Finn appeared in a massive private training room.
The space was easily fifty meters across with weapon racks lining every wall. Swords, axes, spears, bows, all of them high-quality and expensive. Training dummies stood in rows. A full gym occupied one corner with equipment that cost more than most people's cars. The floor was polished hardwood that probably cost a fortune to maintain.
His father Marcus Hale stood in the center of the room waiting. He was a famous S-rank Challenger, one of the strongest in Ireland. Tall and broad-shouldered with grey starting to show in his dark hair. He wore expensive casual clothes that probably cost more than James's rent.
Marcus walked forward and clapped Finn on the shoulder hard. His grip was firm and his smile was proud.
"I knew you'd make it," Marcus said. "Never doubted it for a second. I expected nothing less from Hale."
Finn's face stayed completely blank.
He shrugged his father's hand off his shoulder without saying a word. He walked past Marcus toward the door leading to the main house. His father called after him but Finn didn't respond. He just kept walking, his blood-soaked clothes leaving faint marks on the expensive floor.
He walked through hallways lined with paintings and expensive furniture until he reached his bedroom. The room was bigger than James's entire flat. King-sized bed, private bathroom, walk-in closet, gaming setup, everything a wealthy teenager could want.
Finn closed and locked the door behind him. He walked to his bed and lay down on top of the covers without bothering to change out of his bloody clothes. His head turned to the side and he stared at the photo on his nightstand.
His mother smiled back at him from the frame. She'd been dead for six years. Cancer took her when Finn was twelve.
Finn whispered to the photo.
"If only you were here."
His father had money and fame and power and everything except the one person who'd actually understood Finn. She would have held him and let him cry and not said anything about being proud or living up to the family name.
But she was gone and his father didn't know how to be anything except a famous Challenger.
Finn closed his eyes and lay there in silence.
Ciara materialized in a small dormitory room.
Bunk beds lined the walls with thin mattresses and cheap blankets. Plain white walls with nothing decorating them. A single window looked out over a courtyard. Cheap furniture that had been donated years ago and never replaced.
Saint Mary's Orphanage in Steelhaven, Aurelia. The place she'd lived since she was eight years old.
She was alone in the room. No one was waiting for her because no one knew exactly when she'd return. The other girls in her dorm were probably at dinner or in the common room.
Ciara dropped her skill book on the bottom bunk and sat down beside it. Her hands were still shaking and wouldn't stop no matter how hard she tried to control them. She stared at the opposite wall for a long time without seeing it.
Outside the window she could hear other kids playing in the courtyard. Their laughter drifted up through the glass. Normal kids doing normal things because they'd turned eighteen and chosen Civilian. They got to keep living their normal lives.
Nobody knew she'd just survived the Tutorial. Nobody knew Liam died. The nuns would ask her about it eventually but right now she was just alone in a dormitory room with shaking hands and a skill book.
Ciara lay down on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and closed her eyes. The sounds from outside continued but they felt distant, like they were happening in a different world.
She'd survived but she didn't feel like celebrating.
Aiden appeared in a luxury mansion bedroom in Meridian.
The space was enormous with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the harbor. King-sized bed with silk sheets. Expensive furniture everywhere. His closet was bigger than most people's bedrooms and filled with designer clothes. Gaming setup with three monitors. Private bathroom with a marble shower.
His mother was there immediately.
She screamed his name and rushed forward. Katherine Chen was a beautiful woman in her forties who'd married into extreme wealth when Aiden's father founded a successful tech company. She wore yoga clothes that probably cost thousands of dollars.
She jumped on Aiden and hugged him so tight he could barely breathe. Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed. She was crying and laughing at the same time while saying thank God her baby came home safe.
The room smelled like her expensive perfume. Everything was soft and comfortable and safe.
His mother wouldn't let go of him. She kept squeezing and crying and talking. She said she knew he'd make it because he was brilliant and strong and her special boy. She said she never doubted him for a second even though she'd been terrified. She said she'd been praying nonstop for three days straight.
Aiden didn't say anything.
He just stood there and let her hold him while he stared over her shoulder at nothing. His eyes were empty and his face was blank. He could still see Liam's body in his mind. Could still hear the wet sounds of clubs hitting flesh and bone breaking.
His mother pulled back and grabbed his face with both hands. She smiled through her tears and told him how proud she was. How brave he'd been. How everything would be fine now.
Aiden nodded mechanically because that was what she wanted to see.
But he didn't feel fine. He felt hollow and distant, like he was watching everything happen to someone else while he floated somewhere far away.
In a middle-class home in Stoneford, Éirwald, Liam's mother sat on the couch crying.
Three days had passed since her son entered the Tutorial. She'd been praying nonstop, barely eating, waiting for him to come back. Her rosary beads were worn smooth from constant use. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
The father paced the room trying to stay calm. Patrick Murphy was a construction foreman, a practical man who believed in hard work and planning for the future. He'd pushed Liam to choose Challenger because he wanted his son to have opportunities he never had.
His wife looked up at him with red eyes.
"This is your fault," she said. Her voice was raw from crying.
Patrick stopped pacing.
"You're the one who pushed him," she continued. "I begged you both. I got on my knees and begged him not to go but you kept talking about his future and making something of himself. Now he might be dead."
"He's not dead," Patrick said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"Eighty percent don't come back," she said. "Eighty percent die in that place and you knew that. You knew and you pushed him anyway."
Patrick opened his mouth to respond when white light flashed in the middle of the room.
The light was so bright he had to shield his eyes. When it faded, Liam's corpse lay on the living room floor.
Broken. Bloody. Dead.
His skull was caved in on one side. His chest was torn open with ribs visible through the wound. A wooden spear jutted from his torso. His eyes were still open and staring at nothing.
The mother's scream tore through the house.
She collapsed off the couch and crawled to the body. Her hands touched his ruined face while she sobbed his name over and over. She tried to close his eyes but they wouldn't stay shut. She pulled his head into her lap and rocked back and forth while blood soaked into her clothes.
Patrick stood frozen. He stared in horror at what was left of his son. His boy who'd been alive and healthy three days ago was now a broken corpse on their living room floor.
His wife turned on him while still holding Liam's body.
"You killed him," she screamed. "I was right and you killed our boy. Your greed killed our son."
Patrick couldn't speak. His mouth opened but no words came out. He just stared at his dead child while his wife's screams echoed through the house.
The neighbors would hear and call someone. The authorities would come to collect the body. There would be paperwork and a funeral and eventually the screaming would stop.
But Patrick would never forget this moment. Standing in his living room while his wife held their dead son's corpse and told him it was his fault.
Because she was right.
He'd pushed Liam to choose Challenger despite his wife's protests. He'd talked about opportunities and futures and making something of yourself. He'd believed that his son would be part of the twenty percent who survived.
But Liam was part of the eighty percent instead.
Patrick sank to his knees on the floor. He couldn't take his eyes off his son's ruined body. Couldn't process that this was real and permanent and his fault.
His wife's screaming continued but it sounded distant now, like it was coming from underwater.
This was his son. His boy. Bleeding onto their carpet while his wife blamed him for everything.
And he had no defense because she was absolutely right.