“The Phoenix is gone.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and final.

  Artist’s eyes furrowed in shock, disbelief etched across his face. “Gone? What do you mean—gone?”

  Before Isaac could answer, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

  “No!” Spunk cried, its voice high-pitched with panic. The small creature trembled, hovering erratically as it darted closer to Isaac. “That can’t be true! You said... you—”

  Isaac clenched his jaw, feeling the grief and desperation in Spunk’s words. He raised a hand, his voice firm but calm. “Spunk! Please. Let me finish, before you freak out.”

  Spunk quieted, though its small form still trembled as it hovered nearby, eyes wide with a mix of fear and confusion. Artist stood silently, his shock giving way to focused attention as he waited for Isaac to explain.

  “The Phoenix isn't gone permanently,” Isaac said quietly, breaking the tense silence. “It’s been sealed away, temporarily.”

  Artist's eyes narrowed further, suspicion and frustration lacing his voice. "Sealed away? How? By who?"

  Isaac looked up, meeting Artist's intense gaze. "Verside. At some point during the battle… he cast a ritual curse. The Phoenix's power... it’s locked away from me now. I can’t reach it."

  The fire cracked loudly, sending a fresh burst of embers into the night as if punctuating the gravity of Isaac’s words. Spunk, still trembling, hovered closer, its tiny form barely steady.

  "A... curse?" Spunk's voice quivered. "But if it's sealed, how do we get it back? We need the Phoenix to burn down all the houses, remember, Isaac? You promised."

  Isaac smiled softly at Spunk, the warmth of it momentarily easing the tension. "I remember, Spunk. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten."

  He reached out, placing a reassuring hand near the trembling creature. "But right now, I need to focus on breaking this curse before we can do anything else. I don’t know how yet, but that has to be our first priority."

  Artist opened his mouth, a small grin forming as he spoke with ease. "Oh, that’s simple. All we have to do—"

  Isaac cut him off, his voice sharp and filled with barely-contained rage. "We? We? After what you pulled, you’re lucky I don’t kill you now!"

  The air between them turned thick with tension. Isaac’s fists clenched by his sides, his jaw tight as he glared at Artist. The fire beside them roared for a moment, as if feeding off Isaac’s fury.

  Artist just laughed, a cold, mocking sound that echoed through the still night. He didn’t back down—if anything, he leaned closer from his seat near the fire, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous edge. "Oh? And what the hell do you think you’re going to do, Isaac? You said it yourself—you don’t have the Phoenix to save you anymore."

  Isaac’s hands shook, his vision blurring with rage. Every muscle in his body screamed to lash out, to make Artist pay for his betrayal.

  "You think that gives you power over me?" Isaac growled, his voice low and threatening. "You think because I lost the Phoenix that I’m helpless?"

  Artist’s grin widened. "I don’t need power over you. You’re doing just fine tearing yourself apart. From what I saw, the Phoenix was the only thing that kept you standing all this time, Isaac. And now it’s gone. So yeah, you can threaten me all you want, but we both know you’re not in a place to fight me."

  Isaac, stumbling to his feet, took a step forward, closing the distance between them. The firelight flickered across his face, casting harsh shadows over his features. "You’re wrong. The Phoenix might be sealed away, but I’m still here. And I will find a way to break this curse. And when I do, you better pray you’re not in my way."

  Artist’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps wariness—in his eyes.

  "We’ll see, Isaac. But until then, until you’re able to kill me, you’re stuck with me. Like it or not, you need me and the little time I’ve spent with you and Spunk has been the most fun I’ve had in awhile so like it or not, I’m staying."

  Isaac glared at him, the fire between them reflecting the simmering anger that neither of them was willing to let go.

  Suddenly, Spunk’s voice shattered the standoff. “Hey! You two! Enough with the fighting!” it screamed, darting between them, its tiny hands flapping wildly. “We’ve got bigger problems than your egos! What happened to the food? I’m starving over here!”

  The unexpected outburst caught both men off guard, breaking the tension.

  Isaac couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh, while Artist rolled his eyes, his bravado fading.

  “Seriously? Food?” Isaac said, shaking his head. “You’re worried about food right now?”

  Spunk crossed its tiny arms, puffing up indignantly. “Of course! How can we plan our next move on an empty stomach? Plus, you guys need to stop being so serious! It’s making me nervous!”

  Artist chuckled, the tension easing as he turned to Spunk. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what we can scrounge up. Just don’t go burning down the camp while we’re at it, alright?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Isaac watched as Spunk darted away to rummage through their meager supplies, the moment of joy diffused the hostility lingering in the air. He could feel the heat of anger still simmering within him, but for now, it took a backseat to the more pressing need for food—and breaking the curse to reclaim the Phoenix.

  As they settled back into the rhythm of the nature surrounding their camp, Isaac stole a glance at Artist. The rivalry still crackled between them, but for now, they would focus on survival—and perhaps, finding a way to work together, whether either of them liked it or not.

  Isaac took a deep breath, attempting to shake off the remnants of anger holding onto him before he turned to Artist, brow furrowed with curiosity.

  “Okay, enough of this. Where exactly are we, and what the hell are you doing?” He gestured vaguely at Artist’s hands, which had been busily moving since Isaac had woken up.

  Artist, still seated by the fire, didn’t even glance up from his work. “Oh, I’m making a new plushie for Spunk,” he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. With that, he held up a half-finished patchwork bunny rabbit, its mismatched fabric squares sewn together in a haphazard yet charming way.

  Isaac blinked in disbelief, caught off guard by the absurdity of the moment. “A plushie? You’re making a plushie while we’re in the middle of this mess? That’s your brilliant plan?”

