I remain silent, staring at Houston.

A monster? Chiara? Will she really become that strong if she manages to get through this?

"And what are the odds of this working? Is it a sure outcome?"

"Well, I have no idea. Both Chiara's mental state and the complexity of the model she is working on are variables I can't quantify, so… I cannot answer that. If I had to guess, I'd say it could either work suddenly after a moment of enlightenment, never work at all, or backfire catastrophically. She could even end up a human vegetable."

"I see…" I ponder the matter carefully.

It's an unexpected variable, one that could change… things.

Chiara suddenly growing stronger… I'm not sure how I feel about that. Is it a good thing? A bad thing? Should I intervene?

"Will she reach a level where she can threaten me?"

Houston stares at me, his expression growing serious.

"There's a decision you need to make," he says, pausing briefly, as if weighing his words. "You either"—he hesitates for just a moment—"kill Chiara now, or make peace with her and work together."

Ishaam felt his blood pumping as the vow settled deep within him, his fist clutching the dagger against his chest. The feeling surged through him like a wildfire, raw and unstoppable.

His waves confirmed it—everyone around him felt the same. This wasn't just a gesture. It was everything. For his parents, for those he cared about… yes, he would give it all.

Seconds stretched in silence before Lukas and the others slowly lowered their grips.

Ishaam noticed Alonso and Ayu were already gone.

"Always remember this vow you made here today," Lukas said, his voice unusually serious. "For you have made a decision."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the group.

"Now, let's move to the matters at hand," Lukas said, his tone steady. "Yesterday at midday, seven more of us died."

The words struck like a hammer blow, and Ishaam felt his stomach tighten into a painful knot.

Rakesh…

He had already known, deep down, that this was the likely outcome. But still, some part of him had clung to hope. Maybe… maybe there was a chance.

Ishaam gritted his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. But how? They were a solid squad.

"And they all died a pointless death," Lukas continued, his voice calm but cutting.

What?!

Gasps rippled through the group. Eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

But Lukas remained composed, his expression unreadable. "Their deaths didn't push us closer to overcoming The Tower. They didn't give us an opening to defeat some insurmountable creature or obstacle in our path to freedom. They didn't make any of us stronger. No." His gaze swept over the group. "They died trying to kill another of us."

Ishaam's breath hitched. Another of us? Wait… no. No way.

"They died trying to kill Alonso while he was training at the Molten Crest," Lukas said bluntly. "They died trying to kill one of the few true warriors we have. Someone we have constantly ostracized. Someone we have constantly hated. Someone who gave some of us power. Someone who is carving a path forward. But above all that… one of us. One of us who made the same vow as you, right now. One willing to give everything to push forward, to get us out, to save the ones we love."

Lukas let those words hang for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the group before his voice softened, shifting the tone. "And that brings me to something else—Chiara. When I found her yesterday, she was on the ground, unresponsive, in a critical state. I don't know what happened. I don't know when—or even if—she will recover. Seeing her like that…" He paused, a flicker of something almost imperceptible crossing his face. "I went to Alonso and Ayu."

He straightened slightly, his voice gaining firmness again. "And despite everything—the bad blood, the history—Alonso stepped forward. He didn't hesitate. He took responsibility. He agreed to take care of Chiara until she is well. And he did so knowing full well that he owes her or us nothing."

The group sat in stunned silence.

"So, I want you all to let this sink in," Lukas began, his tone sharp and unwavering. "We are no longer in the Oasis. For all intents and purposes: the Oasis is dead. The factions are dead. We are half of what we once were. Siddharth has fallen. Chiara is in a critical state. We are divided, tearing each other apart, while The Tower slowly kills us, one by one. Is this what you want? Are you so eager to fail? Is hatred and pride so important to you?"

His voice grew louder, more resolute. "We stand here, all that remains, facing a single enemy: The Tower. And I believe it's about damn time we let our differences burn in hell! It's about time we work together—as humans do best. It's time to forget the hatred, the history, the grudges, and rise together as one."

Lukas swept his gaze over them, his words striking deep. "It's time we look at each other and see not enemies, but brothers and sisters. People we'd give our lives for, knowing that if we fall, they will carry our dreams and hopes forward. It's time… once and for all… we face The Tower—not divided, not fractured, but united. As one."

Ishaam felt a swirl of conflicting emotions inside him—anger, sorrow, fear—but beneath it all, he couldn't deny the fire slowly rising within, igniting something he hadn't felt in a long time: purpose.

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Lukas' voice grew louder, his words pounding like a war drum, steady and relentless. "Will you take that step? Will you forget your differences, your grudges? Will you stand here, side by side, as one race—humans—against the aliens who dare to test us, who mock us, who seek to break us?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over each face, holding their attention like a vice. "You were chosen by chance, thrown into this nightmare. But you've proven yourselves, not by birthright, not by luck, but by grit, by blood, by sweat, by sacrifice. And now, I ask you—will you rise? Will you raise your swords together, not for yourselves, but for a hope? For those you love? For a future that is worth fighting for?"

The tempo of his words quickened, his voice swelling with power, each phrase hitting harder than the last. "Will you fight together with me? Will you fight for the people waiting for you back home, for the memories of those who gave everything, for the lives we have yet to protect?"

Lukas' eyes burned with raw emotion, his voice crashing into their hearts like a tidal wave.

"The future starts NOW!"

