A couple of weeks passed the way time did in the Great Desert.

  Not cleanly.

  Not with milestones or achievements.

  With erosion.

  People learned where the wind cut hardest between dunes, where the ground glazed to stone under the midday heat, where basilisks nested in the shade of broken pillars as if they were guarding something older than the worlds themselves.

  They mapped most of it.

  Not because mapping made it safe.

  Because ignorance got you killed faster.

  Sora stayed with Cecilia's group.

  Not permanently but in a practical way. Survival in this world forced teamwork. He hunted with them. He let Cecilia's impossible brightness exist in the same space as dread without understanding it.

  And in between, he kept up with the others.

  Harvald, always near the forge, hands busy with work. Abigail, always moving, scouting routes, sometimes with the katana user, sometimes alone. Always returning with more information than loot.

  They weren't a single party anymore.

  They were something looser.

  Threads that still held.

  For now.

  —

  The last stretch of desert was cleared on a morning that felt too ordinary.

  A few more patrol knots broken. A few more basilisks cut down. A few more potions drained.

  Then the message appeared.

  STAGE 9 CLEARED.

  The city reacted like it always did when the system offered certainty.

  People crowded toward the center.

  By evening, the tavern near the town's heart was packed tight enough that heat rose from bodies and turned the air sour. Lantern smoke hung under the beams. Cups clinked. Voices overlapped in low, tense layers.

  Sora followed without deciding to.

  He wasn't in the mood for big meetings.

  But he liked not knowing less.

  Cecilia pushed ahead like the room owed her space. Thomas moved behind her like he'd learned how to keep loud people alive. Jun drifted at the edge, watching exits. Abigail arrived alone, slipping in without drawing attention. Harvald came later, shoulders heavy, face tired, still smelling faintly of iron and smoke.

  William wasn't there.

  That absence was its own statement.

  —

  The topic was obvious before anyone said it out loud.

  Nine stages.

  No end.

  No boss.

  A man near the center lifted his cup like it contained answers. "So what now," he said, voice hoarse. "We just keep... clearing sand?"

  A few bitter laughs answered him.

  Someone else snapped back. "It gets harder the longer we stay. You feel it. Monsters are adapting, the supplies are thinner. The desert's not a map anymore, it's a timer."

  "Then where's the portal," another voice demanded. "Stage nine and still no way out."

  Silence rippled.

  Not because no one had ideas.

  Because everyone had the same one and didn't want to be the first to say it.

  Then someone did.

  "The labyrinth."

  The word landed deep.

  The tavern didn't go quiet instantly. It tightened. Voices lowered. Bodies shifted. People glanced at each other.

  Everyone here knew the labyrinth wasn't just a structure.

  It was a dungeon.

  And William settled there.

  Not inside it.

  Outside it.

  Camping the entrance, controlling who went in, who came back, who got to claim that they "did their part."

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  Cecilia's smile had vanished completely. Her hand rested on her cup like it might need to become a weapon.

  Thomas murmured, "Here we go."

  A woman near the bar spoke cautiously. "You think it's Stage Ten."

  "It has to be," someone else said quickly, desperate for certainty. "Why else would it exist. Nine stages cleared, no boss, no portal and then the labyrinth. That's the system's answer."

  Jun's voice cut in, quiet, flat. "Or it's a grave."

  No one laughed.

  A man at the front slammed his palm on a table. "We can't keep letting William decide. People are starving. People are dying out there. If Stage Ten is the labyrinth, then we raid it. Together."

  Arguments erupted.

  One side wanted order, organized raid, shared routes, shared loot. At least on paper.

  The other side wanted control to be broken, anything to stop William from turning the labyrinth into a private gate.

  Sora stayed silent, watching.

  Abigail's eyes kept drifting toward the door like she expected it to open.

  Harvald sat with his hands clasped, knuckles pale, as if even being here was a kind of fight.

  Then the door did open.

  Hard.

  The tavern's noise faltered.

  Matteo stepped in like he'd run the whole way. Dust on his clothes, breath still too sharp, eyes tight with something that wasn't fear.

  Urgency.

  He didn't waste time finding a table.

  He didn't raise his voice.

  He didn't need to.

  "Stop," he said, and the room obeyed.

  Silence came down like a lid.

  Matteo's gaze swept the crowd once, then locked forward.

  "William's already inside," he said.

  A murmur rose, angry and immediate.

  Matteo cut through it. "Not deep. But deep enough. He's sending groups in. Scouts. 'Volunteers.' People are dying fast."

  He continued, each word clean. "Traps. Strong monsters. Hallways that split and don't come back. Pressure floors. False doors. Some people go in and never even see an enemy. They just don't return."

  A few players shifted, suddenly unable to sit still.

  Matteo inhaled once, steadying himself.

  Then he said it.

  "And Violet was seen near the labyrinth."

  Sora didn't move.

  The tavern didn't react the way it had to Stage Nine.

