The square had transformed. Moments ago, the stillness of dawn lay over Greymire like a fog. Now, the air crackled with an electric charge, alive with the murmurs of the gathered crowd. Ellie stood in the heart of it, her breath shallow, heart a hammer inside her chest. Around her, the townspeople circled—silent, expectant, watching her with eyes that bore into her skin like needles. Their anticipation was a weight she couldn’t shake, a heavy pressure that made her feel small, fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering.

Across from her, Kael Thorne loomed, a dark figure wreathed in menace. His black robes shifted with each breath, and his eyes gleamed beneath his hood like shards of glass. There was a smile playing on his lips—thin, mocking—one that suggested he had already won. As if the outcome was inevitable. His presence expanded with each mutter, every held breath from the onlookers, feeding him like a leech gorging on their fear.

Ellie’s fingers twitched at her sides. Too cold. Too still. She could barely breathe. What am I doing here? Panic flared, a wild thing clawing at her insides. She had no plan. No spells prepared. She didn’t even know what kind of magic Thorne wielded. Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She could feel the weight of too many eyes, pressing in, suffocating.

"You need not pretend, Ellie Liddell," Thorne’s voice cut through the tension, smooth and rich with disdain. "The stories about you may impress these simple folk, but I see the truth. You fear me."

He took a step forward, and shadows curled at his feet like smoke. His smile widened, cruel and sharp. “So, what will it be? Show me your strength... or admit defeat.”

Ellie’s mouth dried. Defeat. It would be so easy. Just give in, let this end before it truly begins. But then what? The guild, the expectations, the future she’d barely started to build—crumbling, just like that. She couldn’t let it happen. She couldn’t let them see her fail.

But I don’t stand a chance.

Her chest tightened, breath coming faster, shallow. She cast a frantic glance toward the crowd. Faces stared back—hungry for something, anything. A sign that she wasn’t a fraud.

No one stepped forward. No one offered help.

“Very well,” Thorne sneered, all traces of humor vanishing from his face. His voice dropped, low and icy. “If you won’t make the first move, I will.”

His hands rose, and the atmosphere shifted. The cobblestones beneath his feet shimmered, alive with strange, glowing runes. The wind stirred, pulled toward him as if obeying his will.

Ellie stumbled back, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her heel caught on uneven ground. Move. Do something. But her limbs refused to obey, frozen with terror.

Her hand flailed behind her, desperate for something to steady herself. Fingers brushed cold metal—an old, rusted lever embedded in the wall of the guildhall. She barely registered it, her attention locked on Thorne, who was advancing, the arcane energy crackling between his fingers.

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And then—CRASH.

A deafening metallic clang rang out as a massive iron gate, long forgotten above the square, slammed down between them, blocking Thorne from view. Dust exploded into the air, sending gasps rippling through the crowd.

Ellie blinked, her mind struggling to catch up. She stared at the gate in disbelief. What... did I just do that?

Thorne’s footsteps halted. The crackle of his magic dissipated. From the other side of the gate, she heard his voice—sharper now, colder. “Clever,” he growled, though there was a grudging respect beneath the irritation. “But tricks won’t save you.”

Ellie’s hand still hovered over the lever, her heart racing so hard she thought it might burst. The crowd erupted into murmurs, awe filling their voices.

“She planned that?” someone whispered.

“She’s brilliant,” another breathed. “She’s a genius.”

Ellie’s head spun. No. No, this isn’t—

But Thorne wasn’t finished. His growl deepened, and with a flick of his wrist, the gate shuddered, lifting just enough for him to step through, his hands blazing with power. The ground trembled beneath her feet.

“Enough of your games.” His voice had turned to a snarl, every word charged with malice. “Show me your strength, or I will burn this town to ash.”

The pressure in the square mounted, the magic twisting the air until it felt thick, suffocating. Ellie stumbled back again, her foot catching on something solid. A loose cobblestone rolled aside, revealing an ancient rune carved into the earth.

The moment her heel grazed it, the rune flared to life, and a jet of fire exploded from the ground, roaring to life in a fiery wall between them.

Ellie’s heart leaped into her throat. The heat washed over her, intense and blistering. Fire? How...?

The crowd roared its approval, their voices surging in a wave of praise.

“She’s a natural!”

“She’s using the terrain against him!”

Ellie’s stomach churned. They think... they think I did that on purpose?

Across the flames, Thorne’s expression twisted, sweat beading on his brow. “Impressive,” he spat, though his voice wavered, betraying a sliver of doubt. "But you won't best me so easily."

With a flick of his wrist, the flames parted, and he stepped forward, closer now, his eyes blazing with fury. He was bending the fire to his will, forcing it to obey him. Ellie’s legs shook beneath her. She had nothing left. She couldn’t match him.

Thunk.

The heavy wooden sign above the guildhall, dislodged by the rumbling ground, came crashing down, smacking Thorne squarely on the head.

He collapsed, the fire sputtering out around him as he hit the cobblestones with a dull thud, unconscious.

The square fell into stunned silence. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke.

Ellie stared at Thorne’s motionless form, her hand still resting on the lever, her mind refusing to make sense of what had just happened.

Then the crowd erupted. Thunderous applause filled the square, cheers echoing off the buildings like a crashing wave.

“She took him down without even breaking a sweat!”

“Did you see that fire? Incredible!”

"Ellie Liddell, master of the craft!"

Ellie’s breath hitched. Her vision blurred. The words felt like daggers in her chest. She looked from the crowd, their faces glowing with admiration, to Thorne, lying unconscious at her feet.

The guildmaster’s voice boomed over the applause, triumphant. “Ellie Liddell, champion of Greymire! None can stand against her!”

Ellie swayed, the cheers suffocating, pressing down on her from all sides. Her pulse thundered in her ears. What... what just happened?