn't even mop…//
"Don't mind this one," The Overseer smiles fondly, ruffling your once neat hair. " $referinconvo always been like this. Pretty blunt and all, hope it isn't too much of a bother."
"Oh, no, no! That's totally cool." She shakes her head, her curly orange hair moving along with every shake. "Would you like the bill?"
"Ah, yes. That would be delightful."
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
A soft "Oh." Is all she responds with, sneaking a glance at The Overseer who's relaxed stature switches to a more assertive one, his smile still present but a bit less genuine.
Your shoulders tense once again as you realize what you had just said. //When// would you stop this? You could already feel your throat tightening as you avoided eye contact with The Overseer. A wave of disappointment in yourself washing over you.
"I'm pretty sure that was unnecessary, don't you think, $name?" He asks, tone similar to a teacher lightly scolding a student. Not wanting for a response, he turns to Madison. Offering a remorseful smile, "sorry about that."
"Oh no, it's okay." She shakes her head, eyes wide as she peers between you and The Overseer. "It's probably just exhaustion, you know?"
"Ah, yes," He smiles, already aware of how that was not true and your…struggles as a person. "It has been a long day at work after all. Speaking of a long day, we should get going. How much will it be?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"|Kibir part 2]]"No way! You look amazing. The way you put everything together just works perfectly!"
"Thank you, Madison." You laugh out, bubbles of excitement filling up your veins. It did feel nice to wear new clothes, especially this type. You've almost always wanted to own clothing similar to this.
"It does look great," The Overseer mutters, focused on writing some stuff down. It was clear that he wasn't really too into fashion in general and didn't know exactly what to say other than a polite encouragement. A strange contrast to how his clothes seemed to always be on point.
"If you don't mind me asking, how much is the first set?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
"Oh, you should expect more once you step outside!" Madison giggles, eyes sparking even more as little tear drops blur her vision.
"Alright, alright. You have poor Madison in tears." The Overseer playfully tsks, causing the short woman to stop wiping at her eyes and shake her head.
"No! That's- I'm not crying at all! Don't worry!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you tear up." You join in the teasing, faking a pout as she continued to deny your shared allegations with oblivious persistence.
"We should probably stop teasing you now, as endearing as it is." The Overseer shakes his head, smiling to himself secretly as he changes the subject with ease "what's the bill?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
"Well, if that's the case, you should dress in the dark more often! You look great." She teasingly encourages, getting a small laugh from you.
"Well isn't that good advice. It does look great," The Overseer mutters, focused on writing some stuff down. It was clear that he wasn't really too into fashion in general and didn't know exactly what to say other than a polite encouragement. A strange contrast to how his clothes seemed to always be on point.
"If you don't mind me asking, how much is the first set?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
A soft "Oh." Is all she responds with, sneaking a glance at The Overseer who's relaxed stature switches to a more assertive one, his smile still present but a bit less genuine.
Your shoulders tense once again as you realize what you had just said. //When// would you stop this? You could already feel your throat tightening as you avoided eye contact with The Overseer. A wave of disappointment in yourself washing over you.
"I'm pretty sure that was unnecessary, don't you think, $name?" He asks, tone similar to a teacher lightly scolding a student. Not wanting for a response, he turns to Madison. Offering a remorseful smile, "sorry about that."
"Oh no, it's okay." She shakes her head, eyes wide as she peers between you and The Overseer. "It's probably just exhaustion, you know?"
"Ah, yes," He smiles, already aware of how that was not true and your…struggles as a person. "It has been a long day at work after all. Speaking of a long day, we should get going. How much will it be?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"|Kibir part 2]]"Oh, you should expect more once you step outside!" Madison giggles, eyes sparking even more as little tear drops blur her vision.
"Alright, alright. You have poor Madison in tears." The Overseer playfully tsks, causing the short woman to stop wiping at her eyes and shake her head.
"No! That's- I'm not crying at all! Don't worry!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you tear up." You join in the teasing, faking a pout as she continued to deny your shared allegations with oblivious persistence.
"We should probably stop teasing you now, as endearing as it is." The Overseer shakes his head, smiling to himself secretly as he changes the subject with ease "what's the bill?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]"Boss vibes?" She questions, not sure if you meant that part.
"I doubt just clothing could give you a role like that anywhere." You mutter, genuinely at a loss at what she was talking about.
//People needed skill and experience…right?//
"Don't mind this one," The Overseer smiles fondly, ruffling your once neat hair. " $referinconvo always been like this. Pretty blunt and all, hope it isn't too much of a bother."
"Oh, no, no! That's totally cool." She shakes her head, her curly orange hair moving along with every shake. "Would you like the bill?"
"Ah, yes. That would be delightful."
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
"thank you." you stiffly reply, turning to face the mirror and get a once over yourself. it looked good enough.
a bit put off by your bland tone, the woman fidgets with her hands. unsure if you were being sarcastic or something else.
"Don't mind this one," The Overseer smiles fondly, ruffling your once neat hair. " $referinconvo always been like this. Pretty blunt and all, hope it isn't too much of a bother."
"Oh, no, no! That's totally cool." She shakes her head, her curly orange hair moving along with every shake. "Would you like the bill?"
"Ah, yes. That would be delightful."
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
"No way! You look amazing. The way you put everything together just works perfectly!"
"Thank you, Madison." You laugh out, bubbles of excitement filling up your veins. It did feel nice to wear new clothes, especially this type. You've almost always wanted to own clothing similar to this.
"It does look great," The Overseer mutters, focused on writing some stuff down. It was clear that he wasn't really too into fashion in general and didn't know exactly what to say other than a polite encouragement. A strange contrast to how his clothes seemed to always be on point.
"If you don't mind me asking, how much is the first set?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]A soft "Oh." Is all she responds with, sneaking a glance at The Overseer who's relaxed stature switches to a more assertive one, his smile still present but a bit less genuine.
Your shoulders tense once again as you realize what you had just said. //When// would you stop this? You could already feel your throat tightening as you avoided eye contact with The Overseer. A wave of disappointment in yourself washing over you.
"I'm pretty sure that was unnecessary, don't you think, $name?" He asks, tone similar to a teacher lightly scolding a student. Not wanting for a response, he turns to Madison. Offering a remorseful smile, "sorry about that."
"Oh no, it's okay." She shakes her head, eyes wide as she peers between you and The Overseer. "It's probably just exhaustion, you know?"
"Ah, yes," He smiles, already aware of how that was not true and your…struggles as a person. "It has been a long day at work after all. Speaking of a long day, we should get going. How much will it be?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"|Kibir part 2]]
"Oh, you should expect more once you step outside!" Madison giggles, eyes sparking even more as little tear drops blur her vision.
"Alright, alright. You have poor Madison in tears." The Overseer playfully tsks, causing the short woman to stop wiping at her eyes and shake her head.
"No! That's- I'm not crying at all! Don't worry!"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you tear up." You join in the teasing, faking a pout as she continued to deny your shared allegations with oblivious persistence.
"We should probably stop teasing you now, as endearing as it is." The Overseer shakes his head, smiling to himself secretly as he changes the subject with ease "what's the bill?"
<hr>
[["That'll be 400 kions"]]
As you both made your way to the exit after paying, you noticed the chime of the door as you walked out of the store. Also taking note of a group of teenagers walking by, their laughter ringing in his ears as they talk about many things. One constant topic around this time of the year being the tournament.
The Overseer turned to you, a serious expression on his face. "You know, $lastname, you have a lot of potential," he said. "But you need to avoid focusing on the thought of failure. Remember, you're entering the tournament for no one but your own interest. Little you's dreams. Don't let little distractions discourage you and get in the way of your success."
You nod again, feeling a sense of purpose wash over you. He was correct, as always. You still remember the excitement you felt after being told stories about the tournament. Excitement you felt after knowing you had a high chance of getting an artifact.
As you walked farther away from the store, you looked up at The Overseer, feeling a deep sense of respect and admiration. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm golden light on the streets, and you felt the cool breeze pick up again.
"Thank you for everything, Overseer," you said, your voice filled with gratitude.
The Overseer nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Anytime, $lastname . Now let's get you ready for that tournament."
You felt a rush of excitement and determination, the promise of the tournament and the future stretching out before you like an open road. You knew that with The Overseer's guidance and your own hard work.
<hr>
[[you could finally do what you've always been dreaming about.|Life is rather like a carriage of sardines.]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Life is rather like a carriage of sardines</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>12:20pm</h2></span>
The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smoldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulfur tint in others.
The carriage before you was not pleasing in the slightest, but you had to do with what you had to do, you guessed. Glancing over at Dante you could tell he thought the exact same with the way his nose wrinkled as his blue eyes roamed the structure of it.
"Well $ladiesfirst." Your friend says with a grin, gesturing to the atrocious carriage. This caused a few women to gawk and awe assuming what you may or may not have hoped they were.
<hr>
[["Oh no, you first."]]
[["Oh no, you first." ♡]]
[["Thank you."]]
[["Thank you." ♡]] <<set $health to clamp($health + 30, 0, 100)>>
"Oh no," you smirk mischievously, shoving him in the seat first. "you first."
"Oh of course of course, handle me like a brute why don't you" he playfully rolls his eyes before inching away to make room, oblivious to the ladies from before.
There were strange, rare odors abroad—a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth from the carriage most likely, mingled with the heavy strong cheap perfume somewhere nearby enough to make your nose itch whether you had a weak nose or not.
To make it worse there was barely any space to maneuver around, everyone packed in like sardines. Shoulders pressing on shoulders and some maidens having to sit on their husbands- or what you had assumed were their husbands.
A four hour trip to the Trial Venue held in The Main Nexus dealing with this?
<hr>
[[You'd survive, right?|bumpy!!]]
"Oh no, you first." You replied, making sure to voice it in a sickeningly sweet way for him with a suggestive smirk.
"Oh"- is all he could muster out as his body froze in place for a split second before laughing a bit, shaking his head as he slipped in before you "Remember we're going to a Trial Battle $nickname. Who can joke in these conditions!?"
"Yeah, yeah" you snicker mischievously before slipping in after him, making room for the other passengers.
There were strange, rare odors abroad—a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth from the carriage most likely, mingled with the heavy strong cheap perfume somewhere nearby enough to make your nose itch whether you had a weak nose or not.
To make it worse there was barely any space to maneuver around, everyone packed in like sardines. Shoulders pressing on shoulders and some maidens having to sit on their husbands- or what you had assumed were their husbands.
A four hour trip to the Trial Venue held in The Main Nexus dealing with this?
<hr>
[[You'd survive, right?|bumpy!!]]
"Oh, thank you." You spit out quick, caught off guard by his chivalrous behavior- even though he had always been like that.
There was just something different about the way he had been keeping eye contact this time. About the way he had leaned towards you a bit, about the way-
"You can get in anytime today $nickname ." Dante interrupted your thoughts, glancing behind him at the impatient old men, glancing down at their pocket watches constantly and the woman gawking at you two- some in jealousy and some just holding in screeches of adoration.
"Right, you're right."
There were strange, rare odors abroad—a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth from the carriage most likely, mingled with the heavy strong cheap perfume somewhere nearby enough to make your nose itch whether you had a weak nose or not.
To make it worse there was barely any space to maneuver around, everyone packed in like sardines. Shoulders pressing on shoulders and some maidens having to sit on their husbands- or what you had assumed were their husbands.
A four hour trip to the Trial Venue held in The Main Nexus dealing with this?
<hr>
[[You'd survive, right?|bumpy!!]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>scrupulous with swindlers</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>13:02</h2></span>
Hopping out of the carriage, you watched as people filed towards the entrance of the tall, imposing building. Its grandeur and imposing presence were a stark contrast to the broken carriage left behind, a visual reminder of the earlier chaos. The building, with its strict, dusky color scheme, appeared grand, but you knew it was nothing compared to the actual Kabot Tournament venue far to the South.
The somber hues of the surroundings seemed to echo the uneasy remnants of your earlier experience. The muted colors of the building, from the grayish browns to the dark purples, felt heavy and oppressive, amplifying your desire to leave behind the unsettling memories.
As you hesitated a few feet from the entrance, trying to shake off the lingering discomfort, a splash of brightness caught your eye. A woman bounced past you, her thick hair dyed a vibrant pink that stood out sharply against the muted backdrop. Her pale pink jacket and matching pants complemented her deep, dark skin, creating a striking contrast to the drab attire of the other contestants.
Dante noticed her too and chuckled, gesturing towards her with a wry smile. “Well, at least someone is happy to be here,” he remarked, nodding toward her bright grin. He then gestured to a group of grumpy old men with large beards, who looked as if they were on their umpteenth attempt at the Trials. “These people look like it’s their 100th try at the Trials.”
Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling from earlier. You were still processing the unsettling experience, and while you focused on the present, the memories of the earlier chaos clung stubbornly to your thoughts. Though you could not cling to it forever, or at least not now.
<hr>
[["I mean it could be"]]
[["Look closely, some of them aren't holding their clubs right…"]]
[["I know right. Wish I shared her buoyant mood though"]]<<set $health to clamp($health + 10, 0, 100)>>
"I mean it could be, they look like they're skilled though. Dauntless even." you ponder on what he had said as you glance around you. Some seemed tired already and nothing had even gone down, others were pretty excited- mainly the younger, more naive crowd, and some looked like they'd just shit in their pants.
The most confident seemed to be the older men- well some, not all.
"But that could just mean they're the most cocky, don't you think?"
<hr>
[[He had a point, you had to admit.]]
"Look closely," you nudged him with your shoulder as you stood beside him, arms crossed and observing. "Some of them aren't even holding their clubs right."
Leaning forward, Dante scans through the crowd before muttering a "shit… you're right…"
"High chance some of them didn't have proper training"
"But then again," he hummed, adjusting his rings, "a handful of these unskilled people could just be trying to fit the crowd, be underestimated so they can openly observe without looking like a potential threat, unlike us."
<hr>
[[He had a point, you had to admit.]]
"I know right," you huff out a laugh. "Wish I shared her buoyant mood though"
"You're not excited?" He asked, tilting his head more towards you as he brushed away a few strands of hair that found their way too near to his eyes.
"I am, of course. But we still don't know what to expect. Wish I was worry-free I guess."
"That shouldn't be too bad though, the last thing we need is to lose sight of why we're here, don't you think?"
<hr>
[[He had a point, you had to admit.]]
As you and Dante entered the building, you were immediately struck by the lavish interior. The grandeur of the exterior paled in comparison to the inside, where every surface was adorned in deep maroon hues, casting a rich, warm glow over the hall. The seats were a sleek black, creating a striking contrast against the dark red walls and golden accents that added a touch of opulence.
The vast space was filled with a low hum of chatter and movement as contestants, many already seated, mingled and made last-minute preparations. The large stage at the front of the room loomed ahead, its dark maroon drapes hanging heavily, setting the scene for the Trials that were about to unfold.
You and Dante navigated through the crowd, pushing past groups of animated participants until you found a couple of empty seats in the middle of the hall. You took a moment to catch your breath and survey the room. The seats were filling up quickly, stretching from the front to about mid-hall, and you hoped your seat would offer a good view of the stage.
Nearby, a voice cut through the buzz of conversation. “How many people are here? A thousand?” The voice was bubbly and familiar—it was the bright pink-haired girl from earlier.
“Maybe five hundred?” Dante replied, adjusting his seat for comfort. “It’s a hundred from each District, right?”
“Oh, right, right! Totally knew that,” she responded with a nervous giggle, then extended both hands, crossing them over each other, one towards you and the other to Dante. “Kaitlin Ols! That’s my name, of course. What about you?”
<hr>
[[Shake her hand and smile]]
[[Shake her hand]]
[[Don't shake her hand]]
You shake her hand with a smile, while Dante does the same with his usual easygoing charm. Her grip is a bit slippery, leaving you to hope it’s just lotion rather than sweat.
“$name $lastname, and this is Dante Lahar,” you introduce yourself.
“Nice to meet you,” Dante adds with a grin that complements Kaitlin’s.
“Nice to meet you both!” Kaitlin responds cheerfully. “Do you have a nickname, or can I call you anything?”
The thought of her potentially using random nicknames like “hunnyboo” or “munchikins” sends an involuntary shiver up your spine.
“Uh—no, that wouldn’t be necessary,” you say, straining to keep your smile intact. “Dante calls me $nickname.”
“Oh, that’s adorable, $nickname!” Kaitlin exclaims, her enthusiasm undiminished. Her attention span seemed to be short as her head suddenly snaps towards the podium as the mic clears. “Oh, looks like they’re about to start.”
<hr>
''[[Here we go |opening]] ''
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile + 5, 0, 100)>>You shake her hand " $name $surname and this is Dante Lahar."
"Nice to meet you." Your friend replies with a grin somewhat matching hers.
"Nice to meet you both! Do you have a nickname or can I call you anything?"
The thought of letting her call you something random sent a shiver up your spine. She came across as the type to unironically use //'hunnyboo'// and //'munchikins'//.
"Uh- no, that wouldn't be necessary." You strain your smile, still thinking of the possible horrendous nicknames you could've been stuck with. Potentially. "Dante calls me $nickname ."
"That's adorable, $nickname!- oh, looks like they're about to start." Her attention span seemed to be super short as her head snapped towards the podium where the Mc for this event stood.
<hr>
[[Here we go |opening]]
You didn’t take her hand. Something about Kaitlin Ols felt off, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Maybe it was the overly bright demeanor that clashed against the tension in the air. Her bubbly nature seemed mismatched with the seriousness of the tournament. Whatever it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust her, and instead, you just glanced at her extended hand without any acknowledgment.
“Dante Lahar,” your friend responded, shaking her hand with a quick smile. He shot you a brief side-eye, confused by your silence. “And this here is $nickname, but their real name is $name $surname. Use that, I guess.”
Kaitlin beamed, oblivious to your rejection. “Right, right!” she chirped, still smiling eagerly. “$nickname! That’s pretty cute. Hopefully we all get teamed up or something.”
You didn’t respond. Instead, you gave her a quick once-over, noticing how her smile was just a little too eager, her laugh a little too nervous. It could’ve been nothing, but something about her put you on edge. Whether it was the over-enthusiasm or the mismatch of her bright pink hair and the serious event, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t someone to be trusted.
Her smile faltered slightly, as if she noticed your lack of engagement, but before she could say anything else, the sound of the microphone crackling to life echoed through the hall.
“Oh, looks like they’re about to start!” she said with wide-eyed excitement, her attention snapping toward the podium.
You leaned back slightly, glad for the distraction, and turned your gaze toward the stage as the MC began to speak.
<hr>
[["Looks like they're about to begin"|opening]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>The top of the bunch have always been The Kabonians, The Vassal Novs and then The Main Neux. The district outside have barely been mentioned in most events since it's basically a divided land spread around into small bits, known as Districts, because of petty rivalry between them.
"Oh that sucks." The girl to your right, pulling a leg up to rest on her seat. "I'm pretty sure everyone can do just as amazing."
"The sentiment may stir controversy," the MC, Verna, uttered with a grin that seemed to stretch a touch too wide, her dark hair slicked back with an unsettling precision. As she brushed an imaginary strand behind her ear, her eyes gleamed with an eerie intensity, sending a chill down the spines of those gathered, despite her efforts to maintain a facade of hospitality.
"I recognize and understand that this appears like we are belittling you, however, that is simply how the guidelines go." She says, her tone a bit too joyful "In case you are displeased, you may send a letter voicing your disagreements to the pinnacle leaders of this tournament which would take a week but then you'd definitely miss the Trial Event, hmm?"
A few unsatisfied grumbles is all she gets in response. It is true, there's absolutely nothing you could do from being outside the top three. And the //'pinnacle leaders'// knew that too.
<hr>
[[That never sit right with you]]
"From the five hundred contestants in this room, groups of a hundred will be divided into different rooms, then divided into teams of four depending on the cards on your rows. That would be twenty Five teams in each room!" you only notice the cards slipped into your armrests once she mentions it.
//Yours is purple//
Thinking logically, the whole row is purple based on what she had said. That would mean the three of you would be in the same Hundred Group. After a few seconds she continues "Once we divide you up, you get to pick your four team members and stand together until we explain from then onwards."
"Oh! Can we be teammates pleaseeeeeuhhh," Kaitlin begs as she brings her palms together below her chin, attempting to look as sad a possible "the others are pretty mean and scary"
"Of course, we are well acquainted now, but we're still short one more person." You sigh, scanning the room. Most people have been grouped up already.
"What about that guy?" Dante gestures to a person near the entrance. He was pretty tall and had dark hair cut in something similar to a bowl cut. He wore a simple white button up shirt with brown pants. The poor guy seemed to have rushed there as soon as the introduction was done, keeping his eyes down a lot and clutching on a small notebook.
"Is he okay?" Kaitlin asks, glancing between him and the others. "He looks hella nervous"
At this point it seemed as if he was your only option, might as well as to pick him before he had an episode or something.
"I'll go talk to him." Dante offers, walking towards the guy who seemed to catch on to your whispers and looked more nervous than before.
"Right! Make your way to your domains everyone!" The mc spoke before stepping off the podium before being escorted by people in full black. Estradas.
<hr>
[[Well that was new]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>krs-one</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>3:49</h1></span>
"Alrighty!" Kaitlin called out cheerfully, stretching her back and arms in an exaggerated warm-up routine. Her vibrant pink afro bobbed with each exaggerated movement as she worked out the kinks. Meanwhile, Dante slipped off his silk coat with a practiced grace, his confident grin never faltering. His eyes sparkled with mischief, and his casual demeanor seemed almost contagious.
The challenge at hand was reminiscent of a flagpole game: each team had to collect as many flags as possible before the timer ran out. With only the top fifty teams advancing to the Official Tournament, the pressure was on. Failure meant elimination, and you had no intention of being among those sent home.
The nervous guy in your team, who had yet to speak a word since joining, glanced up at you intermittently, then quickly looked away. His silence was almost as noticeable as his anxious shifting from foot to foot. You still didn’t know his name, but his evident unease made you wonder how he’d handle the pressure of the tournament.
"We need someone—or maybe two—to stay behind and guard the flag while the rest of us scavenge for others," you suggested, your gaze moving between the fifty-point flag you had and the identical flags being waved by other contestants. "Any volunteers?"
Dante's gaze fell on the skittish guy, his eyes twinkling with a mix of sympathy and practicality. "How about we let the new guy stay? He doesn’t seem cut out for direct combat," Dante proposed, his voice light and reassuring. The rest of your team exchanged glances, the suggestion clearly taking them by surprise.
"I’m fine with that if he is," you added, looking at the anxious man who was now shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He nodded cautiously, clearly relieved to have a role that didn’t involve aggressive confrontation.
Kaitlin, ever the optimist, tried to reassure him. "You know, you don’t have to be shy. We’re all friends here!" She reached out to give him a comforting hug, but her well-intentioned gesture only seemed to make him more tense.
"He’ll warm up eventually," you sighed, gently pulling Kaitlin away from the now visibly anxious guy. "Let’s focus on making a solid plan. We can’t afford to underestimate anyone and risk missing out on this tournament—it's a once-in-eight-years opportunity."
As your team discussed strategies, you scanned the bustling arena. Most teams were pairing up, leaving two members behind to guard their flag while the others sought out additional flags. However, you noticed a few teams opting for a more aggressive strategy—sending only one person to guard their flag and venturing out in groups of three to ambush solitary guards.
Realizing the need for a strategic edge, you started formulating a plan. If your team was to stand a chance, you needed to anticipate the movements of other competitors and leverage each member’s strengths. The clock was ticking, and every decision counted.
<h3>'' What's your gameplan $name?''</h3><hr>
[[Leave the new guy and Dante behind and go in a pair.]]
[[Leave only The new guy behind and go in three.]]You gather with your teammates, Dante, Kaitlin, and Fai, to discuss your strategy for the upcoming tournament. As you toss ideas back and forth, Kaitlin's eyes dart around anxiously, and she gnaws at her bottom lip.
"I don't know, guys," she says hesitantly. "This tournament sounds pretty intense. Maybe we should try to find a way to sneak around them instead of going head-on."
Dante scoffs. "Come on, Kaitlin, where's your sense of adventure? We can take them on. I say we charge in there and give it our all."
You pause, considering both perspectives. "I see where you're coming from, Kaitlin, but I also think Dante has a point. We've trained for this, and we're a strong team. If we work together, we can pull this off."
As the team discusses their plan you notice Fai, who has been silent up until now, fidgeting with his fingers and looking around with a worried expression.
You had a feeling on what he was worried about.
<hr>
[[but you weren't too sure.]]<script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>As the team huddled together, you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision about to be made. Everyone was gathered around the single flag, bright red against the dusty, sandy floor. The flag was your lifeline in this chaotic challenge, and you knew leaving it unguarded could spell disaster.
Dante was the first to break the silence. His bright, blue eyes twinkled with curiosity, his trademark mischievous grin flashing as he twirled a strand of his tousled hair between his fingers. “So, what's the plan?” he asked, looking between you and the rest of the group.
You hesitated for just a moment, glancing at Fai, who stood a little behind the group, his fingers fiddling nervously with the edges of his long sleeves. Fai's eyes—large, soulful, and framed by lashes too pretty for his own good—met yours for a brief second before darting away. His usual nervous energy seemed even more pronounced now, like a deer caught in the crosshairs.
“I think we should leave Fai here to guard the flag,” you said, voice steady. “Our offense will be better this way, and we’ll be faster at gathering flags if we all head out.”
Dante’s smile faltered slightly, and his brows knit together. “Are you sure? Is it really a good idea to leave him alone here? I mean…” His voice trailed off as he cast a sympathetic glance toward Fai, whose posture tensed noticeably at the suggestion.
You held Dante’s gaze, firm in your decision. “It’s alright,” you reassured him. “We’ll come back and check on Fai after every flag we grab. It’ll be safer this way. Plus,” you added with a small smile, “I trust him. He’s capable.”
Fai shifted uneasily, his lips pressing together in a tight line. His fingers tightened around the edge of his tunic, his usually pale skin slightly flushed as the tension in his body radiated. The silence lingered a moment too long, and you could tell he was on edge, his anxiety practically palpable. But at your words, there was a flicker of relief. His shoulders, though still stiff, dropped just a fraction. He nodded once, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a smile as he slipped on his thin gloves, a symbol of readiness.
Dante’s usual grin returned, brighter than before. “Alright, if you’re sure,” he said, the concern in his voice melting away, replaced by his familiar playful tone. “Just don’t let anything happen to that flag, okay?” he teased, giving Fai a gentle pat on the back.
Kaitlin clapped her hands together, her vibrant pink afro bouncing with excitement. “I //knew// you’d be perfect for this!” she chirped, clearly pleased with the arrangement. She flashed Fai a wide grin, her naive optimism radiating in waves as she gave him a thumbs-up. “You’ve totally got this, don’t worry!”
Fai offered another small nod, though his expression remained apprehensive. He stood in the middle of the “house,” a simple red circle drawn on the sandy floor. The flag, now in his hand, seemed heavier than before, like a burden he wasn’t entirely sure he could bear. His eyes darted nervously around the arena, scanning the environment as if he expected an ambush at any moment.
You took one last look at him before turning to leave, your brow furrowing slightly. His skittishness, his silence—there was more to Fai than met the eye. Why was he so tense all the time? What was he hiding behind those muted gestures and hesitant nods? You wondered about his abilities. He hadn’t shown much so far, but there had to be something—something that made him fit for this tournament, despite his apparent aversion to violence.
For now, though, you had to trust that he would be fine. With one last glance over your shoulder, you and the rest of your team headed off, ready to secure more flags and return to check on Fai, the quiet guardian of your single lifeline.
<hr>
[[Continue|Finally knowing his name felt pretty good.]] <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>Verna’s words had barely settled in the air when the floor beneath you began to shimmer with Arcana. The dim lighting of the room gave way to a sudden brightness as white lines traced the outline of each team's house, your house included, the glowing circle forming beneath your feet. For a moment, your attention was pulled to the light, the way it seemed to dance across the sandy floor, casting everything in a soft, ethereal glow.
<hr>
[[look at Fai ♡]]
[[look at your team house]] You stood there, the Arcana pulsing beneath your feet, mind racing as you weighed your options. Dividing the team could be risky—separating meant spreading your strength thin, leaving everyone vulnerable to ambush or injury. Fai was already tense, and you weren’t sure how well he would handle an attack alone. If something went wrong, it could cost you dearly.
But at the same time, splitting up could give you an immediate advantage. You could strike faster, grab more flags, and overwhelm the other teams with quick, unpredictable movements. In this trial, catching your opponents off-guard might be the key to turning the tide in your favor. After all, staying together was safe, yes, but it was also predictable. Everyone expected teams to stick to the basics, to stay close and fortify their base.
Every choice held weight. Every decision could tip the scales, for better or for worse.
<hr>
[[✘ Use diversions with the Duppies]]
[[✘ Use Dante as a diversion]]
[[✘ Go in head first]] You, Dante and Kaitlin had won a few more fights, grabbing flags left and right, and constantly sending someone to check on Fai before you went off to look for Fai to make sure he had been able to guard your homebase without any struggle for a fourth time but as a group, also opting to leave Dante behind with Fai for the last few fights. The sound of clashing metal and grunts of pain echoed throughout the large dome, while the air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood. The floor was littered with broken weapons and discarded flags, adding to the chaos of the scene.
Avoiding other competitors with all the flags your team had collected was like walking past a group of hungry dogs with meat glued to your clothes, but eventually, you make it to your homebase.
Though you felt you should check on them one more time. Kaitlin shot you a look, and you could tell she shared the same concern. The fights had been difficult, pushing you both to your limits, and the adrenaline still thrummed through your veins as you carried on. You and Kaitlin had worked together flawlessly, your movements in sync, winning fights and grabbing flags left and right. Yet, something gnawed at you, urging you to check on Fai and Dante for the seventh time.
<hr>
[[Check on them]]You, Kaitlin, and Dante crouch low on the flat terrain, the dome’s dim lighting casting long shadows across the ground. The only real source of light comes from the bright circular strips surrounding each base, illuminating the opponents guarding the flag. It’s a game of shadows, and you’re about to use it to your advantage.
"Alright," you murmur to Kaitlin and Dante, keeping your voice low as your eyes stay fixed on the three opponents. "There’s this little trick I can do where I conjure up clones."
Kaitlin’s eyes widen with delight, her face lighting up in the dim glow of the floor. "Oh my gosh, say sike right now!" She grins, nearly bouncing with excitement. "There’s more adorable yous?"
<<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You flash a grin, leaning in just a little. "Oh, you have no idea how charming they are. Honestly, they might be the only competition I have in terms of good looks."
Kaitlin giggles, her excitement bubbling up again. "Competition? You? Nah, they’re just mini-you. Doesn’t count!"
You wink at her. "You’d be surprised. They’ve got all the flair I do." Then, you tilt your head toward the opponents, keeping the mood light but focused. "But let’s see if they’re charming enough to cause a distraction, shall we?"<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You barely react to her excitement, keeping your eyes locked on the opponents. "This isn’t the time for jokes," you say calmly, focused entirely on the task at hand. "We need to move fast before they catch on."
Kaitlin’s smile falters for just a second, then she nods, her voice more serious now. "Right. But what’s the plan with these clones?"<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You snort, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, real adorable. I’m sure they’ll be charmed before they punch my face in." You flash a grin, half-joking but ready to get serious. "But they’re not just for show. We’re using them to throw those guys off."
Kaitlin’s grin only widens. "Charmed or not, I can’t wait to see mini-yous in action."
You raise a brow at her, amused but quickly pull out your book, keeping your tone practical. "Focus, we still need to pull this off."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You give her a small smile, shaking your head slightly. "Kaitlin, stay focused." You whisper, fighting to hold back a huff of laughter, but your cautious side keeps you grounded. You glance back toward the opponents, eyes narrowing. "We need to keep quiet. Someone could catch us off guard any second."
Kaitlin’s eyebrows shoot up, her enthusiasm dimming for a moment. "Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to." She catches on quickly, still smiling but now matching your wary tone. "More adorable yous, though. But for what?"<</if>>
You pull out your book from the small satchel slung over your shoulder. The worn pages hum faintly as you open it, ready to summon your Duppies.
"They’ll serve as a distraction," you explain. "We use them to get the enemies focused on something else while we sneak in from the back and grab the flag."
<hr>
[[Continue|two or more]] <<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 15, 0, 100)>>As you gathered the team, you laid out your plan. "Dante, you'll be our distraction. Keep the other team focused on you so Kaitlin and I can loop around and snatch their flag."
Dante's easy smile faltered for a moment, his fingers unconsciously brushing the coiled whip at his side. You could see the hesitation in his eyes. He’d been avoiding martial arts training lately, relying too heavily on his artifact—the whip that did most of the work for him. "You sure about this?" he asked, his voice a bit strained despite his usual upbeat tone. "I mean, I’m good at talking and all, but… fighting, well, you know..."
You met his gaze, your expression firm. "You’ll be fine. You just need to keep them occupied long enough for us to get the flag. Rely on your whip—it’ll do the job."
With a nervous chuckle, Dante nodded, though you could tell he was still anxious about the task. "Alright, alright. I’ll do my best."
<hr>
[[Continue|Dante's distraction]]<<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue + 15, 0, 100)>>You and your team walk up to the other team with a calm confidence, shoulders back and heads held high. You take in the scene around you, observing the battlefield and sizing up your opponents. The air is charged with energy, and the scent of sweat and adrenaline permeates the air.
As you approach the other team, you can't help but notice their smirks and the way they eye you up and down, trying to intimidate you. But you remain composed, not letting their posturing get to you. Your teammates follow suit, with Kaitlin bouncing on the balls of her feet.
The opposing team's swordsman steps forward, a tall and imposing blond with bulging muscles and a cocky grin. He looks down at your team with a condescending smirk, as if you were nothing more than ants to be stepped on.
"Looks like we're up against a bunch of rookies," he sneers. "You might as well just surrender now and save yourselves the humiliation."
You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed by his words. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," you say coolly. "After all, we're not here to make friends."
Dante steps forward, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, and we're not here to make things easy for you either. So you might as well give up your little flag now and go home."
The two out of three teammates glare at you, clearly ruffled by your exchange. But you stand your ground, determined to show them that you're not to be underestimated. You exchange a brief nod with your teammates before signalling that they should attack.
<hr>
[[And start you did]]"Hope you're comfortable with your teammates!" came the MC’s voice, cutting through the low hum of anticipation in the air. His tone was obnoxiously joyful, the kind that made your skin itch with impatience. "Because the next level starts //NOW//!"
The words barely had time to settle in your ears before your homebase circle a few feet away came to life around Dante and Fai, the sandy floor beneath you glowing faintly. A bright, shimmering ring of light spread out around your territory, marking it clearly with a sharp, vivid line. The glow seemed almost unnatural, pulsating with an eerie, rhythmic energy that was undoubtedly fueled by some sort of Artifact.
Your eyes drifted upward, scanning the arena’s colossal dome. From where you stood, you could make out a maroon-tinted room at the very top, perched above the chaos like a throne overseeing the battlefield. The figures inside were blurred by distance and shadow, but you could feel their gaze on you, cold and calculating. Whoever was up there had control—pulling the strings and watching as the rest of you scrambled to stay afloat.
You squinted against the light, trying to make out any distinctive shapes in the room. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder who was watching, who was controlling the Artifacts that dictated the flow of the challenge. Were they allies? Enemies? Or simply neutral observers, getting a thrill from watching you all fight for survival?
Kaitlin’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "Well, this just got a whole lot more exciting, don’t ya think?" she quipped, her tone laced with eager anticipation. She bounced lightly on her toes, her bright eyes gleaming in the artificial light. "I mean, glowing circles? enchanted arenas? I can’t wait to see what happens next!"
You gave her a quick nod, trying to focus on the task at hand. "We need a plan," you muttered, already scanning the arena floor for any signs of movement. The glowing ring around your base wasn’t just for show—it was a target, a beacon calling out to anyone nearby that this was where they could strike. If you didn’t act fast, someone else would.
Kaitlin tapped her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head as she eyed the glowing boundary. "You think that glow makes it harder or easier for them to find them?" she mused aloud, twirling a lock of pink hair around her finger. "Either way, it’s not exactly subtle. But then again, neither am I!" She grinned mischievously, clearly relishing the chaos that was about to unfold.
You smirked at her enthusiasm, though your mind was still racing. You needed to stay sharp. "Everybody's home is a target now," you replied, your eyes narrowing as you thought it through. "Which means they need to be ready for whoever’s going to come charging at them and we need to get as many flags as we can. We can’t let our guard down, not even for a second."
Kaitlin shrugged nonchalantly, cracking her knuckles with a loud pop. "No problem! Let ‘em come. I’ll just spit ‘em into submission!" She winked, referring to what you assume has to do with her ability, or you'd...hoped.
You chuckled under your breath, but your gaze drifted back up to the maroon room. Whoever was watching from above wasn’t just a passive spectator. You could feel the weight of their presence, like a hunter sizing up its prey. It was unnerving, but there was no time to dwell on it now. The next level had already begun, and if you didn’t move fast, you’d be left behind.
It was time to plot your gameplan.
<hr>
[[Use diversions with the Duppies.]]
[[Use Kaitlin as a diversion.]]
[[Go in head first.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Bubble dilemmas</h2></span>
//Use Kaitlin as a diversion as you sneak behind the group and retrieve the flag or attack from behind.//
//Warning: leaving Kaitlin alone with three other competitors might result in her getting overpowered and/or hurt!//
<hr>
[[Yes|Bubble Dilemma!!]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Duppy distractions</h2></span>
//Use three Duppies (max) to distract the opponents while you and Kaitlin sneak from the back to retrieve the flag!//
//Warning : could get you and Kaitlin hurt and backfire if your opponents catch on early or get rid of the Duppies fast.//
<hr>
[[Yes.|She thinks you're adorbs]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Head on attack!!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Grab the bull by the horns</h2></span>
//Make your presence known from the start and attack your opponents with Kaitlin! Use enchanting aswell.//
//Warning: This might result in your opponents having time to prepare for your attack and if not skilled enough, it might backfire.//
<hr>
[[Yes.|alright, that's settled then.]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin]]You, Dante, and Kaitlin huddle together, the excitement and tension in the air palpable. The sound of battle echoes in the distance, as you hear the clashing of swords and the yells of the other teams.
"We need to come up with a plan," you say, scanning the field and sizing up your opponents. "I think we should go in head on and take them by surprise."
As you suggest going in head-on, Dante raises an eyebrow skeptically. "That's a bold move. Are you sure it's a good idea? What if we get overwhelmed?"
Kaitlin's eyes widen in surprise at Dante's words. "Oh no, I don't like the sound of that..." She mutters, eyes darting between Dante then to you.
You feel a twinge of doubt creeping in, but you push it aside. "We can handle it," you say confidently. "We have the skills to win this."
Kaitlin bites her lip, her brow furrowing with worry. "But what if something goes wrong?" she says hesitantly. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
You take a deep breath, trying to remain calm and focused. "Don't worry, Kaitlin. We'll make sure we're safe. And we have to take risks if we want to win, we're in a trial tournament after all. We're bound to get hurt."
Kaitlin nods, seeming to take comfort in your reassurance. "Okay, Let's go for it."
Dante grins with a nod of agreement. "Alright then, let's do this thing," he says, leading the way towards the opposition.
<hr>
[[here goes nothing...]]<<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 15, 0, 100)>>After a minute of contemplating you come to a conclusion, glancing between each of them as you prepared to outline the plan. The challenge was heating up, and time was slipping through your fingers. Each second spent deliberating meant less time securing flags. You needed to be quick but smart.
"Alright," you began, voice steady as you locked eyes with Dante. His usual carefree grin was there, but the subtle crease in his brow told you he was already thinking ahead. "Dante, Fai, I need you both to stay behind and guard the flag."
Fai’s shoulders visibly relaxed, relief flooding his expression. He shifted his weight as if some invisible burden had been lifted, though his eyes continued to flicker around the arena with an anxious edge. His fingers fiddled with his thin gloves, slipping them on and off as though they were a second layer of skin he was still adjusting to.
Dante, on the other hand, looked at you, surprised and a bit pouty. His blue eyes glinted in the sunlight, the usual mischievous twinkle muted as he spoke. "Are you sure that's wise?" His tone was playful, but there was a hint of genuine concern underneath. "I mean... you’re taking Kaitlin with you? She’s... Kaitlin." He gestured toward the pink-haired girl, who was practically bouncing in excitement beside him.
Kaitlin’s broad grin stretched from ear to ear as she twirled a stray curl around her finger. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" she exclaimed, clearly unbothered by Dante’s thinly veiled concerns. "Just leave it to us—we’ll grab those flags in no time!"
Dante rolled his eyes playfully but turned his attention back to you, crossing his arms with a dramatic huff. "I just can’t believe you’re doing most of the tournament without me. Who’s going to make sarcastic remarks and keep you entertained?" He feigned a hurt expression, his lips curling into a teasing smirk.
You chuckled, shaking your head. "I trust you to hold down the fort here. Plus, you and Fai are more than capable of handling anyone who tries to take our flag."
Fai, who had been silently observing the interaction, gave a small nod. His relief was palpable, but he still seemed on edge, his eyes darting between the other competitors as he pulled his gloves on more firmly. You noticed the slight tremble in his hands as he flexed his fingers, though his face remained unreadable. There was something about him that piqued your curiosity—his silent demeanor, his cautious movements. What were his abilities? And why was he so skittish, so guarded?
<hr>
[[Next|Go fight with Kaitlin]]You and Kaitlin exchange a look, and without a word, you both decide to make your presence known. There’s no point in sneaking around or waiting for the perfect moment. You’re going headfirst.
As you move forward, Kaitlin already starts with her playful taunts, tossing bubbles casually in her hand like they’re harmless. "You guys better be ready! I’ve got //tons// of these," she says, a wide grin on her face that makes her look more like an excited kid than someone preparing for a serious fight.
The swordsman, with his obnoxiously cocky stance, laughs out loud, pointing at Kaitlin with his sword. "You’ve got to be kidding me. //Bubbles?// I’m the best swordsman here, and I’m supposed to be worried about that?" His words are dripping with arrogance, his chin raised like he’s already won.
The woman beside him, clearly less impressed, glances his way with a sharp side-eye. She doesn’t say anything, but the judgment in her eyes is clear. She’s not here for his boasting.
Meanwhile, the older man—the one with salt-and-pepper hair, who’s been watching you both quietly—just gives you a kind smile. There’s no fear or concern in his eyes. He’s relaxed, watching with the patience of someone who’s seen it all before.
But you? You don’t wait. You and Kaitlin leap forward without hesitation. Before they can fully react, you’re already on the attack.
<hr>
[[here goes nothing...|Beat these bums up with katie]]<<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue + 15, 0, 100)>><h1><div class="days36">''Amal | The kind food-stall owner''</div></h1>
✘Female ✘33 ✘Silversvale (District Five)
<hr>
Appearance:
Amal's warm brown skin glows with vitality, complementing her expressive dark eyes that seem to hold depths of compassion. Her hair remains hidden beneath a vibrant green silk scarf, intricately wrapped to frame her face. Amal's attire is both practical and eye-catching - a simple black shirt serves as a canvas for her standout orange and brown patterned sweater. The earthy tones of her clothing reflect her grounded nature and connection to her culinary craft.
Personality:
Amal embodies the spirit of a determined dreamer with a heart of gold. Her work ethic is evident in the bustling energy surrounding her food stall in Silversvale's center. Despite the demands of running her business, Amal never loses sight of her community's needs, generously offering free meals to you and other disadvantaged children from dawn till dusk. Her culinary creations are infused with the same warmth as her smile, providing both nourishment and comfort to those she serves. Amal's ambitious vision of one day opening a restaurant in The Main Nexus drives her daily efforts, yet she remains deeply rooted in the present, finding joy in each meal she prepares and every life she touches through her kindness.
<hr>
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<hr><h1><div class="days36">''Mr.Okly | Your Avaricious Boss''</div></h1>
✘Male ✘52 ✘Silversvale (District Five)
<hr>
Appearance:
Mr. Okly is a compact figure, his short stature belying his outsized personality. His grey hair is meticulously groomed, as is the little french mustache that often enhancing his smile. He cuts a dapper figure in his crisp white waistcoat and perfectly pressed grey suit pants, every inch the image of a successful businessman. A polished brown walking stick completes his ensemble, serving both as a fashionable accessory and a subtle symbol of his authority.
Personality:
Mr. Okly is the very embodiment of capitalistic fervor, his every thought and action driven by the pursuit of profit. As your employer at the Viscount Inn, he's quick to shower praise when you bring in good money, his eyes lighting up with an almost manic gleam just as noticeable as his loud joyful tone. His enthusiasm for business deals is infectious, constantly trying to rope you into his latest money-making plans with promises of shared profits. Despite his avaricious nature, Mr. Okly seems to have taken you under his wing, freely dispensing business advice and financial tips. He treats you as a confidant, sharing his goals and profit margins with surprising openness. This apparent mentorship raises questions to some. Mr. Okly's true motives remain opaque, leaving you to ponder whether his tutelage is a gift or a gilded cage.
<hr>
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<hr>
<h1>''??? | The unsettling stranger | [M]''</h1>
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E̵̛̛̘͓̼͖̤̮̥͌̓͆̈̃̓́͛̃͊̏̉͆̌͗͂͒̏̽̐̽̃̆̒̅̂͂̃̈́̊͌̋̋̊͛̆͂͂̇͛͊͒̒̀̐̓͋̍̃̿̊̊̀̽̍́̊́͐̒̾̍̎̄̀̍̕͘̕̚͝͠͠͝ŗ̷̡̧̨̢̧̡̢̡̛̛̣̻̜̩̫̩̟̼̫̪͕̠̯͉̗͍͔̲̟͚̞̲͕̲̦̯͔̫̞̥̙̮͚̤̯͕͎̜̙̙͙͚̞̮̭̣̱͙̭͎̬̞̘̮̱͈͚̝̱̱͓͉̺̲͓̦̫̜͇̙͔͓̣̮̻̭̝̲̠̲̯͈̯̝̭͕͕̇̇͐̐̽̀̅͐́̀̌͋̈́̀̂̈́͊̆́͗̌̆̍̀̋́͗̀̀͘̚̚̚͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅŕ̴̛̛̫͖̯̝̖̼͂̉͗̄̒̀͊̏͗͊͗͌̎͛̌͒̒̈͌͗͂̋̾̇̈̒͒̓͌̏̓͐̍̄́͛̑̅͂̅̈́̄͌͗̾̉̈̐̔̿̏́͆́̀̆̇̑̇̈̎̏̃̔͌̃͐̀̀̍͐̀̈͑͛́͆̄͛̇͋͂̋̏̕͘̚͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͠ǫ̶̨̡̧̧̛͔̰͚̤͉̞̳͕̫̺̭͓̗̝̞͙̮̪͎̺̲̝̝̣̭̳͎̭͓̘͚͓̬̠͇͙̩̘̙͇̖͖̦̗̗̟͓̭̠̯̯̯͎͈̦̘̰̻͈̰͓͚̪̦̙̮̹̦̦͉̓̾̏̎͗̒͐̿̒̒͑̈̕͜͜r̷̡̢̢̢̢̠̰̟̤͓̘̙̦̲̭͚̦̳͇̗͉͎̲̟̯̳͉̮̭̣͐̒̈́͊̈͐̽̅͑͋̓̔̾̓̀̄͌͛͆̐̾̌̎͆̅̈͜͝͠ͅͅ.̵̡̡̡̤̻͈͚̘̙̱̱̹͔̪̹̹̹̝̙͙͍͔̗̯̦̺̱̎͂̀͆̃̂̔̅̄̇͆͜͠ ̸̢̧̡̡̨̤̳̭͚̭̲̭̼͚̖̱͓̥̺̣̣̣̜͈̳̱͎͉̰̮̗͚̼̼͓̘͍͚̩͖͖̯̠͙̮̟̜̟͍͚̺̘̦̯̖̩͔̭̝̦̹͙͙̻̩̠͕̜̮̇̐̓̀̑̅͐̐̏̓̉̈́̂̽̄̇̓̈́̊͜͝Ṱ̶̡̢̨̛̛̥̘̼͕͓̦̰͖̳̰̖̬͕̼̩̬͖̫̥̯̟̼̥̘̣̟̖̝͖͈̦̩̫̣̰͕̭̯͕͈̘̦̳͇̤̲̱̮̹̣̱̣̬̺̱͖͇̞̐͒͗̐̈́̃̍̀̋̕͜͜ͅḧ̶̛̈̉͛̊̾̽̒̐̐̍͐͌̽̃͆͗̓́͊̏͊͛̈̉̊̉͆̚͘̕͠͝͝ͅę̴̧̛̛̛̰͕̼̲̙͎̣͗͒̏͋̔͌̈́̌̓͒́̌͑̄̄̀͛̍̋͑̀̊̇̅̈̇̀͗͌̏̓͒̅̔̓̔͋̃͂̎̑̔̇̌̅͑̿̽̆̉̽̎͛̚̚̕͘͜͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝r̴̼͓̽͆̌̏̀̈̅͊̅̊͒̆̀̐͐͒̾̚͠͠͝͝ͅȩ̴̧̢̨̛͕͇̦̜͓̭̝̭̬͈͕̟̩̳̬̺̣͖̮̹͉͍̫̭̣̬̯͕̥͋̓̒͆̀̓́̂̌̊̏̓͒͒̀̅̒̔̐́̐̿̂̍͂͛̃́̾̓͛̎̀̈́̐̃̏̑̇̽̅̎̾̓̃̊͛̾̈́͂̔̀̃͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅ ̷̡̧̢̧̞̫̤̣̳̝͎̗͇̭̩͚̞͓̭͈͉̇͗͑̆̂̀̀́̈́̌͒̑͆̄̌̆̅̐͋̒́̓̏̀̑̅̉̌̐̉̾̑̅̈̊̄̈͗̇͒͛̾͋̄͑́͘͝͠͝i̴̡̧̨̨̡̡̢̩̘̼̝͎̞̺̻͈̻̦̭̲̟͓͓͖̘̹͖͓̣͎̮̝͇̘̞̬̮̬͍̩̗̱̻̲̖̻̪̅͛͛̆͑̊̑̈̐̋͆̐̍̕̚͜͜͜ͅs̴̠͇̯̰̳̣͉̮̲̩̱̲͇̪̜̞̦̺̫̟̄̇̂̓͒͒͋̇͒̈́̀͂̒̉̆̽͋͊͒̈́̒͊̍̍͛̀̓̊͌̋̏͐̕͘͘͝ ̵̨̢̨̨̧̡̢̧̡̬̭̘̞̜̰͙̬̟̤̝̰̘̹͙̣͎̬̩̺̼̝͕̩̻̺̖̭̞͎͚̗̼̩͉̲̩̝͓̞͎̗̩̥̖̪̬͙̙̠͔͇̯̦͚̪̯̤͇͔̗̪̥̞̹̯̬̲̫͈̪͍̺̤͔͖̠̝̊̾̇͐̓̈́̃̈́̀̓̏͐̌̔̄́͆́̆̐͜͜͜͠ṋ̸̨̨̡̨̡̭͎̖̘̞͇̰̟̤̣̗̞̮͕̮̱͍͚͚̼̳̼̣̺̳͍̟͖̤͉͉͎̻͓̺̞̘͍͔͉̣̬̼̦̼̦̼͓̮̼͉̳̮͈͇̞̗̟̻̮͛̎̉̽́͆̽͌̔̊̓̐̀̐͒͑͗̄͋͒͒͗͋̌̕̕̚̕͜͜͝͝ͅͅô̸̢̧̢̨̧̢̢͈̘̹̫̦͓̥̯̳̜̗̺̪̗̟͓̣̬̫̭̳̳̯̮̥̗͎̮̝̹͚͚͈̤̪̘͎͎͔̩̻̬͈͍͈̙̝͇̪̫̳̹̦̮͔̞͚͈̤̝͖̩͕̗̟̪͍̞̦̘̱͎̠̖͎̒̓̓̋͑͗͒̍̋̑͛̐̆͌͘͜͜͜͜ͅͅt̸̡̢̨̧̡̡̢̡̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̺͉̮̟̫̜͙̯̳͔̞̜͕̜̪̩̼͕͎̰͚̠̠̱͍̠̹̩͖̥͔͍̣̺͍͉̻̤͓̭̟̯͇̞̺̝̙̞̣̝͎͉͖͔̭̬͚̠͙̬̜̟̯̺̱̖̮̬͇̪̙͊͐́̀͂̂͂͂̌̇̑̅̈́̏̐̉̈̒̌̈́͛̌͐̓̉͆͋͆͑͛̎̋͊̅͑̾̈́̓̉̂̑͌͂͋͌̂̓͌̎̈́̎̓̋͗̉̒̾̀̐̄̋͐̒̈́̾̈́̄̀̆̈́͗̾͋͗͘͘͘̚̚̕̚̚͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅh̵̡̢̧̛̛͚̙̖̣̰̼̣͍̘͙̪̭̭̮̪̋̿̈́͑͗̃̒́̉͐̈́̂̔͌͐̀̅̌̅́̔͆̐̎͒̽̆́̀̐̂̏͐̓͋̉̇͂̌̐͗̔̈̈́́͌͒̓̿͊̈́̇̚̕͘̕͘͘͝͠͠͝͝͝í̷̢̢̨̨̡̢̨̨̡̯̩̥͕̹̮͔̬̦̱̠̭͔̬̺̭͍̩̩̟͓̮͇̝̳̝̲͇͙̙͈̤͍̦̤̯̳̤̥̖̹̙̬̬̤̤͖̳̞̮̺̜̳̹̺̳̭̞͖͓͈̦̙͍̝̖̮̹̟͚̝̗̬̖̝͉͍̺̭͂̈́̊̓̈͂̅͆̔͛̍̓̑̂̋͒̓͆̃́͋̚̚͜͜͜ͅn̸̡̨̧̡̧̧̧͚͖̺̟͍̫͓͈̜͖̤̪̫͚͈͇̹̦̝̖͎̻̬̼̺̞̘̥̟̳̳͖̗̫̼̲̟̖̮͉͔̦̞͈̞̘̘̟̤̳͙̦̺̝̞̩͖͕̮̣̪͕͔̞̳̪̩͉̱̤̲̦͚̻̬̜̙̺̞̙͇̗͊̏̒̋͐̔́̂̑́͌́͘͜͜͜͝͠ͅͅͅg̸̢̨̧̡̨̧̢̢̧̡̨̨̡̨̡̢̛̪̟̘̺͈̝͙͔̗̲̗̘̪̠̪̲̰̬͙̝͍͖͙̞̝̣̦̞̭͉̼̲̫̘͓̙̰͙̫̮̙̣̬̟̺͇͙̞̜̬̲̳͈̥̥͇̫̘̲͉̻̲̣̬͍̻̜͓̠̞͙̭͔̘̤͓̝̭̝̭͛̈́͂̑̀̓͐͊͛̌͒̎́͛́͋̈́̊̽͐̋̏̀̎̋̉̈́̈́͋̕̕͘͜͝͠ͅͅͅ ̷̛̛̗͗̇̍̽̎̋̾̀́͌͊̈̊̌̑͑̋̀́́̐̀́̀̿̌̿̀̈͗̑̓̄̅̐͗̀̎͒͐̊̇̎͐̔̍͌̌̈́̎͘̚͘͠͝͝͠ţ̴̧̡̨̺̹̣̪͔̗̫̖̝̠͙͖̞̤͍̯̠̠̣̤͉͙̩͉̯̭͈̝̮̹̬̤̮͌̔̄̽̽͂͛́͑̌͋̽́̑̽̿̈́̃̈́̒́̃̍̚͜͝ͅͅo̴̟̩̤̰͇̱̅̈́̓̊̈́̌̈̎̎̀̚̚͝ ̸̢̡̡̢̢̨̛̛̛̗͙̲̻̤̜͈͖͈̗̲̠̦͇̩̞͓̳̖̬̹͇̣͙̖̠͙̗̭̜̮̘̙̘͙͙͍̝͕̘̬̜̪̖̰͓͔̤͈̜̞̯̞͔͖̘͛̏͑̎̽̅̅̈́͂̽̇͋́͋̉̆̌̈̾̄͑̿͂̆̅̓̈́̌͂̿̐͗̂̂̔̀͊̌̈́̈́̎̉̃͒͋͑̈́̐͘͘̕̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝d̷̢̛̛̛̛̞̟̗̗̯͎̤̲̱̱͐̄̆͂̉͒̀̿͂̃̌̽͑̊͊̾̅͆̎͊͂̈́́̽͛͆̑̅̎̑̉̈́̐͗̃̓͒̀̊̓͗͛̍͆̄̽̈̃̅̑̿̒̅̒̔̕̕͜͝͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅḯ̸̡̡̡̡̨̡̧̯͈̥̝̤̟̭̹̼͍̱̪͎̱̦̮͉͚͕̦̱̰͓̰̫͎͖̜̘̱̯̣̟̗̭͔̮͍̫̟̼̩̗̜͕̦͍͙̦̯̣̫̳̤̞̞̼͇̙̺̰̣̘̟̫̮͎͈͕͍̤̈́́̇̽͊́͌̈́́̈́͘͜͜͜ş̵̢̢̨̢̡̨̨̪̙̙̦̮̗͓̼͖͚̳͈͈̫̭̟̭̣͚̺̰̬͓̪̜͚̭̺͙̠̠̞̭͖̞̮͇̙͍̲͇̪̮̗͉̭̣̜̺̮̗̥̜̗͈͈̭͈̘̤͎̪̜̻̲̠͈̣̣͇̠̪̦̹̦͖̞̙̞̼̲̦̖̱͙̣̪̎̈́͐̿̿͘̕͜͜p̷̢̧̢̛̛̺̙̫̤͔̭͔͕͙̹͂̽̑̀́͑̉̄͂̽́́̑́̓̑̃́͌͊̾̍̊̓̈́̓͐͊̅́̐̋̿͌͐͑͌̄̃̽͗͐̊͆̄̇͗̉̏̿̒̽̂̍̍̅͒̀̂͐̓͋̎͋̒͋̇͐̊̏̋̊̓̓͛̊̈́̈̉́̓̔̐́͌̑̇͘̕͘͝͠͝͝͝͝l̷̡̨̧̢̨̛̲̠͍͍̬͙̮̝̤̟͕͉̬̫͕̫̝͇̞̫̦͕̣̹͙̺̳͇̭̺̬̤̺͈̤̙͔̺̪̤̪͎̝̝̩͚̪̤̬̙̿̓̇̐̋̅͛͋̈́̍̈̓̀̃͆́͛͑̂̓̎͊̏̿̓̈́̆̂̀̿́̈́̒́͆͋͋̈́̿̎́͘̚͘͘͝͠ä̸̢̡̢̨̢̛̞̱͓̰̼̖̬̬̙̩̼͈̦̞͚̺̰̤̦͇̦̺̼̞͕̝̝͖̺͖͖̮̱̠̣͙̭̳̫̻̭̗̤̲͙͉̗̪͈͔̳̣̝͈̗̫͉̩̣̣̗̠̯̳̭͖͉̘̞͖̺̫̝͇̙̭͕̣̳̂͑̔̑́̀̌̄͑́̔̈́͛̎̾͆̓̂͊̆̈́̐́̂́̔͑͌̈́͑̅́̍̉̆̀̋̔̇̌͊͗͑̈́͛̓̿͆͊̈́̆͊͋̀̔͗̃̓̒̍͌͌̋̚̕͘̚̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅÿ̸̛͍̰̟̗̹̤͕̤̩̮̎̎̈́̊̓͒̇͗͋̃̃͋̂̈́̔̆͌̅̅͆͐͐́̀̄͛͑̄̾̄͐̃̊͒̒̅͂̋́͋͋̈́̐̃͘̚̚͝͠ͅͅ.̴̧̖̮̖̖̙̦̗̳̤͎̳̤͎̱̿͌͑͗̔̈ͅ
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''〘 [[Return|Characters]] 〙''
<hr><h1><div class="days36">''Kaitlin Ols| Friendly air-head''</div></h1>
✘Female ✘20 ✘District 4
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Appearance:
Kaitlin's vibrant pink afro is an eye-catching crown atop her head. She has rich, glowing dark skin. Her style reflects her jovial spirit, donning bard-like clothes with flowing fabrics, whimsical patterns, and a touch of Renaissance flair.
Personality:
Kaitlin can only be described as naive as you will have to drag her away from even drinking a bottle of "water" clearly labeled as poison. She fully embraces her bubbly, cheerful nature without a hint of self-consciousness. Kaitlin's enthusiasm and humor light up any room she enters. While some may consider her a bit dense at times, her intentions are always well-meaning and pure of heart. She is too nice for her own good and it might be your responsibility to make those tough decisions for the poor gal.
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
"Well, if it isn't Simsim." Nag grins, extending her hand to the woman behind the counter. Her grip is firm, though you can't help but notice how even Nag's tall frame pales slightly in comparison to the woman standing before you.
Simsim steps around the counter, and the sheer size of her body becomes impossible to ignore. She is tall—remarkably tall. With a physique sculpted from what must have been years of hard work, her presence is nothing short of intimidating, yet she carries herself with the ease of someone used to towering over others.
"You say that as if I've been in hiding," Simsim replies, her deep voice making Nag chuckle.
"Were you not?" Nag retorts, a mischievous gleam in her eye.
"Excuse me, I'm not the one secluding herself at the edge of Silversvale." Simsim's laugh reverberates through the shop before her gaze falls on you. <<if $height is "short">>The weight of her attention makes you feel even smaller between these two imposing figures.
"Oh, and who's this nice little one?" Simsim asks, leaning down slightly, though even then, you barely come up to her shoulder. "Wait, I know—$name $lastname, right?"<</if>><<if $height is "middle">>Even though you stand at an average height, it's clear that both Nag and Simsim easily dwarf you. Nag is tall enough, but Simsim’s towering figure makes you feel just a little more compact than usual.
"Oh, and who's this fine one?" Simsim says, her eyes glancing down at you but not by much. There's an almost casual ease to her tone. "Wait, I know—$name $lastname, right?" <</if>><<if $height is "tall">>Even at your height, standing eye-to-eye with most people, both Nag and Simsim make you feel noticeably shorter. Nag’s tall frame might be closer to your own, but Simsim’s presence overshadows you both.
"Oh, and who’s this impressive one?" Simsim says, her eyes still drawn downward, though less so. Her tone holds a hint of approval. "Wait, I know—$name $lastname, right?"<</if>>
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[["How'd you know?"]]
[["Yeah, what about you?"]]
[["Yes."]]"Thank you," you smile, slipping into the carriage. You were aware he had done that to let you get in the unappealing carriage as a joke and found it funny, unlike him.
He slips in right after you before nudging you with his knee to make room for the other passengers.
"You never retaliate to my stuff, I can't believe you" he playfully sighs and glares your way, oblivious to the ladies from before.
There were strange, rare odors abroad—a tangle of the sea smell and of weeds and damp, new-plowed earth from the carriage most likely, mingled with the heavy strong cheap perfume somewhere nearby enough to make your nose itch whether you had a weak nose or not.
To make it worse there was barely any space to maneuver around, everyone packed in like sardines. Shoulders pressing on shoulders and some maidens having to sit on their husbands- or what you had assumed were their husbands.
A four hour trip to the Trial Venue held in The Main Nexus dealing with this?
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[[You'd survive, right?|bumpy!!]]
"Alright! Welcome to the Trials Venue for the official Kabot Tournament!" A lady speaks, the wind seemingly carrying her voice so that even the people in the back could hear her. Maybe just a second later than those in the front. "My name is Verna Blackwater and I will be this years Trial Tournament MC."
She had a huge, somewhat creepy wide grin as she spoke. Not blinking through the whole speech. "As you may already know, we have gathered a hundred contestants from each District Villages on the outskirts of town, meaning there are about five hundred contestants currently in this room."
A few people glanced around, most likely assessing each other as she carried on speaking in a high pitched tone "there will be only one test here unlike in the official tournament and out of this one test only fifty will pass!"
A few gasps and mutters spread around the room like wildfire as people speak over each other, discussing what you didn't catch on yet. "What's going on?" Kaitlin asks, glancing around her worriedly.
"Out of the five hundred, two hundred usually pass this part since the two major kingdoms and The Main Nexus get two hundred winners too." Dante explained, leaning back in his seat with a frown as he fiddles with his rings, muttering "they're probably… looking down on the district here."
Oh, of course they would.
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[[What'd you expect?]]
You watch from your position as Kaitlin steps forward with that unmistakable confidence, her trademark pink bubblegum popping loudly between her lips. She approached the trio of competitors, each sizing her up with mixed reactions. The older guy stood still, arms crossed and brow raised in mild amusement. The cocky swordsman shifted his weapon lazily onto his shoulder, snickering under his breath, while the short woman barely hid her scowl.
"Hey there, fellas and lady," Kaitlin greeted, her grin almost too wide, too obvious that she was up to something. The trio tensed slightly but didn't move. Kaitlin blew another bubble, her sugary bravado masking the dangerous situation she was willingly walking into. "Mind if I have a word?"
The older guy, clearly the leader, uncrossed his arms, his voice low and gruff. "What do you want?"
Kaitlin leaned on one leg, twirling her gum. "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to wish you good luck. Y’know, for the tournament." Her voice dripped with mischief, but she kept it casual.
The swordsman scoffed, his smirk cocky as he shifted his weight and fiddled with his sword's hilt. "Luck? I'm the best fighter here. We don’t need luck."
The short woman rolled her eyes. "Best fighter? You couldn’t hit a barn if it was standing still."
"You wanna bet?" he snapped back with a snarl, but Kaitlin quickly cutt in, blowing a loud bubble to cut the tension. "Easy there, hotheads." She turned her attention to their other teammate. "But you… you look like you could take on the whole tournament by yourself."
The older guy chuckled darkly, clearly amused but not entirely fooled. "Nice try, girlie," he muttered.
Without another word, Kaitlin’s next bubble popped—this time into a stream of sticky pink goo that shot toward the short woman. The impact hit her square on the shoulder, causing her to screech in surprise and disgust as she tried to claw the gum off. "What the hell?!"
Before the swordsman could react, Kaitlin spit another wave of the sticky substance right at him, this time trapping his sword in the ground. His cocky grin vanished, replaced by a look of fury as he yanked at the blade, but it didn’t budge. "What the ''hell'' is this?!" he roared.
<hr>
[[Should've seen that coming|Looking good with Kate!]] <<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 15, 0, 100)>><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Secrets from him</h1></span><h3>18:38pm</h3><hr>
After a few minutes of patching up, you wait outside the entrance of Nag's house, waiting for Dante as he speaks to her.
While you've been working with her, you've found yourself a job. You needed money one way or another and taking free food from Amal just didn't feel right.
But of course you find absolutely nothing fancy in a village like this, the only available jobs being working at the stables or at the tavern you lived at.
Stables didn't work so well after you had frightened the horses with your duppies after having a brilliant idea to train on the job. You got fired. Immediately. So now you work as a waiter of sorts at The Viscount Inn.
After a minute he finally walks out with a grin, wrapping an arm around you as he leads you along with him. "That's it for the day I guess. Let's go get some bug juice." He glances at you with a mischievous grin, shifting his eyebrows around suggestively.
Bug juice. Not this again.
Last time you had bug juice, the somewhat sticky drink had you coughing and fighting for your life as your //caring// friend over here obliviously drank more.
It tastes of orange juice, rich caramel sugar and was pretty cold before it warmed up the more you drank. All in all, a very strange drink you'd rather stay //far// away from.
<hr>
''[["Uhh, how about no?"]]''
''[["Nope. Not hearing that again"]]''
''[["I'm sure it'll be nice but…"]]''
''[["No fucking way."]]''<<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 100, 0, 100)>>
<center><h1><div class="days36">Rem | Egocentric merchant</div></h1>
✘Male ✘24 ✘Western Novs
<hr>
Appearance:
With his chemically-dyed green hair and energetic "advertiser" demeanor, Rem immediately commands attention. He favors a sleek look of white and grey pants, tailcoat, and boots for the tournament, though he'd prefer something more stylish outside it. A treasured embroidered handkerchief peeks from his pocket.
Personality:
Money is Rem's prime motivator - he'll gladly bend rules for a solid payday, stopping just short of literal self-endangerment. He's not here to make friends unless they can benefit him as his merchant mother taught. Rem plays dirty to get what he wants...but only if it doesn't negatively impact him. His presence in the tournament seems oddly incongruous with his opportunistic nature. Guess what? Spoiler alert! He's in your team! Eyyy! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Resources and Credits</p>
<hr>
✘ ''CH2'' opening Poem:
//Sa'eedah 🍒 (My super cool friend :) )//
''CH3'' opening opem:
//lil ol' me (⁎⁍̴̛ ₃ ⁍̴̛⁎)//
✘ Color gradients :
//The website Cooler, they have great gradients! Not that many variations but check it out.//
//You can generate gradients/palettes from images aswell.//
✦<!-- Do not remove the tags on this passage -->
<div id="titleCont">''<<include "Title">>''<hr><span id="tagline"><<include "Tagline">></span>
By <<include "Author">>
<div id="splashLinks">
<<link "Start" "Introduce game mode">><</link>> <span>✦</span>
<<link "Settings">><<run UI.settings()>><</link>> <span>✦</span>
<<link "Credits" "Credits">><</link>> <span>✦</span>
</div>
</div>
<<set $nagwalanMentor to 0>><<set $miiokaiRomance2 to 0>><<set $miiokaiFriendship2 to 0>><<set $miioniRomance2 to 0>><<set $miioniFriendship2 to 0>><<set $junoRomance to 0>><<set $junoFriendship to 0>><<set $theoverseerMentor to 0>><<set $waxnaMentor to 0>><<set $danteFriendship2 to 90>><<set $danteRomance to 0>><<set $akiyoFriendship2 to 0>><<set $akiyoRomance to 0>><<set $akiyoRomance2 to 0>>
<<set $zephyrFriendship2 to 0>>
<<set $zephyrRomance2 to 0>><<set $faiFriendship2 to 0>>
<<set $faiRomance2 to 0>><<set $kaisenRomance2 to 0>><<set $kaisenFriendship2 to 0>>
<<set $vieRomance2 to 0>>
<<set $vieFriendship2 to 0>>
<<set $saekoRomance2 to 0>>
<<set $saekoFriendship2 to 0>><<set $Charismatic = 50>><<set $Aloof = 50>><<set $Resilient = 50>><<set $Fragile = 50>><<set $Honest = 50>><<set $Deceptive = 50>><<set $Empathetic = 50>><<set $Callous = 50>><<set $Confidence = 50>><<set $Insecurity = 50>><<set $TeamPlayer = 50>><<set $Individualist = 50>><<set $weaponmasteryValue to 0>><<set $strengthValue to 0>><<set $defenseValue to 0>><<set $enchantingValue to 0>>
<<set $selectedMentor = "">><<set $chosenMentor to "None">> <<set $health = 100>> <<set $lashOutCount to 0>><div class="days36">This is some text with the Rock Salt font.</div>
<div class="dovde">This is some text with the Poiret One font.</div>
<div class="gwen">This is some text with the gwen font.</div>
<div class="cookieMonster">Hello, this text uses the Cookie Monster font!</div>
<div class="cuteFont">Hello, this text uses a cute, legible font!</div>
<div class="scaryFont">This is some scary text.</div>
<div class="cuteFont">This is some cute text.</div>
<div class="cursive"> <p style="font-size: 24px;">ROMANCE OPTIONS</p></div>//These are the descriptions for all important or notable characters! Specially only the Romance Options (ROs)//
<h3>✘ <<if $m is "Miioni">>[[Mionii|Mionii/Miokai]]<<else>>[[Miiokai|Mionii/Miokai]]<</if>> ✘ [[Akiyo]] ✘ [[Saeko]] ✘ [[Dante]]
✘ [[Zephyr]] ✘ [[Fai]] ✘ [[Kaisen]]
✘ [[Vie]] ✘ [[Juno]]</h3>
<hr>
<div class="cursive"> <p style="font-size: 24px;"> SIDE CHARACTERS</p></div>//These will be any notable side characters! Mainly tournament participants or anyone in relation to the importance of the story line you pick. There will be a few paths rather than one after all. //
<h3>✘ [[Rem]] ✘ [[Kaitlin]] ✘[[Amal]] ✘[[Mr.Okly]]</h3>
<hr>
<div class="cursive"> <p style="font-size: 24px;">MENTORS</p></div>//Mentors! These are the teachers that will help you with training, tips and more! Choose wisely, there are no take backsies...//
<h3>✘ [[Nag Walan]] ✘ [[The Overseer]] ✘ [[...|....]]</h3>
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<h1><div class="days36">Waxna | waxna waxna</div></h1>
✘waxna ✘waxna ✘waxna
<hr>
waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna waxna
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Waxna</a>
<div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d8/08/5b/d8085b729ec923f74c2a0ffbaf4112fb.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode">
<img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/3424c1254be7528b7b400055d4965327/tumblr_pcm7tgjeiB1r9i2iuo1_540.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><h2>Abilities</h2>''//Welcome to the Hall of Abilities//'' <hr>
<h3>Calligraphy Arts</h3>
//"In the quietude of the inkwell, words transcend mere communication to become spells woven with elegance and precision. Explore the ancient art of calligraphy, where invoking breathe life into parchment and distractions bend the very fabric of reality."//
⭒ ''Invoking Shadow fox fists :'' $enchantingValue
Or
⭒ ''Invoking Duppies:'' $defenseValue
<hr>
<h3>Physical Prowess</h3>
//"Here, strength and agility converge to forge the ultimate warrior."//
⭒ ''Strength:'' $strengthValue
<hr><div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR4aIbGfn3JT2Z4PgrnOEnvFV51qaC1K2VEaQ&usqp=CAU" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTg9BX5waeRZz3RIR2gsEeSYvypwLWnujsLiQ&usqp=CAU" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="cursive"><h1>ROMANCE OPTIONS</h1></div>//These are the relationship stats for ROs! Any further information on how relationship stats affect the story can be found ''[[𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖here ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖|R.Stats Explination]]'' //
<hr>
<<if $m is "Miioni">>[[Mionii|Mionii Relationship]]<<else>>[[Miiokai|Miokai Relationship]]<</if>> ✘ [[Akiyo|AkiyoRelationship]]
[[Saeko|SaekoRelationship]] ✘ [[Dante|Dante Relationship]]
[[Zephyr|Zephyr Relationship]] ✘ [[Fai|Fai Relationship]]
[[Kaisen|Kaisen Relationship]] ✘ [[Vie|Vie Relationship]] ✘ [[Juno|Juno Relationship]]
<hr> <p style="font-size: 24px;">Akiyo</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar"><span style="width: $akiyoRomance%;"></span><div class="relationship-bar-text">$akiyoRomance%</div></div><div class="comment-text">
<<if $akiyoRomance2 == 0>>"You have no affect on her."<<elseif $akiyoRomance2 <= 15>>"I've noticed that one around the training grounds. Their form is sloppy, but they seem determined, if nothing else. A middling prospect at best."<<elseif $akiyoRomance2 <= 35>>"A surprising dark horse in this tournament. While rough around the edges, their tactics are supremely resourceful. Clearly a quick study...I should keep an eye on their development."<<elseif $akiyoRomance2 <= 50>>"A truly noble spirit, using their talents to represent our village with honor. We're well-matched as allies. Perhaps I misjudged them at first..."<<elseif $akiyoRomance2 <= 75>>"With each battle, my respect for $referinconvo grows. Such determination, compassion, and adherence to the warrior's code. They are everything a premier combatant should strive to be."<<else>>"In $referinconvo, I have found a kindred soul whose principles and abilities match my own. A true friend who has earned my complete loyalty and trust. If they are the future of our clan, I have no doubts we will prevail."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $akiyoFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$akiyoFriendship2%</div>
</div><div class="comment-text">
<<if $akiyoFriendship2 == 0>>"She has no thoughts of you."<<elseif $akiyoFriendship2 <= 15>>"That one seems rather unremarkable. Just another face in the crowd of competitors. I should focus my attentions on more formidable opponents."<<elseif $akiyoFriendship2 <= 35>>"I've noticed that one around the training grounds. Their form is sloppy, but they seem determined, if nothing else. A middling prospect at best."<<elseif $akiyoFriendship2 <= 50>>"A surprising dark horse in this tournament. While rough around the edges, their tactics are supremely resourceful. Clearly a quick study...I should keep an eye on their development."<<elseif $akiyoFriendship2 <= 75>>"A truly noble spirit, using their talents to represent our village with honor. We're well-matched as allies. Perhaps I misjudged them at first..."<<else>>"With each battle, my respect for $referinconvo grows. Such determination, compassion, and adherence to the warrior's code. They are everything a premier combatant should strive to be."<</if>></div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Saeko</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $saekoRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$saekoRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $saekoRomance2 == 0>>"You hold zero sway over her in that regard."
<<elseif $saekoRomance2 <= 15>>"I see no reason why $gender persists in seeking my company outside of training. Such social niceties are...extraneous to my current purpose."
<<elseif $saekoRomance2 <= 40>>"The gestures of camaraderie $gender extends are...puzzling. My priorities lie solely in honing my combat skills."
<<elseif $saekoRomance2 <= 50>>"There are...moments when $belong eyes linger in ways that give me pause. Surely I am misinterpreting mere social pleasantries."
<<elseif $saekoRomance2 <= 75>>"The heat that rises unbidden when $gender stands too close...it disquiets me. This foreign, smoldering longing defies the strict logic I have adhered to."
<<else>>"I find my careful detachment slipping in $belong magnetic presence. This...insufferable, all-consuming fire $gender has stoked within me...this must be what they call love."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $saekoFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$saekoFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $saekoFriendship2 == 0>>"You bear no significance to her."
<<elseif $saekoFriendship2 <= 15>>"I have taken note of $belong presence at the training grounds. $Belong form is considerably lacking in refinement."
<<elseif $saekoFriendship2 <= 40>>"While rough around the edges, $gender have displayed...reasonable adaptability in battle situations. Not an entirely insufficient sparring partner."<</if>>
</div><p style="font-size: 24px;">Dante Laval</p><hr>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $danteFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$danteFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $danteFriendship2 == 0>>"Nothing...?"
<<elseif $danteFriendship2 <= 15>>"Well, it's like they say, life has a funny way of surprising you. We had some good times, no doubt about that. But I guess life had other plans for us. It's just... disappointing, you know? You pour your heart into a friendship, and then one day, it's like it all just evaporates into thin air. But hey, it is what it is. I'll get over it eventually. I just hope they remember the good times too, even if they're moving on without me."
<<elseif $danteFriendship2 <= 25>>"Well, it's like the saying goes, 'Not all friendships last forever.' It's a tough pill to swallow, seeing that bond we had take a hit like that. But hey, life's full of twists and turns, right? Maybe it's time to focus on building new connections and cherishing the ones that still stand strong. As for them... well... I wish them nothing but the best I guess, even if we're not as tight as we used to be."
<<elseif $danteFriendship2 <= 50>>"It's not how it used to be, but it's fine! People drift apart and back together often. I just hope that's the case now..."
<<elseif $danteFriendship2 <= 60>>"Hey, so maybe things aren't exactly as they were, but you know what? I still trust them with my life. It's like, sure, we've hit a bump in the road, but that doesn't change the fact that they've got my back when it counts. We'll work through it, no doubt. After all, trust isn't just about smooth sailing; it's about weathering the storms together."
<<else>>"Best friend? Oh, let me tell you about this gem! $gender is like the anchor in the stormy sea of life, always there to keep me grounded. Trust? Ha! It's like $gender can read my mind and know exactly what I need before I even say it. And the best part? We laugh together like there's no tomorrow. $gender is not just a friend, but also family."<</if>>
</div>
<!-- Romance Section -->
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $danteRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$danteRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $danteRomance2 == 0>>"No opinion."
<<elseif $danteRomance2 <= 20>>"Wait, are we talking about romance here? Me? Ha! You must have the wrong guy! I mean, sure, we get along great, but romance? Nah, that's just a fairy tale, right? Unless... nah, forget it. Let's stick to the dad jokes, shall we?"
<<elseif $danteRomance2 <= 50>>"Well, would you look at that? Seems like someone's turning up the charm, huh? Can't say I saw this coming, but hey, who am I to turn down a little flirting? Still, let's not jump to any conclusions here. Maybe it's just the atmosphere, or maybe... nah, never mind. Let's just enjoy the banter while it lasts."
<<elseif $danteRomance2 <= 75>>"Well, well, well, looks like things are heating up, huh? Can't deny there's some serious chemistry going on here. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I mean, sure, I'm enjoying the flirtatious vibes, but romance? That's a whole new ball game. Guess we'll just have to see where this rollercoaster ride takes us, right?"
<<elseif $danteRomance2 <= 80>>"Well, color me surprised! Who knew we'd be here, huh? I gotta admit, there's something about those sparks flying between us that's hard to ignore. Maybe there's more to this than just friendly banter after all. Guess it's time to embrace the possibility of something... deeper. Bring on the romance, I say!"
<<else>>"Wow... just wow. I never thought I'd find myself here, head over heels for someone like this. But here we are, and let me tell you, it feels like I've hit the jackpot. They're not just my friend; they're the love of my life. Every joke, every laugh, every moment shared feels like it's written in the stars. I couldn't imagine my life without them now. Here's to us, partners in crime and in love."<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Zephyr Everheart</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $zephyrRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$zephyrRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $zephyrRomance2 == 0>>"You haven't had any effect on Zephyr."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 15>>"A new face seeks companionship, it seems. Maintaining proper decorum is crucial for a knight of my standing. I shall rebuff these overtures politely...for now."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 25>>"There's an unmistakable ardor in their gaze when we cross paths. Clearly this is more than mere respect they hold for me. How naive to conflate battle camaraderie with affection."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 40>>"You refer to [MC's name]'s apparent...keenness towards me, I presume? While they are an admirable opponent, projecting misguided amorous thoughts only undermines their credibility. I expected more prudence."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 55>>"Lingering glances and such have become...noticeable, of late. But I intended no encouragement."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 70>>"This incessant line of questioning...exhibits why personal matters are ill-advised follies for standard-bearers such as $name and myself. Yet, I find my own thoughts increasingly...distracted, when we cross paths."<<elseif $zephyrRomance2 <= 85>>"You are relentless in this pursuit, are you not? Very well...I can no longer turn a blind eye to the...connection, forged in the crucible of combat alongside [MC's name]. Perhaps these feelings are unavoidable."<<else>>"Enough hedging. My heart is unmistakably bound to $name's now. Every valorous deed they perform simultaneously inspires my esteem and ardor alike. We are two swords...formed anew into a single steely union."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $zephyrFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$zephyrFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text"><<if $zephyrFriendship2 == 0>>"You haven't met this character yet."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 15>>"A new face seeks companionship, it seems. Maintaining proper decorum is crucial for a knight of my standing. I shall rebuff these overtures politely...for now."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 25>>"This one is admirably persistent, if a bit green. Frivolous conversation serves little purpose, though their combat prowess hints at a respectable resolve."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 40>>"A bold spirit, full of youthful bravado. Unrefined, but their skills continue to impress. Perhaps some mentorship is in order to hone that raw potential."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 55>>"An astute tactical mind belies their brash exterior. A worthy sparring partner to keep my edge honed. Hm...and their humor, while simplistic, has proven a respite from the austerity expected of me."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 70>>"We've shed blood together in the arena now as brothers-in-arms. A trusted ally regardless of their station. This camaraderie is an...unexpected comfort."<<elseif $zephyrFriendship2 <= 85>>"By the gods, this one has earned every ounce of my respect through sheer tenacity and honor. To find such a kindred spirit is a gift I'm unaccustomed to receiving."<<else>>"Once, I faced each new encounter steeled against needless distractions and attachments. Now? Now I cannot fathom the loneliness of that path without this incredible soul at my side. They have shown an old knight the value of true friendship."<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Fai</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $faiRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$faiRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $faiRomance2 == 0>>"You have no effect on him."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 9>>"You have no effect on him."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 15>>"Fai blushes slightly when $name flirts, quickly looking away. His gestures become a bit more flustered, and he tries to keep his distance, mainly confused."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 40>>"Fai starts leaving small, thoughtful gifts for $name, like a carefully arranged bouquet of wildflowers. His eyes linger on $plural a bit longer, and his smiles are warmer, though he's still hesitant and unsure."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 50>>"Fai's gentle touch lingers on $name's arm, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and uncertainty. He communicates his growing feelings through sweet, simple acts, like tending to $belong needs quietly and thoughtfully."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 75>>"Fai's eyes light up whenever $name is near, and he often finds subtle ways to be close to $plural. He expresses his love through tender, lingering gestures, like brushing a strand of hair from $belong face or holding $belong hand a bit longer than necessary."
<<elseif $faiRomance2 <= 85>>"Fai's affection for $name is unmistakable in the way he looks at $plural. He often pulls $plural into his quiet world, sharing his most cherished places and moments. His gestures are filled with love and care, making it clear that $gender holds a special place in his heart."
<<else>>"Fai's love for $name is profound and unwavering. He expresses it through every gentle touch and loving gesture, his eyes filled with a deep, enduring affection. He holds $plural close, finding solace and joy in $belong presence, his actions speaking the words he cannot."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $faiFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$faiFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $faiFriendship2 == 0>>"You have no effect on him."
<<elseif $faiFriendship2 <= 15>>"Fai looks at $name with a polite nod, his eyes expressing a mix of curiosity and wariness. He remains distant, unsure of what to make of $plural."
<<elseif $faiFriendship2 <= 40>>"Fai offers a small smile and a slight nod of his head when $name approaches. His gestures become a bit more relaxed, showing a hint of growing trust, though he still prefers to keep his distance."
<<elseif $faiFriendship2 <= 50>>"Fai starts spending more time around $name, quietly enjoying $belong2 company. He doesn't mind the thought of occasionally offering $plural small tokens of appreciation, like a flower or a neatly drawn sketch, his way of expressing gratitude and fondness."
<<elseif $faiFriendship2 <= 75>>"Fai's gestures become more animated and expressive around $name. He often shares moments of silent laughter and understanding, communicating volumes through his eyes and the small, thoughtful actions he takes to show he cares."
<<elseif $faiFriendship2 <= 85>>"Fai stands close to $name, $belong2 presence a comforting constant. He now shares his favorite quiet spots with $plural, inviting $plural into his world of calm and serenity. His eyes often shine with warmth and trust when he looks at them."
<<else>>"Fai holds $name's hand gently, his touch conveying a profound sense of trust and affection. He communicates his feelings through the most delicate of gestures, his eyes filled with a deep, unwavering bond that words could never capture."<</if>>
</div><p style="font-size: 24px;">Kaisen</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $kaisenRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$kaisenRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $kaisenRomance2 == 0>>"You haven't had any effect on Kaisen."<<elseif $kaisenRomance2 <= 15>>"$plural attempts at romance are like watching someone try to solve a complex puzzle with all the wrong pieces. It's... interesting, to say the least. $referinconvo certainly putting in the effort, but it's like watching a fish trying to climb a tree—entertaining, but ultimately futile. I suppose $plural dedication is... noteworthy, in its own way."<<elseif $kaisenRomance2 <= 50>>"Well, well, well, looks like there's a glimmer of romance in the air. Who would've thought? I gotta admit, watching $plural attempts at wooing me is like watching a caravan crash unfold. Pure entertainment, I tell you. I almost feel sorry for $referinconvo, trying so hard to impress. Almost."<<elseif $kaisenRomance2 <= 75>>"Well, well, well, looks like someone's pulling out all the stops to win me over. I gotta hand it to $referinconvo, $belong determination is almost as impressive as $belong2 attempts at charm. It's like watching a kitten trying to roar like a lion—adorable, but ultimately amusing. Keep 'em coming, though. Who knows, maybe one day $they'll actually succeed."<<else>>"You know, $referinconvo more than just a crush or a passing fancy. $referinconvo like a perfectly crafted puzzle that I never want to solve completely. Every day with $plural feels like discovering a new piece of the puzzle, and I'm in no rush to reach the end. $gender challenges me, inspires me, and makes me laugh like no one else can. $gender is not just the love of my life; $gender is the missing piece I never knew I needed..."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $kaisenFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$kaisenFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $kaisenFriendship2 == 0>>"Well, thanks a lot for the assist back there. I was really looking forward to a close encounter with that mutated chicken. Next time, maybe lend a hand before I become poultry feed, huh? But hey, no hard feelings. We all have our moments of cowardice, right?"
<<elseif $kaisenFriendship2 <= 15>>"$referinconvo... intriguing, I suppose. Like a piece of the puzzle I'm trying to solve. Useful, perhaps, but hardly worth investing personal interest in. If $gender can contribute to cracking the mystery I'm working on, then great. Otherwise, $referinconvo just another variable in the equation."
<<elseif $kaisenFriendship2 <= 50>>"Hmm, it appears $gender possess a certain knack for getting things done. Like a reliable wrench in a toolbox, I suppose. Useful for tightening a few screws here and there, but hardly indispensable. $gender might prove to be a handy asset, provided they can keep up."
<<elseif $kaisenFriendship2 <= 75>>"Well, it seems $gender has managed to earn $refer keep around here. There's a certain reliability to $plural, a trustworthiness that's hard to come by. Like finding a rare gem amidst a pile of rubble. I'll admit, $referinconvo proven $themselves to be more than just a passing acquaintance. Perhaps there's more to this friendship thing than I initially thought."
<<else>>"You know, $referinconvo like my intellectual sparring partner, always keeping me on my toes. It's refreshing, really, to have someone who can actually keep pace with my mind. Sure, $referinconvo not quite at my level yet, but they're getting there. And hey, it's always fun to have someone to banter with, even if they can't quite match my wit... yet."
<</if>>
</div><p style="font-size: 24px;">Vie</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $vieRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$vieRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $vieRomance2 == 0>>"You have no affect on her."
<<elseif $vieRomance2 <= 15>>"$name's flirting attempts are almost entertaining. Does $gender really think $gender can handle me? It's cute, really."
<<elseif $vieRomance2 <= 40>>"I can't believe I'm saying this, but the MC's persistence is starting to get under my skin. In a good way. They don't scare easily, and that's... intriguing."
<<elseif $vieRomance2 <= 50>>"The MC has a way of making me feel things I didn't expect. Their charm is disarming, and I find myself getting flustered around them. It's infuriatingly delightful."
<<elseif $vieRomance2 <= 75>>"Alright, I'll admit it. The MC has captured my heart. Their determination and resilience are endearing. I push them away to keep them safe, but it's getting harder to resist their pull."
<<elseif $vieRomance2 <= 85>>"Every time I see the MC, my heart races. Their presence is both thrilling and comforting. I want to protect them, but I also want to be close to them. It's a maddening paradox."
<<else>>"The MC is the love of my life, the one who tamed my wild heart. I push them away to keep them safe, but I can't imagine my life without them. They're my everything, and I'd fight the world to keep them by my side."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $vieFriendship2%;"></span><div class="relationship-bar-text">$vieFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $vieFriendship2 == 0>>"You have no affect on her."<<elseif $vieFriendship2 <= 15>>"The MC has some spirit, I'll give them that. They're not running away just yet. It's almost... amusing."<<elseif $vieFriendship2 <= 40>>"Alright, the MC has managed to stick around longer than most. I suppose they have some guts. I still enjoy pushing their buttons, though."
<<elseif $vieFriendship2 <= 50>>"I have to admit, the MC is growing on me. They handle my taunts pretty well, and there's a certain thrill in our interactions. Maybe they're worth keeping around."
<<elseif $vieFriendship2 <= 75>>"The MC has become someone I actually care about. Who would've thought? They get me, even if they don't always understand. I'll keep them close, but not too close. It's for their own good."
<<elseif $vieFriendship2 <= 85>>"At this point, the MC is one of the few people I truly trust. It's strange, this feeling of wanting to protect them. I still push them away sometimes, but it's only because I care."
<<else>>"The MC is my rock, my confidant. I'd do anything to keep them safe, even if it means pushing them away from the chaos that surrounds me. They mean the world to me, and I'd protect them with my life."<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Juno</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $junoRomance%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$junoRomance%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $junoRomance == 0>>"You have no sway with him."
<<elseif $junoRomance <= 15>>"$lastname's attempts at flirting? $referinconvo just wasting breath. I don’t do romance."
<<elseif $junoRomance <= 40>>"The MC's flirting? It's like a fly buzzing around. Annoying, but I’ve learned to tune it out."
<<elseif $junoRomance <= 50>>"The MC? They’re... persistent. I still don’t get the appeal. But, whatever. They can do what they want."
<<elseif $junoRomance <= 75>>"The MC? They’re starting to get under my skin. In a good way, I guess. It’s... confusing."
<<elseif $junoRomance <= 85>>"The MC? I might actually... like them. It’s weird, and I’m not sure what to do about it. But it’s there."
<<else>>"The MC? They’ve become... everything to me. I never thought I’d say that about anyone. They’re the one person I can’t imagine my life without."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $junoFriendship%;"></span><div class="relationship-bar-text">$junoFriendship%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $junoFriendship == 0>>"You have no affect on him."
<<elseif $junoFriendship <= 15>>"$lastname? $referinconvo persistent, I'll give $plural that. But it's not like I care."
<<elseif $junoFriendship <= 40>>"The MC? Still not sure why they're hanging around. I guess Dante likes them, so there's that."
<<elseif $junoFriendship <= 50>>"The MC? They have their moments, I suppose. But don't expect me to start warming up anytime soon."
<<elseif $junoFriendship <= 75>>"The MC? Okay, fine. They've grown on me a bit. I still don’t get why they try so hard, but... I don’t mind their company as much now."
<<elseif $junoFriendship <= 85>>"The MC? They’re... surprisingly tolerable. I might even consider them a friend. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud."
<<else>>"The MC? They’ve somehow become important to me. Still not sure how it happened, but I guess I wouldn’t trade them for anything."<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Miioni Aisara Peru</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $miioniRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$miioniRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $miioniRomance2 == 0>> You have no affect on Miioni
<<elseif $miioniRomance2 <= 15>>"Wait, did the MC just flirt with me? Ha! They must be joking. There's no way... right? Whatever, it's probably nothing."
<<elseif $miioniRomance2 <= 40>>"Okay, so maybe the MC's not entirely insufferable. Their attempts at flirting are almost... endearing? Not that I'd ever admit it to them. Ugh, why is my face warm?"
<<elseif $miioniRomance2 <= 50>>"I have to give it to the MC, their persistence is impressive. It's getting harder to ignore the butterflies in my stomach whenever they're around. Curse these feelings, why do they have to be so... charming?"
<<elseif $miioniRomance2 <= 75>>"Alright, fine. I can't deny it anymore. The MC has managed to fluster me in ways I never thought possible. I actually look forward to seeing them. There, I said it. Happy now?"
<<elseif $miioniRomance2 <= 85>>"Every time the MC looks at me with those eyes, I feel my composure slipping. How did I end up falling for someone so... wonderful? It's maddening, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."
<<else>>"The MC is the love of my life. There, I said it. They've completely turned my world upside down and made me feel things I never thought I could. And yes, I get flustered around them all the time. But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $miioniFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$miioniFriendship2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $miioniFriendship2 == 0>>You have no affect on Miioni<p style="font-size: 24px;">Miiokai Aisara Peru</p><hr>
<div class="romance-title">Romance:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $miiokaiRomance2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$miiokaiRomance2%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $miiokaiRomance2 == 0>>You have no affect on Miiokai<<elseif $miiokaiRomance2 <= 15>>"Romance? With the MC? Please, I have better things to do than entertain such nonsense. They're just another face in the crowd."<<elseif $miiokaiRomance2 <= 40>>"Wait, did the MC just flirt with me? Ha! They must be joking. There's no way... right? Whatever, it's probably nothing."<<elseif $miiokaiRomance2 <= 50>>"Okay, so maybe the MC's not entirely insufferable. Their attempts at flirting are almost... endearing? Not that I'd ever admit it to them. Ugh, why is my face warm?"<<elseif $miiokaiRomance2 <= 75>>"Alright, fine. I can't deny it anymore. The MC has managed to fluster me in ways I never thought possible. I actually look forward to seeing them. There, I said it. Happy now?"
<<elseif $miiokaiRomance2 <= 85>>"Every time the MC looks at me with those eyes, I feel my composure slipping. How did I end up falling for someone so... wonderful? It's maddening, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."
<<else>>"The MC is the love of my life. There, I said it. They've completely turned my world upside down and made me feel things I never thought I could. And yes, I get flustered around them all the time. But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="friendship-title">Friendship:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $miiokaiFriendship2%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$miiokaiFriendship2%</div>
</div><div class="comment-text"><<if $miiokaiFriendship2 == 0>>"You have no affect on Miokai."<<elseif $miiokaiFriendship2 <= 15>>"Well, the MC isn't as dull as I first thought. They've caught my interest, though I still find them a bit annoying. There's something there, maybe worth exploring."
<<elseif $miiokaiFriendship2 <= 40>>"The MC is starting to grow on me. They show a resilience that's hard to ignore. It's almost admirable, though I'll never admit that to them."<<elseif $miiokaiFriendship2 <= 50>>"I have to admit, the MC has earned a measure of my respect. Their determination and loyalty are qualities I value. Perhaps I've been too quick to judge people in the past."<<elseif $miiokaiFriendship2 <= 75>>"Against all odds, the MC has become someone I genuinely care about. Their loyalty and strength are remarkable. I find myself wanting to stand by them, despite my usual reservations."<<elseif $miiokaiFriendship2 <= 85>>"The MC is one of the few people I truly trust. They've shown me unwavering loyalty and understanding. It's a rare connection, and I value it more than I thought possible."<<else>>"The MC has become an integral part of my life. Their friendship is something I cherish deeply. I never expected to find someone I could rely on so completely, but here we are. They're family to me now."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTetrO8iV_8NPpDJOqXpjbT-jmtYHLpyc8r5g&usqp=CAU" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTy2kxXQfms-sNY2Zt2i-azodQkPUG3fXlxmVeK9IKRC8egxoDx1KqcZHxW&s=10" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
//Information, description and relationship stats!//
<h3><<link "Abilities" "Abilities">><</link>></h3><h3>[[Characters]] </h3><h3>[[Relationships|RELATIONSHIP]] </h3><h3>[[Mentors]]</h3><h3>[[Citizen Standpoint]]</h3>
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<<set $danteFriendship2 to 90>>
<<set $danteRomance2 to 0>>
(HEALTH BAR)
:: StoryInit
<<script>>
window.clamp = function(value, min, max) {
return Math.min(Math.max(value, min), max);
};
function updateHealthBar() {
var health = State.variables.health; // Use State.variables to access $health in SugarCube
var healthWidth = document.getElementById('health-width');
var healthText = document.getElementById('health-text');
// Update the width of the health bar based on percentage
if (healthWidth) {
healthWidth.style.width = health + '%';
}
// Update the text to show the current percentage
if (healthText) {
healthText.innerHTML = health + '%';
}
}
<</script>>
<h1>𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖Attire/Clothes Explination! ࣪ ˖</h1>//Quite literally dress to impress whatever reign of people you please, but choose who you're impressing wisely!//
<hr>
In the world of Lucid Fate, attire speaks volumes. From the proud heritage of the Traditional Kobat to the allure of The Vassal Novs, each choice carries weight. Rustic Attire beckons with promises of creativity and wanderlust, while the enigmatic Noirwear hints at secrets yet unveiled. Remember, your selection shapes not only your character's appearance but also how others perceive them. In this interactive journey, every thread woven into your garment holds significance, offering clues to the path ahead. So choose wisely, for destiny awaits, intertwined with the fabric of your choice.<h1>INFORMATION</h1>L : This passage has all the answers to your questions! If I've missed anything, just give me a shout, and I'll get it sorted in no time. ♡
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">✘-[[Personality Stats]] </span>
✘-[[Skills and Spells]]
<span style="display: block; text-align: right;">✘-[[Relationships|R.Stats Explination]] </span>
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">✘-[[Artifacts]]</span>
✘-[[Clothing]]
<span style="display: block; text-align: right;">✘-[[Hierarchy and Lore]]</span>
✘-[[Tournament]]
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">✘-[[Terms to Note]]</span><h1>𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖Stats Explination! ࣪ ˖</h1>//all you'll wanna know and more!//
<hr>
<h2>1.What are friendship stats? </h2>
''In Lucid Fate'', friendships play a pivotal role in shaping your journey and the outcome of the tournament. Friendship stats directly influence how characters respond to you during challenges—whether they assist, ignore, or provide crucial boosts. (which isn't always necessary!)
<h2>2.Are Friendship boosts/help necessary?</h2>Nopeee, it's not (YAY) well actually it kinda is...yeah.
As the mc your job will be to enhance your abilities, if a choice appears where your least enhanced ability-or your neglected characteristic- is needed, a character can step in and ''help'' out. While this isn't about to be the case through the whole game, ''caution'', there will be points where you'll need a little boost.
<h2>3.What about Romance Stats?</h2>
''Romantic stats'', on the other hand, affect one-on-one interactions with your chosen love interest, adding depth to personal moments. Future updates will introduce jealousy responses for romance stats exceeding 50%, allowing romantic interests to react dynamically.
<h2>SUMMARY!!</h2><h3>For clarity, please note that romance stats ''do not'' impact the tournament or your ventures; ''only friendship stats'' have this effect.</h3><hr>
<h2>4.What's up with the stats pacing?</h2>
''Different characters have unique paces for getting to know you'', making it easier to bond with some than others. This variability is intentional and part of my game's design. You're doing nothing wrong—it's simply how I've programmed the interactions. If you're looking for tips or guidance, feel free to ask on my tumblr!
''End!:'' //if you have any other questions
I didn't cover let me know and
I'll have it covered ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧//
<hr><hr>
<h2>Dear $name </h2>
//"Please be advised that updates to the kingdom's hierarchy and history are currently unavailable. I am diligently (you buying my bs?) working to bring you the most fun, interesting and engaging content and more historical lore will be available in ''CHAPTER 4.''"//
//This is the closest thing to [[Lore and Hierarchy|Terms to Note]] I got for now. Hehe...STREAM SOFTCORE BY THE NEIGHBORHOOD-//<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://media3.giphy.com/media/eoazVutwlnpL3pkSeD/giphy.gif?cid=6c09b952igqdy2xhl8og6946fwbuxjkuc9m8y32nxym3wyxd&ep=v1_internal_gif_by_id&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://media3.giphy.com/media/eoazVutwlnpL3pkSeD/giphy.gif?cid=6c09b952igqdy2xhl8og6946fwbuxjkuc9m8y32nxym3wyxd&ep=v1_internal_gif_by_id&rid=giphy.gif&ct=g" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div>//Thank you for your patience and understanding as I try to deliver a captivating narrative, I intend for you to enjoy reading this IF as much as possible with my writing style/habits. Your continued support is greatly appreciated, I LOVE YOU STRANGERS."//
<hr> Personality Stats: Track the traits and quirks that define your character.<div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTXw1jWEyV63jU_c7tdU51tHhiUNVJd2uyLWw&usqp=CAU.jpg" alt="dogs" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRDI60IHP2coY5v-N1Sm1jEbg3vtSAkTTCA3w&usqp=CAU" alt="lite" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div>
<hr><h2> ˖ ˖Skills and Spells!˖ ˖</h2>In Lucid Fate, you can choose between two options, either Physical Prowess/Skills or Calligraphy Arts- which is simply to put it enchanting through paintbrushes and books/scrolls.
There are [[Artifacts]] aswell but you do not posses such an Item. You dabble either in one of the first two or will opt to skillfully distribute skill points between both which won't be too much of a difficult feat to achieve.
The exact enchantings of your mc won't vary as much unfortunately as they will only be of three options continously, the choice to make use of other enchantment types/elements is not in your capabilities or that of anyone else in this world.
You are what you are born with. Yours Partaining to Shadow-like Elements.
<hr><h3>𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖Specific Insights ࣪ ˖</h3><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
❝[[Calligraphy Arts|Calligraphy Arts]]❞: enchanting, Distracting
❝[[Physical Prowess]]❞: Combat Techniques, Defense, Agility</span>
<h1>Artifacts Summary:</h1> Discover items that enhance your abilities and give you an edge.
