Time seemed to crawl that morning.

  “How are we supposed to find the island?” Sam asked, breaking the silence.

  “We’ll need a ship… and a captain,” Nyx replied calmly.

  “Well, we already have a ship. Don’t forget, I’m the proud owner of the Mustafar now,” Dovak said, pointing at himself with a grin.

  “But we still need someone who knows these waters,” Layla added, her tone thoughtful.

  Everyone fell quiet, trying to think of the right person for the job.

  It didn’t take more than a few seconds.

  William’s eyes lit up, just as Dovak’s face twisted into a grimace.

  “Don’t say it,” Dovak warned him.

  “Captain Havok!” William announced, smiling like he’d solved the group’s biggest problem.

  Now they just had to find him.

  “Why me, of all people?” Dovak muttered, shoulders slumping as he trudged along the cobbled path.

  “Because everyone else was busy,” Nyx replied without missing a beat. “You were the only one doing absolutely nothing.”

  “Exactly! I was resting! Which counts as something.”

  Nyx sighed. “Besides, your abilities might help us locate him faster.”

  Dovak grumbled, kicking a loose stone ahead of him. “Why does it have to be Captain Havok? Couldn’t we have found literally any other sailor who knows these waters? Anyone slightly less… irritating?”

  “We saw what Havok could do. Thanks to him, we reached the port safely. It’s worth asking.”

  Dovak said nothing. His silence spoke louder than words.

  Just the thought of being under Havok’s command again made his stomach churn. The man’s skills were undeniable—but his way of speaking, of being—was something else entirely.

  Unorthodox. Unfiltered.

  And incredibly annoying.

  They kept walking through Hizuru’s port until they reached a narrow residential area. The houses were small and two-storied, their exposed wood darkened and cracked by time, the kind of place that had long forgotten what “new” ever looked like.

  “We’ve been searching all day. Maybe it’s time to give up,” Dovak muttered, exhaustion lacing his voice.

  Nyx didn’t answer. She simply kept walking, turning down a narrow, dimly lit alley.

  And then—she stopped.

  There, slumped over a pile of trash, lay a man snoring loudly. His body half-sunk into discarded bags and broken crates, limbs splayed out as if he’d fallen from the sky.

  Nyx sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Something told me we’d find him like this.”

  “You’re joking.” Dovak’s eyes widened. “That’s Havok?”

  They stepped closer.

  It was definitely him.

  The smell hit first—a foul, stomach-churning mix of cheap liquor and something far worse. His shirt was stained with a fluid whose color and scent defied easy description, and blood crusted the corners of his mouth.

  Nyx crouched beside him, her expression cool and clinical as she leaned in to inspect the mess.

  “This isn’t alcohol,” she said after a moment. “It’s poison.”

  Dovak’s eyebrows shot up. “Poison? Someone tried to kill him?”

  “I doubt it,” Nyx replied. “In the Rings, some Skill Users make a habit of drinking small doses of poison to build up resistance. It’s reckless—most of them die before it ever works. But the ones who survive...” She gestured toward Havok with a dry look. “They end up like this.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Dovak glanced down at Havok’s limp, snoring form. He wondered how many people Nyx had seen like this to make such a quick diagnosis. He didn’t ask.

  “So… how do we wake him up?”

  Nyx stood and cracked her neck. “First, we dump a bucket of water on him. If that doesn’t work… we drown him.”

  Her tone was disturbingly casual—like this wasn’t her first time reanimating a half-dead idiot.

  Dovak stared at her, half-horrified, half-impressed.

  Then he shrugged. “Alright.”

  He turned and walked off to find a bucket. Sometimes, it was easier not to ask questions.

  They repeated the process several times—bucket after bucket, splash after splash—but there was no response. Eventually, Plan B was put into action: drown him.

  “You’re going to grab him by the nape and submerge just his face,” Nyx instructed, her tone cold. “When I give the signal, you’ll pull him out and slap him hard across the back. Repeatedly.”

  She paused, then added with unsettling calm, “And for the record, never try this on a normal person. You’d kill them instantly.”

  “I’m not that dumb... I think,” Dovak muttered, positioning himself behind Havok and gripping the man by the neck.

  Slowly, he leaned him forward and plunged his face into the bucket of water.

  A minute passed. Nothing.

  Two minutes. Still no reaction—until Havok’s body began to twitch slightly.

  Thirty seconds later, he started thrashing violently.

  Still, Nyx didn’t speak.

  Dovak threw her a desperate look.

