Sending a pulse of mana through my body, I infused it into my paper birds once more, their delicate forms vibrating with energy. But as I did, I felt the familiar drain—the miasma I had been using was quickly running low. It was an insidious thing, draining my resources slowly but relentlessly, like a thirst I couldn’t quite quench. With a quiet curse, I reached into my core, channeling a pulse of power. It was thin, stretched too thin, but enough to replenish the birds temporarily.

  They were my eyes. My only means of seeing through the labyrinth of stone and shadows that surrounded me.

  I felt the birds flutter, the pulse of their awareness linking to mine. And then I saw them. Craven.

  The chimera beasts—monstrous hybrids of bird bodies, their sleek, twisted forms sliding through the darkened halls like grotesque predators. My pulse quickened, a spark of adrenaline flaring in my chest. I knew these creatures. I knew their savagery. And I had already nearly exhausted myself using my Arte to fight one before. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  Drawing a sharp breath, I looked at the intersection where the creatures were converging. The moment of action was now.

  With a flick of my wrist, I called forth my Machina—the Card Knight. The playing cards that made up its form crackled with an unsettling energy as it materialized in front of me, standing at attention like an obedient soldier. I felt the connection between us, my will pushing through my mana, into the metallic construct of paper and card.

  “Enemies,” I said, my voice firm and unwavering, though a part of me knew it wasn’t as confident as it sounded. “Deal with the one coming from that direction.” I pointed to my right, where the nearest chimera emerged from the shadows. “I shall assail the one in the opposite direction. Hold the intersection that connects to our camp.” My tone was that of a strategist, a commander giving orders on a battlefield, but inside, I was already calculating my risks, my limits, every piece of the plan.

  The Card Knight didn’t hesitate. It gave a sharp nod—well, more like a deliberate tilt of its head, as if to confirm its understanding—and then, with impressive agility, dashed off toward the creature I had indicated. Its movements were swift, graceful, though there was a part of me that doubted the knight’s effectiveness. My thoughts flickered back to the reality of our situation—cardboard.

  My Card Knight—despite its elegance, its impressive agility—was cardboard. A clever construct, yes, but one that was fragile, paper-thin in the face of real, unrelenting power. The Machina Operation skill may have enhanced its performance, strengthened its abilities while I imbued it with mana, but it didn’t change the fact that my Machina was as fragile as the paper it was made from.

  I had no illusions. It could only last so long in a battle like this.

  Still, there was nothing else I could rely on right now. I had to act fast.

  As the Card Knight engaged the chimera, its movements almost too perfect, I steeled myself for the fight ahead. I would go in the opposite direction, attacking with my bow. Every shot would need to count. I couldn’t afford a single misstep, not when I was already running low on resources.

  Seizing the opportunity, I recalled the countless lessons my uncle drilled into me—lessons that had become a part of my very being. Knock. Aim. Release. Those words echoed in my mind, clear and unwavering. They were more than just instructions; they were a mantra, a rhythm I followed without thinking. And then, another mantra followed. Knock. Aim. Release. Move.

  The words were drilled into me so often that they had become second nature. But now, as I stood on the precipice of combat, I understood their deeper meaning. I needed more than precision. I needed fluidity. I needed to move.

  I thought back to my fight with the Pursuer, that terrifying figure that had haunted me. A dance. A weave. A series of calculated steps, dodging, attacking, avoiding the inevitable. The craven, while smaller, had agility on its side. But it lacked the ability to keep pace with something much taller, much faster. It crawled with humanoid arms, its claw-like hands scraping against the stone floor, making its movements sluggish and awkward.

  I can do this.

  I placed mana into the ring on my finger, channeling it, feeling the surge of power course through me. I readied myself for a killshot. One arrow. That was all I could afford. One shot, one enemy, with the hope that the arrow wouldn’t be broken upon removal.

  I drew the bowstring back, every muscle in my body tensed, every instinct focused on the target. I released the arrow flying through the air, a straight line toward the craven’s unprotected eye. It struck true.

