The prep room felt different this morning. Yesterday's nervous energy had burned away, replaced by a tense silence. Caleb stood with his back against the earthen wall, watching Leo adjust the straps on his armor for the third time in as many minutes.

  "Stop fiddling with it." Corinne reached over and stilled Leo’s hands. "It fits fine. You’re just winding yourself up."

  A corner of Leo’s mouth twitched upward, a failed attempt at a smile. "Is it that obvious?"

  "Only to people with eyes." She rolled her own, but her tone was warm. "You'll be fine. Remember what Thal taught you—defense first, let your opponent make the mistakes."

  Caleb gave a slight, affirming dip of his chin. The overheard conversation from the night before lingered at the edges of his mind. The casual dismissal, the certainty that the tournament's outcome was predetermined—it should have hollowed him out. Instead, it had strengthened his resolve into something denser. Let the Gilded merchant and his companion believe the game was fixed. Let them assume the natural order would reassert itself without challenge.

  They hadn’t seen what Caleb was truly capable of. Not yet.

  "Tanner! Jain!" Captain Hatch's voice ended all conversations. "You're up!"

  Leo straightened, his shoulders squaring with visible effort. The transformation was unmistakable despite its subtlety—the burgeoning fighter emerged, replacing the frightened baker-to-be. He was getting better at compartmentalizing his fear.

  Caleb offered his hand. "Good luck."

  Leo gripped it for a second before he relaxed his hold. "Thanks. For everything."

  Corinne nudged him with her elbow. "Don't be dramatic! Save the speeches for after you win."

  They watched through the scrying mirror as Leo and Mira entered the arena. Mira carried herself with a quiet confidence, her expression gentle and her calm blue eyes observant. Her stance was textbook, her grip on the spear comfortable and natural. Beside her, Leo looked less sure, but Caleb noted with a hint of satisfaction that his defensive posture was solid.

  The bell rang, and both fighters began to circle each other.

  Mira tested his guard with a series of probing attacks—quick, controlled strikes meant to gauge his reactions. Leo responded exactly as Caleb had taught him, giving ground when necessary but never allowing himself to be cornered. His blocks were economical, conserving energy while forcing Mira to work for every advantage.

  "He's actually doing it," Corinne whispered. "Look at him go!"

  For several minutes, the fight continued in this fashion. Mira pressed forward with increasing intensity, but Leo's defensive technique held. He absorbed the pressure, redirected attacks, and created space whenever she threatened to overwhelm him. His technique showed workmanlike competence that weeks ago had seemed impossible.

  He won't win, Caleb concluded. But he's proving something more important. He belongs here.

  The end came suddenly. Mira feinted high, drawing Leo's guard upward, then flowed into a low thrust that slipped beneath his defenses. The tip of her spear would have found his heart, driven forward with enough force to trigger the silver [Life Shield] that blazed around his torso.

  Leo paused, the protective Spell having absorbed the blow. For a moment, he stood still, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he processed what had happened. Then, he straightened his shoulders and offered Mira a respectful bow.

  Her posture relaxed, and she returned the gesture, her lips moving with words Caleb couldn't hear. A lump formed in Caleb's throat as they left the platform together, walking side by side like equals.

  The door to the prep room swung open, and Leo entered with Mira right beside him. He held his head high and accepted condolences from the other trainees with quiet dignity, while they showered Mira with praise. She waited patiently for it all to finish, then approached him directly.

  "You're Sergeant Tanner's son, aren't you?" she asked quietly.

  Leo’s neck and ears went red. "Yes. Though I'm probably not what he hoped for in terms of… well, everything."

  "I doubt that." Mira’s expression was serious. "The way you fought today—patient, disciplined, never losing your composure—those are qualities any military father would be proud of. You just need to develop the killer instinct to go with them."

  His eyes widened, a hint of wonder in them.

  "Thank you," he managed, his voice a little hoarse. "That… that means a lot."

  She offered him a small smile. "Keep training. We should spar more often when there's less pressure involved."

  As she moved away, Leo stood transfixed, staring after her. Corinne caught Caleb’s eye and lifted a single, knowing eyebrow.

  "Well," she said, her voice bright with amusement, "that's adorable. Now you just need to bake for her, and it's a done deal!"

  The comment drew a few chuckles, but all attention returned to the scrying mirror as the next match was announced. The crowd's energy shifted, building as stronger fighters took the stage.