  She didn’t return it. Her gaze remained locked on Havok’s spasming body, calmly analyzing.

  Then—finally—she gave the signal.

  “Pull him.”

  Dovak didn’t wait. He yanked Havok out of the water and immediately slammed his palm into his back—once, twice, three times, each hit loud enough to echo off the alley walls.

  Havok choked violently, vomiting a foul mix of water, bile, and blood. His entire body convulsed as he coughed and gasped for breath, hacking with the force of someone returning from the brink.

  Then—silence.

  Dovak looked to Nyx again, waiting for whatever came next.

  But she didn’t say a word.

  Neither of them did.

  Not until—

  “WHO THE HELL WOKE ME UP?!”

  The scream pierced the quiet like a bomb, followed by a stream of curses so colorful even the rats skittered away.

  “I was having a beautiful dream! A paradise island! A beautiful… a beautiful…”

  His voice trailed off as he blinked blearily, his bloodshot eyes jumping from Dovak to Nyx, confusion settling across his face.

  “What are you two doing here?” Hik!

  A sudden hiccup cut him off, sharp and unexpected. But despite the spasms, he seemed strangely lucid—more annoyed than delirious.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” Nyx said. “We need your help.”

  “My hel—hik!—help? With what?”

  “We need to reach the Maze of Punishment,” she explained. “We have a ship, but no captain who knows the seas.”

  “And not just any ship!” Dovak added. “We’ve got the Mustafar.”

  Havok stared at him for a long moment.

  Then, he burst into laughter.

  “Ahaak! The Mustafar?! You think that floating coffin is a guarantee of anything? Without a captain worthy of it, it’s nothing but driftwood waiting to sink. Hik!”

  “Then help us,” Nyx said firmly. “We have to reach the Maze and clear it. It’s the only way to move on to the Third Stage.”

  Havok took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

  “Listen. You’re not the first to ask. Years ago, I tried to conquer that place myself… and failed. Miserably. Since then, ten teams have begged me to take them. I accepted every time. And every time, I watched them fall. Good teams. Strong teams. All of them died trying.”

  He looked at them both with a grim expression.

  “My advice? Turn around. Wait for another mission, there’s no penalty if you ignore it. No one’s made it through the Maze in over ten years.”

  The hiccups had stopped, and his voice had regained clarity—but something had shifted in Havok. His gaze drifted into the distance, clouded with old memories and the weight of failure. Nostalgia, laced with regret, settled deep in his expression.

  “I know you want to keep climbing the Tournament,” he muttered. “But you don’t understand. That Maze… it’s claimed more lives than I can count.”

  He fell silent for a moment, as if lost in ghosts only he could see.

  Dovak stepped forward, his usual levity gone.

  “Yeah, well… it's true that luck hasn’t exactly been our ally lately. And our team is hanging on by threads most days. But we won’t get stronger by staying safe. The only way forward is through the fire.”

  He said it without theatrics, without bravado—just truth, solid and grounded.

  Havok looked at him, studied him.

  Then, slowly, he shook his head.

  “You say that now,” he whispered, “but when you're inside that place… when the walls start closing in and the air turns on you, when even your mind stops being your own... That’s when people break.”

  He clenched his jaw.

  “I’ve seen brave men scream until their throats gave out. I’ve seen teams stronger than yours disappear into that place and never come out. And you want me to take you there? Again?”

  He looked at them both, something brittle in his voice. “I swore I’d never step near that cursed maze again.”

  Silence stretched.

  Then Nyx stepped forward, calm and unwavering.

  “We’re not asking you to risk your life for us. Just get us there. Share what you know. That’s all.”

  Havok looked away.

  Nyx didn’t stop.

  “If we fail, that’s on us. But if we don’t even try… what was the point of surviving this long?”

  Her words were soft, almost gentle—but behind them was steel.

  Havok sighed again. Long, drawn-out. A man cracking under the slow, inevitable weight of persistence.

  Finally, he muttered, “Damn it all…”

  He looked up, defeated, and met her eyes.

  “You’ve got that look,” he said quietly. “That stupid, determined look I’ve seen a hundred times before. And nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it?”

  “No,” Nyx replied simply.

  A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “Fine. I’ll take you to the Maze. And I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  She reached out and offered her hand.

  Hesitating for a beat, Havok finally took it. She pulled him to his feet.

  “Let’s head back to the inn,” she said.

  Behind them, the alley faded into darkness.

  And just like that, piece by piece, the plan to conquer the Maze of Punishment had begun to take form.