The four eyes meet — azure, brown, red, and green — as the bright rays of the sun kiss their faces. A wind passes, carrying with it the weight of new beginnings…
Receptionist (deadpan):"You four done with the stare-down? If you want to register, form a line and show your passes."
Awkward shuffling. Determined nods. The Dreamers step forward, each holding their permit with a mix of pride and nerves.
They halt at the entry gate of the First Trial, hearts pounding with anticipation — only to find out…they're late. And worse, they've missed the explanation entirely.
Luckily, one of them eavesdropped earlier.
Einar (muttering, awkward but proud):"I overheard some of it. I… I can explain."
As Einar goes over the rules — each word steadier than the last — the group gathers closer.
A recap, courtesy of Chapter 4:To pass the First Trial, one must defeat creatures and earn Battle Points (BTS).To qualify for Level Two, each must gather at least 1000 BTS. And since a defeated beast might be tamed, one should aim as high...as their wit dares to reach.
At the gate, the Entree Guard activates a strange machine, its blue glow humming like whispered thunder.
With a low mechanical click, it inks a hollow ring onto each Dreamer's wrist.
Entree Guard: "Welcome to the Trial Lands. One of your kind entered nearly two hours ago… Name: Koga."
The group stiffens.
Rosé (cocking an eyebrow):"So we've got a head-starting mystery rival already? Great."
After thorough discussion (read: two minutes of arguing), the Dreamers decide to split up and search for Koga.
Xitij (stretching and sighing):"Well, he couldn't have gone far."
Meanwhile…
The Trial Lands.
A realm that stretches across thousands of miles —its geography a tempest of extremes: peaks and depths, forests and wastelands, oceans and deserts.
It is but one-tenth the size of the Old Rule's domain...with one-thirtieth the population.
A land that exists for a single purpose: To host the Trials — ten levels of challenge, chaos, and choice.
For the next three months, only Level One shall open its jaws.
And now…its gates have begun to close behind the Dreamers.
One hour in…
And already, each of them has completely lost sight of their goals.
Yelena?She's gone full rogue — challenging a Level 3 beast because "it looked at her funny."
Rosé?Wandering off again, utterly enchanted by yet another bizarre creature that may or may not breathe fire and poetry.
Einar?Less focused on beasts…More focused on Rosé.(Narrator: He wasn't there for the crow scene. Poor soul never stood a chance.)
And Xitij?Already on a hyper roll — having cleanly taken down four Level 1s and three Level 2s.His energy borders on unhinged.His only concern?"Why isn't there a leaderboard yet?!"
Ah yes — a soft green forest glade, circled by thick bushes and lush trees.The breeze flows again, in perfect harmony with laughter —that nostalgic, comforting kind of laughter.
Bright red strands of hair dance with the wind.
Rosé, delighted and wide-eyed, is utterly captivated by a giant frog the size of a carriage.
(Narrator: She forgot about the trial.)
From behind the brush, Einar, peeking nervously through the leaves, catches sight of the frog ——or more precisely, of the gleam of venom pooling in its throat.
On reflex —he lunges from the bushes and tackles Rosé, shielding her with his body, both of them now sprawled flat on the glade floor.
"GET OFF OF ME!! What are you trying to do???" Rosé shrieks.
"STAY PUT! I'm trying to save you here!" Einar snaps back.
The frog's throat bulges.It draws back its tongue, now coated in shimmering green poison, ready to strike.
Narrator:Isn't it déjà vu all over again?
Xitij, sensing something—a pull, a pressure, a tug in the air—suddenly bolts.
He doesn't know why. He just runs.
A sharp leap places him on a low-hanging branch—and that's when he sees it.
His pupils widen. Breath catches.
And before thought can form, instinct takes over.
He launches forward—a blur of motion, hurtling through the canopy.His eyes locked on the giant frog, its tongue drawn and deadly.
A massive leap sends him soaring toward the glade.Midair, his hand grips the hilt of his sword.
He swings.
—
Voice (calm, echoing):"But that won't stop the tongue, will it?"
—
Xitij hesitates. The blade freezes mid-swing.
He adjusts.
Veering slightly to the side, shifting posture mid-flight—the frog notices him. Its bulging eyes widen. It braces for the strike.
But—
Nothing.
No blade. No slash. Just… air.
Until—
SMACK!!The hilt of the sword slams squarely into the frog's face.
A crunch. A blur. A green blur launched back into the forest—frog, tongue, pride, everything.
Dust settles.
Xitij lands smoothly, a few steps ahead of the now-sprawled Rosé and wide-eyed Einar.
With a playful grin and zero context, he mutters:
"I don't even want to know which decisions put you into that situation."