Lucavion stood near the outer edge of the scorched basin, arms loosely crossed, his estoc resting against the ground beside him like a blade long since grown bored of drawing blood. Wind scraped softly through the broken spires, carrying with it the scent of mana-scorched stone and distant ruin. The ground beneath his feet still bore the echoes of too many clashes—half of them his.
He was alone now.
Or rather—alone from them.
The previous group was gone. Every last one.
Not because they had fled.
But because they had tried.
So ca with pride in their hearts, swords drawn, asking for a chance to be seen—and to them, Lucavion had obliged. He had t them halfway, held back his full speed, pulled every strike just short of breaking bone. He offered a few words between motions. Corrections. Quiet critiques. A low parry with a murmured "Too open on the right." A redirected spell with a single raised brow and "Control your core's breath." They hadn't left unscarred, but they had left with sothing. Truth.
And then there were the others.
The ones who thought numbers would tilt the scale. Who whispered to each other when they thought he wasn't listening. Who decided that if one-on-one wasn't enough, five or seven or twelve would be.
Those didn't get pointers.
They got removed.
Swiftly. Efficiently. Without drama.
The sky shimred now, signaling new arrivals. More candidates breaching the zone edge, drawn by the shifting field. Their auras pulsed like distant storms—so strong, most uncertain. He could feel them approaching in the distance, even if they hadn't dared step into the arena's ruins yet.
From sowhere just beneath the edge of his thoughts, her voice erged.
[You once again did sothing crazy.]
Lucavion's lips twitched into a dry smile.
"I didn't do anything," he replied smoothly, not looking up. "What do you an?"
[Vitaliara's ntal tone flicked with exaggerated disbelief.] [Yeah, yeah... You just happened to eliminate half a dozen in one stroke because they 'got too chatty,' and called it a tactical adjustnt.]
"They were chatty."
[You gave pointers while dueling them.]
"I was being educational."
[You marked one guy's cloak with a mana-cut that said 'try harder.']
Lucavion shrugged.
"It was good advice."
A beat.
Then, her voice dipped—lower, thoughtful.
[That knight… Seran, or Reynald, or whatever na he thought he wore—he wasn't a normal guy, was he?]
Lucavion's smile deepened.
Not warm.
Not cruel.
Just… knowing.
"Heh…" He exhaled softly, almost like a chuckle. "Guess?"
Vitaliara scoffed.
[If you don't want to answer, Lucavion, just don't.]
Lucavion gave the barest shrug, his gaze never leaving the distant shimr where the next group would erge.
"I'm not hiding anything," he said. "You're just smart enough to figure it out yourself."
A pause.
She didn't argue.
Because she was.
And after a beat of silence, she exhaled through their bond, her voice steadier.
[I would guess… he was a noble's plant.]
Lucavion finally smiled again—thin, wry, just a hint of teeth.
"On the right track."
A mont of quiet passed between them, tension stretched not by argunt, but shared inference. They didn't need to spell it all out. Not between them. Not now.
[But why?] she asked. [Why put him here? Why all that pretending?]
Lucavion let the wind pass between them, the breeze dragging ash and mory through the ruin.
And then he turned the question on her.
"Why are you the representative of the Beasts of Life?"
She blinked through the bond.
[What?]
"It's a simple question."
[Because I'm strong.]
"Good answer." He nodded once, like a teacher acknowledging the first step of a correct proof. "But is strength alone enough?"
A pause.
[You're baiting into sothing.]
"I'm asking."
[Beasts of Life follow power. That's how it's always been.]
"Do they?" he murmured, turning just enough to glance down at the etchings beneath his boots—the charred stone still humming from the last battle. "Tell . Would they follow a Mythical Beast of another elent? A Fire Beast? A Death Beast?"
Vitaliara hesitated. [No. They… wouldn't.]
"Why?"
[Because it's not just about power.]
He smiled.
[It's about belonging. About nature. About… resonance.]
Lucavion gave a slow nod.
"Exactly."
Vitaliara went quiet.
