The others stared at him. The moment stretched, thick with the iron tang of blood—sharp and metallic, mixing with the stink of sweat and dying men. Why are they staring? What do they see when they look at me?

  His pulse thudded in his jaw. What the hell did I do?

  Then the tall girl burst into laughter. She bent over and slapped her knees, cackling loudly.

  Aaron blinked. His throat was dry. Why is she laughing? Did I miss a joke?

  Then a laugh bubbled up anyway, sharp and ugly, like a cough. I’m probably high on adrenaline and endorphins. Or maybe I’ve just cracked.

  The other boy just stared at them, face carefully blank.

  After a few seconds, the girl suddenly froze and looked at Aaron. He took a few deep breaths, trying to center himself. Blood smeared his knees where he had fallen. His tunic clung to him, soaked in sweat. He met her gaze, then turned his attention to the bodies, now still.

  She’s... very casually cruel. Did I kill the right people? It’s that kind of day.

  The silence stretched again. It felt like the two of them were waiting. For something. For me?

  Then it hit him. I woke up in someone else’s clothes. Am I in someone else’s body? Do they know the previous tenant?

  He flexed his fingers, rolled a shoulder. Lean muscle shifted like tensioned wire—fast, precise, almost surgical. This body isn’t mine. I was fit before, sure… but this? This is built for war.

  Aaron looked down. And I seem… similarly endowed. Yeah, real smooth, Aaron. Focus on the important bits.

  Fuck, I was not just dropped into another world. Dropped into someone. He had a life. Friends. Enemies. And I just hijacked his place at the table.

  I need to get them talking. Playing dumb might be the only option. I don’t even even know this body's name. Just fragments. “Polis.” “Trial.” Something with eyes.

  “G…” Aaron rasped. His throat was raw from screaming. He swallowed a few times, working moisture back into his mouth.

  His pulse thundered in his ears. His fingers twitched, still half-clenched around phantom weapons. Nausea twisted in his gut—could’ve been the blood, the concussion, or the sheer absurdity of his situation.

  “Greetings,” he managed, voice hoarse.

  The slight boy was the first to move.

  “I… I greet you, Xandros Hellionis Erythros,” he said, voice steady but thin, eyes flicking to the tall girl.

  She nodded once and echoed, “I greet you as well,” her tone clipped, guarded.

  Aaron took a deep breath, feeling blood crusting on his knees and the itch of drying sweat on his back. I wasn’t expecting thanks—but their silence feels more like fear. Did I scare them that badly?

  The boy dropped his eyes. Something is off. Was—or had I been—so terrifying?

  The girl opened her mouth several times but said nothing.

  “We… we thought… your head. We thought they had killed you,” she finally managed.

  Oh. They thought I was dead. And now I saved them. Well, this is awkward. I just saved their lives. So why does talking feel harder than killing?

  Later. I’ll unravel that one later. Survive first. Then I panic.

  I killed someone. A cold shiver raced down Aaron’s spine. Nope. I’m dealing with that later. After I survive this.

  What now? Probably best to play it safe.

  “It was but a flesh wound,” he said, flashing a grin to buy time. They’d mentioned my head. That is an opening. I could fake amnesia. Too convenient? Too cliché?

  I just need time. Then I’ll decide whether to lie or go full honesty.

  “I’m sorry. I took a blow to the head. My memory’s… shaky. Would you mind telling me your names?” He gave them an encouraging nod.

  They exchanged a look. The girl spoke first. “I was named Rhea, Anax.” She lowered her head slightly. The boy followed, his voice firmer, if a little tired. “I am Theon Hellionis Leukos, your cousin.”

  Oh, great. A family member. Just what I needed while pretending to be someone else.

  And why do we guys have three names, and she only one? Anax… sounds like a title. Nobility? Gendered? Maybe she’s commonborn.

  “Well met. I must confess, I’m confused. I don’t remember how I got here.” They shared a long, meaningful glance. Did I say something wrong?

  “You find yourself in the Trial of Warriors,” Rhea said.

  Aaron barely managed not to roll his eyes. Great. From ‘the Trial’ to the ‘Trial of Warriors’. This is going to take forever if I keep playing dumb. What if they lose patience? What if being honest backfires? Could I run? Fight them? I need distance.