  Artist chuckled, looking at the bunny with a mix of pride and amusement. “It’s not just a plushie; it’s a morale booster. Spunk could use something to hold on to, especially after… you know, everything that’s happened.”

  Spunk peeked over, its eyes lighting up at the sight of the bunny. “Ooh! Is that for me? I love it!”

  “You-you asked for it!” Artist replied, grinning at Spunk’s clueless excitement.

  “Oh yeah…” Spunk nodded eagerly, its small wings fluttering as it floated closer. “I did! This one isn’t going to explode is it?”

  “ Anyway it’s a bunny. You can name it whatever you want.” Artist said while ignoring Spunk’s question.

  Spunk hovered closer, reaching out with tiny hands to touch the soft fabric. “Really? I can name it? Hmm…” They walked in a small circle, deep in thought. “How about… Fluffy?”

  “Fluffy it is!” Artist said, chuckling again as he resumed sewing. “But just remember, Fluffy will need your love and care, too.”

  “Wait what!?” Isaac thought to himself as his mind began racing with confusion.

  Isaac blinked, his confusion only growing. He pointed at Spunk, his brow furrowed. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘will this one explode?’”

  Spunk stopped mid-hug with Fluffy, their wide eyes locking onto Isaac. Then, without missing a beat, they puffed out their cheeks, spread their tiny arms dramatically, and exclaimed, “BOOM! That’s what happened to Mr. Kitty!”

  Artist burst into laughter first, his sewing needle trembling in his hand as he tried to keep it steady. Spunk quickly followed, their tiny frame shaking as they clutched the plushie,

  Isaac stared at them both, utterly dumbfounded. “You’re kidding me, right?” he asked, his voice laced with exasperation.

  “That explosion In the Outpost was you?” Questioned Isaac.

  Shrugging his shoulders in response, Artist answered Isaac with a question of his own, “How else did you expect me to get free?”

  Isaac stared blankly at Artist, before slowly shaking his head.

  “Ethics aside, no more plushie nukes.” he said sternly.

  “Yeah!” Shouted Spunk. “I don’t want Fluffy to die, and you promised.”

  Smiling at Spunk in response, Artist didn’t speak but simply tilted his head.

  Turning back to Isaac with an excited look on their furry face, Spunk gave a reassuring look to him, “See he promised!”

  ‘Huh, yeah, right, I understand.” Isaac said hesitantly, knowing Artist said nor made no such promise.”

  Brushing the issue aside, not wanting to delve deeper into the topic Isaac refocused his thoughts before speaking, “You realize that we’re facing an actual threat here, right? You can’t just distract yourself with…plushies, or whatever you're calling those things.”

  Artist shrugged, his focus still on the stuffed animal. “Sometimes a little joy can go a long way, Isaac. We can’t let the weight of everything crush us. Besides, Spunk is right; we need some order amidst the chaos.”

  Isaac sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he took in the warmth of the moment. “I guess you have a point. But once we’re done playing with dolls, we need to figure out how to break that curse and deal with Verside.”

  Spunk nodded enthusiastically, clutching the plushie. “Yeah! And once we get some food , we’ll feel better and think of a plan!”

  Isaac’s stomach growled in response, reminding him that they hadn’t eaten since—well, he couldn’t remember when. His mind started to drift, considering how they were going to find something to eat in this unfamiliar place. The rocky beach didn’t seem to offer much, and he hadn’t seen any signs of life nearby. Still, they couldn’t afford to stay hungry for long.

  “Food… right,” Isaac murmured, his mind shifting from the plushie antics to their more immediate survival. “I’ll need to figure something out.”

  Scanning the horizon, Isaac felt the salty breeze tugging at his clothes. "I’ll take a look around and see if I can find anything. You two stay here."

  Artist, having temporarily taken back Fluffy for last minute adjustments, didn’t look up from his sewing. “Good luck. If you find anything edible, make sure there’s enough for Fluffy too.”

  Isaac rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered before heading off, his mind already turning to survival tactics.

  As he ventured away from the campfire, his thoughts grew heavier due to the curse gnawing at the back of his mind until he fully realized how barren their surroundings were.

  His instinct had been to head for the wilds, but the rocky beach stretched out endlessly in both directions, offering nothing but sand and jagged stones. There were no trees, no signs of plant life, and certainly no game to hunt. The landscape was desolate, making him doubt there’d be anything edible in sight.

  He sighed, adjusting his focus as he walked along the shoreline. “Nothing but rocks and sand,” he muttered under his breath. His stomach grumbled again, louder this time, spurring him on.

  Changing tactics, Isaac turned his attention to the rocky area along the beach, hoping the tide had left something behind. Kneeling down by the shore, he began searching for signs of life—anything that could serve as food. The sharp scent of salt filled the air as small waves lapped against the rocks, the rhythmic sound oddly soothing.

  After a few minutes of digging around, he noticed something glistening in a shallow pool between two large stones. Crouching down, he reached into the pool and felt something hard and smooth—crabs. A small group of them had nestled into the rocks, their shells blending into the landscape.

  “Well, looks like we won’t be going hungry after all,” Isaac whispered to himself, carefully gathering the crabs in his hands, having nowhere else to put them. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  Continuing his search, he found a few stranded fish caught in rock crevices, left behind by the receding tide. They were small and slippery, but it was better than nothing. With a decent haul of crabs and fish, Isaac stood up, brushing sand off his pants.

  Satisfied with his findings, he glanced back toward the campfire where Artist and Spunk were still sitting. “Let’s hope they’re not too picky about dinner,” he muttered before making his way back.

  As Isaac made his way back to the camp, balancing the crabs and small fish in his hands, he stopped in his tracks. The sight before him was not at all what he expected.