Lupa

Scorching. That was Lupa's earliest memory of the small village where she was born.

Summers stretched on endlessly, the heat so intense that even the lake seemed to boil. But the children of Septimont hardly cared. Far away, in the city atop Capitoline Hill, the Great Agon was about to begin. The village had rarely produced a Gladiator skilled enough to enter the match, but the excitement still pulsed through the air. Even the children couldn't resist picking up weapons and staging their mock battles in celebration.

Lupa was called home halfway through one of those kids' Agons.

Stepping through the door, she was greeted by the same old conversation. Her parents asked if she would be willing to move to Capitoline Hill. She said yes. They asked if she would be willing to become a Gladiator since she showed signs of being a Resonator. And again, she said yes. These questions had been repeated many times, and her answers stayed the same. Yet each time, her parents seemed relieved, as if they feared she might someday refuse, even though she never had.

Then the usual arguments began. Should they try to mend ties with the House of Silva, who had once turned their backs on them in their darkest hour? Or should they start over somewhere new? Whenever they spoke of that glittering city on the hill, and the House they once served, their voices would take on a tone—one caught between yearning for acceptance and fearing for rejection, just like when they spoke to Lupa about her future.

Lupa sat for a while, listening. When it became clear her parents had drifted into their own quarrels again, forgetting she was even there, she quietly got up, stepped outside, and made her way back to her arena. The stifling heat inside her body seemed to cling, heavy and wet, growing larger as it loomed over her. It burned in her veins, a restless, humid anger that only grew hotter. It drove her forward, made her run faster, strike harder, and lunge at her opponent with everything she had.

And it was then that she heard the gasps from the crowd.

Lupa looked down and saw flames spilling from her limbs, fierce and untamed, curling to engulf her whole.

Later, Lupa followed her parents to the City of Septimont.

White stone walls, the crisp chime of windbells, and sculptures of heroes at every turn—the city was a dazzling spectacle. But what captivated Lupa most was the most common sight in the city, the Gladiators. Their weapons, their Echoes, the way their eyes lit up as they talked about the teams and scores... They all sent a spark through her veins. That little flame in her heart roared to life, urging her to dash straight to Colosseum Olymdos and throw herself into the thrill of battle.

But that didn't happen. Instead, her parents led her to the Silva estate, where many other young hopefuls like her stood waiting.

Match after grueling match, Lupa fought. Until at last, teeth gritted and spear clutched tight, she stepped over her fallen rivals into the Silva's grand hall.

That was when Domina Julia singled her out from the crowd.

Lupa stepped forward and found herself pinned by the Domina's sharp gaze. Those clear green eyes were like deep, fathomless wells, weighing her worth as a potential asset. Instinct made her glance back, but her parents were already gone, their figures swallowed by the shadows.

They had likely received a reward generous enough to drown any guilt over abandoning their own child.

However, Lupa didn't linger in sorrow. The packed schedules and the endless social obligations allowed no room for grief. Soon enough, Domina Julia thrust her debut match into the spotlight. And her voice, whatever it might have been, was lost beneath the thunder of the roaring crowd, swallowed by silence.

By the time Lupa returned to the training room, the teammate she had partnered with for the past few months was already gone.

She stood there for a moment, dazed, before moving forward through the unlit room. Her Forte had gifted her with many things: fire, a sharpened sense of smell, and the ability to see in the dark. Without hesitation, Lupa made her way to a chair and sat down, settling quietly into the darkness.

"Well," she thought, "the Domina or manager will send someone new soon."

This farce was finally over.

They had found the mole, the one leaking the team secrets, the source of the rumors. Julia wasn't one for mercy. Therefore, that former teammate who sold them out would likely be barred from setting foot on any arena of Capitoline Hill for a very long time.

Over the years, as Lupa's fame grew, her teammates had come and gone. Some couldn't keep up with the way she fought. Others were dismissed simply because Julia didn't like them. A few, like her former teammate, had come with ill intent from the very start. And then there were those who... simply couldn't stand how the crowd's cheers always found her, leaving them forgotten in her shadow.

