The Grand Arena’s obsidian gates groaned open, releasing a tidal wave of sound—cheers, jeers, and the clatter of armored nobility. Liam Vallis adjusted his sword belt, the weight of Lady Helena’s training settling into his muscles. Around him, the air crackled with mana and ambition, a heady mix that made his Spire-marked palm itch.

  No magic, he reminded himself. The corruption coiled beneath his skin, sullen but leashed.

  Elara stood apart, her twin blades sheathed in ceremonial silence. Her nod to Liam was more warning than greeting—they’re watching. Across the sands, Prince Cassian Helios preened under adoring crowds, his gilded armor a mockery of true combat. The fool hadn’t noticed his sister Seraphina’s glacial stare dissecting every entrant.

  Smart one, that, Liam noted. Seraphina’s reputation as the Ice Sovereign wasn’t just for show. Her silver hair caught the light like blade edges.

  New threats emerged: Sylphine Alastra’s emerald robes whispered of ancient forest magics, her elven guard exchanging hand-signals with Adrian’s spies. Ragnar Bloodfang’s hackles rose as Fenra sniffed the air—beastfolk senses detecting the Inquisition’s incense beneath arena perfumes.

  And then there was Kaela.

  The commoner girl leaned against a pillar, sharpening a dagger with deliberate slowness. Her green eyes met Liam’s, flicking briefly to his concealed left hand. She knows.

  Adrian’s voice boomed from the imperial balcony, layered with subtle charm-spells. “Let the games honor our shared strength!”

  The crowd roared, oblivious to the subtext. This tournament wasn’t sport—it was Adrian’s trap. Lure the Inquisition’s agents into the open. Showcase Liam’s “control” over his Spire corruption. And if a few rival houses fell along the way?

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  Collateral damage, Grandmother Evelina would say.

  Liam’s first opponent swaggered forward—Darius Everwind, all rapier flourish and no substance.

  “Ready to lose, Vallis?” Darius sneered.

  Liam unsheathed his sword, Helena’s voice echoing: “The blade reveals what words conceal.”

  Darius lunged, steel singing. Liam parried, testing patterns. Thrust high, feint left, overextended recovery—there.

  Three moves later, Darius knelt disarmed, his cheek pressed to sand. The crowd’s gasp morphed into thunderous applause.

  Too easy, Liam thought. Cassian’s smirk had frozen. Seraphina’s eyebrow arched. Kaela… was gone.

  In the stands, the Vallis contingent played their roles:

  Mara clutched Lilia’s hand, her healer’s instincts tallying Liam’s bruises. “He’s favoring his left side.”

  Lilia grinned, wolfish. “That’s my boy! Well, Mara’s technically, but—”

  Amara bounced, her concealed Mark flaring violet with excitement. Elric’s hand settled on her shoulder, quelling the glow.

  Adrian nodded to the Emperor, two old predators sharing secrets.

  Evelina noted Inquisition agents slipping into shadowed exits.

  Helena allowed herself a fractional smile. “Control. Good.”

  Catriona heckled a nearby duke about his son’s gambling debts.

  As Liam exited the arena, a scroll materialized in his hand—Kaela’s work.

  North tunnel. Midnight. Come alone.

  He crushed the parchment, Spire-fire reducing it to ash. Whatever this commoner wanted, it reeked of Adrian’s meddling.

  Across the sands, Seraphina’s gaze followed him. Her lips shaped silent words: “Checkmate approaches.”

  That night, the city hummed with tension. Taverns overflowed with nobles placing reckless bets, while back alleys whispered of duels unseen. The tournament was merely the stage—the real battles happened in the shadows.

  Liam’s steps were soundless against cobbled streets as he approached the north tunnel. The torchlight flickered, revealing Kaela perched on a crate, arms crossed.

  “You’re late,” she said.

  “I didn’t agree to come,” Liam countered.

  She smirked, tossing him a silver pendant. The Vallis crest, worn and weathered. His breath hitched.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Kaela’s voice softened. “From a corpse that didn’t deserve to die.”

  Liam clenched the pendant. “What do you want?”

  “Answers,” she said, stepping forward. “And a war.”

  Above them, storm clouds gathered. The tournament was just beginning.