The hour felt both too long and not long enough.

  I stood near the edge of the arena floor, watching the organized chaos around me. Skeletons were everywhere. Groups clustered around those who seemed most experienced, like planets orbiting suns.

  Nobody approached me.

  "We should probably talk about the Patrons," the imp said, breaking the silence.

  "Yeah," I said. "That seems smart."

  "DO WE HAVE TO CHOOSE ONE?" the hare asked, still trembling at my feet. "CAN'T WE JUST... NOT CHOOSE?"

  "They said it was mandatory," I reminded it. "So no. We have to choose. Or be chosen, which sounds worse."

  The imp shifted on my shoulder. "Let me break down what each Patron represents, based on what I know."

  "Please."

  "Pyralis—the Ember Queen—is Patron of Ambition. That means she values aggression, confidence, showmanship. She wants people who aim high and take big risks."

  "So the exact opposite of me," I said.

  "Pretty much. Though she seemed interested in you specifically. Might be because you're famous. Or infamous."

  "Great."

  "Mortan—the Hollow Judge—is Patron of Endings. He values efficiency, finality, decisive action. He's not interested in flashy victories. He wants clean kills and permanent solutions."

  "Also not me."

  "Valorix—the Golden Bastion—is Patron of Honor. He wants warriors who follow codes, who fight fairly, who protect others. Classic knight archetype."

  "I don't think I fight fairly. You know. Pocket sand."

  "Lucida—the Fractured Truth—is Patron of Knowledge. She values intelligence, curiosity, problem-solving. She wants people who can think their way through challenges."

  "Okay, that one might actually work for me."

  "Maybe. If you can prove you're smart enough to be worth her time."

  "What about the plant lady?"

  "Verdanna—the Everbloom—is Patron of Growth. She values adaptability, resilience, the ability to learn and improve. She's less interested in what you are now and more interested in what you could become."

  "That actually sounds... nice?"

  "It is nice. But her trials are apparently brutal. She believes in growth through suffering."

  "Of course she does."

  "Umbros—the Veiled One—is Patron of Secrets. He values cunning, stealth, information gathering. If you like operating in shadows and manipulating situations from behind the scenes, he's your guy."

  "That's... actually kind of appealing."

  "Except nobody knows what serving him actually entails. He's the most mysterious of all the Patrons. Could be great. Could be horrifying."

  "And the bureaucrat?"

  "Clericus—the Administrator—is Patron of Order. He values structure, rules, consistency, efficient systems. If you like paperwork and following procedures, he's perfect."

  I stared at the imp. "Who would voluntarily choose that?"

  "You'd be surprised. Some people find comfort in structure. Plus, his followers get really good organizational benefits. Inventory management. Fast travel systems. That kind of thing."

  "So my options are: the show-off goddess who probably wants me to fail spectacularly, the death god who wants efficiency, the honor knight who'd hate my entire approach, the knowledge goddess who might tolerate me, the growth goddess who believes in torture as education, the mystery god who could be anything, or the spreadsheet enthusiast."

  "When you put it that way, it sounds bad."

  "It is bad!"

  A skeleton walked past us and gave me a look that clearly said you're going to die and I'm going to enjoy watching it.

  "WHAT IF WE JUST HIDE?" the hare suggested. "WHAT IF WE FIND A CORNER AND STAY THERE UNTIL EVERYONE FORGETS ABOUT US?"

  "That's not how trials work," the imp said.

  "IT SHOULD BE."

  I looked around the arena again. Weapons glinted everywhere. Armor. Spells crackling in skeletal hands. These people were ready.

  "I'm so screwed," I muttered.

  "HEY!"

  I turned. A skeleton was approaching—medium build, wearing leather armor that looked well-used but maintained. They had a short sword strapped to their hip and moved with the confidence of someone who knew how to use it.

  More importantly, they were smiling. Or at least, their skull was tilted in a way that suggested friendliness rather than murderous intent.

  "You're the Last One, right?" they asked.

  "Unfortunately," I said.

  They laughed. "I'm Marcus. Level 5. Been dead for about seven hundred years now. Died in the 1300s—plague, super fun—but I've been down here ever since."

