The second day began with smoke.
Thalos stirred in the dark cellar, blinking away half-sleep as the acrid scent burned its way into his nostrils. It wasn't natural decay—it was fresh. Something burning nearby. Wood. Flesh.
He rose quickly, unbarring the makeshift barricade. A thin trail of gray fog drifted between buildings, illuminated by the steady purple hue of Duskhaven's false sky.
Someone lit a fire, he thought. And recently.
That could mean a few things—either a trap, a distraction, or desperation. In all three cases, it was worth investigating… or at least skirting carefully. A direct path would be stupid. A smarter one, necessary.
Thalos slipped through side alleys, using the collapsed buildings and fungal growth for cover. His eyes, enhanced by the Nocturne Blade trait, could see the outlines of shapes even in the heavy dim. The world was monochrome, but sharp—an advantage most would overlook.
He crept closer to the fire's source: an old merchant square choked by rubble and decay.
At the center, flames licked at the remnants of a broken cart. Something—someone—had smashed together wood, oil, and blood tonic to ignite it.
And sitting in the glow was a girl with short black hair and a broken spear resting across her knees. Her leather shoulder guard was half-melted, her left arm tied in a rough tourniquet.
She didn't look up.
But she spoke.
"I know you're there."
Thalos stilled.
The girl slowly tilted her head in his direction. "You've been stalking from thirty paces for the last minute and a half. Good job. But if you're going to kill me, at least let me finish eating this dried tongue."
He stepped out from the alley, blade lowered—but ready.
"I wasn't stalking. Just… watching."
"That's what stalking is," she said, ripping a piece of the dried meat with her teeth.
She looked young. Not weak—her posture was too coiled for that—but tired.
"You injured?" Thalos asked.
She held up her left hand. "Zombie tried to take a bite out of me. Got a few teeth in before I took its jaw off."
"And the fire?"
"Company beacon," she said simply. "Figured if someone decent saw it, they might come. If someone hostile came, I'd already be ready to die."
Thalos frowned. "You don't know who's out here."
"No one does," she said. "But we're all out of time to play lone wolf."
She tossed him a small blood tonic. He caught it out of reflex.
"I'm Kirelle. You?"
"…Thalos."
She grinned. "Nice. You don't look like a murder-happy lunatic. That's a win in here."
He didn't relax immediately.
But he didn't leave either.
Instead, they shared silence. The fire popped and hissed. Above, a cloud of floating mana-flies passed through, shedding dim red light.
Finally, Thalos sat across from her.
"You're not bleeding anymore."
"No," she said. "But I'm running low. Blood core's unstable. Two enhancements left in me before I collapse. Maybe three if I cheat."
"You been hunted?"
"Twice. Killed one. Ran from the other. Some masked noble brat with flame tattoos and a superiority complex."
Thalos nodded. "I've seen two. Avoided both."
"Smart," she said. "They're looking for easy kills. Not fights."
"And the fire won't attract them?"
"Oh, it will," Kirelle replied. "But I'm hoping it also attracts people like you."
He raised an eyebrow.
She shrugged. "Better ten blades beside me than one in my back. Temporary alliances. One day left. We can split when the timer's close."
Temporary, he thought. Trust without trust.
But she wasn't wrong. The longer this trial dragged on, the more unstable things would get. People would get desperate. Violent.
The beasts and undead were pressure—but the real threat was still each other.
He pulled out a piece of dried mushroom loaf and bit into it thoughtfully.
"If we're teaming up," he said, "we need rules."
"Agreed," Kirelle said, sitting straighter. "No sneaking off. No poisoning. No 'accidental' backstabs. If one of us wants out, we say so clearly."
Thalos nodded. "And any kill between us—split the loot. No fighting over scraps."
She offered her uninjured hand. "Deal?"
He clasped it. "Deal."
Together, they moved through the city with far more efficiency.
Kirelle wasn't as fast as him, but she knew the terrain—having mapped parts of it while scavenging the first night. She carried flint darts and glass bombs infused with rotspore, able to slow or distract even stronger foes. She'd grown up street-level, her tactics tight and dirty.
They cleaned out two undead nests by late morning. Thalos used Blood Resonance to recover from minor cuts by draining the remains. The burst of vitality after feeding sharpened his body—enough to land cleaner strikes and reduce stamina loss for several minutes.
Kirelle noticed.
"Damn," she muttered. "You're not flashy, but you're efficient."
"Waste nothing," he said. "Father drilled that into me."
"And here I was thinking all the commoners came in wild."
Thalos smirked. "Some of us came prepared."
But the city wasn't done testing them.
Just before dusk, they ran into another candidate—tall, masked, and wielding twin sabers crackling with dark energy. Thalos caught him creeping along a broken rooftop.
Kirelle swore. "That's him. The noble. Fast as hell. Doesn't talk. Just attacks."
Thalos assessed quickly.
Open ground. No cover. Too risky to fight head-on. But a fountain ruin lay twenty meters back—tight quarters. Chokepoint.
"We retreat. Funnel him."
"Copy that."
They ran. The noble followed.
As expected.
Thalos reached the ruin first, jumped into the pool basin. Kirelle took to the rubble pile on the left. The sabersman jumped in moments later—and found a blade waiting.
Thalos's strike met metal with a crack. Sparks. Push. Backpedal.
Kirelle tossed a rotspore vial—mist burst into the air, thick and choking. The noble flinched.
Thalos struck again. Not to kill—to drive back. Buy time.
Together, they pressed just hard enough to force the noble to reconsider. Wounded, disoriented, outnumbered—he vanished into the mist with a snarl.
Gone.
For now.
Night returned.
They found another cellar—deeper, colder. Sealed behind a glyph-marked door. Safe, at least until dawn.
As they ate, Thalos leaned back against the stone.
"Tomorrow's the last day," he said.
Kirelle nodded. "Think we'll make it?"
Thalos looked down at his fingers—slightly trembling. Fatigue crept beneath the skin, but his blood core still pulsed steady.
"We're still breathing."
"That counts," she said with a wry smile.
Outside, the city exhaled a long, low wind—almost like a sigh.
The third day would decide who walked out of the ruins… and who didn't.