10 seconds, ten flavors of fabulous — and baby, the buzz is boiling! Zelfstyrt just ate the solo board alive and left crumbs of disbelief all over the Union floor.

  9 outta 9 experts screaming “impossible!” into their data cups — bless their boring little hearts. Can’t compute greatness, so they call it luck. Adorable.

  8 sponsors already drooling for contracts — holo-makeup lines, slime-green jackets, energy gels named Seventeen Flat. Get that cheddar, darling!

  7 superfans forming the Church of the Split — praise be the goo! Uniforms: shiny, slimy, scandalous.

  6 word on the street says the Union’s spinning harder than a black hole in heels — can’t explain the run, can’t hide the glory.

  5 whispers from Raddrexe — that’s right, none. Our dethroned darling’s gone radio silent. Crying into a trophy maybe? We love a dramatic exit.

  4 poets moaning on the feeds, calling Zelfstyrt “the silence between the slimes.” Baby, that’s not poetry, that’s foreplay.

  3 other records broke today, but who’s counting? The spotlight’s booked and paid for, honey.

  2 hours since that leaderboard dropped and the net’s still sizzling — can someone turn me down before I melt my circuits?

  1 mystery name. No face, no footage, no facts. Just vibes, sugar — and they’re immaculate.

  

  This is 55 Live — all the noise that fits in ten!

  Rem took his hand from the glyph plate and blinked into the gloom. Twilight hung heavy, the sky a violet haze where faint stars winked like half-buried embers. Around him, jagged mountains rose in every direction, a circle of shadowed teeth closing him in.

  “I think I’ll take this one,” he said.

  He stood on a narrow path. Not far ahead, a campfire burned low, orange light flickering against the wagons that ringed it. Sparks drifted upward, swallowed by haze before they could reach the stars.

  Behind him, the glyph etched into the stone column guttered out, leaving only a plain slab. No trace remained of the shimmer that had carried him here.

  [SYSTEM NOTICE — CHALLENGE INITIATION]

  ? All class skills unlocked.

  ? All traits unlocked.

  ? All active abilities unlocked.

  Quest Objective:

  ? Gather three (3) Night Lilies.

  ? Recipient: Alchemist Arbrios (Registry ID: NPC-ARB-03).

  Quest Reward:

  ? Healing Potion ×1 (Ref: IT-RNK/UNC)

  ? 35 XP

  Compliance reference: Challenge Directive §1.2.

  That much was expected. Rem shifted his satchel higher on his shoulder and started down the path toward the camp.

  Details sharpened as he drew closer: a painted wagon in faded red and green, its panels reinforced with iron brackets; a flatbed sunk partway into the mud; and, further off, a linen tent sagging in the wind. Two men sat by the fire, their voices carrying in the stillness.

  “Long as the night walkers keep coming, we’re staying put,” one muttered, shaking his head.

  “Night walkers,” the bald man spat, stringing curses beneath his breath.

  Rem skirted the fire and approached the covered wagon. Its rear door hung open, spilling lamplight onto the path. Inside, an older man bent over a bench cluttered with herbs, vials, and scraps of parchment. The men by the fire stiffened at Rem’s approach but did not rise.

  “Hello,” Rem said, steadying his voice. His hand tightened on his satchel strap. “I was told to speak with the alchemist.”

  They looked real enough, their movements natural, their muttering mundane. But how could the same faces greet every challenger who walked this path? Were they projections, crafted illusions, or something stranger?

  “Ah, a seeker steps forth,” the alchemist said, looking up from his cluttered bench. His spectacles slid down his nose as he shuffled toward the doorframe, leaning heavily on it. “You come at the hour I had hoped. Night Lilies, lad. Three blossoms at least, cut fresh beneath the stars. Such is the task.”

  He tapped the wagon’s frame with stained fingers, the gesture oddly solemn. “The bloom is rare, and rarer still kept whole. For their perfume stirs the shadowspawn from their haunts. They will fall upon you the moment the petals are severed.”

  The bald guard barked a laugh. “If he lasts long enough to pluck one. Could get knocked over by a breeze, this one…”

  The wagoner—mud still clinging to his boots, a whip coiled loose at his side—spoke softer, as if the dark itself might overhear. “They do not hunger for flesh. They hunger for the lilies. But bar their path, and you’ll find they strike swift as any fang.”

  Arbrios’s one good eye gleamed at Rem, a glint of something keener than the role demanded. “So mark me well, boy: curiosity feeds shadows as surely as fear. Still, if you would test yourself, follow the path until the ground softens. The lilies keep to the water’s edge, their light a lure in the gloom.”