  A name tag appeared above their head: MARCUSRELL, LEVEL 5.

  "Daniel," I said, pointing at my name tag. "Level 2. Been dead for about... a day? Two days? Maybe? Time is weird here."

  "A day," Marcus repeated, looking me up and down. They gestured to the arena. "So, what's your plan? You picking a Patron or just hoping for the best?"

  "Honestly? No idea. I'm completely out of my depth here."

  "Join the club. Most of us are." Marcus leaned in slightly. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you—you're at a massive disadvantage."

  "I can see that."

  Marcus scratched their skull. "Okay, real talk. If you want to survive these trials, you need to play to your strengths. What are your skills?"

  "Delayed Reaction and Pocket Sand."

  Marcus stared at me. "Pocket Sand."

  "It's surprisingly effective."

  "I'm sure it is." They didn't sound convinced. "What about your attributes? What are you specced into?"

  "High Cognition and Instinct. Everything else is pretty low. Except Presence, which is a one."

  "Presence of one," Marcus repeated slowly. "That's... actually kind of amazing. I didn't know it could go that low."

  "I'm special."

  "You're something." Marcus thought for a moment. "Okay, high Cognition and Instinct means you're good at thinking fast and reacting to danger. That's actually useful for survival. You're not going to win any straight fights, but you might be able to avoid them."

  "That's my entire strategy."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "It's not a bad strategy. Just... limited." Marcus glanced around, lowering their voice. "Look, most people here are aiming for Pyralis or Valorix. The flashy ones. The ones that promise glory and power."

  "And you?"

  "Verdanna. Growth through adversity is kind of my thing. Plus, she actually helps her followers improve rather than just using them as cannon fodder."

  "That's good to know."

  "If you want my advice?" Marcus said. "Aim for either Lucida or Umbros. Lucida if you can prove you're smart. Umbros if you can prove you're sneaky. Both of them value brains over brawn, which is where you're going to have to compete."

  "What about Verdanna?"

  "She might work too, if you can show adaptability. But her trials are rough. Like, really rough. She believes in breaking you down to build you back up stronger."

  "Fantastic."

  A horn sounded in the distance. A low, resonant note that made my bones vibrate.

  "That's the ten-minute warning," Marcus said. "Trials start soon. You should probably figure out your plan."

  "My plan is 'don't die immediately.'"

  "Solid start." Marcus extended their hand. "Good luck, Last One. Try not to get obliterated in the first round."

  I shook their hand. "Thanks. You too."

  Marcus walked away, joining a small group of skeletons near one of the pillars. They seemed to know each other—probably formed an alliance already.

  The imp shifted on my shoulder. "That was nice of them."

  "Yeah. Makes me more suspicious."

  "Not everyone down here is terrible."

  "Just most people."

  "Fair point."

  The horn sounded again. Closer this time. Louder.

  The arena floor began to shimmer. Reality itself seemed to ripple, like heat waves rising from hot pavement.

  And then the Patrons returned.

  Pyralis stepped forward, and the entire arena fell silent.

  "WELCOME BACK, DARLINGS!" Her voice echoed across the space, cheerful and terrifying in equal measure. "I hope you all used your preparation time wisely! Made friends! Formed strategies! Said your goodbyes!"

  She laughed, and the sound was like bells made of fire.

  "Because now," she continued, her smile widening, "it's time for the first trial!"

  The other Patrons stepped forward, forming a line across the platform.

  The arena floor rippled more violently. The stone beneath our feet began to crack, pieces of it falling away into darkness below.

  "The first trial," Pyralis announced, her voice rising, "is called THE SIEGE OF THE WALKING MOUNTAIN!"

  The floor shattered completely.

  I fell.

  Everyone fell.

  Thousands of skeletons dropping through darkness, screaming, flailing, plummeting toward—

  —solid ground.

  I hit hard. My bones rattled. My cracked rib screamed in protest. The imp tumbled off my shoulder. The hare shrieked and scrambled behind me.

  I lay there for a moment, stunned, staring up at a sky that was no longer gray.

  It was red. Blood red. With clouds that moved too fast and in the wrong directions.

