Chapter 26: Mira (2)

"Level Nine. That’s impressive after ten days in a world where death is permanent. We all know there are plenty of people too afraid to even draw a blade, considering that. And there are others who rushed into danger without thinking and didn’t make it. So honestly, the fact that you’re Level Nine and still alive is already a win."

She let out a short breath through her nose, somewhere between a laugh and pure exasperation.

"You know, most people who talk like that usually have the stats to back it up. The ones who don’t are usually just loud."

"I prefer to think of myself as quietly overconfident."

"There’s no such thing."

"I’m inventing it right now."

Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched, gone almost before it fully formed. She caught herself doing it and immediately looked more annoyed than before, as though she resented the fact that he’d managed to be funny in the middle of what was, by her own account, a conversation about him dying.

"What level are you, actually?" she asked, dropping the humor entirely. "No jokes. I want a real number."

"Does it matter? You’ve already decided I’m not high enough for that gate."

"Humor me."

"If I told you, you’d either call me a liar or start asking questions I don’t feel like answering in the middle of this with someone I met ninety seconds ago." Leon shrugged, unbothered. "Call it professional discretion."

"You don’t strike me as the type who cares about discretion."

"I contain multitudes."

"You contain a death wish, is what you contain." She exhaled slowly, clearly deciding the number wasn’t worth fighting for. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"What’s your name?" she asked instead.

"Leon."

"Just Leon?"

"Wes, if you need the whole thing for whatever paperwork you’re planning on filing after I don’t come back out."

"Mira," she said, ignoring the jab entirely. "And for the record, I wasn’t planning on filing anything. I was planning on talking you out of this before it became necessary."

"You’re doing a very thorough job of it."

"I’m doing an extremely unsuccessful job of it, apparently, since you’re still standing here making jokes instead of walking away from that altar." She shook her head, more at herself than at him. "I don’t usually stick around this long once someone’s made up their mind. Not sure why I’m bothering with you."

Leon glanced past her toward the gate, its carvings still shifting lazily whenever his focus wandered elsewhere, humming with that same cold energy he’d felt the first time he crossed into the valley.

"I appreciate you stopping to warn me," Leon said, and for once there wasn’t a trace of humor in it. "Genuinely. Most people wouldn’t have bothered."

Mira’s expression flickered, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. "Most people who walk into that dungeon don’t get a second warning after the first one. I’d rather not watch that happen if I can help it."

"Then let me save you the trouble of watching." Leon offered her a small, almost apologetic smile. "I’m still going in."

"You’re unbelievable."

"I’ve been told."

"I mean that as an insult."

"I chose to take it as a compliment. Saves us both some time."

She stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing whether continuing to argue was worth the breath, and whatever conclusion she reached settled over her features like a door quietly closing. Not anger. Something closer to resignation, the particular weariness of someone who’d already watched this exact scene play out before and knew exactly how little further arguing would accomplish.

"Fine," she said. "Go get yourself killed, then. I hope it’s at least quick."

"Charming send-off."

"You’ll live with it. Or you won’t. Either way, I did what I could."

Leon turned toward the altar, staff settling comfortably in his grip, the carvings along its surface glowing brighter as he approached, as though the gate itself had been waiting for exactly this decision. He paused at the threshold, glancing back once.

"For what it’s worth, Mira," he said, "I don’t plan on being a cautionary tale."

"They never do."

He stepped through.

The world tore sideways, light collapsing inward around him in a rush of cold, unfamiliar pressure, and then he was simply gone, the altar’s glow fading back down to its usual dull, patient shimmer, as though nothing at all had happened.

Mira stood alone in the empty valley for a long moment, staring at the space where he’d been standing.

She’d meant what she said. She really had done everything she reasonably could, short of physically restraining a stranger who is considerably more stubborn than she’d expected. There was nothing left to do now but let the dungeon decide what came next, the way it always did.

She’d watched three other players approach this same altar over the past few days, drawn by whatever instinct pulled certain people toward things they had no business touching. Two had listened to her warning and walked away, shaken but alive. The third hadn’t, and she’d spent the better part of an hour afterward standing exactly where she was standing now, waiting to see if the dungeon would throw anything back out.

It hadn’t.

And yet, as she turned to leave, something in her chest refused to settle into the simple irritation she’d been aiming for.

He’d been funny, in an infuriating sort of way. Sharp enough to dodge every serious question she’d thrown at him without technically lying about anything. Confident in a manner that should have read as bravado and somehow hadn’t, quite, which bothered her more than she wanted to admit.

Foolish, though. Whatever else he was, he was foolish, hiding whatever reckless certainty drove him behind just enough charm that it almost didn’t look like arrogance.

Almost.

Mira glanced once more at the silent, glowing altar, and allowed herself a small, tired sigh.

"Poor idiot," she murmured, and walked away without looking back a second time.