Ishaam couldn't believe his eyes.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, casting a surreal glow over the breathtaking landscape before them.

Paradise.

It was, without question, one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen.

He glanced at the others. They were just as stunned, their expressions mirroring his awe.

So this was the rumored Isles. The last region.

His gaze shifted to Arjun. Serious and composed as always, but there was something different about him. His movements during the journey had been sharper, faster, and more precise than Ishaam remembered. It was as if Arjun had grown exponentially stronger since the last time they'd fought together.

Then his attention turned to Lukas.

Ishaam had a really good opinion of Lukas—just like probably everyone else did. Lukas had this way about him, like he could fit in anywhere without even trying.

He still remembered that one time they were having a serious conversation around the bonfire about how to tackle the giant crabs. Mohan had just offered Lukas a dish, something he'd clearly put effort into, and Lukas tried it, absolutely delighted. Then, with no warning, Lukas turned to Mohan, put a hand on his shoulder, and said with a charming smile:

"Behan chod."

For a moment, every Indian froze, stunned into silence. Then the uproar began—laughter so loud it echoed through the camp. Even Mohan, after a split-second of disbelief, burst out laughing, patting Lukas hard on the back.

Lukas looked around, confused, his brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what was going on. Finally, he tilted his head and said, "Pardon my Hindi, but a friend told me that means 'thank you, my friend'… right?"

That only made everyone laugh harder, some doubling over, clutching their sides, while Lukas stood there, utterly baffled but still wearing his ever-charming smile.

It wasn't just the jokes, though. Lukas was the best crafter in the group, and that wasn't up for debate. His creations had saved more lives than anyone could count. Everyone knew they could rely on him when things got serious, and that made him impossible not to respect.

But now, as Ishaam watched the way Arjun, Imani, and Wang followed Lukas' orders without question, he couldn't help but feel a little… uneasy.

And then there was Chiara.

Nobody had mentioned her—or Rakesh—for the entire journey. Whenever he'd tried to bring it up, Lukas would simply tell them to wait until they reached the Isles. Even when Ishaam had discreetly asked Arjun, the response was the same: Wait.

The journey had been smoother than expected, thanks to Lukas, Arjun, Imani, and Wang taking the vanguard. But Ishaam still couldn't figure out why Lukas had brought all of them all the way to the Isles.

He took a deep breath, his eyes sweeping over the stunning view again.

What was the purpose of this place?

"Well, we made it just in time," Lukas said, stepping forward with his usual ease. "There's a better spot to watch the sunrise up ahead. Let's go."

He said it casually, already walking without waiting for a response. The group exchanged glances before, one by one, they followed.

Sure enough, as they climbed a medium-sized hill, the view opened up before them. A breathtaking panorama unfolded—an upper view of a cascading waterfall feeding into a vast, serene lake, all framed by the vibrant hues of dawn spreading across the horizon.

Ishaam found himself pausing, his breath catching slightly. There was something about it—the sheer scale, the raw, untouched beauty.

His mother's voice echoed in his mind, soft but steady: "No matter how big you feel, the world will always be bigger. Respect it, and it will guide you."

He let the memory settle, his heart easing as the tension that had gripped him slowly began to fade.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lukas said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Unfortunately… it's fake."

What?!

Lukas turned slowly to face them, his expression calm. As he did, Imani, Wang, and Arjun stepped forward, positioning themselves in front of the group.

Ishaam felt the shift immediately, the air growing heavier.

Lukas tilted his head slightly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You know, this scene we're staring at—this 'paradise,'" he began, his tone light but with an edge of something deeper, "it's quite the show, isn't it? Picture-perfect sunrise, trees swaying like they're in some artsy nature documentary. Breathtaking."

He gestured toward the horizon, his voice growing steadier, quieter, yet somehow heavier. "But let's not kid ourselves. That sun out there? It's not a star. It's not burning billions of kilometers away, keeping us warm or sustaining life. It's just… there. A painted light on the ceiling of a fake sky."

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He pointed to the trees around them, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. "And these? Chop one down, and—surprise, surprise—it's back tomorrow, like nothing ever happened. No roots, no scars, no struggle to grow again. Just a reset button. Convenient, sure. But real? No."

Spreading his arms wide, he turned to face the group fully. His smile faded, replaced by an expression that was both serious and strangely calm. "This world… It's a knockoff. A hollow imitation. A poorly staged copy of the one world that truly matters: ours."

He let the words linger in the air for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the group. Then, with a faint smirk, he added, "But let's forget the stars and the moon, and the trees. Let's go to what we really care about. Let's go… to the people."

He paused, his tone softening just enough to pull them in.

"Let's go to our friends. To that funny, irritating bastard back home, who's probably standing under a hot shower right now, using some fancy shampoo that smells like lavender or some shit. And let's not forget the soap—probably shaped like a flower or some nonsense. Meanwhile, we're here scrubbing off sweat and dirt with water that feels like it's straight from the Arctic."

The group chuckled, a few shaking their heads, amused despite themselves.

