The sky screamed.

  That was the only way Idalia could describe it.

  A sudden pressure rolled across the Waterfall Coliseum, heavy and unmistakable, flattening sound and wind alike. The runes etched into stone pulsed brighter, then steadied, as if bracing themselves. Waterfalls wavered mid-fall, their streams shuddering as mana rippled outward in concentric waves.

  "Tiamare," rumbled the Shenlong, his deep, dulcet voice surprising Idalia as this was the first time she heard him speak. "That is Solrift among the group."

  The girl didn't respond; she only stared downward with cold, crimson eyes at Idalia's gang.

  Idalia's brows furrowed as the Shenlong peered directly at her Papa. Papa Solrift held its gaze and responded, "It's been a while, Galadriel."

  "Hold your tongue, Solrift," the Shenlong, Galadriel, growled. "I haven't forgotten our last bout."

  The air currents in the field stirred with tension as Papa and Galadriel adjusted their stances. Idalia braced for battle; she did not like how Galadriel's sinuous coils of muscle bunched.

  "Tia…" The sound tore out of her throat, half-growl, half-plea.

  But this was not the Tiamare she remembered. This Tiamare did not smile. She did not look down with warmth or curiosity or that strange, quiet kindness Idalia had first known.

  Idalia knew she and Cheyin weren't in the best shape for battle; not after their duel just moments before. Even so, would Tiamare and Galadriel be foolish enough to strike when they were outnumbered?

  "Reinforce the elven wards!" Lief cried.

  "By the Deep Roots—that's Raurgo's mount!" Cheyin's broad-bodied subordinate exclaimed.

  "It belongs to the Orun Empire! What's that girl doing on it?" the sharp-eyed woman questioned.

  Idalia's chest buzzed with warmth and confidence as she glanced at Papa Solrift, then at Cheyin's scar-nosed subordinate, followed by Rhaya, Elemae, Lief, and Kelix—in that exact order. Each was powerful in their own right.

  Idalia glared at the scar-nosed subordinate. His aura was reminiscent of Ruargo's and Soreine's. If her hunch was correct—

  "General Honsing," Cheyin said, struggling to lift herself off the ground like a downed prey animal. Cheyin's lips twitched in a grimace, but her eyes remained sharp and focused on Tiamare as she added, "Do me a favor and take care of that one if she acts out of line."

  The scar-nosed subordinate stepped forward instantly.

  Idalia had heard his voice earlier, but now she looked at him properly.

  He was taller than most elves and built like someone who had carried too many weapons for too many years. The scar ran clean across the bridge of his nose, pale and blunt like a healed wound. His eyes were steady, neither cruel nor kind, just professional like the Claw Marshals back home.

  They were the kind of eyes that measured distance and determined how fast someone could bleed.

  He glanced at Cheyin, then at Tiamare and her Shenlong. His expression changed. It was subtle, but Idalia caught it: recognition and hate.

  He held out his hand to summon a cane into his palm. The weapon had a glinting sharp tip that could have put most horns to shame. He planted it into the ground and leaned against it. "Of course, Commander. I won't let her take you."

  Idalia turned toward Cheyin, curious. What kind of relationship did Cheyin have with Tiamare?

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Her gaze shifted from Tiamare to Cheyin. The resemblance was uncanny: green hair, similar builds, the same vibes.

  "Who is she to you?" Idalia whispered.

  Cheyin's eyes remained fixed on Tiamare, flickering with pain, anger, and irritation. She was deciding. "Someone lost to me."

  "Cheyin of Orun," Tiamare's voice rang out, amplified by mana and wind alike. "Come forth. You're needed back home."

  Cheyin smiled; it was not warm but sharp. "So, am I speaking to Tia… or the other one today?"

  A ripple of something unseen passed through the air.

  Idalia's head snapped toward Cheyin. "…The other one?"

  Her gaze flicked back up to Tiamare.

  Tiamare's smile was slow. Cold. "Does it matter?"

  Cheyin laughed softly. "It always matters."

  Idalia's gaze flicked between them, confusion knotting in her chest. She looked harder at Tiamare now, really looked. At the way she stood too still. At how the wind bent toward her instead of away. At the way her presence felt… crowded, as though more than one heartbeat occupied the same space.

