(Guild Roof — Night Before the Trial)
Magnara breathed like a living forge. From above, its rings glowed in shifting circles of gold and blue — tram lines tracing light around the Steel Flame Tower, smoke stacks whispering heat into the cold night. The city never truly slept; it only paused to dream in metal.
Kai sat on the roof of the Talking Boar, cross-legged, robe loose at the shoulders. His staff rested across his knees, reflecting the moon's halo. He'd been up since midnight, eyes on the skyline, heart too loud for meditation to quiet.
Boots clanked against the ladder behind him.
"Figures you'd be up here," Aria said, climbing over the edge. The wind caught her hair, silver-gold under the moonlight. She rubbed the back of her neck, half-grinning. "Couldn't sleep either."
Kai didn't turn. "The city's too awake. Hard to rest when everything's humming."
She dropped beside him with a huff. "Or when tomorrow's the Trial by Mercy, and the entire world's watching."
"Ah," Kai said lightly. "Stage fright."
She shot him a look. "Please. I'm not scared. Just... vibrating aggressively."
He smiled. "That's one way to channel lightning."
They sat there for a while, saying nothing. The wind moved between them, carrying the scent of steel and sea salt. Far below, laughter echoed from a late-night bar; somewhere, a train horn sang.
Aria broke the silence first. "You really think we can win?"
Kai tilted his head, thoughtful. "Winning's the wrong question. We stand, we adapt, we don't break. That's enough. The rest comes naturally."
She laughed softly. "You talk like someone who already finished the fight."
"I just turned eighteen," he said. "Still figuring out how to start them."
That got a small smile out of her — a real one, sharp at the edges. "Eighteen, huh? So you're officially old enough to make reckless decisions."
"Reckless decisions built this world," Kai said, deadpan.
"Now you sound like William."
"Better him than Yobokari."
"Fair point."
The wind tugged at her sleeve. She looked down over the edge — the glow of trams, the hum of market bells still ringing faintly even at this hour. "You ever think about what happens after? If we actually make it?"
Kai looked at her then, eyes steady. "After? I think we keep walking. Maybe with a few more scars."
Aria's voice dropped, quieter. "I don't want to lose anyone else."
"You won't," he said.
Silence again — not empty but full of something steady. The kind of stillness that only existed before chaos.
The clock tower struck once. Midnight's echo rolled through the sky.
Aria stood, brushing off her hands. "Alright, monk boy. Big day tomorrow. You'd better keep up."
Kai stood too, smiling faintly. "You first, lightning girl."
She stepped closer, the city's glow reflecting in her eyes. "Don't call me that in public," she said — but her tone was softer than usual.
Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Quick. Warm. Confident.
Kai blinked, frozen for half a second.
She pulled back, grin turning playful again. "I'll save the important one for after the Trial."
He recovered with a slow breath. "Then I guess I'll have to survive."
"You better." She turned toward the ladder, sparks flickering faintly at her boots as she climbed down. "Goodnight, Kai."
"Goodnight, Aria."
He touched his cheek once, still feeling the heat there, then looked out over Magnara one last time. The city pulsed below — alive, unblinking, waiting.
Tomorrow, they would face the world.
(Morning - Kai's room)
Pushups. Squats. Breath in, breath out. He washes, ties his sash under a plain black hoodie, slides on fingerless gloves, and shoulders Sun. Ripped jeans, beat-up sneakers. He palms the staff once for luck, thinks of a rooftop and a quick cheek kiss, and grins despite himself.
(Aria — hall mirror)
Armor first. Compact silver plates seated tight at the shoulder and chest, leather rigs buckled, pouch belts checked. She rolls her neck, drops into a lunge, and snaps a clean draw with her new sword. Balance hits perfectly. Hair brushed back. She taps the breastplate twice like a drummer calling tempo.
(Rin — corner locker)
All black. Headband cinched. Mask up—tactical harness snug. Kunai clipped where his hand will want them. He sets Yoru Oni—Night Demon—across his knees, checks the edge, and sheathes it in one smooth breath. No rattle. He ghosts a three-step cut to test the fit and vanishes into his own quiet.
(The Talking Boar — Breakfast)
The bar is already warm with bread and spice. Hanami clocks them at the stairs, stops, and actually claps.
"Okay. Wow, you guys look different."
Her eyes ping from Aria's fitted plate to Kai's street-calm hoodie to Rin's matte shadow. "You look dangerous."
William steps out from the ops door, coat bright, gaze exact. One slow nod. "You look like you intend to win."
Plates land. Roasted spelt pulmentus with honey and figs. Teganites slicked with olive oil, honey, and curdled milk. Fresh bread with soft cheese and olives. Thin warm slices from a bull's leg. Clay jugs of mulsum and a low-grain beer sweating on the table.
Aria tears into Teganites, talks around the bite. "Armor sits right. I can sprint."
Kai dips bread in mulsum and laughs under his breath when Aria catches his eye. He looks away too late.
Rin takes the olives first and tests a swallow of the coffee. "Not too much. That's enough."
