Jonathan sat there, arms crossed, glaring at the shimmering barrier that sparked every time he touched the tent flap. The sleek metallic surface of the tent rippled with soft gold threads, the kind of fancy material that screamed "you can't come in."

Laughter echoed from inside—light, relaxed, and full of clinking sounds. Drinks. Probably snacks. Maybe a TV.

"A TV? In a cave?!" he muttered, kicking a pebble across the floor. "I fought a lightning-breathing centipede with you people and I get left out for having secrets?"

Caroline made everything outside the tent despawn, and the spark still tingled on his hand from the last time he tried unzipping the thing.

He rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the cold rock floor. His jacket—what was left of it—acted more like a glorified scarf. "Great. I'm the third wheel and the unpaid intern."

But… they weren't wrong. In Requiem, secrets weren't quirky plot twists—they were literal death flags. You keep something from your party, and next time you blink, you're part of the scenery. Probably bloodied. Maybe on fire.

So yeah, he got it.

Still didn't make the exile any less annoying.

He sighed and stared up at the jagged ceiling, shadows flickering from their tent's soft glow.

They weren't telling me everything either.

He knew it. Felt it. Caroline had a damn UI. She had spells with names and settings. Sšurtinaui had tactics and classifications like a walking military sim. And both of them knew more about the Fortune Holder.

Meanwhile, he was over here winging it with red-black lightning and miracle blood juice from a cosmic god who also happened to be his older—maybe evil—self.

"Hmm. Yeah. I'm the suspicious one."

Even if he tried explaining, what was he supposed to say? Hey, I think the most powerful being in this world is me from the future. No big deal. I got here by dying. I heal with magic blood and plan to kill myself eventually. But, like, not in the dramatic way—more in the "I become a better version of myself" sort of way.

He groaned.

"Forget it," he muttered. "They'll cool off. They have to."

He tapped his fingers against the rock. One… two… three…

Another round of giggles from the tent.

Jonathan looked over his shoulder at the barrier.

This sucks.

"Hey guys, maybe—"

"Can you hear something, Sšurtinaui?" Caroline's voice carried from inside the tent, amused and just loud enough.

Sšurtinaui responded in a smooth, unfamiliar language. Whatever she said made Caroline burst out laughing.

"Yeah, these caves really are haunted," she giggled.

Jonathan scowled, leaning back against the stone wall. "Screw you guys, okay?" he barked. "We all have secrets we're not comfortable saying! Besides, how do I know you're not just using me? And that Caroline's really an outlander, huh? Naming a game doesn't prove anything. Could've just been part of your fancy outlander detection system."

More muffled conversation from within—again in that strange language. Whispered now.

Jonathan grit his teeth. "How the hell is she doing that?" he muttered. "Is the UI really that useful? It's cheap. It's cheating, is what it is."

The tent's zipper buzzed, and finally the flap lifted. Caroline's head poked out, strands of that sandpaper hair glowing faintly in the ambient Ryun light from the tent.

"I don't appreciate being called a liar," she said flatly.

Jonathan stood, brushing dust from his pants. "Well I don't appreciate being left out here in the damp dark for over an hour."

Her brow raised. "Was it really an hour?"

"I don't know! I can't tell time in here!"

"I was really asking," she chuckled. "The show had me lost."

He groaned and pointed at the tent. "Let me in, damn it. I want snacks. And warmth."

"You just wanna lay up with two girls."

"As if! Sšurtinaui told me she's at least over a hundred," he shot back, "and I'm not even one hundred percent sure you're a girl."

Caroline gasped, hand to her chest. "How dare you."

Jonathan folded his arms, smug. "I dare plenty."

Sšurtinaui's voice called out behind her. "Let him in before he cries."

"I'm not crying!" Jonathan snapped.

Caroline's grin widened as she stepped aside. "Welcome to the girls' tent of secrets and snacks, 'North.' Try not to get any dumbass on the cushions."

Jonathan grumbled as he ducked inside. "I'm surrounded by villains."

She pushed him back with one hand to the chest.

"Caroline, I will fight you."

"Clothes off."

"What?"