  Rem thanked him and turned away. The fire dimmed behind him, shadows stretching long fingers across the path. The night grew cooler with each step. His boots sank deeper into the earth as reeds pressed in on either side, whispering with the breeze. Somewhere ahead, water shifted with a hollow splash.

  He found the first lily blooming from a hummock of black soil. Its glow was faint but steady, petals trembling under the thin starlight. Rem crouched and waited.

  The marsh was silent. Too silent. No frogs, no birds. Just the reeds shifting, the faint trickle of unseen water.

  He drew out his knife, pressing it into the soil. The ground sucked wet at the blade as he pried the roots free, careful not to snap the stem.

  The moment the lily left the earth its glow flared brighter, and a heady perfume spilled into the night air.

  A hum rose, high and thin, needling into his skull until his teeth ached. It sharpened into a whistle, piercing and constant, like glass scored under a knife. The sound seemed to crawl through his ears, burrow behind his eyes, scraping at thought itself.

  Shadows stirred where no shadows should be. Wisps slid between the reeds, vanishing when he tried to focus. Then the whistle multiplied. One shrill, then two, then a chorus — high-pitched and discordant, the noise building until it drowned out the world. His pulse stumbled with it, his grip faltered.

  Pain—sharp, searing. A single puncture lanced his forearm, hot blood slicking his skin. He staggered back with a cry, knife slashing at nothing. The shrills whistled all around him, the sound gnawing at the edges of his sanity, until he couldn’t tell where the next strike would fall.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The lily’s glow burned brighter against his chest. That light made him a beacon. Shadows converged. Tendrils brushed his arm, cold seeping into the wound. His muscles dragged, sluggish, every motion heavier than the last.

  Another sting ripped across his shoulder. The whistle in his skull peaked into a screech that nearly drove him to his knees. He clutched the bloom desperately with one hand, knife flailing with the other. The creatures darted at the edge of sight, there and gone, the shrieking rising until his thoughts scattered like startled birds.

  Panic broke his focus. He turned and bolted for the path, boots tearing through the reeds. The shrill chorus followed him, shrieks overlapping into madness, every step weighted as if the sound itself dragged him down.

  Something struck his calf. He stumbled, nearly falling. Another sting raked across his side, cold fire spreading outward until he gasped. His grip on the flower faltered.

  He forced himself upright, the firelight from the camp a distant promise. He managed three, four staggering steps. Then the shadows struck all at once.

  A streak of gloom pierced his guard, a sting punctured the lily’s stem, and its glow collapsed inward — snuffed like a candle.

  The whistles cut off mid-screech. Silence slammed down.

  Rem pitched to his knees, chest heaving, the dead flower crumpled in his grip. His arm throbbed where the puncture bled, the ache leeching warmth from his fingers.

  “That sucked.” His voice shook in the emptiness. He pulled a vial from his satchel, popped the cork, and downed the contents. Warmth spread through him, knitting the punctures closed, but the chill clung stubbornly to the wound, like a splinter of night lodged beneath his skin. “And you knew it was going to suck which is why you wanted me to do it.”

  Silence, but in that silence he felt the laughter loud and clear.

  Rem pushed himself upright and staggered back along the path. The reeds whispered as if mocking him, each step dragging heavier than the last. By the time the campfire’s glow flickered ahead, he didn’t slow, didn’t look at the men by the fire or the alchemist’s wagon. He passed them as though they were phantoms, eyes fixed on the dull shimmer of the glyph stone.

  He needed distance. He needed quiet. Most of all, he needed a plan. And for that, he needed to think.

  [SYSTEM NOTICE — CHALLENGE INITIATION]

  ? All class skills unlocked.

  ? All traits unlocked.

  ? All active abilities unlocked.

  Quest Objective:

  ? Gather three (3) Night Lilies.

  ? Recipient: Alchemist Arbrios (Registry ID: NPC-ARB-03).

  Quest Reward:

  ? Healing Potion ×1 (Ref: IT-RNK/UNC)

  ? 35 XP

  Compliance reference: Challenge Directive §1.2.

  Rem glanced back at the camp once, then down the reed-choked trail into the marsh. Bucket in one hand, shovel in the other — not glamorous, but it was a plan. He’d run it through his head all night. If the monsters only came after you cut the stem, then the obvious answer was: don’t cut.

  The ground was soft, almost spongy under his boots. He worked the shovel in slow, careful angles, using his knife to free the roots without snapping them. Mud sucked at the lily as if it wanted to keep it, but he eased it free whole, glowing like a lantern in the bucket.

  The air smelled faintly sweet. Too sweet. He waited, shoulders tight, scanning the reeds for movement. Nothing. Just wind.

