It was ironic. Life had a way of playing games with him—or maybe it was because he had found himself in a game after all. After witnessing the guards’ skills, Aselom had dragged them into the workings of another faction, which Faoros recognized as the most profitable.

  “Duck.” Ordered the Scavenger senior. She was a mere step away from him, yet she took no action to help him. She was tall and sturdy, wearing brown rags that covered most of her body. Her blonde hair had turned brown from the dust and dirt, and her face was covered in mud. Thick smoke coming from a thin cigarette rose in front of two small black eyes that shone vividly. She was quite a bit older than him, but her fit physique made her age difficult to guess.

  “Easy for you to say, Tiole,” Faoros groaned. He jumped sideways but fell to the ground. His left arm ached. He rolled halfway before finding his footing again. “How am I supposed to beat this?”

  “You shouldn’t have wasted your merit like this, my friend,” she replied, breaking into a thin smile. “We Scavengers only give high rewards to those willing to risk for ’em.”

  The beast attacked again. Faoros barely raised his sword in time to block its sharp teeth. Belo had struck the beast, and although they had the numerical advantage, they were hard-pressed against it; and they were to blame for it. In his twenty years of life, he had never wielded any kind of weapon. He had certainly read about weapons and how they worked, but wielding one was a completely different experience.

  “You suck at this,” Belo groaned and charged at the beast. “That’s solid, you will obey my orders next time. No more Faoros Initiative Actions. Do you hear me?”

  “I appreciate it.” He cried out. The beast pushed him back. It turned around with an agile twist, swiping at him with its tail and blocking Belo’s sword with its claws. There was truly no way out. His butt hurt and he was upset, but Faoros was trying hard to convince himself that joining the Scavengers had been a wise choice.

  “Job’s well done ’en you listen to ’our senior, boy,” Tiole urged from the sidelines. Instead of carrying her weapon, she played with an old, dusty lighter in front of a metal pin that adorned her brown, rugged coat. “Until leader’s back, keep at it.”

  Am I really going to die so soon after entering the Game? Faoros cursed, mustering his remaining strength to stand up. All he wanted was to find out who that raven-haired woman was. He hadn’t expected it to be this hard.

  Before he could get lost in thought, the beast attacked again. Belo was already lying on the ground, blood flowing from a fresh scar on his forehead. Faoros let out a loud cry, but the beast was stronger. It leapt upon him, its sharp claws colliding with his borrowed sword. The momentum brought him down swiftly, and the beast pinned him to the ground. Its breath reeked of blood, and its teeth were sharper than its claws.

  Faoros braced himself for the pain to come but instead a screeching noise pierced his ears. “Enough.” At the next breath, the beast was lying down. Blood poured from its head. Its skull was cracked open, but there was no one nearby; apart from Faoros who was lying helplessly on the ground with his eyes wide open. As Aselom reached his side and offered him his free hand, Faoros fixated on his other palm. He was holding an alien weapon unlike anything he had ever seen before. “That’s a gun. This is the most efficient weapon of the past. Be a good junior, and you will get one too.”

  Even Belo was amazed by the tiny creation that had defeated the beast in the blink of an eye. However, the gem near the trigger that adorned its metallic surface caught Faoros’ attention. Tiole growled at Belo, who was trying to peek at their senior’s weapon, and held him in place with her muscular arms. “Don’t make any sudden movements and trouble your seniors. Our leader insists that we take good care of our health if we want to stay in one piece.”

  Upon hearing Tiole’s words, Faoros frowned. Was he being too cautious? This advice seemed tailored for an Alter. He shook his head and dismissed the stray thought. “Is risking your life not satisfying enough for you?” He tried to sound firm and decisive, but his voice was high-pitched. The warmth of the beast’s claws lingered on his skin.

  “Barely. A borderline pass to even the most soft senior.” Aselom placed his gun on his belt and took a round sphere out of his leather backpack. “There are worse dangers lurking in the darkness here. The beasts are a joke compared to the monstrosities lurking outside the walls or deep underground.” He caressed the ball constructed from mud. A violet crystal, barely visible to the naked eye, gave birth to a weak glow from within it. “This concludes the last part of your tour. Remember, a scavenger is the ant bringing food. The whole team will collapse without those soldiers. Tiole, would you do the honors?”

  “Course, Leader. Stand up, friend. You’re fine,” Tiole helped Belo up and accepted the mud sphere from Aselom, “This, my friends, is our source of income. There are many Danger Zones in each Sector of our city but don’t be fooled, with danger lies opportunity. Think of this city as a literal gem, a treasure that needs some digging and luck. We Scavengers know the best way to uncover its location.”

  Belo and Faoros jumped from their spots, nearly dropping their swords. “The Gem?” they called in a united voice.

  Tiole fell to her knees and continued her actions without bothering to reply. She dropped the mud sphere, which didn’t bounce, but instead stuck to the ground, “The Gem such old name. You’re among few who know it.” She paused and waited for the sphere to shine. “Takes a few moments. The ground sucks it, merit and all. In few days, we’ll have this ground. Say it, and it goes boom. We goin’ down, it’s goin’ down with us. Treasure here will be ours.”

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  “It is a matter of control. Authority.” Aselom giggled and moved ahead. “The Guards believe they are at the top, but they have competition. Follow me, and you will see just how true that is.”

