You see it on every sign and screen at the Kinikolu Resort and Sportsplex: “THE PARTY NEVER ENDS.” Over the past two months, the Marble Survival 100 Tournament host site has lived up to that promise.

Each week, a new obstacle course at the Survival Stadium rises out of a cloud of artificial fog. An athlete from each Marble League team then races day after day to avoid elimination. Those who remain have survived getting battered by rams, smacked four ways by fidget spinners or treated as playthings by the Bell Carousel.

Their reward for this gauntlet will be more than a championship trophy: it will be publicity. Online or on the airwaves, the Elite Eight’s faces are plastered on marketing throughout Marblearth. In the tournament’s first weeks, fans and passersby in Kinikolu could still catch an athlete on the sidewalk or having fun. Now those remaining are hard to access, marbles who seem more like myth on the outside.

As the excitement grows, who is stepping up to the moment while staying true to themselves? The stories over one week, when ten marble survivors turned to eight, tell the tale.

Thunderblog

“I swear I’m accredited,” insisted a marble wearing a Thunderbolts uniform and an old-fashioned journalist’s cap to the security marble at the entrance to the press room. “I’ve just lost my pass; that’s all.” 

It was a plea that fell upon deaf ears. The guardian of all that stood behind them—a hotel convention room where the final ten contestants were taking questions from journalists—remained stone-faced and unyielding.

“Go and find it, then,” was their blunt reply. 

The hat-wearing marble’s heart sank, and their face fell. In a moment of indecision—search their hotel room again or try and bargain further—they were rooted to the spot. At least until Bonbon came up behind the guard, and without thinking they frantically waved them to a stop. 

“Storm?” Bonbon said, pausing in their tracks. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Storm sighed a sigh of relief. Bonbon recognized them! “We last spoke after the Showdown,” they replied, flustered. 

Bonbon smiled. “You should let them in,” they said to the guard, even sharper than the guard had spoken to Storm. The velvet barrier rope fell silently. 

Plenty of other circuit journalists Storm remembered from one place or another sat in the press box, though the Thunderblog reporter was already late and the crowd was thinning. In any case, there was no time to be saying their hellos. 

“Shock is still taking questions, but there’s nobody left for me, so you’re welcome to have a word,” Bonbon continued. “Sorry you couldn’t make it before Mallard got eliminated.” 

“It’s fine.” Storm set up their recording equipment in the designated spot and handed Bonbon a mic. “I won’t keep you long.” 

“I already said, nobody lines up to speak to the Chocolatiers,” laughed Bonbon. “Rolling?” 

“Rolling,” Storm echoed, flicking a switch. “Thunderblog Special Edition, Elite Eight, speaking to Bonbon. You’re currently on the cusp of something exciting; a podium here would be the first podium for the Chocolatiers in a major tournament. Is the pressure getting to you?” 

“Not at all. I don’t think about the overall results or what might happen at the end of this. I think about the next race, that’s all.” 

“So you weren’t worried when it looked like you were at risk in Week 9?” 

“I knew what the numbers meant. But what happens happens—or, to be more precise, if I couldn’t pull it back, I didn’t deserve to go further anyway.” 

Storm nodded. “How are you feeling being alone out here?” 

“I’m used to it; me and Mocha weren’t always traveling together when I was in M1. Uh, but the hosts here in Kinikolu are so gracious, and I’ve got plenty of guidance from Truffle and the rest of the team when I need it.” Then Bonbon paused. “This is strictly off-record, but spending the entire year with the same teammates can really chafe. It’s nice to get some time away.” 

“No judgment here, it’s definitely—” 

“Hey, got a moment for me?” interrupted Shock, tapping Storm on the side.

“Oh, uh, of course!” replied Storm, though their surprise made it come out as a startled yelp. “You were busy, that’s all.” 

“I can always make time for my biggest hater,” laughed Shock. 

Storm did not find it half as funny. “Those things I said about you and dumplings and how bad you are at racing, that was just—” they stammered, but Shock cut them off. 

“Don’t matter anymore. As long as you’re willing to accept how great I am now.” 

