Chapter 8
Weight of the Sky
The arena was repaired in silence.
Stone knit itself back together under Eclipse magic, cracks sealing like old scars being forced shut. The air still carried the faint scent of ozone and dust from the previous battle.
Instructor Caelum raised his hand.
"Match Two."
The rune-circle widened.
"Captain Thane of Ironclad Bastion."
"Aeris Vael of Skyreach."
From Ironclad, Thane stepped forward.
He did not hurry.
Each step was measured, deliberate, armor plates shifting with a dull, steady rhythm. His presence alone made the ground feel heavier, like gravity had chosen his side.
From Skyreach, Aeris Vael descended the steps lightly, almost lazily. His boots barely touched the stone. A faint current stirred around him, cloak moving in directions the wind hadn't chosen.
They stopped at opposite ends of the arena.
Thane planted his feet and rested his massive shield against the ground. His sword remained sheathed.
Aeris tilted his head slightly.
"…You're not planning to chase me, are you?" Aeris asked.
Thane's voice came calm and even from behind his helm.
"No," he said. "You'll come to me."
The Eclipse rune flashed.
Begin.
The wind exploded.
Aeris vanished upward, propelled by a sudden surge of compressed air. He twisted mid-flight, blades of wind forming along his arms, and dove.
Thane raised his shield.
The impact thundered.
Wind screamed against metal as Aeris struck again and again, angles changing faster than the eye could follow. Slashes of air carved the ground, shattered stone, and hammered Thane from every side.
Ironclad Bastion watched without flinching.
Thane did not move.
He absorbed every strike.
Then he stepped forward.
The ground cracked beneath his weight.
Aeris felt it immediately—pressure, like the air itself had thickened. His movements slowed, ever so slightly.
"…Gravity reinforcement," Aeris muttered.
Thane drew his sword.
One swing.
The air split.
The shockwave tore across the arena, forcing Aeris to twist desperately aside. His boots scraped stone as he landed, breath sharper now.
"Skyreach relies on freedom," Thane said. "Ironclad survives confinement."
Aeris smirked, wiping dust from his cheek.
"Then let's see how long you can hold the sky down."
The wind gathered again—stronger, tighter.
Above them, Captain Zephyr's eyes narrowed.
Below, Bram Ironveil watched without expression.
The second clash was inevitable.
And heavier than the first.
The wind screamed louder.
Aeris rose again, higher this time, currents spiraling around him as blades of compressed air formed in widening arcs. The arena floor scarred under the pressure alone.
He descended like a falling star.
Thane didn't raise his shield.
He stepped forward.
The impact hit.
Wind detonated outward, ripping chunks of stone free and throwing debris into the stands. For a moment, Thane vanished inside the storm.
Then the wind collapsed.
Thane emerged through it, armor scratched, stance unbroken. He drove his shield forward—not as a block, but as a strike.
The air buckled.
Aeris felt it too late. His control fractured as the pressure crushed inward, slamming him into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
Before he could rise, Thane was already there.
The sword came down—not to cut, but to pin, embedding into the stone inches from Aeris's neck. The shield followed, pressing against his chest with immovable weight.
"Yield," Thane said calmly.
Aeris struggled once.
The air did not answer him.
He exhaled sharply and lifted a hand.
"…Yield."
The Eclipse rune flared.
"Victory—Captain Thane of Ironclad Bastion."
Ironclad Bastion erupted in measured approval. No cheers. Just solid, resonant acknowledgment.
Thane stepped back and offered Aeris a hand.
After a pause, Aeris took it.
"Didn't think anyone could ground me like that," Aeris said, breathing hard.
As healers moved in, Thane returned to his camp, armor marked but spirit untouched. Bram Ironveil nodded once—nothing more was needed.
The rune-circle shifted again.
Instructor Caelum raised his hand.
"Match Three."
The arena widened once more.
"Captain Veyra of Emberveil."
"Rowan Skellwind of Galehaven."
Heat rolled across the stone as Veyra stepped forward, fire tracing lazy patterns along her arms. Her gaze was sharp, impatient.
From the opposite side, Rowan Skellwind entered the arena, cloak snapping violently as wind gathered around him—not wild, but restless, like a storm waiting for permission.
Fire and wind faced one another.
Veyra cracked her neck once.
"Try not to blow out before this gets fun," she said.
Rowan smiled thinly.
The Eclipse rune pulsed.
The bell rang.
And the air ignited.
The moment the bell rang, the arena became unrecognizable.
Fire surged outward from Veyra, not in reckless bursts, but in controlled waves that rolled low across the stone. The heat distorted the air, bending sight itself.
Rowan Skellwind moved instantly.
Wind snapped around him, lifting him backward as a slicing current tore through the flames, splitting them apart. He reappeared to Veyra's left, palm outstretched.
A pressure blast followed.
Veyra slid back a step, boots scraping stone, coat flaring as fire hardened around her like armor.
"Good," she said. "You actually push back."
Rowan didn't answer.
The wind howled louder.
He vanished into it—reappearing above, below, behind—each movement carried by shifting currents. Blades of compressed air tore into the arena, carving deep lines into stone.
Veyra raised both hands.
The fire answered.
Flames spiraled upward, forming pillars that rotated violently, eating the wind instead of resisting it. The two forces collided again and again, the arena shaking under the strain.
Rowan landed hard, breathing sharp now.
"You are using too much power," he said. "You'll burn yourself out."
Veyra smiled.
"You mistake heat for waste."
She clenched her fist.
The fire collapsed inward.
Suddenly, the temperature spiked—not outward, but focused. The flames wrapped around her arms, glowing white at the edges.
Emberveil leaned forward.
Rowan felt it.
The wind faltered.
Veyra moved.
Not fast like Stormhold.
Not heavy like Ironclad.
Relentless.
She closed the distance through raw pressure, flames exploding with every step. Rowan raised a barrier of wind, but the fire punched through, detonating at close range.
He was thrown back, skidding across the arena.
Before he could rise, fire slammed down around him in a tightening ring.
Veyra stood at its edge, eyes burning steady.
"Storms scatter," she said.
"Fire consumes."
She drove her palm forward.
The flames imploded.
The impact hit Rowan like a furnace snapping shut. The wind died instantly, snuffed beneath overwhelming heat. He collapsed to one knee, coughing, strength gone.
The Eclipse rune flared.
Rowan looked up once, then dropped his head.
"…Yield."
The fire vanished.
"Victory—Captain Veyra of Emberveil."
Emberveil erupted in cheers, flames igniting across their stands in celebration.
Veyra turned away without looking back, fire already fading from her arms.
From Galehaven, Captain Lys watched in silence, eyes narrowed—not in anger, but calculation.
Three matches.
Three victors.
The Eclipse had begun its judgment.
And it was far from done.