Chapter 42 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Zane

I’d spent the last three nights in the Crucible Realms. Not as SwordWannabe. That name had taken on a life of its own lately—challenge invites piling up, spam messages, idiots trying to “learn my style” by reverse-engineering fight clips. No thanks. I wasn’t even sure how it leaked that I was SwordWannabe, but that wasn’t exactly surprising. I’m not some magic-tech expert.

So, to avoid people, I built a new profile from scratch. There are only so many modifications you can do in the Crucible Realms to mask your identity, but there are settings that help. Different avatar. Different voice mod. Different look—though I could only modify that so much. I upped the privacy settings too, so no background information could be pulled through the interface.

The situation made me think about PrincessFlyer. It had been a while since I’d heard from her. She went to my school. Maybe I should reach out to her. Everyone knew who I was now. She was my friend. Was there any reason she couldn’t be part of my life like Kael or Elaine?

I thought twice about it. I had too much going on with Serephina, Jordan, and Lila. A couple of days after Jordan’s broadcast (which, mind you, has taken on a life of its own), I got a message from her asking why on earth I would go diving with a bunch of “talentless huppies.” I’m pretty sure she meant to say hussies, but I didn’t press. She didn’t really give me a chance to answer.

I told her that Jordan was a fan, that he wanted me to take the contract, and that the pay was good. Then we argued about diving, rewards, and money for the next twenty minutes. She basically said she could create every opportunity I’d ever want—all I had to do was allow her to help. I didn’t even have to ask.

I tried to explain that it wasn’t right for me to rely on her, that she didn’t owe me anything, and I couldn’t take charity. She countered that opportunity isn’t charity; charity is charity. It’s giving something for nothing—and she wasn’t giving me something for nothing. There were, according to her, “a thousand different ways for me to repay her.”

If I came to her estate, she’d show me.

I told her that was crazy. What would I even do at her estate?

The conversation pretty much went downhill from there.

I think I frustrated the woman.

So, I retreated to the Crucible. It was actually the Rift Sirens’ manager who suggested running through some basic drills as a group in the Realms—which, I’ll admit, was brilliant.

Kyra Valenfort was the one who set up the sessions. We ran scenarios—mock dungeon movement and fighting exercises, crowd-control drills, timed boss rotations. She treated it like an audition, even though they’d already invited me. The avatar looked exactly like the pictures I’d looked up of Kyra Valenfort. Everything about her was polished: posture, voice, even the pauses in her instructions felt rehearsed and stiff, like she’d practiced them in a mirror. She was good, no question. But good in the way of someone who’s memorized the manual and refuses to skip a line.

Senna du Maré was the opposite. She half-slouched in her seat during pre-run briefings, idly strumming the virtual strings of a conjured lute while Kyra talked. Her spellwork was clean when it landed, but there was a lazy rhythm to it—like she was performing at a tavern, not training for a dive. If the fight was already in our favor, her magic sang. If it wasn’t, she… drifted. I found myself wondering if her AI had the personality of a drunk, since her casting control sure did.

Aviya of House Rhest didn’t do “professional.” (She was also the only Kingdom Noble of the group) The first thing she said to me was, “You’re taller than I expected. I’m disappointed.” The second thing she said was something about me having “main character vibes” and asking if I’d ever considered dyeing my hair a more “heroic” color and if I was up for a little scandal. Whatever the hell that meant. Her flame-work hit hard, though—when she didn’t overextend and drain herself.

Nixie Stormvale didn’t bother with small talk. She studied me in the pre-run lobby the way a duelist studies an opponent’s grip. She’s quick—both in movement and in reading patterns—but she holds herself like she’s waiting for me to slip, like the whole point is to prove she’s better.

Luma Asterleigh was the kind one. She smiled when I joined, asked if I’d eaten (which was funny, considering this was virtual), and offered to adjust her healing rotation for me. Her aim was solid, her mana efficiency terrible, and I got the impression she apologized to monsters before killing them.

By the end of the Crucible runs, I’d seen enough to know the Rift Sirens weren’t useless. But they also weren’t the kind of team that survives bad luck in the field. Not without help.

After about a week of this, I packed up, took a short leave from school, and went to meet one of the biggest diving streamer groups in the world.

That’s when PrincessFlyer messaged me.

PrincessFlyer: So… you’re diving with them.

Not a question. More like a verdict.

SwordWannabe: Ah, I was wondering when I’d hear from you. And here I thought you’d forgotten little old me. I assume you’re talking about the Rift Sirens. The contract came through last week. Big numbers. Not a chance I could catch.

PrincessFlyer: So you won’t even meet me, but you’re going diving with a bunch of talentless hacks.

I smirked at the screen.

SwordWannabe: You’re sounding awfully bitter there, Princess. If you miss me, you simply have to say so.

PrincessFlyer: You are delusional. My point is—perhaps I thought, after months of sparring and carrying your sorry footwork, I’d be the obvious choice.

SwordWannabe: Carrying me?

She is feeling bold today.

There was a pause, then a single rune flicker.

PrincessFlyer: So answer my question. Don’t dodge. Why them?

I leaned back, fingers drumming against the edge of the desk.

SwordWannabe: Money. The contract’s insane. Jordan’s medicine doesn’t pay for itself. And then there’s the obvious answer.

PrincessFlyer: Oh, the obvious answer? And what’s that?

SwordWannabe: I decided to go with them because the conditions were good—but more importantly… they asked.

Silence stretched on the line.

SwordWannabe: You’ve never invited me to go diving.

Her reply was late, like she typed and erased it a dozen times before sending.

PrincessFlyer: You’re a jerk. You know that?

SwordWannabe: What’d I say?