<h1>Explination</h1> In Lucid Fate, artifacts are elusive gems, sought after by the fortunate few who feel the tug of destiny. Surprisingly, only 35% of the populace possess these relics, yet their impact reverberates across the land. For some, wielding an artifact elevates them to the revered ranks of knighthood, their valor echoing through the annals of history. Others harness their artifacts' powers to shape districts into thriving hubs of commerce and influence. These treasures aren't mere trinkets; they're the essence of legend, weaving tales of valor and prosperity. And in Lucid Fate, the journey has only just begun, beckoning adventurers to uncover their own path amidst the tapestry of destiny.<div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQywvwgKjJEiyCs0ey1wTDRfoitWO0sQTTdLQ&usqp=CAU" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSDtqCeNup0VoZ8K6jvxndJ2GVRpXtKxWeT6g&usqp=CAU" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div> <h1>The Kabot Tournament</h1>//Every regions dream//<hr> <div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/9DIPKp5r42MAAAAM/what-what-where-am-i.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/9DIPKp5r42MAAAAM/what-what-where-am-i.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div> <hr>"You're an idiot," you blurt out bluntly, turning to face your best friend Dante.
He blinks owlishly at you, seeming taken aback by your harsh words. "Wh-what? Me? An idiot?"
Deep down, a part of you feels a twinge of concern at how recklessly Dante had stepped in to confront Nag Walan. The old woman's abilities were no joke - you had just experienced them firsthand. But you keep those worries buried, maintaining your brash exterior.
You roll your eyes impatiently. "Yes, you. What were you thinking, yelling at Nag Walan like that? Are you trying to get yourself cursed or something?"
Dante's expression shifts from surprise to indignation. "Well, excuse me for being concerned when it looked like she was quite literally turning you to stone!"
Scoffing, you wave a dismissive hand, hoping to mask the fact that his words struck a nerve.
The truth was, you weren't entirely sure of Nag Walan's intentions, but revealing that uncertainty would mean exposing something, vulnerability.
"Don't be so dramatic," you begin.
<hr>
"She was just...keeping an eye on me." [[you murmur, unsure.|"She was just...keeping an eye on me." you murmur, unsure.]]
She was just [[testing me.|She was just testing me.]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>>As Dante continues his hilarious rant, mimicking his mother's voice with expert accuracy, you can't help but chuckle at his antics. Seizing the opportunity, you quietly take the large leaf he's been using as an imaginary umbrella and start walking away, leaving him to rant and gesticulate wildly.
It's not until the first fat raindrops begin to land on his head that Dante snaps out of his tirade, blinking in confusion. "Hey, where'd my umbrella go?" he asks, looking around bewilderedly.
His eyes finally land on you, a few paces ahead, casually twirling the leaf as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
"$nickname!" he exclaims, his expression a comical mix of indignation and amusement. "You took my umbrella!"
Sticking out his tongue, he dashes after you, his feet kicking up little spurts of mud as the drizzle intensifies. "Give it back, you little thief!"
You simply laugh and start running, holding the leaf high above your head as Dante gives chase. The two of you weave through the village streets, drawing amused looks from the townsfolk as you race past, laughing and shouting playful insults.
Finally, breathless and soaked to the skin, you stop under the cover of a bakery, turning to face a thoroughly drenched Dante. He skids to a halt in front of you huffing violently as he stabilizes himself with his hands on his knees with a finger indicating for you to give him time, his hair plastered to his forehead.
Dante has always hated any from of play that involved running and climbing. He claims they're exhausting and he'd rather take on activities like swimming so if he gets tired, the current can take him away and continue the labor.
Whatever that means...
He soon enough shoots up straight and drops into an exaggerated curtsy.
"My dear $nickname," he says, his voice dripping with melodrama. "I must apologize for my lengthy diatribe earlier. It seems I lost track of both time and common sense, leaving you to fend for yourself against the elements."
He looks up at you with his best attempt at a remorseful expression, but his eyes are still twinkling with mirth. "Can you ever forgive this foolish peasant?"
<hr>
[[sure, sure.]]
[[I'll think about it]]As Dante launches into yet another fanciful tale about Nag Walan's supposed witchy antics, you clear your throat loudly and fix him with an utterly unimpressed look.
He pauses mid-sentence, the mirth slowly draining from his expression as you stare at him, completely stone-faced. An awkward silence stretches between you.
"What's with that look?" Dante finally asks, unable to resist poking the bear. "Don't tell me my stellar storytelling has lost its charm?"
You hold his gaze for a beat, then shrug dismissively, slipping your hands in the pockets of your $lowerwear. "It's just a bit much, don't you think? These crazy stories about Nag Walan turning everyone into farm animals?"
Dante's shoulders slump ever so slightly, but he knows your deadpan tone masks a hint of playfulness he's all too familiar with. Rallying himself, he tosses the large leaf umbrella prop into the air dramatically.
"Well excuse me, Lord Grumpypants," he retorts with an exaggerated sniff. "I was simply trying to inject some much-needed whimsy into our dreary travels!"
<hr>
[[You arch an eyebrow at him, decidedly unamused.]]As Dante launches into another exaggerated tale about Nag Walan's supposed witchy powers, you feel your exasperation building. Before you can stop yourself, you let out an involuntary yelp.
"Dante!"
The shrill cry rings out across the field, causing Dante to jump nearly a foot in the air. He whips around to face you, eyes wide with surprise and concern.
"Wh-what? What is it?" he sputters, visibly flustered by your unexpected outburst.
Immediately, you feel a pang of regret at having startled him so badly. Your timid nature kicks in, and you shrink back slightly, wringing your hands nervously.
"I-I'm sorry," you stammer, barely making eye contact. "I didn't mean to shout like that. I just...you were getting a bit carried away with those stories again."
Dante blinks owlishly for a moment before letting out a hearty laugh, all traces of alarm melting away. "Stars above, you nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought a bear was chasing us or something."
You chances sideways glance at him, thoroughly embarrassed by your outburst. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to yell. You know how I get sometimes..."
<hr>
[[You could still hear the echo of your scream, causing more embarrassment.]]
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>>
Waving off your apology, Dante slings an arm around your shoulders jovially. "No need to fret, my timid friend! Though I must say, you've got quite the impressive set of lungs on you when you put your mind to it."
He punctuates this observation with an impish grin, clearly trying to put you at ease. As the first raindrops begin speckling your faces, Dante guides you both under the awning of a nearby bakery.
"No more yelling, yeah?" he says teasingly. "At least not until this blasted storm passes. Then you can holler to your heart's content!"
You manage a sheepish smile at that, slowly relaxing under the familiar comfort of Dante's gentle teasing.
The heavenly scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries hangs in the air, making your empty stomachs rumble. You really loved these parts of your region.
The owner shakes his head with a smile and tosses you each a clean rag to dry off with, muttering something about "wild children" and "no sense of decorum."
As he launches into another fanciful story, you settle in and listen contentedly, the earlier embarrassment fading away.
Every once in awhile, you'll steal a sidelong glance at your best friend, shaking your head in amused bewilderment at his wild imagination and ability to instantly diffuse any awkward situation.
With Dante around, you never have to worry about bottling up your emotions.
<hr>
[[no matter how timid you may feel.|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]Waving off your apology, Dante slings an arm around your shoulders jovially. "No need to fret, my timid friend! Though I must say, you've got quite the impressive set of lungs on you when you put your mind to it."
He punctuates this observation with an impish grin, clearly trying to put you at ease. As the first raindrops begin speckling your faces, Dante guides you both under the awning of a nearby bakery.
"No more yelling, yeah?" he says teasingly. "At least not until this blasted storm passes. Then you can holler to your heart's content!"
You manage a sheepish smile at that, slowly relaxing under the familiar comfort of Dante's gentle teasing.
As he launches into another fanciful story, you settle in and listen contentedly, the earlier embarrassment fading away.
Every once in awhile, you'll steal a sidelong glance at your best friend, shaking your head in amused bewilderment at his wild imagination and ability to instantly diffuse any awkward situation.
With Dante around, you never have to worry about bottling up your emotions.
<hr>
[[No matter how timid you may feel.|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]Dante meets your flat stare with his blue ones, lips twitching ever so slightly with the effort of maintaining his haughty facade.
The first raindrops begin plopping down, but neither of you moves, locked in this silent standoff of dry wit and faux indifference.
You can feel the drops land on your $haircolour head and slide across the side of your face, but you don't dare move as you raise a brow.
Finally, the corners of your mouth tug up in the slightest of smirks, signaling the game is afoot once more.
''"I WON FOR ONCE!"'' He cheers, fist bumping himself.
"Whimsy?" You snort derisively, snatching up the fallen leaf umbrella and giving it a disdainful twirl. "More like shrill babbling, if you ask me."
Dante's eyes widen comically as the rain starts coming down harder. "Why you...you uncultured philistine! How very dare you impugn my creative genius!"
He falters, struggling for a sufficiently biting counter-insult, which only makes you chuckle at his flustered expression. Seizing the moment, you start walking away, holding the leaf over your head imperiously.
"Keep up, oh jester mine," you call back flatly. "Unless you'd rather be left to drown in this wretched downpour."
With a squawk of indignation, Dante scrambles to catch up, falling into step beside you as you walk for a bit before you duck under the cover of a bakery awning.
The heavenly scent of fresh bread and sweet pastries hangs in the air, making your empty stomachs rumble.
The owner tosses you each a clean rag to dry off with, muttering something about "wild children" and "no sense of decorum."
He immediately launches into another wild, gesticulated tale, all signs of his former offense melted away.
You roll your eyes overtly, but can't quite suppress the tiny twitch at the corners of your mouth. As much as you pretend his antics don't amuse you, Dante's tenacious ability to find humor in any situation never fails to crack your icy exterior.
[[even if just a little.|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]"Sure, sure," you reply with an amused grin, waving off Dante's overly dramatic apology.
The bakery owner, having witnessed the entire scene play out, simply shakes his head and smiles indulgently at the two of you. He's seen this kind of tomfoolery from you and your best friend more times than he can count.
"Alright you two drowned rats, get inside before you track any more mud through my shop," he chides, though his tone is warm and lacking any real bite.
You and Dante hurry inside, leaving a trail of wet footprints in your wake. The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries envelops you, momentarily pushing out the damp chill that had seeped into your bones.
The owner tosses you both some clean rags to dry off, muttering good-naturedly about "wild children" under his breath. You catch Dante's eye and have to stifle a giggle at the sight of his wild, rain-soaked hair sticking up in every direction. He looked ridiculous, you had to admit.
<hr>
[[but were you any better?]]With nowhere else to go until the thunderstorm relents, you plop down in a cozy corner, gratefully accepting the day-old bread rolls and treats the owner slides your way. Dante immediately launches into another fabulously exaggerated tale, this time involving Nag Walan, a herd of enchanted billy goats, and the town well.
You interject with teasing counters and silly voices, playing your usual roles to perfection. The warmth of the bakery, the simple comforts of day-old baked goods, and Dante's never-ending well of absurdity all combine into a feeling of pure contentment. The raging storm outside seems worlds away.
Occasionally, you catch the bakery owner watching you both with a wistful smile, no doubt reminiscing about the carefree days of his own childhood adventures.
Hours pass this way, the two of you existing in your own little world of jokes and lighthearted imagination.
Finally, the thunderous roars fade to a soft patter against the windows.
Dante hops up, seemingly reinvigorated, and gallantly offers you his arm with an exaggerated flourish.
"$gentle? Shall we depart this cozy sanctuary and greet the newly washed streets?" he asks with an impish grin.
Laughing, you accept his arm with an equally dramatic $etiquette. "Why yes, good sir, I do believe the time has come to seek out another grand adventure."
The bakery owner simply shakes his head in bemused resignation as you march out into the fresh, rain-cleansed village, already plotting where your overactive imaginations might take you next.
<hr>
[[Next|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]With nowhere else to go until the storm passes, you settle into a cozy corner of the bakery, munching on the day-old bread and sweet rolls the owner obliges you with. Dante immediately launches into another fanciful tale involving Nag Walan and a horde of enchanted garden gnomes, his exaggerated gestures nearly taking out your eye on more than one occasion.
You interject with teasing jabs and silly sound effects, the two of you feeding off each other's energy in that effortless way only the closest of friends can manage. The raging storm outside fades into insignificance as you become utterly absorbed in this familiar song and dance of camaraderie.
The hours drift by in a warm, contented blur. At one point, you catch the bakery owner watching you both with a wistful smile, perhaps remembering the simple joys of his own childhood. Eventually, the thunder rumbles its last defiant grumble, and the rain tapers off to a gentle patter against the windows.
Dante hops up, entirely rejuvenated, and makes a show of gallantly waving you over and walking with his chin up, and the two of you head back out into the fresh, rain-washed streets, already plotting your next adventure.
<hr>
[[Maybe try to stay dry this time unless you want to catch a cold.|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]As the rain begins to pick up in intensity, Dante steers you both towards the shelter of the nearby bakery, his arm still looped protectively through yours.
"Did you know cows actually have best friends? Like us, but cows." he asks conversationally as you walk. "It's true! Farmers have noticed certain cows will always cozy up next to the same buddies in the herd."
You blink slowly, processing this piece of obscure cow trivia. Before you can respond, Dante barrels on enthusiastically.
"Can you imagine? Bessie and Daisy, inseparable pals chewing cud side-by-side." He mimics a cow chewing with an exaggerated jaw movement. "Swapping stories about that time the farmer tried to milk them. What a riot that must have been!"
He lets out a loud "moo" noise, drawing an amused look from a passing villager. You simply watch him impassively as he dissolves into chuckles.
"Anyway, enough about the joys of bovine companionship," Dante says, pushing open the bakery door and guiding you inside. "We've got to escape this udder downpour!"
<hr>
[[And off you race to the bakery nearby.]]
The baker looks up in surprise as you both drip water across his freshly mopped floors. Rather than seem annoyed, the older man simply chuckles and shakes his head.
"You two rascals just can't stay dry, can you?" He tosses you both some clean rags. "Here, get yourselves sorted out before catching your deaths."
Dante immediately sets about vigorously toweling off his soaked hair, sending damp strands flying everywhere. You make no move to dry yourself, simply standing there and blinking slowly.
"What, you'd prefer to make a puddle on my nice floors $nick?" The baker raises an eyebrow at you. "Or maybe the drowned look is in fashion these days?"
You say nothing but start glancing around the interior of the bakery, causing the baker to sigh and Dante to laugh once more. "Don't mind $plural," your friend says with a snicker. "Sometimes $gender gets a bit...distracted."
He playfully musses your damp hair with the towel, somewhat drying you off despite your unmoving state before you start drying yourself off.
<hr>
[[Ah, so the rags were to dry yourself off. Neat.]]
The baker just shakes his head and gets you both some slightly stale sweet bread to snack on.
For a while, you sit together in a comfortable silence, munching on the treats as the storm rages outside. Dante occasionally breaks into random bits of stories or noises, from mooing cows to whinnying horses. You watch him impassively, chiming in only when he directly engages you.
Finally, the downpour tapers off to just a light patter against the windows. Dante hops up, re-energized, and holds out a hand to you.
"Well, my easily distractible friend, should we mosey on before the next torrential onslaught?" His eyes are bright with mischief. "More exciting adventures await, I'm sure!"
You take his hand without a word and allow him to pull you to your feet. The baker waves you both off with a bemused smile as you head back out into the fresh, rain-dampened streets.
Even on a day when the weather tries its best to dampen your spirits, Dante's infectious energy and imagination cuts through any gloomy fog. With him around, you need no words to find joy, contentment and laughter in the most mundane of circumstances.
Your unique bond requires no explanations - just an unspoken understanding and acceptance of each other's charming eccentricities.
<hr>
[[This was perfect|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]
The teasing banter is abruptly interrupted by the first heavy drops of rain. Dante and you exchange a look, his eyes widening comically as the skies open up. In an instant, you're both dashing down the village street, kicking up mud and dodging puddles.
You reach the bakery just as the downpour intensifies, skidding through the doorway in a breathless tangle of limbs. The baker shakes his head in amused exasperation as you drip rainwater all over his freshly mopped floors.
Ignoring his halfhearted scolding, you and Dante huddle together in the cramped entryway, peering out at the sheets of rain pounding against the windows.
With each thunderous rumble, Dante cracks another outrageous joke, his voice barely audible over the storm's roar. You respond with exaggerated reactions, clutching your chest in mock horror or doubling over with laughter.
As the hours pass, the bakery's aroma of fresh bread and warm pastries fills the air. Your earlier apprehension has melted away, replaced by a sense of contentment and belonging that only true friendship can bring.
The rain may rage outside, but in this cozy bakery, surrounded by the familiar sights, smells, and Dante's never-ending well of absurdity, you are home.
Finally, as the storm tapers off into a gentle drizzle, you emerge from your sheltered haven. The village streets glisten with rainwater, and the air is thick with the earthy scent of petrichor. Dante breaks into an impromptu rain dance, splashing through every puddle with gleeful abandon.
As you join in, kicking up shimmering arcs of water, the burdens and fears of the day seem to wash away.
In this moment, it's just you and your best friend, reveling in the simple joys of childhood – no worries, no judgments, just pure, unbridled laughter echoing through the streets.
<hr>
[[And you were content|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]You shoot him your best attempt at a sincere grin, but it comes across more as an awkward grimace. Dante bursts out laughing at the sight.
"On second thought, maybe we should leave the smiling to the professionals," he teases good-naturedly. "That look is more likely to scare children than brighten anyone's day."
You make a show of swatting at him in mock offense, but can't quite hide your own amusement at the absurd exchange. Leave it to Dante to turn your brash jab into just another opportunity for laughter.
"But in all seriousness," he continues lightly, "what's got you so prickly today? Don't tell me you're still hung up on my tales about our resident witch."
Shrugging nonchalantly, you demur, "I just think it's silly to spread such ridiculous gossip. Nag Walan hasn't actually done anything to warrant that kind of talk."
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" Dante counters with a wink. "Besides, I hardly think the story about her once dyeing every garment in the village bright pink counts as vicious gossip. That's just classic comedy gold!"
<hr>
[[You shake your head in exasperated fondness.]]<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>Rather than attempt an awkward grimace like a smile, you simply stare back at him impassively, your expression completely deadpan.
Dante falters a little at your stubborn refusal to play along. "Oh come on, even a tiny upturn of those lips? Just a little one?" He mimics a small smile with his fingers.
You arch an eyebrow but remain resolutely stone-faced.
Dante drops his teasing grin and eyes you critically. "You're really not going to humor me with this at all, are you?"
Shrugging nonchalantly, you reply, "You know I'm not really the smile-on-command type."
He lets out a loud exhale, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Yes, because heaven forbid the mighty $nickname allow $themselves to experience anything resembling joy or amusement."
Rather than rise to the bait of arguing further, Dante's expression shifts. A mischievous glint enters his eyes as he takes a half-step towards you.
<hr>
[[oh...no...|Dante is gonna tickle you.]]
"Whatever you say. Just don't come crying to me when she finally gets fed up with your wild imaginings and turns you into a garden gnome."
Dante clutches his chest dramatically. "You wound me, my friend! I'll have you know I would have fought her off valiantly with my incredible punch-kick combo!"
He punctuates this claim with a flurry of highly choreographed karate moves, whooping and hollering with every exaggerated strike. You can't help but laugh at his antics.
"Sure, sure, o' mighty gnome slayer," you chuckle. "I suppose I'll just have to resign myself to a life without my most heroic friend at my side."
Dante halts his ridiculous display, fixing you with a look of faux seriousness. "Mock all you want, but I'll have you know my fighting skills are unparalleled! Why, I could take on a dozen Nag Walans with one foot tied behind my--"
You cut him off by pelting him with a clump of mud, sending him spluttering and breaking into renewed peals of laughter. As he gives chase, flinging dirt back at you with wild abandon, any lingering irritation or tension melts away completely.
The rest of the day is spent trading good-natured jabs and imaginative stories, your earlier disagreement all but forgotten.
With Dante, even your most prickly moods never last -- his warmth and affectionate teasing always seem to smooth over the rough edges.
<hr>
[[You wouldn't have it any other way.|You recognize the profound gift of Dante's presence in your life.]]The first few raindrops splatter across your face just as Dante is launching into a ridiculous re-enactment involving Nag Walan and a herd of rambunctious goats. You blink in surprise at the sudden shift in weather, but he doesn't even break stride - simply transitions into mimicking a goat bleating in the rain.
"Dante, did you feel--" You begin, but he cuts you off with another absurdly loud "Baa!" straight in your face, spittle and all.
Wrinkling your nose in mock disgust, you shove him away lightly. "Will you cut that out? It's raining!"
Dante halts his caprine impersonation to glance upwards just as the drizzle intensifies into a full-blown downpour. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he turns back to you.
"Last one to the bakery gets dumped in a puddle!"
With that, he takes off at a sprint, kicking up murky sheets of water in his wake. You stand there, momentarily caught off guard, before common sense kicks in and you hurry after him, unwilling to accept the dreaded punishment of intentional drenching.
<hr>
[[This was getting messier and messier...]]By the time you skid through the bakery door, you're both soaked to the bone and tracking mud everywhere. The elderly baker looks up from behind the counter with an exasperated sigh.
"Must you two always make such a grand, sopping entrance?" he chides, though his tone is more fond than truly annoyed. "I'd barely finished cleaning up from your last watery escapade."
"Sorry, Mr. Peterson!" Dante offers a sheepish grin as he uses the bottom of his drenched tunic to ineffectively wipe his boots. "The rain rather snuck up on us this time."
"More like you declared war on it by splashing through every available puddle," you mutter, shooting him a sardonic look. You're rewarded with a cheeky wink in response.
Mr. Peterson watches the exchanged with a resigned chuckle before tossing you both some clean rags to help soak up the worst of the water quickly turning his floor into a swamp.
You both owe him some gold and a couple of Kilons for dealing with your tomfoolery. Though Dante has to pay 80%.
<hr>
[[No discussions.]]
"Well, this is a cheerful interaction," he mutters, a lopsided smile playing across his lips. "I can fix that."
Before you can react, Dante lunges forward, aiming those nimble fingers directly for your sides. You pivot just in time to avoid the initial assault, but he's relentless, following your movements with a barrage of tickling jabs and pokes.
"Dante, don't you dare--!" You try barking out a warning, but it comes out more strangled gasp than intimidating demand.
"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of all this cheer!" He crows gleefully, finally landing a series of targeted strikes against your ribcage.
The first peals of laughter burst from you despite your most valiant efforts to contain them. Dante's grin stretches even wider at the sound as he intensifies the merciless onslaught of tickling.
You attempt to squirm away, but he simply follows, a kid possessed by the mission of cracking that icy exterior once and for all. No matter which way you twist or turn, those twitching fingers are there to torment you with quick pokes and tickles against your most sensitive areas.
"St...stop it!" You gasp out between wheezing chuckles, tears of mirth already streaming down your face. "Have...mercy!"
"Mercy?" Dante feigns surprise, not relenting in his gleeful torment for even a second. "I'm afraid I don't know the meaning of the word! Not until that scowl has been thoroughly banished by smiles and laughter!"
You erupt into loud guffaws at that, doubling over as your entire body convulses with the kind of side-splitting mirth you usually fight so hard against.
Distantly, you register the fact that you've dropped to your knees, but you can't bring yourself to care through the dizzying waves of unbridled amusement.
<hr>
[[Dizzy, dizzy...]]
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tickling assault ends and you sag against the ground, chest heaving from the exertion of such full-bodied laughter.
Dante stands over you triumphantly, hands on his hips and a brilliant smile brightening his entire face.
"There, was that so hard?" He extends a hand to help you up, eyes sparkling with laughter of his own. "Smiling and laughing like a normal human being?"
You shake your head in a mixture of residual amusement and grudging appreciation. "You..." You have to pause to catch your breath. "You are utterly ridiculous."
"And you love me for it," Dante counters cheekily as he pulls you to your feet with a little struggle, using his weight and gravity rather than strength.
Though you try to glare at his brazen confidence, the warmth radiating off your smile undercuts any semblance of real disapproval. You really don't have a chance against his particular brand of tenacious, joke-fueled camaraderie.
As Dante launches into another fanciful tale, his arm looped casually around your shoulders, you find yourself effortlessly carried along in the infectious tide of frivolity and friendship.
In Dante's presence, whatever fleeting glimpses of shadow that lurk within you simply melt away, banished by the sheer force of his light, warmth, and unconditional acceptance of every facet of your being - even the prickly, laughter-adverse ones.
Perhaps there's something to be said for not always remaining so stubbornly guarded after all. Or perhaps it's just one of the many small graces that come with having a best friend utterly devoted to coaxing you into life's more transcendent pockets of uninhibited joy.
Either way, as the two of you wander through the day trading jests and whimsical stories, your soul feels lighter than it has in ages - unburdened from the weight of constant stoicism. In this moment, more than any other.
You recognize the profound gift of Dante's presence in your life up until now.
<hr>
[[Continue|You recognize the profound gift of Dante's presence in your life.]]As you towel off your damp hair, he deposits a couple of still-warm cookies onto the counter.
"There, that should tide you rambunctious rascals over until this blasted downpour passes."
"You're a saint, Mr. Peterson!" Dante exclaims around a mouthful of the gooey treat. "What would this village do without your sugary generosity?"
You snort at his melodramatic gratitude, struggling to suppress a grin of your own as crumbs spray from Dante's mouth. The baker simply shakes his head in bemusement.
"Yes, yes, I'm well aware of my irreplaceable value as your personal cookie supplier. Now settle down before you choke and ruin my pristine reputation."
With a final chuckle and wave, he disappears into the back room, leaving you and Dante to wait out the rain in peaceful quiet - but for the rumbling thunder and Dante's occasional appreciative hum as he wolfs down his snack.
True to form, the moment the downpour tapers off to a light patter, Dante is on his feet and stretching with over-exaggerated grandeur.
"Well, my dearest friend, it appears the soggy heavens have finally ceased their watery barrage!" He shoots you an impish look. "Shall we depart this cozy sanctuary and greet the newly rejuvenated puddles?"
You level an unimpressed stare at him, tone dry. "You just want to jump in every mud hole from here to the village square, don't you?"
"Well I wasn't going to be so crass about it!" Dante exclaims in exaggerated affront. "But if you're offering up puddle stomping as an activity..."
Watching him already snickering mischievously, you rise and follow him back out into the rain-fresh air. True to your prediction, Dante immediately breaks into a gleeful sprint, aiming squarely for the first large puddle with a whoop of unadulterated joy.
Hanging back, you watch in fond amusement as he leaps through the murky water like an overgrown child, heedless of the way mud now splatters up to his knees. When he turns back towards you, face lit up brighter than the sun finally breaking through the clouds above, you can't quite stifle the warmth blooming in your chest.
With a shake of your head and an indulgent smile, you saunter over and fall into stride beside him, ignoring the way the cool puddles quickly soak through your boots. If getting a little mud between your toes is the price for experiencing Dante's particular brand of infectious optimism...well.
<hr>
[[there are far worse tolls to be paid.|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]"Testing you?" Dante echoes incredulously. "By freezing you in place? That didn't seem like a very friendly test to me!"
"And since when are you an expert on Nag Walan's methods?" you shoot back, mentally bracing for a heated back-and-forth. As much as you cared for Dante, his occasional naivete made you uneasy - especially when it came to the village's resident witch, or even something worse.
"Maybe if you'd kept your big mouth shut, you wouldn't have spooked her," you add, hoping the biting remark might conceal the real source of your irritation - fear that he had put himself in harm's way by mouthing off so boldly.
Dante throws his hands up in exasperation. "Spooked her? $nickname, she practically turned you into a statue! I was trying to help!"
"Well, I didn't ask for your help, did I?" you snap, irritation flaring despite the underlying current of relief that he was unhurt. "I can handle Nag Walan just fine on my own."
The two of you stand there, glaring at each other in tense silence. You can see the hurt flickering across Dante's face, and a small part of you feels a pang of regret for lashing out so harshly.
But your blunt nature won't allow you to apologize or back down.
<hr>
[[Continue|No matter how much you appreciate his concern for your wellbeing.]]<<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest - 5, 0, 100)>>"Don't be so dramatic. She was just...keeping an eye on me, that's all," you murmer dismissively, trying to downplay the unnerving encounter with Nag Walan.
Dante arches an incredulous eyebrow. "Keeping an eye on you? $nickname, it looked like she was about to turn you into a garden gnome or something!"
You bristle at his overwrought reaction, your brash defensiveness kicking in. "Well, what do you know about it? Maybe that's just how she sizes people up around here."
Offering a flimsy excuse is easier than admitting you have no clue what Nag Walan's motivations were. That would require a vulnerability you stubbornly refuse to expose.
"By magically freezing them in place?" Dante retorts, clearly unconvinced. "Call me crazy, but that doesn't seem like a very friendly way to 'size someone up'."
You open your mouth, ready with a biting comeback, but then snap it shut again. As much as your pride recoils against it, Dante has a point. There was nothing normal or sizing-related about what just occurred.
With an irritated huff, you mutter, "Okay, fine, so it was a little weird. But I still had it under control."
The words feel hollow even to your own ears. If Dante hadn't intervened, who knows what Nag Walan might have done while you were immobilized? But admitting that would mean conceding you needed his help.
<hr>
[[and that simply won't do.|No matter how much you appreciate his concern for your wellbeing.]] Finally, Dante shakes his head slowly. "You're unbelievable, you know that?" His voice is tinged with disappointment, and you brace yourself against the sting of his words. "One of these days, that prickly attitude of yours is going to get you in real trouble."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you mutter, averting your gaze uncomfortably to hide the way his words struck home. As cavalier as you acted, the idea of ending up on the wrong side of Nag Walan's powers was truly unnerving. "I don't need a lecture from you."
An awkward silence stretches between you, the earlier camaraderie shattered by your brash words and poorly concealed fears. Dante shuffles his feet, shooting you a sidelong glance that you refuse to meet.
"So...are we just going to stand here all day sulking? Or did you maybe want to, I don't know, do something fun for a change?"
You consider him for a long moment, feeling a swell of affection for this brave, hassle-prone boy. He could have easily walked away after your harsh rebuke, but here he was, extending another olive branch.
Grudgingly, you reply, "I guess a little fun wouldn't hurt." A tight smile tugs at your lips as you finally meet his gaze. "Just don't do anything stupid this time."
The hurt in Dante's eyes is immediately replaced with relief, his usual sunny disposition returning like the breaking of a storm cloud.
"Me? Stupid? Never!" He throws an arm around your shoulders jovially, and you resist the urge to lean into the comforting warmth of his embrace.
As he launches into increasingly ridiculous suggestions for your next misadventure, you can't help but shake your head in begrudging amusement.
Despite your prickly exterior and tendency to lash out from a place of fear, Dante always seems to find a way to smooth things over with his warmth and persistent good cheer.
Looping an arm around his waist, you laugh and offer up an idea of your own. One that will no doubt lead to all sorts of trouble and misadventures.
<hr>
[[Continue|And it seems as if it'll stay so.]]"I'm not feeling unwell, Juno," you say, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.
The charged atmosphere was a silent exchange between you and the sharp-eyed blond, his discerning gaze catching the subtle defiance in your tone. Juno's golden eyes narrow slightly, and a strange, almost predatory smile curls at the edges of his lips.
"My apologies, $lastname," he says smoothly, his voice dripping with a feigned politeness that makes your skin prickle. "I must be the one unwell to be seeing fibs."
A flicker of irritation flares within you, but you force yourself to maintain a calm exterior. Before you can respond, Dante, seemingly oblivious to the underlying currents of the conversation, chimes in with a laugh. "I have no idea what you two are going on about, but don't spread your unwellness to me," he jokes, his attention already drifting to something more interesting beyond your interaction.
You can see Dante's eyes darting around, his short attention span leading him to scan the environment restlessly. The bright midday sun casts long shadows on the rocky ground, and a gentle breeze stirs the leaves of the nearby trees. The contrast between the serene surroundings and the tense exchange couldn't be starker.
Juno's expression hardens, his patience visibly thinning. He crosses his arms over his chest, the movement precise and controlled. His dark leather shoes tap rhythmically on the uneven ground, a soft but insistent reminder of his growing impatience. "We should head back," he declares, his voice cool and commanding.
As he speaks, his eyes bore into yours, a silent challenge lingering in their golden depths. You hold his gaze, refusing to back down, but you can't ignore the slight flutter of unease in your stomach. There's something unsettling about the way Juno seems to see right through you, as if he can peel back the layers of your thoughts and emotions with unnerving ease.
Dante, blissfully unaware of the silent battle of wills between you and Juno, raises a brow at something else. "Head back? We have a good twenty!"
"Twenty?"
"Minutes." Dante clarified before his eyes slightly widened. You knew well this meant he was about to say something drastic.
"You should come with us to the Festival ceremony!" He suggested, already beginning to drag you there, the free twenty minutes long forgotten.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Ne,T]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>"Oh, I'm alright," you say with a genuine smile, your eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as you look at Juno. "How are you?"
For a fraction of a second, Juno's golden eyes widen imperceptibly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his features seamlessly resettle into their usual composed mask. His posture remains perfectly straight, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"I'm fine," he replies, his tone measured and neutral. The slight pause before his response is the only indication that your kindness has caught him off guard.
Dante, practically vibrating with energy, bounces on the balls of his feet. His eyes dart between you and Juno, a grin spreading across his face. "Wow, you guys are actually talking! This is awesome!"
You chuckle softly at Dante's enthusiasm, while Juno's lips thin ever so slightly, the only outward sign of his internal eye-roll.
"Indeed," Juno says, his voice dry. "A riveting exchange of pleasantries. Truly groundbreaking."
Despite the sarcasm in his words, you notice that Juno's usual sharp edge is present, though subtly controlled. His golden gaze flicks to you, a hint of calculation lurking in their depths.
You maintain your warm smile, meeting his gaze steadily. "Well, it's nice to chat, even if it's just about the weather," you say lightly, careful not to push too far.
Juno inclines his head slightly, a barely perceptible nod. "I suppose," he concedes, his tone neutral but with an underlying hint of detachment.
Dante, unable to contain himself any longer, throws his arms around both your shoulders, pulling you into an impromptu group hug. "This is great! We should all hang out more often!"
Juno stiffens at the contact, his shoulders tensing beneath Dante's arm. With practiced grace, he extricates himself from the embrace, smoothing down his shirt as he steps back. "Let's not get carried away," he says, his voice cool and composed.
As Dante launches into an excited monologue about future hangout plans, you observe Juno from the corner of your eye. His posture is as perfect as ever, his expression carefully controlled, but there's a slight furrow to his brow, barely noticeable unless you're looking for it. He watches you with subtle intensity, as if reassessing a complex equation he thought he had already solved.
The interaction leaves a lingering sense of shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. Juno's usual walls seem, if not lowered, at least slightly less impenetrable than before.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Ne,T]]
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $junoFriendship to Math.clamp($junoFriendship + 5, 0, 100)>>"Is that so?" you respond with a smirk, your eyes twinkling with mischief. You tilt your head slightly, regarding Juno with an air of amusement.
Juno's golden eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance passing across his face. "I merely stated an observation," he says, his voice clipped. "Your pallor suggests otherwise."
You chuckle softly, maintaining eye contact. "How thoughtful of you to notice, Juno. I didn't realize you paid such close attention to my complexion."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Don't flatter yourself. It's hard not to notice when something's amiss, even with you."
"Oh? So you do look my way occasionally," you tease, your smile widening. "Here I thought I was invisible to the great Juno."
Dante glances between you two, clearly confused by the underlying tension. "Come on, guys, what's with the weird vibes?"
You turn to Dante, your expression softening. "No weird vibes here. Juno and I are just having a friendly chat about my apparent ill health. Right, Juno?"
Juno scoffs, crossing his arms. "If that's what you want to call it."
"See?" you say to Dante, gesturing towards Juno with a flourish. "He cares."
Juno's eye twitches slightly, his irritation becoming more evident. "I don't-" he starts, then stops himself, taking a deep breath. "Believe what you want. It makes no difference to me."
You lean in slightly, your voice lowered conspiratorially. "Your secret's safe with me, Juno. I won't tell anyone about your hidden concern."
Juno's glare could melt steel, but you meet it with an unwavering smile. The air between you crackles with unspoken challenge, leaving Dante to wonder what exactly he's missing in this exchange.
[[NEXT|Ne,T]]"Are you sure you want to bring... $plural with you?" Juno asked, his displeasure clear in the tightness of his voice and the narrowing of his golden eyes.
"Why wouldn't I be sure? It'll be a million times better with $nickname there. I won't be stuck with snobby old people," Dante replied, his face lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Snobby..." you mutter under your breath, finding humor in your friend's innocent comment. One glance at the belligerent blond hovering around him made it obvious why you thought so. Juno’s stiff posture and aloof demeanor screamed aristocratic disdain.
"$gender can't come with us!" Juno's persistence was uncharacteristically pronounced today, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air.
"Why?" Dante's face scrunched up in confusion, his head tilting slightly as if the new angle might help him understand better. Juno's sharp tone had finally caught the clueless boy's attention.
"Because… You're allowed to bring only one attendee, and I was going with you!" Juno's voice edged towards exasperation, his irritation barely masked by his usual composed facade.
A laugh erupted from Dante, breaking the tension momentarily. He patted Juno on the back, his eyes sparkling with ignorant understanding. "You miss me too much, Juno. People will start thinking we're attached at the hip!"
This conclusion seemed to upset Juno further, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line as he shot a sharp look at Dante. "Plus, you have a meeting with your father."
This reminder stopped Juno in his tracks. His eyes suddenly hardened, a visible shift from irritation to resignation. He licked his lips nervously, the gesture betraying his internal struggle. "...right," he muttered, the word heavy with unspoken tension.
"$nickname," Dante called, startling you slightly. He had already turned fully towards you, his hands grasping your shoulders with a pleading intensity. "Pleeeeeease attend the Kabot Festival with me! We'll get to see the new candidates and battles! Pleaseee?"
His eyes were wide and earnest, practically begging you to say yes. His infectious enthusiasm made it hard to refuse. His excitement was palpable, his grip on your shoulders tight with anticipation.
<hr>
[[Who could say no to that?|Walk it off]]
As Dante started walking back, his footsteps light and carefree, you followed suit, but your mind remained focused on the puzzling blond beside you. His presence felt like a capsuled storm cloud, dark and foreboding, ready to unleash its fury at any moment. If it could.
The path back was winding and uneven, the rocks crunching underfoot with each step. The landscape around you was a tapestry of greens and browns, the earthy scent of the forest filling the air. Despite the beauty of your surroundings, the tension between you and Juno remained a palpable undercurrent, an unspoken conflict simmering just beneath the surface.
As you walked, you stole a glance at him, taking in his composed demeanor, the way his eyes scanned the horizon with calculated precision. There was a coldness to him, an impenetrable barrier that made you wonder what lay beneath his meticulously crafted exterior. For a moment, you almost pitied him, trapped behind his own walls of detachment and strategy.
But then he looked at you again, and the pity was replaced by a steely resolve. Whatever game Juno was playing, you were determined not to let him get the better of you.
<hr>
[[NEXT|likes of Juno]]
The village of District 5 surrounded you, alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life. Vendors called out their wares, selling vibrant fabrics and exotic spices, children played in the dusty streets, and neighbors exchanged news and laughter. The air was filled with the scent of baked bread and the distant sound of a lute being strummed.
Halfway along the path, the group reached a natural fork in the road where Juno would separate from you and Dante. The air grew heavier as you neared the point of departure.
Juno's steps slowed, and he came to a halt, turning to face you both. "This is where we part ways," he announced, his voice neutral but firm. His eyes flicked to Dante, then settled on you with a hint of cool detachment. "I have matters to attend to at home."
Dante's carefree expression remained intact. "Alright, Juno. Don't miss me too much," he teased, his grin wide. "We'll catch up later, maybe after the festival."
Juno’s expression shifts slightly, and he gave a small smirk. "Try not to get into too much trouble," he replied, no trace of coldness in his tone. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if assessing you one final time, before he turned and walked away, his dark leather shoes tapping rhythmically against the rocky ground.
You watched him go, a mixture of curiosity and frustration swirling within you. Despite all the time spent together, you realized you knew almost nothing about Juno's life outside of your interactions. You'd never met his parents, never seen where he lived. It added to the enigma that surrounded him, making him even harder to decipher.
Dante's voice pulled you back to the present. "Let's get going! We've got preparations to make for the festival!! Let's hope Dad's busy aswell, yes, yes." His excitement was infectious, and you found yourself smiling as you turned to follow him.
As you continued down the path with Dante, the earlier tension began to dissipate, replaced by the thrill of the upcoming event.
You couldn't shake the lingering thoughts about Juno, though, and the strange dynamic that seemed to be evolving between you. But for now, you focused on the immediate task at hand: preparing for the Kabot Festival and whatever adventures awaited you there.
<hr>
[[NEXT|scene one]]
<h2><span id="mentorChoice">
<<if $chosenMentor == "The Overseer">>
[[The Overseer|TheOverseer]]
<<elseif $chosenMentor == "Nagwalan">>
[[Nag Walan|Nagwalan]]
<<else>>
[[The Overseer|TheOverseer]] | [[Nag Walan|Nagwalan]]
<</if>>
</span></h2><h2>[[Waxna|Waxna]]</h2>
<a href="javascript:void(0);" class="return-button" onclick="SugarCube.State.backward()">Return</a>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Bilan (Nag Walan) </p><hr>
<div class="mentor-title">Mentor:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $nagwalanMentor%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$nagwalanMentor%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $nagwalanMentor == 0>>
<<if $Aloof >= $Charismatic and $Aloof >= $Callous and $Aloof >= $Empathetic>>
"I've seen rocks with more awareness than you. Are you even awake?"
<<elseif $Charismatic >= $Aloof and $Charismatic >= $Callous and $Charismatic >= $Empathetic>>
"All that charm, yet no substance. Even a rock would be more useful right now."
<<elseif $Callous >= $Aloof and $Callous >= $Charismatic and $Callous >= $Empathetic>>
"Your manners have all the charm of a rockslide. Honestly, even a rock has a better attitude than you right now."
<<elseif $Empathetic >= $Aloof and $Empathetic >= $Charismatic and $Empathetic >= $Callous>>
"Your kindness is endearing, but right now, even a rock would be more effective than your soft-hearted approach."
<<else>>
"A rock shows more aptitude than you at this stage."
<</if>>
<<elseif $nagwalanMentor <= 15>>
"Well, well...it seems you've progressed from a bumbling idiot to a mere fool over these past weeks. Take your progress serious, though any reasonable opponent would still scoff at your lacking skills."
<<elseif $nagwalanMentor <= 30>>
"There are moments where your simpleton's brain seems to retain the most basic of tactical and calligraphy concepts. Then you revert to your usual slack-jawed, toad-staring ways, aye but progress is progress."
<<elseif $nagwalanMentor <= 50>>
"I'll give you this much, your determination, while dull-witted, is admittedly...respectable. It's what separates the prospective opponents from the artifact cast-ruining washouts. Carry on, but know you're far from impressing the audience fully."
<<elseif $nagwalanMentor <= 70>>
"Hmm, perhaps I've sold your abilities short, kid. Your recent accomplishments have shown bits of...adequacy, I suppose. Not that you should grow a big head - you'd best maintain all that training if you hope to be halfway proficient some year."
<<elseif $nagwalanMentor <= 90>>
"Listen here, you insolent but semi-capable pup - your spellcasting has shown remarkable improvement of late. Loathe as I am to extend out compliments, you seem to have finally developed some mindful mastery. Don't ruin it with arrogance and complacency..." ''begrudging half-smile''
<<else>>
"I'll never admit it to your face, but in time you may actually become...a credit to your district. Your grit, intelligence, and incremental insights into the deepest mysteries...it defies expectation. Perhaps you've proved yourself worthy of my teachings after all...I'm proud of you."
<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Valket Leonhart (The Overseer)</p><hr>
<div class="mentor-title">Mentor:</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $theoverseerMentor%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$theoverseerMentor%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $theoverseerMentor == 0>>He sips his tea delicately before speaking, "I must confess, I've yet to make note of this...individual you refer to. So many fresh faces pass through our humble village, after all."
<<elseif $theoverseerMentor <= 15>>"Ah yes, I believe I'm familiar with the one you speak of. A earnest sort, to be sure, if still somewhat rough around the edges. $belong2 efforts targeting the training has been...admirable, if not particularly refined quite yet."
<<elseif $theoverseerMentor <= 30>>He carefully inscribes calligraphic strokes as he speaks, "You'll forgive me, but developments within our community must remain my foremost priority. However, I've certainly taken notice of the tireless endeavors as of late. A fledgling work ethic, however unpolished, is better than no ethic at all."
<<elseif $theoverseerMentor <= 50>>He warmly smiles, "I appreciate your interest in $lastname's standing. In truth, $gender has revealed an unexpected determination towards challenges. A few missteps along the way, but none that cannot be corrected with proper guidance."
<<elseif $theoverseerMentor <= 70>>"You know...the more I observe $refer, the more I'm reminded of the most enduring leaders our village has known. $refer methods may seem unorthodox from the outside. But the care $gender has shown, $refer willingness to immerse $themselves in even the most basic tasks with $belong team...it speaks to a noble work ethic."
<<elseif $theoverseerMentor <= 90>>"Make no mistake - $lastname has well and truly transcended my initial impressions. $belong sheer compassion is impressive and knowledgeability among $belong people. We would all do well to emulate $belong ceaseless diligence."
<<else>>"I shall speak plain - $name $lastname has more than proven $belong merit as a reprezentative of District 2. Indeed, if all opponents approached their challenges with such humble, tireless dedication, they would be a treasure among the finest kingdoms. We are fortunate to be represented by $lastname."<</if>>
</div>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">...who?</p><hr>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $waxnaMentor%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$waxnaMentor%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $waxnaMentor == 0>>"You can't remember any significant interaction with..."
<<elseif $waxnaMentor <= 15>>"You can't remember much about..., but you have a vague recollection of some brief encounters."
<<elseif $waxnaMentor <= 30>>"You can't remember exactly what you discussed with...her? but you recall some advice given during your last meeting. Faint words with a soft tone."
<<elseif $waxnaMentor <= 50>>"You can't remember all the details, but her guidance has started to leave a lasting impression on you."
<<elseif $waxnaMentor <= 70>>"You can't remember every word of Ophelia's wisdom, but her mentorship has become an integral part of your journey."
<<elseif $waxnaMentor <= 90>>"You can't remember a time without Ophelia's mentorship, her influence shaping your every decision and action."
<<else>>"You can't remember life without your mother, her guidance and support defining your very existence."<</if>>
</div>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:1056/1*pReE8yH1UiZsEl8YC0K5TQ.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://miro.medium.com/v2/resize:fit:1056/1*pReE8yH1UiZsEl8YC0K5TQ.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><h1>Mic check! This is production speaking!!</h1><hr>//this was absolutely unnecessary but here we are. Because I, the fair maiden that I am, realize what free will is with a coffee overdose at 3am //yes I am giggling right now :( //
The IF doesn't clarify for now but in this update the choice you make here matters!!! You //will// in fact be stuck with the mentor you pick from now. If I do implement the ability to switch in the future, the fact that you had the first mentor as your first ever guide will ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖''not'' ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ change. (yes with sprinkles on the not for childish emphasis.)
꒷꒦ - '' Cleaner building'' will trigger The Overseers route (check his [[character description|The Overseer]] for more info)
꒷꒦ - ''The run down building'' will trigger Nag Walan's route (check her [[character description|Nag Walan]] aswell to understand more about her)
⚠︎ Choose wisely!! It matters!!!
<hr>
[[Go into the cleaner building|Go into the cleaner building][$selectedMentor = "The Overseer"]]
[[Run into the rundown building|Run into the rundown shack][$selectedMentor = "Nag Walan"]]
<<set $waxnaMentor to 0>>
<<set $nagwalanMentor to 0>>
<<set $theoverseerMentor to 0>>"I don't know. Nothing? Everything?" He sighs, leaning on a desk next to yours, you silently watch him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his books and then to you.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.
There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course he stubbornly shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training or at least perfecting his calligraphy.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"Stop worrying about me, you're as good as dead meat from the way you're going on."
You scolded, watching him put his books away by tossing them in their spots with precision. Something The Overseer would be against, but you couldn't help but note that <u>he was pretty good with precision as a talent</u>.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"Spit it out already…" You urge softly, resting a hand over his as he stops working on the books. Glancing at anything but you. You didn't like seeing him like this.
"I don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the training so far.
"Don't be stupid, Of course you can. The way you're doing everything is what's making you anxious."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but the hard stuff like physical training and calligraphy, avoiding it like the plague" you try to explain, "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden shelf behind him.
<hr>
[["I guess you're right…"|Secrets from him]]"What did you do?!" he shrieks over his shoulder, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Why is the chicken so angry?!"
As you pass the spot where Dante had been standing, you can't help but shake your head. Leave it to Dante to turn a life-or-death chicken chase into a slapstick comedy routine.
The boy running beside you lets out a airy laugh. "Is he always this entertaining?" he asks, amusement clear in his voice.
You don't have the breath to answer, but you can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips.
<hr>
[[Next|near-misses.]]
The realization hits you like a bucket of ice water. Of all the houses in the village, you had to pick the one belonging to Nag Walan, the cantankerous old woman whose very name sends children scurrying for cover.
Dante freezes in place, his eyes wide with fear. The new boy's eyebrows shoot up in intrigued surprise. You, caught between terror and the absurdity of the situation, can only stare back at Nag Walan, words failing you completely.
As Nag Walan's eyes narrow dangerously, you realize that facing Aloeus might have been the safer option after all.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Carryon]] "Use the bathroom," she adds, pointing to her left before taking a long swig from a bottle you hadn't noticed before. Without another word, she stumbles off, leaving you all in stunned silence.
The strange boy watches her go, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Interesting lady," he murmurs, his tone a mixture of admiration and amusement.
Dante, still wide-eyed, hands over your clothing before stationing himself near the door where Nag Walan had entered. His posture is tense, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. It's a testament to his loyalty that he's stayed this long, given his well-known fear of the old woman.
As you stand there, clothes in hand, you're struck by the surreal nature of the situation. You've just broken into the most feared house in the village, faced down its notorious owner, and somehow ended up with permission to use her bathroom.
The strange boy catches your eye, you notice him sleepily walking towards you. He's casually munching on the food you gave him earlier, the bag crinkling softly in his hand. "I've gotta go," he says between bites, his voice a mix of contentment and drowsiness. For once he genuinely looks like a tired kid rather than a spontaneous individual.
<hr>
[["Keep safe!"]]
[[Nod|nod at Kaisen]]
[["Okay"]]"Bye!" you call out quickly, the word leaving your mouth before you can second-guess yourself.
He pauses, turning back with a smile that's both appreciative and slightly mischievous. "Don't miss me too much, $nickname," he says, his use of your nickname catching you off guard.
With that, he disappears through the doorway, leaving you to wonder about this unexpectedly memorable encounter.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now|Nagwalan clothing change]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 3, 0, 100)>>
You remain silent, watching as he ambles out the door, taking another drowsy bite of his food. His purple hair catches the light one last time before he disappears from view.
As the door swings shut behind him, you're left with a mix of emotions. Part of you wonders if you should have said goodbye, while another part feels that the silent parting somehow fits this enigmatic encounter.
Either way, you're left standing there, clothes in hand, pondering the strange boy who briefly entered your life and the impact of this unusual day.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now|Nagwalan clothing change]]<p style="font-size: 24px;">𖤓</p><h4>The Kabot Kingdom:</h4>
<div class="relationship-bar" id="TKK-bar">
<span style="width: 0%;" id="TKK-width"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text" id="TKK-text">0%</div>
</div><hr>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">𑁍</p><h4>The Vassal Novs (Sovereign Novs):</h4>
<div class="relationship-bar" id="TVN-bar">
<span style="width: 0%;" id="TVN-width"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text" id="TVN-text">0%</div>
</div><hr>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">☽</p><h4>Opératifs de l'Ombre:</h4>
<div class="relationship-bar" id="ODO-bar">
<span style="width: 0%;" id="ODO-width"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text" id="ODO-text">0%</div>
</div><hr>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">彡</p><h4>All-Districts:</h4>
<div class="relationship-bar" id="AD-bar">
<span style="width: 20%;" id="AD-width"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text" id="AD-text">20%</div>
</div>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/e02272c0e95ccf0a5242f7333641b60f/ba53c17f48cef312-8a/s500x750/4bb133ea27efda76b3b63748e9d23b8604097949.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/e02272c0e95ccf0a5242f7333641b60f/ba53c17f48cef312-8a/s500x750/4bb133ea27efda76b3b63748e9d23b8604097949.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><hr>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">''Calligraphy Arts''</p><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">''enchantment Type:'' Shadow Scribe</span><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">''Ability:'' Shadow Ink Manifestation</span><hr>
<strong>Description:</strong>
❝Shadow Scribe wields a unique form of ink magic, enabling the creation and animation of shadowy entities through a mystical scroll and shadow-infused ink.❞
''The primary manifestations of this power are:''<hr>
<h4>➥Dark Fox Phantom</h4><span style="display: block; text-align: left;"><ul><li><strong>Appearance:</strong> Palm-sized shadow foxes blending human and vulpine features.</li>
<li><strong>Manifestation:</strong> Emerge from the scroll as dark, wispy forms.</li>
<li><strong>Capabilities:</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>Attacks:</strong> Deliver slashing attacks.</li>
<li><strong>Disruption:</strong> Disturb an enemy's balance or concentration.</li>
<li><strong>Interference:</strong> Hinder opponents' spellcasting or enchantment processes.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><strong>Growth:</strong> Their size and effectiveness increase with the user's emotional connection and skill.</li>
</ul></span><hr>
<h4>➥ Faux Duppy Doppelganger</h4><span style="display: block; text-align: left;"><ul><li><strong>Creation:</strong> A purple, ink-like substance forms a shadow clone of the user.</li>
<li><strong>Characteristics:</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>Appearance:</strong> Damp, cold skin and clothing with a melancholic expression.</li>
<li><strong>Function:</strong> Follows one instruction at a time.</li>
<li><strong>Evaporation:</strong> Disperses into black steam upon task completion, obscuring opponents' vision.</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul></span><hr>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>➥ Limitations:</h1></span><span style="display: block; text-align: left;"><ul><li>Shadow creatures are fragile and disperse with significant damage.</li><li>Continuous concentration is required to create and maintain these beings.</li>
<li>The doppelganger can only follow simple, single instructions.</li>
<li>Overuse can lead to mental fatigue.</li>
</ul></span>
<hr>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>➥ Potential Growth:</h1></span><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">With practice, Shadow Scribe could potentially:
<ul><li>Create larger and more powerful shadow foxes.</li>
<li>Develop more autonomous doppelgangers.</li>
</ul></span>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/383581c936f773edbd7c97088e96ec9f/69e5caeeff69912f-a9/s623x200/cb0dd00982b74b40324dbb25a855a3a494b9821a.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/383581c936f773edbd7c97088e96ec9f/69e5caeeff69912f-a9/s623x200/cb0dd00982b74b40324dbb25a855a3a494b9821a.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://libertyinfinity.com/wp-content/uploads//2015/07/tumblr_nq9r5hqdGf1ruv1gno1_500.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://libertyinfinity.com/wp-content/uploads//2015/07/tumblr_nq9r5hqdGf1ruv1gno1_500.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><hr>
<h2>Physical Prowess and Combat Skills</h2><hr>
$name $lastname, as a developing warrior, is in the process of honing $refer physical abilities and combat techniques. $Refer training encompasses various aspects of martial prowess:<hr>
<h3>1. Weaponry:</h3>You are learning to use a variety of weapons. This includes both melee and ranged weapons, though no specific type is favored yet. Your training involves understanding the basics of weapon handling, maintenance, and the advantages and limitations of different weapon types in various combat situations.<hr>
<h3>2. Attack Techniques:</h3>//You are developing a repertoire of offensive moves. This includes://
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
- ''Basic striking techniques'' (punches, kicks, elbow strikes, knee strikes)</span>&
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">- ''Weapon-based attacks'' (appropriate to the weapon in use.)
</span><hr>
<h3>3. Dodging and Defense:</h3>//Equally important to offensive skills, you are working on your defensive capabilities://
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
- ''Evasive maneuvers'' to avoid incoming attacks
- ''Blocking techniques'' for both unarmed and armed combat
- ''Footwork and positioning'' to maintain advantageous stances
- ''Reading opponents' movements'' to anticipate attacks
</span><hr>
<h3>4. Physical Conditioning:</h3>//To support your combat skills, you engage in general physical training://
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
-''Building strength and endurance''
-''Improving flexibility and agility''
- ''Enhancing reflexes and reaction time''
</span><hr>
<h3>5. Tactical Awareness:</h3>//Beyond just physical skills, you are developing your combat mindset://
<span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
-''Analyzing opponents and environments quickly''
-''Making strategic decisions in the heat of battle''
- ''Adapting to changing combat situations''
</span><h4>Health:</h4>
<div class="health-title">Your current health status</div>
<div class="relationship-bar">
<span style="width: $health%;"></span>
<div class="relationship-bar-text">$health%</div>
</div>
<div class="comment-text">
<<if $health == 0>>"You're out of luck. That's it, game over."
<<elseif $health <= 10>>"You're barely hanging on. A gust of wind could take you out!"
<<elseif $health <= 25>>"It's not looking good. You’re seriously wounded."
<<elseif $health <= 50>>"You’ve taken quite a beating, but you’re still in the game."
<<elseif $health <= 75>>"Not too bad, but you should probably be more careful."
<<elseif $health <= 90>>"You're doing pretty well! Just a few scrapes and bruises."
<<else>>"You're in top shape, ready to take on anything!"<</if>>
</div>
Deciding to offer Dante some comfort, you move to sit beside him. As you settle in, you notice Dante's shoulders relax slightly, and his eyes meet yours with a silent but palpable gratitude.
Nag Walan observes this interaction, her expression neutral yet somehow more intimidating for its lack of reaction. She pauses her sharpening, her gaze flickering between you and Dante.
Breaking the tense silence, she speaks. "I hear you're heading to town."
Dante must have mentioned your plans.
"Yes, for the tournament," you reply, leaving unspoken that it's your first time attending.
<hr>
[[You couldn't hold back a grin at the thought|Hell yeahh]]<<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 + 5, 0, 100)>>
[[You simply shrug, keeping the Tournament in mind.|No thanks]]With surprising agility for her 75 years, Nag Walan rose to her feet. The sudden movement made you step back instinctively. Her gnarled hand gripped her staff tightly, the wood creaking under the pressure.
"Death line," she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "The Kabot term for some shit that helps the kingdom look clean for a person's death so long as it goes with their rules." Her knuckles whitened around the staff. "They call it 'the Freedom Zone', bunch of fucking cowards..." The last words came out as a guttural growl.
Dante's voice broke the tension, curiosity overriding his usual caution. "And what exactly are these rules?" You noticed him shoot you a look, eyebrows raised at Nag Walan's coarse language.
The old woman's eyes flashed dangerously as she stabbed the sharp end of her staff into the ground. The thud echoed ominously in the room. "There are stages in the tournament. The first being outdoors to kill off the weak links," she paused, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, "Both literal and figurative..."
As she continued her explanation, her words painted a grim picture. The Freedom Zone, a place where death lurked around every corner, sanctioned by the very kingdom that should protect its people. Her disgust was palpable, hanging heavy in the air as she tossed aside the sharpened stick and reached for a blunt one.
"That's... I didn't know about that." The words tumbled from your lips, barely audible. A glance at Dante confirmed he was equally stunned, his usual confident demeanor shaken.
You'd viewed the tournament from a child like gleam along with Dante until this moment, it was real now. Too real.
<hr>
[[More than you expect|death line extended]]
Nag Walan's eyes softened slightly as she looked at you, a flicker of concern breaking through her hardened exterior. You wonder if she let you both know before you discovered this yourselves at the tournament later on today. Disturbing enough to see for the first time unprepared. Unsupervised.
"Of course. All those people sending in loved ones. Nieces, grandsons, fathers. They're being fooled. Oblivious." She clicked her tongue, the sound sharp with disapproval.
Her final words hung in the air, laden with warning and a hint of protective instinct. "I hope you're not interested in participating in the future. And if you are, Be ready boy." she spoke to Dante before turning to you "Be careful out there, $nick."
The weight of her revelation settled over the room like a heavy blanket, leaving you and Dante to grapple with this newfound, disturbing knowledge about the tournament that had always seemed so alluring from afar.
<hr>
[[NEXT|Finally in town]]
There, on the upper level, seated cross-legged near a crackling fireplace, is the Overseer himself. A delicate teacup is poised in his hand, frozen halfway to his lips as he regards your impromptu intrusion with a mix of confusion and amusement.
The Overseer's presence is commanding even in his casual posture. His attire, finer than anything seen in the village markets, speaks of his status. Yet, there's a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes as he takes in the scene before him – three disheveled children sprawled across his immaculate porch, panting and grinning like they've won a great victory.
A moment of silence stretches between you, broken only by the soft clink as the Overseer sets his teacup down. He leans forward slightly, his weathered face creasing into a wry smile.
"Well now," his voice carries easily down to you, rich with authority yet tinged with unexpected warmth as he gets up, leaning on the railing of his balcony. "It's not every day I find myself hosting such... enthusiastic guests. Might I ask as to what brings you young ones barreling into my humble home?"
You exchange quick glances with Dante and the new boy, a mixture of embarrassment and barely contained laughter bubbling up. The absurdity of the situation hits you all at once – you've just invaded the most important property in the village, all to escape a frustrated farmhand.
As you struggle to find words to explain your predicament, you can't help but notice the twinkle in the Overseer's eye. It seems that even the village's highest authority isn't immune to the occasional bout of youthful mischief.
A couple of kids running into your place and collapsing on your porch…this must've looked strange.
<hr>
[[Continue|A couple of kids running into your place and collapsing on your porch…this must've looked strange.]]<<set $chosenMentor to "TheOverseer">>
"Bye!" you call out quickly, the word leaving your mouth before you can second-guess yourself.
He pauses, turning back with a smile that's both appreciative and slightly mischievous. "Don't miss me too much, $nickname," he says, his use of your nickname catching you off guard.
With that, he disappears through the doorway, leaving you to wonder about this unexpectedly memorable encounter.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 3, 0, 100)>>
You remain silent, watching as he ambles out the door, taking another drowsy bite of his food. His purple hair catches the light one last time before he disappears from view.
As the door swings shut behind him, you're left with a mix of emotions. Part of you wonders if you should have said goodbye, while another part feels that the silent parting somehow fits this enigmatic encounter.
Either way, you're left standing there, clothes in hand, pondering the strange boy who briefly entered your life and the impact of this unusual day.
<hr>
[[You should probably change now]]
The Overseer's gaze moves between you and Dante, his gaze softens slightly as he looks at you both. "I tell you this not to frighten you and dissuade you from the tournament, but to ensure you understand the full picture. The glamour and excitement you see? It often hides a much darker reality."
As his words hang in the air, the room falls into a heavy silence. The tournament, which had seemed so alluring moments ago, now takes on a far more sinister aspect in light of this new information.
The Overseer watches your reactions carefully, his composure unwavering, before a small sympathetic smile breaks his face. "Now that you're privy to this information, I'm curious to hear your thoughts on the tournament. Has this altered your perspective?"
<hr>
[[Thoughts, thoughts.|Finally in town]]
Dante's expression shifted as he noticed your distress. "Hey, $nickname," he said gently, stepping closer. "Are you okay? You seem a bit off."
You hesitated, unsure how to articulate the swirl of emotions. "It's just... a lot," you finally managed to say. "Everything's so different here. I don't know what to do or how things work."
Dante's eyes softened with understanding. "I get it. It's a big change, and it's okay to feel that way. But remember, you're not alone. I'm here with you."
His words brought a small measure of comfort, but the anxiety still gnawed at you. "What if I mess up? What if I can't figure things out?"
Dante placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You don't have to figure everything out right away. It's about taking it one step at a time. And if you ever feel lost, just look for me. We'll navigate this together."
You looked into his eyes, finding a steady reassurance there. The knot in your stomach began to loosen, replaced by a growing sense of calm. "Thanks, Dante. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He grinned, his usual light-heartedness returning. "Well, luckily for you, you'll never have to find out. Now, let's take this one step at a time, okay?"
As you nodded, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Dante's support and friendship were anchors in this sea of uncertainty. With him by your side, the daunting town felt a little less intimidating. You knew there would still be challenges, but for now, you were ready to face them.
<hr>
[[NEXT|See The Family]]
<p style="font-size: 30px;">Terms to Note</p><hr><h2>Currencies</h2><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">''Kabonia'' - The Kabot Kingdom, D: 2, 3, 4, 5.
''Navs'' - The Vassal Novs.
''Nairo'' - D:1 Nordia. </span>
<hr>
<h2>demonyms</h2><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
''Kabonians'': People of The Kabot Kingdom
''Vassals'': People of The Vassal Novs Kingdom
''Nexians'': People of The Main Nexus
''Sylvalians'': People of Silversval
''Vaygas'': People of Vaygas
''Arcanites'': People of Emperor's Arcanum
''Forgic'': People of Greenforge
''Nordians'': People of Nordia</span>
<hr>
<h2>Roles</h2><span style="display: block; text-align: left;">
''Aegis Command'' - an elite faction sworn to the Kabot Kingdom, known for guiding the kingdom’s military operations as much as its law and order.</span>
<h2>Kingdoms & District Names</h2>
''The Kabot Kingdom'' - is a naturally welcoming kingdom, known for its formidable force in the continent of Kabot. Renowned for its strategic acumen and powerful military presence, it stands at the pinnacle of political and military power, embodying stability and authority. The kingdom's history is marked by its prowess in warfare and governance, shaping regional politics and alliances through decisive actions. While they uphold a structured society valuing hierarchy, loyalty, and honesty, they maintain a balance that fosters respect rather than fear. Their opulent attire, adorned with gold and jewelry, reflects their cultural influence, widely esteemed across most districts.
''The Vassal Novs (Sovereign Novs)'' - Once a proud and independent kingdom, previously known as The Sovereign Novs before their demise and loss in war, now serve as the second command within The Kabot Kingdom in court terms. Some inhabitants, rejecting the derogatory label "Vassal Novs," prefer the term "Sovereign Novs" as they strive to reclaim their autonomy and pride. They navigate their identity with resilience and pride despite their subordinate status, striving to reclaim lost honor.
''The Main Nexus'' - serves as the bustling heart of our game world, where commerce, culture, and diplomacy converge amidst a vibrant tapestry of people and ideas. This central hub is a melting pot of diversity, drawing inhabitants from all districts and kingdoms to trade goods, share knowledge, and forge alliances. The Main Nexus pulsates with life, its streets lined with markets, guild halls, and diplomatic enclaves, reflecting the dynamic interactions that define our realm's geopolitical landscape.
''Vaygas (District Three)'' - characterized by its rugged landscape and turbulent history, stands as a testament to both resilience and adversity. Known for its barbaric tendencies and sporadic lawlessness, Vaygas often finds itself at odds with neighboring districts and kingdoms. Despite its challenges, it boasts a resourceful populace that navigates its harsh environment with tenacity, engaging in activities like robbing travelers to sustain its economy and independence.
''Silversvale (District Five)'' - captivates with its picturesque architecture reminiscent of sandy splendor, set against the backdrop of a humble yet culturally rich community. Known for its mastery of pumpkin bread and pastry craft, Silversvale exudes a charm that attracts visitors seeking both culinary delights and the warmth of its people. This district thrives on its artisanal traditions and close-knit community bonds, offering a tranquil haven amidst the bustling complexities.
''Greenforge (District Four)'' - emerges from the verdant embrace of its forested surroundings, where the rhythmic clang of metalworking and the intricate craftsmanship of woodworking resonate. This industrious district embodies a spirit of diligence and craftsmanship, its economy rooted in the sustainable use of natural resources. Greenforge's inhabitants are revered for their skillful hands and practical knowledge, contributing to the district's reputation as a bastion of industry and tradition amidst the tranquil beauty of its woodland home.
''Emperor's Arcanum (District Two)'' - stands as a bastion of scholarly pursuit and cultural refinement, inspired by the architectural grandeur of ancient eastern empires. Here, scribes diligently record the secrets of skills and powers, their writings preserved as treasured knowledge within the district's libraries and academies. Emperor's Arcanum is revered for its contributions to the Kabot's intellectual and mystical pursuits, nurturing a legacy of wisdom and innovation that shapes the understanding of arcane arts and scholarly disciplines across the continent.
''Nordia (District One)'' - represents a diverse array of cultures and communities, self-governing and distinct in their snowy northern homeland. Governed by a single Chief, leadership passes through battle victories that determine the next Chief. Integral to their cultural identity is the solemn duty of protecting ancient artifacts that enhance Arcana energy, a responsibility they uphold with steadfast dedication to their heritage and independence as the sole autonomous district.
<hr>
<p style="font-size: 13px;">⚠︎ //Feel free to let me know if I missed any terms on my Tumblr!!// </p>As you and Dante approach the grand entrance of the colosseum building, the excitement in the air is palpable. The queue moves steadily, and soon you find yourselves at the security checkpoint.
The receptionist, a stern-faced woman with sharp eyes, looks you both up and down skeptically. "Tickets, please," she says, her tone clipped and professional.
Dante, still buzzing with enthusiasm, reaches into his pocket confidently... only for his face to suddenly fall. "Oh no," he mutters, patting his pockets frantically. "No, no, no..."
The receptionist's eyebrow arches higher. "Is there a problem?" she asks, her voice tinged with suspicion.
Dante stammers as he continues to search, his movements becoming more frantic. "I-I swear I had them! We bought tickets, I promise! I just... I don't know where I put them!"
As Dante's babbling increases in volume and desperation, the receptionist's expression hardens. "Listen, young man," she begins, her tone suggesting she's dealt with this before, "if you don't have tickets, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside. We can't have ruffians trying to sneak in."
<hr>
[[Look for the ticket alone]]
[[Look for it together]]
You remain silent throughout this exchange, your eyes scanning Dante methodically. As his protests grow more insistent, your gaze falls on his feet. With a small sigh, you kneel down and reach for his carvelas - a type of shoe popular and worn in The Kabot kingdom.
Sure enough, as you slip your hand inside, your fingers brush against the crisp edge of paper. You pull out two slightly crumpled, but very much valid, tickets.
Dante's stream of explanations cuts off abruptly as he stares at the tickets in your hand, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "They were... in my shoes? How did they... when did I...?"
Dante's face winces with embarrassment, but there's no surprise in his expression. Instead, he lets out a sheepish "Ohhh" as if suddenly remembering an old habit.
The receptionist raises an eyebrow. "Your shoes?"
Dante shrugs, a bit of his usual cheerfulness returning. "I put coins in there all the time. Must've tossed the tickets in without thinking."
You hand over the tickets to be validated, and the receptionist shakes her head, a hint of amusement breaking through her stern demeanor. "Well, at least you found them. Enjoy the tournament, and maybe consider a wallet next time."
Dante's face is a mix of relief and embarrassment. He shoots you a grateful look, mouthing a silent 'thank you' as you both proceed into the colosseum, leaving behind a bemused receptionist and a queue of onlookers who had been watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.
<hr>
[[The show goes on]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>>
You place a calming hand on Dante's arm, stopping his frantic search. "Dante," you say quietly, "let's check thoroughly. Together."
He nods, taking a deep breath to compose himself. You start methodically checking his pockets, while Dante pats down his jacket. The receptionist watches with a mixture of skepticism and growing curiosity.
As you crouch down to check his lower pockets, a thought strikes you. "Dante," you say, looking up at him, "what about your shoes?"
His eyes widen in realization. "Oh! Right!"
You reach for his carvelas, slipping your hand inside. Sure enough, your fingers brush against paper, and you pull out two slightly crumpled tickets.
Dante's cheeks flushes dark red with embarrassment, but there's no surprise in his expression. Instead, he lets out a sheepish "Ohhh" as if suddenly remembering an old habit.
The receptionist raises an eyebrow. "Your shoes?"
Dante shrugs, a bit of his usual cheerfulness returning. "I put coins in there all the time. Must've tossed the tickets in without thinking."
You hand over the tickets to be validated, and the receptionist shakes her head, a hint of amusement breaking through her stern demeanor. "Well, at least you found them. Enjoy the tournament, and maybe consider a wallet next time."
As you both move past the checkpoint, Dante gives you a grateful smile. "Thanks for keeping a cool head," he whispers, still a bit red-faced but relieved. "I owe you one."
You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you both enter the colosseum, leaving behind a bemused receptionist and a queue of onlookers who had been watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of amusement.
<hr>
[[The show goes on]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>
As you step into the colosseum, you're immediately enveloped by the grandeur of the ancient structure. Massive stone hallways stretch out before you, their walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting past tournaments and legendary champions. Arched doorways lead off in various directions, each promising new discoveries and potential adventures.
Despite the map handed to you at the entrance, navigating the labyrinthine interior proves to be a challenge. Dante unfolds the parchment, squinting at the crisscrossing lines and cryptic symbols.
"I swear these maps are written by the court jester," Dante grumbles, turning the map this way and that. His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to make sense of the directions. After a moment, he points decisively to a corridor on your right. "Let's take this one; it looks promising."
With Dante leading the way, you venture down the chosen path. The stone walls seem to close in around you, the torchlight casting dancing shadows that make the passageway feel alive. The sounds of the crowd grow fainter as you delve deeper into the bowels of the colosseum.
Suddenly, the narrow corridor opens up into a large, well-lit area. But something feels off. Instead of spectator stands or concession areas, you see racks of weapons lining the walls. Ornate armor stands occupy corners, and a large strategy table dominates the center of the room.
Your eyes meet Dante's, and you both realize at the same moment: you've stumbled into a restricted area, clearly meant for contenders and staff preparing for the tournament.
<hr>
[[Continue|line]] <<if !$wrongWayAchieved>>
<<set $wrongWayAchieved = true>>
<<run unlockAchievement("Wrong Way!")>>
<</if>>
After a quick smile and nod to you both, the man introduced himself. "Elijah. I'm a contestant like the rest, as I'm sure you can tell. Nice to meet you." His voice was warm and friendly, with a hint of excitement underlying his words.
"I'm $name, and this is Dante," you added, gesturing to your friend. Elijah acknowledged you both with a nod, his eyes sparkling with interest.
Elijah was about to speak when Rebel suddenly appeared beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulder with a dramatic flourish. "This here isn't //''just''// Elijah," Rebel announced, his voice carrying a mix of pride and playful teasing. "He's the winner of the previous Tournament selection. Went all the way to the semi-finals!"
Elijah's smile reaches his eyes as he began fidgeting slightly, shaking his head, a modest smile playing on his lips. "It wasn't that big of a deal," he murmured, but the glint of pride in his eyes betrayed his words.
"Yup," Tanisha chimed in, her gaze still fixed on the mirror as she adjusted a stray lock of hair. "Pretty much a big deal." Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice.
A deeper voice boomed from across the room, accompanied by a hearty chuckle. "Got us all fucking quacking in our boots or some of that shit-"
"It's //quaking//, fucking dumbass!" someone called out, triggering a wave of laughter that rippled through the group. The camaraderie among this specific group was palpable, filling the air with a sense of warmth and friendly competition.
Elijah's eyes widened comically as he turned to face the group. "Hey now! Don't swear in front of the kids!" he scolded, his voice filled with mock outrage. The man who had spoken earlier raised both hands in surrender, a sheepish grin on his face as he offered an exaggerated apology.
You take a peek at your locket, suddenly aware of the time. The futility in the act is quite apparent immediately as you remember this thing doesn't even tell the time correctly, no matter how many times you tried to fix it up yourself.
You resort to glancing at the clock on the wall. The tournament introduction was set to begin in just ten minutes. "Where is the guest seating section?" you asked, a hint of urgency creeping into your voice.
Elijah's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Oh, right. You should take a sharp turn to your right, head straight down, past Kerb's locker, and out through the second door-"
"They won't remember all that!" Tanisha interrupted, her tone exasperated but fond. She snapped her locker shut and turned to face your group, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Don't scramble the poor $nick's brain."
Elijah let out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right, my bad. How about this?" He turned to you and Dante, his expression brightening. "I'll take you two there if you don't mind? It's on my way to the contestant's area anyway."
<hr>
[[Follow your new guide]]
Elijah's warm smile never faltered as he continues to guide you and Dante through the winding corridors of the tournament venue. The bustling energy of the place was palpable, with competitors and staff rushing about, what you perceive as their excitement infectious.
As you walked, Elijah shared stories from his previous tournament experiences, his eyes lighting up with each memory. "You know," he chuckled, "during my first match last year, I was so nervous I nearly tripped over my own feet entering the arena. The crowd thought it was part of my entrance routine and cheered even louder!"
Dante, hanging onto every word, couldn't contain his curiosity. "You must have nerves of steel by now. Any advice for us first-timer fans?"
Elijah's gaze softened as he looked at you both. "Just soak it all in and cheer loudly. It makes a difference, you know? The energy from the crowd... it's like nothing else."
As you continued through the venue, your guide pointed out different areas. "That's the training rooms," he gestured to a set of heavy doors, "and over there is the contenders' lounge. It's where we gather before and after matches."
He went on to talk about the upcoming matches and the contenders to watch. "There's a new competitor from District 1 who's got everyone talking. They say her reflexes are unmatched." He mentions, nodding as he goes on to compliment more contenders. Mentioning their pros more than cons.
Throughout the conversation, you couldn't help but notice Elijah's humility. Despite his achievements, he spoke with a modest tone that seemed at odds with his status as a returning champion.
<hr>
[[NEXT|ELIJAH NOOO!!]] "I've been personally scouted to represent The Vassal Kingdom," he mentioned, almost as an afterthought. "I'm from District 4, Greenforge. We're known for our craftsmanship and practical skills."
Dante's eyes widened. "Greenforge? That's amazing! I've read so much about the customs there!"
Elijah nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "It's a beautiful place. The woodlands there... there's nothing quite like it."
As you neared the spectator area, Elijah's tone became more subdued. "To be honest, I think the only reason I was scouted was because of my spear-snake artifact. Without it, I'd be nothing special."
You and Dante exchanged glances, both taken aback by this admission. "That's not true!" Dante blurted out, his voice cracking with emotion. "You came in second place last year! I've followed every tournament, and you were amazing!"
You aren't surprised by his knowledge on tournament rankings in general as you've witnessed him go into a Kabot Tournament fever this past year, spitting out random statistics and facts to you while you just a led about next to him. That was probably why he was practically squealing when he first saw Elijah.
You nodded in agreement to Dante's claim, adding, "An artifact is just an enhancement tool. It takes skill to use it effectively."
Elijah seemed slightly touched by your words, a faint smile playing on his lips. "That's kind of you to say," he murmured, but something in his eyes suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.
As you reached the spectator seating area, Elijah's demeanor brightened again. "Well, here we are! You've got great seats - you'll be able to see everything from here."
He helped you and Dante get settled, then glanced at a nearby clock. "I should head to the contestants' area now. It was great meeting you both. Enjoy the tournament!"
As Elijah turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of something in his expression - a fleeting shadow that passed over his features. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual warm smile, but it left you wondering. What thoughts were going through his mind?
You watched him disappear into the crowd, realizing that despite his openness, there was so much more to Elijah that you'd never know. The complexities of his journey, his doubts, his motivations - they were a book you'd only glimpsed the cover of.
As the excitement of the impending tournament washed over you, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation for the matches ahead and curiosity about your Greenforge guide aswell.
<hr>
[[Continue|And off you went]] <h1>Your Achievements!!</h1>
//Most of these are for jokes so pardon lil ol' me.//<hr><ul> <<for _achievement range window.allAchievements>> <<if window.isAchievementUnlocked(_achievement.id)>> <li><strong><<print _achievement.name>></strong>: <<print _achievement.description>></li> <<elseif _achievement.name.includes("Zephyr's Side Eye") || _achievement.name === "Stranger Kingdoms" || _achievement.name === "You Can't Sit With Us">> <li><em>???</em>: ???</li>
<<else>>
<li><em><<print _achievement.name>></em>: ???</li>
<</if>>
<</for>>
</ul>Your eyes roam the arena, drinking in every detail. The seats are a sea of red and black, rich fabrics that speak of luxury and tradition. The walls are draped in deep maroon, creating an atmosphere of regal intensity. The arena floor itself is a light shade of grey, a neutral canvas ready to be painted with the vibrant action of the tournament.
"They're about to speak," Dante whispers, his voice tinged with anticipation.
As if on cue, you hear the MC clearing his throat, his voice magically amplified to fill every corner of the vast space.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and enbies. Welcome to this year's Kabot Tournament!"
A thunderous wave of applause crashes through the arena, punctuated by excited murmurs and cheers. The atmosphere crackles with energy as the contestants begin to file in. Your eyes are drawn to Tanisha, her confidence radiating as she blows kisses and waves to the crowd. Then you spot Elijah, his humble demeanor a stark contrast to some of his more flamboyant peers.
As the contestants take their places, each standing tall with a mix of determination and nervous energy, you find yourself imagining what it would be like to be among them.
In your mind's eye, you see yourself on that arena floor, bathed in the pale, ethereal light that seems to make your skin glow. You're wearing the traditional contestant's garb – a fitted tunic in your district's colors, embroidered with intricate patterns that speak of your home and your journey. A light armor piece covers your chest, more ceremonial than functional, gleaming under the lights.
Your eyes scan the crowd, picking out familiar faces among the sea of strangers. There's a mix of emotions swirling in your chest – nervousness that makes your heart race, excitement that sends a tingle down your spine, and a fierce determination that burns in your core. You feel the weight of expectations – your own, your family's, your district's – but also a sense of possibility. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself on one of the grandest stages in the kingdom.
The roar of the crowd washes over you, a tide of sound that both energizes and humbles you. You stand straighter, chin lifted, ready to face whatever challenges the tournament might throw your way.
As your imagination fades and you return to the present, the MC's voice cuts through your reverie.
"And with that," he begins, his own excitement palpable in every word, building the crowd's anticipation to a fever pitch. The tournament is about to begin, and whether as a spectator or in your dreams as a contestant, you're ready for the adventure that awaits.
<hr>
<span style='font-family:serif'><h3>[["Let the Tournament Begin!"|End chapter 1]]</h3></span>The tall man had ghoulishly wide eyes, stretched open to its limit. He would eerily peer down at the frightened boy from the corner of his eyes, red angry lines decorating his scleras.
The boy knew.
"W-what i.."
The boy knew well enough.
"...$gender said $gender would go…"
The boy knew well enough he wasn't leaving this room in one
//''"What I'm hearing is, you let LITTLE <<print $lastname.toUpperCase()>> go see the tournament?"''//
The boy couldn't speak, lost for words and mouth was far beyond just dry. The boy knew what was next.
The tall man finally turned around, eyes already having been set on the boy and flicking down once at the time. His hands were balled in fists, one holding a locket- maid of fine gold, the boy could tell that much.
<hr>
'' [[something shattered|''drop'']] ''
And did he enjoy it? could never tell, his face would always be the same. His eyes were stiff, devoid of emotion. To the boy, the tall man seemed like he was stripped of his humanity. Not moving for hours on end, maybe not breathing.
And when he spoke, he was heard. He had to be heard. Could you bring yourself to ask him to repeat himself? The brain barely comprehended that question, the only goal being to hear the tall man speak, listen to the tall man, answer the tall man, ''don't upset the man.''
//'''"What did you say?"'''//
<hr>
[[And he was upset today.]]
Something fell off the table right behind the boy, the tall man's Terrarium broke. He didn't realize he had been walking backwards, didn't realize he dropped something that belonged to The Tall Man.
The Tall Man didn't show any reaction to the boy's visible distress. The tall man didn't care.
The Tall Man just wanted one answer to one question.
//''"What I'm hearing is, YOU LET LITTLE <<print $lastname.toUpperCase()>> go SEE the tournament?"''//
The Tall Man was angry, The Tall Man was cracking louder, voice raising, walls trembling. This was what had the boy afraid for his life.
He had messed up. He couldn't hold back the passion that idiot had for his new friend $lastname.
<hr>
''[["I'm s-sorry.."]]''
<h1>Warnings</h1>
<hr>
''Violence'': Includes physical altercations and confrontations.
''Possessiveness'': Not directed at player.
''Amnesia and Identity Crisis'': Themes of memory loss and the protagonist’s struggle to remember their past.
''Psychological Manipulation'': ???
''robbery/break in'': Brief bandit break in scene.
<hr>
[[Chapter 3|CH 3]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Lick your scars and walk it off</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>03:47pm</h2></span>
You stand, speechless, your mind still reeling from the encounter with <<if $lashOutCount >= 1>> the woman, the carriage incident, your lashing out of control mid-fight. <<else>>the woman, the carriage incident. <</if>>
The sharp, suffocating fear lingers in your chest, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. For a moment, it feels like time has stopped—frozen, just like you were—but then reality crashes back in.
Dante. Fai.
Your heart skips a beat as you remember that they’re hurt, beaten down and exhausted from the fight. The wave of dread is quickly replaced with a surge of urgency, and you snap back to yourself.
“Dante!” Kaitlin calls out, her voice shaky but full of concern. You can hear the panic in her words, and it spurs you into action.
Together, you and Kaitlin rush toward them. Dante is still standing, but just barely. His whip hangs limply by his side, and his usual confident smirk is gone, replaced with a tired, strained expression. He tries to straighten up as you approach, but the wince that flashes across his face betrays just how much pain he’s in.
“Hey,” Dante says, his voice raspy, a weak attempt at his usual light-hearted tone. “Look who finally decided to show up… Thought I’d have to take on the whole tournament without you.” He chuckles, but it’s strained, forced. He’s clearly not in the mood for jokes, despite trying to keep up appearances.
Kaitlin crouches beside him, her eyes scanning his injuries. “Dante… you’re hurt.” Her voice is soft, worried.
Dante waves a hand dismissively, but you can see how it trembles. “I’m fine. Just… needed a nap.”
You turn your attention to Fai, who’s still on the ground, clutching the flag with both hands as if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored. His clothes are torn, and his face is bruised, but what catches your attention is the look in his eyes—shaken, scared, but still determined. He looks up at you, his eyes wide, and then, slowly, he extends his hands, offering you the last flag.
<hr>
[[Thank him and help him up]]
[[Thank him and help him up♡]]
[[Say nothing and help him up]] ''<span style='font-family:times'><h1>''Chapter 2 Disclaimer''</h1></span>''
<hr>
<<timed 1s>>I - Violence: Pre tournament Trials begin.<<next>>
<<next>>II - paralysis: very descriptive scene of being paralized (not while sleeping.)
<<next>>III - Reminder: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual happenings is purely coincidental.
<<next>>IV - enjoy!
''<<next>><span style='font-family:times'><h2>''[[Continue|Chapter 2, Scene One]]''</h2></span><</timed>> <hr>
<<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 100, 0, 100)>>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTetrO8iV_8NPpDJOqXpjbT-jmtYHLpyc8r5g&usqp=CAU" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTy2kxXQfms-sNY2Zt2i-azodQkPUG3fXlxmVeK9IKRC8egxoDx1KqcZHxW&s=10" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div> ✘ As you prepare to delve deeper into the mysteries that lie ahead, a choice stands before you. The path is fraught with challenges and unexpected twists.
//Do you wish to review a list of important disclaimers and warnings before proceeding?//
<hr>
[[✘ Yes, show me the disclaimers.|Chapter 3 triggers]]
[[✘ No, I'm ready to begin the adventure.|CH 3]] <p style="font-size: 24px;">Noirwear</p>
''Pros:''
1. Resilient: NPCs might view you as strong and resilient, earning their respect and admiration in challenging situations.
2. Mystique: Your association with the Opératifs de l'Ombre can add an air of mystery, making you intriguing to some NPCs.
''Cons:''
1. Feared: Some NPCs might fear or distrust you due to the association with the morally ambiguous Opératifs de l'Ombre.
2. Aloof: You may come across as aloof or uncharismatic, making it harder to form close or friendly relationships.
<hr>
[[Official Noir Wear]] I understand now. I'll revise the scene to include some light teasing from the Overseer, reflecting a comfortable mentor-student relationship, without giving the main character any dialogue. Here's the updated version:
The Overseer approaches you, his expression a mix of encouragement and amusement. He gestures towards three canvases arranged before you.
"Well now, young artist," he begins, a hint of playful challenge in his voice, "let's see if your brush can keep up with that quick mind of yours." His eyes sparkle with mirth as he continues, "These canvases represent different aspects of combat. Each one's itching for your unique touch."
With practiced efficiency, he takes up a brush and moves to the first canvas. His strokes are precise as he paints "The Dragon" above the calligraphy.
"Strength and power," he states, then adds with a wry smile, "though I doubt even a dragon could match your stubbornness."
Moving to the next, he labels it "The Fox," he labels, the brush dancing across the surface. "Cunning beyond measure."
Finally, he reaches the third canvas. "The Phoenix," he he muses, completing the trio. "Rebirth and magic intertwined."
The Overseer steps back, allowing you to view all three labeled works. Each name complements its respective imagery, providing context to the vivid depictions below.
He then moves a few feet away to speak with Dante. Their conversation is just out of earshot, giving you space to consider each canvas without interruption.
You look at the three canvases, each one distinct in its symbolism:
The first canvas depicts a fierce dragon, its scales shimmering with an illusion of movement.
The second shows a cunning fox, its eyes gleaming with mischief and intelligence.
The third presents a mystical phoenix, its fiery feathers radiating a sense of power and rebirth.
After a short while, the Overseer returns, his expression now curious. "So, which masterpiece will you grace with your artistic prowess today?" he asks, his tone warm but still carrying that hint of challenge. "Each offers valuable lessons, and this exercise will help refine your skills in that area. However, remember that this is just one of many training opportunities you'll have."
He waits with an expectant smile, most likely mentally readying for a lesson based on your selection.
<hr>
[[A fierce dragon symbolizes strength and physical attack.]]
[[A cunning fox symbolizes distraction and invokement.]]
[[A mystical phoenix symbolizes magical prowess and invoked attacks.]] <<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor + 20, 0, 100)>>You point to paint the dragon, its powerful form catching your eye. The Overseer nods approvingly, turning to order his table and pour a cup of hibiscus tea. "Excellent choice. The dragon represents strength and physical prowess."
Your eyes narrowed in concentration as you leaned over the parchment before you. The brush felt like an extension of your hand as you carefully formed each stroke, your movements deliberate and measured. The overseer's presence, unobtrusive, surprisingly added a layer of focus and confidence.
A few feet away, Dante was engrossed in his own studies. His fingers trailed along the spines of leather-bound tomes, occasionally pulling one out to flip through its pages. You knew he was searching for information on strategy and precision techniques for whips - the artifact he had discovered years ago. The soft rustle of turning pages provided a soothing backdrop to your work.
As you reached a particularly intricate part of the calligraphy, you shifted in your seat to get a better angle. Suddenly, an electrical jolt of discomfort shot up your elbow as it collided with the edge of the arm chair. The unexpected impact caused your hand to jerk, pressing the brush too firmly against the parchment. A thick, ugly line spread across your carefully crafted characters, ruining hours of meticulous work.
You inhaled sharply, realizing your mistake. The overseer's footsteps approached, and you could feel his presence looming over your shoulder, assessing the damage.
<hr>
[["Ugh, not again."]]
[[Glance over at The Overseer wordlessly]]
[["Ah…I messed up again"]]
[["This little"-]]<<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 40, 0, 100)>>You point to paint the fox, its sly and cunning expression coming to life on the canvas the more you look at it. The Overseer smiles, turning to order his table and pour a cup of hibiscus tea. "A wise choice. The fox represents cunning and the art of deception."
Your eyes narrowed in concentration as you leaned over the parchment before you. The brush felt like an extension of your hand as you carefully formed each stroke, your movements deliberate and measured. The overseer's presence, unobtrusive, surprisingly added a layer of focus and confidence.
A few feet away, Dante was engrossed in his own studies. His fingers trailed along the spines of leather-bound tomes, occasionally pulling one out to flip through its pages. You knew he was searching for information on strategy and precision techniques for whips - the artifact he had discovered years ago. The soft rustle of turning pages provided a soothing backdrop to your work.
As you reached a particularly intricate part of the calligraphy, you shifted in your seat to get a better angle. Suddenly, an electrical jolt of discomfort shot up your elbow as it collided with the edge of the arm chair. The unexpected impact caused your hand to jerk, pressing the brush too firmly against the parchment. A thick, ugly line spread across your carefully crafted characters, ruining hours of meticulous work.
You inhaled sharply, realizing your mistake. The overseer's footsteps approached, and you could feel his presence looming over your shoulder, assessing the damage.
<hr>
[["Ugh, not again."]]
[[Glance over at The Overseer wordlessly]]
[["Ah…I messed up again"]]
[["This little"-]]<<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 40, 0, 100)>>You point to paint the phoenix, its mystical flames dancing on the paper as you imagine your own brush replicating it. The Overseer looks impressed, nodding as he turns to his table and pour a cup of hibiscus tea. "A bold choice. The phoenix represents magical prowess and invokement."
Your eyes narrowed in concentration as you leaned over the parchment before you. The brush felt like an extension of your hand as you carefully formed each stroke, your movements deliberate and measured. The overseer's presence, unobtrusive, surprisingly added a layer of focus and confidence.
A few feet away, Dante was engrossed in his own studies. His fingers trailed along the spines of leather-bound tomes, occasionally pulling one out to flip through its pages. You knew he was searching for information on strategy and precision techniques for whips - the artifact he had discovered years ago. The soft rustle of turning pages provided a soothing backdrop to your work.
As you reached a particularly intricate part of the calligraphy, you shifted in your seat to get a better angle. Suddenly, an electrical jolt of discomfort shot up your elbow as it collided with the edge of the arm chair. The unexpected impact caused your hand to jerk, pressing the brush too firmly against the parchment. A thick, ugly line spread across your carefully crafted characters, ruining hours of meticulous work.
You inhaled sharply, realizing your mistake. The overseer's footsteps approached, and you could feel his presence looming over your shoulder, assessing the damage.
<hr>
[["Ugh, not again."]]
[[Glance over at The Overseer wordlessly]]
[["Ah…I messed up again"]]
[["This little"-]]<<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue + 40, 0, 100)>>"Yeah," you sigh dramatically as Dante guides you to a crate. "Just a few scratches here and there. Barely noticeable, really."
Dante's eyes widen as he takes in your injuries. "Shit, that must hurt," he hisses sympathetically, quickly retrieving a first aid kit.
As he settles beside you and begins tending to your wounds, you can't resist teasing him. "Oh, this? This is nothing. Practically a spa day compared to Nag's usual routine."
"That looked like a whole war zone," Dante mutters, his fingers gentle despite his worried tone.
You flash him a cocky grin, deciding to up the ante. "Why, Dante, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were worried about me. Should I be flattered by all this attention?"
For a split second, you catch a flicker in Dante's eyes - something unfamiliar that makes your breath catch. It's gone so quickly you're left wondering if you imagined it. For once, you find yourself at a loss for words as your eyes follow his hands patching you up.
Recovering quickly, "And based on what Nag's saying, the tournament is going to make this look like a friendly pillow fight," you add, trying to regain your usual demeanor.
Dante's gaze shifts nervously between your injuries and your face. "Gosh, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean, I know I've been asking this for what? Over four years? Six?" He runs a hand through his dark hair, a gesture you've seen countless times before.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.]]<<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>"Dante, I'm in pain," you whine dramatically, stumbling towards him with exaggerated distress.
Dante's eyes widen comically. "What? Oh no, do we need to amputate?" he asks, barely containing a grin.
You can't help but laugh, giving his shoulder a playful shove. "I'm fine, you goof. Just messing with you."
"Hey, I was ready to carry you to safety!" Dante protests, clutching his chest in mock offense. "My heroic moment, ruined!"
You roll your eyes fondly, making your way to a nearby crate. "Your time will come, Sir Dante. For now, how about some first aid for the mere mortal?"
"As you wish, your bruised-ness," Dante says with an exaggerated bow. He grabs the first aid kit and plops down next to you, his familiar presence instantly comforting.
As he starts patching you up, you can't resist teasing him. "So, ready for the tournament to make this look like a picnic?"
Dante's hands pause, and he lets out a dramatic groan. "Don't remind me. I've been trying to forget about it for what, four years now? Six?"
"More like since the day we met," you counter with a grin.
"Ah yes, the good old days when my biggest worry was whether cook would make meatloaf again," Dante sighs wistfully.
You chuckle, watching him work. His brow furrows in concentration, reminding you of all the times you've patched each other up over the years.
"You know," Dante says, breaking the silence with a sudden grin, "if this tournament thing doesn't work out, we could always start a two-person circus act. I'll juggle, and you can be the daredevil who survived Nag's training. We'd be a hit."
His flimsy idea, delivered with typical Dante enthusiasm, brings a genuine smile to your face. It's moments like these - his unwavering support, his ability to bring light to any situation - that make your heart flutter in a way you're not quite ready to examine.
As Dante finishes patching you up, his hand lingers for just a moment longer than necessary. But as quickly as it appears, the moment passes. It seemed that he was still uneasy about the tournament.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|Flity, why tournament]]"I'm fine," you say matter-of-factly as Dante helps you to a nearby crate.
Dante raises an eyebrow, his tone playful. "Oh really? So those bruises are just a new fashion statement?"
You shrug, your expression neutral. "It's part of the training. Nothing unexpected."
"Well, fashion statement or not, let's get you patched up," Dante says, retrieving the first aid kit. He settles beside you, opening the kit with practiced ease.
"Ouch," he winces sympathetically as he begins tending to your wounds. "That's got to smart a bit."
You watch him work, your voice even. "It's manageable. The tournament will likely be more intense."
Dante's hands pause for a moment, his playful demeanor slipping. "About that... don't you think this is all a bit much? I mean, I've only been saying it for what, six years now?"
He runs a hand through his dark hair, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I just... I worry, you know?"
<hr>
[[Continue|And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.]]"I'm fine," you say, settling onto the crate as Dante retrieves the first aid kit.
Dante's eyes twinkle with mischief. "Sure, and I'm the king of Kabot. Come on, let's get you fixed up, your majesty."
You watch as he opens the kit, his movements quick and precise. "It's really not that bad," you insist, but make no move to stop him.
"Mm-hmm," Dante hums, clearly unconvinced. His fingers brush your arm as he begins cleaning a particularly nasty scrape, and you blink, surprised by a sudden flutter in your stomach.
"Ouch," he winces, though you've made no sound. "That's got to hurt."
You shrug, pushing aside the odd sensation. "The tournament will be worse."
Dante's hands pause, his playful demeanor slipping away. "About that... don't you think this is all a bit much? I mean, I've only been saying it for what, six years now?"
He runs a hand through his hair, and you find yourself oddly distracted by the way the sunlight catches the strands. "I just... I worry, you know?"
<hr>
[[Continue|And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.]] <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>"I'm fine, really! Nothing to worry about," you assure Dante as you approach the crate, your voice warm with familiarity.
"You sure? You look like you went a few rounds with a angry bear," Dante teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "Very funny. I'll have you know I won that fight with the bear."
"Of course you did," Dante agrees, nodding solemnly. "I bet you didn't even break a sweat."
Your attention shifts to the bruises forming on your arm. "Okay, maybe it wasn't a total victory," you admit.
"Ouch," Dante winces sympathetically. "That looks painful." He quickly produces a first aid kit, settling beside you to tend to your injuries.
As he works, you can't help but sigh. "And according to Nag, the tournament's going to make this look like child's play."
Dante's hands pause for a moment, his expression growing serious. "Gods, this is intense. Don't you think it might be too much? I mean, I've been voicing my concerns for what, six years now?"
You nod, remembering how he's opposed the idea of participating in the tournament from day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|Shy, why tournament]]
"I can walk on my own, you know," you grumble, though there's no real heat behind your words.
"Sure you can," Dante chuckles, his voice warm with familiar teasing. "But what if a rogue acorn takes you out? Can't have that on my conscience."
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. "An acorn? Really?"
"Hey, nature's deadly," he grins, setting you down gently on a nearby crate.
As Dante fetches the first aid kit, you find your gaze drawn to him. You've never really noticed before how the sunlight catches the scattered beauty marks on his face, like a constellation you can't quite name. His hickory hair looks impossibly soft, and you wonder idly how he manages to keep his skin so clear in this heat.
"This might sting a bit," Dante warns as he starts tending to your bruises. His hands are surprisingly gentle, and you notice a small scar on his index finger – a reminder of some long-ago mishap you both laughed about.
As he continues working, you find yourself oddly fascinated by the careful movements of his hands. You've patched each other up countless times before, but something feels different now. It's probably just the adrenaline from training, you tell yourself, ignoring the unfamiliar buzz in your arms and chest.
"It's fine," you insist, trying to sound tough. "The tournament will be way worse, anyway."
Dante's expression shifts, his brow furrowing slightly. You're struck by how long his eyelashes are as he glances between your arm and your face. "Don't you think this is all a bit much?" he asks, his voice softer than usual. "I mean, I've only been saying it for, what, six years now?"
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
<hr>
[[And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.|angry, why tournament]]<<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>
<p style="font-size: 24px;">Vassal Novs</p>
''Pros:''
1. Resourceful: NPCs might view you as cunning and resourceful, potentially offering opportunities that require a clever approach.
2. Independent: You may be seen as a strong, independent figure, garnering respect from those who value self-reliance.
''Cons:''
1. Distrusted: Some NPCs may distrust you, assuming you are deceitful or have hidden motives.
2. Isolated: Wearing Vassal Novs attire might make it harder to form alliances, as people might view you as too self-centered or callous.
<hr>
[[Official Vassal Novs Wear]]<p style="font-size: 24px;">Rustic Attire</p>
''Pros:''
1. Approachable: NPCs might find you more approachable and trustworthy, leading to more genuine and friendly interactions.
2. Empathetic: You may gain favor with NPCs who value honesty and empathy, making it easier to form close bonds and alliances.
''Cons:''
1. Underestimated: Some NPCs might underestimate you, assuming you lack power or influence.
2. Ignored: You may be overlooked or dismissed by those who seek more glamorous or influential companions.
<hr>
[[Continue|Official Rustic Wear]] <p style="font-size: 24px;">Traditional Kabot</p>
''Pros:''
1. Respected: NPCs from the Kabot Kingdom and allied regions are likely to respect and admire you, potentially offering better deals or assistance.
2. Influential: Wearing Kabot Wear can make you seem more influential, possibly opening doors to higher social circles or gaining favor with important figures.
''Cons:''
1. Targeted: Enemies of the Kabot Kingdom may see you as a threat or target you for hostility.
2. Intimidating: Some NPCs may find you intimidating or unapproachable, leading to fewer opportunities for friendly interactions or alliances.
<hr>
[[Continue|Official Traditional Kobat Wear]] $wp
"Sure." She yawns. Must've been a tiring day.
After packing your food, Amal sends you off with a pat on the back and a quick reminder that the boy should be a few blocks down by now.
<hr>
[[A reminder that you should probably start running around, now]]<<set $kaisenFriendship2 to Math.clamp($kaisenFriendship2 + 2, 0, 100)>>You hesitate, then choose a seat away from Dante. His shoulders slump slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before he schools his expression back to wary alertness.
Nag Walan's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she takes in your choice of seat. Her fingers pause on the stick, then resume their rhythmic sharpening.
"I hear you're heading to town," she says, breaking the tense silence.
Dante must have mentioned your plans.
"Yes, for the tournament," you reply, leaving unspoken that it's your first time attending.
<hr>
[[You couldn't hold back a grin at the thought|Hell yeahh]]<<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 - 2, 0, 100)>>
[[You simply shrug, keeping the Tournament in mind.|No thanks]]
Nag Walan's sigh cut through your musings, heavy with a mix of resignation and concern. Her weathered face hardened as she fixed you with a penetrating stare, her eyes sharp despite her advanced years. "Thought so," she muttered, her voice low and gravelly. "Are you aware of the death line?"