“…Well, as long as you’re willing to forgive and forget…” 

“Water under the bridge!” Shock announced, snatching another mic and attracting a frankly embarrassing amount of attention. “Just write me a great puff piece in your Thunder-log.” 

Storm cast a side glance towards Bonbon, whose thin veneer of sympathy barely held back laughter. They were on their own. 

“N-no problem!” 

Value Scale 

In the hotel lobby, Aryp came across Yellah. They were sitting on one of the sofas, staring at the wall, phone on but unused beside them.

“You good?” Aryp asked as they rolled into their line of sight.

Yellah blinked the tiredness from their eyes. “Mhm, thanks. I’m just…”

“…Worried about the race?” Aryp finished.

“Yeah,” Yellah sighed.

“Well… do you want to come paint with me?” Aryp offered. “I was just about to start a new one.”

Yellah smiled. “Sure, why not?”

In Aryp’s room, a tarp splattered with paint laid across the floor, and a roll of canvas was propped against the nightstand. A sheet of said canvas was taped to the wall, already prepped with a layer of muted yellow paint.

“Don’t think about it too much,” Aryp explained as they fished paint and palette trays out of their bag. “Just do what feels right.”

With that, both marbles began to paint. A faint stroke of black spanning the whole canvas started them off. Then another, and another. Using a palette knife, Aryp scooped up some brown paint and pressed it onto the canvas. They raked the backside of the knife over the fresh paint, making it smear. Yellah had their turn with a splotch of white—with a technique akin to an angry cat, they swiped the knife left and right.

“How have you been enjoying the tournament?” Yellah asked, breaking the silence. They added some white along the edge.

“It’s good. I’m just trying to see how far I can get,” Aryp said. They used swift brushstrokes to add more brown. “It’s really beautiful here, too. I’m starting to miss Team Primary a bit, though.” They swished their brush at the top of the canvas, making a trail of white.

“Yeah, I miss Mellow Yellow too,” Yellah said. “But it’s nice to get some time in the spotlight.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Aryp murmured.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Yellah said. A swirl of a tiny brush created a black squiggle.

Aryp sighed. “It’s just that I feel like I’m too in the spotlight. It seems like all everyone talks about with Team Primary lately is how I’m so great and everyone else sucks. Or they don’t bring up the others at all—I don’t know which is worse.” In one quick motion, Aryp scraped their palette knife at a diagonal, making a black checkmark. “And I know it’s not everyone saying it—maybe I’m just looking in the wrong places—but whatever it is, it’s annoying.” 

The remnants of black were smeared on another part of the canvas, and a blotch of red was haphazardly thrown beside it. “The only reason I do so well in the first place is because the other members have my back. Because it’s Team Primary!” Another splotch of red slammed into the canvas and screamed across it, the palette knife making a shing sound as it released.

Aryp stopped to catch their breath. They tried to wipe paint off their face, only to smudge it some more. “See, this is how I get my emotions out,” Aryp chuckled.

“I can tell!” Yellah exclaimed. They added a dab of white on top of some of the red. “You know, I never really thought about that stuff before. I guess I’m on the other side of the coin; I blend into Mellow Yellow a bit and part of me has wanted to stand out more. This tournament is good for that. But it’s stressful to be the only marble others see from your team.”

“It is,” Aryp agreed. “But it’s an honor, too.”

Yellah nodded. They rolled away from the painting together and looked at it from afar.

“Do you think we’re done?” Aryp asked.

“I do,” Yellah answered. “It feels right.”

How It’s Made

Some marbles attending Marble Survival 100 are team superfans, like Turbulence from Vellis. A few fans can now make a career as an “influencer” tracking their team, and Turbulence thought the new tournament would grow their following. “I’m so confident the Speeders will win it all,” they had said, “that I’ll report live from Kinikolu over the next 100 days!”

The issue is that Speedy was eliminated halfway through, and to Turbulence’s horror their flight and hotel deal was non-refundable. The fan influencer was spending their idle time doodling next to the Sportsplex, as well as grabbing food left over at all the hotel buffets.

