The arena floor trembled beneath Nayen Krayth's relentless assault. Her Anchorflame whips cracked through the air like living serpents, each strike leaving smoldering grooves in the stone where Shion had stood mere heartbeats before. The tethered flames danced around her with predatory grace, seeking their target with hungry persistence.
Shion rolled desperately to his left, the heat singeing the fabric of his dark gray robes. His breath came in sharp gasps as he raised his hand, conjuring a spectral echo of Nayen's previous strike—a ghostly afterimage of flame that materialized between them. The illusion held for just long enough to confuse her aim, buying him precious seconds.
"Clever," Nayen called out, her voice carrying over the crowd's roar. "But echoes burn just as easily as flesh."
She lashed out with both hands, twin streams of anchored fire converging on Shion's position. He dove forward, rolling beneath the flames, but the heat was overwhelming. The scent of singed hair filled his nostrils as he came up in a crouch, his silver-blue locks now bearing dark edges where the fire had kissed them.
The crowd was on its feet. Shion could hear their voices—some cheering for the underdog, others hungry for blood. In the judge's section, Amari Unil watched with sharp eyes, his arms crossed as he evaluated every move.
Shion's ability flickered to life again. Spectral Refrain pulled fragments from the battle's opening moments—echoes of Nayen's footwork, the way she favored her left side when launching her strongest attacks. He wove the illusions together, creating a disorienting maze of false movements around the arena.
For a moment, it worked. Nayen hesitated, her amber eyes darting between the multiple phantom versions of Shion that danced around her. Her flames lashed out wildly, dissipating the echoes one by one until only the real Shion remained, breathing hard near the arena's edge.
"Enough games," she snarled.
The flames around Nayen intensified, their orange glow shifting to a deeper crimson. The tethers that bound her fire to specific points in the arena began to multiply, creating a web of burning threads that crisscrossed the fighting space. Shion found himself trapped in an increasingly smaller area as the fire-web contracted around him.
He tried to conjure another echo, but his essence reserves were running dangerously low. The spectral image of Nayen's defensive stance appeared for barely a second before flickering out of existence. Sweat beaded on his forehead—not from the heat, but from the strain of pushing his ability beyond its limits.
Nayen pressed her advantage. A whip of flame caught Shion across the shoulder, spinning him around. Another struck his leg, sending him stumbling. The crowd's cheers grew deafening as she cornered him against the arena wall.
"You fight well for someone so weak," she said, advancing slowly. Her flames coiled around her like loyal pets. "But this is where it ends."
Shion straightened, despite the pain shooting through his injured shoulder. His teal eyes met hers with defiant clarity. "Not yet."
He reached deep into his remaining essence, pulling forth not one echo, but dozens—fragments of every moment from their entire fight. The arena filled with ghostly images: Nayen's flames, his own desperate dodges, the crack of stone beneath their feet, the whistle of air as attacks narrowly missed their marks. It was beautiful and chaotic, a symphony of battle played out in translucent repetition.
But the effort cost him everything. Shion dropped to one knee, blood trickling from his nose as his overtaxed mind reeled from the strain.
Nayen cut through the maze of echoes like a blade through silk. Her flames consumed the illusions, leaving only empty air and the acrid smell of burned essence. She stood before Shion now, her fist wreathed in condensed fire.
"Admirable," she said, and there was genuine respect in her voice. "But futile."
The blow caught Shion square in the chest. The concentrated flame burst on impact, sending waves of heat through his body as he was lifted off his feet and hurled backward. He hit the stone floor hard, his robes smoldering, and rolled several times before coming to a stop near the center of the arena.
The crowd's roar became a collective gasp. Shion lay motionless, clutching his ribs as he struggled to draw breath. His carefully maintained composure finally cracked, a grimace of pain twisting his features as he fought to remain conscious.
"Get up," someone shouted from the stands. Others began to cheer Nayen's name.
In the friends' section, Itsuki was already on his feet, his hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Beside him, Kairo's amber eyes glowed faintly—a sure sign his teleportation ability was activating in response to stress. Takumi's crimson hair seemed to flicker with inner fire as he leaned forward, every muscle in his compact frame coiled like a spring.
On the arena floor, Shion pushed himself up on one elbow, then slowly, painfully, managed to get his knees under him. His breathing was labored, each inhalation sending fresh waves of agony through his chest where Nayen's flames had struck. But he was trying to stand.
Nayen watched him with narrowed eyes. The trial masters—Amari and Laen—remained in their positions, waiting to see if the fight would continue. The rules were clear: a contestant could yield at any time, but the match wasn't over until someone surrendered or couldn't continue.
"Stay down," Nayen called out, but there was less hostility in her voice now. "You've fought well enough."