  What was going on? It didn't make sense to her. How could someone have two mana signatures?

  This Tiamare was sharper. Heavier. More frightening.

  Idalia's growl built low and rumbling in her chest.

  "What did you do?" she demanded, stepping forward. Her Papa trailed close behind. "You smell wrong."

  Tiamare's gaze dropped to her at last. Something unreadable passed through her eyes.

  "You are not part of this," Tiamare said. "Yet."

  Idalia snarled outright, claws unsheathing. "You took Hirohowl!"

  A murmur surged through the group again at the name.

  Tiamare lifted her chin. "Yes. Would you like to come along, Ida?"

  Cheyin's eyes sharpened. "Ah. So that is the prize." She looked back to Tiamare, smile widening just a fraction. "You want a challenge, eh?"

  "I want resolution," Tiamare replied. "You and I. This vessel is fantastic. But your body is far more ideal for what I'm planning."

  Idalia's heart raced, her claws clicking against the stone of the coliseum floor as she absorbed the implications of Tiamare's words. It was clear now that this was not simply a confrontation; it was a battle of wills, a struggle for identity that stretched far beyond the immediate threats before them.

  "You think you can just take what's not yours?" Cheyin spat, venom lacing her voice. "You think you can hide behind this charade of bait and manipulation, and I will simply follow you like a lost pup?"

  Tiamare's smile deepened. "It's not manipulation if the outcome is inevitable, Cheyin. You and I share a connection that transcends this world. You know that as well as I do."

  Idalia felt a chill wash over her; it was both fascinating and terrifying. She turned to Papa Solrift, searching for guidance. His expression was grave, the warmth melting away under the weight of knowledge unspoken.

  "This isn't just about a fight; it's about the fate of our people," Papa said, his voice just loud enough for Idalia to hear. He stomped forward. "Monster that hides beneath Wanderan skin, return Hirohowl!"

  "Tia! You won't take anyone else!" Idalia added. "You took Hirohowl! But I'll bite and claw for Cheyin's sake if you dare decide to touch her!"

  "Cute." Tiamare leaned to one side like a wilted flower, and her change in demeanor was unsettling.

  "Hirohowl is mine," she said, "I'm captivated by what he can become. He seems capable of turning into a creature that fits my goals. One day, you'll also have to choose your own path, even if it leads to becoming something monstrous."

  In that moment, the coliseum felt like a powder keg, ready to explode.

  Idalia's breath quickened. She could sense the tension in Cheyin's stance and feel the furious energy radiating from the scar-nosed General Honsing, who was poised and ready for a fight. Each warrior prepared themselves silently, sparks of mana crackling in the air.

  Cheyin stood shakily to her feet, the air around her shimmering with swirls as she summoned her own energy. "Do you think I will let you take more from me?!"

  Tiamare's smile faded slightly, her eyes narrowing as she regarded Cheyin with newfound respect. "You may fight me, but I will win. You will become the perfect vessel." The fake Tiamare smiled serenely. "It will be wonderful, don't you think?"

  "Enough!" Papa Solrift's voice boomed, cutting through the charged atmosphere. "I will not allow you to manipulate this family any further."

  "Your denial is amusing, Solrift," Tiamare said. "Your time is ending."

  She gestured with her arm, and the dragon perched above them shifted, its scales glimmering with an otherworldly light. "What matters is what lies before us," Tiamare's voice twisted, adopting a more commanding tone. "Yes, fight if you must. But know that I will take what is rightfully mine. I always have!"

  Her voice reverberated in a singsong tune through the air, the atmosphere rippling with waves of mana that made Idalia's teeth clatter.

  Butterflies?

  Idalia blinked in confusion as many moonlit butterflies appeared, blotting out the sky. The butterflies shattered into fragments, and the sky darkened like night. The sun turned crimson red.

  "Creatures of the night," Tiamare sang. "Heed my call: Sanguine. Nosferatu. Echidnoid."

  "She's channeling a link to another zone," Vestella said, now standing beside Idalia.

  She was right. Idalia's {Sight} perceived the distortion. They were connected to another place, but it was not like {Portals}. Before she could question Vestella, several dozen tears split open in various areas of the field. Emerging from them were well-dressed, two-legged figures stepping out of the rifts.