Chapter Thirty-Six

  "The games bring insights from countless civilizations, unveiling worlds unknown to the vast majority. Yet amidst the spectacle, neglect, abuse, and exploitation become commonplace—sacrificed on the altar of the hero’s relentless pursuit of glory." – Beacon, Former Champion.

  Level Five

  The Northern Tribes

  Emy

  Emy let herself absorb the unnerving sensations coursing through her body. Since arriving at the northern fire camp, she had begun noticing subtle yet undeniable physical and mental changes. It wasn’t like the energetic imprint of the Weavers embedding into her consciousness. No, this was something entirely different. It felt akin to stepping from a dry climate into suffocating humidity, an intangible heaviness pressing against every pore. Every breath she took seemed to draw more of the "Taint" into her being, rooting itself deeper.

  Her body instinctively fought it as though rejecting a foreign invader, yet a strange temptation tugged at her—a whisper to surrender, to embrace its effects. And the effects, maddeningly enough, were positive. Warmth radiated through her, not unpleasant but deeply unsettling, as though the substance sought out her very core. That warmth soon coiled around her skull, tingling as it pooled at the base of her mind. It wasn’t painful, but it was invasive, almost… familiar, as if the substance knew precisely where it belonged.

  The sensation sharpened, invisible tendrils threading into her neural pathways. Emy could feel them probing, syncing with her brain, coiling tighter around her thoughts. Her senses flared. Her vision sharpened to impossible clarity, each color more vivid, every detail striking. Even the faintest sounds resonated in her mind, layered with textures she had never noticed. The world seemed alive in ways she had never experienced.

  But then came the recognition—it wasn’t just amplifying her senses. It was rewriting her. A flicker of heat stirred her emotions—a simmering frustration she knew wasn’t hers. Her pulse quickened as an alien hunger bloomed in her mind, urging her to act, take, and dominate. The whispers were quiet, subtle suggestions that tickled the edges of her consciousness.

  “What are you looking at, dreg?” A sharp voice jarred her, snapping her out of her reverie.

  Emy turned her head toward the source, but the voice wasn’t meant for her. A man pushing the cart loaded with weapons from earlier froze under the gaze of a group of onlookers. Emy felt a ripple of energy shift, directed at the unfortunate man she had accompanied moments ago.

  “N-nothing, Alberth. I-I was just… just moving these items th-through the camp f-for the offboarding team,” the man stammered, his voice faltering under the weight of Alberth’s glare.

  "Do I look like I care what you’re doing?" Alberth, the gang leader, sneered, his lanky frame towering over the others. Emy felt a brisk energy radiating from him, a palpable force pushing against his target before his gaze suddenly snapped toward her, locking onto her presence for the first time. Seizing the moment, the man with the cart hurriedly stumbled away, eager to escape the confrontation.

  "And who might you be?" Alberth asked, his voice full of curiosity as he strode toward her. His tall, wiry frame appeared to shift under his loose clothing while the onlookers around him rose as well, flanking him like shadows.

  “She’s a void user, Alberth. Void and fire,” one of the men offered, his voice trembling as he forced the words out. The man had been part of a crew heading south and seemed uncertain of his statement.

  "A void girl, huh?" Alberth grinned, his gaze flicking between Emy and the others. "And new, too." His eyes shifted briefly to Sansa, who watched nearby, before returning to Emy. "You’d do well to choose your allies wisely around here. You never know when you might need a helping—"

  “Fury,” Emy interrupted, her dry tone cutting through his words. She ensured her voice carried, her name reverberating across the gathering. She actively worked to quell the anger bubbling within her, triggered by the situation and the Taint gnawing at her mind. It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

  Alberth tilted his head, his expression tightening as his narrowed eyes calculated her presence. He stopped in his approach, but his energy lashed out like a current aimed directly at her. "It would be wise not to do that, newcomer."

  Before Emy could react to the shift in energy or reply to his veiled threat, warmth flooded her senses. Sansa had stepped between them.