  It reacted like the floor had dropped out under everyone at once.

  People whispered her name like it was an omen.

  Violet. One of the strongest, the reckless one, the one who burned through the desert like it owed her answers.

  Matteo's voice softened, not out of kindness, out of weight.

  "People saw her enter with a group," he said. "They were moving like they meant to clear something. Like they weren't just scouting."

  Sora's mouth went dry.

  Matteo's eyes met his for a fraction of a second. Brief, heavy, then moved on.

  "Only half that group made it out," Matteo said. "And since then... nothing."

  The room held its breath.

  Matteo added, quieter now, "It's been roughly eight days."

  Sora's heart dropped with a physical sensation, like the body understood before the mind did.

  Eight days.

  In the desert, eight days was enough for a person to turn into a rumor.

  Matteo continued. "No one's heard anything from her. William isn't talking about it. He doesn't mention her name. He doesn't mention the missing. He just keeps sending people."

  A low anger moved through the tavern, thick and dangerous.

  Not just because Violet might be gone.

  Because it proved what everyone had been avoiding.

  William wasn't coordinating to save lives.

  He was controlling the labyrinth because control mattered more than cost.

  Sora stood.

  His chair scraped the floor loud enough to cut the silence.

  He didn't announce himself.

  He didn't look around.

  He just turned and started walking toward the door.

  Thomas was there instantly, blocking his path with the easy speed of someone who'd survived by anticipating bad decisions.

  "Where are you going?" Thomas asked, voice calm.

  Sora didn't slow. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

  Cecilia's face went pale in a way her armor couldn't hide. "Sora-"

  Abigail stood too fast, chair tipping back with a sharp sound. "If you go now-"

  Her voice tightened, not fear, not control. Something rawer.

  "If you go alone," Abigail said, "you will die."

  Sora stopped.

  Not because the words convinced him.

  Because they were true, and truth didn't change urgency.

  He turned back just enough to look at them.

  His chest felt like it was burning.

  Not in the way fighting spirit burned.

  In the way something inside him refused to cool down.

  "I don't know how to explain it," he said, and his voice surprised him. Too steady, too flat for how hard his pulse was hammering. "I can't even-"

  He swallowed.

  Then the memory hit him without permission.

  The way Violet fought beside him like the same decision made twice.

  The way she'd shoved him toward the stage portal from the savanna, not gently, not kindly, just refusing to let him disappear.

  And after that-

  The empty space.

  The one she left behind without asking.

  He'd been carrying it like a missing rib.

  Every time he thought of her, the same thought returned, incomprehensible and sharp:

  How could someone be that lonely.

  And still stand.

  Sora looked at the door again.

  "I'm going," he said.

  Harvald stepped forward.

  The tavern went still in a different way. Confused. Harvald didn't just step forward like a blacksmith.

  He stepped forward like a man choosing to fight, for a friend.

  "Sora, breath," Harvald said.

  Sora's head snapped toward him, disbelief flickering. "What do you mean?"

  Harvald's jaw tightened. "We go tomorrow morning."

  Sora stared. "You can't-"

  Harvald's voice sharpened just slightly. "Did I stutter."

  The room held its breath again.

  Harvald continued, quieter now, but harder. "You don't sprint into the labyrinth half-broken and call it courage. You go with people. You go with a plan. Or you don't go at all."

  Sora's throat tightened. "Harvald-"

  Harvald cut him off. "I'm not here to fight like I used to," he said. "But I can carry supplies. I can repair on the move. I can keep armor from breaking and blades from turning soft. That keeps people alive."

  Abigail stepped in beside Harvald.

  No hesitation.

  "I'm in," she said.

  Sora's eyes flicked to her, shocked.

  Abigail met his gaze. Her voice stayed steady, but something in it softened. "Not because I think this is heroic," she said. "Because I'm not letting you do it alone."

  Thomas laughed once, warm, almost relieved.

  "Looks like we've got a plan," he said.

  Jun's gaze narrowed slightly, like they were about to object purely on principle-

  -and Cecilia stepped forward before they could.

  "Obviously," Cecilia declared. "We're doing this."

  Jun exhaled through their nose, a sound that could have been annoyance or surrender. "Fine," they said quietly.

  Matteo stepped forward last.

  He didn't smile.

  He just looked tired in a way that meant he'd been holding this anger for days.

  "I also want to help," Matteo said. "I can't sit here and pretend this is acceptable"

  Sora stood in the center of it all. Heat, smoke, voices, choice. He felt something in his chest shift.

  His interface opened without him touching it.

  Notifications stacked in a rapid, clean cascade, one after another, as if the system itself had been waiting for people to stop drifting.

  Party invitations.

  Names.

  Connections reforming like broken bones.

  Sora stared as the party window exploded across his vision.

  Party formed:

  Sora Aoyama

  Harvald

  Abigail

  Cecilia

  Thomas

  Jun

  Matteo

  The list sat there, heavy.

  A promise of shared consequences.