The shift in her tone sent a chill down your spine. From the corner of your eye, you caught Dante's puzzled glance. His confusion mirrored your own, both about the term and your unexpected interest in the tournament.
"Death... line?" The words felt foreign on your tongue, laced with a hint of apprehension.
<hr>
[[What was that?|Death Line]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>''〘 Dark Fox Phantom 〙''</h2></span>
//Dark phantom is a few palm sized shadow foxes coming across as a mix of humans and a fox. The stronger your connection is with them the bigger and effective they get. The ones you cast so far cause minimal damage and are mainly used to slash your opponent or as a sort of distraction.This could be used to set them off balance or disrupt their enchantment process too.//
//is this the action you want to take?//
<hr>
[[Yes.|dark fox phantom]]
[[No.|some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>''〘 Faux Duppy Doppelganger 〙''</h2></span>
//A shadow figure that morphs off your body in a purple blob that boils up and clones every feature of yours. The only obvious difference being their ever damp and cold skin and clothing along with their sad expressions. Duppies don't have a mind of their own as they listen to one instruction at a time before evaporating right in front of your opponent, causing black steam to disrupt their eyesight.
The duppy's weakness can also be used as a distraction.//
//is this the action you want to take?//
<hr>
[[Yes.|use faux duppy Doppelgänger]]
[[No.|some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>''〘 Faux Duppy Doppelganger 〙''</h2></span>
//There's slabs of wood, sticks and rocks near you and sand all around you. If you're brave or smart enough you can toss your calligraphy book and use these to your advantage!//
//is this the action you want to take?//
<hr>
[[Yes.|use your surroundings]]
[[No.|some had these abilities and chose to stay behind.]]
As you and Nag Walan made your way toward the exit after paying, the wooden door creaked, marking your departure. You glanced at the group of teenagers passing by, their laughter piercing the air as they animatedly discussed the upcoming tournament. The sound grated on your nerves for some reason, and you clenched your jaw, your throat tightening slightly as frustration simmered below the surface.
Nag Walan strode ahead, her gait confident, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground. "Well, aren't you just a ray of sunshine today," she commented without looking back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can feel all that pent-up rage just radiating off you. Perfect for scaring off competition—if only that was the goal."
You bit back a retort, feeling the familiar urge to snap rising in your chest. Instead, you muttered under your breath, "Yeah, well, maybe if everyone didn’t have something to say about it."
Nag’s sharp eyes flicked toward you, but she didn't seem annoyed—more a mixture of amusement and something else... "Oh, sure. Blame everyone else. That’ll get you real far $nick. You and this anger thing you've got going on?" she chuckles with no mirth in her eyes. "You’re letting it steer the ship instead of using it. Anger can be a tool, but right now, it's just you kicking at your own shadow. You want to win this tournament? Stop fucking fighting yourself."
Her words sank in, but your pride flared before you could fully digest them. "I’m not fighting myself," you shot back, but even as you said it, you felt a flicker of doubt, your throat tightening again as if the words themselves were hard to swallow. You didn’t want to admit that she had a point—that maybe all this snark and frustration wasn’t just aimed at others.
Nag, unfazed, gave a half-smile. "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that." She stopped walking and turned toward you, tapping her cane against the ground for emphasis. "You’re angry? Fine. But be angry at the right things. The competition, the obstacles, the fight ahead—not at yourself, not at some kid laughing in the street. If you keep letting it twist you up inside, you’ll never make it past the first round."
Her words struck deep, and for a moment, you felt exposed. You hadn’t meant to snap—at her, at anyone—but it kept happening, and you hated how easily it spilled out. You swallowed hard, feeling that tightness in your throat again, the guilt creeping in. You wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but the words didn’t come.
Nag seemed to sense the shift in your demeanor. She sighed and gave you a gentle shove with her cane. "Hey, I get it. You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, and anger’s just how you’re dealing with it. But don’t let it blind you. Use it. Let it fuel you, not burn you out."
You nodded slowly, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. There was a tension in your chest that wasn’t quite anger anymore, more like a tangle of frustration and self-doubt. But as you took a deep breath, you felt a small shift, like Nag’s words were helping loosen the knot.
"Thanks," you finally managed, your voice quiet but sincere.
"Ew—!" Nag recoiled dramatically, tapping you with her cane again as if batting away an invisible affection. "Don’t get all mushy on me now."
You snorted despite yourself, the tension easing as you let a small grin slip through. She was right—Nag Walan’s tough love was exactly what you needed, even if it stung a little.
"Alright, alright," you said, catching up to her. "Let’s get going before you start thinking I’m soft."
Nag laughed. "Too late for that, Kid. Too late for that."
<hr>
[[you'd miss Nag walan too much once you enter the tournament.|Life is rather like a carriage of sardines.]] <<set $nagwalanMentor to Math.clamp($nagwalanMentor + 5, 0, 100)>>"Well, I didn’t realize I needed your approval to dress myself," you say with a tinge of frustration.
Nag Walan raises an eyebrow, her lips curling into a wry smile. "Approval isn't really the issue," she replies, her tone sharp. "It's about choosing your words wisely and not letting every little thing get under your skin."
The atmosphere thickens as her words hang in the air, and you feel a tightness in your throat. The regret over your sharp tone settles in, but you remain silent. Nag’s demeanor is calm, almost indifferent, as if she’s encountered this before.
Simsim, observing the interaction with a hint of discomfort, shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She chuckles awkwardly, trying to ease the tension, but the mood remains strained.
Nag finally breaks the silence, her tone shifting to practicality. "Alright, enough of that. How much are we talking for the clothes?"
<hr>
[["oh, it's on the house. Don't worry about it!"|So bad! Kibir]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 10, 0, 100)>>The carriage lurched violently, rattling along the uneven path. You nearly lost your balance, bumping shoulders with Dante as the wheels struck a deep rut. He shot you a sideways grin, holding on to the side of the seat for stability, but his face tightened with unease.
"Could this thing be any more uncomfortable?" he whispered, leaning closer so only you could hear him. "At this point, walking might be faster."
You gave a small, amused shake of your head, gripping the seat tightly as the carriage jolted again.
Dante grinned, though the discomfort was clear on his face. “You think they offer refunds if we don’t survive this ride?” his attempt at lightness didn’t hide the uncomfortablity , not with so many people crammed into such a small space. Shoulders pressed into shoulders, knees knocked against one another, and light anxious murmurs illed the cramped carriage.
Your mouth opened to reply, but a sudden jerk from the carriage cut you off. The horses whinnied, and you heard the sharp crack of the driver’s whip.
"Hold on!" the driver’s strained voice cut through the air, the sound of his whip snapping again. The carriage lunged forward, speeding up so abruptly that you and the others were thrown back against the seats, some passengers letting out startled gasps.
Dante frowned, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “What the hell is going on?” he whispered again, his voice tight with concern.
<hr>
[[Peek out the window]]
[[stay seated and hold onto Dante]] The carriage lurched again, more violently this time, throwing you against Dante's shoulder. He barely managed to steady you with his arm before spluttering, "Sit down! Don't—you'll tip us over!"
But you were already pulling back the curtain, your heart hammering in your chest. The window rattled in its frame as the carriage sped faster, the wheels bouncing across the uneven road. For a moment, all you could see was the blur of the forest rushing past, the tall trees casting fractured shadows in the fading light.
Then you saw them.
Three figures, almost human but disturbingly wrong. Their bodies twisted in unnatural ways, as if boneless, yet they moved with a horrifying speed. Their sleek, dark forms shimmered like oil on water, casting distorted reflections of the forest around them. Their eyes glowed—bright, molten pools of eerie light—fixated on the carriage like predators ready to pounce.
Behind you, someone screamed—a sharp, high-pitched sound that cut through the rumble of the wheels. The air inside the cramped carriage felt thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and that unbearable cheap perfume. Bodies were pressed together, breathless gasps mixing with terrified whispers. The man beside you muttered a prayer under his breath, while one woman clutched a child to her chest, her eyes wide with panic.
“Gods, what are they?!” a voice shrieked from the back.
The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves mixed with the rank odor of the creatures outside, making your stomach churn. The smell clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as the carriage bounced uncontrollably. Dante's arm shot out, gripping the seat as he glanced toward the window. His face paled slightly, the ever-present humor draining from his features.
“Tell me you’re not thinking of jumping out,” he said, his voice tight with worry.
Before you could respond, the driver shouted, his voice a raw mix of panic and anger. “Hold on! They’re gaining!” The crack of the whip snapped through the air, urging the horses into a frantic gallop.
The carriage jolted again, tilting as it swerved around a bend. People inside were thrown against each other—grunts of pain, curses, and cries of fear echoed through the narrow space. The woman across from you clutched at her partner, eyes wide with terror, while another man barked at the driver, “Can’t you go faster!?”
Your eyes flicked back to the window as the creatures drew nearer. They moved with terrifying grace, their bodies bending and shifting in ways that defied nature. Their heads snapped toward you, eyes locking with yours through the window.
A shiver raced down your spine.
“Sit //down//!” Dante hissed through gritted teeth, yanking you back just as the carriage took another brutal jolt. His usually cheerful blue eyes were laced with fear, and you could feel the tension in his grip as he tried to steady you.
But you couldn’t tear your mind away from the sight of those creatures—so fast, so impossibly wrong. Their burning eyes had found yours, and for a split second, it felt like they had seen straight through you. The pit in your stomach twisted as their unnatural shapes rippled in your mind.
[[what now?]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 10, 0, 100)>>
<script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>The carriage lurched violently, knocking you against Dante’s side. Your hands shot out instinctively, fingers gripping his shoulder. You felt the tense muscles beneath your palm as he steadied himself, casting a quick glance in your direction.
“Easy there,” he muttered with a half-hearted grin, though you could see the worry flickering in his eyes. "Sit tight."
The air inside the cramped carriage was thick with the mingled scents of sweat and fear, mixed with the overpowering stench of cheap perfume that made your nose itch. Bodies were pressed tightly together, the closeness unbearable. Someone’s elbow dug into your side while another person’s heavy breath grazed the back of your neck. You couldn’t even stretch your legs without brushing against the person across from you.
Another jarring jolt of the carriage, and someone let out a sharp scream—a woman clutching a child to her chest, her eyes wide with terror.
“What’s going on up there?!” someone near the front barked.
The driver cursed loudly, his voice cutting through the din of panicked murmurs. “Hold on tight! Something’s wrong!”
Dante’s shoulder tensed under your grip, and he shot a quick glance at the window. His brow furrowed, lips thinning as the carriage rattled over the rough terrain.
"Whatever it is, it sounds bad," he said softly, leaning slightly toward you so you could hear him over the rattling wheels. “But don’t look, okay?”
You swallowed hard, the tension in the air pressing down on you. Every bump of the road, every creak of the carriage sent your heart racing faster. You could hear people muttering prayers, curses, and a rising tide of fear that felt suffocating.
The carriage swerved sharply, nearly tossing you into the lap of the person beside you. Dante grunted, his arm bracing you as the whole thing rocked on its wheels. Outside, the sound of hooves pounding the dirt echoed louder, quicker, as if the driver was trying to outrun something.
“Can’t be anything good,” Dante whispers more to himself, his voice tight. His eyes flicked back toward the window, and you saw the unease settle deeper in his face. “Stay down. I mean it.”
But something gnawed at you, an anxious dread that made it impossible to sit still. The screams, the cursing, the erratic speed of the carriage—it all made you feel like the walls were closing in. Every second felt like an eternity, the air thick with fear and panic.
Without meaning to, your gaze drifted toward the window. You didn’t want to look—you told yourself //not// to—but your eyes moved on their own, and before you could stop yourself, you had pulled back the flimsy curtain.
What you saw froze the breath in your chest.
Three figures were racing toward the carriage, their forms not quite human. Boneless, twisted shapes that moved far too fast, their sleek, shadowed bodies shimmering with an unnatural, sickly glow. They bent and contorted in ways that defied nature, their glowing eyes locked onto the carriage. No, not the carriage- //you//.
You breath hitched, your hand tightening around Dante’s arm. His head snapped toward you, panic flickering in his eyes as he realized what you’d done.
“You looked, didn’t you?” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he pulled you back from the window, pressing you into the corner of the seat and finally glancing for himself before turning to you. “I told you not to look!”
But you couldn’t tear your mind away from the sight of those creatures—so fast, so impossibly wrong. Their burning eyes had found yours, and for a split second, it felt like they had seen straight through you. The pit in your stomach twisted as their unnatural shapes rippled in your mind.
The carriage bounced again, harder this time, and people screamed in terror, their bodies crashing into each other. The scent of fear and sweat intensified, filling every inch of the small space as if the air itself had become thick with desperation.
“Driver, faster!” someone shouted from the front. “They’re going to catch us!”
Dante’s grip tightened on you, his voice soft but strained. “Just stay close, alright? We’ll get through this.”
But deep down, you weren’t sure how. Not with those creatures still closing in, faster and faster.
[[what now?]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 10, 0, 100)>><<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 10, 0, 100)>>
<<set _nameElement to "<span id='name-fade' class='fade-in'>\"$name...\"</span>">>
<<script>>
setTimeout(function() {
document.getElementById("name-fade").classList.add("show");
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[[. . .]] A faint whisper, not distant but somehow deep within your mind. It sent a cold shiver down your spine, freezing your thoughts for a heartbeat. You couldn't tell if you had truly heard it or if it was something conjured from within. The voice—a woman’s—felt as if it were rooted inside your very head, bypassing your ears entirely.
What was that?
Your eyes darted to Dante, searching for any sign that he had heard it too. But there was nothing—no flicker of acknowledgment, no glance back. He was too focused on bracing himself against the chaos. His usually neat dark brown hair was tousled, falling into one eye, which he kept squeezed shut to stop the strands from blowing into it. His hands gripped both the wall of the carriage and your arm so tightly that his veins stood out, the hand on the carriage trembling from the tension.
You blinked, trying to shake off the unnerving sensation. Had it even been real? Stress, maybe. Or your imagination.
But the moment was gone in an instant.
The carriage lurched again, more violently this time, followed by the sharp crack of wood snapping. Everything tilted. You barely had time to react before the entire vehicle twisted wildly, throwing you sideways. The world outside the window spun as the carriage skidded along the uneven path, threatening to topple.
The horses shrieked in terror, hooves pounding as they broke free from the reins. The sudden loss of control sent another violent shudder through the carriage, until it finally jerked to a crooked, abrupt halt. It wasn’t a graceful stop—it was harsh, sudden, jarring.
For a single breath, there was silence.
Then chaos.
Passengers screamed and pushed at one another in their frantic rush to escape, fear filling the tight space as bodies shoved and jostled toward the door. You felt the press of panic-stricken people around you, the sheer force of their desperation crushing in on all sides.
The horses, now free, bolted down the road, their wild, terrified neighs fading into the distance.
The air inside the carriage thickened with the scent of sweat, dirt, and fear as the others scrambled outside, their cries and footsteps dissolving into the chaos.
[[What was going on?]] The noise was unbearable. Screams, the pounding of feet, the clatter of bodies pushing and shoving, desperate to escape—it all blurred together, a cacophony that swirled around you, making it impossible to focus. Your chest tightened, your eyes darting frantically from one panicked face to another. There was so much movement, so much chaos, you didn’t know where to look, where to go.
Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything else. You could barely breathe, trapped in the moment, overwhelmed by the chaos. Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed your arm—firm, almost too tight—and yanked you from your seat.
You stumbled forward, half expecting it to be Dante or one of the passengers helping you out of the carriage. But when you turned to look, it wasn’t anyone familiar.
A voice—slurred and strange—hissed into your ear. “Stop, $plural. It's $plural, stop $plural.”
The words, twisted and unnatural, sent an icy chill through your veins. Your head throbbed instantly, a sharp, piercing pain exploding behind your eyes.
What…?
The voice echoed in your skull, the words repeating themselves, even though the world around you continued to churn. Your vision blurred as the ache in your head grew, pounding harder and harder, until it felt like your skull would split open.
You tried to pull away from the grip, but your limbs felt heavy, sluggish, like you were sinking into the ground. Darkness crept at the edges of your vision, threatening to consume you entirely. Your mind swam in and out of focus, the headache so intense that your knees buckled beneath you.
Everything spun—voices, faces, sounds all melding into one incomprehensible roar as you teetered on the edge of consciousness.
[[You think you hit the ground]] <<set $health to clamp($health - 40, 0, 100)>>The world spun, blurring at the edges as you collapsed to your knees. Harsh, ragged breaths tore from your lungs, echoing in the stillness. Tears welled up, spilling over and falling to the ground below. Each droplet struck the parched earth with a soft patter, transforming the pale sand into dark brown splotches.
Your shoulders shook as you struggled to regain composure. Suddenly, you tensed. Two more firmer hands gripped your upper arms, the touch both unexpected and chilling once more.
[[smack the hand away]]
[[inch away]]
[[Don't move]] Without thinking, you lashed out. Your arm jerked, smacking the hands away with a sharp, defensive motion. The heat of the moment consumed you, heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t have time for this. Not now, not with everything crashing around you. You needed to stay in control, to keep moving. No one would hold you down.
“Hey, hey, it’s me.” Dante’s voice cut through the noise in your head, low and steady. His hands returned, this time with a gentler touch, steadying you. “It’s okay. They’re not here anymore.”
You blinked, vision still clouded by the frenzy of everything that had just happened. But the warmth of Dante's hands on your arms grounded you. His familiar presence cut through the chaos like a lifeline. You slowly turned your head, and for the first time, really saw him.
His dark brown hair was tousled, his face drawn tight with concern. His grip firm but careful, as though afraid you might break.
“They’re gone,” he whispered, his voice soft, yet somehow unwavering. “You’re safe.”
The words sank in slowly, dissolving the frantic tightness in your chest. Your body, so rigid with tension just moments before, began to relax. It was Dante. He was here. And for the first time since the chaos had erupted, you felt the flicker of safety settle over you like a protective shield.
Your guard dropped, and you allowed yourself a moment to lean into his calm, the storm inside you quieting as his steady reassurances wrapped around you.
<hr>
[[Next|After the carriage incident]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>><<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 5, 0, 100)>>The world spun, blurring at the edges as you collapsed to your knees. Harsh, ragged breaths tore from your lungs, echoing in the stillness. Tears welled up, spilling over and falling to the ground below. Each droplet struck the parched earth with a soft patter, transforming the pale sand into dark brown splotches.
Your shoulders shook as you struggled to regain control. Suddenly, you tensed. Two firmer hands gripped your upper arms. The touch was unexpected, and fear surged through you.
Your immediate instinct was to pull away. You shrank from the touch, inching backward as your heart raced. The world felt too loud, too fast, your breath too shallow. The pounding in your chest drowned out every other sound as your skin prickled with fear.
“Hey, hey, it’s me.” Dante’s voice cut through the haze of panic, soft but steady. His hands didn’t force you to stay, just rested there with a reassuring warmth. “It’s okay. They’re not here anymore.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you just stared at him, unsure if you could believe it. But then you saw his face—his tousled dark hair, one eye squinting as if he’d been shielding you from the chaos. His expression was tight with concern, his grip light but steady.
“It’s me,” he whispered again, calming. “You’re safe now. They’re gone.”
The words sank in, slowly melting the tight coil of anxiety in your chest. Your heart still hammered, but the cold, gripping fear began to ease, replaced by the warmth of Dante’s presence. He was here. He had you.
You blinked, trying to steady your breathing, and felt the first small glimmer of safety creeping in. His calm steadiness wrapped around you like a blanket, and though the fear hadn’t fully left, you found yourself able to breathe again.
Your guard softened as you leaned just a little closer to him, letting his presence anchor you in the middle of the chaos.
<hr>
[[Next|After the carriage incident]] The world spun, blurring at the edges as you collapsed to your knees. Harsh, ragged breaths tore from your lungs, echoing in the stillness. Tears welled up, spilling over and falling to the ground below. Each droplet struck the parched earth with a soft patter, transforming the pale sand into dark brown splotches.
Your shoulders trembled slightly, but you didn’t move, didn’t flinch. The exhaustion weighed on you, pulling you down, heavy and unrelenting. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the hands that suddenly gripped your arms—there was no energy left for that.
Two firm hands, steady and deliberate. You registered them, but your body remained still, too tired to react. The weight of everything pressed into your bones, dulling any instinct to fight or flee. Even breathing felt like a monumental effort.
“Hey… it’s me.” Dante’s voice was soft, just above a whisper. The grip on your arms tightened slightly, but not in a forceful way—just grounding, keeping you from slipping further into the void of exhaustion. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. They’re not here anymore.”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. But the words, they reached you. You heard them. Somewhere, you felt a sliver of relief trickle through, but your body didn’t move.
Dante’s grip was gentle but firm, like an anchor. He didn’t let go, didn’t expect you to react. His presence was enough to let you know you weren’t alone, and for a fleeting moment, that knowledge was enough.
“They’re gone,” he whispered again, his tone filled with quiet reassurance. “You’re safe.”
You blinked slowly, your gaze finally lifting toward him. His face was concerned, his dark hair tousled, and his eyes watched you closely, filled with quiet determination. He was waiting, patient and steady, for you to come back to yourself. And though you were too tired to acknowledge it fully, there was comfort in that.
Safe. You were safe. And for now, that was enough.
<hr>
[[Next|After the carriage incident]] <<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>You sat on the dry, cracked earth, legs crossed in front of you, leaning back on your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. Your head hung low, the exhaustion weighing down on you as the sounds of people moving around filled the air.
Dante stood beside you, his arms at his sides, his dark hair still tousled and his face lined with confusion. His gaze was fixed somewhere distant, like he was replaying everything that had just happened, trying to make sense of it all. The tension in his posture was unmistakable, and though his presence was grounding, he didn’t need to say much for you to feel his concern.
Around you, passengers moved cautiously, picking up scattered belongings, their hushed voices carrying on the wind. Some were helping each other to their feet, offering words of comfort or guidance, while others exchanged worried glances, still shaken by the sudden attack. The initial panic had subsided, but the air was thick with unease, a shared disbelief that lingered among them all.
Dante exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath, “...it just doesn’t make sense...” His brow furrowed, eyes scanning the area where the creatures had once been. There was nothing left, no sign of them at all.
“They just disappeared,” he said aloud, shaking his head. “One grabbed my face... and then it was gone. Just like that. The rest too.”
Despite his steady voice, you could feel the confusion radiating from him. His hands flexed slightly, still unsettled by the strangeness of it all.
Passengers, still tentative, gathered their belongings or helped each other up, many of them glancing at the spot where the creatures vanished. The tension hadn't lifted entirely, but people were beginning to move on from their fear. There were murmurs of confusion and disbelief, but no one seemed ready to voice the questions that hung heavy in the air.
You lifted your gaze slightly, noticing how everyone’s attention was scattered. There was no clear direction for anyone to follow—just the aftermath of something inexplicable, leaving everyone as uncertain as you felt.
<hr>
[[What just happened...]]The carriage driver stepped out from the front, dusting off his coat with a calm demeanor. His words came out smoothly, though his accent gave each one a slightly elongated sound.
"Everyone, calm yourselves," he said, his voice rich with an unfamiliar cadence. "Help is on the way. I’ve already alerted the district ahead. We will have this resolved shortly."
You blinked, wondering for a brief moment how he managed to communicate with the district so quickly, especially out here. But the question slipped away, buried under your exhaustion.
He moved between the scattered passengers, offering quiet reassurances. His tone was steady, practiced, like he’d dealt with chaos before.
Your eyes drifted back to the shattered carriage. Splinters littered the ground, the wooden frame in ruins. One wheel had fallen completely off, while another was bent beyond repair. Ropes lay discarded, frayed, and limp on the ground—no horses anywhere in sight.
You let out a slow breath, feeling the fatigue settle even deeper into your bones.
<hr>
[["Well at least we're not crossing the Vaygas!"]] A nervous laugh broke through the uneasy silence. "At least we're not crossing Vaygas!" a man called out, though his attempt at humor fell flat among the other passengers.
Immediately, murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. A few snickered, while others exchanged knowing glances.
"Thank the gods for that," a woman to your left muttered, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. "Those Vaygas lot… nothing but filthy bandits. Scum of the earth, all of 'em."
“Thieves, the lot of them,” another man added, his voice dripping with disdain. “You hear the stories? People vanish just trying to pass through. They raid anyone who gets near their borders, rob you blind, then leave you for dead.”
“They’re worse than animals,” someone else said. “Lawless and savage. Can’t believe they even call themselves a district. Should’ve been wiped out years ago.”
The talk grew louder, each insult sharpening as it passed from mouth to mouth. A young woman spoke up, shaking her head. “My cousin tried to trade with them once. Never saw him again. They don’t know how to live like proper people. Dirty, dangerous, and desperate. Probably worship whatever god helps them get away with robbing honest folk.”
"Their Magistrate has no control over his people!"
"You ever hear about that one family that got cornered?" another voice chimed in. "Couple of years back. Tried to make it through Vaygas to save time, and bam! Dead in the dirt before they even hit the main road."
"Their own leaders can’t even keep 'em in check," someone else spat. "Too busy fighting amongst themselves to even care."
The conversations overlapped, growing more emboldened with each passing insult. No one was holding back now, the passengers united in their shared contempt for the infamous district. Vaygas had long been the subject of such talk—its reputation preceding it, even among those who had never set foot near its borders.
<hr>
[[Next|Introducing Vaygas]] Nestled next to your home district of Silversvale, Vaygas was a place most avoided if they could help it. Known for its rough, jagged terrain and chaotic history, the district was notorious for its bandits and lawless inhabitants. Travelers who dared venture too close often returned with horror stories—or didn’t return at all. It wasn’t unusual to hear tales of people being ambushed, their belongings stripped away by ruthless gangs who operated freely in the region.
Despite this, Vaygas had managed to maintain its independence, its resourceful population surviving through sheer grit. The district's economy relied heavily on its ill-gotten gains, a fact that further fueled the disdain from its neighbors. To outsiders, it was a place of barbarism and desperation, a region left to fend for itself in a world where order and law held no sway.
"They say they eat what they steal too," the man who had first spoken chuckled darkly. “Hope none of us have to see what that looks like.”
Dante, standing beside you, furrowed his brows at the stream of insults, his face growing more tense with every word. His usual easy-going expression was replaced with something sterner, deeper. Though he kept quiet, his discomfort was obvious.
<hr>
[[You agreed, they were dangerous.|Hate Vaygas][$Vaygasfeel = "Hate"]]
[[you somewhat agreed|you somewhat agreed][$Vaygasfeel = "Neutral"]]
[[You disagreed|You disagreed][$Vaygasfeel = "Like"]]The harsh words about Vaygas resonated with you. You had heard the stories of its lawlessness and brutality—how it was a place where chaos reigned and survival often meant turning to crime. From the snippets of conversation you overheard, it was clear that Vaygas was widely despised, and you found yourself aligning with that sentiment.
The passengers’ disdain painted a vivid picture of a district where morality seemed scarce and the rule of law was nothing more than a distant ideal. Their descriptions matched the tales you’d heard of the area’s reputation for violence and robbery. You understood why people spoke of Vaygas with such revulsion; its reputation for being a haven for bandits and criminals only reinforced the negative views you already held.
As the passengers continued to vent their frustrations and fears, you felt a sense of grim satisfaction that you wouldn’t have to traverse through such a notorious and feared place.
<hr>
[[A moment later|Your new carriage has arrived]] The harsh words about Vaygas resonated with you, but they left you feeling uneasy. While you understood the reputation of Vaygas as a lawless and tumultuous district, the way people spoke about it—so openly and with such contempt—seemed almost too harsh. You knew from hearsay that Vaygas was indeed a rough place, where survival often meant bending or breaking the rules, but the vehemence of the passengers' comments struck you as excessive.
Their conversations painted Vaygas in broad, derogatory strokes, depicting its people as nothing more than thieves and bandits. You could see why such opinions had taken root, but the way everyone spoke—almost as if they took some pleasure in disparaging a place they had never truly experienced—felt uncomfortable. It was one thing to acknowledge a district's flaws, but another to revel in its negative portrayal.
As you listened to the ongoing discussion, you found yourself conflicted. You couldn’t entirely disagree with the negative view, but the sheer bitterness and generalizations made you question the fairness of the condemnation. The way people were talking about Vaygas, as if it was a universally agreed-upon villain, left you feeling disquieted.
<hr>
[[A moment later|Your new carriage has arrived]] As you listened to the passengers' conversations about Vaygas, a sense of discomfort grew within you. The way they spoke—loudly and with palpable disdain—felt like a harsh oversimplification. They described the people of Vaygas in sweeping, negative terms, branding them as nothing but thieves and bandits.
You couldn’t help but think that such generalizations were unfair. It seemed to you that the blame for Vaygas's reputation was being placed on the entire district, when perhaps it should be directed at specific leaders or factions within it. It was evident that Vaygas had its problems, but to condemn an entire populace for the actions of a few or the mismanagement of its leaders seemed like a form of stereotyping.
In your view, it was not just the people of Vaygas who were to blame, but also the systemic issues and those who perpetuated the cycle of violence and lawlessness. The blanket statements and collective judgment being passed around made you uneasy. It was clear that the problems in Vaygas were complex and deeply rooted, but condemning everyone for the actions of a few felt unjust and overly simplistic.
<hr>
[[A moment later|Your new carriage has arrived]] A new carriage arrived, its arrival marking a crucial shift in the chaos of the moment. The passengers, still jittery and anxious from the earlier ordeal, were quickly ushered inside. You slip in and Dante follows suit, stepping into the fresh carriage as you find seats for the both of you. As you settled in, your thoughts churned with the strangeness of the recent events and the unease that had clung to you.
The earlier encounter had felt both disorienting and oddly familiar, leaving you with a sense of disconnection from the reality you were trying to grasp. It was as if you were caught in a liminal space, unable to fully comprehend the chaos you had witnessed or its impact on you.
Resting the back of your head against the seat, you reminded yourself of your purpose: you were heading to a trial tournament, a step toward qualifying for the grand Kabot Tournament. It was crucial to focus, to push past the lingering fear and confusion. The prospect of the tournament should have been a motivating thought, but the vivid memories of the previous ordeal kept creeping into your mind.
As the new carriage jolted into motion, you glanced back at the broken remnants of the old one. The sight of the damaged vehicle, abandoned and left behind, mirrored your desire to leave behind the unsettling experience. You wished you could simply erase the disquiet from your mind as easily as the old carriage was being discarded.
<hr>
[[But you knew you would never be granted that blessing...|You'd survive, right?]]Dante waved the flag around lazily, spinning it in his hand before planting it firmly in the ground between him and Fai. "Fine, fine," he sighed dramatically, the pout still lingering in his voice. "But don’t come running back when you miss my excellent commentary."
You smiled and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I’ll survive, I promise."
As you prepared to head off, you glanced one last time at the two of them standing in the middle of your makeshift "house," the large red circle drawn in the sandy floor marking your territory. Dante twirled the flag absentmindedly, his posture relaxed, but you could see the subtle tension in his stance. He was always ready for action, even when he pretended otherwise.
Fai, however, stood more rigidly, his eyes flicking from one competitor to the next, scanning the area nervously. His gloves were now snugly fitted on his hands, and he seemed to be bracing himself for something. You couldn't help but wonder what was going on beneath that quiet exterior. What were his skills, and why was he so hesitant to speak—or do much of anything?
You didn’t have time to dwell on it. "Take care of things here," you said, giving them both a final nod before turning to leave with Kaitlin. As you stepped away, you could feel the weight of the tournament settling in. Each move had to be calculated, and each decision could make or break your chances of qualifying.
As you and Kaitlin walked further away from your base, you cast a glance over your shoulder. Dante was spinning the flag in lazy circles, while Fai nervously scanned the horizon, tugging at his gloves. Whatever was making him so tense, you hoped it wouldn’t affect their ability to defend.
With that, you steeled yourself, pushing thoughts of the two behind you as you ventured out with Kaitlin to seize the other teams' flags.
<hr>
[[Let the games begin|Intro with Kaitlin]] A tense silence fell over the group. The swordsman was still fumbling with his sword, the short woman stuck in Kaitlin’s gooey trap, but the fourty year old wasn’t giving up so easily. He hadn't even broken a sweat. This wasn’t over.
Kaitlin coughed, straightening up, despite the clear pain in her side. "That all you got, grandpa?" she sneered, trying to keep her tone light. But you could see the way she winced, the small tremor in her movements.
The older man just smiles, his gaze still locked on her. "not until you take out flag or we take yours," he said, his voice low and dangerous contrasting with his warm appearance.
You had the flag within arms reach, but this was far from a victory. You could feel the tension building again, the air thick with anticipation for the next clash. You’d caught them off guard this time, but now?
<hr>
[[He'd be ready|beat that nice man up!]] Kaitlin continued to taunt, distracting the short woman with more pink goo. Though you could note the continues blasts seemed to be straining her slightly. The aggressive woman though flailed, spitting curses as her arm got stuck to the side of her tunic. "This is ridiculous! You’re gonna pay for this!" she hissed, trying to pry herself free.
But the older man wasn’t amused anymore. His eyes narrowed, his body shifting almost imperceptibly, like a predator sizing up its prey. Kaitlin, still spitting bubbles, was beginning to slow down, the effort taking its toll. You could see it in the way her shoulders sagged slightly, her breathing quickening. Her next shot of bubblegum missed entirely, landing harmlessly on the ground.
She was getting tired.
With a subtle shift in his stance, the older man’s intent was clear. He was done watching. He lunged forward, a blur of muscle and precision. Kaitlin's eyes widened, and she desperately tried to spit another bubble in his direction—but he was too fast. His movement was fluid, seamless, like a well-practiced form. Her spit barely left her lips before he was on her.
''Thwack!'' His knee shot up into her ribs with brutal force, a classic Muay Thai strike. Kaitlin gasped, the wind knocked clean out of her. Her body jerked, folding over from the impact, and she staggered back, clutching her side in pain.
You felt the adrenaline spike in your veins. This was different. This wasn’t just banter and distractions anymore. This was //fighting//, real and raw. The older man had that calm control you recognized in true fighters—the way he barely shifted his weight before attacking, like he knew exactly where to hit to make it count. His experience was unnerving, and you could feel the tension in the air thickening as he loomed over her.
Kaitlin tried to straighten up, but you saw her wince, her hand still pressed against her side where the blow had landed. Her breath came out in shallow, ragged bursts, and she wobbled on her feet, clearly struggling to stay upright.
But the man wasn’t finished. His fists clenched, his eyes cold and focused, ready to strike again.
You grit your teeth. She was hurt, but you couldn’t afford to blow your cover yet. You were close—so close to the flag. Your fingers brushed the fabric of their flag, but the older guy’s eyes flickered toward you instantly, his teasing grin widening as if daring you to take it.
<hr>
[[Why was he so relaxed?|Kaitlin gotcha!]]
The commotion gave you the window you needed. You moved swiftly, creeping through the shadows behind them, silent as your heartbeat thudded in your ears. Your target was in sight—their flag, just a few paces away.
The older senior, however, wasn’t as distracted as the others. His sharp eyes followed scanned around as you inched near, a knowing grin tugging at his lips, though he made no move to stop land his gaze on you. Or maybe he just didn't notice? A cold knot formed in your stomach. He wasn’t just relaxed—he was toying with you. But that wouldn’t stop you now.
You slipped closer, positioning yourself behind the trio, ready to strike. <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You lunged at the cocky swordsman, striking hard with your elbow into his ribs. He let out a grunt, clearly not expecting the hit, and staggered. Without his sword to rely on, his footwork was sloppy. You easily sidestepped his wild punch and landed a sharp kick to the back of his knee, sending him stumbling forward.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>Your movements were fluid and sharp, honed by Nag Walan’s brutal training. You darted behind the cocky swordsman, delivering a precise strike to the side of his neck, temporarily stunning him. He staggered, dazed, and you capitalized on his slow reflexes with a swift kick that knocked him off balance. <<else>> ...<</if>>
<hr>
[[Next|Beat them up with kaitie!]] <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You step in to protect Kaitlin, your fists raised, but there’s a sinking feeling in your gut. This guy’s no joke, and you’ve barely trained in martial arts with The Overseer. Still, you can’t back down now.
The older man sizes you up quickly, and you can see the faint smirk tugging at his lips. He moves first, his elbow snapping out toward your face. You dodge clumsily, just barely avoiding the blow, but he’s already following up with a knee aimed at your stomach. You manage to block it with your arms, but the impact rattles through you, forcing you to stumble back a step.
He doesn’t relent. His fists blur as he strikes again, and this time, you aren’t fast enough. His elbow slams into your shoulder, sending a jolt of pain down your arm. You grit your teeth, trying to keep your guard up, but he’s already on you again. His foot sweeps toward your legs, and you barely jump back in time to avoid getting knocked to the ground.
You swing wildly, trying to land a punch, but he dodges easily, like he’s playing a game. "Come on," he teases, his tone light but mocking. "Is that all you’ve got? You got this kid."
Your frustration flares, but you force it down, focusing instead on getting one good hit in. He comes at you again, this time a series of rapid punches aimed at your chest. You manage to block most of them, but a solid knee strike to your ribs sends you reeling, gasping for breath.
For a moment, it feels like the fight’s already over. But as he steps in for the next hit, you see your opening. You throw a desperate right hook, your body twisting with the effort, and your fist connects with his jaw. The impact makes him barely stagger back, a light urprised laugh escaping his lips.
"Well, there it is," he says, rubbing his jaw with a grin. "There you go, knew you could land some hard ones."
You’re breathing hard, sweat dripping down your forehead, but you don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. You can feel the sting of his hits still burning in your arms and ribs. He’s better—much better—but at least you didn’t go down without landing a punch.
"Keep training," he adds with a teasing tone, though not unkindly, as he readies himself again. "You might surprise the next person you fight. After losing and coming back eight years later for the next Trial Tournament." <hr>[[you'd wish Nag Walan would see this|Get this man]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
You don’t answer, your jaw tight as you prepare for the next exchange.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You feel the rush of adrenaline sharpen your focus as you step in to help Kaitlin. The older man’s eyes flick to you, his stance adjusting effortlessly as he shifts from Kaitlin to face you head-on. You recognize the precision in his movement—he’s a Muay Thai fighter, and from the way he’s already taken down Kaitlin, he’s good. But you’re ready.
You square up, keeping your fists high, your weight balanced on the balls of your feet. //Boxing versus Muay Thai. Let’s see how this goes.//
The moment stretches, and then he strikes—fast. His elbow swings out in a vicious arc, aimed at your head. You duck under it, your body responding instinctively, Nag Walan’s drills playing out in your mind. You pivot smoothly, countering with a sharp jab to his ribs. He grunts, not from pain, but in acknowledgment of the hit.
"Not bad," he mutters, backing up just enough to reset his stance, fully focused now and not joking.
You circle each other now, each calculating the other’s moves. He lashes out with a low kick aimed at your thigh. You block it with your shin and retaliate with a quick one-two punch, targeting his midsection. He parries the first punch, but the second grazes his jaw. A small smirk forms on his lips as he nods slightly, a silent recognition of your skill.
But he’s not holding back. His knee shoots up, aimed directly at your chest. You twist out of the way just in time, and in a flash, you slam an uppercut into his side. It’s a solid hit, but he takes it in stride, immediately swinging his other elbow toward your head. You duck again, narrowly avoiding the blow but feeling a graze.
You’re evenly matched, trading blows and dodges, the fight escalating as you both push each other. You see the respect in his eyes now. He knows you’re no amateur, and you can feel the thrill of a real challenge. He throws a high kick, but you’re faster, ducking low and landing a hook to his ribs. The impact makes him step back, but his smile only widens. <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>
"You’ve got some real talent, kid," he says, his voice calm despite the intensity of the fight. "Taught yourself well."
You breathe heavily but grin, adrenaline coursing through you. This fight’s far from over, but you know you’ve earned his respect.
<hr>
[[you'd wish The Overseer would see this|Get this man]]
<<else>> ... <</if>>
[[This fight is none of her concern|Get this man]] The moment the older man steps back, the cocky swordsman finally manages to free his sword from Kaitlin’s bubble, his eyes burning with fury. He grins, twirling the oversized blade with unnecessary flair, clearly trying to impress. But you don’t have time to admire his theatrics. The older man steps back, letting his teammate take over as if giving you a moment to breathe—though you know he’s just watching, calculating.
Kaitlin’s still clutching her side, her breathing labored, but she gives you a weak nod. She’s not down yet, even if she’s in pain. You steel yourself, knowing you’ll have to use their lack of coordination to your advantage.
The swordsman charges at you, sword raised high over his shoulder. His movements are big, exaggerated, and you quickly see the flaws in his form. He’s relying too much on brute strength. He swings down hard, and you sidestep just in time, the blade slamming into the ground with a heavy thud. The impact sends a tremor through the arena floor, but you see your chance.
You dart in close before he can recover, aiming a quick jab to his ribs. He grunts but pulls his sword free again, wildly slashing at you. You duck, the blade passing just over your head, but you can feel the air from the swing. Too close.
"Hold still!" he snarls, his face red with frustration. He swings again, but his timing is off. You easily dodge, and just as he leaves his side open, you land a solid punch to his gut, knocking the wind out of him.
<hr>
[[Get a load of this guy...]]From the corner of your eye, you see the older fighter watching, still not stepping in. //'He’s testing me,' //you realize. //'Or just toying with me.' //
Before you can get too caught up in the thought, the swordsman, still wheezing from your hit, comes at you with a reckless thrust. You sidestep again, and his sword skids off the ground, creating an opening. You throw a hard punch into his shoulder, causing him to stumble backward.
But then the short woman, who had been stuck from Kaitlin’s earlier move, frees herself and charges at you. Her scowl is fierce, her movements sharp and calculated, unlike her swordsman partner. She doesn’t shout or warn you—just lunges.
Kaitlin, still hurting, moves before you can react. She intercepts the woman with a quick, desperate swipe of her arm, knocking the woman off-balance. “Don’t forget about me,” Kaitlin mutters through gritted teeth, wincing from her side.
The swordsman takes the opportunity while you're distracted, swinging his sword low. It almost catches your legs, but you leap back just in time. You realize that, despite their lack of coordination, the swordsman’s wild attacks and the woman’s speed are making things difficult. They’re attacking from different angles, but without any teamwork to back it up, they’re just getting in each other’s way.
<hr>
[[Time to use that against them]] The swordsman swings again, this time aiming for your head. You duck, and just as his blade sweeps over you, the short woman rushes forward, trying to land a punch of her own. But in his overconfidence, the swordsman doesn’t check his swing. The tip of his sword grazes her arm, causing her to hiss in pain and stumble. You take the opportunity to kick her legs out from under her, sending her to the ground.
"Watch it!" she snaps at her partner, but he just sneers, "Should’ve moved faster."
You don’t waste time. With her down, you focus on the swordsman. He comes at you again, but now he’s slower, the weight of the sword starting to wear on him. You dodge one more heavy strike and manage to land a sharp uppercut to his chin. His head snaps back, and he stumbles, disoriented.
Just then, Kaitlin, despite her injuries, pushes through the pain and lunges at the short woman again, preventing her from getting back up. The two of them wrestle briefly, but Kaitlin manages to pin her down, though she’s clearly struggling to keep her hold.
That leaves you and the swordsman.
He swings once more, this time a wide, desperate arc, but you’re ready. You duck under his blade and drive a fist into his gut, followed by a quick right hook to his jaw. He gasps, the force of the blows making him stagger, and his sword slips from his hands.
You don’t give him a chance to recover. Before he can reach for his sword again, you deliver one last punch, straight to his nose. He crumples to the ground, clutching his face, groaning in pain.
You stand over him, panting, your body aching from the effort. The short woman struggles under Kaitlin’s hold, but she’s too injured and tired to break free. The older man, still watching, doesn’t intervene. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, impressed but silent.
The swordsman isn’t knocked out cold, but he’s not getting up anytime soon. He groans again, holding his face as blood trickles from his nose. "You... you little—"
Kaitlin, still wincing from her earlier injuries, smirks. “Told ya. All’s fair in fist and tournament war.”
<hr>
[[preach it sister]] Kaitlin, despite her pain, manages to stick the short woman’s arms to the ground using more of her bubblegum. With a gleeful grin, she calls out, "Hey! $name! $name, look!" Her voice is almost childlike, filled with pride as she beams up at you, as though she’s showing off a masterpiece.
The woman, however, is far from amused. She growls, her face twisted in fury, and starts thrashing violently, trying to kick Kaitlin with whatever little mobility she has left. Kaitlin barely dodges, hopping to the side in a silly, exaggerated motion, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Hey, that’s not nice," she mutters, placing her arms on her hips with a frown as if genuinely offended by the attack.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the nice dude!]] You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the nice dude!]] You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the nice dude!]] <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You nod at Kaitlin, feeling the weight of her gaze, but keeping your focus on the man in front of you.
“Are you sure?” Kaitlin asks, her voice a little shaky.
“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing hard. “I’ve got this.”
You square up, raising your fists, but something in your gut is telling you this was a mistake. The man’s smile is gone now, his stance shifting into something deadly. You’ve seen fighters like him before—experienced, calculated. You step forward, your feet feeling heavier than they should.
He’s faster than you expect. His first punch lands squarely in your gut before you even have a chance to react. The air rushes out of your lungs, and you stagger back, eyes wide. You try to recover, bringing your fists back up, but the next punch is already coming—this time to your ribs. The pain flares white-hot, and you taste blood in your mouth as you bite down to keep from crying out.
His attacks don’t stop. You try to dodge, but he’s too quick, each hit landing with precision. Your vision blurs as he drives a knee into your side, and you’re barely standing at this point. Desperation kicks in, and you throw a wild punch that manages to catch him in the shoulder, but it’s weak. He barely reacts.
“Not enough,” he says, his voice almost gentle, but it makes your stomach turn.
A sharp punch to the jaw sends you reeling, your vision going black for a moment. You stumble, barely catching yourself, the metallic taste of blood heavy on your tongue. Everything hurts. Your body feels like it’s been through a grinder, and you realize you’re outmatched. This was a mistake.
He goes for the finishing blow, but before it lands, you hear Kaitlin yell. In a flash, she’s between you two, her hand raised. Pink bubbles erupt from her palm, pushing him onto the ground with a thud and immobilizing the man.
His body freezes in place, locked by pink webs, but Kaitlin’s face contorts in pain, her legs trembling as she struggles to stand straight. “You— $nickname,” she gasps, her voice strained as she glances at you with a bright grin. “Told you I had your back!”
You can see her faltering, the strain of attacking him quickly taking its toll. She’s breathing heavily, clearly overexerting herself. The man’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s trapped, and he shoots you a grin despite the situation. “Good game,” he says, friendly but firm. <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 30, 0, 100)>>
You grit your teeth, the sting of failure sharp in your chest. You don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. You were in over your head. And you knew it.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You nod at Kaitlin, signaling her to stay back. She hesitates, concern clear in her eyes, but you cut her off before she can protest.
“Are you sure?” she asks, biting her lip.
“Yeah,” you reply, not taking your eyes off the man. “I’ve got this.”
The man watches you with that same easygoing grin, but his stance tightens, his legs spreading apart in a fighting position. This time, there’s no teasing. You both know this round will be serious. You raise your fists, feeling the familiar weight of the moment—a mixture of adrenaline and muscle memory kicking in.
He makes the first move, lunging at you with a quick, sharp jab aimed for your ribs. You block it, but the force still rattles through your arms. He’s strong—his muay Thai skills making every strike feel like a hammer. You sidestep, countering with a jab of your own, but he parries, smirking.
The fight picks up, a flurry of strikes and counters. His kicks are brutal, aiming for your legs, trying to weaken your stance. One catches you square in the thigh, pain shooting up through your body. You grunt, but push forward. You’ve been in worse.
You wait for an opening, and when he overextends on a hook, you slip inside his guard and drive a heavy punch into his gut. He grunts, surprised by the force, but doesn’t falter. You go again, faster this time, jabbing at his face, making him backpedal. His nose starts bleeding, a trickle of red staining his grin.
“Not bad,” he mutters, wiping the blood away with his thumb.
But you’re not finished. His hands lower just a bit, and you capitalize, driving a powerful right hook into his jaw. The impact rattles him, and he stumbles back, dazed. You follow up with a quick series of jabs, each punch landing clean. His legs give way, and before he can recover, you land the final blow—a cross to his temple that drops him to his knees.
Panting, you step back as he stays down for a moment, coughing, and trying to catch his breath. He glances up at you, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, and chuckles.
“You’re good,” he admits. “Should've expected that from your previous punches.” <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
You nod, your chest still heaving from the effort, tasting blood in your mouth from where his fist had grazed your lip earlier. You won, but it wasn’t easy. <<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|End of you and Kaitlin’s fight]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>You square up with the man again, feeling the fatigue in your limbs from the previous rounds. Kaitlin steps up beside you, still holding her side, wincing slightly from her injuries. She gives you a determined nod, her usual lighthearted attitude replaced by a focused seriousness. Despite her pain, she's ready to fight.
"You sure you're up for this?" you ask, voice low.
"Yeah," she replies, cracking a smile, though it's strained. "Teamwork, right?"
You nod, heart pounding in your chest. The man across from you—the salt-and-pepper fighter—grins, clearly amused by the challenge of facing both of you now. But there’s something different about him now. He’s not taunting, not teasing. This is a real fight, and he knows it.
He moves first. Fast. You barely see it coming as he shifts his weight and sends a kick flying towards your head. You duck, but he spins mid-motion, and the follow-up knee aims for Kaitlin. She manages to sidestep, but only just, her breath hissing from the pain.
You can tell his muay Thai strikes are calculated, aiming to wear you both down. Every punch and kick feels like it’s meant to find a weakness, but with Kaitlin beside you, there’s no time to falter. The two of you work in tandem, each covering the other’s weak spots.
Kaitlin’s form is impressive, especially considering the beating she took earlier. She moves with precision, sending pink bubbles from her hands to distract and slow him, creating moments where you can step in. He’s forced to dodge or block them, leaving himself open just long enough for you to land a solid punch to his ribs. The impact is sharp, and you feel the satisfying crack of knuckles against bone.
He grunts but stays steady, retaliating with a low kick aimed at your legs. It connects, sending you stumbling back, but Kaitlin is there. She throws a bubble at his feet, and though he dodges it, the distraction is enough for you to regain your stance and rush him with a series of jabs.
He blocks most of them, but Kaitlin’s relentless support forces him on the defensive. She’s tossing bubbles with more accuracy now, her determination cutting through the pain. Her bubbles aren’t just distractions; they’re buying you critical moments. And as much as it stings your pride to admit, fighting alongside her is making this winnable.
He goes for Kaitlin again, swinging a roundhouse kick meant to knock her down, but she’s quicker than he expects. She ducks, retaliating with a bubble that catches his leg, slowing his movement just enough. You see the opening and take it, delivering a hard uppercut to his chin. His head snaps back, and he stumbles, clearly dazed.
“You’re not bad at this, you know,” she grunts, glancing at you as she throws another bubble.
“Neither are you,” you reply, breathing hard but feeling the adrenaline surge through your veins.
It’s not long before the man’s exhaustion begins to show. Every strike you throw feels heavier, more effective, and his once-dominant stance starts to falter. You and Kaitlin are overwhelming him, cutting off his attacks before they can fully form.
He lunges forward, trying to catch you off guard with a feint, but Kaitlin is there again. She throws a bubble directly in his path, and though he dodges, it’s enough to throw off his balance. You slip inside his guard, landing a solid punch to his side that forces the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp.
The fight feels like it’s been going on forever, but you can sense the end coming. The man’s movements are slowing, his defenses weaker. Kaitlin, despite her pain, is holding her ground, her face etched with determination. You throw a final punch, a cross aimed directly at his jaw, and it connects with a sickening thud. He stumbles back, his legs giving way as he collapses to the ground.
You stand over him, panting, your body aching from the effort. He coughs, wiping the blood from his mouth as he looks up at you with a grin.
“Not bad,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Not bad at all. You two… make a good team.”
Kaitlin, still clutching her side but smiling through the pain, glances at you. “Told you,” she says. “There’s no shame in needing a little help now and then.”
You breathe heavily, nodding in agreement. There’s a lesson in that, one you’re not too proud to accept. Fighting alongside her made this possible.
Victory, as it turns out, isn’t just about individual strength.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|End of you and Kaitlin’s fight]]<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><<if setup.kaitlinDecision == "brokeherwrist">>You and Kaitlin moved quickly, your footsteps barely audible over the clash of metal and the echoing grunts of competitors locked in fierce combat throughout the dome. The floor was littered with broken weapons and discarded flags, and navigating through the chaos while holding onto all the flags your team had collected felt like moving past a pack of wolves, each one eyeing you as if you were fresh prey.
Kaitlin shot you a glance, her face pale beneath the dirt and sweat, and you noticed the makeshift bandage—a scarf tied tightly around her bleeding arm. Despite the injury, she pressed on without complaint, though her movements were a touch slower now. The fights had been brutal, pushing you both to your limits, and the adrenaline still thrummed through your veins as you carried on.
Together, you had fought in sync, winning skirmishes and snatching up flags left and right. But something gnawed at you, a worry you couldn’t shake. For the seventh time, you felt an urge to check on Fai and Dante, wondering if they were faring as well as you and Kaitlin had.<<else>>You and Kaitlin moved quickly, your footsteps barely audible over the clash of metal and the echoing grunts of competitors locked in fierce combat throughout the dome. The floor was littered with broken weapons and discarded flags, and navigating through the chaos while holding onto all the flags your team had collected felt like moving past a pack of wolves, each one eyeing you as if you were covered in raw meat.
Kaitlin shot you a look, and you could tell she shared the same concern. The fights had been difficult, pushing you both to your limits, and the adrenaline still thrummed through your veins as you carried on. You and Kaitlin had worked together flawlessly, your movements in sync, winning fights and grabbing flags left and right. Yet, something gnawed at you, urging you to check on Fai and Dante for the seventh time.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Check on them]] Kaitlin squares off with the woman, her usual grin widening as the lady glares daggers at her. The woman’s face twists in frustration, her posture coiled like a spring ready to explode.
“Outta my way, bubble girl!” the woman snarls, cracking her knuckles. Her eyes burn with a mixture of contempt and impatience.
"Geez, someone's a little grumpy today!" Kaitlin says in a singsong voice, hopping back with a laugh as the woman lunges at her. The movement is swift—faster than you expected—but Kaitlin's agility saves her. She sidesteps, narrowly avoiding a punch aimed straight at her head.
“You fight like a damn kid!” the woman spits, swinging her fists wildly. She’s fast, but there’s no rhythm to her attacks—just sheer aggression. Kaitlin, despite her usual playful nature, stays focused. Her movements are light and quick, weaving in and out, dodging punches with ease.
"Maybe that's the point!" Kaitlin teases, dropping low and sweeping her leg under the woman, who barely hops over in time. The older woman growls in frustration, her curses growing louder and more frequent as Kaitlin’s playful dodging fuels her anger.
The air crackles as Kaitlin spits a glob of enchanted goo at the woman’s feet, forcing her to leap back. But Kaitlin doesn’t stop there. She follows up with a quick jab to the woman’s shoulder, and while it’s not the strongest punch, it’s enough to throw the woman off balance.
“You little—” The woman’s temper flares, and she throws another punch, but it’s wild and rushed. Kaitlin ducks under it easily, the grin never leaving her face.
"Oh, almost got me that time!" she giggles, her voice irritating the woman even more. The lady’s face turns red with fury, and she lets out a string of curses, kicking out in frustration as Kaitlin dances back.
Meanwhile, you turn your attention to the cocky swordsman. He stands there, tapping his sword against the ground as if this is all a game to him. He smirks, eyes gleaming with arrogance. "You really think you can take me?" he says, drawing his blade with a dramatic flourish. "I’m the best swordsman in this tournament."
"Guess we’ll see," you respond, keeping your eyes locked on him. Your heartbeat quickens, but your head is in the game. You know better than to let his words shake your focus.
The swordsman grins, cocky as ever. He swings his sword lazily at first, testing the waters, his confidence palpable. “I’ll give you one free hit—just to make it fair.”
You don’t bother with a reply. Instead, you dive in, fists up. He swings his sword again, but it’s too slow—he’s all show and no substance. You duck beneath the blade and land a solid punch to his ribs. He gasps, surprised by the force, but his cocky smirk doesn’t falter.
“Lucky shot,” he grunts, but you can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes now. His swings come faster after that, but they’re still sloppy, and your focus remains sharp. You keep dodging, waiting for the right moment to strike again.
He taunts you between gritted teeth. “You can’t run forever. Once I land one hit, you’re done.”
But he doesn’t land that hit. You’re too quick, weaving around his blade, delivering quick punches to his midsection every chance you get. His confidence wavers with each hit, and you can see his movements becoming more desperate.
“You’re gonna pay for that!”
<hr>
[[get a load of this bum...]]Kaitlin dodged another wild punch from the woman, her movements still quick despite the pain etched on her face. The lady cursed furiously, her fists swinging with reckless abandon, but Kaitlin, always light on her feet, danced just out of reach.
In a flash of pink, Kaitlin spat out another glob of her goo, aiming it straight at the woman's arms. The sticky substance hit its mark, and with a quick swipe, Kaitlin slammed the woman’s hands to the ground, pinning them with the enchanted goo.
With a wide grin, Kaitlin straightened up, bouncing on her heels as if she'd just won a prize. "Hey! $name! $name, look!" she called out, her voice filled with childlike glee as she proudly showed off her work. Her eyes sparkled with delight, completely ignoring the fury in the woman’s face.
The woman growled, her arms stuck firmly to the ground, and she immediately began thrashing, her face contorted in rage. “Let me go, you little brat!” she spat, struggling against the goo that held her.
Kaitlin, still grinning, watched as the woman tried to kick her with the limited movement she had left. The kick came fast, but Kaitlin hopped to the side in an exaggerated, almost cartoonish motion, her feet nearly slipping out from under her.
"Hey, that’s not nice!" Kaitlin pouted, putting her hands on her hips with an almost comically offended look on her face. She shook her head, as if genuinely surprised by the woman's aggression.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin|You liked Kaitlin t-ver]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying|You found Kaitlin annoying t-ver]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again|You didn't care t-ver]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the cocky dude!]] You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the cocky dude!]] You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the cocky dude!]] The cocky swordsman, seeing his teammate stuck to the ground and Kaitlin grinning like a mischievous child, scowled with fury. "You think this is a joke?" he spat, eyes narrowing as he turned his focus on her. Without warning, he bolted towards Kaitlin, sword raised, ready to strike.
Your muscles tensed as you saw his intent, and you moved instinctively to intercept him. But just as you surged forward, a sudden chill ran down your spine, your instincts screaming danger. Reflexively, you dodged to the side, barely evading a strike aimed at your back.
A familiar laugh, warm and teasing, filled the air. "Did you forget about me?" the older man said with a grin, standing where you'd just been, his movements deceptively light. His salt-and-pepper hair caught the light as he casually rolled his shoulders, eyes sparkling with amusement.
You took a sharp breath, realizing just how close you'd come to being caught off guard. This man wasn’t like the others—he required your full focus.
<hr>
[[Continue|BEAT THAT RAT]] <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>As the fight begins, you face the Muay Thai fighter with a focused mind. Your previous training with the Overseer comes to the forefront. You recall his lessons in the garden, his calm, analytical voice guiding you through the intricacies of enchanting.
You pull out a small piece of prepared paper, drawing your finger across it. Black ink trails behind, forming shadowy flames that erupt into dark fox heads, enveloping your fists. The phantoms look like shadowy fox heads ablaze with black flames, adding an intimidating aura to your punches.
With the phantoms enhancing your strikes, you engage the older man. His skillful Muay Thai techniques are formidable, but your enchanted fists provide a unique advantage. You press the attack, the shadow foxes slashing and disrupting with each punch. The man’s eyes widen slightly at the sight, but he remains calm and collected, skillfully deflecting your blows and returning with powerful counters.
The battle is intense, your enchanting skills providing a significant edge, but the man’s agility and technique are unmatched. You remember the Overseer’s words: “Mastery comes from precision and control. Your enchantment should flow naturally, not forcefully.” Applying this advice, you strive to maintain precise control over the phantoms, each strike aimed with careful calculation.
Despite your best efforts, the fight proves to be a rigorous test of endurance. The man’s skill in Muay Thai keeps him in the game, his counters sharp and precise. You manage to land a few effective hits, but his resilience and technique challenge you at every turn. The duel is a clear demonstration of your growing enchanting abilities, tempered by the realization of how much more you need to refine your skills.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>As you face the seasoned Muay Thai fighter, your nerves are on edge. Despite your resolve, the exhaustion from previous encounters weighs heavily on you. The older man’s confident demeanor only intensifies your pressure.
You attempt to summon your enchanting ability, focusing on the shadow foxes. The phantoms emerge, dark fox heads engulfed in black flames, enveloping your fists. Despite your effort, the foxes flicker weakly, and the flames are unstable. You advance, trying to use the enchanted fists to your advantage.
The fight quickly becomes overwhelming. The fighter’s superior Muay Thai skills are evident as he dodges and counters your shadowy punches with precision. His movements are relentless, and despite the fox phantoms, you struggle to keep up. He lands several strikes, and you feel the sting of each blow. The pain is sharp and real, and your energy wanes as you try to keep your focus. The foxes seem to waver, unable to fully protect you.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>
Despite the overwhelming pressure, you manage to regroup. Your breaths are heavy, and your muscles ache from the strain. In a final burst of effort, you unleash a powerful punch, your shadow fox phantoms flaring with renewed intensity. The punch lands with a satisfying impact, catching the fighter off guard. The force of the blow sends him staggering back, and you finally get a moment of respite. The victory is hard-earned, but the toll on your body is evident.<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|Ate that man uppp...or not...]] While you’re locked in battle with the Muay Thai fighter, Kaitlin squares off against the cocky swordsman. His eyes gleam with a bloodthirsty excitement as he strikes, each swing faster and more vicious than the last. Kaitlin, no longer playing around, is fully focused, dodging and weaving, but his attacks are relentless.
The swordsman, overconfident and brimming with spite, believes he’s untouchable. He grins wickedly, slashing at her with reckless arrogance. Kaitlin manages to avoid most of his attacks, but in a moment of sheer speed, his blade connects.
The tip of his sword slices through her arm. Blood spurts from the wound, staining her sleeve. His eyes widen, not in concern, but in dark satisfaction. "Didn’t think I’d get you so easily," he sneers, voice dripping with malicious glee. The surprise on his face isn’t regret—it’s hunger for more.
Kaitlin stumbles back, her hand gripping the wound as blood seeps between her fingers. She gasps in pain, the cut deep enough to slow her down. She trips, her foot catching on the uneven ground, and crashes backward with a yelp.
"Ow... damn it!" Kaitlin winces, clutching her arm as the pain pulses through her body. She tries to push herself up, but her strength falters. Gritting her teeth, she glares at the swordsman, who’s already closing in for another strike.
<hr>
[[Help her out]]
[[She's on her own]]
<<set setup.kaitlinDecision to "brokeherwrist">><<if $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You don’t hesitate. Seeing Kaitlin hurt ignites a fierce rush of adrenaline, and in an instant, you close the distance between yourself and the cocky swordsman. As your finger brushes across the prepared paper in your hand, black ink follows in a smooth, fluid motion until it bursts into black shadows, wrapping your fists in dark fox flames. The shadowy creatures resemble fox heads, wisps of black smoke trailing behind them as they flicker and snap with fiery energy.
With swift movements, you throw your first punch, aiming for the blonde swordsman’s midsection. The fox-shaped shadows follow the momentum of your strike, slashing through the air. He grins, overconfident, but the moment the blow connects, his expression twists in shock as the impact knocks him back, forcing him to stumble. He grunts, doubling over as the air is knocked from his lungs. <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>>
You press the attack, your fists moving in sharp, controlled arcs. Another punch lands on his shoulder, spinning him around. He gasps, the wind knocked out of him as he tries to parry. The fox flames lick at his skin, leaving burning streaks across his leather armor. His once cocky demeanor rapidly fades into panic, his defensive swings becoming desperate.
The next hit catches him across the jaw, and he lets out a strangled yell of pain, stumbling backward. His sword clatters to the ground as he falters, clutching his face, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. You go in for another strike, this time aiming at his ribs, and you hear a crack as your fist connects solidly. He groans in pain, collapsing to his knees.
Just as you’re about to finish him off, closing in to deliver the final blow, you feel a presence behind you. A chill runs down your spine, and you instinctively dodge to the side, just in time to avoid a sharp elbow aimed at your head. The Muay Thai fighter is on you now, fists raised, his movements quick and calculated.
You retreat, narrowly avoiding another strike from the Muay Thai fighter. He’s fast—his fists blur in front of you as he throws powerful punches. You duck and weave, feeling the pressure of his relentless assault. His foot catches your side, sending a jolt of pain through your ribs. You grunt, stepping back, but you quickly gather yourself and counter with a sharp uppercut.
The fox flames snap against his chest as you land the hit, and he stumbles, but barely. He grins through the pain, clearly enjoying the challenge, and rushes at you again. The exchange is intense—his fists slam into your guard, each impact sending shockwaves through your arms. You retaliate with quick jabs, your shadow-fox fists flickering with every strike.
Just when you think you’re at a stalemate, Kaitlin, clutching her injured arm, spits a weak, gummy-like substance toward the Muay Thai fighter’s feet. He doesn’t notice until it’s too late. His foot lands right in the sticky mess, causing him to slip. His eyes widen as he loses balance.
Seizing the opportunity, you duck under his guard and land a crushing blow to his abdomen. He gasps, his breath leaving him in a sharp wheeze, and his body collapses as your fist, blazing with dark fox flames, slams into him one last time. He crumples to the ground, unconscious.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>
Kaitlin, pale and worn, gives a small, tired grin as she watches the two fallen men. "Teamwork’s not so bad, huh?" she says through a weak chuckle. <<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">> Despite your lack of training, you rush to Kaitlin’s side, determined to protect her. Your fists ignite with dark fox flames, though they flicker and waver, barely holding their form. The shadowy fox heads seem unstable, like they're struggling to cling to existence, but you push forward anyway, relying on sheer will.
The swordsman, still wearing that cocky grin, doesn’t see your charge coming. His overconfidence works in your favor. You throw a desperate punch, and though your form is sloppy, it connects hard with his chest. The impact is enough to knock him off balance, his smirk dropping into a wide-eyed look of surprise as he stumbles backward. He trips over his feet and crashes to the ground, groaning in pain.
You rush forward, intent on finishing him off, but before you can land another blow, movement catches the corner of your eye. The Muay Thai fighter, quick and brutal, barrels toward you, fists raised high. Instinctively, you scramble back, raising your shaky guard. His strikes come fast and hard.
A sharp kick slams into your side, and the force of it knocks the air from your lungs. Pain radiates through your ribs, a sharp and throbbing ache that makes it difficult to breathe. You stagger, barely able to stay on your feet before his next punch clips your jaw. Your head snaps back, and you taste blood in your mouth, the coppery tang lingering as you grit your teeth against the pain.
His hits are relentless, each one heavy and precise. Another strike lands on your arm, and your whole body throbs with the force of it. You’re on the defense now, desperately trying to block and dodge, but your movements are slow, and the pain makes every action feel sluggish. The fox flames around your fists flicker even more, threatening to extinguish with each passing second.
Every hit you fail to avoid sends fresh waves of agony through your body. Your breath comes in ragged, shallow bursts, and your limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by lead. The Muay Thai fighter’s brutal attacks leave you reeling, and for a moment, desperation claws at the edges of your mind. You're barely hanging on, your body battered and aching, muscles burning from the effort to keep up with his pace.
Then, from behind the fighter, Kaitlin’s voice breaks through the chaos. "Look out!" she shouts, her tone strained but determined. You cancel your swing just in time and glance over, seeing her leaning on her good side, blood still dripping from her arm. She spits another glob of her gummy-like substance, her aim true despite her injuries. The sticky glob lands just behind the Muay Thai fighter, catching his foot and sticking it to the ground.
The momentary distraction is all you need. With a grunt of effort, you pull yourself together and deliver a hard punch to his side. Your fist, still engulfed in flickering shadow flames, slams into him with all the force you can muster. He lets out a pained gasp, his body crumpling as he falls to the ground, unconscious.
Panting heavily, you step back, sweat dripping down your face, mixing with the blood from your injuries. Your chest heaves, each breath a struggle as your body screams in pain. <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
But before you can catch your breath, Kaitlin’s voice cuts through the haze again. "$nickname! Look out!" she screams.
You turn just in time, eyes wide as the cocky swordsman, now recovered, lunges at you with his sword. You dodge to the side, narrowly avoiding the slash. Gasping for air, you feel your body trembling, your stamina running dangerously low. Every muscle aches, and you can feel your knees threatening to buckle. But you grit your teeth, determination surging through you. It’s time to take him down, once and for all.<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You glance over at Kaitlin, watching as she clutches her arm and backs away from the cocky swordsman, hissing in pain. A part of you feels the pull to help her, but your thoughts quickly turn cold. //'If she's entered the tournament, she should be able to hold her own,'// you reason. //'Otherwise, why is she even here?'// You can’t afford to split your focus, not with the older older fighter closing in on you. Kaitlin will have to fend for herself.
Turning your attention fully to the older man, you brace yourself. Dark fox flames flicker to life around your fists, but this time, they're stable—controlled. The shadowy energy pulses through your body as you shift into a stance, feeling the power surge in your veins.
The guy infront of you doesn’t hesitate. He lunges at you with brutal force, throwing a series of sharp punches and knees your way. But you’re ready. You weave through his attacks, your body moving with precision. As he throws a powerful elbow toward your face, you duck, and the air above your head sizzles with the force of his miss.
You counter with a swift uppercut, your fist crackling with dark energy. It connects solidly with his jaw, snapping his head back. He stumbles but recovers quickly, eyes narrowing in frustration. His stance shifts as he launches into a flurry of kicks, his feet cutting through the air like blades.
But you stay one step ahead, using the fluidity of the shadow flames to augment your movements. You parry each kick, and when he tries to close in with a knee strike, you sidestep and unleash a barrage of phantom punches. The fox heads trail after your fists, striking him with relentless precision. Each hit lands solidly, forcing him back with every blow.
The older man growls in frustration, his attacks becoming more desperate as he realizes he’s losing ground. His movements become wild, his strikes lacking the sharpness they had moments before. Sensing your opening, you push forward. A swift, brutal kick to his side sends him reeling, and before he can recover, you close the distance.
With one final punch, your shadow-covered fist slams into his chest, and the dark energy surges through him. He gasps, eyes wide with shock as the impact takes his breath away. His body crumples, collapsing to the ground, unconscious.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>
You stand over him, breathing steady, feeling the pulse of victory as the fox flames around your hands slowly fade. Kaitlin’s situation is a distant thought now—you’ve proven you can handle your fight, with or without her. <<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">> Kaitlin clutches her arm, inching away from the swordsman, and for a moment, you consider stepping in. But just as quickly, you push the thought aside. //'If she's entered the tournament, she should be able to handle herself,'// you think, justifying the decision. You’ve got your own fight to worry about, and you can’t afford to get distracted.
You turn fully to the older Muay Thai fighter, trying to summon your shadow fox flames. The flickering energy appears around your fists, but it's unstable—barely holding together. You know you’ve trained more with physical combat than your enchantments, and it shows. Still, you charge forward, determined to make up for the gap in your skills with sheer willpower.
The Muay Thai fighter doesn’t waste a second. He charges at you with a flurry of punches, and you manage to block a few, but his speed and strength overwhelm you. His elbow slams into your ribs, and the pain is immediate and sharp. You stagger backward, gasping for breath as the fox flames around your fists flicker dangerously low.
You try to counter with a punch of your own, but it’s sloppy, and he easily dodges it. Before you can recover, he’s on you again, raining down kicks and punches. One of his knees catches you in the stomach, doubling you over, and a sharp fist follows, connecting with your jaw. The world spins as you reel back, barely able to keep your balance.
Pain radiates through your body—every muscle screaming as you struggle to defend yourself. Each of his hits feels like a hammer, driving you back step by step. Your shadowy fists flicker out entirely, leaving you with nothing but your raw strength to rely on.
Desperation grips you as he throws another punch. You barely manage to duck under it, swinging a weak right hook that glances off his arm. He retaliates immediately, delivering a brutal kick to your side. You feel your ribs buckle under the force, and a sharp cry escapes your lips as you hit the ground, gasping for air.
The Muay Thai fighter steps in to finish you off, but you summon every last ounce of strength. As he raises his foot for a final stomp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding it. Desperation fuels your next move as you push yourself off the ground and throw a wild punch. This time, it connects—your fist slamming into his face with more force than you thought you had left.
He stumbles, dazed, and you seize the opportunity. Fueled by adrenaline, you throw another punch, and another, each one landing with more weight behind it. The Muay Thai fighter tries to defend himself, but his movements are sluggish now. You’re too desperate, too relentless to stop.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
With one final, exhausted punch, you hit him square in the chest. His body jerks, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious.<<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>
Panting, you stagger backward, barely able to stand. Every inch of your body hurts, and your head throbs from the onslaught of hits you took. But despite the pain, you’ve won—barely. You glance over at Kaitlin, still locked in her own struggle, but for now, all you can do is catch your breath. <<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|You let her get beat up mahn...]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>Kaitlin staggers toward you, her steps slow but determined. Her breathing is labored, and her usual bright smile is dimmed by the exhaustion in her eyes. Still, despite everything, she manages a weak grin, her puffy pink hair slightly disheveled, loose strands sticking to her damp forehead. The contrast of the pink gum over her arm catches your eye immediately, standing out starkly against her dark skin. It’s smeared over the wound, hastily applied to stop the bleeding, but but it’s doing its job, keeping the blood from flowing as she moves.
“Can you believe it?” she says with a soft laugh, her voice light despite the fatigue. "All this for just one fight. And there’s still more to go!" Her tone is playful, almost as if she’s trying to lighten the mood, as though the near-death experience she just had was nothing more than an obstacle to be shrugged off.
Her smile, though small, is genuine—completely oblivious to the fact that you hadn’t stepped in to help. Her kindness radiates through her exhaustion, as if she’s just happy to still be standing next to you, even after the brutal battle.
Without a word, you both turn toward the flag. It's in sight now, the next step in this grueling process. You grab it together, each movement heavy with the weight of the battle you’ve just fought. There’s no time for rest, no time to dwell on what just happened—you have more targets to face, and this is only the beginning.
As you both walk forward, the weight of your decision lingers at the back of your mind, but Kaitlin doesn’t say a word about it. For now, you press on.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|End of you and Kaitlin’s fight]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Duppy distractions</h2></span>
//How many duppies would you like to create? //
//Warning : The more you make, the more exhausted you'll get, the less you make, the weaker your offense is...//
<hr>
[[Two duppies|FightWithKatie][$duppies = "two"]]
[[Four duppies|DragThemWithKatie][$duppies = "four"]]
You and Kaitlin crouch low on the flat terrain, the dome’s dim lighting casting long shadows across the ground. The only real source of light comes from the bright circular strips surrounding each base, including the one where the opponents stand, guarding the flag. The enchanted floor glows beneath them, illuminating their forms while leaving the rest of the dome in murky darkness. It’s a game of shadows, and you’re about to use it to your advantage.
"Alright," you murmur to Kaitlin, keeping your voice low as your eyes stay fixed on the three opponents. "There’s this little trick I can do where I conjure up clones."
Kaitlin’s eyes widen with delight, her face lighting up in the dim glow of the floor. "Oh my gosh, say sike right now!" She grins, nearly bouncing with excitement. "There’s more adorable yous?"
<<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You flash a grin, leaning in just a little. "Oh, you have no idea how charming they are. Honestly, they might be the only competition I have in terms of good looks."
Kaitlin giggles, her excitement bubbling up again. "Competition? You? Nah, they’re just mini-you. Doesn’t count!"
You wink at her. "You’d be surprised. They’ve got all the flair I do." Then, you tilt your head toward the opponents, keeping the mood light but focused. "But let’s see if they’re charming enough to cause a distraction, shall we?"<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You barely react to her excitement, keeping your eyes locked on the opponents. "This isn’t the time for jokes," you say calmly, focused entirely on the task at hand. "We need to move fast before they catch on."
Kaitlin’s smile falters for just a second, then she nods, her voice more serious now. "Right. But what’s the plan with these clones?"<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You snort, rolling your eyes. "Yeah, real adorable. I’m sure they’ll be charmed before they punch my face in." You flash a grin, half-joking but ready to get serious. "But they’re not just for show. We’re using them to throw those guys off."
Kaitlin’s grin only widens. "Charmed or not, I can’t wait to see mini-yous in action."
You raise a brow at her, amused but quickly pull out your book, keeping your tone practical. "Focus, we still need to pull this off."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You give her a small smile, shaking your head slightly. "Kaitlin, stay focused." You whisper, fighting to hold back a huff of laughter, but your cautious side keeps you grounded. You glance back toward the opponents, eyes narrowing. "We need to keep quiet. Someone could catch us off guard any second."
Kaitlin’s eyebrows shoot up, her enthusiasm dimming for a moment. "Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to." She catches on quickly, still smiling but now matching your wary tone. "More adorable yous, though. But for what?"<</if>>
You pull out your book from the small satchel slung over your shoulder. The worn pages hum faintly as you open it, ready to summon your Duppies.
"They’ll serve as a distraction," you explain. "We use them to get the enemies focused on something else while we sneak in from the back and grab the flag."
<hr>
[[Continue|dups! get them losers!!]]<<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 15, 0, 100)>>After a moment, the older man notices. He glances at the duppies again for a beat, then shifts his gaze toward you and Kaitlin, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You two are smart," he says, his voice almost amused, like he’s enjoying the challenge. Behind him, the swordsman and the woman snap back to reality, quickly dispelling the Duppies. Their eyes now scan for the real threat.
He steps forward, but it’s the other two that rush in first. The angry woman with a jagged bobcut barrels forward with a snarl, her movements fast but wild, while the blond swordsman lumbers after her, his massive sword dragging behind him as he sneers.
“Let’s go!” Kaitlin shouts, raising the flagpole defensively as the woman charges at her.
Without hesitation, the woman claws at her, her fingers curled like talons, but Kaitlin is quick. She tosses one of her sticky bubbles, catching the woman mid-swing. It splatters across her torso, slowing her movements as she growls in frustration.
“Really? Bubbles?” the woman hisses, wiping at the mess with increasing rage.
Kaitlin grins, using the flagpole as a makeshift staff to keep her opponent at bay. “What? Not a fan of a good bath?” she quips, twirling the pole with ease.
The woman’s eyes flash with fury, and she lunges again, growling like a wild beast as she claws at Kaitlin’s defenses. But Kaitlin’s quick movements and light-hearted taunts only make the woman angrier, her attacks growing sloppier.
Meanwhile, the blond swordsman makes his move on you, swinging his oversized weapon with little precision. The sword is too big for him to handle, and it shows in every reckless, wide arc he makes.
"You scared?" he taunts, though his words lack any real bite. "Bet you’re shaking in your boots!"
You easily sidestep his first swing, watching as he stumbles slightly, the weight of the sword pulling him off balance. His taunts are hollow, his arrogance palpable, but none of it gets to you. He’s trying too hard.
“You swing that thing like a child with a toy,” you mutter, dodging another haphazard strike. His attacks are powerful but slow, leaving you plenty of time to think.
As he lifts his sword again, you begin to gather your energy, preparing to create more doppelgangers. With his lack of coordination, a few well-placed distractions should be enough to catch him off guard.
[[Continue|You better train your duppies]] The moment Kaitlin grabs the flag, the older man steps forward, but it’s the other two that rush in first. The angry woman with a jagged bobcut barrels forward with a snarl, her movements fast but wild, while the blond swordsman lumbers after her, his massive sword dragging behind him as he sneers.
“Let’s go!” Kaitlin shouts, raising the flagpole defensively as the woman charges at her.
Without hesitation, the woman claws at her, her fingers curled like talons, but Kaitlin is quick. She tosses one of her sticky bubbles, catching the woman mid-swing. It splatters across her torso, slowing her movements as she growls in frustration.
“Really? Bubbles?” the woman hisses, wiping at the mess with increasing rage.
Kaitlin grins, using the flagpole as a makeshift staff to keep her opponent at bay. “What? Not a fan of a good bath?” she quips, twirling the pole with ease.
The woman’s eyes flash with fury, and she lunges again, growling like a wild beast as she claws at Kaitlin’s defenses. But Kaitlin’s quick movements and light-hearted taunts only make the woman angrier, her attacks growing sloppier.
Meanwhile, the blond swordsman makes his move on you, swinging his oversized weapon with little precision. The sword is too big for him to handle, and it shows in every reckless, wide arc he makes.
"You scared?" he taunts, though his words lack any real bite. "Bet you’re shaking in your boots!"
You easily sidestep his first swing, watching as he stumbles slightly, the weight of the sword pulling him off balance. His taunts are hollow, his arrogance palpable, but none of it gets to you. He’s trying too hard.
“You swing that thing like a child with a toy,” you mutter, dodging another haphazard strike. His attacks are powerful but slow, leaving you plenty of time to think.
As he lifts his sword again, you begin to gather your energy, preparing to create more doppelgangers. With his lack of coordination, a few well-placed distractions should be enough to catch him off guard.
<hr>
[[Continue|get a duppy to punch this man]] The swordsman swings wildly, the weight of his oversized sword throwing him off balance. You sidestep easily, his taunts barely phasing you as he shouts, “You can run, but you can't hide, you copycat!"
With a steady breath, you evoke two more Duppies. They rise from the ground, dripping wet and sluggish in their movements, but they move with a purpose. Their blank stares unnerve the swordsman, who takes a step back, his overconfidence waning.
“More of you?” he scoffs, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. “Fine! I’ll cut down all of you!”
He rushes forward, bringing his blade down in a heavy arc toward one of the Duppies. The copy doesn't react, allowing the sword to cleave through its form. The Duppy bursts into black smoke on impact, enveloping the swordsman in a thick cloud.
The swordsman coughs, waving his sword in front of him to clear the smoke. “What the hell…?” His voice cracks, the cockiness beginning to falter.
Before he can adjust, the other Duppy charges at him from behind, landing a heavy blow to his back. He stumbles forward, crashing to one knee with a grunt. "Damn it!"
You take the opportunity, closing the distance while he’s disoriented. He slashes blindly at the air, missing you and the remaining Duppy entirely. One of your copies lands another solid hit on his side, sending him sprawling.
He swings his sword upward in desperation, managing to slice through the last Duppy, dispelling it into more smoke. For a moment, he stands there, surrounded by the black mist, panting and wild-eyed.
“Can’t even fight me on your own, huh?” he snarls, his cocky grin returning even as he coughs.
You rush forward through the smoke, using the cover to your advantage. He doesn’t see you coming until it’s too late. With his vision clouded, you feint to the side, then deliver a swift kick to his ribs. He gasps, the wind knocked out of him as he drops his sword with a loud clang.
He tries to recover, reaching for the weapon, but you're faster. You deliver a sharp punch to his jaw, knocking him flat on his back. His eyes roll back, and the fight is over. You stand victorious, the black smoke slowly dissipating around you.
<hr>
[[Continue|Fight the muay thai guy]] Your body feels heavier this time as you summon two more Duppies. The strain of the earlier summoning tugs at your energy, making the invocation sluggish. The shadowy copies emerge, but even you can tell they're weaker than before, dripping and sluggish in their movements.
The blond swordsman grins. “Tired already? I knew you couldn’t keep up! Watch me slice you apart!”
He charges forward with reckless abandon, swinging his oversized sword wildly. One of the Duppies darts toward him, trying to land a punch, but he swings his blade with surprising force, cleaving through the copy. The Duppy dissipates into a cloud of smoke, but this time, the smoke is thinner, not enough to obscure his vision completely.
You try to keep up, but your stamina is flagging. The swordsman swings again, his blade barely missing you as you duck under it. The strain of dodging is beginning to take its toll.
“You look scared,” he jeers, slashing downward again. "Come on, fight me for real!"
You grit your teeth, summoning the last Duppy to buy yourself some time. The copy stumbles toward the swordsman, sluggish but fast enough to dodge his first swing. It manages to land a weak punch on his side, but the swordsman barely reacts, his grin widening.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He raises his sword, bringing it down in a brutal arc. The Duppy vanishes in another puff of smoke, but this time the mist barely lingers.
You’re left standing alone, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling at you. The swordsman advances, laughing. “You can’t hide behind those copies forever!”
His taunts are grating, but you keep your focus. As he swings again, you sidestep at the last second, forcing him to stumble forward. His sword is too heavy, and he struggles to recover after each reckless swing. That’s your opening.
Gathering your last bit of strength, you rush forward, slamming your shoulder into his chest. He staggers back, stunned by the unexpected force. Before he can react, you follow up with a sharp kick to his knee, causing him to drop his sword in pain.
His cocky grin is gone now, replaced with anger. “You—”
You don’t let him finish. With a final burst of energy, you throw a punch directly at his face, sending him sprawling to the ground. He groans, dazed and defeated. You stand over him, breathing heavily, the remnants of the dissipated Duppies lingering like a fading memory.
Despite the struggle, you’ve won. Though you know you need to improve in invoking, stronger foes lie ahead.
<hr>
[[Continue|Fight the muay thai guy]] The Muay Thai fighter smirks as he approaches, his movements fluid and controlled, his skin a warm, sun-kissed tone. He gives you an appreciative nod, his voice smooth yet playful. "You’ve got a good head on you," he says, his stance relaxed yet ready. <<if $duppies == "two">>"You're playing it smart, keeping your energy in check. That’s how you last in a fight like this." <<elseif $duppies == "four" >>"Smart moves, but don’t forget to pace yourself. Burning out early makes the endgame rough."<</if>>
You don’t respond, your jaw tightening as you immediately call forth two Duppies. They materialize quickly, damp and sluggish but fast on their feet. The Muay Thai fighter’s expression shifts, still calm but now with a spark of focus. He watches as the Duppies lunge toward him.
In a blink, the first Duppy throws a punch. The fighter steps into it, driving his knee upward with such precision it crashes into the Duppy’s midsection, sending it into a puff of black smoke. Without hesitation, he pivots, unleashing a roundhouse kick that slashes through the second Duppy’s head, dispersing it into another cloud of mist.
His movements are effortless, precise—no wasted energy, no unnecessary flash. You watch in awe as he neutralizes the Duppies with minimal effort. His calm confidence is unnerving, and you realize you’re up against a real challenge.
Out of the corner of your eye, you hear a familiar, excited voice calling out, “$nickname! $nickname, look!” It’s Kaitlin, her face lit up like an excited child as she proudly points toward the angry woman thrashing on the ground, stuck in the goo.
The woman growls, her arms stuck firmly to the ground, and she immediately begins thrashing, her face contorted in rage. “Let me go, you little brat!” she spits, her body jerking against the goo’s tight hold.
Kaitlin, still grinning, hops back as the woman tries to kick at her. The kick comes fast, but Kaitlin wobbles comically, her feet almost slipping out from under her. She throws her hands on her hips, shaking her head with a look of genuine disbelief.
“Hey, that’s not nice,” she pouts, her voice filled with an almost childlike offense, completely unable to comprehend why the woman would lash out.
For a moment, you can’t help but be distracted by Kaitlin’s antics, but you know this isn’t over yet. The real challenge is still standing in front of you, and his eyes haven’t left yours.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin|You liked Kaitlin duppy-ver]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying|You found Kaitlin annoying duppy-ver]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again|You didn't care duppy-ver]] Kaitlin frowns slightly, her brow furrowing. "What if they catch on?"
You hesitate. Summoning only two Duppies might not be enough to throw all three opponents off. The odds aren’t great, and you know it. But you also know that summoning more could sap too much of your strength before the real fight even begins.
"They might," you admit, tightening your grip on the book. "But it’s all we can afford without burning out. We’ll just have to move fast and hit hard if they do."
"Then we have no choice but to beat them up," you add with determination, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between you both.
Kaitlin nods, her smile softening as she glances toward the enemy base. The pink gum in her mouth glistens against her dark skin, standing out against the low lighting. The glow of the floor only highlights her features further, giving her an almost ethereal look despite the nervous energy crackling around you both. She’s ready, but there’s a hint of unease as her eyes drift toward the opponents.
Taking a deep breath, you focus on the invoking. Your fingers trace the symbols on the small brown page, and as you focus, a familiar surge of slither-like feeling courses through your veins. As though small snakes weave just under your skin. Moments later, two spots on the ground darken, blobs surrounded by black mist forming as they rise and soon shadowy figures rise from the ground, slowly taking on your vague appearance. Their shadowy forms and solidify, complete copies of yourself. Their $hairlook $haircolour hair is visibly damp, their $eyecolour eyes blank and devoid of life, staring ahead until you give further instruction. The strain is there, but manageable—you’ll still have energy left for the fight.
"Those look exactly like you!" Kaitlin marvels, a faint grin appearing. "Just a bit damp-looking and depressed, ya know?"
You snicker under your breath. "Go," you whisper, sending the Duppies forward.
The two wet shadows dart toward the enemy base, though the distraction isn’t as effective. The cocky blond swordsman and the angry woman turn their attention to the Duppies for a moment, confused, as they are quick to defend themselves from the duppies, but the older man—wiser, more experienced—doesn’t fall for the trick. He watches them for a beat, then shifts his gaze toward you and Kaitlin, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You two are smart," he says, his voice almost amused, like he’s enjoying the challenge. Behind him, the swordsman and the woman snap back to reality, quickly dispelling the Duppies. Their eyes now scan for the real threat.
Kaitlin glances back at you, her expression tightening. “That didn’t last long…”
“We still have time,” you whisper, keeping your voice low but steady. You push forward, eyes on the prize—the flag. There’s no turning back now.
Kaitlin moves quickly, darting toward the flag with you close behind. She spits into her palm and grabs the flag just as the older man begins to move, his smile fading into something more focused.
<hr>
[[You’ve got the flag, but now he knows exactly where you are.]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>Kaitlin’s eyes scan the dome, her expression tight with concentration. "What if they figure out it’s a trick? Or worse, catch on too fast?"
You pause, weighing the risk. Summoning four Duppies isn’t easy. You’ve done it before, but it drains you fast. You lock eyes with Kaitlin, your jaw clenched.
"Then we have no choice but to beat them up," you say with a casual shrug, though your tone carries the seriousness of the situation. "But with four of them, the chances are better they’ll stay distracted."
Kaitlin nods, her pink, puffy hair slightly disheveled from earlier skirmishes. The faint glow from the enchanted floors outlines her form in the dim lighting, her dark skin contrasting sharply against the vibrant pink of her hair. She still looks excited, but a flicker of concern dances in her eyes as she places her trust in you.
Taking a deep breath, you focus on the invoking. Your fingers trace the symbols on the small brown page, and as you focus, a familiar surge of slither-like feeling courses through your veins. As though small snakes weave just under your skin. Moments later, four spots on the ground darken, flickering weak blobs surrounded by black mist forming as they grow and soon shadowy, though slumped, figures rise from the ground, and slowly taking on your vague appearance. Their $hairlook $haircolour hair appears slightly damp, and their $eyecolour eyes stare blankly ahead, awaiting your command. The exertion pulls at your stamina, but you manage to steady yourself, pushing through the strain.
"Whoa," Kaitlin whispers, her eyes lighting up as she examines the clones. "They really do look like you—just a bit soggy and a lot more bummed out!"
You smirk. "Perfect." you whisper and command each duppy a role, sending the Duppies toward the enemy base.
The shadowy damp clones move scarily sloppily, scattering in different directions to throw off the three guards. Two of them fall for it immediately, their confusion evident as they shift their attention to the darting figures. The third one hesitates, scanning the area with suspicion. You grip your book tighter, your heart pounding.
"Come on," you mutter under your breath, watching closely.
Taking advantage of the moment, you and Kaitlin quickly make your way around the dome, keeping low and quiet as the guards continue focusing on the Duppies. You slip through the shadows, moving closer and closer to the base, your footsteps barely audible against the dimly lit ground.
As you reach the flag, Kaitlin steps forward. She spits into her palm, then with a quick movement, grabs the flag, yanking it free from its base. The gooey substance coating her hand gives her a firm grip as she clutches it tight.
<hr>
[[Continue|Got it with Kate]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|Nice guy chattin]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|Nice guy chattin]] You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|Nice guy chattin]] The man—salt-and-pepper hair and a kind, almost paternal smile—watched you both with an amused expression. His stance was relaxed but ready, like someone who had seen his fair share of battles. Kaitlin, still wincing from the pain, gave him a side-eye but quickly put on a brave face.
“You know,” he said, his voice deep and warm, "you two have great teamwork. Makes me wish my own partners had shared the same fate.” He glanced back at his teammates, still stuck or groaning on the ground, with a mix of humor and disappointment.
Kaitlin snorted, clearly still playing up her own role. "Aww, come on, Grandpa, they’ll catch up eventually."
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Grandpa, huh? I’m only in my forties.” He gave her a teasing look, as if her words didn’t bother him one bit.
But you weren’t laughing. You kept your eyes on him, muscles still tense from the fight, breathing heavy. While he seemed relaxed, you couldn’t shake the thought that he was fresher than you. All that waiting while his teammates fought—maybe he’d been biding his time.
Sensing your wariness, the man flashed a grin, his tone playful yet challenging.
“Round two?”
<hr>
[[Fight him with Kaitlin|beat him with Katie and the duppies][$KaitlinTrialAssistance = "Accept"]]
[[Fight him alone|Singular duppy beatdown][$KaitlinTrialAssistance = "Deny"]]
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>Your muscles are burning, exhaustion nipping at the edges of your focus, but you push it aside. There's still a fight to finish.
The last man stands across from you, his stance casual but poised. His salt-and-pepper hair is slightly damp with sweat as it sticks to his forehead, his gaze studying you intently.
“Smart moves,” he says, nodding his approval. “You’ve got a good head on you—pacing yourself well.”
You don’t respond. You don't need his praise. Your mind’s already racing, calculating your next steps. Taking a deep breath, you feel that familiar pulse in your veins—invoking your duppies. Summoning them has always taken effort, but with the Overseer’s guidance, you’ve learned to control the strain better.
Two damp, emotionless figures burst into existence beside you, their dripping forms reflecting the dim light. Their blank stares focus on your opponent, sluggish in their movements yet undeniably fast when they need to be. You brace yourself as the Muay Thai fighter’s kind smile twists into a more serious expression.
Without warning, you send both duppies sprinting toward him. They move like shadows, quick despite their sluggish appearance. The sound of their wet footsteps echoes in the room.
The fighter reacts swiftly, dropping into a defensive stance, his knees bending as he shifts his weight. The first duppy lunges, throwing a heavy punch. He blocks it easily, his arms moving like iron. His counterattack is immediate—a sharp elbow connects with the duppy's side, dispersing it in a cloud of mist. The second duppy fares no better. A lightning-quick knee to the chest sends it crumbling, its dripping form dissolving into the cement floor.
You’re not surprised. The Overseer taught you that not every duppy will land a hit—it’s how you use them that matters.
Sweat beads on your brow, and your muscles scream in protest, but you’re not done. Summoning another two duppies, you force your body to obey. The room feels tighter now, the air thick with tension as you focus all your energy into pushing past the exhaustion. Your legs feel like lead, but you drive forward, rushing in behind your duppies.
This time, the duppies serve as a distraction, buying you a few precious seconds. The fighter blocks the first duppy’s strike, then sidesteps the second’s tackle. But you’re already there, pushing through your body’s cries for rest, and throw a hard punch aimed at his ribs.
Your fist connects, the impact reverberating through your knuckles. The fighter grunts, stumbling back a step. It’s not much, but it’s enough to let you know you’re still in this.
Kaitlin’s voice echoes through the room, breaking the intensity for just a moment. “You’ve got this, $nickname! Go, go, go!” she cheers, her voice filled with childlike excitement. You can’t help but smile slightly, her enthusiasm infectious even in the heat of the fight.
The Muay Thai fighter rolls his shoulder, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the hit. "Not bad," he mutters, clearly impressed.
But there’s no time to dwell on compliments. Your legs feel like they could give out any second, but you dig deep. The cold air on your skin makes every breath sharp, but your focus is locked in. You know he’s still dangerous—his next move proves it.
He rushes you, unleashing a flurry of fast strikes. His fists, elbows, and knees come in quick succession, forcing you into a tight defensive stance. Each impact is like a hammer, and you block as best you can, but some strikes still land. Pain shoots up your arm, then your ribs, then your thigh. You grit your teeth, absorbing the hits as the room seems to close in around you, the dim light flickering overhead.
Your duppies close the distance again, drawing his attention for a split second, and you seize the opening. You channel every last bit of strength you have left, throwing yourself into the fight. Your fists fly, and this time, your strikes land. The Muay Thai fighter is skilled, but you’re relentless, and each punch seems to knock the wind out of him just a little more.
Your muscles are burning, your vision blurring at the edges, but you keep going. One hit. Then another. The impact of your fists against his body feels like you’re driving through stone, but you’re doing it. You’re breaking him down, slowly but surely.
Finally, you see the moment his stance falters. His arms drop just slightly—his balance shifts. You don’t waste a second. With a final burst of energy, you leap forward, delivering a heavy uppercut that sends him staggering back. He falls to the ground, breathless.
Panting, you take a step back, your entire body aching from the strain. You’ve won. It wasn’t easy, but you’ve never felt more alive, more proud of how far you’ve come.
From the sidelines, Kaitlin’s cheers grow louder. “You did it! $nickname, you’re amazing!” Her grin is as bright as ever, and despite the fatigue dragging you down, you manage to give her a tired but triumphant nod. <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
You breathe deeply, letting the adrenaline fade as you glance around at the cemented floor beneath your feet, the dim room that suddenly feels bigger, and the bright circle that now represents victory. <<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You summon your energy, trying to evoke the familiar presence of the Duppies. But your exhaustion hits you harder than expected. Only two of the figures begin to form, and before they can fully solidify, they fizzle out, dissipating into nothing. Panic flares in your chest. You’re open, vulnerable.<<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 30, 0, 100)>>
The man doesn’t miss a beat, his eyes sharp. He moves in fast, landing a brutal hit to your side. The impact makes you gasp, staggering back, and he follows up with more punishing blows—elbows, kicks, precise and unrelenting. Your body screams in pain, and you can barely block.
Nag Walan’s voice echoes in your mind, reminding you of her teachings. "If you're cornered, block first. Survive."
Gritting your teeth, you put up a desperate defense. His strikes are overwhelming, but you manage to block just enough to avoid the worst of the damage. He keeps coming, but you drop your reliance on magic for the moment, focusing purely on surviving.
Your body is aching all over, but then you catch sight of Kaitlin out of the corner of your eye. She’s watching, her eyes wide with worry, but you don't want to call out for help just yet. Not yet.
You duck a hard strike, narrowly avoiding it, and take a breath. Then, the man makes a misstep, just a little too cocky. And that's when Kaitlin jumps in with a playful but precise smack to his back, her fingers dripping with pink goo.
"$nickname! Look!" Kaitlin calls out, hopping in front of you as the man stumbles backward, trying to shake off her goo.
The moment you see her eyes, you know what she’s planning. She’s set him up for you.
Taking a breath, you gather yourself, your arms aching but ready. You dive in, fists flying in a flurry of fast punches, every block and jab taught to you by Nag Walan coming back instinctively. The man fights back, but your confidence surges as you overwhelm him. Each punch connects, and he falters under your sudden aggression.
Just as he realizes something’s wrong, he tries to get up—but his back is stuck, the goo having spread further than he thought. Before he can fully process it, your final punch lands, and he’s down for good.
Breathing hard, you step back, victorious. Kaitlin flashes you a proud smile.
You realize now—sometimes, you need help. And it’s just as important to rely on what you’re truly good at in a tough situation, not experiment when it could cost you everything.<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|End of you and Kaitlin’s fight]]<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>The flat cement floor was unforgiving beneath your boots, the circle of light marking the team “house” glowing dimly around you. Your muscles screamed in protest with every move, but the fight was far from over. The Muay Thai fighter across from you was a looming figure, fast and relentless, his strikes sharp like the blades of a well-honed sword.
You summoned three duppies, their figures taking shape with ease, dripping with energy. They darted forward, taking the lead as you advanced. Two of them went low, one going for the legs, while the third aimed high. The fighter responded with lightning reflexes, twisting to kick the first two down before they could land a blow.
But that’s exactly what you wanted.
With him distracted, you moved in. A punch from your right hand flew toward his ribs. He dodged at the last second, just as you knew he would, but your third duppy lunged from behind. His fist connected with it, dissolving it instantly, but that split second of hesitation was enough.
You surged forward, muscles burning, and landed a solid hit on his shoulder. He grunted, but remained standing, quickly shifting into a stance. His retaliation came fast—an elbow slicing toward your face.
''Bam!''
Before the strike could connect, Kaitlin’s bubble appeared out of nowhere, swelling and popping in front of you. The burst of force from her power threw his elbow off course, the impact passing inches from your head.
You threw her a quick glance, thankful. She grinned at you, her eyes sparkling with energy, before turning her focus back to the fight.
The Muay Thai fighter wasn’t done, not by a long shot. He recovered fast, stepping in with a knee aimed at your stomach. You moved to block, your muscles screaming as you parried his strike. He went for another hit, but Kaitlin intervened again, a bubble bursting between you and his incoming punch.
This was your chance. You could feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at your limbs, but the Overseer had taught you how to push through. You summoned another duppy, this one faster, sharper. It went straight for his exposed side, and while he fought back fiercely, knocking down two more of your creations, the third and final one held strong.
With all your might, you pressed the attack, landing a blow to his chest while your duppy hit low. The air between you was electric, the tension palpable. His guard broke, and you seized the moment, pulling back and throwing one last punch with all your strength.
The impact sent him crashing to the ground. He was out cold, lying still on the cold cement.
Breathless, you staggered back, your entire body shaking with the effort. You shot a quick look at Kaitlin, who stood by your side, her hands glowing faintly from her bubbles. She smiled brightly, her expression full of pride and excitement.
You didn’t need words. You were both exhausted, but it was a victory well-earned.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>The fight was already taking a toll on you, every inch of your body aching as the Muay Thai fighter stood across from you. The circle of light marking the enemy’s “house” felt oppressive, the cold cement beneath your feet grounding you in the moment. Nag Walan’s teachings echoed in your mind, but they weren’t enough to stop the creeping exhaustion.
You attempted to summon three duppies, but something was wrong. Two of them began to form, their shapes flickering, before dissolving into nothing. Panic clawed at your chest as the fighter took advantage, rushing forward with a powerful elbow aimed directly at your side.
Instinct kicked in. You threw up your arms, blocking his strike, but the force of it rattled your bones, sending pain shooting through your limbs. His knee came up next, aiming for your ribs, and you barely had time to parry it. The pain was sharp, but you gritted your teeth and focused.
He came at you again, throwing a punch aimed at your face. Just as you were about to get hit—
''Pop!''
A bubble from Kaitlin burst between you and the fighter’s fist, deflecting the blow just enough for you to slip away. You shot her a brief glance of gratitude, your heart racing. She was still grinning, her hands ready to form more bubbles.
The Muay Thai fighter wasn’t giving you a break, though. He came in with a vicious flurry of punches, and this time you couldn’t avoid them all. His fists slammed into your torso, sending waves of pain through your body. You fought back, landing a few strikes, but they were weak in comparison. Each blow he landed chipped away at your stamina.
Then Nag Walan’s voice echoed in your mind: //"If you're cornered, block. Focus. Save your strength."//
You forced yourself to drop invoking for a moment, fists raised as you braced yourself. His next barrage of attacks came in hard, but you focused on blocking, each hit feeling like a hammer. You waited, watching his movements, waiting for the right moment.
Finally, he slipped up, his stance wavering for just a split second. It was all the opening you needed. You surged forward, your body moving on instinct as you slammed your fist into his chest.
He staggered back, but Kaitlin was already there. She darted in, smacking him on the back with a forceful slap. You could see a faint pink substance sticking to his shirt—her handiwork. He stumbled, still on his feet but visibly shaken.
