The air was still.Too still.
The final match loomed like a blade in the sky. Across Xyprus, screens displayed countdowns. The world watched.
But in Tower Wing XIII, deep in the private Thorne suite, Vaelric stood shirtless, staring at the scar on his chest — a faint line from his first tournament loss at age nine. He hadn't lost since.
He traced it with his finger, breathing deep.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, "he'll kneel. And they'll forget him."
A Soft Voice Broke the Silence
"Will they?"
Vaelric froze.
That voice — quiet, stoic, cold as glass but sharp as steel.
He turned slowly.
Standing at the threshold was a woman cloaked in deep red and black. Her posture was calm, but her eyes were like winter — Sera Thorne, war-hero, martial prodigy, his aunt.
She hadn't spoken to him directly in over a year.
He hadn't needed her.
Until now.
The Room Felt Smaller
Vaelric bowed slightly, as custom demanded. "Aunt Sera."
She didn't bow back.
Just looked him over like a report she wasn't impressed with.
"You've grown," she said flatly.
"You watched the matches."
"I watched the propaganda," she corrected. "The real fight hasn't happened yet."
Vaelric clenched his jaw. "If you're here to wish me luck—"
"I'm not."
She stepped forward.
"Do you know what Damien would've done, seeing you smear a boy's name through whispers and bureaucrats?"
Vaelric's eyes flashed. "Don't. You don't get to use him against me."
Sera didn't flinch. "Don't make me."
He turned away, scoffing. "You think he would've let someone like that walk into the finals unchecked? That… thing? No record, no bloodline, no honor—"
"No ego," she interrupted sharply.
He looked back.
"You had all your father's gifts, Vaelric," she said. "But not his burden. And because of that, you grew fangs where he grew heart."
He stepped closer, fists clenched. "Don't act like you know me."
"I don't," she said calmly. "But I knew the man you're trying to replace."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she stepped past him, placing something on the table — a small, worn patch. The old insignia of the Trinity Unit.
Damien. Sera. Auren.
"You've forgotten that being a Thorne didn't make Damien great," she said quietly. "He became great because he chose to rise above the name."
She stopped at the doorway.
"Tomorrow, don't fight like a king protecting his throne."
"Fight like a man earning it."
She was gone before he could speak.
Vaelric stood frozen, fists still shaking, pride boiling.
But he didn't throw the patch away.
He stared at it for a long, long time.
Elsewhere – Kairon's Room
No crowd. No visitors.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed.
Every muscle felt wrong. His thoughts were not his own. Old echoes stirred in his blood.
Warrior. Weapon. God Killer.
No memory. No family.
Only instinct.
And tomorrow, instinct would meet legacy.