Morning broke with the weight of whispers.
By dawn, the entire Iron District of the Colosseum was alive. Merchants called out new bets, gamblers argued over odds, and vendors sold roasted skewers and spiced ale to bleary-eyed spectators already crowding toward the lower gates.
The name "Kane Vale" was on everyone's lips.
Not my real one, of course. But the alias had grown teeth and shadow. Two outsiders with no origin, twenty-four straight victories, and not a single loss—every fighter, broker, and noble in the mid-tier stands wanted to know who we were.
Some thought we were mercenaries testing the arena before joining the royal knights. Others whispered that we were outlaws—Naturals in hiding, exiled for forbidden techniques.
No one guessed the truth.
Kael and I were Hollows.
And in a world ruled by Naturals, that truth was death.
The announcer's voice boomed across the lower Colosseum. "Today's Iron Final—Kane Vale and Lyra Windwell versus Sir Veyra of Emberhold, ranked Natural, mid-tier yellow core!"
The crowd erupted, the sound crashing like surf against stone.
Kael sat beside me in the locker room, lacing her gauntlets. Her face was calm, but her energy thrummed faintly—controlled, measured, ready.
"So," she said lightly, "we're finally fighting a Natural head-on."
"Yeah," I said, checking the tension in my sword's grip. The blade was old, but it had survived. Barely. "He's not just any Natural, though. Sir Veyra's from Emberhold—a duelist knight. Probably trained to balance Aetherka between body and weapon. We can't win with strength."
Kael smirked. "Then we use what we do best."
"Adaptation," I finished, meeting her eyes.
She nodded once. No fear. No hesitation.
Just resolve.
The gates opened.
The light from the arena hit like a hammer—bright, merciless. The crowd's roar washed over us as we stepped onto the sand.
Across the ring stood Sir Veyra. His armor gleamed crimson and gold, his core glowing faintly beneath his breastplate like a living ember. He drew a longsword etched with runes that pulsed in rhythm with his breath. His aura pressed against us like heat.
He looked at us with mild curiosity, then smiled faintly. "Two Iron fighters with twenty-four wins. Impressive. But you should've stopped at twenty-three."
Kael tilted her head. "We don't know how to stop."
"Pity," he said, raising his sword. "Then you'll learn the price of arrogance."
The bell rang.
He moved first.
A single step—and he was gone.
The air exploded where he'd stood. The pressure of his speed cracked the sand beneath his boots. I barely raised my sword in time to parry, the shock running through my arms like a thunderclap.
Kael darted left, wind curling around her legs. A flash of movement, a kick, a burst of air that tried to push him off balance.
Veyra pivoted mid-strike, slashing horizontally. The blade shimmered with heat, carving a trail of fire through the air. Kael twisted backward, the edge grazing her sleeve.
"Elemental enhancement," I muttered. "He's fusing his Aetherka with the sword's core."
"Means his attacks are both physical and energy-based," Kael said, already calculating. "We need angles."
I nodded.
She leapt again, wind trailing from her steps. I followed, circling to the opposite side.
Our rhythm had been honed through hundreds of fights—fluid, wordless. When I moved, she mirrored. When I retreated, she struck.
Veyra parried both of us with ease, his sword moving in arcs too perfect to be improvised. His control was surgical, refined. The sand hissed with each strike, steam rising from the heat radiating off his core.
"Predictable!" he barked, catching Kael's blade between his gauntlet and sword. He shoved her back and spun toward me in one fluid motion.
I blocked, sparks flying. The impact sent a jolt up my arms. He was stronger, faster. My instincts screamed—his next swing would aim for my neck.
I dropped low, kicking sand upward with a telekinetic pulse disguised as momentum. The dust clouded his vision for half a second. Kael took the opening.
Her blade sliced in, wind-enhanced, leaving a thin gash on his shoulder plate.
The crowd gasped.
Veyra staggered a step, then looked down at the mark. His expression changed—not rage, but interest.
"So," he said, smiling faintly. "You two aren't frauds."
He exhaled slowly. The air shimmered.
The temperature spiked.
The flames on his sword ignited fully, trailing like banners. His core flared bright yellow, the aura radiating heat that made the very sand melt.
"Now," he said, voice low. "You face a true Natural."
I tightened my grip, steadying my breathing. The telekinetic sense in my mind expanded, feeling the distortions in the air—the wave of heat, the shift of pressure, the faint rhythm of his footsteps.
