The arena was silent.
Only two won stood facing each other.
"You have a wonderful daughter, Veynessa," Yllara said softly, barely moving her lips. Her gaze rested on the girl in the stands who hadn’t taken her eyes off her mother.
Veynessa raised her brows slightly and smiled with quiet pride.
"I know. I wouldn’t trade her for anyone."
Yllara sighed, glancing to the side.
"Mine doesn’t even visit anymore. Runs around the world like she forgot she has a mother. Last I heard, she was exploring the Sand Choir Ruins, chasing so lost lody of an extinct clan."
"Every child has to leave the nest eventually. Even those raised in jade spirit palaces."
"That’s true," Yllara nodded, a shadow of lancholy crossing her face. "But mothers are rarely ready for their children to fly on their own."
***
In the stands among the elders, Elder Fenthar glanced at Calista, who stood with arms crossed, eyes fixed on the arena.
"What do you think will happen?"
At his words, Theron—the forr king—and Elder Maerion turned toward Calista. Their expressions were calm, but curiosity sparkled in their eyes.
Calista didn’t answer right away. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, followed the shadows cast across the arena stones. Her mind replayed every movent Veynessa had shown over the years.
"Elders Yllara, Fenthar, Maerion, King Theron and Pharos," she said quietly. "You might be the strongest in our clan. Perhaps few beings in the world can match you."
She paused.
"But you all share the sa weakness."
"Oh?" Theron humd, raising a brow.
"Arrogance."
Silence fell. Calista lifted her chin.
"Don’t get wrong. At your level, your arrogance is justified. You possess power that exceeds human understanding. But in your bones, in the way you look at the world... you all believe it can no longer surprise you."
The elders didn’t deny it. Theron rely snorted.
"If we’re arrogant, then what do you call a certain man in this family?" he said with a smirk, nodding toward Kaen.
A few elders chuckled. Calista did too, then added:
"There’s another weakness. Information. For decades, no one’s forced you to learn anything new. The world might not affect you directly, but it hasn’t stopped evolving. You know nothing of Veynessa’s combat style. But she knows every legend about you."
The elders went quiet. Finally, Elder Fenthar spoke in a calm tone:
"You’re suggesting she chose Yllara not by chance... but because she believes Yllara is the weakest link?"
Calista nodded.
"Maybe not the weakest. But among the four of you, she’s the one whose techniques are most vulnerable to Veynessa’s."
Elder Maerion’s gaze fixed on the two figures standing on the stone arena.
"Then let’s see... what this child can do."
On the arena, Kaen sat on his throne, hands resting on the armrests. His gaze locked on Veynessa. The mont his eyes t hers, a familiar tingling ran beneath her skin. The wounds from Calista’s blows pulsed—then vanished, as if ti itself rewound a few seconds.
Kaen tilted his head slightly, a barely visible smile on his face.
"The final match," he said loudly. "Let it begin."
Yllara and Veynessa stood facing each other, unmoving as statues. Neither so much as flinched after the announcent. They watched one another in perfect stillness, as if their gazes alone would decide the match before a single blow was exchanged.
The silence deepened.
Veynessa smiled first, calm and free of tension.
"Allow to begin," she said softly. Her voice carried across the entire arena.
She snapped her fingers.
In an instant, the space around them quivered, and dozens of white, radiant energy blades materialized above the arena. Their edges resembled crystal—semi-transparent, with a gentle, pulsating light flowing along their cores. Each bore thin runes etched down the blade, glimring subtly. Suspended motionless in the air, they vibrated with tension, as if barely restraining their hunger to strike. They arranged themselves in synchronized patterns, orbiting like celestial stars poised to descend in perfect formation.
Veynessa raised a hand and made a short, almost lazy gesture.
At once, all the blades surged toward Yllara, a blinding rain of light aiming to swallow her whole.
Yllara glanced at the approaching blades and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh," she murmured.
Her body shimred. She straightened slightly, muscles coiling like springs—and vanished. In a heartbeat, she reappeared to the right side of the arena, ready to counter.
But before she could strike, the blades twisted mid-air with unnatural precision and veered toward her again with renewed force.
Yllara halted mid-step, a shadow of acknowledgnt flickering across her face.
"This isn’t a simple barrage," she muttered. "She can control them... alter their path."
