Zaria kept moving, the terrain shifting beneath her boots in a disorienting blend of grit and glowing metal. The faint hum of energy pulsed through the air, growing louder with each step. Shadows from skeletal trees twisted across the ground, their brittle branches creaking faintly as if whispering secrets to the wind. Every so often, metallic vines threaded through the soil, glowing faintly like veins of an alien organism.

  Her TNC map blinked steadily, guiding her closer to the first sphere, but the world around her seemed to grow more surreal. The eerie silence pressed in on her ears, amplifying the crunch of her footsteps and the faint rustle of debris. The absence of life—or any movement at all—made the arena feel like a half-forgotten dream, its edges fraying into emptiness. Was this really just a training area, or had she stumbled into a forgotten corner of the Nexus?

  She rounded a jagged heap of scrap, her breath catching as the air turned sharp and cold. A metallic tang filled her lungs, stinging like frostbite. Ahead, she glimpsed a river snaking through the terrain, its surface glowing with shifting arcs of technomantic energy. Not water—lightning, alive and fluid, rippling across the riverbed in mesmerizing patterns.

  “What the hell…” she muttered, taking a cautious step closer. The ground beneath her boots vibrated faintly, as though the river’s energy resonated through the very earth. The electric flow reflected off the jagged metal nearby, casting fractured patterns of light across the landscape.

  Her pulse quickened, a mix of awe and unease tugging at her chest. This wasn’t something she could just walk across—or could she? The TNC map gave no hint of how to navigate it, the sphere’s marker blinking mockingly on the other side. Zaria swallowed, her throat dry despite the chill.

  “Okay, Xyros,” she muttered, her voice cutting through the eerie quiet. “You didn’t mention ‘lightning rivers’ in your pep talk. Care to pop in with some sage wisdom now?” Silence. Of course.

  A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Figures. Guess I’ll add ‘lightning wrangler’ to my résumé.” She crouched down, examining the river’s edge, the heat from its energy prickling against her skin. Whatever this was, it wasn’t natural. But then again, nothing in this place was.

  The sphere had to be close—she could feel it, the air practically vibrating with the same energy that rippled through the river. She straightened, wiping her hands on her lab coat and steeling herself. One step at a time. If she couldn’t cross here, she’d find another way. And if she couldn’t find another way… well, she’d figure that out when she got there.

  For now, she had a sphere to find and no time to second-guess herself. “Forward march, Lieutenant Commander Jenkins,” she muttered, taking another step closer to the unknown."Well, that’s... definitely not water,” she muttered to herself. "Thanks for nothing, TNC.”

  Her gaze returned to the map, and sure enough, the first sphere marker blinked somewhere in the center of the electrified river, hovering just below the crackling energy as if daring her to come closer. A sigh escaped her as she muttered, “Of course. Nothing’s ever straightforward here, is it?”

  Moving cautiously, Zaria scanned the riverbank for a solution, catching sight of a half-buried metal sign sticking out of the ground nearby. She knelt and dusted off the dirt to reveal engraved hieroglyphics, which shifted and twisted until they formed words she could read. She blinked, almost unphased by the odd translation—this world was full of unexpected things.

  The words were a riddle:

  "How can you drop a raw egg from a height onto a concrete floor without cracking it?"

  Zaria’s brows knitted in confusion. "Egg? Concrete? What does this have to do with technomancy?" She continued to squint at the sign, tapping her chin thoughtfully trying to work out the solution.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She started pacing back and forth along the river bank, her mind whirling towards a solution not paying attention to where she was stepping until she tripped over something.

  Zaria looked down to see a half buried sign. Maybe this would help her solve the riddle. She knelt down and started digging up the sign. It took a few minutes of sweating and heaving before she could pull the sign free. Standing up, holding the sign she noted that it was made of the same material that the riddle sign was. She waited for the words to clear up before reading it. With a gasp she quickly dropped it.

  “What in the…?” She stood staring at the hieroglyphics that had changed to readable words.

  Zaria froze, the words on the glowing sign hammering into her like a physical blow.

  TN-8873

  Species: Ilyran

  She was deemed to be unworthy by the Arena.

  The stark, unfeeling message burned in her mind, and her breath hitched. Her eyes locked onto the message, unable to tear away from it, as if the sign itself held her in place. “Unworthy.” The word clawed at her chest. It wasn’t just a declaration—it was a death sentence, stripped of ceremony or even the faintest trace of compassion.

  Her knees felt weak as her gaze shifted downward. The ground beneath the sign was scorched, jagged grooves etched into the metallic panels as if by an immense, chaotic force. Shards of something—perhaps armor, perhaps bone—lay scattered, barely distinguishable from the other debris. A faint, acrid tang of burnt material hung in the air, teasing her senses with the faintest echoes of finality.

  Her stomach turned, and bile clawed its way up her throat. This was worse than anything she had encountered before—worse than the cold efficiency of the Scraplings or the lifeless eyes of the Scrappings. This was personal. This wasn’t just a battle or a test. This was the grave of someone like her.

  A TechNav.

  The weight of it pressed down on her chest, suffocating. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to ward off the chill that seeped into her bones. Her breath came in shallow, trembling gasps as her mind raced with questions: Who had they been? How had they failed? Had they been alone, like her?

  The thought struck her with the force of a collapsing star, and tears welled up unbidden. Her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a sob. The Ilyran wasn’t just a name and a designation. They had been a life—dreams, fears, loved ones. And now, they were nothing more than a cold, sterile warning to the next unfortunate soul.

  Her knees buckled, and she fell into a crouch, her hand gripping the edge of a jagged metallic vine for balance. The sharp edge bit into her palm, and the pain jolted her back into focus. She looked away from the sign, pressing her forehead against her trembling knees, as if she could shut out the image burned into her mind.

  This is real. This isn’t just a game.

  The realization coursed through her like ice, extinguishing every flicker of hope she had clung to since she woke in this nightmare. The arena didn’t care if she was scared, or tired, or desperate. It wouldn’t hesitate to crush her as it had crushed TN-8873.

  Her breath steadied, though her hands still shook. She forced herself to stand, her legs feeling like lead. She turned her back to the sign, her jaw clenching against the wave of nausea that threatened to drag her back down. Her gaze fell to the riddle etched into the other sign, the soft glow of the text cutting through the gloom around her.

  She read it again, her voice hoarse as she whispered the words aloud. She needed to focus, to channel her fear into something useful, something that wouldn’t leave her as a nameless warning for the next unlucky TechNav.

  Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She looked toward the darkening sky, her eyes burning with a mixture of sorrow and defiance. “You won’t get me,” she muttered, her voice cracking but firm. “I’m not dying here. Not like that.”

  The breeze around her carried a faint metallic whisper, as if the arena itself had heard her declaration. Zaria lifted her chin, her sorrow solidifying into a burning resolve. She turned back to the path ahead, the dim light of her TNC illuminating her way forward.

  Keep moving. Survive. Prove them wrong.

  And with that, she stepped forward, leaving the sign—and the silent tragedy it represented—behind her.