That evening, the brothers made their way to the warehouse district as the sun set behind the industrial buildings. The tournament location was easy to find—just follow the crowd of rough-looking individuals all heading in the same direction.
The warehouse had been converted into a makeshift arena. Temporary seating surrounded a series of fighting rings, and the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and anticipation. A registration table near the entrance was manned by two large men who looked like they could bench press a horse.
"Names?" one of them grunted.
"Laurel and Nelson," Laurel replied, keeping his voice steady.
"Ages?"
"Seventeen."
The man looked up from his clipboard, studying them with obvious skepticism. "You boys sure about this? We don't offer refunds for medical bills."
"We're sure," Nelson said firmly.
After signing what was probably the most terrifying waiver in existence, they were given numbers—Laurel was 94, Nelson was 95—and told to wait for their matches.
The qualifying format was simple: single elimination, first to surrender or become unable to continue loses. With roughly 200 people competing for 32 spots, the odds weren't great.
"Remember," Laurel told Nelson as they watched the early matches, "we just need to qualify. Don't show off more than necessary."
But as they watched fighter after fighter display their skills, both brothers realized this tournament was going to be more challenging than the village competitions they were used to.
Laurel's first match was against a mountain of a man who introduced himself by cracking his knuckles loudly. He had at least sixty pounds and six inches on Laurel, plus arms like tree trunks.
"Nothing personal, kid," the man said as they stepped into the ring.
What the big man didn't expect was Laurel's speed and technique. Years of training with Aunt Marie had given both brothers a solid foundation in combat, and Laurel's natural agility allowed him to stay out of reach of his opponent's devastating but slow punches.
The fight lasted eight minutes. Laurel landed precise strikes at key pressure points, gradually wearing down his larger opponent until the man finally collapsed from accumulated damage and exhaustion.
"Winner: Number 94!" the announcer called out.
Nelson's match went even more smoothly. His opponent was cocky and sloppy, leaving multiple openings that Nelson exploited with the clinical precision their aunt had drilled into them during countless training sessions.
By the end of the night, against what the crowd probably considered long odds, both brothers found themselves among the 32 qualified fighters. They were tired but uninjured, and each had 1000 Ecoins in their pockets.
The next morning, they returned to the Adventurer's Guild with their qualification money. The same scarred woman was behind the counter, and her eyebrows raised slightly when she saw them again.
"Back so soon?" she asked. "Let me guess—underground tournament?"
"We qualified," Laurel said, placing 200 Ecoins on the counter. "Registration for two, please."
For the first time, she smiled. "Well, I'll be damned. You boys might just survive this after all." She processed their paperwork efficiently. "The entrance exam is in two weeks. Don't spend all your remaining money before then—you'll need supplies."
Over the following days, the brothers used their leftover funds to prepare. They bought basic camping gear, some preserved food, and a couple of decent knives to replace their village-made weapons. They also spent time in the guild's public training area, sparring with other aspiring adventurers and getting a feel for different fighting styles.
"The exam's going to be survival-based," Nelson said one evening as they reviewed what information they'd gathered. "Probably some kind of wilderness challenge."
Laurel nodded. "Good thing we know how to hunt and live off the land."
But deep down, both brothers knew that whatever the guild had planned would be far more dangerous than anything they'd faced in their village forest.
Two weeks later, the brothers stood with 310 other candidates at the city docks, staring at a ship that looked like it had seen better decades. The guild examiner—a tall, severe-looking man with an eyepatch—addressed the crowd with the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list.
"Congratulations on paying your registration fees," he said dryly. "Now we'll see if you're worth the money. The first stage of the exam is simple: survival. You'll be taken to Grimm Island, a wildlife preserve. You'll have no equipment, no supplies, and twelve days to prove you can stay alive."
A nervous murmur rippled through the crowd.
"The island is home to lions, tigers, bears, wolves, and various other predators," the examiner continued matter-of-factly. "Some of you will die. Some of you will quit. Those who survive and return to the pickup point in twelve days will advance to the second stage. Any questions?"
A brave soul near the front raised his hand. "What about medical assistance if someone gets seriously injured?"
The examiner's smile was not reassuring. "Don't get seriously injured."
The island appeared on the horizon like something from an adventure novel—dense jungle covering rugged terrain, with the sounds of wildlife echoing across the water even from a distance. As their ship approached the shore, Laurel could see large shapes moving between the trees.
"Well, this should be interesting," Nelson muttered beside him.
Before either brother could comment further, the ship's crew began herding them toward the gangplank. There was no ceremony, no final words of encouragement. One by one, the 312 aspiring adventurers were deposited on the beach, and the ship sailed away.
Almost immediately, the group began to fragment. Some candidates charged into the jungle with more confidence than sense. Others stood paralyzed on the beach. A few began trying to organize larger groups for safety.
"What's our plan?" Nelson asked.
Before Laurel could answer, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the jungle, followed by what sounded like a lion's roar. The confidence-heavy group that had charged in first came sprinting back out, but Laurel counted fewer of them than had gone in.
"Find water, find shelter, avoid the big predators until we understand the terrain," Laurel said. "And stick together no matter what."
What he didn't mention was the strange feeling he'd had since stepping off the ship—like they were being watched by something that was very good at not being seen.
By the end of the first day, several patterns had emerged among the survivors. The loners were picked off quickly by the island's predators—mainly big cats and wolf packs that seemed unusually aggressive. The large groups attracted too much attention and suffered heavy casualties during attacks. But the small groups of 2-4 people seemed to have the best survival rate.
What puzzled everyone, though, were the four candidates who seemed to simply vanish.
Laurel first noticed them during their initial assessment of the beach—three identical triplets and one other guy, all standing slightly apart from the main group. But when the chaos started and people began moving inland, they just... disappeared.
"Did you see where those four went?" Laurel asked Nelson as they set up their makeshift camp near a small freshwater stream they'd found.
"Which four?" Nelson replied, confused.
"The triplets and the other guy. They were standing right over there."
Nelson frowned. "I don't remember seeing any triplets."
That was odd. Nelson had an excellent memory, especially for faces. But as the days passed, the mystery deepened. Other candidates would mention seeing people in their peripheral vision, only to find empty air when they turned to look. Food would disappear from carefully hidden caches. Tracks would appear in the mud near water sources, then vanish without explanation.
On the fourth day, while the brothers were hunting for edible plants, Laurel caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. When he turned, there was nothing there—but he could swear he heard the sound of suppressed laughter.
"We're not alone out here," Laurel told Nelson that night as they huddled around their small, hidden fire.
"You mean besides the tigers and the wolves?"
"I mean there are other people here. People we can't see properly."
Nelson gave him a concerned look. "Laurel, you've been having those nightmares every night since we got here. Maybe the stress is—"
A stick snapped in the darkness beyond their firelight. Both brothers froze, hands moving instinctively to their knives. But nothing emerged from the shadows, and after several tense minutes, they slowly relaxed.
"Maybe you're right," Laurel said quietly. But deep down, he knew something strange was happening on Grimm Island—something that had nothing to do with the natural wildlife.