Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 87: After the collapse

Chapter 87: After the collapse

Apollo sat calmly on the medic cot, flame-kissed skin wrapped in mana bandages, a half-smile still lingering on his face. He looked like someone who’d just survived a war and wouldn’t have minded if it went another round.

A medic hovered nearby, running a healing charm across his side. But Apollo barely noticed. His thoughts were still out there, flickering in the wreckage of the ring.

Then the door cracked open.

Amari stepped inside—but paused when he almost collided with someone in the hallway.

"Yo," Conrad said, stepping out of the way with a small smirk. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Amari blinked. "Conrad."

"I was just about to visit him," he nodded toward the door behind him. "Figured you were too."

Amari glanced at the guards watching from down the hall. "You sure you’re allowed to be this close to me?"

Conrad laughed softly. "Technically no. But... times change. My father trusts I can protect myself now."

Amari huffed out a dry laugh. "I guess times do change."

The two stepped into the medic room together.

Apollo’s eyes widened when he saw them—like a part of the past had walked through the door.

"You two. Really?"

Conrad raised both hands with mock innocence. "What? I’m not allowed to care?"

Amari just snorted and took the empty chair beside Apollo. "Damn.... I wasn’t expecting that, for real.’’

Apollo grinned. "You haven’t even seen the half of it yet."

Conrad stepped in beside them, eyeing both of them with that half-weird, half-amused look. ’’Oh yeah, I guess a lot has changed huh?’’

Conrad looks at the both of them letting off a slight smile ’’ You know... this is actually going better than I thought.’’

They both look at him confused. ’’What do you mean.’’

’’I just thought it would be awkward. But it’s going better than expected.’’

The three of them laugh it off.

Apollo’s eyes narrowed a little as he studied Conrad. "You’ve changed. I can tell you’ve grown more powerful since the incident."

Conrad met his gaze without flinching. "I’ve been training. I had to."

’’Yeah, you had to stop crying after Godfrey all the time. Like a bitch!’’ Apollo jokingly makes a gesture of Conrad crying, until the guard walking with him looks at Apollo intimidating him.

Apollo yields ’’My bad.’’

The others laugh at him while Apollo is in fear and tries to hide it from them.

’’Shut up.’’

A few minutes after the laughter died down, the door creaked open again.

A medic entered—young, flustered, holding a clipboard too tightly.

Her eyes landed on Conrad.

She froze.

Then immediately bowed. "Your Highness! I—I didn’t realize you were here. Is everything all right? Were you injured? Should I call security? Should I—?"

Conrad held up a hand, trying not to laugh. "Relax. I’m fine. Just checking on my friend."

"Oh," the medic blinked, still visibly nervous. "R-right, of course. But, um... protocol says I have to treat the patient in private. I—I’m sorry, but could everyone please step out for a moment?"

Conrad looked over at Amari and Apollo. "Kicked out of a room I don’t even own. Tragic."

Amari nodded, heading toward the door. "Guess they kind of trust you now."

They stepped into the hall—and were immediately greeted by six silent guards, lined up neatly like statues.

Amari raised an eyebrow. "Looks like complete trust."

Conrad shrugged. "It’s mostly for show."

Amari vanished before the guards even blinked.

Conrad blinked back at the space Amari left. "...Every time."

Inside the room, the medic resumed tending to Apollo’s burns.

But her eyes kept flicking to the door.

To where Conrad had just walked out.

And then back to Apollo.

She finally spoke. "Sorry, um... that was Prince Conrad, right?"

Apollo tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"You two seemed... close."

Apollo grinned without thinking. "I mean, yeah. I’ve known him for years. Idiot’s always been tagging along, crying to me every time he scraped his hand—"

SLAP.

She smacked his arm—not hard, but sharp enough to make him yelp.

"Hey!"

The medic looked horrified. "You can’t talk about the prince like that! Even if you’re a minor, they could—"

Apollo raised both hands, laughing. "Relax! That’s just how we talk. I love the guy. He’s like a brother. Always has been."

She paused, watching him carefully.

Apollo’s voice softened just a little. "He might’ve been weak back then... but he never gave up. And now? You saw him. Different beast."

The medic turned back to her work, but her thoughts were spinning.

Prince Conrad? Friends with him?

The tiger boy. The brawler. The one who broke the ring in half.

She didn’t say anything else.

But deep down, part of her was stunned. Another part... kind of impressed.

...

The gate attendant scanned another ticket, barely looking up as she waved the next person through.

"Enjoy the show."

"Much obliged," came a gravel-dry drawl.

The man tipped his battered hat and ambled past—his boots scuffing the stone floor, spurs lightly clinking with each uneven step. He walked with a slow, lumbering rhythm like gravity was heavier on him than anyone else in the crowd.

Families made space as he passed. Some gave him strange looks. Most ignored him.

He didn’t mind.

Eventually, he climbed into the upper stands, found his seat dead center in the middle row, and settled into it with a long sigh. His coat creaked as he leaned back, tipping his hat low, waiting for the next round to begin.

A few seats down, two familiar figures stepped into the row.

The girl Amari had bumped into earlier. And her father—the scarred farmer, still tall, still quiet, eyes always searching.

They nodded politely to those they passed and sat beside the cowboy-looking man without a word.

At first.

Then the girl leaned toward her father, her voice hushed but sharp with frustration.

"They disqualified Amari," she said. "He only fought the way everyone else did. Ivy went all out too, but only he got punished?"

Her father’s expression was unreadable. "And Apollo didn’t exactly hold back either. Yet he’s still on the roster."

The girl nodded, crossing her arms. "Feels like politics, not justice."

A gruff voice interrupted from the side.

"’Scuse me, folks."

They both looked to the man beside them, who tipped his hat up just enough to show a weathered face and a crooked smile.

"Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just couldn’t help but hear a little heat in the air."

The girl blinked. "...Who are you?"

The man stuck out a gloved hand.

"Tobias. Or Tobi, if you don’t like syllables." His voice was all dust and humor. "Apologies for cuttin’ in, but I got thoughts too. Just figured I’d ask permission before I shoot ’em off."

They stared at him a second longer.

Then the old farmer chuckled. "Go on. Let’s hear what kind of thoughts come with that hat."

Tobias grinned