You pushed through the pain, your muscles screaming as you stepped in again. Kaitlin’s bubbles popped, deflecting his last few desperate strikes. With a roar of effort, you launched a series of rapid punches, channeling everything Nag Walan had taught you. Your fists connected, one after the other, and with one final, powerful blow, you sent him crashing to the ground.
He was out cold.
You stood there, panting heavily, your body trembling from exhaustion. Kaitlin was by your side, her expression proud but just as tired. You shot her a quick smile, grateful for her help, before turning back to the fallen fighter.
The fight was over, and you had won. But the lesson was clear—you couldn’t rely on invoking alone, and asking for help wasn’t a sign of weakness.<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|End of you and Kaitlin’s fight]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>>//''Click.''//
Your breath caught.
//''Click.''//
Her heels.
//''Click.''//
You barely noticed as she turned her attention toward you. The crowd, the noise—it all seemed to melt away, leaving only the sharp echo of her footsteps filling the space.
//''Click.''//
Then, as her body shifted toward you, your eyes caught something else—a tattoo. Three jagged claw marks slashed across her stomach, inked into her skin. It sent an unexpected chill down your spine, though you couldn't explain why. Something about it felt... wrong.
//''Click.''//
The sound reverberated in your mind, growing louder with every step, each click sending a jolt of dread straight through you.
//''Click.''//
It was like time had slowed down, like she was savoring each step, dragging out the moment as long as possible. Your heartbeat quickened, syncing with the relentless rhythm of her heels, and suddenly, you felt small. ''Too'' small.
//''Click.''//
Her eyes locked onto yours, amusement flickering in the green depths, and for a terrifying second, you couldn’t look away. Her gaze pinned you in place, stripping you of any false sense of security you might’ve had. The smell of her mint and citrus perfume filling your nose, suffocating.
''//Click.//''
She moved toward you, slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling its prey, the smirk on her face never faltering.
//''Click.''//
The sound seemed to echo through your very bones, as if the ground beneath you trembled with each step she took. You tried to swallow, but your throat was dry, your pulse pounding in your ears.
//''Click.''//
Your vision narrowed until all you could see was her—nothing else mattered. Not the crowd, not the flags, not even Dante. Just her, and that smile.
//''Click.''//
Then, with a final, heart-stopping step, she stopped just a few feet away. You could feel your blood draining, your hands trembling at your sides, the weight of her presence pressing down on you like an invisible force. You tried to steady your breath, but it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
<hr>
[[And then, just as suddenly, the whistle blared.]] The sharp sound shattered the tension in the air, pulling you back from the edge of panic. The woman froze, her eyes narrowing in frustration as the realization dawned on her. The tournament round was over.
With a sigh, she turned, her heels clicking one final time as she made her way back to her team. "Boring," she muttered under her breath, her green hair bouncing with each step. Her teammates exchanged nervous glances, none of them daring to meet her eyes as she rejoined them.
You stood there, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the encounter. You had been frozen—completely and utterly frozen—and the realization of it left you shaken. You couldn’t even look at Dante. Not yet. The fear, the helplessness, the way your body had refused to move… it lingered, crawling under your skin.
But what scared you the most was that feeling—that gut-wrenching, soul-deep sense of dread when she had looked at you. That, more than anything else, had left you lightheaded, wondering how she could make you feel so utterly powerless.
<hr>
[[What...just happened...|Chapter 2 ending]]Then, your eyes drifted to Fai.
He stood at the center of your house, clutching the flag with both hands. The usual tension in his posture had softened, his nervous energy seemingly dissipated in the glow of the Arcana surrounding him. His dark hair, so casually falling around his face, caught the light just right, casting delicate shadows along his sharp features. There was a stillness in him—a peace that seemed so unlike what you'd sensed before.
And yet, as you watched him, something unfamiliar stirred within you.
It wasn’t something you could name, just a sudden, quiet warmth spreading through your chest, almost like a fleeting pulse. It caught you off guard, making you instinctively avert your eyes. But before you knew it, your gaze had returned to him. Fai seemed so serene, so focused on the lights at his feet, that it was disarming in a way you couldn’t quite understand.
The sensation lingered, unsettling and unfamiliar, a gentle tug inside you that made no sense. There was no reason for it. No explanation for the way your heart seemed to quicken, or for the strange sense of awareness that came over you in that moment.
You shook it off, forcing your attention back to the tournament, to the Arcana beneath your feet. But even as you focused on what lay ahead, the feeling stayed with you, faint and lingering, like something just beyond the edge of comprehension.
<hr>
[[Continue|Intro with Kaitlin and Dante]] <<set $faiRomance2 to Math.clamp($faiRomance2 + 2, 0, 100)>>The room dimmed as the trial began, and your eyes instinctively followed the sudden glow of the Arcana beneath your feet. White lines encircled your house, illuminating the sandy floor in a soft, steady glow. The energy beneath you was tangible, humming in a way that sent a subtle thrill up your spine. You couldn't help but admire how the light traced its way around the space, carving out your team's territory in this vast arena.
The glow was mesmerizing, almost calming in its rhythmic, deliberate path. Your gaze lingered on the way the lines stretched outward, defining the boundaries of your house. It felt like a shield, a barrier protecting your team for this brief moment of stillness before the chaos began. The beauty of the Arcana’s light was both serene and powerful, grounding you in its steady presence.
And then, as if drawn by the same glow, your attention shifted to the figure standing in the center of your house. Fai, with the flag held carefully in his hands, seemed captivated by the same light. His usual nervousness was gone, replaced by an expression of quiet wonder. He gazed down at the glowing lines with a softness that made you pause, his dark eyes following the light’s path with an unspoken appreciation.
It was such a subtle moment, yet so striking in its simplicity. You hadn’t known him long, and yet there was something disarming about how at ease he seemed in that instant, as if the Arcana itself had soothed whatever tension normally gripped him. It was a side of him you hadn’t expected—a glimpse of peace in someone who had seemed so on edge.
You tore your gaze away, refocusing on the task ahead. There was no time to linger in distractions, no matter how peaceful the moment seemed. But as you stood there, feeling the Arcana thrum beneath you, you couldn’t help but wonder about Fai, about the calm that had settled over him.
<hr>
[[Continue|Intro with Kaitlin and Dante]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Duppy distractions</h2></span>
//Use three Duppies (max) to distract the opponents while you, Dante and Kaitlin sneak from the back to retrieve the flag!//
//Warning : could get you, Dante and Kaitlin hurt and backfire if your opponents catch on early or get rid of the Duppies fast.//
<hr>
[[Yes.|Duppy distractions!]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin and Dante]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Can You Talk The Talk?</h2></span>
//Use Dante as a diversion as you sneak behind the group and retrieve the flag or attack from behind.//
//Warning: leaving Dante alone with three other competitors (while aware of his discomfort for the tournament to begin with) might result in him getting overpowered and/or hurt!//
<hr>
[[Yes.|talk the talk!]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin and Dante]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Head on attack!!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Grab the bull by the horns</h2></span>
//Make your presence known from the start and attack your opponents with Dante and Kaitlin!//
//Warning: This might result in your opponents having time to prepare for your attack and if skilled enough, it might backfire. Could result in all three of you getting hurt!//
<hr>
[[Yes.|Attackk with Dante and Kaitlin!]]
[[No.|Intro with Kaitlin and Dante]]You split up, positioning yourself and Kaitlin behind the enemy team, while Dante strode confidently toward them. The opposing team was composed of three individuals: a woman with a tense, simmering anger just below the surface, a blond swordsman who oozed cockiness, and an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, who seemed to take everything in with a calm, collected demeanor.
Dante put on his usual smile, though you could sense his nervousness underneath. He approached them casually, hands at his sides but clearly ready to spring into action.
"Well, look at this," Dante called out, his tone light but with just enough bite to stir them. "Three of you, all geared up, ready to charge like bulls... but here you are, standing around. You must really trust your flag is safe. Or maybe you're just hoping no one notices how often you miss the mark?"
The blond swordsman raised an eyebrow, but it was the woman whose eyes narrowed first, her fists slowly clenching.
"Funny how confidence can do that," Dante continued, twirling the handle of his whip in his hand, "Make you think you're untouchable... until someone reminds you that all that bravado doesn’t win matches."
The woman’s jaw tightened, and her eyes flickered toward her team, clearly starting to lose patience. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," she said, her voice low but taut with irritation. Dante wasn’t done yet, though.
"Don’t I?" he tilted his head, now aiming at the blond swordsman. "I mean, your friend here can’t even draw his sword without pausing to pose. I get it—looks are important, but you might want to focus more on, you know, //winning//.”
The swordsman scoffed, but before he could retort, Dante shifted his gaze back to the woman. "And you," he said, with a smirk, "All that tension, holding back like you're ready to explode any second. You’re trying not to lash out, but we both know it’s only a matter of time. Not really a team player, are you?"
<hr>
[[That did it]] Her face hardened, her anger bubbling up in a more measured way this time. "You think you’re clever, don’t you?" she muttered, stepping forward. Her movements were controlled, but you could see the heat in her eyes. "Maybe you should worry about your own skills instead of running your mouth."
Dante took a step back, his expression still casual, but he was ready. As soon as she lunged at him, his whip snapped out, wrapping around her wrist with precision, holding her just far enough away. "Easy now," he said smoothly, keeping her at bay, "I wouldn’t want you getting hurt before the real fight starts."
While the woman struggled against the whip’s grip, you and Kaitlin moved into position. You grabbed the flag without a hitch, but as you turned to retreat, the older man, still eerily calm, turned toward you both. He gave a slow, knowing smile.
“Well, aren’t you three clever," he said in a steady, unruffled voice. His gaze didn’t leave you, even as Dante continued to fend off the others.
Your heart raced. It was clear the real challenge had only just begun.
<hr>
[[And he had something up his sleeve|He's gonna chow ya'll three]]The older man smiled knowingly, but he didn't call you or Kaitlin out just yet. Instead, with a swift motion, he rushed toward Dante. Dante’s eyes widened in surprise as he fumbled to pull out his whip, taking a few hurried steps back. He snapped it out in a desperate attempt to keep the man at bay, but it was clear the older fighter was no easy target.
Without hesitation, you tossed the flag to Kaitlin. "Hold it!" you called out.
Kaitlin caught the flag with ease, and with a quick, fluid motion, she spit a pink substance into her palm, using it to secure the flag. It stuck to her hand like glue, giving her a better grip. But just as you turned to help Dante, you heard a sharp whistling sound, the air practically crackling with danger.
Instinctively, you ducked, narrowly avoiding the blond swordsman's heavy sword as it sliced through the air, just inches from your head. The force of it sent a gust of wind past your ear, the weight behind it making it clear.
<hr>
[[You wouldn't have survived a direct hit]] "Kaitlin!" you yelled, glancing at her as she rushed toward you. You needed to assist Dante. But before she could reach you, the angry woman from earlier grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into a struggle. Kaitlin twisted out of her grip and immediately went on the defensive, dodging the woman’s wild strikes with quick, agile movements.
You turned back just in time to see Dante in trouble. The older man had managed to grab the end of Dante’s whip mid-snap, yanking it with perfect timing. Dante stumbled forward, thrown off balance, and before he could regain his footing, the man launched a swift combination of a kick to Dante's side followed by a sharp elbow to the chest. Dante hit the ground hard, gasping for breath, barely rolling out of the way as a stomp came down where he’d just been.
You knew the lack of combat training would get to him.<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>Just as The Overseer had predicted.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>Just as Nag Walan had warned<<else>> ...<</if>>
Your heart pounded, but you had no time to help him. The swordsman was back on you, his grin widening as he raised his sword for another attack.
You squared your stance, knowing full well that Dante was on his own for now. You had your own fight to survive.
<hr>
[[Continue|Beat the swordsman]] The blond swordsman circled you, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust as he moved with slow, deliberate steps. His blade, too large for even his well-built frame, scraped heavily against the floor, the sound grating and menacing. His lips curled into a smug grin, eyes gleaming with the arrogance of someone who thought they had already won.
His stance was confident, though you could sense the strain in his movements—the sword was too heavy for him, but he carried it as if to prove a point. He twirled it lazily, the tip of the blade dragging in the sand before he swung it up onto his shoulder with a grunt of effort, masking the struggle with bravado.
He looked you up and down, his grin widening as if he’d already sized you up and found you wanting. "No artifact?" he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. "How do you expect to win without one?" He paused, letting the words hang in the air, savoring the moment. His eyes locked onto yours, his smirk deepening. "You're going to fail before this even gets interesting."
He stood there, the weight of his words as palpable as the oversized blade he carried, waiting for your reaction with an air of certainty that he had already rattled you.
<hr> <<set $lashOutCount = 0>>
[[Lash out|Lash out][$lashOutCount += 1]]
[[Stay Calm|Stay Calm][$lashOutCount += 0]]His words struck a nerve. Something in the pit of your stomach twisted, heat flaring behind your eyes as anger surged through you. You clenched your fists, feeling the rush of power bubbling just beneath the surface, and before you knew it, the dark fox phantoms emerged from the shadows. But this time, they were different. Larger. Darker. The energy around you felt almost uncontrollable, like a storm had been unleashed.
You didn't even notice the way your arms were engulfed in black flames as the foxes twisted into the form of your fists. You moved on pure instinct, rushing him with a flurry of attacks. Each strike was vicious, fueled by the anger coursing through you. The first blow caught him off guard, the second threw him back, and by the third, the cocky grin had fallen from his face as he stumbled, trying to regain his footing.
He raised his sword to block, but the weight of it slowed him down. You kept pushing forward, the dark fox phantoms slashing at him with ferocity, disrupting his balance. He was strong, but the sword was too much for him, and with each of your hits, he faltered more. His taunts faded, replaced by panicked grunts as he tried and failed to defend himself.
You slammed him down, your fists still burning with shadowy energy. You didn't stop there, continuing to punch the unconscious swordsman, unable to snap out of your rage-fueled state. "$name!" Dante's voice broke through the haze, finally making you pause. You blinked, your chest heaving, and looked down at the unconscious swordsman beneath you, his face now bloodied and bruised from your continued assault. Only then did you realize how close you had come to losing control. Your hands shook, still radiating the remnants of power, the destruction clear in the wake of your fury.
You stumbled back, staring at your hands in disbelief. What...had you done?
<hr>
[[...|unleashed the beast]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 30, 0, 100)>> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>The swordsman’s smirk remained unwavering as he slung the enormous blade over his shoulder, his every movement dripping with cocky bravado. “No artifact, huh? That’s cute. You’re not gonna make it far in this trial. You’ll be on the ground before you even know what hit you.”
You took a slow, measured breath, letting his taunts drift past you, much like The Overseer had taught you—calm and composed, never giving in to goading. He had drilled it into your mind: ''Never let them see it bother you.'' Instead, counter it with quiet confidence, just as The Overseer did in Silversvale, maintaining dignity under pressure.
You secured the strip of paper around your wrist, the intricate calligraphy glowing faintly as it pulsed with the energy you summoned. It was a necessary preparation, a method The Overseer had insisted upon since you lacked an artifact. The moment the paper settled, you felt the familiar surge of power ripple through your body. Dark fox phantoms swirled at your fists, obedient and controlled, ready to strike with precision.
The swordsman’s overconfidence was as heavy as the blade he carried. You didn’t react to his words, only focused on the energy that coursed beneath your skin, just as The Overseer had trained you. You could almost hear his voice now, deep and rich with that steady, reassuring tone: //“Let them flail. Taunts are the language of the desperate. Stay in control, and the battle will already be half won.”//
<hr>
[[Without a word, you moved first.|The Overseer’s calm advice]]<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>For a moment, doubt flickered inside you. ''No artifact''—he wasn’t wrong. All you had was the fox phantoms, far less reliable than any physical weapon. And worse, they weren’t fully mastered yet. The memory of Nag Walan’s training rushed back—her gruff, no-nonsense voice ringing loud in your mind, practically daring you to falter. //"Let 'em talk all they want. Talk doesn’t win fights. Actions do."//
Taking a deep breath, you reached for the calligraphy strip, carefully winding it around your wrist. You had penned the symbols yourself, each brushstroke imbued with energy. Nag Walan had guided you through the ancient art, though her focus had always been more on strengthening your fists than the writing itself. As she often said, //“You can scribble symbols ‘til your hand falls off, but if your punch ain’t got power, you’re just swatting flies.”//
<hr>
[[Continue|Nags phantom]]
<<else>> ...<</if>>Your breath came in ragged bursts as you stared down at your hands, still trembling from the surge of energy. The shadowy remnants of the foxes flickered and died out, leaving only the dull ache in your fists and the blood staining your knuckles. You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your mind, but the sight of the unconscious swordsman at your feet wouldn’t leave you.
What had you done?
His body lay crumpled beneath you, his face a swollen mess, and a chill ran down your spine. The rush of anger that had driven you moments ago now turned to something cold and unsettling. This wasn’t a victory. This was something else. Something darker.
<hr>
[[...|Girl you beat that man up...]]The dark fox phantoms flickered to life around your fists—faint, wispy, and unstable. Nag had warned you this might happen; she never sugarcoated things. //“Control’s slippery. The more you think you’ve got it, the more it wriggles free. Stop thinkin’ so much and just hit the damn target!”//
You squared your shoulders and stepped forward, focusing on your opponent. His sword was oversized, a tool of brute force rather than precision. You could almost hear Nag Walan’s sharp bark in your ear. //“Big weapons? Bah! Overcompensating. Get in close, stay nimble, and wear him down. Don’t give him a second to think.”//
The first swing of his blade was slow but powerful. You ducked, feeling the rush of air as it whistled past, and jabbed forward with your fist. One of the foxes sprang to life, slashing across his torso. But the strike was weak, flickering out before it could do real damage. The swordsman’s laughter grated on your ears.
“Is that it? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
You bit back frustration. Nag’s voice surfaced in your mind again, less a comforting mentor and more like a stern drill sergeant. //“Don’t let it get to ya. Focus. That’s the real trick, innit? Keep hitting ‘til they’ve got nothing left. Eventually, they’ll shut up.”// Her words were crass, but they carried wisdom.
Dodging another wild swing, you struck again. This time, both foxes responded, but still not with the strength you needed. They flickered in and out like dying flames, unreliable and fleeting. Your footwork carried you out of range just in time to avoid the blade’s edge, but the inconsistency of your phantoms was getting under your skin.
The swordsman grinned, arrogance seeping from every pore. “Maybe you should stick to writing poems. Looks like that’s all you’re good for.”
Your grip tightened. //“Ignore the taunts,”// Nag’s voice commanded. //“You’re stronger than you think. Just gotta push through the noise. Overwhelm ‘em, make ‘em work for it.”//
<hr>
[[This was one of those times.]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>You moved again, faster this time, forcing him to keep up. He was powerful, but slow and clumsy with that massive sword. You ducked another swing and punched. The fox phantoms surged out, one flaring bright while the other sputtered out of existence. The strike connected, albeit weakly, but it was enough to chip away at his balance.
He stumbled, snarling in frustration. You pressed on, throwing another punch and dodging his retaliation. Each time your fist connected, the phantoms left thin, slashing trails across his body. Nag had been right. You didn’t need brute strength—just patience, persistence, and the ability to wear him down.
“Why don’t you quit now before you embarrass yourself?” His words were hollow now, less confident. The look in his eyes had shifted—no longer sure of himself.
//“There it is,”// Nag’s voice hummed in satisfaction. //“The moment they start doubting themselves. That’s when you know you’ve got ‘em. Don’t let up, now.”//
Taking her advice to heart, you kept the pressure on, darting in and out of range, letting the foxes strike with whatever strength they could muster. Each hit took a small toll on him, until finally, with one last phantom slash, his grip on the sword faltered, and he crashed to the ground with a grunt.
You stood over him, breath heavy, the phantoms flickering around you like tired shadows. Nag Walan’s training had been brutal, her methods rough around the edges, but it had paid off. You hadn’t given in to frustration or let the taunts break your focus. Instead, you’d overwhelmed him, just like she had taught.
Memories of Nag’s words echoed in your mind one last time, gruff but oddly proud. //“Told ya. Ain’t about fancy tricks or big words. Just gotta punch ‘til they’re flat on their backs.”//
<hr>
[[Continue|Carry on the three way fight!]] You turn to Dante. Your chest tightened as you watched him stagger back, his defenses weakening with every blow. The fighter stepped forward, moving in for another strike, his expression unreadable but calm, like he had done this countless times before.
Without thinking, you rushed toward them, placing yourself between Dante and the next attack. The Muay Thai fighter’s fist paused mid-swing, his brow furrowing slightly in surprise, though he didn’t drop his guard.
“Switching opponents, huh?” His voice was casual, maybe even a little amused, but there was no malice in it. His stance remained firm, ready for the next move, but he didn’t push the advantage immediately. “I guess that means he’s done,” he added with a nod toward Dante, who was panting heavily behind you.
There was no taunt, no mockery—just a statement of fact. This was a fight, and he intended to win. But there was something in the way he spoke that told you he wasn’t in this to humiliate anyone. Still, his focus was entirely on you now, sizing you up, waiting for your next move.
Your body tensed, fists still wrapped in dark energy, but you stayed silent, your heart still racing from the earlier fight. His words floated between you, almost casual, like you were discussing the weather, but you knew better. This was still a competition, and he wasn’t going to give you any leeway.
“Alright, then,” he said after a brief pause, his tone still calm but with an edge of determination. “Let’s see if you’re ready.”
There was no hesitation in his movements as he advanced again, his strikes precise, aimed not to provoke but to win. His presence was steady, measured—but you could see the strength behind every attack. He wasn’t going easy on you, and he wasn’t expecting you to hold back either.
Without a word, you surged forward to meet him, the dark fox phantoms twisting around your fists as you braced for the fight to come.
<hr>
[[Stay focused $name|You beat that man up fr!!]]Without a word, you moved first, cutting through the air with a speed that caught your opponent off guard. The foxes lashed out, their shadowy forms slicing through the distance between you. The swordsman lifted his oversized blade to block, but he was too slow. The weapon’s weight was more of a burden than a tool of battle. Still, he swung with brute force, the edge of the blade slicing through the air wildly, nearly clipping your shoulder.
You danced back, light on your feet, watching as the blade crashed into the dirt with a loud thud. He wasn’t fast, but his sheer strength made him dangerous. One wrong move, and you’d be on the receiving end of a blow you wouldn’t easily shake off. But The Overseer had honed your patience, teaching you to let your opponent's recklessness work in your favor.
You advanced again, this time even more calculated. The foxes followed your lead, their shadowy claws slashing across his torso. He grunted, more out of frustration than pain, as he swung back in retaliation. His movements were powerful, but sloppy, each swing more chaotic than the last.
The phantom fists struck again, swift and calculated. You kept your focus, remembering The Overseer’s lessons in precision. //“Do not aim to overwhelm. Aim to dismantle, piece by piece.”// His philosophy was clear in your movements now—every hit chipped away at your opponent’s defenses, testing his patience, his resolve. It wasn’t about raw strength. It was about control.
The swordsman’s strikes became more erratic, his grip on the massive sword faltering as frustration took hold. You stayed calm, letting him wear himself down, each reckless swing making him slower. He was strong, but his sword was a hindrance more than a weapon now. He was losing control, and you could see it in his eyes—the flicker of doubt, the cracks in his confidence.
“Come on!” he bellowed, desperation creeping into his voice as he swung again, the blade missing by a wide margin. “Fight like you mean it!”
You didn’t respond. The Overseer’s words echoed in your mind again: //“Never show them that you’re rattled. It only gives them power. Keep your composure, and you’ve already won.”//
With one final surge, the dark foxes flared to life around your fists. You moved in, your strikes landing with perfect precision. The swordsman tried to raise his blade in defense, but he was too slow, too exhausted. His grip loosened, and with one last punch, his sword clattered to the ground, and he stumbled back, falling to the dirt with a heavy thud.
<hr>
[[Continue|beat him up with The Overseer's advice]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>You stood over him, your breath steady, your fists still tingling with the lingering energy of the phantoms. The fight was over—not because you had brute strength or sheer power, but because you had stayed composed, calm, and in control.
This victory wasn’t just yours; it was a testament to the training you had received from The Overseer. His lessons in control and finesse had guided your hand, and now, standing over your fallen opponent, you knew that the real strength had always been in your discipline. You had won by never letting his taunts shake you.
You could almost picture The Overseer now, standing with his impeccable posture, dressed in his pristine attire, a faint smile of approval playing at his lips. He had always believed in patience over aggression, control over chaos—and now, you had proven just how effective that approach could be.
<hr>
[[Continue|Carry on the three way fight!]] Dante’s voice had brought you back—''Dante.'' You snapped your gaze up, your vision still hazy, searching for him. Your stomach sank when you spotted him, struggling against a much larger opponent. The Muay Thai fighter towered over Dante, delivering methodical knee strikes, though his movements seemed controlled rather than cruel. He wasn’t gloating or punishing Dante, just focused—intent on finishing the fight.
Your chest tightened as you watched Dante stagger back, his defenses weakening with every blow. The fighter stepped forward, moving in for another strike, his expression unreadable but calm, like he had done this countless times before.
Without thinking, you rushed toward them, placing yourself between Dante and the next attack. The Muay Thai fighter’s fist paused mid-swing, his brow furrowing slightly in surprise, though he didn’t drop his guard.
“Switching opponents, huh?” His voice was casual, maybe even a little amused, but there was no malice in it. His stance remained firm, ready for the next move, but he didn’t push the advantage immediately. “I guess that means he’s done,” he added with a nod toward Dante, who was panting heavily behind you.
There was no taunt, no mockery—just a statement of fact. This was a fight, and he intended to win. But there was something in the way he spoke that told you he wasn’t in this to humiliate anyone. Still, his focus was entirely on you now, sizing you up, waiting for your next move.
Your body tensed, fists still wrapped in dark energy, but you stayed silent, your heart still racing from the earlier fight. His words floated between you, almost casual, like you were discussing the weather, but you knew better. This was still a competition, and he wasn’t going to give you any leeway.
“Alright, then,” he said after a brief pause, his tone still calm but with an edge of determination. “Let’s see if you’re ready.”
There was no hesitation in his movements as he advanced again, his strikes precise, aimed not to provoke but to win. His presence was steady, measured—but you could see the strength behind every attack. He wasn’t going easy on you, and he wasn’t expecting you to hold back either.
Without a word, you surged forward to meet him, the dark fox phantoms twisting around your fists as you braced for the fight to come.
<hr>
[[Stay focused...|You beat that man up fr!!]] Kaitlin dodged another wild punch from the woman, her movements still quick despite the pain etched on her face. The lady cursed furiously, her fists swinging with reckless abandon, but Kaitlin, always light on her feet, danced just out of reach.
In a flash of pink, Kaitlin spat out another glob of her goo, aiming it straight at the woman's arms. The sticky substance hit its mark, and with a quick swipe, Kaitlin slammed the woman’s hands to the ground, pinning them with the enchanted goo.
With a wide grin, Kaitlin straightened up, bouncing on her heels as if she'd just won a prize. "Hey! $name! $name, look!" she called out, her voice filled with childlike glee as she proudly showed off her work. Her eyes sparkled with delight, completely ignoring the fury in the woman’s face.
The woman growled, her arms stuck firmly to the ground, and she immediately began thrashing, her face contorted in rage. “Let me go, you little brat!” she spat, struggling against the goo that held her.
Kaitlin, still grinning, watched as the woman tried to kick her with the limited movement she had left. The kick came fast, but Kaitlin hopped to the side in an exaggerated, almost cartoonish motion, her feet nearly slipping out from under her.
"Hey, that’s not nice!" Kaitlin pouted, putting her hands on her hips with an almost comically offended look on her face. She shook her head, as if genuinely surprised by the woman's aggression.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin|You liked Kaitlin K&D-ver]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying|You found Kaitlin annoying K&D-ver]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again|You didn't care K&D-ver]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the muay dude!]] You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the muay dude!]] You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on the muay dude!]] <<if $lashedOut>>The Muay Thai fighter’s stance shifted, his weight balanced perfectly on the balls of his feet, arms raised in a defensive posture. You barely had a moment to brace yourself before he closed the distance, his movements fluid and fast, much faster than you expected from someone of his size.
He threw a quick jab with his lead hand, followed by a devastating knee aimed at your midsection. You blocked the punch, but his knee connected, sending a jolt of pain up your spine. You stumbled back, feeling the impact rattle through you, your fox phantoms swirling around your fists as you tried to regain your footing.
He didn’t give you time to recover, pressing forward with a flurry of strikes—elbows and knees that came from all angles. Each hit felt like it was designed to break down your defenses, not just overwhelm you with power, but wear you out. His rhythm was relentless, a constant barrage of blows that you could barely keep up with.
The dark foxes lashed out in response, their energy flowing through you as you swung wildly, trying to catch him off guard. But he was too quick, dodging your strikes with ease, his footwork impeccable. Every time you swung, he seemed to be just out of reach, always one step ahead.
You managed to land a punch, your fist crashing into his ribs, the shadowy energy flaring out. He grunted, but it didn’t slow him down. Instead, he retaliated with a sharp elbow to your jaw, followed by a sweeping kick that knocked your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard, gasping for breath as he loomed over you.
Struggling to your feet, you could feel the exhaustion creeping in. He had barely broken a sweat, his breathing still steady. Your fists trembled as the dark foxes flickered around them, your energy beginning to wane.
Just as you blocked another knee strike, Dante’s voice cut through the chaos. “Need some help, $name?” His tone was light, but you could hear the concern underneath it.
You hesitated, chest heaving as you glanced in his direction. Could you handle this on your own? Or was this fight slipping out of your grasp?
<hr>
[[Accept Dante's help|Accept Dante's help You need it][$DanteTrialAssistance = "AcceptHisHelp"]]
[[Refuse Dante's help|Refuse Dante's help and your doom][$DanteTrialAssistance = "RefuseHisHelp"]]
<<else>>The Muay Thai fighter stepped forward, his posture relaxed but focused, his hands raised in a traditional guard. You watched his every movement, noting the precision and control behind each shift of his feet. He was built for close-quarters combat, every inch of him radiating strength and discipline.
He opened with a quick feint, throwing a low kick to test your defenses. You sidestepped just in time, the dark fox phantoms swirling around your fists as you pivoted, ready to counter. He followed up with a powerful knee aimed at your ribs, but you caught it with your forearm, the energy of the foxes cushioning the blow. You retaliated with a swift punch, the shadows flaring as your fist connected with his shoulder.
He grunted but didn’t falter, twisting into an elbow strike aimed at your temple. You ducked, feeling the wind from his swing as it missed by inches. He was fast, but you were keeping up, the phantom foxes guiding your movements, helping you anticipate his next attack.
He moved in again, launching a series of low kicks and sharp elbows. You deflected his strikes with precision, the dark energy of the foxes wrapping around your arms as you blocked and parried. His attacks were relentless, but your instincts kicked in, allowing you to stay on the offensive just as much as the defensive.
Every time he closed in, you met him with a counter—your fists lashing out like the foxes themselves, striking with speed and force. You could feel the energy building inside you, feeding off the intensity of the fight. He was skilled, but you weren’t backing down.
The Muay Thai fighter adjusted his stance, stepping back for a moment, clearly reassessing. His expression remained calm, but you could tell he was taking you seriously now. He lunged forward with a flying knee, but you sidestepped at the last second, letting the shadows trail after him as you dodged the hit and landed a solid punch to his ribs.
He stumbled, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of surprise cross his face. But it was brief, and he quickly recovered, shifting back into his stance. His next series of strikes came faster, more aggressive, and you met them head-on, the two of you locked in a dance of fists, knees, and shadow energy.
Just as you blocked another elbow strike, Dante’s voice rang out. “Need some help, $name?”
You could feel the strain in your muscles, the energy from the foxes still surging but beginning to wane. Was it enough? Could you handle him alone, or was this the moment to tag Dante in?
<hr>
[[Accept Dante's help|Accept Dante's help You somewhat need it][$DanteTrialAssistance = "AcceptHisHelp"]]
[[Refuse Dante's help|Refuse Dante's help and it's not really your doom][$DanteTrialAssistance = "RefuseHisHelp"]]
<</if>>Dante’s voice was there again, cutting through the blur of the fight. “Need some help, $name?”
You gritted your teeth, shaking your head more forcefully than you felt. “No... I’ve got this.” There was no need for help—it was unnecessary. You could handle this.
But even as the words left your mouth, doubt crept in. The Muay Thai fighter hadn’t slowed down, his strikes coming faster and harder than before. His elbow connected with your shoulder, sending a sharp jolt of pain radiating down your arm. You barely had time to block the knee that followed, the impact forcing you back a few steps.
Your heart pounded in your ears as you refocused, the fox phantoms swirling around your fists, but you could feel them flickering, their energy starting to wane.
He pressed forward, driving you back with a series of relentless kicks. You managed to block most of them, but your arms were growing heavy, the sting of each impact lingering longer than before. The foxes lashed out, but their strikes weren’t as precise, and he sidestepped, capitalizing on every mistake you made.
You launched a punch, aiming for his midsection, but he deflected it, twisting into a knee strike that hit you square in the ribs. The air rushed from your lungs, and you stumbled, barely keeping your footing. His next strike—a high kick—caught you off guard, and you had to throw yourself to the side to avoid it.
Pain shot through your body as you hit the ground, scrambling to get back up. The Muay Thai fighter was on you in an instant, his foot poised for another kick, but you reacted just in time, summoning the last reserves of your strength.
With a desperate surge of energy, the foxes coiled around your fists, and you swung upward, catching his leg and twisting him off balance. He staggered, and you used the opportunity to launch a flurry of punches, each one landing with brutal force.
The first strike dazed him, the second sent him reeling, and by the third, he was struggling to stay upright. You didn’t stop—couldn’t stop. With a final blow, you slammed your fist into his chest, the dark energy flaring as he crashed to the ground.
Panting, you stared down at him, your body trembling from the effort. He lay still, defeated, but barely. You had won, but it didn’t feel like a victory.
Your chest heaved as the adrenaline began to fade, and you winced as pain radiated through your body. You glanced over at Dante, the weight of your earlier decision sinking in.
<hr>
[[Maybe you should’ve accepted the help after all.]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>You didn’t want to admit it, but you were nearing your limit. Your body ached, your breath was ragged, and the dark foxes swirling around you were starting to flicker, their energy waning fast. The Muay Thai fighter wasn’t slowing down, and you could feel yourself faltering.
“Yeah,” you muttered, barely loud enough for Dante to hear. “I… I need help.”
Dante didn’t hesitate, stepping up beside you. He held his artifact—a golden and leather whip—tightly, though you knew he wasn’t much of a fighter. Neither of you were in any shape for this, but there wasn’t any other option.
You forced the foxes to reappear, their forms weaker, flickering like dying embers. You swung a sluggish punch, barely grazing the Muay Thai fighter, who dodged and retaliated with a heavy elbow strike to your side. The impact sent you stumbling, and you bit back a groan of pain.
Dante lashed out with his whip, but it missed the mark, the golden leather snapping harmlessly in the air. The fighter’s eyes flickered between you, realizing the struggle both of you faced, and his attacks grew more aggressive. He advanced on you with a flurry of kicks and elbows, and despite Dante’s efforts to distract him with the whip, you were barely keeping up.
You gasped for air, trying to summon more of your phantoms, but the dark energy was slipping from your grasp. The foxes swirled weakly, their forms unstable, and you could barely block the next strike. You stumbled back, legs shaking, as Dante moved in with a desperate crack of his whip. This time, it grazed the fighter’s arm, making him wince but not enough to stop him.
Your vision blurred, exhaustion crashing over you like a wave. The Muay Thai fighter delivered a brutal knee strike to your ribs, and you barely blocked it in time. You gasped in pain, faltering on your feet.
But something in you refused to quit.
With a final surge of strength, you summoned the last remnants of your power, the foxes flickering to life one last time. You swung your fist, and Dante snapped his whip in tandem. The fighter tried to dodge, but the combined strike caught him off guard, and you delivered a shaky but powerful punch to his chest.
He fell to the ground, groaning in pain, and didn’t get back up.
You stumbled back, clutching your side, barely able to stand. Dante rushed over to steady you, both of you panting, exhausted.
“We… did it,” you muttered, wincing at the pain radiating through your body. But even as the victory sank in, a small part of you wondered— <hr> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>>
[[should you have accepted help sooner?]] <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>You hesitated, glancing at the Muay Thai fighter’s relentless pace. His kicks and elbows were wearing you down, your energy ebbing faster than expected. As much as you hated to admit it, you could use backup.
“Yeah,” you panted, stepping back to catch your breath, “I could use a hand.”
Dante sprang into action, moving to your side. You stayed in the lead, still commanding the flow of the fight, but now there was a weight lifted, knowing you weren’t alone. The fox phantoms around your fists flared to life once more, surging with renewed energy as you charged at the Muay Thai fighter, Dante following closely behind.
The fighter’s eyes flickered between the two of you, calculating his next move. You went in first, darting in with a quick series of jabs, forcing him to block. As his arms raised, Dante cracked his whip at the ground beside him, the sharp sound forcing the Muay Thai fighter to adjust his stance.
You kept pressing the advantage. With Dante creating openings, the fighter struggled to keep pace. You could see the slight falter in his steps as he tried to deflect both your fox-empowered strikes and the snap of Dante’s whip. The phantom foxes lashed out, dark tendrils coiling around the fighter’s legs, tripping him up just enough for you to deliver a powerful uppercut to his jaw.
He stumbled back, dazed, but he wasn’t down yet. He retaliated with a swift kick aimed at Dante, but you intercepted it, summoning the foxes to shield your friend. The kick connected with the swirling shadows, dissipating the energy but leaving you both unharmed.
Dante’s whip cracked again, this time catching the fighter’s wrist, pulling him off balance. You seized the opportunity, launching yourself forward with a final blow—a punch imbued with the last of your strength. It connected with his chest, sending him crashing to the ground.
He didn’t get back up.
Panting, you stood over him, glancing at Dante, who gave you a tired but proud grin. You had led the charge, but his support had been crucial.
<hr>
[[Together, you had taken him down.]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>Dante’s voice echoed in your mind as you blocked another knee strike, the impact reverberating through your arms. “Need some help, $name?”
You glanced at him for a split second, shaking your head, feeling the adrenaline surging through your veins. “I’ve got this,” you called back, voice firm. There was no reason for help—you were still in control.
Turning your focus back to your opponent, you tightened your stance, the shadowy energy of the foxes twisting around your fists like coiled springs, ready to strike. The Muay Thai fighter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t waste time—he launched a brutal combination of kicks and elbows, each blow aimed to dismantle your defenses.
But this time, you were ready.
You ducked under a sweeping elbow, spinning to the side as his knee sailed past you. The foxes moved with you, dark tendrils of energy enhancing your speed and precision. You countered with a quick jab, aiming for his ribs, and felt the satisfying connection as he grunted, staggering slightly.
Not letting him recover, you pressed forward, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Each punch was infused with the power of the phantoms, their snarling faces flickering around your fists as they lashed out at him. He tried to regain his balance, throwing up his guard, but you were relentless—ducking under his high kicks, sidestepping his elbows, and landing solid blows to his midsection.
He was skilled, no doubt, but you felt the rhythm of the fight shifting in your favor. His strikes were becoming less frequent, his breath labored, while the dark energy coursing through you only seemed to grow stronger.
With one final burst of speed, you spun around his defenses and landed a decisive uppercut to his chin. He stumbled back, dazed, and before he could recover, you delivered a sharp blow to his chest, knocking him off his feet.
He hit the ground hard, chest heaving, his eyes wide in surprise as he looked up at you. You stood over him, panting but victorious, the foxes swirling around you like shadows in the wind.
<hr>
[[There was no need for help after all.]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>You staggered over to where Kaitlin and Dante stood, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fight against the Muay Thai fighter had been a relentless struggle, but you managed to pull through, albeit with bruises to show for it.
Dante rushed forward, concern etched on his face. “$name! Are you okay? You really had me worried there!”
“I’m fine,” you replied, trying to catch your breath. “Just… took a bit more out of me than I expected.”
He frowned, arms crossing over his chest. “Next time, don’t hesitate to ask for help if you’re overwhelmed! You know I’m right here for you.” His tone was playful, but his eyes flickered away for just a moment.
Before you could respond, Kaitlin chimed in, her excitement bubbling over. “But you still won! Look!” She held up a flag, vibrant and colorful, proudly displayed in her palm. “This is our first flag! You were so cool out there, $name!”
Dante’s lips quirked into a smile, though he kept glancing back at you. “Yeah, we did get a flag. And we still have more to collect, right?”
“Absolutely!” Kaitlin beamed, her enthusiasm infectious. “Let’s go grab more flags! We can’t let anyone beat us now!”
As you all moved forward, the adrenaline from the fight lingered, and you felt the thrill of competition reignite within you.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]]
You approached Kaitlin and Dante, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The fight against the Muay Thai fighter had gone smoothly, and pride surged within you.
Dante spotted you and hurried over, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re okay, right? I was worried you might need my help!”
“I had it under control,” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “Honestly, it wasn’t as tough as I thought.”
His gaze shifted momentarily, as if searching for something. He chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, well, guess I’m just here for moral support, huh?” The playful tone didn’t mask the slight tightness in his shoulders.
Kaitlin interrupted, her voice bright and cheerful. “Look what I have!” She held up the first flag you all had secured, her excitement palpable. “You were so cool, $name! We need to get more flags! There are so many to steal!”
“Exactly!” Dante chimed in, his mood visibly brightening as he turned back to Kaitlin. “Let’s keep this going! We’ve got a tournament to win!”
Together, the three of you set off, ready to tackle the next challenge with renewed determination and excitement, the bond between you growing stronger with each victory.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]]As you and Dante approached, you spotted Kaitlin a few feet away, bouncing on her toes with excitement. She had just finished her own match, and her wide smile reflected pure joy.
“There you are!” she exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “I was watching you two! Did you really just take down that Muay Thai fighter? So close! I thought you were toast!”
Dante chuckled, still catching his breath. “Yeah, it was a close call! We barely made it through.”
Kaitlin leaned in, practically bouncing with energy. “You both looked like total badasses out there! I mean, the way you fought! I could see the shadows swirling around you, $name! But seriously, it was a nail-biter!”
You couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and pride flooding through you. “Well, we managed to pull it off! Just barely.”
“Barely is still a win!” she replied, grinning. “I’m so proud of you both! Now we have to keep collecting flags! We’ve only just started, and this is so thrilling!”
With her infectious enthusiasm driving you forward, you felt the adrenaline rush anew. Together, you prepared for the next round, excitement coursing through your veins.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]]As you and Dante walked up to Kaitlin, you could see her animatedly gesturing toward the ring. She had just finished her match against one of the opposing fighters and looked electrified.
“There you are!” she beamed, clapping her hands together. “You were amazing out there! I saw you take down that Muay Thai fighter! So cool!”
Dante’s smile radiated as he replied, “Thanks, Kaitlin! It felt great to finally be in the tournament.”
“I was on the edge of my seat watching you!” she continued, her voice bubbling with excitement. “The way you invoked those phantoms was incredible, $name! And Dante, your moves were so smooth!”
“Smooth? I felt like I was flailing half the time!” Dante laughed, still riding the high of victory.
Kaitlin waved her hand dismissively. “You both looked awesome! This is the first taste of the tournament, and you’re already making a splash! Let’s keep this momentum going! More flags to collect!”
With her infectious energy fueling your determination, you felt ready to tackle whatever came next. Together, you charged forward, eager to continue the adventure.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]]You and Kaitlin exchange a determined glance, and without a word, you all decide to make your presence known. There’s no point in sneaking around or waiting for the perfect moment. You’re going headfirst.
As you move forward, Kaitlin starts her playful taunts, tossing bubbles casually in her hand like they’re harmless. “You guys better be ready! I’ve got tons of these!” she says, her wide grin making her look more like an excited kid than a competitor.
Dante, standing beside you, raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Bubbles, huh? Real intimidating. Maybe we should have brought some confetti for the occasion,” he quips, a teasing lilt in his voice.
The swordsman, with his obnoxiously cocky stance, laughs loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Bubbles? I’m the best swordsman here, and I’m supposed to be worried about that?” His words are dripping with arrogance, his chin raised as if he’s already won.
The woman beside him throws a sharp side-eye at him, unimpressed. She doesn’t say anything, but the judgment in her gaze speaks volumes. She’s clearly not here for his boasting.
Meanwhile, the older man with salt-and-pepper hair, watching you all quietly, offers a kind smile. There’s no fear or concern in his eyes—just the relaxed demeanor of someone who’s seen it all before.
You, Kaitlin, and Dante don’t wait for a moment longer. “Show them what we’ve got!” you say calmly, and with that, you both leap forward without hesitation.
<hr>
[[Continue|Kaitlin dragging homegirl]] As you leap forward, the woman with sharp claws and a fierce expression charges at Kaitlin, her anger evident in every swift motion. She lunges, trying to land a hit, but Kaitlin dodges effortlessly, her bubbly demeanor contrasting sharply with the woman's fury.
Kaitlin giggles, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she spins away from the attack. “You’ll have to try harder than that!” she teases, quickly summoning a bubble gum-like substance in her hand. She spits it toward the woman, aiming to catch her off guard.
The woman, infuriated by Kaitlin's carefree attitude, barely sidesteps the sticky projectile, her expression twisting with frustration. It only fuels her rage further as she snarls, lunging again, claws outstretched, but Kaitlin dances out of reach, leaving a trail of pink goo in her wake.
Meanwhile, you feel a shift in the air. Turning just in time, you catch sight of the cocky swordsman swinging his oversized sword toward you. You instinctively dodge, your heart pounding as the wind rushes past your ear, the blade slicing dangerously close.
The close call sends a jolt through you, a rush of adrenaline that sharpens your senses. You blink, processing how narrowly you escaped being knocked out, and remind yourself to stay focused. This fight is just beginning, and you can’t afford to let your guard down.
<hr>
[[Not even a little]] As you regain your composure, you watch Dante spring into action. With a swift movement, he wraps his black and gold whip around the swordsman, yanking the blond toward himself. The swordsman stumbles, momentarily distracted by Dante's quick thinking.
Now free, you turn your attention to the muay thai fighter. He stands relaxed but ready, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Nice teamwork you’ve got there,” he compliments, his voice light and friendly. “My team could learn a thing or two from you.”
You notice the playful glint in his eyes as he gestures to his own teammates, who seem to be struggling with their coordination. “But hey, we’re all here for a good fight, right?”
As he sees the tension in your shoulders, his expression softens. “I’ll stop talking your ears off,” he adds kindly, stepping into a solid fighting stance. His posture is confident yet inviting, ready for whatever comes next. You brace yourself, knowing this battle is about to get serious.
<hr>
[[Let's get it started]] <<if $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You step forward, channeling the training you received from Nag Walan. His teachings echo in your mind as you keep your stance low and your fists up, ready to respond to the muay thai fighter’s movements.
He strikes first, launching a powerful knee aimed at your midsection. You sidestep, feeling the rush of air as it passes just inches from your body. With a quick pivot, you deliver a left hook that connects with his jaw, surprising him. His smile falters, and you can sense the shift in his demeanor—he’s no longer underestimating you.
He retaliates with a flurry of strikes, his elbows slicing through the air with precision. You duck under a sharp jab, countering with a right cross that lands squarely on his ribs. The impact resonates through your arm, but he barely flinches, returning fire with a knee strike to your thigh that stings.
The fight flows like a dance; each movement is a careful balance of aggression and defense. You lean back to evade a spinning elbow, then rush forward to close the distance. You know you have to keep him off-balance. Using footwork drilled into you by Walan, you pivot and throw a combination of punches: a jab, a cross, then a swift uppercut. The last punch lands, knocking him back.
Feeling the adrenaline surge, you press the advantage, darting in with a series of quick hooks. He blocks the first two but leaves an opening on his left. You seize the opportunity and land a solid punch to his side, feeling the satisfaction of each hit.
With sweat pouring down your brow, you can see the fatigue creeping into his movements. You step back, assessing his stance. He’s still formidable, but you can see the openings.
“Nice moves,” he says, breathless but genuine. “But let’s see how you handle this!” He launches into a powerful kick aimed at your head. You duck just in time, countering with a low kick that sweeps his leg. He stumbles, and you follow up with a series of rapid punches that finally put him on the defensive.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 10, 0, 100)>>
As the fight reaches its climax, you throw one last flurry of blows. The muay thai fighter attempts to block, but the combination overwhelms him, and he finally goes down. Breathing heavily, you stand over him, adrenaline coursing through your veins, knowing you’ve bested a worthy opponent.
<<elseif $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You step into the ring, your heart racing. The muay thai fighter stands ready, exuding confidence, while you feel the weight of your lack of experience in hand-to-hand combat. Your training with The Overseer had focused primarily on invoking spells and calligraphy, not fighting.
He launches the first strike, a powerful knee aimed at your midsection. You barely manage to sidestep, feeling the wind from his movement whip past you. You throw a weak jab, but it’s clumsy, and he easily dodges it.
The muay thai fighter is relentless, using his knees and elbows with precision. A sharp jab lands on your shoulder, sending a shock of pain through your arm. You stagger back, struggling to find your footing. He follows up with a knee to your stomach, and you gasp, feeling the air leave your lungs.
“Come on!” he urges with a playful smirk, “You can do better than that!” His taunts only fuel your frustration, and you know you have to focus. You attempt to invoke your phantoms for support, but they flicker at the edges of your concentration, barely materializing.
He comes at you again, launching a series of calculated strikes. You try to block, but his elbow connects with your side, knocking the wind out of you. You stumble but manage to regain your stance, throwing a desperate kick that barely grazes his leg.
“Not quite!” he laughs, clearly enjoying the challenge. You feel the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks, pushing you to dig deeper.
With a surge of determination, you throw yourself into the fight. You weave and duck, trying to avoid his attacks, but he’s too quick. A powerful kick lands squarely on your thigh, and you wince, trying to suppress the pain. You can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but you refuse to give up.
He closes in, delivering a rapid series of punches. You brace yourself and manage to catch one, countering with a weak left hook. It connects, but it hardly phases him. He smirks, almost pityingly, as he winds up for another kick.
Just when you think you might falter, you remember your training. You focus on the phantoms, drawing on the energy within you. You swing with renewed vigor, catching him off-guard with a quick combination of jabs.
The fight is grueling, and you can feel your strength waning. But you can’t give in. With one final burst of energy, you launch a desperate attack, throwing everything you have left into your punches. He’s momentarily caught off-balance, and you manage to push through. <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>
In a final, exhausting clash, you land a decisive blow that sends him to the ground. You stumble back, gasping for breath, the adrenaline still coursing through you. You may have barely won, but in that moment, you know you’ve faced a true challenge.<<else>> ... <</if>><hr>[[Continue|And he's down]] As you catch your breath, your heart still racing from the fight, you hear Kaitlin’s cheerful voice calling out to you. “Hey! $name! $name, look!” With a wide grin, she straightens up, bouncing on her heels as if she’s just won a prize. Her eyes sparkle with delight, completely ignoring the fury etched on the woman’s face sprawled on the ground.
The woman growls, her arms stuck firmly in a sticky pink substance, thrashing about in a futile attempt to free herself. “Let me go, you little brat!” she spits, rage boiling beneath her skin.
Kaitlin, undeterred, beams as she watches the woman struggle. “I got her good, right?” She glances back at you, her excitement contagious. Just then, the woman attempts a swift kick, aiming for Kaitlin’s midsection.
But Kaitlin hops to the side in an exaggerated, almost cartoonish motion, her feet nearly slipping out from under her as she dodges the attack. “Hey, that’s not nice!” she pouts, putting her hands on her hips with an almost comically offended expression. She shakes her head, as if genuinely surprised by the woman’s aggression, before turning back to you, brimming with pride over her victory.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin|You liked Kaitlin K&DD-ver]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying|You found Kaitlin annoying K&DD-ver]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again|You didn't care K&DD-ver]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on Dante and the sword dude!]] You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on Dante and the sword dude!]] You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on Dante and the sword dude!]] You turn your attention to Dante, and your heart sinks at the sight. He’s locked in a fierce struggle with the swordsman, who attacks him relentlessly, swinging his massive blade with reckless abandon. Each strike sends vibrations through the air, and you can see the strain on Dante’s face as he tries to evade the wild swings.
It’s clear that the swordsman is relying on brute strength, and Dante, while quick and agile, isn’t equipped to counter such power effectively. A deep cut across Dante’s arm glistens with fresh blood, a stark reminder of how close the fight is.
You hesitate, torn between wanting to rush in to help your best friend and knowing you might get in the way. The urge to intervene pulses through you, but the chaos of the fight makes it hard to decide. Should you step in and risk exposing yourself, or trust Dante to handle this?
<hr>
[[Help Dante][$DanteTrialDecision = "NoWristInjury"]]
[[Just Watch][$DanteTrialDecision = "WristInjury"]]<<if $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>Without a second thought, you charge at the swordsman, your instincts kicking in. You throw a swift punch to his ribs, feeling the satisfying impact as he stumbles back, surprise flashing across his face. The moment you see him regain his balance, you follow up with a quick jab to his jaw, your training surfacing as you move fluidly.
He swings wildly, but you slip to the side, expertly evading his overzealous attacks. You duck under his blade, landing a series of precise strikes—uppercuts and hooks that make him wince. The adrenaline surges through you, each punch feeling more powerful than the last. You can almost hear Nag Walan’s voice in your head, guiding your movements.
The swordsman’s bravado fades as he realizes he’s outmatched. He lunges again, but you anticipate the move, sidestepping and delivering a powerful punch to his gut. He doubles over, gasping for breath. With a final hook to his temple, he collapses to the ground, stunned.
Breathing heavily, you turn to Dante, who’s watching with wide eyes. “Thanks for stepping in!” he grins, attempting to lighten the mood despite his own pain. “I thought I was about to become diced potatoes!”
Kaitlin rushes toward you both, worry etched on her face. “Are you two okay?” she asks, glancing between you and Dante. You nod, still catching your breath, thankful you stepped in when you did, even though a twinge of pain runs through your own body.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You rush toward the swordsman, adrenaline propelling you forward. You aim a punch at his ribs, but your form feels off. He barely stumbles back, and before you can recover, he retaliates with a wild swing. You duck just in time, but the close call leaves you rattled.
The swordsman’s confidence swells again, and he launches a flurry of swings at you. You struggle to keep up, each hit landing with a thud against your sides. You manage a couple of hits, but they feel sloppy, lacking the precision you know you need.
Just as he starts to push you back, you muster all your strength and throw a desperate punch. It lands, albeit weakly, catching him off guard. You take the moment to step back and breathe, but he charges forward again, his strikes growing more chaotic. You dodge and weave, barely avoiding a few glancing blows.
Finally, you muster your resolve and find an opening. You throw a quick combination, landing a lucky uppercut that makes him stagger. He shakes his head, clearly frustrated and unfocused, which gives you the split-second you need. With a final push, you drive him back, and he collapses, panting heavily.
Panting yourself, you turn to Dante, who flashes a pained grin. “Thanks for the assist! I was worried I’d end up as diced potatoes!”
Kaitlin rushes toward you, her concern palpable. “Are you two alright?” she asks, scanning both of you anxiously. You nod, but the ache in your body reminds you of how close it was. Grateful for your quick decision to jump in, you smile at her,despite the exhaustion weighing you down. <<else>> ... <</if>> <hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>> <<set setup.danteDecision to "help">> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 30, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>Dante’s whip cracked through the air, but the swordsman smirked, easily parrying with a quick side swing. You heard a sharp cry as the blunt side of the sword collided with Dante’s wrist, sending his whip skidding across the floor, far out of reach.
You felt a pit forming in your stomach as Dante recoiled, clutching his injured wrist. He stumbled back, eyes darting between his opponent and the weapon he could no longer use. You clenched your fists. //You should help.// But something holds you back—some irrational hope that Dante will pull through, that maybe this time, he’ll find a way to turn the tide on his own.
//But should he have to?//
The swordsman didn’t give him time to recover, lunging forward with swift, deadly precision. Dante barely dodged, his movements sluggish and off-balance. The confidence you had in letting him fight alone faltered as you watched him struggle to block blunt blows with his bare hands.
Your heartbeat quickened, a familiar mix of panic and guilt rising inside you. //He’ll get through this. He has to.//
But with every hit Dante took, that thought became harder to believe. The swordsman’s relentless strikes rained down, his smirk growing more confident with each passing second. Dante’s attempts to dodge were getting weaker, slower—until finally, a heavy kick to his side sent him sprawling onto the ground, gasping for breath.
You froze, uncertainty rooting you to the spot. //Should I—//
“Dante!” Kaitlin’s voice cut through the tension.
Dante groaned, trying to get up, but he was in no condition to fight anymore. Without waiting for your cue, she bolted forward, her hands already dampening.
The swordsman, too focused on Dante, barely registered Kaitlin's approach. She darted forward, her playful demeanor shifting to fierce urgency. With a swift movement, she lunged at the swordsman, trying to catch him off guard. He swung his sword at her, but she ducked just in time, the blade whizzing overhead.
Kaitlin pressed on, feigning a slip, and as he laughed, she sprang back up, launching herself at him with unexpected agility. She managed to land a few quick hits, her fists flying, but he quickly retaliated, swinging his sword with a grunt. Kaitlin barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as the blade passed dangerously close.
“Come on, you big oaf!” she urged, trying to keep his attention while searching for an opening. The swordsman lunged forward, aiming to end her distraction, but in a surprising twist, Kaitlin threw a handful of bubble gum, the sticky substance splattering across his face and momentarily blinding him.
Using her weight, she pulled him down, forcing him to the ground. He thrashed, but the sticky substance held him in place. Kaitlin grunted with effort, her focus solely on keeping him immobilized until he finally gave in, gasping for breath.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, though the victory felt hollow. The swordsman let out a defeated groan, realizing he was trapped. Kaitlin quickly stood up, her expression shifting to one of worry as she turned to Dante, who was clutching his wrist and wincing in pain.
Dante, panting heavily, gave her a grateful nod, though the strain on his face was evident. Kaitlin helped him to his feet, casting a quick glance in your direction, her eyes questioning. You stood there, still, your insides twisting.
//Why didn’t you step in?// You told yourself it was to let Dante grow, but now you weren't so sure.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Diversion!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>Duppy distractions</h2></span>
//How many duppies would you like to create? //
//Warning : The more you make, the more exhausted you'll get, the less you make, the weaker your offense is...//
<hr>
[[Two duppies|FightWithKatieandDante][$duppies = "two"]]
[[Four duppies|DragThemWithKatieandDante][$duppies = "four"]]Kaitlin frowns slightly, her brow furrowing. "What if they catch on?"
Dante, crouched beside you both, tilts his head. "Yeah, what’s the plan if they’re smarter than we think?"
You hesitate. Summoning only two Duppies might not be enough to throw all three opponents off. The odds aren’t great, and you know it. But you also know that summoning more could sap too much of your strength before the real fight even begins.
"They might," you admit, tightening your grip on the book. "But it’s all we can afford without burning out. We’ll just have to move fast and hit hard if they do."
Dante grins slightly, trying to lighten the tension. "If all else fails, I can always charm them."
You smirk, but your focus is unwavering. "Or we can just beat them up," you add with determination, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between the three of you.
Kaitlin nods, her smile softening as she glances toward the enemy base. The pink gum in her mouth glistens against her dark skin, standing out in the low lighting. The glow of the floor only highlights her features further, giving her an almost ethereal look despite the nervous energy crackling around all of you. She’s ready, but there’s a hint of unease as her eyes drift toward the opponents.
Taking a deep breath, you focus on the invoking. Your fingers trace the symbols on the small brown page, and as you concentrate, that familiar surge of slither-like sensation courses through your veins—like small snakes weaving just under your skin. Moments later, two spots on the ground darken, blobs surrounded by black mist forming as they rise. Slowly, shadowy figures take on your vague appearance. Their forms solidify, complete copies of yourself. Their hair is visibly damp, their eyes blank and devoid of life, staring ahead until you give further instruction. The strain is there, but manageable—you’ll still have energy left for the fight.
"Those look exactly like you!" Kaitlin marvels, a faint grin appearing. "Just a bit damp-looking and depressed, ya know?"
Dante chuckles. "You’ve got some soggy twins now."
You snicker under your breath. "Go," you whisper, sending the Duppies forward.
The two wet shadows dart toward the enemy base, though the distraction isn’t as effective. The cocky blond swordsman and the angry woman turn their attention to the Duppies for a moment, confused, as they are quick to defend themselves from the clones. But the older man—wiser, more experienced—doesn’t fall for the trick. He watches them for a beat, then shifts his gaze toward you, Kaitlin, and Dante, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"You three are smart," he says, his voice almost amused, like he’s enjoying the challenge. Behind him, the swordsman and the woman snap back to reality, quickly dispelling the Duppies. Their eyes now scan for the real threat.
Kaitlin glances back at you, her expression tightening. “That didn’t last long…”
“We still have time,” you whisper, keeping your voice low but steady.
Dante’s grin fades into something more serious as he nods. "Let’s make it count."
You all push forward, eyes on the prize—the flag. There’s no turning back now.
Kaitlin moves quickly, darting toward the flag with you close behind. She spits into her palm and grabs the flag just as the older man begins to move, his smile fading into something more focused.
<hr>
[[Continue|get him m]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 10, 0, 100)>>Kaitlin’s eyes scan the dome, her expression tight with concentration. "What if they figure out it’s a trick? Or worse, catch on too fast?"
Dante, crouched beside you both, nods, his face serious. "Yeah, what if they cut through those clones quicker than we expect?"
You pause, weighing the risk. Summoning four Duppies isn’t easy. You’ve done it before, but it drains you fast. You glance at Dante and then lock eyes with Kaitlin, your jaw clenched.
"Then we’ll have no choice but to beat them up," you say with a casual shrug, though your tone carries the seriousness of the situation. "But with four of them, the chances are better they’ll stay distracted."
Dante grins, cracking his knuckles. "I’m always up for a brawl if it comes to that."
Kaitlin nods, her pink, puffy hair slightly disheveled from earlier skirmishes. The faint glow from the enchanted floors outlines her form in the dim lighting, her dark skin contrasting sharply against the vibrant pink of her hair. She still looks excited, but a flicker of concern dances in her eyes as she places her trust in you and Dante.
Taking a deep breath, you focus on invoking the Duppies. Your fingers trace the symbols on the small brown page, and as you concentrate, a familiar surge of slither-like sensation courses through your veins—like tiny snakes weaving under your skin. Moments later, four spots on the ground darken, flickering blobs surrounded by black mist form as they grow. Shadowy, slumped figures rise from the ground, slowly taking on your vague appearance. Their hair appears slightly damp, and their eyes stare blankly ahead, awaiting your command. The exertion pulls at your stamina, but you manage to steady yourself, pushing through the strain.
"Whoa," Kaitlin whispers, her eyes lighting up as she examines the clones. "They really do look like you—just a bit soggy and a lot more bummed out!"
Dante chuckles softly, nudging you. "Never thought I’d see you this gloomy."
You smirk, though you’re focused. "Perfect." You whisper and command each Duppy to take on a role, sending them toward the enemy base.
The shadowy damp clones move sloppily but deliberately, scattering in different directions to throw off the three guards. Two of them fall for it immediately, their confusion evident as they shift their attention to the darting figures. The third one hesitates, scanning the area with suspicion. You grip your book tighter, heart pounding.
"Come on," you mutter under your breath, watching closely.
Dante glances at you, eyes sharp. "They’re taking the bait. Let’s move."
Taking advantage of the moment, the three of you quickly make your way around the dome, keeping low and quiet as the guards continue focusing on the Duppies. You slip through the shadows, moving closer and closer to the base, your footsteps barely audible against the dimly lit ground.
As you reach the flag, Kaitlin steps forward. She spits into her palm, then with a quick movement, grabs the flag, yanking it free from its base. The gooey substance coating her hand gives her a firm grip as she clutches it tight.
Dante breathes out a quiet laugh. "Always so graceful, Kaitlin."
She grins at him, but her eyes remain sharp, aware of the stakes. "Let's get out before they catch on."
<hr>
[[Continue|get him mmm]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>>The moment Kaitlin grabs the flag, the older man steps forward, his eyes scanning the three of you with a calculating look, but it’s the other two that rush in first. The angry woman with a jagged bobcut barrels forward with a snarl, her movements fast but wild, while the blond swordsman lumbers after her, his massive sword dragging behind him as he sneers.
“Let’s go!” Kaitlin shouts, raising the flagpole defensively as the woman charges at her.
Without hesitation, the woman claws at her, her fingers curled like talons, but Kaitlin is quick. She tosses one of her sticky bubbles, catching the woman mid-swing. It splatters across her torso, slowing her movements as she growls in frustration.
“Really? Bubbles?” the woman hisses, wiping at the mess with increasing rage.
Kaitlin grins, using the flagpole as a makeshift staff to keep her opponent at bay. “What? Not a fan of a good bath?” she quips, twirling the pole with ease.
The woman’s eyes flash with fury, and she lunges again, growling like a wild beast as she claws at Kaitlin’s defenses. But Kaitlin’s quick movements and light-hearted taunts only make the woman angrier, her attacks growing sloppier.
Meanwhile, the older man locks eyes with Dante, smirking as if he’s chosen his opponent. Without a word, he strides toward Dante with calm, deliberate steps. Dante, noticing the shift, narrows his eyes and steps forward to meet him, his usual playful grin fading into a look of concentration.
The older man strikes first, his movements precise and controlled, unlike the swordsman’s wild swings. Dante parries with his whip, barely landing though, the tension between them palpable as they test each other's skill. The battle between Dante and the older man quickly escalates into a fast-paced exchange of blows, Dante seeming to receive more than dish out.
Dante sidesteps a heavy downward elbow, spinning away with a somewhat confident smile. "You’re good," he says, dodging another quick thrust. "But I’m better."
The older man only chuckles, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the challenge as they continue their fight.
<hr>
[[It seems they are busy]] the blond swordsman makes his move on you, swinging his oversized weapon with little precision. The sword is too big for him to handle, and it shows in every reckless, wide arc he makes.
"You scared?" he taunts, though his words lack any real bite. "Bet you’re shaking in your boots!"
You easily sidestep his first swing, watching as he stumbles slightly, the weight of the sword pulling him off balance. His taunts are hollow, his arrogance palpable, but none of it gets to you. He’s trying too hard.
“You swing that thing like a child with a toy,” you mutter, dodging another haphazard strike. His attacks are powerful but slow, leaving you plenty of time to think.
As he lifts his sword again, you begin to gather your energy, preparing to create more doppelgangers. With his lack of coordination, a few well-placed distractions should be enough to catch him off guard.<<if $duppies == "two">>At least you haven't worn yourself out.<<elseif $duppies == "four" >>Though you shouldn't burn yourself out.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|you got energy baby!]] The moment Kaitlin grabs the flag, the older man steps forward, his eyes scanning the three of you with a calculating look, but it’s the other two that rush in first. The angry woman with a jagged bobcut barrels forward with a snarl, her movements fast but wild, while the blond swordsman lumbers after her, his massive sword dragging behind him as he sneers.
“Let’s go!” Kaitlin shouts, raising the flagpole defensively as the woman charges at her.
Without hesitation, the woman claws at her, her fingers curled like talons, but Kaitlin is quick. She tosses one of her sticky bubbles, catching the woman mid-swing. It splatters across her torso, slowing her movements as she growls in frustration.
“Really? Bubbles?” the woman hisses, wiping at the mess with increasing rage.
Kaitlin grins, using the flagpole as a makeshift staff to keep her opponent at bay. “What? Not a fan of a good bath?” she quips, twirling the pole with ease.
The woman’s eyes flash with fury, and she lunges again, growling like a wild beast as she claws at Kaitlin’s defenses. But Kaitlin’s quick movements and light-hearted taunts only make the woman angrier, her attacks growing sloppier.
Meanwhile, the older man locks eyes with Dante, smirking as if he’s chosen his opponent. Without a word, he strides toward Dante with calm, deliberate steps. Dante, noticing the shift, narrows his eyes and steps forward to meet him, his usual playful grin fading into a look of concentration.
The older man strikes first, his movements precise and controlled, unlike the swordsman’s wild swings. Dante parries with his whip, barely landing though, the tension between them palpable as they test each other's skill. The battle between Dante and the older man quickly escalates into a fast-paced exchange of blows, Dante seeming to receive more than dish out.
Dante sidesteps a heavy downward elbow, spinning away with a somewhat confident smile. "You’re good," he says, dodging another quick thrust. "But I’m better."
The older man only chuckles, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the challenge as they continue their fight.
<hr>
[[It seems they are busy|busy bees]] Meanwhile, the blond swordsman makes his move on you, swinging his oversized weapon with little precision. The sword is too big for him to handle, and it shows in every reckless, wide arc he makes.
"You scared?" he taunts, though his words lack any real bite. "Bet you’re shaking in your boots!"
You easily sidestep his first swing, watching as he stumbles slightly, the weight of the sword pulling him off balance. His taunts are hollow, his arrogance palpable, but none of it gets to you. He’s trying too hard.
“You swing that thing like a child with a toy,” you mutter, dodging another haphazard strike. His attacks are powerful but slow, leaving you plenty of time to think.
As he lifts his sword again, you begin to gather your energy, preparing to create more doppelgangers. With his lack of coordination, a few well-placed distractions should be enough to catch him off. <<if $duppies == "two">>At least you haven't worn yourself out.<<elseif $duppies == "four" >>Though you shouldn't burn yourself out.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|you got energy baby!]] <<if $duppies == "two">>The blond swordsman swings again, his oversized weapon cutting through the air with a heavy whoosh. You narrowly dodge the blow, feeling the rush of wind as the blade passes dangerously close. His arrogance is getting under your skin, but you maintain your focus. You need a new plan—and fast.
Without hesitation, you pull two small brown papers from your pouch, running your fingers swiftly across their symbols. A familiar slither-like sensation creeps through your veins as you channel your energy, invoking two more Duppies.
The shadows at your feet darken, black mist swirling upward. Two forms rise from the ground, shadowy duplicates of yourself, their damp $hairlook $haircolour hair clinging to their foreheads, and $eyecolour eyes staring blankly ahead.
"Go," you command, sending the two Duppies charging toward the swordsman.
He smirks, clearly underestimating the shadowy figures, and swings his massive sword down with a grunt, expecting to cleave them in half. But they’re fast, faster than he anticipated. The first Duppy ducks low, slipping beneath the arc of the blade, while the second circles around, flanking him from behind.
You take advantage of the distraction and rush in, attacking from the front just as the Duppies strike from both sides. The swordsman, caught off guard by the coordinated assault, staggers backward, unable to keep up with the quick, synchronized movements.
"You think these shadows can stop me?" he growls, swinging wildly at the Duppies. His strikes are powerful but lack precision, and the Duppies are too nimble, darting around him in erratic patterns. He lands a glancing blow on one, but it only causes it to falter momentarily before resuming its relentless attack.
As he tries to fend off the Duppies, you make your move. Gathering your energy, you channel a forceful strike aimed at his exposed side. The impact throws him off balance, and he stumbles, trying to regain his footing. The Duppies seize the opportunity, launching themselves at him in unison, their shadowy forms entangling his arms and legs, pinning him down.
With one final push, you land a decisive blow to his chest, knocking the wind out of him. The swordsman crumples to the ground, groaning in pain as the Duppies dissolve into black mist around him, their purpose fulfilled.<<elseif $duppies == "four" >>The blond swordsman, clearly frustrated from your last encounter, charges at you with renewed fury, his sword raised high for a devastating strike. You’re exhausted—every movement feels heavier than before, and you know you don’t have much left in you. But you can’t give up now.
You pull out another small brown page and run your fingers across it, trying to summon two more Duppies. The familiar slither returns, but this time, it’s weaker, more strained. As the mist begins to rise from the ground, you feel a sudden drain on your stamina. One Duppy forms quickly, its blank $eyecolour eyes staring forward, ready to fight. The other... flickers, its form incomplete, before puffing into smoke and vanishing completely.
Your heart sinks. You’re down to one Duppy—and the swordsman is still coming at you, sword in hand and fury in his eyes.
"One’s better than none," you mutter under your breath, sending the lone Duppy forward. The shadowy figure charges at the swordsman, distracting him just long enough for you to catch your breath and plan your next move.
The swordsman, clearly fed up with the shadowy clones, swings his blade with all his strength, smashing into the Duppy. The impact causes the Duppy to stagger, but it quickly recovers, weaving around the swordsman with quick, unpredictable movements. You use this opening to launch a quick series of attacks, darting in and out of his reach.
But the swordsman is relentless. He catches the Duppy with a solid hit, and it disintegrates into a puff of black smoke, leaving you alone once again.
Desperation kicks in. You dodge another powerful swing from the swordsman, your body protesting every movement as exhaustion threatens to overtake you. Gathering what little strength you have left, you lunge at him, aiming a low, quick strike at his knee.
The blow connects, and the swordsman lets out a grunt of pain, stumbling as his leg buckles beneath him. You follow up with a flurry of rapid attacks, each one pushing him further off balance. He tries to swing his sword, but his movements are sluggish now, and you manage to sidestep each attempt.
With one final burst of energy, you land a decisive strike to his chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You stand over him, breathing heavily, your body trembling from the exertion. The fight is over—you’ve won, but just barely.
The swordsman lies motionless, groaning in defeat as you take a moment to catch your breath, your mind racing from the intensity of the battle.<</if>><hr>
[[Continue|Katie is cute-ing]] Out of the corner of your eye, you hear a familiar, excited voice calling out, “$nickname! $nickname, look!” It’s Kaitlin, her face lit up like an excited child as she proudly points toward the angry woman thrashing on the ground, stuck in the goo.
The woman growls, her arms stuck firmly to the ground, and she immediately begins thrashing, her face contorted in rage. “Let me go, you little brat!” she spits, her body jerking against the goo’s tight hold.
Kaitlin, still grinning, hops back as the woman tries to kick at her. The kick comes fast, but Kaitlin wobbles comically, her feet almost slipping out from under her. She throws her hands on her hips, shaking her head with a look of genuine disbelief.
“Hey, that’s not nice,” she pouts, her voice filled with an almost childlike offense, completely unable to comprehend why the woman would lash out.
For a moment, you can’t help but be distracted by Kaitlin’s antics, but you know this isn’t over yet. The real challenge is still standing in front of you, and his eyes haven’t left yours.
<hr>
[[You liked Kaitlin|You liked Kaitlin duppy with d-ver]]
[[You found Kaitlin annoying|You found Kaitlin annoying duppy with d-ver]]
[[You didn't care about having an opinion on someone you'd barely run into again|You didn't care duppy with d-ver]] You can't help but smile at Kaitlin's antics. Despite the chaos and pain she must be feeling, she still managed to make light of the situation. She was tough, resourceful, and had a way of keeping things light even in the heat of battle. You were glad to have her on your side—someone you could trust to hold her own and still bring some levity to a stressful moment.
<hr>
<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on Dante and muay dude!]]You roll your eyes, barely able to hold back your frustration. Kaitlin’s childishness had its moments, but in the middle of a tournament, it was just plain irritating. She acted like this was some kind of game when you were all risking getting hurt—or worse. Maybe it was just how she coped, but it grated on your nerves.
<hr> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>> [[Continue|focus on Dante and muay dude!]]You glance at her briefly but don’t give it much thought. Kaitlin was doing her thing, and while her antics might be amusing to some, you didn’t have time to care. This tournament was a one-time event, and after this, you’d likely never cross paths again. All that mattered now was winning. <hr>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>
[[Continue|focus on Dante and muay dude!]]Dante is on the defensive, his usual confident stance replaced with one of desperation. The Muay Thai fighter in front of him moves with swift, brutal efficiency, every knee strike and elbow thrown with precise, practiced skill. Dante stumbles back, clearly outmatched in hand-to-hand combat, his whip lying useless a few feet away on the ground.
He dodges a vicious elbow, but barely, the next kick catching him square in the side. He grunts in pain, forced further into a corner. You can see the strain in his movements, the quickness of his usual strikes missing, replaced with heavy, sluggish punches that the Muay Thai fighter easily deflects.
You glance at his whip—so close, yet so far from his reach. His weapon of choice, now out of the equation, leaves him vulnerable. He’s out of his element, his form breaking down with every hit he takes, and you can tell he’s struggling to keep up. He’s overwhelmed, his face showing the telltale signs of exhaustion and pain, bruises forming where he's been hit.
Your heart races as you watch him falter, your mind spinning with indecision. Should you step in and help your best friend? He’s in over his head, clearly outmatched in this fight, but jumping in might compromise everything.
Dante stumbles back again, barely dodging another strike, and your chest tightens. You have to make a decision, and fast.
<hr>
[[Assist Dante][$DanteTrialDecision = "NoWristInjury"]]
[[Let Dante handle his fight][$DanteTrialDecision = "WristInjury"]]You watch Dante taking hit after hit, each one landing harder than the last. Your heart races as you see him stumbling, barely able to defend himself. He’s been overwhelmed, and despite your earlier thoughts that this could be good for him, you can’t shake the sinking feeling in your gut. He needs help. Now.
Even though exhaustion weighs heavy on your limbs, you summon what little energy you have left. Your fingers tremble as they run across a small page, invoking one last Duppy. The familiar slither-like sensation runs up your spine, but it’s weaker now—so much weaker. As the shadowy figure forms beside you, you send it toward the Muay Thai fighter, knowing it’s your only shot to intervene.
The fighter, confident in his dominance, barely even flinches. He grins and swings at the Duppy, his fist cutting through the air. The shadowy clone dissipates into a puff of black smoke the moment it’s hit, and for a brief second, the fighter is blinded, coughing in surprise.
That’s your moment.
You rush in while the smoke still swirls around him, using the momentary confusion to your advantage. Even blind, the fighter reacts well, his fists swinging in tight, controlled arcs, but the shock of the sudden blindness puts him at a slight disadvantage. You manage to land a couple of quick blows, feeling the strain of your exhaustion with every punch.
It’s enough to give Dante a chance. He scrambles toward his whip, snatching it off the ground with newfound determination. With a swift motion, he flicks it toward the fighter, the long cord wrapping around his torso and locking him in place.
“Now!” Dante shouts, his voice strained but hopeful.
You don’t hesitate. With one last burst of energy, you drive a final blow into the fighter’s chest. He stumbles, the force knocking him back, and with Dante’s whip still coiled around him, he finally crashes to the ground, unconscious.
Kaitlin cheers playfully from the sidelines. "That’s what I’m talking about!" she shouts, her enthusiasm infectious.
Dante lets out a tired but genuine laugh, glancing at you with a mixture of gratitude and relief.
You smile, your chest heaving with exhaustion, but feeling a sense of satisfaction. Stepping in was the right call, even if it’s left you even more drained than before.
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 10, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 30, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>You grit your teeth, watching Dante struggle against the Muay Thai fighter. A part of you knows he needs this—needs to be pushed, to face situations where his whip can’t save him. It’s good for him to experience this, to find a way to power through. But with every hit he takes, every stumble backward, your confidence in that choice wavers.
Dante’s barely holding on now, dodging as best he can, but the fighter’s relentless strikes keep coming, faster and more brutal. You can see the exhaustion in his movements, how much slower he’s getting. You think, //He’ll push through. He has to.//
But then it happens—one swift, unforgiving kick aimed at Dante’s side. He twists to avoid it, but his hand comes up too late, and the force of the impact sends him sprawling. As he lands, his wrist bends at a sharp angle, and the pained gasp that escapes him sends a jolt of panic through you. His whip falls from his hand, and you can tell immediately that he’s hurt—badly.
Dante clutches his wrist, his face contorted in pain, but still he gets up. He’s gritting his teeth, pushing through sheer willpower, but the Muay Thai fighter shows no mercy. Another kick lands against Dante’s side, sending him staggering backward. He’s barely able to defend himself, his movements growing desperate and sloppy, and you feel the familiar sinking sensation in your gut.
Kaitlin, who’s been watching the fight too, suddenly shakes her head, her voice tight. "I can’t take this anymore."
Before you can react, she rushes forward, her hand reaching into her pouch as she nears the Muay Thai fighter. With a quick flick of her wrist, one of her sticky bubbles flies toward his feet. It splatters on the ground, and within seconds, the fighter’s movements slow, his feet stuck unexpectedly to the floor.
Dante, still cradling his injured wrist, seizes the opportunity and throws a weak punch with his uninjured hand. It’s not graceful, but it’s enough to make the fighter stumble back. Just as the Muay Thai fighter tries to regain his balance, Kaitlin throws another bubble, this time hitting his shoulders and sticking him firmly to the ground.
Dante pants, his chest heaving as he looks down at his fallen opponent, relief and exhaustion washing over his face. Kaitlin gives him a small nod, but you can feel the weight of your own hesitation settling on your shoulders.
You wonder, //Should I have stepped in earlier? //
<hr>
[[Congrats! You got your first flag!|but it wasn't over yet.]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 20, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>Her laughter echoed through the dome, sharp and chilling, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Is that it?" she asked, her voice lilting with a casualness that sent a shiver down your spine. "Come on now, I thought this was supposed to be a tournament to the death!"
She tilted her head, surveying the crowd with a grin that only grew wider. “Standing around like statues isn’t going to win you anything. Clock’s still ticking, you know.”
No one moved. The silence from the crowd was suffocating, a stark contrast to the chaos that had been raging moments before. Everyone stood rooted in place, their eyes locked on her in a mixture of awe and terror.
Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t just because of her. It was because of Dante.
Seeing him like this—your best friend, your constant, always grinning, always steady—now barely holding on, was like a knife to the chest. His legs trembled under him, his whip hanging limp at his side, his body battered and bruised from the fight. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face contorted with pain and exhaustion, but his eyes… his eyes still burned with defiance, refusing to give in.
You had seen him in countless scrapes, laughed off countless injuries together, but this… this was different. This was //''real''//. The sight of him, worn down to his core, struggling to stay on his feet, shook something deep inside you.
The world around you seemed to blur for a moment, the panic swelling in your chest as you stood there, helpless, unable to reach him. It felt like everything inside you was screaming to move, to //''do''// something, anything, but your legs refused to listen.
<hr>
[[And then came the sound.]] When you finally made it back to your home base, what you saw stopped you dead in your tracks.
Fai was on the ground, panting heavily, his clothes torn and his face bruised. He clung to your team’s flag like his life depended on it, his knuckles white from the effort. His body trembled with exhaustion, sweat dripping down his face. The sight of him, barely holding on, made your heart drop.
But what truly froze you was the scene in front of him.
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>Dante stood a few paces away, his whip artifact gripped tightly in his hand, the leather coil hanging limply by his side. He was breathing just as heavily as Fai, his usual carefree expression replaced with a fierce glare. He was battered and bruised, his legs trembling from fatigue, but he remained standing. His body was clearly worn from battle, yet he refused to back down.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>Dante stood a few paces away, his whip artifact gripped tightly in his left hand, the leather coil hanging limply by his side. His right wrist hung limp, clearly injured, and the strain of using his off-hand showed in the stiffness of his movements.
He was breathing just as heavily as Fai, his usual carefree expression replaced with a fierce glare. His body was battered and bruised, legs trembling from fatigue, but he refused to back down. Despite the obvious pain, he kept his gaze locked on the enemy, determined to see the fight through, even if his stance wavered slightly with each breath.<<else>>Dante stood a few paces away, his whip artifact gripped tightly in his hand, the leather coil hanging limply by his side. He was breathing just as heavily as Fai, his usual carefree expression replaced with a fierce glare. He was battered and bruised, his legs trembling from fatigue, but he remained standing. His body was clearly worn from battle, yet he refused to back down. <</if>>
And then there was her.
The woman standing between them was unlike anyone you had ever seen. Her ear-length curly green hair framed her face, her deep tan skin gleaming under the dim light of the dome. Black top and leather pants clinging to her as though they were part of her. A wicked grin spread across her lips, her green eyes gleaming with something almost… maniacal.
Despite the carnage around her, she looked utterly serene, the chaos of the battlefield seeming to swirl around her as if it couldn't touch her. There was something about her presence—something that sent a shiver down your spine. She radiated danger, her calm exterior only serving to heighten the fear that clutched at your chest.
<hr>
[[who....]]Dante lashed out with his whip, the crack of leather against the air loud in the dome, but she was too fast. With a single twist of her body, she dodged, her heel slamming into the ground as she spun around him. In a flash, her leg shot out, and Dante barely managed to parry it with his whip. The impact sent a sharp sound reverberating through the dome.
People watched from the sidelines, too terrified to join the fight or even make a move to take the flag. They were rooted in place, as if hypnotized by the sight of this woman overpowering Dante.
She let out a amused laugh, slightly throwing her head back in delight before she glances around at the people, still coming down from her chilling laughter.
<hr>
[[...|she breaks the tense silence with a loud laugh]]The man—salt-and-pepper hair and a kind, almost paternal smile—watched you both with an amused expression. His stance was relaxed but ready, like someone who had seen his fair share of battles. Kaitlin, still wincing from the pain, gave him a side-eye but quickly put on a brave face.
“You know,” he said, his voice deep and warm, "you two have great teamwork. Makes me wish my own partners had shared the same fate.” He glanced back at his teammates, still stuck or groaning on the ground, with a mix of humor and disappointment.
Kaitlin snorted, clearly still playing up her own role. "Aww, come on, Grandpa, they’ll catch up eventually."
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Grandpa, huh? I’m only in my forties.” He gave her a teasing look, as if her words didn’t bother him one bit.
But you weren’t laughing. You kept your eyes on him, muscles still tense from the fight, breathing heavy. While he seemed relaxed, you couldn’t shake the thought that he was fresher than you. All that waiting while his teammates fought—maybe he’d been biding his time.
Sensing your wariness, the man flashed a grin, his tone playful yet challenging.
“Round two?”
<hr>
[[Fight him alone][$KaitlinTrialAssistance = "Deny"]]
[[Fight with Kaitlin][$KaitlinTrialAssistance = "Accept"]]<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ae/77/24/ae772463de675fd548dabb264eb76201.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/76db10359f7c7e4977dfdf00eb4a95c3/tumblr_o2j5wpUiul1v1wfzlo1_500.gifv" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
<h1>End: Chapter 2</h1>
[[START CH3|Chapter 3 warnings]]
You kneel down beside Fai, but there’s no warmth in your movements—just purpose. Your eyes briefly meet his before you take the flag from his hands. It’s torn and worn, much like him, but that’s just part of the tournament. You don’t bother with words, feeling that none are needed. The job is done.
Fai’s eyes dart nervously as you stand, his fingers twitching like he’s unsure of what to do next. You extend your hand out of necessity, not kindness. He hesitates for a moment before grasping it, his grip light and uncertain. With a firm pull, you help him to his feet, steadying him just enough to make sure he doesn’t fall. You glance at him once more, noticing the way his gaze flickers between you and the ground, but you don’t dwell on it. There’s no reason to—this was just another part of the competition.
<hr>
[[Continue|After Trial Tournament]]
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>You kneel down beside Fai, your heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and something else—something that lingers a little longer. As you gently take the flag from his hands, your stomach flutters unexpectedly.
His scent reaches you, a subtle blend of patchouli and wood—earthy and grounding, like damp forest leaves after the rain, mixed with the warmth of aged wood. The scent wraps around you, unexpectedly comforting, and you find yourself inhaling a little deeper.
You offer your hand, and as his soft fingers slide into yours, a small shiver runs up your spine. His touch is gentle, his hands far smoother than you expected for someone in the tournament. For a moment, you wonder if he’s had much experience in combat. Still, you help him to his feet, your mind distracted by the lingering scent and the warmth of his skin.
<hr>
[[Continue|After Trial Tournament]]
<<set $faiRomance2 to Math.clamp($faiRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>You drop to one knee beside Fai, the weight of the moment settling around you as you gently take the flag from his trembling hands. His knuckles are still white from gripping it so fiercely, and his chest rises and falls in uneven breaths. The bruises on his face and the exhaustion in his eyes tell you more than words ever could. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice soft but laced with genuine gratitude. It feels like those two words aren’t nearly enough for what he’s endured, for how hard he’s fought.
His eyes, wide and still filled with something, flicker to yours. There's a hint of uncertainty in them, but he nods, ever so timidly, as if to say it’s all okay, even though you both know it's not. Without thinking, you reach out, offering your hand. His hesitation is palpable, but after a second, he takes it. His hand feels cool and small in yours, fragile yet steady. With a gentle pull, you help him to his feet, your grip firm as you guide him up. His stability wobbles slightly, and you instinctively place a steadying hand on his arm, making sure he doesn’t fall.
<hr>
[[Continue|After Trial Tournament]]
<<set $faiFriendship2 to Math.clamp($faiFriendship2 + 5, 0, 100)>><<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>The four of you made your way to the tournament office, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone path. Dante walked beside you, his posture still a bit stiff from the earlier fight, but his usual lively energy had returned. You carried the flags in a bundle, their weight feeling lighter now that the tension had lifted. Kaitlin walked ahead, humming softly to herself, while Fai trailed behind, quiet but attentive.
As you exchanged stories about the battles, Dante couldn't resist adding his own flair. "You should’ve seen me! I was fighting like a first-gen Kabot Champion after you two left," he boasted, waving his hands for emphasis. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled with the familiar mischief you’d come to know.
Kaitlin’s eyes widened in amazement, her voice filled with awe. "Wow, really? That's incredible, Dante! I can't believe we missed that!"
Dante's smirk grew wider, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Of course! It’s all about the style."
Fai, who had been quietly listening, grinned and brought a hand up to cover his mouth, his eyes flickering with amusement. The warmth of the moment spread between the four of you, the weight of the earlier battle lifting as you neared the tournament office building.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>The four of you made your way to the tournament office, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone path. Dante walked beside you, his posture still a bit stiff from the earlier fight, the bandage around his wrist a visible reminder of the injury. His usual lively energy had returned, though, and the tension from the battle had begun to fade. You carried the flags in a bundle, their weight feeling lighter now that the worst was behind you. Kaitlin walked ahead, humming softly to herself, while Fai trailed behind, quietly surveying the area.
As you exchanged stories about the battles, Dante couldn't help but embellish his own. "You should’ve seen me! I was fighting like a first-gen Kabot Champion after you two left," he boasted, waving his left hand for emphasis, careful not to jostle the bandaged wrist too much. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief.
Kaitlin’s eyes widened in mock amazement, her voice full of playful awe. "Wow, really? That's incredible, Dante! I can't believe we missed that!"
Dante's smirk grew even wider, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Of course! It’s all about the style."
Fai, who had been quietly listening, chuckled softly, his eyes flickering with amusement. The warmth of the moment spread between the four of you, the earlier battle now a distant memory as you neared the tournament office building.<<else>>The four of you made your way to the tournament office, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone path. Dante walked beside you, his posture still a bit stiff from the earlier fight, but his usual lively energy had returned. You carried the flags in a bundle, their weight feeling lighter now that the tension had lifted. Kaitlin walked ahead, humming softly to herself, while Fai trailed behind, quiet but attentive.
As you exchanged stories about the battles, Dante couldn't resist adding his own flair. "You should’ve seen me! I was fighting like a first-gen Kabot Champion after you two left," he boasted, waving his hands for emphasis. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled with the familiar mischief you’d come to know.
Kaitlin’s eyes widened in amazement, her voice filled with awe. "Wow, really? That's incredible, Dante! I can't believe we missed that!"
Dante's smirk grew wider, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Of course! It’s all about the style."
Fai, who had been quietly listening, grinned and brought a hand up to cover his mouth, his eyes flickering with amusement. The warmth of the moment spread between the four of you, the weight of the earlier battle lifting as you neared the tournament office building.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Tease Dante]]
[[endorse his delusion. Just a little bit.]] <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Oh really? Style over substance, huh? So, how stylish was it when you were barely standing when we got there?"
Dante shot you a mock glare, his lips twitching as if he were trying not to smile. "Hey, I had it all under control. You just showed up at a… less flattering moment."
Kaitlin blinked, still caught up in the story. "You did look pretty tired, though."
You leaned in closer, your smirk widening. "Tired? Bet he was practically on the ground. Fai probably had to hold him up half the time."
Fai stifled a chuckle behind his hand, his eyes gleaming with amusement as Dante scoffed in mock offense. "I was saving my energy for the grand finale!"
"Uh-huh, sure," you teased. "If by 'grand finale' you mean 'falling over.'"
Dante laughed, shaking his head, clearly enjoying the back and forth. "You guys are just jealous of my finesse."
Instantly you and Kaitlin make eye contact, instantly going into a mock search, you glancing under your shoe as she checks behind her and Fai for the alleged //'finesse'//. You barely dodge the flyers sent your way.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You raised an eyebrow at Dante, your expression completely flat. "No, you didn’t."
He paused, taken aback for a moment, before bursting into laughter. “What do you mean? I was amazing out there!”
You shrugged, deadpan. “No, you weren’t. You were just flailing around.”
Kaitlin stifled a giggle, trying to keep a straight face. “But he had style!”
You nodded slowly. “Sure, if ‘style’ means nearly tripping over your own feet.”
Dante opened his mouth to protest, but the laughter threatened to spill out if he opened his mouth, making it impossible to defend himself. Fai simply shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face as he glanced between you and Dante, clearly entertained by the exchange.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You smirked at Dante, crossing your arms. “Oh, please. If you were any more dramatic, you’d be auditioning for the Nexus theater.”
Dante raised an eyebrow, his grin unwavering. “Well, at least I’m entertaining. You just stand there like a statue.”
“A statue that didn’t get its foot stuck in the mud.”
“Touché,” he shot back, chuckling. “But you know you love my flair. It keeps things interesting.”
You rolled your eyes, but a smirk crept onto your face. “Yeah, like a clown at a serious meeting.”
Kaitlin giggled, clearly enjoying the banter, while Fai just shook his head, unable to hide his own smile.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You gave Dante a small, teasing smile, trying your best to play along. "Well, you certainly had a… unique style out there," you said gently, your voice warm. "I’m sure it took a lot of energy to keep that up."
Dante grinned, puffing his chest out. "See? Someone appreciates the effort!"
Kaitlin nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! You did look super cool!"
You laughed softly, shaking your head. "I mean, you were fighting hard. But maybe next time, save some of that style for when we arrive?"
Dante chuckled, clearly not feeling too threatened by the light teasing. "I’ll make sure to keep some moves in reserve for special scuffls next time."
Fai let out a quiet grin, his eyes gleaming with amusement, and you couldn’t help but feel satisfied, even if your teasing had been on the gentler side.
<</if>>
<hr>
[[Submit your flags|Hand the flags over]] <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You flashed Dante a grin, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "You know, //first-gen Kabot Champion// has a nice ring to it. Maybe you should start signing autographs now before the crowd rushes you."
Dante played along, puffing out his chest with a mock-serious expression. "Oh, I already have a stack ready. Gotta be prepared for my adoring fans."
You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Adoring fans? Sure. I mean, I //might// be your biggest fan, but only because I have front-row seats to the comedy show."
Kaitlin gasped, clearly buying into the act. "Wait, does that mean you’ll be famous, Dante?"
Dante gave her a dramatic nod, his hand sweeping through the air. "Without a doubt. I’ll be signing //history books// soon."
You shook your head, grinning. "Well, if you need a hype squad, just let me know. I’ve got your delusions covered."
Fai’s quiet grin turned into a soft laugh as he glanced between you and Dante, and even Kaitlin couldn’t help but giggle at the banter. Dante leaned closer, lowering his voice playfully. "With you on my side, no one will know I’ve been making it all up."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You glanced at Dante, your expression as neutral as ever, then turned to Kaitlin, who looked almost convinced. "You really think he fought like a first-gen Kabot Champion?"
Kaitlin blinked, looking between the two of you. "Well, I mean... it //sounds// impressive."
Without missing a beat, you turned back to Dante, your tone flat. "It wasn’t. He barely made it out of his last fight, and most of it was luck. The style didn’t count for much."
Dante’s smirk grew wider, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Luck?" He shot you a playful look. "You know I had it covered. Don't lie to the fans."
You raised a brow, your voice as calm and indifferent as ever. "Covered? You dropped your weapon twice and nearly tripped over your own feet."
Kaitlin’s eyes widened, a confused smile tugging at her lips as she tried to keep up. "Wait... so he didn’t—?"
"No," you answered before she could finish, still as expressionless as before. "He didn’t."
Dante groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Alright, alright! Who’s paying you to debunk everything I say?"
You blinked, clearly unamused by his antics but giving a slight shrug. "No one. You just make it easy."
Dante let out a defeated sigh, rubbing his temples. "I’m doomed."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow at Dante’s smug grin. “Oh yeah, I’m sure the //legend// of Dante—the ‘first-gen Kabot Champion’—will be sung across the lands,” you said, your voice dry with sarcasm, but just enough amusement in your eyes to let him know you were toying with him.
Dante shot you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Exactly. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to ride the coattails of my glory.”
You smirked. “Of course. I’ll make sure to tell the bards to include the part where you almost passed out from exhaustion.”
“Hey, it’s called ‘strategic fatigue,’” he shot back, flashing a playful grin. “It’s what all the greats do.”
Kaitlin clapped her hands, eyes wide in admiration. “Wow, really?”
Fai covered his mouth to stifle a laugh as you shook your head, still playing along. “Yeah, really. True champions //always// leave themselves half-dead on the field.”
Dante winked. “See? //$gender// gets it.”<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">> You gave Dante a soft smile, shaking your head in amusement. "I don’t know, Dante. You //did// look pretty impressive back there."
Dante’s smirk widened at your words, and he puffed out his chest. "See? Even you agree!"
"But…" you added gently, your eyes twinkling with kindness, "I don’t think it was //exactly// like a first-gen Kabot Champion. Maybe more like… third-gen?"
Kaitlin, still caught up in the excitement, gasped. "Third-gen? That’s still amazing, right?"
You gave a small, encouraging nod, keeping the mood light. "Definitely. You’ve got the moves. Just, you know… maybe work on not dropping your weapon so much?"
Dante burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Third-gen, huh? I’ll take it. But you—" He pointed at you playfully. "You're being way too nice."
You smiled brightly, not a trace of malice in your words. "Well, someone’s got to keep you humble."
Dante chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Alright, cinnamon roll. I see how it is." <</if>>
<hr>
[[Submit your flags|Hand the flags over]] Your crazy spree count: $lashOutCount
''Choose your experience:''
<hr>
''Detailed Mode:''
In this mode, you'll receive helpful hints, see how your actions influence the world around you, and gain insight into how people perceive your character. It's a great option if you prefer clarity and like to strategize with as much information as possible.
[[Detailed Mode|reinforce info][$mode = "detailed"]]
<hr>
''Immersive Mode:''
In this mode, the world unfolds naturally, with fewer clues about how your actions are perceived. You'll need to rely on your instincts to make decisions. This is for players who want a more challenging, immersive experience where consequences are harder to predict.
[[Immersive Mode|reinforce info][$mode = "immersive"]]
<hr><div class="image-container dark-mode">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT1KY3MKGoW0PmFQiq8_2v5xdocRVZmyRSHX9bjo2U3e6aeK7v9LCl5IJM&s=10" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"> </div><div class="image-container light-mode"> <img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS6d89JApSiRNwsB7e27hco8e7dNzpJ8BevRw&usqp=CAU" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;">
</div> <<if $mode is "detailed">>
//You have chosen ''Detailed Mode''. You'll be able to see how different citizens and factions perceive your actions and receive occasional guidance to help you along the way.//
[[Continue|Lucid Fate]]
<</if>> <<if $mode is "immersive">>
//You have chosen ''Immersive Mode''. The world will reveal itself as you make choices, without showing how citizens perceive you. Use your intuition to navigate the consequences of your actions.//
[[Continue|Lucid Fate]]
<</if>>
//<span style="font-size: 13px;">The world of Lucid Fate is vast and full of complex relationships, difficult decisions, and hidden truths. How deeply you engage with its mysteries depends on the way you want to experience the journey.
I plan to make it more immersive and complex than it currently is in the future! :)
But for now, enjoy.
- L</span>//
[[Game mode]]
The four of you walked into the registration office, its interior far less glamorous than the grandeur of the tournament outside. The stone walls were unadorned, a dull gray illuminated by the dim flicker of old lamps hanging from the ceiling. The scent of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixed with the faint musk of worn leather from the countless scrolls piled on shelves behind a wide, wooden counter. The register was tucked away behind thick glass, the only interaction point being a small circular cutout at its base where participants handed over their flags and received their instructions.
The man behind the glass was an older fellow with graying hair, slumped slightly as if he'd been doing this for far too long. His spectacles sat low on his nose, and his eyes narrowed in focus as he barely glanced up at you four. His expression was bored, his fingers methodically tapping against the paperwork stacked in front of him.
“Flags,” he muttered, voice muffled by the barrier, a small microphone amplifying his words slightly as he gestured for them.
You handed the bundle of flags you had collected through the opening in the glass, feeling the coolness of the metal as your fingers brushed against it. The man took them without much ceremony, sorting through them as though he had done this a thousand times before. Each flag was registered into a large ledger on his desk, his quill moving swiftly and with an air of indifference.
Once the flags were counted, the man pushed a parchment through the small opening, his expression barely shifting as he grumbled, “Sign this. All of you. Same team, right?”
“Yep, same team,” Dante confirmed, standing beside you with a casual grin. The man barely acknowledged him, already pushing the quill toward the edge of the glass.
<hr>
[[Time to sign the paper]] Kaitlin was the first to step forward, her usual enthusiasm tempered by the official nature of the moment. She took the quill gingerly, glancing between you all as though this were some monumental task. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully pressed the quill to the parchment, her tongue peeking out in focus. The result, however, was predictably Kaitlin—her signature was a mess of barely legible letters that read //Kaitlin Ols//, the last few letters trailing off like a child’s rushed handwriting.
Kaitlin looked up with a sheepish grin, holding out the quill for Fai as he stepped forward next, his movements quiet and unassuming. His slender fingers gripped the quill with a grace that seemed natural to him. He barely hesitated as he signed his name, or rather, just an //F// in a beautifully flowing cursive. It was simple, yet elegant, reflecting the soft and thoughtful nature that defined him. He gave a slight nod to his work, fully focused on the one letter, as he passed the quill on to Dante.
Dante, ever the confident one, grabbed the quill with a flourish. He didn’t even look like he was concentrating as he signed his name, //Dante Lahar//, in quick, fast strokes, the quill moving effortlessly under his hand. He glanced over at you, his smirk ever present, mischief glinting in his eyes as he handed the quill to you. “Your turn, leader,” he teased, his voice playful as he raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself.
<hr>
[[sign it]] <h2>Kabot Kingdom Preliminary Tournament Contract</h2><hr>This document serves as the official contract for all participants in the Kabot Kingdom Preliminary Tournament. By signing this contract, participants agree to abide by the rules, terms, and conditions outlined herein. Failure to comply with any of the stipulations may result in immediate disqualification and potential banning from future tournaments.
<h3>Tournament Rules & Regulations:</h3>1. ''Mandatory Participation:''
- All participants who successfully pass the preliminary rounds are required to attend and participate in the Kabot Kingdom Grand Tournament. Failure to do so will result in disqualification and potential penalties, including but not limited to, a lifetime ban from future tournaments and forfeiture of any prizes or titles obtained during preliminary rounds.
2. ''Safety & Liability:''
- The Kabot Tournament organizers are not liable for any injuries, physical or mental, sustained during the tournament. Participants enter the tournament at their own risk and must take responsibility for their personal safety. This includes, but is not limited to:
- Injuries inflicted by other participants.
- Damage or loss of personal property.
- Fatal injuries or incapacitations during any tournament round.
- Medical staff will be available on-site for basic first aid, but serious injuries will require participants to seek their own medical assistance at their own expense.
3. ''Disqualification Criteria:''
- The following actions will result in immediate disqualification:
- Cheating, including but not limited to: use of unauthorized magical abilities, foreign objects, or outside interference.
- Use of prohibited weaponry or techniques that violate the rules of combat.
- Attacking other participants outside of sanctioned tournament battles.