  Pyralis's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere. "WELCOME TO THE SIEGE FIELD!"

  I sat up slowly. Around me, other skeletons were picking themselves up, looking around in confusion and dawning horror.

  We were on a plain. A massive, endless plain covered in red dirt and broken structures. In the distance—maybe a mile away, maybe ten, distance was hard to judge here—I could see ruins. Collapsed walls. Broken siege equipment. Massive skeletal remains half-buried in the ground.

  And beyond that, moving slowly but inexorably closer, was the mountain.

  Except it wasn't a mountain.

  It was something shaped like a mountain, but it walked. Massive legs—four of them, each one the size of a skyscraper—carried an enormous rocky body across the landscape. The ground trembled with each step. Even from this distance, I could see debris falling from its sides.

  A notification appeared in my vision.

  TRIAL I: THE SIEGE OF THE WALKING MOUNTAIN

  OBJECTIVE: Reach the Walking Mountain and destroy its heart.

  DURATION: Unlimited (Trial continues until objective is completed or all participants are eliminated)

  CURRENT PARTICIPANTS: 8,247

  SURVIVE. ADVANCE. CONQUER.

  Pyralis's voice continued, sounding delighted. "Your goal is simple, darlings! That mountain in the distance? It's walking. It won't stop. It won't slow down. And somewhere inside it is a heart—a core that keeps it moving. Destroy the heart, and the trial ends!"

  Mortan's voice cut in. "But first, you must reach it. And between you and the mountain lies the Outer Siege Field."

  Valorix: "The field is filled with obstacles. Ruins. Creatures. Defensive positions left behind by those who came before you."

  Lucida: "You may work together or alone. Form alliances or fight solo. The choice is yours."

  Verdanna: "But know this—the longer you take, the more difficult the journey becomes."

  Umbros: "The mountain has defenses. Guards. Protections. They will activate as you approach."

  Clericus: "Efficiency is recommended. Dawdling will result in increased difficulty and potential failure."

  Pyralis's cheerful voice returned. "We'll be watching! Evaluating! And remember—impress us, and we might just give you a gift to help you survive!"

  The voices faded.

  Around me, chaos erupted.

  Some skeletons immediately started running toward the mountain. Others formed defensive circles, weapons drawn. A few were already fighting each other—apparently deciding that eliminating competition was more important than reaching the objective.

  "Daniel," the imp said, climbing back onto my shoulder. "We need to move."

  "WHERE DO WE GO?" the hare wailed.

  I looked at the distant mountain. Then at the ruins between us and it. Then at the eight thousand skeletons spreading out across the field in every direction.

  "We go forward," I said. "Toward the ruins. We find cover.”

  I started Jogging.

  The imp clung to my shoulder. "This is going to be bad."

  "Probably."

  "We could die."

  "Definitely."

  "So why are you smiling?"

  I touched my face. I was smiling. My skeletal jaw was pulled back in something that might have looked like a grin.

  “I… don’t know.”

  The hare was running in circles around my feet. "THIS IS INSANE. YOU'RE INSANE. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE."

  "Maybe," I said. "But at least it'll be interesting."

  In the distance, the Walking Mountain took another step. The ground shook. Debris fell from its rocky sides like rain.

  And somewhere high above, watching from whatever divine vantage point they occupied, the Patrons were evaluating. Judging. Deciding who was worth their investment.

  I adjusted my pink sash, checked that my name tag was still pinned securely, and kept jogging.

  The Outer Siege Field awaited.

  And I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.

  The ruins appeared gradually as we walked.

  At first they were just shapes on the horizon. Broken silhouettes against the blood-red sky. But as we got closer, they resolved into actual structures. Or what was left of them.

  Collapsed walls. Shattered siege towers. Massive stone blocks that might have been fortifications once, now scattered across the field like a child's abandoned toys. And everywhere—everywhere—there were bones.

  Not small bones. Massive bones. Titan-sized skeletal remains half-buried in the red dirt, ribs the size of houses jutting up at odd angles. Some looked humanoid. Others were distinctly not.

  "What were those things?" I asked.