  “I’m sorry, I need to sit down. My head is killing me.” Aaron turned and walked back to the boulder he had taken cover behind, lowering himself carefully. Should’ve grabbed a spear. Nothing for it now.

  They both froze, wide-eyed, jaws slack. Well. That shattered any illusion of normalcy. I’m blending in like a meteor strike.

  What idiot came up with the trope that faking amnesia is enough to take over someone’s life in a foreign culture? A flicker of uncertainty passed through Rhea’s eyes. Theon’s fingers hovered near his belt. Too risky.

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  He had to be honest... Or forced to use that revival clause the Watcher had mentioned. Let’s avoid that. But how do I reveal myself?

  He remembered the entity. The Watcher. Ancient cultures tend to be okay with gods, right? Maybe demigods too. Or am I just projecting from Roman sandals? Greeks and Hindus are hardly a full sample size.

  He spoke quickly, but clearly.

  “I am not Xandros Hellionis Erythros. A being calling itself a Watcher…”

  They recoiled—eyes wide, as if the name itself reeked of blood and blasphemy. Aaron glanced behind him—just the canyon.

  The two were slack-jawed and frozen. Maybe that was a mistake. Am I about to be the guest of honor at a witch burning? Or did the Watcher have zero clue about public relations?

  He pressed on.

  “My name is Aaron Blackwell. I was told I should excel in this trial. And something about stats and skill guides. Can you explain that?” His heat hammered inn his chest. Too much? Doesn’t matter. Keep them talking. Control the narrative. Don’t give them time to think.

  “You have skill guides?!” Theon gasped. “Which tier?” Shit. That hit harder than I thought. I may’ve just dropped the equivalent of saying I own Excalibur.

  No idea what ‘Tier’ means, but guessing low might cost me trust. Guessing high? Risky, but I’ve already thrown them off balance. “Divine,” he said casually. Both of them gawked.

  “So I guess that’s high?” Aaron asked, managing a self-deprecating smile. “Would you mind explaining what they are?”

  Rhea’s eyes narrowed. Theon’s lit up with excitement. She took the lead again—definitely a pattern between them.

  “They are… artifacts or blessings,” she said, glancing to Theon for confirmation. He nodded eagerly. “They guide your mind. If you’re doing something right, you just… feel it.” Great. A fellow nerd. That tracks.

  “Lower-tier ones are weaker—harder to use, don’t last as long. They’re hard to make. Only skilled Artificers can craft them,” he added, more quietly. “Maybe… I’ll be able to make them someday.”

  Rhea shot him a sharp look. He tensed, suddenly sheepish. He didn’t meet her eyes. Alright. This is going well. Let’s keep them talking. Preferably without dropping more bombshells.

  “What are the tiers?” Theon glanced at Rhea with a flicker of defiance. “Amateur, Apprentice, Adept, Master, and Grandmaster. Those are the ones mortals can make. Relic and Divine are beyond us.”

  Aaron nodded slowly, pretending to mull it over. Theon shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “May I examine your status? I mean, later—after this?”

  “Theon!” Rhea snapped. “Do excuse his rudeness.” Her eyes met Aaron’s, steady and probing. “May I ask, which god you serve? And in what capacity?”

  Aaron blinked. Okay, that’s new. Probably important. I have no clue. Don’t I serve the Watcher? “It called me a Champion. And told me to serve the Weaver.”

  Both of them visibly relaxed. Rhea let out a breath. Theon straightened, face brightening. Aaron’s brow furrowed. They reacted like I dropped a curse. What’s wrong with saying the Watcher’s name? Am I already stepping on sacred ground?

  Theon stepped forward, voice growing warmer. “That’s a Sage’s blessing. The Weaver is the best option for us.” He hesitated, then added, “And for you.”

  Aaron tilted his head slightly. So we’re diving into theology now. Better than divine punishment or social implosion, I guess. But if I’ve been chosen by a god, I should probably know more about them.

  Would it have killed the Watcher to give me a manual? A welcome packet? Maybe a map? “What are the other options, then?”

