Day Three: Evening

[Orion]

The sun completed its arch over the plains of Dante's Abyss for the third time, stealing away the daylight as it sunk. Through the shaded skies the stars' brilliance broke through, filling the saturated atmosphere with beautiful pin pricks of light. The prince watched as the timeframe ended for the third day in a row.

The days had been harsh to the Icer relatives, both physically and emotionally. Koola was itchy for battle, but consumed with the fatigue that went hand in hand with consistent travel over an unknown territory for three days with an injured parent. Right then he would settle for a stationary planet and a Supernova into its core rather than to meet the planet's army for melee combat. Yet he trudged on, ignoring the pounding desire for rest. Keeping a vigil and winning this tournament were the important things; there was plenty of time to sleep when he was fake-dead.

Cold wasn't looking much better. Still carrying his debilitating arm wound, his posture was slack, his eyes droopy, his motion slow and deliberate. Although far from death, the horned emperor was in a bad shape. He needed to stop, at least for a while.

"Hey," Koola said, breaking the silence of their trip, "you look like you could use a rest." Indeed he did, but the prince was also savouring a chance to recharge.

Cold blinked his eyes in quick succession, as if waking from a dream. "You know, that sounds like a good idea. My detached arm isn't exactly an energy saver."

"Over here," his son motioned, approaching a solitary tree in the middle of the field. Koola helped his father to the ground, who slouched his back against the trunk. Rummaging through the king's satchel, the changeling offspring extracted his food and water and gave it to him, allowing him to fuel himself at his own pace. The prince joined him, falling rather heavily to the earth and taking greedy sips from his flask.

"So, how do you think we're doing?" Koola asked as he lay the water bottle in his lap. "I mean, apart from the... well, you know."

Cold seemed to need to sleep, but humoured his son anyway. "Uh, well... we've spent most of our three days here wandering without an objective, save to kill anyone we run into, but we've only encountered one group. We didn't kill them, and we both walked away injured." He peered at Koola's bullet wounds before adding, "some worse than others. All up, I think we're doing pretty crap."

Just as Cold finished talking, the queen's voice returned to the airwaves.

"Another dead," Koola noted as Sazuaa's name resonated throughout the field. "That must bring the total down to around twenty." The prince's nonchalant attitude suddenly became determined. "I guess we're not doing all that bad. Sure, we haven't slayed anyone and it's going to be hard for you to play a guitar now, but we've lasted through half of the contestants. We just need to keep strong and alert. Right?"

The changeling shot a glance at his silent father. His chin was dug into his chest, his breathing far more peaceful and relaxed. Koola smirked, standing from the ground and placing his limited provisions into his bag.

"All right, dad. You sleep for now. I hope we can fix your arm in the morning."