“I didn’t think you’d show up.” Rane twisted his waist, testing the padded leather that he wore. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” Mord handed him his sword. “I’m only here to watch her fight, and to help you to the infirmary afterwards.”

Rane unsheathed the blade, admiring it under the orange rays of the afternoon sun. Today, he had a chance to earn back his family. To regain all that he had lost. In a weird sense, the deep need to prove himself went beyond his mother’s words. Loric had been right. If he proved himself the strongest, no one would threaten his freedom and he wouldn’t depend on anyone else for it. “Have a bit of faith,” he mumbled.

“Faith won’t be enough.” Mord gazed at the arena’s seats. The mages had already gathered, but the front rows where the apprentices used to sit were empty. Probably meant for the king’s aide.

“Have you grown used to Eln’s nora?” Atinas asked from behind him.

“I think so.” Rane toyed with a wisp of flame born from her nora between his fingers. He glanced around the arena nervously. It was quickly growing quiet. They’d be called out soon. “You said empaths can’t control their emotions well during battle. Is it wrong to feel hate? To loathe her and be vengeful?”

Atinas stood quiet for a few moments. He wore his hood lower whenever outside, betraying no emotion. “There’s strength in it,” he settled, “as long as you don’t allow those emotions to dictate your actions. It can often prove difficult.”

It already was. Since their meeting the day before, Rane burned with the need to prove his conviction. Some people only learned through force. Leylin had been right when he said that blood was a necessity of change, and the fact drove Rane even more furious. He tightened his grip on the hilt, squeezing until a bit of blood dripped from his palm, just to prove to himself that he could. He couldn’t let Leylin into his head. Not now.

“Finalists, take your place.” Veradin called out.

Rane climbed down the stairs onto the arena, walking next to Veradin’s disciple. All eyes followed them, but he paid them no heed. He was only focused on her. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, burning her smug face into his memory. Just one more reason to win. The stage and its circle felt different today. Smaller.

“You have both proven yourselves as Silyra’s brightest talents,” Veradin said as he rounded the stage. “But the Flames can only have one winner.”

Rane stared at his opponent while Veradin spoke, a mix of determination and trepidation brewing in his chest. The ashfen seemed different ever since she stepped foot on the arena. Aloof and untouchable, like a deity looking down on her followers. The smile she used to carry was gone.

“Fight freely,” Veradin said, hands fiddling with the orb. “And fight to win.”

“This is a waste of time.” She stood unmoving, her weapon softly swinging on its chain. “You stand no chance.”

“We will see.” Rane had grown used to being underestimated. In the end, only the result mattered. The pressure mounted as the gear creaked and strained inside the arena’s walls. Rane unsheathed his blade with one smooth, practised motion.

The first beat rang throughout the arena, but there was no movement. No rush or sudden bladework. Rane walked out of the circle, eyes locked onto her. His hand that held the hilt trembled, but he didn’t allow himself the hesitation.

She observed him, silently, as he approached. There was no tension to her, no readiness. Rane took half a step forward and thrust, sword turning into a blur. The strike found a ring of her chain and she deflected the blade, falling back into a defensive posture Rane had never seen before. She giggled as she rounded him. “So slow,” she mocked. “How did you even reach the finals?”

Rane had been in enough battles to know not to fall for provocation. He shut everything else out and focused solely on her, trying to discern real gaps from fake ones. He spun fire between his fingers and measured her steps as she inched closer. One step, then two. Halfway through the third and she was in range. Rane dropped his sword forward and moved to the left for a diagonal slash. The first strike found metal and the second air as she leaned backwards. Rane pressed the advantage, falling to an aggressive stance that left no time for counterattacks.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

They neared the bounds of the arena and Rane shivered. He’d lost sight of the chain blade. He ducked instinctively, as the sharp steel cut the air over his head. He couldn’t right himself in time so he fired the spell he had prepared. The flames fizzled and died before they reached her, but it gave her pause. With all his weight on one knee Rane sprung up, cutting diagonally. The blade rebounded with force, as if it had crushed against a stone wall. Bits of frost filled the air, framing her newly formed smile.