Hanami jots notes like a court reporter. "No rattles. Extra honey. Got it."
William sets a folded handcloth with the Crescent Halo crest at the table's edge, and the room settles.
"You'll see Lila at the arena. The bracket will be posted once all teams have arrived. Every nation will be watching. Guilds will be betting. Don't perform for them. Perform for the truth of your craft."
Aria wipes her fingers and stands a little taller. "I'm going to surpass my father. And anyone they call the best."
Rin sets down his cup. "I'm fighting for my clan. Black's name in the mouth of the world again."
Kai rests his palm on Sun. "I want to be the strongest. And I want to prove you can win without breaking what doesn't need breaking."
Hanami points her pen at all three of them. "Print that on a banner."
William's mouth tugs, pride buried under discipline. "Then hold the line. Anchor your partner when the day calls for it. Leave every space better than you found it. Rules are simple. No killing. Fight until you can no longer stand. Win with clarity, not excuses."
He steps in close for quick adjustments: a strap on Aria's back rig, a sling line on Kai's staff, a chest buckle on Rin that would have printed under a throw. "Good," to each of them in turn.
Hanami circles, appraising. "Last looks. Aria, steel, and storm. Kai, monk meets street. Rin, nightmare in a library."
Aria bumps Kai's boot under the table. He glances up. The smile they share is small and private, saying it all after the trial without words.
Rin pretends not to notice. "Focus."
William lifts his cup but doesn't drink from it. "Promise me one thing."
They lean in.
"Win for the right reason. That's the only kind that lasts."
Aria nods once. "Yes, Captain."
Rin's answer is a single quiet "Yes."
Kai's is a steady "Yes," and he means two things at once.
They clear plates, check straps, and shoulder gear. At the door, Hanami grins and scribbles the last line on her page.
"Trial-ready."
The carriage rolls out from the Talking Boar with a hiss of steam and a bell chime from its sigil engine. William sits forward, white coat sharp in the morning light. Kai rests Sun on his knee. Aria's new plates catch the sun in clean lines. Rin rides silently, black on black, eyes on the street.
Magnara is already roaring.
Banners flash from balconies. Brass bands punch out fanfares from moving platforms. Skylines spew confetti steam as trams thunder past, crammed with painted faces and guild colors. Vendors jog the curb with trays of teganites, glowing oranges, and meat skewers hissing over aura coals. A choir of kids belts a chant that the whole block picks up.
"Mer-cy. Mer-cy."
They pass under sky-bridges ribboned with ₸ script. Airships tilt over the Iron Cothon like gulls, docking and lifting in a constant arc. Street screens display yesterday's oaths and old highlight reels against the buildings—golden silhouettes, last-second surrenders, the sand turning to glitter under hard light. Every corner sells a bracket sheet. Every voice has an opinion.
Aria leans at the window. "I can feel the floor vibrating."
"That's not the floor," Kai says. "That's the world yelling."
Rin tilts his head as a trio of rival hopefuls in crisp coats jog across an intersection to cheers. "They're yelling at the wrong people."
William's mouth edges toward a smile. "Let them. Noise is their game. Clarity is ours."
The carriage climbs the last rise. The city opens up—and there it is.
The Magnara Grand Amphistad sits on the basalt cliff like a crown hammered into the coast. Fourteen tiers of arches and steel bands. Copper cornices blaze. An inner ellipse nested inside a long oval spine, the whole thing breathing with the crowd. The Velarium is half-drawn, hard-light panes hovering like a halo over the bowl. Holo-totems ring the rim, cycling timers, oath texts, and resonance graphs in amber and white. Airship masts needle into the sky on the south spur, and a tram spits sparks as it kisses the stadium platform and empties into a river of bodies.
From this height, they see the Mercy Market flooding the east plaza—boilers rattling, banner lines clacking, badge hawkers slapping crests onto jackets. Brass fanfare flares once, twice, and the sound pours down the cliff, rolling back in a second wave of screaming.
Aria blows out a breath. "Okay. That's ridiculous."
Kai cannot help but let out a small laugh that escapes. "Magnificent."
Rin's eyes track the bowl's mouth, the spoke tunnels yawning toward the core. "Four grand concourses. Eight spokes. Too many eyes."
William taps the roof twice. The driver swings them toward the competitor lane carved into the cliff face—Basalt underwheel. Spray through the air.
They rattle past the Ledger of Mercy—names carved into black stone, year by year, guild by guild. They pass the Hall of Engines with its glass front: an old halo stake on a plinth, a cutaway of a hard-light awning rib, a relay cart from a champion run. Volunteers in navy coats wave them through a gate stenciled with a rule that feels like scripture here.
They roll through the competitor gate stenciled with the rule that feels like scripture here.
Two Anchors. One Oath. One Witness.
Inside the tunnel, the roar thins to a living hum—and a flash of ocean blue waits under the lamps.
Lila.
New cut, new clothes: cropped cream top with black harness straps, cargo pants cinched tight, braid looped over one shoulder with a red tie. Royal Aqua escorts in sea-blue coats fan discreetly behind her, and at their front stands Laila Butters in an elegant field mantle the color of deep water—calm face, eyes like polished glass that have seen storms and decided to let them pass.
