18 - Playing

Gaming Center, Second Floor

After having lost to him-whom-she-shall-not-name-until-the-team-gathering-is-over the previous day, Sara wasn't able to accomplish much in the game, for many different reasons.

Although she wanted to explore the new area, she ended up spending most of the time player-killing angry classmates who blamed her for having lost their bets, and random players who happened to cross the blooded path of her sword.

Well, it was a fun way to spend the time, so she didn't mind it.

However, reentering the team means treating the game more as a pro would, at least during club hours.

'Connect.'

On screen, Sara's character opens their eyes to reveal a large public square under an unrelenting yet light snowfall. NPCs populate the immediate surroundings, announcing quests, consumables, weapons, and armor skins…

Loud. Why does she never remember to log out around quieter places?

Despite cringing over their loud screams, Sara ignores her surroundings as she opens her twinkling friend's list, quickly glancing over the myriad of names in search of…

DarkEnding.

Last message received, dating thirty seconds ago, is a simple set of coordinates. Of course. As expected of Avril, a woman of few words and even fewer fucks given.

Assuming the obvious, Sara heads SlashingWind toward a nearby teleportation gateway, intent on teleporting as close to her destination as possible.

It's a shame she doesn't have the time to check what new weapon skins they've come up with for the new expansion, but she'll have to contend with having checked the armors, pets, and mounts the previous day.

She didn't see it. Doesn't know about it. A certain greyed-out name on her friend's list most certainly didn't jump to her attention. But… Why is the thing she most certainly didn't see still there? No… He probably hasn't logged into the game yet. Which means… Will he block her as soon as the first opportunity arrives?

As she bites her lower lip, Sara's screen changes from a first-person perspective to a third-person, showcasing SlashingWind being enclosed by a circle of light, then gradually approaches again as the character appears somewhere else, a destroyed ruin of a tall, dark temple in the middle of a frozen forest, and one of the few spawn points Sara was able to secure during the previous day.

Several players populate the immediate surroundings of the teleport's safe area, but Sara pays them no mind as she calls for her mount, then jumps SlashingWind on top of its back after barely a step taken into the PVP zone, allowing nearly no time for spawn campers to ruin her day.

Not that they would've stopped her for more than a minute or two, but still, somehow, she doubts Avril would accept player killing as an excuse for being late.

A winter sky extending far into the horizon… If only the knowledge of what awaits her at the end wasn't a major mood killer, Sara might've even felt glad to be back.

Instead, she sighs as she pulls the in-game world map, then selects Frozen Veritas at its top right corner, revealing a mostly grayed-out expanse of frozen land currently being braved by a single minuscule, moving point in the form of a dark drake.

Now, if she isn't mistaken…

Sara closes the map, turns her camera toward the ground passing by, and commands her character to jump.

The wind hisses loud against her ears, red flashes, but Sara doesn't even blink, a precise roll allowing SlashingWind to reach the ground smoothly as it causes a couple of branches to fall behind it.

Silence follows.

The forest is dark, darker than Sara expected it to be in the middle of the afternoon (game time). Tall, large trees surround her character, thin beams of light reaching the ground among what falling snow manages to pass through, creating a rather somber, yet beautiful scene.

Cool.

Childishly, Sara slashes her sword through a stream of light. Then, again, this time aiming for a snowflake.

She smiles.

Hey, what Avril doesn't see can't hurt her black little heart, now can it?

Sara might have wasted more of her precious time if not for the image of what Avril might do if she did catch her flashing through her mind. A very vivid image. As it is, she simply swallows as she commands SlashingWind to sheath its sword and run the final meters toward Avril's coordinates.

It doesn't take long before Sara notices a visible change in the forest ahead in the form of a dense gray misty sprouting seemingly from nowhere, slithering over snowy ground and tree trunks as it grasps for their distant tops, never to reach its goal.

As Sara nears her character from the mist, it gradually comes to a halt, reaching a hand toward it.

Enter Instance PVP Map, Restless Underground City of Hydlina?

