"Sometimes strength means saying, 'I can't do this alone.'"
Three Quiet Days
The celebration in the training hall feels like it happened months ago instead of just three days. All those students crowding around them, begging Class D to show off their teamwork trick one more time. Now Artha sits in their empty common room, listening to the silence.
Every morning starts the same way now. Koroan gets up before dawn, stuffing his gear into that old leather pack. The mountain gym offered him a full-time position after seeing what he could do. Real money, real training, real future.
"Just temporary," he keeps saying when he catches Artha watching. "Just until I figure things out."
Liraya spends her days buried in advanced spell theory books, courtesy of Faryne's exclusive study group. She hums while she reads, completely absorbed, forgetting to eat until someone reminds her. When she does surface, her eyes are bright with new knowledge.
"They want me to present my research next week," she told Artha yesterday, practically bouncing. "In front of actual professors."
Reyan runs between different think-tank meetings now. Apparently his battle mathematics are exactly what several senior strategists have been looking for. He comes back with coffee-stained notebooks and stories about getting paid to solve puzzles all day.
Even Sayen doesn't hang around much anymore. The Healers' Guild recruited him after seeing his empathic paintings. He stays in their dormitory most nights, only stopping by to grab more art supplies.
"Place has weird energy lately," he muttered last time, shoving paint tubes into his bag. "You feel it too, right? Like something's watching."
They all still wave when they see Artha in the halls. Still call out friendly greetings. But the room empties faster each day.
Marcus Has Opinions
Artha takes the long way to lunch, hoping to avoid the usual crowd. No luck. Marcus appears around the corner like he's been waiting.
"Well, well. If it isn't the famous D-Rank leader." Marcus leans against the wall, blocking Artha's path. "Funny how your little team started climbing the ladder the minute you stopped holding them back."
"They earned their opportunities," Artha says, trying to step around him.
Marcus shifts to block him again. "Did they? Or did they just finally cut loose the dead weight?"
The hallway suddenly feels too narrow. Too quiet.
"Look around, here mrcus said. When's the last time any of them asked for your help? When's the last time they needed their fearless leader for anything?"
Artha wants to argue, but the words stick in his throat. Because Marcus isn't wrong. Not completely.
"Face it," Marcus continues, his voice almost gentle. "You were the anchor dragging their ship down. Now they're sailing free."
This time when Artha pushes past, Marcus lets him go. The damage is already done.
Offers Everywhere
The dining hall buzzes with the usual chatter, but Artha only notices the conversations that sting. At the table behind him, someone's reading guild recruitment flyers out loud.
"Liraya, invited to demonstrate advanced elemental fusion at the Elite Arena. Performance date pending."
Two tables over, he catches fragments of another discussion.
"Koroan's working with Varik's mountain clan now. They're calling him a natural."
"Did you see Reyan's lecture proposal got approved? Battle Mathematics and Tactical Analysis. Pretty impressive for a first-year."
"That Sayen kid won Healer of the Month. His empathic artwork is apparently revolutionary."
Artha stares at his soup, watching the surface grow cold. He should be proud of them. He is proud of them. So why does it feel like losing?
Stranger at the Table
"Looks like you're learning some hard truths about friendship."
Artha glances up to find someone sliding into the seat across from him. Average height, brown hair that needs cutting, wearing a robe that doesn't quite fit right. Nothing remarkable, except for the eyes. Old eyes in a young face.
"Do I know you?"
"Not yet." The stranger's smile doesn't reach those ancient eyes. "But I know you, Artha. I've been watching you figure out that people always leave when staying becomes inconvenient."
Something cold settles in Artha's stomach. "Who are you?"
"Someone who understands what it's like to lose everything." The stranger leans forward. "Someone who knows that people don't leave because they hate you. They leave because caring about you costs too much."
The words hit like physical blows. Because isn't that exactly what's happening? His friends aren't being cruel. They're just choosing better paths. Paths that don't include D-Rank baggage.
"Your friends got offers because they're talented," the stranger continues. "But why do you think those offers came now? Why not before?"
Artha's vision blurs. He knows the answer. Everyone knows the answer.
"Because before, they were tied to you. Limited by your rank. Held back by your reputation."
"Stop." Artha's voice comes out as a whisper.
The stranger's face shifts for just a moment. Features rearrange themselves into something familiar yet impossible. Older, scarred, but unmistakably his own face looking back at him.
"Hey, little brother. I've been looking for you for nine long years."
The Impossible
The world stops. The dining hall noise fades to nothing. Artha can't breathe.
"No." The word scrapes his throat raw. "You're dead. I watched the portal collapse. I saw you disappear."
Warm fingers cover his cold ones. Real flesh, real warmth, real pressure.
"I survived, Artha. It took me nine years to claw my way back, but I made it. I found you."
Tears come without permission, hot and fast. "It's not possible."
"I'm here now. You'll never be alone again." The brother's voice carries the same warmth Artha remembers from childhood. "Come with me. No more watching your friends outgrow you. No more being the weak link. I found a place where you belong."
It sounds perfect. Everything Artha's ever wanted. So why does every instinct scream danger?
Sayen Feels the Chill
Three floors up in the art studio, Sayen's brush freezes mid-stroke. The painting he's been working on changes before his eyes. Bright colors muddy to brown and black. Cheerful shapes twist into something predatory.
"What the hell?" He steps back from the canvas.
The wrongness hits him like a wave. Something malevolent just entered the building. Something that tastes of old hunger and patient malice. He drops the brush and runs.
By the time he reaches the dining hall, Artha sits alone at his table, staring at empty air with tears on his cheeks.
"Artha? What happened?" Sayen drops into the chair where the stranger had been sitting. It's still warm.
"I thought I saw someone. Someone who died a long time ago."
Sayen shivers, even though the dining hall is warm. "Yeah. I felt something too. Something that didn't belong here."
Sunset Choices
That evening, the common room feels like a funeral parlor. Half-packed boxes sit on every surface. The others made their decisions during the day.
"So," Reyan says, nervously adjusting his glasses. "Looks like we all got opportunities knocking."
Koroan won't meet Artha's eyes. "The mountain position is full-time. Room and board included."
"The research group wants me to relocate to the advanced wing," Liraya adds quietly. "Better resources, better mentors."
"The Healers' Guild offered me a permanent position," Sayen says. "My own studio, real funding for my work."
They're all waiting for him to say something. To release them from whatever obligation they feel.
"You should take them," Artha manages. He means it, even though it tears something inside him. "These are real chances. Life-changing opportunities."
"Are you sure?" Koroan's voice is gentle. "We could try to work something out. Stay together somehow?"
But they all know it's not possible. Their paths are diverging, and his leads nowhere they want to go.
"I'm sure. You're not responsible for me. Go live your lives."
The relief on their faces hurts more than he expected.
Hours later, Artha sits by his window watching moonlight paint the courtyard silver. A lone figure waits below, patient as a stone. Same ill-fitting robe, same knowing smile.
Behind him, Sayen appears in the doorway. His hands shake as he grips the frame.
"Artha, that person down there. There's something seriously wrong with them."
"What do you mean?"
"I can hear it. Like singing, but all broken and sharp. It makes my teeth ache."
Artha presses his palm against the cool glass. Family doesn't abandon you, he tells himself. Family comes back. But the warning bells in his head grow louder by the minute.
Somewhere in the distance, hidden mirrors begin to hum with anticipation. The first stone of the revival of the Fallen God has been carefully, precisely set.
And Artha still doesn't realize he's the keystone they're building toward.