Not in confusion.
In comprehension.
She let the idea settle, threading its weight through the lattice of her instincts—centuries of inherited mory and old-world logic clicking into place.
[So he was sent there… not to win. Not to lead.]
Lucavion didn't respond. He didn't have to.
[He was a spy. Planted among them to make them feel like he was one of their own. Make them comfortable. Lead them quietly. And when the ti ca—steer.]
A long pause.
Then—
[...You humans are really sothing.]
Lucavion chuckled softly, resting his chin on the back of one hand. "That almost sounded like a complint."
[Don't push it.]
A new wind curled across the basin—warr this ti, and not from the stone.
From people.
One by one, new figures began to step across the cracked boundary that marked the edge of the safe zone. Their presence wasn't loud or coordinated. It was cautious. The air had shifted, after all—the pressure here was different. The terrain still bore the mark of Lucavion's last stand. Charred. Unwelcoming.
And yet… they ca.
Candidates hardened by the previous phases, whittled down to those who had made it through not by hiding behind soone—but by surviving. Scarred. Tired. Real.
He could feel them.
Each one edged with tension. Quiet breaths. Flickers of mana threaded tight in preparation.
Then—
A shimr.
Not grand.
Not loud.
Just… absent.
The air pulled back.
And she erged.
The girl in gray.
She didn't walk with the others. She didn't move in a line or formation. She simply appeared—half-parted from the breeze, half-drawn from shadow.
Lucavion's eyes shifted imdiately.
The silent one.
The one he had fought before.
Slender, wrapped in muted tones of cloth that seed to refuse light. Her presence was like a whisper in a dream—half-seen, half-rembered. Illusion magic, threaded through stealth techniques. A phantom with intent.
[Vitaliara's voice curled through the bond, laced with quiet interest.]
[So… she survived.]
Lucavion's gaze lingered on the girl in gray. She hadn't spoken. Hadn't even moved beyond her initial step into the zone. But her presence was stable—her footing deliberate. She wasn't just alive. She was composed.
"Well," he murmured, "she was quite talented."
The girl didn't break eye contact. Not fully challenging, but not yielding either. Just a quiet understanding. A mutual recognition of what they both were: efficient. Precise. Dangerous when necessary.
Lucavion offered a faint gesture with his hand—just a small, open-pald wave.
Not mockery. Not dismissal.
An acknowledgnt.
She blinked once, then stepped to the edge of the basin, keeping her distance. Watching.
As the shimr of the sky pulsed again, more candidates crossed the fractured threshold into the safe zone. One after another. Wounded. Breathing hard. Covered in mud, blood, and cracked enchantnts.
But then—
Lucavion's brows arched just slightly.
"Oh," he murmured with mild amusent. "He's here."
A figure stumbled in—lean, his coat torn at the shoulder, pants half-singed, and his boots trailing dust from four separate bios.
His expression?
Beaming.
"I made it!" the young man grinned to no one in particular, throwing his arms up. "WOOOHOOOO!"
Mana cracked faintly around him—not aggressive, not deliberate. But unstable. Thin tendrils of lightning shimred in the air around his shoulders and fingertips, sparking like excited nerves.
Lucavion tilted his head.
Vitaliara made a soft noise of confusion.
[What a weirdo.]
"I think I like him," Lucavion muttered.
The boy, still grinning like a lunatic who'd won a ga no one else knew they were playing, gave a mock bow to no one in particular, then collapsed onto a patch of unburned moss with an exaggerated sigh.
"Five stars," he said to the sky. "Zero regrets. Would not recomnd."
Laughter stirred from a few corners of the crowd. Just a breath. Just enough to crack the tension that had begun to coil again.
Because tension was still here.
Despite the new faces, despite the sense of achievent, no one had forgotten where they were.
They were still rivals.
Still contestants.
And every person gathered in that basin—healers patching wounds, warriors sharpening blades, mages gathering their shattered focus—knew what was coming.
The final convergence.
And not all of them would leave it walking.
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