The air grew heavier with each heartbeat as the performance ended.
The applause faded.
A robed elder stepped onto the platform, his presence commanding despite his age. Elder Thalor, one of the inner Elder of House Valen's internal competition, raised a hand to quiet the crowd.
"Young heirs of House Valen," he began, voice firm. "Today, the flames of pride and talent shall burn bright. These matches will decide who represents our house in the coming regional competition."
He gestured to the elevated stage behind him, split into four sparring platforms.
"The first rounds will determine the top ten. The final rounds will decide the top five. Fights will be conducted with restraint, but serious injury is expected. If you cannot withstand that—step down now."
No one moved.
Tension sparked in the air like the moment before a storm. The gathered youths exchanged glances, some with open hostility, others with quiet resolve.
Serena stood silently to the side, arms folded beneath her flowing sleeves. She had spoken to Alina since they arrived, but her sister's eyes had sought her out several times, never with affection.
"You seem confident," a voice drawled beside her.
It was Taron again, the same smug tone wrapped in a thin veil of curiosity. "Standing there like you've already beaten us all."
"I stand because I'm ready," Serena replied without looking at him. "That's different from believing I've won."
Cenya approached, her white training robe bearing the subtle trim of flame embroidery. "Funny. Rumors said you broke your veins. Others said you fled into the wilds to die."
Serena turned to meet her gaze, calm and even. "But here I am."
"And in white," Renn added, his tone mock-serious. "Fitting, I suppose. White's the color of mourning."
Serena's lips curved faintly. "You'll understand its meaning better when this day ends."
A quiet hush passed over the group as Elder Thalor's assistant stepped forward and unfurled a long scroll.
"The first round will now commence. The following names are to step forward for their match—"
He began to read aloud, pairing disciples by random draw.
None of the Valen elites had yet been paired with Alina or Serena. The early matches were clearly to solidify the first 20 chosen to give the crowd time to warm up and now the elites fight.
Still, the tension sharpened.
From the viewing stands, inner family members murmured among themselves.
"That girl… Serena," one said. "She walks like she was never broken."
"Too proud for someone without a beast companion."
"She's not like she used to be. There's something different beneath that calm."
On the stage, the first fight began. Two teenage boys exchanged wind and flame techniques, their blades clashing with bright sparks and youthful recklessness. The crowd roared at every near-hit, but the elders barely flinched.
Serena's eyes remained steady on the match, arms still folded. She observed the movements with clinical focus, not interest.
Alina, on the other hand, stood not far behind, arms at her sides, lips pressed into a faint smile.
Maris stood quietly behind Serena in the stands, hands clasped. She, too, could sense it.
The storm was close.
Serena whispered under her breath, "Let them dance. My turn will come."
And when it does, she would no longer hide her wind.
---