Shion's response was to push himself fully upright, swaying but standing. Blood stained the front of his robes, and his left arm hung at an awkward angle, but his eyes still burned with determination.
"I..." he gasped, "I haven't... yielded."
The crowd fell silent. Even Nayen seemed surprised by his resilience.
She advanced again, flames gathering around her hands. "Then I'll finish this properly."
But as she raised her arm for the final strike, Shion's overtaxed body finally betrayed him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed forward, consciousness fleeing as the pain and exhaustion overwhelmed him.
Nayen's flames were already descending.
Three figures vaulted over the arena railing in perfect synchronization.
Itsuki hit the ground running, his ice-blue eyes blazing with protective fury. Abstract Shift activated instinctively—he reached out and altered the concept of "distance" between himself and Shion, crossing half the arena in two impossible strides.
Kairo materialized in a flash of amber light directly in front of Nayen, his Void Step carrying him through a gap in reality. His wiry frame was tense, ready to teleport again at a moment's notice.
Takumi landed with a roll, coming up in a combat stance as his Essence Flare began to convert his adrenaline into visible heat. The air around his hands shimmered as his power prepared for violence.
"Back off!" Itsuki snarled, placing himself between Nayen and the fallen Shion.
Nayen's flames halted mere inches from Kairo's face. She looked at the three boys with mild amusement, her expression suggesting she found their protective fury more entertaining than threatening.
"How touching," she said. "But this is a sanctioned duel. Interference is—"
"Forbidden," Amari Unil's voice cut across the arena like a blade. The instructor had moved with surprising speed, now standing at the edge of the fighting circle. "Stand down, all of you."
But Takumi's temper was already flaring along with his power. "She was going to hit him while he was unconscious! That's not a duel, that's—"
"Enough!" Laen's commanding voice echoed through the space. The older sensei strode forward, his gray eyes hard as granite. "The match is over. Nayen Krayth wins by technical knockout."
Nayen straightened, her flames dissipating as she stepped back. She looked down at Shion's unconscious form with something that might have been regret. "He fought better than I expected," she said quietly.
Itsuki knelt beside Shion, carefully checking his friend's breathing and pulse. The chest wound looked serious but not life-threatening. "We need to get him to the infirmary," he said.
"Already handled," Amari replied, gesturing to a team of medical attendants who were approaching with a stretcher. "You three, back to your section. Now."
As the medics carefully lifted Shion onto the stretcher, Itsuki caught sight of his friend's face. Even unconscious, there was a tension around Shion's eyes, as if he were fighting some internal battle. It made something cold settle in Itsuki's stomach.
Nayen had already walked away, but she paused at the arena's edge and looked back. "Tell him he earned his scars," she said to Itsuki. Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd of other contestants.
The late afternoon sun painted the trial grounds in shades of gold and amber as the contestants gathered for the final announcement. The temporary infirmary had been set up in one of the nearby buildings, where Shion remained unconscious under the care of a healer whose essence specialized in mending damaged tissue.
Amari Unil stood at the center of the arena, a scroll in his hands and an expression of professional neutrality on his weathered features. The crowd had thinned—many spectators had departed after the most dramatic fights concluded—but the remaining contestants and their supporters waited with barely contained anxiety.
"The Zenkai Dojo trials have concluded," Amari announced, his voice carrying clearly across the space. "Twelve candidates have earned their place among our ranks. When I call your name, step forward."
Itsuki felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Beside him, Kairo stood perfectly still, though the slight flicker of amber light around his hands betrayed his nervous energy. Takumi was practically vibrating with impatience, his crimson hair catching the fading sunlight.
"First place," Amari called out, "Sayaka Veyra."
The crowd erupted in applause as a young woman stepped forward from the group of contestants. She moved with fluid precision, her jet-black hair tied in a high braid that swayed as she walked. Her piercing violet eyes swept the crowd with calm confidence, and she acknowledged the cheers with a slight nod before taking her position at the front.
Itsuki remembered her fight—the way her Veinlock ability had completely immobilized her opponent, leaving them helpless as she calmly delivered the finishing blow. There had been something almost artistic about the clinical precision with which she dismantled her adversary's defenses.
"Second place, Itsuki Naoya."
The sound of his own name felt surreal. Itsuki stepped forward on unsteady legs, the applause washing over him like a wave. He caught sight of his parents in the crowd—his mother's silver eyes bright with pride, his father nodding with quiet approval. But his attention was drawn to the infirmary building, where his best friend lay unconscious.
"Third place, Argenti Archer."
A tall young man with sharp features and calculating eyes stepped forward. Itsuki recognized him as the contestant who had won his match using shadow manipulation, creating illusions that had left his opponent striking at empty air while the real attack came from behind.