On this day, Turbulence was munching on a slice of cassata cake when someone tapped on their side. It was an orange marble with gray swirls, who said: “Have I seen you before? This food is for tournament staff wrapping up our meeting.”

“Oh… I’m actually part of the medic team,” mumbled Turbulence. “Just wearing my favorite team’s uniform when I’m off work!”

“Uh-huh. If you’d paid attention, you’d see I don’t have a medic’s black stripes. This is an engineers’ meeting, and I’m part of the course traps team.”

It was time for Turbulence to leave their half-eaten cake aside. They started taking notes as the engineer kept going. After a breakdown of how they wound up the clock spring spirals, the engineer mentioned they soldered the Bell Carousel frame back in Week 3. It was then that Turbulence whipped out a sheet of paper from their backpack.

“The Carousel? Are you aware of how bad that contraption’s dimensions are? It was flawed! No marble can dodge it all, even if they race to its side!” 

The engineer glanced at what Turbulence sketched on the sheet, which had many arrows going out of a marble labeled “SPEEDY,” all stopping at a circle with “BELLS” written in the middle. Putting it down, the engineer replied: “Is this a prank? Where’s the secret camera you planted?”

While Turbulence sputtered for a reply, the engineer continued. “I am amazed at how much you missed the point of this tournament. You know, I talk to the medics to track what injuries the traps might cause. But the traps by design aren’t stuff you swerve past…”

The engineer leaned in. “…No matter what entitled fans like you say. Why are you here anyway if the Speeders are already out?”

To that, Turbulence blurted out: “Because I’m stuck here, okay?! I can’t afford a plane ticket back home! And I want to still have a good time without getting a lecture, genius!”

“Tell you what,” said the engineer after a pause. “We’ve been short-staffed all tournament, and we need more marbles for this high-altitude trap in the plans. Do you know how to lift a beam? If you aren’t a total mess at work next week, we can pay you and get you back home.”

Turbulence glanced at their backpack, which had more in it than the engineer would assume: pencil drawings of traps, of architecture, of a career the Speeders fan always dismissed as an idle dream.

“Wow, what are the odds, ” said Turbulence. “You can count on me. And you’ll find I’m more than a construction worker.” 

The Rashmomon Effect

At the midpoint of Week 12, an invite—nobody knew from whom—requesting everyone to gather in the common room for a Non-Descript Card game had reached the remaining ten athletes. Not all had shown up—Rezzy and Aryp were conspicuously absent—and not all stayed past the first few rounds. But it had begun as, and for the most part stayed as, a polite and low-stakes gathering. 

A tinny radio, long forgotten, pumped out smooth jazz in the corner of the room, which darkened as the evening progressed from late -afternoon sun to a few steps below a tropical storm. It had been all but forgotten in the flurry of conversation between the athletes, who came and went as they pleased over the evening. By this point, those in attendance had dwindled to a group of four: Saucer, Shock, Bonbon, and Yellah. 

“Alright,” announced Shock out of nowhere, “we’re settling this.” Used to the lingering silence that had been building in the twilight hour prior, the table’s occupants looked noncommittally towards them. “Who had the worst elimination?” 

The other three exchanged glances between themselves and waited for someone other than themselves to speak first. Eventually, it was Saucer who chimed in. “Well, what’s your criteria for the worst elimination?” 

“I dunno,” Shock mumbled, wishy-washy. “Uh, just figure it out yourself.” 

The ever-scientific Saucer rolled their eyes. Nevertheless, they proffered an answer. “Then I choose Momomo.” 

“Why not Mallard?” Bonbon asked. “Same situation, but mathematically, their elimination chance was lower.” 

Saucer scoffed. “I don’t like what you’re implying—that it’s because that helped me escape elimination. Mallard got caught on their own—Momomo was pushed.” 

“Huh?” Shock chimed in. “I thought that was Momomo pushing Speedy.” 

“Now why would Momomo push Speedy?” Bonbon laughed. 

“Well, why would Speedy push Momomo? It only changed who was going home with them, and if anything, Speedy would have wanted that to be Mandarin,” explained Saucer. 

