The noise was a low hum now.
A distant, celebratory murmur.
Kael had found his corner.
High in the back stands, a place where no one would look.
The smell of popcorn and cheap ale hung in the air, a stark contrast to the scent of scorched stone and raw earth from his recent match.
Below, the tournament continued.
One after another, contestants stepped onto the stage.
Fists met staffs.
Aetheric energy flashed.
The winners were cheered.
The losers limped away, forgotten.
It was all so loud.
And so predictable.
After the quiet tension of his own duel, these matches felt like children's games.
He watched, but he wasn't really seeing.
His mind replayed the moment.
Elara's bewilderment.
The way her staff had melted.
That was the only thing that bothered him.
The feeling of being seen.
Then the announcer's voice boomed again.
A different tone this time.
An edge of genuine excitement.
"Now, on the grand stage, we have a special match!"
The crowd hushed, a different kind of quiet from before.
This was a respectful silence.
The kind reserved for true power.
"Contestant 062, Lirael!"
A young man strode onto the stage.
He moved with a languid grace.
His posture was perfect.
His robes were a rich blue, trimmed with silver thread.
He carried a single, elegant blade at his side.
The hilt was polished silver.
The blade, a pristine, almost-white steel.
His hair was the color of fresh snow.
His face was sculpted, all sharp angles and high cheekbones.
His eyes, a cold, striking grey, seemed to look through the crowd.
They were the eyes of a person who had never once doubted his own superiority.
He was a stranger here.
He came from a different region, his name unknown to most.
But his presence was undeniable.
"Contestant 063, Fenris Windrunner".
The second man was different.
His movements were light and quick.
He seemed to skim the ground.
His robes were a simple, dark green.
His sword was plain, functional steel.
His hair was a wild, untamed tangle of brown, falling across a youthful, freckled face.
His eyes, a fierce, vibrant green, scanned the stage with an intense focus.
He bowed to Lirael.
A respectful gesture.
But his eyes held a fire.
Lirael offered a small, dismissive nod in return.
He didn't bother to bow back.
The judge called for the match to begin.
And the silence returned, heavier than before.
Lirael and Fenris drew their swords.
The clink of steel on steel was the only sound.
The air around Fenris began to shimmer.
Not with heat, but with a subtle, swirling motion.
The very air itself seemed to bend to his will.
It was the element of Spirit.
The wind.
Lirael's sword, however, was a different story.
It began to hum.
A soft, clear tone.
A white light, pure and blinding, emanated from the blade.
It was Lumen.
Light.
A rare and coveted element.
Kael leaned forward in his seat.
This was a fight.
This was a dance of true power.
Fenris moved first.
A blur of green and brown.
He was fast.
Faster than Elara had been.
His sword was a silver streak.
He murmured a word.
"Spirit... Blade."
A cutting gust of wind followed his blade, aimed right at Lirael's chest.
Lirael didn't move his body.
Only his sword.
He flicked his blade with a tiny, precise motion.
The white light on the blade pulsed once.
A blinding flash.
The wind blade simply... dissipated.
Fenris stumbled back, blinking, his eyes watering from the sudden light.
"You're fast," Fenris said, his voice a low growl. "But I've been training for this my entire life."
Lirael smiled.
A cold, thin smile.
"Aetheric Shield," he said.
His voice was clear and melodic.
"I have been too, Fenris. This is just a warmup."
"Don't get cocky," Fenris retorted.
He lunged again, this time a whirlwind of motion.
His sword was everywhere at once.
A storm of strikes.
"Spirit... Tornado!"
A small tornado of wind, a razor-sharp vortex, began to form around him.
Lirael's movements were fluid.
Effortless.
He was a blur of silver and white light.
"Lumen... Blink."
He was there.
Then he was gone.
Reappearing a few feet away.
The vortex of wind sliced through the air where he had been a moment before.
His sword pulsed again.
The light growing brighter with each second.
Kael knew their ranks now.
Just like him.
But the element of light was different.
Lirael's power was so refined.
So controlled.
He wasn't suppressing it.
He was using it to its full potential.
Fenris grew more desperate.
His strikes became wider.
Less precise.
He was pouring more and more Spirit into his attacks.
He was struggling.
Just like Elara had.
Lirael was barely sweating.
His face remained a mask of cool disinterest.
"Why are you holding back?" Fenris panted, frustration lacing his tone. "Is my noble blood not worthy of your full strength?"
Lirael's smile vanished.
"This isn't about blood," he replied, his voice losing its playful edge. "It's about skill. And your skill has limits."
He parried another wild strike from Fenris, the clash of steel sending sparks flying.
"I don't have limits," Fenris hissed. "I'm a Windrunner!".
"And I am a weaver of light," Lirael countered.
"The wind is everywhere. My power has no beginning and no end. My power is eternal."
Lirael's sword pulsed, the light intensifying.
"But light is faster," he said, and his voice was now a cold, hard fact.
"And it can be anywhere, too."
Fenris, breathing heavily, shook his head.
"Never."
He poured every ounce of his remaining strength into one final move.
He blurred, not blinking away, but becoming a whisper on the wind itself.
"Spirit... Whisper!".
He was a ghost.
A fleeting image that flickered in and out of existence.
His sword, a focused point of wind magic, was aimed for Lirael's heart.
The crowd gasped.
This was the end.
But Lirael was an Adept of Lumen.
He saw not with his eyes, but with the light.
He raised his blade.
The white light, which had been a steady glow, flared.
Not a blinding flash.
A searing sun.
It filled the entire stage.
A pure, unyielding light.
Fenris's form, a whisper of aetheric wind, was caught in it.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In surprise.
He was solid again.
Trapped.
The light had found him.
"Lumen... Imprisonment," Lirael murmured.
He held Fenris in that sphere of light for a moment.
Then he released the power.
The light dissipated.
And Fenris collapsed to the ground.
Uninjured, but utterly defeated.
The judge, his eyes wide with awe, quickly called the match.
"Contestant 062, Lirael is the victor!"
The crowd, which had been silent, erupted.
A standing ovation.
This was no mere contest.
This was a display of mastery.
Of a rare, beautiful, terrifying power.
Lirael turned, and looked down at Fenris.
He offered a hand to the defeated opponent.
Fenris stared at it, then took it.
Lirael pulled him to his feet.
"Your power is unique," Lirael said, his voice low.
"It has... potential. I expect more from you."
Fenris, though weary, managed a grim nod.
"I will give you more," he promised.
From the royal box, a man with a stern face and a fine doublet rose.
It was the Duke, with his own children sitting beside him.
He raised a hand for silence.
The crowd obeyed.
He didn't look at his children.
He looked at Lirael.
The Duke's eyes were like a merchant's, appraising a fine gem.
"Young man," the Duke's voice boomed.
Full of powerful, aetheric confidence.
"Your abilities... are truly exceptional. To defeat an Adept of Spirit with such a rare element...".
He paused, a calculated silence that held the attention of the entire stadium.
"I would like to speak with you after the matches are concluded. My office awaits."
It wasn't a request.
It was an order.
Kael's eyes, still fixed on Lirael, saw him look up.
He didn't look at the Duke.
He looked across the stands.
His grey eyes, still burning with the light he had just used, met Kael's.
Just for a second.
Not contempt.
Not admiration.
A silent, knowing curiosity.
Lirael was wondering.
Just as Kael was.
Kael was an Adept of Ignis.
And he was Lirael.
An Adept of Lumen.
The duel was over.
But their fight had just begun.
Kael turned away from the noise, from the applause, from the silent challenge in Lirael's eyes, and simply watched the next match begin.