- Dishonorable conduct or behavior deemed unacceptable by the Tournament Council.
4. ''Fair Combat:''
- Participants are expected to fight fairly and with honor. Deliberate targeting of incapacitated participants, tournament staff, or non-combatants is strictly forbidden.
- Battles will be judged based on skill, strategy, and endurance. Bribery or coercion of tournament officials is strictly prohibited.
5. ''Attendance & Absence:''
- Participants must arrive at all scheduled tournament rounds on time. Failure to do so without a valid reason (approved by tournament officials) may result in disqualification.
- In the event of a valid injury that prevents participation, contestants may submit an appeal to the Tournament Council within 48 hours for review. Approval of such an appeal is at the sole discretion of the Council.
6. ''Withdrawal:''
- Any participant who voluntarily withdraws from the tournament forfeits any standing, titles, or prizes earned. Withdrawal must be submitted in writing to the Tournament Council prior to the next scheduled match. Once a participant withdraws, they are barred from re-entry for the remainder of the tournament.
7. ''Final Judgement:''
- All decisions made by the Tournament Council and Judges are final and binding. Appeals will only be considered under exceptional circumstances and must be submitted in writing within 24 hours of the decision.
8. ''Code of Conduct:''
- All participants must maintain respect toward fellow competitors, officials, and spectators. Any form of harassment, including verbal, physical, or magical, will result in immediate ejection from the tournament and potential legal repercussions.
<hr>
By signing this contract, the participant acknowledges their understanding of these rules and regulations and agrees to comply with them fully. Additionally, the participant acknowledges that they are entering the tournament at their own risk and relinquishes any right to hold the tournament organizers, Kabot Kingdom, or any related parties accountable for injuries or losses incurred during the tournament.
<hr>
''Date of Signature:'' <<script>>
var currentDate = new Date();
var day = currentDate.getDate();
var month = currentDate.getMonth() + 1; // Months are zero-based
var year = currentDate.getFullYear();
var formattedDate = month + "/" + day + "/" + year;
window.currentDate = formattedDate;
<</script>> <<= currentDate>>
<hr>
''Signatures:''
//Kaitlin Ols//
//F//
//Dante Lahar//
[[Sign here]]
<hr>
"Remind me to get some paddings with proper gear if we pass the trial whatever," Dante groans, pressing a palm into his shoulders as he rolls his neck to crack. "That lady gave me once kick and I'm sure I'm bruised." He chuckles before abruptly stopping. A thought setting in the back of his head before he turns to Fai who jolts in surprise, once again from his deep daydreaming.
"Is my back bruised?" He asks, turning his back to him and gesturing for the quiet guy to check.
Tentatively, he reaches his slender fingers over and raises the shirt up. Face contorting into a wince at what he sees.
"I'll take that as a yes..." Dante huffs, pulling his own shirt down.
But despite the bruises and aches, you knew everyone felt proud of themselves for what they've done so far. You didn't know whether you had passed or failed yet as the results only arrive in two days. As the crowds start to disperse, you gather your things and head near the outside of the Trial Venue.
<hr>
[[Continue|Make arrangements]]
<h1>Chapter 3</h1>
“We need to figure out where we’re staying, but I’ve got enough money saved up for a lodge, no problem. What about you?” Dante says, adjusting his tunic as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. The atmosphere outside the Trial Venue is buzzing with energy—competitors spilling out of the grand structure in waves, some already surrounded by friends or family. The vibrant purples and golds of the Main Nexus stretch out around you, stained glass windows glowing as the evening sun dips low, casting soft, colored light across the cobblestone streets.
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You remembered something. The Overseer’s voice echoed in your mind, as he handed you a pouch of coins just before you left. //“You’ll need this. The Main Nexus is no cheap place, and it’s easy to get swept up in its expenses.”// His words were etched in your memory, and you knew he was right. You nodded at Dante.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You remember something. Nag Walan's voice echoes in your mind, as she tosses a you a pouch of coins just before you had left. //"Money for you. Use it wisely. The Main Nexus is an expensive place." she smirks, pointing at you with her cane. "just don't spend it on clubs or anything of that sort $nick."// Her words were etched in your memory, and you knew she was right about needing the money. You nodded at Dante.<<else>> ... <</if>>
“I’m good too. Made sure I’d have enough for a place. But we shouldn’t overspend. We need to be here for two days, and we all know how expensive The Main Nexus is,” you said, glancing around at the bustling streets. “There’s a reason most of the people here are from The Kabot Kingdom or The Vassal Novs Kingdom.”
The streets of the Main Nexus pulse with life, filled with performers, traders, and diplomats passing by. The rich purple banners draped over the building fronts glisten in the setting sun, and lanterns begin to flicker on, their gold light casting long shadows across the ground. The air smells faintly of incense from the nearby nightclubs and lounges, where the more fortunate and powerful people mingle in the upper levels. The energy is alive with a mix of celebration and tension as competitors, like you, await their results.
People around you begin to chatter, their voices a blend of excitement, pride, and nerves. Some of them are being hyped up by friends, while others are surrounded by doting family members. The Main Nexus is a place where everyone from the Kabot Kingdom to the Vassal Novs gathers, and it shows in the variety of clothing, dialects, and cultures swirling through the crowd.
Fai, who had been furiously scribbling something into his small notebook, suddenly lifted it and handed it to Dante, who took it with a smirk. “Your handwriting’s too nice for your own good,” Dante teased before glancing down at the note.
After a beat, he read aloud, “//I’ve arrived with a group of people, and they have accommodations for me. Don’t worry about where I’m staying. Focus on yourselves.//” Dante glanced up with a grin. <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>“The Overseer would love you, you know that?”<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>"Mind giving our friends Kaitlin a few pointers before you leave?" He teases, gaining a whine from Kaitlin herself.<<else>> ... <</if>>
Fai smiled softly but said nothing, his silent nature speaking volumes through the quiet, appreciative nod he gave Dante.
Kaitlin, who had been fidgeting with her cloak, started to speak. “We should probab—”
But before she could finish, a voice cut through the air. A woman's voice, firm and calling out. “Fai!”
<hr>
[[Continue|Conan or whatever ho]] A woman’s voice cut through the noise. “Fai!” It was firm, sharp, almost commanding.
You turned to see a figure approaching, her stride confident and determined. Her clothes—an elegant blend of muted earth tones and polished fabrics—spoke of someone accustomed to attention, but it was her presence that truly stood out. The way she held herself, chin slightly raised, exuded a quiet but unmistakable authority. She walked up to Fai, her gaze fixed on him with an intensity that was hard to miss, standing just a bit too close for comfort.
She surveyed the group, her eyes sharp as they swept over you all. “I’m Carmona Freitag,” she announced smoothly, “Fai’s... a very dear friend of mine.” The pause hung in the air, as if it was meant to imply something deeper. “And who might you all be?”
Before you could respond, Dante stepped forward, crossing his arms. “Dante,” he said, motioning to himself, then gestured to you and the others. “This is Kaitlin, and that’s—”
“Of course,” Carmona interrupted, her voice light but with a hint of something sharper. “It’s always good to know the names of those who… surround themselves with Fai.”
Dante narrowed his eyes at her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Surround? It’s called friendship.” His tone was sarcastic, playful, but there was an edge to it.
Carmona’s lips twitched into a frown, but she quickly smoothed her expression. “Friendship, yes. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
The tension between them thickened, but before it could escalate further, Carmona turned her attention back to Fai. She looked him up and down, her brow creasing slightly as she took in his bruised state. “He’s hurt,” she stated, her voice calm but laced with accusation. “You’ve been taking advantage of him, haven’t you? Letting him get hurt like this while you all stand by?”
Fai shook his head furiously, trying to catch her eye, but she refused to look at him, her focus fixed on the group.
Dante let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “What? No. It’s a tournament, genius. Duh, you’re gonna get hurt. Everyone here knows that.”
Her eyes flashed for a moment, but she didn’t let it show too much. “Hmm,” she muttered, almost dismissively, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair back into place. “I just wonder if you all understand the risks he’s taking… or if you’re simply letting him do the hard work.”
Fai made a small noise, though his gestures spoke volumes. He tried to catch her attention again, but she deliberately avoided his gaze, her posture protective yet strangely rigid. The way she acted—it wasn’t just concern. There was something more, something unspoken. She remained fixated on Dante, Kaitlin, and you, her presence unwavering. Kaitlin glanced at you again, her nerves apparent.
Your mind raced. What were you going to do?
<hr>
[["Fai’s tougher than you think."]]
[["He chose to be here, just like the rest of us."]]
[["You’ve got a pretty twisted view of things."]]
[["I understand why you’re concerned, but I promise we’re not taking advantage of him."]] As Carmona glares at you, clearly unconvinced, you maintain your confident smile. "I’d never take advantage of Fai. He’s tougher than he looks, and I’d like to think we’ve all got each other’s backs here." You throw in a casual shrug, keeping your tone light to avoid escalating things further. "It’s a tournament after all—everyone knows the risks."
Her lips press into a thin line, unimpressed. "Some people don’t deserve to be here," she mutters, crossing her arms.
Kaitlin chimes in, eager to help smooth things over. "Honestly, we’ve all gotten along really well, even though we just met!" Her cheerful tone seems to grate on Carmona even more.
Carmona’s face hardens, her eyes narrowing at Kaitlin's words. "Of course you’d say that," she snaps, turning her icy gaze back to you. "Don’t think for a second that I’m buying any of this." She whirls around, calling out to Fai with a sharp tone. "Fai! We're leaving."
Fai, standing nearby, glances back at the group, a look of apology on his face as he bows his head slightly. He quickly moves to catch up with Carmona, his pace hurried as she strides off.
Kaitlin lets out a small yelp, waving awkwardly. "Bye, Fai!"
Dante crosses his arms, a low whistle escaping his lips. "That’s a wild one," he comments with a mix of amusement and exasperation, shaking his head.
You stand there for a moment, watching them disappear. "What was that all about?" you wonder aloud, still trying to process Carmona's intense reaction.
<hr>
[[Continue|Vie appears]] <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>You glance at Carmona, unphased by her aggressive stance. "We’re in a tournament. Of course, injuries happen. Fai's capable of making his own decisions." Your voice is calm and straightforward, cutting right to the point without an ounce of sugarcoating. "No one here is taking advantage of him."
<<if $height is "short">>Despite your smaller size, your bluntness catches Carmona off guard. She finds it harder to retort, thrown off by how direct and unapologetic you are.<</if>><<if $height is "middle">>Your calm and measured tone alone carries enough authority. There’s no intimidation from your stature, but your confidence speaks volumes.<</if>><<if $height is "tall">>Your imposing height adds to the weight of your words, making it harder for Carmona to maintain her composure. She hesitates, momentarily thrown off by your presence.<</if>>
Carmona opens her mouth, ready to snap back, but your matter-of-fact tone makes her falter. She clenches her fists instead, unable to find the right words to counter you.
Kaitlin, sensing the tension, tries to step in. "Honestly, we’ve all gotten along really well, even though we just met!" Her voice is bright, though you can tell she’s trying to lighten the mood.
That does it. Carmona’s hesitation melts away, replaced by renewed anger. She fixes Kaitlin with a fierce glare. "Some people don’t deserve to be here," Her sharp words cut through the air as she turns on her heel.
"Fai! Let’s go," she calls, already walking off. Fai looks back at you four, guilt flickering across his face. He gives a small bow, hurriedly trying to catch up to Carmona.
Kaitlin awkwardly calls after him, "Bye, Fai!"
Dante shakes his head, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. "That’s a wild one," he remarks, voice cool but with a hint of a smirk.
You simply watch them go, feeling no need to dwell on it. Whatever just happened, it’s not your problem.
<hr>
[[Continue|Vie appears]] <<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>You glare at Carmona, meeting her accusations with pure disdain. "You’ve got a pretty twisted view of things for someone who claims to care about Fai," you say, your tone biting. "Maybe if you spent less time pretending to protect him and more time actually listening, you’d get your facts straight."
Carmona bristles, her face flushing with anger. "Excuse me?" she snaps, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. You can see Fai’s panic building as he tries to step between you.
Fai moves forward, his expression tense as he tries to get between you, holding out his hand in a silent plea for calm.
Carmona, however, nudges him aside roughly. "Stay out of this, Fai!" Her voice drips with venom as she turns back to you, eyes blazing. "I don’t know what gives you the right to speak to me like that, but I won’t let it slide."
Before you can respond, Dante’s hand rests firmly on your arm, pulling you back slightly. His grip is steady, but there’s a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He looks down at the shorter woman, barely containing his amusement. "Careful, now," he says smoothly, "wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we? Not sure everyone here’s cut out for it." His tone is casual, but there’s an unmistakable bite beneath his words.
Carmona’s expression darkens even more, her hands balling into fists. You can tell she’s biting back the retort that’s simmering behind her lips.
Kaitlin, sensing the growing tension, jumps in quickly. "Honestly, we’ve all gotten along really well, even though we just met!" she says brightly, her attempt to lighten the mood only fanning Carmona’s flames.
Carmona sneers at Kaitlin’s cheerful tone. "You think this is some game? Fai doesn’t need your fake friendships," she spits, turning her back to you all. "Fai, come on!" Her voice is sharp and commanding.
Fai glances back at your group, his expression a mixture of apology and helplessness. He lowers his head, bowing quickly before rushing after Carmona.
Kaitlin, still trying to salvage the moment, yells out, "Bye, Fai!"
Dante releases your arm, his smirk still in place as he watches the two walk off. "What a shame," he remarks, sounding more entertained than remorseful.
You roll your eyes and run a hand through your hair. "She’s something else," you mutter, turning to Dante, who only chuckles, visibly amused by the entire exchange.
<hr>
[[Continue|Vie appears]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>You take a step forward, trying to soften the tension with a calm, steady voice. "Fai’s been through a lot, but we’re looking out for him. I understand why you’re concerned, but I promise we’re not taking advantage of him."
Carmona’s eyes narrow, her expression unyielding. "Words are easy," she snaps. "And you think I'm just going to take your word for it? Please."
You hold your ground, keeping your tone gentle. "I get it. You care about Fai, and I respect that. But we really are doing our best to keep him safe."
She scoffs. "Safe? You’re dragging him into danger. You don’t know him. You just met him, and you already think you know what’s best for him? Spare me."
Her words sting, but you keep your composure, refusing to let her barbs get under your skin. However, Dante’s patience seems to run thin. He steps forward, his expression hardening as he shoots back, "You don’t know what you're talking about. We’re all in a tournament—everyone here is taking risks. Stop acting like a martyr and insulting people just because you're scared."
Carmona’s eyes widen in surprise, clearly not expecting anyone to stand up to her. "Excuse me?" she stammers, clearly flustered.
Kaitlin quickly jumps in, her usual bubbly energy seeping into her words. "Honestly, we’ve all gotten along really well, even though we just met!" she says with a bright smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
But Carmona’s lips curl into a sneer. "You think this is some friendly gathering? You’re all so naive. Fai doesn’t need your pity or your fake friendship."
She whips around, calling sharply over her shoulder. "Fai, let’s go!"
Fai turns to you all, bowing his head slightly, an apologetic look on his face as he rushes to catch up to her.
Kaitlin awkwardly calls after him, "Bye, Fai!" her voice uncertain.
Dante rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Don’t pay that angry chihuahua any mind," he mutters, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his voice.
You watch them leave, confusion flickering across your face. "What was that all about?" you murmur, genuinely wondering what had set her off so badly.
<hr>
[[Continue|Vie appears]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>> "Oi," a voice calls out behind you.
Dante's hand presses lightly on your back, a silent reassurance, his gaze flicking behind you as if already knowing who it is. You don’t need to turn to recognize that voice—how could you forget?
Turning slowly, you lock eyes with her: the woman from earlier. She saunters toward you, hands buried in the pockets of a black puffy jacket, the collar pulled up high, covering the lower half of her face. All that’s visible are her sharp, mendacious brown eyes, staring at you with a cold, unsettling intensity. There’s no emotion in her gaze—at least, none that you can easily read—but there’s something else, something subtle, lurking beneath that expressionless exterior.
Despite her face being partially obscured, you can still feel the smirk in her voice as she speaks. "Nice match there," she says, her tone as casual as it is calculating. "Name’s Vie. And you are?"
<hr>
[[Introduce yourself|Introduce yourself in a warm manner]]
[[Don't answer]] "$name," you answer, your voice steady, though the tension between you feels palpable.
The woman—Vie, as she introduced herself—offers no immediate response. Instead, she pulls the collar of her jacket even higher, now completely obscuring her mouth. Her sharp eyes continue to watch you with an intensity that makes your palms start to sweat, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this was some kind of signal for you to keep talking.
//Was this a cue to say more?//
Clearing your throat, you try to keep your composure, despite the sudden nervous fluttering in your chest. "Uh... we're not from this District. Actually, we’re just passing through and looking for a place to stay. Maybe the lodges. Do you know of any affordable inns around here?"
<<if $clothing == "Traditional Kobat Wear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes, carefully taking in the detailed Kabot Wear—the sheen of the silk, the glint of gold jewelry, and the elegant, practical tailoring that still spoke of wealth and status.
The corner of her mouth twitches into something resembling a smirk, though it's hard to tell if she's amused or unimpressed. "You're in luck," she says casually, though her gaze lingers on the jewelry. "I can take you to a place I know..."
She pauses, eyes sweeping over the gold and gems one more time before she adds, voice dripping with amusement, "But I’m surprised you’re looking for something 'affordable' dressed like that. You’ve got half a fortune hanging around your neck."
Kaitlin, catching the sly remark, speaks up. "It’s not like that. We’re just looking for somewhere practical."
Vie shrugs, her eyes flicking back to you, clearly sizing you up again. "Sure. Just keep an eye on your things. Around here, a few extra shiny pieces tend to go missing." She taps her own collar as if giving you advice, though there's a teasing edge to her words. "Some people might get the wrong idea, seeing all that."
You chuckle awkwardly, feeling the subtle tension in her playful yet pointed words. She seems to be testing you, though you can’t quite tell if it’s hostility or amusement.
Dante steps in, flashing a grin, though you feel the steadying hand he places on your shoulder. "Thanks for the advice. We should get going." <<elseif $clothing == "Vassal Novs Wear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes—taking in the neutral tones of fine wool or silk, the high collar, the practical design of the cloak, and the well-placed decorative pin. The look in her eyes shifts, as if she’s calculating something.
"Huh," she mutters, her voice barely more than a breath before she speaks louder. "You’re in luck, then. I can take you to a place I know..." she trails off, but then raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly. "Though, looking at you, I’d think you were more used to following orders by certain people and sticking with them than finding places to stay on your own. You sure you’re not someone's lapdog? Novs, right?"
The jab is subtle but unmistakable. It’s not aggressive—more of a sly, playful challenge. Her eyes scan your clothes again, lingering on the brooch. "People around here don't tend to like those who wear your colors. Just a friendly warning."
Dante bristles slightly, but Kaitlin jumps in with a cheery tone, attempting to smooth things over. "We’re just looking for a good place to stay, nothing more. We’re all on the same side here, right?"
Vie doesn’t answer directly, though her smirk doesn’t fade. Instead, she tilts her head again, appraising the group once more. "I might just know a spot, but I’d keep that cloak of yours close. Not everyone around here respects your district... or your place in the Kabot’s court."
You feel a little heat rise in your chest at her words, but it’s hard to tell if it’s more from the insult or her teasing tone.
Dante, always quick to intervene, claps a hand on your shoulder. "Appreciate the heads up," he says, flashing a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We should get going."<<elseif $clothing == "Rustic Attire">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes, scrutinizing the simple, practical design of your Rustic Attire. The amusement in her gaze is hard to miss.
"You’re in luck. I know a place," she says, her tone casual. But then she adds, with a smirk, "You’ve got that... 'salt-of-the-earth' look about you." She gestures vaguely to your outfit. "Not fancy, not too polished. You’re probably used to working with your hands, huh?"
She chuckles, though not unkindly, and there's a glint of playful mockery in her eyes. "Don't worry, where I'm taking you? You’ll fit right in."
Kaitlin, noticing the slightly teasing tone, jumps in with a smile of her own. "We’re not looking for anything fancy, really. Just somewhere to rest our heads."
Vie glances at Kaitlin, then back at you, her smirk widening slightly. "Good. Because what I’ve got in mind isn’t exactly a noble's estate." Her eyes flick up and down your Rustic Attire again before adding, "But I can tell you’re used to that."
You chuckle awkwardly, the tension hanging in the air still palpable. It’s clear she’s sizing you up, though there’s no real malice behind her words.
Dante, who's been standing a little ways off, finally steps forward, his usual carefree demeanor intact. He leans in slightly toward you, flashing Vie a knowing smile. "We appreciate the offer, but we really should get going before it gets any later."<<elseif $clothing == "Noirwear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, her eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. They linger on your dark, fitted tunic, the high collar, and the way your cloak is cinched just right at the waist. Her lips curl into a sly smirk, but you can tell there’s something sharper beneath the expression this time.
"Huh," she mutters, voice lower than before. "You’ve got some interesting taste... Noir, huh?"
She steps a little closer, her voice dropping almost conspiratorially as she continues, "You wouldn’t happen to be with them, would you? //The// Opératifs? Nah, don’t answer that." She chuckles softly, but her eyes remain focused, watching you carefully. "But you’ve definitely been following their style."
There’s an undeniable edge in the way she’s speaking now, and even though her smirk remains playful, her words carry weight. "I’d be careful walking around here dressed like that. People see you in this getup, and they’ll start thinking you’ve got secrets... or worse, debts."
She lets the words hang in the air for a second, her gaze flicking over to Dante and Kaitlin before locking back onto you. "Still, you're in luck. I can take you to a place I know. It’s quiet—good for people who don’t like too many eyes on them." Her smirk deepens as she adds, "But you better hope no one thinks you're here for a job. Wouldn’t want the wrong people to get the wrong idea, right?"
Kaitlin, sensing the tension, steps in with a polite smile. "We’re just looking for a place to stay. We won’t be causing any trouble."
Vie gives a soft laugh. "I’m not worried about you causing trouble. You should be worried though, more worried about trouble //finding// you."
Dante shifts his weight, his face serious. "Appreciate the advice. We should get going." <<else>>There’s a long pause. Vie tilts her head to the side, watching you with an amused glint in her eyes as she slowly lowers her collar. A hint of a smile plays on her lips. She seems to mouth your name back at you, her gaze narrowing with what could only be described as mischievous curiosity.
"I might just know a place," she says, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "But first, I’ll need to make sure you’re not a royal guard or anything. You look too clean to be a regular." Her voice drips with sarcasm, though there's an odd undertone, like she’s sizing you up for something more.
You chuckle nervously, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a threat. "I can assure you, we’re definitely not guards. Just travelers looking for some rest," you say, trying to keep things light.
"Is that so?" Vie responds, clearly enjoying the little game she’s playing. Her eyes flick toward Dante and Kaitlin, scanning them briefly before settling back on you. Her smile widens, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Could’ve fooled me."
Kaitlin, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally speaks up. "Well, we’re definitely not guards," she adds, a nervous laugh escaping her. "But we’re, uh, definitely in need of a place to stay."
Vie seems amused by Kaitlin's response, her expression softening ever so slightly. "You're in luck, then. I can take you to a place I know... but don’t think I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart."
Dante, who's been standing a little ways off, finally steps forward, his usual carefree demeanor intact. He leans in slightly toward you, flashing Vie a knowing smile. "We appreciate the offer, but we really should get going before it gets any later."
His tone, while polite, carries a hint of finality. It’s subtle, but enough to signal that this conversation has run its course—for now. <</if>>
Vie glances between the three of you, her smile fading just a little. "Suit yourselves," she shrugs, hands slipping back into her pockets. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." she gestures to a bar nearby.
With that, she turns and begins walking away, her footsteps echoing down the street. Dante gives you a gentle nudge. "Come on, $nickname. Let’s move before she decides to play more games."
Kaitlin offers a quick, awkward wave in Vie’s direction. "Thanks... I guess?"
<hr>
[[So. There was that.]]You stay silent, keeping your expression unreadable as Vie's gaze narrows, waiting for an answer. The tension lingers in the air, and although your heart races, you force your face to remain calm.
Dante notices the pause and clears his throat, stepping forward. "This is $name," he says, his tone light but firm, as if trying to ease the sudden weight of the conversation.
Vie’s sharp eyes flick to Dante for a second, then back to you. She doesn’t say anything right away, instead pulling her collar higher, her mouth now hidden entirely. The intensity of her stare makes your palms sweat, but you maintain your composed exterior, refusing to let the anxiety show.
Dante, sensing the silence stretching a little too long, continues smoothly, "We’re not from this District. Just passing through, looking for a place to stay. Maybe an inn, something affordable. Know of any good spots?"
<<if $clothing == "Traditional Kobat Wear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes, carefully taking in the detailed Kabot Wear—the sheen of the silk, the glint of gold jewelry, and the elegant, practical tailoring that still spoke of wealth and status.
The corner of her mouth twitches into something resembling a smirk, though it's hard to tell if she's amused or unimpressed. "You're in luck," she says casually, though her gaze lingers on the jewelry. "I can take you to a place I know..."
She pauses, eyes sweeping over the gold and gems one more time before she adds, voice dripping with amusement, "But I’m surprised you’re looking for something 'affordable' dressed like that. You’ve got half a fortune hanging around your neck."
Kaitlin, catching the sly remark, speaks up. "It’s not like that. We’re just looking for somewhere practical."
Vie shrugs, her eyes flicking back to you, clearly sizing you up again. "Sure. Just keep an eye on your things. Around here, a few extra shiny pieces tend to go missing." She taps her own collar as if giving you advice, though there's a teasing edge to her words. "Some people might get the wrong idea, seeing all that."
You chuckle awkwardly, feeling the subtle tension in her playful yet pointed words. She seems to be testing you, though you can’t quite tell if it’s hostility or amusement.
Dante steps in, flashing a grin, though you feel the steadying hand he places on your shoulder. "Thanks for the advice. We should get going." <<elseif $clothing == "Vassal Novs Wear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes—taking in the neutral tones of fine wool or silk, the high collar, the practical design of the cloak, and the well-placed decorative pin. The look in her eyes shifts, as if she’s calculating something.
"Huh," she mutters, her voice barely more than a breath before she speaks louder. "You’re in luck, then. I can take you to a place I know..." she trails off, but then raises an eyebrow and smirks slightly. "Though, looking at you, I’d think you were more used to following orders by certain people and sticking with them than finding places to stay on your own. You sure you’re not someone's lapdog? Novs, right?"
The jab is subtle but unmistakable. It’s not aggressive—more of a sly, playful challenge. Her eyes scan your clothes again, lingering on the brooch. "People around here don't tend to like those who wear your colors. Just a friendly warning."
Dante bristles slightly, but Kaitlin jumps in with a cheery tone, attempting to smooth things over. "We’re just looking for a good place to stay, nothing more. We’re all on the same side here, right?"
Vie doesn’t answer directly, though her smirk doesn’t fade. Instead, she tilts her head again, appraising the group once more. "I might just know a spot, but I’d keep that cloak of yours close. Not everyone around here respects your district... or your place in the Kabot’s court."
You feel a little heat rise in your chest at her words, but it’s hard to tell if it’s more from the insult or her teasing tone.
Dante, always quick to intervene, claps a hand on your shoulder. "Appreciate the heads up," he says, flashing a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We should get going."<<elseif $clothing == "Rustic Attire">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. Her eyes flick down to your clothes, scrutinizing the simple, practical design of your Rustic Attire. The amusement in her gaze is hard to miss.
"You’re in luck. I know a place," she says, her tone casual. But then she adds, with a smirk, "You’ve got that... 'salt-of-the-earth' look about you." She gestures vaguely to your outfit. "Not fancy, not too polished. You’re probably used to working with your hands, huh?"
She chuckles, though not unkindly, and there's a glint of playful mockery in her eyes. "Don't worry, where I'm taking you? You’ll fit right in."
Kaitlin, noticing the slightly teasing tone, jumps in with a smile of her own. "We’re not looking for anything fancy, really. Just somewhere to rest our heads."
Vie glances at Kaitlin, then back at you, her smirk widening slightly. "Good. Because what I’ve got in mind isn’t exactly a noble's estate." Her eyes flick up and down your Rustic Attire again before adding, "But I can tell you’re used to that."
You chuckle awkwardly, the tension hanging in the air still palpable. It’s clear she’s sizing you up, though there’s no real malice behind her words.
Dante, who's been standing a little ways off, finally steps forward, his usual carefree demeanor intact. He leans in slightly toward you, flashing Vie a knowing smile. "We appreciate the offer, but we really should get going before it gets any later."<<elseif $clothing == "Noirwear">>There’s a brief pause. Vie tilts her head slightly as she lowers her collar, her eyes narrowing with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. They linger on your dark, fitted tunic, the high collar, and the way your cloak is cinched just right at the waist. Her lips curl into a sly smirk, but you can tell there’s something sharper beneath the expression this time.
"Huh," she mutters, voice lower than before. "You’ve got some interesting taste... Noir, huh?"
She steps a little closer, her voice dropping almost conspiratorially as she continues, "You wouldn’t happen to be with them, would you? //The// Opératifs? Nah, don’t answer that." She chuckles softly, but her eyes remain focused, watching you carefully. "But you’ve definitely been following their style."
There’s an undeniable edge in the way she’s speaking now, and even though her smirk remains playful, her words carry weight. "I’d be careful walking around here dressed like that. People see you in this getup, and they’ll start thinking you’ve got secrets... or worse, debts."
She lets the words hang in the air for a second, her gaze flicking over to Dante and Kaitlin before locking back onto you. "Still, you're in luck. I can take you to a place I know. It’s quiet—good for people who don’t like too many eyes on them." Her smirk deepens as she adds, "But you better hope no one thinks you're here for a job. Wouldn’t want the wrong people to get the wrong idea, right?"
Kaitlin, sensing the tension, steps in with a polite smile. "We’re just looking for a place to stay. We won’t be causing any trouble."
Vie gives a soft laugh. "I’m not worried about you causing trouble. You should be worried though, more worried about trouble //finding// you."
Dante shifts his weight, his face serious. "Appreciate the advice. We should get going." <<else>>There’s a long pause. Vie tilts her head to the side, watching you with an amused glint in her eyes as she slowly lowers her collar. A hint of a smile plays on her lips. She seems to mouth your name back at you, her gaze narrowing with what could only be described as mischievous curiosity.
"I might just know a place," she says, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "But first, I’ll need to make sure you’re not a royal guard or anything. You look too clean to be a regular." Her voice drips with sarcasm, though there's an odd undertone, like she’s sizing you up for something more.
You chuckle nervously, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a threat. "I can assure you, we’re definitely not guards. Just travelers looking for some rest," you say, trying to keep things light.
"Is that so?" Vie responds, clearly enjoying the little game she’s playing. Her eyes flick toward Dante and Kaitlin, scanning them briefly before settling back on you. Her smile widens, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Could’ve fooled me."
Kaitlin, who had been watching the exchange silently, finally speaks up. "Well, we’re definitely not guards," she adds, a nervous laugh escaping her. "But we’re, uh, definitely in need of a place to stay."
Vie seems amused by Kaitlin's response, her expression softening ever so slightly. "You're in luck, then. I can take you to a place I know... but don’t think I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart."
Dante, who's been standing a little ways off, finally steps forward, his usual carefree demeanor intact. He leans in slightly toward you, flashing Vie a knowing smile. "We appreciate the offer, but we really should get going before it gets any later."
His tone, while polite, carries a hint of finality. It’s subtle, but enough to signal that this conversation has run its course—for now. <</if>>
Vie glances between the three of you, her smile fading just a little. "Suit yourselves," she shrugs, hands slipping back into her pockets. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." she gestures to a bar nearby.
With that, she turns and begins walking away, her footsteps echoing down the street. Dante gives you a gentle nudge. "Come on, $nickname. Let’s move before she decides to play more games."
Kaitlin offers a quick, awkward wave in Vie’s direction. "Thanks... I guess?"
<hr>
[[So. There was that.]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>The three of you walk through the bustling streets, the air filled with the lively hum of the evening crowd. The sun dips lower, casting a warm, golden hue over the market stalls and buildings. The soft scent of lilacs, vibrant in their pink and purple hues, drifts on the wind, giving the place a feeling of calm despite the festival-like energy that pulses around you. Competitors from the earlier trial are scattered around—some lingering at food stalls, others eyeing the wares of local merchants or chatting near taverns.
Dante glances at the sky, the fading light catching in his eyes as he walks beside Kaitlin. “We did well today, huh?” he says, stretching a bit. “Didn’t expect to make it through that challenge so smoothly.”
Kaitlin grins, hands behind her back, walking with a spring in her step. “You guys were awesome. I was a bit worried we’d run into more trouble, but hey, nothing we couldn’t handle.”
You remain quiet, content to let the conversation flow around you, watching as the soft lights from lanterns flicker on. The Main Nexus has a way of feeling both grand and intimate, its lilac-filled streets calming yet alive with energy. You take in the blend of colors—the fading sunlight mixing with the pink and purple glow from the flowers—and feel a strange sense of peace, even after the day's chaos.
<hr>
[[Continue|Kaitlin's tell all]] Dante nods toward a group of competitors gathered near a tavern. “So, Kaitlin,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “what made you enter the tournament anyway? You don’t strike me as the ‘fighting for sport’ type.”
Kaitlin pauses for a moment, her bubbly demeanor shifting into something more thoughtful. “Oh… well,” she starts, her voice soft as she looks ahead, “I guess it’s not really about the fighting.”
Dante raises a brow, curious. “Then what is it?”
She looks at you both, as if deciding whether to go on. “I don’t usually do things like this, y’know? I’ve always had a hard time... opening up to people. But when I heard about the tournament, I thought, maybe this could be a way to push myself. To get out of my comfort zone.”
The gentle evening breeze carries the scent of lilacs as you walk further along the street, and for a moment, there’s a quiet lull in the conversation. Kaitlin’s eyes soften as she gazes around, watching the crowds and the lively streets, her thoughts clearly drifting.
“I figured if I’m going to change, I should do something drastic,” she adds quietly. “Trying new things is part of the experience, right?”
Dante gives a small smile, nodding. “Still, a tournament for social training? You could’ve just joined a book club or something.”
She laughs, the sound light and carefree, though her expression remains gentle. “Yeah, but I wanted something... different.” She hesitates, then looks up at the lilacs swaying gently in the breeze. “I don’t want to just watch history happen anymore—I want to be part of it.”
You glance at her, the weight of her words sinking in. There's a sense of quiet determination in her voice, and for a moment, the atmosphere feels heavier, more personal. The laughter and noise of the streets seem distant now, as though it’s just the three of you walking in your own world.
Dante, ever the supportive one, gives her a playful nudge. “That’s pretty brave, you know. huzza for Kaitie, bravery and all!” he cheers, raising his fist in mock celebration.
Kaitlin giggles, her mood lightening as she playfully mimics him, her soft smile returning. “huzza!” she echoes, and the two of them laugh together, their voices blending with the hum of the evening.
The sun finally sets, leaving behind the glow of lanterns and the scent of lilacs in the cool night air as you continue walking, a quiet sense of camaraderie between you all.
<hr>
[[Continue|you need Vie's help...]]As the laughter between Kaitlin and Dante dies down, you glance toward the horizon. The last sliver of sunlight is almost gone, and the streets are slowly being illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. The festive energy of the marketplace continues to buzz, but you can’t shake the growing thought in the back of your mind: you need to find a place to stay for the night.
You pause in your walk and look around, your gaze catching a few other competitors heading toward the nearby inns. Dante follows your eyes and seems to reach the same conclusion. “Looks like we should figure out where we’re staying before the place fills up,” he says, his usual cheer taking on a hint of practicality.
Kaitlin nods, glancing around as well. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t wait too long.”
The three of you make your way toward the nearest inn, a quaint-looking place with warm light spilling from its windows. But as soon as you approach the front door, a tired innkeeper waves his hands apologetically. “Full house. Sorry, travelers,” he says before ducking back inside.
Dante lets out a small sigh, shrugging his shoulders. “Alright, no big deal. We’ll just try the next one.”
You move on, finding another inn down the road. But as you approach, the crowd milling around outside is a clear sign: no rooms left.
After trying a third inn and receiving the same apologetic response from the owner, a sinking feeling starts to settle in your gut. The streets are getting darker, the crowd thicker with other competitors and travelers likely searching for the same thing. You exchange a glance with Dante, who looks just as uncertain as you feel.
<hr>
[[Continue|You gotta ask I guess]] Kaitlin scratches the back of her head, her expression a mix of worry and determination. “Maybe there’s one further out… but we’d be cutting it close before everything fills up.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. And then it hits you: Vie. She had mentioned knowing a place earlier, hadn't she? The idea of going to her for help tugs uncomfortably at your mind. Something about her had set you on edge from the start, and you weren’t exactly thrilled at the thought of relying on her.
Dante seems to read your expression, his brow furrowing slightly. “Vie, huh? I mean, we could... but I don’t know. What do you think?”
Kaitlin is quiet for a moment before giving a small, hesitant nod. “If she knows a place, we might not have another option.”
You sigh, glancing between your two companions. The thought lingers for a moment longer, but with the sun almost completely set and inns quickly filling up, you settle on the decision.
<hr>
[[“We’ll have to ask her.”]]
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Face the music, dance with the snake</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>19:33pm</h2></span>
<hr>
The moment you step inside, you're hit by a wave of sensory overload—scent, sound, and color all crashing together. The air is thick with the pungent mix of alcohol, sweat, and sweet perfumes. A cloud of incense clings to the ceiling, mingling with the smoky haze of cheap cigars. Above, draped from the low rafters, pink and red silk ribbons sway lazily, illuminated by flickering candlelight, casting an inviting yet mischievous glow over the room. The atmosphere is electric, loud, and undeniably indulgent.
The room is alive with movement and noise—boisterous laughter erupts from one corner, where a group of patrons is clearly drunk and halfway through another round. Men and women, clad in revealing silks and lace, linger at tables, draped across laps and engaging in flirty banter with their clients. The band stationed in the back plays a lively, rhythmic tune, heavy with the sound of tambourines and flutes, accompanied by a stringed instrument that vibrates through the room like a heartbeat. The beat keeps everything moving, enticing people to lose themselves in the night’s chaos.
Kaitlin's eyes widen, not in surprise but in excitement. She takes it all in with a curious smile, clearly drawn to the vibrancy of the place. “This is wild,” she whispers, her tone full of unrestrained wonder. You catch a glimpse of her being fully in the moment, soaking up the sights and sounds of this hedonistic space.
Dante, walking just ahead, seems equally intrigued. His gaze sweeps the room, taking in the lounging bodies, the flirtatious exchanges, and the extravagant decorations that blend indulgence with decadence. There's a subtle smile on his lips, but he’s still composed—until two women lounging nearby notice him. Dressed in daring silks, one of them locks eyes with him, a slow, seductive smile curling her lips. She nudges her companion, and both women giggle, giving Dante a suggestive wave.
Dante’s expression softens in response, and for a moment, you see him slip into a more relaxed version of himself. He smiles back, polite but undeniably charming, lifting his hand in a brief wave before returning his attention to you and Kaitlin.
You feel a stir inside, an unexpected flicker of something—jealousy? Curiosity? How did that make you feel?
<hr>
[[You find it amusing.]]
[[You feel...uncomfortable?]]
[[You couldn't care less]]
As Dante waves back at the two giggling women, you can’t help the grin that creeps onto your face. The situation is almost too easy, too amusing. You nudge him lightly with your elbow, catching his attention.
“Well, well,” you say, the laughter already bubbling in your chest. “Looks like someone’s popular tonight.”
Dante raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the women before giving you a mock-confused look. “Oh, them? Just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Pretty sure they weren’t just offering to braid your hair. That wave was more of an invitation, don’t you think?”
He rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh yeah, I’m sure they want to hear all about my thrilling day of, what, walking around and getting lost?”
You laugh, leaning against the counter. “Sounds riveting. I bet they’d love to hear your detailed account of how we couldn’t find a single inn.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault everything’s booked! If anything, I’m the one saving us by charming our way into a place to stay,” he says with a playful wink.
You snort, shaking your head. “If that’s your strategy, we’re doomed.”
Before Dante can fire back another quip, Kaitlin squeals in excitement from beside you, her eyes lighting up as she points toward something across the room.
<hr>
[[...|Kaitlin squeals]] As Dante's polite smile lingers, something stirs in your chest—subtle at first, a prickling sensation that rises slowly. Your gaze follows the exchange between him and the women, their eyes lingering a bit too long, the way they giggle and wave at him as though they’ve shared a secret. His smile, casual as it is, sends an unexpected ripple of unease through you, settling low in your stomach.
It’s strange, the feeling. You know it's nothing, just a fleeting moment in the chaos of the room, but the warmth you’d felt a minute ago now feels off-kilter, like the room has shifted in a way only you can sense. Dante returns his attention to you and Kaitlin without hesitation, as if it was nothing more than a passing pleasantry. Yet, you can’t shake the heaviness that sits there, uninvited, refusing to be dismissed.
You glance away, pretending to be focused on something else, but your thoughts spiral, grasping at the feeling with no clear answer. Confusion sets in. Why does it bother you? It shouldn’t. Dante is Dante—your best friend, the person you’ve known for ages. This shouldn't matter at all. And yet...
“Hey,” Dante’s voice breaks through your thoughts, softer than usual. “What’s going on?”
You blink, caught off guard. He's watching you now, his brows slightly furrowed in that familiar way that shows he's noticed something. Of course, he’d pick up on it. He always does.
“I…” You pause, the words slipping away before they can form. How can you explain what even you don’t understand? The prickling feeling rises again, but this time, it’s because you can’t find a single logical thing to say. You shake your head, trying to brush it off, but Dante’s gaze lingers, concerned but patient.
“Seriously, what’s up? You’ve been kind of quiet.” His tone remains light, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s really searching your face for the answer you can’t give.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes. What would you even say?
Thankfully, you're saved from further probing as Kaitlin suddenly squeals with excitement, her eyes lighting up at something across the room.
<hr>
[[...|Kaitlin squeals]] <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 3, 0, 100)>>As the women giggle and wave at Dante, you barely spare them a glance. Your attention drifts to the room around you instead. The bar is a swirl of activity—drunken laughter fills the air, tables crowded with patrons swapping stories or leaning in close for whispered flirtations. The smell of spiced wine, roasted meats, and cheap perfume blends into an overwhelming mix.
In the corner, a few men attempt to dance to the wild beat of a tambourine and a stringed instrument you can't quite place. You idly note their stumbling steps and the way their words slur together. A few too many drinks, no doubt.
The crowd is a mishmash of characters: a group of mercenaries boasting about their latest brawl, a pair of merchants in heated negotiation, and a cloaked figure in the corner nursing their drink, eyes darting over the room. The brothel’s vibrant chaos is more interesting to you than whatever trivial exchange Dante is having with those women.
You take a slow breath, absorbing the scene with detached curiosity. You’re more focused on observing the ebb and flow of people than in participating, content to remain on the fringes.
Kaitlin’s sudden squeal of excitement cuts through the noise, finally dragging your attention back to the moment.
<hr>
[[...|Kaitlin squeals]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> "You guys, look!" Kaitlin’s eyes widen with excitement as she points eagerly at a nearby table.
"Potatoes?" Dante raises an eyebrow, glancing between her and the table a few feet away.
"Loaded potato skins!" she corrects with a huge grin, practically bouncing on her feet. Before either of you can react, she speeds off towards the table. "Sorry, $nickname! I can't stop myself!" she calls over her shoulder, already lost to her potato heaven.
You watch her go, not particularly inclined to chase after her. You had planned to seek out Vie on your own anyway, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity.
<hr>
[[...|Look for Vie]] You glance at Dante, nodding toward Kaitlin, who’s now fully engrossed in her potato obsession. “Keep an eye on her, will you?” you say, already knowing he understands. Kaitlin, with her ever-naive outlook, often failed to recognize when a situation turned sour or when people’s intentions weren’t so innocent.
Dante gives a small chuckle. “Got it. You know how she gets.”
<<if $clothing == "Noirwear">>Dressed in Noirwear, you glide through the room, immediately aware of the subtle shift in the atmosphere as people take notice of you. Some patrons shoot cautious glances your way, their conversations quieting as you pass by. A few are better at hiding their unease, offering only polite nods or lingering stares. The dark, distinct attire speaks louder than words—the reputation of those who wear it, known for working in shadows and dealing with morally gray matters, follows you like a shadow itself.
You push through the subtle wariness, unfazed, scanning the room. Then, you spot it—the unmistakable flash of green hair. Vie.
Purposefully, you navigate the crowd, feeling eyes on your back but keeping your focus ahead. When you reach her, you notice the man seated next to her immediately frown, his unease clear. Vie, however, is unfazed by your arrival. Her legs crossed, lounging back with her usual careless air, she takes another drag from whatever she’s smoking, exhaling slowly.
She looks up at you with a smile, the same familiar smirk that never seems to leave her face. "Hey, long time no see," she drawls, patting the seat beside her. The man beside her shifts, visibly uncomfortable, until she casually pats his hand. He seems to relax under her touch, though his eyes still flicker between you and her with uncertainty.
She gestures again to the spot next to her, eyes gleaming with amusement, waiting for your move.<<else>>Leaving them to their own, you slip further into the busy room. The hum of voices surrounds you, blending with the clinking of mugs and shuffling of feet. A few girls wave in your direction, flashing enticing smiles and urging you closer, their eyes drifting over your attire with interest. You keep your focus elsewhere, scanning the room carefully. Then, amidst the sea of people, a familiar bob of green hair catches your attention.
There.
Your target.
You move through the crowd with purpose, dodging patrons and stepping around overly friendly arms. Finally, you reach her—Vie—seated comfortably on a plush couch. Her legs, clad in black leather, are crossed as she leans back lazily, exhaling a puff of smoke from her lips. A man stands beside her, mid-conversation, but he falters, giving you a puzzled glance as you approach.
Vie, however, doesn’t need an introduction. Her lips curve into a knowing smile, and she gestures to the empty spot beside her. "Hey, long time no see," she drawls, the smirk on her face widening as she pats the seat. <</if>>
<hr>
[[Sit beside her]] | [[Sit beside her ♡]]
[[Stay standing]] | [[Stay standing ♡]]
You hear a slow clap echo through the room from the door. The guy grabbing your hair stiffens, his grip loosening as if jolted by some unseen force. Dazed, you shift your eyes upward from the ground, where a pair of red flip-flops stands out against the wooden floors. Your gaze moves higher, and it clicks—//Vie.//
She’s standing there, arms crossed and a smirk playing on her lips. “Is this how we treat guests, boys?” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Talk about a terrible first impression." Her tone is almost playful, but there's a dark edge to it, like she's taunting them. "You're embarrassing our people."
Her presence is unnerving. She’s relaxed, confident—too confident. The smirk never leaves her face, only growing wider as she watches the scene unfold. Her eyes gleam with a dangerous kind of amusement, like she’s enjoying the chaos.
The man releases you, stepping away and turning toward Vie, who approaches him with a slow, deliberate saunter, her movements calm and precise. She tilts her head, still smirking, as if she’s about to play a cruel joke.
Without warning, she springs into action. It’s a blur—a split second of movement. The man barely has time to react before she takes him down with terrifying ease, her smirk widening as she watches him crumple. There's no hesitation, no change in her expression. The ease with which she handles him sends a shiver down your spine.
Her eyes flick to the other guy, the talkative one. His face pales as he starts mumbling, "No, no, no—" over and over, stumbling back in fear. But Vie’s already moving. She flashes a grin, her eyes wild with excitement. She leans forward with a quick bolt and in the blink of an eye, she closes the distance between them. Standing just over him and lifting a leg.
Her foot slams into his head—
<h4>[[Bang.|Halfway chapter 3 mark]]</h4>
Send a letter to anyone?
Mentor?
Okly?
Simsim?
Amal?
Amira?
...Juno? As you take a seat next to her, Vie leans in a little, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "You’re braver than you look," she remarks, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Most people wouldn’t dare sit this close to someone like me. What is it? Curiosity? Stupidity?"
She shifts slightly, her arm brushing against yours as she continues, "It’s always interesting to see who’s willing to step outside their comfort zone."
Vie glances at the man beside her, her playful smirk still present. Leaning back a bit, she hands him her cigarette. "Hold that for me," she instructs, her tone light yet authoritative.
Turning her attention back to you, she raises an eyebrow. "So, are you ready to go?"
<hr>
[[And ready you are]] When you decline to take a seat, Vie raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of mild curiosity. "Not going to sit, huh?" she comments, her tone light but observing.
"You don’t need to join me to have a conversation." She leans back against the couch, her gaze steady and assessing.
Tilting her head slightly, Vie glances at the man beside her, a playful smirk still gracing her lips. Handing him her cigarette "Hold that for me," she instructs, her tone light yet commanding.
Turning her attention back to you, she arches an eyebrow. "So, are you ready to go?"
<hr>
[[And ready you are]] As you take a seat next to her, Vie leans in closer, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "You’re braver than you look," she remarks, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Most people wouldn’t dare sit this close to someone like me. What is it? The allure of danger? Strangeness?"
Her voice drops to a whisper, a hint of intimacy in her tone as she shifts slightly closer, her arm brushing against yours. "I wonder... how far your curiosity will take you." The charged atmosphere between you thickens, leaving a tantalizing sense of possibility hanging in the air.
Vie glances at the man beside her, a playful smirk still gracing her lips. She leans back slightly, creating a bit of distance between you, before handing him her cigarette. "Hold that for me," she instructs, her tone light yet commanding.
Turning her attention back to you, she arches an eyebrow. "So, are you ready to go?"
<hr>
[[And ready you are]]<<set $vieRomance2 to Math.clamp($vieRomance2 + 1, 0, 100)>>When you decline to take a seat, Vie raises an eyebrow, her wicked grin unwavering. "Afraid of me?" she asks, her tone a playful mix of amusement and challenge. "You don’t have to sit here to feel me watching you." She leans back against the couch, her gaze following you with an almost predatory intensity.
Tilting her head slightly, she adds, "It’s a shame. I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely." Her words hang in the air, charged with a teasing energy.
Vie glances at the man beside her, a playful smirk still gracing her lips. She leans back slightly, creating a bit of distance between you, before handing him her cigarette. "Hold that for me," she instructs, her tone light yet commanding. After a moment, she smirks and asks, "Are you ready to go now?"
<hr>
[[And ready you are]] <<set $vieRomance2 to Math.clamp($vieRomance2 + 2, 0, 100)>>You step outside, joining Vie, Dante, and Kaitlin. The air is thick with anticipation as Dante drags Kaitlin along, her arms overflowing with a chaotic assortment of potato based snacks.
As you venture deeper into The Main Nexus, the surroundings begin to shift. The narrow paths twist and turn, the vibrant energy of the earlier festivities fading into something more subdued. The light here is sparse, replaced by shadows that stretch and flicker, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. You glance around, noting that the majority of faces are devoid of smiles; some people weave through the alleyways, visibly intoxicated, their raucous laughter ringing out against the silence like an unwelcome echo.
You catch a glimpse of discomfort etched across Dante's face, his posture tense as he glances at the drunken patrons staggering nearby. His hesitation makes you acutely aware that he might be regretting this decision, but Vie walks ahead, her confidence unwavering. A sly smirk dances on her lips, as if she relishes the tension in the air.
“Come on, this way.” she teases, her voice relaxed against the encroaching darkness as she leads you to a dingy-looking lodge. The sign above the entrance creaks gently in the breeze, announcing //"My Mandolin"// in crooked letters that seem to mirror the crookedness of the place itself.
As you approach, the orange-yellow glow spilling from within provides the only warmth in the chilly air, illuminating the weathered wooden structure. The walls appear to lean in as if trying to eavesdrop on the conversations within. A few patrons lounge outside, their eyes heavy with the weight of alcohol and indifference, their laughter harsh and grating against your ears.
You exchange glances with Dante, his unease palpable, while Kaitlin's excitement remains undeterred. Vie’s smirk widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she strides ahead, pushing open the creaking door to reveal the lodge from within.
<hr>
[[Here goes nothing...]]You step further into the dimly lit inn, the air thick with a mix of tension and anticipation. The patrons are engaged in serious conversation, their voices low and laden with gravity, as if every word could tip the balance of some unseen deal. A few tables are occupied by rowdy groups, their laughter sharp and mocking, creating a stark contrast to the hushed discussions that dominate the space.
With purpose, you stride to the receptionist's desk, where a woman sits, her eyes skimming through a stack of papers. Small glasses perch on the tip of her nose, and she seems entirely absorbed in her task, oblivious to the world around her.
Vie approaches the desk with a calm confidence, slapping her hand down on the table. "Hey," she greets, her tone low and measured, a hint of mischief dancing in her wicked grin.
The receptionist glances up, raising an eyebrow at Vie, her expression revealing no surprise. "Vienna," she mutters, the name rolling off her tongue with familiarity. Her gaze flickers briefly to you and the others, her face settling back into a blank mask. "And friends. Nice of you to drop by."
Vie’s smile widens, but it lacks the playfulness typical of most. "I’d be here more often if you made it worthwhile," she counters, her voice smooth and almost teasing, yet undercut by a subtle menace that sends a shiver through the air.
The receptionist lets out a weary sigh, her straight brows twitching as she slips off her gloves, the sound barely registering against the backdrop of muted conversations. "Let me guess, a discount?" she asks, already reaching for a pencil to jot down some details.
"Always," Vie replies, her tone cool and collected, the implication of threat lingering just beneath the surface.
The woman rolls her eyes, a faint smirk breaking through her otherwise stoic demeanor. "Fine. But don’t make a habit of it." She scribbles something on a notepad before looking back at you all. "How many rooms do you need?"
Dante glances at Kaitlin, who is too preoccupied with the remnants of her snacks to respond, before answering, "Three should do it. One for each of us."
The receptionist nods, efficient in her movements. She writes down the room numbers and hands over three keys, each attached to a small wooden tag. "Here you go. Room 3, 5, and 7. Just try not to break anything, okay?"
Vie takes the keys, her wicked grin returning as she flashes a glance at you all. "No promises. Let the night unfold."
<hr>
[[Room 7 is yours]] You take the room key to Room 7, //not knowing you'd regret it//, your feet dragging slightly under the weight of your luggage. As you step inside, the door creaks softly, revealing a modest yet surprisingly inviting space. The walls are painted in a warm beige, and the wooden floor is covered with a faded but comfortable rug.
A small window lets in a sliver of dim light, the faint glow casting a cozy ambiance over the room. A simple wooden bed, neatly made with crisp, white sheets that smell faintly of freshly washed laundry, stands against one wall. The bed’s comforter, a muted shade of deep green, contrasts nicely with the bright linens.
You drop your luggage in the corner, the thud of the bag breaking the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. As you flop face-first onto the bed, you sink into the soft mattress, pleasantly surprised by its comfort. The air is infused with the clean, sterile scent of cleaning supplies, a fresh reminder that the room has been prepared just for you. The smell is subtly mixed with a hint of something floral, perhaps from air fresheners used to mask the typical hotel scent.
Finally, you can breathe. The weight of the world outside fades, if only for a moment, and you let yourself relax into the inviting embrace of the bed.
<hr>
[[Until you remember]] The memory jolts you upright, the weight of it pressing down as if the comfort of the bed has turned to lead.
You can almost feel the jostle of the carriage beneath you, the way the wheels rattled against the uneven path. It was supposed to be a straightforward trip, just you and Dante—nothing more than a simple journey to the tournament. Yet, as you recall that day, the air grows thick with unease.
What was that...thing? The vision flashes before your mind’s eye: an unearthly creature, its form twisted and deformed, lurking just beyond the trees lining the road. You remember the stories whispered among villagers—tales of terrible spell work gone wrong, of aberrations that should never have been conjured. But nothing prepared you for the sight that had haunted your dreams since.
A chill runs down your spine as you remember the way it called your name, a sinister echo that sent shivers through your very core. The fear in your gut resurfaces, and you sit on the edge of the bed, staring into the dim room, fighting against the creeping dread that lingers in the shadows.
<hr>
[[You hear a noise]] You sit in silence, the weight of your memories still heavy in the air, when a sudden creak from the roof breaks your concentration. You freeze, straining to listen, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound is faint but unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. It comes again—a slow, deliberate creak that sets your nerves on edge.
You almost wish you had shared a room with someone; the solitude feels like a liability now. What would you do if it were those...things again? Your thoughts spiral, twisting with fear, when suddenly, a shadow flits past your window. You squint against the dim light, unsure if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you see it: a foot slamming into the frame, shattering the glass with a loud crash that reverberates through the room.
Panic surges through you, adrenaline coursing as the shards rain down around you. You instinctively scramble to your feet, eyes wide as you brace yourself for whatever—whoever—might come through that broken window.
<hr>
[[...|three men]] A man steps through the window, his movements fluid and deliberate, eyes scanning the room like a predator searching for prey. He’s dressed in tattered brownish clothes that hang loosely on his frame, the fabric worn from years of use. Another figure slips through behind him, equally rugged and with a piece of cloth covering the lower half of his face. They both exude an air of menace, and it takes you a moment to recognize the telltale signs of their origins—they're Vaygas.
“Ey, where are your friends?” the first guy barks, his tone rough and demanding, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes in your startled expression. The tension in the room thickens, and you instinctively back away, trying to gauge the situation.
<hr>
[[Go straight into attack]]
[["what do you want?"|ask the vaygas what they want]] <h4>Using...</h4>
[[Faux duppy doppelgängers|Duppies vs Vaygas]]
[[Use your surroundings]]
[[dark fox phantom|dark fox phantom vs Vaygas]] <<if $clothing == "Traditional Kobat Wear">>His gaze settles on your ornate attire. His eyes narrow, taking in the elegant silk tunic and matching trousers, the way the gold jewelry glints in the dim light. “You don’t look like you belong here. Fancy clothes like that? You’re definitely not a local.”
You keep your composure, clenching your jaw as the other silent guy starts to inch closer, eyeing your bag. The first man steps into your space, leaning against the wall with an air of confidence. “Thought we’d check out what you have since you walked in with that fancy kid draped in gold,” he continues. “Pretty easy pickings for a fancy dress like you.”
“What do you want?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through you.
“Just a little something to keep us going,” he replies dismissively, gesturing toward your bag. “Hand it over, and maybe we’ll leave you with your dignity.”
You can feel the weight of the situation pressing in on you. The other man is inching toward your belongings, and you know you need to act. You prepare yourself to defend what’s yours, ready to protect your possessions against their greed. <<elseif $clothing == "Rustic Attire">>You clench your jaw, sizing them up. The second man remains silent, his gaze fixed on you with a calculating intensity. The first man takes a step closer, invading your personal space. “We saw you walk in with that fancy kid draped in gold,” he continues, leaning casually against the wall. “Thought we’d check out what you have since you’re all alone here. Pretty easy pickings.”
You watch as the other man moves toward your bag, your heart racing. You can’t let them take your things without a fight.
“What do you want?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.
“Just a little something to keep us going,” the first man replies, his tone dismissive as he gestures toward your bag. “Now hand it over, and maybe we’ll leave you with your dignity.”
You take a deep breath, weighing your options. You could either let them take your belongings or make a move to stop them. The choice is clear, and you prepare yourself to act, ready to protect what’s yours.<<elseif $clothing == "Vassal Novs Wear">>His gaze lingers on your attire—an elegant fitted outfit with a high collar, fine wool trousers, and your cloak that drapes on your bed, all in neutral tones that speak of quality. You can see the appreciation for your decorative brooch shimmering at your collar.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” he adds, a glint of greed in his eyes. “Nice clothes like that? You must be here for the tournament, and you’re not one of us locals.”
You hold your ground, feeling a mix of adrenaline and irritation. “What do you want?” you ask, your voice firm despite the tension in the air.
“Just a little something to keep us going,” he replies, nodding toward your bag. “Hand it over, and maybe we’ll leave you with your dignity.”
As the second man inches closer, you can feel the weight of the situation closing in. You know you have to act; you can’t let them take what’s yours without a fight. Ready to defend your belongings, you prepare to stand your ground against their demands.<<elseif $clothing == "Noirwear">>He studies your attire—a fitted, knee-length tunic made of heavy wool in a deep color, with a high collar that adds an air of authority. Your fitted trousers and thick, fur-lined cloak only enhance your imposing silhouette.
“You don’t seem like a local,” he continues, eyes narrowing slightly. “Dressed like that, you must be someone important. What’s your business here?”
With their tone, you can tell they’re unsure whether to see you as a threat or an easy mark. “What do you want?” you ask, your voice steady, giving nothing away.
“Just a little something to make our evening better,” he replies, nodding toward your belongings with a hint of greed. “Hand it over, and we won’t have to make this messy.”
You feel the weight of the moment, the air thick with tension. You can sense their unease, and for a split second, you contemplate whether to attack or negotiate. Their bravado clashes with the underlying fear that you might be more than just an easy target. Ready to defend what’s yours, you prepare to make your move.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Attack them|Beat those Vagas UPPP]] <h4>Using...</h4>
[[Faux duppy doppelgängers|Duppies vs Vaygas]]
[[Use your surroundings]]
[[dark fox phantom|dark fox phantom vs Vaygas]] <<if $health gt 0 and $health lte 49>>You feel your body on the verge of collapse, muscles aching from every step. Still, you reach into your pocket, pulling out the two small, calligraphed pieces of paper. Sweat drips from your forehead as you press your thumb against the ink, tracing the symbols slowly, painfully. You know you don’t have much strength left, but you have to try.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 15, 0, 100)>>
Concentrating, you feel the magic surge through you. With a silent command, two duppies slip from the pages of your book. Dark figures materialize, quickly morphing into perfect replicas of you. Their $skinshade skin and $hairlook $haircolour hair match yours exactly, but there's an unsettling difference. Their bodies exude a chill, their clothing and skin damp to the touch, a stark contrast to your warm, living flesh.
But something goes wrong.
One of the duppies flickers in and out of existence, its form trembling before collapsing into a puff of black smoke. Your breath catches in your throat. //'Not enough strength.'// Only one duppy stands, staring at you with those cold, vacant eyes.
You grit your teeth and send it toward the silent man with the face covering, hoping it can at least buy you some time.
The talkative Vayga cracks his knuckles, smirking as he watches you. “Looks like you’re running on empty,” he taunts, stepping closer. Your muscles scream in protest, every inch of your body weighed down with exhaustion, but you force yourself forward.
With trembling hands, you throw a punch, but your movements are sluggish, lacking the precision you normally have. The Vayga easily blocks it, his grin widening. “That’s all you got?”
He swings back, his fist grazing your jaw. The pain jolts through you, but it’s not enough to stop you. You push forward, determined, even as your body protests every motion.
You finally manage to land a solid hit to his ribs. He grunts, staggering back slightly, but you’re struggling to stay upright yourself. Each punch you throw feels like it’s draining the last bit of your strength. Your breathing is ragged, and your muscles burn as though they’re about to give out at any moment.
Just as the talkative Vayga stumbles to the ground, clutching his side, you feel it—a sharp, brutal yank on your hair. The silent Vayga has made his move. His grip is fierce, dragging you backward, and you can barely resist. You glance around, desperate to see your duppy, but your heart sinks when you spot the familiar black smoke evaporating into the air.
The last of your strength is gone, and now you’re trapped, his iron grip pulling you deeper into his control.<<else>>You clench your jaw, tension thick in the air as the two Vaygas move closer. Their eyes gleam with malicious intent, and you know there’s no talking your way out of this. The talkative one sneers at you while his silent partner watches with an eerie calmness. You quickly slip your hand into your pocket, feeling the edges of the two small pieces of paper you’d calligraphed yourself.
Concentrating, you feel the magic surge through you. With a silent command, two duppies slip from the pages of your book. Dark figures materialize, quickly morphing into perfect replicas of you. Their $skinshade skin and $hairlook $haircolour hair match yours exactly, but there's an unsettling difference. Their bodies exude a chill, their clothing and skin damp to the touch, a stark contrast to your warm, living flesh.
The duppies stare at you with vacant eyes, their chests barely moving as they await instruction.
You press your thumb against the pieces of paper, tracing the symbols, leaving behind a trail of ink that glows briefly before you drop them. The papers hit the ground, and in an instant, the duppies materialize—wet, dark figures with your exact features but a haunting emptiness in their gaze.
Without hesitation, you direct one to guard your bag. It obeys silently, moving with ghostly precision, while the second lurches toward the silent Vayga, eyes void of emotion as it advances.
The talkative Vayga cocks his head, unimpressed. “This some kind of cheap trick? Where’s your real magic?” he taunts, but you ignore him.
You leap forward, fists raised, and land a solid punch to his midsection. He grunts, doubling over slightly, but quickly swings back, narrowly missing you as you duck. His moves are rough and uncoordinated compared to the creatures you've faced in the tournament, and you use that to your advantage.
Blow after blow, you push him back, each punch landing harder than the last. With a final strike, he crashes to the ground, groaning in pain. For a moment, it feels like victory is within your grasp.
Before you can catch your breath, a sharp yank pulls you off balance. Pain flares as the silent Vayga grabs your hair, dragging you backward. You cry out, hands instinctively clawing at his iron grip, but it’s too late—he’s stronger than you anticipated.
Your eyes dart around the room, seeking your duppies for aid. The duppy near the bag should have held its ground, but as your gaze lands on the black smoke dissipating into the air, you realize it’s been defeated. The other duppy that attacked the silent Vayga is also gone, a puff of black smoke swirling where it once stood before vanishing completely.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 5, 0, 100)>>
Panic tightens in your chest as his grip on your hair intensifies, pulling you further into his control.<</if>>
<hr>
[[...|Vie hotel scene]] <<if $health gt 0 and $health lte 49>>You take a deep breath, feeling the strain in your muscles from the tournament still lingering in your body. The two intruders eye your bag hungrily, but all you can think about is how much you want to collapse onto the bed behind you. <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 15, 0, 100)>>
The talkative thug steps forward, arrogance radiating off him like heat from a fire. “What’s a fancy dress like you doing here?” he taunts, but you refuse to let his words intimidate you. You know you have to act quickly.
Summoning every ounce of your dwindling energy, you push off the ground and throw a wild punch, catching him off guard. It connects with his jaw, and he stumbles back, surprise flashing across his face. Encouraged by the hit, you take a step forward and aim another punch, though your arm feels heavy, like it’s dragging through mud.
With a final effort, you launch a weak jab that lands squarely in the middle of his chest. The impact is enough to knock him down, but it takes everything you have. He hisses as he hits the floor, breathless and disoriented.<<else>>You size up the two intruders, noting their stance and the way they eye your bag with covetous glances. The talkative one, emboldened by bravado, steps closer, his demeanor aggressive. You know you need to act fast.
With a swift pivot, you launch yourself forward, using your surroundings to gain leverage. Your foot connects with the edge of a small table, propelling you into a jab aimed straight at the talkative thug’s jaw. The impact resonates, and he stumbles back, momentarily stunned.
Seizing the moment, you duck low and throw a quick combination of punches, your boxing skills coming into play as you keep your movements fluid and precise. The adrenaline surges through you, and the thrill of the fight ignites a fire in your chest.
Your fists fly, landing solid hits that make the talkative one falter, his bravado fading as you gain the upper hand. A final uppercut sends him crashing to the ground, dazed and gasping for air. You feel a rush of triumph; you’ve knocked out the loudmouth without breaking a sweat. Okay maybe a little.
Just as you turn to face the remaining assailant, you notice the silent one shifting his stance, his eyes narrowing with malicious intent. He moves in quickly, and before you can react, his hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you backward.
Pain shoots through your scalp, and you stagger, struggling to regain your footing. You hiss, twisting to break free, but his grip is like iron. The fight isn’t over yet; your heart races as you fight against the pull, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.
The dim light of the room casts shadows that dance ominously, adding to the chaos. You have to think fast; you can’t let this one drag you down after you’ve already fought so hard. <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 5, 0, 100)>> <</if>>
<hr>
[[...|Vie hotel scene]] <<if $health gt 0 and $health lte 49>>Your body screams in protest, every muscle aching from the strain. Your legs wobble beneath you, barely able to keep you standing. You fish the last two small calligraphed papers from your pocket, your hands trembling from exhaustion. With a deep breath, you run both thumbs across the inked surfaces, willing the magic to answer.<<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 15, 0, 100)>>
Black flames engulf your fists momentarily, but then one of the phantoms flickers out as quickly as it came, dispersing into nothingness. Only one shadow fox remains, swirling weakly around your left fist.
You’re left staring at your bare right hand, no magic to assist it. Just your raw, exhausted body.
The talkative Vayga smirks at your condition. "Only one left, huh? This’ll be easy."
You clench your jaw, forcing your tired legs to move as you charge at him, fists raised. You throw a sluggish punch with your right hand, the unarmed one. It barely grazes him. The shadow fox on your left fist flares up weakly as you swing, but it still manages to cut into his side with minimal force.
“You’re done,” he snarls, coming at you with a hard punch that sends you stumbling back. The world swims for a moment, your vision blurring as pain flares through your sore muscles. Your legs feel like they might give out any second.
But you force yourself back up, gritting your teeth through the agony. You take another wild swing with your left fist, the shadow fox biting into his arm. His face twists with pain, but he’s still standing, still full of fight.
The next blow from him sends you reeling, your body nearly collapsing under the strain. You can barely breathe, every movement dragging more energy from your already drained form.
But with one final, desperate effort, you throw your left fist at his face. The shadow fox slashes at him with just enough force to send him crashing to the ground, gasping in pain. You’ve won—but only just.
Before you can even think of recovering, a hand grips your hair violently. The silent Vayga, having waited for his moment, yanks you back with brutal force. Your muscles scream, but you’re too weak to fight back.
Your phantom fox flickers weakly on your fist, but you can’t even muster the strength to swing. Your vision blurs as exhaustion drags you down, and you realize you’re completely at his mercy now.<<else>>Breathing deeply, you steady yourself, feeling the faint hum of magic as your thumb brushes across the calligraphed paper pieces in your pocket. You only have two left. With a quick flick, you press your thumb onto the inked surface, leaving a trail behind as the paper glows faintly before dissolving into thin air.
Immediately, your fists ignite with shadowy flames. Two dark, fox-like shapes swirl around your hands, their shadowy forms flickering with a strange, ominous light. They’re small, more smoke than solid, but with enough force behind your punch, they’ll cut through the enemy like a sharp blade.
The talkative Vayga steps closer, his confidence brimming as he taunts you. “What’s that? You think those little flames are gonna save you?”
Without replying, you dart forward, throwing a punch aimed at his ribs. The shadow fox on your fist flickers and lashes out, slashing across his side. His grin drops instantly, a sharp intake of breath betraying his pain. The fox may not be massive, but it’s enough to hurt.
“You little—” He swings at you wildly, but you sidestep, quick on your feet. The fox on your other fist flares up, and with a sharp, calculated blow, you slam your knuckles into his stomach. The fox bites into him, pushing him off balance, causing him to stagger and gasp.
You follow up with another punch to his jaw. The shadow fox slashes again, and this time, he drops to the ground, groaning in pain, unable to keep up.
Before you can savor your small victory, you feel it—a sharp pull at your scalp. A fist grips your hair tightly, yanking you backward. The silent Vayga, who had been watching you with cold, calculating eyes, makes his move.
You grit your teeth, trying to summon the strength to retaliate, but his grip is iron. You glance at your fists, the flickering shadows of the foxes still there, but with your movement restricted, you can’t throw another punch. As he drags you back, you realize too late—he’s taken control, and you’re out of options for the <<set $health to Math.clamp($health - 5, 0, 100)>> <</if>>
<hr>
[[...|Vie hotel scene]]
<h3>Whispers of the Stars</h3>
Borne of dawn and dusk’s embrace,
A child walks paths no eye can trace.
With cursed blood and noble grace,
Their hand will shape the realm’s fate.
By union’s warmth, or shadow’s spite,
They’ll mend or break the endless fight.
In flame or peace, the world will bow,
To the one who holds both light and vow.
Trained by fangs and sharpened mind,
Their path unclear, their fate confined.
By blade, by word, by lessons deep,
They'll gather pieces others keep.
Uniting lands, or tearing thread,
The balance tilts by what is said.
In union’s light or shadow’s call,
One truth will rise, one kingdom fall.
[[. . .|Next part of chapter 3]]
A soft, melodic humming fills the air, gentle and familiar, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The sound draws you in, lulling you with its soothing cadence. As you slowly glance around, you realize you’re in an inn, nestled in a cozy lobby bathed in soft, golden light. The atmosphere is peaceful, a stark contrast to the uncertainty lingering in your mind.
You sit beside a kind-faced woman, her presence radiating warmth and comfort, though you cannot see her face. From your peripheral vision, you catch glimpses of her form, but every time you try to turn, the urge slips away. Instead, you find solace in the comforting melody that flows from her lips, a particular tune that feels like a cherished lullaby from your childhood.
Absently, you toy with a brand-new locket resting in your small hands. Its delicate craftsmanship and glimmering surface captivate you, though you are too young to comprehend the significance of such an extravagant gift. Curiosity tugs at you as you wonder where it came from.
As her soothing voice wraps around you, a profound feeling washes over you—she is the one who gave it to you, her presence reassuring and kind. Yet, just as the warmth envelops you, a flicker of movement catches your eye.
Outside the inn’s window, a shadowy figure lurks, watching you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You scan the room with wide eyes, searching for others who might share your unease, but they remain blissfully unaware, wrapped in their own conversations and laughter. Only you seem to see the dark silhouette, standing still against the backdrop of the fading light.
The contrast between the woman’s soothing humming and the ominous presence outside pulls at your heart. In a sudden rush, you jolt awake, the soft comfort of the lobby fading away as you find yourself in a freshly made bed, the clean linens surrounding you like a protective cocoon.
What stood out to you in the dream?
<hr>
[[The woman]]
[[The dark figure]] As you blink awake, the remnants of the dream linger in your mind, a gentle echo of warmth and comfort. The soft humming still plays faintly in your ears, like a lullaby you can’t quite forget. You find yourself reflecting on the woman who sat beside you, her presence more vivid than the shadowy figure outside the window.
Her figure, though only glimpsed from your peripheral vision, felt comforting. You remember the soft green dress she wore, flowing gently as if woven from the very essence of spring. Delicate flowers appeared to be painted onto the fabric, vibrant and lifelike, their colors intertwining with the gentle sway of her movements. The dress billowed around her, evoking a sense of tranquility that soothed your restless heart.
In that moment, you realize how her warmth enveloped you, easing the anxiety that clung to your chest. There was something about her—a kindness that seemed to radiate, calming your spirit as the melody of her humming wrapped around you like a protective embrace. Even now, the memory of her presence fills you with an inexplicable sense of safety, as if she had reached into the depths of your fears and soothed them into silence.
You ponder why the figure outside hadn’t captured your thoughts as the woman had. Perhaps it was the stark contrast between their energies—the shadow had felt cold and distant, while she had been a beacon of light. A thought crosses your mind: could the woman have been a guardian of sorts, watching over you in a moment of vulnerability?
You smile softly to yourself, letting the warmth of her memory linger, hopeful that the dream might carry with it some deeper meaning. With a newfound sense of calm, you sit up in bed, ready to face whatever the day may bring, buoyed by the thought of the gentle figure in the flowing green dress.
<hr>
[[. . .|LeisureDay1]] <<set $lashOutCount to Math.clamp($lashOutCount - 1, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>As you awaken, the dream fades slowly, but one chilling image remains sharp in your mind—the shadow outside the inn's window. You sit up in bed, a cold shiver running down your spine as the memory resurfaces. Unlike the warm presence of the woman beside you, this figure felt distinctly threatening, its essence lingering like a dark cloud over your thoughts.
The shadow was not just any silhouette; it bore an unsettling resemblance to the ones you encountered during the carriage incident, but this one felt more sinister. It loomed just beyond the glass, its form obscured and flickering like a flame about to extinguish. The most haunting detail were its eyes—bright white and unblinking—fixed on you with an intensity that sent a wave of unease crashing over your heart. Those eyes seemed to see right through you, piercing the veil of your defenses and exposing your vulnerabilities.
You recall how the shadow's black edges blurred into the surroundings, a stark contrast to the warm, inviting atmosphere of the inn. While you could feel the woman’s comforting presence in the dream, this figure emanated danger, a palpable tension that tightened around your throat. You had felt a primal urge to recoil, yet something deeper rooted you to the spot, as if your instincts knew the threat it posed was far greater than anything you'd encountered before.
Why did this shadow stand out so starkly? Perhaps it was the way it watched you, as if waiting for a moment of weakness. It felt as though it harbored a malevolence that whispered secrets of darkness. You couldn't shake the feeling that it was not just an observer; it was something more—a predator lurking in the periphery of your life, waiting for the right moment to strike.
You swallow hard, pushing away the growing dread that claws at your insides. This shadow, with its unwavering gaze, looms larger in your mind than the woman who had comforted you. With a sigh, you remind yourself to stay vigilant, knowing that the shadow’s presence signals danger, and your instincts are urging you to be cautious. You shake off the remnants of sleep, determined to confront the day ahead with your senses heightened, prepared for whatever may come next.
<hr>
[[. . .|LeisureDay1]] <<set $lashOutCount to Math.clamp($lashOutCount +5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><<if $activitiesChosen is undefined>> <<set $activitiesChosen to 0>> <<set $activityList to []>> <</if>> <h2>Leisure Day Summary</h2>
You can choose two activities for today. Pick one below:
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen < 2>>
<<link "Go out to eat">>
<<set $activitiesChosen += 1>>
<<set $activityList.push("Go out to eat")>>
<<goto "Go out to eat">>
<</link>>
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen < 2>>
<<link "Relax with Kaitlin">>
<<set $activitiesChosen += 1>>
<<set $activityList.push("Relax with Kaitlin")>>
<<goto "Relax with Kaitlin">>
<</link>>
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen < 2>>
<<link "Boost Combat">>
<<set $activitiesChosen += 1>>
<<set $activityList.push("Boost Combat")>>
<<goto "Boost Combat">>
<</link>>
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen < 2>>
<<link "Boost Calligraphy">>
<<set $activitiesChosen += 1>>
<<set $activityList.push("Boost Calligraphy")>>
<<goto "Boost Calligraphy">>
<</link>>
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen < 2>>
<<link "Relax with Dante">>
<<set $activitiesChosen += 1>>
<<set $activityList.push("Relax with Dante")>>
<<goto "Relax with Dante">>
<</link>>
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
You have already chosen two activities today. [[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>>
<<set $metEmiliano = false>>
<<set $emilianoRelationship = 0>> <h1>Confirmation</h1><h4>For your first leasure day you've chosen to:</h4><ul> <<for _activityIndex = 0; _activityIndex < $activityList.length; _activityIndex++>> <li><<print $activityList[_activityIndex]>></li> <</for>>
</ul>
You've completed your leisure activities. Wooo!!
<hr>[[Proceed to the Festival|Start of Festival]]
<h2>Go Out to Eat</h2>
[[Continue|Scene for "Go out to eat"...]]
<br>
<h2>Relax with Kaitlin</h2>
[[Continue|Scene for "Relax with Kaitlin"...]]
<br>
<h2>Relax with Dante</h2>
[[Continue|Scene for "Relax with Dante"...]]
<br>
<h2>Boost Combat</h2>
[[Continue|Scene for "Boost Combat"...]]
<br>
<h2>Boost Calligraphy</h2>
[[Continue|Scene for "Boost Calligraphy"...]]
<br>
<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Lick your scars and walk it off</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>05:10pm</h2></span>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>You get ready, the setting sun streaming through the window, it's hue on your face as you step outside the door of //My Mandolin// Inn. Today is a day unlike any other—the day of the Tournament Festival. You can feel the buzz of anticipation in the air, a palpable energy that vibrates through the streets, carried by the laughter and chatter of the patrons who filled the inn the night before. Dante had mentioned it briefly, excitement flickering in his eyes, but now, the reality of the festival is upon you.
As you make your way down the cobblestone path, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meats wafts through the air, tempting your senses. Colorful banners flutter overhead, adorned with the golden sun emblem of the Kabot Kingdom, which presides over the festivities. The rich, vibrant hues of red and gold seem to dance in the light, mirroring the enthusiasm of the people gathering in the square.
The Tournament Festival is more than just a celebration; it honors the bravery of competitors and champions from previous tournaments. It encourages the community to mingle, share stories, and reinforce the bonds that unite them. As you walk, you can hear snippets of laughter, the joyous melodies of musicians tuning their instruments, and the faint thump of drums that promises excitement to come.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You step out of //My Mandolin Inn// into the crisp evening air, the setting sun leaving a hue on your face. Today is the day of the Tournament Festival—a day that buzzes with energy and excitement throughout the city. The anticipation is palpable, like a current in the air, carried by the laughter and conversations that filled the inn last night.
You haven’t spoken to Dante since yesterday. A sense of discomfort lingers between the two of you, a quiet heaviness you can't quite shake. You push the thought aside, trying to focus on the day ahead.
As you walk down the cobblestone path, the smell of fresh bread, spiced meats, and roasted nuts hits you, warm and inviting. Vendors are already setting up their stalls, each one more colorful than the last. The streets are alive with movement—children running between booths, musicians tuning their instruments, and performers practicing their routines. The hum of excitement grows louder as you get closer to the heart of the festival.
Overhead, brilliant banners ripple in the breeze, bearing the golden sun emblem of the Kabot Kingdom. The red and gold of the decorations reflect the grandeur of the event, casting a regal glow over the cobbled streets. The banners hang between lamp posts, fluttering like flags of victory, echoing the festival’s celebration of strength and unity. The colors seem to shimmer in the morning light, a reminder of the Kabot Kingdom's pride and the legacy of the tournament’s champions.
As you move through the crowd, snippets of conversation drift past—excited whispers of upcoming matches, old stories of past tournaments, and predictions for the contenders. The sound of drums begins to thrum in the distance, growing louder as you approach the square. It's a heartbeat for the festival, promising both celebration and the thrill of competition to come.
But even with the vibrant sounds and sights surrounding you, your mind lingers on Dante. You wonder where he is now, if he's feeling any better than yesterday. There’s a gnawing sense of guilt—after all, maybe his injury wouldn't have happened if you’d stepped in sooner. You shake your head and try to focus, but it’s harder than it should be.
For now, you let the festival carry you forward, though part of you can't help but wonder if Dante is doing the same—somewhere out there, lost in the sea of festivities. That's if he chose to leave his room. <<else>>You get ready, the setting sun streaming through the window, warming your face as you step outside the door of //My Mandolin// Inn. Today is a day unlike any other—the day of the Tournament Festival. You can feel the buzz of anticipation in the air, a palpable energy that vibrates through the streets, carried by the laughter and chatter of the patrons who filled the inn the night before. Dante had mentioned it briefly, excitement flickering in his eyes, but now, the reality of the festival is upon you.
As you make your way down the cobblestone path, the scent of fresh bread and roasted meats wafts through the air, tempting your senses. Colorful banners flutter overhead, adorned with the golden sun emblem of the Kabot Kingdom, which presides over the festivities. The rich, vibrant hues of red and gold seem to dance in the light, mirroring the enthusiasm of the people gathering in the square.
The Tournament Festival is more than just a celebration; it honors the bravery of competitors and champions from previous tournaments. It encourages the community to mingle, share stories, and reinforce the bonds that unite them. As you walk, you can hear snippets of laughter, the joyous melodies of musicians tuning their instruments, and the faint thump of drums that promises excitement to come.<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . |Kabot Tournament Festival]] A soft glow from the early morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm light across the room. The air is filled with a gentle stillness, a moment of tranquility before the bustle of the day takes hold. You move about the room, letting the sunlight dance on your skin as you gather your things. Your focus isn’t on the lingering papers scattered across the table but rather on the rumbling in your stomach, reminding you that it’s time to eat.
You slip the invocation papers into your bag almost reflexively, their crisp edges contrasting with your current thoughts of food. The hunger gnaws at you, and the thought of a warm meal makes you pick up the pace as you dress. You choose your outfit with care, opting for something comfortable yet presentable, hoping to enjoy your day without any distractions.
Once you’re ready, you step outside, the vibrant sights and sounds of the Main Nexus welcoming you. The air is fresh, filled with the aroma of baked goods and sizzling street food. As you stroll through the bustling streets, your thoughts drift only to the delightful prospect of a meal. Your mouth waters at the thought of rich, flavorful dishes and sweet treats.
After wandering for a while, you spot a stand adorned with colorful fabrics and a mouthwatering display of treats.
<hr>
[[. . . |Breakfast day #1 halwa]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 5, 0, 100)>>A soft glow from the early morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm light across the room. The air is quiet, almost serene, the calm before the day fully awakens. On the small table by the bed sits a neat pile of invocation papers, their delicate edges crisp and ready. Beside them, the inkstone holds faint traces of yesterday’s effort, a quiet reminder of the precision and patience required for calligraphy invoking.
You move about the room, gathering the small slips of paper, tucking them away with care. They feel light in your hands, but their weight on your mind is heavier. Each one is a lifeline to your ability, fragile yet necessary. Without them, invoking is impossible—no paper, no ink, no magic. It’s frustrating, how dependent you are on these materials, how easily they could be lost or destroyed in the heat of a moment.
You catch your reflection briefly in the mirror, but it’s not the person you’re focused on—it’s the resolve in your eyes. Physical combat offers a freedom that invoking doesn’t. Boxing, with nothing but your fists and your body, gives you the reliability that the papers can’t. It’s why you’ve chosen to focus on it, to hone your combat skills. There’s a certain comfort in knowing that no matter what happens, your strength will always be with you, no need for ink or parchment.
<hr>
[[. . .|Artifact thoughts]]
<<set $metEmiliano = true>>The corridor of the strange inn felt narrow and dimly lit, but the faint sounds of laughter and chatter from the common room added a lively atmosphere. You approached room five and knocked lightly on the door.
After a moment, it swung open to reveal Kaitlin, her vibrant pink afro a wild halo around her head. One side of her face was adorned with half-finished jester face paint—whimsical swirls of yellow and blue contrasting against her rich, glowing dark skin. You couldn’t help but grin at the sight.
“Hey! Don’t mind my strange behavior,” she snickered, her voice bright and bubbly. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to hang out today. Maybe grab a bite to eat?” you suggested.
Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh! That sounds amazing! Give me just a sec to get dressed!” With a swift motion, she slammed the door shut, leaving you to chuckle to yourself, a funny thought about the jester face paint flitting through your mind.
Moments later, the door creaked open again, and she stepped out, now wearing dull-colored brown and beige clothes that seemed to downplay her vibrant personality.
You raised an eyebrow and teased, “I expected you to walk out sprinkling glitter at every step.”
Kaitlin giggled at the remark, but a shadow of uncertainty flickered across her face. “I just didn’t want to do too much,” she said, her tone shifting slightly. “I just thought it might be nice to keep things simple today.”
As you studied her, you remembered how she had talked about wanting to push herself out of her comfort zone and actually live her life instead of stressing over what others might think.
Should you encourage her to wear whatever she wants, or would that be crossing a line into her personal business?
<hr>
[[Encorage her to wear whatever she wants]]
[[Mind your business|Do not encourage Kaitlin's clothing choices]]
You step out into the cool morning air, the soft warmth of the early sun just starting to spread across the streets of the Main Nexus. The city is only beginning to stir, with a few early risers moving about and the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls echoing faintly in the distance. You pull the invocation papers from your pocket, feeling their weight as a constant reminder of your goal—to improve your speed and skill in calligraphy for invoking.
The streets of the Main Nexus, lined with a rich mix of stone buildings and market stalls, seem endless as you search for a place where you can practice. Somewhere, tucked between these bustling avenues, must be a library or calligraphy center. You’ve heard whispers of places where scholars gather to hone their skills, and that’s exactly what you need.
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>As you make your way through the town, a small stand catches your attention. The vendor is arranging trays of an unfamiliar, crimson-colored treat, each piece shining slightly under the soft light of dawn. The sight of it makes you pause, curiosity piqued by the rich, sweet scent that fills the air around the stall.
You’ve never seen anything quite like it. The vendor, noticing your interest, gives a friendly nod and holds up a piece of the bright red halwa, offering it with an inviting smile.
You take a step closer, considering whether to buy one. The sweetness is tempting, though you’re not entirely sure what it is. It could be worth trying—if only to satisfy your curiosity.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>As you walk further into the town, your eyes drift to a nearby food stand. A sweet, rich scent wafts through the air, drawing you closer. The stand’s owner, a small, cheerful man, is setting out trays of fresh red halwas, their deep crimson color gleaming in the early sunlight. You pause for a moment, the sight of the treat tugging at a memory.
Nag Walan used to make these. She’d always prepare a batch on special days, handing you one with that familiar twinkle in her eye, her rough voice softened by a rare warmth. The taste of the sweet, sticky halwa would linger on your tongue, comforting and nostalgic.
The vendor glances up, catching your eye. He smiles, holding up a fresh piece. You can almost taste it, the sweetness lingering in the back of your mind.
For a moment, you wonder if you should buy it.
<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Buy the Halwa|Buy the Calligraphy halwa]]
[[Save your money|Don't buy the Calligraphy halwa]] <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>As you finish gathering your things, you make your way to the door of the Inn, ready to head out. Just as your hand reaches the knob, the door suddenly swings open, startling you for a split second. Before you can react, a familiar, playful voice fills the room.
“Ahh, behold! The sleepy royal graces the nation with their face at last!” Dante’s voice rings out, his tone teasing and exaggerated as he leans in the doorway, dramatically spreading his arms wide as if announcing your arrival to a grand audience.
You sigh, though a small smile creeps up your lips. He’s always been this way — finding the most absurd ways to tease you.
"Royal highness, we humbly await your command," he continues, bowing low and sweeping his arm, his grin practically lighting up the room.<hr>
[[for you, I might]]
[["Oh, wow, I'm honored," you sarcastically remark]]
[["You really know how to make an entrance" you smile]]
[["I am not a royal...and there is no one behind you."]]
<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You stand outside Room 3, the quiet morning air hanging in the corridor as you knock gently on the door. It’s not excitement that’s brought you here—it’s something closer to concern, though you try not to show it. Dante’s wrist had been wrapped after the fight, a constant reminder that maybe you should have stepped in sooner. But another part of you believes he’ll grow from it, that he needed to learn to handle things on his own.
You shift uneasily, waiting for a response, unsure of what kind of Dante you’ll find on the other side. The closed door conceals any clues about how he’s really feeling, leaving you in an uncomfortable limbo.
“Dante?” you call out, keeping your voice light but not too cheerful. “I thought maybe we could explore the Main Nexus today. Get out, clear our heads. What do you think?”
There’s a long pause—too long, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You take a breath, about to say more, when you finally hear his voice. But it’s not the playful, singsong tone you’ve come to expect. It’s quiet, subdued, as if even speaking takes effort.
"I... I don’t think I’m up for it today," he says through the door, his voice muffled but unmistakably weary. "I just... I need some time."
You blink, caught off guard by the heaviness in his words. It’s not just the injury—that much is clear. You hadn’t expected him to turn down an offer to get out, especially not like this. There’s a strange discomfort in not being able to see his face, in not knowing exactly what’s going on behind the door.
You hesitate, unsure whether to press him or leave him be. It’s your fault he’s in this state, but at the same time, you can’t help but wonder if giving him space is the right call.
//Should you push a little, or let him have the time he says he needs?// <<set $danteFriendship2 to Math.clamp($danteFriendship2 - 10, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Let him have his time]]
[[Try one last time]]<<else>>As you finish gathering your things, you make your way to the door of the Inn, ready to head out. Just as your hand reaches the knob, the door suddenly swings open, startling you for a split second. Before you can react, a familiar, playful voice fills the room.
“Ahh, behold! The sleepy royal graces the nation with their face at last!” Dante’s voice rings out, his tone teasing and exaggerated as he leans in the doorway, dramatically spreading his arms wide as if announcing your arrival to a grand audience.
You sigh, though a small smile creeps up your lips. He’s always been this way — finding the most absurd ways to tease you.
"Royal highness, we humbly await your command," he continues, bowing low and sweeping his arm, his grin practically lighting up the room.<hr>
[[for you, I might]]
[["Oh, wow, I'm honored," you sarcastically remark]]
[["You really know how to make an entrance" you smile]]
[["I am not a royal...and there is no one behind you."]]<</if>>The room feels smaller today, the walls closing in with the weight of everything you need to prepare for. There's no armor to slip on, no weapons to rely on—just you and your resolve. You flex your hands absently, feeling the tension in your muscles, the readiness to throw punches, to test your strength against something real.
The thought of the year ahead drifts into your mind, that looming deadline. An artifact would be a game-changer, something that could elevate you beyond the need for papers, but it’s not yours yet. You shake off the thought. There’s no use dwelling on what might come. What matters now is sharpening your skills, preparing yourself for whatever lies ahead.
You glance out the window, the streets still quiet with the early hour, and the urge to step outside and feel the adrenaline of a fight fills you. Today’s goal is clear—improving your combat, pushing your limits without the aid of invoking. You tighten your hands into fists, the decision made.
Stepping back from the table, you gather your things. It’s time to get to work. Today, your focus is on the fight ahead—the kind that doesn’t require anything but your own strength.
<hr>
[[. . .|Find something to punch]] <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>The inn’s door opens to a quiet morning, the town still in the process of waking up. As you step outside, the crisp air fills your lungs, refreshing and cool against your skin. The streets are almost empty, save for a few vendors beginning to set up their stalls. There’s a peacefulness here, with only the faint hum of distant voices breaking the silence.
As you make your way through the town, a small stand catches your attention. The vendor is arranging trays of an unfamiliar, crimson-colored treat, each piece shining slightly under the soft light of dawn. The sight of it makes you pause, curiosity piqued by the rich, sweet scent that fills the air around the stall.
You’ve never seen anything quite like it. The vendor, noticing your interest, gives a friendly nod and holds up a piece of the bright red halwa, offering it with an inviting smile.
You take a step closer, considering whether to buy one. The sweetness is tempting, though you’re not entirely sure what it is. It could be worth trying—if only to satisfy your curiosity.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>The inn's door swings open with a soft creak as you step out into the fresh morning air. The streets are mostly empty, a quiet lull hanging over the town as it slowly wakes up. A few vendors are already setting up their stalls, preparing for the day’s business. The cool breeze brushes against your face, and for a moment, you take in the stillness, appreciating the calm before the inevitable rush of activity begins.
As you walk further into the town, your eyes drift to a nearby food stand. A sweet, rich scent wafts through the air, drawing you closer. The stand’s owner, a small, cheerful man, is setting out trays of fresh red halwas, their deep crimson color gleaming in the early sunlight. You pause for a moment, the sight of the treat tugging at a memory.
Nag Walan used to make these. She’d always prepare a batch on special days, handing you one with that familiar twinkle in her eye, her rough voice softened by a rare warmth. The taste of the sweet, sticky halwa would linger on your tongue, comforting and nostalgic.
The vendor glances up, catching your eye. He smiles, holding up a fresh piece. You can almost taste it, the sweetness lingering in the back of your mind.
For a moment, you wonder if you should buy it.
<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Buy it|Buy the Halwa]]
[[Don't buy it|Don't buy the halwa]] You reach into your pouch, handing a few coins to the vendor. They smile warmly, wrapping a piece of the red halwa in parchment before placing it in your hand. The scent of sugar and spices intensifies as you lift it to your mouth and take a tentative bite.
The sweetness floods your senses immediately, a burst of flavor that surprises you. It’s soft, rich, and almost decadent, the taste lingering on your tongue and bringing with it a sudden rush of energy. The sensation is almost euphoric—like a wave of warmth and comfort washing over you. You feel more alert, more awake, as if the fatigue of the morning has melted away in that single bite.
Taking your time, you stroll through the streets of the Main Nexus, enjoying the treat in leisurely bites. Each mouthful seems to lift your spirits a little more, and you catch yourself smiling as the town begins to stir around you.
Despite the recent tournament, your thoughts drift to training. Rest should be on your agenda, but there's something about physical combat that always calls to you. Your body aches for movement, for the familiar rhythm of sparring, of testing your limits. As you wander, you keep an eye out for any signs of public training grounds. It’s a bit silly, considering the past few days, but you can’t help yourself. The pull is too strong.
<hr>
[[. . .|You find the gym place]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>>You glance at the red halwa again, the vendor catching your eye with a welcoming smile. For a brief moment, you consider it—imagining the taste, the sweetness—but decide against it. The vendor nods, still smiling, not trying to force or persuade you. There’s no pressure, and you appreciate the quiet understanding.
A part of you wishes you could have tasted it, just to see what it was like. But you remind yourself it would be counterproductive with your current diet, or at the very least, an unnecessary expense. With a final glance at the vibrant display of treats, you turn away, focusing on the day ahead.
As you walk through the town, the familiar streets of the Main Nexus stretch out before you. You should be resting after the tournament, letting your body recover, but instead, your thoughts drift to training again. Your legs carry you forward with a quiet purpose, scanning for any sign of a public training ground. It’s a bit silly, really—especially after everything—but you just can’t help yourself. The pull to move, to spar, to push yourself is stronger than your need for rest.
<hr>
[[Delicious!!!|You find the gym place]] After wandering for a while, you finally stumble upon a public combat ground nestled between two stone buildings. The area is modest but well-kept, with a wooden sign hanging at the entrance. It reads, “Lectures: Free. Participation: Fee Required.” The price isn’t too steep, and you find yourself reaching for the money without hesitation. You hand it over to the attendant and step inside, the cool air of the enclosed space brushing against your skin.
The room is spacious yet intimate, with a few people already filing in. At the front stands a woman, her posture straight and commanding. Her eyes are sharp and focused, scanning the room as participants gather. She’s dressed in a simple but well-fitted uniform, signaling her authority and experience. There’s something about her presence that tells you she’s been doing this for years—teaching, training, refining the skills of others.
You take your place among the group, feeling the weight of the upcoming lesson settle over you. The air hums with quiet anticipation as the room fills up, and soon, everyone stands ready, waiting for the session to begin.
<hr>
[[. . . |welcome to training pooks]] <<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 10, 0, 100)>>As you scan the room, a voice breaks through the quiet murmur of the gathering crowd. "Hey there!" The energy in his greeting catches your attention immediately. You turn to see a young man approaching with a confident stride, his smile wide and easy, as if he’s already decided you’re worth talking to before knowing your name.
He looks like he stepped right out of The Kabot Kingdom, his style bold but not ostentatious. A patterned shirt, open at the collar, falls casually over his frame, and layers of chains—one with pearls, another thicker and metallic—sit comfortably on his neck. His dark hair, slightly tousled, adds to the effortless charm he radiates. He carries himself like someone who doesn’t mind being the center of attention and thrives in social settings.
“Name’s Emiliano.” His eyes flicker with curiosity as he leans in slightly, the glint of a chain earring catching the light. He seems relaxed, but there’s a buzz of energy around him, a kind of magnetic pull that makes you feel like the conversation’s already started even if you haven’t said a word.
“So… what do I call you?” His voice is light, playful, as if he’s sure you’re going to respond. His body language is open, gesturing slightly with his hands as he talks, never staying too still, and the friendly expression on his face seems genuine. You can tell he’s used to talking to people, to starting up random conversations, his words flowing with a natural rhythm that makes it hard not to smile back.
<hr>
[[Engage in friendly conversation]]
[[Brush Emiliano off]] <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You can’t help but smile at his easygoing nature. “$name $lastname,” you reply, mirroring his relaxed tone. “Guess you can call me that.”
Emiliano’s grin widens as if your playful response only confirms what he suspected about you. “$name, huh? Alright, sounds like trouble already.” His tone is teasing, and he casually runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head slightly as he studies you for a moment. “So, you planning to just watch today or actually get in the action?”
“I didn’t come all the way here just to sit around,” you reply, crossing your arms with a smirk. “What about you? Here to impress or to learn something?”
He chuckles. “Maybe a bit of both.” His eyes flick around the room briefly before landing back on you. “But hey, we should hang out sometime. You seem like good company.”
You almost tell him you’re not from here, the words hovering on your lips. It feels like something he should know, but before you can answer, the instructor’s voice cuts through the room. “Alright, everyone, let’s begin!”
The sudden shift in energy forces the conversation to halt. Emiliano glances toward the front, giving you a quick nod, the unspoken invitation lingering in the air. You both turn your attention to the lesson as it kicks off, leaving the moment hanging between you for now.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You offer a slight nod, keeping your expression indifferent. “$name $lastname,” you say plainly, not giving much away. “That’ll do.”
Emiliano’s grin broadens, unfazed by your reserved tone. “$name, huh? Alright, sounds mysterious,” he teases lightly, clearly not put off by your aloofness. He runs a hand through his hair, studying you as if you’re some kind of puzzle. “So, you planning to watch today or jump in?”
You glance around the room briefly before answering. “I’m not here to waste time.” Your tone remains cool, arms crossed as you meet his gaze. “What about you? Spectator or participant?”
He chuckles softly, as though your response was exactly what he expected. “Maybe a bit of both,” he says, his voice carrying the same relaxed vibe. His eyes flick over the room again before landing back on you. “We should hang out sometime. You seem like someone worth getting to know.”
For a moment, you almost mention that you’re not from here, the thought crossing your mind before you can act on it. It seems like something you should say, but before you have the chance, the instructor’s sharp voice rings out, cutting through the air. “Alright, everyone, let’s begin!”
The conversation drops as the focus shifts to the lesson, leaving Emiliano’s invitation hanging unanswered. He nods subtly, acknowledging the interruption as you both turn your attention to the front, the moment fading but not entirely gone.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You barely glance at him before responding, your tone flat and disinterested. “$name $lastname,” you say, not bothering to match his lightheartedness. “If it matters.”
Emiliano’s grin doesn’t waver, even though your words land with less warmth than he likely expected. “$name, huh? I can work with that.” He seems unbothered, even amused by your indifference, brushing off your coldness. “So, what’s the plan? Watching from the sidelines or actually getting involved?”
You shrug, clearly unbothered by the conversation. “Not much point in just watching.” Your tone remains clipped, giving little for him to latch onto. “What about you? You here to play around or actually learn something useful?”
He chuckles, as if your bluntness doesn’t phase him. “A bit of both, I guess,” he replies, eyes flicking over the room before resting back on you. “Hey, we should hang out sometime. You seem like... well, someone interesting.”
The suggestion hangs awkwardly for a moment. You almost tell him that you’re not from here, but the thought feels unnecessary, like he doesn’t need to know more than what’s on the surface. Before you can decide, the instructor’s voice cuts through the room. “Alright, everyone, let’s begin!”
Emiliano glances toward the front, nodding slightly in acknowledgment as the conversation abruptly ends. You don’t return the gesture, already shifting your focus to the lesson, leaving his invitation—and the entire interaction—behind without a second thought.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You offer a genuine smile, feeling at ease with Emiliano’s friendly energy. “$name $lastname,” you say softly, your tone welcoming and kind. “Nice to meet you, Emiliano.”
His grin widens at your response, clearly pleased. “$name, huh? I like that,” he replies, his voice teasing but lighthearted. “So, are you just here to watch today, or are you actually jumping in?”
You chuckle, scratching the back of your neck. “I wouldn’t want to take someone else’s spot by just standing around. Besides, it could be fun to learn something new.” Your voice is filled with genuine enthusiasm, your eyes bright. “What about you? Are you planning on showing off your skills or just seeing what this place is all about?”
He laughs, clearly enjoying the way you respond so openly. “Maybe a bit of both. Gotta keep things interesting, right?” He pauses for a moment, his gaze softening slightly. “Hey, you seem like good company. We should hang out sometime, maybe grab some food or something.”
The sincerity in his invitation makes you hesitate for a brief moment. You almost tell him you’re not from around here, the words hovering at the tip of your tongue. But before you can reply, the instructor’s voice echoes across the room. “Alright, everyone, time to begin!”
You glance toward the front, feeling the gentle shift in energy as everyone focuses on the instructor. Emiliano gives you a quick, understanding nod, the invitation still lingering warmly between you. You return the gesture with a soft smile before turning your attention to the lesson, looking forward to possibly talking to him again later.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|Zephyr combat hint #1]] <<set $emilianoRelationship = $emilianoRelationship + 1>> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<if $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Calloud>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>><<if _maxTrait == "Aloof">> But you don’t. You came here for something specific, not to make friends.