  Theon sat down, his voice slipping into something like a lecture tone—eager, almost academic. “The gods are legion. Most mortals intersect the domains of the Weaver of Lives, the Devouring Mother, the Chained Fist, the Worldsmith, She of the Psyche, the Infinite Eye, and the Bookworm.” He nodded sagely. “The Weaver shapes lives, how people relate. It’s… one of the better ones.”

  He leaned in, as if about to launch into a tale. Rhea’s eyes glazed, just for a second—then she blinked it away and coughed. “At least it seems not everyone we know is going to die by Edict…” she said flatly. “However, we are still in the Trial. We need to get out of here.”

  Aaron nodded and stood. “Walk and talk?” He glanced down at the girl whose skull had been split open.

  Bile rose in his throat. The scent of blood, sweat, and ruptured organs clung to the air like a wet blanket. “Do you want to do something for your friend?”

  The two of them turned. Not shocked. Not grieving. Just… curious. Like I’ve asked if they want a snack. Aaron’s stomach twisted. What the hell kind of world is this?

  “It is her first death,” Theon said. “The slaves will collect the corpses later.” First death? Aaron swallowed hard.

  So… it’s real. Revival isn’t just my weird perk. It’s normal here. And there’s slavery, too. Fantastic. I’d barely wrapped my head around reincarnation, and now I have to deal with the ethics of forced labor.

  He gave the corpse one last glance. Shivered despite the heat. The smell accused him, clung to him. He forced his gaze away. Fear and panic kill people in these situations. I’ll have my breakdown later. I even believe that I believe that.

  “Let’s go.” They gathered weapons. Aaron cursed internally at the missed opportunity to grab a spear earlier. No matter—he had something now.

  They followed the river’s edge, where stones shifted treacherously beneath their feet and gnarled roots clutched like skeletal hands. Canyon walls pressed close, the sky a narrow wound above.

  After a few moments, Theon spoke again. “May you speak of your world, Champion?”

  So they knew—or at least suspected—that he, or Champions in general, were from somewhere else.

  Before he could answer, Rhea cut in, voice brisk and almost too cheerful.

  “By the Sixteen, let us first succeed in the Trial. Then you may interrogate the Champion to your heart’s content.”

  Aaron smirked faintly, then shook his head.

  Unless we’re in immediate danger, I’d appreciate a primer on what a Champion is. What am I supposed to do?

  Theon shot Rhea a look, then shrugged with a smirk of his own.

  “Champions act out the providence of their god. The Watcher…” Both of them flinched at the word. “…will grant you quests and rewards.”

  So far, so simple. Aaron let his thoughts drift as they walked, watching how Rhea navigated the rocky terrain with surprising agility.

  She reached back and subtly guided him away from a loose stone that might’ve tripped him. What’s this kid doing in a Trial of Warriors? He looks barely older than me. But he killed a man back there. So… not your average nerd.

  Theron cleared his throat. “Beware, Champion. Some might seek to exploit your for your status. You should–” Reah grinned mockingly. “Of course, you can trust us completely. We’d never mislead a divine Champion.”

  Aaron looked at her. Her expression didn’t change. Then he looked to Theon. Both of them chuckled. So, either they’re honest, or they’re using jokes about manipulation to manipulate me.

  He sighed internally. I might as well assume the former. If it’s the latter, I’m screwed anyway. Still—the fact that I even have to wonder is… unsettling.

  “Sooo,” Aaron drawled, smiling deliberately, “tell me about this Trial.” Theon’s eyes lit up. “After the Ago, we Psy-Touched must complete this Trial to earn a place in the Academy. There’s a test of will, of ability, and of wits. Also—”

  He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.

  “—criminals are released into the Trial grounds. If they deliver a student’s head, they earn exile.”

  Aaron blinked. Great. It’s a school entrance exam. With mandatory attempted murder and extra credit in dismemberment. “And at the end,” Theon continued, “our deeds are tallied. They’ll use them to sort us into ranks.”

  Aaron mulled that over. Perform well. Stay alive. Don’t look like a fraud. Learn the rules of a world I don’t understand. No pressure.

  He ran a hand through blood-matted hair. Just another day in the apocalypse simulator.

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