  The four of them traveled through the Danger Zone without crossing any danger. Aselom was clearly evading the threats before they even entered their vision. Still, the feeling of desolation only grew sharper in there. Apart from their small group, there was no living Etal strolling around. Past battles and the passage of time had taken their toll on the buildings. The roofs had collapsed, the windows were shattered into tiny pieces, and the doors had been violently torn down, leaving behind hastily constructed mechanisms hanging from mossy stone. The sight of decomposition was unlike anything he had ever read about before. It was unbelievable to Faoros that his ancestors managed to rebuild this mess into a prosperous environment. He started to see Etal Academy in a different light.

  “This reminds me of the Wars of Shattering.” Belo whispered through his teeth. “The Game is certainly inspired by this period of the Etal.”

  “Perhaps they thought teaching history alone wasn’t enough anymore. They decided we have to live through it.” Faoros commented, suddenly feeling guilty for skipping the related classes.

  “Enough,” Aselom growled and fixed them with narrowed eyes. “I don’t want thoughtless chatter among our juniors. This is a dangerous place. We risk our lives here. Keep your eyes open and observe your surroundings closely. You will have ample time to rest later.”

  Faoros felt a raging tide rise within him, but he immediately swallowed his pride. Aselom’s youthful appearance irritated him because it contrasted with his tone. The worst part was that he had to accept it.

  “Look, it is strange we have to follow orders from Natives. Still this is not our home.” Belo read Faoros’ expression and whispered. “We’ll have a chance to talk about the accident later. We have to reach their base first.”

  Faoros nodded silently and refrained from making further comments. He hated being at the mercy of others. For the rest of their journey through the Danger Zone, he had to accept one hard truth; even with Miss Vione’s advice and help, the Game was beyond his imagination. The dirty air, demolished buildings, and his own rugged robe were as real as his life up to that point. Even scarier was that this feeling extended to the people as well. The Guards from Sector C, the Native Tiole, and his own body, with its injuries and needs, were no less real than his previous life. Faoros would go even as far as to call the Game livelier than his life in Etal Academy.

  “Don’t have any dangerous thoughts now.” Belo reached his side the moment his expression turned ugly. “Remember how many teachers still bear scars from their time here. Even Miss Tite becomes absentminded for days without apparent reason. Stay focused on the task at hand. Don’t dwell on useless questions. It’s for our own safety, the manual has a whole page dedicated to this subject.”

  “That’s probably true,” Faoros admitted. This was Miss Vione’s first and foremost advice; not to lose yourself.

  “The wait is over, juniors. We have arrived,” Aselom said, pointing at the ruins of a building. The second floor had completely collapsed, and large holes gaped where the windows should have been. “Faoros and Belo, I welcome you to our base in Sector B. As its leader, I will oversee you. Make sure you learn quickly, and you will be rewarded accordingly. Follow me.”

  Aselom and Tiole led the way into the ruins. Faoros followed closely behind, occasionally glancing at his friend while they headed toward the basement.

  “Oh!” Belo exclaimed, grabbing his leg. Faoros immediately looked at the ground and saw the remains of a bullet that had pierced a picture. The wooden frame was covered with mold. “Was there a fight here?”

  “My friends, smile. These’re the fights.” Tiole stopped in front of a metal bookcase. “The Scavengers are a family. We fight and keep ’em merits.”

  “Well said, Tiole.” Aselom clapped loudly and shot a look at the bookcase. “You go ahead, and we will join you shortly. I must give these juniors the senior treatment before we head down.”

  “Fine… leader,” Tiole replied. She brought out her own gun and placed it in the bookcase. As soon as it touched its cold surface, a bright light shone and the metal bookcase disappeared as if it had never existed, “Keep straight face, friends!”

  The bookcase gradually emerged out of thin air and blocked the tunnel again. Aselom turned to face them, his black pupils a vortex that swallowed all light. “Faoros, remember me?” His lips formed a crescent moon that reached all the way to his eyes.

  Faoros opened his mouth, but no words escaped his lips. He realized that his hands were trembling. Now that Aselom was in front of him, he couldn’t even form a simple sentence. His brain refused to place an order to his priorities.

  “Don’t toy with us.” Belo stepped forward and pointing at him. “I know you are a hindrance to the Lords. You are acting illegally and plotting against the Guards. We can easily report you when—.”

  “What a fierce junior we have got here, right, Faoros?” Aselom raised his hands in obedience and looked at him. “Then go ahead. Prove your courage. Ask.”

  Belo quickly turned to look at Faoros, but there was no help coming from his friend. His left cheek was itching but he buried the urge to scratch it. “We know you were the source of the accident at the gallows. Why—”

  “Why? Why?” Aselom growled and punched the bookcase. His fingers leaked blood and his teeth creaked with anger as he stepped in front of Belo. “I am offering you a chance at glory, a place in history, and all you can ask is this? Why would I incite an accident? Why would you disturb an execution? Because I can. I can! Does that satisfy you, my junior? Does this satisfy you, Faoros?”

  Belo had lost the color in his face and hung his mouth open. He had no reply for Aselom. He moved back, afraid to face him any longer. Faoros was no different, but, seeing his friend retreat, he mustered his courage to step up. This was his mess, after all.

  “No, I am not satisfied at all.” Faoros coughed out, “I don’t care about the accident, the Lords, or the execution. You know what I want to ask of you.” He paused, unsure of how to phrase his question. “You are no Nativ—”

  “Faoros,” Belo hissed. “This is against the rules!”

  “The rules I haven’t read,” Faoros objected and turned his attention back at Aselom. “You are no Native, right? You and the raven-haired woman are different, aren’t you?”

  Aselom’s face contorted. His lips trembled with excitement, and the veins in his neck bulged, “Well asked, Faoros! The Alters and the Natives, this world and the outside—so many questions, so many unanswered questions, my dear juniors.”

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