Two Souls, One Wound.

A white flash enveloped me, and in the blink of an eye, the roar of the coliseum faded away. The ground beneath my feet was no longer the golden sand of the tournament, but a red, cracked plain stretching as far as the eye could see. Sharp rocks rose like black fangs against a rust-colored sky, and the air rough, dry, hostiles cratched my throat with every forced breath. A deathly silence hung over the place, too absolute. No sign of other players, not even the slightest whisper of virtual creatures. Just me, my uselessly heavy dagger in my vest pocket, and this landscape of hungry stones that seemed to want to expel the intruder.

At that moment, I heard three sharp whistles, like wails of torn air, split the space where my head had been a moment before. They struck the nearby rock in a shower of jagged splinters.

For a moment I thought they were arrows, but no. They weren't arrows; they were flashes of solid silver, extensions of a murderous will faster than thought. — Damn it! —  The curse emerged hoarse, a strange sound even to my own ears. My hands, treacherous in their trembling, found the saga in my vest, and in an attempt to defend myself, I held the dagger in front of me to stop some of the impacts.

Those impacts vibrated in my bones like muffled echoes of a distant hammer. Each blow was an electric shock that ran through my skeleton, pushing me back onto the treacherous bed of stones. My arms screamed, muscles turned into ropes at the limit of their tension. — Ah!— A muffled, animalistic sound escaped my mouth as a flash arrow, deflected but not stopped, found the gap above the edge of the dagger. A sharp, piercing pain blossomed in my right shoulder, warm and wet.

Another one pierced my thigh, a sudden, dull weight that bent my knee like a noodle. The health bar in my peripheral vision plummeted. The health bar in my peripheral vision plummeted, leaving a thin pulsing red line. The world spun. The taste of dust and blood filled my mouth. This is it, I thought bitterly. Defeated by an anonymous sniper in the middle of nowhere. Pathetic.

Through the veil of sweat and dust, the archer's silhouette emerged like an ink stain against the reddish sky of a distant hill. He was already loading another silent arrow. His eyes, even from a distance, had the lifeless coldness of flint. The bow rose, the string tightening in a silence that froze my blood. Paralysis took hold of me. I closed my eyes, clenching my teeth, waiting for the final kiss of the shadows.

A different kind of whisper. Not the whistle of an arrow, but the sound of air being torn apart by something... massive and fast. I opened my eyes, bewildered. A shadow. A dark, compact silhouette stood between me and death, materializing like a nightmare born from stone fangs.
— W-what...? — I saw her move, a whirlwind of crimson fabric and lethal grace. “— Enough.—  A cold, familiar voice cut through the tension.

It was Noelia.

His bare hands rose not toward the archer, but toward the parched ground. A faint glow, the color of rust and old earth, sprang from his palms.

And then it happened, an underground tremor.

The ground in front of us convulsed, rising in a violent wave of pulverized rock and thick dust. An impenetrable curtain of reddish earth rose with primal fury, engulfing the light, the landscape, certain death. The coughing doubled me over, blinded, choking. A strong, relentless arm grabbed me by the vest. — let me go!— I tried to roar, a sound lost. I was torn from the ground, dragged, each jolt making my wounds scream. The world was a whirlpool of dark red and agony.

When the dust settled like ash, we were no longer under the murderous sky. Instead, we were in a cave. Greenish light, the smell of deep dampness, and time standing still. Cold, slippery stones surrounded me. I rolled on the ground, a moan escaping as I spat out dirt and the bitter taste of defeat. The pain in my shoulder and thigh throbbed in time with my racing heart. I looked up, my vision clouded by dust and agony.

And there she was. Silhouetted against the dim light of the doorway like a statue of living contradictions. Her retro elegance, her indistinguishable jet-black hair, and her emerald green eyes that captured and reflected the dim light with a hypnotic glow, chilling me to the bone. Now they were unfathomable depths, perhaps of frustration, fatigue?

— Satisfied, Asimil? — Her voice cut through the damp silence, sharp as the blade of my useless dagger, a brutal contrast to the softness suggested by the pink of her blouse. — Did you enjoy your walk on the edge of fainting? —

I tried to sit up, leaning against the cold wall. A burning pain in my shoulder reminded me of my clumsiness. — N-nobody asked you to intervene. — I spat, avoiding his hypnotic gaze, focusing on an absurd detail: the small silver butterfly brooch on his jacket. Was it real? Why did I care now? 
— I could have managed... or accepted defeat. Anything but... this. — A vague gesture with his good hand encompassed the cave, his imposing presence, the invisible debt that already hung over me like a slab.

Where does this anger come from? I thought fleetingly, stunned by my own vehemence. In real life, words stuck in my throat like stones. Arguments ended in thick silences or loud slamming doors. Even with Sacres, my rock, I kept my sharpest pains under lock and key. But here, facing this enigma with fiery hair and icy emerald eyes, the floodgates had burst open. A torrent of suspicion and pent-up resentment flowed unchecked. It was the first time I had ever vented so much emotional baggage on someone... and it was with her, the most unpredictable and dangerous person I knew.