“Ah-ah,” Bonbon countered, shaking their head, “you’re talking as if Speedy really believed they were going home no matter what. It was probably some sort of harebrained scheme to DNF everyone and save themself.” 

Taken aback, Saucer barked out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. That couldn’t have possibly worked.” 

“True. But take it from someone who’s known them for eight years—you can’t put it past Speedy to have tried it,” replied Bonbon with a smirk. 

Before Saucer could retort with their own argument, Yellah slammed their hand of cards down onto the table, causing everyone else to jolt. “I think it was my turn,” they laughed as the rest stared. “You know, we have their phone numbers. We could call and ask—I’m sure they’ll have nothing but polite and understanding things to say about it.” 

Bonbon and Saucer exchanged a brief, tense glance between each other, then with Shock, and as if they had all silently agreed to leave it all a mystery, looked down towards the table and said nothing further on the matter. 

“Sometimes it’s better not to know the precise answer to everything, isn’t it? That way, nobody goes home resentful,” chuckled Yellah. “Anyway, I think my hand takes yours, Shock, so…” they continued, and Shock groaned as they handed everything over. 

“Says the one who made Mandarin DNF last week just to get one over on them,” mumbled Bonbon to Saucer between the sound of shuffling cards. Saucer responded with a laugh. Yellah, not so much.

“I heard that,” they grumbled.

Race Day

“Three days remain,” boomed Greg Woods over the speakers. “Three chances for you to lift yourself out of potential elimination.”

Friday’s race was about to begin, and there were racers like Aryp and Saucer who couldn’t stand still behind the starting gate. But there was also Sea looking over to fan sections to their left, Shock glancing at Bonbon’s side and the Fruit Circuit marbles staring daggers at each other.

Off went each marble as the gate went down, Saucer sprinting out the fastest only to get sideswiped by Slimelime. The usual Limers move, they thought, followed by a deep breath as they saw to the course’s right Swax, of the Bumblebees, cruising past.

Rezzy was catching up on the course when a silver blur caught their sight, followed by Greg Woods: “We had a ball bearing launch into the stands! My goodness!”

The Raspberry Racer could see a few security marbles – and what looked like a Speeders fan – running up to get this ball bearing that crashed into a flight of stairs. But enough spent worrying about the crowd: Rezzy was losing ground, fast.

At the front of the pack was Slimelime, now with a clear view of the Bell Carousel before the finish line. Limelime had watched Speedy rage every time they were stuck in the Carousel, or seen unflappable marbles like Yellah and Mandarin rant about this trap.  This week the organizers had hyped the “Merry-Go-Round” setup: when the Carousel is paired with a ramp bowl, entering the trap on the wrong racing line can get a marble stuck for eternity.

So obviously the Limer flipped the switch. Slimelime went into the act repeating: Winning isn’t about playing nice. Two seconds later, Slimelime crashed into a bell.

It was Bonbon who, with one swerve, sidestepped the carousel and was first to finish. Slimelime spat as they saw the move, then got bounced again by a carousel bell. Up to five marbles at once would get caught up in the Merry-Go-Round, bumping and swiping each other as if this was Funnel Endurance.

In the end, Slimelime was fourth out of five to escape the trap. They could see early finishers like Bonbon and Swax were all smiling and congratulating each other. All Slimelime wanted to do instead was fume. Was triggering the Carousel not worth it? Would Marblearth once again call the Limers chokers?

A Greg Woods announcement stopped the spiral: “We’ve actually got three marbles, and the Ghost Marble, caught up in the carousel!” Most racers at the finish line whistled or showed surprise to see Aryp – who dominated the week so far – still unable to escape. But Slimelime smiled when they saw the other two: Mellow Yellow’s Yellah and Rezzy of the Raspberry Racers.

A few minutes later, Race 82 of Marble Survival 100 was in the books. The engineers were arguing with each other over whether the ball bearing could have hit the audience. Aryp was smiling at the fan stands and Sea was sprinting out of view — as they had been.

And even as Rezzy tried to strike conversations with the Fruit Circuit athletes, all curtly refused. Rezzy was almost certain to survive this week, while now every other Fruit Circuit team was close to the chopping block.