Time before closure: 00:40:39

Sara frowns. An Instance Dungeon? Has she misread Avril's coordinates somehow? After entering, she won't be allowed to exit without dying or killing the final boss, which means going in might be a big mistake.

"Shani?" Sara whispers, leaning back against her chair in order to take a pick at the girl sitting next to her. "City of Hydlina? Is that where I am supposed to be?"

Shani, without removing her eyes from her screen, simply snorts. "I'd hurry, love."

"Thank you."

Feeling stupider than she'd like to admit, Sara confirms the prompt and watches as her character takes a single step forward, quickly being consumed by mist only to reappear a second later, surrounded by a very similar forest.

Nothing except for a decreasing timer at the top of Sara's screen seems to have changed, though the mist gradually disappears until nothing of it is left.

Now, where to?

Sara presumes she should head toward the boss, but since she has never done this instance before…

Suddenly, Sara whips her wrist and turns SlashingWind mid-attack animation, matching her screen's brief glow of red as she positions her pointer and slashes against the white shadow about to pounce her character.

And as the wolf's head falls to one side, but its body, to the other, a single, near silent growl cuts the air, followed by another, and then many others still.

Sara's neck prickles, though she smiles as she spots the glow of red eyes quickly closing the distance.

Sara dashes, then rolls, bypassing the pack of wolves through its middle as she commands SlashingWind to turn and slash at the nearest white body before it can properly register what happened.

Having killed their moment, and lowered their numbers by two, Sara quickly counts the remaining wolves to seven as they attempt to turn and chase, only to realize she is the one chasing now.

The first wolf is still half-turned as her sword reaches it, beheading the creature cleanly. The second, attempts to jump away only to have its front left paw cut off, fall over the ground, and die to a second hit.

Window closed. Don't be greedy. Reposition.

Sara rolls back, dodging another pounce and having the creature land in the path of her rising blood-coated sword, before dashing and distancing herself from the remaining wolves even more by running away.

They'll come at you. They always do, no need for rushing.

As she keeps track of the wolves' rushed steps growing closer, Sara slows her character purposefully by clicking forward in brief intervals, rather than remaining with her finger pressed down, and counts the seconds unhurriedly…

Until SlashingWind abruptly turns on its tracks and slashes down, giving the frontmost creature no time to stop its advance before imminent death, then rolls sideways, only to dash toward another wolf just as it lands out of a pounce, killing it on the spot.

Realizing by the brief silence that follows the wolves have stopped their mad chase, Sara turns her character and stares at the remaining duo of growling wolves, their evident hesitation before her sword denoting the AI's ability to adapt mid-fight, however mildly.

Some of the white bodies littering her screen, and the ground, have already begun to disappear while consumed by mist, dissolving gradually into the air and leaving nothing behind except for stains of dark red upon white snow.

Had she attempted to block, or not acted as decisively, SlashingWind might have been the one the face such a fate.

Strategy. Spacing. Timing. Cooldowns. Aim… An enemy such as this should never be allowed to touch her shadow, no matter how many of them there are. Consistent performance is what differentiates a pro from a normal player, and she can't afford to remain rusty.

Sara steps forward toward the wolves, ready to finish the job, when a low hissing sound suddenly cuts through the air, hitting one of the wolves on the back of its head and through one of its eyes.

The second wolf manages a single surprised yelp, and step, before sharing the same fate.

Briefly stunned, Sara stares fixedly at the stuck arrows, wondering how Uren has managed to uselessly come to her rescue…

Friend DivineArrow has invited you to a private call. Accept?

Blinking away her stupidity, Sara manages to stop herself from glancing at the boy sitting directly across her seat, mostly because she'd have to stand up in order to do so. Instead, she sighs as she confirms the game's prompt.

'Hi, Zach. Long time no see, I suppose?'

The male figure which appears from among the trees, walking casually as he inspects the disappearing bodies on the ground, has proportions and wears clothes which are very similar to Sara's own character; slim body, a black cape covering most of their figure, and light black armor underneath it. But while Sara's character carries a single long sword on its back, a long bow rests at the man's hand, a quiver at his back, and a dagger at his side.

