Their room was small but warm, a temporary shelter above a pit that still bled into the air. Draj had pushed the bed against the wall to make space for a bedroll on the floor, and the fire in the hearth flickered low, casting long shadows on the stone walls.
Boo sat at the table, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing Nyxia's blood-caked armor with a rag soaked in spirits. Every stain that refused to lift earned a new curse under her breath.
Nyxia lay propped in the bed, shirtless beneath a linen robe, bandages tight around her ribs and shoulder. She pressed a melting ice pack to her temple, her face stiff with pain but her eyes burning with restless fire. She hated resting. Hated needing to.
Loque'nahak, her ever-present guardian, was curled at the foot of the bed like a spectral gargoyle, purring low and constant. His glowing eyes never left the door, as if daring something—anything—to try its luck.
"Next time," Boo muttered, "you fight a gnome in a tavern brawl. Not a six-hundred-pound Zul'Farrak berserker with void rot in his blood."
Nyxia smirked faintly. "Wouldn't be fair. For the gnome."
Draj chuckled from the corner where he folded their cloaks. "You really scared us back there, Nyx."
Her expression shifted. A flicker of guilt, fast and sharp. "I know. I didn't mean to."
A knock thundered against the door—hard, heavy, urgent.
All three froze.
Boo was halfway to her bow when the door slammed open, wind howling behind it like a warning torn from the gods.
Perseus stood in the doorway—wild-eyed, soot-streaked, cloak torn by flight. His breath came in ragged gulps, his hair soaked with wind, his armor charred at the edges. His gaze found Nyxia instantly.
She blinked, stunned. "Perseus?"
He crossed the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside her bed. His hands hovered—uncertain, trembling—but desperate to confirm she was real.
"You're alive," he breathed. "You're really—alive."
Nyxia stared at him. Something in her unraveled.
"I've been through worse," she rasped, voice dry.
"I saw you." His voice cracked. "Saw them watching. That acolyte—casting visions into the pool. And that bastard—whispering to you while you bled out."
Boo's head snapped around. "You what?"
Perseus didn't look away from Nyxia. "The temple had someone tracking you. Feeding them real-time scryings of your fight. They weren't warning anyone. Just… watching."
Nyxia stiffened. Her eyes darkened. "The one at the ridge. The one I chased."
"They used you," Perseus growled. "Turned your pain into a prophecy they could observe from their marble tower."
Loque snarled low in his throat.
"You think I don't know that?" Nyxia's voice rose, brittle and sharp. "I felt him. That… thing. Arioch. He stank of the void like it was perfume."
Perseus shook his head. "I came as fast as I could. Burned every bridge. Rode a storm gryphon through three lightning squalls and a void flare. If the Temple wants to exile me—fine. I thought I was going to lose you."
There was a beat of silence, thick and cracked.
Then Nyxia poked him in the chest with her bandaged finger. "You still owe me lunch."
Perseus let out a broken laugh. "Fine. But I'm not letting you out of my sight again."
The storm outside rolled on, but the fire inside steadied. Someone brought up food—not much, just spiced stew, bread, and hard cider—but it tasted like warmth in a world that had nearly torn apart.
Nyxia sat up, robe loose over her bandaged frame, polearm leaned beside her like a sentinel. Perseus sat nearby, still keyed tight, but breathing. For now.
"You must be Draj," Perseus said finally.
"Perseus, right?" Draj said, offering a casual hand. "Temple boy."
"Was," Perseus replied.
"Good. You were too pretty to be locked in there."
Nyxia nearly choked on her stew. "Draj!"
Perseus, to his own surprise, smiled.
Boo lounged at the windowsill, one leg tucked under the other, sipping cider and tossing bits of bread to Loque, who tried to catch them like a dog despite having fangs that could unmake reality.
Eventually, Boo stood and dusted off her leggings. "I'm gonna go collect your winnings before someone else gets smart."
Nyxia tilted her head. "You sure you're up for Pit politics?"
"I've got more knives than patience." Boo winked. "And they know better than to test me twice."
She took a small, bloodstained coin Nyxia tossed from beneath her pillow. "Take that to the bookmaster. They'll know what it means."
"Tell them," Nyxia added, "that if they skimmed from my purse, I'll come back and test my new elbow on their teeth."
Boo grinned and vanished into the hallway.
⎯⎯⎯
The Pit was quieter now. Most of the crowd had dispersed, the scent of sweat and blood replaced by stale smoke and cheap incense. Boo moved through the corridors like a blade in sheath—calm, but ready.
She arrived at a silk-draped room behind the betting hall, guarded by orcs with no interest in her except the coin in her hand.
Inside, the man waiting behind the desk was too clean, too smooth. Black tunic. Silver hair. No visible weapons. Forgettable face.
She hated him on sight.
"Name?" he asked.
"Nyxia," Boo said, stepping forward.
"Ah. Our little storm." He placed a bulging pouch on the desk. "Her winnings. With interest. The crowd adored her."
Boo narrowed her eyes. "You're not the usual bookie."
The man leaned forward. His eyes flickered.
Void-black. Infinite.
"Call me Arioch," he said.
Boo's skin went cold.
"She's magnificent, isn't she?" he whispered. "The way the void dances through her. Reckless. Radiant. Mine."
Boo's fingers drifted toward the dagger at her hip. "If you follow me, I'll put a bolt in your throat."
"Oh, I won't follow," he said, smiling. "But tell Nyxia… she has my heart."
The air folded around him.
Gone.
Boo burst from the room and didn't stop running until she slammed into the inn's doorframe, panting and white-knuckled, clutching the pouch like it might shield her soul.
⎯⎯⎯
Back at the inn, the room had grown quieter.
Draj stood and offered a hand to Perseus. "Guess I'm family now," he said, not joking.
Perseus eyed the hand, then shook it. "As long as you've got her back, we're good."
Draj smiled. "I kept her breathing."
Perseus's eyes flicked to the hidden blades at Draj's side. "You planning to keep doing that?"
"Every day I can."
Nyxia groaned. "Stop chest-thumping, you two. Draj's earned his place. Percy, don't be weird."
Perseus raised a brow. "'Percy'?"
She smirked. "Earned that too."