The ascent toward the heart of the Tier 2 district felt like a climb into a different dimension. The road, a flawless ribbon of cut stone, curved upward, flanked by terrace houses that glowed with a soft, amber luminescence from the glass lanterns hanging in their windows. As we crested the hill, the city opened up beneath us, a shimmering sea of light and glass, dominated by the distant, needle-thin silhouette of the Obsidian Monolith.

  But our destination wasn't a castle; it was The Hillaton. The name makes sense

  It wasn't just an inn; it was a boutique hotel, an architectural masterpiece of dark timber and reinforced glass that felt light-years away from the sawdust-covered floors of the Boar's Rest. A dedicated receptionist, a man with a perfectly groomed mustache and a velvet waistcoat, stood behind a mahogany counter, his movements practiced and silent. The lobby was a sanctuary of luxury, plush velvet armchairs, the scent of expensive sandalwood, and a "Prism-Fountain" that refracted the moonlight into a dancing kaleidoscope of silver and violet across the ceiling.

  Barnaby, clutching our bag of gold with a renewed merchant’s pride, didn't hesitate. He booked three connecting rooms on the fourth floor. One for himself, one for the boys, and the final one for me and Eren. As we walked through the lushly carpeted hallways, the silence was almost deafening after the chaos of the gate.

  So we went to our rooms.

  As I walked up the stairs to the well maintained hallways, I opened door 301. The room was beautiful, a sanctuary of white linen, polished oak, and high-vaulted ceilings. A massive, fluffy bed stood in the center, looking like a cloud that had been captured.

  "I need to be human," I whispered, the weight of the day finally crushing my spirit.

  I stood in the center of the room and activated Hygienic Mode. I felt the cool, electric tingle as the matte-black material of my suit, the skin I had worn through the blood and the mud, seeped back into my pores. My arms returned to their soft, ivory tone, though the raw, statuesque power of my build remained. I looked at my hands, flexing my fingers. I realized I’d have to ask Alan to help me extend the mode’s duration; my system was starting to feel the strain of the "human" masquerade, but for tonight, I just wanted to feel the air on my skin.

  Eren and I took turns in the shower. The water was a miracle, hot, high-pressure, and smelling of citrus and clean mountain springs. I stood under the spray for a long time, letting the steam fill my lungs, washing away the smell of the gate, the blue of the baby’s lips, and the cold despair of the square. When I stepped out, wrapped in a thick, white towel, I felt... new.

  I pulled on the white dress, the silk feeling like a cool, fluid second skin. I sat on the edge of the bed, my platinum hair still damp, watching Eren bounce on the mattress with a giddy, child-like relief.

  The door between our rooms clicked open. Joshua and Alan walked in.

  Joshua had taken off his armor, wearing only a loose grey tunic that showed the broad, powerful lines of his shoulders. He looked tired but grounded. Alan, surprisingly, was in a good mood. The miracle of Saint Augustine’s touch had left him with a calm, focused demeanor, though his eyes still held a distant, shimmering light.

  "So," Joshua asked, sitting cross-legged on the cozy carpeted floor. "What’s the plan for tomorrow? "

  "We need coin," I replied. I leaned back against the headboard, the white-gold bracelet on my wrist catching the light. "The 8,000 gold goal is still a mountain away. But I saw those posters on the Appia road. A gladiator tournament. 1,000 gold for the winner."

  Joshua’s face contorted, a sharp, protective anxiety flickering in his golden-brown eyes. "A gladiator fight? Taylor, that’s... that’s suicide. We just got here. We don't even know the rules."

  Eren stopped bouncing and looked at me, her ears swiveling. Alan seemed to be daydreaming, his mind clearly back in the alley with the golden-haired girl. He was smiling at nothing, his hands resting loosely in his lap.

  "I asked the guards at the gate," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "They said it’s a no-kill policy. It’s a tournament of 'Martial Handsomeness and Skill.' Even the legionnaires are participating. They want to show off the Empire's strength, not its cruelty."

  "It’s one person per guild," Alan added, suddenly snapping back from Saint-land with clinical precision. "Barnaby acts as the sponsor. We select a champion."

  We all fell silent, the logic of the "game" taking over.

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  "I'm a shield," Joshua said, shaking his head firmly. "I can block a mountain, but I can't for the life of me attack. I’d just be standing there until the crowd got bored and threw tomatoes at me."

  "And I’m support," Eren chirped, her tail flicking. "I can bind them in vines or throw them through portals, but that’s utility, not a 'gladiator' show. They want a spectacle."

