She slipped out a side alley and didn't return to the inn.
Not yet.
The coin pouch felt like lead in her palm, and she clutched it tight as she ducked into a quieter side of the slums. Her breathing was ragged, her body broken in a dozen ways, but her feet didn't stop until she found a cheap boarding house a few streets away.
"One night," she rasped to the tired woman at the front desk, shoving the coins across without looking her in the eye.
The key was handed over without question.
The room was small. Empty. Nothing but a mattress on the floor, a flickering oil lamp, and a cracked window where the city's smog crept in like ghosts.
Nyxia shut the door behind her.
Locked it.
Then collapsed.
Her knees hit the floor with a dull thump, and the moment her hands touched the cold stone, the dam inside her broke.
Sobs tore from her throat, violent and gut-wrenching—animalistic in their grief.
She curled into herself, trembling, breath hitching like a broken machine.
Not from pain. Not from her wounds.
From the horror of what she'd done.
Of what she was becoming.
Of who was watching her become it.
She didn't hear the whispers anymore. Not Arioch's. Not even the void's.
Only her own voice, echoing in her head.
This is what you are now.
Back at the inn, tension hung like fog in the air.
Boo paced near the broken window, arms crossed tightly, her bow slung over one shoulder.
"She should've been back by now," she muttered.
"She needed space," Draj said, quieter, though he didn't sound convinced.
Loque had returned to his post by the hearth, curled but unrelaxed, his tail twitching and ears flat. He kept glancing at the door like it might open at any moment. It didn't.
Perseus sat in the corner, cradling his bruised ribs, quiet and shaken. He hadn't spoken since the fight.
It was Boo who moved first, heading toward Nyxia's room.
She knocked.
Waited.
Knocked again, firmer this time.
"…Nyx?"
No answer.
Draj followed, his brow furrowed, then turned the handle.
The door creaked open.
Empty.
Her gear was still there. Her armor. Even the cloth she used to bind her wounds.
But Nyxia?
Gone.
The silence hit them like a slap.
"She left," Boo said, voice flat.
"No…" Perseus stood now, breath quickening. "No, she wouldn't just—"
But she had.
"She left!" Perseus snapped, shoving the door wider. "She left and didn't say a godsdamn word!"
He stormed into the empty room, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breath came fast, like he couldn't find enough air in the room. His heart thundered in his chest—not from rage, but from something worse.
Fear.
"She's not thinking straight," Boo said, following him. Her voice was calm, but edged in worry. "She's spiraling. That fight—Arioch—this whole place…"
"She could be dead in a ditch somewhere," Perseus bit out. "Or worse. You didn't see her in that ring. That wasn't her. That was something else."
Draj stepped in quietly behind them, his voice softer but firm. "You're right."
Perseus turned on him, eyes ablaze.
"But now's not the time to blame her. Or yourself."
Boo moved closer to Perseus, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
"She needs us now more than ever," she said, voice cracking. "Because if we push—if we chase or scold or try to rip her back by force—she'll slip away."
Loque rumbled from the hearth, rising to his paws again, ears pinned with tension.
"She's walking the same edge Ves did," Boo continued. "The difference is… she's still breathing."
That hit him.
Hard.
Perseus's jaw clenched, but the fight in him faltered. His shoulders slumped. His breathing slowed.
"I couldn't save Ves," he whispered.
"We all failed her," Boo said.
"And if we don't want to fail Nyxia, we have to be there when she comes back. Not with anger. But with love. Even if she doesn't believe she deserves it."
Silence fell.
Then, slowly, Perseus nodded.
"…Okay."
The oil lamp burned low.
Shadows crawled across the cracked walls like long, reaching fingers. Nyxia sat hunched on the floor, her back against the bedframe, arms wrapped around herself.
The coin pouch was still clutched in her lap.
As if it meant something.
As if it ever did.
She stared blankly at the far wall, red-rimmed eyes unblinking.
In her silence, Ves appeared—not in flesh, not in spirit, but in memory. Clearer than a ghost, clearer than anything else.
Her voice echoed inside Nyxia's mind.
"You left me."
Nyxia's breath hitched.
"You ran."
"I had to," Nyxia rasped, curling tighter. "I—I didn't know what else to do…"
The image of Ves—wounded, pleading, her face bathed in firelight—burned behind Nyxia's eyes.
And then, from somewhere deeper, a whisper.
You were better off dead.
Nyxia's mouth trembled.
She didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
Because part of her believed it.
The part that had slit a man's throat in a pit of sand for coin.
The part that let Arioch kiss her mind and bend it like iron.
The part that still wanted to win the next fight. Still craved the applause.
She rocked slowly, whispering to herself.
"I should've died with you, Ves…"
Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.
"I should've stayed."
But she hadn't.
And now all she had was gold that stank of blood… and a war raging inside her chest.
Day Four
The room was too quiet.
The hearth had long since gone cold. Her pack lay untouched, her weapon still leaning in the corner, crusted with dried blood. A single blanket half-covered her curled body on the floor, though the nights had grown colder. Her clothes clung to her skin, damp with old sweat and dried tears.
Nyxia hadn't moved.
Not to eat.
Not to drink.
Not to live.
Her lips were cracked. Her breathing shallow. Her eyes were half-open but unfocused, staring through the worn wooden wall as if something lay just beyond it—something only she could see.
She didn't cry anymore.
Even tears took too much strength.
The coin purse still sat on the floor beside her, untouched since the day she collapsed.
And somewhere, deep inside her hollowed-out soul, Ves kept whispering.
"They're better off without you."
Meanwhile…
"She's still not back." Boo's voice cracked against the tension in the room.
Perseus sat on the edge of the bed, hands clenched between his knees, jaw tight. He hadn't slept. Hadn't really eaten either.
"She left the room once," Draj offered quietly from the window, "but only to pay the innkeeper again. She didn't say a word."
Loque paced—back and forth, back and forth—his spectral form shifting with agitation. He let out a deep, guttural growl every few steps, as if his instincts were screaming louder than words could.
"I should've gone after her sooner," Perseus muttered.
"We all thought she needed space," Boo said. "That she'd come around."
"She's not," Draj added grimly. "And the longer we wait…"
"We lose her," Perseus finished.
Boo nodded. "And we can't lose her too."
There was a moment of silence—each of them swallowing guilt, dread, and unspoken memories of Ves.
Then Loque stopped pacing. He looked up sharply—ears pricked, nose twitching. He let out a sudden snarl and bolted for the door, smashing it open with his shoulder as if he'd finally decided enough was enough.
Perseus didn't hesitate.
"Let's go."