"Let's picture their smug face as they step out of that shower, throw on a clean shirt and stroll into the kitchen. What's their big problem today? Whether their toast is going to come out just a little too burnt. Or if their coffee has just the right amount of sugar. Such a rough life, right?"

Lukas grinned, letting the laughter settle before continuing. "And then imagine them sitting down for a meal. A tasty biryani, or some fancy Kung Pao Chicken, or maybe a pizza loaded with toppings. Whatever they're eating, you know they're probably not appreciating it as much as they should."

He paused, gesturing dramatically toward the group. "And no offense to our genius chef Mohan—who can make literal miracles out of the scraps we have—but let's be real. Right now, every single one of us would probably sell our souls for something as simple as a cold soda."

Lukas grinned, and even Ishaam found himself smiling, nodding slightly as a warmth began to spread through the group.

"But that's life," Lukas continued, his tone dipping into something deeper. "The life most of us had. But let's not stop at friends. Let's go deeper. Let's talk about what this world—this fake world—can never give us: family."

His voice grew louder, more resonant, as if each word carried the weight of the world itself.

"Let's think about our parents, our wives, our husbands, our kids, our siblings. Let's think about the last time we saw them. The things we wanted to say but didn't. Let's think about the tiny hand we used to hold or those aged, calloused hands we promised ourselves we'd take care of someday. Let's think about their hopes, their dreams, their future. Let's think about how much they miss us. How much we love them."

"And I ask you all. For that small hand, for that wrinkled face, for that beautiful wife or supportive husband, for those who stood by us in our darkest moments… for all that we love. What—" he paused, letting the tension hang for just a second, "—what are we willing to do?"

Ishaam's breath hitched.

In his mind, he saw the face of his mother, her soft smile etched with worry. His father's stern but supportive gaze flashed next, striking him deeply. His heart began to race, his fist clenched tighter.

"We all stand here, not by chance, not by some miracle," Lukas continued, his voice steady but charged with emotion. "We were all thrown into a white room—God knows how many of us—and we were given a choice. And we made one. Back then, we chose to live."

He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping across the group. "And then came the second room. We showed the courage to face our fears. In the third, we fought against our temptations. In the fourth, we honed ourselves, pushing past our limits. In the fifth, we learned to adapt, to think, to grow. In the sixth, we endured, we persevered. And in the seventh… we evolved."

Lukas' voice grew stronger, resonating like a drumbeat in their chests. "So here we stand, not as who we were, but as something more. And now I ask you again: why do you go on? Is it fear of death? Or is it something greater? Is it the bonds with those we left behind? That smile that flashed in your mind when you felt like giving up. The memory that gave you hope when hunger gnawed at your stomach and thirst parched your throat."

He paused, his tone softening, almost like a whisper carried on the wind. "Was it the image of those eyes—the ones that showed you light when you were lost in darkness? Was it that voice, faint but unyielding, that whispered: Not yet. You're strong. You can do this."

Lukas let the silence stretch for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them. Then, his voice sharpened, piercing through the air like a blade. "So I ask you, one more time: how much are you willing to give?"

"Everything…" Ishaam found himself whispering, the word slipping out before he could stop it. The others turned to look at him, and his eyes met Lukas', who offered a soft, knowing smile.

Lukas nodded and picked up where he left off. "I too… would give everything. But let's not pretend it's easy. Saying it is one thing; acting on it is something else entirely. Everything means giving up comfort," he said, his gaze sweeping over the group. "It means letting go of hatred," his eyes lingered briefly on a few faces. "It means swallowing our pride. It means giving away our lives if that's what it takes. Everything… means everything."

"So I want you all to make a choice. Will you choose to live in this fake world… or give it all—your comfort, your pride, your life—for the sake of the true one?"

Silence fell over the group, heavy and unbroken. Then, slowly, Arjun stepped forward. Without a word, he unsheathed his sword and held it upright, the grip resting firmly against his heart.

One by one, others began to move. Imani stepped forward next, his expression resolute, followed by Wang, his eyes steady and calm.

Ishaam hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn't have a sword. But…

He pulled out his dagger, stepping forward to join the others. With a steady hand, he placed the blade's grip against his heart.

And then, like a ripple through the crowd, the others followed. Quietly, solemnly, they each stepped forward, drawing their weapons and mimicking the gesture.

Lukas, standing before them, shifted his gaze to the side.

Ishaam instinctively followed it—and what he saw nearly made him stumble.

On a cliff higher than their own, Alonso and Ayu stood, both watching in silence. Their presence was commanding, almost surreal, as the soft light of dawn framed their figures against the sky.

The group noticed them too, one by one. Some turned with wary glances, others with confusion, and a few with quiet curiosity.

And then, Alonso nodded. He and Ayu unsheathed their swords, placing the grips firmly against their hearts in unison.

A wave of disbelief rippled through the group. A few gasped; others widened their eyes in shock.

Lukas smiled faintly, a knowing look in his eyes. Without a word, he drew his own sword and struck the grip to his chest with a loud, deliberate thud.

The sound echoed through the still air, sealing their silent vow.

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