The arena sands shimmered under the midday sun, stained with the sweat and blood of contenders. Liam flexed his Spire-marked hand, the corruption’s whispers slithering beneath his skin. Patience, he willed it. Not yet. The weight of the moment pressed upon him, each breath laced with the scent of dust and iron.

  The Beastfolk Challenge

  Prince Ragnar’s amber eyes glinted, claws unsheathed. “No magic, Vallis? Pity.”

  The crowd roared as Ragnar lunged, a blur of feral grace. Liam parried, bones rattling under the impact. Claws grazed his shoulder—a warning cut, not a kill. He steadied his breathing, feeling the heat of the crowd, the anticipation in the air.

  He’s toying with me.

  Helena’s voice cut through the Spire’s static: “Speed blinds. Let it tire.”

  Liam yielded ground, mapping Ragnar’s patterns. The beastfolk prince fought like a storm—all fury, no strategy. Tenth feint, twelfth pivot—there.

  Liam’s blade flashed upward, disarming Ragnar in a spray of sparks. The prince laughed, blood dripping from split lips. “Adrian’s cub has fangs!”

  Liam ignored the taunt, his grip tightening on the hilt. The temptation to let the Spire’s energy loose itched beneath his skin, but he forced himself to release a steady exhale instead. Control was everything.

  Family Threads

  In the stands, the Vallis clan played their roles:

  Mara’s healing rings glowed as she traced Liam’s wounds. “He’s favoring his left.” Her brow furrowed, concern deepening as she pressed against the wound with a practiced touch.

  Lilia heckled Ragnar’s sister Fenra. “Your brother hits like a kitten!” She grinned, flashing teeth as sharp as her words. But beneath the jest, her eyes flicked toward Liam, assessing.

  Amara’s concealed Mark pulsed violet, syncing with Liam’s Spire scars. Elric’s grip tightened on her shoulder. “Not here,” he whispered, though they both knew it was already too late. The connection was strengthening.

  Adrian exchanged nods with Sylphine’s elven spies—allies secured, deals made in whispers that would never reach the ears of the common crowd.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Evelina tracked Inquisition agents slipping poison into Cassian’s wine, her fingers drumming against the armrest. Subtle, but not enough to fool her.

  Helena allowed a smirk. “Control. Good.” But she was watching too, noting every hesitation in Liam’s footwork, every twitch in his injured shoulder. He wasn’t just fighting Ragnar; he was fighting himself.

  The Real Battles

  Elsewhere, Elara dueled Leonhart Drayden, their blades clashing in a dance of veiled threats.

  “Your father grovels to the Inquisition,” Elara hissed, parrying a strike meant to maim. Her stance was sharp, calculated.

  Leonhart’s charm faltered, a flicker of something raw beneath his usual bravado. “And your ‘betrothal’ shields Liam how?”

  Elara’s riposte drew blood, a thin line along his cheek. “Tell your traitorous house this: Vallis sees all.”

  Leonhart pressed a hand to the cut, his gaze darkening. The game was shifting, and he knew it.

  Seraphina’s Gambit

  Princess Seraphina’s light magic carved through Kaela’s defenses, yet the commoner smiled, unfazed even as energy seared her skin.

  “Your spies failed,” Kaela whispered, letting Seraphina’s blade pierce her shoulder. “The Inquisition knows your brother’s pact with the Spire.”

  Seraphina froze—how?—as Kaela collapsed conveniently. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the weight of the words that had just passed between them.

  Kaela knew too much. The question was: how much more was she hiding?

  Seminal Shadows

  Liam’s victory left him drained. As he exited, Kaela materialized, her wound already healed.

  “Adrian’s trap won’t save Amara,” she hissed, pressing a scroll into his palm. North crypts. Midnight.

  The Spire’s corruption surged—trust her—but Liam burned the note, watching the ash swirl in the evening breeze. Too many players, too many angles.

  Above, Seraphina’s ice-blue gaze followed him. Her lips shaped a warning: “The Spire hungers.”

  Liam’s jaw clenched. He knew.

  The Storm Approaches

  That night, Evelina convened the family. “Inquisition moves at dawn. The tournament accelerates.”

  Adrian spread a map marked with crimson X’s. “Liam faces Seraphina tomorrow. Her light magic could expose his Spire taint.”

  Helena drew her sword. “I’ll train him.”

  “No.” Liam stepped forward, Spire-fire dancing on his palm, the glow casting flickering shadows along the chamber walls. “I fight my way.”

  The room stilled. Mara reached for him, but he retreated.

  “It’s in my veins now,” he said, Amara’s terrified face flashing in his mind. “I’ll wield it first.”

  Adrian’s eyes gleamed. “Then make sure it’s not the last time.”

  Deepening Shadows

  Liam stood at the balcony, staring out over the darkened city. Below, nobles celebrated, unaware that war brewed beneath their feet.

  A quiet step behind him. Evelina.

  “You remind me of your father,” she murmured.

  Liam exhaled. “That’s not comforting.”

  She chuckled. “It wasn’t meant to be.” Then, more serious: “Don’t lose yourself to the Spire.”

  He looked down at his palm, the dark veins pulsing. “I might not have a choice.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You always have a choice.”

  Liam wasn’t sure he believed her. But dawn was coming, and with it, a battle that would change everything.

  The tournament was no longer just a game. It was survival.