Kael crouched low, the wind wrapping around her like an invisible cloak.
"Follow my lead," I whispered.
He charged.
The world blurred.
Veyra swung horizontally—a wide arc that sent a crescent of flame racing toward us. Kael dodged left, I dove right, rolling across the sand. The heat singed my cheek.
I countered, thrusting my sword forward, the motion guided by both instinct and pressure sense. He blocked easily, his blade locking with mine.
"Too slow," he muttered—then his boot slammed into my chest.
Pain exploded through my ribs. I staggered back, vision flashing.
Kael shouted my name, wind bursting beneath her feet as she rushed in. She spun mid-air, her twin blades carving twin trails of compressed air that collided with Veyra's guard.
The impact forced him back a step—but only a step. He grinned, swinging upward in a fiery counter.
Kael twisted away, but the edge grazed her arm, leaving a burn.
I forced myself upright, breathing hard. My chest ached. My sword felt heavier, but my focus sharpened.
He was powerful—but he relied on flow. Predictable arcs. Sequential attacks.
Every movement had a rhythm.
And rhythm could be broken.
"Kael," I called softly. "Disrupt him."
She nodded, wiping blood from her arm. "Your turn?"
"Yeah. I'll pressure him."
We moved as one.
She sprinted forward, wind bursting beneath her, launching pebbles and dust in spiraling patterns. I followed, using her movement as cover.
Veyra struck at her—precise, powerful—but she twisted away, her blade flicking in small arcs that deflected just enough. Each deflection sent ripples through his balance.
That was my cue.
I exhaled, channeling telekinetic force through my stance—not visible, not external. Just pressure.
A subtle, invisible wave that pressed against his focus, like static in the mind.
He blinked—just once.
And that was all I needed.
I stepped in. One strike—low, angled. He blocked. Second strike—faster, sharper. He parried again, but late. Sparks flew.
Kael was already behind him, her blades swirling with condensed wind. She slashed upward. A shockwave burst from her movement, knocking sand and flame aside.
Veyra roared, swinging wildly. The heat flared—then sputtered.
I saw the window.
Stepping through his open guard, I struck his wrist, then shoulder, then the side of his helm—three clean hits in one heartbeat.
He stumbled back, breath ragged, sword arm trembling.
The crowd went wild.
Kael and I circled him, keeping distance. Our movements were measured—predator calm.
Veyra straightened, panting, eyes burning not with anger, but exhilaration. "You two…" he said, laughing softly. "You're not supposed to exist."
Kael tilted her head. "What makes you think we care what's supposed to exist?"
He smiled faintly. "Good answer."
Then his aura exploded.
Flames erupted in all directions, forcing us both back. The arena floor turned molten in patches.
He wasn't holding back anymore.
"Sam!" Kael shouted.
"I see it!"
We separated, attacking from opposite flanks.
He swung at me first. I met his blade, our swords screaming against each other. Kael darted in from behind, slicing at his legs.
Veyra twisted, blocking both—barely. But his momentum broke.
I pressed in, feinting high, then snapping my blade low. Kael followed the cue, her wind surge amplifying the impact.
Our blades crossed his guard, struck his chestplate—
And shattered it.
The rune-etched armor cracked, sparks scattering across the sand.
He fell to one knee, sword planted in the dirt.
The bell rang.
For a long moment, there was silence. Then the crowd erupted, screaming our names.
Kael helped me steady my sword, both of us breathing hard. Sweat and soot clung to our faces, but the glow in our cores pulsed stronger than before—steady, alive.
Veyra lifted his gaze from the sand, smiling faintly. "You fight like no Natural I've met," he said quietly.
"We aren't," I whispered.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could speak, Kael smiled faintly. "We're just… echoes."
The announcer's voice thundered, "Kane Vale and Lyra Windwell—Iron Champions! Advancing to Bronze!"
The crowd roared louder.
Veyra chuckled, slowly standing despite his wounds. "Enjoy your rise, Kane Vale," he said. "But be careful. The higher you climb, the more the world notices."
He walked away, leaving that warning hanging in the air like smoke.
Kael exhaled slowly beside me. "You think he suspects?"
"Maybe," I said. "But it doesn't matter. What matters is—we're not done climbing."
The crowd's cheers still echoed in the distance, but beneath it, I could feel something else—a shift in the air, faint yet certain.
Someone important had been watching.
Someone who now wanted to know exactly who we were.
And I had a feeling our next battle wouldn't just test our strength.
It would test our secrets.