Fruit Circuit Staredown

Somewhere in the distance, Aryp was shouting, calling for Yellah. When they found the yellow marble, it turned out that they were in their room, simply contemplating the competition. 

“Yellah, where were you!?” Aryp shouted frantically.

“Huh? Is something wrong?” Yellah asked, snapping out of their pondering.

“Well, a lot! Your Fruit Circuit buddies can’t stop fighting. I’ve gotten Sea to try and calm them down, but it’s clear that you’re needed for this.” Aryp continued.

“But…I don’t know how to handle that. Without Mandarin, they’re going to escalate further, and I don’t think I’d be much of any help,” Yellah replied as they glanced away from Aryp.

“Well, no use avoiding it now. You have to go — it doesn’t look pretty out there,” Aryp said as they gestured at where the fight had started, just around the corner.

From the window, Yellah saw two marbles with strikingly different uniform colors fighting. Yellah could similarly hear shouting originating from those two marbles, but Yellah was concerned that they were very physical. Furthermore, there was a crowd of unrelated marbles watching from a distance.

“You’re right… It looks very ugly out there.” Yellah rushed down to where the two marbles were fighting, Aryp trailing behind.

When they arrived, they heard the rage in the voices of the two rivals.

“Maybe if you weren’t so bull-headed you’d see what I mean!” Slimelime shouted in reply to an earlier comment from Rezzy.

“I’m fairly confident you’re full of it and just want to stay here!” Rezzy angrily retorted back at their rival’s comment.

“Of course I like it here. And me and Mandarin wouldn’t be in elimination danger if you weren’t such a show-off!” Slimelime shouted in rage.

“I’d like to see you try being a show-off, but all I hear is a bunch of cope!” Rezzy mockingly replied.

Suddenly, Slimelime charged up to Rezzy. They missed but were able to graze against their opponent. Rezzy, in response, jumped and hit Slimelime from above. The fight devolved from nonsensical verbal battles to a physical confrontation. Some fans tried discreetly recording Rezzy and Slimelime’s fighting but were blocked by security.

It was from the sight that Yellah found the true gravity of the situation. Not only did it look bad for the Fruit Circuit as a whole, but for themself if they didn’t interfere. And why would they just leave their friends like that?

As Rezzy and Slimelime fought, oblivious to their fellow Fruit Circuit athlete, Yellah heard traces of the conversation. They noticed the name “Mandarin” being tossed around. Hearing their arguments, they finally deduced what the argument was all about.

“So… what’s the problem now?” Bonbon, one of the spectators, few of whom were allowed to look, asked.

“They’re talking about Mandarin,” Yellah replied. “Aryp, come with me, I need to figure out a solution.”

As Yellah and Aryp discreetly rolled away from the scene, Yellah told Aryp, “They’re fighting about Mandarin. Rezzy, more specifically, feels bad for them since one of us three is probably getting the boot. They’re fine with Mandarin and me, but not Slimelime. Naturally, they’d want Slimelime eliminated,” Yellah explained to Aryp. “Slimelime likes Mandarin, but they need them eliminated right now.”

As Aryp finished listening, they suggested, “Maybe tell them your true thoughts.”

Yellah, while initially with indignation, understood what they meant. They took a deep breath, “Okay. I can do it.”

“Hey, you two! Cut it out!” Yellah screamed at the two fighting marbles. “And that goes for all you spectators too!”

“What do you want?” Rezzy, with labored breathing, asked.

“I’m stopping this nonsense,” insisted Yellah, determined to stop their bickering. “For the sake of the Fruit Circuit.”

Late Night Tango

“MEET THE SAUCE BOSS,” announced the digital screen overlooking the Survival Stadium in Kinikolu. Saucer of the Purple Rockets glanced at the new promotion from the tournament organizers; they were starting to market Saucer as Marble Survival 100’s biggest dark horse. 

Not even Greg Woods mentioned the Marble League rookie often early on. Then, in Week 6, Saucer staved off elimination: they ricocheted out of the Crazy Chevron trap to win a Sunday race. A few weeks later, each Saucer podium finish would get random fans yelling “It’s Saucin’ Time!”

