Far off the giant, floating, rock arena they called their training grounds, a deafening silence lingered before Arbor's voice broke it sounding Flat. Dull. Vulnerable.

“He’s kinda right, you know.”

Eva, sitting on the edge of the same bleacher, tilted her head in his direction. She perched lightly, her goat-like pupils shifting toward Arbor with quiet curiosity.

“Who’s right?” she asked, her tone careful but not probing.

Arbor stayed quiet for a moment, eyes still locked on the sky above. Their jaw shifted like they were working up the words, like they were tasting them to see if they were safe to say.

“Alek,” they muttered finally, fingers tapping against their arm. “He’s right. I don’t belong here.”

Eva shifted her weight slightly, leaning forward, arms resting on her knees. Her eyes didn’t leave Arbor.

“I’m confused,” she said slowly, her tone light but steady. “What do you mean?”

Arbor sighed deeply, like the weight of the whole conversation they had just settled on their chest. They sat up halfway, propping themselves on their elbows as they scanned the arena around them. Their gaze swept across the cracks in the stone, the faint marks left by Alek's scythe, and the space where their staff had shattered into useless splinters.

“People like him have... reasons to be here,” Arbor said, voice quiet but rough. They gestured vaguely at the trees, the stone, and everything around them. “Training in these damn woods, pushing themselves like their lives depend on it. When he asked me why I was here, I didn’t have an answer.”

Their fingers twitched. They ran a hand down their face, brushing away stray hair before letting it hang limply at their side.

Eva didn’t interrupt. She just tilted her head, watching, waiting.

“I get why he’s mad, I would be too, to be honest,” Arbor said, their voice growing sharper, frustration threading through it. They sat up straighter now, resting their arms on their knees, fingers clasped together looking for a stone they didn't have. Their eyes narrowed, staring down at the ground like it had done something personal to them.

“Someone like me — reluctant, lazy — getting this far? It doesn’t make sense. And really, I haven’t done anything. For the past eight months, all I’ve done is sleep, read, have weird dreams, wake up, and train. Freya keeps saying I’ve got ‘potential,’ but it sure doesn’t feel like it. I'm like some rat on a wheel chasing nothing.”

Their words were a bit more true than they meant them to be. They swallowed thickly, their fingers, sharp blue nails, digging into the fabric of their kimono. Potential. The word felt hollow every time they heard it.

Eva leaned forward, her posture softer now. She didn’t say anything. Just let Arbor talk.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” Arbor muttered, their hands curling into loose fists.

Eva raised a brow, voice low but curious. “What?”

Arbor sucked in a breath, staring forward as their face shifted into something tighter. Not anger. Not sadness. Just... something knotted too tightly to untangle.

“I can’t remember anything past two years ago,” Arbor said, voice quieter now but raw. They didn’t meet Eva’s eyes. “Nothing. Freya just showed up one day, saying ‘the goddess Atheria has plans,’ and now... here I am.”

Their laugh was hollow, and breathy, like it was meant to sound dismissive but missed the mark. They leaned back against the bleachers, arms stretched out behind them.

“So when someone like Alek asks, ‘Why are you here?’ I can’t tell you. If it were up to me? I wouldn’t be. But I’m here anyway, doing what Freya says, trying not to screw up.”

Eva watched them for a long moment, her eyes thoughtful but quiet. Her goat-like pupils shifted slightly, flicking back and forth as if tracking something only she could see. Then she leaned back on her hands, glancing at the treetops.

“And... the dreams?” she asked, her voice gentle but steady.

Arbor’s face scrunched up, lips pressing into a line. Their eyes darted toward the ground as if it had something important to say.

“Every time I sleep, I see glimpses of something,” they muttered, rubbing the back of their neck. “Memories I don’t understand, things just out of reach. It’s like... it’s there, but it’s not mine. And I can’t figure out if I’m supposed to remember, or if I’m better off forgetting. Even recently I saw someone, maybe me or something else, but I just can't understand.”

