Naayir-Nahtahma | Svernia | Interlude

In one of the private gearing rooms of the Koleyane Colosseum, Marko polishes the A'nurian blade of his katana.

Drawing from his lau'khet, the outlines of the blade radiates a phosphorescent azure. From any angles the blade can be perceived, this azure outline did not dim or falter in color and depth. Nor did this daemonic aura distort all that's reflected in the blade.

Just as when it had been forged, the inscription of the blade glows a molten white. In traditional dalkarian the inscription reads;

Ayshehhilal

Half of the seal that prevents the blade from drawing on his energy reserves begins from the hilt. He returns the sword to its onyx sheath inscribed with the other half of the seal. When he snaps the sword into place, the crystalline seal illuminates a dim moonlit blue.

For a time he sits crossed legged, eyes closed, sword resting on his lap, listening. A low rumble penetrates the thick walls, rising and falling with anticipation.

A week's passed since the Koleyane Colosseum hosted its seasonal taikhetudin death elimination.

Although the grand prize of two hundred gold and silver crystaires attracted many challengers far and wide, a great number of participants competed to advertise their abilities to wealthy patrons, and a handful participated for possible recruitment from Celestial Orders.

Marko, however, participated on a passing whim. Originally he'd meant to continue northward and surprise David with a visit to Atmedanyeh.

Sometimes he'd wonder what his old friend had gotten up to. Were it not for the stringent disciplines of his apprenticeship, he would've kept regular correspondence. Knowing his friend, David would be delighted just to see him and to know that Marko was doing well.

A knock came at the door followed by an announcement of his next match.

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Marko picks himself off the ground and slips into his ocean silk kurta with pearl embroidery, leaving the collar unlaced. After securing Ayshehhilal to his waist with a white sash, he proceeds onto the arena platform.

His opponent wore a white sirwal tied down with a silver sash securing two scimitars. His bare torso revealed a hairy masculine physique. From the back of his hands and up the length of his bulging arms, a crystalline insignia flares white.

Marko ascertains his opponent's nature to bear an essence of surriyin fire.

He did not need to wait for his opponent's name to be announced, he learned that from the ceaseless chanting of the spectators.

Al'tahn.

The encased emek shards aligning the arena over thick wooden poles, were rotating with fervent intensity. To stir up the barrier like this, Marko could only imagine what kind of spectacle the previous match must've been.

He and his opponent step parallel to each other.

Al'tahn draws his scimitars, their blades blazing in white flames.

It would be trouble if he managed to strike Marko. Al'tahn positions into a wide vertical stance, one blade arcing overhead, the other pointed toward Marko.

Marko widens his stance and rests his palm on Ayshehhilal's hilt. This would be a short match, the shortest since the start of the week.

The gong rings.

Al'tahn catapults his arced arm, releasing a vertical inferno that incinerates everything in its path, save for the emek barrier protecting the spectators by transfiguring the flames into energy and siphoning it into the city.

Before the white inferno of his first strike leaves his blade, Al'tahn twirls on his feet and releases a horizontal inferno.

Marko simply steps aside from the first strike immersed in his lightning surge. His eyes are aglow a moonlit blue, bringing the world to a close standstill. His body surges with immense energy, allowing him to maneuver in this alternate perspective.

Before his opponent releases his second horizontal strike, Marko draws his blade.

The world resumes its natural pace.

Al'tahn's expression gradually fades into one of shock. Ayshehhilal's blade reflects the stubble beneath his chin, its razor edge pressed very lightly against flesh.

The spectators were at a loss, save for the few with perceptions who could glimpse Marko in his lightning surge. Marko sheathes Ayshehhilal with a snap.

The corners of Al'tahn's mouth arch into a smile, then a grin, and finally, a deep rumbling laughter. The spectators explode into a deafening roar of outrage, cheers, and applause.