  A laugh broke out of him, shaky but real. “It actually works.”

  From the fire behind, voices carried.

  “Did you see that?” one whispered.

  “I don’t even know what I seen,” said another, rough-edged. “Did he just… plant a flower in a bucket?”

  Rem didn’t bother to answer. He walked past the camp, bucket swinging. Second day or not, he wasn’t wasting challenge passes until he knew they’d count. He pressed his palm against the glyph plate, and the world folded into the sterile quiet of his storage locker.

  Day 3, Level 2 challenge

  Bigger bucket bought.

  Plan: Lily in one, marsh water in the other. Test if water = anchor. Burn a day but fine.

  Challenge can be cleared easy. There’s more to it. Can I make a duplicating healing potion?

  Note: Arbrios chewing on that pipe again. Does he ever light it?

  Note: Union guards at gate. One had new boots.

  Note: Boots = durability. Source: cobbler near east wall?

  Note: Stop writing “Note” before every note like an idiot.

  Academy starts in 2 days. Don’t want to go.

  Day 4, Level 2 challenge

  Commissioned box. Lined, sealed, fit for 3 lilies.

  Idea: harvest fast, drop, close lid before perfume escapes, then sprint to Arbrios.

  Perfume = attractor. Shadowspawn trail on it like blood.

  Box = oak lined with resin. Try to seal the scent inside.

  Spawn at edge today. Stared too long.

  Thought about feeding them bad bread. Wonder if they eat bread.

  Challenge feels tuned for teams. Sigh.

  Note: I can hear frogs sometimes, but never found one.

  ACA’s gone. Rebranded overnight — Union Civil AuthorityUnion officers in the square, new uniforms, silver trim. Saw Dad in his. He didn’t wave.

  New vendors going up in square. Dying to know how magic works. Supposedly you can cast spells. Interested.

  Day 5, L2 challenge

  Lilies die minutes after losing starlight. Even sealed. Black mush.

  Glass could work, but shadowspawn shred glass. Too fragile.

  Out of ideas. Feels like system wants me broken. Wants me to team up.

  Don’t like being forced. Get the feeling guards hate me, or maybe just their job.

  Commissioned new box. Trap design. If it works. Junkow thinks I’m mad.

  Won’t be ready for 2 days. Classes tomorrow. Bad overlap.

  Also out of food. Bought dried fish. Salty. Could double as bait if the shadowspawn track scent...

  

  Rem slogged through the marsh with the box thumping against his leg. Two days of Union lectures still clung to him, all safety checklists and hollow procedures, none of which helped out here. This was trial and error in the dark.

  He dug into the mud, carved out a shallow pit, and set the contraption into place. Packed the edges tight until only the square opening remained. A neat black mouth waiting.

  The lily went in next. Roots intact, glow trembling faintly at the bottom. Alive, but bait.

  He crouched low and spread his domain thin across the opening. Glass-clear. Taut. Waiting.

  The marsh stirred.

  Wisps of vapor slid between the reeds, shadows coiling like smoke in a restless wind. They circled him, darted close, then veered away. Their cries cut thin and sharp, shrieking high enough to make his jaw ache. Thought itself felt under siege.

  He forced himself to hold. Muscles locked. Teeth clenched.

  Then one surged. Braver than the rest. It darted for the opening.

  It hit the barrier and froze.

  The shape resolved inside the cube: a hooked beak, wings thrashing, tendrils flailing against invisible walls. The shriek drilled into him, ragged and merciless.

  Rem’s breath stuttered. He drove his knife down.

  Once. Twice.

  The flapping stopped. The sound broke off into silence.

  [COMBAT LOG]

  Target Eliminated: Umbral Shrill (Level 2).

  Reward: 10 XP.

  Compliance reference: Combat Resolution §9.3.

  The cube dissolved under his grip. He pulled the body free.

  It was small, weightless in his hand. Wings long and narrow, built for frantic speed. They looked wrong in stillness, like they hadn’t learned how to stop. From their tips trailed vapor that clung to the air in thin strands. Smoke still curled from its beak and tail, reluctant to fade.

  It felt like holding a piece of night pretending to be a bird.

  He threw it into the mud. The body unraveled, feathers breaking apart into mist until nothing remained but an onyx orb gleaming in the starlight.

  The lily still glowed faintly inside the trap. Petals trembling. Rem steadied it, reset his stance, and pulled his domain taut across the opening again.

  The night pressed close. From the reeds, the whistle rose once more. Thin. Merciless. A sound that clawed at the edges of his mind.

  Shadows moved in.