  "Why don’t we give her time to acclimate before we further needle in her mind?" Sansa’s voice carried an even weight. "We’ve lost too many lately. Shouldn’t we take this as a sign to ease up?"

  Alberth glared, clearly wanting to press the matter, but he relented. "You’re right, Sansa. We should let the weak adjust… before violence inevitably happens."

  Emy clenched her jaw, her throat tightening as a surge of rage flickered within her. Anger blazing in her mind, she stepped forward, but Sansa’s hand landed lightly on her wrist. Warmth radiated from her touch, instantly dissipating the fury. Sansa didn’t glance back at her, maintaining control of the situation.

  "Then let us go meet the others in the area," Sansa said, nodding toward Alberth as she gently tightened her grip on Emy’s arm. She released her moments later, motioning for her to follow.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Emy looked at Alberth, who remained unmoving, his smirk etched across his face. His companions chuckled at the exchange, their mocking laughter echoing in her ears as she walked away. For now, she followed Sansa, but the simmering embers of fury within her told her the encounter was far from over.

  "Who was that asshole?" Emy asked, her tone dry and laced with irritation as she walked alongside Sansa. They had put a reasonable distance between themselves and the earlier confrontation, but Emy still felt the weight of it pressing on her.

  Sansa shook her head, the movement sharp, almost as if trying to shake off lingering nerves. "That would be Alberth," she replied, her voice tense. "The evil twat who makes fire types like us look bad. Gives the rest of the world plenty of reasons to hate us."

  "He's a fire type?" Emy asked, her skepticism evident. The idea of someone like Alberth sharing any semblance of kinship with her power was unsettling.

  Sansa gave her an incredulous look, her gaze momentarily flicking to Emy’s fiery hair. "You’re clearly not from Kar'keth, yet you think just like they do," she said, her tone flat. "Let me make one thing clear: Fire types are not all the same."

  "No? Sure, we have different talents, but fire is… fire, right?" Emy ventured, her uncertainty bubbling beneath her composed tone. She inwardly cringed, hoping she wasn’t completely bungling her first real conversation with someone here—someone other than Alberth, anyway.

  "Yes, fire is fire," Sansa replied, hinting mock patience. "But that’s not what makes a fire type." Emy’s eyes widened in confusion, and Sansa couldn’t help but laugh softly. She was amused by this newcomer who could easily conjure a void but seemed clueless about basic energy principles. "Please tell me you at least understand reactions? The basic building blocks of anything and everything in our world—well, worlds?"

  "Yes, I understand that much," Emy responded dryly, choosing not to elaborate about her world. She didn’t want to shift the focus onto herself—at least not yet.

  "And what creates fire?" Sansa pressed.

  "Uh… energizing atoms?" Emy ventured hesitantly.

  "No. Well, yes, technically," Sansa admitted, shaking her head. "But that’s not the point. It’s about ignition. Combustion excites the atoms of matter, but his fire… Alberth’s fire… it excites the atoms of emotion. The difference is only in what burns."

  "So he’s targeting neurons," Emy said slowly, piecing together what Sansa had just explained.

  "Exactly," Sansa replied, her tone matter-of-fact. "And I hate to say it, but he’s damn good at it. That burst he threw at you? I’m going to be adjusting for days because of the residue. It’s no small thing."

  "Thank you," Emy said genuinely, feeling grateful. "I had no idea."

  "Yeah, no shit you didn’t," Sansa muttered, softening the barb with a smirk. "The thing about Alberth is, he doesn’t just mess with emotions. He’s a real talent—can summon an actual combustion worth fearing. That’s bad enough on its own, but here? This mountain cranks him up, makes him even more dangerous."

  Emy opened her mouth to respond, but Sansa cut her off with a pointed gesture. "Come on. Let me show you around. And try not to start any more fights."

  "I just said my name," Emy protested, her voice clipped.