'I pondered deeply on how I should handle a future meeting between us, betrayer,' Zack's slightly high-pitched, heavily accented voice plays over Sara's own thoughts, matching the gaze of his character as it turns itself to face her. 'And here you are, still wearing our colors, as if in mockery. Have you no shame?! No honor?!'

Sara ends up moving her camera to glance at her character's armor, in spite of knowing better than to take what he says literally. In truth, she simply couldn't bring herself to change her character's skin after having left the team, and after today, hopefully she won't have to.

'No matter. I expected no less from you, betrayer. I simply hoped you would've had the decency to not lose to a nobody while wearing our uniform.'

Sara cringes.

'And now, after having dragged our team's good name through the mud, you dare crawl back to us like the shameless scu-'

'Zach, drop it for a minute, would you?' a second voice, much deeper, abruptly cuts in, 'I bet she's having a rough time of it already.'

And sure enough, from the same direction DivineArrow walked from, a knight in full black armor gradually emerges, slowly walking up to their "standoff".

'I only speak the truth, my friend. And if the truth is too much for her ears to bear, she has only herself to blame.'

'It's okay, Charles,' Sara sends through, emoting a greeting toward her second ex-teammate as he approaches her character. 'I left you guys hanging, and he has a right to be angry.'

She should have known they wouldn't be far away from one another.

'He's not angry. He's being overly dramatic, as always.'

'Hey! I'm not overly anything! How is she supposed to learn from her mistakes if she's allowed to simply walk free from their consequences?!'

'I doubt your nagging is the difference maker here, Zach.'

'My… My what?!'

'Hi, Sara. I'm glad to see you again.'

Sara smiles toward the large character, PeaceSeeker, looming over her own. 'Thank you. And I'm glad to see you two haven't changed these past months... But where is everybody else?'

'We were guarding the entrance, so Avril sent us to fetch you. Lots of players around these parts, even at early hours. I believe she didn't wish to waste more time than necessary on this by having you engage them constantly.'

'Don't ignore me you fuckers!'

Sara scoffs. 'How considerate of her. In that case, I suppose we should hurry. Gods know what would happen if we keep her waiting.'

Charles emotes a thumbs up. 'I'll show the way. Watch for the wolves.'

***

Musical Art's Class, Violin Section

Beatrice takes a deep breath. She holds her violin tightly, more than necessary, and stares at her lap as though it could give her some sort of escape from this hell.

'Dangerous levels of user distress detected. Warning, no immediate emergency contact selected.'

Her classmates' murmurs wash over her. Mrs. Bennett's words enter in one ear and out the other… Even though she knows she needs to pay attention, maybe more than anybody else.

Her headache isn't going away. Her sister's words haven't stopped their endless repetition since morning, bouncing against her skull louder and louder until they consumed any other thought or emotion she might've managed.

The only excuse here is you, Beatrice. An excuse of a daughter, an excuse of a musician.

The fact we share the same blood makes me sick.

Father is taking your name out. He doesn't want you embarrassing the family anymore.

'Dangerous levels of user distress detected. Warning, no immediate emergency contact selected.'

"Shut up," Beatrice murmurs, tightening her grip until her joints grow white, clenching her teeth until she fears she might hurt herself. "I don't need anyone. You can all go to hell."

"Okay, everybody! Ready for another try?! I want to hear enthusiasm in your play! Make me feel it!"

Beatrice widens her gaze, realizing she's close to hyperventilating. She's not ready. She can't do this. And she has nowhere to run.

"Five! Four! Three!"

Beatrice raises her gaze at last, grabbing her bow and placing it in place with practiced ease. Her back stands straight, and a glance at her classmates reveals a silent room full of chins raised high, ready to perform.

But her hands shake. And her vision swims as her heart beats loudly against her ears.

"Two…!"

At the classroom's front, Mrs. Bennett raises her hand, smiling as she murmurs a silent one before lowering it.

On cue, the partiture begins to move as it hovers in the air above her, procedurally generated by an AI better at creating music than most students in the room.