  The beast’s guttural scream pierced the silence of the hall, so horrifying, so visceral, that I nearly stumbled from its intensity. It was a sound unlike anything I had heard before—raw and primal, filled with fury and pain. But I didn’t hesitate. My body screamed at me to turn and run, to escape, but I knew better. This was my one opportunity.

  I rushed forward, my feet pounding the floor as I closed the distance. Every instinct urged me to retreat, to keep a safe distance, but I couldn’t afford that. I had one shot, and I wasn’t going to waste it. I leapt, planting my foot into the craven’s skull as I kicked the arrow deeper into its eye, the sound of bone cracking beneath the force of my strike. A loud squelch reverberated through the halls, the grotesque wetness of the kill filling the air.

  The miasma of the beast flooded the area, thick and foul, but it wasn’t just the air that it tainted. A few drops of its essence seeped through, and I felt a slight tug—a pull of power—absorbing into my body, my very being. It was miasma, but I welcomed it. Some of it was absorbed by the shell of the card in my sleeve, the Machina, but I didn’t care about that now. One down.

  My focus snapped back to the Card Knight Machina, which had been engaging the second craven. Despite the fact that the beast couldn’t hit it, the Machina wasn’t faring much better. Each strike it made was futile, the blows landing with a dull thud, completely ineffective.

  The Card Knight could punch, yes—but its fist lacked the weight, the power needed to make any impact. It was nothing more than paper and cardboard, flimsy materials that didn’t lend themselves well to true combat. I could feel the frustration building inside me. The Machina moved with elegance, yes, but it had no real muscle behind it.

  It lacked bone.

  It lacked the strength of flesh.

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  I had to do something. I had to make use of the limited tools I had. This fight wasn’t over, but it was far from what I’d hoped for.

  Pulling the arrow from the first Craven, I was immediately hit with a sense of frustration. The tip had lodged deep into its eye, but as I yanked it free, I saw the damage. The shaft was intact, but the arrowhead was utterly ruined, bent and deformed. A useless thing now. I cursed under my breath. One shot, one opportunity, and that was all I got.

  I knocked another arrow, my fingers trembling slightly as I drew the string back. The second Craven was already circling my Machina, darting around like a predator playing with its prey, its movements quick and erratic. I had to focus. But the pressure was on. I needed to take the shot, find the perfect spot to strike, while also ensuring I didn’t accidentally damage my Machina—my fragile, paper-thin knight.

  The two were locked in a constant tango, circling each other like dancers in a macabre ballet. My mind raced, calculating. A strike to the heart, the head, somewhere that would guarantee the beast’s end... but I needed to make sure it didn’t harm my Card Knight.

  Then, a flash of inspiration hit me.

  “Pin it.”

  The words slipped from my mouth before I could second-guess myself. The Machina, responding with precision, lunged forward and pressed its body weight onto one of the Craven’s arms, pinning it to the floor. It wasn’t a perfect pin—the other arm still flailed, trying to escape—but it was enough. I saw the opportunity.

  I took the shot.

  But this time… I missed.

  Horribly.

  The arrow sailed wide, missing its target completely. I watched in helpless frustration as the arrow instead struck the Card Knight in the neck. A sickening sound echoed through the hall as the arrow buried itself deep, the force enough to send a wave of energy pulsing through the Machina. The cards that made up its form scattered, falling like confetti, before they dissolved into ambient mana, sucked back into the blank playing card.

  The Joker card flickered into existence, its face now twisted in an agonizing, crying expression.

  The weight of the failure hit me like a physical blow.

  I’m sorry.

  I whispered it to the Machina, knowing full well that it could never hear me, but it didn’t matter. I had failed it. I had failed us both. One shot, and I ruined it.

  I let the failure settle in, let it sting, but I refused to let it consume me. Unlike the author of the manifest, I would not let one failure dictate my fate. I wasn’t going to run. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

  I gritted my teeth, pushing the frustration aside. I had made my choice. I had committed to this. Pain was a teacher, and this lesson? This one was brutal. But every ounce of pain was a step forward. From it, you learn. Everything has a price.

