Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 89: Smart Choice

Chapter 89: Smart Choice

Amari’s fists tightened one last time.

Then he let go.

His chains slid silently to the floor. His fingers uncurled. And with that single motion, he gave the signal—an unspoken command for everyone else to stand down.

Tobias smiled. "Good choice, boy."

The room didn’t relax. Not even close.

Maverick stepped forward, voice uncertain. "Amari... you sure about this?"

Amari didn’t look back right away. He just inhaled, slow and full.

"Yeah," he said. "Support Shylo. That’s where it counts now."

Tobias turned and headed for the door without another word. Amari followed—no hesitation, no glances over his shoulder.

Kenneth clenched his fists. "We should’ve fought."

Maverick shook his head. "That wasn’t our call. It was his."

They watched as the door clicked shut behind Amari and the cowboy.

Outside, the sun had dropped low—burning orange across the rooftops. The crowd noise from the arena rolled in the distance, but here it felt like another world entirely.

Amari walked beside Tobias in silence until finally asking, "How’d you find me?"

Tobias didn’t stop walking. "That’s a story you ain’t ready to hear. And I ain’t ready to tell."

They kept moving—through the lower roads, past the food stalls and vendor carts—until they reached a gated estate tucked into the hills outside the main district.

The place was massive. Private. Quiet.

Tobias walked past the main house without a glance and led Amari toward a smaller guesthouse out back—dusty, mostly forgotten, the kind of place someone only noticed after they’d already lived through the storm.

"Found this place a few nights ago," Tobias said, pushing the door open. "Ain’t much. But it’s good for hiding."

Amari stepped inside. The air was still. No magic, no noise. Just silence and space.

"Why me?" he asked, finally.

Tobias didn’t answer right away.

He just sat down, took off his coat, and laid it across the back of the nearest chair.

"...Because you’re the one that matters," he said. "Even if you don’t know it yet."

The room was quiet—walls bare, curtains swaying gently in the dusk breeze. The sounds of the arena far behind them now, distant like the past.

Tobias dropped to one knee just inside the door, hat laid neatly by his side. He bowed his head and clasped his hands.

Amari watched from the corner, puzzled but silent.

When Tobias finally stood, Amari spoke. "What was that?"

"Prayin’," Tobias said simply.

Amari frowned. "What’s praying?"

Tobias stretched his back with a slow exhale. "It’s talkin’. To God, mostly. Sometimes just to get it off your chest. Sometimes to listen."

Amari blinked. "Why do it?"

Tobias looked over his shoulder, voice quiet but steady. "’Cause it reminds me I ain’t in control of everything. And because gratitude’s a language worth speakin’ regular."

"...So what were you praying for just now?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of Tobias’s mouth. "Thankful I found you."

Amari narrowed his eyes. "If I prayed... that you let me go—would that work?"

Tobias stepped slowly across the room. "You believe in God, Amari?"

Amari hesitated. "...No."

Tobias nodded like he already knew. "Then it wouldn’t matter what you said. Prayer ain’t magic. It ain’t a shortcut. It’s faith. If you don’t believe in who you’re prayin’ to... ain’t nobody gonna answer."

Amari sat back, arms folded, a little frustrated. "So what if I did believe? What would happen then?"

Tobias looked him dead in the eye.

"That depends. ’Cause I’ve seen what happens when God listens."

He tapped the side of his head.

"But I won’t know how it plays out... not until I see it come from you."

Amari went quiet.

...

The waiting room was heavy with silence. The semifinals were about to begin, but the air had changed.

Johnny sat near the screen, one leg bouncing restlessly. His eyes hadn’t left the corner where Amari once stood.

"I can’t do this anymore," he said suddenly, voice low but sharp. "He’s been gone too long. We need to find him."

Milo glanced over, frowning. "Johnny—"

"I’m serious. Something’s wrong."

Maverick stayed seated, arms crossed. "Amari can handle himself. If he can’t deal with that man... then none of us can."

Kenneth stood so fast his chair scraped. "That’s bullsh—You’re scared. You saw that man and you froze."

Maverick’s jaw tightened. "Yeah. I was scared. I saw someone who could kill us all. And Amari’s not supposed to bring that kind of fire on our heads."

"He’s our brother!" Kenneth shouted. "And you just let him go like it was nothing."

The words hit like a slap.

Maverick stood now too, toe to toe with Kenneth. "And what? You think running blindly after him fixes it? You think we can solve whatever that man wants by throwing more people at it?"

Kenneth shook his head, stepping back.

"I’m done with this."

He turned to the others. "I’m going. If you want to stay, stay."

Johnny stood instantly. "I’m with you."

Milo sighed, eyes flicking toward the screen once—then followed. "Always."

All eyes turned to Shylo.

He looked at Maverick.

"The competition’s nothing if one of us dies because of it."

Maverick stepped forward, jaw tight. "Shylo—don’t. Not now. You have to fight."

But Shylo only shook his head, calm and certain. "I will. But not like this. Not without all of us."

And that’s when Maverick’s shoulders dropped.

He turned toward the wall, grabbed the blades Amari had left behind, and slowly walked after them.

"Fine," he muttered. "But we do it together."

Apollo tightened the wraps around his wrists, mind sharp, body ready.

He was just about to head toward the ring when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye—Johnny, Milo, Kenneth... all walking in a straight line. Grim. Silent. Shylo at the front.

They weren’t heading toward the match.

They were heading for the exit.

Apollo stepped forward. "Shylo."

Shylo stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

"You leaving the tournament?"

There was a pause before Shylo answered. "Amari might be in danger."

That was all he had to say.

Apollo’s eyes narrowed—but he didn’t ask who.

He already knew.

Shylo read that look instantly. "We’ll find him. We’ll bring him back."

Apollo nodded, jaw tight, gaze distant for a breath too long.

Then he stepped closer and rested a hand on Shylo’s shoulder.

"The man who took him..." Apollo said. "He’s not like us. He’s not here for a win. He’s here for something else."

Shylo’s eyes held steady. "Then we’ll be careful. And we’ll finish what Amari started."

Apollo gave a slow nod. No protest. Just respect.

As the group passed, Apollo stood there a moment longer, fists clenched, breath steady.