  Caleb watched with interest as Torvin, a stocky Mycari, methodically dismantled his opponent. The fight lasted barely two minutes, ending when a perfectly executed throw left his adversary gasping for breath, unable to deal with the coup de grace.

  Serra's match was even more decisive. The lean, dark-haired girl moved like a hummingbird, her spear work incredibly fast and precise. Her opponent, a brawny youth who had muscled his way through the previous round, found himself constantly out of position. She finally finished it with a thrust that slipped through his guard like it wasn't there, stopping just short of his throat as the [Life Shield] flared.

  "She's good," Corinne observed, eyes narrowed as she studied the girl's technique. "Really good. Her footwork is incredible."

  "Agreed." Caleb observed. "But she's not invincible. Did you notice how she favors her right side? There's a slight delay when she transitions to attacks from the left."

  Before Corinne could respond, a commotion from across the room drew their attention. Durk had just been called for his match against Finola Cecilie. The massive Mycari was slapping a palm against his thigh; a repetitive, meaty thud sounding in the room.

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  Leo leaned closer to Caleb. "This should be interesting. Finola's got all the technique, but Durk's got the reach and power."

  They turned their attention to the scrying mirror. Finola stood with confidence, facing a mountain of a young man in Durk, whose crude technique was offset by the sheer intimidation of his size.

  The bell chimed. Durk charged forward with a roar that was audible even in the prep room. His strategy was simple and straightforward—close the distance, overwhelm with aggression, and end the fight before technique could matter.

  It might have worked against a lesser opponent. Against Finola, it was a fatal mistake.

  She sidestepped his rush like a matador, her spear darting out to catch him across the ribs. The blow fell short of triggering his ward, though it staggered him and drew a grunt of pain. Before he could recover, she was moving again, her weapon weaving a deadly sequence around his desperate attempts to pin her down.

  The fight became a masterclass in neutralizing raw power. Every time Durk tried to close in, Finola was already gone, her spear finding gaps in his defense.

  When his defeat came, it was almost anticlimactic. Durk, exhausted and bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts, over-rotated on a wild swing. Finola stepped inside his guard and drove her spear point directly into his solar plexus, triggering his protective ward in a blaze of silver light.

  The prep room erupted in cheers, with Corinne and Leo leading the celebration. Across the space, Caleb saw Narbok standing perfectly still, a statue carved from green wood and resentment. He glared around the room, cataloging the faces of every person who cheered.

  Another one down. Caleb smiled to himself. Now let's see how the rest of his crew fares.

  The answer came quickly. Griven Greenshade advanced easily, while Morian Greenshade managed a narrow victory that left him bloodied but triumphant. Narbok's faction remained a threat.

  "Hearthsong! Harden!" Captain Hatch's voice rang out.

  Corinne stood slowly from her bench. The easy energy she’d had before was gone, replaced by a focused stillness.

  "Remember," Caleb said, his voice low, "he's bigger and stronger, but he's also slower. Use that. Make him chase you until he makes a mistake."

  She gave him a curt nod, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks. I've got this." She turned and walked toward the exit without looking back.

  Corinne appeared on the platform alongside her opponent. Joric was every bit as imposing as Caleb had judged—a massive young man whose sheer physical presence was an intimidation tactic in itself. His spear looked small in his enormous hands.

  This is going to be a real test, Caleb thought.

  Joric pressed forward with measured aggression. Unlike Durk's wild charge, this was controlled violence—powerful, methodical attacks designed to drive Corinne backward. His reach advantage was significant, and he used it effectively.

  For the first minute, Corinne was systematically overwhelmed. Joric's weapon threatened her guard again and again, each impact sending a visible jolt through her frame. A particularly heavy blow sent her stumbling sideways, off-balance and vulnerable.

  Joric seized the opening, stepping forward with his spear raised for the finishing blow. But Corinne was already moving, flowing with the momentum instead of fighting to regain her footing.

  Her recovery was beautiful in its simplicity—a spinning motion that turned his advantage into hers. As he committed to his attack, she dropped low and swept his legs, movement perfectly timed.

  He went down hard, his own size working against him. Before he could recover, Corinne was on him, her spear point shooting at his throat, triggering the silver flare of his [Life Shield].

  Leo let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for the entire fight. "She did it again! It's like she has a signature move!"

  "She did," Caleb agreed, but his attention was already shifting, his mind cataloging the remaining fighters. The time for celebration would come later.

  The next name called was one he had been looking forward to: Rielle Draha.