"Fourth place, Kairo Huisiji."
Relief flooded through Itsuki as his friend joined the growing line. Kairo's expression remained carefully neutral, but Itsuki caught the slight relaxation in his shoulders that indicated his own relief.
"Fifth place, Hina Morisaki."
A girl with gentle features and earth-stained hands stepped forward. Her victory had come through patient defensive work, using her plant manipulation to gradually wear down her opponent until they exhausted themselves against her verdant barriers.
"Sixth place, Takumi Leo."
Takumi practically bounded forward, unable to contain his explosive energy. His grin was infectious, and he actually pumped his fist in celebration, earning a few chuckles from the crowd and a stern look from Amari.
The instructor continued calling names: Ryuji Kawanami, Maya Ikeda, Toma Hayashi, and three others whose fights Itsuki hadn't watched closely. Each stepped forward to claim their place in the prestigious dojo, their faces reflecting a mixture of pride, relief, and anticipation.
"These twelve candidates will depart for the Zenkai Dojo tomorrow morning," Amari announced. "Gather at the main gate at dawn. Bring only essential belongings—everything you need will be provided."
As the crowd began to disperse, Itsuki felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find his father, Kaito, standing behind him with a complex expression on his weathered face.
"Congratulations, son," Kaito said, but his dark eyes held a shadow of concern. "How is Shion?"
"Still unconscious," Itsuki replied. "The healer says he'll recover, but..." He trailed off, unable to voice the deeper worry that gnawed at him.
"But he's not going with you," Kaito finished gently.
Itsuki nodded, his throat suddenly tight. "I don't know how to tell him when he wakes up. He wanted this so badly."
"The hardest part of growing stronger," his father said quietly, "is learning that not everyone can walk the same path. But that doesn't mean his path is worth less than yours."
As evening deepened into night, the trial grounds grew quiet. Most of the contestants had departed with their families, celebrating their victories or nursing their defeats in private. The successful candidates would return in the morning, but for now, the arena stood empty except for the cleanup crews working by lamplight to repair the damage from the day's battles.
Itsuki sat on a bench outside the infirmary, watching the stars emerge in the darkening sky. The healer had assured him that Shion was stable and would likely wake within the hour, but consciousness had not yet returned to his friend.
Footsteps approached from behind. Itsuki turned to see Kairo and Takumi walking toward him, their expressions serious in the lamplight.
"Any change?" Kairo asked, settling beside Itsuki on the bench.
"Not yet." Itsuki ran a hand through his white hair, the silver shimmer catching the light. "I keep thinking about what I could have done differently. Maybe if I'd helped him train more, or—"
"Stop," Takumi interrupted, dropping down on Itsuki's other side. His usual explosive energy was notably absent, replaced by an uncharacteristic gravity. "This isn't on you. Shion fought his own fight."
"Takumi's right," Kairo agreed. "Shion wouldn't want you blaming yourself. You know how he gets about people trying to protect him from everything."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. The successful candidates, bonded by years of friendship and now by shared achievement, but also separated by the knowledge that their group of four was about to become three.
"He's going to hate being left behind," Itsuki said finally.
"Yeah," Takumi admitted. "He is."
Through the infirmary window, they could see the soft glow of essence-powered lights and the silhouette of the healer checking on her patient. Somewhere in that building, their friend was fighting his way back to consciousness, unaware that the world had shifted around him while he slept.
"We'll write to him," Kairo said. "Every week. And when we come back for visits—"
"It won't be the same," Itsuki finished. "Everything's changing."
Takumi leaned back against the bench, his golden eyes reflecting the starlight. "Maybe that's not entirely a bad thing. Change means growth, right? And Shion... he's stronger than he thinks. This might not be the end of his story. It might just be the beginning of a different one."
Inside the infirmary, a soft light flickered on. The healer appeared at the window, gesturing to them. Shion was waking up.
Itsuki stood, his friends rising with him. Together, they walked toward the building, their footsteps echoing softly in the night air. Behind them, the arena stood empty, its battles concluded, its victors chosen. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new separations, new growth.
But tonight, they would be there for their friend when he opened his eyes to discover what the trial had cost him.
As they reached the infirmary door, Itsuki paused and looked back at the trial grounds one final time. In the distance, barely visible in the darkness, the Zenkai Dojo crest had been hoisted above the arena—a stylized mountain peak surrounded by swirling essence patterns, illuminated by soft blue light.
It was beautiful and intimidating in equal measure, a symbol of the path that lay ahead for some, and the path that would remain forever closed to others.
Itsuki pushed open the infirmary door and stepped inside, ready to face whatever came next.