Alvios's steps toward the stands grew heavier with every meter, his breathing rougher, his eyes nearly falling shut on their own. Herkule still lay motionless in the sand, but a single gesture from the dwarf king was enough, and the elven healer among the seven present legends let her power flow across the arena once more. Blood turned to Aether, dust to a cool, refreshing breeze, as if the entire fight had never happened. Alvios studied his own hand, turning it in the light. "Incredible. Like I was born again." His smile didn't last long, though, because when he turned his head, Herkule was already standing before him again.
Defeat sat deep in him, but what rose in Herkule wasn't anger or wounded pride, but something more primal—the pure, not yet fully extinguished fighting instinct of a warrior whose body hadn't quite grasped the outcome of the duel yet. He charged at Alvios, fist raised, and then stopped dead in midair, only a few fingers' width from his face, frozen as if turned to stone, without quite being so. Something in the arena itself had halted him, gently but absolutely, sending his mind and body back to where they'd come from. This arena tolerated no interference after the final blow, no corruption of its order—the souls of the fallen who had dwelt within its walls since time immemorial watched over exactly such moments, and what they didn't want simply didn't happen here.
Once things had settled again, Alvios returned to the stands, where Viktoria leapt toward him with open arms, her eyes red from crying impossible to miss. He stroked her head gently, fully aware of how much worry he'd caused her during this fight. Only after a while did he notice the other spectators eyeing him in strikingly different ways—some grinning, others with raised eyebrows. Uneasy, he leaned toward Nouel. "Why is everyone staring at me like that?" Nouel kept his eyes closed, arms crossed, letting out only a long, heavy breath without answering. Alvios tapped his shoulder again. "Is it because of Viktoria?" Only now did Nouel open his eyes, his gaze oddly fixed on a spot just beside Alvios, and with a hint of dry mockery in his voice he whispered: "You're barely wearing anything."
For a long moment Alvios had no idea what he meant, until his gaze followed Nouel's and he saw the remains of his shredded armor, barely covering more than necessary. A flash of horror crossed his face, followed by hasty attempts to cover himself with his arms as best he could, as he realized the healing had restored his wounds but not his clothes. Viktoria, still clinging to him, didn't seem the least bit bothered. "Oh dear," she murmured, amused, "I suppose my clothes weren't healed along with me either, in that case." Raiiko, who had watched the whole scene with quiet amusement, reached wordlessly into the shadows beside him—a brief, barely noticeable flicker of darkness, as if his arm reached deeper than the shadow itself should allow—and tossed Alvios one of his own garments. Apparently he carried more of them than one would have guessed at first glance. Alvios quickly pulled it on, grateful for the rescue.
The ancestors didn't keep the next fight waiting long. The Aether in the arena rose noticeably, and the crowd fell silent to listen to the voice now speaking through the dwarf king. "Congratulations, brave contenders. The path was long, but the memory and the growth of your own skill will stay with you forever." With the blessings of the souls, the remaining fighters approached the end of the first tournament half. "Half of the first round is complete. Now the second half of the tournament bracket begins." A tremendous applause rolled through the stands, and the king raised his voice again. "Next, may the following contenders please step forward. Katarine."
A young-looking woman rose from the crowd. She belonged to the race of the stone people, a rare folk who often went unrecognized among ordinary beings, since they could effortlessly adapt to their surroundings and hide their own stone skin behind a deceptively real human one. Fine, gentle cracks ran across Katarine's face—not scars, but the quiet mark of her true nature resting beneath the surface. "The other participant is… Viktoria." With a single leap, she swung herself onto the stands' railing, both arms spread wide, executed a horizontal backflip, and landed down in the arena as softly as a cat, casting one last triumphant look back at the stands. Katarine, by contrast, took her time, striding down the steps unimpressed and without any haste.
Once both had reached the bottom, the ancestors announced the rules of the coming fight. "You will not fight in the ordinary way." The voice paused briefly, then deepened, turning almost solemn. "Ten crowns—for those among you who still prefer to count it as ten minutes—will be your time. Whoever was touched last has lost." One might think it a cruel game, but appearances deceived: it was, at its core, nothing more than an ordinary children's game. Whoever starts is the seeker, the other must not let themselves be caught. Viktoria's eyes began to shine with anticipation, while Katarine kept her gaze lowered, listening attentively. "Weapons and Aetherium are forbidden. Racial abilities may be used, as may bare fists."