A flash of irritation crossed Noelia's emerald eyes. — Manage? — she repeated, lifting her chin slightly. The light played on her delicate neck. — With that health bar flashing red? With two Sonic Drills draining you like steel vampires? — She took a step forward, silently. Her low-heeled ankle boots, also cream-colored and absurdly clean, made no sound on the rock. — The only thing you managed was to serve yourself up on a platter. It was pathetic. Worthy of a... rabbit... —
She paused, her natural lips pressing into a thin line. Was she going to say rabbit? Or something more hurtful?

The humiliation burned my ears. — What do you care! — I roared, pushing myself off the wall to face her, ignoring the pain that shot through my thigh. Why her? Why now? I had always been the player who explored hidden corners of Altverse, who collected trivial stories from NPCs, who drank late into the night with Sacres, avoiding talk of the real world. A tourist, not a warrior. An escapist, not a competitor. Participating in this tournament was already a dangerous anomaly, a concession to Noelia's pressure and a faint hope of trying something different. But this outburst... this raw, disordered, vocalized rage... It was living proof of why he avoided conflict. Why being competitive terrified him. Because beneath the virtual armor, he was still the boy who learned to survive by hiding, stifling screams under his pillow. Competition brought this out. Monsters he couldn't control. Wounds that oozed poison.

— After what you did! — I continued, my voice breaking with emotion. — After seeing you with that hooded guy, smiling as if... as if you were sharing a damn secret! Do you think I'm an idiot? That I don't see your double game? —

For a moment, something cracked in her porcelain mask. Her green eyes, always so controlled, widened slightly. Surprise? Or... a flash of guilt? Her gloved hand rose almost imperceptibly, as if to touch her neck, but stopped, becoming a clenched fist at the level of her brown skirt.  — My double game? — Her voice was lower now, but no less sharp. — You're a rookie lost in a tournament of sharks. You're not even a piece on the board. Your paranoia is... exhausting. — But there was a new tension in her slender shoulders beneath her jacket, a stiffness that betrayed her unease.

— Paranoia? — I limped forward, defiant.  — I saw you! At the entrance to the coliseum. He said something to you, you smiled at him... that cold smile. The same one you're about to use now! — I was right. I saw his jaw muscles tense under his translucent skin. His emerald eyes flashed with something dangerous.  —You think you know something? — she whispered, her voice now a buzzing wasp. — If a fragment convinces you so easily. You're more naive than I thought. —

She took another step. He was already too close. His virtual perfume, floral and light, clashed with the smell of dampness. — My affairs are my own. My smiles too. And you... — His gaze swept over my wounded body with disdain. — ...you have neither the strength nor the right to question them. 

— Well, don't save me! —I spat at him, a little saliva and blood falling near his immaculate boots. — Let me rot here! I'd rather that than your... your false, condescending charity! — That's when I saw the change. A shadow of something complex pain, nostalgia?,crossed her green eyes. As if an inner mask had cracked.

— Charity? —  The word came out like a dry, bitter laugh.— Poor scared little bunny... — Before I could react to the nickname, her arm shot out. A quick, clean movement, impossible to track. A single blow was more than enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. A blinding, deep pain bent me in half. I fell to my knees, then onto my side, writhing on the ground, choking on dry heaves. Tears clouded my vision. Through the curtain of water and agony, I saw her crouch slightly, her pleated skirt brushing the dirty rock, her emerald eyes cold again, expressionless, watching my suffering.

— Never confuse a favor with charity, — she whispered, her voice icy. — I got you out of there because you owe me a favor. Not out of pity. Not out of... uncomfortable memories. — Uncomfortable memories sounded loaded with personal venom. She straightened up, shaking an invisible crease out of her skirt. — But I forget the fake smiles — An infinitesimal pause.
—... harshness is the only language that doesn't burn me. —

She turned away. Silent, determined steps, walking away.

It was on the threshold of shadows, his silhouette blending with the stone, that the whisper came. Rough, broken —...Damn resemblance... I should have left you to rot between the fangs... but pretending with you, lost little brother, hurts more than the open wound...—

The words floated and faded away. Darkness swallowed the last glimmer of scarlet red.

I lay there, drowning in three layers of pain: the first was physical, my shoulder, thigh, and stomach, a concert of agony. The second was debt, cold, heavy, and imposed. And above all, the third was revelation, Little lost brother. Was I... a substitute? A ghost? Or just a mirror of his pain?

The echo of his footsteps died away. In the silence of the cave, two questions rang out louder than any scream: Who cries in her emerald eyes when she calls me lost brother and her fist strikes as if she wants to erase my face from her memory?

And... who am I, when I utter the first true cry of my life in a virtual cave, bleeding and humiliated, in front of the only person who seems to awaken all my ghosts at once?