**Volume 2: Upper World**

  **Chapter 53: One Hour Left**

  January 2nd, 10:15 p.m.

  The dorm block was alive with low, buzzing energy — doors open, people leaning in hallways, voices overlapping in nervous excitement. The big screen in the common area kept looping the day’s highlights: Sky’s Echo Flash stack on Het, Frosty’s heart stab on Kael, Jaylee’s clean cut on Yuka. No one was cheering anymore. It was more like watching a car crash you can’t look away from.

  Sky sat on the edge of his bunk, still in the blue shirt and white pants from earlier, knife belt unbuckled on the floor. Frosty was asleep behind him — curled on her side, breathing slow and even, blanket pulled up to her chin. The blood from last night had dried to a dark crust on her jacket sleeve. She hadn’t complained once since the fight.

  The door creaked open.

  Mara stepped in — Reaper slung across his back, Mist Sword sheathed at his hip, coat torn at the edges but body whole. Void eye glowed faint in the dim light. He didn’t knock. Just closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed.

  Sky looked up.

  Mara didn’t waste time.

  “If I lose tonight — which probably won’t happen — take care of everyone.”

  Sky’s stomach dropped.

  Mara reached into his coat pocket — pulled out a thin silver necklace. Small pendant shaped like a tiny cracked moon, chain worn but strong. He held it out.

  “Just in case I die. You keep it.”

  Sky stared at the necklace for a long second — then stood. Walked over. Took it gently, fingers brushing Mara’s palm. The metal was cool, heavy in a way that felt like history.

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  He looked up at Mara — the hunter who’d once tried to kill him, now standing here like a brother.

  Sky stepped forward — wrapped his arms around Mara in a tight hug. Mara stiffened for half a second, then hugged back — one hand on Sky’s shoulder, firm.

  “Don’t worry,” Sky said quietly. “I got you.”

  Mara pulled back first — gave a small nod, no smile, just that steady void-eye look.

  “See you after.”

  He turned — walked out.

  The door clicked shut.

  Sky stood there holding the necklace for a long minute — thumb brushing the cracked moon pendant. Then he slipped it over his head. Let it rest against his chest, cool against skin.

  The dorm felt heavier.

  An hour later — 11:15 p.m.

  Max slipped in — shadows trailing him like smoke, eyes red from lack of sleep or crying or both. He didn’t sit. Just leaned against the wall, arms folded.

  Sky looked up from the bunk.

  Max didn’t meet his eyes at first.

  “I don’t want to kill him,” Max said — voice rough, cracking on the last word. “I don’t want to fight Cam at all. But I have to. And it’s gonna be hard.”

  Sky nodded slow.

  Max finally looked at him — eyes wet.

  “He’s my brother. Not blood, but… you know. We’ve been through everything. The party. The massacre. Carrying you when we thought you were gone. He’s the one who always had my back. And tomorrow I have to put him in the ground.”

  Sky didn’t say anything stupid like “it’ll be okay.” Because it wouldn’t.

  He just stood up — walked over — and pulled Max into a hug. Max stiffened, then hugged back hard — like he was holding on to keep himself from falling apart.

  “I know,” Sky said quietly. “I know.”

  They stayed like that for a long minute — two kids who’d lost too much already, trying to hold the pieces together for one more day.

  Max pulled back first — wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

  “Get some sleep, bro. Tomorrow’s gonna suck.”

  Sky nodded.

  Max walked out.

  Sky sat back on the bunk — Frosty still asleep beside him.

  He looked at the necklace on his chest — cracked moon catching the dim light.

  Then he lay down — careful not to wake her — and stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned.

  Across the stadium — in a private suite high above the dorms.

  Josh lay on his back on a too-big bed — blond hair messy, academy jacket thrown over a chair, phone screen glowing on his chest. He stared at the ceiling too — same way Sky was.

  He knew.

  This whole thing — the tournament, the 50 arenas, the forced kills — was sad. Fucked up. Designed to make people want to kill each other faster, harder, until only one was left. He’d seen the replays: Het’s body split, Kael’s arms flying off, Abel exploding into chunks. He’d heard the crowd roar for blood.

  He didn’t like it.

  But he also didn’t want to die.

  So he sat up — grabbed his tablet — and opened the system controls.

  He stared at the current count: **1907 people still alive**.

  He changed one rule — small, subtle, just enough to buy himself time.

  New text rolled across every screen in every dorm, every arena, every wrist mark:

  **Updated rule: The tournament continues until only 1853 remain.**

  Josh exhaled slow — set the tablet down.

  Then he lay back again.

  Stared at the ceiling.

  And waited for tomorrow.

  The chapter ended.

  To be continued…