Shæz and Gulutel were running on fumes. Literally. Mud, blood, and exhaustion made a cocktail nobody ordered. They had Shean, whoever he really was—Gulutel carrying him like a sack of slightly divine potatoes. They'd made it through Gliansa, somehow. They found Jim. That was the good news. The bad news? The star pendant was still MIA.
At some point, Gulutel just gave up and set Jim down, and—pop!—he was back. Awake. Alive. Probably hungry.
"Wow," Shæz exhaled, dropping to her knees. Relief was a luxury now.
Jim, still half dazed, looked up at them, then locked eyes with Shæz and that's when it hit. Boom. Another freakin' vision.
Shæz midair. Breasts. Chaos. A fight. Then… prison. Great. Just what he needed— more psychic spoilers.
Barely minutes later, thundering hoofbeats—or pawbeats? echoed in the distance. Entered the bears. Big ones. Denefremim rides.
Normally, this would've been a welcome sight. Brotherhood. Backup. But nope. These Denefremimwere not giving "Hey, fam!" energy. They were giving "Time to get wrecked."
Everyone drew swords. Because of course.
Shean—still not his actual name, still a mystery—was clearly important enough to warrant a bear-raid.
Gulutel went in swinging, but got bodied by a white bear like it was a cage match. A net followed. Down he went. Shæz? Already beat. She barely fought back before getting netted like a stray snack.
Jim, though? Jim went full chaos gremlin. He zipped through the mud like a Denefremim on espresso, dodging blades and claws, straight-up yeeting riders off their bears. One guy tried to lasso him, Jim kicked him midair and sent him flying like a rejected circus act. Bears collided. Riders fell. A few even fled out of pure confusion.
The Denefremim commander on the white bear? Just watching. Completely stunned.
"This guy's Denefremim?" he probably thought. "Did we just try to arrest a demigod?"
Even Ozeleans weren't that fast.
But numbers were numbers. Jim was still mortal. Eventually, they got a net over him too.
Three warriors. One big cage. Two massive bears dragging it like an Uber from hell.
Inside the cage?
Three more prisoners. Two Miteons (male and female). And one Denefremim. Not just any Denefremim, either. Zeebal. The healer. Yeah. Things just got complicated.
Zeebal was out cold—clearly not having the best day. From the look of her, she hadn't come quietly. The Miteon girl in the cage was practically welded to the boy beside her, trembling hard enough to register on a Richter scale. Shæz was slumped in the corner, completely drained. Gulutel leaned against the bars like the whole week had punched him in the face.
Outside, the captors were drumming—because apparently kidnapping came with a soundtrack. Between the pounding drums, the bear roars, and the Denefremim shouting like they'd just won the playoffs, it was clear: they were approaching a city. And not just any city. Dalab.
Dalab was the Las Vegas of Senedro. If you tossed every creature, vice, and questionable life choice into a blender, you'd get Dalab. It was founded by Fien, a fallen Setrum. And yes, Fien was a woman. Dalab had no rules, no filter, and barely any clothing. Nude Miteons, half-dressed Denefremims—it was a free-for-all. Even some Ozeleans came here to unwind… or corrupt their already suspicious souls.
If the Setrums up in the high places ever watched, well, they were either horrified—or secretly entertained. Probably both. Just kidding. (But also maybe not.)
Gideon, the commander on the white bear and this parade of chaos, was a crowd favorite in Dalab. His squad was known for capturing low-value creatures—no nobles, just the poor souls nobody would miss. The men were turned into gladiators. The women? Sex workers. Because Dalab was built on survival, scandal, and spectacle.
And whenever Gideon returned?
Dalab threw a party.
Now, before Fien became queen of Dalab, she'd stripped off all her Setrum glory and traded it for a human look. And boy, did she wear it well. Stunning. Beautiful. The kind of beautiful that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. Or mid-thought. Or mid-life crisis.
Gideon stood before her, proudly presenting the latest haul like he was hosting some twisted interdimensional talent show.
First up: a powerful, well-built Denefremim—ripped like someone who did sit-ups for fun and fought bears for breakfast. Definitely one to watch.
Next: a Miteon boy with only one wing, but he looked like he'd bench-pressed trauma and lived to tell the tale. Battle-hardened, scarred in all the right places. Fien raised a brow, clearly impressed. She had a soft spot for gladiators with tragic backstories and abs.
Then came the wildcard. The third boy. No muscles. No six-pack. Honestly, more "cardio on weekends" than "beast mode." But Gideon had seen him in action—fighting bears, tossing Denefremims like they were in a WWE audition.
"My queen," Gideon said, "this one doesn't look like much, but trust me—he'll fight."
Fien gave Jim a long, slow once-over. Her royal eyebrow did a full curl. Then she gave the nod. Gladiator.
The entertainment lineup was locked. These boys were headed for the Big Judgement Day—Dalab's version of "Survivor," but with more blood and fewer immunity idols.
Then came the women. Gideon presented Shæz, looking like a warrior queen who'd just lost her sword; Zeebal, still unconscious but beautiful in that tragic-mystical way; and finally, the Miteon girl—wings tied with Denefremim ropes, gaze fierce even in captivity.
She was gorgeous. But when Jim looked at her—really looked—something strange happened. Nothing. No visions. No flashes of the future. No Netflix of the past. Just her.
Her beauty hit different. And it wasn't just the wings or the eyes or the fact that she looked like she could break his heart and write poetry about it. There was something else. Something… beyond.
And Jim? For once, he didn't feel like a guy with cosmic powers and hospital PTSD.
He just felt human. And maybe, for the first time, a little bit in trouble.