“I think that’s enough of a show.” She righted herself as Rane retreated, changing her stance again.

A chill ran down Rane’s neck. Something had just changed. White fog rose from her body, like luminescent smoke of a fire burning deep inside. Her eyes burned a pure, smoldering white. “Give up,” she said, a wisp of light dripping from her lips.

Rane stood his ground. The thought of surrender was banished before it even formed. “Never.”

She vaulted and slashed. The blinding speed of her blade almost caught him by surprise, but the distance proved his saving grace. He positioned his blade to parry, but the force he expected never came. She ended her attack half-way –with unnatural speed and grace– and spun. Rane’s arm numbed as the blade cut through his flesh. He didn’t even have time to think before the chain-blade came swinging again.

A shield of ice formed by his will. She yanked the chain back and twisted the hand that held it. Ice came crashing down over Rane’s shield, like a storm of white. He retreated shakily, but the chain blade shifted around the ice and frost like a snake. He lifted his sword to parry and the blade narrowly spun past his head as the chain coiled around it.

“Got you.”

Lightning crackled down the chain, but all that reached Rane through the blightsteel was a brief tingle. He used the gap to thrust through the ice and snow, feeling the resistance against his palm. He had hit her. She pulled the chain away with a soft cry and jumped back. “What…?” She looked down in shock, at the blood oozing from her shoulder. The metal’s sickly green spread on her skin. He could feel her magic pulsing in and out of her erratically as the poison spread, like a scale out of balance.

Rane panted heavily and palmed his arm. The cut was clean, yet somewhat shallow. The glimpse of victory kept him focused and numbed him to the pain. A little more… A little more and he could have it all. He looked up at his opponent, at her white hair and skin that had been dyed red. Not by blood, but by the colours of rage.

She dropped her weapon and grasped her head with trembling hands. Ice covered her wound and her cackles echoed in the arena. Rane could see the purple threads of madness rising from her head and felt the pressure of her magic in the air. Her control over the space had grown unnaturally, even with the blightsteel’s poison spreading inside her. She jerked her head up and a deep frost spread like a shockwave, covering the arena.

Rane shielded his face with an arm, breathing out white steam. He had trained in the steepest mountains, covered in snow, and yet this sudden chill pierced deep into his bones. He lifted his sword with a trembling hand.

Lightning crackled from above. Shards of ice spun around the arena with her at the centre, more pouring out with each passing moment and shrouding her. Rane could barely see her form through all the magic as he fought to keep the storm at bay. Fire born from Eln’s nora burned hot, holding back the frost, and water born from Anne’s nora drew the lightning away from him. But the magic poured endlessly and from every direction. Rane thought back to the northern forest, and the lone flame in his hands that held back the blizzard. He burned in defiance, just like that flame, and his soul throbbed as the last of his nora dissipated. Winning or losing didn’t matter any more. Once more, It was about surviving.

Rane took a step towards her. Gray mist gathered around him like a cloak of smoke, its movements slowing as it left his body. The beats of the gear reached him through the storm and the chaos and brought with them an idea. A different way to see. Each passing moment was like the wave of a turbulent river. After a life of surrendering to its current, he could choose to swim upstream. All magic left him and his spells dissipated. The chaos of battle faded and a strange calmness spread over his body. Everything moved slow. The time between beats lengthened and their sound became dull, drawn out impossibly. He saw the beautiful flakes of frost forming in the air and each sharp turn of the lightning’s path as it crackled. The beat that sounded ended, and a lasting silence took its place.

The world stood still.

In that frozen moment between heartbeats, Rane saw a path. He walked through the storm, pushing icicles away and twisting out of the lightning’s trail. Close to her, the magic calmed. The sword felt heavy as he raised it, and his body felt numb. He looked down at her face, at the anger and madness of a world that denied him. Sydell, Caelus and Leylin all looked back at him. For a moment, Rane allowed himself pause.

Then his blade slammed through her chest and into the stone below.