Chapter 147: The Long Road

*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Between Thornbrook and Parthanon* - Three weeks ago

The witness stone's power faded on the second day.

One moment Aris was walking with strength he hadn't earned, muscles fueled by borrowed levels. The next, his legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed in the middle of the road like a puppet with cut strings.

He lay there for what felt like hours. His body was a ruin. The mending potion had healed his arm enough to use it, but the rest of him was still broken. Bruised ribs. Drained blood. Exhaustion that went bone-deep.

But he got up.

He always got up.

---

The journey took two weeks. Two weeks of walking until his feet bled and then walking more. Two weeks of sleeping in ditches and under trees, waking at every sound with his hand on his dagger. Two weeks of rationing the food the village boy had given him, making each piece of bread last as long as possible.

He looked like a corpse by the end.

His clothes were filthy and torn. His face was gaunt, cheekbones sharp beneath papery skin. His eyes had a hollow, haunted look that made travelers cross to the other side of the road when they passed him.

But he kept walking.

At night, he dreamed of Fox. Of the black fox's voice, dry and sarcastic, commenting on everything Aris did wrong. Of the warmth of fur against his side when they slept. Of intelligent dark eyes that saw more than any animal should.

He dreamed of Lyra too. Of her smile before the memory wipe. Of her confusion after. Of the empty look in her eyes when she couldn't remember who he was.

And he dreamed of Rodran. Of golden lightning and burning flesh and begging eyes.

Those dreams, he didn't wake from screaming. Those dreams, he welcomed.

---

On the fourteenth day, he saw the lake.

It stretched across the horizon like a sea of glass, vast and silver under the artificial sun. And rising from its center, connected to the mainland by a massive stone bridge, was the city.

Parthanon.

Capital of the Kingdom of Satar. Home to a million souls. And somewhere within its walls, a beast shop called Tartarus that held his best friend captive.

Aris's heart hammered as he approached the bridge. Guards stood at the entrance, checking travelers and collecting tolls. But when they saw him, withered and beaten and barely standing, they waved him through without a word.

Maybe they pitied him. Maybe they didn't think he had anything worth taxing.

He didn't care.

The bridge was longer than it looked. Half a mile of ancient stone, wide enough for ten wagons to pass abreast. The lake below was deep and dark, and Aris could see shadows moving in its depths. Creatures. Monsters. Things that had probably been placed here by the game designers to make the crossing interesting.

He made it across without incident. The city gates loomed before him, massive and ornate, flanked by towers that reached toward the artificial sky.

And beyond them, Parthanon.

---

The city was overwhelming.

Streets packed with people of every race. Humans and elves and dwarves and halflings and creatures Aris had never seen before. Buildings stacked on top of each other, climbing toward the sky in impossible configurations. The noise of a hundred conversations, a thousand transactions, a million lives being lived all at once.

Aris pushed through the crowds, asking for directions. Tartarus. The beast shop. Where was it?

He found it in the merchant district, sandwiched between a jeweler and a bakery. A modest storefront with a sign showing a three-headed dog. The windows were dark.

Aris pounded on the door.

No answer.

He pounded again, harder.

The door cracked open, and a woman's face appeared. She was tall with dark braided hair and skeptical eyes.

"We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

"I'm looking for a black fox." Aris's voice was hoarse from disuse. "A talking fox. Your man Vorn took him from me."

The woman's expression didn't change. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me." Aris's hands clenched into fists. "Vorn kidnapped my friend. He works for you. I want him back."

"There's no one named Vorn here. And we don't have any talking foxes." The woman started to close the door. "Now go away before I call the guards."

"Wait!" Aris jammed his foot in the gap. "Please. He's been with me for four years. He's all I have left."

The woman looked at him then. Really looked. At his hollow eyes and gaunt face and the desperation written in every line of his body.

Something flickered in her expression. Pity, maybe. Or recognition.

Then she closed the door in his face.

---

Aris stood outside Tartarus for a long time.

The street flowed around him. People passed, some glancing at the ragged boy staring at the beast shop with hollow eyes. But no one stopped. No one asked if he was okay.

A howl split the air.

Aris's head snapped up. The sound had come from somewhere behind the building. A deep, mournful howl that spoke of loneliness and captivity.

He ran.

Around the side of the building, down an alley that stank of animal waste. At the back was a fenced enclosure, and inside it...

A wolf.

Not just any wolf. A massive creature, nearly as tall as Aris at the shoulder. Its fur was gray and silver, and its eyes were golden and intelligent. It was throwing itself against the fence, scratching at the gate, howling at the sky.

Aris stared at the beast. It wasn't Fox. But something about its desperation resonated with him.

"I'll come back," he whispered. To the wolf. To Fox. To himself. "I'll come back for all of you."

Then, tired and powerless and beaten, he turned away.

---

He found a cheap inn on the outskirts of the city. The innkeeper looked at his handful of copper coins and gave him a room in the basement. It was damp and cold and smelled of mold, but it had a bed.

Aris collapsed onto it and didn't move for twelve hours.

When he woke, the sun was setting. His body still ached, but the edge of exhaustion had dulled. He could think again. Plan again.

The tournament. That was the key.

If he won the tournament, he would have money. Power. Leverage. He could buy Fox's freedom. He could get the Locke to save Lyra.

But first, he needed to register. Needed to prepare. Needed to become something more than the broken boy who had stumbled into Parthanon with nothing but rage and desperation.

Aris rose from the bed and began to plan.