The preparation chamber's walls faded from bright silver to dull gray as the system finished logging Riley out of the match server. The cheers from the arena were gone—replaced by silence and the soft hum of distant machinery.
Riley stood still long after his HUD dimmed.
Long after Andy's respectful nod flickered out of view.
Long after the system quietly informed him he'd earned 2,000 consolation points for making the bracket.
Two thousand points.
Some players earned that in a day.
He removed his gauntlets slowly, fingers stiff from gripping too hard during the fight. His breathing had evened out, but his chest still felt tight—like someone had wedged a stone under his ribs.
The message notification blinked in the corner of his vision.
>
Of course it was Harry.
Riley swallowed hard and accepted the invitation to the guild's private room.
The world blurred—light rushing past him in a streak of blue—and then he was standing in the Iron Flock Ready Lounge, a space styled like a medieval war tent.
Dark red banners hung from the rafters. Weapons decorated the circular walls—purely cosmetic, bought with guild prestige rather than earned in battle. There was a large table in the center, projections flickering above it of tournament brackets and player stats.
Voices cut off the moment Riley materialized.
A small cluster of avatars stood waiting.
Harry Tomkins was at the front.
Tall. Athletic. Blonde hair he always styled too perfectly. His armor was polished, decorated with a crest he didn't earn but bragged about anyway.
He crossed his arms as Riley appeared.
"Well, look who finally logged back in," Harry said, tone biting. "Took you long enough."
Riley opened his mouth. "Harry, I—"
"Don't." Harry raised a hand sharply. "We all watched the match. Two minutes, Riley. You lasted two minutes."
"It was two forty-seven," Riley muttered without thinking.
"Right," Harry scoffed, "because the extra forty-seven seconds really makes a difference."
Several guildmates snickered behind him.
Riley felt heat creeping into his face.
Harry stepped closer, circling Riley like a predator smelling blood.
"Iron Flock gave you a sponsored slot. A sponsored slot. You know how many players would kill for that?"
"I know," Riley whispered.
"Do you?" Harry snapped. "Because you walked into that arena with a Stoneback Brute, Riley. A Stone. Back. Brute." He spelled it out slowly like Riley was a child. "What were you thinking?"
"It's my strongest Spirit," Riley said quietly.
"Your strongest Spirit is mid-tier trash." Harry leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "And because of you, people think our guild chooses weaklings."
Other guildmates muttered. Someone whispered, "Embarrassing."
Riley clenched his fists.
He had expected disappointment. Maybe even frustration.
But this?
This was pure venom.
"I tried my best," Riley said. It sounded pathetic even to his own ears.
Harry laughed. "Your best got you flattened. It got us humiliated on the biggest stage of the year. Even Andy Lendrim looked bored."
Andy hadn't mocked him.
Andy had treated him with respect.
Harry was the one treating him like garbage.
Harry stepped even closer, invading Riley's space. His voice dropped into a cold, cutting whisper.
"You're average. You've always been average. You rode our coattails into this tournament, and deep down you know it."
Riley's hands shook, not from fear but anger.
But before he could reply, the guild leader—Marcus—finally spoke.
"Enough," Marcus said, though his tone lacked conviction. "Riley, after discussing with the officers… we're removing you from Iron Flock."
Riley blinked. "What?"
Marcus wouldn't meet his eyes.
"You're not a good fit for competitive play. You've been offered a transfer to a casual guild—"
Harry cut in loudly, "—Because that's where he belongs."
The snickers grew louder.
Riley felt something break inside him.
The hours he'd spent with these people.
The raids.
The late-night grinding sessions.
The support he thought he had.
The hope.
The trust.
Gone.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Turn in your guild gear. You'll keep your account points, but you lose access to our resources, chat, and sponsorship."
Riley opened his menu mechanically, hands numb, and unequipped the Iron Flock tabard and insignia. They vanished from his inventory, the system deleting them instantly.
A soft chime rang out.
Just like that.
Harry clapped slowly. The sound echoed in the chamber.
"Goodbye, Riley. Don't let the arena door hit you on the way out."
The others laughed.
Riley's heart pounded painfully. "I gave everything to this guild."
Harry shrugged. "Should've given more."
Riley stared at him—this boy who used to be his teammate, who used to joke with him during dungeon runs, who used to pretend they were friends.
Now he was the one holding the knife.
Riley turned without another word and walked toward the exit.
No one stopped him.
No one said goodbye.
No one even looked sorry.
As he reached the door, Harry called after him, voice dripping with mock sympathy.
"Hey Riley?"
Riley paused.
Harry smirked.
"Next time—pick a Spirit worth using."
The door closed behind him.
Silence swallowed him as the system loaded the empty corridor outside the guild hall. The crowd noise from the tournament was long gone. The lights dimmer. The air cold.
Riley's vision blurred.
He leaned against the wall and pulled the VR visor off, letting it hang from his fingertips. Sweat trickled down his temples. His heart hurt more than his pride.
His phone buzzed—a notification from the tournament feed.
ANDY LENDRIM ADVANCES TO ROUND 2.
A replay showed Andy's Skyrazor Wyvern soaring triumphantly.
Riley stared at it for a long moment.
Then something glinted beneath a bench in the hallway.
A tiny crystal.
Fractured.
Glowing faintly.
He frowned and knelt down, picking it up. The warmth pulsed through his fingers—soft at first, then stronger.
"What…?"
The light inside the gem swirled like captured starlight.
Mesmerizing. Hypnotic.
He didn't know why…
but holding it made something deep inside him ache.
He closed his fingers around it.
"I just wish…" Riley whispered into the empty hall, voice cracking.
"I wish I could go back to day one."
The gem pulsed—bright enough to illuminate the entire corridor.
Then everything went black.