She smiled faintly, sothing finally catching her interest.
Yllara looked to the left side of the arena, staring at the seemingly empty space for a mont.
"Alright," she whispered to herself, then returned her focus to the incoming blades.
She raised her hand. A wave of invisible pressure rippled from her body. Space around her thickened, and sound... disappeared.
It was the Weight of Silence.
The blades, monts from piercing her, slowed dramatically as if stuck in an invisible swamp. So cracked from their own tension, others simply halted midair, unsure of their trajectory.
Yllara chuckled lightly.
"That won’t be enough to hurt ..."
She didn’t get to finish.
Veynessa had already raised both hands and conjured another wave of blades.
With unnerving smoothness, she launched them at Yllara again. The result was the sa—most halted or shattered against the Weight of Silence.
But Veynessa didn’t stop.
With a determination bordering on madness, she continued forging swords. One after another. Dozens. Hundreds. Nearly a thousand white blades lit up the arena, spiraling and arcing through the air, crashing down on Yllara in endless waves.
The elder seed unfazed. She stood still, her silence zone untouched by the chaos around her.
Watching closely, Veynessa thought:
"Just as I suspected. Using this technique... she can’t move."
"Then let’s play for ti," she decided, and kept summoning more energy blades.
Minute by minute, sothing shifted. At first, the swords shattered instantly upon contact. Now, so paused just a fraction longer before cracking. Bit by bit, milliter by milliter, they were getting closer.
Yllara noticed instantly. Her eyes traced the incoming blades, one brow rising slightly.
Sothing was changing.
She couldn’t explain it, but she sensed a shift in their structure. They were no longer breaking instantly. They were pushing harder.
Gravity still resisted—but not as firmly.
Yllara furrowed her brow.
In the stands, the elders exchanged subtle glances. Elder Maerion leaned toward Theron.
"Is she... strengthening them over ti?"
Theron didn’t answer imdiately. His eyes glead.
"Not just strengthening," he whispered. "She’s testing limits."
Elder Fenthar folded his arms.
"Exactly. She’s calibrating the attack—studying Yllara’s defenses."
Theron nodded.
"Note how she strikes from every angle. Like she’s searching for a weak spot."
Elder Maerion smirked.
"She’ll be disappointed. That technique... has no weak points."
***
Sylphia leaned forward, eyes wide. Her hands gripped her knees, lips parted in silent awe. She watched her mother stand unshaken amidst the storm, as if the chaos were just an illusion.
"Incredible..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her eyes glead with pride—and sothing else. A childlike hope to one day be just as unyielding.
Next to her, Aldrich remained silent. At first glance, he appeared completely composed, almost detached. But his hands were clenched into fists, and the muscles in his arms were taut beneath the folds of his robe. His gaze never wavered—fixed on the arena, on Veynessa’s form, as if trying to predict every possible outco before it unfolded.
On the arena, Yllara slowly exhaled and closed her eyes. After a mont, she opened them and raised her hand.
The gravitational zone expanded, its pressure multiplying. Instantly, hundreds of suspended swords shattered in unison, crushed by an invisible grip.
Yllara deactivated her technique—and surged forward. Her movent was fluid, effortless. She sliced through space with speed unbefitting her age.
Veynessa reacted imdiately, conjuring more swords and hurling them, but her eyes widened in disbelief.
The blades missed. Gravity bent around Yllara, deflecting the attacks sideways.
She didn’t slow. Each step was sure and rhythmic, as if space itself bent to her will. Blades twisted midair, repelled just before impact.
Veynessa stepped back, caution flashing in her eyes. She readied more swords—but then the ground trembled beneath her.
The arena floor buckled, forming a deep crater. Breathing beca laborious; her body grew heavier with every second.
Instinct told her to retreat—but gravity bound her muscles. She tried lifting a foot—it slamd back down.
She clenched her teeth, summoned Qi. A protective shell ford around her, lightening the pressure enough to move.
Just as she prepared to retreat—sothing flashed at the edge of her vision.
The air turned icy.
"Too late," a voice said.
Veynessa’s gaze snapped upward. Before her, where there had been nothing, stood Yllara.
Before she could react—sothing pierced her chest.
Yllara’s arm, calm and precise, drove straight into her body.
Blood hadn’t yet flowed. Veynessa’s eyes widened in pure shock.
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