[POV Liselotte]
The rest of the matches unfolded under a tension thick enough to taste. The crowd kept cheering, but with a different kind of energy. There was no longer euphoria in their cries—it was a desperate attempt to feel excitent again after witnessing what the White Veil had done. Fear always changes the tone of applause.
The battles continued one after another. The Steel Minstrels eliminated the Daughters of Lightning after a fierce fight of flashes and impossible acrobatics. Then, Midnight Thorns defeated Crimson Wing in a brief yet ferocious clash. However, not even the most dazzling spells or the most brilliant strategies could erase the cold unease left by that thirty-second battle.
By the ti the last gong of the day echoed, the sun had already begun to descend. The guild’s mages started sealing the arena with containnt barriers. The golden tones of sunset fell upon Kreston, dyeing the coliseum walls with a warm, lancholic glow.
The three of us waited in the side corridor, alongside the other finalists. The air slled of old stone, sweat, and magical dust. Leah, standing beside , drank water slowly. Her expression was calm, but her eyes darted restlessly, studying everyone around us.
Chloé was lying at our feet. Her ears twitched in every direction, like antennas catching every sound.
“Too quiet,” she said ntally. “Even for a coliseum at the end of the day. Sothing’s off.”
I barely nodded. She was right. There was an echo that didn’t belong there—a faint vibration slipping through the walls.
“Maybe it’s just fatigue,” said Leah, forcing a smile. “Or nerves before the semifinals.”
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t that. It was sothing else. A presence. A subtle pull, like an invisible thread calling toward so point down the corridor.
“I’m going for a walk,” I murmured, trying to sound casual.
“Alone?” Leah raised an eyebrow.
“Just a mont.”
Chloé lifted her head. Her golden eyes glead under the dim corridor light.
“If sothing touches you, I’ll bite it,” she said dryly.
I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I ventured into the coliseum’s corridors. The magical torches flickered, casting dancing shadows across the rough stone walls. The echo of workers’ and healers’ footsteps faded as I moved away from the main bustle.
The sensation grew clearer, more insistent as I advanced. It wasn’t a voice, nor a sound. It was a diffuse familiarity—a silent call that vibrated behind my chest.
And then I saw her.
Standing at the end of the corridor, lit by a tall window, was the white-haired woman from the Guild of Sorcery—the sa one who had directed the projection show during the ceremony. Her blue and gold robe fell to the floor, and the orange glow of dusk surrounded her like a halo.
Her golden eyes, serene and ancient, lifted toward as soon as she saw approach. She didn’t look surprised.
“Liselotte,” she said calmly. Her voice carried a clarity that rang through the air like a bell. “I knew you would co.”
I stopped a few steps away. “Do we know each other?”
A faint smile crossed her lips. “Not in this life.”
Her words froze more than any spell could.
She studied closely, as if searching for sothing invisible around . “Your energy isn’t like the others’. It’s not rely magic. It’s as if sothing ancient, asleep for centuries, has awakened inside you.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Her words were too much like the ones I’d heard in my dreams.
She walked toward slowly. Her steps made no echo.
“When I saw your reaction during the show, I knew you felt it too.”
“That figure…” I murmured. “The woman of light.”
She nodded. “The First Weaver. The echo of the original magic—the one that weaves the threads between creation and ice. Not everyone can perceive her. Only those bound to her.”
My throat tightened. “Bound?”
“Yes.” Her eyes glead, golden and intense. “You and I share that thread. I felt it the mont your mana touched the air. We are reflections of the sa root, though in different tis. That’s why, when I saw you, sothing within awoke.”
A shiver ran down my spine. “What exactly does that an?”
The woman raised a hand. With a gentle motion, she drew a circle of light in the air. Within it, blue lines intertwined like a living embroidery. Two luminous threads approached, brushing against each other before continuing their paths.
“There are patterns that ti does not erase,” she said softly. “Cycles that repeat. The magic within you—the one that responds to ice and dormant mana—did not begin with you. It is an inheritance. A call the world repeats until soone can finally hear it.”
“Then…” I swallowed hard. “You hear it too?”
“For years,” she admitted. “But my bond is incomplete. Yours, on the other hand, grows every ti you use that power. Every ti the ice answers.”
The air between us grew colder. The light of dusk seed to fade.
“Be careful, Liselotte,” she said then. The seriousness in her tone pierced my soul. “What awakens in you does not only create. It rembers. And the mory of creation is dangerous.”
“Why are you telling this?”
“Because if you don’t understand it soon,” she replied. Her voice carried a sorrowful weight. “Others will. And they don’t seek balance—they seek control.”
For an instant, the air trembled. I saw a faint white flash behind her. It was as if her silhouette split into a second image—the sa woman, but younger, wearing garnts from another age.
I blinked, and the vision vanished.
She smiled again, as though she knew exactly what I’d seen.
“The semifinals will be a breaking point,” she said. “After that, nothing will be the sa. Not for you, nor for those beside you.”
Before I could reply, a current of air swirled around her. The hem of her robe lifted, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Only the cold breeze remained. The faint scent of ozone that always lingers after powerful magic hung in the air.
Behind , I heard footsteps. Leah turned the corner, with Chloé close behind.
“Lotte,” said Leah, breathing fast. “We were looking for you. Who were you talking to?”
I turned around. The corridor was empty. Only the flickering torchlight and the cold air remained.
“No one,” I said, though the word tasted bitter. “Just a shadow.”
Chloé approached, sniffing the air. Her fur bristled.
“That wasn’t an ordinary shadow. It slls of ancient magic. The sa energy that radiated from you that night in the village.”
Leah frowned. “Lotte?”
“I’m fine,” I said, sounding firr than I felt. “Just… sothing familiar.”
But as we walked back together toward the main hallway, my mind kept circling around her words.
The mory of creation.
And deep within , sothing answered the echo of her warning—a cold, living spark.
It wasn’t fear. It was recognition.
As if sothing inside —sothing very old—had just opened its eyes.
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