Lupa had tried to say something about it, but she quickly learned that even the act of "trying to say something" could cut like blades.

Maybe it was because she had never truly been in their shoes. After all, she had never tasted failure. Or maybe it was that unspoken "You'll never know what it feels like," and the fact that, when the dust settled, she was always the one who came out ahead.

Eventually, Lupa learned to stay silent.

After sitting there a while longer, she got up and walked over to the cabinet where the match recordings were kept. From the shelves, she pulled out one particular recording she had watched many times before. Perhaps it was a kind of self-consolation, clinging to the idea that even those without talent could still find joy in the arena, even though the Gladiator in that recording didn't last long and disappeared from the arena all too suddenly.

The light from Breen the Screen cast flickering shadows across Lupa's face, leaving deep, hollowed patches of darkness behind.

The Nameless staggered forward, passing a silent Giant of Glory.

Her legs were leaden, her memories fraying at the edges. Even piecing together a complete thought was becoming a struggle. Sometimes, when Cartethyia spoke to her, she had to pause for a long while before she could muster a reply.

This brief journey was likely nearing its end.

Septimont, her city, the city of splendor, now drenched in the Dark Tide… The Nameless no longer knew if it could still be saved. Maybe the investigation they were clinging to was already doomed to fail. Cartethyia didn't think so, but the Nameless could no longer hold on. That nauseating sensation of the cold sea creeping up from within her was growing through her bones and blood, slowly turning her into something else.

The good news was that she could feel her existence weakening. Perhaps she could simply fade away before she was completely possessed by the Dark Tide. At least then she'd spare Cartethyia that final burden.

When working alongside others, the Nameless was rarely the one being looked after. Now, this helplessness gnawed at her for the first time. Cartethyia had to slow down because of her. Shame burned inside the Nameless, but there was nothing she could do except hope—yes, hope that the Righteous One Cartethyia had trusted would arrive soon.

"Wish I could still be of use to my new friend here."

Gritting her teeth, she braced herself against her weapon and forced another step forward.

"Wish I could still do more..."

The Nameless lifted her head. Above her, a hero who had once claimed glory in the history of Septimont stood tall, spear in hand, gazing down. The stone-carved face seemed to hold a silent compassion, shielding her from the dark rain falling from the sky, offering a wordless shelter to those who came after.

After the "story" ended, Lupa kept her promise. She whisked {PlayerName} and Cartethyia on a carefree whirlwind tour through Septimont.

Only the three of them would ever know the truth, but it truly was a winding, thrilling journey worthy of being told in an epic poem.

But as everything was settled and the tension finally eased, a faint, nagging worry began to stir again in Lupa's heart, a worry for {PlayerName}, her best teammate ever.

She had seen {PlayerName}'s strength firsthand. Saving Septimont would have been impossible without {PlayerName}'s help. But it was precisely because {PlayerName} had once again won so naturally that Lupa felt a new kind of unease. She was no stranger to victory, and she knew better than most the double-edged nature of constant triumph. After the winning streak, a true defeat—not just a minor stumble, but a real fall—could sometimes destroy a person.

True, {PlayerName} was formidable. Lupa couldn't imagine what kind of fate could bring {Male=him;Female=her} down. But if that day ever came...

Yet she had no words for that. All she could do was silently talk herself into believing that she would always be there, ready to offer help. Somehow, Lupa could feel that {PlayerName} was destined for something greater, something too vast to reach or change for her. Yes, some things were big, and others were little. Saving a city was a great thing. Winning a match, a small one...

...Or maybe not.

She never told {PlayerName}, but while saving the city had been a grand achievement, the short journey they had walked together had gifted her just as much. Even though for {PlayerName}, it had likely been no more than another easy victory, for Lupa, it meant a lot. When they won the semi-finals and leaned against each other for a brief moment in the waiting room, she was filled with a happiness she had never known before. It was exactly because {PlayerName} treated it as another effortless routine that hardly warranted a second thought, Lupa was able to savor that pure, unclouded joy of competition once again.

In that moment, the wild, restless flame that had always howled within her finally, at long last, fell silent.