Kelvin looked at him strangely, as if trying to decipher whether Hope was being serious or just too simple-minded to consider anything beyond basic survival. His expression shifted from curiosity to something else—something contemplative.
Walker sighed from where he lay, the rusted dagger still clutched in his hand. Without a word, he turned his back on them, finally settling into what appeared to be sleep. Or at least, he had stopped pretending to be asleep and actually surrendered to exhaustion.
Kelvin, however, remained awake. His gaze lingered on Hope for a moment longer before he finally spoke, his voice carrying a weight that made it clear he had thought about this deeply.
"If you truly wish to only survive, you have to be the strongest," he said.
Hope didn't react immediately, letting the words sink in.
Kelvin continued, his tone measured but firm. "Because we are not just trying to avoid getting killed by Veil Beasts. There are also humans like us—contestants—who have the determination to kill others. And sometimes… they're even deadlier than the beasts."
Hope exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. He wasn't surprised by Kelvin's words. If anything, they confirmed what he had always known.
"Where there is power, there is strife," he murmured.
Kelvin nodded. "Exactly."
Hope's fingers curled slightly around the tattered fabric of his sleeve. He had lived by that truth long before The Veil had chosen him. He had spent his entire life dodging human predators—people who killed not because they had to, but because they wanted to. People who saw weakness as an invitation, who fed on suffering like scavengers circling dying prey.
"I've spent my whole life running from people like that," Hope admitted. His voice was quiet, but there was no fear in it. Just an understanding of reality.
Kelvin studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Then you already know what kind of world we're in."
Hope nodded. He had learned that lesson a long time ago. The strong preyed on the weak. Power wasn't just a means to survive—it was a means to exist without constantly looking over your shoulder.
And now, trapped in The Ashlands, that truth had never been more apparent.