  "It’s how you said your name," Sansa shot back, a brief smile flickering. It faded quickly, replaced by her usual neutral tone.

  The camp sprawled ahead of them, simple yet bustling with life. Around two hundred people were scattered across the area, devoid of trees and marked by the blackened fire scars. Burn marks and ash left trails across the ground, the faint smell of smoke clinging to the air. Makeshift canopies covered stations where goods and food were being prepared, while a crude well stood at the camp’s center. Smaller clusters of people gathered in seating areas, their voices low but energetic.

  What caught Emy’s eye, however, was the towering rock face at the heart of the camp. It was covered with markings—chalk-like scrawls that seemed organized chaotically. A crowd surrounded it, some studying the inscriptions while others added to the ever-growing text.

  "What’s that?" Emy asked, her curiosity overriding the silence between her and Sansa.

  "That’s what makes us different," Sansa said, her voice thoughtful. "Like every other camp in these parts, we rely on goodwill, trade, and a bit of forced cooperation—" she paused, catching herself, "—or, empowering other northern tribes to make things for us. But what you’re seeing there? That’s our Northern promise. Is what makes this place meaningful."

  Emy tilted her head, intrigued. "A chalkboard?"

  "We teach. That board lists every known skill and lesson in our area. You want to avoid grunt work? Learn something new, teach someone else, and you’ve earned your place here. Simple as that."

  "You teach each other?" Emy asked, a hint of incredulity in her voice.

  "Most of us, yeah," Sansa said. "Why should the same teachers teach the same standard lessons over and over? Everyone’s unique. That’s what sets us apart."

  Emy nodded, letting out a soft grunt. It was simple, but it worked. The system drove people to learn and grow, allowing them to earn their place and carve out their roles.

  "And where does our friend Alberth fit into all of this?" Emy asked, her sarcasm evident.

  "Friend?" Sansa snorted, then glanced at Emy’s smile. "Oh." She hesitated, her expression tightening. "Our society isn’t perfect—Alberth’s just one example of its flaws. The camp is divided in power but united by the Taint. Some people play nice. Some don’t. Disagree, and you’d better be ready for the consequences."

  "So… you’re the leader of the good guys?" Emy pressed.

  "No," Sansa said curtly, cutting off the conversation.

  Emy fell silent, though she knew there was more to Sansa’s story. The camp wasn’t as harmonious as it appeared. She realized power was tied to principles—and not everyone followed the same ones. Eyes followed them as they moved through the camp, some filled with admiration, others with jealousy. Sansa was a key figure, and Emy let the silence linger as they approached a series of hilly structures on the camp’s edge. The ground looked as if it had been violently pushed upward, forming caves of dirt and stone. They were crude, but inside, each was filled with blankets and cots—makeshift sleeping quarters.

  "Like I said, we… partner with the other tribes for survival. They help us build structures like this, our well, and other essentials. In return, we share fire and other creations with their camps." Sansa pointed to one of the caves, its single cot contrasting with the overcrowded spaces around it. "You can stay in my burrow for now. At least until you make some friends."

  "You don’t have to—"

  "Don’t," Sansa interrupted, her tone firm. "While you seem decent, I’m doing this for my reasons. Leave it at that."

  Emy frowned but let the matter drop. "Eat, sleep, teach, train. That’s it?"

  "Mostly. And a bit of competition," Sansa said, her tone challenging. "Problem with that?"

  "Not at all," Emy replied, smiling. But before she could say anything more, a sudden wave of force hit her. She dropped to her knees alongside Sansa, her hands pressing against the ground as an icy heat coursed through her body. It was as though her emotions were erupting in a chaotic frenzy, her mind roaring with a single word:

  MOOOOOORRREEEE.

  And then it was gone. Emy, still trembling, caught Sansa’s gaze as a bead of sweat traced its way down her face.

  "The mountain calls," Sansa whispered, her voice tight. "Krexul grows hungry."