  As those words echoed in my mind, time seemed to slow. The world around me blurred into the background, and for just a moment, I could feel everything—everything—shifting. My pulse steadied, my focus snapped back into place.

  With a deep breath, I raised my bow once more. The Craven was still there, circling, but it was slower now. Weakened. I could see it, feel it. It was tired.

  This time, there was no hesitation. One arrow knocked. One arrow drawn. One more arrow released.

  The string snapped, sending the arrow shooting forward with deadly accuracy. The Craven jerked violently as it struck, but instead of the head I had aimed for, I heard a choking, rasping sound. It clawed at its neck in panic, tearing the arrow from the wound. Black blood poured from the puncture, thick and viscous, staining the floor and the beast’s claws as it crumpled to the ground.

  A fountain of ink-black blood surged from the wound, splattering the walls and floor. The creature writhed in agony for a moment before it collapsed, twitching in its death throes. The miasma, once again, flooded the area, washing over me in a suffocating wave, creeping into my skin, my bones. I felt it course through me, its energy mingling with my own, seeping into the Machina as well.

  “That… could have gone better.”

  The words came out dry, almost ironic, as I took in the aftermath. One victory, one more Craven down, but the toll was evident. The fight had drained me—physically, emotionally. And still, the hunt wasn’t over. But as I stood there, looking down at the Craven’s fallen form, I knew I had made it through. One step closer to surviving this night.

  After the Craven had fallen, its blood still pooling beneath its twitching body, I took a moment to steady myself. The battle had drained me—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The feeling of the miasma still lingered in the air, crawling under my skin like a constant reminder that the danger was never truly gone. I needed rest.

  I let out a frustrated sigh, glancing over at where the Card Knight had been. It had been impaled by one of my own arrows, and now, it was nothing more than a playing card tucked in my sleeve. Its form was broken, its presence inactive for now. There was no use dwelling on it. It had served its purpose, but for now, I was alone.

  I glanced around, my breath still heavy from the fight. The labyrinth of bookshelves stretched out endlessly, dark and foreboding. Yet, amidst the vast expanse, I spotted a small nook, a gap in the shelves where the faint glow from the moons—figuratively, of course—seemed to pool in soft rays. The light offered a semblance of warmth in this cold, enclosed space. I made my way toward it, my movements slow and deliberate as my body protested every step.

  I set my bow aside carefully, allowing myself to slip down into the nook, my back pressing against the cool stone that supported the shelves. The machina—now just a card in my sleeve—had no ability to help me now. I let go of that thought and settled deeper into the moment. I was alone. In this silent corner of Danatallion’s Halls, there were no enemies, no pressure. Just the quiet.

  I closed my eyes, letting the labyrinth’s stillness envelop me. It was in these rare moments of peace that I found myself most vulnerable. The adrenaline faded, the battle dulling in my mind, leaving behind only the raw truth of the experience. The words of my uncle echoed in my head: Knock. Aim. Release. Move. But now, as I sat in the darkness of Danatallion’s Halls, I had no more orders to follow. There were no enemies to face, no strategy to implement. Just the weight of my own thoughts.

  I allowed my mind to wander, reflecting on the fight, on the lessons learned. One failure could be overcome. Two failures could be salvaged. But I couldn’t allow myself to become consumed by defeat. That’s what the manifest had taught me. Pain was a teacher, a brutal one, but an invaluable one. And I would learn from it. I had no choice.

  The silence stretched on, but I didn't mind it. I let it be my companion for the time being, focusing on nothing but the sound of my breath and the steady pulse of mana that linked me to the world around me. I needed to rest, to rebuild. The Craven was just the beginning. And if I was to make it through the trials ahead, I would need every ounce of strength I could muster.

  As I sat there in the small, dimly lit nook of books, I closed my eyes and let myself slip into a semblance of sleep. I didn’t dream, nor did I expect to. But I rested nonetheless, my body still sore, my mind still alert. There was no peace to be found in these halls, no lasting solace. Only preparation for what would come next.

  The labyrinth would never sleep-and I could never rest.

  Not here. Not ever. Not for ten years.

  I let out a wail and a cry. I hate this.