Ronan knew before he said it out loud.
"He's dead."
The woman beside him did not stop walking.
Her grip remained firm around the length of wood she carried — a stripped branch nearly the size of her forearm, smoothed from earlier use.
"You don't know that," she replied evenly.
"I do."
The forest ahead was uneven, roots rising like vertebrae beneath soil. Mist lay low, refusing to lift. Ronan felt the absence more than anything — a gap in rhythm that had once existed between the three of them.
When they first entered this place, fear had synchronized them. Movements had aligned unconsciously. Breath had paced together. Interests had moulded at same pace.
Now it felt incomplete.
"He went east," the woman said.
"He panicked."
" No...he separated."
"He's dead."
She stopped then and turned, eyes hard.
"Say that again."
Ronan met her stare with his just as hard. "If he were alive, we'd feel it."
Her jaw tightened, but she didn't argue further. Because she felt it too. Something severed.
They resumed moving.
***
The forest carried strange acoustics — sounds traveled oddly, sometimes closer than they were. Ronan scanned constantly. The ground here looked denser than where they had fought before. More vine growth. More layered underbrush.
A rustle.
Both froze.
It came again — low, dragging.
Then it emerged.
Smaller than the first creature they had faced days ago. Quadrupedal. Its hide bark-like, layered plates overlapping along its spine. Teeth irregular but numerous. Eyes too small for its skull.
Ronan stepped slightly aside.
The woman stepped forward.
"Don't waste energy," he said.
She nodded once.
The predator lunged.
She did not retreat.
Instead, her grip tightened around the wooden branch. For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the air around the wood distorted — subtle, like heat shimmer on pavement. The surface of the log shifted. Fibers compressed. Grain tightened unnaturally.
The branch sharpened.
Not fully metal. Not polished. But the edge narrowed to a cutting line impossible for untreated wood.
The predator reached her.
She stepped left.
One motion.
Clean.
The sharpened wood passed through the creature's neck with shocking ease.
Resistance lasted barely a heartbeat before the cut completed.
The predator collapsed in two uneven halves.
Ronan did not look impressed. He looked analytical.
"How much did that take?" he asked.
She flexed her fingers. "Manageable."
"Don't overuse it."
"I won't."
The wood dulled slightly, but not entirely.
They stood over the body. Beneath the creature's sternum, a faint glow pulsed — not human.
"Not what we need," Ronan muttered.
She crouched briefly but didn't touch it. "He didn't die to this."
"No."
They both understood.
If their missing third had fallen, it hadn't been to something small.
The woman stood again, adjusting her grip.
"We find whoever did it."
Ronan nodded once.
In this forest, killing was not moral debate. It was arithmetic.
They moved deeper.
***
Pluto felt the owl before he saw it.
Not through sound.
Through stillness.
Through mist that danced unnaturally.
The forest quieted unnaturally as he and Mira walked, battle seed secured inside his jacket.
The air felt layered, waiting.
"You think it's watching?" Mira asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Good."
He glanced at her.
"If we're giving it that," she said, pointing at his breast pocket where the seed rested beneath fabric, "it better talk."
A wingbeat.
Not loud.
Close.
The owl descended without urgency, landing on a low branch just ahead of them.
"You return with payment," it said smoothly.
Pluto did not waste time. He removed the seed and held it up.
The owl's pupils widened almost imperceptibly.
"May I?" it asked.
Mira's voice was sharp. "You're going to take it either way."
The owl tilted its head. "Participation implies consent."
Pluto stepped forward and placed the seed at the base of the tree.
The owl dropped from its perch in one fluid motion.
Its talons closed around the battle seed. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then it swallowed.
Not delicately.
Not like food.
Like compression.
The seed disappeared down its throat.
The air shifted.
The owl's body tremored once — feathers expanding outward before settling again. Its frame seemed… broader. Not dramatically. But undeniably larger. Wings slightly wider. Neck slightly longer. Eyes brighter.
Mira stepped back instinctively.
The owl exhaled slowly.
"Rich," it murmured.
"You said answers," Pluto said.
"Yes."
"What is the point of this?"
The owl hopped once onto a lower root, placing itself closer to eye level. "Half."
"Half what?" Mira asked.
"Half of you must die."
Silence.
"Before what?" Pluto pressed.
"Before transition."
"What transition?"
The owl's gaze flickered upward briefly. "When the count reaches equilibrium — when half of all marked have fallen — the region changes."
"Changes how?"
"Completely."
Mira's breathing grew shallower. "So until then?"
"You remain here."
"And after?"
"You compete again."
"For what?"
The owl smiled faintly. "Continuation."
Pluto's jaw tightened. "You said killing gives growth."
"It does."
"How?"
The owl studied him carefully now. "When one marked kills another, the winner's potential condenses further. Stronger marks. Deeper alignment."
"Alignment with what?"
The owl's eyes gleamed. "Your design."
Mira's voice cut through. "So we're meant to slaughter each other."
"Meant?" The owl chuckled softly. "No one forces your hand. But the forest responds to action."
Pluto understood immediately.
The plant that had killed the man.
It had intervened.
"Power increases faster with human death," the owl continued. "Beasts provide minimal growth. Marked provide exponential growth."
Mira went still.
Murder wasn't chaos.
It was incentive.
"So if we don't kill?" she asked.
"You progress slowly."
"If we do?"
"You progress efficiently."
The simplicity was nauseating. And justifying.
Pluto's thoughts aligned rapidly. Half must die. When the global count reaches half, region shift. That meant this was not isolated.
This was widespread.
"Random selection," he murmured.
"Yes," said the owl. "Across nations. Across cultures. Equal opportunity."
Mira swallowed hard. "How many were marked?"
The owl blinked slowly. "Enough."
Pluto stepped closer. "And you?"
"I am native."
"To this region?"
"Yes."
"So you benefit from us killing each other."
The owl's feathers lifted slightly. "Knowledge is nourishment."
Mira's gaze hardened. "You're growing."
"Yes." It didn't deny.
"With every seed?"
"Yes."
Pluto filed that carefully.
The owl leaned in slightly. "Now you understand. Survival is not passive. It is active arithmetic."
Half must die.
And killing accelerates growth.
Pluto felt the eel shift faintly beneath his skin, reacting to the information more than the violence. It did not surge. It did not flare. But it tightened, attentive.
Mira looked at him.
In her eyes was the realization both of them were arriving at:
If everyone else understood this…
They would not hesitate.
"We leave," Pluto said.
The owl did not stop them.
As they turned, it spoke once more.
"When the count drops, the sky will change."
They did not ask how it knew.
They walked in silence.
After several meters, Mira finally spoke.
"Half."
"Yes."
"And killing makes you stronger."
"Yes."
She looked back the way they had come.
"Then not killing… isn't mercy."
"No."
"It's disadvantage."
"Yes."
The word felt heavier than the seed had.
Mira exhaled slowly. "So what do we do?"
Pluto didn't answer immediately. The forest stretched before them, filled with unseen heat signatures and quiet movement.
"We choose carefully," he said at last.
"Who?"
He glanced at his arm briefly.
The eel remained dark and glossy.
Waiting.
"The ones who would kill us anyway."
Behind them, high above, the owl watched their retreating figures, feathers broader than before, eyes brighter, calculating.
The game was accelerating.
And the count was already falling.