"Oh, you’re completely screwed, aren't you?" Lara chirped, her voice echoing with the biting cheer of a spectator at a gladiator pit.Arto stared at the rusted broadsword in his hand. It felt less like a weapon and more like a heavy, ill-balanced anchor. He gave it a tentative flick, and the metal hummed a discordant, screeching note."I’m not screwed," Arto gritted out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt. "I’m just... unfamiliar with the hardware.""Hardware? It’s a piece of sharpened iron, Arto. And you’re holding it like a wet umbrella.""Any tips, then? Or are you just here to provide the commentary for my funeral?""I’m a divine entity, not a fencing instructor. But if you die, my current vessel becomes a rotting corpse, which is a massive blow to my professional reputation."Arto wiped sweat from his forehead with his free hand. "So, you do care.""I care about not being haunted by a failure. Now, pick your left foot up. No, the other left. You look like a newborn

The silence of the Valerius estate was heavy, like a shroud of dust and disappointment. Arto slumped against the pillar, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. The adrenaline that had sharpened his senses was retreating, leaving behind a hollow ache in his muscles and a shivering clarity in his mind."So," Arto breathed, staring at the ceiling’s rotted timbers. "That was the grand opening act. Does the rest of my life follow this theme of ‘barely surviving’?""Depends on how fast you learn to stop acting like a victim," Lara’s voice rippled through his mind, not as a command this time, but as a low, thoughtful hum. "You did well, though. I expected you to be a puddle by the third exchange.""I was a puddle, Lara. I’m just a puddle that managed to hold its shape long enough to ruin a silk doublet.""A victory is a victory, even if it’s achieved with the grace of a drunken tavern brawler."Arto let out a dry, hacking laugh. "I didn't think you’d be the type to compliment someone.

The stone fist hammered through the space where Arto’s head had been a heartbeat prior, pulverizing the wall behind him into a spray of grit and bone."Move, you moron! That thing isn't just strong; it’s a bulldozer!" Lara’s voice screamed, not in his mind, but vibrating in the air like a distorted radio frequency."I’m moving! I’m moving! Do you think I want to be a smear on the wall?" Arto lunged to the side, his boots sliding on the slick, blood-crusted flagstones."It’s not just a Golem, Arto! It’s an Iron-Heart Sentinel. It feeds on movement. Stop twitching and start thinking!""Easy for you to say! You aren't the one being hunted by a literal pile of scrap metal!" He barely ducked under a sweeping iron limb, the gust of displaced air buffeting his hair."If you don't find a rhythm, we’re both going to be recycled into rubble. Look at the sword in its chest. That’s its anchor.""You want me to stab a giant while it’s trying to crush me like an empty soda can? That’s your plan?" A

Vane’s rapier hummed, a thin, hungry sound that cut through the stale dungeon air. Arto held his breath, his sword tip weaving a lazy, defensive pattern."You’re going to kill me in a sewer, Vane? How very un-noble of you," Arto remarked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in his blood."Efficiency isn’t a vice, Arto. It’s a hobby," Vane sneered, his monocle glinting. "And honestly, the rats will appreciate the feast more than the capital’s high court.""Lara, talk to me. Do we run or do we dance?" Arto whispered, his focus narrowing."We don't do either," Lara’s voice crackled, faint but sharp. "Look at his boots. He’s standing on a pressure plate. He’s not here to duel; he’s here to bury us both.""A suicide bomber? That’s his plan?" Arto felt a cold sweat break out."It’s a 'political necessity.' If he dies with you, the Valerius name is erased from the ledgers entirely. Very tidy."Vane chuckled, taking a step forward. "You’re quiet, Arto. Praying? Or just calculating

The forest floor was a cold, unforgiving bed of rot and slick leaves. Arto pulled Lara closer, her weight surprisingly substantial against his chest. Her breathing was shallow, a rhythmic hitch that sent a spike of pure, unadulterated terror through his gut."Lara? Hey, wake up. You can’t just go 'offline' when we’ve got a monster tracking us. Not cool."She didn't stir. Her skin, which had been glowing with ethereal radiance moments ago, now felt like normal, feverish human skin."Damn it, Lara. I’m a project manager, not a doctor. I don't have a contingency plan for a comatose goddess."The woods groaned. It wasn't the wind. A tree snapped three hundred yards away, the sound echoing like a dry bone breaking under a boot. It was heavy, methodical, and deliberate."Arto? Is... is that you?" Her eyes flickered open, hazy and unfocused. She tried to push herself up, her fingers digging into his soaking wet shirt."Stay down. You’re physically anchored now, which means you can actually b