  The violet-eyed noble appeared on the platform with a smooth saunter. Her elegant spear hung loosely at her side, almost an afterthought. Her opponent, Valen Jonckers, looked determined, but the stiffness of his posture betrayed him.

  This should be quick, Caleb thought.

  He was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  The starting bell sounded, and Rielle began to move, flowing around the platform like smoke, always just out of reach.

  When she finally struck, it was a small thing—a shallow cut across Valen's right arm that drew blood but was nowhere near enough to put him down. He flinched and stumbled back, looking at the wound, but she was on him again.

  Another cut, this time across his thigh. Then his shoulder. His chest. Each wound was carefully placed to not debilitate, a systematic campaign of torment that reduced the larger boy to a trembling mess.

  The crowd's initial cheers had died, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. Valen continued to fight, his courage unwavering even as blood soaked his tunic and ran down his arms. It was clear Rielle could end this whenever she chose.

  When he finally collapsed from blood loss and pain, Rielle’s lips tightened in a brief, subtle frown of disappointment.

  Caleb shook his head in disgust. Horrific. At least it's a weakness I can use.

  The analysis was cut short as the next match was announced: Kasien Blodwen versus Zaria Kimura.

  Kasien strode into the arena like a force of nature, his solid frame radiating violence. The bronze gauntlets on his hands and forearms caught the light, their inscribed runes seeming to pulse. Zaria looked small on the opposite side of the platform, her dark braid swaying behind her as she settled into a defensive stance.

  The fight started, and Kasien's fists erupted in crimson flame.

  The transformation was instantaneous. What had been metal gauntlets became conduits for supernatural fire, wreathing his hands in tongues of scarlet energy. The heat was visible even through the scrying mirror, distorting the air around his arms.

  He moved like lightning, crossing the platform in a single bound. His flaming fist drove toward Zaria's throat. She got her spear up in a desperate block, but the flames washed over her guard as if it wasn't there, fully engulfing her face.

  The [Life Shield] flashed around her with its distinctive silver radiance, but something was wrong. Where Kasien's fire had touched the barrier, patches of crimson flame continued to burn, eating away at the protective Spell like acid.

  For a moment, the impossible sight continued—fire burning on pure magic. Finally, the shield fizzled out, taking the flames with it.

  Kasien stepped back, a smirk playing on his lips.

  How is that even possible? Fire that burns magic? What kind of power is that?

  The questions would have to wait. Captain Hatch was already announcing the final match of the day.

  "Kaelix! Tafani!"

  Astrin Kaelix took her place. Her movements were so languid she seemed bored, her eyes scanning the platform with detached interest. She carried her longsword with casual indifference.

  Across from her, Zylas looked like he was preparing for his own execution. His jaw was set, but his face was pale and his knuckles were white where he gripped his spear.

  The match began.

  There was a moment of simple stillness, then a blur of motion almost too fast for the eye to track. In the next instant, the silver [Life Shield] was erupting around Zylas's body, and Astrin was standing behind him, her sword extended in a finishing pose that looked right out of one of Jack's cartoons.

  Caleb's [Combat Analysis] skill ignited, seizing on the ghost of an afterimage while it calculated the changes between her starting and ending position. His thoughts worked furiously, reconstructing the impossible sequence of events from mere fragments of data. He saw the shift in her weight, the explosive pivot of her back foot, and the single, flawless arc of her longsword.

  The technique was perfect.

  [Your proficiency with Combat Analysis (F) has increased to Expert]

  The notification appeared in his peripheral vision, but his mind was still processing the aftermath, trying to comprehend the sheer gulf between Astrin's capabilities and his own.

  The prep room was utterly silent. They'd seen her in the training yard, but never like this. Even Narbok, his arrogant posture gone, stared at the mirror incredulously.

  Through the scrying mirror, Caleb could see the crowd's reaction. In the shaded boxes, Bastian Kaelix was offering slow applause, smiling with placid satisfaction.

  In the packed bleachers, the atmosphere was entirely different. The shock on the Duskborn faces had curdled into resignation. Any hope kindled by his own victory had been thoroughly extinguished.

  These were not fights. They were demonstrations.

  Caleb looked around the room. Corinne stared at the scrying mirror, her earlier triumph now a distant memory. Leo had gone pale, his shoulders hunched as he tried to make himself smaller.

  That's the mountain, Caleb thought. And they just made sure we all know we'll never be able to climb it.

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