At these words, Viktoria involuntarily took half a step toward the royal box, her voice suddenly uncertain. "Forgive me, Majesty—do you truly mean that? My full ability?" The dwarf king regarded her with a look that betrayed neither impatience nor surprise, only calm attentiveness. "I know what you're asking, child of the Lunare." A quiet murmur ran through the nearest spectators, but Viktoria held his gaze. "Out there, in the streets and courtyards of the kingdom, your line is considered something better hidden than shown. I know the stories." The king nodded slowly. "Out there, yes. But this arena does not answer to the laws of the streets, but to the laws of the ancestors, which are older than any fear that has been sown since." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping, growing almost confidential. "Prove to me here, before these stands, that what slumbers in your blood is not a danger, but a skill—and I will personally grant you the right to bear it in this arena. More than that: I will speak with the Regina herself, about whether the rest of your people should not be granted such a right as well." Viktoria felt something tighten in her chest that reached far beyond the coming fight—this was no longer just about victory, but about the possibility that her line might one day no longer have to live in hiding. "I will prove it," she said quietly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt.
The king leaned back and nodded to the ancestors to continue the rules. "Whoever seeks first will be decided by rock, paper, scissors." Alvios couldn't help but grin, not taking his eyes off Viktoria for a moment. "May we one day face each other in this tournament," he murmured quietly to himself. "I believe in you." "The winner must hide and must not be caught," the ancestors continued. "But a mere touch isn't enough—it requires a clean hit that catches the opponent cold." "Begin."
Viktoria and Katarine stepped toward each other, and once close enough, both spoke the ancient children's formula as if with one voice. "Rock, paper, scissors." Katarine chose rock. Viktoria, as irony would have it, paper. Victory for Viktoria. There was no time for a moment of triumph, because the world around them had already begun to change. The spectator stands seemed to recede outward, while inside, three equally sized zones formed within the growing arena. Above her, Viktoria saw a virtual Aether board showing the remaining time: nine crowns and fifty-eight ticks—for those who'd rather count in the old earthly measure, just under ten minutes. "Ah, so that's ten minutes," she murmured, and without further hesitation went looking for a hiding place.
She found herself in the third of the arena covered in roots, moss-grown rock, and enormous, ancient trees—a jungle so dense and humid that even seasoned trackers from Aeridor had rarely set foot in one like it. Viktoria let herself sink into a treetop, tense, knowing her opponent wouldn't keep her waiting long. The fruits of her training would have to pay off now. With a quiet, barely audible word and a fluid motion, she dropped onto all fours. "Please work here too." Her bloodflow accelerated rapidly, her hair bristled, but it felt different than in the cave—smaller in scale, but far more controlled. Her mind stayed clear, her strength grew, her senses sharpened, like those of a wild animal patiently waiting for its moment. Outwardly, almost nothing about her changed, and yet she was suddenly brimming with a confidence that came from deep within her. Evolution, she called the form she'd learned during training with Nouel.
Up in the stands, Alvios and the others looked in surprise at an Aether screen that had opened only for the spectators, alternating between Viktoria's and Katarine's view. "Wow, Viktoria, you really had that up your sleeve," Alvios marveled, throwing Nouel an excited look, but Nouel stayed serious. Katarine's outline, meanwhile, began to blur before everyone's eyes, merging with her surroundings until nothing of her remained visible—ready to strike at any moment. Viktoria prepared herself, letting her gaze wander ceaselessly across the canopy. "Come on then, what are you waiting for." But Katarine remained as if swallowed by the earth. The clock showed nine crowns and twenty-four ticks, along with the display: Current Seeker – Katarine. The waiting visibly unsettled some of the spectators, for the next attack seemed possible at any moment—and yet never came. Nine crowns ran out without anything stirring.