Without breaking stride, you offer a brief glance his way, your expression calm but detached. "Not here to chat," you mutter, your tone even, not harsh but firm enough to send the message. You turn your attention back to the front of the room, signaling that the conversation is over before it ever really began.
There’s a brief pause as Emiliano processes your response, the slight surprise flickering in his eyes. He doesn’t push it, though. After a beat, he nods, stepping back and giving you space without any further comment, though the air between you feels a little awkward now.
You focus on the instructor, your posture straightening as the lesson begins, unbothered by the brief interaction. You didn’t come here to socialize, after all, and Emiliano, though lively, was just another distraction from your goal. The room shifts into focus as you immerse yourself in what you actually came for, leaving the would-be conversation behind without a second thought.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You, however, feel none of that pull.
"Does it matter?" you say flatly, barely sparing him a glance. Your tone is cold, cutting through the easygoing atmosphere he brought with him. You don’t bother with pleasantries or explanations—he's already wasted enough of your time.
For a moment, there's silence. You can feel him falter, the smile freezing on his face as he processes the blunt dismissal.
Emiliano’s brows knit together, but he quickly masks his surprise, offering a shrug. “Fair enough,” he mutters, stepping back slightly, his carefree demeanor dampened but not completely gone. He’s clearly used to smoother interactions, but it looks like he's not going to push any further.
Satisfied that you've shut it down, you turn your attention forward without another word, dismissing him as easily as you'd swat away an annoying fly. The brief, sharp interaction hangs in the air for a moment longer before the instructor begins, and you shift focus, already forgetting about Emiliano.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|Zephyr combat hint #1]] <<set $emilianoRelationship = $emilianoRelationship - 1>> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> After the brief exchange with Emiliano, you settle into the rhythm of the training session. Partnered with another student, you run through basic boxing drills, your fists moving with practiced precision. Each punch lands with a satisfying impact, your body responding fluidly to the familiar movements. The session progresses quickly as you exchange jabs, hooks, and blocks, the give-and-take between you and your partner gradually building in intensity.
As you lean against the wall, catching your breath, the instructor gathers everyone’s attention. Her voice is firm, commanding respect as she begins to speak.
“You’ve probably noticed more fighters incorporating knee strikes lately,” she says, demonstrating a quick and sharp knee hit. “It’s about disrupting balance. Get someone off their feet, and you can control the fight. A lot of people are trying to replicate the style of Zephyr Everheart, but don’t get the wrong idea—he didn’t invent these moves. He’s just mastered them, along with a lot of other techniques.”
She pauses, scanning the room before continuing. “Zephyr’s not just known for knee strikes. His fighting style is a mix of speed, power, and precise counters, whether he's fighting barehanded or with his signature weapons. He wields two great swords, a unique artifact that no one else can use. But even without the swords, his combat flow is what people try to copy—the counters, the fluid transitions between offense and defense, and the way he handles multiple opponents at once.”
The instructor shrugs slightly. “Now, I can’t teach you sword moves like his. That’s not my area of expertise. Zephyr’s known for his swordsmanship, but also for his ability to adapt in close combat without them. What I can show you are some of the basic techniques and strategies that’ve made him popular—like those counters and strikes people have been mimicking across the Main Nexus, The Kabot Kingdom, and The Vassal Novs.”
<hr>
[[Continue|More tea of Zephyr]] She crosses her arms and leans slightly on one leg. “Zephyr’s fighting style isn’t just about brute force or flashy moves; it’s about reading your opponent, understanding their weaknesses, and using their momentum against them. He’s got the discipline and tactical mind to back it up. And while everyone’s trying to live up to his family name, it’s his adaptability that has caught the attention of so many.”
The instructor gives a nod toward the group, signaling the importance of these lessons. “You may not be able to fight exactly like Zephyr, especially without his artifact, but you can learn from his strategies and how he approaches each fight. Keep that in mind as we train.”
The room is filled with a quiet sense of awe as she finishes speaking. Zephyr’s name carries weight, not just because of his abilities, but also because of his lineage. His mother, Governor Addo Everheart, was an elite soldier before her current role, and many people are eager to see if Zephyr will live up to the legacy she created.
<hr>
[[You've never heard of The Everhearts]]
[[You have heard of The Everhearts]]
As the instructor’s words fade, you notice how the room seems to buzz with a quiet intensity at the mention of Zephyr Everheart. The name doesn’t ring a bell. You can’t quite grasp why everyone seems so intrigued, their eyes lighting up with recognition. You’ve never really paid attention to matters of war, soldiers, or anything related to governing kingdoms. Those kinds of stories didn’t reach Silversvale, at least not the part of it you grew up in.
Your world has always been smaller, more focused on the day-to-day. Perhaps that’s why you don’t feel the same pull as everyone else, why the mention of some famous soldier or his lineage doesn’t spark anything in you. It’s not that you don’t care—it’s just... distant. You can’t seem to understand why the room seems to hold its breath at the mere mention of Zephyr Everheart and Addo Everheart. Maybe it’s the weight of something you’ve never bothered to learn.
To you, it’s just a name. You shrug, leaning back against the wall.
<hr>
[[Continue|End of Training #1]] As the instructor’s words settle in, you lean back against the wall, reflecting on the Everheart lineage. Of course, you’ve heard of them. Even in Silversvale, where life is far from the glittering halls of The Kabot Kingdom, the Everheart name is spoken with respect, even reverence. Governor Addo Everheart’s reputation as one of the greatest elite soldiers turned political leader has reached across borders, her legacy casting a long shadow over Kabot’s military history.
Stories of her battlefield prowess and strategic brilliance, leading troops into impossible victories, were whispered like myths among your village elders. And now, her son, Zephyr, is stepping into that legacy, with everyone watching to see if he’ll match or even surpass it. You’ve never seen him, never met anyone from his world of soldiers and governors, but you can’t help but wonder what it would be like to carry the weight of such a famous family.
The Everhearts have shaped Kabot for years, their influence reaching far beyond their kingdom’s borders. And now, with Zephyr’s growing fame, it seems their legacy isn’t fading anytime soon. A part of you can’t help but be curious. You’ve seen plenty of people try to imitate him, but what would it be like to see the real thing—to witness the skill and power that keeps his name in everyone’s mouths?
<hr>
[[Continue|End of Training #1]] <<set $strengthValue to Math.clamp($strengthValue + 5, 0, 100)>><<if $emilianoRelationship > 0>>You gather your water bottle and the other essentials, feeling satisfied with the training session. As you head towards the door, ready to embrace the bustling atmosphere outside, a familiar voice calls out to you from behind.
“Hey! $name!” Emiliano’s voice is bright, and you can hear the bounce in his step as he catches up to you. He slows down to walk beside you, a grin spreading across his face. “I was thinking, how about we grab a bite together the day after tomorrow? There’s a new place I’ve been wanting to check out, and it could be fun to hang out a bit more. What do you think?”
You pause, considering his suggestion. It sounds like a nice opportunity to get to know him better, but you also weigh your plans and whether you're ready to spend time with someone you’ve just met.
//Do you want to go out for the festival with Emiliano?//
<hr>
[[Accept Emiliano’s Invitation]]
[[Decline Emiliano’s Invitation]]<<else>>As the instructor wraps up the session, you take a moment to gather your things, rolling your shoulders to release the tension built up during practice. The energy in the room is still buzzing with excitement, but you feel ready to step out into the world beyond these walls.
You glance around, catching the last snippets of conversation. Some students are discussing techniques they’ve learned, while others excitedly chatter about upcoming matches. You can’t help but feel a bit disconnected from all the fervor. It’s not that you didn’t enjoy the training; it’s just that you’re not here to make friends or immerse yourself in the latest gossip about elite soldiers and their legacies.
With a final stretch, you turn towards the exit, the warm air hitting your face as you step outside. The sunlight bathes the courtyard, and the sounds of the Main Nexus echo in the background, a mix of laughter, shouting, and the clanging of metal. You take a deep breath, savoring the fresh air, and start walking away from the training facility.
As you make your way through the bustling streets, your mind wanders. You think back on the day—the techniques you practiced, the instructor’s words about Zephyr Everheart, and the energy in the room that you just couldn’t tap into. Perhaps in time, you’ll find your place here, but for now, you’re content with the freedom of wandering, the sun on your back, and the promise of a new adventure waiting just around the corner.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>><</if>> <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You flash Emiliano a playful grin, leaning into the lighthearted energy of the moment. "Sure, why not? Sounds like fun! I could use a good time to unwind a bit."
His smile widens, clearly pleased by your response. "Awesome! I knew you’d be up for it. How about we meet at //The Woven Cup//? It’s this little spot in the heart of the Main Nexus where they’ve got great coffee and breakfast. Perfect place to kick off the day before the madness starts."
The Woven Cup—the name rings a bell. It's a cozy café known for its hand-woven tapestries hanging on the walls and aromatic blends of coffee that fill the air. The perfect mix of casual and charming, fitting the vibe of the bustling city.
"Sounds good," you reply, your tone light. "I’ll see you there."
He gives you a quick, easygoing nod, his excitement barely contained. "Great, I’ll see you soon, then!" With that, he turns and heads off with a quick wave, disappearing into the crowd as you make your way out, already thinking about the day ahead at the festival.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You regard Emiliano with a calm, level gaze, his energy bouncing off your composed demeanor. "Alright," you say simply, your voice steady and neutral. "I’ll go."
Emiliano's eyes flash with intrigue at your direct, no-nonsense response. There’s no grin on your face, no playful banter—but something about your quiet confidence seems to catch his attention even more. He nods, his usual charm still present, but now with a hint of curiosity behind it.
"Nice," he replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "How about we meet at //The Woven Cup//? It’s a café in the Main Nexus—good coffee, good breakfast. We can start there."
You give a curt nod, your expression unchanged. "Fine."
Emiliano studies you for a moment longer, clearly intrigued by your stoic nature. "Alright, see you soon then," he says with a bit of lingering curiosity, as if he’s not quite figured you out yet. He turns and walks away, throwing a glance back as he disappears into the crowd, leaving you to continue on your way, already thinking ahead to the next day.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You glance at Emiliano, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Sure, why not? Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get lost in a crowd." Your tone carries a hint of playfully biting humor, though your expression remains as cool as ever.
Emiliano’s eyes flash with amusement, clearly picking up on your snide remark but seeming intrigued rather than offended. "The Woven Cup, then," he says smoothly, his easygoing demeanor never faltering. "It’s a café in the Main Nexus—good coffee, decent breakfast. We can start there before the rush hour."
You shrug, nonchalant. "Fine with me. Just don’t expect me to hold your hand through the crowd."
A grin tugs at Emiliano’s lips, but he says nothing, simply giving you a nod. "Soon it is," he replies, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity, as though he’s sizing you up, still figuring out the layers beneath your sharp words.
Without another word, he turns and heads off, leaving you behind with a flicker of interest in your eyes as you watch him go.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You fumble with your water bottle, taking a moment longer than necessary before finally looking up at Emiliano. "Oh, um... yeah, I’d like that," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "That sounds fun."
There’s a brief pause, and you feel your nerves rise, unsure if that was the right way to respond. But Emiliano’s grin only widens, his eyes lighting up at your response. "Great! We can meet at The Woven Cup, it’s a cozy café in the Main Nexus. They’ve got good coffee, nice breakfasts too. Perfect place to start before the rest."
You nod a little too eagerly, brushing some hair behind your ear. "That sounds nice. I mean, I’ve never been there, but I’m sure it’s great."
Emiliano chuckles, clearly finding your awkwardness charming. "It’s settled then. Tomorrow at the Woven Cup." He gives you an easygoing nod, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve said something strange, but his relaxed demeanor keeps you from overthinking it too much.
"See you then," you say, still a bit flustered but managing another warm smile.
"Looking forward to it," Emiliano replies, flashing you one last grin before he walks off, leaving you feeling a bit lighter, the earlier awkwardness already forgotten in the excitement of what’s to come.<</if>>
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>><<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You sling your bag over your shoulder and flash Emiliano a charming, but apologetic smile. "Thanks for the offer, but I’ve already got plans for the day," you say, your tone light and easy. "Going solo this time, you know how it is."
Emiliano tilts his head, mock disappointment flashing in his eyes. "Ah, turning me down already? And here I thought I was charming enough to at least snag a field trip partner."
You chuckle, shaking your head. "You’ll survive. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone else to tag along."
He grins, clearly not bothered by the rejection. "Maybe I will, or maybe I’ll just spend the day wondering what kind of fun you’re getting into without me."
"You’ll have to wonder," you reply smoothly, still playful, though it’s clear you’re sticking to your decision.
Emiliano laughs, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Can’t say I didn’t try. Well, I’ll let you enjoy your solo adventure. Don’t get into too much trouble, yeah?"
You flash him a smirk. "No promises."
He offers a final playful salute. "See you around, then. Enjoy the festival."
"You too," you say, watching as he saunters off, still lighthearted despite the rejection. You shake your head, amused, before heading on your way, already thinking about your own plans for the festival.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You adjust your bag, glancing at Emiliano with your usual calm, detached expression. "I don’t really see the point in going together," you say plainly. "I’ve already made plans to go on my own."
Emiliano blinks, clearly not expecting such a straightforward response, but he recovers quickly, a lopsided grin appearing. "Ah, fair enough. I guess not everyone needs a buddy."
You nod slightly, not seeing the need to explain further. "Exactly."
For a moment, there’s silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Emiliano seems intrigued, maybe even amused, by your bluntness, though he doesn’t push the matter. "Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Maybe I’ll catch you there."
You offer a brief nod in acknowledgment. "Maybe."
He chuckles softly, taking a step back. "Alright, take care. Enjoy the festival… solo."
Without another word, you turn to leave, the exchange already fading from your thoughts as you focus on the day ahead. Behind you, you catch the faint sound of Emiliano’s footsteps as he walks away, seemingly unfazed by your response.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You sling your bag over your shoulder, giving Emiliano a sidelong glance. "You sure you want to tag along? I’m not exactly the friendly date type," you say with a sharp edge to your words, though your tone is still playful enough to make it clear you're not actually offended by the offer.
Emiliano laughs lightly, undeterred. "I think I can handle it. You might even have fun."
You raise an eyebrow. "Doubt it." There’s a beat before you add, "Besides, I already have plans, just not with company."
He presses a hand to his chest dramatically, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Ouch. Rejected before I could even buy you a drink."
You smirk, shrugging one shoulder. "Consider it a mercy. Now you don’t have to waste your time."
Emiliano chuckles, clearly more entertained than put off. "Fair enough. Guess I'll just have to entertain myself."
You give a casual wave, already turning to leave. "Good luck with that."
He calls after you, "Enjoy yourself—alone."
You don’t bother turning around as you exit, the faint sound of his laughter fading behind you.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You glance at Emiliano, a wave of guilt washing over you as you consider his invitation. "I appreciate it, really," you say, your voice softening. "But... I’m not sure I need company for the day."
His expression shifts, a mix of understanding and encouragement. "Hey, it’s totally fine. I get it—sometimes you just want to enjoy things on your own."
You fidget slightly, feeling the weight of your words. "It feels a bit rude, though. I don’t want to hurt your feelings."
Emiliano chuckles lightly, shaking his head. "You’re not hurting my feelings. It’s normal to want some space. Besides, I can’t be everyone's buddy."
You offer a small smile, reassured by his easygoing demeanor. "That makes sense. I just didn’t want you to feel like it was personal."
"Trust me, it’s not," he replies, his voice warm and genuine. "You do what you need to do. I’ll be fine finding my own fun."
You nod slowly, appreciating his kindness. "Thanks for understanding. I hope you have a good time, though."
He grins, his confidence returning. "I will. And if you change your mind, you know where to find me."
With that, he turns to leave, and you feel a sense of relief mixed with lingering guilt. You watch him go, grateful for his understanding but still wishing you could have accepted his offer.<</if>>
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>><<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>The inn’s door opens to a quiet morning, the town still in the process of waking up. As you step outside, the crisp air fills your lungs, refreshing and cool against your skin. The streets are almost empty, save for a few vendors beginning to set up their stalls. There’s a peacefulness here, with only the faint hum of distant voices breaking the silence.
As you make your way through the town, a small stand catches your attention. The vendor is arranging trays of an unfamiliar, crimson-colored treat, each piece shining slightly under the soft light of dawn. The sight of it makes you pause, curiosity piqued by the rich, sweet scent that fills the air around the stall.
You’ve never seen anything quite like it. The vendor, noticing your interest, gives a friendly nod and holds up a piece of the bright red halwa, offering it with an inviting smile.
You take a step closer, considering whether to buy one. The sweetness is tempting, though you’re not entirely sure what it is. It could be worth trying—if only to satisfy your curiosity.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>The inn's door swings open with a soft creak as you step out into the fresh morning air. The streets are mostly empty, a quiet lull hanging over the town as it slowly wakes up. A few vendors are already setting up their stalls, preparing for the day’s business. The cool breeze brushes against your face, and for a moment, you take in the stillness, appreciating the calm before the inevitable rush of activity begins.
As you walk further into the town, your eyes drift to a nearby food stand. A sweet, rich scent wafts through the air, drawing you closer. The stand’s owner, a small, cheerful man, is setting out trays of fresh red halwas, their deep crimson color gleaming in the early sunlight. You pause for a moment, the sight of the treat tugging at a memory.
Nag Walan used to make these. She’d always prepare a batch on special days, handing you one with that familiar twinkle in her eye, her rough voice softened by a rare warmth. The taste of the sweet, sticky halwa would linger on your tongue, comforting and nostalgic.
The vendor glances up, catching your eye. He smiles, holding up a fresh piece. You can almost taste it, the sweetness lingering in the back of your mind.
For a moment, you wonder if you should buy it.
<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Buy it|Breakfast day #1 buy]]
[[Don't buy it|Breakfast day #1 don't buy]]You step closer to the stand, drawn in by the vendor's warm smile and the vibrant color of the halwa. The sweet aroma wraps around you, making it impossible to resist. After a brief moment of hesitation, you nod and indicate your choice. The vendor eagerly hands you a piece of the crimson treat, its surface glistening enticingly in the morning light.
As you take your first bite, the rich, sticky sweetness floods your senses, an explosion of flavor that dances on your taste buds. It’s soft and indulgent, the texture a delightful contrast to the sweetness that envelops your mouth. The warmth of the halwa melts effortlessly, and you can’t help but close your eyes for a moment, savoring every bite. It’s a perfect balance of sweetness and richness, an explosion of flavor that feels like a celebration in your mouth.
You realize that this treat is more than just a snack; it’s a delightful way to kick off your day. The halwa leaves a lingering sweetness that urges you to order something hearty to complement this incredible taste. With your appetite stirred and your spirits lifted, you glance back at the vendor, a grin spreading across your face.
After finishing the piece, you wipe your hands and glance around, considering what to eat next. The bustling street is filled with vendors, each offering a variety of enticing options. You feel energized, ready to explore the food stalls and indulge in a hearty breakfast that will fuel your day ahead.
<hr>
[[Time to chow|Breakfast Day #1]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>>You step closer to the stand, drawn in by the vibrant color and enticing aroma of the halwa. As the vendor catches your eye and holds up a piece, you pause, considering the tempting offer. The sweet scent fills the air, but you take a moment to think.
“No, thank you,” you say, shaking your head gently. “I’d rather save my appetite for a meal.” You want to ensure you have enough room to enjoy a hearty breakfast, something that will satisfy your hunger more completely.
The vendor nods, a warm smile spreading across his face as he places the halwa back on the tray. “I understand. There’s nothing like a good meal to start the day,” he replies, his tone friendly and accommodating.
You share a brief moment of connection, appreciating the vendor’s understanding. With a polite nod, you continue on your way, ready to explore the other food stalls and find something that will truly satisfy your hunger. As you walk, you can’t help but anticipate the delicious breakfast that awaits you, eager to indulge in a meal that will keep you energized for the day ahead.
<hr>
[[Time to chow|Breakfast Day #1]] As you stroll through the lively streets of the Main Nexus, you finally come across //The Woven Cup//, a quaint café that seems to fit perfectly among the morning buzz. The exterior is charming, with purple curtains gently swaying in the soft breeze, their delicate fabric ribboned closed by the windows. The building itself has a warm, inviting vibe, adorned with intricate carvings that speak to the artistry of the district.
Inside, the atmosphere is cozy and serene, markedly different from its vibrant neon glow at night. The sunlight filters through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the square wooden tables scattered around the space. Each table is uniquely designed, showcasing the craftsmanship of local artisans, making the café feel like a communal hub for both locals and travelers alike.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an inviting atmosphere that beckons you to step inside. It’s the perfect place to sit down, relax, and enjoy a hearty meal before diving into the day’s activities. You take a moment to soak in the ambiance, feeling a sense of anticipation for the breakfast that awaits.
<hr>
[[Continue|What to chow #1]] <<if $saekoMetBreakfast = false>><</if>>After placing your order, you make your way to a small table near the window, the light pouring in and illuminating the space. The warm atmosphere of the place wraps around you like a comforting blanket, easing the anticipation of your meal. As you settle into your seat, your gaze wanders around the café, taking in the lively energy of morning patrons chatting and laughing.
You take in the sight of the woman standing by the counter, her expression calm yet firm, clearly involved in what looks like a tense conversation with one of the workers. She's wearing a white fur-lined jacket that’s both practical and elegant, the kind of garment you’d expect to see in the snowy reaches of the Nordians’ homeland. Her outfit consists of mostly white and beige tones, complementing her pale skin and light hair.
As you observe her closely, you realize she's no ordinary patron. Her pale, almost ethereal appearance is a clear sign she hails from District One—the Nordians. This realization stirs something in you, recalling the brief but striking encounters you've had with her kind before. Their presence, though rare in these parts, always seems to leave a lasting impression.
But your curiosity grows as you refocus on her interaction with the worker. There's an issue, something that doesn't seem like a casual chat over an order. You can sense a subtle tension in her body language as she speaks, though her face remains composed, hinting at a resolve beneath her calm demeanor. <<set $saekoMet = true>>
<hr>
[[What's going on?|Saeko first meet]]<<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You glance at her again, noticing the way she stares down at the dish like it’s some kind of puzzle she can’t solve. With a quiet sigh, you decide to intervene, leaning slightly forward as you speak up. “Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you’re not too thrilled with... whatever that is.” You gesture toward her untouched plate, catching her attention. She looks up at you, her blue eyes steady, as if gauging whether you’re worth responding to.
You offer a friendly smile. “Listen, I usually order more food than I can finish in one sitting anyway. Call it a bad habit—keeps the tastebuds happy for leftovers later, you know?” You chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. She continues staring, completely unmoved by the joke, as though the concept of ‘leftovers’ is an alien idea.
Still, you press on, unwilling to let the awkwardness get to you. “But, hey, if you’re not going to eat that, maybe you’d like to share my meal instead? I can take care of your dish, so it doesn’t go to waste. Wouldn’t want good food to suffer for a little mix-up, right?”
She blinks slowly at you, tilting her head slightly, as if she’s genuinely trying to understand your offer. You smile a bit wider, feeling the need to clarify, “I mean, you’re welcome to join me if you’d rather not stare at that plate all day. What do you say? Save you the trouble of having to figure out whether that’s edible?”
For a moment, she just sits there, silent and expressionless. The longer she stares, the more you wonder if she’s going to tell you to mind your own business. But then, after what feels like forever, she gives a small nod, rising from her seat with a calm and deliberate movement. Without a word, she pulls out a chair across from you and sits down, her posture straight and composed.
You try one last time to lighten the mood as she settles in, gesturing to the plate in front of her. “I mean, it’s either that or I try to decode that dish for you. Maybe it’s secretly amazing?”
Nothing. She just looks at you, raising a brow slightly as though the idea is as bizarre as it sounds. It’s clear your humor is not landing, but at least she’s sitting with you now.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You glance at her, noting the way she keeps staring at her plate like it’s some kind of mistake. You’re not one to beat around the bush, so you simply lean forward and speak directly.
“You don’t seem like you want that,” you say, nodding to the untouched dish. “I’ve got enough food here for two. Want to eat with me instead?”
Her gaze shifts from the plate to you, no expression revealing her thoughts. You keep your tone level, uninterested in making it more complicated than it needs to be.
“I’ll take care of your dish so it’s not wasted. If you’re hungry, just join me.”
She blinks once, processing what you said. No extra words. No need to elaborate. After a brief pause, she gives a small nod and stands, moving to pull out the chair across from you. Without a word, she sits down, calm and composed, her focus now shifting to the food you’ve offered.
You glance at her again, no further need for conversation. She understood. That’s enough.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You watch her sitting there, staring blankly at the plate in front of her. Irritation bubbles up as you think about the whole ridiculous interaction that led her to this moment. With a sigh, you decide to break the silence, though not without a hint of sarcasm.
"Hey," you start, giving her an exaggerated glance, "wanna be breakfast buddies or something? I’ve got plenty to go around."
She doesn’t respond right away, just looks at you with that same puzzled expression, and you can feel your patience thinning.
"Seriously?" you mutter under your breath, louder than you intended. "I mean, do you want some of my food or not? Yours is clearly not what you wanted, so might as well."
Her blank stare lingers, and for a moment, you think she didn’t get it again. You sigh, feeling your annoyance rise, and finally clarify, speaking slower this time.
"You. Eat. Here. With me. Yes or no?"
After a pause, she finally nods, like it just clicked for her. She gets up and moves over to sit across from you, and you can’t help but mutter as she pulls out the chair, "Finally..."
She sits down, still quiet, and you just shake your head, already thinking about how long this meal’s gonna feel.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You watch her sit there, staring at the plate she clearly didn’t want, and something tugs at you. She looks so… lost. You shift in your seat, chewing the inside of your cheek, debating whether you should say something. You know what it’s like to feel out of place, to have things not go the way you expected.
Taking a deep breath, you muster up the courage. "Uh, hey..." Your voice comes out softer than you expected, almost timid. "I, um... I noticed your order didn’t come out right. Would you—" You pause, your hands fidgeting slightly on the table. "I mean, if you’d like, you could share mine?"
You can feel your heart race a little as you wait for her response. What if she doesn’t understand? Or worse, what if she thinks you're weird for offering?
"I mean, I always order more than I can eat anyway, you know, just in case I want leftovers later," you quickly add, trying to fill the silence, nervous laughter escaping you. "But, um... yeah. It’s really no trouble."
Her gaze shifts toward you, and you feel the heat creep up your neck. She’s not saying anything, and it’s making you even more anxious. You wonder if you’ve made a mistake. Maybe she doesn't even want to be bothered.
After what feels like an eternity, she gives you a slow nod, and you feel a small wave of relief wash over you. "Oh, great!" you say, your voice a bit too enthusiastic, trying to ease the awkwardness. "Here, why don’t you sit here? There’s plenty to go around."
She pulls the chair across from you, and you watch her sit down quietly, still not saying much. You give a small, nervous smile, hoping you didn’t come across too pushy. You can’t help but fidget a little, still unsure if this was the right call, but at least she accepted.
Now you just have to get through the meal.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Awkwardly chowing]] <<set $saekoSharedMeal = true>> <<set $saekoFriendship2 to Math.clamp($saekoFriendship2 + 1, 0, 100)>><<if $saekoSharedMeal == true>>As you finish up your meal, you glance at her again, noticing that she has gathered all the plates from your shared table. She walks confidently behind the counter, her presence seeming to cut through the café's usual buzz. The workers watch her with a mix of curiosity and caution, and you can’t help but wonder what she’s up to. You shift in your seat, unsure whether to follow her or stay put, the atmosphere shifting subtly as the staff share glances that suggest they’re all not used to this type of a guest.
After a few moments, she returns, her hands glistening with water as she wipes them dry with a tissue she somehow managed to acquire. She washed her own dishes? You notice an older man, the same one who took your order earlier, laughing about something as he gives her a friendly pat on the back. For a moment, you’re surprised to see such warmth directed toward her, considering how distant she seemed while sitting with you. She appears unfazed by the interaction, focusing intently on drying her hands, her expression blank as ever.
You watch the exchange, intrigued. What could they possibly be laughing about? As she nods and exchanges a few words with the man, you feel a spark of curiosity about her life outside this café. You wonder if she always behaves this way, or if there’s more to her that you haven’t seen yet.
<hr>
[[she's endearing...in a way]]
[[she's strange.]]
<<else>>As you sit at the small table, the remnants of your meal spread out before you, you take a moment to savor the last bite. The café's atmosphere hums softly with chatter and clinking cutlery, providing a comforting backdrop to your thoughts. You glance around, noting the various patrons enjoying their meals, each wrapped in their conversations or lost in their own worlds.
After finishing your dish, you wipe your mouth with a napkin, feeling content but ready to move on. You rise and head to the counter, where the older man who took your order earlier stands, busy jotting down notes. He looks up and offers a friendly smile.
“Did you enjoy your meal?” he asks, genuine curiosity lighting up his eyes.
“It was great, thank you,” you reply, returning the smile. You reach for your pouch of coins, feeling the familiar weight in your pocket as you pull it out. You place it on the counter, and he quickly counts it, nodding in approval.
“Thank you! Come back anytime,” he says, his voice warm as he pockets the coins. You give a small wave, feeling a sense of finality as you step away from the counter.
As you make your way to the door, you take one last look around the café. The atmosphere, the smells, the sounds—it all feels inviting, but it's time to go. You pull the door open, the bell above jingling softly as you step out into the bustling streets of The Main Nexus.
The fresh air greets you, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth of the café. You take a deep breath, feeling invigorated by the world outside. As you stroll along the cobblestone path, the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the buildings. You can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction as you think about your day and the meal you enjoyed.
With a lightness in your step, you head toward your next destination, ready to see what else the day has in store.<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>><</if>>
You notice the line of eager patrons stretching toward the counter, and you can’t say you’re surprised. The cozy café is a popular spot it seems, its reputation evident in the chatter and laughter that fills the air. You find yourself hoping that the prices won’t be too steep—after all, you want to enjoy the experience without breaking the bank.
When you finally reach the front, a friendly old man greets you with a warm smile. His eyes twinkle with kindness as he asks what you would like to order. You take a moment to glance at the little menu he hands you, feeling a sense of excitement wash over you. The culinary options here are drastically different from what you’re used to in Silversvale, and you’re eager to explore the unfamiliar flavors and dishes that the Main Nexus has to offer. As you peruse the menu, the possibilities seem endless, each option calling out to your curiosity.
<hr>
[[Whats on the menu|breakfast day #1 menu]] ''MENU''
<div class="choice">[[Halwa Pudding][$fyp to "add sentence here", $atrHalwa to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Halwa Pudding, a rich, sweet pudding made from semolina, sugar, and flavored with cardamom and nuts. It’s often served warm and can be drizzled with honey." , $FNYP to "Halwa Pudding"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Savory Omelets][$fyp to "add sentence here", $atrOmelets to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Savory Omelets, fluffy omelets filled with local vegetables, cheeses, and spices, garnished with fresh herbs." , $FNYP to "Savory Omelets"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Spiced Flatbreads][$fpFlatbreads to "add sentence here", $atrFlatbreads to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Spiced Flatbreads, warm and soft flatbreads served with a selection of dips such as hummus, spiced yogurt, or tangy tomato salsa." , $FNYP to "Spiced Flatbreads"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Fruit and Yogurt Parfait][$fpParfait to "add sentence here", $atrParfait to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Fruit and Yogurt Parfait, layers of fresh seasonal fruits and creamy yogurt, topped with a sprinkle of granola for added crunch." , $FNYP to "Fruit and Yogurt Parfait"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pancakes][$fpPancakes to "add sentence here", $atrPancakes to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Pancakes, delicately spiced and served with syrup, fresh fruit, or whipped cream, giving them a unique twist." , $FNYP to "Pancakes"]]</div>
<h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 pt3]] You subtly listen in on the exchange between the Nordian woman and the server, noticing the confusion brewing as she confidently attempts to order. Her voice is steady, though her accent seems to twist a few words.
"I’ll have the grilled... uh, baffled spouts with a crinkly apple on the side," she says, her expression unchanging as if she's completely unaware of the mix-up.
The server blinks, obviously trying to process the odd combination of words. "Baffled spouts... and... crinkly apple?" she repeats, hesitant.
"Yes," The blond nordian confirms firmly, giving a nod that implies no further clarification is needed.
The server stares down at her notepad, likely wondering if she heard wrong or if this was some unfamiliar Nordian dish. She hesitates for a moment and then suggests another dish entirely, though it doesn’t quite match what was asked. With a nervous smile, she scribbles something down quickly, likely unsure of how to correct the situation.
The woman’s brows furrow slightly, but she doesn't correct herself, only giving another confident nod as if that's exactly what she asked for. After a few more awkward seconds of the server repeating variations of the ingredients, the server seem to give up, offering a nervous smile and a resigned nod, scribbling something down quickly.
With that, the Nordian woman moves toward the nearest table, which just happens to be beside yours. She sits with a calm air, her fur jacket settling against the back of the chair as she gazes out at the other patrons. Despite the buzz around the café, you notice how a few patrons steal glances her way, but no one makes an effort to approach her. Her reserved demeanor and the natural, cold detachment common among Nordians seem to create an invisible barrier between her and the rest of the room.
Moments later, your own meal arrives, placed carefully in front of you by the server. The scent of the dish wafts up, making your appetite stir as you look at the plate of $FNYP sitting before you.
<hr>
[[Delicioussss]] A short while later, her meal arrives. She glances down at the plate placed before her, and it's immediately clear it isn't the grilled Brussels sprouts and stewed apples she had tried to order. A deep frown creases her brow, her normally stoic expression now touched with genuine confusion. She stares at the dish in front of her, seemingly baffled by how the order had gone so wrong, as if the possibility of a misunderstanding never even occurred to her.
The server, now visibly nervous, smiles awkwardly, likely bracing for some sort of reaction. Yet the Nordian woman doesn't raise her voice or complain. She simply nods, sending the server off with a dismissive gesture. The poor worker wastes no time hurrying away, relieved to escape the situation without an outburst.
The woman, however, seems in no rush to eat. Instead, she just sits there, staring down at the foreign dish like it holds the answers to life's misfortunes. It's almost as if she’s wondering what she’s done to deserve this fate.
You can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy. As you take a bite of your own meal, you begin to wonder—should you offer to share your dish with her, or would it be better to leave her be?
<hr>
[[Share a meal|Share a Meal with Saeko]]
[[Don't share a meal|Leave Saeko Alone]] You glance over at her again, her expression still a mixture of bewilderment and resignation as she continues to stare at the unfamiliar dish. For a brief moment, the thought of offering to share your meal crosses your mind, but it fades just as quickly.
You can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the natural wariness that comes with talking to strangers, especially a Nordian with such an intense presence. Or maybe you simply don’t see the need to get involved. Either way, you decide to just focus on your own meal, letting the moment pass as you mind your own business and eat in silence.<<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>"Thank you," she says as you slide her dish toward yourself and pass yours to her.
"No problem at all," you reply, flashing her a friendly smile as you settle in to eat her unwanted meal. "What brings you here, then? Just passing through?"
Her face changes instantly, her expression darkening like a cloud passing over the sun. "For business," she says curtly.
You blink, your natural curiosity dampened by the sudden shift in mood. "Ah, gotcha," you say quickly, trying to back off before the conversation takes a nosedive. You can’t help but wonder what kind of business has her looking that grim, but you’ve learned when to stop digging. There’s a limit to even your charm, after all.
Shaking off the thought, you decide to try and lighten things up a bit. "Well, enough about business. I’m $name $lastname," you say, holding out a hand and giving her your best grin, one that’s usually hard for anyone to resist.
She just nods at you and continues eating, not even glancing at your outstretched hand. You hold your grin for a moment longer, then let your hand drop back to your side, a slight chuckle escaping you. "Tough crowd," you mutter under your breath, more amused than offended.
You wait a beat, expecting her to say something, maybe even her name in return, but she’s too focused on the food in front of her. Realizing you’re not going to get much more than nods out of her, you give up trying to make small talk. Well, at least she’s enjoying the food.
Resigned, you turn your attention back to your own plate, eating in silence, though you can’t help but steal a few glances at her, still curious about what kind of business could bring someone like her to this place. But, for now, you decide to let it be.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>"Thank you," she says as you slide her dish toward yourself and pass yours to her.
"Yeah," you reply, uninterested, as you start to dig into her unwanted meal. "So, what’s the reason you’re here?" You look at her, expecting a straightforward response.
Her expression shifts suddenly, darkening as she replies, "For business."
You blink, not wanting to push it further. "Right," you say, opting to drop the subject. Not that you care much about it anyway. You watch her for a moment, but she seems completely absorbed in her food, not offering any further conversation.
“I'm $name $lastname,” you state bluntly, but she simply nods, chewing thoughtfully. It’s clear she’s not in the mood for chit-chat.
You shrug, finding her lack of response neither surprising nor concerning. You take a few bites of your meal, glancing over at her occasionally as she eats. It doesn’t bother you that she’s silent. In fact, it’s somewhat refreshing not having to make small talk.
After a while, the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the café filling the air around you. It’s not awkward; it just is. You continue eating, content to let the moment stretch out, uninterested in pressing for more interaction.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>“Thank you,” she says as you slide her dish to yourself and slide yours to her.
“Whatever,” you mutter, feeling a hint of guilt for the tone, but it slips away as you begin to eat. After a moment, you remind yourself that you should be nicer and try to engage her in some conversation. “So, what are you doing here? Got some big plans?”
Her expression darkens, and you can feel the mood shift. “For business,” she replies, her tone clipped.
You raise an eyebrow, noting the seriousness in her voice. You decide not to push the topic further. “Right, then,” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m $name $lastname, by the way.”
She nods and returns to her food, but you notice she hasn’t offered her name in return. As the silence stretches on, your irritation begins to bubble beneath the surface.
It’s not like you expect a lively conversation, but a little acknowledgment wouldn’t hurt. You glance over at her, watching as she methodically takes bite after bite, her focus entirely on her meal. She seems completely unfazed by your presence, as if she’s eating with a stranger, which—well, she kind of is. It feels more like you’re sitting with a mannequin than a fellow diner.
The thought gnaws at you, and you can’t shake the sense that you’re talking to a wall.
You chew your food, grumbling to yourself about how being friendly is overrated anyway. You roll your eyes internally, convincing yourself that extending an olive branch is pointless when you get such a tepid response. It’s like you’re conversing with a brick wall, and for all the effort you put in, the reward feels non-existent.
Your mind drifts, and you start to think about how many more interesting ways you could spend your time rather than sitting here in awkward silence. Maybe you should just focus on your food, enjoy your meal, and forget about trying to make a connection. After all, why bother when you could just eat in peace?
You let out a small huff, the frustration lingering like an unwelcome guest, but you push it down as you take another bite, resigning yourself to this stilted companionship.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">> “Thank you,” she says as you slide her dish to yourself and slide yours to her.
“Whatever,” you mutter, feeling a hint of guilt for the tone, but it slips away as you begin to eat. After a moment, you remind yourself that you should be nicer and try to engage her in some conversation. “So, what are you doing here? Got some big plans?”
Her expression darkens, and you can feel the mood shift. “For business,” she replies, her tone clipped.
You raise an eyebrow, noting the seriousness in her voice. You decide not to push the topic further. “Right, then,” you say, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I’m $name $lastname, by the way.”
She nods and returns to her food, but you notice she hasn’t offered her name in return. You shrug it off, dismissing it as her being shy or simply not interested in small talk. However, as the silence stretches on, your irritation begins to bubble beneath the surface.
It’s not like you expect a lively conversation, but a little acknowledgment wouldn’t hurt. You glance over at her, watching as she methodically takes bite after bite, her focus entirely on her meal. She seems completely unfazed by your presence, as if she’s eating with a stranger, which—well, she kind of is. It feels more like you’re sitting with a mannequin than a fellow diner. The thought gnaws at you, and you can’t shake the sense that you’re talking to a wall.
You chew your food, grumbling to yourself about how being friendly is overrated anyway. You roll your eyes internally, convincing yourself that extending an olive branch is pointless when you get such a tepid response. It’s like you’re conversing with a brick wall, and for all the effort you put in, the reward feels non-existent. Your mind drifts, and you start to think about how many more interesting ways you could spend your time rather than sitting here in awkward silence. <<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>“Thank you,” she says as you slide her dish to yourself and slide yours to her.
You shift in your seat, feeling the weight of the silence between you, and your mind races as you try to think of something to fill the gap. You can’t help but feel a twinge of awkwardness creeping in as the seconds tick by. You want to ask her something, anything, to start a conversation up, but the words catch in your throat. So instead, you awkwardly scratch the back of your wrist and take a bite of your meal, glancing her way now and then.
You finally muster the courage to break the silence. “So, um, what are you here for?” you ask, trying to sound casual. The moment the question leaves your lips, you notice her expression shift. Her face darkens as she replies, “For business.” The mood around your table feels suddenly heavy, and you can sense that this topic is not something she wants to discuss. Instinctively, you back off, not wanting to pry into whatever serious matter has clouded her demeanor.
“Right, of course,” you say, trying to keep the conversation flowing. “I’m, uh, $name $lastname, by the way.” You offer a warm smile, hoping she might respond in kind, but continues eating, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. You wait for a moment, hoping she’ll reciprocate with her name, but she simply nods and keeps chewing, leaving you hanging.
Feeling a mix of confusion and embarrassment, you scratch your wrist again, unsure of what to do next. Did she even hear you? You thought you were being friendly, but now it feels like you’re the only one putting any effort into this interaction.
The silence stretches on, and you return to your meal, glancing at her occasionally. You chew thoughtfully, wondering if you should try to engage her again or just let it go. Maybe she’s just not the talkative type. You shake your head slightly, deciding not to take it personally. After all, everyone has their own way of interacting. You focus on your food, hoping that maybe after eating, she’ll be a little more open.<</if>>
<hr>
[[An eternity later...|Continue After Breakfast]] As you watch her interact with the older man, you can’t help but find her behavior comically strange. The way she nods along to his laughter, completely unfazed, makes you chuckle inwardly. There’s something almost absurd about her obliviousness to the social cues around her, and you can’t help but shake your head with a bemused smile. It’s as if she exists in her own little world, disconnected from everyone else.
Just as you gather your thoughts and try to stifle your grin, she turns and heads toward you, her demeanor unchanged. You brace yourself for whatever interaction might come next, still amused by the peculiar sight you just witnessed. Your palms feel oddly sweaty, and you wipe them on your knees, trying to rid yourself of the nervous energy. What on earth will she say this time?
<hr>
[[Continue|Saeko says thanks foodday#1]] As you observe her interacting with the older man, you can’t help but notice a certain charm about her, despite her blank expression. There’s something endearing in the way she carries herself, a blend of confidence and obliviousness that draws your gaze. You find yourself smiling slightly at the sight, appreciating the subtle nuances of her personality. But as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, you catch yourself and shake it off, wondering why you’re even feeling this way.
Just as you gather your thoughts, she turns and heads toward you, her demeanor unchanged. You brace yourself for whatever interaction might come next, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. You notice your palms are a bit sweaty, an odd sensation that makes you wipe them on your knees, trying to shake off the lingering warmth from your earlier thoughts.
<hr>
[[Continue|Saeko says thanks foodday#1]] <<set $saekoRomance2 to Math.clamp($saekoRomance2 + 2, 0, 100)>>She walks over and places a small pouch of money into your hands, the fabric surprisingly soft against your palm. You glance inside to see a handful of colorful coins—Nairo, the Nordian currency. You remember how the Nordians pride themselves on their independence, refusing to fall under any kingdom's rule and wanting nothing to do with the Kabot or Vassal kingdoms. They manage their own currency, and it seems she hadn’t bothered to swap it for anything else before coming here.
You find yourself momentarily puzzled, almost wondering how she managed to weave through The Main Nexus without a hitch. "Oh, I can’t take this," you say instinctively, feeling a sense of unease wash over you.
But she cuts you off before you can finish, her tone surprisingly firm. "Thank you for your generosity, $lastname. The meal was good." She bows her head slightly, her expression serious yet unchanging, and then walks out the door, leaving you standing there, holding the pouch of Nairo in your hand.
Well, that happened. You stare at the pouch, a mix of confusion and amusement swirling within you as you process the encounter.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>>Without a second thought, you reach into your pouch and hand a few coins to the vendor. They smile warmly, wrapping a piece of red halwa in parchment before placing it in your hand. The scent of sugar and spices intensifies as you lift it to your mouth and take a tentative bite.
The sweetness floods your senses immediately, a burst of flavor that surprises you. It’s soft, rich, and almost decadent, the taste lingering on your tongue and bringing with it a sudden rush of energy. The sensation is almost euphoric—like a wave of warmth and comfort washing over you. You feel more alert, more awake, as if the fatigue of the morning has melted away in that single bite.
Taking your time, you stroll through the streets of the Main Nexus, enjoying the treat in leisurely bites. Each mouthful seems to lift your spirits a little more, and you catch yourself smiling as the town begins to stir around you. Despite the recent tournament, your thoughts drift to training. Rest should be on your agenda, but there's something about physical combat that always calls to you. Your body aches for movement, for the familiar rhythm of sparring, of testing your limits.
As you wander, savoring the halwa, your eyes still scan for any signs of a library or calligraphy center, though the pull of physical exertion tugs at your mind. You shake your head, refocusing on your goal—today is for sharpening your craft, not your fist.
<hr>
[[. . .|You find the calligraphy place]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>>You glance at the red halwa again, the vendor catching your eye with a welcoming smile. For a brief moment, you consider it—imagining the taste, the sweetness—but decide against it. The vendor nods, still smiling, not trying to force or persuade you. There’s no pressure, and you appreciate the quiet understanding.
A part of you wishes you could have tasted it, just to see what it was like. But you remind yourself that it’s an unnecessary expense, and you’re trying to be more mindful of your spending. With a final glance at the vibrant display of treats, you turn away, focusing on the day ahead.
As you walk through the town, the familiar streets of the Main Nexus stretch out before you. The peacefulness of the morning is calming, but your thoughts remain focused on finding a library or calligraphy center. Your legs carry you forward with quiet purpose, weaving through the early crowds as your mind sharpens toward your goal. Today isn’t about indulgence or distractions; it’s about honing your craft, improving your invocation skills, and preparing for what lies ahead.
<hr>
[[. . .|You find the calligraphy place]] After wandering the streets of the Main Nexus for what feels like hours, you arrive at the modest workshop, a simple sign hanging above the door announcing the calligraphy classes within. As you approach, you notice a small table set outside, where an elderly attendant sits beneath an awning. She offers a warm smile as you draw near, her eyes crinkling with kindness.
"Good morning, dear," she says in a soft voice. "For the workshop today, there’s a small fee of three crowns."
You reach into your pouch, counting out the coins before handing them over. She takes them with a nod of thanks, then gestures toward the door.
“Head inside when you’re ready. They’ve just begun welcoming everyone.”
You thank her and step into the building, feeling the shift in atmosphere the moment you enter. The room is cool, almost too cold, and the faint scent of old paper and ink lingers in the air. The space is dimly lit, with large wooden shelves lining the walls, filled to the brim with ancient tomes. Some of the spines catch your eye—emblazoned with the red, orange, and black of the Emperor’s Arcanum, District Two. This district is known for its vast wealth of knowledge and its dedication to the arcane arts, and it’s clear that this workshop holds a small piece of that legacy.
<hr>
[[Continue|head to your first calligraphy class]]
A handful of participants have already gathered, seated at low wooden desks scattered throughout the room. At the front, two instructors stand ready to begin the session. The male instructor, a tall, lanky man with a mane of wild, graying hair, is speaking animatedly, his arms waving about as he addresses the group.
“Ah, welcome!” he exclaims as you and a few others enter. “Welcome, one and all, to a day of exploration through ink and parchment. Today, we do more than just write—we //invoke// the spirit of the word! Each stroke, each line, is a dance of the soul! A conversation between you and the page!”
A couple of attendees chuckle softly at his theatrics, but his enthusiasm is infectious. He motions to the room, sweeping his hand dramatically over the shelves.
"This very place was established thanks to the generosity of the Magistrate of Emperor’s Arcanum," he says, his tone growing reverent. "A man who believes in the power of knowledge for all. He donated these shelves, these books, this very room, so that even the humblest of scribes could have a chance to learn. Because, my friends, education should never be locked away—it belongs to everyone.”
At this, a murmur of agreement ripples through the room. You can't help but admire the magistrate's vision, even as the eccentric instructor continues his grandiose performance.
<hr>
[[Continue|calligraphy woman is irritated]] “Now, now," the female instructor cuts in, her voice firm but calm, a slight edge of irritation creeping in. She is shorter than her counterpart, with dark hair pulled into a neat bun and sharp eyes that sweep the room with precision. "Before we all get too lost in the poetry of it all, let’s focus on what we’re really here to do—//practice//."
Her tone is no-nonsense, and there’s an air of efficiency about her as she crosses her arms, looking over the group. "Calligraphy isn’t just about flair. It’s about control, precision, and discipline. Remember, a single misstep can ruin your entire layout. Let’s keep that in mind as we move forward."
The male instructor chimes in again, a playful grin on his face. “But don’t forget the //soul//, yes? We can’t just be machines!”
She sighs but doesn’t argue further, clearly accustomed to his flamboyant nature. “I’m Anara,” she says, her tone softening slightly as she introduces herself. “I’ll be helping you with the technical aspects of your calligraphy today. And this—” she gestures to her colleague, “—is Master Lan, our resident expert in... well, creative expression.”
Master Lan bows dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “At your service, my friends.”
The group smiles, some visibly more at ease after their introduction. You find a seat near the middle of the room, and Anara and Master Lan begin passing out materials. Each person is handed a roll of empty parchment, an inkstone, and a fine brush. You take yours carefully, the brush light in your hand, the parchment smooth beneath your fingers.
<hr>
[[Love the feeling of having a blank page]] As you arrange your tools before you, the energy in the room feels focused yet serene. Despite the cold air, there's a warmth in the atmosphere now, a quiet excitement shared among the participants.
Anara walks slowly between the desks, her sharp eyes glancing over each setup. “The goal for today is not just about speed, but clarity. Your invocation layouts should flow, each line speaking to the next. It’s about finding balance—something that takes time and patience.”
Master Lan, on the other hand, is pacing around the front of the room, his hands gesticulating wildly as he speaks. “Think of each stroke as a journey. The ink is your guide, and you—you are the traveler. Trust in the flow, and the rest will follow!”
His theatrical commentary brings a few more chuckles from the group, but Anara continues to keep them grounded, reminding them of the fundamentals.
Finally, with everyone settled, brushes in hand, you dip yours into the ink, feeling the weight of the moment as it absorbs the deep black. You hold your breath, bringing the tip to the parchment, and prepare to begin your first stroke. The room falls silent, save for the soft scratching of brushes against paper.
<hr>
[[Scribbles, scribble, scribble|Calligraphy workshop leasure day 1]] <<if $plural is "her">> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You decide to practice for the duppy doppelgänger calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skill for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, the ink forming clean lines with practiced ease. Thanks to the guidance of the Overseer, your mentor, you've rarely struggled with these invokements. The precision in your movements reflects the countless hours of dedication, and you feel a quiet satisfaction as each symbol comes to life on the paper.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A man sits beside you, his posture stiff, and his face clearly betraying his nervousness. His black hair falls over his eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of his thin, square glasses. His gaze shifts awkwardly between you and his table, where an empty inkwell sits. His lips part as if to speak again, but he hesitates, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his outfit. You notice the slight tremble in his hand as he gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did he want you to ask the instructors on his behalf? <<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You decide to practice the Duppy Doppelgänger calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skills for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, but you know you could do better. Some lines waver where they shouldn't, and the edges of the symbols are not as sharp as they could be. Still, this is why you're here—to improve and reach a level where your precision in calligraphy matches your strength in combat. Thanks to Nag Walan’s guidance, your mentor, you've made progress, but today isn’t your best.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you hear a raspy clearing of the throat, followed by a hesitant, “E-excuse me...” The voice pulls you from your focus.
A man sits beside you, his posture stiff, and his face betraying clear nervousness. His black hair falls over his eyes, long strands brushing against the thin, square frames of his glasses. His gaze flits between you and the table in front of him, where an empty inkwell sits. His lips move as if to speak again, but he hesitates, fingers fidgeting nervously with his sleeve. You notice a faint tremble in his hand as he gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help but unsure how to proceed. Did he want you to ask Nag Walan on his behalf?<<else>>...<</if>> <<else>> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">> You decide to practice for the duppy doppelgänger calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skill for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, the ink forming clean lines with practiced ease. Thanks to the guidance of the Overseer, your mentor, you've rarely struggled with these invokements. The precision in your movements reflects the countless hours of dedication, and you feel a quiet satisfaction as each symbol comes to life on the paper.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A woman sits beside you, her posture stiff, and her face clearly betraying her nervousness. Her black hair falls over her eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of her thin, square glasses. Her gaze shifts awkwardly between you and her table, where an empty inkwell sits. Her lips part as if to speak again, but she hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her outfit. You notice the slight tremble in her hand as she gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did she want you to ask the instructors on her behalf?<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You decide to practice the Duppy Doppelgänger calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skills for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, but you know you could do better. Some lines waver where they shouldn't, and the edges of the symbols are not as sharp as they could be. Still, this is why you're here—to improve and reach a level where your precision in calligraphy matches your strength in combat. Thanks to Nag Walan’s guidance, your mentor, you've made progress, but today isn’t your best.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A woman sits beside you, her posture stiff, and her face clearly betraying her nervousness. Her black hair falls over her eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of her thin, square glasses. Her gaze shifts awkwardly between you and her table, where an empty inkwell sits. Her lips part as if to speak again, but she hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her outfit. You notice the slight tremble in her hand as she gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did she want you to ask the instructors on her behalf?<<else>> ... <</if>> <</if>> <<set $defenseValue to Math.clamp($defenseValue + 10, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Time to save the day hero]] You glance at the guy next to you, noting his clear discomfort as he gestures toward his empty inkwell. Without hesitation, you turn to Anara, the female instructor who’s been guiding the class with precision.
"Anara," you call <<if $plural is "her">>softly<<else>>clearly<</if>>, raising your brush slightly to get her attention. "Could you assist him? <<if $plural is "her">>His<<else>>Her<</if>> inkwell’s empty."
Anara’s stern expression softens as she looks over. "Oh, I’m sorry about that." She walks over quickly, taking the empty inkwell and returning moments later with a fresh one. “Here you go,” she says, setting it down in front of <<if $plural is "her">>him<<else>>her<</if>> with a polite smile. <<if $plural is "her">>He<<else>>She<</if>> mumbles a quick "thank you" under his breath, his hands fidgeting slightly.
With the situation resolved, you turn your attention back to your parchment, determined to perfect your invokement calligraphy. Your strokes are sharp, deliberate, and precise, each one filled with focus as you work to make every line flawless. The silence in the room seems to amplify your concentration, the only sounds being the soft scratch of brushes against parchment.
Then, you hear it again—his voice, shaky and uncertain. “Umm… excuse me?”
<hr>
[[you're getting irritated. This distraction is very annoying.]]
[[turn to answer once more, not bothered]] <h2>What would you like to enhance? </h2>[[Shadow duppy doppelgänger invokement|The session has begun]]
[[Dark Fox Phantom invokement|fox fist day1]] <<if $plural is "her">> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>You decide to practice for the phantom fox calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skill for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, the ink forming clean lines with practiced ease. Thanks to the guidance of the Overseer, your mentor, you've rarely struggled with these invokements. The precision in your movements reflects the countless hours of dedication, and you feel a quiet satisfaction as each symbol comes to life on the paper.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A man sits beside you, his posture stiff, and his face clearly betraying his nervousness. His black hair falls over his eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of his thin, square glasses. His gaze shifts awkwardly between you and his table, where an empty inkwell sits. His lips part as if to speak again, but he hesitates, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his outfit. You notice the slight tremble in his hand as he gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did he want you to ask the instructors on his behalf? <<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You decide to practice the phantom fox calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skills for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, but you know you could do better. Some lines waver where they shouldn't, and the edges of the symbols are not as sharp as they could be. Still, this is why you're here—to improve and reach a level where your precision in calligraphy matches your strength in combat. Thanks to Nag Walan’s guidance, your mentor, you've made progress, but today isn’t your best.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you hear a raspy clearing of the throat, followed by a hesitant, “E-excuse me...” The voice pulls you from your focus.
A man sits beside you, his posture stiff, and his face betraying clear nervousness. His black hair falls over his eyes, long strands brushing against the thin, square frames of his glasses. His gaze flits between you and the table in front of him, where an empty inkwell sits. His lips move as if to speak again, but he hesitates, fingers fidgeting nervously with his sleeve. You notice a faint tremble in his hand as he gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help but unsure how to proceed. Did he want you to ask Nag Walan on his behalf?<<else>>...<</if>> <<else>> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">> You decide to practice for the phantom fox calligraphy, focusing on enhancing your invokement skill for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, the ink forming clean lines with practiced ease. Thanks to the guidance of the Overseer, your mentor, you've rarely struggled with these invokements. The precision in your movements reflects the countless hours of dedication, and you feel a quiet satisfaction as each symbol comes to life on the paper.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A woman sits beside you, her posture stiff, and her face clearly betraying her nervousness. Her black hair falls over her eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of her thin, square glasses. Her gaze shifts awkwardly between you and her table, where an empty inkwell sits. Her lips part as if to speak again, but she hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her outfit. You notice the slight tremble in her hand as she gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did she want you to ask the instructors on her behalf?<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>You decide to practice the phantom fox, focusing on enhancing your invokement skills for that specific type. Your strokes flow smoothly across the parchment, but you know you could do better. Some lines waver where they shouldn't, and the edges of the symbols are not as sharp as they could be. Still, this is why you're here—to improve and reach a level where your precision in calligraphy matches your strength in combat. Thanks to Nag Walan’s guidance, your mentor, you've made progress, but today isn’t your best.
As you immerse yourself in the task, you suddenly hear someone clear their throat, followed by a tentative, “E-excuse me...” The sound pulls your attention away from the parchment.
A woman sits beside you, her posture stiff, and her face clearly betraying her nervousness. Her black hair falls over her eyes, the long strands brushing against the frames of her thin, square glasses. Her gaze shifts awkwardly between you and her table, where an empty inkwell sits. Her lips part as if to speak again, but she hesitates, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her outfit. You notice the slight tremble in her hand as she gestures toward the inkwell, clearly embarrassed to be asking for help, though unsure of how to proceed. Did she want you to ask the instructors on her behalf?<<else>> ... <</if>> <</if>>
<hr>
[[Time to save the day hero]] <<set $enchantingValue to Math.clamp($enchantingValue + 10, 0, 100)>><<if $plural is "her">> <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">> You turn back to him, not irritated in the slightest. Instead, you offer a warm smile, your demeanor inviting and calm. The nervousness in his face hasn’t faded, but he seems a little more at ease now that you’re paying attention.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You can see how much effort he’s putting in, and despite his nerves, he seems genuinely in awe of your work. His comment lingers in the air, the room still cold, but the exchange warms the space between the two of you.
"Well," you say, keeping your voice light and encouraging, "everyone starts somewhere. You'll get there."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You turn back to him, your expression neutral, not irritated but also not giving much away. Your demeanor is calm, focused, and direct—straight to the point. There's no hint of impatience, but you clearly aren't one for small talk.
He fidgets slightly under your gaze, still nervous. “I just—uh, I just wanted to say…” His voice trembles as he stumbles over his words. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started calligraphy, and I… wish I could do it like you.”
You glance briefly at his parchment, noticing the uneven lines and hesitant strokes. Your gaze returns to him, not harsh but assessing, and after a moment, you respond in a tone as measured as your movements. “It takes practice.”
No more, no less. You don't offer any unnecessary reassurances, but there’s nothing dismissive in your words. You say it as a fact, plain and simple. Your focus is back on your own parchment before the silence lingers too long, letting him sit with the truth of it.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You turn back to him, not irritated but with an air of sharp detachment.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
Your eyes glance at his parchment, then back at him, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.
“Impressive, huh?” you say, your voice laced with dry sarcasm. “Yeah, well, I’ve only had to fight off a few paper cuts and a mental breakdown or two to get here.”
He looks unsure whether to laugh, but you shrug and add, “You’ll get there. Just gotta keep your ink from waging war on your parchment.”
You give him a quick nod, still maintaining that edge of humor before you turn back to your own work, leaving him to process your words. The sarcasm hangs in the air, but you made your point. Practice is key.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You turn to him, your expression softening as you see the nervousness in his eyes. There’s no irritation, only patience as you offer a small, encouraging smile.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
“Thanks,” you say, your tone warm. “It just takes time, really. The key is to let the brush flow naturally with your hand, like you’re guiding it, not forcing it.”
You glance at his parchment, noting his early attempts. “Try relaxing your grip a little. It’ll help smooth out your strokes. You’re not trying to control every line, just... guide it.”
You nod reassuringly, seeing his anxiousness ease just a bit. “You’ll get there,” you add before turning back to your own work, leaving him with genuine advice and the feeling that he’s not alone in figuring it all out.<</if>><<else>> <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You turn back to her, not irritated in the slightest. Instead, you offer a warm smile, your demeanor inviting and calm. The nervousness in her face hasn’t faded, but she seems a little more at ease now that you’re paying attention.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You can see how much effort she’s putting in, and despite her nerves, she seems genuinely in awe of your work. Her comment lingers in the air, the room still cold, but the exchange warms the space between the two of you.
"Well," you say, keeping your voice light and encouraging, "everyone starts somewhere. You'll get there."<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You turn back to her, your expression neutral, not irritated but also not giving much away. Your demeanor is calm, focused, and direct—straight to the point. There's no hint of impatience, but you clearly aren't one for small talk.
She fidgets slightly under your gaze, still nervous. “I just—uh, I just wanted to say…” Her voice trembles as she stumbles over her words. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started calligraphy, and I… wish I could do it like you.”
You glance briefly at her parchment, noticing the uneven lines and hesitant strokes. Your gaze returns to her, not harsh but assessing, and after a moment, you respond in a tone as measured as your movements. “It takes practice.”
No more, no less. You don't offer any unnecessary reassurances, but there’s nothing dismissive in your words. You say it as a fact, plain and simple. Your focus is back on your own parchment before the silence lingers too long, letting her sit with the truth of it.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You turn back to her, not irritated but with an air of sharp detachment.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
Your eyes glance at her parchment, then back at her, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.
“Impressive, huh?” you say, your voice laced with dry sarcasm. “Yeah, well, I’ve only had to fight off a few paper cuts and a mental breakdown or two to get here.”
She looks unsure whether to laugh, but you shrug and add, “You’ll get there. Just gotta keep your ink from waging war on your parchment.”
You give her a quick nod, still maintaining that edge of humor before you turn back to your own work, leaving her to process your words. The sarcasm hangs in the air, but you made your point. Practice is key.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You turn to her, your expression softening as you see the nervousness in her eyes. There’s no irritation, only patience as you offer a small, encouraging smile.
“I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
“Thanks,” you say, your tone warm. “It just takes time, really. The key is to let the brush flow naturally with your hand, like you’re guiding it, not forcing it.”
You glance at her parchment, noting her early attempts. “Try relaxing your grip a little. It’ll help smooth out your strokes. You’re not trying to control every line, just... guide it.”
You nod reassuringly, seeing her anxiousness ease just a bit. “You’ll get there,” you add before turning back to your own work, leaving her with genuine advice and the feeling that she’s not alone in figuring it all out.<</if>><</if>><hr>
[[. . .|Silence...at last]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $plural is "her">> <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You turn back to him, feeling irritation creeping in, though you try to keep it from showing too much. Your smile is forced, and your voice comes out a little tighter than you intend.
He hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You can’t help but let out a soft sigh, forcing yourself to stay polite despite your growing annoyance. “Look,” you say, your voice clipped but controlled, “you’ll get there. It’s just about focus. Keep practicing, and stop worrying so much about what other people are doing.”
You turn back to your parchment, exhaling through your nose as you refocus on your work, doing your best to tune him out without coming across too cold.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You turn back to him, your expression neutral but with a hint of irritation creeping in, not bothering to mask your disinterest.
He hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You raise an eyebrow, irritation surfacing in your voice. “Thanks, but it’s really not that special. You just need to keep practicing. It’ll come to you eventually.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, exhaling quietly as you refocus on your work, doing your best to tune him out while your annoyance lingers.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You turn back to him, clearly irritated by the interruption.
He hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your irritation. “Thanks, but if you want to get anywhere, you might want to stop interrupting people and start practicing. It’s really not that complicated.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, focusing on your strokes and trying to tune him out, feeling no need to indulge his admiration.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You turn back to him, irritation flickering just beneath the surface.
He takes a breath, clearly nervous. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
His voice is shaky, but the sincerity in his words is clear. He looks down at his own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You take a moment, your irritation mixing with a sense of empathy. “You know,” you say, keeping your voice even but firm, “it’s normal to struggle at first. Just stay dedicated to your practice. Focus on your own progress rather than comparing yourself to others. That’s how you improve.”
You force yourself to soften your tone just a bit, even as you feel your patience wearing thin. “Everyone starts somewhere, and comparing yourself to others will only hold you back.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, exhaling through your nose as you try to refocus on your work, hoping to regain your composure despite the interruption.<</if>> <<else>> <<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You turn back to her, feeling irritation creeping in, though you try to keep it from showing too much. Your smile is forced, and your voice comes out a little tighter than you intend.
She hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You can’t help but let out a soft sigh, forcing yourself to stay polite despite your growing annoyance. “Look,” you say, your voice clipped but controlled, “you’ll get there. It’s just about focus. Keep practicing, and stop worrying so much about what other people are doing.”
You turn back to your parchment, exhaling through your nose as you refocus on your work, doing your best to tune her out without coming across too cold.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You turn back to her, your expression neutral but with a hint of irritation creeping in, not bothering to mask your disinterest.
She hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You raise an eyebrow, irritation surfacing in your voice. “Thanks, but it’s really not that special. You just need to keep practicing. It’ll come to you eventually.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, exhaling quietly as you refocus on your work, doing your best to tune her out while your annoyance lingers.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You turn back to her, clearly irritated by the interruption.
She hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your irritation. “Thanks, but if you want to get anywhere, you might want to stop interrupting people and start practicing. It’s really not that complicated.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, focusing on your strokes and trying to tune her out, feeling no need to indulge her admiration.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You turn back to her, irritation flickering just beneath the surface.
She takes a breath, clearly nervous. “I—um, I just wanted to say…” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly, her gaze flickering between you and your parchment. “Your outlines… they’re really impressive. I’ve just started learning calligraphy, and I—well, I just wish I could do it like you.”
Her voice is shaky, but the sincerity in her words is clear. She looks down at her own parchment, where the strokes are uneven and hesitant, clearly still in the early stages of practice.
You take a moment, your irritation mixing with a sense of empathy. “You know,” you say, keeping your voice even but firm, “it’s normal to struggle at first. Just stay dedicated to your practice. Focus on your own progress rather than comparing yourself to others. That’s how you improve.”
You force yourself to soften your tone just a bit, even as you feel your patience wearing thin. “Everyone starts somewhere, and comparing yourself to others will only hold you back.”
With that, you turn back to your parchment, exhaling through your nose as you try to refocus on your work, hoping to regain your composure despite the interruption. <</if>> <</if>>
<hr>
[[. . .|Silence...at last]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $plural is "her">>You finish up practicing your calligraphy, the strokes becoming more fluid and confident with each passing moment. Your mind drifts between thoughts about your technique and the patterns you want to master. The quiet ambiance of the room surrounds you, punctuated by the soft scratching of pens against parchment.
Every so often, you feel a gaze lingering on you, a subtle weight that pulls your attention. When you turn to look at the guy seated next to you, he jolts slightly, his eyes darting away as if he’s been caught staring. His reaction is fleeting, but it lingers in the air, adding an undercurrent of tension to the otherwise tranquil setting.
You return your focus to your work, the rhythmic motion of your pen providing a familiar comfort. Still, that lingering gaze remains in the back of your mind as you continue your practice, lost in the flow of ink and paper.<<else>>You finish up practicing your calligraphy, the strokes becoming more fluid and confident with each passing moment. Your mind drifts between thoughts about your technique and the patterns you want to master. The quiet ambiance of the room surrounds you, punctuated by the soft scratching of pens against parchment.
Every so often, you feel a gaze lingering on you, a subtle weight that pulls your attention. When you turn to look at the girl seated next to you, she jolts slightly, her eyes darting away as if she’s been caught staring. Her reaction is fleeting, but it lingers in the air, adding an undercurrent of tension to the otherwise tranquil setting.
You return your focus to your work, the rhythmic motion of your pen providing a familiar comfort. Still, that lingering gaze remains in the back of your mind as you continue your practice, lost in the flow of ink and paper.<</if>>
[[Continue|Done with calligraphy! Day1]] As you finish your practice, a sense of pride swells within you. You can feel the confidence in your brush strokes, each one more precise and intentional than the last. The time spent honing your calligraphy skills has paid off, and you’re eager to put them into action.
You say goodbye to the two instructors, exchanging a few light-hearted words about your progress. They offer encouraging nods and smiles, pleased to see your improvement. With a final wave, you turn to walk toward the exit, feeling a mix of excitement and satisfaction.
As you approach the secretary’s table, you notice a donation box sitting prominently on it. You pause, considering whether to contribute some of your Kabonia coins. It seems like a small gesture, but one that could support the resources and training for aspiring calligraphers. Do you want to slip some in?
<hr>
[[Donate|Donate money to the workshop]]
[[Save your money|Do not donate]] You decide to slip a few coins into the donation box, feeling a sense of satisfaction at contributing to the resources that help support aspiring calligraphers. Afterward, you turn to the sheet of paper next to it, noticing that it doesn’t require a name—just a signature.
As you sign in the next available column, your eyes flicker over the attendance sheet filled with names and payments. You recall your name being written down when you first walked in, a small reminder of your presence in this space. Curiosity pulls you to glance closer, and you catch sight of the name of the person who had been seated next to you: <<if $plural is "her">>Souh. O<<else>>Souha. O<</if>>. It’s easier to put a name to a face now, even if it wasn’t particularly important.
With a small moment of reflection, you note the coincidence and turn to leave, feeling accomplished after your calligraphy practice for the day. The skills you've worked on today are now a step closer to being put into action, and you can’t help but feel excited about the possibilities ahead.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script>
You decide against donating this time, opting to save your coins for something more pressing. With a brief moment of hesitation, you walk away from the donation box, your resolve firm.
Feeling satisfied with your decision, you leave the building, having completed your calligraphy practices for the day. You feel more confident in your skills, ready to put them to use in the future while keeping your focus on what truly matters.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> <script>
showFateSealedNotification();
</script><<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>> <<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You studied Kaitlin’s expression, sensing her hesitation. “Hey, you know what?” you said, injecting a playful tone into your voice. “You should wear whatever makes you feel like you. If you want to rock glitter and jester paint, go for it! The world needs more sparkle, not less.”
Kaitlin’s eyes lit up, her infectious laughter bubbling forth. “Really? You think so?”
“Absolutely! I mean, why blend in when you can stand out like the bright star you are?” You flashed her a cheeky grin. “Besides, if anyone asks, just tell them you’re preparing for a fabulous performance.”
She giggled, her self-consciousness melting away. “Okay, you’ve convinced me! I’ll be right back!” With newfound energy, she slammed the door shut again.
You heard some stumbling and bangs from behind the door, a mix of chaos and excitement. A moment later, the door swung open, and Kaitlin emerged, hands on her hips and a beaming smile plastered across her face.
“Ready!” she declared, her outfit a vibrant explosion of colors and patterns that truly reflected her personality.
You looked her up and down, grinning. “You look gorgeous!”
“Thank you $nickname!” she replied, her voice genuine and bright. The happiness in her expression was unmistakable, and it felt rewarding to see her so content with your encouragement.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>You studied Kaitlin’s expression, sensing her hesitation. “Look, why should you care what anyone thinks about what you wear?” you said, your tone direct and to the point. “It’s your life. If you want to dress in bright colors and be the center of attention, then do it. People will always have opinions—let them.”
Kaitlin looked weary, as if she wanted to explain but wasn’t sure how. “It’s just—”
“Just what?” you interrupted, maintaining your straightforward demeanor. “You’re a vibrant person. Why tone that down? You’re not here to fit into someone else’s mold.”
Her face paused, and you could see the gears turning in her mind. Slowly, realization dawned, and a grin broke across her face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t care what others think.”
“Exactly,” you replied, your expression unwavering. “Wear what makes you happy. It’s not that complicated.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, I’m going to do it!” With newfound confidence, she slammed the door shut again.
You heard some stumbling and bangs from behind the door, a mix of chaos and excitement. A moment later, the door swung open, and Kaitlin emerged, hands on her hips and a beaming smile plastered across her face.
“Ready!” she declared, her outfit a vibrant explosion of colors and patterns that truly reflected her personality.
You nodded, satisfied. “Let’s head out.”
“Thanks for your help!” she said genuinely, her happiness evident as you both stepped out together. The happiness in her expression was unmistakable, and it felt rewarding to see her so content with your encouragement. <<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">> You studied Kaitlin’s expression, sensing her hesitation. “Seriously? Why do you care what anyone thinks about what you wear?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not like they’re going to send you to jail for wearing something colorful. If you want to wear something that makes you happy, just do it. Who cares if you stand out like a sore thumb?”
Kaitlin looked surprised, her brows furrowing slightly. “But those people—”
“—aren’t so bad?” you interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Right, because judging others is a noble pastime. Let’s just forget that they’re probably stuck in their own boring lives. You really think their opinions matter?”
She paused, her expression shifting as she considered your words. Slowly, a grin broke across her face. “You know what? You’re right. I shouldn’t let them get to me.”
“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” you said, smirking. “Now go on and be your atrocious- I mean fabulous self.”
With a determined nod, she closed the door again. Moments later, you heard some stumbling and bangs from behind the door—a familiar mix of chaos and excitement.
A moment later, the door swung open, and Kaitlin emerged, hands on her hips and a beaming smile plastered across her face.
“Ready!” she declared, her outfit a vibrant pink summer dress and colorful, embodying her personality.
You took a moment to survey her. “You look like a puke pink princess,” you said sarcastically, unable to hide your grin.
Kaitlin laughed, shaking her head. “You clearly don’t have taste like I do!” The gleam in her eyes spoke volumes, and it was clear she was happy with your straightforward advice.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">> You noticed the hesitation in Kaitlin’s eyes before she could even speak. “You know,” you began softly, your tone warm and reassuring, “I get that it’s easy to worry about what people think. But you’re not here to make them happy—you’re here to be yourself. You’re vibrant, bold, and that’s what makes you... well, you.”
Kaitlin stayed quiet, listening intently.
“I mean, why would you let someone else’s opinion dim that light of yours?” you continued, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. “What you wear, how you carry yourself—that’s for you, not for anyone else. You should feel free to express yourself. Trust me, you’ll feel better for it.”
Her expression softened, and she nodded, a small smile playing on her lips as she absorbed your words. No excuses, no hesitation—just agreement.
She closed the door without a word, and after a few moments of stumbling and banging from the other side, she reemerged, hands on her hips, radiating confidence.
“Ready!” she declared, her outfit now vibrant and full of life, much like the Kaitlin you knew.
You smiled warmly. “That’s more like it. You look amazing.”
Her face lit up as she thanked you, the gratitude in her eyes clear. It was obvious she felt happier with your advice, and the weight of self-consciousness had lifted from her shoulders.<</if>> <hr> [[We're going on a trip in our favorite-|LeisureDay1 with Kaitlin at cafe]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 15, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 15, 0, 100)>> <<set $encourageKaitlinsFits to true>>You noticed the dull brown and beige clothes Kaitlin had chosen, a stark contrast to her usual bright and colorful outfits. She gave a half-smile, clearly aware of how different she looked. You considered saying something, but ultimately, you shrugged it off. It wasn’t your place to interfere.
Kaitlin shifted slightly. “Ready to go?” she asked, her voice a little less energetic than usual.
You nodded, keeping your tone neutral. “Yeah, let’s head out.”
She seemed to wait for more, but when you didn’t say anything else, she smiled briefly and stepped out. Together, you walked down the stairs of the Inn, and she filled the silence with lighthearted jokes, her infectious laugh slowly brightening the mood.
You kept pace beside her, neither encouraging nor discouraging her choice, simply moving forward together.
<hr>
[[We're going on a trip in our favorite-|LeisureDay1 with Kaitlin at cafe]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 15, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 15, 0, 100)>> As you and Kaitlin walk through the bustling town, chatting lightly, her eyes suddenly widen with excitement. She points at a small stand nearby, her enthusiasm contagious.
"What’s that?" she asks, practically bouncing on her heels. “It looks delicious!” Her eyes sparkle, captivated by the bright red treats on display. You can’t help but feel the same spark of curiosity. The vendor is arranging trays of crimson-colored halwas, the pieces shining slightly under the soft light of dawn, filling the air with a sweet, rich scent that pulls you closer.
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>As you stop, your attention is completely drawn to the stand. The vendor catches your eye and offers a friendly smile, holding up a piece of the bright red halwa. The sticky, rich sweetness lingers in the air. You’ve never seen anything like it, and the unfamiliarity piques your interest. Kaitlin looks at you expectantly, her excitement evident.
“They’re called halwas,” the vendor explains warmly, holding the piece up closer. You take a step toward the stand, the sugary aroma almost impossible to resist as it drifts lazily in the air. Kaitlin, eyes wide with wonder, looks at you as if waiting for confirmation. It could be worth trying, if only to satisfy both of your curiosities.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>As you walk closer to the stand, a wave of nostalgia hits you, tugging at old memories. The sweet, rich smell fills your senses, and for a moment, it’s as if you’re standing in Nag Walan’s kitchen, watching her work. The crimson color of the halwas gleams in the morning light, just like the ones she used to make on special days. You can almost hear her rough voice, softened by warmth, as she handed you one, a rare smile playing on her face.
“They’re called halwas,” you say quietly, the memory pulling the words out of you. Kaitlin looks at you in surprise, her face lighting up even more. The vendor glances up, catching your gaze, and holds up a piece with a knowing smile, just like Nag Walan would have. You can almost taste the sticky sweetness on your tongue, a lingering echo of your past.<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Buy the halwa for you and Kaitlin]]
[[Save your money|Don't buy the halwa for Kaitlin stingy]] <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>The vendor hands you the bright red halwa, and Kaitlin’s eyes light up with excitement as she watches you take the first bite. You hesitate for just a second before sinking your teeth into the sticky, sugary treat. The sweet, rich flavor floods your senses, a mix of honey and something slightly tangy that you can’t quite place. Kaitlin is practically bouncing beside you, clearly eager to try it herself. You hand her a piece, and she doesn’t waste any time before biting into it.
Kaitlin’s eyes widen in pure delight. “Oh my stars, this is amazing!” she exclaims, practically melting into the taste. She savors the treat, her face a picture of bliss as she chews. "I didn’t think something this small could taste so good!" she says between bites, her voice filled with wonder. You can’t help but laugh, her enthusiasm contagious. You take another bite yourself, the sweetness lingering on your tongue, and you nod in agreement. It was definitely worth the try.
After finishing off the last of the halwa, the two of you decide to wander the town a bit more. With the halwas behind you, Kaitlin is still buzzing with excitement, her voice animated as she talks about how much she loved the treat. You listen with a smile, amused by her infectious energy. “I can’t believe I’ve never tried this before,” she says, shaking her head as if still in disbelief. “I could eat ten more!”
You chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’ll be rolling down the street if you eat that much.” Kaitlin laughs, her voice bright and carefree, and the two of you continue walking side by side through the town. The sun is just beginning to rise fully, casting a soft glow over the streets, and the smell of food and fresh air surrounds you as you move from one market stall to the next.
With a few halwas still in hand, you snack as you walk, the day passing comfortably in casual conversation. It’s a rare peaceful moment, and you’re both content to simply enjoy each other’s company, the taste of the sweet treat still lingering on your lips. As you walk, Kaitlin leans in closer, nudging you with her elbow. “Thanks for convincing me to get one,” she says with a grin. “That was seriously the best decision.”.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>The vendor hands you the halwa, and immediately, the familiar sweet scent hits you, stirring up memories of Nag Walan’s kitchen. You glance at Kaitlin, who is practically bouncing on her toes with excitement, eager to try the treat for the first time. You take a bite, savoring the taste you know so well—sweet, sticky, and just a little tangy, exactly as you remember it. A sense of nostalgia washes over you, but you stay in the moment, handing a piece to Kaitlin, who can barely wait to dig in.
Her reaction is instantaneous. Kaitlin’s eyes widen as she takes a big bite, the joy and surprise clear on her face. “Oh wow!” she exclaims, her voice filled with awe. “This is incredible! I didn’t think anything could taste this good!” She looks at the halwa in her hand like it’s a treasure, taking another eager bite. You smile, watching her enjoy the treat with the same excitement you felt when you first tasted it yourself.
As you walk away from the vendor’s stand, Kaitlin is still buzzing with excitement. “I can’t believe you’ve had these before,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “I would’ve eaten this every day if I’d known about them sooner!” Her energy is infectious, and you find yourself smiling as she rambles on about how delicious the halwas were. You finish the last of your own piece, the taste lingering on your tongue like a familiar comfort.
“Yeah, they’re pretty good,” you say casually, though the memory of Nag Walan’s version is still at the forefront of your mind. “I grew up with them. My mentor used to make these on special occasions.” Kaitlin’s eyes widen even further, if that’s possible, and she looks at you with awe. “You’re so lucky,” she says, shaking her head. “I’d have gained ten pounds just from eating these if I were you!”
You chuckle at her enthusiasm. The two of you continue walking, chatting easily as you move through the town. The sun is still low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the streets as the day begins to wake up. You share casual conversation as you snack on the halwas, savoring the sweetness of both the treat and the rare peaceful moment you’re able to share. Kaitlin nudges you playfully. “Thanks for getting one of these for me,” she says with a grin. “It’s the best thing I’ve had in ages!”<<else>> ... <</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|LeisureDay1 with Kaitlin at food]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>> <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>As you pass by the vendor’s stand, the sweet smell of the halwas fills the air, immediately grabbing your attention. Kaitlin stops, her eyes going wide as she stares at the trays of the bright red treat. “Oh wow, that looks amazing!” she exclaims, practically salivating at the sight. You pause beside her, glancing at the vendor who is already offering a warm smile and holding up a piece of halwa as if encouraging you to try it.
You give it a brief consideration, but the thought of spending on something you’re not familiar with quickly makes you reconsider. “It’s just a snack,” you say, half-shrugging as you look away from the enticing sweets. Kaitlin gives you a surprised glance. "Aren't you curious? It looks delicious!" she says, her excitement barely contained. You shake your head slightly, more interested in saving money than indulging on the spot.
Kaitlin frowns for a moment, torn between her excitement and the practicality of keeping her coin purse full. “I guess... maybe we don’t need it,” she says, albeit a bit reluctantly. You continue walking, the vendor’s hopeful smile fading behind you as the two of you move along. Kaitlin still glances back at the stand, clearly tempted, but she falls into step beside you without pressing the issue any further.
“You’ve got to admit it smelled really good though,” Kaitlin says after a moment, still clinging to the idea of the halwa. You smirk, casting her a sideways glance. “Yeah, smells are free,” you reply lightly, though you understand her curiosity. She lets out a small laugh at that, her mood lifting a bit as you both continue walking, leaving the stand behind.
As you move through the streets, the conversation shifts to other topics, though there’s still a slight trace of disappointment in Kaitlin’s voice. You can tell she wanted to try the treat, but with the day ahead and plenty of other things to spend money on, you feel good about the choice. Kaitlin eventually shrugs it off and returns to her usual chatter, and the two of you continue your stroll through town without looking back.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>The scent of halwas hits your nose before you even see the stand, bringing back a flood of memories from your time with Nag Walan. Kaitlin stops beside you, her eyes immediately drawn to the bright red treats. “What are those?” she asks with wide eyes, her voice filled with curiosity and excitement. You glance at the trays of halwas, recognizing them instantly. The vendor notices your interest and holds up a piece, offering it to you with a welcoming smile.
“They’re halwas,” you say simply, not needing the vendor’s introduction. Kaitlin’s eyes practically sparkle at the sight of them, and she leans in closer. “They look so good! Should we get some?” she asks eagerly. For a moment, you consider it—remembering the sweet taste from Nag Walan’s kitchen—but just as quickly, practicality sets in. You’ve had them before, and there’s no need to spend coin on something you don’t absolutely need right now.
“Not today,” you reply, keeping your voice even. Kaitlin blinks in surprise but doesn’t argue. “Really?” she asks, clearly expecting you to be as excited as she was. “You don’t want one? They look amazing.” You shake your head, keeping your gaze forward. “I’ve had them before. They’re good, but not worth spending money on when we’ve got other things to worry about,” you explain matter-of-factly.
Kaitlin’s excitement dims slightly, though she doesn’t press the issue. “I guess you’re right,” she murmurs, still eyeing the vendor’s stand as you both walk away. You can tell she’s disappointed but trying not to show it too much. After a moment, she shakes her head and laughs. “I bet they’d make me gain five pounds anyway,” she jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.
You smirk at her attempt to cheer herself up. “You’d be carrying them around for days,” you quip back. Kaitlin giggles, falling back into her usual animated chatter as the two of you walk through town. The vendor and the halwas are soon forgotten as you find other things to focus on, though you can still sense a trace of lingering curiosity from Kaitlin. But in the end, saving your money seems like the smarter choice, and you carry on without looking back.<<else>> ... <</if>>
[[Continue|LeisureDay1 with Kaitlin at food]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>As you stroll through the lively streets of the Main Nexus, you finally come across //The Woven Cup//, a quaint café that seems to fit perfectly among the morning buzz. The exterior is charming, with purple curtains gently swaying in the soft breeze, their delicate fabric ribboned closed by the windows. The building itself has a warm, inviting vibe, adorned with intricate carvings that speak to the artistry of the district. You glance at Kaitlin beside you, and her eyes light up with delight.
“This place looks amazing!” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes as she peers through the windows. “I’ve heard so much about it! We have to go in!” You nod, sharing her enthusiasm, and together you push the door open, greeted by the gentle chime of a bell overhead. The cozy atmosphere envelops you both, the bustling sounds of chatter and clinking dishes wrapping around you like a warm embrace.
Inside, the café contrasts its vibrant exterior with a serene ambiance, marked by the soft glow of morning light filtering through stained glass windows. The colorful patterns cast playful hues across the square wooden tables scattered around the space, each uniquely designed to showcase the craftsmanship of local artisans. It feels like a communal hub, buzzing with life yet comfortable enough for quiet conversations. You and Kaitlin scan the room, taking in the scene before deciding where to sit.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an inviting atmosphere that beckons you to step further inside. You feel a sense of anticipation for the breakfast that awaits as Kaitlin’s eyes dart around, searching for a perfect spot. “Look over there!” she points, leading you to a table near a window where the sunlight spills in, illuminating the space around you. “This is perfect!”
You settle into your seats, and a cheerful server approaches, offering menus and a warm smile. As you peruse the offerings, Kaitlin chats animatedly about what she hopes to try. “I heard they have these amazing cinnamon rolls,” she muses, glancing up at you with eager eyes. “And I’m definitely getting a coffee. I need something to wake me up!” You chuckle at her enthusiasm, feeling the excitement in the air.
After placing your orders, you lean back in your chair, allowing the moment to sink in. The café feels alive, filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation, and for a brief moment, the outside world fades away. You can see Kaitlin’s eyes gleaming with joy, and you can’t help but smile at how infectious her energy is. “This was a great choice,” you say, nodding toward the bustling café. “I think we’re going to have a fantastic time here.”
Kaitlin beams at you, clearly appreciating the experience. “Thanks for bringing me! I can’t wait to try everything,” she replies, her voice bubbling with excitement. As you both wait for your food, the anticipation only builds, and you settle into the vibrant atmosphere, ready to enjoy a delicious meal and make some memories together at //The Woven Cup//.<</if>><<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>After a delightful stroll through the bustling streets of the Main Nexus, you and Kaitlin find yourselves back at //The Woven Cup//, the quaint café you’ve grown fond of over time. The exterior is just as charming as you remember, with purple curtains swaying in the gentle breeze, framing the inviting atmosphere that calls to you both. You glance at Kaitlin, who appears equally excited to revisit this hidden gem.
“Are we seriously coming back here?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “This place is too good to resist!” You chuckle at her enthusiasm as you push the door open, the familiar chime of the bell signaling your arrival. The cozy ambiance wraps around you like a warm blanket, the sounds of lively chatter and clinking dishes welcoming you back.
Inside, the café remains a haven of comfort and artistry, its stained glass windows casting colorful patterns on the well-loved wooden tables. You can already sense the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet scent of pastries, igniting your appetite. The atmosphere feels like home, a perfect blend of warmth and creativity. You take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship displayed around the café before Kaitlin leads you to a table by the window.
As you settle in, a friendly server approaches with menus, and you quickly scan the options, already familiar with some of the delicious offerings. “I think I’m definitely getting those cinnamon rolls again,” Kaitlin says with a grin. You nod, recalling how much she loved them on your last visit. “I’m thinking of trying something different this time,” you reply, curious about what new flavors might surprise you.
When the server returns with your orders, the sight of the pastries brings back fond memories of your previous visit. Kaitlin’s eyes light up as she sees her cinnamon roll, the icing glistening temptingly under the sunlight. “I can’t believe we’re finally having them again!” she exclaims, diving into the deliciousness without hesitation. You can’t help but laugh at her excitement as you savor the moment, sharing in the enjoyment of good food and even better company.
As you both indulge in the delightful treats, the café buzzes around you, creating a lively backdrop for your conversation. You and Kaitlin chat about everything from your plans for the day to your dreams for the future, the familiarity of the café enhancing the warmth of the moment. With every bite, you feel grateful for this experience and the memories you’re creating together, making //The Woven Cup// a special place in your hearts.<</if>>
<hr>[[what would you like to order|LeisureDay1 order what food]] ''MENU''
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://i.chzbgr.com/full/9137815040/h39A78F45/fork" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://giffiles.alphacoders.com/194/194680.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
<div class="choice">[[Halwa Pudding|Halwa Pudding with Kaitlin][$fyp to "add sentence here", $atrHalwa to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Halwa Pudding, a rich, sweet pudding made from semolina, sugar, and flavored with cardamom and nuts. It’s often served warm and can be drizzled with honey." , $FNYP to "Halwa Pudding"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Savory Omelets|Savory Omelets with Kaitlin][$fyp to "add sentence here", $atrOmelets to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Savory Omelets, fluffy omelets filled with local vegetables, cheeses, and spices, garnished with fresh herbs." , $FNYP to "Savory Omelets"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Spiced Flatbreads|Spiced Flatbread with Kaitlin][$fpFlatbreads to "add sentence here", $atrFlatbreads to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Spiced Flatbreads, warm and soft flatbreads served with a selection of dips such as hummus, spiced yogurt, or tangy tomato salsa." , $FNYP to "Spiced Flatbreads"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Fruit and Yogurt Parfait|Fruit and Yogurt Parfait with Kaitlin][$fpParfait to "add sentence here", $atrParfait to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Fruit and Yogurt Parfait, layers of fresh seasonal fruits and creamy yogurt, topped with a sprinkle of granola for added crunch." , $FNYP to "Fruit and Yogurt Parfait"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pancakes|Pancakes with Kaitlin][$fpPancakes to "add sentence here", $atrPancakes to "add sentence here", $foodday1 to "You picked Pancakes, delicately spiced and served with syrup, fresh fruit, or whipped cream, giving them a unique twist." , $FNYP to "Pancakes"]]</div>
<h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 with Kaitlin pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 with Kaitlin pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 with Kaitlin pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 with Kaitlin pt3]] <h1> ִֶָ Food Menu ִֶָ</h1>//The Woven Cup//<h3>$FNYP</h3>//$foodday1//
[[Continue|Breakfast Day #1 with Kaitlin pt3]] As you both sit at the table, the server brings out your meals, and the sight of the $FNYP makes your mouth water. The dish looks delicious, its vibrant colors promising a burst of flavor. You take a moment to appreciate the presentation before diving in, savoring the first bite. The taste is rich and satisfying, just as you remember it to be, and you can’t help but smile at how well it lives up to your expectations.
Meanwhile, Kaitlin eagerly awaits her pancakes, her eyes glimmering with excitement. When the server sets down her stack of fluffy pancakes, she leans in closer, surveying the array of toppings available at the café. Almost instinctively, she reaches for a generous amount of syrup, whipped cream, and berries, her enthusiasm evident. Just as she’s about to pile on even more toppings, a sudden realization hits her, and she freezes. With a look of embarrassment, she retracts her hand and mutters a soft, “Bad Kaitlin,” under her breath.
You raise an eyebrow at her reaction, finding it mildly amusing, though you choose not to comment. It’s clear she momentarily forgot that you’d be covering the bill, and her sheepish expression adds a touch of humor to the moment. Once the pancakes are finally dressed to her satisfaction, she digs in, her initial embarrassment fading as she takes her first bite, a look of pure delight spreading across her face.
<hr>
[[Continue|chowingggg]] As you both enjoy your meals, the atmosphere around you is lively, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of clinking dishes. You share light conversation, discussing the flavors of your meals and reminiscing about other foods you’ve enjoyed. The easygoing chatter adds a layer of warmth to your time together, but your mind drifts back to the incident from the night before, the memory tugging at your thoughts. The failed theft.
“I still can’t believe how crazy everything got,” you remark casually, gesturing with your fork as you speak. Kaitlin listens intently, her curiosity piqued, and you can see her anticipation building.
“I can’t believe they targeted you when we separated,” she interjects, her expression shifting to one of disbelief.
<hr>
[[You think they waited for you to be alone]]
[[You think they thought you were with company and didn't care]] You take a moment to reflect on Kaitlin’s comment, your mind racing back to the events of the previous night. “I think they waited for me to be alone,” you say slowly, the realization settling in. “It seems too coincidental that they targeted me right after we split up.”
Kaitlin’s expression shifts as she processes your theory. “That makes sense,” she replies, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s a bit creepy, isn’t it? They were probably watching us the whole time.”
A brief silence follows as you both consider the implications of that thought. The atmosphere feels heavier now, the cozy café suddenly overshadowed by the unsettling reality of the situation.
After a moment, Kaitlin adds, “Maybe we should share a room for the rest of the trip. It would be safer, right?” Her suggestion seems earnest, and you can tell she genuinely believes it’s a good idea.
You can almost envision the scene: dragging your bed from your hotel room 7 through the hallway and into her hotel room 5, despite the absurdity of it all. The idea makes you pause, and you wonder how she genuinely thinks this could work.
<hr>
[[You appreciate her attempt]]
[[You're not that helpless]]
You take a moment to reflect on Kaitlin’s comment, your mind racing back to the events of the previous night. “I think they waited for me to be alone,” you say slowly, the realization settling in. “But even if you and Dante were there, they probably still would have targeted the room. One of those Vaygas guys even asked, ‘Where are your friends?’ It felt like they were looking for an opportunity, no matter what.”
Kaitlin’s expression shifts as she processes your theory. “That makes sense,” she replies, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s a bit creepy, isn’t it? They were probably watching us the whole time.”
A brief silence follows as you both consider the implications of that thought. The atmosphere feels heavier now, the cozy café suddenly overshadowed by the unsettling reality of the situation.
After a moment, Kaitlin adds, “Maybe we should share a room for the rest of the trip. It would be safer, right?” Her suggestion seems earnest, and you can tell she genuinely believes it’s a good idea.
You can almost envision the scene: dragging your bed from your hotel room 7 through the hallway and into her hotel room 5, despite the absurdity of it all. The idea makes you pause, and you wonder how she genuinely thinks this could work.
<hr>
[[You appreciate her attempt]]
[[You're not that helpless]] You appreciate Kaitlin’s suggestion—it’s thoughtful, and it shows she’s genuinely concerned about your safety. You’re not one to shy away from help when it's needed, but in this case, you know it's unnecessary. Sharing a room with her, especially dragging beds around between rooms, is just impractical. The Inn wouldn’t allow it, and besides, you feel perfectly capable of handling things on your own.
You smile a little at the idea, imagining the looks you'd both get hauling furniture through the hallway. “I appreciate it, Kaitlin, but I think we’re good as we are. Besides, I doubt the Inn would let us rearrange their rooms like that,” you say lightly, your tone gentle to show you’re not brushing off her concern but simply being practical.
She blinks, then laughs softly, realizing the absurdity of her suggestion. “Yeah, I guess dragging beds around might cause a scene,” she admits with a sheepish grin, but there’s still a flicker of concern in her eyes.
You give her a reassuring nod. “I’ll be fine. It’s good to know you’ve got my back, though,” you add, meaning it. You don’t mind that she offered, in fact, it’s nice to know she’s looking out for you, even if you don’t need the help right now.
With that, the conversation moves on, but the moment stays with you—a reminder of the quiet bond between you built on mutual respect.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> <<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>>You shake your head, already dismissing the idea. “I can handle my own problems, Kaitlin,” you say, a firm edge to your voice. “I don’t need to be guarded like some royal or anything. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this, and it won’t be the last.”
Kaitlin’s eyes widen in surprise at your response, but she quickly nods, clearly taken aback by your confidence. “Oh, okay. I just thought... well, I thought it might be safer. But if you’re sure,” she trails off, her tone shifting from uncertainty to genuine admiration. “I guess you’re right. You always seem so capable. It’s admirable.”
She gives you a small, thoughtful smile, her compliance clear as she respects your decision without any further pushback. <<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile + 5, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Damn right.]]
[[It made you feel a bit...off]]You notice it clearly now, the way Kaitlin seems to look up to you. It’s not just in moments like these but in the smaller things too—the way she listens intently when you speak, how she often follows your lead without hesitation. It feels natural, as though she recognizes the traits you’ve worked hard to build. Confidence, adaptability, and the ability to stay calm under pressure—those aren’t just qualities you’ve stumbled upon, they’re earned.
And honestly, you get why she feels that way. You //can// handle things. When chaos strikes, you know how to navigate it, and when a situation demands quick thinking, you always find a solution. It’s not arrogance, just the truth—you trust yourself, and it’s reassuring to see that others, like Kaitlin, can see it too.
As she agrees with your decision, her respect for you is clear, and it feels justified. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, and this admiration she holds feels like recognition of that. There's no pressure, no imposter syndrome lurking at the back of your mind. If anything, it’s a reminder that you’re on the right track, that your confidence and adaptability are seen and acknowledged by those around you.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> <<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile - 5, 0, 100)>>You notice it now, the way Kaitlin had been looking up to you lately. It wasn’t just this moment, but little signs that had been adding up. The way she always listened when you spoke, the subtle admiration in her words, and even her attempts to follow your lead in certain situations. It was becoming clearer that she saw you as someone to aspire to, someone she believed in.
But instead of feeling proud, it made you uneasy. A sense of imposter syndrome crept in, like you were playing a role you hadn’t signed up for. You weren’t perfect—far from it. The idea of someone admiring you, especially Kaitlin, felt wrong, almost like you were misleading her. What if she saw through it eventually? What if she realized you were just as uncertain as anyone else? The weight of being looked up to didn’t sit well with you, as if you were wearing a mask that could crack at any moment.
You glance at her, unsure of what to say. The praise didn’t feel deserved, and the pressure of being seen as capable when you weren’t sure if you were gnawed at the back of your mind. You didn’t want to let her down, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t the person she thought you were.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> <<set $Resilient to Math.clamp($Resilient - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Fragile to Math.clamp($Fragile + 5, 0, 100)>><<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>Today, the Kabot Kingdom, with its rich history of prowess in battle and governance, takes center stage. The kingdom is revered not only for its military strength but also for its ability to bring people together in unity and celebration. You remember the stories shared around the inn, tales of past champions whose feats of courage inspired countless others. Their names echo through the streets, mingling with the excitement of the day, creating a tapestry of community identity woven together by shared experiences.
You glance at the towering stage set in the town square, decorated with lush flowers and shimmering fabric, where ceremonies will unfold in just a few hours. The anticipation in the air is infectious; it feels like a call to action, beckoning you to immerse yourself in the festivities.
As you take a deep breath, the warmth of the sun on your skin and the vibrant energy surrounding you fills you with a sense of possibility. Today is not just about watching the festival; it’s an opportunity to connect with others, to forge new friendships, and perhaps to discover something about yourself along the way. The thought invigorates you as you step further into the thrumming heart of the festival, eager for whatever adventures lie ahead.
Finally, you find yourself standing a ways away from the Inn, waiting for Dante and Kaitlin to catch up. They're still inside, likely gathering their things and preparing for the day. With a quick glance over your shoulder at the bustling inn, you take another moment to absorb the festive energy. Choosing to stay idle while you wait for them.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>Today, the Kabot Kingdom, with its rich history of battle and governance, takes center stage. The streets echo with stories of past champions—figures whose feats of courage have been passed down through generations, inspiring the crowd that swells around you. You can't help but feel the weight of the history tied to this day, the tales shared at the inn still fresh in your mind. The names of these legendary figures seem to hang in the air, mingling with the lively chatter and excitement, creating a sense of unity that binds the people together.
Your eyes are drawn to the towering stage in the town square, draped in lush flowers and shimmering fabric that catches the light. Soon, ceremonies will unfold there, celebrating the strength and unity of the kingdom. The anticipation is palpable, an infectious energy that makes you feel like you're standing on the edge of something monumental.
You take a deep breath, the warmth of the sun on your skin mingling with the festival’s vibrant energy. There’s something exhilarating about today—not just the chance to witness the festivities but the possibility of new connections, fresh experiences, and perhaps a deeper understanding of yourself.
You glance back at the Inn, where Kaitlin had mentioned she'd be arriving with Dante. You’ve been waiting for them both to join you, but they’re still inside, likely gathering their things and preparing for the day ahead. A brief wave of uncertainty washes over you—after all, you haven’t spoken to Dante since yesterday, and you wonder what he’s been thinking, how he's feeling after everything that happened.
Still, standing here now, you try to shake off the lingering tension. The festival hums around you, the sounds of laughter and music filling the air. You take another moment to soak it all in, the bright colors, the warmth, choosing to stay idle while you wait for them.<<else>>Today, the Kabot Kingdom, with its rich history of prowess in battle and governance, takes center stage. The kingdom is revered not only for its military strength but also for its ability to bring people together in unity and celebration. You remember the stories shared around the inn, tales of past champions whose feats of courage inspired countless others. Their names echo through the streets, mingling with the excitement of the day, creating a tapestry of community identity woven together by shared experiences.
You glance at the towering stage set in the town square, decorated with lush flowers and shimmering fabric, where ceremonies will unfold in just a few hours. The anticipation in the air is infectious; it feels like a call to action, beckoning you to immerse yourself in the festivities.
As you take a deep breath, the warmth of the sun on your skin and the vibrant energy surrounding you fills you with a sense of possibility. Today is not just about watching the festival; it’s an opportunity to connect with others, to forge new friendships, and perhaps to discover something about yourself along the way. The thought invigorates you as you step further into the thrumming heart of the festival, eager for whatever adventures lie ahead.
Finally, you find yourself standing a ways away from the Inn, waiting for Dante and Kaitlin to catch up. They're still inside, likely gathering their things and preparing for the day. With a quick glance over your shoulder at the bustling inn, you take another moment to absorb the festive energy. Choosing to stay idle while you wait for them.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Have a blast]] As you stand there, waiting for Dante and Kaitlin, your thoughts drift to your own attire. You glance around at the festival-goers, many dressed in their finest—vibrant robes, gilded accessories, and intricate masks that reflect the grandeur of the Tournament Festival. It's clear that for many, this day is as much about appearances as it is about the celebration itself.