Beatrice forces herself to empty her mind as she follows the notes being shown at a fast speed, but mere seconds of playing are enough to make it clear she's out of tune and out of sync, like a penguin screaming among singing nightingales.

Beatrice wishes she could close her eyes and escape the nightmarish reality unfolding before her.

Yet, as the minutes drag on, she tries her hardest. Playing faster. Playing slower. Always a beat behind… Until, without warning, the hovering notes abruptly stop their dance.

"O-okay, everybody, well done! We'll take a five minutes break, make sure to use the restroom if you need it!"

Beatrice finds herself quickly lowering her gaze once more as she pretends to attune her perfectly attuned violin. Her heart seems about to jump out of her chest.

Did Mrs. Bennett stop because of her?

She tried so hard to keep up today. Still, she played worse after every try. Why do they need to do this stupid exercise?! It's not fair!

"Is she even trying?"

"C'mon, I'm sure she's doing her best…"

"She's ruining it for the rest of us. I can't play like this."

Beatrice cringes. It's obvious they're talking about her. Maybe making it loud enough on purpose. But she won't give them the satisfaction of reacting.

Hopefully, they will think she just doesn't care about this class and is slacking off. Hopefully, they won't notice she's simply trying her hardest and failing miserably.

"Beatrice…?"

The sound of hesitant footsteps approaching prompts Beatrice to raise her gaze, and she feels her stomach sink as she meets Mrs. Bennett's eyes.

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Bennett?"

Beatrice hears her own voice, though the words sound alien. Still, before her calm tone and expression, the woman seems to hesitate.

"Well, how should I put this…? Is everything all right, darling?"

No. Her life lays shattered into a million pieces and she probably deserved it.

"Yes. Is there something I can help with?"

A brief look of frustration crosses the woman's expression, and Beatrice knows then that, as aloof as she usually pretends to be, she is perfectly capable of noticing the room's attention upon them; her students' whispers and giggles.

"A-actually, you know darling… Why don't you help me with the class for today?"

"And what would you have me do, exactly, Mrs. Bennett?"

"I was… In fact, I was hoping to practice proper form as we play, and that you could show the others an example! You wouldn't be able to play, of course, since you'd be turned in their direction…"

Though she feels she's about to vomit, Beatrice smiles. "Is that so?"

"Yes! You have such good posture already, I thought they might be able to learn it from you easier than if I were to do it!"

"I see."

The woman's usual confident and easygoing smile returns as she watches Beatrice carefully tucking her expensive violin and bow inside their case before rising. Then, her smiles freeze as their gazes meet once more.

"Next time, Mrs. Bennett, I ask that you simply kick me from your class, instead of suggesting that I become a mannequin for the rest of it. Have a good day."

The woman opens her mouth, then closes it again. And since Beatrice has no intention of waiting for Mrs. Bennett to find her voice, she turns and heads for the exit as she pretends not to notice the abrupt silence, or the held laughter laying underneath it.

She'd rather die than give them the satisfaction of breaking down.

"Beatrice, darling, w-wait! You misunderstood what I meant!"

Quickly climbing the stairs of the small auditorium-like room, Beatrice stops only for a moment, allowing the room's double doors to open soundlessly before she steps onto the wide corridor outside and orders them closed at her back.

'Dangerous levels of user distress detected. Warning, no immediate emergency contact selected.'

As she stands in the silent corridor, Beatrice swallows.

Should she run? If Mrs. Bennett decides to chase after her…

But moments pass, and no one emerges from the crowded room, allowing Beatrice to release some of her accumulated tension by slumping her shoulders and sighing as she smiles bitterly toward the closed double doors.

Of course they won't come after her. She gave them what they wanted.

Beatrice glances down at her white violin case, held in between her hands as some sort of anchor to her crumbling reality.

Somehow, Beatrice doubts she has enough merit to allow for a sudden class change, especially for one she already failed at. Which means she'll have to come back, eventually.

The mere thought sends ice through her veins, but what other choice is there? Skip until they flunk her again…?

She needs to think. She needs to breathe.