"You heard me. Off. It's clean in here." She casually flicked her sandpaper-colored hair back and motioned to herself and Sšurtinaui, both wrapped in what looked like comfy blankets, the subtle shapes of bras and underwear peeking out as they lounged beneath the warmth.

Jonathan sighed and muttered, "Fine," as he peeled off the torn VR hoodie and tugged off his dusty boots.

"You also stink."

"Bro!" he snapped, glaring at her.

"I'm joking." A pause. "I'm not. But you can come in." She flicked her fingers, and a small perfume bottle levitated from a side pouch and sprayed a clean herbal mist over him. His face twisted as he held still under the sudden cloud of jasmine and citrus.

She glanced at his shorts.

"I don't have any draws, unless this is a nudity retreat," he said, "let me in."

Caroline smirked and waved him forward.

The tent's interior shimmered as he stepped through the threshold—slightly spacey, not as big as he imagined from the outside but cozy in a sleek, surreal way. There was a fireplace made of glowing stone logs, flickering with gentle blue flames. An actual TV hovered in midair, muted but displaying what looked like a looping tactical map. Beanbag-sleeping-bag hybrids were sprawled around the perimeter, stacked with glowing pillows.

Sšurtinaui sat nearest the fire, cradling what appeared to be a cup of coffee, her long legs tucked under her as the blanket draped around her like a robe. She sipped silently and regarded him with a gaze that made him instantly aware of every inch of his exposed torso.

He almost flinched—until he looked down and realized something.

He looked good.

Forget gym routines. Five days in Requiem was the ultimate workout.

He lifted his chin slightly and walked in like he belonged.

"Not bad for a monster infested cave," he muttered.

Caroline threw a pillow at him. "You're lucky we didn't make you sleep with the lizards."

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Uh huh. Well you're lucky—"

"Ahem." Sšurtinaui's voice slid in like a blade between ribs.

"Right, right," he grinned, folding his arms. "So… can I get a comfy cover or am I roughing it on emotional principle?"

Sšurtinaui tilted her head with that classic elven deadpan. "There's only two."

He beamed. "So who's sharing with ya boy?"

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Both women rolled their eyes in perfect sync. It was almost rehearsed.

"Maybe after we learn a few more things about you, Mr. North," Caroline said, stretching slightly. "One of us might consider it."

He scoffed. "Please. I think we've all got a pretty solid idea of each other. Besides, we just met—don't we need a few more life-or-death situations? One of you's secretly a divine bloodline heir, or running from a bounty or some shifty underground empire…"

He trailed off.

Realizing. Oh. That's me.

His smirk faded into an awkward cough. "Right. Maybe you're right to ask questions…"

Sšurtinaui arched an eyebrow. "That's because it's stupid not to. You can die in those kinds of encounters before you get an answer."

She gestured casually toward Caroline, who gave a proud little salute with her mug. "Me and Caroline have been honest with each other. And I believe she's a girl."

Caroline smirked. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. And that jab earlier? Uncalled for, North."

Jonathan sighed. "Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry."

He eased into the beanbag-sleeping-bag hybrid and instantly sank into its plush embrace. His body relaxed—but his thoughts didn't.

I just wanted to share a blanket, he admitted to himself. Even if Sšurtinaui was technically a hot ancient grandma, she reminded him more of a smart, no-nonsense coworker he used to get drinks with. Caroline? Honestly, she gave that gamer girl energy, and maybe he found it a little hot, but—

Dude, stop. Chill. You're in a cave. With monsters. And death. Not a dating sim.

He shook his head and muttered, "Sorry."

The girls glanced over.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Did you just space out?"

Jonathan gave her a tired nod. "Yeah. It's just… a lot going on."

Neither said anything at first. Then Caroline shrugged and reached over to toss him a half-eaten energy bar. It hit him in the chest.

"Then focus on what you can control," she said, pulling the blanket over her legs again. "Starting with eating more than cave air."

Jonathan smiled faintly. "Yes ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me," she muttered, snuggling deeper into the warmth.

Sšurtinaui didn't say anything. But her blanket shifted just slightly—like maybe she was leaving a little space.