He thrust his sword high into the air and roared.

"FOR THE ONES WE LOVE! FOR THE HOPE WE CARRY! WILL YOU RISE WITH ME?!"

For a moment, there was only silence.

The weight of Lukas' words lingered in the air, pressing down on them. No one moved, no one spoke. It was as though the world itself had paused, holding its breath.

Then, slowly, one figure stepped forward. Arjun. His sword rose, the polished metal catching the faint light as it pointed skyward.

Wang followed, lifting his blade and thrusting it toward the heavens. The others began to join, one after another, their swords rising in a wave of determination, their expressions hardening with resolve.

And then, the first roar erupted.

It came from Mohan—a sharp, piercing cry that broke the silence like lightning splitting the sky. Another followed, then another, until the roars blended together into a deafening, unified crescendo.

Swords thrust toward the sky in unison, their owners bellowing their defiance, their unity, their vow.

Ishaam stood amidst the storm of sound and fury, his chest pounding. The roar surged through him, and he found his voice joining the others—a raw, unrestrained cry of his own.

He felt the dagger's handle biting into his palm as he held it aloft. For my parents… for everyone waiting back home… I will fight!

The roar surged on, an unrelenting tide of defiance that seemed to shake the very air around them, uniting their voices into one.

As the roar reached its peak, Lukas lowered his sword slowly, the motion commanding silence. The echoes faded into the stillness, leaving behind only the sound of heavy breathing and beating hearts.

Lukas swept his gaze across them, his voice calm but firm. "This is who we are now. No factions. No differences. Only one force, fighting together to survive, to win, to reach the peak. So today, I want you to remember this moment, for now, you have made a second choice."

Lukas took a deep breath, his gaze sharpening as he stepped forward.

To the collective shock of those standing, Lukas bent one knee, his grip firm on the sword's hilt as he held it upright. The blade pointed downward, its tip resting lightly against the ground, and he leaned forward, his forehead touching the pommel.

Gasps rippled through the crowd once again.

"Will you allow me to lead you forward?" he asked, his voice steady yet humble, resonating with sincerity.

For a moment, the group stood frozen, the weight of Lukas' words settling over them. Then, slowly, one of them stepped forward—Imani.

He gripped his hammer tightly, his expression serious, before lowering the weapon and kneeling. "You have my hammer," he said firmly, his voice carrying across the gathering.

Wang followed shortly after, his sword gleaming as he knelt beside Imani, lowering his head slightly in respect. "And my sword," he declared with quiet conviction.

Arjun was next, his face unreadable, but his actions spoke volumes. He rested his sword upright, kneeling down. "My strength is yours," he said, his tone calm but resolute.

The others began to step forward one by one, each bringing their own pledge. Some placed their weapons on the ground as a sign of deference, others held them upright, mirroring Lukas' pose. Each of them offered their loyalty in their own words:

"My hands will follow your lead."

"Guide us."

"You have my dagger."

Lukas lifted his head slightly, his piercing gaze meeting each of theirs in turn, acknowledging their trust with a solemn nod. Slowly, he rose to his feet, gripping his sword with renewed strength.

"Together, we move forward," Lukas said, his voice carrying over them like a command, like a promise. "Together, we rise. Together, we face The Tower."

Darius' blade whistles through the air, forcing me to duck low and roll to the side.

I counter with a quick upward slash, aiming for his exposed flank, but he twists effortlessly, my blade missing him by inches.

His foot slams into my gut before I can regain balance, sending me staggering backward.

I barely have time to steady myself before his sword is coming at me again. I deflect the strike, sparks flying as steel clashes against steel. My arms tremble under the force, my grip slipping slightly on the hilt.

"You're slow today," Darius says, his voice calm, almost bored.

I don't answer, focusing instead on pressing forward with a quick feint and thrust.

He reads me like an open book, sidestepping with ease and countering with a diagonal slash that grazes my shoulder. The pixelated mark flares as I try to close the gap, bringing my sword up for a desperate overhead strike.

But… too late.

Darius sidesteps again, his movements impossibly fluid, and delivers a clean thrust to my chest.

My vision blurs as the world tilts.

Darkness.

When my eyes snap open, I'm on the other side of the arena. Across from me, Darius stands with his sword resting on his shoulder.

"Your heart's not in the blade," he says, his tone calm.

I flex my fingers around the hilt of my sword, my grip tightening. He's not wrong.

I sigh, lowering my sword to my side.

"Indeed it is not," I say, my eyes drifting toward the endless, artificial blue sky.

"Chiara?" Darius says, the single word slicing through the stillness like a well-aimed strike.

My grip tightens instinctively around the hilt of my sword.

Darius tilts his head slightly, his voice calm but weighted with something deeper. "I cannot claim to know the storm within you, but let me tell you this: the answers you seek will not come from standing still. Overthinking breeds hesitation, and hesitation kills the soul's purpose."

He steps forward, his blade resting easily on his shoulder. "The ground beneath you is solid. Feel it. Trust it. Make a move—not to escape, but to decide. Right or wrong, it will be yours. And there is no regret in a step taken with resolve."

I arch an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Quite the philosopher today, Darius."

He chuckles faintly, a rare sound, before his gaze sharpens. "Now, are you content to waste time staring at a sky that isn't even real? Or will you entertain me?"

I grin, lifting my sword and settling into a ready stance. "Let's continue."

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