The succubus woman from before let out a heavy sigh. "Man, I hate this kind of fighting like the plague." Her husband shot her a look, without changing his expression, and continued speaking calmly. "To appreciate the value of a fight like this…" She cut him off, visibly disgusted. "Who asked you." Arrogant as his own son, he wasn't about to let that slide. "What was that, woman? Say that again." But instead of answering, she simply ignored him. The king, deliberately overhearing the exchange, turned to his own son instead. "Shrodmir, what's the first thing that comes to mind when you watch those two down there?" Hesitant, almost stammering, the young dwarf leaned forward. "Um… well. I'd say whoever exposes themselves first, loses." "Only half right," the king replied. Shrodmir looked up at him, puzzled. "What you say is true, but there's more to it. Namely, endurance." For both Katarine's camouflage and Viktoria's Evolution form drained not only Aether but also noticeably taxed their stamina—holding out for the full ten crowns didn't look truly possible for either of them.
At seven crowns and forty-five ticks, the situation remained unchanged. Viktoria began to sweat slowly, heard the leaves rustling in the wind, felt the warm, humid air on her skin—the same air that somewhere out there also settled over Katarine's hidden form. Both waited hungrily for the one moment that would decide the fight with a single hit.
At seven crowns and twenty-three ticks, Viktoria closed one of her eyes, not from the heat, not on purpose, but because in this form she was slowly reaching her limits. Nearly three minutes—a remarkable feat, and yet it was clear she wasn't built for a pure war of attrition. "Damn, my strength," she murmured, shaking off the creeping fatigue with a determined shake of her head. Then a branch snapped behind her. Unnaturally. She knew it at once. "Katarine." Still in her form, Viktoria struck blindly in that direction, on pure instinct, for nothing could be seen with the naked eye. Indeed—a hit on the upper arm. Shortly after, she too was struck, on the ribs, barely noticeable, but enough to send her rolling backward. With an elegant dismount she caught herself on a branch, swung across, and landed safely in the next treetop. "That was close." The silence afterward could hardly have been louder.
Then the surroundings changed again. The dense jungle became an ancient village, inhabited by elves who didn't actually exist—only a fleeting projection of the Aether, created to shape the next phase of the fight. Viktoria fell silent, glancing up in alarm as the virtual board flickered and a siren sounded. The king's voice echoed across the arena. "Hit! The tables have turned—new seeker: Viktoria." Seven crowns and seventeen ticks remained, just under seven minutes for those who preferred earthly time. Nouel's expression barely changed, while Alvios looked visibly surprised and Raiiko fascinated. "I knew it would come to this," Raiiko murmured quietly.
Viktoria looked around frantically. A child fished at the village stream, a family prepared a skewer outside, its scent wafting toward her—but no trace of Katarine, as if she'd dissolved into thin air. In truth, Katarine had blocked the hit with her arm, but could barely feel it anymore, numb with pain, unsure whether the bone was broken. All that remained for her was to let time pass without being discovered. Viktoria calmly approached the family at the fire, the smell of food tempting, but the village was small, enclosed by walls that left no way out. Up in the stands, Nouel quietly explained to the others what he'd already noticed during their joint training. "She has a window of three minutes." His gaze wandered to Raiiko, then to Alvios, who had sat back down out of sheer excitement after briefly jumping up. "For a war of attrition, she picked the worst possible opponent."
At exactly seven crowns, Viktoria finally lost control of her form entirely. "Damn, I guess that's as long as it goes," she sighed, looking at her now-ordinary hands, continuing to search for Katarine as best she could. At six crowns and fifty-eight ticks, Katarine finally sank onto a bench a few steps away from Viktoria, her injured arm pressed tightly against her, breathing heavily with pain. "Three minutes, then… not bad," she said, her praise free of any arrogance, almost like a quiet sign of respect. "If you'd held that form a bit longer and caught me first earlier, I wouldn't have had a chance at victory." She raised her gaze, a tired, honest smile on her lips. "I, on the other hand, can stay in this camouflage form for seven crowns before I become visible again. And I'm still young—others of my people can hold it for hours. Some even days. True masters of the ability." Viktoria returned the smile only faintly, every movement now visibly costing her more strength than just a few crowns before. The fight wasn't decided yet, and yet deep within her a wish was already stirring for a moment of stillness, far from the stands and all those watching eyes—a thought she knew, the moment the ancestors passed judgment, she wouldn't be able to hold off much longer.