She then sighed, her gaze resting quietly on Jonathan as he munched down the energy bar like it was a five-star meal. There was something about the way he ate—desperate, clueless, stubborn—that almost made her laugh. Almost. Instead, she pulled the blanket around her tighter and exhaled.

"Alright," she said, voice even but sincere. "Let's all share a bit about ourselves. I already gave you the surface-level stuff before, but I'll go a little deeper. Then Caroline, if you're up for it, you're next. And last… we'll save you, North."

Jonathan blinked at her. "Why last?"

She smiled, soft but edged. "Because I want to work with you, but I'm not putting my life in the hands of someone who won't even fully trust me. You don't seem like a bad person… so I'm willing to take a chance. But only if you're willing to meet us halfway."

Caroline nodded beside her, tossing her legs up onto the sleeping roll. "Yeah. You seem alright. Kinda dumb. But alright."

Jonathan chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "That's cool," he muttered. He settled into the cushiony fold of the beanbag, arms crossed, still wrestling with whether to spill everything. But for now, he let her continue.

Sšurtinaui leaned forward slightly, the flicker of the firelight catching the outline of her sharp cheekbones and soft emerald eyes.

"I was born in Duros-Rei. Third district," she began. "My family trains scouts for the Narloic. It's a long-standing tradition. We sniff out danger, assess threats, find outlanders and decide… whether they'd survive long enough to be useful—or needed to be put down."

Jonathan sat up slightly. "Right… real comforting."

She ignored him, gaze far away. "Duros-Rei's dense. Hard hills. Sharp wind. But it flows clean. Not like here—this realm's Ryun is heavier. Wilder. It wants to challenge you, not serve you." She looked down into her cup. "Back home, I was considered soft. Too cautious. Too curious. I want to be a Ranker because no one in my family believed I could make it. They think I'm just a scout. Nothing more."

She looked up, meeting Jonathan's eyes. "That's also why I asked you to join us. You looked powerful. Innocent, too. Like someone who'd die painfully if they were left alone. I figured if you stuck with us, you had a chance."

Jonathan blinked. "Well… damn."

"Oh," she added offhandedly, "and I'm 248."

Caroline immediately choked on her drink, laughing at Jonathan's face.

"What? I'm still young."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "That's not young in the slightest."

"It is for an elf," she sniffed.

He squinted at her, suspicious. "Uh huh. Well thanks for admitting you planned on using me."

She shrugged, smirking. "It was for your benefit."

Jonathan rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Manipulative grandma energy. Love that."

Sšurtinaui gave him a sly wink. "You'll thank me later. Or would you rather I left you to the Dorferan warrior?

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he sat there, legs crossed and hands resting against the makeshift blanket-wrapped beanbag, slowly chewing on what he'd just heard. The fire crackled in the corner, and a faint ambient hum from Caroline's conjured "TV" droned in the background like white noise. But none of it registered.

"At least she was honest," he mumbled under his breath, glancing over at Sšurtinaui. For all her bluntness and occasional sarcasm, she hadn't lied. Not really. Her motivations were clear. Rough, but real.

He turned back toward her. "Well, Sšurtinaui, thank you for that beautiful backstory."

She glared at him—half smirk, half warning. "You want a Ryun needle up your nose?"

"Not particularly," he muttered, grinning before turning to Caroline. His mood shifted. A little more serious now. "Alright. Your turn."

Caroline narrowed her eyes at him, then looked away with a sigh. He didn't blame her—it was a lot to ask. They weren't best friends. But he also didn't miss the fact that she and Sšurtinaui were asking him to join them on what was essentially a war path. Secrets weren't going to cut it. And besides… he still had the biggest one of all.

She mumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked.

Caroline glanced at Sšurtinaui. "You really think we need him to win?"

Jonathan recoiled. "Screw you too."

"Shut up," she snapped. "No one's talking to you."

Sšurtinaui stayed calm and nodded. "I do. He survived Cawren's blast—and that took out a Ranker. Not to mention he's kept up with us despite his healing job looking like a drunk spider tried Ryun surgery."

"Damn, y'all," Jonathan muttered. "I'm right here."

Caroline sighed, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off weight. "Don't laugh at me, alright?"

He tilted his head. "What?"