  “Maybe they've been here since the trial was created. Hard to say. Giants?"

  We reached the edge of what I was mentally calling the Outer Siege Field proper. The terrain changed here—less open plain, more cluttered battlefield. The ground was uneven, pocked with craters and trenches. Stone debris was everywhere, creating a maze of obstacles.

  And in the distance, maybe a quarter mile ahead, I could see the first major obstruction: a massive collapsed wall section, easily fifty feet high, stretching across the field like a artificial mountain range.

  Other skeletons were already approaching it from different angles. Some were climbing. Others were searching for gaps to pass through.

  "We need to find cover," I said. "Somewhere we can observe without being seen."

  "THERE." The hare pointed with one trembling paw.

  To our left, maybe fifty yards away, was the ribcage of something enormous. The ribs formed a natural shelter, tall enough to stand under, wide enough to hide several people.

  "Good eye," I said.

  "I'M GOOD AT FINDING HIDING SPOTS."

  We moved quickly, keeping low, using the scattered debris as cover. No one seemed to be paying attention to us.

  We reached the ribcage and ducked inside. The bones were ancient, worn smooth by time and whatever weather existed in this place. They provided excellent cover—I could see out between the ribs, but anyone looking our way would just see shadows.

  "Okay," I said, settling against one of the ribs. "Let's think about this."

  The imp hopped off my shoulder and perched on a smaller bone fragment. "What's to think about? We need to reach the mountain, get inside somehow, find the heart, and destroy it. Simple."

  "Nothing about that is simple."

  "I know. I was being sarcastic."

  I looked out at the field. At the thousands of skeletons spreading across it. At the Walking Mountain in the distance, still moving, still getting closer—or were we getting closer to it? Perspective was strange here.

  "This is a raid," I said quietly. "A massive, multi-stage raid encounter. The kind that's designed for large groups working together."

  "Except nobody's working together," the imp pointed out.

  "Exactly. Which means most people are going to fail. They're going to rush in, die to the defenses, get eliminated, and only a few will actually make it through."

  "And you want to be one of those few."

  "I want to survive," I corrected. "There's a difference. I don't need to be first. I just need to not die."

  The hare was curled up in the corner of our bone shelter, watching me with wide, anxious eyes. "HOW DO WE DO THAT?"

  "We observe," I said. "We let others make mistakes first. We learn from what they do wrong. And then we find the safest path forward."

  "That could take forever," the imp said.

  "Then it takes forever. The trial has no time limit, remember? It only ends when someone destroys the heart or everyone dies. We can afford to be patient."

  VIEWERS: 878,128,279 → 227

  PARTICIPANTS: 8,247 → 8,193

  "Fifty-four people just died," I said quietly.

  In the distance, near the collapsed wall, I saw flashes of light. Combat. Humans fighting each other, or fighting something else. It was hard to tell from here.

  "The field has defenses," I said, remembering what the Patrons had said. "Active defenses, probably. Things that attack anyone who gets too close."

  "So rushing forward is suicide."

  "For most people, yes."

  I watched the distant combat. Watched how people moved. Watched where they fell. Watched where they succeeded.

  There was a pattern. It was subtle, but it was there. People who moved too directly, who charged straight ahead, died quickly. People who used cover, who moved from obstacle to obstacle, lasted longer.

  "The field punishes aggression," I said. "It rewards caution."

  "Which plays to your strengths."

  "Exactly."

  Another notification: PARTICIPANTS: 8,193 → 8,089

  Over a hundred dead in just a few minutes.

  "This is going to be a massacre," the imp said.

  "Yeah." I settled more comfortably against the rib. "So we wait. We watch. We learn."

  "And then?"

  "And then we move when everyone else has exhausted themselves clearing the way."

  The hare looked at me. "THAT'S REALLY SNEAKY."

  "Thank you."

  "I MEANT IT AS A COMPLIMENT."

  "I know?"

  We settled in to wait. Around us, the Siege Field descended into chaos. And somewhere above, the Patrons were watching, judging, deciding who deserved their attention.

  I just hoped that being smart enough to not rush to my death would count as impressive.

  Somehow, I doubted it.