Dusk hit and the stands started to fade into shadow, but Saucer felt more energized at night anyway. An unwanted guest, whom Saucer can hear rolling behind them, must think the same. Then a side swipe knocked Saucer out of sorts. Overtaking them was a rival, decked in honey yellow.

“You just insist on sharing the track, don’t you?” said Saucer, coming to a stop. “Swax, do you want to get sauced on?”

The Bumblebee athlete slid to a stop before the Crazy Chevron and turned. Behind Swax, the screen that promoted Saucer shifted to showing the Bumblebee, who had the tagline: “SWAX HAS ALL THE BUZZ.”

“Get those silly jokes out of here,” said Swax. “If you don’t like the competition, you can roll out for the night.” 

Three hours later, even the screens and lights around the Stadium have gone dark. Sitting underneath flood lights around the course, Saucer and Swax were catching their breath. Swax started to slow their breaths, saying: “Think that’s it tonight, Saucer. Good race.”

Saucer, who was halfway toward the track, turned and said: “So I outlasted you tonight, didn’t I? This is who I am until I win this series, so just admit you can’t keep up!”

Swax did not follow them. “Be… serious for a second, Saucer. The odds are 9 out of 10 that you don’t win, so do you want to risk injury here before the big tournaments start? When you talk this way, what are you trying to prove?”

“And what about you, huh? That you’re begging your team to move you out of a reserve?”

“You think you really got me with that, huh? It’s fine that you think you can win it all and be a legend. But sometimes teamwork is about stepping back for my more versatile teammates. I don’t regret choosing to be a reserve. Most of us are not superstars, Saucer. How will you deal with that?”

“Since when did I say I’m a superstar?” mumbled Saucer. “This is how I was in the Stardust Circuit. I had put the pressure on Starry back then, and again during those weeks when we were both here. Too bad they already left Kinikolu.”

“I guess you and Galactic used to race together, right?” said Swax. “And now Galactic seems to have no time for you? Saucer, you can’t have a career where you’re chasing for others’ attention. A champion doesn’t need to pretend they’re anything else.”

Swax leaped up and rolled in Saucer’s direction. “You remind me of how the Herbotamia marbs and us were ten years ago, ambitious athletes like Ace or Minty Fresh. Too bad they’re all gone from here now.”

Swax looked right at Saucer, and Saucer met their gaze. “Well, Swax… maybe we’ll get used to each other.”

Two If By Sea

They called themselves the Tide Pools, four young Oceanics fans who saved up a year to travel to Kinikolu. It was their turn to keep watch at the beach on the Resort’s far end, now that the whole fanbase knew Captain Sea was last spotted outside of the stadium there.

As they trawled through wild ferns, hearing exotic birds chirping around them, the Tide Pools thought back to several days ago. They had stumbled into some O’rangers fans who were tracking Mandarin’s trail around the island. The head of the O’rangers family remained magnetic at a fan meet, but otherwise fans only rarely stumbled upon where they rolled.

While the two teams’s supporters had chatted with each other, they heard two deeper voices not far away:

“You haven’t given up yet… enough with acting all mopey around all of us,” said one voice. “Maybe we won’t see each other again for some time, Sea. But please speak from the heart. What has stirred you this tournament? For whom do you race for?”

“I don’t need to deal with a mind reader too, Mandarin!” hissed the other. “The team is a mess. I don’t talk to this new coach. I’m happy I’m getting some exercise here before I get too old to race. I’m here for myself.”

The fans quickened their pace out of the ferns. “I hope, soon enough, you stop lying to yourself,” said Mandarin. “The O’rangers Nation is what motivates me.” The fans can hear how they were almost there.

“I can’t tell the fans too much and set unrealistic expectations, but I’ll fight to stay in this tournament for them. Don’t be a captain who’s too anxious to promise even a single thing to those who support you–”

The O’ranger’s speech was cut off by shrieks of joy, coming from the O’rangers fans who’ve caught both them and Sea. But, before the Tide Pools could step forward, their beloved Captain had already sprinted and vanished behind the grass.