<hr>
[[You've kept your usual garments]]
[[You've worn garments to fit the theme of the festival]] You hadn’t put much thought into dressing up like the others. Your outfit is simple, practical, more suited for travel and comfort than for standing out in a crowd. Yet, in a sea of elaborate fabrics and gleaming jewelry, your simplicity feels like its own kind of statement—one of quiet confidence, perhaps. Or maybe, it’s just practicality winning out. Either way, you don’t feel out of place; after all, today is more about the spirit of the festival than appearances.
Still, a part of you wonders if maybe you should have dressed for the occasion, if only to blend in more easily with the throng of people.
<hr>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">> [[Continue|Dante and Kaitlin show up at the festival]] <<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>[[Continue|just Kaitlin shows up at the festival]] <<else>>[[Continue|Dante and Kaitlin show up at the festival]]<</if>> <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>You blend right in with the crowd, your own attire carefully chosen for the occasion, fitting the theme and adding to the vibrant tapestry of celebration around you.
It feels right, standing among the festival-goers, dressed to match the spirit of the day. The rich scent of food, the hum of conversation, and the music drifting through the air all seem to come together perfectly, making the festival feel alive with energy. You don't feel out of place here, but rather part of the moment, part of the celebration.
<hr>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">> [[Continue|Dante and Kaitlin show up at the festival]] <<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>[[Continue|just Kaitlin shows up at the festival]] <<else>>[[Continue|Dante and Kaitlin show up at the festival]]<</if>> <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>>Dante and Kaitlin finally appear from around the corner, weaving through the bustling crowd. <<if $encourageKaitlinsFits>>Kaitlin stands out in the colorful sea of people, her Kabot-style attire gleaming in the sunlight. The pink silk of her outfit and the delicate beads around her waist sway with each step. A faint grin is etched on her face, though she partially conceals it behind her hand, as if shy about drawing too much attention.
Just ahead, Dante moves with a casual confidence, decked in rich green garments accentuated with gold. His attire catches the light, drawing admiring glances as he engages with a couple beside him, laughter spilling from his lips. The contrast between their two presences is striking—while he effortlessly commands attention, Kaitlin seems to float through the crowd beside him, her expression betraying a mix of excitement and uncertainty as she soon navigates toward you with him.<<else>>Kaitlin weaves through the bustling crowd, her neutral attire blending seamlessly with the sea of vibrant colors. The simplicity of her muted tunic and practical trousers keeps her from drawing attention, but she seems to shrink inward, avoiding the curious glances of those around her.
Just ahead, Dante stands out, adorned in garments of rich green accented with gold, his attire catching the sunlight in a way that draws admiration. He moves with an easy confidence, chatting amiably with those around him, a stark contrast to Kaitlin’s quiet presence.<</if>>
Dante grins as he spots you, his brown hair still slightly tousled as if he had taken his time getting ready. "Took you long enough," you tease, raising an eyebrow at them.
"Hey now," Dante says, holding up a hand in mock defense, "a gentleman needs time to be worthy of his people. You can't rush greatness."
Kaitlin bounces on her heels, her excitement barely contained. "I just can’t wait for the Golden Champions Parade! All those amazing sculptures—every single Kabot Tournament Champion, starting from the first gen to the last." Her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm as she glances at the parade route. "It's going to be incredible."
Dante strikes a dramatic pose, flexing his 'work-in-progress' muscles. "I’ll be the next sculpture," he jokes, puffing out his chest.
<hr>
[["Yeah, in the next tournament after I win this one."]]
[["You’d look great up there, I’m sure of it."]]
[["Neat."]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>Dante's eyes widen with mock offense, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh, is that how it is? Bold of you to assume you’ll even make it past the first round.” He crosses his arms, giving you a playful once-over. “I’ll be sure to wave at you from the winner’s circle, you know, just to remind you what you’re missing.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “But hey, if you need any tips, I //might// be persuaded to help out. Just don’t be too proud to ask, alright?” His grin turns mischievous, his competitive spirit shining through the humor.
<hr>
[[Include Kaitlin in the banter]]
[[Do not include Kaitlin in the banter]] “Neat,” you respond, your gaze split between Dante and the lively crowd around you. The festival atmosphere is electric, filled with laughter and the sounds of celebration. You take in the colorful banners fluttering overhead, the delicious aroma of food wafting through the air, and the excited chatter of people milling about, all while Dante strikes his playful pose.
Dante pouts, dramatically rolling his eyes. “Hey, come on! I’m putting in the effort here, and you’re barely paying attention. A little support would be nice!” His playful tone only adds to the lightheartedness of the moment, but you can see the way he craves validation. There’s a hint of competitiveness in his voice, as if he’s trying to prove that even in jest, he’s worthy of being noticed.
You chuckle softly, appreciating the banter as you glance at the crowd, wondering if maybe you should give him a bit more attention. The way he tries to showcase his ‘work-in-progress’ muscles is endearing, and you can’t help but admire his lighthearted spirit. Yet, amidst the chaos of the festival, your thoughts drift to the energy surrounding you, the people engaged in their own joyful moments, making it hard to fully focus on him.
<hr>
[[Include Kaitlin by teasing him together]]
[[Don't include Kaitlin and tease him alone]] “You’d look great up there, I’m sure of it,” you say, your tone light but encouraging.
Dante laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, please. We both know I’m just here for the snacks and the cheering. Can you imagine me actually taking this seriously? My statue would probably end up holding a loaf of bread instead of a sword.” He flashes you a grin, his humor making it clear he has no intention of chasing any championship glory. His focus stays on you, subtly reminding you that he knows this is more your dream than his.
He stretches his arms with exaggerated laziness, as if to prove his point. “Besides, why would I win when I can just hang out and watch you steal the spotlight? You’re the real champion here, not me.” His tone remains playful, but there’s a warmth in his gaze, the unspoken support lingering between his teasing words.
<hr>
[[Include Kaitlin]]
[[Do not include Kaitlin]] You raise an eyebrow and lean in slightly, your tone playful yet pointed. “How about you actually train then?”
Dante’s grin falters, and for a brief moment, the light in his eyes dims. He doesn’t bother to hide the discomfort in his expression, the mask of confidence slipping away. Instead of firing back with a witty retort, he shifts his weight, the jovial atmosphere suddenly feeling heavier as the weight of your words settles between you.
Kaitlin steps in, sensing the tension that hangs in the air. “Hey, maybe we should lighten up a bit? It’s all in good fun, right?” she suggests, trying to defuse the moment.
<hr>
[[Don't listen to Kaitlin]]
[[Listen to Kaitlin]] You glance over at Kaitlin, not wanting to leave her out of the banter. “What do you think, Kaitlin? Who's more likely to win? Me or this wannabe champion over here?”
Kaitlin’s face lights up, clearly thrilled to be brought into the conversation. “Oh, that’s easy," she says, her voice full of excitement. "You both have a shot, but honestly, I think the real challenge is keeping you two from distracting each other long enough to even finish the tournament!” She laughs, eyes twinkling, already invested in the playful rivalry.
Dante groans dramatically. “Traitor!”
<hr>
[[Continue|Performances]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>
You smirk, keeping your attention locked on Dante. “Dream big, but we both know I’m taking that title first.”
Dante grins, not noticing Kaitlin’s quiet retreat. “Oh, so now it's a competition? Fine by me. I’ll make sure to wave at you from the champion’s pedestal.”
Kaitlin stays quiet, her gaze drifting toward the bustling festival crowd. She rubs her palms together absently, busying herself with people-watching as you and Dante continue your banter.
<hr>
[[. . .|meanie]]<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> Kaitlin, standing nearby and awkwardly rubbing her palms, catches your eye, and you make sure to include her. “And Kaitlin, you'd probably be running circles around both of us with that energy of yours,” you add with a grin.
Dante chuckles, pretending to look concerned. “Great, now I’ve got competition from both of you! I might as well just retire before I embarrass myself.” He winks at you both, the playful glint in his eyes making it clear he’s not in it for the glory, happy to just be a part of the day. Kaitlin beams at the mention, her excitement bubbling up as she shifts her focus back to you and Dante, clearly thrilled to be part of the banter.
<hr>
[[Continue|Performances]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>As the banter continues, you can't help but enjoy the moment, but you notice Kaitlin busying herself with the crowd around you, her energy directed outward as she takes in the festivities. You feel a twinge of guilt for leaving her out, but you push it aside and turn back to Dante with a playful grin.
“Don’t worry, if you’re ever on that stage, I’ll make sure they dress your statue in a baker’s apron.” You laugh, knowing he’d probably take it in stride, while in the back of your mind, you hope Kaitlin doesn’t feel too left out in her own thoughts.
<hr>
[[. . .|meanie]]<<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> With a straight face, you glance over at Dante and say, “You know, if you keep flexing like that, you might just pull something. Wouldn’t want to risk an injury before the tournament, now would we?” You raise an eyebrow at Kaitlin, keeping your tone deadpan as you assess his dramatic pose.
Kaitlin, who had been observing the exchange with a smile, chimes in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, Dante, maybe you should stick to lifting snacks instead. Those ‘muscles’ might not be ready for the spotlight after all.” Her teasing adds a layer of camaraderie, and you can see Dante’s playful indignation grow.
Dante groans, crossing his arms and pretending to sulk. “First, I get ignored, and now I’m being bullied? What kind of friends are you?” He feigns exasperation, but the corners of his mouth betray him with a smile. “I should’ve known coming out here would lead to a roasting session instead of support.”
<hr>
[[Continue|Performances]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>You glance over at Dante, a hint of amusement in your expression. “You know, I don’t think they give out medals for most impressive flexing,” you say, keeping your tone cool and detached. “Maybe try not to overexert yourself; you wouldn’t want to tire out your audience before the real show starts.”
Dante's playful pout deepens, but you can’t help but notice Kaitlin standing nearby, her posture a bit stiff as she navigates the social dynamics of the moment. She seems unsure of how to jump in, but you brush it off, focusing instead on Dante. “At this rate, I’m starting to think you’re auditioning for a role in a comedy rather than the tournament. Should I start taking notes on your performance?”
Dante rolls his eyes dramatically, putting on an exaggerated sigh. “Oh great, now I’m a joke in your eyes too. Just wait until I prove you wrong! You’ll see!” His playful retort hangs in the air, and you allow a smirk to break your aloof facade, momentarily enjoying the banter.
<hr>
[[. . .|meanie]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> Why didn't you include Kaitlin?
[[You don't trust Kaitlin|Kaitlin is suspish]]
[[You didn't think it was important]]You can’t shake the feeling that there’s something off about Kaitlin. Her overwhelming energy, almost manic at times, makes you cautious. It’s as if she’s putting on a front to disarm those around her, and your instincts tell you to stay alert. You’re curious about what lies beneath her surface, but for now, you decide to keep your distance and focus on Dante.
<hr>
[[Performances]] <<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence + 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity - 5, 0, 100)>>It honestly didn’t cross your mind that leaving Kaitlin out might be an issue. You trust her to handle her own struggles without needing anyone to coddle her. Sure, she’s a bit younger, but she’s grown enough to navigate the social scene on her own. You figure she’ll be just fine, so you turn your attention back to Dante, assuming she prefers to do things her way.
<hr>
[[Performances]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> You shake your head, your gaze fixed on Dante, who’s still grappling with your words. The laughter that usually fills the air feels muted, overshadowed by the weight of the moment. You can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability that rarely surfaces. You want to reach out, to reassure him, but this isn’t about making him feel good in the moment; it’s about confronting the truth.
“It’s not a game of tag, Kaitlin,” you reply, keeping your voice steady. You try to sound calm and collected, but inside, a swirl of thoughts churns. You know he needs to hear this. Relying on his artifact won’t cut it forever, and if he wants to be taken seriously as a contender, he has to put in the work. “If you keep avoiding the training, you’ll never be more than a footnote in the tournament’s history. You have the talent, but talent alone won’t carry you.”
Dante shifts, his playful demeanor fading as he stares at the ground, absorbed by your unexpected outburst. You catch a glimpse of him processing your words, but he doesn’t escalate things or make excuses. Instead, he hides his eyes by looking at his shoes, causing his dark brown bowl cut to fall over his eyes like a curtain, concealing the flicker of uncertainty within. Kaitlin, biting her lip nervously, glances between you two, unsure of what to say.
Finally, Dante turns away from you both, looking out at the vibrant festival. “Shall we go?” he asks quietly, his tone carrying a hint of resignation, as if he’s trying to move past the weight of the moment without addressing it head-on.
<hr>
[[. . . |Targeted his Insecurity]] "I'm not sure I'm the right person to speak on that, sir. Mr. Okly has his own vision for things."
The Overseer's gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smile still sharp, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "A modest answer. But I hope you're not leading Mr. Okly down a path that would cause problems."
Mr. Okly shifted uncomfortably, casting a quick glance your way with an uneasy laugh. "No, good sir. There's no problems here."
The Overseer's smile widened just enough to make the room feel smaller. "Let’s make sure it stays that way."
His departure left a weight hanging in the air, one that Mr. Okly didn’t acknowledge but you both felt.
You knew your mentor always had a fatherly knack, and he wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of his //'pupils'//, as he liked to call you and Dante.
<hr>
[[He had been pretty protective.]]<<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor - 5, 0, 100)>>
"I think Mr. Okly has always had the best interests of the business at heart, sir. If there was any misunderstanding, I believe it's just that—a misunderstanding."
The Overseer’s sharp smile faltered just for a moment, his gaze turning cold. "Misunderstandings lead to mistakes, $lastname. And mistakes lead to problems you don’t need."
Mr. Okly visibly stiffened, but you could feel a flicker of appreciation in his glance. "Of course, sir," he added quickly, trying to smooth things over. "No problems here, only dedication."
The Overseer studied you both, his smile returning but now more calculating. "Let’s make sure it stays that way."
He left without another word, but the atmosphere lingered, tense and uneasy. Mr. Okly’s expression was one of mixed relief and concern as if he hadn’t expected you to speak up but was glad you did, in your own careful way.
You knew your mentor always had a fatherly knack, and he wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of his //'pupils'//, as he liked to call you and Dante.
<hr>
[[He had been pretty protective.]]<<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor - 10, 0, 100)>>
"I respectfully declined, sir," you replied, your voice calm but firm. You wondered where this was going as you noted how throughout the years, Mr.Okly had never said anything positive about The Overseer.
Something rare to find as everyone seemed to love him but Mr.Okly.
The Overseer nodded, his smile sharp but a warning, "Good. We don't want any informal business deals taking place without my permission, do we?"
Mr. Okly swallowed, almost unnoticed, yet the scrunch of his eyebrows as clear as day. "Of course not, good sir. That was not my goal."
With that, the man turned and left, disappearing back into the shadows like a predator.
You knew your mentor always had a fatherly knack, and he wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of his //'pupils'//, as he liked to call you and Dante.
<hr>
[[He had been pretty protective.]]<<set $theoverseerMentor to Math.clamp($theoverseerMentor + 10, 0, 100)>>
As you walked alongside The Overseer, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of new clothes. The tournament loomed closer, and every detail—whether it was gear, training, or even a wardrobe—seemed to be part of the larger picture. If you were going to make a mark, you might as well look the part.
"New clothes, huh? Well, I guess if I'm going to represent us, I should at least look the part." You grinned, casting a playful glance at The Overseer.
He smirked, his sharp features softened by a rare moment of amusement. "Indeed. Just don’t think looking good will be enough. I’ve seen many well-dressed competitors fall apart the moment real pressure hits."
"I don’t plan on falling apart," you replied, keeping your tone light but with a hint of challenge in your voice. "Besides, I’m not just relying on clothes or gear. You’ve made sure of that."
The Overseer’s steps slowed, and he looked at you, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Confidence is good, $lastname. But don’t mistake it for arrogance." He adjusted the book under his arm, the leather creaking slightly in his hands. "You’ve earned your place at that tournament, but that doesn’t mean the work is over."
You gave him a mock salute. **"Message received, sir. No arrogance, just enough confidence to keep things interesting."**
He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping him—something you didn’t hear often. **"Always one to lighten the mood. You remind me of someone I knew when I was younger."**
**"Oh?"** you raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this rare glimpse into his past. **"A fellow troublemaker?"**
The Overseer’s expression shifted, his smile fading slightly as his eyes turned thoughtful. **"No... just someone who believed in themselves a little too much."** He cleared his throat and waved it off, the stern mentor you knew quickly resurfacing. **"Let’s get moving. The tailor won’t wait all day."**
As you reached the shop, the bright chatter of the street faded into the cozy warmth of the tailor's establishment. The walls were lined with fabrics of every color and texture, and the air was filled with the scent of fresh linen and leather. The tailor himself was waiting with a smile that seemed a little too eager.
**"Ah, The Overseer! And this must be your student,"** the tailor greeted, eyeing you up and down with a critical gaze. **"We’ll need something that balances elegance and function. After all, we wouldn’t want our competitor looking anything less than formidable."**
You turned to The Overseer, trying to suppress a smirk. **"Formidable, huh? Guess I really do have to look the part."**
The Overseer gave a nod of approval. **"The look is only the start. But yes, we’ll need something that commands attention. $lastname here has potential, and that should be reflected."**
The tailor nodded and immediately began pulling out fabrics and sketching rough designs, his hands moving with expert precision. You watched him work, but your thoughts drifted to the tournament. Despite the jokes, there was a thrill building in you. The Overseer had put a lot of faith in your abilities, and now it was your turn to prove him right—both in skill and presence.
As the tailor held up a length of dark material against your shoulder, The Overseer glanced at you, his expression softening for a brief moment. **"You know, $lastname,"** he said quietly, almost as if the tailor weren’t there, **"I didn’t just choose you because you’re talented. I chose you because you have something that others don’t. A spirit that can’t be taught."**
You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the rare sentiment. But, true to your nature, you grinned. **"Well, if I’ve got it, I might as well show it off. And if that means a new outfit to go with it, so be it!"**
The Overseer let out a rare laugh, the sound surprising even him. **"Just remember—clothes or not, the tournament will be no joke. But I think you're ready."**
With that, the tailor started wrapping you in the chosen fabric, a mix of sleek dark colors with a few sharp, gold accents that would catch the eye of anyone watching. You looked in the mirror, and despite the lighthearted banter, you could feel the weight of what was to come.
**"Looks like I’ll make quite an entrance,"** you quipped, admiring the fit.
**"Just make sure your exit is just as impressive,"** The Overseer replied, his tone sharp again, but with the faintest hint of pride.
As you prepared to leave the shop, dressed and ready for what lay ahead, you could feel the shift in the air. The playful nature of your conversation gave way to the seriousness of the tournament—and the understanding that, behind the light words, you and The Overseer both knew this was more than just appearances.
---
This version of the scene keeps the MC's charisma and playful nature at the forefront, while maintaining the seriousness of the moment as they prepare for the upcoming challenge. It balances the lighthearted dialogue with moments of mentorship and mutual respect between the MC and The Overseer.You stand there for a moment, fingers brushing the edge of the door, unsure of what to do. His words replay in your head—quiet, uncharacteristically heavy. The usual banter you’ve come to expect from him is absent, replaced with an exhaustion that cuts through the wall between you.
Part of you wants to knock again, to push just a little more, but something holds you back. Maybe it’s the guilt gnawing at your chest, a reminder that he wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d stepped in sooner. Maybe it’s the uncertainty, the way his voice sounded... off. You can’t even see him to read his expression, and it makes everything feel even more uncomfortable.
//'I’ll let him be,'// you think, but the decision feels hollow.
You draw in a breath, letting it out slowly, and take a step back from the door. “Alright, Dante. Rest up,” you say, keeping your voice steady. The words taste bitter, though, like they’re not quite enough.
There’s no reply, only the continued silence pressing in from the other side of the door.
Turning away, you start walking down the hallway, but each step feels heavier than the last. You can’t shake the feeling that you should’ve done more, should’ve said something to break through that wall he’s putting up. But you didn’t, and now the weight of your decision lingers, sour and uncomfortable.
As you walk away, guilt coils tighter in your stomach, reminding you of the choices you’ve made—not just today, but in the fight. It’s hard to tell if giving him space will help or just make things worse. Either way, you’re left with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you let him down.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>>You stand there, the silence from behind the door pressing in on you. Something gnaws at your insides. Dante isn’t one to shut you out, and the thought of leaving without really knowing what’s going on feels wrong. You step closer, your hand brushing the door’s rough surface.
“Dante... are you sure?” you ask gently, your voice a little softer this time. “I know you're tired, but maybe just getting out for a bit will help. The fresh air, seeing the town...”
There’s a long pause. You almost think he might not answer at all when you hear a sigh, deep and tired.
“I... I really can’t today.” His voice cracks slightly, strained with exhaustion. “I want to, believe me. I just...”
He trails off, as if searching for words, and you can feel the weight of his struggle through the door. He’s trying—he’s always trying—but it’s clear that today, it’s taking everything just to stand his ground.
“I can’t,” he says again, firmer this time. “Not today.”
There’s a finality in his words that makes your chest tighten. You swallow the discomfort rising in your throat, the bitter taste of helplessness settling in. You want to say something—anything—to make this moment less heavy, less strained. But instead, you just step back.
“Alright,” you manage, keeping your voice steady despite the sour feeling spreading inside you. “We’ll... we’ll talk later.”
You turn on your heel, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as you leave. The door remains closed behind you, and with each step, the weight of his words lingers. There’s nothing more to say, not today.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>>You roll your eyes as Dante stays in his exaggerated bow, clearly waiting for a reaction. "Oh, wow, I'm honored," you deadpan, crossing your arms. "Truly, the nation should feel blessed that I managed to drag myself out of bed. Alert the people—I'm awake."
Dante stays in his pose, but you can practically feel the grin spreading across his face. “As they should, your highness,” he replies, his voice dripping with playful drama.
You narrow your eyes at him, noticing just how unusually energetic he is today. "You’ve had about three cups of tea already, haven’t you?"
He chuckles, his eyes bright with mischief. “Only two,” he says, “but who’s counting?”
<hr>
[[Attempt to tease him ♡]]
[[Roll your eyes|here we go Dante]] You can’t help but smile as Dante stays in his dramatic bow, waiting for your reaction. "You really know how to make an entrance," you say softly, your voice warm and amused. "I guess I should thank you for the royal wake-up call, right?"
Dante stays in his pose, but you can practically feel the grin spreading across his face. “Of course! What are friends for if not to make sure you start your day feeling like royalty?”
You shake your head lightly, still smiling. "Well, you’re definitely succeeding," you reply, noticing how unusually energetic he seems. "You're in a good mood today. What's got you so excited?"
He chuckles, brushing his hickory hair out of his eyes. “Maybe it’s the company, or maybe I’m just happy we’ve got a whole day to explore. Either way, today’s gonna be fun.”
<hr>
[["Someone's in a good mood" ♡]]
[["Someone's in a good mood"|here we go Dante]] You raise an eyebrow as Dante stays bowed, a grin already forming on your face. “Ah, yes! The sleepy royal graces the nation with their face... and the people cry out in joy!” you announce in an equally dramatic tone, mimicking his theatrics. “But really, Dante, I thought //you// were supposed to be the jester, not me.”
Without missing a beat, Dante stays in his deep bow, still holding the exaggerated performance. “A jester, sure, but it seems I’ve been upstaged by the real star of the show,” he teases, his voice full of mock awe.
You step forward with a smirk, dramatically pretending to inspect your ‘loyal servant.’ “Careful, with all this praise, you might have to stay in that bow for the rest of the day.” You give him a playful nudge with your foot.
He chuckles but doesn’t break character. “For you, I just might,” he says, glancing up at you with a mischievous sparkle in his eye.
<hr>
[[This makes you pause ♡]]
[[You roll your eyes, responding with a "you better".|here we go Dante]]Dante chuckles but remains in his bow, still playing along. Then, without warning, he glances up at you from under his messy hair, his grin softening just a little as he says, “For you, I just might.”
There’s a split second where everything feels... strange. Your heart skips in a way you weren’t expecting, and for some reason, the sight of him looking up at you with that teasing, yet almost sincere expression makes your breath catch.
It’s nothing. Probably. It’s Dante, your best friend. You’ve seen that face a thousand times before. So why does it feel… different? You brush it off, laughing like you always do, but something is off-kilter in your chest, like a weight you don’t quite understand.
You shake the feeling away, focusing on the playful tone. “Well, don’t hurt yourself, your highness. I still need you to keep me entertained.”
Dante finally straightens up, but his eyes linger on you for just a moment longer than usual. Or maybe you’re imagining that too. <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 4, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Continue|here we go Dante]] You smirk, shaking your head as Dante finally straightens up. “Only two cups? Must be some strong stuff. You’re practically bouncing off the walls.”
He laughs, shrugging with an exaggerated grin. “What can I say? I’m just excited for our day of freedom. Thought I’d start with a little serenade to honor the ‘sleepy royal.’” He puts extra emphasis on the title, flashing you a cheeky smile.
You roll your eyes again, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Right, right. Can’t wait to see what kind of nonsense you’ve got planned.”
But as Dante grins at you, there’s something… different in the way he looks at you. It’s just for a second—maybe you’re imagining it—but the playful gleam in his eyes feels a bit softer, a bit more focused. You brush it off, swallowing the sudden tightness in your throat.
It’s Dante. Your best friend. He’s always like this—always teasing, always full of energy. So why is your heart doing this weird flip?
You’re not going to let him see it, though. “So, what is it? A tour of the Nexus with a running commentary on how lucky I am to be in your presence?” you quip, trying to shake the feeling with sarcasm. <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 4, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Continue|here we go Dante]] You laugh softly, feeling warmth bloom in your chest at his playful words. There's something about the way Dante looks at you—his eyes bright with excitement, his grin ever-present—that makes you feel lighter, more at ease, even when you’re unsure how to respond.
You try to shake off the feeling, but it lingers, like a quiet hum just beneath your skin. "You really know how to make someone feel important," you say, the words coming out softer than you intend. There’s a warmth in your voice that surprises even you.
Dante finally straightens up from his exaggerated bow, flashing that familiar grin. But as his gaze holds yours, for just a moment, something feels... different. It’s still him—your best friend, the one who’s always been there—but the air between you feels charged with something unspoken.
You laugh again, though it's a bit more nervous this time. "I guess I should be grateful for the royal treatment," you add, your voice a little more forced as you try to navigate the strange swirl of feelings tightening your chest.
He leans casually against the doorframe, completely unaware of the internal storm you’re battling. "Of course! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you started your day with a smile?"
Your smile falters for a second, but you quickly recover, feeling a flutter that you can't quite place. What is this? You’ve never felt this... weird around him before. Your stomach twists in a way that’s both exciting and unnerving, and suddenly the room feels a little smaller, the space between you shrinking even though neither of you has moved.
You shift your weight, trying to ground yourself, but your body feels like it’s betraying you—your breath coming in slightly uneven, a nervous energy buzzing through your limbs. "Well," you say, your voice softer now, almost shy, "you’re definitely succeeding at that."
He chuckles, and it’s such a familiar sound, but today it feels different—like there’s a layer to it you’ve never noticed before. When he pushes his hair back from his face, his eyes meet yours again, and for some reason, your throat tightens. You swallow, looking away for a second, needing to break the intensity of the moment.
Why are you reacting like this? It’s Dante, after all. He’s always been this energetic, always able to make you laugh. But today, the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice seems to wrap around you like a warm breeze—it’s like you’re seeing him in a new light. And it terrifies you.
<<set $danteRomance2 to
Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 4, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Continue|here we go Dante]] h78You blink at him, pausing for a moment as you process his words. "I'm not royalty," you respond plainly, missing the humor entirely as you tilt your head slightly in confusion. "And... no one is waiting for me outside." You glance over his shoulder, as if checking for an actual audience. Seeing none, you look back at him with a puzzled expression.
Dante straightens from his exaggerated bow, the grin still plastered on his face, though you can see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Well, I //was// speaking metaphorically," he says, his tone light, clearly trying to nudge you into the joke.
You nod seriously. "Oh. Metaphors. Right." You think for a moment. "So, you weren’t actually talking about a royal or an audience?"
He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “No, no actual audience. Just me,” he says, still grinning. “You know, just trying to brighten your day.”
You stare at him for another beat. “I’m not sure how my day is brighter if there’s no real audience, though,” you respond, tone neutral. You’re genuinely trying to understand what he’s getting at, but the playful nuance escapes you.
Dante laughs, the sound filled with genuine amusement this time. “You’re a tough crowd,” he teases, though you’re still not quite sure what he means by that. He steps aside, grabbing your shoes and plopping them next to your feet. “Shall we, your majesty?”
You glance at him again. "I'm still not royalty," you correct, slipping your footwear on.
Dante just shakes his head with a grin as he watches you slip them on, clearly entertained by your earnestness. "You're right. My mistake," he says with mock seriousness.
<hr>
[[Dante's laugh is soft but rich you note ♡]]
[[You simply nod, still not entirely sure what all the fuss was about.|here we go Dante]] Dante's laugh is soft but rich, resonating in the small room as he straightens up, hands casually resting on his hips. “You’re a tough crowd,” he muses, his voice holding a note of fondness, though you can sense the challenge lurking beneath. “But I’m convinced that, in time, I’ll shatter even your finest defenses. After all, charm isn’t meant to be rushed.”
He flicks his hickory hair out of his blue eyes, the strands falling back almost immediately, much to his annoyance. His posture remains at ease, though his presence attracting attention in a way that’s hard to ignore.
“Is that right?” you respond, your voice measured. You glance at the door, still not moving towards it. “I wasn’t aware my defenses needed shattering. You might have the wrong opponent.”
His grin deepens as if your resistance only fuels him. “Oh, but they do. You may not realize it, but your grace holds the weight of an empire, and empires—whether they acknowledge it or not—are always fortified.”
You stare at him for a beat, unsure if he’s still playing or if there’s something else beneath his words. Your lips part slightly, but the thought of replying escapes you. He’s always been like this—quick, clever, and a step ahead—but today there’s something more to it. Something in the way he says //your grace// lingers a little too long in the air between you, creating a weight you hadn’t expected.
Before you can fully comprehend it, a small, unsteady warmth begins to grow in your chest. It’s subtle, but it throws off your balance, like a puzzle piece slipping into place, but you don’t yet know what the bigger picture looks like.
“Well, maybe your charm isn’t as effective as you think,” you say, the words coming out slower than intended. “Besides, I’ve never asked to be treated like royalty.”
He chuckles, this time brushing his hair back more deliberately, the movement smooth but carrying that same casual elegance he always has. “That’s precisely what makes you so deserving of it,” he says, voice dipping in a way that feels almost conspiratorial. “You’re too modest to see it, but I have no such limitations.”
Your heart skips, unbidden, and for a second you’re too caught off guard to respond. It’s not that you don’t know how to navigate Dante’s teasing—you’ve both done this a hundred times. But now, there’s something new in the mix. Something that feels a little too close to dangerous territory. <<set $danteRomance2 to Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 4, 0, 100)>>
<hr>
[[Continue|here we go Dante]] "Here we go," you mutter quietly, bracing yourself for whatever comes next, knowing full well that Dante's energy is about to unleash a flurry of antics.
Dante pats himself of imaginary dust from his exaggerated bow, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Alright, it’s your first free day here in the Main Nexus. We’ve gotta make it special, yeah? How about we start with the market square? There’s a ton of vendors, and I’m telling you, the food stalls are like something out of a dream.” He gives a playful grin. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried the grilled skewers and sweetbread.”
He paces for a second, getting more animated. “Once we’ve eaten, there’s this park nearby with these giant stone sculptures. Kinda peaceful, but impressive if you like that sort of thing. If you’re into history or art, the artisan quarter is also not far from there — we could check out some local crafts or even watch people work in the workshops.”
Dante glances at you, clearly enjoying himself as he plans the day. “And hey, if we’re still feeling adventurous, there’s the game hall near the square. They’ve got all sorts of stuff, from strategy games to these really competitive sparring matches. Or if you want something more chill, we could visit the lakeside — the view’s amazing, especially this time of day.”
He nudges you lightly. “What do you say? I’m pretty excited to see your reaction to all this. You’re going to love it.”
<hr>
[[well, chop chop!]] As you walk through the bustling Main Nexus, Dante excitedly points out the sights he's come to love during his many trips. He leads you to a uniquely shaped tree, its branches twisting in peculiar ways, and regales you with tales of how it’s rumored to bring good luck to those who visit.
You both make your way through the market square, the vibrant colors and lively chatter enveloping you. Suddenly, a stand catches your eye. The vendor is holding up a piece of bright red halwa, the sticky, rich sweetness wafting through the air, drawing you in.
<<if $selectedMentor == "The Overseer">>“They’re called halwas,” the vendor explains warmly, raising the piece closer for you to see. You step closer, captivated by the sugary aroma that dances around you. It could be worth trying, if only to satisfy your curiosity.<<elseif $selectedMentor == "Nag Walan">>As you approach the stand, a wave of nostalgia washes over you, tugging at your memories. The rich, sweet scent fills the air, reminding you of Nag Walan’s kitchen on special days. The crimson halwas gleam in the sunlight, and for a brief moment, you can almost hear her warm voice handing you a piece with a rare smile.
“They're halwas,” you murmur, the memories surfacing unbidden. The vendor catches your gaze and holds up a piece with a knowing smile, reminiscent of Nag Walan’s gentle gestures. You can almost taste the sweetness, a faint echo of your past.<<else>> … <</if>>
Dante’s smirk widens as he glances between you and the vendor. “Sugar. Sugar. Sugar,” he teases, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Do you want to get some?”
<hr>
[[Yes.|Halwa with Dante]]
[[No.|No Halwa with Dante]] The festival begins to shift as the sun dips below the horizon, ushering in a late evening glow. Beautiful red lanterns illuminate the streets, their warm light flickering softly against the darkening sky. They stretch endlessly across the center of The Main Nexus, casting an ethereal glow over the crowds. The lanterns hang from delicate threads, weaving a path through the heart of the festival, drawing the eye upward to the grand banners and drapes swaying in the breeze.
Each district’s influence is clear in the vibrant displays that line the streets. Grand banners showcasing the symbols and colors of all competing kingdoms hang high, representing the unity of the districts. The rich blues and greens of Greenforge, the silver streaks of Silversvale, and the cold whites of the Nordians all stand out in their respective areas, but it’s the Kabot Kingdom’s presence that demands attention. Their gold and jewel-toned accents dominate, shimmering with a regal status that is unmistakable. The decorations highlight their dominance, commanding the admiration of the festival-goers who pass beneath.
Music flows through the air, carried by the wind and the excitement of the crowd. Performers from all corners of the realm fill the square with traditional dances and songs, each one unique to their region. Drums pulse rhythmically, strings hum in melodic harmony, and wind instruments add a haunting tune to the mix. It’s a sensory feast of sight and sound, but as you watch, you can't help but wonder—do people really focus on the meaning behind the tournament, or are they simply caught up in the celebration itself?
<hr>
[[Continue|king of Kabot speech]] You wait by the inn, but instead of Dante emerging from the crowd, it’s only Kaitlin who makes her way toward you. The festive energy of the Tournament Festival feels a little dimmer as you notice Dante’s absence. <<if $encourageKaitlinsFits>>Kaitlin stands out in the colorful sea of people, her Kabot-style attire gleaming in the sunlight. The pink silk of her outfit and the delicate beads around her waist sway with each step, but there’s a faint worry etched on her face, barely concealed behind her usual brightness.<<else>>Kaitlin weaves through the bustling crowd, her neutral attire blending seamlessly with the sea of vibrant colors. The simplicity of her muted tunic and practical trousers keeps her from drawing attention, but she seems to shrink inward, avoiding the curious glances of those around her.
With her eyes cast downward, she focuses on the cobblestones beneath her feet, the lively chatter and laughter of passersby fading into the background. Each step is careful, as if she’s trying to go unnoticed. As she approaches you, there’s a faint crease between her brows, a fleeting shadow of uncertainty that contrasts with her usual demeanor.<</if>>
As she approaches, she offers you a small shrug. "He said he might show up later... if he feels better," she says softly, her voice tinged with concern. Her eyes search yours, as if trying to gauge if you’re feeling the same weight she is.
You force a smile but can’t ignore the pang of worry creeping up your spine. "He’ll be alright," you say, trying to reassure both her and yourself. But it’s hard to ignore the tightness in your chest.
Kaitlin nods, though her fidgeting gives her away. "I hope so. He’s stubborn... but you know him better than I do. Do you think it’s just the wrist?"
<hr>
[[You think you've made a huge mistake]]
[[You still believe this'll benefit him in the long run. Even if it stings.]]<<set $Confidence to Math.clamp($Confidence - 5, 0, 100)> <<set $Insecurity to Math.clamp($Insecurity + 5, 0, 100)>>You pause for a moment, glancing back at the inn, where he’s likely holed up nursing his injury—or perhaps something more than just physical. "I think... I think he’s just trying to work through it. But I shouldn’t have let him."
There’s a heavy silence between you two, the vibrant sounds of the festival feeling distant and hollow now. The laughter and golden banners mean nothing against the gnawing pit in your stomach. The sight of people celebrating only intensifies the sharp edge of regret that keeps cutting deeper.
Kaitlin offers a small, sympathetic smile, but her worry is clear. "If anyone can figure it out, it’s Dante. He’ll bounce back... but I get why you’re worried."
You try to nod, but doubt grips you too tightly. Is that really true? Did you need to prove something to him, or was that just an excuse to avoid stepping in? The questions tear at you, twisting inside with every passing moment.
You should’ve done something. You could’ve stopped him from getting hurt, could’ve been there when he needed you most. But you didn’t. You let him take the hit, let him shoulder the burden alone. And now he’s paying for it—alone.
Dante’s more than just a friend; he’s been there for you through everything. Yet, when it counted, you failed him. The weight of that failure sinks deeper into your chest, and no matter how many times you tell yourself it’ll be fine, the guilt only grows heavier.
Kaitlin’s voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. "He’ll come around when he’s ready. But I get it... it’s hard not to feel like you could’ve done more."
But //could’ve// isn’t enough. Not now. The regret, the sense that you made the wrong call, is all-consuming. And as you walk deeper into the festival, surrounded by the sounds of joy and celebration, you feel more distant from it than ever. Every step feels wrong, as if you’re moving further away from the chance to make things right.
The cheers from the crowd ring hollow in your ears, drowned out by the relentless thoughts echoing in your mind. You wonder if this feeling—this crushing regret—is something you’ll carry with you, and if it’ll ever loosen its grip on your heart.
<hr>
[[Continue|Festival without Dante]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist - 5, 0, 100)>>You pause for a moment, glancing back at the inn, where Dante’s likely resting, nursing his injury—or maybe more than that. "I think... he’s trying to work through it on his own. And I think he needs to."
There’s a brief silence between you and Kaitlin, the distant hum of the festival surrounding you both. The bright banners and laughter are a stark contrast to the tight knot of worry still nestled in your chest. But beneath it, there’s something else—a firm belief that this will help Dante, even if it hurts now.
Kaitlin gives you a small, uncertain smile. "I hope so... he’s tough, but I know you’re still worried."
You nod, the concern still lingering, but you know this is what he needs. Dante’s always been strong, but he’s always leaned on you, always had you step in when things got hard. This time, he has to handle it alone, even if that means taking a few hits along the way.
It doesn’t feel good, watching from the sidelines, knowing he’s hurting. But sometimes, growth requires a bit of pain. You trust that he’ll come out stronger for it, even if it’s hard to stand by and let it happen.
"He’ll bounce back," you say, more to reassure yourself than Kaitlin. "This will make him tougher, and he needs that."
Kaitlin glances at you, a little hesitant. "You really think this is the best way?"
"I do," you answer, though the words sting a little. It’s hard to see him struggle, to see the consequences of stepping back. But you’ve done this for him because you believe in his strength. Letting him face this challenge alone is the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel that way in the moment.
As the two of you walk further into the festival, the vibrant sounds and colors swirl around you, a stark reminder of what’s happening beyond this moment. The crowd’s cheers and the bright banners fluttering overhead remind you that life keeps moving forward, and so will Dante.
The pang of worry lingers, but underneath it all, you’re sure. This is for the best. He’ll be better for it, and in time, you believe he’ll see that too—even if it stings right now.
<hr>
[[Continue|Festival without Dante]] <<set $TeamPlayer to Math.clamp($TeamPlayer - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Individualist to Math.clamp($Individualist + 5, 0, 100)>> The festival begins to shift as the sun dips below the horizon, ushering in a late evening glow. Beautiful red lanterns illuminate the streets, their warm light flickering softly against the darkening sky. They stretch endlessly across the center of The Main Nexus, casting an ethereal glow over the crowds. The lanterns hang from delicate threads, weaving a path through the heart of the festival, drawing the eye upward to the grand banners and drapes swaying in the breeze.
Each district’s influence is clear in the vibrant displays that line the streets. Grand banners showcasing the symbols and colors of all competing kingdoms hang high, representing the unity of the districts. The rich blues and greens of Greenforge, the silver streaks of Silversvale, and the cold whites of the Nordians all stand out in their respective areas, but it’s the Kabot Kingdom’s presence that demands attention. Their gold and jewel-toned accents dominate, shimmering with a regal status that is unmistakable. The decorations highlight their dominance, commanding the admiration of the festival-goers who pass beneath.
Music flows through the air, carried by the wind and the excitement of the crowd. Performers from all corners of the realm fill the square with traditional dances and songs, each one unique to their region. Drums pulse rhythmically, strings hum in melodic harmony, and wind instruments add a haunting tune to the mix. It’s a sensory feast of sight and sound, but as you watch, you can't help but wonder—do people really focus on the meaning behind the tournament, or are they simply caught up in the celebration itself?
<hr>
[[Continue|king of Kabot speech woD]] Soon, you find yourself walking toward the heart of the K Tournament Festival, where the colors of the festivities begin to shift. The vibrant mix of every district’s hues fades, replaced by the rich and commanding tones of the Kabot Kingdom—gold and black dominating the scene. The banners here gleam in the dim evening light, shimmering with elegance and power. As you move deeper into the crowd, the air is thick with laughter and chatter, the festivalgoers mingling and sharing stories.
However, despite the open celebration, you can’t help but notice a subtle pattern. People naturally stick with their own, gravitating toward familiar faces from their respective districts. Even amidst the unity the Kabot Kingdom strives to represent, comfort zones remain intact, with each group finding solace in their own.
<hr>
[[You found it disappointing.]]
[[It made you curious.]]
[[You knew why they were like this.]] You, Dante, and Kaitlin find yourselves in the middle of a bustling crowd, the festival’s energy all around you. The path ahead is packed with people, making it nearly impossible to move freely. Without thinking, you grab hold of Dante’s sleeve, pulling him closer so he doesn’t get lost in the crowd. Kaitlin, her excitement evident, grasps the edge of your cloak as the three of you push forward, determined not to get separated.
With you leading the way, you weave through the throng, dodging festivalgoers and navigating the tight spaces between food stalls and performers. The warmth of their hands anchoring you gives a sense of reassurance, even as the crowd grows thicker. Together, you press on, toward the center of the celebration, where the Kabot Kingdom's colors dominate the scene ahead.
<hr>
[[Don't get lost now]] Soon, you find yourself walking toward the heart of the festival, where the colors of the festivities begin to shift. The vibrant mix of every district’s hues fades, replaced by the rich and commanding tones of the Kabot Kingdom—gold and black dominating the scene. The banners here gleam in the dim evening light, shimmering with elegance and power. As you move deeper into the crowd, the air is thick with laughter and chatter, the festivalgoers mingling and sharing stories.
However, despite the open celebration, you can’t help but notice a subtle pattern. People naturally stick with their own, gravitating toward familiar faces from their respective districts. Even amidst the unity the Kabot Kingdom strives to represent, comfort zones remain intact, with each group finding solace in their own.
<hr>
[[You found it disappointing.]]
[[It made you curious.]]
[[You knew why they were like this.]] <<if $Vaygasfeel == "Hate">>You glance around, taking in the sea of faces, and a sense of disappointment settles in—not just with the scene before you, but with yourself. Growing up, you never questioned the idea of separation, of districts sticking to their own. You believed what you’d heard, that the Vaygas were dangerous, unruly, not to be trusted. The stories, the stereotypes—it all seemed so normal, so unquestioned. Even in the carriage earlier, you didn’t challenge the judgmental remarks about them, because back then, you believed it too.
Now, standing in the heart of the festival, it frustrates you—not just the way people quietly judge and segregate themselves, but how easily you let yourself be swept along by those same judgments. You’ve been fed these ideas your whole life, never stopping to think if they were fair or true. It feels like a personal failure, a disappointment, that you didn’t take the time to think for yourself. The festival is meant to celebrate skill, bravery, unity—but how can that be possible when you've been defining people by their district, just like everyone else?
<hr>
[[First step to change is acknowledgement|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<<elseif $Vaygasfeel == "Neutral">>You glance around, taking in the sea of faces, and a wave of disappointment washes over you—this time, aimed at yourself. You’ve always avoided these heavy topics, preferring to stay neutral, believing it was easier to turn a blind eye to the divisions around you. Maybe you thought it wasn’t your place, or that it was better to stay out of the messiness of it all. But now, seeing the way people quietly judge and stick to their own, you can’t help but feel like your own ignorance has played a part in this too. Avoiding it didn’t make it go away.
You’ve realized that pretending these issues don’t matter doesn’t stop them from affecting you, or the people around you. Wanting to stay away from these conversations doesn’t mean they don’t exist, and it certainly doesn’t make them irrelevant. It wasn’t boring or uncool to think about these things—if anything, it was necessary. It's good for you to face the realities of the world, to challenge what you’ve been taught, and to understand how much better things could be if you stopped hiding behind the comfort of ignorance.<hr>
[[First step to change is acknowledgement|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<<else>>You glance around, taking in the sea of faces, and a sense of disappointment settles in. Despite the grandeur of the celebration and the Kabot Kingdom’s efforts to unite everyone, the divisions are still visible. People from Vaygas huddle together, their rougher attire marking them as outsiders to the more refined guests from Emperor's Arcanum. Even here, in a space meant to celebrate unity and competition, lines are drawn—not by borders, but by the comfort of familiarity.
It frustrates you, the way people quietly judge and segregate themselves based on where they’re from. This festival is supposed to be a celebration of skill and bravery, a chance for everyone to come together, but old habits die hard. You wonder if true unity is even possible when the people of this world still define themselves by their districts, when something as simple as a cloak or an accent can separate them as surely as any wall.<hr>
[[You wish you could stop it instantly|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<</if>>As you observe the groups keeping to themselves, you can’t help but feel a sense of curiosity bubbling inside you. What are the root causes of all these divides? What histories, conflicts, and old wounds keep people so firmly in their circles? It’s more than just comfort—there's something deeper at play, something woven into the fabric of their shared stories.
You wonder what perceptions shape the way each group views the others. What sparked the first rift, and how have those divides been carried forward through generations? It’s not just about tradition or habit—it’s about the thoughts and beliefs that have been passed down, shaping how people see themselves and those around them. The festival, meant to unite, only seems to highlight these divisions, and you can't help but wonder why.
<hr>
[[. . . |Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<<if $Vaygasfeel == "Hate">>As you weave through the crowd, you can't shake the nagging thoughts that have begun to surface in your mind. Growing up, you were taught that separation was a necessary protection. You believed the Vaygas were nothing more than bandits, fueled by a savage nature that warranted their exclusion from polite society. The whispers you heard from others at the inn echoed in your thoughts, reinforcing the stereotypes that had been etched into your understanding of the world.
But now, amidst the vibrant chaos of the festival, you find yourself questioning those old beliefs. Why do you feel this urge to connect, even as you recall the harsh words that once shaped your views? The laughter around you feels different, less threatening, and more like a celebration of shared experiences. Could it be that your perspective was too narrow, too influenced by the judgments of others? As the idea takes root, you grapple with the unease it brings.
<hr>
[[You are starting to disagree with your previous believes.]]
[[Your beliefs aren't so villainous. It's not that easy.]]<<elseif $Vaygasfeel == "Neutral">>As you maneuver through the bustling crowd, you find solace in the laughter and celebration surrounding you. It’s easy to let the festive atmosphere sweep you away, providing a comforting distraction from the deeper issues that often weigh on your mind. You’ve always preferred to stay neutral, avoiding heavy discussions about the divisions between the districts and the conflicts that lie beneath the surface. But as you observe the people around you, a nagging thought begins to creep in—is it okay to ignore these topics?
You ponder whether your inclination to avoid these conversations is a form of complicity. By staying silent, are you simply allowing the status quo to persist? While the idea of engaging in these heavy topics feels burdensome, a part of you wonders if acknowledging them might lead to a better understanding of your surroundings. The vibrant energy of the festival begins to feel like a veil, hiding complexities that deserve recognition rather than dismissal.
<hr>
[[You realize that relying on blissful ignorance is a luxury that many cannot afford.]]
[[You don't change your mind. Why dwell on things that seem far removed from your everyday life?]]<<else>>You take in the sight of people clustered within their own groups, and you're not surprised. This is how it's always been—people gravitate toward what they know, toward others who speak and act like them. It’s not something you find shocking, just a reality of how things work here. Old alliances and rivalries run deep, and even at an event meant to unite, those bonds and boundaries remain.
Still, it’s not something you would encourage. The festival is supposed to be a time for celebration, for setting aside differences, if only for a night. Yet, you see the lines drawn between districts as clear as ever, subtle but present. It's not wrong, but it makes you wonder if there will ever be a time when people truly blend beyond the borders they carry with them.
<hr>
[[Continue|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<</if>>A pang of regret washes over you as you reflect on the harsh judgments you used to cast. It feels wrong now to think of entire groups as inherently bad, as if you were denying them their humanity. The laughter and joy you see around you contradict the rigid beliefs that once made you feel secure. Could it be that you had been missing out on something vital by adhering to those stereotypes? You feel a stirring desire to understand rather than judge, to seek connection rather than division, but the weight of your past lingers. What if your newfound curiosity exposes you to more than you were prepared to confront?
<hr>
[[Continue|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]Even as doubts creep in, you find yourself clinging to the familiar comfort of your previous beliefs. Vaygas have always been painted as the villains in the stories you've grown up with, and there’s a certain safety in maintaining that viewpoint. But as you navigate through the festival, a part of you can't help but feel uneasy about those thoughts. You justify your stance by recalling all the tales of their barbarity, convincing yourself that the divisions are necessary for your own safety.
Yet, there's a flicker of uncertainty—could it really be as black and white as you once thought? The laughter around you clashes with the ingrained lessons from your upbringing, leaving you caught in a conflict between what you’ve always known and what you’re beginning to question.
<hr>
[[Continue|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]A wave of regret washes over you as you reflect on your past tendency to avoid heavy topics. You realize that relying on blissful ignorance is a luxury that many cannot afford. Ignoring the divisions between the districts hasn’t made them disappear; it has only allowed you to glide over important issues that affect the people around you.
You begin to understand that contemplating these matters isn’t boring, uncool, or “too mature.” Instead, it’s a vital part of engaging with the world meaningfully. The festival's lively atmosphere feels like a temporary reprieve, but you can’t ignore that these problems are still there, affecting everyone in ways you’ve chosen not to see.
<hr>
[[Continue|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]] Even as doubt begins to creep in, you cling to the belief that avoiding serious discussions is acceptable. Why dwell on things that seem far removed from your everyday life? Not everything has to be that serious, and you tell yourself that these topics don’t directly affect you. Conversations about district rivalries and conflicts feel unnecessary when everyone around you is just trying to enjoy the festival.
You quickly drown out your doubts with disagreement; after all, engaging in debates that lead nowhere can only serve to further divide people. Instead, you choose to focus on the present moment, savoring the joy and excitement of the festival without getting bogged down by complexities that seem, to you, better left unexamined.
<hr>
[[Continue|Introduce the Kabot Kingdom royals]]<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">> Dante nudges you, a grin spreading across his face. "The Kabot King’s about to give a speech," he says, clearly eager for what's to come.
Kaitlin’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait, //the// Kabot royals? We’re actually going to see them?” Her voice cracks a little in excitement as she covers her mouth, glancing around as if expecting the king and queen to materialize right next to her.
Dante chuckles, puffing up his chest. “Yeah, and fun fact, my uncle is cousins with the king's nephew,” he adds, smugly leaning into his royal connection like it was the most impressive thing he could reveal.
You roll your eyes, playful exasperation slipping into your voice. "She didn’t ask for that, you know."
Dante clutches his chest dramatically. “The bullying never ends,” he groans, but before the banter can continue, a sudden blast of loud music overtakes the atmosphere, drowning out his words.
Your attention shifts. As the crowd parts in front of you, you spot a line of guards. Dressed in sleek black uniforms with shimmering gold accents, they stand stoically, creating a barrier for what you now see is an empty pathway snaking through the heart of the festival. They must have been stationed there the entire time, yet you hadn’t noticed them until now, their presence almost blending into the grandeur of the event itself.
Before you can say anything, Kaitlin squeals beside you. You turn, and that’s when you see it: a grand golden carriage making its way toward the empty path. It gleams under the lanterns’ soft light, every inch of it adorned with intricate designs and jewels that catch and reflect the glow. The carriage is massive, pulled by six horses with matching golden armor, their hooves barely making a sound on the cobbled road. Behind it, a procession of more carriages follows, each flanked by guards and musicians playing instruments that send deep, resonating notes through the festival air, their rhythm almost vibrating through the crowd.
The royal entourage feels like it’s moving in slow motion, with each figure carefully choreographed in their steps. And then, as if the very air shifts, you see them—two figures standing side by side, positioned perfectly for all to witness. The Kabot King and Queen.
Their presence commands attention, even from a distance. The entire procession, the guards, the musicians, the opulent carriage—it all serves as a backdrop to their grandeur. The pathway they’re headed down is cleared with precision, not a single person daring to cross the line formed by the rows of guards. The festival, though vibrant with activity moments ago, seems to pause. Every face turns in their direction, watching the spectacle unfold with awe, as if the royals themselves are living embodiments of the Kabot Kingdom's glory and power.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You and Kaitlin stand amidst the bustling crowd, taking in the festival’s overwhelming sights and sounds. It's your first time here, and neither of you really know what to expect. The excitement around you is palpable, with performers filling the streets and vibrant colors everywhere. Still, you feel a bit out of place, unsure of how things work or what's coming next.
Kaitlin, glances around, eyes wide with curiosity. "I didn’t think it would be //this// big," she admits, her voice carrying a mix of awe and nerves. "Do you think there’s going to be some kind of speech or something?"
Before you can respond, a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. The festive music that had been playing in the background quiets, replaced by the distant sound of deep, resonating horns. The crowd around you begins to part, people whispering and craning their necks to see what’s happening.
Your gaze follows theirs, and that's when you notice a row of Kabot guards forming a line down the main road. Dressed in sleek black uniforms trimmed with gold, they stand tall and imposing, creating a path that leads directly to the heart of the festival. You hadn't even noticed them before, but now, their presence is impossible to ignore.
Kaitlin’s hand shoots up to her mouth, her eyes widening in excitement. "Wait... are those—? Are the Kabot royals coming through?" she whispers, barely able to contain herself.
You shrug, just as confused but equally intrigued. "Looks like it."
As you both continue to watch, a grand golden carriage slowly emerges from the edge of the square, making its way down the newly cleared path. It gleams in the light, every surface covered in intricate designs and jewels that sparkle with each movement. The carriage is massive, drawn by six horses draped in matching golden armor, their hooves silent against the cobblestone.
Behind it, more carriages follow, flanked by guards and musicians playing deep, resonant notes that seem to pulse through the air. The entire procession feels surreal, like something out of a storybook. Every detail, from the guards’ measured steps to the rich tones of the instruments, is designed to command attention.
And then, through the crowd, you finally see them—the Kabot King and Queen, standing regally in the first carriage, their posture straight and their presence almost magnetic. Their faces are calm, dignified, as if they’re used to such displays of reverence.
The crowd falls silent, every eye locked on the royals. The festival, which moments ago had been bursting with energy, seems to pause in their presence. The air grows still, charged with the weight of the moment as the royal procession glides forward, each step precise and deliberate, as if the entire world has been waiting for this exact moment.
Their presence commands attention, even from a distance. The entire procession, the guards, the musicians, the opulent carriage—it all serves as a backdrop to their grandeur. The pathway they’re headed down is cleared with precision, not a single person daring to cross the line formed by the rows of guards. The festival, though vibrant with activity moments ago, seems to pause. Every face turns in their direction, watching the spectacle unfold with awe, as if the royals themselves are living embodiments of the Kabot Kingdom's glory and power.<<else>>Dante nudges you, a grin spreading across his face. "The Kabot King’s about to give a speech," he says, clearly eager for what's to come.
Kaitlin’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait, //the// Kabot royals? We’re actually going to see them?” Her voice cracks a little in excitement as she covers her mouth, glancing around as if expecting the king and queen to materialize right next to her.
Dante chuckles, puffing up his chest. “Yeah, and fun fact, my uncle is cousins with the king's nephew,” he adds, smugly leaning into his royal connection like it was the most impressive thing he could reveal.
You roll your eyes, playful exasperation slipping into your voice. "She didn’t ask for that, you know."
Dante clutches his chest dramatically. “The bullying never ends,” he groans, but before the banter can continue, a sudden blast of loud music overtakes the atmosphere, drowning out his words.
Your attention shifts. As the crowd parts in front of you, you spot a line of guards. Dressed in sleek black uniforms with shimmering gold accents, they stand stoically, creating a barrier for what you now see is an empty pathway snaking through the heart of the festival. They must have been stationed there the entire time, yet you hadn’t noticed them until now, their presence almost blending into the grandeur of the event itself.
Before you can say anything, Kaitlin squeals beside you. You turn, and that’s when you see it: a grand golden carriage making its way toward the empty path. It gleams under the lanterns’ soft light, every inch of it adorned with intricate designs and jewels that catch and reflect the glow. The carriage is massive, pulled by six horses with matching golden armor, their hooves barely making a sound on the cobbled road. Behind it, a procession of more carriages follows, each flanked by guards and musicians playing instruments that send deep, resonating notes through the festival air, their rhythm almost vibrating through the crowd.
The royal entourage feels like it’s moving in slow motion, with each figure carefully choreographed in their steps. And then, as if the very air shifts, you see them—two figures standing side by side, positioned perfectly for all to witness. The Kabot King and Queen.
Their presence commands attention, even from a distance. The entire procession, the guards, the musicians, the opulent carriage—it all serves as a backdrop to their grandeur. The pathway they’re headed down is cleared with precision, not a single person daring to cross the line formed by the rows of guards. The festival, though vibrant with activity moments ago, seems to pause. Every face turns in their direction, watching the spectacle unfold with awe, as if the royals themselves are living embodiments of the Kabot Kingdom's glory and power.
<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . |Royal speech]]
Once the King and Queen reach the platform, they glide toward the center with a graceful unity, each step measured and deliberate. As they take their positions side by side, their presence commands the attention of every onlooker. Despite the sea of black-clad guards around them, their attire alone sets them apart.
The King, Fessehaye, is adorned in an immaculate white robe, finely tailored and accented with intricate gold detailing along the chest and sleeves. The fabric seems to shimmer as he moves, catching the light in such a way that his very form seems regal, otherworldly. His posture is perfect—shoulders squared, head held high, exuding an air of calm authority. Every part of him embodies a monarch who has led his people through trials, with the weight of responsibility evident in his presence.
Queen Zula, in contrast, is draped in rich black and gold, her robe flowing around her in delicate folds that evoke power and elegance. The black fabric is patterned with swirling golden designs that radiate outward from the center of her torso like a sunburst, as though she’s cloaked in cosmic energy. Her face remains hidden, save for the golden streak that begins beneath her chin and runs all the way down her neck, a Kabot Kingdom tradition for their queens, symbolizing their royal lineage and the divine duty they bear. The streak catches the glow of the lanterns, drawing eyes to it as if it were a mark of sacred power.
As they stand there, side by side, they look as though they were carved from the same mold as their kingdom—unmovable, disciplined, and exalted. The contrast between Fessehaye’s white and gold and Zula’s black and gold robes emphasizes their balance as rulers, different yet complementary.
<hr>
[[. . . |King Fessehaye's speech]] After a moment of silence, King Fessehaye steps forward. His voice, though calm, carries effortlessly over the crowd, each word meticulously placed, each syllable weighted with meaning.
“People of the Kabot Kingdom, Novs, all respected Districts and our host The Nexus,” he begins, his tone authoritative yet not without warmth. “Today, we stand united not just as citizens of our own corners, but as witnesses to the strength and honor of this gathering. It is through order, through perseverance, that we have endured and thrived.”
His gaze sweeps over the crowd. “In a world marked by chaos, we have sacrificed for peace. We have built this realm through hard-fought battles and unwavering resolve, and it is with that same resolve that we continue to protect what we hold dear. Order...must be maintained at any cost, for without it, there is nothing but ruin.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in. The crowd is silent, captivated by his commanding presence. “This tournament stands as a testament to our strength. It is not only a celebration of skill and bravery, but a reminder of the sacrifices made to ensure our peace. Every strike, every challenge, is a reflection of our values—honor, courage, and the unyielding pursuit of unity.”
Fessehaye’s lips curl into a faint, almost charming smile, his eyes glinting as he surveys the crowd. “So, to those who compete, we salute your bravery. To those who watch, know that this unity, this peace, is not a given—it is earned, every day, by all of us.”
He steps back, his speech complete, leaving the festival grounds awash in both admiration and a solemn understanding of the weight behind his words.
<hr>
[[. . . |After speech]] The crowd erupts in a deafening cheer, a wave of excitement washing over the square as King Fessehaye and Queen Zula raise their palms to the sky. The sun marking, emblazoned on both their hands, catches the flickering light of the lanterns, radiating a golden glow that symbolizes the promise they’ve upheld for generations—a pledge of tradition, prosperity, and protection. The gesture is met with thunderous approval, a powerful reminder of the unity they champion, even if it is as delicate as the fabric of the Queen’s gown.
As the roars of the people continue to echo, the royal couple is gently ushered away, their exit as graceful and composed as their entrance. The Kabot royals move in perfect synchronization, almost as if rehearsed, as their presence lingers in the air long after they've turned their backs.
King Fessehaye slips effortlessly into the grand carriage first, the soft clink of gold accents brushing against the steps. Queen Zula follows, her dress flowing behind her like liquid night as a small entourage of guards carefully gathers the intricate folds, ensuring no piece of the garment touches the ground. Her movements remain as poised as ever, even as she steps into the carriage with regal precision, the last gleam of gold from her dress disappearing inside.
It is then, amidst the fading cheers, that your eyes catch a peculiar sight—the eight guards standing still on the platform. Unlike the others who moved to flank the carriage, these eight remain, unmoving, watching the crowd as the royal procession prepares to depart.
<hr>
[[Who are they|Introducing the Golden Guild]] You mutter, "Who are they..." and then it clicks. Their stance. Not just guards—four governors, spread out in an imposing formation, each with a single guard positioned just behind them, watching the crowd like sentinels. They are the Aegis Command, an elite faction sworn to the Kabot Kingdom, known for guiding the kingdom’s military operations as much as its law and order. It suddenly becomes clear that these are no ordinary spectators.
You’ve heard the stories, the murmurs of how the kingdom is supported by four legendary generals—figures who now stand in plain sight. And there’s no mistaking one of them. Governor Addo Everheart, a living legend. Her sharp, calculating eyes miss nothing as she oversees the scene, a reminder of the incredible legacy she built, transitioning from elite soldier to one of the most respected leaders in the Kabot Kingdom. Even now, she exudes the same unwavering focus she was known for on the battlefield.
Your gaze drifts, landing on a figure beside her—his stance just as rigid as the other guards, but there’s something more in his expression. Not the neutral, faraway look expected of a royal protector, but a scowl, fierce and unwavering. His uniform is a higher rank than most, a reflection of his rising reputation. Though not yet an elite soldier, whispers among the ranks say it's only a matter of time.
He commands attention with a regal bearing. His navy-blue hair, carefully styled, highlights his sharp, dignified features. His orange eyes, striking and intense, rimmed in kohl like the warriors of old, seem to pierce through any pretense, surveying the crowd without hesitation. Cascades of finely crafted orange and blue gems dangle from his ears, catching the light and adding a touch of nobility to his already imposing presence. He watches the crowd with an unflinching gaze, no trace of stage fright—just confidence. Those fierce orange eyes, paired with the vivid hues of his hair, create an aura of authority and quiet intimidation.
It’s unmistakably. Zephyr Everheart.
<hr>
[[CHAPTER 3 END|CHAPTER 3 END]] <div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ae/77/24/ae772463de675fd548dabb264eb76201.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/76db10359f7c7e4977dfdf00eb4a95c3/tumblr_o2j5wpUiul1v1wfzlo1_500.gifv" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
//Do you wish to review a list of important disclaimers and warnings before proceeding?//
<hr>
[[✘ Yes, show me the disclaimers.|Chapter 4 warning]]
[[✘ No, I'm ready to begin the adventure.|After warning]]
<h2>Warnings</h2>
''Panic Attack / Anxiety''
''Manipulation and Emotional Distress''
''Fear and Supernatural Elements:''//(what seem to be shadows)//
<hr>
[[Continue|After warning]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Chapter 4: The March of Legends</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>07:01pm</h2></span>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>The atmosphere is electric. The air hums with anticipation as a low rumble echoes in the distance, slowly building, like a storm preparing to break. The crowd shifts, pressing closer to the grand avenue. Banners ripple in the wind, each emblazoned with the emblem of Kabot Kingdom, and soon the music begins, a deep, resounding beat that thrums in your chest.
A festival unlike any other. The Kabot Tournament Parade.
You glance at Dante, who’s unusually quiet, eyes fixed on the horizon. He catches your curious gaze and offers a grin, though there’s a certain intensity in his eyes. "Ah, you’ve never seen this, have you?" he asks, turning fully toward you as the first statues begin their slow, majestic procession down the avenue.
“They bring out the statues of every past winner,” he explains, his tone reverent, as if each carved figure was a living legend. “Each one crafted by Octavia Edwards, one of the finest sculptor in the history, it seems. She’s been doing this for years — honoring the champions.”
This allows you to set the scene and convey the scale of the event while also introducing Octavia Edwards as a renowned artist. The key is to build the reader's anticipation just as much as the characters’, capturing the significance of the tournament for both the kingdom and its people.
Through dialogue, Dante can share more details about Octavia’s work and her reputation, which adds depth to the cultural aspect of the tournament. You could also use this moment to reflect on how the main character feels about witnessing the legacy of these champions, hinting at their own ambitions or doubts about the future.
<hr>
[[Continue|Bonne Armstrong (WITH Dante)]]
<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>The atmosphere is electric. The air hums with anticipation as a low rumble echoes in the distance, slowly building, like a storm preparing to break. The crowd shifts, pressing closer to the grand avenue. Banners ripple in the wind, each emblazoned with the emblem of the Kabot Kingdom, and soon the music begins—a deep, resounding beat that you feel in your chest.
This is unlike any festival you’ve ever seen.
You stand with Kaitlin, both of you slightly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it all. Neither of you really knows how the festival works, so you simply let the excitement carry you. Kaitlin looks around, wide-eyed. "Do you think this is just the beginning?" she asks, trying to take it all in.
Before you can answer, the crowd near you begins to murmur. A couple nearby, probably locals, are talking excitedly, and their conversation catches your attention.
"Look at that," one of them says, nodding toward the procession as it starts to roll down the avenue. You see a series of grand statues being slowly paraded forward, each one carried with reverence. "Octavia Edwards really outdid herself this year," the man adds. "These statues are incredible."
The woman beside him nods, a hint of pride in her voice. "She’s been sculpting the winners for years. They say her attention to detail is unmatched. Each one of these champions is immortalized in stone because of her."
You glance at the statues, noting the craftsmanship—how lifelike each one appears, as if they could step down from their pedestals at any moment. Kaitlin leans closer to whisper, "Is she... famous? I’ve never heard of her."
You shrug slightly, but before you can answer, the couple continues their conversation, their voices dipping lower as they exchange gossip.
<hr>
[["Did you hear...?"|Octavia’s Tea]]<<else>>The atmosphere is electric. The air hums with anticipation as a low rumble echoes in the distance, slowly building, like a storm preparing to break. The crowd shifts, pressing closer to the grand avenue. Banners ripple in the wind, each emblazoned with the emblem of Kabot Kingdom, and soon the music begins, a deep, resounding beat that thrums in your chest.
A festival unlike any other. The Kabot Tournament Parade.
You glance at Dante, who’s unusually quiet, eyes fixed on the horizon. He catches your curious gaze and offers a grin, though there’s a certain intensity in his eyes. "Ah, you’ve never seen this, have you?" he asks, turning fully toward you as the first statues begin their slow, majestic procession down the avenue.
“They bring out the statues of every past winner,” he explains, his tone reverent, as if each carved figure was a living legend. “Each one crafted by Octavia Edwards, one of the finest sculptor in the history, it seems. She’s been doing this for years — honoring the champions.”
This allows you to set the scene and convey the scale of the event while also introducing Octavia Edwards as a renowned artist. The key is to build the reader's anticipation just as much as the characters’, capturing the significance of the tournament for both the kingdom and its people.
Through dialogue, Dante can share more details about Octavia’s work and her reputation, which adds depth to the cultural aspect of the tournament. You could also use this moment to reflect on how the main character feels about witnessing the legacy of these champions, hinting at their own ambitions or doubts about the future.<hr>
[[Continue|Bonne Armstrong (WITH Dante)]] <</if>>"Did you hear," the man says in a hushed tone, "about King Titus trying to meet with her?"
The woman’s eyes widen. "Mrs. Edwards? Seriously? I hadn’t heard that. What’s it about?"
"No one really knows," he replies, glancing around to make sure no one else is listening too closely. "There’s word going around that he’s been asking for private meetings with her for some time. But no one knows if she’s actually gone to see him or what outcome is wanted."
The woman raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "That’s big news. I mean, she’s basically renowned in the Kabot Kingdom. Working on something somewhere else...it could cause a stir."
"Exactly," the man agrees. "Everyone’s talking about it. She’s practically a celebrity here. Whatever’s going on with her and King Titus could change things."
You frown and exchange a look with Kaitlin, both of you piecing together what you’ve just overheard. Octavia Edwards, a renowned sculptor behind these statues, might be involved in something far more political than her art.
The procession continues, but your mind lingers on the implications of what you’ve just heard. Are sculptures only situated in one kingdom?
<hr>
[[Continue|Bonne Armstrong (WITH Kaitlin)]] As the parade continues, the statues begin to pass by, each one larger than life and crafted with breathtaking detail. The crowd watches in awe, whispers of admiration floating on the breeze. Children point eagerly at their favorite figures, their eyes wide with wonder, while the older citizens gaze at the towering monuments with reverence, memories of past tournaments filling their minds.
One by one, the statues move slowly down the avenue, the likenesses of champions forever immortalized in stone.
Then, a particularly striking figure comes into view — ''Bonne Armstrong'', a hulking man with muscles like sculpted granite. His statue towers over the others, his signature hammer raised high in a pose of victory. The veins in his forearms are carefully etched, his expression one of fierce determination. Every inch of him exudes strength, from the powerful stance to the detailed texture of his leather armor. Even in grey stone, the essence of Bonne’s might is palpable.
Dante chuckles beside you, his gaze lingering on the formidable statue. "If I ever win, I wonder what kind of pose they'd give me," he muses, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Kaitlin, her hand resting on the railing, leans forward, studying the statue with a playful grin. "Oh, I’ve got //too// many ideas," she says, her voice light with excitement. "I’d want to do all of them."
<<set _maxTrait = "Charismatic">> <<if $Aloof > $Charismatic and $Aloof > $Callous and $Aloof > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Aloof">> <<elseif $Callous > $Charismatic and $Callous > $Aloof and $Callous > $Empathetic>> <<set _maxTrait = "Callous">> <<elseif $Empathetic > $Charismatic and $Empathetic > $Aloof and $Empathetic > $Callous>> <<set _maxTrait = "Empathetic">> <</if>><<if _maxTrait == "Charismatic">>You shake your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. "You only get one, Kaitlin. One statue, one pose."
Dante snickers, leaning closer to Kaitlin with a sly smirk. "That’s if you win to begin with," he teases, his tone dripping with playful mockery.
You glance at Dante and roll your eyes, scolding him in jest. "Don't be such a pessimist, Dante. Let her dream."
He grins wider, and Kaitlin just laughs, clearly unfazed by the banter. But in that moment, the weight of the tournament feels a little lighter, softened by the camaraderie between the three of you amidst the celebration. <<elseif _maxTrait == "Aloof">>Without shifting your gaze from the parade, you shake your head slightly. “You’ll only get one,” you say, your tone calm and measured. "One statue. One pose."
Dante snickers at your bluntness, stepping closer to Kaitlin with a smirk. "That’s if you win to begin with," he adds, his words laced with playful sarcasm.
You glance at him briefly, your expression unreadable. “If she doesn't, someone else will,” you say coolly, as if it's the most natural conclusion. Dante’s teasing doesn't seem to faze you—it’s simply a statement of fact.
Kaitlin raises an eyebrow, smirking back at Dante as if to say, //I’ll prove you wrong.// The playful tension between them fills the air, but you remain detached, focused on the statues passing by, unmoved by the banter.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Callous">>You scoff, shaking your head with a mocking smile. “Right, because you’re the only one getting multiple a statues. News flash: You get //one.// One pose, one chance, and we’ll all pretend you having one to begin with wasn’t a mistake.”
Dante, ever the instigator, jumps in with a snicker. "That’s if you even win to begin with," he jabs, looking at her with a wicked grin.
You shoot him a withering look, not missing a beat. “Oh, please. Like you’ve got any room to talk, Mr. ‘I’ll Be in the Crowd with Popcorn.’ She might have more of a shot than you do.” You tilt your head, smirking as Dante stares back, wide-eyed. "At least one of us might have a statue that doesn’t look like it was carved out of disappointment."
Kaitlin snorts, trying to hide her laugh behind a hand, while Dante just groans dramatically. But you? You’re in your element, merciless and sharp as ever, taking satisfaction in keeping both of them in check.<<elseif _maxTrait == "Empathetic">>You smile warmly, leaning toward her. “You’ll have to pick one, Kaitlin. But whatever it is, I know it’ll be perfect.” Your tone is soft, encouraging, and you can see her light up at the reassurance.
Dante, never missing a chance to poke fun, chuckles and says, “That’s if you even //win// to begin with.”
Your smile falters, and you turn to him, a slight worry in your voice as you hiss out his name in warning.
He pauses, realizing the shift in your tone, and quickly raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was just kidding, I swear! I know she’s got this,” he reassures, glancing at Kaitlin. “Right, Kaitlin?”
Kaitlin giggles, waving off the concern eyes on the statues. “Of course.”
You relax a little, but you still send Dante a look—//calm it down//—as Kaitlin remains blissfully distracted, staring at the statues like a kid caught in a daydream. Dante gets the message, raising both his hands again with a sheepish grin. “Okay, okay, I’m done,” he promises, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . . |Elijah's statue fr]] A hush falls over the crowd as the next statue comes into view, its presence immediately distinct from the others. Unlike the cold, gray stone of the earlier tributes, this one is adorned with vibrant greenery, delicate flowers weaving around its base and cascading over the figure's shoulders. The statue smiles warmly, its eyes soft yet piercing, as if capturing the soul of the man it represents. Twin dreads frame the face, frozen in a gentle Contrapposto stance, exuding both strength and serenity.
The crowd’s energy shifts. No longer filled with the cheers and excitement from before, they seem to simmer down, a quiet reverence settling over the people. Some wipe away tears, others gaze at the statue with a mix of pride, honor, or curiosity. It’s clear that this figure holds a special place in their hearts.
<hr>
[[Elijah. The last Kabot Tournament winner.]] <<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>The atmosphere grows heavy as the statue of Elijah stands illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, casting flickering shadows that dance across the crowd. You glance at Dante, who is now fully caught in his emotions, his fingers trembling slightly as he swipes at his nose. It’s a bittersweet sight, seeing him so vulnerable in a moment that reverberates with the weight of collective loss.
You turn your attention back to the statue, its features eerily lifelike. The flowers and greenery seem to symbolize the vibrant spirit Elijah had brought to the tournament—a life full of promise, now cut short. Memories flood your mind: the way he had laughed, how he had encouraged everyone with his kind words after matches, and the way he had championed the spirit of unity among the kingdoms.
A wave of nostalgia washes over you as you recall that day years ago, when you first met him. He had a way of making even the most insignificant moments feel special, like the time he stopped to share a joke with a young child who had lost a toy during the festivities. You had watched him interact with the crowd, effortlessly charming everyone around him. It seemed impossible that someone so full of life could be gone so suddenly.
The murmurs of the crowd grow softer, punctuated by the occasional sniffle. You catch snippets of conversation around you—how people remember him for his humility and grace, how he had always fought not just for victory, but for the hearts of the people. It was a collective mourning, and yet, it felt like a celebration of his legacy, an honoring of the impact he had left behind.
“Do you think he’d have wanted this?” Dante’s voice breaks through your thoughts, barely above a whisper. His eyes are still glistening with unshed tears as he stares up at the statue, as if searching for some sign of reassurance.
You consider his question. Elijah had always spoken about the importance of community, of bringing people together through the tournament, emphasizing that it was more than just a competition.
You nod slowly “Yeah, I think he would’ve loved it. He always wanted us to remember the joy of it all, right? Not just the competition, but the connections we make.”
Dante wipes his eyes again, managing a weak smile, though it barely reaches his eyes. “I just… I wish he was still here to see it.”
“Me too,” Kaitlin says quietly, feeling the weight of her words. “But we can keep his spirit alive. We can celebrate him in the way we live and compete.”
The gentle rustle of leaves from the statue's floral adornments seems to echo Kaitlin’s sentiment, and you sense a shift in the crowd around you. There’s a growing determination in their faces, a shared understanding that while Elijah may be gone, his legacy would continue to inspire the next generation of competitors.
As the festival carries on, the crowd begins to stir, finding solace in each other and in the memories they share. You reach out to Dante, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go find something to do. I think Elijah would want us to enjoy the festival.”
With a nod, Dante takes a deep breath, wiping away the last traces of his tears. <<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>The atmosphere grows heavy as the statue of Elijah stands illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, casting flickering shadows that dance across the crowd. You glance at Kaitlin, who looks contemplative, her expression reflecting the weight of the moment. The statue’s lifelike features and the floral arrangements around it seem to capture the spirit of the beloved champion whose legacy has brought everyone together.
The murmurs of the crowd soften, filled with snippets of conversation. You hear how Elijah is remembered as the most beloved winner in Kabot Tournament history, celebrated for his remarkable achievements and the way he united spectators and competitors alike. It feels like a moment of collective reverence, a tribute to the impact he had on the tournament and the people.
“I can’t believe they made a statue of him and we're here to see it,” Kaitlin says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s impressive, though. He really was something special for this tournament.”
“Yeah, he was,” you reply, recalling your own experience of watching the tournament for the first time with Dante. You remember getting lost in the contender lockers and how the Forgic contender had redirected you, sharing stories and joking with you along the way. “It’s nice they’re honoring him like this.”
Kaitlin nods thoughtfully, her eyes still fixed on the statue. “I wonder what he would think about all this. I mean, he’s a legend, right? Everyone seems to really love him.”
You shrug. “Probably wouldn’t have expected it. But the tournament has always meant a lot to the people here. He was a big part of that.”
The crowd continues to murmur, sharing their memories of him—how he fought fiercely and inspired others. There’s a sense of unity in the air, a collective understanding that while Elijah may be gone, his legacy will continue to resonate within the tournament.
As the festival carries on, you sense the crowd beginning to shift, the solemn moment giving way to a celebration of spirit. You look at Kaitlin and suggest, “Let’s go find something to do. I think it’s what the festival is really about.”
With a small smile, Kaitlin wipes away a lingering tear and nods. Together, you navigate through the crowd, ready to embrace the festival’s energy and honor Elijah’s memory in your own way.<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . . |Feast!!!]] <<if $clothing == "Traditional Kobat Wear">>As you make your way back through the crowded festival grounds, the smell of roasted meats and spiced drinks fills the air, a sharp contrast to the cool night breeze. Laughter and chatter ripple through the crowd as people enjoy the feast, some sitting at long wooden tables piled high with food, while others casually snack on finger foods as they wander between stalls. <<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You spot Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in her food, but just as you begin to make your way toward her, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<else>>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<</if>>
A drunken man, his tunic loose and stained from spilled ale, stumbles into you with enough force to make you lose your balance for a moment. “Sorry…” he mumbles, barely glancing your way before he clumsily lurches forward, weaving unsteadily through the sea of festival-goers. His apology is so half-hearted you’re not sure he even realizes what he’s bumped into.
You steady yourself, brushing off the slight annoyance as you watch him stagger off, his path aimless. You shake your head, It’s the kind of chaos you’d expect from a festival. Especially after the drinks have started to flow freely.<hr>
[[Continue|you don't get chowed by the drunk]]
<<elseif $clothing == "Vassal Novs Wear">>As you make your way back through the crowded festival grounds, the smell of roasted meats and spiced drinks fills the air, a sharp contrast to the cool night breeze. Laughter and chatter ripple through the crowd as people enjoy the feast, some sitting at long wooden tables piled high with food, while others casually snack on finger foods as they wander between stalls. <<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You spot Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in her food, but just as you begin to make your way toward her, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<else>>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<</if>>
A drunken man, his tunic loose and stained from spilled ale, stumbles into you with enough force to make you lose your balance for a moment. “Sorry…” he mumbles, barely glancing your way before he clumsily lurches forward, weaving unsteadily through the sea of festival-goers. His apology is so half-hearted you’re not sure he even realizes what he’s bumped into.
You steady yourself, brushing off the slight annoyance as you watch him stagger off, his path aimless. You shake your head, It’s the kind of chaos you’d expect from a festival. Especially after the drinks have started to flow freely.<hr>
[[Continue|you don't get chowed by the drunk]]
<<elseif $clothing == "Rustic Attire">>As you make your way back through the crowded festival grounds, the smell of roasted meats and spiced drinks fills the air, a sharp contrast to the cool night breeze. Laughter and chatter ripple through the crowd as people enjoy the feast, some sitting at long wooden tables piled high with food, while others casually snack on finger foods as they wander between stalls. <<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You spot Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in her food, but just as you begin to make your way toward her, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<else>>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<</if>>
A drunken man, his tunic loose and stained from spilled ale, stumbles into you with enough force to make you lose your balance for a moment. “Sorry…” he mumbles, barely glancing your way before he clumsily lurches forward, weaving unsteadily through the sea of festival-goers. His apology is so half-hearted you’re not sure he even realizes what he’s bumped into.
You steady yourself, brushing off the slight annoyance as you watch him stagger off, his path aimless. You shake your head, It’s the kind of chaos you’d expect from a festival. Especially after the drinks have started to flow freely.<hr>
[[Continue|you don't get chowed by the drunk]]
<<elseif $clothing == "Noirwear">>As you make your way through the bustling festival grounds, a sharp nudge nearly sends you stumbling sideways. A drunken man, his tunic loose and stained with spilled ale, glares at you with bloodshot eyes. His gaze lingers on your clothes—dark, layered in a style that echoes the notorious Opératifs de l'Ombre. His expression shifts, and you notice the way his body tenses.
"Hey... you—" his voice slurs, but the hostility is clear. "You one of those scum? One of them?" He gestures sloppily at your attire, his hand shaking with either fear or anger. "Don't think I don’t know what that means. You people... causing all this trouble."
The noise of the festival seems to die down around you, and a few people glance in your direction, sensing the tension. You can see the man’s face growing redder, his breath heavy with the stench of alcohol.
//...why did you choose this option?//
<hr>
[[To intimiate or gain respect]]
[[subtle admiration for independency]]
[[Just genuine curiousity]] <<else>>As you make your way back through the crowded festival grounds, the smell of roasted meats and spiced drinks fills the air, a sharp contrast to the cool night breeze. Laughter and chatter ripple through the crowd as people enjoy the feast, some sitting at long wooden tables piled high with food, while others casually snack on finger foods as they wander between stalls. <<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>You spot Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in her food, but just as you begin to make your way toward her, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<<else>>You spot Dante and Kaitlin a little way off, engrossed in conversation, but just as you begin to make your way toward them, a sudden force jolts you sideways.<</if>>
A drunken man, his tunic loose and stained from spilled ale, stumbles into you with enough force to make you lose your balance for a moment. “Sorry…” he mumbles, barely glancing your way before he clumsily lurches forward, weaving unsteadily through the sea of festival-goers. His apology is so half-hearted you’re not sure he even realizes what he’s bumped into.
You steady yourself, brushing off the slight annoyance as you watch him stagger off, his path aimless. You shake your head, It’s the kind of chaos you’d expect from a festival. Especially after the drinks have started to flow freely.<hr>
[[Continue|you don't get chowed by the drunk]]
<</if>>
As the parade continues, the statues begin to pass by, each one larger than life and crafted with breathtaking detail. The crowd watches in awe, whispers of admiration floating on the breeze. Children point eagerly at their favorite figures, their eyes wide with wonder, while the older citizens gaze at the towering monuments with reverence, memories of past tournaments filling their minds.
One by one, the statues move slowly down the avenue, the likenesses of champions forever immortalized in stone.
Then, a particularly striking figure comes into view — ''Bonne Armstrong'', a hulking man with muscles like sculpted granite. His statue towers over the others, his signature hammer raised high in a pose of victory. The veins in his forearms are carefully etched, his expression one of fierce determination. Every inch of him exudes strength, from the powerful stance to the detailed texture of his leather armor. Even in grey stone, the essence of Bonne’s might is palpable.
Kaitlin, her hand resting on the railing, leans forward, studying the statue with a playful grin. "Oh, I’ve got //too// many ideas on how I'd pose," she says, her voice light with excitement. "I’d want to do all of them."
Do you have any?
<hr>
[[. . . . |Elijah's statue fr]] As you and The Overseer made your way toward the exit after your quiet conversation, the heavy doors groaned in protest, as if sensing the weight of the moment. The cool air outside greeted you, along with a group of spectators eagerly discussing the upcoming tournament. Their excited chatter grated on you, their carefree voices a sharp contrast to the tension coiling inside your chest. You clenched your fists, your pulse quickening as frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
The Overseer strode ahead, his presence cold and deliberate, his steps echoing against the stone. "That irritation you feel—it’s palpable," he murmured, his voice low but unmistakably sharp. "Is it the noise or the uncertainty gnawing at you?"
You bristled at the insinuation, your jaw tightening. "What does it matter?" you muttered, barely suppressing the bitterness in your tone. "I’ll handle it."
The Overseer stopped abruptly, his gaze flicking toward you with unsettling intensity, a hint of something unspoken behind his eyes. "Handle it?" he echoed, his voice now laced with a dangerous edge. "No, what you’re doing is letting it eat away at you. That festering anger... it's pointless if all it does is cloud your judgment."
You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. The Overseer’s gaze seemed to pierce through every wall you had built, and for a moment, you felt exposed. "I’m not—" you began, but he cut you off with a subtle wave of his hand.
"Spare me the excuses," he said, voice cold but steady. "You’ve convinced yourself this rage is strength, but right now, it’s weakness. You’re thrashing at shadows when your real enemies are waiting. Focus your mind, or when the time comes, you will falter—//again.//"
The word hung in the air like a blade, slicing through your pride. Your throat tightened, shame creeping in. You wanted to argue, to claim that you had everything under control, but deep down, the doubt gnawed at you. He was right. You’d been snapping at everything and everyone, but it was yourself you couldn’t face.
The Overseer’s gaze never wavered, his tone becoming softer, yet more menacing. "You think I don’t understand?" he asked quietly, his eyes narrowing. "I’ve lived through it—letting emotions dictate your actions will only lead to ruin. And I won’t let you destroy what you could become because of petty distractions."
His eyes softened, the intensity in his gaze replaced by a warmth that took you by surprise. "Listen," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, "anger isn’t your enemy. Not if you can harness it, control it, make it work for you. But right now, you’re letting it burn you from the inside out."
His tone had shifted, and you could feel it. The harshness, the cold logic from earlier—it was gone. Now, his words felt like they were meant to guide, not chastise. He stepped closer, just enough that his presence felt reassuring rather than overwhelming. "You’ve got a lot on your shoulders, I know that. But don’t turn your strength against yourself. You’re capable of more than you realize."
You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in him. The tightness in your chest eased slightly, the frustration loosening its grip. "You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" you asked, the faintest hint of skepticism creeping into your voice.
The Overseer smiled then, a warm, genuine smile that transformed his entire demeanor. "What do you think?" he said, his tone light, almost teasing now. "I don’t bother with empty words. If I’m telling you something, it’s because I believe it."
His words struck you in a way that left you feeling seen, almost vulnerable—but not in a bad way. For a moment, the weight on your chest felt lighter. You hadn’t expected this from him, not after the harsh truths he’d laid out earlier, but the warmth in his tone… it felt sincere.
You nodded, unable to fully express your gratitude, but you knew he saw it in your eyes. "Thanks," you said quietly, the word feeling heavier with meaning than you intended.
The Overseer chuckled softly, giving you a light tap on the shoulder—an uncharacteristically warm gesture from him. "Don’t get all sentimental on me now," he teased, his charismatic charm slipping back into place with ease. "Just remember what I said. Control the fire. You’ll need it soon enough."
As he walked ahead again, you followed, feeling that shift in the air between you. He’d started off cold and calculating, but now… now there was something almost comforting in his presence. He knew exactly how to play his cards, and you had a feeling he’d let you see just enough of his warmth to keep you steady—without losing the sharp edge that made him, him.
And for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t alone in this fight.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Life is rather like a carriage of sardines.]]
<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>Turning your attention back to the crowd, you spot a familiar vendor nearby selling skewers of grilled meat, the scent making your stomach growl. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. The tables of food are heaped with vibrant dishes—freshly baked bread, fragrant bowls of stew, and platters of cheese and fruit. The energy of the festival seems to hum all around you, people enjoying the night, conversations drifting between small groups as the lanterns above cast a soft, warm glow over everything.
As you walk back toward Dante and Kaitlin, you grab a nearby skewer from a passing server, the savory flavor of roasted meat instantly lifting your mood. The faint tension from the earlier moment with Elijah’s statue seems to fade into the background, replaced by the lively atmosphere of the feast.
You weave your way through the throng, taking in the sights and sounds—the clink of mugs as people toast, the occasional burst of laughter, and the gentle strumming of a musician playing by one of the fire pits. The festival is alive in a way that feels infectious, and for a moment, you forget the weight of everything else. Just as you reach Dante and Kaitlin, the two of them spot you, Dante raising a clean tissue in greeting with a grin.
“Hey, took you long enough!” he teases, wiping grease from his finger. "What, did you get lost in the crowd?"
"Ran into a drunk," you reply with a smirk, shaking your head. "He might've gotten more lost than I did."
Kaitlin chuckles, taking a sip from her cup. “Sounds like you’re getting the full festival experience.”
You nod, taking another bite of the skewer. The night stretches ahead of you, full of possibility, and for now, you let yourself sink into the warmth of the celebration around you.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Hear Amira's humming]] As you glance down at your clothes, you briefly wonder why you chose to wear something that so closely resembles the style of the Opératifs de l'Ombre. You never aligned with their cause, but there’s something undeniably effective about the look. It carries a weight, an unspoken threat.
The festival’s chaotic energy, full of people from all walks of life, is unpredictable. Factions, power struggles, hidden alliances—wearing these clothes might offer you a kind of shield. It says: //Don’t mess with me.// You’re not just another face in the crowd, and in a place where tensions can shift as quickly as a breeze, you need every edge you can get.
The Opératifs de l'Ombre may have their own motivations, but the air of danger surrounding them is something you can use. If it keeps people at a distance or makes them second-guess approaching you, it’s worth the misunderstanding.
<hr>
[["Ey, I'm talkin' to you!"|Black Opératifs guy]] As the festival lights flicker overhead, casting shadows that dance across the cobbled streets, you pull at the collar of your cloak, feeling the familiar fabric settle around your shoulders. The dark, muted tones blend seamlessly into the night, but there's something about the weight of this garment—the subtle stitch patterns, the minimalist elegance—that distinguishes it. It’s not the official attire of the Opératifs de l’Ombre, but anyone with a discerning eye would notice the resemblance.
You never fully understood why you felt drawn to their methods. The Opératifs’ actions often straddled the line between right and wrong—carrying out underhanded favors, spying, dealing in secrets—but their guiding principle, "peace at all costs," echoed in a way that made you pause. Maybe it wasn’t about the way they achieved their goals, but the fact that they had their own code at all, unbound by the demands of any king, district, or court.
//''Independency.''// It’s something you’d thought about more than once. The Kabot Kingdom, with its rigid hierarchies and gilded power, ruled over much of the land. Then there were the Vassal Novs, still clinging to their once-proud past, now reduced to second command under the Kabot's shadow. But the Opératifs? They operated outside that structure—respected, feared, but independent. No district to claim as their own, yet their influence seeped through the cracks of every kingdom's rule.
Perhaps, in a way, you envied that. The idea that one could exist without the weight of a district pulling them in every direction, without the burden of serving a singular authority. The districts, for all their variety, were shackles—chains disguised as banners, loyalty as bonds.
The Opératifs had none of that. They moved between kingdoms, gathering information, pulling strings, quietly amassing a power that no one could deny, but without the burden of land, armies, or banners. It was an autonomy that intrigued you, a quiet rebellion against the rigid structure of the kingdoms and the order imposed by the Kabot and Vassal Novs alike.
As your thoughts drift, you adjust your cloak again, feeling the material’s texture beneath your fingers. It wasn't just a garment. To wear it, even if it wasn’t the //official// uniform, was to make a subtle statement. A nod to the ideals of peace they espoused, but also a rejection of the established powers, even if only in whispers.
You weren’t aligning yourself directly with the Opératifs, but perhaps you wore the cloak as a quiet act of defiance, a reflection of your intrigue with their autonomy. You weren’t ready to be controlled by anyone's rules, not fully. And, for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like to truly step into that world, where allegiances were fluid and boundaries were blurred.
<hr>
[["Ey, I'm talkin' to you!"|Black Opératifs guy]] The man’s voice breaks through your internal thoughts. "Ey, I'm talking to you!" he slurs, his words dripping with frustration. You blink, returning to the present, the drunken man’s glare piercing through your brief moment of reflection.
Before you can respond, a shadow falls over the scene. A tall figure steps forward, positioning himself between you and the drunk. The man in front of you is striking—sharp, platinum blonde buzz, cold blue eyes behind thin glasses, and a calm yet commanding presence. His arms, inked with intricate tattoos, are crossed, and he tilts his head slightly as he studies the drunk man.
“Is there an issue here?” His voice is low, steady, and carries a weight of authority that seems to cut through the drunken man’s bravado.
The drunk stiffens, his eyes darting between you and the newcomer. Whatever false courage he had begins to crumble. “I-I was just... no problem here,” he mutters, backing away, his eyes still locked on the man protecting you. “Didn’t mean nothing by it.” His feet shuffle awkwardly as he stumbles off, casting nervous glances over his shoulder, clearly shaken by the idea of facing the two of you.
The festival noise slowly returns as the crowd resumes its festivities, the moment passing. The tall man turns to you, his gaze measured. “Are you here alone?”
<hr>
[["Thank you for stepping in. I really appreciate it. I was a bit caught off guard."]]
[["I can handle myself, you know. I didn’t need saving."]]
[["Why did you step in? Do you know that guy?"]]
[["You seemed really confident there. Do you often intervene in situations like that?"]] <<set $ODO to Math.clamp($ODO + 10, 0, 100)>>As the drunk man’s words slur in your direction, your gaze briefly drops to your attire, the dark folds of fabric that resembled the style of the Opératifs de l’Ombre. You hadn’t put much thought into how it would be perceived until this moment, but now, faced with the man’s drunken accusations, the weight of your choice settles in.
//Why did I wear this?//
It wasn’t like you wanted to cause trouble. But... maybe you wanted to understand. The Opératifs were fascinating, after all. A group with no kingdom, no district, yet their influence stretched across every border. They answered to no one and somehow garnered respect—even fear—from those who ruled. How could people who had no official power hold so much sway?
Part of you admired that. The independence they had, the way they operated without bending to the will of others. There was something to that, wasn’t there? Something about the way they defied the rigid structures that kingdoms imposed. It was the kind of freedom that you rarely saw. Maybe you wore the clothes because you wanted to understand how they moved through the world, how they balanced that power despite being... no one’s subjects.
And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see if others recognized that power too.
But then there was the other side. The darker side. The whispered rumors about their methods—the things they were willing to do to maintain that balance of power. The moral grey area they seemed to live in constantly. It was almost thrilling to toe that line, to step into their shoes for a brief moment and see if you could understand how someone could justify those kinds of actions. You weren’t looking to be like them, but... weren’t you curious? How far could someone be pushed before those choices became necessary?
//Are people really all that different from the Opératifs?//
The man in front of you, clearly disgusted by the mere resemblance to them, didn't seem to think so. To him, anyone wearing this style was already guilty—already part of that murky, dangerous world. But what did he know about those kinds of decisions, really?
Your fingers subconsciously grip the edge of your sleeve as his words register more fully. You weren’t trying to provoke this, but there’s a part of you—small but present—that wonders how far you could take this. What if you leaned into the perception, played the part, just to see what kind of reaction you’d get?
Wasn’t that what this was about? Testing the boundaries of how others perceived you, how they saw the world when they looked at someone who blurred the lines between good and bad, just like the Opératifs did? You didn’t have all the answers, and maybe you weren’t looking for them tonight. But this... this was a start.
The drunk man steps forward, his breath sour, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. His voice cuts through your internal thoughts.
<hr>
[["Ey, I'm talkin' to you!"|Black Opératifs guy]] “Thank you for stepping in. I really appreciate it. I was a bit caught off guard,” you say, flashing a grateful smile.
The tall man studies your face for a moment, his expression unwavering. “Just remember, it’s wise to know what’s in every room you walk into. This place can be full of surprises,” he replies bluntly, his tone lacking any warmth.
As he turns to leave, your gaze catches a glimpse of what looks like two slash tattoos peeking from beneath the edge of his shirt. A chill runs down your spine, and you’re suddenly reminded of the tournament, where the sight of Vie’s three slashes had left you feeling sick and disoriented.
You squint, trying to determine if it’s truly two distinct marks or just one hidden beneath his sleeve. Either way, the sight stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, a lingering sense of caution that propels you to move back toward where you were originally heading.
With a small sigh, you shake your head, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. The lively atmosphere of the festival surrounds you, but it feels a bit more daunting now as you navigate through the crowd, glancing back momentarily at the tall figure before you disappear into the throng.
<hr>
[[Head back]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>“I can handle myself, you know. I didn’t need saving,” you reply, crossing your arms defiantly.
The tall man raises an eyebrow, his cold blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Is that so?” His voice is laced with a hint of sarcasm, but he remains calm, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just keep that sentence in mind next time you're in a situation.”
You roll your eyes, feeling irritation bubble beneath the surface. “I appreciate the help, but I’m not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”
His smirk vanishes, replaced by a more serious expression. “You were wearing that particular attire, and I had some time to kill. Don’t mistake it for concern.”
With that, he turns away, his back to you as he walks off, leaving you with a mix of irritation and unease. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s more than he seems, and as the crowd swells around you, you decide to head back to where you were originally going. The vibrant sounds of the festival feel a little more chaotic now, and a knot tightens in your stomach as you navigate through the throng.
As he turns to leave, your gaze catches a glimpse of what looks like two slash tattoos peeking from beneath the edge of his shirt. A chill runs down your spine, and you’re suddenly reminded of the tournament, where the sight of Vie’s three slashes had left you feeling sick and disoriented.
You squint, trying to determine if it’s truly two distinct marks or just one hidden beneath his sleeve. Either way, the sight stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, a lingering sense of caution that propels you to move back toward where you were originally heading.
With a small sigh, you shake your head, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. The lively atmosphere of the festival surrounds you, but it feels a bit more daunting now as you navigate through the crowd, glancing back momentarily at the tall figure before you disappear into the throng.
<hr>
[[Head back]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>“Why did you step in? Do you know him?” you ask, the question escaping your lips before you can fully process it. As soon as you say it, you realize how silly it sounds.
The tall man raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his cold blue eyes. “Do I know him? No, I don’t. That’s not how this works.” He shakes his head, his smirk revealing his incredulity. “You think I’d step in just because I know a drunken idiot?”
You feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. “Right, of course! That was a dumb question. Sorry about that.”
He shrugs, the smirk fading as he steps back, his tone turning serious. “Just remember, if you continue to wear those dark palettes, you’re bound to attract attention—both good and bad. Maybe find your friends or stay out of the way of unnecessary trouble.”
You nod, the weight of his words settling in. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Thanks for the advice, I suppose.”
he turns to leave, your gaze catches a glimpse of what looks like two slash tattoos peeking from beneath the edge of his shirt. A chill runs down your spine, and you’re suddenly reminded of the tournament, where the sight of Vie’s three slashes had left you feeling sick and disoriented.
You squint, trying to determine if it’s truly two distinct marks or just one hidden beneath his sleeve. Either way, the sight stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, a lingering sense of caution that propels you to move back toward where you were originally heading.
With a small sigh, you shake your head, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. The lively atmosphere of the festival surrounds you, but it feels a bit more daunting now as you navigate through the crowd, glancing back momentarily at the tall figure before you disappear into the throng.
<hr>
[[Head back]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>“You seemed really confident there. Do you often intervene in situations like that?” you ask, your smile bright and inviting.
The tall man’s expression remains inscrutable, his cold blue eyes studying you with a hint of skepticism. “Not particularly. I just happened to be bored and noticed a nuisance.” His tone is blunt, lacking any hint of appreciation for your charm.
You tilt your head, undeterred. “Boredom can lead to interesting choices, I guess. Did you enjoy playing the hero, even if just for a moment?”
He doesn’t react to your playful banter, merely shifting his weight as if weighing the value of your conversation. “Hero? I didn’t step in to play any role. I simply did what was convenient at the time. Don’t read too much into it.”
Your smile falters slightly, but you press on, curious. “Fair enough. So, what do you usually do when you’re not intervening in drunken disputes?”
“Does it matter?” he replies, his tone dismissive. “I’m not obligated to share anything with you.” He glances over his shoulder, seeming ready to walk away.
Feeling a mix of frustration and intrigue, you try to hold your ground. But for once you don't know what the right thing to say is.
With a slight shake of his head, he turns and strides off, leaving you verbally lost. As he turns to leave, your gaze catches a glimpse of what looks like two slash tattoos peeking from beneath the edge of his shirt. A chill runs down your spine, and you’re suddenly reminded of the tournament, where the sight of Vie’s three slashes had left you feeling sick and disoriented.
You squint, trying to determine if it’s truly two distinct marks or just one hidden beneath his sleeve. Either way, the sight stirs an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, a lingering sense of caution that propels you to move back toward where you were originally heading.
With a small sigh, you shake your head, pushing the unsettling thoughts aside. The lively atmosphere of the festival surrounds you, but it feels a bit more daunting now as you navigate through the crowd, glancing back momentarily at the tall figure before you disappear into the throng.
<hr>
[[Head back]] <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>Turning your attention back to the crowd, you spot a familiar vendor nearby selling skewers of grilled meat, the scent making your stomach growl. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. The tables of food are heaped with vibrant dishes—freshly baked bread, fragrant bowls of stew, and platters of cheese and fruit. The energy of the festival seems to hum all around you as you reunite with Kaitlin, people enjoying the night, conversations drifting between small groups as the lanterns above cast a soft, warm glow over everything.
As you both continue through the crowded festival grounds, the smell of roasted meats and spiced drinks fills the air. Laughter and music swirl around you, carried by the breeze. The festival feels alive, buzzing with the energy of celebration. You take another bite of the skewer you picked up earlier, savoring the rich flavors.
Kaitlin walks beside you, her gaze flicking around the stalls and tables. She seems unusually quiet, the earlier conversation about Elijah still lingering in the air between you.
After a few moments, she breaks the silence. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Seeing everything in full swing like this. You’d almost forget we’re in the middle of a tournament.”
You nod, glancing at the crowds, the laughter, and the clinking mugs. “Yeah, it feels like a different world out here. A break from all the tension.”
