Just as she expected, less than half a minute after the game announcement, a dragon’s roar split the sky. A mosasaur vast enough to blot out a quarter of the heavens appeared above. Its head was draconic, its body like an enormous crocodile. Frost fell in its wake, and wherever it hovered, whirlpools tore open the sea below. At the same time, a notification flickered before Rita’s eyes. \[Your most important being—Lightchaser—has agreed to participate in this game. In five minutes, the mosasaur will enter the sea. Prepare yourself.] That same notice appeared on Moonlight Marsh Rita’s screen, to the right. The blood elf sucked in a sharp breath. She forgot to keep up her usual act, snapping her head toward the pink-haired dwarf. "That’s her Soulfire! Can you guarantee she’ll win?" The dwarf was small, curled in her oversized spectator’s seat, tinier than many races’ children. But one glance into her eyes and you knew—nothing could ever sway her once she had chosen. Lightchaser said, "I can’t guarantee it. But I am willing to wager everything on her." The blood elf was struck silent by something unnameable in Lightchaser’s gaze. For a moment, she thought—forty years had passed, and still she was Lightchaser. She had never changed. So contradictory: refusing to show the slightest warmth or leniency in the last game, yet in this moment... in this moment, she became the only one to agree. In the Golden Hills, the rules of \[Wager Everything] floated, along with a single tally of participants: [1]. Lightchaser... Lightchaser... The blood elf remembered a scene from long ago, one that had haunted her ever since. That day she received a notice from Lightchaser: because of her careless mistake, she would no longer be part of the next Divine Game team match. She had been furious, furious enough to forget all fear and reverence for Lightchaser. She forgot her tyranny, her stubbornness, her iron will. She searched every corner of Moonlight Marsh until she found her by the moonlit lake where Lightchaser often tutored their small group, practicing with her dagger. Lightchaser hadn’t paused when she arrived. She never did. Her temperament was vile enough that she had as many haters as admirers. But then a blue-winged butterfly drifted by, oblivious to the silver gleam and killing intent slicing the air. It wobbled right up beside Lightchaser. And in that instant, Lightchaser stopped. She straightened, lazy and casual, sheathed her killing arc, and lifted the dagger she polished dozens of times each day. She let the injured butterfly rest on the blade’s edge. The shadows of the trees fell across her face, blurring the smile at the corner of her lips. The sight shattered her. The anger drained away, leaving only sorrow. If there was softness in that cold heart, she would give it to a wounded butterfly rather than to her. She hadn’t spoken another word. What was the point? Lightchaser’s decisions were immovable. She had turned and walked away. In countless midnight dreams since, that scene returned. What became of the butterfly on the dagger? Did Lightchaser tend its wing and set it free? Or did she lift the blade the moment she was gone, granting it release? There was no answer. With Lightchaser, either could have been true. For her, that frozen moment—and the unanswerable question—defined Lightchaser: cruel and romantic both. To her, every being in the world was no different from that butterfly resting on the blade’s edge. The blood elf sat wordless, lost in memory. But the undead seated beside them broke the silence. "And what if your apprentice doesn’t want to play this game? A level 100 mosasaur is absurd..." "She wants to," Lightchaser said. On screen, Blue-striped Bluru leapt joyfully from the water. She didn’t speak, but her movements said everything. Lightchaser chuckled. "See? She wants to." The blood elf then asked a question sharp enough to ruin the mood, yet her gaze was so earnest no one could take offense. She truly wanted to know, not to spoil. "If she fails, will you be disappointed? Will you punish her?" The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the novel(ꜰ)ire.net On screen, a Keef Angel Fish swam up beside Blue-striped Bluru, asking if Lightchaser had agreed to the game. The mosasaur’s arrival was proof someone had. Amusing—when everyone thought such an idea pure madness, of course it was Lightchaser who proved willing. Blue-striped Bluru’s voice was filled with pride. "Yes. Lightchaser agreed." The Keef Angel Fish wavered. "I don’t want to jinx you. It’s not that I don’t believe in you—fine, I don’t—but what if you fail? Wouldn’t Lightchaser be disappointed?" "Of course. She’ll be angry and disappointed. Probably punish me too. Completely unreasonable, right?" Outside the screen, Lightchaser answered the blood elf at the exact same moment. "Yes. I’ll be disappointed. And I’ll punish her." No hedging, no comfort. She knew what the blood elf wanted to hear, knew she still carried a wound from forty years ago. But Lightchaser couldn’t be bothered to soothe her, or lie to heal an old scar. "With her ability, she won’t lose this game. I can do it. So she must be able to as well. "But my apprentice would never turn her anger or resentment on me for my disappointment or punishment. "She doesn’t need embraces or comfort... well, maybe she wants them... But if she truly failed, costing me my Soulfire, even if I went mad and renounced her as my apprentice, she would never rage at me for it. "She remembers the effort and emotion I poured into her. She would not erase all that just because she didn’t get what she wanted. "Alzugua, I’ll tell you what she’d do. She’d search every possible way to restore my Soulfire. And when that day came, she would bring it to me in her hands and ask if I would still be her teacher. "She’d repair the consequences of her failure—even if those consequences weren’t hers alone, even if I shared the blame—instead of raging at my coldness or demanding forgiveness, demanding a second chance." The black cat dared not speak. It felt like it had just heard Alzugua’s heart bleeding. Lightchaser hadn’t spoken a single ill word of her. But every word for her apprentice struck home like a blade. Mistblade said nothing. Fat Goose, who had come for the same reason, voiced what Mistblade truly feared. "Punishment is one thing. But what if Lightchaser really disowns you in anger?" Rita looked up at the mosasaur in the sky, voice light. "If I fail too badly, make mistakes I should never make... it’s not impossible." "What would you do then?" "What else? I’d start by fixing her Soulfire. Then I’d ask if she’d still be my teacher. Might take years. But by then, she’ll have cooled down." The mosasaur began to descend the water spout toward the sea. Rita, about to swim for her life, gave her friends one last line. "Even if I fail, half the blame’s hers too. But she’s my teacher, isn’t she."