That was five days ago. For the fifth straight day, the Tide Pools rolled back to this beach hoping for one glimpse of their Captain. No one was at the beach when they rolled in, and they all expected another afternoon with no one in sight.

“Wait, check out those splashes over there!” yelled one Tide Pool. All four fans moved toward those spouts of foam to their right. Their rolling turned to a rush as a blue marble gasped for air and flopped back onto the beach. It was their Captain, so full of confidence that they were trying to swim and conquer their hydrophobia!

Sea could see the screaming fans coming their way. To their left was the tall grass that had been their escape, but with an uneasy grin the athlete turned the other way.

Quickening their roll toward the fans, Sea remembered those last words from Mandarin while they sprinted out of sight: “Stop hiding from your shadow! Race and win for the marbles you love.”

Guiding Light

With the field of competitors having been whittled down so far, things between Rezzy and Slimelime were becoming claustrophobic. Wherever Rezzy went, Slimelime followed, or at least it certainly felt that way. 

Another argument had left Rezzy in a horrendous mood, storming off into the thick tropical rainforest that encircled urban Kinikolu. They wandered, directionless, until all was birdsong and insect trills and the impenetrable foliage walls surrounding the rough-hewn dirt path, and they were certain that Slimelime hadn’t followed them so far. 

Great, thought Rezzy, when I go back, they’ll be gone. 

Ancient trees surrounded them, so tall that their canopies blotted out much of the sky. They retrieved their phone, only to find it had no signal and no connection. In their anger, they hadn’t kept track of the turns they’d taken. 

I’m not lost, Rezzy thought. But as they retraced what they thought had been their path through the rainforest it grew harder to keep telling themselves that. When they next saw the city’s outline again—at the bottom of a steep slope they had no hope of being able to get down—they had been wandering, without water, for an hour in the midday heat. 

“Crap. If Diego was here, then…” grumbled Rezzy to nobody but themselves. 

Diego was from a tropical island not too different from Kinikolu, and they’d have never gotten lost in a forest like this. But more than that, for 77 days, Rezzy and Diego had been almost inseparable. Their friend since the 2019 Elimination Race, Diego’s presence had made the tension and anxiety of competing and the sometimes yawning periods between races bearable. 

Even as specks on the horizon, Rezzy could pick out everywhere they’d been: The aquarium where they had watched clouds of jellyfish swimming together, the seafront restaurant where they had eaten brunch together every Sunday, the hill where they had watched clouds roll past. But Diego was gone, now, and the rare time they had together was over. No amount of longing could bring them back. 

Resigned to remaining lost in the forest, Rezzy rested against the knotted base of a tree on top of the ridge. They were nearly asleep when they were disturbed by movement coming towards them; emerging from the shadow of the trees was Aryp, who seemed as relieved to see Rezzy as Rezzy was to see Aryp.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. How did you get so far out?” asked Aryp. 

“I, uh… How did you know I was here?” replied Rezzy, dodging the question. 

“Diego called me. You hadn’t texted back immediately like usual…. so I asked Yellah where you went,” Aryp said, smirking. They passed a bottle of water to Rezzy, who drank greedily from it. “Were you just going to stay out here?” 

“Uh, no way. I have a tournament to win, you know?” they rambled through a mouthful of water. “You remember the way out, yeah?” 

Aryp nodded. “Sure, I know how to mark my trails…. Next time you see Diego, ask for some survivalism lessons, since you seem a little lost without them.” 

“…Yeah, I’ll ask them about that,” Rezzy stammered. 

As Aryp led them back through the forest, they looked at the last few traces of the sky behind them and thought again of Diego, who themself was looking at the same sky no matter how far away they were. 

I’m gonna do it for you, buddy.

Credits

• Writers: Evolution, Fouc, Millim, Steel
• Copyeditors/Editors: Evolution, Fouc, Millim, Stynth
• Artists: Evolution, Piney, Momoikkai, Toffeeshop
• Photographer: Jelle’s Marble Runs
• Reference: Marble Survival 100
• Release: 22/05/2024
• Special Thanks: Schurgy