Kaitlin smirks slightly, her eyes thoughtful. “I wonder how many of the competitors are really enjoying this, though. I mean, everyone’s putting on a good show, but I bet half of them are thinking about tomorrow’s matches.”
You raise an eyebrow, considering her words. “You think that’s on their minds now? With all this going on?”
She shrugs. “I know it would be for me. Hard to relax when you know you could be facing your toughest opponent yet in less than a day.”
Her point hits home. Even with the festival’s carefree atmosphere, the tournament’s weight hangs over everything like a shadow. “I guess that’s what separates the greats,” you muse. “Being able to enjoy the moment, even when they’re in the thick of it.”
Kaitlin chuckles, nudging you with her elbow. “You sound like you’re giving a speech to a bunch of recruits.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just been around too many tournament speeches lately.”
She grins, her usual lightheartedness returning. “Well, I’ll give you this—if anyone deserves a break, it’s us. We’ve been running nonstop.”
“True,” you agree, glancing up at the lantern-lit sky. “Might as well enjoy the quiet before the storm.”
Kaitlin falls silent again, her eyes wandering over the festival stalls. For a moment, the two of you simply walk, the noise of the celebration filling the spaces between your thoughts. There’s a comfort in the quiet, a shared understanding that the challenges will come soon enough, but for now, you can both enjoy the fleeting peace.
<hr>
[[Continue|More Kaitlin chats]] Finally, Kaitlin lets out a sigh, her voice soft. “You think we’ll be able to keep this up? Balancing everything?”
You glance at her, surprised by the seriousness in her tone. “What do you mean?”
She hesitates, her gaze fixed ahead. “The tournament, the politics, all the stuff that’s going on behind the scenes… It’s a lot. I just wonder if it’s going to catch up to us at some point.”
You consider her words, feeling the weight of them settle in your chest. She’s not wrong—everything’s been moving so fast, and the stakes keep getting higher. But you offer a small, reassuring smile. “We’ve made it this far, haven’t we? We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
Kaitlin looks at you, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
The two of you continue on, the festival’s energy swirling around you, but in this moment, there’s a sense of calm, of shared determination. Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Hear Amira's humming]] <div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ae/77/24/ae772463de675fd548dabb264eb76201.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://64.media.tumblr.com/76db10359f7c7e4977dfdf00eb4a95c3/tumblr_o2j5wpUiul1v1wfzlo1_500.gifv" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
<h1>End: Chapter 1</h1>
[[START CH2|Chapter 2 poem]] The sounds and scents of the festival swirl around you as you pick through the finger foods, savoring the rich, vibrant flavors that seem to capture the soul of each district. Silversvale's smoky spiced meats, Greenforge’s earthy root stews, the delicate sweetness of Emperor’s Arcanum confections. Each bite feels like a journey, a glimpse into lives and cultures bound together by tradition and pride.
But then, through the chatter and laughter of the crowd, something else drifts in—soft, haunting, and achingly familiar. A humming, low and gentle, rises just above the clamor. You freeze mid-bite, the taste on your tongue forgotten. The melody weaves through the noise like a ghost, faint yet distinct. And you know it. Somehow, you know it.
It’s the same tune from your dream, the one that left you with an odd feeling you couldn’t quite place. That same comforting, melodic hum you’d once heard as a child in Silversvale, carried through memory like a fragile thread. It was a sound you’d thought was long lost, buried in the dust of years gone by. Yet here it is, unmistakably clear, threading through the night.
Your heart stirs, an inexplicable warmth spreading through your chest, but alongside it is a strange tension—a compulsion that you can’t ignore. The hum holds a familiarity that makes your skin prickle, and you find yourself unable to resist. Your pulse quickens, each beat echoing louder in your ears as the humming continues, undisturbed by the festival’s noise, like a secret meant only for you.
Who could it be? You scan the crowd, your gaze darting from face to face, a growing urgency building within you. The need to see them, to find the source of that voice, tightens in your chest. There’s no logical reason for this feeling, yet you’re certain it’s something... significant. It’s as if that melody has reached into your very bones, stirring something deep within you that was asleep until now.
The noise around you fades, replaced by the soft, persistent hum that draws you in like a thread pulling taut. You begin to move through the crowd, your heartbeat pounding with a desperate, inexplicable need.
<hr>
[[Search for the source...]]The hum guides you, as steady as your heartbeat. Threading your way through the crowd, you search for the source, catching glimpses of faces and flashes of color in the sea of people. Your eyes dart frantically from side to side, the melody slipping further away each time a festival-goer brushes past, but the pull remains strong, leading you forward.
And then, just ahead, you see her.
A woman stands alone, her head wrapped in a maroon scarf, the fabric catching the glow of lantern light as it drapes over her shoulders. She’s dressed in a black dress woven with rich, dark beads, maroon accents worked into the design in a way that hints at the Vassal Novs’ style but with an edge of rebellion. The pearls beaded into her clothing catch the light, casting soft, shifting glimmers across her frame as she examines the packaged meals at one of the stalls, humming to herself, unaware—or so it seems—of the crowd around her.
Something about her seems achingly familiar, though you’re certain you don’t know her face. She moves with an ease that strikes a chord, stirring memories you can’t quite grasp.
You stand frozen, captivated. The hum continues, softer now, like a gentle stream trickling over stones. And as if sensing it, she turns.
Her gaze lifts, and her eyes meet yours. For a heartbeat, you stare at each other, the din of the festival falling away until it feels as though it’s just the two of you suspended in that quiet moment.
Her warm smile falters, surprise flashing across her face before something else, an emotion you can’t quite name, overtakes it. She looks away quickly, her shoulders stiffening. Without a word, she clutches her scarf a little tighter and turns, weaving into the crowd with a swift, purposeful stride.
A sudden pang of dread surges within you, sharper than you expect. You can’t let her slip away, not when she holds a piece of something you’d thought was lost—a thread to something deeper, something you need to understand.
<hr>
[[You swallow, pulse racing, the choice crystal clear.]] You push through the crowd, weaving between strangers as you try to catch up to the woman. Each step feels more frantic than the last, your heart hammering in your chest as you catch glimpses of her maroon scarf flickering through the throng, only to lose sight of it again. Every time you think you’ve spotted her, she slips out of view, swallowed by the surge of people moving in every direction.
The festival’s warmth and cheer blur into a wall of noise and color around you, and a wave of panic rises as the distance between you grows. You surge forward, calling out, but your voice is swallowed by the music and laughter. The more you chase, the more elusive she becomes, like a shadow slipping just beyond reach.
An inexplicable ache blooms in your chest—a sense of loss that feels almost like mourning, raw and consuming. Your breath stumbles, each inhale shallow and strained as if the air itself is slipping away. A voice in the back of your mind whispers that you’re losing something irreplaceable, something that belongs to you. The hum that led you to her echoes faintly, tugging at you, and you wonder how you could let her disappear.
The crowd presses around you, each person a barrier, and the panic claws deeper, filling you with a hollowness that aches. Your vision blurs, overwhelmed, and just as you feel you’re about to be swallowed entirely—
A cold grip wraps around your arm. Fingers slender and pale, with a striking splash of red nail polish, dig firmly into your skin, pulling you back with an unexpected strength. You’re yanked off the path and into a small, shadowed nook on the edge of the festival, the noise of the crowd falling away in an instant.
<hr>
[[who...|Introducing Akiyo]]<span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Come out, come out, wherever you are.</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>00:00am</h2></span>
The cold grip anchors you, cutting through the fog of panic like a blade. Pulled from the crowd, you find yourself in a small, secluded corner, the noise of the festival muffled now, the air cooler and still. Heart still pounding, you glance down at the porcelain hand gripping your arm, the crimson nails a sharp contrast against her skin. The woman lets go just as quickly as she’d taken hold, her hand dropping to her side in a gesture both measured and deliberate.
You look up, catching a glimpse of her face. Her features are fine and striking, with red paint swept elegantly across her eyes and brows, contrasting with her pale, almost porcelain complexion. Dark, glossy hair flows over her shoulders, framing her composed expression as her sharp gaze appraises you with unflinching intensity. Her outfit—a deep red layered top over black pants with understated brown accents—hints at practicality, a contrast to the delicate appearance of her skin.
She watches you, her face calm, yet her eyes hold a spark of something almost analytical. Her gaze doesn’t soften, but you feel an awareness there, an intent in the way she studies you, as if you’re a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"Are you alright?" she asks, her voice low and unhurried, carefully neutral, almost clinical. Her question isn’t laced with sympathy, but instead has the precision of someone who simply wants to know if you’re functional, if you can continue. It grounds you, the logic of her tone cutting through the lingering haze of panic, forcing you to focus.
She doesn’t fill the silence with comforting words or questions. Instead, she stands there, arms crossed loosely, waiting, her gaze steady. Her presence feels solid, immovable, and that steadiness pulls you back, anchoring your scattered thoughts. Her eyes flick over your face as if she’s assessing the situation, gauging your reaction, waiting for you to regain composure.
<hr>
[[“I didn’t need your help,” you mutter, brushing off her hand, though a part of you feels shaken. “Just...someone I thought I knew. Doesn’t matter now.”]]
[["Thank you, but I’ll manage,” you say, a calm tone masking the racing questions in your mind. “That…took me by surprise."]]
[[“Well, that was…embarrassing,” you say, a strained smile barely breaking through.]]
[["I don’t know what just happened..."]]
Her gaze sharpens, and she studies you with a perceptiveness that’s almost unsettling. "You may not have needed my help," she says calmly, her tone unwavering, "but you certainly needed to get to her. That was obvious." Her words are precise, unembellished, and you feel the impact of each one, cutting through your guarded front.
You shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny, a faint irritation stirring, but she doesn’t back down. “Whoever she was, she pulled a reaction from you. That’s not nothing.” Her voice remains measured, lacking any trace of sympathy—just a straightforward conviction that seems to leave no room for argument.
"It doesn’t matter,” you reply, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice. "It was just—" The words die on your lips as her expression hardens, unyielding and focused.
"Everyone deserves answers,” she states, her voice softening slightly, though there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Something vulnerable, like a truth she’s determined to hold onto. “You included. Don't turn away because it's inconvenient.” There’s a trace of resolve, maybe even defiance, in her tone, as though she’s speaking as much to herself as to you.
You hesitate, her words lingering uncomfortably close to the thoughts you’d been trying to dismiss. A beat passes before you exhale, the tension in your shoulders loosening just slightly. "Fine," you mutter, your voice reluctant, yet somehow resigned. “Maybe you’re right.”
<hr>
[[And find her you will]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>The lady’s gaze softens, and she nods, a slight warmth breaking through her usual reserve. “Honesty suits you,” she says quietly. “And that… feeling of being lost, of needing answers? It’s important. Everyone deserves that clarity.” Her eyes drift for a moment, a distant look overtaking her expression, as though she’s affirming it more for herself than you.
You watch her, sensing there’s a story behind those words, and something in her look tells you she knows exactly what it’s like to feel adrift, searching for something that’s just out of reach. It’s comforting, almost grounding, to find someone who seems to understand.
“Yeah,” you say, the conviction building in your voice as the bewilderment settles into a strange kind of resolve. “I think I need to know why I felt that way. I need to find her.”
<hr>
[[And find her you will]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>The lady’s eyes narrow slightly, her gaze cutting through your forced smile. “You say that,” she replies coolly, “but I get the feeling there’s more to it.”
You chuckle, a bit too quickly. “Hey, I’m not above a little spectacle every now and then,” you say, brushing off the tension. “Adds some excitement, right?” But the joke lands flat; her expression remains unmoved, unimpressed.
She crosses her arms, her stance perfectly composed. “Excitement isn’t the word I’d use,” she says. “You’re deflecting, and poorly.” Her voice is calm, but there’s a firm edge to it. “If this wasn’t important, you wouldn’t have gone running after that woman in the first place. Or be looking this rattled now.”
Your smile falters, and you shift, instinctively reaching for another witty remark. “Rattled? Me? No, no. I’m just—” But her eyes remain locked on yours, unwavering, calling your bluff in a way that leaves no room for excuses.
Finally, you sigh, letting the strained humor drop. “Alright,” you admit, your tone quieting. “Maybe there’s more to it than I’d like to admit.” The words come out reluctantly, the reality sinking in without your usual veneer to soften it.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Answers aren't a joke]] <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>The lady’s gaze doesn’t waver, her eyes sharp and assessing. "Are you going to go after her?" she asks, her tone as level as yours but with an edge that makes it clear she’s waiting for a real answer.
You open your mouth, then close it again, uncertain. Are you? The question lodges in your mind, unsettling you. You’re not even sure why that woman felt so important. The humming, the strange familiarity of it—it doesn’t make sense. “I…I don’t know,” you murmur, feeling foolish admitting it. “It was just…a sound, a song, maybe.”
She raises an eyebrow, her expression unwavering. "And yet it affected you," she points out, not unkindly. "That song made you chase after her like it mattered. Maybe it did.”
The words hang between you, cutting through the haze of confusion. She’s looking at you with that same calm, steady gaze, waiting for you to accept what you’ve been pushing down. “Sometimes," she continues, her tone softening ever so slightly, "we don’t understand why something pulls us. But if you’re already this unsettled…don't you think finding out might be worth it?"
Her words settle over you, quiet but firm, and a part of you feels the weight of their truth. You glance back at her, realizing her look holds something personal, a hint of understanding. Like maybe she’s been where you are.
Finally, you exhale, a reluctant nod following. "Maybe you’re right," you say, the words coming out begrudgingly but laced with a new resolve.
<hr>
[[And find her you will]] <<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>Her expression remains resolute as she regards you, arms crossed with a slight crease of disapproval between her brows. “Answers aren’t a joke,” she says, her voice cutting through your attempts to lighten the mood. “They’re the things that drive us, that help us understand who we are and where we come from. Ignoring them… or making light of them…” She shakes her head. “You deserve better than that.”
Her words hit with unexpected weight, and the humor dies on your lips. “I—well, maybe,” you start, but she interrupts, her voice softer but no less insistent.
“This moment meant something to you. Maybe you don’t know why, but if you run from it, you’ll only be left wondering.” She studies you, her eyes steady, unwavering. “You were willing to chase that woman for a reason. Don't let that reason slip away.”
You stare at her, the urge to deflect fading under the gravity of her words. Slowly, you nod, the truth settling in. “Alright,” you say, finally conceding. “Maybe I do need to know. I’ll… I’ll go after her.”
<hr>
[[And find her you will]] Or not.
Stepping out of the secluded nook, you’re greeted by a sea of people, the festival’s energy surging as midnight draws closer. Lanterns flicker above, casting a warm glow over the crowd that now seems even thicker, more impenetrable. Your heart sinks a bit, the odds of finding that woman dwindling with every passing moment.
The young woman joins you, her gaze already steady on your face, as though she doesn’t need to glance around to understand your hesitation. There’s a calmness in her demeanor, one that seems to read the unspoken thoughts crossing your mind. She tilts her head slightly, studying you, before speaking with a quiet confidence.
“Do you need help finding her?” she asks, her tone pragmatic, yet softened by a genuine willingness to aid.
You glance back at her, surprised by the offer, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s pride or relief that you feel.
<hr>
[[Yes.|Accept Akiyo's help]]
[[No.|Decline Akiyo's help]] The sounds and lights of the festival press in around you, a blur of voices, laughter, and music filling the cool night air. Lanterns cast pools of shifting color across the faces in the crowd, highlighting the intricate costumes and the joyful energy reaching its peak. Yet, with each second that slips by, the woman you’re looking for feels further away, dissolving into the sea of people.
The lady waits, her gaze steady, that glint of curiosity shining brighter now. “If you’re sure, I’m ready to help you find her,” she says, her tone gentle but carrying a clear conviction. “No one deserves to be left wondering.”
You hesitate, caught between the urge to search on your own and the reality that the chances of finding her alone are slim. Glancing back at her, something in her expression—a kind of empathy you didn’t expect—draws you in.
“Yeah, alright. I think… I’d appreciate it,” you admit, the words sounding almost foreign but right. “I need to know why she seemed familiar. Why I can’t get that sound out of my head.”
Her eyes soften, though her determination doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll figure it out. Sometimes these things find us whether we’re ready for them or not,” she says, almost to herself, and then nods as if reaffirming the promise. “I won’t let us leave until we find her.”
You both push forward into the shifting, lively crowd. The scents of incense and festival spices waft through the air, mixing with the sounds of distant drums and laughter, but for you, they barely register now. All that matters is finding her.
<hr>
[[. . . . |come out, come out wherever you are.]]You shake your head, managing a small, apologetic look. “Thanks, but I think I need to do this alone,” you say, hoping your words come off as firm, though there's a trace of regret as you see the hint of disappointment flicker across her features.
Her expression steadies, composure just as calm and collected as when she first appeared. With a small nod, she meets your gaze, her voice even. “Very well. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She offers a quiet wish of luck before turning away, her movements graceful yet measured.
As she walks off, a flash of deep red catches your eye—her gown, emblazoned on the back with the intricate insignia of Emperor's Arcanum. You pause, momentarily struck; she’s the first person you've encountered from that famed district, her bearing as dignified as you’d heard. But there's no time to dwell on it.
The need for answers drives you forward, propelling you back into the crowd with renewed urgency.
<hr>
[[Meddle about]] You weave through the bustling crowd, heart racing as the vibrant festival continues to swirl around you. Colorful banners flap in the gentle breeze, and laughter mingles with the sounds of distant music, but all of it feels muted compared to the urgency within you. The woman in the red scarf haunts your thoughts, her mysterious presence a beacon leading you deeper into the throng.
As you navigate past clusters of festival-goers, the crowd begins to thin, drawing you into a more secluded corner of the event. Here, the laughter fades, and the atmosphere shifts; the air feels heavier, more charged, as if something significant is just beyond reach. You glance around, scanning the dimly lit paths for any sign of the woman, but despair begins to settle in. What if you never find her?
Just as that hopeless thought takes root, an unexpected sound pierces the air—an abrupt break in the festival's melody, sharp and unsettling. Your heart skips a beat, every sense sharpening as you strain to listen.
<hr>
[[There it is again...]]The vibrant chaos of the festival swirls around you as you navigate through throngs of people, laughter and music enveloping you like a thick tapestry. The lady stays close, her presence a steadying force amidst the chaos.
“Let’s try over there,” she suggests, pointing towards a less crowded path leading toward a cluster of stalls selling shimmering trinkets and colorful fabrics. You follow her lead, your instincts guiding you to trust her judgment.
As you weave through the crowd, your heart races, and the lingering image of the woman in the maroon scarf pulls you forward. Suddenly, a flash of red catches your eye from the corner of your vision. There it is—the scarf, just a glimpse, but unmistakable. Without thinking, you surge ahead, adrenaline fueling your movements.
“there! right there!” you shout, urgency creeping into your voice. You push through the throng, your focus narrowing to that elusive figure. The lady beside you keeps pace, her expression shifting to one of keen determination.
You round a corner, and the crowd begins to thin. Finally, you see her—a fleeting silhouette at the end of a narrow alley, the woman with the maroon scarf seemingly trapped against a wall. She turns cautiously, surprise flickering across her face as she meets your gaze. You can see the uncertainty in her eyes, reflecting your own sense of urgency and the weight of unspoken questions.
Your companion arrives just behind you, her presence solid and reassuring as you both stand there, the festival noise fading into a distant murmur. The moment hangs suspended in time, the air thick with anticipation.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Gotchu Amira]] As you step closer, the older woman’s composure unravels entirely, and she bursts into tears. Her hand flies to her eyes, dabbing at the corners with a delicate handkerchief, as she mumbles a string of apologies. The sincerity of her distress is palpable, yet deep down, you sense that her apologies are not entirely about her sudden flight.
The lady beside you remains silent, her sharp gaze fixed on the woman, clearly assessing the situation but refraining from interjecting. There’s an unspoken understanding between the two of you—this moment is yours to navigate, and she respects that, even if her curiosity lingers just beneath the surface.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman gasps, her voice trembling as she struggles to regain her composure. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. Please, forgive my hasty retreat.”
“It’s alright,” you respond gently, trying to soothe her. “I just wanted to ask you a question.”
She shakes her head vehemently, her expression shifting from remorse to determination. “Forget the question, my dear. It’s much more important that we talk—at my home, if you’ll allow it.”
The invitation hangs in the air, laden with a mixture of urgency and sincerity. You exchange a glance with the lady beside you, who remains quietly attentive, her demeanor suggesting she’s ready to support you in whatever decision you make.
“I—” you begin, unsure of what to say. But the need for answers pulls at you, and the gravity of the moment settles over you.
“Please,” the woman implores, her voice low and steady now, the earlier panic subsiding into a refined calmness. “There are things we must discuss, things you deserve to know.”
<hr>
[[. . . . |At Amira's Mansion]] As you settle into the plush couch, you take in your surroundings. The room exudes a sophisticated charm, each detail meticulously curated. Black mini sculptures in glass containers adorn the shelves, their elegant forms glinting under the soft light. Stained glass tables, with intricate designs depicting mythical creatures, cast colorful reflections that dance across the polished wooden floors. Rich tapestries hang on the walls, their deep hues contrasting beautifully with the lighter shades of the room, giving it an inviting warmth despite the high-class ambiance.
The faint scent of jasmine wafts through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea as a maid glides into the room. She sets down delicate cups, their porcelain surfaces adorned with gold filigree, before retreating quietly. Amira, the older woman seated across from you, regards the maid with a nod of appreciation, her expression a mix of gratitude and lingering sadness.
Her silver hair is elegantly styled, but traces of tears glisten in her eyes, reflecting a complex tapestry of emotions. “Thank you,” she murmurs softly, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of vulnerability. “Now, allow me to introduce myself. I am Amira Liban.”
At this, your companion sits a bit more forward with a graceful nod, offering a poised smile. “I’ve heard of your hospitality, Lady Amira,” she begins smoothly, her tone respectful yet carrying a hint of her own well-earned confidence. “My family speaks highly of you—I am Akiyo, of the Yeom household.”
Amira’s expression softens a little further, recognizing the name. “Ah, the Yeoms,” she says with a slight smile, clearly taking note.
Her gaze then drifts momentarily, as if lost in thought, before returning to you with a more serious demeanor. “And may I ask for your name?”
There’s a gentle intensity in her expression, an unspoken weight hanging in the air. You sense the depth of her feelings beneath her composed exterior, prompting you to consider whether to share your name or keep it to yourself. The warmth of her presence offers a strange comfort amidst the tension, but you can’t shake the feeling that she sees something in you that stirs her emotions—a connection that leaves both of you a little unsettled.
<hr>
[[Say your name][$Aknowsurname = "Aknowsname"]]
[[Don't say your name][$Aknowsurname = "doesntknowname"]]As Amira watches you with a mix of curiosity and concern, you feel a sudden reluctance to share your name. The atmosphere in the room shifts, the warmth becoming slightly strained. You catch Akiyo’s eye, and she raises an inquisitive brow, sensing the tension.
“It’s not important,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the weight of the moment. “I’d prefer to get straight into questions, if that’s alright.”
Amira’s expression falters for just a moment, a flicker of hurt crossing her face. The kind, inviting glow in her eyes dims slightly, revealing the pain lingering beneath her composed surface. Yet, with a practiced grace, she nods in compliance. “Of course,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying a hint of disappointment. “What would you like to know?”
The somber tone in her voice adds a heaviness to the air, and you can't help but feel the gravity of the situation. You notice how Akiyo’s demeanor shifts as well, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern for Amira. The vulnerability in the room deepens, and you find yourself navigating the delicate balance between your own reservations and the emotional landscape unfolding before you.
<hr>
[[The humming]] After a moment of silence, you feel a subtle shift within yourself, a desire to connect breaking through your earlier hesitation. With a deep breath, you finally share your name, “It’s $name $lastname.”
As the words leave your lips, a wave of recognition washes over you. You remember reading that name off the locket you found in your pocket after awakening a few years ago. In that moment, it felt so right—like a missing piece of your identity finally falling into place. There was no doubt in your mind that this was truly yours. You rub your thumb against the smooth surface of the locket within your garments instinctively.
Amira’s demeanor shifts as she processes your name. She takes a deep breath, nodding slowly, and wipes at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. It’s a small gesture, but it carries a weight of emotion, as if your name has stirred something deep within her.
“$name,” she says softly, “that’s a beautiful name.” Her voice is steady, but the warmth is tempered by an underlying sadness. She gestures to the cups of tea before you both, then picks up her own, taking a moment to sip as if biding time to gather herself.
“Please, ask whatever you wish,” she adds, the invitation hanging in the air. You can sense the fragility in her tone, an unspoken urgency to move forward despite the emotions swirling between you. Her gaze remains fixed on you, waiting, hopeful that the questions you bring will lead to a deeper understanding, perhaps even healing.
<hr>
[[The humming]] The humming lingers in your mind, an enigmatic thread woven into the fabric of the room. You want to ask about it, but the words swirl around in your head, each one sounding sillier than the last. //'How dare you hum?'// or //'Why were you humming?'// feels too confrontational, too absurd. Yet the yearning to uncover the meaning behind it—something you can’t quite grasp—drives you forward, pushing the question to the forefront of your thoughts.
As you struggle to find the right words, Akiyo, ever perceptive, steps in to bridge the gap. “Ma'am,” she begins, her tone measured, <<if $Aknowsurname == "Aknowsname">>“there was a specific tune you were humming earlier. I’m sure $name is curious about it.”<<elseif $Aknowsurname == "doesntknowname">>"there was a specific tune you were humming earlier. I’m sure $gender is simply curious about it.”<<else>>... <</if>>
The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, the room feels suspended in time. Amira’s gaze drops, and a sigh escapes her lips, heavy with memories. “My…This beautiful young lady…” she mutters, the words barely audible, laden with an emotion that seems to intertwine sadness and nostalgia.
The atmosphere shifts again, and you can sense the weight of that unspoken bond, a connection that transcends the present moment. Whatever the tune signifies, it resonates deeply with Amira, and the longing in her voice hints at a story waiting to unfold.
<hr>
[[Continue|More Mc and Ophelia lore]] Amira’s gaze turns distant, as if she’s lost in a memory. “My best friend,” she begins, her voice softening with fondness, “was a free-spirited woman. She would hum that song often, wherever she went. It became a part of her, and, in turn, it stuck with me.”
The warmth in her tone is palpable, yet it’s tinged with a bittersweet sadness that echoes in the air. You can almost see the images she conjures, vivid snapshots of laughter and shared moments, but they are also shadowed by the weight of loss.
Akiyo, sensing the importance of this revelation, glances at you to gauge your reaction. She appears uncertain, as if trying to decipher whether this information is truly significant or just a fleeting detail.
You feel a knot tightening in your stomach, a sensation akin to standing on the edge of a cliff, peering into the unknown. The question of whether this specific song is just well-known or holds deeper meaning lingers in your mind, leaving you on the brink of something yet undefined. Who’s to say this will lead to the answers you seek? The uncertainty hangs heavily, a mix of hope and apprehension guiding your next move.
<hr>
[[Continue|Carry on the lore]] Amira’s gaze drifts into the past, her expression softening with fond remembrance. “I once lived with a remarkable young woman,” she begins, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “She was my other half, in every sense of the word. The kind of person who left an impression on everyone she met.”
Her voice lowers, almost as if she’s sharing a secret. “She had this habit…she’d hum more than she’d sing aloud, always too reserved to let the full melody out.” Her smile lingers, but a sheen of emotion touches her eyes, her fingers brushing the edge of her teacup as though holding onto the memory itself. She pauses, and you can sense her fighting to keep her composure, memories flooding back with an intensity that seems to border on grief.
Then, almost as if waking from her reverie, Amira lets out a deep, weary sigh. “Life,” she murmurs, voice tinged with a quiet bitterness, “is not always fair.”
The words hang heavily, and a thought stirs within you—a quiet, sobering realization that perhaps this friend is no longer alive. You feel a pang of sympathy, but before you can voice it, Amira catches the expression on your face. She shakes her head quickly, waving her hand as if to dispel the thought.
“Oh, no,” she says, her voice insistent. “She isn’t—well, at least, not as far as I know.” A small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. “No news has reached me of that sort.” The reassurance feels fragile, but she clings to it, her gaze lingering on some unseen horizon, as if searching for her lost friend in the memories that fill the room.
<hr>
[[Continue|carryyyy]] Amira’s eyes drift back to you, an almost knowing look settling in. “I think I understand why you found the humming so familiar,” she says softly, her voice a gentle thread pulling you toward a shared revelation.
You hesitate, piecing together the scattered memories. “I... I met a woman once,” you begin, feeling Akiyo’s watchful gaze on you as you search for the right words. “It was in Silversvale. She was traveling and stayed with me for a time. Before she left, she paid a hefty sum to the inn for my stay for several years.” The words feel surreal as they leave your lips, as if some deeply buried memory is surfacing. “I think… I think it might’ve been her.”
Subconsciously, you glance at Akiyo, her steady nod urging you forward, her eyes holding a warmth that gives you the courage to lay bare your suspicions. Her presence anchors you, and she gives an encouraging nod, as if silently saying, //Yes, tell her your truth.// You wonder why she's so willing to help.
Amira’s expression flickers with surprise, her brows knitting together. For a moment, she seems caught between disbelief and hope. Then she nods, perhaps a little too quickly. “Yes… yes $name, that’s what I thought too,” she murmurs, though there’s something unreadable in her expression, a shadow that seems to linger just beneath her agreement.
You sense it—<<if $Aknowsurname == "Aknowsname">>the way she almost seems to dodge some unseen truth,<<elseif $Aknowsurname == "doesntknowname">>the way she almost seems to dodge some unseen truth, the way she said your name in such a familiar tone without you saying it,<<else>>... <</if>> a glimmer of something else buried beneath her words. A <<if $Aknowsurname == "Aknowsname">>quiet<<elseif $Aknowsurname == "doesntknowname">>glaring<<else>>... <</if>> suspicion rises within you. <<if $Aknowsurname == "Aknowsname">>//'Is she hiding something?'//<<elseif $Aknowsurname == "doesntknowname">>//'Is she hiding something? And does she know you?'// <<else>>... <</if>>The question lingers, tempting you to press further, or perhaps, to let it pass and carry on. The choice hangs in the air, waiting for you to make your move.
<hr>
[[Pressure her to tell you more]]
[[Let it go and carry on]] You lean forward, a quiet intensity in your voice. "I don’t think that’s the full story, is it, Miss Amira?" you ask, trying to keep your tone calm but firm. “You said you suspected, but it feels like you know more than you’re saying. Why was she there? Who is she to me?”
Lady Amira tenses, her hands clutching her teacup as though it’s the only thing grounding her. A few maids, subtly attentive in the room, exchange glances, sensing the rising tension. She shifts her gaze, looking everywhere but at you, and her voice trembles as she forces a smile. "I… I don’t know what you mean," she manages, though the wavering in her tone betrays her.
<<if $Aknowsurname == "Aknowsname">>You take a breath, pressing on despite her unease. “You mentioned my name so easily, almost as if you already knew it. There’s something else you’re not telling me. I can see it, Lady Amira—there’s more to this. Please, I need to know.”<<elseif $Aknowsurname == "doesntknowname">>You continue, undeterred. “You recognized my name without me even saying it. I need the truth, Lady Amira—please, if you know who she is to me, you have to tell me.”<<else>>... <</if>>
Her grip tightens until her knuckles are white, her breathing shallow as she fights to hold onto her composure. The other servants glance nervously toward the door, uncertain whether they should leave or intervene, and a stillness fills the air, like everyone is waiting for the dam to break.
“I know you’re protecting something—someone—” you press, your voice barely above a whisper. But then, in a flash of emotion, Lady Amira’s restraint shatters.
“I’m protecting you!” The words burst from her, and the room falls silent as she seems to realize what she’s just revealed. Her hand flies to her mouth, her own shock evident as her words hang between you, heavy and raw.
Akiyo, seated beside you, sits up straighter, her eyes widening as the weight of Lady Amira’s outburst settles over the room. The maids and servants remain frozen, eyes glued to the scene, as though they, too, feel the intensity of the moment.
Lady Amira takes a shaky breath, her voice quieter now, filled with an ache that she can’t suppress. “You’re treading into matters that... that could endanger your very life.” Her gaze is filled with an urgent, almost maternal fear as she struggles to compose herself, her previous outburst clearly unnerving her. “If you care about your life,” she says, her voice breaking as she glances away, “don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
Her words sting, the warning through her cracked tone lingering like an unsolved riddle, even as she gestures toward the door. "Leave. Now."
Her words echo through the room, each syllable weighted with a sorrow that seems to pierce through to your core, and an uncomfortable silence settles in as she gestures toward the door. A pair of attendants step forward, clearly prepared to escort you out. The maids exchange glances again, as though silently lamenting this sad moment that none of them fully understands.
As you and Akiyo rise, one final glance at Lady Amira reveals her standing with her gaze downcast, her expression an unreadable mixture of regret and sorrow, as if she bears a secret she cannot, or will not, share. The attendants guide you toward the door, their polite yet firm hands steering you away from the questions left hanging in the air, questions that seem destined to remain unanswered.
<hr>
[[Return to the cold air]] <h2>Psst! I'm not done with this bit, back! Go back!!</h2>
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/1kQ4AAxwaAEAAAAM/lets-go-gif-come-on.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/1kQ4AAxwaAEAAAAM/lets-go-gif-come-on.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>As the two of you step outside the mansion, a heavy silence settles between you. The evening air is cool and laden with the fragrance of distant flowers, contrasting sharply with the tangled emotions still lingering in your chest. You steal a glance at Akiyo, half-expecting her to press you for answers about what just happened with Lady Amira.
But she doesn’t. She’s walking beside you, hands clasped before her, her gaze cast thoughtfully at the path ahead, as if she’s giving you space. Somehow, the absence of questions feels just as weighty as an interrogation would.
After a few beats, Akiyo breaks the silence, but her tone is soft, careful. “Quite a meeting,” she murmurs, her voice neutral, neither probing nor dismissive.
You hesitate, wondering how much you should say—how much you //want// to say. For a stranger, she’s already glimpsed more of your life’s messiness than you’d have chosen to share.
But Akiyo’s gaze is gentle when she finally glances your way, her eyes calm and without judgment. It’s an invitation rather than an expectation.
Finally, you sigh, your voice coming out quieter than you meant. “It… it feels strange, to be known by someone I hardly know myself,” you admit, a bit surprised at your own honesty.
Akiyo nods, her understanding clear in the soft crinkle of her eyes. “If it’s any comfort,” she says gently, “sometimes, getting to know someone in the midst of their ‘mess’ brings out the best parts of them.” She smiles, an unspoken reassurance in her words. “And I’d say that’s something worth seeing, don’t you think?”
There’s a surprising comfort in her words, in her presence. She isn’t demanding answers or prying; she’s just //there//, a solid presence as you both walk away from the mansion and whatever truths Lady Amira still holds close.
<hr>
[[You appreciate her|platonically appreciate Akiyo]]
[[You appreciate her ♡|romantically appreciate Akiyo]]
[[You feel uncomfortably seen]] As the two of you walk toward the heart of the festival, the noise and energy around you feel like they’re spilling over, lively and chaotic, contrasting the quiet that had settled between you and Akiyo. For a moment, you find yourself glancing at her, catching sight of her serene expression as she glides beside you with an elegance that’s almost natural, as if she belongs to a different world entirely. You realize she hasn’t once pressed you for details, nor demanded explanations—you’ve both moved through tangled conversations, tense silences, and strange revelations, and she’s taken it all in stride.
There's a quiet admiration that starts to surface, a sense of gratitude for her patience and her calm. Though she doesn’t quite know the intricacies of your life, she hasn’t shied away, nor has she tried to intrude. It's a rare thing, you think, to feel supported without feeling scrutinized, to be given space without the weight of judgment. Her presence, steady and unobtrusive, feels like a gift you hadn’t expected tonight.
You catch her eye and nod subtly, and Akiyo acknowledges it with a small smile, her silver hair catching in the soft glow of the festival lanterns. She doesn't ask you what you're thinking or try to break the moment, seeming to understand that some things are better left unspoken. Instead, she continues walking beside you, unhurried, comfortable in the silence that stretches between you.
There’s an ease to it, a mutual understanding in the quiet. And as the night deepens around the two of you, it seems she’s content to let things unfold at their own pace—no pressure, no demands, just a steady companionship that somehow feels grounding.
Akiyo breaks the silence, her voice steady but unexpectedly conversational. “Are you finding the festival to your taste so far?” she asks, as if the two of you hadn’t just come from a rather intense meeting, as if you weren’t just unraveling your own silent mess in her company. She looks over at you, waiting patiently for an answer, seemingly unaware of your momentary distraction.
<hr>
[[“It’s beautiful, in its own way. The energy is… quite something.”]]
[[“Oh, I’m always a fan of a good celebration. But if you’ve got any secret festival tips, I’m all ears!”]]
[[“It’s all noise and pretense to me, honestly. The whole thing seems a bit too extravagant for what it’s worth.”]]
[[“It’s… fine, I guess? Just like any other festival.”]] <<set $akiyoFriendship2 to Math.clamp($akiyoFriendship2 + 2, 0, 100)>>As you walk together, your attention drifts, pulled by Akiyo’s quiet grace. Her steps are measured, hands clasped before her in a way that somehow looks both reserved and refined. Her face is a study in thoughtfulness, the faintest hint of sadness etched into her expression, as though she’s weighed down by reflections she never quite shares. Strands of her straight, dark hair flutter in the evening breeze, sweeping across her monolid eyes with a calm, natural elegance. The red paint outlining her eyes contrasts vividly against her pale skin, enhancing the delicate yet striking features she carries with such ease.
Your gaze falls lower, taking in the soft curve of her lips, and suddenly, you realize you’ve been staring. The realization sends a rush of warmth to your face, and you quickly look away, embarrassed by how you’ve been caught up—so focused that you hadn’t even noticed until now.
Just as you pull your gaze back to the path ahead, Akiyo breaks the silence, her voice steady but unexpectedly conversational. “Are you finding the festival to your taste so far?” she asks, as if the two of you hadn’t just come from a rather intense meeting, as if you weren’t just unraveling your own silent mess in her company. She looks over at you, waiting patiently for an answer, seemingly unaware of your momentary distraction.
<hr>
[[“It’s beautiful, in its own way. The energy is… quite something.”]]
[[“Oh, I’m always a fan of a good celebration. But if you’ve got any secret festival tips, I’m all ears!”]]
[[“It’s all noise and pretense to me, honestly. The whole thing seems a bit too extravagant for what it’s worth.”]]
[[“It’s… fine, I guess? Just like any other festival.”]] <<set $akiyoRomance2 to Math.clamp($akiyoRomance2 + 3, 0, 100)>>As you walk down the mansion’s pathway, each step away from Lady Amira’s words should feel like a relief—but the feeling doesn’t come. Instead, a prickling discomfort settles over you, growing sharper with every quiet moment beside Akiyo. The realization that a near-stranger has now seen so much of you—//too much, too soon//—curls uneasily in your stomach. You can’t shake the feeling of being exposed, as if an invisible veil had been pulled away to leave you standing, vulnerable, in full view.
You glance at Akiyo, expecting—or maybe dreading—a question, some comment to dig further into what she witnessed. But Akiyo meets your gaze and, reading the unease there, says nothing. Her expression remains neutral, though a flicker of understanding softens her gaze. Instead of pushing, she offers a small, gentle nod, almost as if to acknowledge the silence as something she respects. And then she simply looks ahead, keeping her presence quiet and unobtrusive, giving you a thread of space in the tense quiet.
Eventually, the distant sounds of the festival drift to you—a lively buzz of laughter and music weaving through the night. The street ahead lights up with the glow of lanterns and the warmth of gathered crowds. Akiyo slows her pace, then turns to face you, offering a small but polite bow.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she says, her words simple yet courteous, showing none of the probing curiosity she may well feel. She gives you a brief smile, and as she walks away, the intricate insignia of the Arcanum Emperor, embroidered in delicate gold thread on the back of her red dress, catches in the lantern light. Its unmistakable symbol is a quiet, powerful reminder of her place in the world—a place as carefully guarded as the secrets Lady Amira holds.
As Akiyo’s figure fades into the distance, you’re left at the festival’s edge, surrounded by noise and light, but still carrying the weight of all you’ve heard, and the questions that remain unanswered.As you both walk through the cobbled streets, your gaze drifts to the vibrant, lively crowd celebrating the Kabot Festival. The flickering glow of lanterns casts a warm light across the faces of people dancing, laughing, and lost in the festivities. The air is thick with an energy that hums through the city, tangible and alive.
“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” you murmur thoughtfully, keeping your voice soft as if not to disturb the moment. “The energy is… quite something.”
Beside you, Akiyo remains poised, her hands clasped lightly in front of her as she walks. She gives a slight nod, eyes trained forward. “It is an effective display of unity,” she remarks with a measured tone. “A carefully crafted atmosphere, no doubt intended to mask tensions beneath the surface.”
Her words hold no disdain, only an analytical edge that mirrors her disciplined demeanor. Even in the middle of a celebration, Akiyo’s focus remains unbroken, as though she’s constantly calculating, piecing together unseen fragments of truth. There’s a steadiness to her presence that grounds you, even amid the whirlwind of colors and sounds.
After a beat, Akiyo breaks the silence, her tone casual yet direct. “Are you participating in the tournament?”
The question lingers, precise and unassuming, yet it feels as though she’s already dissecting the potential answers, preparing to gather whatever insight she can.
<hr>
[[Yes, you are.]]<<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive - 5, 0, 100)>>As you both make your way through the bustling crowd, the sounds of laughter, music, and chatter create a pulse in the air that’s hard to resist. You flash Akiyo a grin, letting the playful energy of the festival seep into your tone.
“Oh, I’m always a fan of a good celebration,” you say, a hint of warmth lingering in your words. “But if you’ve got any secret festival tips, I’m all ears!”
Akiyo raises a brow slightly, her expression unchanged, though there’s a flicker of attentiveness as she studies you, like she’s sifting through every nuance of your tone. She holds herself with that same calm precision, hands clasped in front of her as she walks beside you.
“Enjoyment aside,” she says, her voice even and almost detached, “a festival like this is layered with purpose—each piece as deliberate as a line of script. The people, the setting... they serve to present unity.” She glances over the crowds, her gaze coolly assessing. “Or at least, the illusion of it.”
There’s no cynicism in her words, only a detached, unshakeable logic. Even here, surrounded by celebration, Akiyo seems almost untouched by it, her mind circling only around the broader picture, unfazed by the sensory details that would distract most.
After a pause, she looks back at you, her expression steady. “Are you participating in the tournament?”
The question comes simply, but you can feel her sharp curiosity probing, even if silently. It’s as though she’s already piecing together every potential answer, gathering insight as rapidly as it’s given.
<hr>
[[Yes, you are.]]<<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic + 5, 0, 100)>>
<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof - 5, 0, 100)>>You take a moment to survey the festival—lively stalls, bright decorations, and people animatedly celebrating. Yet, the cheer feels forced to you, almost as if it’s all a façade.
“It’s all noise and pretense to me, honestly,” you reply, your tone clipped and dismissive. “The whole thing seems a bit too extravagant for what it’s worth.”
Akiyo’s brow furrows slightly, the only sign that your words have impacted her in any way. She processes your critique with her usual stoicism, though a flicker of curiosity dances in her dark eyes. The noise of the festival seems to fade around you, the vivid colors dimming against the weight of your indifference.
“Extravagance can often mask deeper truths,” she observes, her voice steady, devoid of judgment but tinged with an analytical edge. “One must wonder what is being concealed beneath such ostentation.”
She studies you closely, as if gauging whether your discontent is a mere statement or a signal of something more significant. The air between you hangs heavy with unspoken thoughts, her calm demeanor unwavering in the face of your callousness.
“Are you planning to enter the tournament?” she inquires next, her tone as composed as ever, clearly intent on dissecting your perspective further.
<hr>
[[Yes, you are.]]<<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>You glance around at the colorful chaos of the festival—the music, the decorations, the lively crowd filling every corner. For a moment, you pause, taking it all in.
“It’s... fine, I guess? Just like any other festival.” Your voice is flat, indifferent, as if the swirl of energy around you registers only as background noise.
Akiyo’s eyes linger on you, her gaze as sharp and assessing as ever. She doesn’t press for more, though the faintest crease appears between her brows, perhaps processing your detachment. She observes in silence, her demeanor calm, almost clinical, as if cataloging your reaction as just another data point.
“Perhaps so,” she says finally, her tone neutral, though it holds the faintest thread of intrigue. “Though such events often serve as a mask for greater intentions.”
The way she speaks is calm and measured, as though nothing here could distract her. Her eyes continue to scan the crowd, her expression unreadable, as if she’s seeing layers beneath the surface invisible to most. After a pause, her gaze returns to you.
“Are you participating in the tournament?” she asks, her voice steady. There’s no warmth in the question, only her unerring, razor-sharp attention, as though she’s dissecting your answer even before you’ve given it.
<hr>
[[Yes, you are.]]<<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>You take a steadying breath before responding, “I am planning to enter the tournament.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you notice Akiyo’s demeanor shift. Her red nails dig into her clasped hands, and for a fleeting moment, her composure wavers as she processes your simple confirmation. It’s almost as if she’s weighing the implications of your decision against an unseen scale, considering various scenarios that could unfold.
After a tense moment, she nods, her expression returning to its usual calm. “I wish you luck,” she says, her tone steady but laced with an undercurrent of concern. “There are vile creatures in plain sight nowadays, and you should beware.”
You’re not entirely sure if she’s speaking figuratively or if she means literal creatures, perhaps the shadowy figures that seem to haunt your every step. You open your mouth to respond, but before you can find the right words, Akiyo elegantly bids you farewell, her voice measured and professional.
As she walks away, the intricate insignia of the Arcanum Emperor embroidered in delicate gold thread on the back of her red dress catches the soft lantern light. It gleams subtly, an unmistakable symbol that serves as a quiet, powerful reminder of her place in the world—one that is as carefully guarded as the secrets Lady Amira holds. You watch her retreating figure, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and intrigue, wondering what other truths might lie behind her composed exterior.
<hr>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>[[. . . |Next Day]]<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>[[. . . .|Result Day with injured Dante]]<<else>>[[. . . |Next Day]]<</if>><span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Results!!!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>08:02am</h2></span>
The door creaked open as you stepped into Dante's room, the familiar scent of wood and faint lavender enveloping you. Without a second thought, you flopped down onto his bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath your weight.
"Ugh, really?" Dante groaned, his voice muffled by the covers. He turned to face you, his hickory straight bowl cut tousled and framing his face like a messy halo.
You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, sprawled comfortably under the blankets, bare skin catching the soft light filtering through the window. His eyes squinted at you, still heavy with sleep, but a hint of amusement flickered across his face.
"What’s got you barging in here like a wild boar?" he mumbled, a playful edge to his tone.
You leaned back against the headboard, feeling the warmth radiating from him, and thought about how the moment could shift in a heartbeat—a shared secret lingering in the air.
<hr>
[[You're speechless...♡]]
[["Its time for the results of your blood, sweat and tears."]]
You strain to discern the sound, the strange humming weaving its way through the air, echoing faintly but with an unsettling distortion that makes your skin prickle. It’s not the melodic tune that had accompanied the festivities; this feels jagged and discordant, as if the very fabric of the celebration has been frayed.
Drawn in by an instinct you can't quite explain, you begin to follow the sound, pushing deeper into the shadowy recesses of the Main Nexus. The vibrant colors of the festival fade behind you, leaving only muted grays and browns, the once-festive atmosphere swallowed by an eerie silence.
With each step, you feel the air grow heavy, tightening around your chest and making it hard to draw a full breath. A cold sweat beads on your brow as your heart pounds louder in your ears, but something compels you forward. Your legs seem to move of their own accord, propelling you deeper into the unknown, while your mind wrestles with a mounting sense of dread.
Every instinct tells you to turn back, but the humming calls to you—a haunting melody that pulls you closer, urging you to uncover whatever lies ahead. You feel an urgency swell within you, a primal need for answers driving your feet onward despite the warning bells echoing in your mind.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Kaisen shows up]] A smooth male voice calls out, //“Little Fox,”// from just behind you, sending a chill down your spine. You whirl around to find a tall man standing there, cutting an intimidating figure against the dimming light of the festival. He’s clad in a crisp maroon and partially black suit adorned with an array of badges that resemble those of a high-ranking general of sorts. His presence commands attention, and you feel the weight of his gaze.
His sharp features are striking, greying indigo eyes, deep enough to border on blue— glinting with a sadistic, amusement , and calculating gleam. There’s an unsettling confidence about him, an aura of authority that makes you instinctively take a step back.
“Ah, what a delightful little fox we have here, wandering into dangerous territory,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You know, curiosity can lead you to some rather perilous encounters. Investigating may just land you face to face with a python ready to end you.”
His words cut through the air, a mix of teasing and blunt honesty that leaves little room for interpretation. A lopsided grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, as if he enjoys watching your reaction. He sizes you up with an almost predatory precision, and there’s an intriguing blend of charm and danger in his demeanor that keeps you on edge.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Interact with Kaisen]] As you stand there, the weight of his gaze pressing down, you’re keenly aware of how still the space around you has become. The distant hum of the festival feels miles away, swallowed up by the shadows that stretch between you and this stranger.
He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t need to—his voice seems to bridge the distance effortlessly, coiling around you like smoke. “What’s the matter, Little Fox?” he drawls, an amused glint in those unsettling indigo eyes. “Didn’t expect anyone to follow your trail?”
You try to gauge his intentions, but his face is a mask, his smirk giving nothing away. Every word seems crafted to provoke, and despite the instinct to step back, something about his audacity roots you to the spot.
“What do you want?” you manage, trying to sound steady.
“Ah, now there’s the right question.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if measuring every inch of you, weighing your resolve. “I could answer… but what fun would that be?” His voice lowers, the faintest trace of laughter behind it. “Let’s just say that paths like yours tend to cross with mine eventually.”
Before you can reply, he straightens, giving a short nod as if satisfied with his own private conclusion. His gaze lingers a moment longer, then he steps back, blending almost seamlessly into the shadows, as if he was never there at all.
Only his words echo in your mind: //Curiosity, Little Fox… it has a way of leading you exactly where I want.//
<hr>
<<if $DanteTrialDecision == "NoWristInjury">>[[. . . |Next Day]]<<elseif $DanteTrialDecision == "WristInjury">>[[. . . .|Result Day with injured Dante]]<<else>>[[. . . |Next Day]]<</if>>“Wandering off so far from the lights—one might think you’re hunting trouble,” he says, his tone light, almost conversational, though his gaze feels like a blade’s edge.
He doesn’t wait for a reply, eyes lingering on you with a glint of curiosity. “Or maybe trouble’s what you’re running from?”
Your heart beats faster, though whether it’s out of caution or the sheer intrigue of his presence, you’re not sure. His teasing smirk suggests he’s taking in every shift of your expression, dissecting each moment.
<hr>
[[“You seem to know an awful lot for someone who just appeared out of thin air.”]]
[[“Maybe I just don’t like being followed.” You cross your arms.]]
[[“How do you know I’m even here alone?”]]
[[“Seems you know more than you’re letting on. Is there something I should be aware of?”]]
“What’s it to you?” you ask, meeting his gaze steadily. Despite his unnerving confidence, something about him makes you want answers. “You seem to know an awful lot for someone who just appeared out of thin air.”
He lets out a low chuckle, clearly entertained, and there’s an approving gleam in his indigo eyes as he tilts his head. “Sharp, aren’t you?” His grin widens, though there’s a touch of condescension in it, as if he’s humoring a clever pet. “But knowing me… that’s not so simple. Let’s just say I don’t deal in small questions, Little Fox.”
The nickname drips with a taunting familiarity, like he’s branded you with it. He stands there, hands loosely at his sides, yet there’s an effortless control in his stance, as if he knows he doesn’t need to take a step closer to be in command of the space. His gaze roams over you, studying you with an interest that feels unnervingly specific, as though he’s already picked apart every flicker of your expression and catalogued what he sees.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Carry On you seem to know a awful lot]] “Maybe I just don’t like being followed.” You cross your arms, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. “And I don’t remember inviting you.”
His smirk widens, clearly savoring the defiance in your tone. There’s an amused gleam in his eyes as he tilts his head slightly, appraising you like one might an amusing opponent who’s just made an unexpectedly bold move. “Is that so?” he drawls, sounding utterly unbothered. “And here I thought you liked a good mystery.”
The words are teasing, but his voice holds a sharper edge, an almost mocking amusement as if he’s privately relishing the idea of seeing just how far you’ll go with this attitude. His posture is relaxed, arms hanging loosely at his sides, but there’s a gleam in his greying indigo eyes, deep enough to border on blue— the look of someone who’s far too used to being in control, and who finds your defiance a delightful little diversion.
“I suppose you think you’re a bit of a lone wolf, hmm?” he muses, as if entertained by the very idea. “Bold enough to wander alone into the unknown… strong enough to handle //whatever// comes your way?” He lets out a low, humored chuckle, and though he doesn’t move an inch, the weight of his presence feels somehow closer, pressing in with every carefully chosen word.
The mock admiration in his voice is deliberate, and there’s something playfully biting in his gaze, as if daring you to believe you’re any less intriguing to him for this sudden display of defiance. His tone grows softer, more taunting. “Curious… most people would avoid drawing attention from strangers who seem a bit too interested.” The slight lilt in his voice suggests he’s more amused than offended, as if he’s effortlessly swatting aside your defiance, seeing it as little more than an entertaining performance.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Defiant scene with K]] <<set $Callous to Math.clamp($Callous + 5, 0, 100)>><<set $Empathetic to Math.clamp($Empathetic - 5, 0, 100)>>“How do you know I’m even here alone?” you reply cautiously, your instincts kicking in as you wonder just who this man is and how he’s involved in all of this. The air feels charged between you, and you can’t shake the sense that you’ve stepped into something deeper than a simple encounter.
He raises an eyebrow, a slight, approving nod punctuating his response. “Good instincts. But you’re going to need more than that if you keep sniffing out secrets. After all, who’s to say I’m not the least of your worries?” His voice carries a mocking lilt as he leans into the playful challenge. “Come on,” he continues, as if encouraging you to embrace the absurdity of the situation. “We’re friends, are we not little fox?”
The nickname drips with a taunting familiarity, as if he’s branded you with it. He stands there, hands loosely at his sides, yet there’s an effortless control in his stance, as if he knows he doesn’t need to take a step closer to command the space. His gaze roams over you, studying you with an unnerving precision, as though he’s already picked apart every flicker of your expression and catalogued what he sees.
<hr>
[[. . . .|im not alone K scene]] <<set $Honest to Math.clamp($Honest - 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Deceptive to Math.clamp($Deceptive + 5, 0, 100)>>You take a steadying breath, choosing your words carefully. “Seems you know more than you’re letting on. Is there something I should be aware of?”
His eyes narrow slightly, the faintest glint of approval mixed with his mocking grin. “Oh, Little Fox,” he says, dragging out the nickname with a taunting familiarity that feels almost possessive. “Wise choice of words, but awareness is such a fickle thing. There’s plenty lurking in the dark that would make even the bravest turn tail.” He chuckles, the sound low and unsettling, laced with a humor only he seems to find in this situation. “And yet here you are, drawn in, letting curiosity lead you right to the edge. Brave… or just reckless?”
He watches you intently, his gaze dissecting every detail with unnerving precision. It’s as if he’s memorizing each flicker of your expression, already cataloging your reactions as he stands there with effortless control, hands loosely at his sides. He knows he doesn’t need to take a step closer to dominate the space; his presence fills it completely. The way he looks at you—a hint of amusement dancing in his greying indigo eyes, deep enough to border on blue—feels like an invitation and a warning all at once.
“Though I’d never be a threat to you, of course,” he adds smoothly, his tone almost playful. “What kind of friend would that make me?” He flashes a lopsided smile, the mock sincerity barely hiding the undertone of danger. “No, the shadows you’re poking around in… well, they might bite back. And some bites, Little Fox, are a bit more final than others.” His gaze sharpens, making the warning linger, leaving no doubt that there’s a line he’s daring you to cross—or avoid entirely.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Kaisen speaks more]] <<set $Aloof to Math.clamp($Aloof + 5, 0, 100)>> <<set $Charismatic to Math.clamp($Charismatic - 5, 0, 100)>>“Though, I’ll admit,” he continues, voice low and smooth, “I do admire a bit of curiosity. A rare trait… especially for someone unprepared for what they’ll find.” His tone holds a subtle, knowing edge, as if he’s daring you to press further, to keep asking, knowing full well that the answers might not be what you’re prepared to hear. His gaze doesn’t waver; if anything, the silence feels weighted, like he’s testing how long you’ll hold it.
And yet, beneath the calm confidence and easy smile, there’s a sharpness in his eyes—a hint of something darker, perhaps even dangerous. The playfulness in his tone never quite masks it, and you can’t shake the feeling that every word, every gesture, is chosen with purpose. There’s a sense of calculation behind that casual demeanor, as though he’s already mapped out the steps you haven’t even considered yet.
“Small questions are tedious,” he adds, almost to himself. “But the right question… well, that’s when things get interesting. And you, Little Fox, seem to have a knack for finding the interesting.” His smile grows, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and for a moment, he just watches, waiting, as if savoring your reaction.
It’s unsettling, feeling the weight of his attention, and yet, despite yourself, a small part of you is intrigued. He seems perfectly comfortable letting you linger in the silence he’s created, holding your gaze as though he’s in no rush to fill it. You get the impression that he’s the type to savor each word exchanged, like the moment itself is just another piece in some game he’s designed.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Kaisen speaks more]] “Still,” he continues, a small, almost conspiratorial grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’ll give you this, Little Fox—you’re certainly not boring.” His eyes flash, as if he’s genuinely delighted by this unexpected edge to your attitude. “There’s a certain charm in it… watching someone pretend they’re untouchable. Just makes things… more interesting.”
He pauses, letting that last word hang in the air, as if savoring the effect it might have on you. His gaze remains locked on you, indigo eyes glinting with a playful malice, a sense of satisfaction flickering behind his relaxed demeanor. For all the challenge in your stance, he seems to be enjoying every moment, relishing the way you stand your ground.
It’s as if he sees straight through the defiance to something deeper, and his amusement at your words only grows. But there’s no hint of anger, no sign of frustration—just a quiet, biting pleasure in this back-and-forth, like he’s enjoying watching you try to resist being swept into his game, even as he knows he’s already won this round.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Kaisen speaks more]] His greying indigo eyes glimmer with a blend of mischief and danger, hinting at depths you can’t yet fathom. The way he examines you feels intrusive, yet there’s a strange allure to it, as if he’s inviting you into a game you didn’t sign up for. His smile is there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes; the warmth is overshadowed by a calculating gleam that leaves you unsettled.
“Think of me as an… ally of sorts,” he adds, his voice smooth and unhurried, like velvet draped over a blade. “And you’d do well to remember: not all dangers are immediately visible.” He allows the words to linger in the air, a warning veiled beneath layers of sarcasm and charm. The tension hangs thick between you, a mix of intrigue and caution that keeps you on edge.
You can’t shake the feeling that he’s playing a game, one where the rules are known only to him. And as much as you want to resist, a part of you is drawn in, curious about the depths of his knowledge and the shadows that surround him.
<hr>
[[. . . . |Kaisen speaks more]] <span style='font-family:cursive'><h1>Results!!!</h1></span><span style='font-family:cursive'><h2>08:02am</h2></span>
The morning light filters through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow across your room. You’ve barely slept, your thoughts tangled with anticipation and unease. Today’s the day. The results of the trial tournament are finally being announced, and the question of whether you’ll pass hangs over you like a weight, pressing down on your chest. You know how much this means—not just for you, but for everything you’ve been working toward. But even that anxious thrill is overshadowed by a deeper worry gnawing at the edges of your mind.
Dante.
He missed the festival last night. Not a single glimpse of him in the crowd, not a word or message to explain his absence. It’s... unusual. Dante would never miss a chance to be at a celebration, especially one as grand as the festival. The very idea of him staying away makes you feel a cold, unsettled prickle along your spine. He’d been acting strange leading up to the tournament, a bit quieter, maybe, but you hadn’t thought much of it. Now, though, a hundred possibilities flash through your mind, each one worse than the last.
As you pull on your clothes, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness, you tell yourself that maybe he just needed some time alone, maybe the pressure was getting to him, too. But the thought doesn’t ease the twisting in your stomach. You keep seeing his familiar grin, his laugh echoing in your mind, and it only makes the emptiness of his absence more painful. Whatever happened, it must be bad for him to miss something this important.
With a final glance in the mirror, you take a deep breath and steel yourself. The results await, and the weight of the day feels even heavier knowing you need to have talk.
<hr>
[[And talk you will|talk to injured Dante]] With a final glance in the mirror, you take a deep breath and steel yourself. The results await, and the weight of the day feels even heavier knowing you need to have that talk.
Making your way down the narrow hallway of the inn, you stop at room three—Dante’s room. Just outside the door, a maid is balancing a tray with what looks like a steaming breakfast, clearly ready to deliver it. She notices you and raises an eyebrow as you approach.
“He ordered a meal?” you ask, reaching for the tray.
She hesitates, her expression skeptical, but you manage a reassuring smile. “I’ll take it to him,” you say with a nod, doing your best to sound casual.
After a beat, she relents, handing it over with a reluctant sigh before turning and disappearing down the hall. You stare at the door for a moment, the tray warming your hands, and lift your knuckles to knock—four quick taps against the wood.
There’s a pause, then a muffled, “Come in.”
You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and slip into the room.
<hr>
[[Here goes nothing|Talk to injured Dante]] As you step inside, the morning light spills through the window, illuminating Dante’s tousled hair. He’s lounging on the bed, his expression a blend of casual ease and focused intent as he re-gauges his wrist.
“Look who decided to play delivery maid this morning,” you say, setting the tray down on the small table with a forced lightness. “Did you order a royal feast, or just breakfast?”
Dante glances up, a faint smile on his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just breakfast,” he replies, gesturing for you to come closer. “I’m not in the mood for a parade today.”
You take a step toward him, noticing the way he rolls his eyes but with a hint of discomfort. “So, did you want me to take a guess at how many eggs you ordered?” you add, trying to keep things light, even as your heart weighs heavy.
“Just set them down; I’ll figure it out,” he says, waving a hand dismissively as he shifts his attention back to adjusting the bandage around his wrist.
You set the tray down quietly, trying to gauge his mood as you walk over to him. “You know, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. “I thought you could handle it. You you are always doing so well at everything once you put your mind to it.”
<hr>
[[Continue|nope mahn]] "Clearly not everything,” he replies, looking back down at his wrist. “You know, I might’ve been better off if you hadn’t decided to let me ‘learn my lesson.’” The lightness is gone from his voice, replaced by a more serious note that makes your heart sink.
You take a step closer, the air heavy with unspoken words. “I thought... I thought facing it head-on would help you grow. I didn’t realize—”
“I get it,” he cuts in, not unkindly but firmly. “You wanted me to toughen up. But a bruised ego is one thing; a bruised wrist is another. It’s not exactly the lesson I was hoping for.”
You nod, guilt washing over you as you look at him. “I just wanted you to realize that you can’t always rely on your artifact. Sometimes, you need to fight without it. I thought you’d learn something valuable.”
Dante meets your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “Maybe I did learn something,” he concedes, “but it’s hard to feel like I’ve grown when I’m stuck nursing a sprain.”
“Still, you’re stronger than you think, Dante. It’s just a setback,” you say, trying to encourage him, though you know the sincerity of his struggle.
“Yeah, well, setbacks suck,” he replies, a mix of frustration and vulnerability evident in his voice. “But thanks for bringing breakfast, at least. I guess I’ll have to live off eggs until I’m back to my usual self.”
As you stand there, the weight of the conversation hangs in the air, both of you aware of the trust and challenges between you.
<hr>
[[Help him with his wrapping]]
[[Leave the room]]
You pause by the door, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. After a moment, you turn back to Dante, who’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression thoughtful yet distant.
“Do you want me to wrap that for you?” you offer, your voice barely above a whisper. The gesture feels small, but you know it carries more meaning than either of you can say.
Dante looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes for a moment before he nods. “Yeah, that’d be… helpful,” he replies, his tone softening as he extends his arm toward you.
You step closer, your heart racing as you reach for the bandage. As your fingers brush against his dark skin, you can’t help but notice how soft it is, a stark contrast to the ruggedness of the tournament and the challenges that lie ahead. He’s not accustomed to this kind of pain, and yet here he is, willingly putting himself in harm’s way—all for you.
With deliberate care, you begin wrapping the bandage around his wrist, the fabric feeling smooth against his skin. The silence between you is heavy, thick with unexpressed emotions. You focus on the task at hand, but each turn of the bandage serves as a reminder of the weight on your shoulders.
Your throat tightens, guilt rising within you. You’re painfully aware that Dante has chosen to face this tournament, knowing it won’t be easy, just to prove himself—just to support you. You swallow hard, struggling to find the words to express how much this means to you, but nothing comes.
Dante watches your work, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the unspoken connection between you. Actions speak louder than apologies, and in this moment, wrapping his wrist feels like a fragile olive branch, a gesture of understanding amidst the tension.
//Deep down, do you still think your previous approach was correct? Though ill executed?//
<hr>
[[Yes.|You think tough love is the way]]
[[No.|You regret injuring Dante]] You glance at the clock on the wall, its hands creeping closer to the moment of truth. A knot of anticipation twists in your stomach, reminding you that you can’t put this off any longer.
“Hey, Dante,” you say, breaking the silence that has settled between you. “We’re leaving for the tournament venue in a bit. Kaitlin’s already getting ready.”
He looks up, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your words. “Okay,” he replies, his tone quiet and distant, not quite meeting your gaze.
You take a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. “Just a heads up so you can get ready,” you add, trying to keep your voice light despite the tension in the air.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing back down as he adjusts his wrist again.
With a nod, you move toward the door, feeling a mix of urgency and concern. “I’ll see you downstairs,” you say, giving him one last look.
“Sure,” he replies without looking up.
You reach for the handle, pausing for a brief moment to collect your thoughts, then pull the door closed behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. As you step away, the anticipation of the results lingers in your mind, reminding you that the day is far from over.
<hr>
[[Results with a sad Dante][$Dantemakeup1 = "Nothing"]] As you, Dante, and Kaitlin step out of the inn, the crisp morning air fills your lungs, invigorating yet heavy with unspoken words. You take a moment to glance up at the sky, a brilliant blue canvas punctuated by wisps of white clouds. The sun casts a warm glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the path ahead, but your heart races with a mix of excitement and an unsettling tension.
Dante walks beside you, his wrist now wrapped securely, a subtle reminder of what had transpired. He tries to maintain a light-hearted demeanor, but the tightness in his jaw and the way his fingers flex suggest he’s anything but at ease. Kaitlin, however, bounces along with an infectious enthusiasm, her chatter filling the spaces between you like a shield.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” she exclaims, her voice rising with each word. “All those years of waiting, and now we’re here! This is going to be incredible!”
You nod, a smile stretching across your face, but it feels strained, as if the joy is battling with the anxiety that knots your stomach. You’ve dreamt of this moment ever since you first witnessed the tournament—the thrill of watching competitors fight, the electric atmosphere that crackled in the air. But now that you’re on the brink of it, the weight of the challenges ahead seems to eclipse your dreams.
“Yeah, incredible,” you echo, forcing the words out. The air feels heavy, charged with anticipation and unacknowledged tension. “I just hope it goes well for all of us.”
Dante glances at you, his expression a mixture of encouragement and something else—an unresolved tension that lingers in the space between you. “We’ll be fine. We’ve trained hard, right? Just remember to breathe,” he says, nudging you playfully, though it lacks the usual warmth.
Kaitlin, ever the optimist, chimes in, “Exactly! We’re going to crush it out there! Just think of all the spectators and the energy! It’ll be like nothing we’ve ever experienced!”
You manage a genuine smile at her enthusiasm, but as you walk alongside them, the knot in your stomach tightens. Your gaze drifts to Dante again, recalling the weight of the last moments you shared in the room—his pain, your helplessness. You want to support him, but the fear of seeing him hurt again coils around your thoughts.
As you walk, the three of you weave through the bustling crowd. Laughter and chatter echo around you, creating an uplifting backdrop. But then Dante’s expression shifts slightly, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "Think Fai will be there?" he asked, his tone hopeful. "I mean, he was practically our fourth teammate. Couldn’t have pulled it off without him."
Kaitlin nodded enthusiastically. "I know, right? He’s such a quiet guy, but he really came through. And after what we all went through...It would’ve been more fun if he was here to celebrate with us," she added warmly.
Kaitlin's enthusiasm slightly dims, before she glances over at you. "Though, to be honest, I still don’t know what to make of Carmona. The way she practically accused us of ‘taking advantage’ of Fai? What was //that// about?" She shook her head, clearly irritated. "Is she actually worried about him, or is it… something else?"
You thought back to Carmona’s harsh words, remembering the way her eyes had burned with a strange intensity when she spoke about Fai.
//'Maybe she’s just a protective friend,'// you thought, the idea sitting somewhat awkwardly in your mind. Or… maybe there was something more to it—a possessive streak, perhaps, that left her wary of anyone else getting close to him.
<hr>
[["Maybe she’s just worried about him. Some friends are just protective like that." ]]
[["Honestly? She seemed possessive to me, like she didn't trust anyone else with him." ]] You finish wrapping the bandage around his wrist, ensuring it’s secure but not too tight. As you smooth down the fabric, a sense of purpose fills the space between you, a silent acknowledgment of the support you’re offering each other in this moment.
Despite the harshness of your earlier approach, you can’t help but think that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. You just wanted him to learn, to grow stronger on his own. Perhaps you could have been more understanding, more patient next time.
Once you’re done, you meet his eyes again, the familiar warmth of your friendship grounding you. “It’s results day,” you say softly, trying to keep your tone light. “We should be heading out soon.”
Dante nods, his expression still thoughtful, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze that suggests he understands the weight of your actions. “Right. I’ll get ready,” he replies, the edges of his voice carrying a hint of determination.
You step back, giving him space as he stands up, testing the bandage with a gentle flex of his wrist. It’s a small gesture, but you can see he’s putting on a brave face, ready to face whatever lies ahead.
As you turn to leave the room, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. You’ll support him through this, no matter what the results hold. And maybe next time, you’ll find a way to help him that doesn’t feel so heavy.
With one last glance over your shoulder, you head out, determination swelling in your chest as you make your way to join Kaitlin, ready to face the uncertainty of the day together.
<hr>
[[Results with a sad Dante][$Dantemakeup1 = "Nonverbal"]] As you finish wrapping the bandage around his wrist, a wave of regret washes over you. It’s heavy and suffocating, a realization that strikes deep within. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve put him in harm’s way, forcing him to take the brunt of his challenges alone when he would never do the same to you. The thought tightens your throat further, a lump forming that threatens to spill over.
You try to focus on the task, but each loop of the bandage feels like a reminder of your choices. You can’t hold back the tears that begin to well in your eyes, fighting to maintain your composure as you finish wrapping his wrist.
But then, halfway through, you see the first drop hit the bedding—a silent testament to the turmoil bubbling inside you. Alarmed, you look up and see Dante wiping his eyes, sniffing as he tries to suppress his emotions.
Seeing him cry tugs at your heart in a way that feels familiar yet painful. Dante was known for being a bit of a crybaby—a fond fact that you cherished about him—but this time, it strikes a different chord. The sight of him in pain, coupled with the weight of your guilt, causes your own tears to spill over.
You can’t hold it in any longer. You set the bandage aside and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Dante,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the floodgates open. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“It’s alright,” he murmurs into your shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. The warmth of his body and the softness of his skin make your heart ache even more.
But it’s not just the words that bring you comfort; it’s the way he melts into your embrace, the way he leans against you as if he needs this just as much as you do. In that moment, it feels like you’re both finding solace in each other’s arms, understanding the depth of your friendship without needing to say everything aloud.
You both remain locked in the hug, allowing the moment to wash over you, the tears flowing freely. Each breath carries a mix of regret and reassurance, a silent promise to be there for each other moving forward.
As the world outside continues on, you cling to that moment, knowing that no matter what lies ahead, you’ll face it together.
<hr>
[[ Continue |results with injured forgiving Dante][$Dantemakeup1 = "Apology"]] As you, Dante, and Kaitlin step out of the inn, the crisp morning air fills your lungs, invigorating yet tinged with a hint of anxiety. You take a moment to glance up at the sky, a brilliant blue canvas dotted with wisps of white clouds. The sun casts a warm glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the path ahead, but your heart races with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
Dante walks beside you, his wrist wrapped securely, a subtle reminder of what had transpired. He tries to maintain a light-hearted demeanor, but the distance in his gaze hints at his inner turmoil. It’s as if he’s physically present but mentally somewhere else, lost in thoughts you can’t quite decipher. Kaitlin, on the other hand, exudes a confident smile, her enthusiasm palpable as she chatters about the tournament and the competitors you might encounter.
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening!” she exclaims, her voice rising with each word. “All those years of waiting, and now we’re here! This is going to be incredible!”
You nod, a smile stretching across your face, but deep down, a knot of anxiety twists in your stomach. You’ve been dreaming of this moment ever since you first saw the tournament years ago—the thrill of watching competitors fight, the aura of excitement that filled the air. Yet now that you’re on the brink of it, the reality of the challenges ahead looms larger than the dream itself.
“Yeah, incredible,” you echo, trying to keep your voice steady. The weight of the moment feels heavy, as if the anticipation of the unknown is pressing down on you. “I just hope it goes well for all of us.”
Dante flashes a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “We’ll be fine. We’ve trained hard, right? Just remember to breathe.” He nudges you playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
Kaitlin chuckles, her enthusiasm infectious. “Exactly! We’re going to crush it out there. Just think of all the spectators and the energy! It’ll be like nothing we’ve ever experienced!”
You can’t help but smile at her excitement, but as you walk alongside them, the anxiety bubbles just below the surface. You glance at Dante, remembering the weight of the last moments you shared in the room. You want to be there for him, but the thought of seeing him hurt again sends a wave of worry through you.
As you walk, the three of you weave through the bustling crowd. Laughter and chatter echo around you, creating an uplifting backdrop. But then Dante’s expression shifts slightly, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "Think Fai will be there?" he asked, his tone hopeful. "I mean, he was practically our fourth teammate. Couldn’t have pulled it off without him."
Kaitlin nodded enthusiastically. "I know, right? He’s such a quiet guy, but he really came through. And after what we all went through...It would’ve been more fun if he was here to celebrate with us," she added warmly.
Kaitlin's enthusiasm slightly dims, before she glances over at you. "Though, to be honest, I still don’t know what to make of Carmona. The way she practically accused us of ‘taking advantage’ of Fai? What was //that// about?" She shook her head, clearly irritated. "Is she actually worried about him, or is it… something else?"
You thought back to Carmona’s harsh words, remembering the way her eyes had burned with a strange intensity when she spoke about Fai.
//'Maybe she’s just a protective friend,'// you thought, the idea sitting somewhat awkwardly in your mind. Or… maybe there was something more to it—a possessive streak, perhaps, that left her wary of anyone else getting close to him.
<hr>
[["Maybe she’s just worried about him. Some friends are just protective like that." ]]
[["Honestly? She seemed possessive to me, like she didn't trust anyone else with him." ]] The morning dawns bright and clear, the sun casting a warm glow over the Main Nexus. You can feel the excitement in the air as you quickly get ready, the anticipation building with each passing moment. As you step outside, the streets come alive with the buzz of the festival atmosphere. Colorful banners sway gently in the breeze, and the enticing aromas of roasted meats and fresh fruit fill the air.
The chatter of other competitors drifted around you, each step bringing you closer to the sturdy stone building where the news awaited.
Dante and Kaitlin are waiting for you at the corner of your street, both beaming with energy. Dante, with his tousled dark cacao hair and striking blue eyes, looks effortlessly cool in his sheer grey long-sleeved shirt and sleek black high-waisted pants. His bronze skin glows in the morning light, and the gold jewelry adorning his wrists catches your eye. “Can you believe it’s finally here?” he exclaims, his voice bright with enthusiasm. “Today is the day.”
“Yeah, it feels surreal,” you reply, trying to keep your own nerves in check. The closer you get to the venue, the more that familiar flutter builds in your stomach. “I hope we did enough to make it to the next round.”
“Of course we did! We were awesome out there!” Dante insists, his confidence infectious, though you sense Kaitlin's underlying anxiety as she fidgets with the hem of her colorful, flowing bard-like attire. Her vibrant pink afro bounces as she nods, her dark skin glowing in the sunlight.
“I hope so,” she adds, her voice bright but tinged with nerves. “I can’t wait to see the results!”
As you walk, the three of you weave through the bustling crowd. Laughter and chatter echo around you, creating an uplifting backdrop. But then Dante’s expression shifts slightly, a thoughtful frown crossing his face. "Think Fai will be there?" he asked, his tone hopeful. "I mean, he was practically our fourth teammate. Couldn’t have pulled it off without him."
Kaitlin nodded enthusiastically. "I know, right? He’s such a quiet guy, but he really came through. And after what we all went through...It would’ve been more fun if he was here to celebrate with us," she added warmly.
Kaitlin's enthusiasm slightly dims, before she glances over at you. "Though, to be honest, I still don’t know what to make of Carmona. The way she practically accused us of ‘taking advantage’ of Fai? What was //that// about?" She shook her head, clearly irritated. "Is she actually worried about him, or is it… something else?"
You thought back to Carmona’s harsh words, remembering the way her eyes had burned with a strange intensity when she spoke about Fai.
//'Maybe she’s just a protective friend,'// you thought, the idea sitting somewhat awkwardly in your mind. Or… maybe there was something more to it—a possessive streak, perhaps, that left her wary of anyone else getting close to him.
<hr>
[["Maybe she’s just worried about him. Some friends are just protective like that."]]
[["Honestly? She seemed possessive to me, like she didn't trust anyone else with him."]]
You were used to Dante’s usual energy—the jokes, the laughs, his warmth that felt easy and familiar. But seeing him now, with his hair slightly tangled and his sleepy eyes softening as he looked at you… it stirred something different. His bare shoulders peeked out from under the blankets, and you felt a faint, unexpected flutter in your chest.
Dante blinked, his gaze lingering as if he were still processing your sudden appearance. A small, unguarded smile tugged at his lips, barely noticeable, but there. For a moment, the room seemed quieter, his gentle expression holding you in place.
"Didn't expect to wake up to company," he mumbled, his voice a little raspy. You felt heat creeping up the back of your neck, an odd warmth settling into your stomach. You’d never really seen him like this—relaxed, natural, without the usual polished confidence he wore around everyone else.
You tried to brush it off, leaning back casually against the headboard, but your heart had its own pace now, every beat drawing more attention to his sleepy gaze and disheveled hair. The thought hung, unspoken, that maybe this was something more than just friendship—but you weren’t about to admit it. Not yet.
As you struggled to shake off the butterflies, Dante yawned, giving you a drowsy smirk. "If you’re going to barge in, you could’ve at least brought me breakfast."
The remark snapped you out of your thoughts, but the feeling stayed, lingering as you grinned back. “Guess you’ll have to make it yourself, lazy.”
He laughed, rolling his eyes, but you couldn't help noticing the way his laugh, even half-asleep, seemed to settle somewhere deeper this time, a warmth that stayed with you long after his voice had faded.
<hr>
[[Continue|Kaitlin interrupts your scene]] <<set $danteRomance2 to
Math.clamp($danteRomance2 + 5, 0, 100)>>You pushed open Dante’s door with a grin, declaring, "It's time for the results of your blood, sweat, and tears!"
Dante peeked out from under the covers, squinting at you with a half-awake groan. "Seriously? You two just can’t give me a moment’s peace, can you?"
Before you could respond, Kaitlin burst in right behind you, her voice ringing out in full enthusiasm. "Rise and shine! I can //feel// it in my toenails—we all passed! I know it!"
Dante groaned again, rolling his eyes. "Of course, my room is the new town square now," he muttered with a smirk. "Why not bring the whole kingdom in while you’re at it?"
Kaitlin laughed, giving him a light punch on the shoulder. "Hey, after the way you dragged us through the festival, you deserve a little interruption."
You plopped down on the edge of his bed with a teasing grin. "Come on, aren’t you at least a little curious to find out if all your motivational speeches actually paid off?"
He gave an exaggerated sigh, sitting up and running a hand through his tangled hair. “Fine, fine. But if we passed, you two are treating me to lunch. That’s the deal.”
"Deal!" Kaitlin cheered, her eyes bright with excitement as she shared a high-five with you. The three of you laughed, caught up in the thrill of the moment.
<hr>
[[Continue|Kaitlin interrupts your scene]]Just as you were about to respond, the door flew open, and Kaitlin burst in with her usual unstoppable energy.
"Rise and shine!" she declared, hands on her hips, her grin wide. "I can //feel// it in my toenails—we all passed! I know it!"
Dante jolted slightly, his eyes snapping open, a look of exaggerated horror crossing his face. "Kaitlin, ever heard of knocking?"
She waved a dismissive hand, plopping down at the foot of the bed with the same ease you’d shown a moment ago. "Please. You know you love the wake-up call." She grinned at you both, her excitement almost infectious. "I’m telling you, this is it. We’re moving on to the next round—I can feel it in my bones!"
You chuckled, finding relief in Kaitlin’s interruption. Whatever strange, fluttering feeling had been stirring between you and Dante just moments before was safely hidden now, swept away in her excitement. Dante stretched, tossing the covers back, his smirk returning in full force.
"Alright, alright. I guess the only way to see if you’re right is to get up and find out," he said, looking at you with a knowing sparkle in his eye. The three of you laughed, all pretense forgotten as you made your way out, side by side, the butterflies quietly tucked away—for now.
<hr>
[[Continue|Results with a uninjured Dante]] You glanced at Kaitlin, shrugging. "Maybe she’s just worried about him. Some friends are just protective like that."
Kaitlin considered this, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re probably right. Fai doesn’t really open up easily, so maybe she’s just doing what she thinks is best."
Dante, however, raised an eyebrow, his expression laced with playful skepticism. "Protective? Sure. But I swear, at this rate, she’ll have a bird trained to track and spy on him wherever he goes."
Kaitlin laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “Oh, come on. That’s a bit dramatic.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, but a part of you knew Dante had a point—there was something intense about Carmona’s protectiveness. Still, you reminded yourself that whatever her motives were, they weren’t really your concern. You had enough on your own plate to deal with without trying to figure out someone else’s relationships.
As you rounded the corner, the grey stone structure of the Nexus Hall rose before you, imposing yet elegant, etched with ancient symbols and adorned with banners from the Kabot Kingdom. Its towering arches and gleaming windows marked it as a place of importance, a building known far and wide for holding the tournament’s records and results.
The sight of it filled you with both anticipation and a quiet sense of awe.
<hr>
[[You’d finally arrived.]] You glanced between Dante and Kaitlin, a thoughtful frown forming as you spoke. "Honestly? She seemed possessive to me, like she didn’t trust anyone else with him."
Kaitlin’s eyes widened slightly. “Yeah… you’re right. Now that you mention it, she does come off a little… intense.”
Dante smirked, rolling his eyes. "Intense is one way to put it. You think she might have a thing for him?"
At this, Kaitlin let out a delighted squeal. "Ohhh, a love story!" She clasped her hands together, grinning. "Secretly in love with the shy teammate she //pretends// not to care about—classic."
Dante chuckled, shaking his head. "Kaitlin, possessiveness isn’t love. It’s more like… I don’t know, control. Whatever it is, it’s definitely strange."
A silence settled between the three of you as you mulled it over. Despite the joking tone, Carmona’s behavior left a lingering unease. But, in the end, you reminded yourself that whatever her motives were, they weren’t yours to solve. You had your own challenges to face, and the day ahead was already uncertain enough.
As you turned the corner, the grand Nexus Hall came into view, its towering arches and stone-carved details glinting in the early light. Known across the kingdoms as a symbol of honor and ambition, it stood proudly, banners of the Kabot Kingdom fluttering along its high walls.
Reaching the steps, you felt a mix of anticipation and resolve—the moment of truth awaited just beyond its doors.
<hr>
[[You’d finally arrived.]] As you stepped through the grand doors of the Nexus Hall, the atmosphere shifted. The interior was expansive, with high ceilings and walls adorned with tapestries that celebrated the rich history of the tournament. Attendees moved purposefully about, helping competitors navigate the vast building, their expressions a curious mix of enthusiasm and disdain.
Dante’s brows furrowed as he scanned the room. “These people are… weird.” He gestured subtly toward a group nearby, some of them sporting wide grins reminiscent of Verna Blackwater, the infamous tournament host known for her dramatic flair. The smiles seemed forced, almost manic.
“Right? It’s like they’re all on some strange performance-enhancing drug,” Kaitlin whispered back, stifling a giggle.
Others in the hall, however, didn’t bother hiding their frowns, their dark work clothes contrasting sharply with the vibrant atmosphere of the tournament. Their slicked-back hair added to the impression of sternness, making them look more like enforcers than helpful staff.
“Do they look a bit like they just walked out of a noir film to anyone else?” Dante muttered under his breath, his sarcasm punctuating the surreal vibe of the scene.
Before you could respond, one of the attendees, dressed in a sharp dark uniform, approached with a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “This way, please. We’ll get you your results cards.”
With a nod, you followed them deeper into the hall, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of what was to come pressed on your shoulders, and despite the banter, you could feel the nervous fluttering in your stomach.
“Here goes nothing,” you murmured, taking a deep breath as you entered the designated area to receive your results card. The sight of the desk ahead, covered in an array of parchment and quills, only heightened your anticipation. You were about to find out where you stood, and a mix of excitement and anxiety coursed through you.
<hr>
[[Get your card]] You glanced between Dante and Kaitlin, a thoughtful frown forming as you spoke. "Honestly? She seemed possessive to me, like she didn’t trust anyone else with him."
Kaitlin’s eyes widened slightly. “Yeah… now that you mention it, she does come off a little… intense.”
Dante let out a quiet chuckle, his gaze distant as he spoke. "Intense is one way to put it. You think maybe there’s more to it? Like… maybe she has feelings for him?"
At this, Kaitlin’s face lit up, and she clasped her hands together with a delighted squeal. "A hidden love story! Secretly in love with the stoic teammate she pretends not to care about—classic."
Dante’s lips curved in a faint smile, but there was a hint of skepticism in his tone. "Maybe. But possessiveness isn’t love, Kaitlin. It feels more like… control. Whatever her reasons, there’s something off about it."
A brief silence settled between the three of you, the conversation lingering in the air with a sense of unease. Despite the joking, Carmona’s behavior had left you all with more questions than answers. But, as you reminded yourself, whatever her motives were, they weren’t yours to solve. You had your own challenges to face, and the day ahead already held enough uncertainty.
<<if $Aknowsurname == "Apology">>As you turned the corner, the grand Nexus Hall came into view, its towering arches and stone-carved details illuminated by the early morning light. Known across the kingdoms as a symbol of honor and ambition, it stood proudly, its banners bearing the crest of the Kabot Kingdom fluttering along the high walls.
“Here we go,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You step forward, feeling the pull of your dreams intertwined with the reality of the tournament and the promise of challenges.
Dante and Kaitlin flank you, and together, you walk toward the entrance, excitement mingling with the anxiety in your heart, ready to face whatever comes next.<<else>>As you turned the corner, the grand Nexus Hall came into view, its towering arches and stone-carved details illuminated by the early morning light. Known across the kingdoms as a symbol of honor and ambition, it stood proudly, its banners bearing the crest of the Kabot Kingdom fluttering along the high walls.
“Here we go,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges ahead. You step forward, feeling the weight of your dreams intertwined with the reality of the tournament and the shadows of your unresolved feelings.
Dante and Kaitlin flank you, their presence both comforting and complicated. Together, you walk toward the entrance, excitement and anxiety warring within your heart, ready to face whatever comes next.
As you cross the threshold, you catch Dante's eye one last time—a fleeting moment where the warmth of your shared history flickers against the cold reality of the present. The tournament awaits, and with it, the chance to redefine everything that lies between you.<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . . |You’d finally arrived.]] You glanced at Kaitlin, shrugging. "Maybe she’s just worried about him. Some friends are just protective like that."
Kaitlin considered this, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re probably right. Fai doesn’t really open up easily, so maybe she’s just doing what she thinks is best."
Dante gave a slight smirk, his tone easygoing but laced with quiet amusement. “Protective? Sure. But at this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got a trained bird following him around, reporting back every hour.”
Kaitlin laughed, nudging him lightly. “Oh, come on, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
You chuckled along, though you sensed Dante might have a point—there was something unusually intense about Carmona’s watch over Fai. Still, you reminded yourself that her motives weren’t really your business. You had enough to focus on without trying to untangle someone else’s relationships.
<<if $Aknowsurname == "Apology">>As you rounded the corner, the imposing grey stone structure of the Nexus Hall came into view, its walls etched with ancient symbols and decorated with banners bearing the crest of the Kabot Kingdom. The towering arches and gleaming windows radiated a quiet authority, marking it as a place of prestige, renowned for holding the tournament’s records and results.
“Here we go,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You step forward, feeling the pull of your dreams intertwined with the reality of the tournament and the promise of challenges.
Dante and Kaitlin flank you, and together, you walk toward the entrance, excitement mingling with the anxiety in your heart, ready to face whatever comes next.<<else>>As you rounded the corner, the imposing grey stone structure of the Nexus Hall came into view, its walls etched with ancient symbols and decorated with banners bearing the crest of the Kabot Kingdom. The towering arches and gleaming windows radiated a quiet authority, marking it as a place of prestige, renowned for holding the tournament’s records and results.
“Here we go,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges ahead. You step forward, feeling the weight of your dreams intertwined with the reality of the tournament and the shadows of your unresolved feelings.
Dante and Kaitlin flank you, their presence both comforting and complicated. Together, you walk toward the entrance, excitement and anxiety warring within your heart, ready to face whatever comes next.
As you cross the threshold, you catch Dante's eye one last time—a fleeting moment where the warmth of your shared history flickers against the cold reality of the present. The tournament awaits, and with it, the chance to redefine everything that lies between you.<</if>>
<hr>
[[. . . . |You’d finally arrived.]] The attendee handed you the results card with a nod, their expression still masked in that unsettling cheeriness. You felt the weight of it in your hand, a thin piece of parchment that held the culmination of your efforts and hopes.
As you carefully slipped it out of its package, your stomach twisted in knots. The tension in the air was palpable, your heart racing at the thought that success or failure was just a flip away. You glanced at Dante and Kaitlin, their faces reflecting a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Dante’s brow was slightly furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line, while Kaitlin was biting her lip, her eyes wide with nervous excitement.
You could almost feel the collective weight of your crew's hopes resting on your shoulders. The silence around you thickened as you turned your focus back to the card, your heart pounding in your chest.
//'Here goes nothing,'// you thought, gripping the edges of the card tightly, gathering your courage as you prepared to flip it over. The moment felt monumental, the culmination of all your hard work and dedication leading to this very instant.
With a deep breath, you steadied yourself, ready to unveil what awaited on the other side.
<hr>
[[Flip it]]
✘<h1>Congratulations</h1>✘<h2>Kabot Tournament Acceptance</h2><h4>Dear $lastname $name,</h4>
//We are pleased to inform you that your performance in the recent trial tournament has met the esteemed criteria set forth by the Kabot Kingdom’s Tournament Committee. We extend our heartfelt congratulations on your acceptance to compete in the upcoming main tournament.//
//Your dedication and skill have not gone unnoticed, and we believe you possess the qualities necessary to represent your team and the spirit of competition with honor and integrity.//
//As an accepted participant, you will have the opportunity to showcase your talents on a grand stage and vie for glory alongside the best in the lands. ''The Kabot Tournament''.//
//We look forward to your participation.//
<div style="text-align: left;">
Best Regards,
''S. Tutus''
''Head Tournament Coordinator''
''Kabot Kingdom''</div>
//“Strength in Unity, Honor in Competition.”//
<hr>
[[Flip Card to End chapter 4]]
<hr>
<hr>
This is the end of CHAPTER 3 and a third of CHAPTER 4. Thank you for reading this far.
Writing this really is my favorite thing to do (as well as plotting and imagining 70% of the time, I can't lie.). Knowing people ACTUALLY are reading this still boggles my mind. Thank youuuuuuuuu!!!
I hope to improve more in the next update and I already have a list of things to fix up, obvious ones being the text switchablity //(I can't seem to get this right for some reason)// and adding return buttons in the sidebar rather than the one on top.
Beware, I'll be removing the back button within the scenes in the next update and you'll be stuck with the concequences of your actions (the whole point of the IF!) mwhahahahah.
<div class="image-container dark-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/SlZY7llSw_EAAAAM/skeletor-laughs-in-evil-laughing-myah-myaah-dasmemeistgut.gif" alt="dark mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div><div class="image-container light-mode"><img src="https://media.tenor.com/SlZY7llSw_EAAAAM/skeletor-laughs-in-evil-laughing-myah-myaah-dasmemeistgut.gif" alt="light mode image" style="width: 100%; height: auto;"></div>
Other than that, excited to see you in the next bit! ♡
<hr>
<hr><<if $strengthValue >= 40>>Just as you reach for your coin pouch to buy a piece of halwa, Dante’s hand darts out, snagging it from your grasp with a triumphant grin.
“Dante, what are you doing?” you demand, watching as he turns, now digging into his own bag for his coins.
“Just hang on,” he says over his shoulder, clearly intent on paying. You step closer, quickly realizing he’s about to cover both pieces with his own money. You’re not having it.
“Hey, give that back!” you say, reaching over his shoulder. He tries to hold your pouch out of reach, but you’re persistent, tugging at his arm to get it back. After a moment of struggle, you manage to wrangle it from his grip.
“Fine, fine!” he grumbles, watching as you pull out your own coins and hand them to the vendor.
He sighs, resting his arms on his hips with a pouty expression. “You know, I was going to treat you,” he mutters, giving you a look that says he’s only half serious in his irritation.
You shrug, savoring the small victory. “Too late now,” you reply, feeling the weight of the halwa in your hand.
Dante shakes his head, resigned but still sulking, his gaze fixed on the vendor’s stand instead of you. “You’re impossible, you know that?” he mutters, his voice carrying a note of begrudging admiration.<<else>>As you reach for your coin pouch, ready to buy your own piece of halwa, Dante’s hand shoots out, yanking your pouch away from you. You blink in confusion, watching as he spins around, clearly up to something.
“What are you doing?” you ask, bemused.
“Just hold on!” he replies, his voice slightly muffled as he digs into his own bag. You realize he’s about to pay for both pieces with his own money.
“Hey! I was going to buy it!” you protest, lunging forward to reclaim your pouch. A playful tug-of-war ensues, with both of you pulling at the bags like children fighting over a toy.
The vendor chuckles at the sight, clearly amused by your antics as you and Dante grapple for dominance.
“You’re not paying for my halwa!” you insist, trying to wrestle your pouch back.
“Too late! I’ve got this!” Dante retorts, laughing as he pulls his hand out and triumphantly slams a handful of coins onto the vendor's table. “Ha, take that!” He sticks his tongue out at you childishly, a gleeful sparkle in his eyes.
You can’t help but shake your head, both exasperated and amused by his antics as the vendor hands him the halwas, still chuckling at the friendly rivalry unfolding before him.<</if>>
<hr>
[[Continue|Park with Dante]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>>You glance at the vendor, then at the vibrant halwa, but you shake your head slightly. “No, I think I’ll pass. I want to save my money.”
Dante turns to you, an incredulous look on his face, his eyebrows raised as if to say, //Are you dumb?//. “You’re kidding, right?” he replies, his tone a mix of disbelief and playful reproach. Before you can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of coins, flashing a triumphant grin.
“Two halwas, please.” he says to the vendor, who quickly complies, placing two gleaming pieces of the sweet treat into a small paper bag. Dante turns back to you, holding out one of the halwas with a teasing lilt to his voice. “Here you go, brokie. Can’t let you miss out on this heavenly goodness just because you want to save a few coins.”
You roll your eyes, a reluctant smile creeping onto your face as you accept the sweet offering. “You’re impossible,” you say, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as you catch a whiff of the sugary aroma.
<hr>
[[Continue|Park with Dante]] <<set $health to Math.clamp($health + 15, 0, 100)>>As you finish up the halwa, the two of you drift toward a park in the Main Nexus known for its collection of grand, towering stone sculptures. Artists from all across the region vie to have their works displayed here, though only the finest are chosen. Each piece has a story, some told in quiet elegance and others in raw, expressive forms.
You and Dante wander the paths between the sculptures, taking in their details and musing over their shapes, the conversation lighthearted as you share observations and laughter. But as you move further into the park, his tone shifts, the playful edge slipping away.
“Are you... alright?” Dante asks, his gaze fixed ahead as if the question were merely passing. But you catch the concern in his voice, his careful choice of words. He’s referring to the incident from last night, when those two Vaygas bandits broke into your hotel room, attempting a robbery—or worse.
You pause, giving him a brief glance as you consider his question.
[[The experience bothered you]]
[[You're cautious, but not too bothered]]
[[Wrong place, wrong time]]
A knot forms in your stomach, the memory still fresh and unsettling. You swallow, feeling a bit of the ease from earlier slip away. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice quieter than usual. “I can’t shake it off. The whole thing was... too close.” You glance away, uncertain if you want him to see the unease lingering in your expression. “And the way Vie stepped in... I mean, it’s strange, right? She went out of her way to suggest an inn, then showed up to help like it was nothing. I don’t even know her, but she acted like she had a stake in all of it.”
Dante’s brows furrow, his gaze hardening slightly. “Sketchy, if you ask me,” he mutters, his tone holding an edge of suspicion. “Too convenient that she just happened to be there, ready to swoop in. Almost feels like a setup. I wouldn’t trust her too quickly if I were you.”
You shake your head, even as his words stir an unsettling thought in you. “Maybe. Or maybe she was just in the right place at the right time. We don’t know for sure, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions... but,” you trail off, the doubt still gnawing at you. Despite your words, you can’t help but feel the same lingering suspicion Dante does, the idea settling like a shadow in the back of your mind.
Dante nods solemnly, catching the unease that neither of you seem able to shake. “Just promise you’ll be careful,” he says, his tone softer now. “Whatever’s going on, you’re not alone in this. I’m here. Always.”
<hr>
[[Continue|End Dante's first leasure day]] You give a faint shrug. “It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure, but I’m alright.” You glance around the park, feeling a renewed awareness of the people passing by and the way they hold themselves. Every district seems to carry its own sense of identity here—from the clothes they wear to the way they react to one another. “I’ll just be more cautious next time. It’s probably a one-off, but… I won’t take any chances.”
Dante watches you closely, catching the guarded edge in your voice. “Good. We’ll keep an eye out. And just say the word if you need backup.”
As you walk on, a flicker of thought pulls you back to the night before. “You know… the whole thing with Vie showing up when she did—it’s strange, right? Why would she go out of her way to suggest an inn, then just happen to be there when things went south? She doesn’t even know us.”
Dante’s jaw tightens, his gaze narrowing. “I thought the same thing. It felt almost… planned. Like she had something to gain, or worse, like someone else did. She knew exactly where we’d be and when. Could be she’s just friendly, but considering how districts here look out for their own, I wouldn’t rule out something more deliberate.”
You nod slowly, letting his words settle. In a place where everyone represents something—whether it’s a district, a cause, or a reputation—help isn’t always as simple as it seems. “Maybe she has her reasons, or maybe we were just the wrong target at the wrong time,” you say, though doubt lingers in your mind.
<hr>
[[Continue|End Dante's first leasure day]] You give a faint shrug. “It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure, but I’m alright.” You glance around the park, noticing the people passing by, each representing their own district in distinct ways—clothes, accents, postures, even subtle glances shared only between locals. “I’ll just be more cautious next time. It’s probably a one-off, but… I won’t take any chances.”
Dante frowns, his gaze fixed on you with surprising intensity. “A one-off? That’s way too casual,” he says firmly, a touch of reproach in his voice. “You can’t just brush this off, especially not in a place like this. You’ve never traveled before; you don’t know how things work outside your home. People here don’t owe us anything, and a stranger offering help out of nowhere… that’s something to be cautious about. If Vie hadn’t stepped in, who knows what could’ve happened?”
His words cut through your attempt at casual confidence, pulling your attention back. Before you can respond, he goes on, his tone softening but still serious. “And the way Vie stepped in… I mean, it’s strange, right? She went out of her way to suggest an inn, then showed up to help like it was nothing. I don’t even know her, but she acted like she had a stake in all of it. It’s way too convenient.”
You open your mouth, trying to ease his suspicions. “Maybe. Or maybe she was just in the right place at the right time. We don’t know for sure, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”
But even as you say it, the unease lingers. Dante’s expression doesn’t waver, and his suspicion seems to settle into you, planting seeds of doubt you can’t shake off. You trail off, your words less certain than before. The thought of that night hangs between you, a shadow over the park’s serene atmosphere.
<hr>
[[Continue|End Dante's first leasure day]] As you and Dante continue walking through the park, the tension from the conversation slowly eases. You find yourselves drawn to the larger-than-life sculptures surrounding you, each piece towering over the path with exaggerated expressions and abstract forms.
Dante, always ready to lighten the mood, points at a particularly strange sculpture—a twisted figure with arms reaching up in exaggerated surprise, eyes bulging. He raises an eyebrow and turns to you, grinning. “That’s you last night when Vie appeared out of nowhere, right?”
You snort, giving him a playful shove. “Oh, yeah? And that one,” you gesture to a sculpture with a comically serious face and over-the-top battle stance, “is you, going into full lecture mode.”
Dante laughs, clutching his stomach as he leans against a statue for support. “Okay, okay, fair enough.” He catches his breath and glances at another statue, one with an open mouth and outstretched hand as if it’s trying to silence the world. “That one is Vie, ready to swoop in mysteriously.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t pop out from behind that one.”
The two of you continue around the sculptures, poking fun at each other’s expressions and giving each statue a ridiculous backstory. The laughter cuts through the earlier tension, leaving you both feeling lighter as you finish your snack, the sculptures and the park becoming less intimidating and more like silent, quirky companions on your walk.
<hr>
<<if $activitiesChosen == 1>>
[[Return to choose your second activity|LeisureDay1]]
<</if>> <<if $activitiesChosen == 2>>
[[Proceed to Confirmation|Confirmation]]
<</if>> "Maybe, maybe not." He vaguely answers, noticing him shift nervously, gaze shifting from his books and then to you.
"Shit, this- don't you think this is a bit too much? I mean I know I've been asking this for what? Six years?" He mutters, running a hand through his dark hair.
He had been opposing the idea of participating in the tournament since day one.
And your sudden interest in the tournament not only confused him but you too.
There was just something scratching at the back of your head, urging you to go there. As if you'd find some truth, something, //someone//.
You had suggested he went as just a watcher but of course he stubbornly shot down that idea instantly. He wanted to stay with you and that was that.
What worried you in return though was his lack of proper training or at least perfecting his calligraphy.
He'd looked into some research and words from the people that worked for his uncle up in the castle, but that wasn't enough for him.
"I'm worried about you Dante…" You mutter, watching him put his books away by tossing them in their spots with precision. Something The Overseer would be against, but you couldn't help but note that he was pretty good with precision as a talent.
"I know but…I just…" he sighs a bit. "I don't know about that."
"What's bothering you?" You softly urge, resting a hand over his as he stops working on the books. Glancing at anything but you.
"It's just- don't think I can do //this//" he gestures his arms around, hinting at all the heavy training.
"Of course you can! the way you're approaching it is what's making you stressed out..."
"What do you mean?" He asked, something told you he already knew what you were getting at.
"You're doing anything and everything but physical training and calligraphy, avoiding it like the plague" you speak more clearly, trying your best to encourage him. "At the end of the day you have to admit, intel isn't going to shield you from a sword coming your way."
With a sigh he stops clenching his teeth, nervousness easing a bit as he rests his head on the wooden wall behind him.
<hr>
[["I guess you're right…"|Secrets from him]]