Their voice was quieter now. Almost hollow.

Eva leaned back, crossing her arms, her gaze still on Arbor. Her tone wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t soft, either. It was steady. A tether.

“Maybe that’s why you’re here,” she said simply. “Because there’s something in those glimpses. Something Freya sees, even if you don’t. And maybe you’re not supposed to have all the answers right now.”

Her words hung in the air, lingering like dust caught in sunlight.

Arbor snorted, their lips curling into a faint smirk. The sarcasm crept back in, slow and familiar like an old friend. They turned their head to look at her, eyes half-lidded, their grin sharp but tired.

“Sounds pretty convenient, huh? ‘Just keep going, and it’ll all make sense.’ Real inspiring stuff,” Arbor said, their tone dry as sand.

Eva let out a short, soft laugh, tilting her head toward. Her grin was small but steady.

“It’s better than giving up,” she said, voice teasing but sincere. She turned her eyes toward the canopy, watching the shifting glow of light through the leaves. “And hey, at least you’re honest about it. That’s something.”

Arbor’s grin widened just a bit as they let out a slow breath. They leaned back again, stretching their legs and arms in opposite directions like a cat in the sun.

“Yeah, well, being brutally honest is the only thing I’m good at,” they muttered, fingers laced behind their head. They shut their eyes. “That and complaining. Deadly combo. Gets me punched sometimes, but hey — consistency’s important.”

Eva stood, brushing off her dress as she stepped down from the bleachers. Her eyes flicked toward Arbor, her smirk tilting at an angle.

“Well, that's a pretty good trait to have,” she said, her tone playful but firm.

Their grin stayed for a second, then slowly faded. Their eyes drifted toward their broken staff lying nearby, the wood splintered and frayed at the edges. They stared at it for a long moment, fingers twitching once like they might reach for it.

They didn’t.

Their gaze shifted back to the sky. Their eyes traced the patches of blue sky peeking through, watching them like they were waiting for something to change.

“Yeah,” they muttered under their breath.

“Real consistent.”

Arbor crouched near the splintered pieces of their staff, brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Their fingers traced one of the larger fragments. The faint glow of enchanted runes still pulsed weakly along the grain of the wood, like embers after a fire had gone out.

Their eyes flickered with something between frustration and dread. Their fingers pressed into the fragment, and for a second, they felt it. The familiar hum of energy, like a heart trying to beat despite the break.

“Dang it, I’m not supposed to use this unless Freya is here,” Arbor muttered to themself. Their eyes darted to the other fragments scattered around them. “She’s going to kill me.”

Their shoulders tensed at the thought. Their fingers curled around the largest fragment.

“Yeah,” they muttered, glancing down at the pieces. “She’s definitely going to kill me.”

Eva's voice pulled them from their spiral.

“Knowing Freya, she’s probably off handling something urgent,” Eva said calmly. “You know how she is — always involved in something. I’m sure she’ll understand once she’s back.”

Arbor snorted but didn’t answer. Yeah, right. “Understand” wasn’t exactly a word that fit with Freya’s way of handling mistakes. Correct? Yes. Forgive? Unlikely. They glanced back at the staff shard in their hands and sighed.

Their fingers brushed the runes again, feeling them flicker under their touch.

The air shifted.

A faint, watery hum began to rise from the treeline just beyond the arena’s edge. The sound of something sparking, cracking. It wasn’t thunder, but it had that same electric energy. The low rumble of a distant current of water weaving with the faint crackle of energy.

CRRKKSSHH… swooshhh…

Arbor’s ears twitched. Their fingers froze over the staff pieces, eyes darting toward the treeline.

Eva tilted her head toward the noise, her eyes glowing faintly with that soft pinkish hue. Recognition flashed across her face.

“Oh, I think it’s Freya,” she said casually.

Arbor’s heart stopped.