  We all turned to look at Alan. He was the perfect choice, a high-speed, high-precision attacker who could dance through a fight without breaking a sweat. But as we stared at his face, the reality of his character build hit us. In his "daydreaming" state, he looked... well, average. He had chosen to play an elf who was only 5’6”, with a nose that was slightly too large and a personality that was currently somewhere in the stratosphere. He wasn't exactly the "Handsome Champion" the posters were looking for.

  Eren giggled, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she looked at me. "It’s you, silly. Look at you."

  I blinked. "Me?"

  "You're six-foot-one," Eren said, gesturing to my statuesque frame. "You're beautiful, you're unique, and you have that... that 'Goddess' energy. Plus, you have the arm."

  She was right. My arm were a masterpiece of black composite and hydraulics, housing a "Mini-Forge" that could 3D-print bullets. But I shook my head.

  "My bullets are meant to kill, Eren," I said, my voice dropping into a somber, protective tone. "I can't physically shoot at people in a tournament. If I hit them with a .50 caliber round, they won't just 'lose.' They’ll cease to exist."

  Alan, returning from his date with Saint Augustine in his mind, hit the mark.

  "The mini-forge," Alan said, his voice flat and analytical. "It’s a 3D printer. It doesn't have to extrude obsidian or lead. It can extrude high-density vulcanized rubber."

  I stopped. "Rubber bullets?"

  "Precisely," Alan nodded. "A non-lethal projectile. The kinetic energy would be massive, KE=21?mv2, and a 50-cal rubber slug would stop a truck. But it wouldn't penetrate. It would just... 'persuade' them to lie down. Very quickly."

  I sighed, a localized heat blooming in my chest. "So I’m going into an arena to be a 'Hot Babe' with a rubber-bullet sniper rifle? This world is ridiculous."

  "A thousand gold is a thousand gold, Taylor," Joshua reminded me, his eyes softening. "And let’s be honest... you know you look good."

  We walked over to the final connecting door and informed Barnaby of the plan. The merchant’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. "A free 1,000 gold!" he bellowed, nearly dropping his pipe. "Taylor won't lose! Especially on the beauty side of things. I’ll go to the registration office at dawn!"

  We returned to our rooms, the heavy mahogany doors clicking shut and locking us into our separate sanctuaries. Joshua and Alan were already settling in, their low murmurs of conversation muffled by the thick walls.

  I sat on the edge of the fluffy white bed, feeling the cool silk of my dress against my skin. I was tired, my soul feeling as bruised as Alan’s arm used to be. I looked toward the window, watching the amber Sentinels patrol the Tier 3 sky-bridges.

  Suddenly, Eren jumped from her bed, landing right in my arms with a soft, feline oomph.

  "Tay-Tay..." she whispered, her tail wrapping around my neck. "You know what time it is, right?"

  I looked at her, my amber eyes blinking in confusion. "Relax time? Sleep time?"

  Eren shook her head mischievously, a wicked, playful grin spreading across her face. Her ears were swiveling with a sudden, sharp intent.

  "No," she said, her voice a low, teasing chime. "I only know of one naughty girl who separated from the group today. One girl who caused the people who love her the most to nearly have a collective heart attack. A girl who disobeyed the most important rule of all: Don't endanger yourself when you obviously know there's danger."

  I felt the heat rising in my cheeks. "Ahh... it’s me, isn't it?"

  "It’s you," Eren nodded, her tail flicking with a smug authority. "And I have been entrusted by the boys, and Barnaby, to make sure you never do something so stupidly brave ever again. It’s time for punishment, Tay-Tay."

  I looked up in genuine worry but a flicker of gladness to see Eren being Eren. Eren reached into her shimmering dimension storage. In her left hand, she pulled out her staff. In her right, she produced a small, smooth wooden paddle.

  "Punishment time," she whispered, her emerald eyes glowing with a mischievous fire.

  Before I could move, thin, emerald vines erupted from the polished floorboards. They didn't have thorns; they were soft, cool, and impossibly strong. They wrapped around my wrists and ankles with a gentle, rhythmic pressure, guiding me toward the edge of the bed.

  "Uh oh," I murmured, my voice a smoky, helpless rasp.

  "Uh oh is right," Eren giggled, hopping over the vines and tapping the wooden paddle against her palm with a rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack.

  I looked at her, my best friend, my "whisker-witch" sister, and I realized that this was her way of letting the trauma out. We had spent the day watching mothers die and friends go mad. This... this was a return to the "game." This was a way to feel something other than the hollow ache of the valley.

  I gulped, my heart hammering against the white silk of my dress, but a part of me, a very human, very vulnerable part, was thankful for the distraction.

  "You can’t break me, Witch," I whispered.

  Eren’s grin widened, and the room was filled with the sound of sisterly laughter and the soft, rhythmic snap of the vines as the "Sovereign Spire" loomed outside, oblivious to the "naughty" things inside the Hillaton.