"About time," Lila says, grinning as she jogs up. "You all look—whoa." Her gaze lands on Kai. "You don't look like a monk anymore."
Aria's laugh is instant. "Told you. He discovered pockets."
Kai bows a little, deadpan. "Enlightenment comes in pairs."
Rin gives Lila a once-over and the slightest nod. "Good fit."
"Yours too," she fires back, noting his all-black rig and the new sheath on his back. "Very 'do not try me.'"
William steps forward, and Laila's composure warms a half-degree. They clasp forearms—soldiers' greeting, no show.
"Laila," he says.
"Will." A ghost-smile. "You still breathe like you're timing a charge."
"And you still pretend you don't." A quiet moment of respect. "Good to see you."
"Likewise." Her glance slides across the squad—approval without sugar. "They look trial-ready."
"Your fault," William says lightly. "Half my habits came from chasing you through siege tunnels."
"And half mine from Elric shouting at both of us," she answers, then squeezes Lila's shoulder. "Bring them home in one piece."
"I mean to." He nods, then to Lila: "Your mother's training shows. Welcome back."
Lila straightens, mock-salutes, then bumps forearms with Aria. "Armor suits you. Clean lines."
Aria taps a plate. "Light enough to sprint. Heavy enough to headbutt."
She turns to Rin. "And you—mister shadow. New blade?"
Rin's eyes flick. "Night Demon." Nothing more, which says everything.
Hanami (already collecting lanyards and badges) whistles. "Look at you menaces. Trial-ready and photogenic."
An official clears his throat by the oath dais. "Crescent Halo. We're ready for your Witness."
They file up. Hands to the orb. Voices into the bowl.
"Aria Flamehart. Crescent Halo. Intent—win clean."
"Kai Xander. Crescent Halo. Intent—hold the line and win."
"Rin Kairo. Crescent Halo. Intent—restore the Black Clan name. Win."
"Lila Butters. Crescent Halo. Intent—heal fast, hit faster, finish standing
The orb hum fades, and the tunnel fills with the kind of quiet that means the next sound will be thunder.
A marshal gestures. "Teams to staging. Line forms center."
They move—Crescent Halo shoulder to shoulder—into the last shadow before the bowl. The bass of 220,000 people rolls through the stone and up their shins. Banner drums hit in waves. The Mercy Deck glints under the open Velarium; the hypogeum breathes; the whole amphistad feels alive and watching.
William stops them at the lip. Close enough to taste the heat of the crowd. Far enough, they can still hear him.
He looks each of them in the eye, nothing flowery, nothing wasted.
"You're ready," he says. "Not because of me. Because of what you carry."
To Rin, low and steady. "Walk out with your dead at your back and your future in front. Do not let grief steer your hand. Make them say the Black Clan out loud again."
To Aria, a half-smile that knows precisely how loud her heart is. "You don't have to outrun your father. You have to be you at full speed. Build the storm that clears the sky, not the one that burns the town."
To Lila, a nod that's almost a bow. "You are the last wall and the first answer. Hit smoothly. Heal when it matters. Choose the moment and end the doubt."
To Kai, quiet enough that it lands like an oath. "Compassion is not mercy for the enemy. It's certainty for the people behind you. Hold the line. Then break theirs."
He lifts his hand, three fingers.
"Sight. Steel. Sovereignty. Breathe with me."
Four in. Four hold. Four out. The roar doesn't get quieter; it gets steadier inside them.
William's voice tightens just a thread. "Everyone out there thinks Trial by Mercy is about titles. It isn't. It's about truth under pressure. Win clean. If you lose, lose honestly and make them earn every inch. Anchor each other. No killing. Fight until you can no longer stand. When chaos comes, you lead it."
He taps the small crest at his collar. "Halo up."
The marshal waves. "Crescent Halo—go."
They step into the light.
The bowl detonates. Forge Tier stamps the decks like an earthquake. The Velarium spills their names in gold. Airships blink along the rim. The Engine Spine retracts with a hiss. The Mercy Deck looks miles wide.
Nerves prick—the dry tongue, the too-fast pulse, the weight of every camera and oath-witness. Kai feels his breath find the count. Aria rolls her shoulders once and lets the crowd's heat climb her spine. Rin's grip settles on Night Demon, the balance of a promise. Lila touches her wrist wraps, murmurs one word to the water that answers her, and looks forward.
They walk the central lane toward the mass of Seekers arrayed in ranks—rivals in every color, old enemies and future problems. Fanfare rises; banners snap; the ground trembles beneath 220,000 people who believe today matters.
At the line, they stop together, four shadows cut into a circle of sun. William halts behind them at the coach mark, folds his hands, and lets the noise swallow the last of the fear.
"Welcome," booms the Oathmaster from the dais, voice riding the Colos-Lens across the bowl. "To Magnara. To Mercy."
The crowd answers like the sea. And Crescent Halo stands in the center of it, trial-ready.