"If you're really a bo—"

"North," she cut in, her voice suddenly deadly serious. "Say that again and I swear I'll shove a fox tail up your ass."

Jonathan blinked. "Not into pegging. So noted."

She exhaled through her nose and leaned back, arms crossed, staring into the middle distance. "Fine. Story time."

Sšurtinaui sat back too, letting her have the floor.

"I grew up in Montana. Real-world Montana," Caroline began, voice lower, slower. "Had a sickness—some genetic thing. Kept me bedridden for years. Treatment helped, but the side effects made me… big. Couldn't walk more than twenty minutes without wanting to pass out."

Jonathan's eyes softened. He didn't interrupt.

"Only joy I had? Games. I played everything. But Arc Sigil Unite 4? That was home. I had a clan. I got good. Really good. Even made my avatar—you know, what I look like now—using one of those old AI image generators. 'What if I was healthy? What if I looked how I felt?' That kind of thing."

She stopped and took a breath. Her eyes didn't meet his.

"Then one day, during a world event… a countdown started. Zero hit. And boom—I was here. Some of my clan too. Seven of us. Four died. Horribly. One betrayed us. And the last one? She runs a soup shop in a peaceful city. She's happy."

Caroline finally looked up at him. "I'm not bitter. I just… I never thought I'd be able to run. Or fight. Or breathe cold air on a mountaintop and feel my lungs work. So when this quest popped up—two years ago—I took it. 'Endure,' it said. 'Complete the Fortune Holder event.' So now, I'm here."

She gave him a sideways glance. "That's all I got."

Jonathan stared. Not pitying. Just quiet. He didn't expect that—any of it. From the sassy, sarcastic, overpowered gamer girl… a broken, healing person who finally had legs that moved and lungs that didn't burn.

He nodded once, slowly.

"I didn't mean to feel bad for you," he said, softly. "But damn. That's a blessing delivered by shotgun."

Caroline laughed under her breath.

And for the first time all night, no one interrupted the silence that followed.

Both girls stared at him, waiting.

Jonathan sighed. He could feel the weight of it—this moment, their silence, their unblinking expectation. It wasn't aggressive, not even judgmental. Just… waiting. For the truth.

And this was the problem.

They weren't anime tropes. Not some giggling harem ensemble waiting to be charmed. These were real people. People who told him the truth. Who had fought beside him. Who shared food and warmth and pain. Even Jafar, the smug bastard, wasn't all villain. He gave him answers. Threw him into the fire, sure, but gave him just enough to survive.

So… screw it.

He owed them something.

"I'll tell you what I know," he said, finally.

They leaned in slightly.

"I came here after dying. Saving my sister. Car crash. Basic tragic origin. But when I woke up, it wasn't a paradise or some floating tutorial angel. It was a room. Scribbles. Like my old sketch book. Just insanity all over the walls. I then met X and had breakfast. Which led to meeting a war goddess whose name I forgot. And then I finally…"

He met their eyes, steady now.

"I met Jafar."

That name hit like a physical ripple.

"I thought he was just some final boss god at first. Dragons, throne room, all that. But then he started laughing. Said I wasn't entirely wrong. And then he explained…"

He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled.

"He's me. Or I'm him. Or I become him. He's my future. My eventual self. He didn't absorb his past self like the other Kings did. He let me live. He called me his Jujisn. Said this whole thing is to see if it can happen again—if someone like me can walk through the same hell and come out as more."

Neither of them said a word. Caroline's mouth opened, then closed. Sšurtinaui's expression had gone unreadable.

"My real name is Jonathan. Jonathan North. And I don't know why I'm adapting so fast, or why Ryun feels… intuitive sometimes. But I know one thing."

He leaned forward.

"I want to win this tournament. But not for glory. I want to beat him. I want to be better than Jafar. I want to prove that the road doesn't have to end in becoming a monster in a gold-drenched palace."

His voice lowered.

"But I'm gonna have fun doing it. I'm not here to be a god. I'm here to live."

Silence followed—longer, thicker now. Caroline blinked, then looked over at Sšurtinaui. Finally, Sšurtinaui exhaled and muttered:

"…Ummmm. Wasn't expecting that ...."

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